#SORRY this is so late i. procrastinated so hard on this beast

[jays-supersonic-dynamo]

REAL QUICK!!!!!!! SOMETHING FOR @nin-jay-go ‘s SUPER COOL DTIYS!!!! YIPPEE!!!!!!!

[ttttaehyungie]

sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 5

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sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

genre | angst, smut, exes au

summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

word count | 5.2k

chapter rating | 18+

warnings | angst, smut (but it’s angsty smut lksjdflk help), nipple play, dry humping, alcohol consumption, someee intense jealousy

a/n | FIRST OF ALL im so sorry this is so incredibly late lskjdflkjs life has been extremely busy for me 😪 but it’s here!!!! thank you to everybuddy who’s been waiting patiently for this 🤧🤧 but i think this is one of the most angsty chapters of the series soooo 🙃

Namjoon’s an expert at avoiding uncomfortable topics, even if they’re massively serious. It’s something you absolutely hated and it was the cause of many arguments in your previous relationship, and perhaps was even the ultimate cause of your breakup.

But right now, you’re really beginning to understand the appeal.

The first time he swung by the museum for lunch after his birthday celebration - a paper bag in hand filled with bagels still warm and toasty from the store on the corner that you adore - you were caught entirely off guard.

Your mind jumps to the unread messages sitting in your texts and you regret ignoring them. Not because the guilt had hit you, but because maybe if you had been contactable, you would have received a heads-up that he was coming by.

Some might call it selfish, but you prefer to call it self-preservation.

To be fair, it’s not like you were going to leave them unanswered forever. You just needed space to collect your thoughts and make sense of your confusing emotions first, lest you begin the conversation prematurely and drag Namjoon down into the dizzying depths of your current state. As it is right now, your thoughts are like nodes floating in a decontextualized void, the web still unformed because you haven’t had the time to grapple with everything yet.

But here he is, inspecting the cross-section of each bagel Soo-eun pulls out of the bag, trying to identify which is which. Yeri’s at his side, gushing about how great the bagels from this place are. The three of them are crowded around the paper bag that sits on the wooden bench, the paint peeling from the way it’s been bleached by the sun in the museum’s outdoor area. Here he is at your workplace. With your friends. You can’t ignore him now, not without rousing your friends’ suspicion.

But what you can ignore is the issue.

It’s not the time nor the place to talk about this anyway. The atmosphere is warm and light, carrying traces of last night’s celebratory mood. The lunch treat is Namjoon’s way of appreciating the surprise you guys organized for him last night. And there’s a bagel stuffed full of salty sweet ham and sticky melty cheese waiting for you to sink your teeth into. Really not the time for serious conversations at all.

So when Namjoon’s eyes search yours, all wide and probing, as you step in to grab your share, you simply smile and thank him, before slinking away to join Soo-eun on the next bench. Not too far - barely five steps away - but far enough that it gives you space to breathe. Even if Namjoon notices your attempts at escaping, he doesn’t have time to call you out on it. Not when you slyly shoot Yeri a wink. Seamlessly, she catches the cue and sits herself down on the bench, tugging at his arm. For once, you welcome Yeri flirting with Namjoon.

“Let’s eat! I’m starving,” she says.

You don’t miss the way Namjoon’s gaze flickers between you and Yeri, but you ignore it and take a generous bite of the bagel in your hands.

“Mm, so good,” you say, and turn to Soo-eun. “Don’t you miss the days before this place got really popular?”

“No, because you and Yeri insisted on going there every day. I can only ingest so many bagels a week.”

“____ hasn’t changed one bit.” Namjoon chuckles. “This time in middle school, she ate tater tots every single day for three weeks straight. She had to be banned for a week.”

“Are you weaponizing my middle school past against me?” you ask amidst your friends’ laughter. “Too bad. I don’t regret it for a second. Tater tots are too delicious to regret.”

Lunch falls back into the easy rhythm of lighthearted jibes, the kitchen debacle receding for now.

Procrastination is a real bitch of a habit to kick. As soon as one reason to put it off expires, your brain churns out another two in its place like a modern-day Hydra.

As for Namjoon? Well, you’re not surprised when he makes no moves to initiate the difficult conversation. After all, you’re adopting his bad habit.

Eventually it gets to the point where you might as well not talk about it at all. Everything’s going fine so far without it. Or as fine as it can be with this beast looming in the backdrop.

You know you need to just get this damn conversation over with. But you can’t. Not till you figure out what exactly is going on with your emotions. Without it, there’s no way you can cauterize the wounds and invalidate your excuses for what they are -- excuses.

It’s not that you haven’t tried. But it’s presenting itself as a real Herculean effort. Mulling it over has you tossing and turning in bed, only leaving you with a headache and a steadily growing desperation. It’s desperation enough that you leave the comfortable warmth of your bed to sit at your desk, shivering as you pen the familiar words once again.

Dear Namjoon,

The words flow in their usual, unrestricted manner. Before, it had been like a dam breaking, the tight restraint that was normally kept on your emotions finally released and the wave of emotions gushing out till it reached a peaceful equilibrium. But now, your emotions are just a whirlpool and your words you pen mimic its spiralling, chasing your thoughts in endless loops.

You’re not over him. But so what? It’s not like getting together is an option. Not when he hasn’t grown out of one of the major things that caused the end of your previous relationship. And not when you haven’t even talked that out, if you ever will.

So what can you do now? Kicking him out of your life will mean having to deal with the loss that his absence will bring again. Going back to pretending the other doesn’t exist will mean dancing around each other again every time you bump into each other in this too small city. And with the way your social circles are intertwined now, that would mean a bunch of explaining to do.

But having him close yet holding him at arm’s length? Walking the narrow margin that is being friends with your ex? A misstep in either direction would be torturous but inevitable - too close and it’s alarming, but too far and it’s a painful reminder that he’s not yours.

Far from the illuminating effect you were hoping it would have, your letter to Namjoon only leaves you deeper in confusion. You throw your pen down. Giving up, you fold the paper up. Sealing the letter in an envelope doesn’t bring the same sense of relief it did before. The Hydra remains unslain.

And so the problem gets shoved away - the same treatment the letter gets as it’s roughly tossed into the desk drawer - into the same corner of the recesses of your mind that your breakup resides in.

You know that Namjoon’s confused. Heck, you are too. It’s a strange dance the two of you are involved in, caught between the compulsion to continue yet knowing the risks it bears. Neither of you are bold enough to take the lead. And so this strange stasis drags on as it has for weeks now.

It’s as if the kiss unearthed something in him. Actually no, it’s unearthed something in both of you. And the tension - the fucking tension - is unreal. The tells are so obvious that you wonder how neither Yeri nor Soo-eun have said anything about it yet. There’s certainly no subtlety in the way his eyes linger on your lips in the middle of conversations that you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it.

And when it’s just the two of you? It’s infinitely worse.

It’s hard to blame him. Touch has always been your love language and Namjoon knows it. Physical touch wasn’t just a thing of your previous two-year relationship. It was a thing of your decades of friendship too, the little touches so casual and almost subconscious. Rekindling your friendship without them had taken intentional effort.

You’re not sure who started it. Maybe both of you just fell back into it, the casual little touches slipping their way back in. But what’s not casual at all is the way your heartbeat goes erratic at the most simple of gestures. The way he blithely sweeps the crumbs from your lunch off your lap. The slightly too long side-hug he holds you in, the warmth of his arm around you permeating through the layers you wear and has you simultaneously freezing up while also turning your insides to goo. But it isn’t overtly romantic either.

At least, that’s the excuse you give yourself when the comfort of his touch gets too tempting and you end up succumbing to it. The familiarity of it all makes you feel like you’ve finally arrived home. As if you’ve been on this long, arduous journey and you’re finally here. You get to drop the heavy backpack and rest now.

But the voice of rationality in you tells you this wrong wrong wrong. You’ve got to get out of here.

And that’s how you end up here. White-knuckled grip tight on the edges of the sink as you stare yourself dead in the eyes in the bathroom mirror. The music outside thumps away albeit muted through the door to the ladies’. But the way your heart thumps has nothing to do with that.

Even without shifting your gaze, you can tell that your cheeks are slightly reddened and warm. You can feel it tingling. No, you don’t shift your gaze. It stays fixed on the intense stare that your reflection throws back at you like a challenge, the ferocity of it enhanced by the sharp eyeliner you’re wearing tonight, an uncharacteristic look for you.

Heck, this whole night is uncharacteristic.

You could take the easy route and blame it on Yeri. God knows she can be real persuasive - it’s why she’s excellent at her job. So getting you all out to the club on a Friday night to celebrate nothing other than the simple joy that - c’mon guys, we’re all young and alive and free and tell me that’s not worth celebrating and I’ll fucking fistfight you right here and now even with my freshly manicured nails - is no feat for her.

Still, no one really expected your simple reply, tone nonchalant and eyes still glued to your work screen, “Yeah, I could use a night out.”

Soo-eun had remained silent but you could feel her stiffen slightly beside you. Yeri had been surprised too but more elated that she didn’t have to get through your usual ten solid minutes of whining and half-baked attempts at slithering your way out of it.

But back to the present. Your bodycon dress - one of the rare pieces that survived not just your college partying days but also the wardrobe purge that occurred when you had to downsize everything to fit into the tiny apartment that’s quintessential to city-living - expands with your chest as you take a deep breath. Gripping the hem where it sits mid-thigh, you yank it down slightly. It’s been a while since you’ve worn this dress. And while the younger, more risque version of you that was your college self had been enthralled by the daringness of the dress, your current self has to dig deep to muster up that same boldness.

Relenting as you realize that this is the limit to how much you can stretch the length of your dress, you let go and your fingertips unintentionally brush your thigh as it falls back to your side. It elicits a shudder, the sensation of your own fingers too close to the electrifying feeling of someone’s thumb skimming across it. It was electrifying enough that your brain finally powered up again, voice of rationality sending you skedaddling away, out of reach of his touch, and pathetically seeking refuge in the washroom.

You roll your shoulders back and shake your head, dispelling the thoughts. Standing upright, you look yourself in the eye again. You can do this. You’re going to go out there, and you’re going to have a good time with your friends. You’re going to have a good time with Namjoon. With a nod of affirmation, you turn and saunter your way back to the club with a confidence that has your chin firmly tipped upwards.

You push the door open and look for your friends. The sight that greets you immediately punctures your confidence and your steady posture falls limp.

It’s hard to miss her silvery dress - the dress you knew she would wear and the dress that your very own was meant to counter. It catches the light and grabs attention. And at this moment, it grabs your attention so you can witness Yeri standing between Namjoon’s manspread thighs as he’s perched on the barstool, her hands all over him.

Whatever puffed up confidence you’d had is knocked out of you with that sucker punch of a sight. You turn away, needing to look anywhere but at them.

And that’s when your line of sight falls on a curly-haired man, oddly familiar, and apparently someone you know since he’s waving to you.

“____, hey!” he yells over the music.

“Dong-In?”

He nods and smiles at you. “It’s been a while.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “I was supposed to get back to you on brunch, wasn’t I?” Damn. You’ve been so wrapped up with Namjoon that you totally forgot about Dong-In. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been really caught up with things.”

“It’s no biggie.” He shrugs boyishly. “The exhibition, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sure, the exhibition. Let’s go with that.

“And nothing to do with…” he directs his gaze - and yours along with it - to none other than Namjoon who’s now drinking with Yeri.

Your gaze snaps back to Dong-In and his cheshire grin.

“Nah,” you feign a laugh. “He’s just a friend.”

“The hand he had on you sure didn’t look like just friends.”

“I said we’re just friends,” you snap, then gasp, taken aback by your own outburst. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Nah, I should be the one apologizing. I hit a nerve there, didn’t I. D’you wanna talk about it?” His voice is warm and mellow and oh so inviting. And you very nearly give in.

But you can’t pull him into your problems. It’s not his burden to bear.

“Not really. But thanks, Dong-In.”

“That’s cool.” He nods, and relief fills you. This is what you’ve always liked about Dong-In. He’s chill. “Well since we’re here, wanna get buzzed?”

You laugh. “I won’t say no to that.”

The bar isn’t too far from where you are, and it doesn’t take long before the burn of alcohol is sliding down your throat. Picking up the conversation again, you have to admit, you’d forgotten how easy it is to talk to Dong-In. He’s got that effortless charisma and an easy sense of humor that you can vibe with. Things are simple with him. There’s no line to be tiptoed. Flirting - now that you’re no longer obtuse and you’re finally aware that he is indeed flirting with you - isn’t accompanied by guilt or fear.

And after weeks of this complicated situation with Namjoon, simplicity is what you crave.

“Hey, do you wanna dance?” you ask suddenly. Surprise colors his features for a moment but he laughs it off.

“Is the conversation boring you? You could have just told me to shut up if you wanted me to,” he jokes.

“No!” You laugh. “There’s just a good beat going and-”

“I’m just kidding. I’d love to.” He smiles and grabs your hand.

The two of you weave your way through the mass of gyrating bodies. Lightly buzzed, the fog and the strobe lights blurring everything around you other than your dance partner, you finally find the courage you’ve been searching for this whole time. Dong-In hasn’t been very subtle about checking you out all night, and it gives you that extra boost of confidence that’s finally quelled the antsy thoughts and calmed the fidgety adjustments to your dress’s hemline.

So when his hands find your waist, you step in a little closer and run your hands through your hair, shaking it out and finally letting loose as your hips rock to the pounding beat. Dancing with Dong-In is much like conversing with him- easy and simple fun with just the slightest tinge of excitement. As your hips sway together in languid synchrony, you catch a whiff of the slightly intoxicating combination of his cologne and the undertones of his own natural scent. You give in to the giddying sensation of his hands running lightly over your body and press in closer, eyes fluttering shut, and just feeling. It’s thrilling. It’s risque. It’s-

A solid grip on your wrist yanks you forward and stumbling into a hard chest.

His voice is gruff as he bites out his words, “Get your hands off her.”

“Namjoon?” you gape.

“We’re leaving.” His eyes fix on yours, steely and piercing. A shiver runs down your spine - in all your years of knowing him, you’ve never seen him like this. He tugs on your wrist once more. “Now.”

Dazed by this brand new persona, you don’t even get to say goodbye to Dong-In, just pulled along by the force that is a quietly fuming Namjoon. Everything happens so quickly that it’s all a blur until you’re in the Uber with him, silently clutching onto your purse as an anchor in this sudden whirlwind of events. The anger emanates off of him even in the dimly lit backseat.

“What the fuck?” you whisper, but the shock diminishes the level of conviction in your voice.

He turns to you, the same hardness still in his gaze. “I should be the one asking that.”

“What?!” you snap. In your peripheral vision, you see the Uber driver jump slightly. Lowering your tone, you hiss, “What gives you the right?”

“What gives me the right?” he echoes incredulously, scoffing and turning away from you to face forward instead as he rolls his eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

The car slows to a stop and you recognize your apartment building. You scramble to get away from him. But it seems your confrontation is far from over. Namjoon unbuckles his own seatbelt to follow you.

Terse silence sits between you, the aggravated stomping of your feet as you climb the stairs the only thing that fills the sound.

You turn sharply round the corner, stalking off to your apartment door. “You don’t have to escort me y’know, I’m perfectly capable of getting home by myself.”

“Really?” He folds his arms and leans on the wall next to your door. “It’s hard to trust you when you go off getting drunk and throwing yourself at a random stranger in the club.”

“Is that what the problem is?” You finally ram the key in, and the click as it unlocks is as harsh as your tone. “Sorry to break it to you, but I have a life apart from you. He’s no stranger. His name is Dong-In, he’s Yeri’s friend, and he’s a great guy.”

You shove the door open. Your heels get kicked off and left haphazardly at the entryway, shoe cabinet ignored.

“Wow, some great guy he is,” Namjoon slams the door shut and his shoes get discarded off his feet in the same fashion, “drunkenly feeling you up in a club.”

“Fuck!” You turn, wringing your hands in your hair. Your glares rival each other. “You say it as if I was strung along by him. Well I wasn’t. I initiated it.”

His glare flickers for a moment. He stays silent.

“Just admit that you’re jealous,” you whisper. You unsling your purse and dump it on top of the shoe cabinet, never breaking eye contact.

“Fine.” Namjoon’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I am.”

He skulks forward and traps you between him and the cabinet, gaze holding yours. Namjoon’s always towered over you, but at the moment it isn’t his height that makes you feel tiny.

“Watching his hands all over you like this,” Namjoon’s hands slowly skim the back of your thighs and up your sides and you bite back a whimper, “makes me jealous.”

“And watching you respond like this?” He continues as a firm hand presses the small of your back to close the gap between your torsos. “Glued to him like this? It makes me jealous.”

“You don’t own me,” you whisper but it only elicits a sardonic laugh from him.

“You say that, but you know damn well that’s not the truth. Tell me. Are you jealous?”

“What would I-”

“Yeri.” Damn. Straight through the bullshit. With an eyebrow cocked, it’s obvious he knows the answer and he’s not budging, not even an inch.

“Yes,” you admit quietly. “I’m jealous.”

“Silly girl.” He traces the hemline of your dress. “I only want you.”

A soft keening noise spills out of you. “I’m so sick of holding back.” You tug on his dress shirt, and the feel of his plush lips finally, finally meeting yours snips the final frayed cords of self-restraint you possessed.

Namjoon is quick to reciprocate, and you moan as his tongue licks at your bottom lip. Hooking your arms around his neck, you pull him closer, needing nothing else but to have him close after all this time of distance. He hoists you up, and your legs circle his waist to aid him. The world around you sets into motion as he walks you to your bed, and you anchor yourself by pressing kisses to his neck.

With how tiny your apartment is, it takes no time for him to carry you from the entryway to your bedroom. The cool sensation of your unmade sheets envelops you as he lowers you down onto the bed. He barely gets a moment to appreciate the sight of you, hair mussed and lipstick smudged, lounging on the bed and waiting for him. Desperate for his touch and running out of patience, you gesture to the zip on the side of your dress. Hurrying, he pulls the zipper down as you tug your arms out of the thin straps of the garment. You sit up and let the torso of the dress fall to bunch up at your waist, revealing your bare chest to him.

The quiet gasp that escapes him as he beholds you is infinitely flattering. It’s but a momentary pause. He dives forward into action again. An arm looped around your back to support you as your chest arches upwards, he crouches over you to take one perked-up tit into the heat of his mouth, his free hand coming up to toy with the other. His tongue laves over your nipple in a slippery flick. The other gets pinched and rolled, leaving you gasping at the delicious sensations.

“Namjoon,” you moan out breathily, and it only eggs him on. You whimper as he begins sucking on the bud and wetness pools between your thighs. Your fingernails rake down his back, muted through the layer of his dress shirt.

“M-more,” you plead. He releases your breast and moves his mouth upwards, trailing gentle pecks till he kisses along the length of your collarbone.

“Come here,” he commands, his words breathy and hot as they puff against the thin skin of your clavicle. He scoots back to lean against the headboard, and you follow hastily.

You clamber on top of him, knees bent and straddling his lap as he helps you hike the skirt of your dress up. But before you seat yourself atop the prominent bulge in the lightwash denim of his jeans, he holds you still with a firm grasp on your hip.

His thumb trails the lace detail of your panties, the patterns snaking across your hip bone, baby pink like your dress.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbles. His fingers wander to your clothed core, the material slightly sheer from the damp spot of your arousal. He strokes it tenderly with the pad of his finger, so light that it has you quivering as you hover above him.

His fingernail grazes your slit through the wet material and a gasp catches in your throat. You clench around nothing as carnal desire throbs through your core.

“Namjoon, please,” you whine.

Finally, he gives in to you and pulls you down. Your laced core meets his rough denim-clad one. The stiff material of his jeans pokes through the delicate fabric of your underwear, the friction rough as he drags you over his clothed bulge. The burn is delicious. His hands on you set a slow but steady rhythm that you follow easily, canting your hips in time. It’s enrapturing to watch the way you grind on one another, your clit rubbing up on the apex of his bulge in mutual pleasure.

A finger tips your chin up from the sight you were fixated on.

“Eyes on me.”

It’s difficult. Pleasure has your eyes drooping shut. But the intensity of his gaze compellingly holds yours and you manage, even if barely. His expression is stoic, and it’s only the twitch of his dick that betrays how affected he is. You, on the other hand, are completely abandoned to pleasure. Hands scrabbling across his upper back and up until they settle themselves as fists gripping tufts of his hair, teeth clamped on your bottom lip as moans spill out of you at increasing frequency as your pleasure climbs and climbs and climbs until-

Burrowing your face into the side of his neck, you pant as you cross the peak. Hips now stilled, your climax has you throbbing against his hardened member. You cling onto him with your arms around his neck as you free-fall in the subsiding pleasure. Bare chest brushing against the smooth material of his dress shirt, you catch your breath and yield to the moment.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Shit.” Louder this time. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The regret in his words yank you out of the heady fog of lust. There’s no time to bask in the afterglow. Reality comes crashing down hard and mercilessly.

Suddenly, you feel so small and so exposed. You read his regret as rejection. Your nudity and previous salacious actions make you feel stupid.

Namjoon attempts to extricate your arms from around him, but shame has you clutching to him tighter, hiding your face in his neck. You can still feel him under you, but it’s now an uncomfortable reminder of the act you just committed.

“Hey,” his voice is gentle now, pleading, “look at me? Please?”

You refuse. It’s impossible to look him in the eye right now.

“Fuck.” Even whispered, the panic laced in his tone is blatant. Gently, he maneuvers both of you to turn over. Feeling the mattress underneath you as you’re laid on your back, you release your hold on him and swiftly turn and tug your blanket up to hide away from him.

“____.” He tries. You grip the sheets even tighter as you feel him trying to pull it away from your face. “Please.”

Embarrassment. Guilt. Mortification. They overtake you and you curl in on yourself. You just want to disappear.

“____,” he tries again, hand stroking your head. But you don’t allow yourself to succumb to its comfort. “Talk to me. Please.”

Oh, now he wants to talk.

Why couldn’t you have just talked things out earlier? Why only now when things have fallen apart? Why now when you’ve just done something so stupid and so reckless?

Why now when it’s too late? What can talking possibly do to fix this now?

His pleas are met with silence.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says resignedly.

More silence. He sighs. You feel the mattress shift as he gets up. From where you’re still hiding in the stuffy darkness underneath your blanket, you hear his footsteps return and the muted thud of the glass getting placed on your bedside table.

The silence returns, but you can feel his presence. You imagine he’s staring at your blanket lump on the bed.

Finally, the heavy quietness is broken with a deep breath, and you hear him say softly, “Get a good night’s rest, okay? Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

The light clicks off and you’re plunged into lonely pitch-black darkness. In the distance, you hear the heavy opening and closing of your front door as Namjoon leaves.

Unearthing yourself to the coolness of the night, your dress an uncomfortable lump around your waist, your breasts slightly sore from his previous ministrations, you stare up at the ceiling as hot tears leak out.

It’s well into the afternoon by the time you drag yourself out of bed the next day. Sleep came intermittently and was far from restful, but waking up meant facing the nightmarish reality of what had transpired. So you hid under the covers for as long as you could. But you know you can’t stay there forever.

The buzzing notifications of your phone had woken you up on more than one occasion in the night. But you ignore it and leave your phone next to the glass of water - still untouched - in favor of washing up. It’s more pressing anyway, you surmise. You can feel your make-up, now icky and caked on your face. It’s awful. Your skin is probably revolting against you now and you don’t even want to think about the mess it probably left on your pillowcase. But last night, you were simply paralyzed by the weight of what you’d done, crying till sleep finally came for you.

You take your time going through an extensive skincare routine, even busting out the clay mask you had impulsively bought together with Yeri when it was on discount. You’re doing it because your skin needs the pampering and definitely not because you’re procrastinating getting to your phone.

But there’s only so many steps you can do with the limited skincare products in your apartment. And you know your friends are probably worried about your abrupt disappearance last night. Getting to those messages first, you quickly assure Soo-eun and Yeri that you’re safe at home. Looking at the remaining notifications, you sigh.

Missed calls Namjoon (8)

7 unread messages from 2 chats Namjoon: are you still sleeping? Namjoon: hey, you still asleep? Namjoon: text me when you’re up please? Namjoon: are you awake?

Dong-In: hey! Dong-In: not sure what exactly happened at the end there haha, but it was rly great seeing u again. Dong-In: i’m still waiting on that brunch reschedule, by the way.

Memories from last night come back to you. Dong-In runs his hands through his curls, an easy grin on his face as he leans in to listen to you over the loud music of the club. Things are simple with Dong-In. And, standing on the precipice of a mental spiral whenever you think of Namjoon, the same craving for simplicity from last night returns.

[2:06pm] ____: well it’s a little late for brunch right now

[2:06pm] ____: but you still up to grab a bite?

[nxrthmizu]

| when the days are cold | Tsukishima Kei

»»——⍟——««

song | Demons - Imagine Dragons 

pairing | Tsukishima Kei x Reader

words | 1.2k

warning(s) | mentions of abuse 

author’s note | HELLO FELLOW BEANPOLE LOVERS ARE YOU READY TO BE SAD? HELL YEAH LETS GO on another note I think I’ve mentioned this already I’m in tag jail so it would be very very very helpful if you could reblog my posts! I don’t think people will see this on their dashboard otherwise. Thank you! :3 

»»——⍟——««

He remembered. 

He remembered all the ‘what if’s and the ‘I’ll never be good enough for her’s that plagued him from the very moment Yamaguchi got tired of his best friend’s hopelessness in the progress of his love life. 

When the days are cold and the cards all fold 

“He likes you.” Yamaguchi pointed blatantly at the blonde, all of his shyness having fled after the freckled teen went through three years of high school and was named the captain of the volleyball club. Yamaguchi Tadashi had become a fully-fledged crow, standing tall and proud in all his fresh-university-graduate glory. “Has liked you for a while now and is too much of an idiot to ask you out. Can you go out with him?” 

And the saints we see are all made of gold

“Um.” 

If he was given a palette with all the shades of red known to men, he would be able to pinpoint the exact colour your cheeks turned in the cold of the white backdrop Miyagi’s early winter provided. 

“Yamaguchi, shut-” 

“Sure.” You were fidgeting with the frilly strands of your scarf, your eyes shying away from his. “I’d love to go out with you, Tsukishima.” 

Yamaguchi had to resist the urge to close Tsukishima’s gaping jaw as he stared at you in shock, taking a moment to recompose himself. “You do know you don’t have to, right?” The blonde eyed you carefully. “I’d be a terrible boyfriend. You know me. Heck, I’m a terrible friend.” 

“O- Only you think that.” You mumbled, fiddling with a strand of your hand now. “You’re nicer than you think.” 

He would be lying if he said that dating you wasn’t the best thing to ever happen to his life. You were always there, whether he was dealing with the unfamiliarities of his new museum job, or when Sendai Frogs had a match with EJP Raijin (And you were there when they lost, too). 

When your dreams all fail and the ones we hail

“Hey.” 

Looking up to see your eyes after just having his spike blocked by a smirking Suna Rintarou was comforting, to say the least. Pride shone in your eyes, despite the fact the thirty-minute deuce between Sendai Frogs and EJP Raijin was ended by Tsukishima’s shut-down spike. 

“You did great out there.” Your voice flowed into his aching muscles like warm honey, soothing the soreness away and oxidising the lingering acid. “I didn’t dare to blink.” 

“Then you would’ve seen that pathetic spike, huh.” He replied bitterly, looking down and backing away from your touch. 

You gasped, sounding offended and exaggerating your movements. “How dare you say that about my boyfriend!” You scowled, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I won’t tolerate anyone talking shit about him. I’ll have you know he drags himself to practice even after he’s had a tiring day at his day job, and I’ll have you know that he trains very hard, thank you very much.”

Are the worst of all and the blood's run stale

You were there, when lightning flashed across the sky and you learned that Tsukishima Kei was scared of thunderstorms. You were there, when his mother fell sick and things weren’t looking particularly good. You were there, when cutting remarks shot out from his mouth like a barrage of arrows because the monster inside him was howling, scratching, and tearing from inside his rib cage. 

But it wasn’t as if you didn’t have monsters of your own, either. 

I want to hide the truth, I want to shelter you

“Heads up!” You grinned, taking Tsukishima by surprise as you whacked him with a pillow, bursting into a fit of intoxicating giggles when he responded with a surprised Pikachu face. 

“Oh, you’re going to regret that.” He wore a sly smirk, picking up his own pillow and setting down his phone on the bedside table. The bed sunk where he pushed himself up, curving downwards like a vortex. A predatorial grin decorated his lips as he crawled towards you, moving suddenly to raise the pillow. 

You flinched visibly, panic flitting across your eyes, your hands extending in front of you in a defensive position until you realised what you had just done. 

“K- Kei, it’s not what it looks like...” You shivered, seeing realisation dawn into his hazel-gold eyes. 

But with the beast inside, there's nowhere we can hide

“That bastard... Your ex... He hurt you, didn’t he?” The growl rumbled in his throat, anger flashing in his eyes until he saw the fear reflected in your eyes. “Shortcake, I’m so sorry...” 

Shaking your head furiously, you reached forward the wipe the apologetic expression off his features. “It’s not your fault.” You said firmly, trying not to let your voice shake. 

“I should’ve known.” He argued, setting down the pillow to diligently wrap his arms around your waist. “I shouldn’t have moved towards you like that.” 

“There was no way you could’ve known.” You refuted quietly, bringing your fingers up to caress his face. “I didn’t... I didn’t want you to know this side of me.” You admitted guiltily. 

No matter what we breed, we still are made of greed

He stared at you, befuddled. “Shortcake... I would never judge you for it. You know that.” 

This is my kingdom come, this is my kingdom come

“I know, I just...” 

When you feel my heat, look into my eyes

“Look at me.” He gently cradled your face in his hands, fingers caressing your skin as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “I have my own demons, too, Y/N.” 

“You don’t understand.” You cried softly. “He left scars, Kei.” 

It was only then it dawned on him why the two of you never bathed together. If the two of you got home from work at the same time, you would always let him bath first. He had thought it was because he was the one who had volleyball practice and probably smelt worse- But now he realised it was because you didn’t want him to see what you deemed as the ‘ugly’ side of you. 

It's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide

“Hold on,” He frowned, scrunching up his nose. “You’re telling me that this whole time, you’ve refused to let me see you naked- Is because of your scars? That’s stupid.” 

You sniffled, feeling tears prick the edge of your eyes. “B- But it’s... It’s such an ugly side of me.” 

Don't get too close, it's dark inside

“And?” Demanded Kei, his hazel-gold eyes piercing into your soul. “So what if you think it’s ugly? I couldn’t care less. If anything, I think it’s proof that you were brave enough to leave him.” 

It's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide

“You... Think I’m brave?”

“I think you’re the bravest person ever.” He said firmly, pleased as your tears started drying and your smile reformed. “There we go.” His voice was soft, the two of you sitting in each other’s embrace for a moment longer, the pillow fight forgotten. “Do you want to move onto the bed? It’s much more comfortable for cuddling.” 

»»——⍟——««

taglist. @mrs-kuroojinguji @procrastination-lady @drippinginhoneyandgold @shoyosun@aka-a-shii @shibayamasbae @churochuu @seijohlogy @tsumuseum-deactivated20201211

send an ask to either @owlywrites or @cadenceh2o to be added to Cadowly’s Songfic December taglist! 

also sorry that I posted this late lol, I just finished writing it :P

»»——⍟——««

[deliahscrush2003]

I'm curious; if no-one's asked before, is there a song you associate with your Teen Wolf OC Vanessa, and why? :-D

Bless you @wordspin-shares for both the time and consideration you put into not only reading the fic, but coming back here and asking more questions about Vanessa.

Thank you so much for promoting the story, it means a lot to me and I truly hope you are enjoying the story so far!

P.S. I am so sorry for how late this answer was but I was in a major procrastination haze for a few weeks there and I am just now coming out of it so thank you for bearing with me and I hope there's no hard feelings☺️

TAGLIST: @lokitrasho || @foxesandmagic || @wordspin-shares || @lilac-lemonade || @apollothe-sungod || @chickensarentcheap || @ocfairygodmother

Vanessa O'Connor: Songs I Associate With Her.

Now, you just know I have to complicate this answer by not choosing JUST one song (because you know that's impossible for me) so I'm gonna draw this long and torturous process out because I'm me and you guys made the unfortunate decision of following me.

First off, the songs I usually associate with Vanessa are very entwined with the plot and her experiences with people or issues going on so while they might not seem to have anything to do with her purely, they are significant to her character and are songs that I connect with her mostly.

They are usually indie/alt/ pop songs that were hits during the late 2000s to early 2010s to capture the feeling of the show and the teenage aesthetic of the time.

>>>>>>>>>>>WARNING: SPOILERS DOWN BELOW<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Scene Three: Stomach Tied in Knots by Sleeping with Sirens

This song inspired Chapter 13: Your Breathe and Your Heartbeat.

In this chapter, Vanessa invites Isaac over to her house so he can study for his Chemistry test in peace. Afterwards, Vanessa's mom drives them to the PT meetings happening at the high school where afterwards, a mountain lion reigns terror on the school parking lot. When this is happening, Isaac and Vanessa are in the backseat of the car where Vanessa has a panic attack, which Isaac talks and comforts her through.

My interpretation of this song diverges from its original meaning. I felt like this song resonated with Vanessa's anxiety throughout the chapter and how she has come to see Isaac as a comforting and safe way to cope with it.

Vanessa's struggle with anxiety and fear surrounded by supernatural threats and dangers is a prominent issue in the fic.

Despite putting on a brave face many times to confront these dangers and help save her friends, she sometimes can't help but break down and this song reminds me of Vanessa's thought processes:

"See the problem isn't you, it's me I know I can tell, I've seen it time after time."

"And I'll push you away I get so afraid, oh no."

"And I can't live without you now, oh oh I can't even live with myself, oh oh oh."

Piece of Me by Britney Spears

This song was featured in Chapter 19: Chinese Whispers.

In this chapter, Vanessa returns to school following the Alpha Beasts attack on them at school a few nights prior. She was forced to hide in the back of Stiles' jeep while her friends were chased through the school. Not knowing what was happening or where the Alpha Beast was caused Vanessa to turn almost catatonic with fear and that was the state she was found in when the police arrived. With the school running rampant with rumours of what occurred - and her supposed cowardice - Vanessa attempts to put on a brave face and stifle back her anxiety as she confronts the accusations and insults from her peers.

Piece of Me is playing when she walks into the school and its suppose to help hype her up. It has the 2000s-2010s icon Britney herself backing her up and it kind of has that angry, bold vibe to it.

Everyone has something to say about her, an opinion over something they have no clue about and it's not Vanessa's first time dealing with rumours about herself or people she loves. Plus, this song is basically just Vanessa's attitude towards everything:

"You want a piece of me?"

Domino by Jessie J

This song was featured in Chapter 25: A Night We'll Never Forget.

In this chapter, we see Vanessa getting ready for the Winter Formal. All prettied up, Vanessa gets in her car and heads to pick up her date (Isaac) when this song plays on the radio.

Now, this song has less to do with the plot than the others but its such a hype song and has all those confident, flirty vibes that I normally associate with Vanessa and with the early 2010s vibes from this hit, it really fits the teenage aesthetic I've worked hard to build around Vanessa.

This song also used to play at every school dance I went to and when I was writing the Winter Formal chapter I was really aiming for those songs that gave me 2000s-2010s nostalgia and this one was one of my favourites so it really captured the imagery and energy I imagined with the chapter and, most importantly, with Vanessa.

Vanessa has been tied with imagery like "explosions", "moonlight", "dirty dancing", "glitter", "freedom" and "touch". She's excitement, youth, recklessness and teenage love:

"I'm feeling sexy and free Like glitter's raining on me You're like a shot of pure gold I think I'm about to explode."

"I can taste the tension like a cloud of smoke in the air Now I'm breathing like I'm running 'Cause you're taking me there."

"Every second is a highlight When we touch don't ever let me go Dirty dancing in the moonlight."

Use Somebody by Kings of Leon

This song has yet to be featured in a chapter.

This song will appear in the fic instalment that coincides with the events of Season 6A (The Ghost Riders Arc).

So, I should probably start by saying that since the beginning of this fic, I have always been drawn to Kings of Leons songs in relation to constructing the narrative so I could have probably just said that Kings of Leon and all their albums resonate with Vanessa, her relationship with Isaac and the general vibes of her story.

However, if I had to pick one Kings of Leon song that reminds me the most about Vanessa, it would have to be Use Somebody.

Use Somebody is about dealing with depression (specifically from medication and from alcohol abuse) and searching for something to look up to in order to break them out of this phase they're in when they're always looking down.

Now, Vanessa's past drug problems have been addressed and implied throughout both Breathe for Me and Fight for Me, and the readers are aware by now that it was mostly caused because of anxiety, past depression and the fact that she felt really disconnected from others and from her family.

I feel like Use Somebody really resonates with Vanessa's transition from someone who used to struggle with these issues and cope by acting out, wearing dark makeup, and taking drugs with the older kids in attempt to either escape from her feelings or to somehow find a connection with someone, which she manages to do once she gets clean and meets Isaac Lahey (and Derek Hale actually helps too indirectly).

Isaac is this person she didn't even know she was looking for and I imagined this song with a dramatic reunion scene where they're running through Beacon Hills trying to get back together and when they see each other, they just collide in this cataclysm of relief and safety:

"I've been roamin' around, always lookin' down at all I see Painted faces fill the places I can't reach"

"You know that I could use somebody You know that I could use somebody Someone like you and all you know and how you speak."

Breathe by Taylor Swift feat. Colbie Calait.

This song has yet to be featured in a chapter.

This song will appear in the fic instalment that occurs after the events of Season 6A and after the Pack's high school graduation.

It felt wrong to leave this song out because it is really significant to Vanessa's character development as someone who needed to lose a part of themselves in order to find themselves and know love once again.

Since the beginning of the story, Vanessa has had quite the support system and the loyalty that she shares with her friends, family and pack is one for the books but it sometimes dying isn't the answer to everything.

It takes sacrificing themselves for one another for Vanessa to realize that she and the Pack need to go their separate ways in order to become independent, fully developed people so they can come back and be a stronger and more efficient pack.

It is in this moment that Vanessa grows from someone unable to concede with loss and tragedy and finally accepts that the healthiest thing sometimes is to let go and move on, to go beyond the realm of certainty to take (in this case) everyday risks.

Even if it means saying goodbye, no matter how temporary.

This song always reminds me of this moment that I have in my head and because of the astounding decision Vanessa makes and how much her character grows in this one moment and why its significant for her arc and the arcs of those around her:

"And did you miss me while you were Looking for yourself out there?"

"Now that she's back from that soul vacation."

[soundwavefucker69]

a casual observance of the apocalypse

There’s an old man in line. He’s got laugh lines around his eyes and a disposable medical mask on his face. He’s clutching a bottle of laundry detergent like it’s the last shred of dignity he’s got, and you can hear keys and coins jingle in his pockets with every step. His shoulders are a little bowed, but not enough for the girl in the floral mask to notice.

She’s got gray joggers with old stains on the knees and a pink Army jacket that’s seen better days. There’s a crop top under her jacket, bright and floral, with bunnies peeking out of leaves, and her hair is shorn close to her head in a way that can’t be anything but a woman who isn’t one to let men run their fingers through it to soothe her. In fact, from the pin on her lapel, she’s not the type to let men do much of anything, and if she didn’t look so lost under that floral face mask, I’d think her adorable. It would be difficult not to; she’s juggling about six different items and trying to peel four twenty ounce bottles of soda out of the little fridge at the front of my aisle.

“Looks like you just got here in time,” the old man says, friendly and bright, like he’s talking to a girl that reminds him of a granddaughter he hasn’t seen in quite some time. “I haven’t moved in five minutes.”

“What?” The girl says, distracted but not rude as she struggles with the door and the plethora of things she really should have gotten a basket for.

“The line. You got here when it’s about to move,” he says, patient, understanding, because she looks stressed and he’s a little lonely.

“Oh!” She says, and lets out a tremulous laugh as she gives up and waits until she can get to a spot where she can set down her things. “Yeah, I think so. I’m sorry you’ve been waiting.”

Silence passes for a few minutes as I try to ring up the mountains of Christmas gear. People always wait until the last possible minute to get their wrapping paper and presents and bags and bows. It’s a chronic affliction of the human psyche: procrastination. The woman in front of me I’m only half paying attention to either has a lot of adults she’s living with, or I should be thankful for the piece of cloth over my face, because it’s beginning to look like quarantine for her is only a polite suggestion. I don’t say as much, of course.

“Maybe this wasn’t the right line,” the girl, young woman, perhaps, finally says, and the man turns to look at her again, a laugh falling off his lips that makes me wonder if he just has the humor of an easily appeased puppy, or he’s just that lonely and in need of a pretty girl in a floral mask to pay attention to him.

“Yeah, it probably wasn’t,” he agrees, and the girl pauses, uncomfortable, eyes a little unfocused.

“My roommate is a diabetic,” she says, unprompted, and my eyes are drawn to the top ramen and animal cookies and more-sugar-than-flavor generic candy orange slices taking up residence in her overburdened arms. “She starts her new job tomorrow, but...”

The unsaid goes there: we have no money.

“Ah. Bottoming out backups?” The man asks, and she nods, helplessly. Something in his shoulders eases, like he’s coming home, and he nods. “My wife.”

“I don’t start my new job until next month,” she blurts, and then laughs, a little high, a little shrill, and I catch myself wondering just how close she is to crying. There’s a tremor in her legs, and her hands are tightening on plastic wrap so it crinkles in her grasp, a repetitive noise like she’s trying to soothe herself. “She doesn’t get paid for two weeks. We don’t have much food left and this is the last of my EBT and the food ban---”

The filthy, taboo words are cut short, and I preoccupy myself with wrapping paper and bells for a tree that should already be decorated. I know what she means; the food bank has had less and less and less food lately. At least, the one you can walk to from here.

“Covid got you, too?” He asks, gently, and there’s real pain in his voice, like covid got someone else that looked an awful lot like her.

“Yeah,” she says, breathless and terrified, and the man nods in sympathy.

“Me, too,” he says, like he should be working at his age at all, and the girl clutches her groceries closer to her chest, impossibly young. I wonder if this is her first financial crisis as an adult. It has to be. With the mask, I don’t know if she’s late teens or early twenties, but she’s around there somewhere.

“I was working at a pharmacy tech, and so was she, but she’s got diabetes and I’ve got Crohn’s and together we’re a mess of---” She cuts herself off again, a mess of emotion she’s trying to hide under polite conversation, like she hadn’t admitted to being immunocompromised in a pandemic. Maybe admitting it will make it real. I don’t know.

“Yeah? What are you doing now?” He prompts, and she actually, really laughs at that, like the world is insane and she’s just seeing it.

“Contact tracing for covid,” she spits out, like covid is a primordial god and she’s got a sword and a death wish. “Kinda funny that I lost my job because of covid and now my next job can only happen because of it. At least it’s not like the insurance job. All I gotta do is tell them they need to take a test. I don’t have to tell them we’re not covering their chemo anymore.”

I wonder how desperate you have to be to work the kinds of jobs she does with a disease like that. Or maybe she’s just a spiteful little beast. It’s hard to see the spite right now. It’s all desperation wrapped up in a pink jacket and grease stained joggers that look like they’ve been tossed on the floor of a mechanic’s shop.

“Yeah? I bet it’s real easy to get hired for that sort of thing,” the man says, maybe a little wistfully, and she shakes her head no.

“No, I was scouted. You can’t even find the listing. You need a fingerprint clearance card just to be considered, and they’re, like, a hundred dollars. I don’t even know how they found my info.” She sounds calm about that, but then again, it’s 2020. Things like resumes and phone numbers aren’t private, haven’t been since... Well, who knows who bought what politician first? Floral mask girl doesn’t care, and neither do I.

The woman takes her receipt, and the skin around floral mask girl’s eyes bunch up, like she’s trying to smile. The man sets his laundry detergent in front of me, carefully counts his change, and gives her his own skin scrunched around his eyes as I ring him up and give him his receipt.

“Well, good luck with the contact tracing,” he says, kind, immeasurably kind, and it’s a miracle he is as calm as he is, because all I can think is it’s an unnerving sort of thing to talk to someone you’ll never meet again who just needs one unlucky day to die.

“Good luck with your laundry,” she says as she juggles out her sodas and sets them on the till.

The old man leaves, his shoulders tightening with every step he walks away from human contact, and the girl looks at me with eyes threatening to water.

“Do you take EBT?” She asks, and I give her a warm smile, the warmest I can, and nod.

“Yeah. We take EBT.”

[writefandoms]

heya hon! I hope you're good uwu 🥺 stay safe and eat properly! I wanted to request some alucard (hellsing) headcannons, like how alucard does these small things for his soulmate, that show his affection. He's a babie I love him so much. Thank you hon! 🌼

(Omg I’m good! Thanks for asking❤️ Also I don’t write for soulmate au’s so I tweaked the request a bit. I hope you like it!!)

Alucard x GN!Reader

- Catching the eye of an almost 600 year old vampire wasn’t something you set out to do. It sometimes felt like a curse rather than a blessing.

- He only roamed the halls of the manor during the night, so it wasn’t too hard to avoid him. But there were nights when you could feel his eyes on you. You had to set a reminder to talk to Sir Integra about that.

- But despite how annoying he could be, there was moments when his presence was enjoyed. Late nights when you’re busy with paperwork, deadlines hanging over your head, Alucard will appear next to you.

- “Procrastinating as usual?” He’ll mock you’re sorry state. But before you can think of a retort, he’ll set a hot cup of tea in front of you. Bringing the cup to your lips, you take a small sip, shoulders relaxing at the taste.

- “Feeling generous this even, Alucard?” His kind gestures were a rarity, usually saved for the bedroom. He merely chuckled, placing a small bowl of sugar next to your cup.

- “Perhaps.” He replied. His lips spread into a wide grin, but his eyes were slightly less crazed than usual.

- Moments like these almost made you forget what a beast he truly is. Almost.

[hyba]

HECTIC WRITING UPDATE

Wow, this Ramadan has been keeping my busy. I don’t even know where the time goes! What’s happened to all the hours in the day?!

When I finally do get time to myself, I feel very distracted and only want to consume entertainment - read something, watch something, listen to something. Despite that, I’ve been trying to get a little more writing done for my current WIPs.

I’ve just passed the 8k mark for A Cure for Happiness (wip intro), which is nice. 🥳 (Do you want to read the chapters as they’re released? Check it out here! It’s only available there at the moment.)

Here’s a little excerpt from Chapter 4, which has yet to be released:

The book shook slightly, its pages bending to form the vague form of a mouth. “Oh,” it said, clearly disappointed. “It’s you. Well, sorry to disappoint, but you’ll have to read his chicken scratch yourself, hobgoblin,” it replied. “You’d think a grown man would at least take the time to improve his handwriting!”

Mawna’s lips twitched in irritation, and I stepped in before her temper got the best of her and the books decided to clamp shut. Then where would we be? “I’ll take a look,” I said hurriedly, grabbing the book before the little hobgoblin could. “I’m sure I can figure it all out,” I added confidently.

This chapter in particular is a bit of an unhappy one for Brieuc. He’s going through his late father’s things and has to deal with a great deal of guilt because he didn’t come home to visit before he passed away.

I am also currently listening to the newest episode of the StoryADay Podcast (Youtube link)! I’ve talked about this podcast before, but it’s seriously one of my all-time favourite podcasts as a writer. I never miss an episode. Julie Duffy, the host, does a great job of encouraging writers, helping reinforce confidence, and generally gives some great grounding advice for when we start to doubt ourselves. So, yah. If you have the time, check it out!

Fave quote from this episode? “Stop it - of course you’re a writer - you’re just having a wobble! We all get them.” Love it.

Finally, I am working a bit on The Beast of Ildenwood, since I missed this week’s upload (new chapter was supposed to go up on Friday). I’ve got about 700 words for the chapter so far (no backlog despite my best efforts!). Hopefully I’ll be able to get that up by Monday evening, but we shall see!

I’m trying to get a full directory post for Murder in Heliopolis complete (the first part of the story is complete! last chapter went up on friday! woop woop! 🥳), with links to each of the chapters on Tapas, Inkitt, and RR. It’s not hard to do, it’s just one of those mundane tasks that takes time and is perfect to procrastinate on, haha ^^’

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 13.1)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER. 

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 13

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Geralt could feel what you also feel and he was cursing the Djinn for making you both feel this way because it was a feeling that was certainly irresistible for one man to ever control. You were in heat, and it doesn’t seem to be such a good idea for the witcher to try and resist. 

Warnings: This is just a filler chapter for the smut in the next chapter. Ahonhonhon! Kind of Jealous Geralt too? Lowkey? Hehehehe. A cute bard and Cirilla having the period-syndrome (I’m having it too rn and I’m thirsty for Geralt or any of Henry’s character. DAMN IT) I’ve given a name to the Djinn they’ve found because I’ve tried searching but found no name for every Djinn they find in the witcher? I think? Reader being so needy and in heat. (The animal type of heat for reasons..) Also, reader is...a virgin. 

Words: 4.5k

A/N: You probably want to strangle me so hard right now, bb’s. I’m in the phase of a writer where I’m procrastinating stuff but not exactly a writer’s block. Just want to do things besides writing all day or I’m prolly just sleepy with no damn reason since last week. 😅😒 

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! 

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

"Well, you're in a greater bad mood right now, rat." Jaskier frankly stated, wiping his lute with a cloth.

The night was serene with your heart strings balled up in a yarn. Your emotions consisting of woe with a face as if you lost a shit ton of money. You sat together with Jaskier in the middle of the vast leigh, knees touching against each other as the bard quietly sat with you in silence.

A bright purple evenfall draws nigh along the sky, stars finally becoming visible as you admired how beautiful their skies were. Less pollution and more aesthetic, though a lot more eccentricity happening around more than earth.

You've exhaled one last sigh, mouth in a tight frown as you took notice of the moon that was in replete. A perfect shape of a circle as it shines bright.

"Is the witcher being an imbecile again?" the bard ceased his cleaning, giving you his sole attention as he watched your face contort in utmost upset. But, you chose to just let the sorrow go for a moment, admiring the stars and skies like it wasn't laughing back at you from how delusional you were for having strong feelings for the witcher, "Don't start, Jaskier."

"Your cantankerous attitude shown in your cherubic face tells me that you are gradually adapting Geralt's crabbiness because you accepted the position in being his lover---," Jaskier has managed to bluntly say, carefully placing his lute on the grass as he narrowed his eyes at you, "---Though, it does seem like a sacrifice, small rat. Your kindness shall be missed. I would like to see you try and let Geralt adapt to your naivity and sweetness. The vision is pretty hilarious, if you ask me!"

Your frown even grew tighter when he mentioned the word 'lover', shoulders falling from how dismayed you were from hearing it.

"I'm not his lover."

The bard couldn't help but raise a skeptical brow back at you, remembering what he saw last night. He knew he wasn't hallucinating nor daydreaming, "Oh, so kissing under the moonlight is considered as a friendly gesture in my era now? If so, then this means you wouldn't mind kissing me too!"

He puckered his lips, making smooching sounds as slowly tried to teasingly close the gap between you both as Jaskier pouted to act as if he was about to give you a kiss on the cheek when you've yelped and immediately had your palms over his mouth, gently pushing his face away from you, "Jaskier! What are you even---?!"

He comfortably sat back down and had his knee over his chest prior to the position he had now, which was in criss-cross as he playfully shrugged. His pretty baby blues looking at the darkening sky, "A shame. I've been told by countable lads and lasses that I do kiss like I take their breath away,"

You tutted at that, shaking your head from his teasing and tried to send a hostile sally, "You suck then. Do you want them dying because of lack of breath?"

Your animosity has been curved by the bard. He seemed like he was acting like he didn't hear you as he let his eyes flicker to you again; going on with his jests, "Thank you by the way. I've been sleeping much soundly since the couple of days and you seemed to be having such wonderful dreams every night,"

Bawdy indications were hinted in between Jaskier's words; making you give him a glare that obviously made him grin like he won the lottery; thinking that your previous rendezvous back in Geralt's room when he wasn't around had some provocative explanations.

He didn't know your symbol was hurting a lot more on those nights where Geralt wasn't around.

You brush off his ribald comment, "I didn't do it for you,"

"I thought you were actually asking for forgiveness by calling me a horse's arse minutes ago? You're knowing the blasphemy of our language but totally naive of every monsters and places we have here. It doesn't seem to be such a thing to be proud of,"

Jaskier continued his blathers without even letting you talk, freely letting you give him death glares because he seemed to be more mouthy as days go by. You turn a deaf ear to exhale an exasperated breath, "I'm taking it back. You're still annoying as heck," before unabashedly laying your head down on his lap.

His yakking has been brought to a halt when he'd felt your head fall on his lap, the bard suddenly uttering quizzical gibbers that you continued to ignore as you felt the bracing wind hit your body; appreciating the eventide in quietude.

"Alright, alright! I'm not complaining...Ughm," Jaskier cleared his throat, anxiously scratching his head as he tried his best not to look at you.

The fullness of the moon has been drawing you in again. In a tranquil night, it was as if the stars began to whisper sweet nothings, lately realizing that their soft whispers has actually been your wishes; albeit, you've broken them down together, your whims willing and having no desire for you to actually come back in earth.

With only one thing in your mind, it was to stay with Geralt and his family.

But, do you really mean it? If you would choose earth or their dimension, were you serious that you wanted to stay?

Though, for him; you weren't that sure if he also wanted the same thing. If Geralt wasn't around, you were probably already dead, have been sold by noblemen or eaten by their monsters.

But, the stars seemed to jump out of the sky when you've heard a loud thundercrack of a door that came from the inside of their house, snapping the bard quiet as the noise tugged you out of your happy place; a place that you hoped Geralt came with.

The night has went slower, time ticking a lot more deliberately when one person is probably upset with another. Especially, when the person you were upset with lived in the same house as you and even was the owner of the bed you sleep on.

You were beginning to feel rickety as seconds pass by while Jaskier tried worming out whatever he had asked to Cirilla whom was feeding Kolby with a basket full of obsolete bread.

"Tell me why the back door is now broken off its hinges?" he asked in incredulity, hands on his hips as he had seen the brown, wooden door hanging with all its life, trying hard not to fall.

Hence, as they continued their talk; you couldn't help but massage that aching part of your chest, the one where the symbol laid upon the valley of your breasts as you heavily breathed.

It was attacking again.

The weight and fiery phantom of fingers grasping your heart more severe rather than the nights you had it felt like a rabid monster wanted to come out of cage. Their cold weather suddenly all swelter; as if you were walking on burnt out coals with one person clouding your mind.

Geralt.

You needed him, wanted him and yearned for his presence.

Cirilla gave a blatant shrug of her shoulders; sounding completely phlegmatic as she answered, "I don't know, bard. I didn't scream if that will make you any less more worried,"

Jaskier had his eyebrows furrowed as he keenly pondered as to why their door was broken all of a sudden, "Has there been a beast?" his slim, calloused fingers moved restlessly; dwelling onto what has raided their own home. The bard looked anywhere, continuing to be in distress while Cirilla patted the Hirikka's head with utmost care as she watched him devour everything in the basket, "You mean, Geralt?" she gave Jaskier a once over before turning back to look at Kolby, thoroughly undisturbed that it was the witcher's doing, "---He went out for a second and then came back, breaking the door off its hinges. But, he promised to fix it,"

Jaskier's head veered to where she was crouched in the middle of the living room, his baby blue eyes full of concern as he opened his mouth to tell all his inquiries but was instantly shut closed when he'd seen you hunched in his peripheral vision, palms on your knees as you were breathing like you were being chased by another Alghoul.

The latter took heed of those sweat drops falling on the side of your face as you were heaving deep breaths. Your head was darkening in assailing images of those familiar amber eyes you've grown to be thoroughly fond of; longing to be consumed by those glowing golden aureate.

You've heard someone walking closer to where you stood, seeing Jaskier crouch to give you a scrutiny of his baby blues. Bright azures. You didn't yearn for that. All you wanted was golden. His golden and you couldn't help but whimper, your chest has giving you agony as if you were being pricked in the heart by small needles, "You're sweating like a rabid---rat, are you alright?"

Another deep inhale of your breath; you breathlessly muttered, "I am Jaskier---It's just---" nevertheless, those train of thoughts couldn't be completed by the excruciating pain that ignited a troubled mewl. You straightened your back, making Jaskier stand up as well to scan your face for any signs as to what was happening to you, but only had seen your face painfully contorted in a way that tells him you were in agony.

"It's hot. Too hot," pause. You swallowed the tight knot of confining sensations wanting to be let out, "---Abnormally hot. Hot in two different ways; like I wanna be impaled or something!"

At your most forthright honesty, your statement has made the bard blink rapidly from how blunt it sounded, being taken aback by how outspoken you suddenly become; a thorough change of your bashful self, "You're actually revealing lewd facts that should be kept to yourself. You are certainly not alright!"

You could feel yourself grow hotter, the heat being scorching and aching at the same time. Your legs began to weaken and you can't help but fold like a paper, squat down and the position was utmost impuissant; totally vulnerable with your palms on your ears as you tried to shut down the restless whispering that went on and on; ceaseless as you had no power over it.

Jaskier began to panic; his face brimful of dread, "----GERALT? WE HAVE A PROBLEM DOWN HERE!"

The soughing of breathless whispers were relentless, no matter how you tried to cover your ears; they just keep coming. It was incessant, never ending despite of how they were giving your chest a pain that seem to be unyielding as they went on and on.

Witcher. You wanted the witcher. You needed him, you longed for him.

"Stop saying the word witcher, Jaskier!" you abruptly scolded, sounding too jarring and ear-piercing; void of kindness as you could feel the aggravation going to your head with the additional non-stop rustle of voices. The bard eyed you skeptically as he added, finding your rebuke rather surprising and odd because he never said anything about it, "I wasn't even uttering a word!"

Warm, slender fingers fell on your shoulders; trying his best to comfort you while the witcher wasn't coming down from his chambers yet. Nevertheless, from the moment he'd touch you, the toubadour has received a harsh slap of his hand being pushed away.

"Jaskier!" you harshly spat, your nose scrunched from how discomforting you were feeling.

He was quick to haul his arms up in surrender, stepping a foot away as he looked at you in horror, "Alright---I'm not touching you then!"

Another strained bleat left your lips as you were now fully sat on the floor, holding your chest as you continued to heave, shaking your head from the perpetual torment that tries its best to scream blandishments that sounded abridged. Some were incomprehensible and other words sounded lucid.

Destiny has it's price. It sounded just like a rustle of the winds as the shushed voices continued its onslaught. Two souls, together as one. Bound for eternal rest or a life forever. Zephyr shall protect. You cannot outrun death.

Your whimpers started to gradually increase, mewling in the process when you've exhaled a sigh as the needles seem to turn bigger, "It hurts, I swear it really hurts!" you screeched, body feeling like you were dropped in hot, molten lava as you were hearing foot steps treading in haste, "Geralt's coming, don't worry, rat."

Kolby prowled to where you sat; eternal mewls never ceasing as sexual, pent-up aggression was starting to travel to your head, but you tried to fight them off. Though, it ignited more pain as you struggled. Cirilla suddenly snapped her head to where you were, a tight lipped frown etching her face as she jogged to where you sat.

"Is she okay?" the pretty child asked in worry, watching you battle with something they couldn't see nor feel. Jaskier raised a brow; looking sardonic as he acknowledged, "No, she certainly isn't, Princess Cirilla."

She gave him a lour as she snarled; her riposte sounding a lot like the witcher because of how harsh it sounded, "I'm not in the mood for your sarcastic nonsense, bard."

Jaskier was unfazed as he took her retort like it was nothing, "Ooooh, is this how period--is it called period---does to a lassie?"

They're retaliations had them unaware of Geralt's presence who came marching down the stairs with an unfathomable expression on his face; the trepidation never seen in his features as it was emotionless, never giving anybody the panic that Jaskier, Cirilla and Kolby has been feeling when you've suddenly began bawling your eyes out from the thumping pain.

The witcher hurriedly crouched before you, his glowing amber eyes thoroughly scanning your features if there was anything weird happening; but to his discontent, Geralt noticed none.

He felt everything. Your frustration, pent-up aggression; venereal desires or not, the twinge of scorching ache that can't be relieved due to constraints given from the latter himself when he'd chose jurisdiction over his carnal wishes that you also wished.

But, he'd been bull-headed for his reasons; Geralt was not bargained for the repercussions held because of having no permanent proof that you were also suffering every night.

Just like him. Hence, the both of you needed relief. Corporeal appetites released for the betterment of both.

"She's in heat," Geralt rasped, trying to hear what you've been begging for and he sensed that you were hearing voices that continues to assault you, paining your chest as you were unaware of his presence that loom before you.

"What? Oh, Geralt! Cease the utter balderdash!" Jaskier exclaimed, eyeing the witcher who squat down in front of you.

Geralt's amber eyes has been searching for yours, but you've never let him see as you continued your hushed begging. He had his chiseled jaw clenched so tight, every breath he takes was also giving his chest a potent congesting pain that he can somehow resist. His medallion was vibrating wildly, alarming him that there was magic surrounding him.

Therefore, he knew the pain wasn't just one to disregard because he knew your pain has explanations that is needed to foresee.

Was the Djinn still in there? Keeping you as a host?

No. Impossible. The witcher thought at the back of his head because there were times that his medallion doesn't vibrate whenever he's around you, it only happened now and back then when you were possessed.

It was impossible that the Djinn was keeping you as its master as well. You could die if that ever happened. The seal was gone and never found back in the swamps, meaning to say it was already gone; broke free from its confinement because you already had three of your wishes.

Jaskier couldn't help but notice how clean and fixed Geralt's hair was. Hence, he'd started to acknowledge the aesthetic difference he claimed, "Also, did you just braid your majestic chalky white hair all by yourself?! Or did you do it, Princess Cirilla?" he bargained, utterly stunned from Geralt and his hair being braided, dubiously eyeing the lion cub of Cintra.

But, she only gave a nonchalant negation, "No."

"Oh, the rat did! She did a great job at making you look so feminine tonight, Geralt!"

Geralt paid no heed to Jaskier's teasing compliments, wanting nothing but to roll his eyes but ceased to do so as your fingers began to shake, his mind now in a perturbed fret as his gaze shifted anywhere to see what was causing your whole situation because he sees nothing. A tight furrow of his eyebrows tightly creased his forehead, "---The Djinn has given her effects for whatever the symbol does to her, bard."

Jaskier crouched beside where Geralt is, receiving a truculent glare that made the bard move away for an inch because his bellicose aura was radiating off him too much, "Symbol? What symbol?"

"I'm not showing you her chest." he bluntly chided as a low growl vibrated through his chest, giving Jaskier a hostile look in his glowing peepers.

The toubadour did a double-take, his mouth turning into an offended 'O' as he held a palm on top of his chest as he gestured to your squatted form, "I wasn't even asking you if I could see her breasts!"

"Then, shut up and stop asking."

Jaskier huffed, sulking beside the witcher because of how he'd suddenly become such a grump.  

You've muttered a soft mewl, tightly closing your ears with your palms as you suddenly talked out loud, "I need Geralt. Where's Geralt?!" it was the only name you could hear, echoing inside your head as the heat traveled through your veins, searing and extremely scorching all of a sudden.

Your heartbeat was loudly drumming out of your chest. Sweat dripping down your face as the pain and heat was starting to make you feel lightheaded, his scent crashing through your senses. Earthy, pinewood and a mix of mannishness.

Geralt.

"Don't touch me!" It felt like you were burning; but also finding some aid to the ache as it soothed your heated skin like ice to the fire. You've felt his thick, rough fingers fall on your shoulder, making you jerk back as you looked at him; completely mortified for a second, "I'm here, midget." before the witcher tightened his hold on you, those fingers clasping around your feeble arm as he gazed upon you in deep concern.

"It's alright. Calm down, it's me." Geralt gently hushed your frantic state, softly grabbing the side of your jaw to make you look at him.

When he did, your eyes were dark and dilated, filled with carnal.

"You're having a hot spell," he roughly forced the words out of him, heavily swallowing whatever you were feeling because he's also having the same problems, but chose to restrain himself; doing a better job than any most men would, "A--A literal spell?" you didn't catch his drift and feel yourself breathing deep, his scent soothing your nerves as it also does the same for him.

Geralt shook his head, his fingers strapped on the side of your neck making his hand feel the pleasuring jolt. You've felt his fingers slightly tremble as your eyes were beseeching, those dilated pupils of yours tormenting him, "No. You're in heat, midget." pause. he lowly growled in displeasure, amber eyes pooling in keen, "---which explains your cravings for touches and the need for coition,"

Your face scrunched in pain and a mixture of pent-up frustration, the voices inside your head slowly dying down as it was now drowning in the witcher's unique, baritone timbre of his that was making you feel giddy before a jolt of pain rose up your chest again, "What am I---an animal?! Geralt, make it stop!"

Jaskier and Cirilla listened in silence. However, the bard fidgeted with the hem of his tunic; his mindless frets seeming to come up with such suggestions that will make everyone's mind boggle.

He raised a hand, not before taking a good look at you who had eyes pure of anguish and need which now focused at Geralt before he'd loudly cleared his throat, turning his head to see the witcher in distress from what other methods he could think of other than the impaling,  "I have a proposal and an utterly brilliant idea to make the pain stop!"

Cirilla hushedly snorted, "His ideas are always nonsense. Don't listen to him, Geralt."

Jaskier placed his hands on his hips, pointing a finger at the princess, mouth opening before he was immediately ceased by Geralt himself.

"The princess is right, bard."

The sonneeter noted his lukewarm response, sounding like he actually opposes what Cirilla has reprimanded because all Geralt ever wanted and what clouds his mind is having his way with you, "---Give the small rat what she wants, Witcher. What if the pain carries on as nights go by? Give her the rumpy pumpy since that is always the answer to why an animal is in heat. It wants coitus, or if you've become one soft, romantic witcher; then I suggest to use the word, 'make love'." he emphasized, quoting the word 'make love' with both hands, his middle finger and index one folding as he said the last word with ardor.

Geralt was quick to scowl at that, exhaling an exasperated breath out of his nose as he hummed in protest; giving the bard his meanest glare, "You're saying she's an animal. You want me to take advantage of it?"

"No?" Jaskier quickly shook his head, groaning out; palms faintly hitting his forehead as he tried to act as if he was slapping it from Geralt's unreasonable assumptions. He continued, languidly blinking back at the frowning witcher, "---I didn't even say you would take advantage of the idea, you nincompoop! Then, do you want me to mate with her?"

It took him a second before he'd seen the latter started giving blazing daggers that had fire in it, his words seething as Geralt gruffly barked, "Absolutely not, bard!"

His glowing, amber eyes were boring holes at Jaskier before he lowly rumbled; more so to himself, trying to convince himself that there was another way.

He was dithering the idea of having you; not because he didn't find you pleasant, fetching, alluring or beautiful. Geralt found you in many types of wonderful adjectives he could tell, though mostly was kept inside his mind. The idea of having you, only to himself; ravishing you in ways that he ought to please kept him faltering because of one thing in his mind.

Vulnerability.

The witcher was thoroughly cautious of vulnerability because whenever it happens; once the walls have been broken down, there was always hindrance coming in his way and with the person he'd promised were important, or a person he loved because he knew that once he has you, Geralt was done for no matter how unstable he was.

You'll be seeing things you've never seen nor felt from him as he does the same way.

Especially, that you never came from their dimension and that the feelings he had for you was too strong to even control. But, the voices at the back of his mind was pulling him away from even pouring those emotions down because firstly, he didn't know how to show and second, there was a huge chance that you would also leave.

What if you leave? a person he'd treasured so much begins to leave him again?

Geralt mindlessly gritted his teeth together as he grumbled and grouched, avoiding the bard's eyes as he watched you shakily grab onto his palms that tenderly rested on the side of your face; leaning onto his touch as you looked at him; utterly lovestruck, "We'll find another way," pause. "---There has to be."

Though, it seems like the bard hasn't heard his beseeching and continued with his witful suggestions, "The only way is to impale her to cease the sufferings that the spell has cast upon her by the Djinn," Jaskier promptly stood up on his feet, his anxiety making him blurt out mindless blabbers he could ever think of, "---There is nothing to lose on this one, Geralt. Especially that you're...no offense---"

Geralt cut him off in haste, surly spitting out his words, "There is, Jaskier. Her purity."

Jaskier pointed back at the witcher, completely looking taken aback as he opened his mouth like he was stunned, "Oh." was the only thing he managed to say for the first few seconds before he quietly muttered, "OooooOh. She's a?"

The Ivory haired man gave a brief nod, "Untouched." he frankly informed as Cirilla quietly listened in the background with Kolby howling loudly in the middle of the night like a wolf in disguise, "---Oh! This is an unorthodox for the series of women that you have had, Geralt! Also, she's a rare one indeed!"

Jaskier couldn't help but feel dumbstruck from his suggestions, shamefully scratching the back of his nape as he has given the whole responsibility to Geralt because he could never help. He always never does because of some sorts that he couldn't explain, probably because he wasn't taught with these magical phenomena that Geralt expertly knows.

When the witcher has given you his attention, you've abruptly attacked him in a bear hug, arms tightly wrapped around his thick neck that you wanted to softly pepper kisses. As you were caging him in your arms, his delicious scent wafted through your nose, welcoming how it was indeed mouthwatering for your blazing appetite or carnal greed.

"I want to have you, Geralt. I--I need to have you! These thoughts inside my head...It needs you, I--I need you," you begged, softly pleading like there wasn't anyone around you; not noticing Cirilla, Kolby nor Jaskier as there was only one person in your mind. Geralt of Rivia. Your Geralt. Your witcher. The only person who gives you fluttering butterflies and wild ants inside your stomach and chest.

You've tucked your face in between your arm and his braided hair, breathing the back of his ear like a wild woman as Geralt stood still and heard your whimpers that went straight to his stronghold, his will in finding another method to help suddenly wavering from how soft and provocative it sounded that clouded his mind.

He turned relaxed in your arms, accepting the bear hug and probably loving how close you both were together after hours of not talking to each other. You've felt his calloused palm caress your clothed back, soothing your pained mewls that came after your sensual whimpers as it was unstable. Geralt gently unlatched your arms that surrounds him, his golden peepers meeting your baffled ones before he had no problem in scooping you up in his arms, like newly wed couples.

"We'll think of other ways, midget. Come. Let's help you with the heat,"

Cliffhanger before the smut? I’M SORRY, BB’S. LOVE MEEEE STILLLLLL! 

Taglist: @alyxkbrl​ @himarisolace​ @barkingbullfrog​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @hellodevilslittlesister​ @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​ @marvelousell​​ @kingniazx​​ @angelias134​​ @tapismyforte​​ @chook007​​ @covid-donotenter​​ @winter-moons​ @cheesecakeisapie​ @silverkitten547​​ @angelofthor​r @carrieannewaywardson @plantingmum​, @stuckupstucky​, @shesthelastjedi​

[borkthemork]

Comfort - Kaiju AU Fanfic

Summary: Connie wanted a moment to study at the Temple, and found a friend to pass the time.

Fanfic based off @reverse-monster-buddies!

Word Count: 2,696.

Reblogs are appreciated!

Ao3 Link

-----

Connie Maheswaran had work to do, a lot of it. It was the reason why she had counted her fingers on the bus, watched the horizon awaken through the windows, fog covering the corners of the panes. The morning was early, the skies painted in auburn amidst the blotched white clouds, and the silhouette of the town was prominent, the hallmark of it — the lighthouse on the massive green cliff — was a clear indicator that she was in the right place. The vehicle rumbled, shifting the backpack seated beside her a little. She had planned to stay in Beach City for a few hours. It felt weird to stay at home when the Maheswaran residence didn’t have anyone to occupy it except for her. Knowing her parents, they wouldn’t mind her being out and about on such a gorgeous day, welcomed by warm rays, beach sand between her toes, the secrets of this specific town hers and hers alone.

The rolled landscape from the glass started to slow down, and with it, Connie grabbed her backpack. The engine rumbled to a stutter as the town grew closer until, finally, they halted at the familiar stop.

The bus driver looked at her from his seat. He had a groomed mustache, hair grayed at the scalp, potbelly noticeable even with how far she was from the front. “Typical stop right, little lady?”

“Yep, right here.”

He nodded. Hisss went the door as it flung itself open. She stood up, grabbing her backpack before she forgot about it.

“Stay safe. Don’t want your parents to worry about ya’.”

“I’ll be careful, thank you, Mister Moriarty!”

He gave her a warm smile. “No problem Connie, have a great day.”

When Connie touched the ground she watched the bus drive off, seeing it recede into the size of a pinprick with the growing distance, and then into nothing when the first hillock swallowed its shape. Her eyes started to follow the horizon. She kneeled down to rummage through her belongings. Her laptop was nestled alongside the tied cables, a few thin textbooks bunched in with an Unfamiliar Familiar book. Everything looked to be in order, not a single item out of place. Connie zipped it back up. It was going to be a long day.

Connie made her way to Beach City. She held tightly to her backpack straps, not wanting to let go of the study materials inside. The buildings were covered in waking shadows, the streetlights beginning to flicker off with the rise of the sun. Connie didn’t have many friends in this town. She had always remained reclusive during her study sessions, where she read her books on the shores away from the bustling boardwalk or the shops nearby, hoping to be invisible from many who would possibly judge her or ask her questions. Lately, she had found herself leaning towards more secretive locations, away from the prying eyes of teenagers and adults, and she strode her way to the cliffside, following the crags that lined the beach.

There was the chain-link fence that lined from the ocean to the growing cliff face. On it were two signs, the typical ‘Keep Off Beach’ one would find authorized by police and the peculiar wooden plank with ‘Please’ written in thick black paint. She lugged her backpack over the fence and started to climb. Hidden below the lighthouse, away from the prying eyes of the Beach City residences, there was an opening into the cliffside. The entrance was bordered by delicate stone hands of a statued goddess, eyes void as it surveyed the ocean nearby. Crystals jutted from the rocks, a crystalline warp pad at the center of all this, the door encrusted with a bold yellow star — each gem on the tips of it signifying higher deities that humanity was probably not ready to behold. And somehow these beings, with more technological and physical advancement than the human race, allowed her into their ranks, to relax in their residence as if she was a hearty neighbor.

Connie spotted a few figures at one of the warp steps. A green gem with tufts of white hair was playing around with a twig in her hand. She noted the bundle of purple that wriggled and spun around the Crystal Gem with a yip. Spikes flowed down its back and head, eyes purple in a sea of inky black as it played around, following the direction of the gem’s hand.

“You want it, girl?” The gem cooed and watched the pup bark in glee, wagging its tail furiously. “You want to beat this poor stick up?”

An enthusiastic bark.

“Then here you go!”

She threw the stick out towards the beach, making eye-contact with Connie for a second while the beast sped past her. “Connie, hey!”

Connie walked over to them. “Hey, didn’t know I’d see you guys today.”

She noticed the purple creature come barreling back, its head whipping up at the sight of her. It dropped its stick and gave a joyous bark, bounding over to her without a moment's notice, licking her pant leg with the broad of its tongue.

Connie smiled and pet the corrupted gem’s head, feeling the critter’s scales at her fingertips. She knew who this was, no doubt about it. “Hey Kai, nice to see you!”

Kai nuzzled into her palm. She didn’t change one bit the last time Connie saw her — still happy and hyper as always.

“Connie, I didn’t expect you, at all,” Nephrite said. “Isn’t it six a.m. for you humans?”

“Were you expecting something more punctual?”

“A lil’.” Nephrite stood up from the steps and brushed the dirt off her jacket. For all Connie knew, Nephrite’s attire must’ve had a journey on its own from the scratches and loose ends from it; it wasn’t even hers, but something she found on her previous adventures. “But you’re Connie, you’re always going to surprise us somehow.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like the time you found me reading behind the fence?”

“Yeah. You had a ‘follow the law’ aura goin’ on with you when I first found you. Didn’t expect to see you breaking one.”

“I wanted peace and quiet, so all I followed was my logic. The fence wasn’t even a certified one, so no law-breaking here.”

Nephrite snorted and ruffled her hair. “Attagirl.”

In their laughter, Connie peered at the cheeseburger backpack on Nephrite’s shoulders, noting how clunky and bulked it was. She raised an eyebrow. “Another mission?”

“A personal one,” she reassured. “Just need to check out something in The Great North.”

Connie went starry-eyed. “Oh! Like corrupted gem business?”

“Ehhh.” The gem shrugged. “Kinda. It’s dangerous though, Kai doesn’t like it when I go on this stuff without her.”

Kai whimpered in kind.

“See? Worries about me a lot. Been trying to get her to sleep or stay but she won’t budge.”

Connie smiled a little. With the current assignments she had, the idea of staying at the beach sounded better than being alone. Kai was like a puppy with the way she leaped at people and took comfort in the silence with them. Connie didn’t mind the idea of being next to her for a couple of hours. “I wouldn’t mind looking after her while you're gone.”

Nephrite’s fists tightened around her pack straps. “You’re serious?”

“Serious.”

She rubbed her chin for a second. “Alright then, I trust you. Kai’s food is in the fridge — just don’t feed her too many donuts or   a stomach ache.”

“Wait, I thought you guys didn’t like to eat?”

“Some do. Amethyst does.” Nephrite shrugged. “Kai too apparently.”

After a few goodbyes, Connie and Kai watched the form of Nephrite dissipate in a pillar of light before it all died down back to sunrise yellow. Kai whined at the base of the warp pad, clawing at the facets in wait. Connie sat down near the steps and propped the laptop onto her lap. She clicked her tongue as the computer started up, smiling over at the small gem, who had her head cocked towards her in curiosity.

“Come here, girl. You like head scratches, right?”

The whine transformed into a happy yip.

Connie giggled. “Then come here!”

The hour went by without a hitch. Connie found herself relaxed into a studious rhythm, fingers occupied to the scales of her companion, who crooned next to her as Kai faded in and out from her naps. Connie would’ve found it relaxing if it weren’t for the algebra that plagued her screen, and how no matter how much she used the calculator extension — which promised accurate results, which was a big fucking lie! — the input stopped her with a huge ‘INVALID ANSWER’ box with each impatient mouse click. At this point she might as well throw the tech at a wall; she would have had a higher probability of it surviving than the garbage algorithm doing its work correctly.

Connie halted at the pressure at her leg.

She looked over to find Kai awake, pawing at her pants with wide, gleaming eyes. “Hey girl, you okay?”

Kai gave her a small bark.

“Are you antsy? Anxious? What’s on your mind right now?”

The gem kept her eyes on her and continued to bark at her for a few seconds before settling her head at the dip of the girl’s lap. Connie smiled to herself. Must be excited, but she didn’t know for sure.

“I guess you’re hyper. Don’t worry, I won’t be leaving for a while. I’ve been…”

Connie grimaced at her laptop screen. Even with the online assignments, a great deal of them had been hard to peruse and handle. She wasn’t the type to ditch or procrastinate, but the current circumstances of home left her to toil with the current workload, internet help limited to only her, a few website tutorials, and the math textbook.

“...Dealing with a lot of things, so you’ll have me three hours tops.”

Kai whined.

“Aw, I’m sorry girl, but three hours should be enough.”

Kai whined more.

“Hmm.” Connie frowned. “Are you sad about me leaving or is it something else?”

A bark.

“Oh jeez uh. One bark for leaving and two barks for something else.”

Two barks.

Wow. That actually worked. Connie placed the laptop aside and gazed at the puppy in front of her, who cocked her head again. “You’re smart, so I’m going to find a way to talk to you. I want to know why you’re upset.”

Kai kept going though. She started to bark more at her and nestled her head into Connie’s lap with a whimper. Connie had no clue why she was upset. Or even why Kai continued to act like this. Was this even a sign of being upset or is there something else entirely that she was missing?

Connie straightened her back. Kai still rested her head, now wagging her tail at her, Connie hearing it thump against the ground with dull thuds.

“Bark three times if you understand what I’m saying.”

Three barks.

“Bark twice if you’re upset and bark once if you aren't."

A single bark.

“One bark if it concerns the gems and two barks if it concerns me.”

Two.

Connie bit her lip. “So you’re worried about me.” She said it more to herself than anything, but the pup still responded in kind with an elated yip.

“You think I’m upset?”

Kai gazed at her, and yet it was enough for Connie to realize what was happening. The gem can feel how tense she was even with the relaxing crash of the waves, how her mind was scrambled with thoughts and too occupied to even focus on one thing. Kai whined and pressed her snout to her leg.

Connie rubbed her arm. “Okay, so you do.” She smiled softly at Kai, rubbing the gem’s head a bit. “It’s just me being frustrated over homework. You’d think first semester would be a breeze but I had the honor to get the work-extensive teachers,  like, come on.”

She groaned, tensing up at how Kai whimpered next to her, swishing her tail more.

“What’s it like to be a corrupted gem, girl?”

A yip.

“I know you’re hyper all the time but it must be lonely from what Neph told me…”

Nephrite told Connie numerous times of corruption, of the bubbles detained and held in the core part of the Temple. She was never given a tour to the structure’s underbelly but Connie had heard of how frantic and scatter-minded prior gems became because of the war. Sensible warriors have worn down into flight-or-fight, and not one of them were able to be fixed and returned back to normal stasis. The idea of it made Connie’s skin crawl. If it was the same for the contained gems, then it must’ve been the same with Kai, who had proven to be smart like any other attentive being, but still brought to primal tendencies like a scared animal.

“It must be lonely to be in a world of strangers. It must be hard to even make friends.”

A confused yip.

The first time Nephrite told her of Kai, one detail stood out to her when it came to the way; the pup waddled around and growled at everything with incisors leaking of pink fluid, like the world was about to get her in any way she took. Nephrite spent hours trying to befriend and reassure the little creature that she was safe, and Connie couldn’t help but ponder how lonely Kai would’ve been if it weren’t for Nephrite’s compassion. If the gem didn't defend Kai against the remainder of the Crystal Gems then there was a huge chance they would've packed her back into a bubble, in a chamber that is full of her kind but yet so hollow and empty.

“You have freedom but you’re still trapped.”

Kai gazed at her, beady eyes taking in her face, at how she must’ve known how there was heat in corner of her eyes. Connie didn’t know why it was happening, all she knew was that she was thinking too much.

“And you’re limited no matter how much you try to make it better.”

She rubbed her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, this is getting to me. I’m supposed to be doing homework and here I am, crying about nothing.”

She hated crying. The feeling of it brought shame and left her disheveled in the aftermath every time, and it was hard to breathe when it happened. It struck hard even when she held her tongue and carried on, when she had a place to let go when her parents weren’t there to see her.

But the wet snout pressed to the base of her lap made her come back. Through the blur of her vision, Kai’s eyes were still fixed on her, big and round, a little yip building in her throat. Connie wiped the tears away. She was going to worry Kai too, and she didn’t want that.

“Sorry, I’m—���

What surprised her was the pressure that pounced on her and left her being tackled by the tiny gem, who was now licking at the excess salt, made her giggle at the onslaught against her face.

“Wait, haha stop!”

Another excited yip.

Kai lapped at her face, laughter filling the air as she endured the slobber on her nose. She felt lighter, a weight off her when the creature took great care at her tears. She’s going to have to get cleaned up later, but that’s okay. She needed a moment to breathe, to get away from the stress of daily life and the loneliness that accompanied it. Kai knew this, sensed it on her person, and took care to make her smile as a result.

When they settled down, Connie gave the creature a small boop on the muzzle. "I love you, Kai."

Kai responded like kind, pressing their snout to hers.

Connie embraced her in a tight hug and placed a kiss onto the gem's tiny forehead, the other licking her affectionately. Maybe...maybe it’s okay to not work on homework for a while. She needed a break.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mr. Self Destruct 2

Part One

Warnings: Bucky’s a bastard, control, PTSD and other lovely mental issues, noncon (forced masturbation and oral)

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary:  Bucky has been left by his closest friend. With no other choice, he works for Stark Industries in the name of both Stark and Rogers but before he can begin his new position, he is mandated to attend counselling. With you, the company’s resident therapist.

Note: This is gonna be a three-parter because I’m a goddamn liar, y’all. But I hope you guys like this. Love y’all.

Anyway :) Please like, reply, and/or reblog if you read.

Bucky

Bucky liked to watch her squirm. She tried not to but the little tic in her finger and the way she scrunched her brow gave her away. It was amusing to watch her try to act like it was all normal. Naked and vulnerable in her chair.

She was resistant that day. Their first session after his first mission, she’d been compliant. So shocked she couldn’t think to fight him. Now she’d had time to think but not long enough. Her blouse was torn on the floor beside her chair, the rest of her clothing strewn around it. She shivered as she slumped over the notepad rested on her crossed legs and listened.

“I leave tomorrow,” He said pointedly and she sat up. She used her notepad to shield herself.

“For a mission?” She asked.

He nodded. “I know you’re thinking of trying something, why wouldn’t you? But this is your warning, there will be consequences.”

“Bucky, I’ve only ever tried to help you.” She shivered and sat straighter. “Why are you doing this?”

“Aren’t you supposed to figure that out?” He stood. “Those little notes, isn’t there some explanation?”

“No, you’re supposed to work with me through these issues, not against me,” She watched him near. She winced as he stopped before her. There would be bruises where he’d grabbed her.

“You got something to cover yourself up?” He asked as he reached out to touch her neck. She drew away from him and pressed herself to the back of the chair. “Cause I know you’re a shit liar.”

“I’ll figure it out,” She brushed his hand away and her eyes widened and flicked away from him. He was hard. She could see it. He only just realized it, how painful it was. He backed away. “Can I get dressed now?”

“We still have a few minutes,” He checked his watch and she shifted in her seat. He chuckled quietly and turned back to her. “Ask me nicely this time, doc.”

“May I please get dressed?” She said stiffly.

“Good girl,” The words slipped out and her face tensed. “Yes, get dressed.”

She set aside her notepad and gathered her clothes one at a time as she pulled them on. Her blouse had no buttons left and she kept her blazer closed. She frowned as it did nothing to hide her bra.

“Next time, listen,” He remarked as he turned and walked along her desk.

He reached down to rub his aching crotch. He pulled his hand away and played with the paperweight on the corner, shaped like a crow. He stared at the desk and thought of pushing aside the papers, the little decorations, the pens. Pictured her, for just a second, bent over it. He set the paperweight down.

“Just know,” He crossed the room and took his jacket from the rack. He turned back as she shoved her feet into her heeled boots. “If you do decide to get smart, I will find out.” He pulled on his jacket and flicked the lock of the door. “This…” He swirled his finger in the air, “...can get so much worse for you.”

-

Reader

Ten minutes after Bucky left, you took your jacket from the rack and did it up to your chin. He was your last appointment but you were expected at a support meeting that night. You dialed the number and waited for an answer.

"Hey, Mr. Hogan, yeah, no it's fine. You're going tonight? Okay, tell Ron I'm sorry, he's gonna have to walk through the meeting himself. It's nothing, just an appointment I forgot. Yeah, I have such a full calendar…"

You barely heard Happy as you recited your lies. You just didn't have the energy. Or the strength. To be entirely honest, you were terrified. Bucky terrified you. Staring at him, entirely bare to his predatory gaze, no escape in sight, your heart raced and you felt the world collapse around you.

You were also embarrassed. Not just by what he made you do but that you'd lost your control as his therapist. You didn't run the sessions anymore, he did. You'd broken your professionality and even your own integrity. Bent so easily to his will and all because your own fear.

He hurt you that day. You hung up the phone and grabbed your bag as you replayed the scene. He told you to undress. You refused. He repeated himself once and promised he wouldn't again. You still didn't. His hand was at your throat in an instant, the tear of fabric jerked your body and filled the air. He shoved you back and you fell into the chair.

You undressed then. He circled you. Got close enough to touch at one point but didn't. When you were naked, he sat and bid you to do the same. You took your notepad and waited for him to start.

You trembled as you hailed a cab. In your head, you weren't out on the New York pavement but still trapped in that office. With him.

You paid the driver and hurried up your walk. You locked the front door behind you and looked around your small townhouse. It was a habit now. You inspected everything, locked every door and window them second checked them.

Worse was that, no matter what you did it wouldn't keep him from following you. From getting in if he wanted to. The realization came and went over and over but you never truly forgot. Bucky Barnes grasped your life in his fist. At a whim, his vibranium fingers could crush you.

You slept on the couch that night. Unintentionally. You dozed off as the tv glared and hummed. You didn't think you'd be able to sleep at all and your rest was shallow and periodic.

He was leaving that day. He was probably already gone but that only started the timer until his inevitable return.

-

Four days. You heard of Bucky’s return in passing at the tower. You skirted away to your office, half expecting to find him there. It was empty and your second appointment of the day was due in five minutes.

They arrived shortly after and you welcomed them in with your usual courtesy but the rest of the session was spent, peeking over at the door. Waiting for Bucky to burst in and tear the walls down. But he never came. Not during or after. Your third appointment went by just the same and you hesitated to leave for the day.

Should you wait for him to come and terrorize you? Now that was inane. You should go before he decided to drop in. Go home and hide under your covers like the child you felt. How was it that he made you feel so small when he wasn’t even there?

Bag in hand, coat slung over your arm, you rushed down into the mid-autumn chill and hailed a cab. You procrastinated to get a new car since your old one had sputtered out. It wasn’t that you didn’t have the money but work had got ahead of you and life had fallen behind. Excuses. Your worst fault. You always had a reason why not and yet your job was to hold others accountable. How ridiculous.

Front door, locked. A small reassurance to your growing paranoia. You twisted the latch behind you and dropped your coat on the table just inside the table, your bag disposed atop it lazily. You kicked your shoes off and flipped on the lights. You held your breath as the front room lit up. Empty. Another relieved sigh.

You walked carefully around the furniture, as if scared to attract the attention of the beast who wasn’t there. It was difficult at first, almost as if it wasn’t your home anymore. As if your entire existence was being wrenched from you by his metal fist.

You cooked your supper in silence. The clink and clatter of dishes the only noise, the occasional running of water, too. You ate in front of the television, eager to kill the eerie quiet. Some mindless game show, the answers you couldn’t think of but were sure you knew.

You finished and rinsed your dishes before you returned to the couch, shielded by a thin throw, eyes observant and straying. You were almost in a trance. Dread clouded around you in a haze.

You didn’t know how late it was when you found the strength to get off the couch. You climbed the stairs and swept through your bedroom to the closet like bathroom attached to it. You cranked the shower so that it quickly filled the space with steam and undressed as you stared at yourself in the mirror.

There was a fear in your eyes you’d never seen before. A weakness. You weren’t this person. You worked hard for years to achieve your position, you were never one to wilt beneath anothers glare.

You should have filed a report that day; with the company, with the police. But then you closed your eyes and saw Bucky’s. Heard his promise echo in your head. Lined pockets and badges hadn’t stopped him before and the heroes who had, were gone. And you surely were no match for him.

The rivers ran over your skin and diverged along the peaks and values of your body. You barely felt them. The cleansing you hoped for did not come. You still felt terribly filthy, entirely helpless as you turned off the faucet and shivered in the aftermath. You rubbed dry your hair and wrapped your body in the soft linen.

You had left the door slightly open, the steam dispersed quickly as you pulled it the rest of the way. You nearly stumbled and caught yourself on the door frame as you crossed the threshold to your bedroom. He was there.

His broad shoulders faced you as he stood beside your bed. His dark head was lowered as he stirred around in your night table. Your breath caught and you glanced at the door which led to the hallway. Then at your barely covered body.

“Busy day. Missed you at the tower.” He said without looking back at you. “Sit down, will you?”

You didn’t move. He huffed and raised his head. He leaned back and pushed his shoulders apart.

“You know I’ll make you sit, so just do it.” He warned.

You neared the bed and turned. You sat on the end of the bed and waited, listening to him snooping around in your drawer. Your skin was on fire. You knew what was in there and he’d no doubt found it by now. He was toying with you.

“Lose the towel,” He said as he spun around and you felt him get closer.

You stood to pull the fabric from beneath you and he tugged it away from you swiftly. He rounded you and stopped before you. You kept your eyes on the floor. You wanted to cover yourself but that had grown futile by now. He’d seen your body; human and flawed.

He brought his hand up before your face. Your eyes almost crossed as you looked up at the small silver device in his hand. You blanched and blinked at your hidden pleasure. Your little vibe, ‘bullet’, it had said on the package. How appropriate that was the one he chose.

“I want you to use it.” He said plainly. You heard his smirk but didn’t look up at it.

“Why are you doing this, Bucky? It’s not going to solve anything. You’re only making it worse. This is escapism, not resolution.”

“Use it,” He took your hand from your lap and shoved the toy into it. “I thought we were trying to open up to each other, doc.” He slowly backed away. “So go on, open up.”

You turned the toy between your fingers. Your thumb ran across the small black button at its base and you chewed the inside of your lip. Your legs were like stone, heavy and hard to move. Bucky’s breaths, quiet but deafening amid the silence, urged you on.

Your hand shook as you rested in on your thigh and forced your legs apart a little at a time. You bit down painfully and tasted the blood. Your vision blurred but you wouldn’t let the tears fall. You slid the toy along your thigh and clicked the button. The whir of the tiny motor buzzed against you.

You crept up and felt as if your body would give out. As if every muscle would split and you’d be left in a heap before him. But that didn’t happen and when the vibe traced along your pelvis you inhaled sharply. You slipped it just along your lips and froze. Mortified at the sudden rush of heat to that one spot.

“A woman you’re age should be married, shouldn’t she?” Bucky’s voice shook you, the toy just above that sacred bud. “Or have somebody?”

You stopped and looked up at him. His gaze was focused between your legs. Eager and expectant.

“Divorced. Just...didn’t work out.”

“And did you buy those before or after the divorce?” He asked.

“Some before, some after,” You replied.

“Go on,” He nodded. “Don’t stop ‘til you’re done. Understood?”

You looked down again. Humiliated. “Yes.”

You pressed the metal tip between your lips and braced the mattress with your other hand. The vibrations radiated from your clit down your thighs. You breathed out your nose loudly and lowered your chin to hide your face. Out of habit, you swirled the vibe around your bud and your entire body tense.

Was it better to resist and hold onto to your integrity or fold and have it done and over with? You struggled against yourself. It wasn’t long before you were wet. Before the tide grew unbearable and overwhelming. You were ready to drown in it, your nails dug into the blanket and your legs quaked.

You sensed a shadow, felt the cold fingers on your chin. Bucky forced your face up and you squeezed your eyes shut. “Look at me.” He demanded.

You reluctantly obeyed and met his startling blue irises. Your lips parted and your hand worked without thinking. Almost there. You choked on the moan that rose and snapped your mouth shut. The ripples flowed and left you trembling. His hand dropped down to your throat and tightened as he held you in place, watching you fall apart before him.

The vibe slipped from your fingers and you grasped his wrist. As the after waves twisted and turned, he released you and tore his arm away. You fell back on the bed and pushed your legs together. You crossed your arms over your chest and slowly curled into a ball. Reality fell down like hail around you and battered your skin.

“Think we should have a session tomorrow doc?” He paced around the end of the bed. “Hmm? Noon work for you?”

You stayed silent and covered your face. You could barely think. Barely focus on his taunts.

“If it doesn’t,” He came around and dragged your hand from over your face as he bent over you. “Make it work.”

He dropped your arm and turned away. You closed your eyes and listened to his footsteps pass through the door, fade down the hallway and along the stairs. You didn’t move. You weren’t sure you could. You just languished, numb and yet feeling all at once.

-

You cancelled your meeting with Ron at noon. It was a simple walk through of the next support group and as of late he'd been content to run them on his own. And you were content to let him. So forgetful that your calendar was the only order left in your life.

He didn't knock. He entered and lock the door as he had the last two times. You looked up from your desk as he strolled in and plopped into the chair across from you.

"Are we going to talk today, Bucky?" You challenged.

"You really think that's still going to happen? That it would help?" He scoffed and leaned back, his knees wide as he planted his feet.

"I do think it would help."

"Did it help Steve?" He asked pointedly. "Did he tell you he was leaving?"

"I wasn't his therapist. Besides, if I was, confidentiality would preclude me from--"

"You weren't his therapist?" He tilted his head and smirked, just a little. "Something else?"

"We were colleagues. I helped him set up support for those left behind." You explained evenly. "Our relationship was professional."

"Maybe you should've been his therapist." Bucky mused.

"Steve didn't think there was a place for him here. He was wrong but you must know he wasn't very good at admitting that." You set down your pen. "There's a place for all of us."

"Jesus, do they teach you these little bullshit platitudes in school or are you really just that stupid?"

"The hardest part of dealing with our issues is admitting we have them at all. Steve didn't want to face this world anymore, didn't want anymore challenges. And you--." You paused and tapped your fingers nervously on your open notepad.

"I what?" He urged.

"You think taking control, too much control, will make up for your loss of control in the past. You don't want to slow down and let the world, let time, do its work. You don't want to admit that you're afraid."

"Neither do you," He countered. "Hmm. You sit there, you chew on your lip, you hide your face, try to hide your body, and you think I can't see that your scared."

"Does it make you feel better? Truly? What you're doing?" He stayed silent and his smirk disappeared. "Does it remind you of what they did? A role reversal maybe? You try to control my body like they did yours."

"Enough!" He kicked the desk suddenly and you jumped. "I'm not trying to control you, I am."

"Bucky--"

"I told you I didn't want to talk." He spat.

"Then what do you want?"

His metal fist balled and his other hand slipped to his thigh. His fingers crawled upward and he palmed his crotch and shifted in his chair.

"I want you on your knees." He snarled.

You cringed and sat back in defeat. "It's not too late to stop this...to try."

"You can get on your knees or I can hold you down and fuck your face until you puke all over that pretty little blouse." He undid his fly and slid his hand in his jeans. "I'm done playing your game. You're gonna play mine."

You wrung your hands for a moment before you caught yourself. He didn’t miss the hint of your anxiety, the drawn line of your lips as you held back a sneer. Your fear mixed with a sense of anger. You weren’t an angry person but you felt the unusual creep of red in your chest.

The standoff ended quickly. You rose, hands on the desk to steady yourself, just a second before you stood on your own two feet. You rounded to him as he watched. His gaze never strayed, his victorious leer followed your every move. Every single step of your surrender.

You stopped before him, closed in between him and the desk. You looked down at him as he pulled apart his fly and guided his cock out from the denim and cotton. You lowered your head and your shoulders dropped.

“Bucky…” You pleaded.

He leaned forward and grabbed your hand. He stretched his vibranium palm across your hand and jerked you closer. You were forced to bend as he pressed your hand to his hardened length. You flinched and he pushed your fingers taut around his shaft.

“It is too late,” He said. “I made up my mind a while ago.”

Your knees buckled and you almost swayed. You stared at your hand and knelt before him. You were forced between his legs as the desk was close behind you. He drew his hand away and gripped the arms of the chair.

“Go on. I trust you know what you’re doing...unless that’s why the marriage didn’t work out?”

You recoiled and he growled. You glared up at him defiantly. “Don’t.” You warned him.

“Don’t?” He grinned. “What are you going to do about it?”

You stared back at him darkly. He leaned forward and grabbed your head with both hands. He pulled you close and your hands clapped against his thighs as he forced your head down.

“Open up that damn mouth before I break your jaw. I’m tired of listening to it.”

His cock pressed against your lips and he didn’t relent. You couldn’t turn your head away, couldn’t escape his vibranium grasp. So you opened your mouth and he pushed you down entirely. You gagged as he shoved himself down your throat. You grabbed his thighs desperately, unable to breathe, as he held you there.

You kicked your feet behind you and he finally eased up. Just enough for your to pull back but keeping his cock in your mouth. You gasped around him and he forced you back down.

“Don’t you go passing out now. That won’t stop me.”

You shuddered and let him guide you. He was big enough that your jaw began to throb in pain and your throat felt shredded from his repeated intrusion. You never quite caught your breath as your saliva dripped down his dick. You felt sick. Disgusted by him, by yourself, by your weakness.

His groans rose and chilled you. Added to the nausea as it boiled in your stomach. The salty taste of him made you gag again but he only delighted in the contraction of your throat. All you could hear were his treacherous growls and the revolting gulping of your mouth.

“You don’t know how much you’re helping me, doc.” He said. You almost stopped as his voice startled you but he kept you going. Faster, faster. Your entire head swelled in agony. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

His fingers rubbed circles along your scalp, still tight around your skull, ready to crush it at one misstep.

“I already feel better. More in control. Clearer.” He purred. “I see the world before me and it’s all thanks to you.”

Your eyes watered as he sped up again and gave you no chance to keep up. Your head spun with each descent along his thick cock.

“I see you bent over that desk. On the couch. On the floor.” He rasped. “I see it all. My hands around your throat as I use you so easily.”

He sighed and shivered.

“I’m in control again. I’m myself again.” He grunted suddenly and squeezed your head between his hands.

The warmth filled your mouth and choked you as it slid down your throat, his cock pounding his cum deeper and deeper. Then he stopped. He pulled you off of him and dropped you like a forgotten doll as your body crumpled beneath you. You coughed and spat his cum onto the floor with a heave.

You got to your knees and crawled around the desk blindly. You stood as you heard a zip, sensed his shadow as he stood and you felt your way into the small bathroom just along the wall. You nearly fell inside and caught yourself on the sink. You retched into the porcelain, your entire body spasmed as it revolted.

“Don’t forget to tick the box, doc,” He called from the office. You looked over as he pulled the hem of his tee straight. “Think maybe we should see each other more often. Since we’re making such good progress.”

“Get out,” You pushed yourself away from the sink and turned to slam the door. You locked it and backed away dizzily. You fell down onto the toilet and gripped your temples. You could feel his hands still, slowly caving in your skull.

“I know you got a full schedule tomorrow,” He said from the other side of the door. “Maybe we can arrange an after hours session again.” He chuckled and you heard the small taps as he walked his fingers down the door. “We should...fit something in before my next mission.”

You didn’t answer and waited for him to leave. You listened to his ominous footfalls in your office, the open and close of the door, the frightful silence that followed.

You looked down at your shaky hands, spittle and cum dried along the front of your blouse. Your stomach churned and you stood to grip the sink again. You didn’t stop until you were empty and weak. As hollow as the shell you’d become.

[7-wonders]

Some Kind of Drug

Summary: Michael deals with his rejection in a much different way than most other people.

Word Count: 2548

A/N: Welcome back to Mad Love, friends! Sorry it’s taken so long, but life happens. Hopefully I’ll be able to post this now. As always, feedback is very much appreciated, and if you enjoyed I would love if you would like, comment and reblog. Shoot me an ask about this, my other works, or just anything!

(p.s....cw for blood ritual)

Read Mad Love (part one) HERE | Read Totally F***ed (part two) HERE | Read The Isle of Flightless Birds (part three) HERE | Read A Hard Day’s Night (part four) HERE | Read Pour One Out (part five) HERE | Read Where Angels Fear to Tread (part six) HERE | Read Naked & Afraid (part seven) HERE | Read Ironically Alive (part eight) HERE | Read Blame It On My Youth (part nine) HERE | Read Everything All At Once (part ten) HERE | Read Try (Just a Little Bit Harder) (part eleven) HERE

Flickering candles cast long shadows on the walls of the chamber as Michael moves around, making sure that everything’s in the exact position he needs it to be in order to conduct his ritual. Communicating with his father in this way is not new to him, but it is something that he’s neglected since you came into his life. Now, however, Michael’s done playing your games. He’s been patient with you, allowing you to determine the speed of the relationship. Sooner or later, he figured, you would stop fighting what your soul knows to be true and give into him. Obviously, he had vastly underestimated you.

He hardly flinches as he makes deep cuts down the length of his arms, watching with silent concentration as the thick blood quickly starts to pool on the ground beneath him. Falling to his knees, he starts to use the blood to paint an upside-down pentagram. The movements are almost robotic-like now, becoming second nature after so many years. The Latin that Michael’s chanting falls off of his lips with ease, the words echoing through the empty air.

“May you rise from the void, Father,” Michael says, switching to plain English as he begins to complete the summoning. “May your darkness guide me, power in Satan to overcome my weaknesses. Power in your name, strong within.”

A humming, high-pitched and ceaseless, sounds in Michael’s ears as his vision dances with spots. Every single sense is being assaulted as his demonic, Satanic nature takes the wheel. The candles begin to roar with each second that passes, the fervor building in Michael’s veins as he waits with bated breath for Satan to arrive. The bloody pentagram bubbles underneath him as the height of the flames reaches to the ceiling, unchanged by the sudden wind that whips through the room. When the wind stops just as unexpectedly as it started, the air growing stiflingly still, Michael looks up with pitch black eyes.

“Ave Satanas.”

To the normal human eye, nothing is in the chamber with Michael. To the son of Satan, however, his father stands just behind him, a ghost-like touch on his shoulder as he whispers into the ear of his son, the same ear that’s burned with the Mark of the Beast. The humming starts up again, but to Michael it registers as words.

“Father,” he calls, “I request your guidance! You’ve...tortured me with these images, visions of a future that I will have.”

He’s been plagued with these visions for months now, long before Ms. Mead stuck that needle into your neck. They often come to Michael in the form of dreams, but he has been known to collapse to the floor as he’s taken over by a premonition. They’re always vivid, and they’re always of you and Michael. Michael, holding you as a husband should hold his wife. 

Kissing you.

Making love to you.

In his visions, you rule alongside him. The new world has been ushered in, with Michael as its king and you as its queen. You love each other unconditionally, just as it should be. You belong to him, and he belongs to you.

(Usually, he’s holding onto at least one curly-haired blonde cherub, and you’re almost always pregnant with another. That desperate need for a family, however, can wait. First, he needs to win over your mind.)

“Her will is strong, stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. Our souls were created for one another, yet she continues to deny what is inevitable. The bonding ritual from the night of our wedding was a failure, and she continues to spurn any of my advances. I’m lost, Father. How am I supposed to complete your plans if I do not wholly have the one person who is supposed to be at my side during all of this?”

“Perhaps something more...permanent?” Satan’s voice sounds preternaturally deep in Michael’s ear, and he has to hide a shiver.

“I promised (Y/N) that I wouldn’t use magic on her without her permission.”

“And you won’t.” Michael’s arm is raised by an invisible force, palm facing upwards as his hand is outstretched. An apple, bright red and almost perfectly shaped, appears in his grip.

“I don’t understand what this will help with.”

Satan remains silent, allowing a vision to play out in front of Michael’s eyes as a response. Michael watches as you appear in front of him, silently asking for the apple with a familiar tilt of your head. He hands it to you, your shimmering mirage-like form holding it as if you’re actually there. You take a large bite out of the apple, Michael nearly moaning as he watches the juice dribble past your full lips and down your chin in a near-erotic scene.

There’s no sound coming from you as you gasp, the apple landing heavily on the ground. Your expression changes, and you blink rapidly, as if trying to see through a thick fog. When your eyes meet Michael’s, you smile softly. Michael’s frozen, enraptured as you approach him and sit in his lap, not at all bothered by his lack of clothes. Your arms loop around his neck, and Michael can almost feel the heat of your breath as you begin to lean in. Right as your lips are about to connect with his, you disappear as suddenly as you appeared.

“So it’s--” Michael’s chest is heaving, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“Nothing that will harm her. One bite of this apple and she will be yours, my son. Body, mind, and soul.”

Michael could almost just take the apple and run, but something is stopping him. “That’s still using magic on her, whether or not it’s mine.”

“I bring a gift for you, and this is how you repay me? With ignorant questions and flippant reactions?”

“No Father, I’m extremely grateful.”

“Then take the gift. If anything, do not think of this as magic. Think of it--”

The dream (or maybe a nightmare) is the kind that’s forgotten as soon as you shoot up in bed with a gasp. You know that it was extremely vivid, your heart still pounding as you grab your phone to turn your alarm off, but you can’t remember the specifics. Lots of candles and Michael are the only things you’re sure were a part of your dream, but those could be used in any setting. Michael knocking over a candle and setting the house on fire? Celebrating Michael’s birthday? Lighting fireworks with Michael?

You shake your head, hoping maybe that will clear the fuzzy feeling in your brain like it clears an Etch-a-Sketch. You’re disoriented, like you slept for twenty hours instead of the eight or so that you normally do. Intense dreams tend to do that to you, so you’re careful with yourself as you crawl out of bed and head for the shower.

Even after you’ve washed the remnants of a restless sleep off of you, you still feel...off. You’re not sure if it’s related to the dream that you can’t remember, but you just feel weird today, like the world’s just slightly tilted on its axis and you’re the only one who notices it. Staring at your face in the steamed-over mirror as you comb through your hair, you frown slightly at yourself.

“Get it together, (Y/N),” you mutter to your reflection, watching as she says the words back to you at the same time. Swiping a towel over the mirror to clear it up, you shoot a couple of half-hearted finger guns at yourself before deciding that you need to stop procrastinating before you’re late. 

Michael, surprisingly, is leaning against the counter when you make your way into the kitchen. Normally he’s already in his office by this time, so to see him eating a bagel while scrolling through his phone is jarring. 

“Um, good morning?” you say, thrown off by this change in his ever-strict schedule. He must not have heard you come in, because he jumps when you greet him.

“(Y/N)!” He straightens up, trying to act like you didn’t just scare him. “You really are getting better at sneaking up on me.”

“Damn, and I wasn’t even trying.” You jokingly shoulder check him as you pass by, hearing him snicker under his breath.

“Do you nanny the two girls today?”

“No, I have to meet with my advisor on campus.”

“I thought class didn’t start for another couple of weeks?”

“It doesn’t, and please don’t remind me,” you groan, looking forlornly into the fridge. “This summer went by way too fast, I feel like I didn’t even get to do anything!”

“You would have been able to enjoy your summer if you had heeded my advice and not taken a job,” Michael points out, falling silent when you shoot him a withering glance.

“You may be the Antichrist, but I’ll still kick your ass if given the chance.” There’s nothing that appeals to you in the fridge, so you begrudgingly shut the door and look around for something that you can eat quick before running off to campus. “What are you up to today? Meeting with Putin?”

“The ghost of Josef Stalin, actually.” Michael smiles when you laugh loudly.

“Ah, well, be sure to break the bad news of the fall of Communism gently.”

“I’ll try, but my Russian’s pretty basic, at best.” 

Nodding as if you understand the downfalls of only being passing in the Russian language, your eyes fall on the fruit bowl sitting on the counter. Although all of the fruit looks pretty appetizing, the particular apple sitting at the top is practically calling your name. It’s shiny and bright red, and looks as if it was just picked out of a tree. The feeling that something’s off returns with a full force, making you pause right as you’re about to grab the apple. Figuring that you’re just hungry, you shake it off and take the fruit from the bowl.

Running it under some water, you look at Michael with a questioning glance when you feel him staring at you. “Do you have a problem with me eating this apple?”

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” he says quickly. “Just lost in my thoughts, I guess.”

“O...kay?” He still watches you as you turn the water off, shaking the apple dry and grabbing a towel to wipe your hands. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, absolutely. Why?”

“You just seem off today. Then again, maybe it’s the moon or something, because I’ve felt weird all morning, too.”

“You have?”

“Yeah, I had a really vivid dream last night, and I still haven’t been able to get over it.”

“Hmm, what was it about?” Michael’s mind is fighting a battle with his nature as he anxiously watches you toss the apple in the air before setting it down on the counter to grab a glass of water. 

“That’s the thing, I don’t remember. All I remember is that it involved you and some candles.” Michael’s pretty sure his heart stops, automatically knowing that you somehow inadvertently had a front-row seat to the ritual with his father. “I don’t know, maybe it involved you setting the house on fire?”

“Why would I ever set the house on fire?”

“Hey, I never said you did it on purpose! You could’ve dropped a candle? Can’t you light things on fire with your magic? Maybe you just got too excited.”

“Okay, you’re making me nervous talking about the different ways I could burn the house down.” He’s nervous for a few reasons right now, but you don’t need to know that. 

“And here I thought you couldn’t get nervous,” you tease.

For Michael, the next two seconds happen slow enough to make it feel like two minutes. He watches as you raise the apple to your mouth, heart jumping in his chest with a mix of glee and horror. Finally, it’s happening. He should be happy about this; he is happy about this, but he can’t deny how he guilty he feels. Still, he attempts to argue with himself, it’s not like you’re forcing her to love you. You’re just helping her to see what her soul knows.

But I’m making her feel that before she’s ready to acknowledge it, he fires back.

She’s had months now to acknowledge it! It’s time to speed things along.

The time that Michael spends debating with himself, he finds, is precious time lost. Instead of coming to a decision, you make the decision for him by biting into the apple. He stifles a gasp, feigning a cough instead as he waits for the inevitable to occur. The inevitable, however, occurs much slower than he was led to believe. One, two, and three bites are taken before Michael remembers how to speak. 

“(Y/N)?” he asks cautiously.

“Yeah?” He’ll forgive the fact that you talked with food in your mouth this time, since there are bigger worries at hand.

“Are you...feeling alright?” You eyes widen, and Michael’s sure that the magic’s taken effect. 

Then, you roll your eyes. “Perfectly fine, unless you poisoned the apples a la Snow White?”

“I was just curious.” You shake your head slowly, obviously not believing him.

“And I thought I was going to be the weird one today,” you mutter under your breath, checking the time and grabbing your bag like you would any other morning. “I gotta go. Don’t light the house on fire while I’m gone, okay?”

“I’m not planning on it,” Michael says, still in disbelief that you’re acting completely normal.

With a cheeky smile and a sarcastic wave, you’re out the door with a “bye, Mikey!” He doesn’t even bother to correct you on the nickname, standing in the kitchen in a frozen stupor as he tries to figure out what just happened.

Michael rushes over to the fruit bowl, unsure of if you grabbed the wrong piece of fruit or if you’re just impervious to any sort of mind-affecting magic. Flipping the bowl over, the various apples and oranges scatter across the counter. He allows the tendrils of his magic to extend out like extra limbs, hands grasping for each apple that he can find. Finally he feels it, the magic that fully coats the apple as if it’s caramel being drizzled on top. Michael cries out in relief, examining the apple to make sure it really is the one that was given to him by his father. 

With one look, the apple’s incinerated until there’s nothing but a small pile of ashes in Michael’s hand. He turns on the faucet, washing his hands of the ashes and keeping the water running until he’s sure that any trace of the rotten plan is down the drain, both figuratively and literally. Leaning against the counter, Michael flicks his wrist to put the bowl back on the counter like nothing ever happened.

He got lucky this time. Satan influences Michael, injecting himself into his son’s veins and manipulating him until he’s something he doesn’t recognize, something villainous and evil. He almost let the Devil do it again, only this time it involved you. “Never again,” Michael mutters, determined to escape the clutches of his father. 

Evil, however, comes in many different forms.

//

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[themostoriginalofnames]

Midnight Mocha

This is a short story I wrote for my school’s Creative Writing Club. I’d appreciate honest feedback on it.

...Dawn...Dawn….

    The world in front of her was blurry. She squinted at the sight, trying to make it out. The ringing in her ears persisted.

    ….Dawn!....

    The image started to clear in front of her. The bright spots of light began to shrink, revealing their sources. Feeling soon came back into her hands, the cold leather of the steering wheel further solidifying her location.

    “DAWN LOOK OUT!!” The scream snapped her back to her senses. She blinked, her attention now completely on the road in front of her. Mainly, the approaching bright lights that grew brighter by the second.

*HOOOONK*

    “AAAH!” she shrieked. Dawn quickly swerved to the right, sending the car into a sharp turn past the truck. Alas, she was too late. With a loud thud, the car was knocked backwards, sending it tumbling through the air.

*CRASH*

     Dawn shot awake, her chest rapidly rising and falling with her breaths. Sweat poured down her face as she sat there, eyes wide. As she breathed heavily, her eyes darted around her room. 

It was dark. The grey walls were slightly illuminated by the streetlights outside, their light partially shining through the drawn curtains. Dawn’s breathing began to slow down. She blinked once, her mind starting to piece together reality.

    She looked down at herself. Her translucent hands were tightly gripping a sweat stained blanket. Her breathing slowed more. It was still jarring for her that she could see the bedsheet she was sitting on through her body, but it was one of the many changes she had to get used to over the past year. 

    She glanced at the alarm clock on her bedside. “2:30 AM” it read. She took a slow, deep breath, finally calming her nerves before she laid back down onto the bed. Her blank eyes stared at the ceiling. Any attempts she made to fall asleep were null. As she stared at the ceiling, her mind rang with the sounds of her dream.

...LOOK OUT!...

    Dawn sat up, massaging her temples. Having nothing better to do, she got up from her bed and stepped onto the floor. Instead of the light thud when she hit the ground that she had been accustomed to her whole life, she was met with little to no noise, her body now lacking the necessary mass to make any.

    She exited her room. As she entered the living room, the yellow light from the ceiling fan shone into her eyes. Her ears were filled by the sound of rapid tapping. She glanced to the source of the noise, which was coming from the person lying on the living room couch under some sort of green mass. Her fingers were clacking away at her laptop.

    “Sam?” she asked quietly. The figure stopped her tapping. The green mass stirred as the figure positioned herself upright. Her upper body was much shorter and stockier compared to Dawn’s beanpole-like physique. Her hair seemed to squirm and snake around within the scrunchie that was holding it together, as if each “strand” was alive and had a mind of its own. The figure turned to face her, her snake-like lower body twisting around with her. She stretched her arms out behind her.

    “Heeeey Dawn,” Sam greeted. Her scales shone under the fluorescent light. Her casual wear was simplistic, consisting of a worn t-shirt that read Alchemy Olympiad 2015 and a pajama bottom that wrapped around her tail.

    “Why are you awake?” Dawn asked, raising an eyebrow. Sam yawned before explaining herself.

    “Well ya’ see,'' she started, “I maaay or may not have procrastinated on a research paper that’s due in liiiiiiike…” her eyes wandered to the side as she thought, “...two days? Or technically one, since it’s Thursday now and it’s due Friday in class and if I don’t finish it by then I’m basically fu-I’m rambling again, I’m sorry, but you get the idea.” She laid her body back onto the couch, beginning to type again. “I was just gonna finish up one or two pages more before heading to bed. I’ve pulled off worse all-nighters before, no need to worry.” She peered over her shoulder at Dawn. “What about you? What’s your reason for being up this late?”

    “...I…um...” Dawn nervously looked to the side as she wrapped her arms around herself. Her stance was tense and straight. Her hands were figity as they tightly gripped her arms. “...can’t...sleep.” Suddenly, one of the "strands" of hair on Sam's head snaked towards her ear. It hissed into it. Sam's fingers stopped. She turned around to face Dawn, her expression loosening.

    “...were you having a nightmare?” Sam asked in a gentler voice.

    “..n-no..”

    “You’re a terrible liar,” Sam said, shaking her head. “...do you...wanna talk abou-"

    “I’m fine,” Dawn said briskly, firmly interrupting her friend. 

    “...You sure?”

    “Yeah, yeah.” Dawn began massaging her temples. She floated over to the couch and sat herself down on its arm next to Sam, “I just...I want to get my mind off of it. I’m a bit...shaken, still.” Dawn crossed her arms. Her blank, icy eyes stared off into space. Sam stared at her roommate for a few seconds before she laid back in her seat, not knowing what else to do. Her eyes looked in roughly the same direction as Dawn’s. The two of them sat there for a short moment, silent. Then, Sam spoke up.

    “You wanna get coffee?”

    “...what?”

    “There’s this place that I usually go to when I’m pulling all nighters and I need a pick me up,” she sat up, “One of the baristas there is really sweet and he makes really good coffee. It’s a pretty chill atmosphere, we can go there if you want.”

    “I don’t know,” Dawn replied, “I appreciate the offer but I really don’t want to pull you away from your wor-”

    “Nononono, it’s fine. I could go for a little break right now, anyways. Besides, it’s walking distance from here,” she said, smiling at Dawn. Her left fang flashed in the light. “We can go there, if you want.”

    “And here we are!” Sam announced playfully as she motioned to the building in front of them. It was a small establishment, the outsides colored with dark purple accents. Dawn looked up at the text that protruded from the wall above her.

    “Midnight Mocha?”

    “It’s a coffee shop for night dwelling monsters,” Sam said casually, “Vampires, Scandanavian Trolls, anti-social shut-ins, if someone doesn’t like being out in the sun, you can find them here. I’ve been here a couple of times before to get work done. C’mon, it’s on me.” With that, she slithered towards the door, Dawn following her from behind.

    Dawn and Sam pushed open the glass door, ringing the entrance bell. Some of the patrons looked up at them briefly before going back to their business. Dawn looked around the establishment as she moved towards the counter. The walls were lined with booths, some of them being filled with patrons. There was a smaller level above them that contained miniature sized booths, some of them housing fairies or goblins.

    “Hey Steve!” Dawn’s observations were interrupted by Sam’s greeting. She turned forward to see the tall, imposing figure behind the counter.

    Steve was quite tall, even by Wendigo standards. The ceiling of Midnight Mocha was covered in scratch marks from his antlers and he usually dwarfed anyone who walked in. The owner didn’t really mind, fortunately. As long as he did his job, which he did rather flawlessly, he was welcome within the establishment.  He stared at the two girls with his blank soulless expression. He opened up his boney left palm and did a small wave at the two of them.

    “Where’s Wendy? Is she off tonight?”

    “...” Steve looked over to the door behind him and pointed.

    “The jackalopes got into the trash again and she’s taking care of it?”

    “...” The enormous barista nodded, still completely silent. 

    “Yeesh,” Sam said as she crossed her arms, “I thought you guys called Beast Control?”

    Steve exhaled a deep growl, sounding almost like a sigh, and shrugged. 

    “Aw, that’s a bummer.” She leaned on the countertop again, “Um, anyways, can we get two Macciatos?"

    Steve stared at Sam, his expression unchanged. Then, he nodded as he released a calm growl and turned around, ready to work. Dawn stared in awe at him as he went on with his business.

    "He's not much of a talker," Sam said casually as she got off the countertop, "But he's really sweet! And he makes some really good coffee."

    Once the two of them got their order, they found an empty booth and sat down in it across from each other. Sam’s tail was coiled underneath the table while Dawn sat in a criss-cross position to avoid it. Dawn stared into the cup, the warmness of it soothing her cold hands. As hard as she tried to relax, her body still felt rather tense. 

    ...DAWN!…

    Her friend’s screams echoed through her mind as she stared.

    “So,” Sam said, interrupting Dawn’s thoughts. She blinked as her mind set itself back into reality and looked at her friend. “What’s new? What’s old? What’s something you haven’t told?”

    “....W..what?”

    “I don’t know, I just made that up on the spot, my brain does not make a smooth train of thought at this hour so I...probably shouldn’t be working on an important research paper at this time…” Sam’s eyes wandered off into space before snapping back into reality, “Anyways! Um…” Sam sat there, finger circling the rim of her cup as she tried to think of a conversation starter, ”..Wwwhat do you think of the coffee here so far?”

    “Hm?” Dawn asked, seemingly jerking her eyes out of deep thought. “Oh yeah, yeah, it-it’s great....”

    “...You didn’t even taste it yet, did you?”

    “...No...no I didn’t. Sorry, I know we’re supposed to be here to help me calm down, it’s just…” She laid back into the seat, letting out a long sigh. Sam’s eyes shifted into worry.

    “Dawn,” she said, breaking the silence, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

    “Yes. I’m sure, Sam.”

    “Really? Cuz I don’t think just ignoring it is gonna solve anything”

    “I said it’s fine, Sam-”

    “It’s just going to get worse, you can’t just keep bottling it up like this, it isn’t goo-

    “I said I don’t want to talk about it!”  Dawn said, her voice seeming to echo as she leaned forward. The whiteness of her eyes suddenly shifted to a cold, empty black color. Sam pushed herself back into the cushions of the booth as Dawn glared at her. The two of them held these positions for a few seconds.

    Slowly, Dawn’s facial expression loosened. Her eyes transitioned back into their natural white as her breathing began to slow.

    “S-sorry,” Dawn said, meekly, “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that….”

    “Nono, it’s fine,” Sam said, adjusting her glasses, “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I’m just worried about you, dude. I can hear you tossing and turning in your sleep.”

    "...you can?"

    "Well, I can't." She began to stroke her hand on top of her snake hair, to which they hissed in delight, "But they can, and they tell me." She began to scratch the underside of one of them, "Usually it's Athena here. And from what I understand, it’s really bad. They say you always seem so scared and frantic, like you’re panicking.” She looked back down at her coffee cup, “I really care about you man, and I want to help you get through this. But I can’t help you well unless I know what’s going on.”

    The table fell silent once again, the two monsters barely making any eye contact. The shuffling of the few other patrons could be heard.

    “I miss Earth,” Dawn said, not looking up from her drink. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m liking Faborbis so far, and I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me to make it easier to transition. It’s just…” she leaned back against the booth’s seat as she took a deep breath.

    “...ever since I died, I sometimes just can't stop thinking of my old life. Back when I still flesh and bone, before I had to deal with all,” she began to wave her arm back and forth through the table in front of her. It phased right through it, as if she was hitting nothing but air, “that. And I feel like I shouldn't. Like, I'm already dead. There's no changing that. There's no way I can go back home, and yet…” 

    She sighed again, “I don’t know. This is all just a lot for me sometimes, ya’know? A year ago, I had my whole life ahead of me and now...” She leaned off from the back of the seat before holding her hand up. She could see Sam right through it, “...I don’t really know what’s ahead of me.”

    The two of them sat in silence for a bit. “I don’t really expect you to get it,” she continued. “I mean, you’ve lived in Faborbis all your life. You didn’t die young like I did.” Dawn looked down dejectedly. Her hands gripped onto her coffee cup tightly. Suddenly, Sam’s hand reached up to hers as she placed it on top of it.

    "Hey," Sam said in an assured tone, "It's okay that you're feeling like this. This is a pretty big change for you. You're not going to completely adjust so quickly, especially since it's only been a year. You’re right. I don’t know what you’re going through. But I’m going to try my hardest to help you every step of the way.” Sam’s emerald eyes looked reassuringly into Dawn’s white ones. The ghost formed a small, relaxed smile.

    “Thanks, Sam.” she said, “I appreciate it.” She laid back into the seat again, coffee still in her hands. After looking down on it for a few seconds, she brought it up to her lips for a taste. At that moment, her eyes shot wide. The blank iciness in her eyes seemed to glimmer in the cafe’s white light.

    “...Dawn?”

    “...I love it…”

    Sam stifled a small giggle, “I know, right!?”

[ameryana]

Good evening lovely❤ I dunno if the drabbles are still up but could you write something like , reader doesn't get a valentine present and is sad about it. So V sits next to her and gift her a single Rose?🙈 I just need some love

Three months later… I hope you can consider this a late surprise, other than extreme tardiness and procrastination from me… Sorry @harlekin6​! Good day back to you, I hope you are doing well

❤

 And yes, I’ll write you a drabble :)

The shop is about to close down, and you take a last look at the store, to make sure that everyone is gone. The café feels lonely with only you left, and you try to stop thinking about what’s nagging you. You start cleaning the counter and the coffee machine, whiffs of dark aroma meeting your nose when you advance. The bell tingles softly in front, and you realize you forgot to lock the door. 

“I’m sorry, but we’re…” 

You halt when you see who entered: Shadow, who’s happily pouncing towards you from around the counter and purrs loudly when he streaks past your legs. 

“Hey handsome!” you cheerily greet him, and you sink down your knees to scratch the glowing panther behind his ears, just the way he likes. He nudges you hard and you lose your balance and fall back with a soft thump.

“What’s gotten into you?!” you giggle when the panther rushes forward and nudges you again to lick your cheeks, drowning your protests with loud purrs. 

“Shadow can tell when something’s wrong,” a deep, familiar voice greets you from above, and a shadow falls over you. When you look up, you see V leaning over the counter, smiling down at the both of you. You startle and try to get up, pushing back a very persistent Shadow, but finally manage to stand upright. 

“Hiyah V, should’ve known you would be tagging along,” you mumble, trying to cool down. Your cheeks are scalding hot, and wet with demonic panther drool. V offers you an unsolicited napkin from the counter and you quickly grab it, trying to clean up yourself. Shadow purrs apologetically around your legs, but keeps nudging his head at you. You smile despite the embarrassment and scratch the beast once more. V is standing tall, looking at you questioningly with those gorgeous green eyes. 

“So… What’s wrong?” 

You fumble with the napkin between your hands, hesitant to answer. Then realization dawns that you couldn’t be embarrassed any further than you have just now and you nudge your head at the shop window, that’s decorated with all kinds of frilly Valentine’s Day ornaments. On the counter, trays of heart-shaped bonbons are on show, ready to be taken home by infatuated couples and lovers of raspberry-cream filled chocolates. 

“It’s been a long day, with all my colleagues away on vacation and no one to talk to except lovey-dovey couples. I guess I feel a little lonely.” 

You smile and avoid V’s gaze. 

“It’s good to see you two,” you add, trying to sound normal. 

“So no one wished you a happy Valentine’s Day, and you’ve gotten no gifts at all? What a shame…” 

You finally dare looking at V and hope your face doesn’t give away. You often daydream about him, and today hand’t been an exception. V is still smiling at you and lifts his cane, the metal tinkling on the marble counter when he puts it down.The tall warlock is towering over you, yet doesn’t intimidate you at all when he leans forward, inching closer to you. His forehead is a hand length away from your face, and when he looks down, you follow his eyes. In between his hands, small wisps of magic are glowing in a bright light, and a familiar shape is forming. 

Petal after petal, a beautiful white rose forms out of thin air, its sweet perfume permeating the air as it solidifies between V’s slender fingers. He lifts the flower to your face, and you flinch when a few fingers and cool petals streak past your jaw. V then holds the rose up in between you and gives you such a tender look that it almost hurts you. 

“Someone like you shouldn’t be alone, at all.” 

It feels like a dream when you accept the rose from him and bring it to your face, inhaling the sweet scent of it and hoping you don’t wake up. You feel V’s fingers gently grab your free hand and bring it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on your knuckles. 

“Today’s not over yet. Would you like to make it worthwhile?” 

A huge smile breaks through your face and you clench down on V’s hand, shyly leaning forward and nodding at the counter, letting his face streak past yours. He almost kisses you, but then pulls away again. 

Shadow starts loudly purring again when you leave the shop as is and close the door behind you, walking away while holding V’s hand, and happily smelling the rose he crafted you. 

[qwertythepopstarian08]

JSAB Superhero AU Fanfic: Shattered Heart

I’m sorry for delaying Grey Area and Feeling Blue again, but I hit a bit of writer’s block with those two fics, so I made this as a gift for @small--crcle instead.

I noticed that the mun of that blog was feeling down, so after days of procrastinating, I finally finished this thing and edited it to a coherent state. I hope this helps...

This is a direct followup to Duality, so I suggest reading that fanfic first.

Warnings for slight horror themes.

Even heroes can be broken. Villains as well.

New Game learns this the hard way one night, facing off against what should have been an easy opponent.

It had been an accident, a classic case of wrong place, wrong time. One minute, King was there, perfectly fine, and then… he wasn’t.

Neither of them could have seen the corruption coming for them. Some new villain had popped up, a tainted beast which spread its infection by touch. It was stained a blood red, coated in shards of its past victims. It wasn’t even much of a shape anymore, twisted beyond recognition.

New Game knew exactly what happened to the poor shape. They’d just gotten unlucky, had stumbled across a power that, much like all the other night-triggered abilities, was twisted and wrong. The powers had nothing to do with morality; some shapes were fortunate enough to keep their minds… others, not so much.

The mutated shape had been a trapezoid, a normal citizen of Treeangle city, just like all the other villains had once been. Blixer had seen the shape around a few times, during the day, of course, just milling about, going about their life like any other law-abiding person. One wrong move, one mere brush with corruption, had turned them into this beast, which was nothing more than a mess of broken horns and claws, fueled by nothing more than pain.

The creature fought blindly, swiping at whatever crossed its path without rhyme or reason. For a while, New Game held his own against the beast, realizing early on that he couldn’t touch it to fight back. So he focused on the defensive angle, hoping that he could buy enough time for the innocents to escape.

This could very well become his last fight, at least as himself. He moved in a cautious, watchful fashion, afraid that one wrong step would end with him corrupted. His smile was strained, his teeth taking on a jagged, fanglike appearance as the being was pushed to his limits. He couldn’t dodge forever, and the moment he slipped up, it would be over for him.

Unfortunately, that moment came much too soon. Perhaps if he’d stepped to the right instead, he’d have avoided crashing into a fleeing passerby. Unaware of the danger their hero was in, the running civilian didn’t stop to help New Game; they kept going, blindly dashing through the streets in hopes of escaping with their own life, careless in regards to the fate that would soon befall their hero.

New Game’s heart rate skyrocketed, his eyes dimming in glow as he stared up at the looming monster, the corruptive demon whose influence would soon bring about his end. He braced himself, unable to move correctly for the stinging pain in his leg. It was too late to flee.

In the next moment, the city would have yet another threat to deal with, its only hero having fallen to the curse...

He shut his eyes tightly, preparing himself for the inevitable, mentally apologizing to Blixer for the pain he put him through… he heard a sharp crack, and then… silence.

A series of sharp, pained gasps broke the stillness, and New Game dared to open his eyes, his entire form shuddering with fear. His heart dropped as he saw a familiar shape standing over the shattered remains of the monster, a shape whose cyan glow cast an aura of both protection and danger, depending on who looked upon it.

The terribly familiar being had a crown of wicked horns. He wore formal clothes, as if he were going to dinner and not a battle. He carried no weapon, for a single blow from his corrupted claws could reduce a shape to shards. New Game knew that confident, cool aura all too well, and he couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in his eyes as the King stood before him, defending him from the beast.

His eyes glistened with a tranquil fury, which faded as he laid his gaze upon the fallen hero. New Game could already hear the series of fearful questions that would surely follow.

“Are you alright?” he expected to hear.

However, all the King could utter was a choked warning, his tone strangely harsh.

“Get out of here,” the cyan villain hissed. His gaze darted from his hands to New Game, yet his eyes were distant, foggy...

He’d reduced the creature to fragments in a single blow, just another testament to his deadly power. Nonetheless, the beast would win, a rash of scarlet already spreading across the King’s hands.

The King of Chaos faltered, then all New Game could see was Kubix, fearful for his life and for once, clueless as to what to do. Kubix dropped to his knees, unable to support himself as the red curse spread, crawling up his arms and tainting his hue.

New Game stammered, “What are you talking about?” He found himself shakily standing, hugging himself, already feeling as Blixer, deep within his soul, began to wake up. His voice quavered with a paranoid fear as he continued, “It’s over, right?”

“Run, Blixer.” King only used that name in emergencies. New Game’s heart rate eye skipped a beat. “Don’t look back… I don’t want you to see me... like this…”

The antihero took a hesitant step back, his horns drooping. He watched, fearful, as the scarlet infection spread, blossoming over what was once a cyan shape. Before his eyes, Kubix’s horns were becoming spikier. His claws sharpened, looking more like deadly talons, sparking with angered power. It was just like what happened to the trapezoid. A single touch was enough to spread the curse. Within moments, a simple shape would be warped into a beast.

Yet… New Game refused to believe it. He voiced his denial, “What are you-”

Kubix cut him off with a strangled scream, “Go!”

Kubix’s hands tensed, his claws crackling with that red energy. New Game couldn’t tear his eyes from the corruption, hoping dearly that the King could fight it off. But the cyan being only drew in on himself, his form seeming to crumple under its own weight, and suddenly he was on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.

Whatever change had taken hold was about to worsen, and soon, the red corruption would take another victim… New Game staggered back, wanting to flee but not quite willing to abandon King.

“I can’t just leave you here!” he screamed. He heard something snap loudly, and he winced, tears stinging his eyes. “I can fix this! Just hold on…”

Kubix interrupted him with a wordless holler, and New Game thought he heard more of a growl than a yell.

His eyes were hidden from view, but New Game could see a threatening red glint overtake his father figure’s gaze as he breathed a last, raspy plea, forcing the snarl out of his words, “Don’t… let me hurt you…”

Eyes wide and teary, New Game broke into a run, already able to feel his control slipping away, his mind becoming inundated with Blixer’s terrified thoughts.

His leg ached in protest, and the alter ego felt a few shards break away, his ankle nearly snapping from the sheer force of his footfalls. Each step sent a wave of hot agony rushing through him, not to mention the pain that burned in his core: the pain of betrayal.

It had only been about half a minute when New Game heard the the terrifying roar behind him, tears now streaming freely from his eyes as he turned a corner, hoping dearly that he’d find somewhere to hide. He couldn’t fight Kubix, he just couldn’t.

New Game’s control finally slipped when his leg gave out, sending him crashing to the ground in a pathetic, sobbing heap. Blixer snapped into consciousness, the physical changes caused by his alter ego slowly receding, leaving the powerless shape without any defense. His once brilliant pink glow went dead, and he was hit with the horrible reminder that it was night, and that he was just a child, lost in the city with a monster tracking him down.

He sat up, trying to find somewhere to hide as he realized he’d hit a dead end. His powers were waning, and soon, he’d be completely helpless once again.

His sight faded into darkness as he lost New Game’s night vision, and he was left, helplessly clinging to his sense of hearing to detect whatever threat might come to him. Shuddering uncontrollably, Blixer felt his heart skip a beat as he heard heavy breathing, knowing that it wasn’t his own, for it was much rougher, deeper…

A faint red light caught his attention, and he snapped his gaze towards the glow, fearful of the source. He heard heavy, approaching footsteps, tensing as the red light drew closer, glinting against the windows of the buildings framing the alleyway.

The breathing suddenly cut off with a sharp growl, the monster giving a frightening snarl as it drew closer.

Anxious, Blixer tried to summon his claws, feeling his heart race, desperate for New Game’s power. He reached deep within his soul, but no matter how he searched, all he could feel of the being’s presence was an intense terror, like a distant, pitiful spirit. Blower could barely summon up the energy to move, let alone something to defend himself, like a cannon arm or some sharp claws.

He internally screamed; of all the times for New Game to falter, now was the time that would get them killed.

The beast didn’t slow its advance, creeping forward until Blixer could see a wicked claw reach forth. Each talon was like a ruby-shaded dagger, leaving gouge marks in the building walls just from the light pressure of leaning against it.

Suddenly, the corruption showed itself fully, revealing itself to be a serpentine beast with a helm of horrible, twisted horns and a sneer full of terrible fangs. Its snakelike form was lined with daggerlike, bristled spines, which each looked sharp enough to impale, to shatter.

Blixer’s breath caught in his throat, but he forced himself to speak. His voice was firm, yet nervous.

“Kubix.”

The beast replied with a snarl, drawing closer, glowing an angry red.

Repeating himself, trying to force the shudder out of his voice, Blixer called, “Kubix!” His pink hue became pallid when there was no response, and he found himself scrambling back, until his back was pressed against the wall of one of the buildings lining the alley. “Kubix, please…”

He wasn’t even sure if this thing was Kubix; for all he knew, another citizen could have been pulled into the chaos, unbeknownst to him, but if the terrifying hunch he had was anything to go by, this had to be the King.

It had no traces of blue on its body, although the young shape could see little scraps of satin fabric- Kubix’s jacket- hanging from the hooked spines along its back. Its eyes were wild and cruel, glowing with a bloody red light, yet as Blixer kept talking, he could see a spark of recognition in its gaze.

“You don’t want to do this… snap out of it…” Blixer’s voice wavered. His entire form was quivering, his horns drooping as tears ran in rivulets down his face.

Much to his horror, the beast raised a deadly talon, preparing to strike. He braced himself, losing hope. Squeezing his eye shut, Blixer murmured a final plea, his hope for survival diminishing. He covered his face, form shaking with quiet sobs, his voice escaping him in a breathy tone, “Dad…”

Abruptly, the monster halted, staggering back. A startled hiss escaped it, its ruby gaze flickering, almost in confusion. Its serpentine body coiled a bit, its spines bristling. It eyed the shape before it with an almost concerned gaze, tilting its head.

A low, yet nonthreatening croon escaped the beast, and Blixer dared to open his eye, his shaking beginning to subside. He looked up, barely able to see past the tears. The beast had faltered, still stumbling back, staring through him with a hollow, haunted gaze.

Blixer took a risk, acting on a tentative hope, then reached out. “King?” His hand was inches from the creature before it drew back, its spikes rising again.

An almost fearful whimper left it, and it, lowering its head in what seemed to be shame, began to retreat, its stare never leaving Blixer.

The young shape watched, ensnared in his own anxiety, as the monster backed away, as if he were the threat. He wanted to reach out again, to see if, by some miracle, his guardian was still in there somewhere. Yet his fear kept him motionless, his frantic breaths being the only thing that told of the fact that he was still alive, that he hadn’t perished from the terror.

It wasn’t until the monster turned, finally breaking into a dash to depart, its glowing eyes fading in the distance, that Blixer’s petrification broke. All at once, the tense aura dropped, an incredulous, almost relieved feeling washing over him. He sat there, absolutely taken aback by his sheer luck, before a few brave tears dared to well up in his eye. They blurred his vision, and when the shape blinked and took a breath, the emotional dam broke.

Shattering stars… that was Kubix. Blixer let out a bitter, broken laugh, a single syllable of, “Heh…”

His voice cracked like his leg had, and he, hugging himself, began to attempt to stand, leaning against the walls for support as he muttered to himself. His leg felt like fire, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart, which blossomed from his core, making his entire being hurt.

Even New Game was despaired, and Blixer felt the being’s perpetual grin falter, like what had occured was so wrong that a universal constant had been broken. In a way, it was. King had never harmed him; after revealing his true identity to the pink shape, he’d never threatened him, either. Over time, the two had even come to a truce in their respective work.

Because of the nature of his powers, King couldn’t help but hurt people. It was an uncontrollable factor of his soul; but... he never raised a claw to his son.

The corruption changed that, all from one mistake, one wrong move.

Blixer had no idea how long he’d been walking. He continued blindly, just trying to get away from the city. His leg was aflame with pain, but it was easier to dwell on that than to focus on Kubix. He didn’t look up until he’d reached the little bridge leading to the suburbs, watching as the few cars raced by. There was a little bike trail on one side, and since no one in their right mind would ride bicycles at night, especially in this city, Blixer figured it’d be safe to walk along the edge. He’d done it before, in way worse conditions. The only difference now was that he had nothing to go home to.

The minutes blended together, and Blixer found himself feeling drowsy, his eye fogged over. He mentally checked on New Game, only feeling a slight bitterness when he focused on the being.

The alter ego’s voice huffed, like a whisper on the wind, laced with sadness, “There’s no point. Kubix isn’t coming home.” New Game’s tone dropped, his voice breaking. “He’s dead.”

Blixer snapped back automatically, “He’s not dead!...” He trailed off, shaking his head. He looked at the streets below, trailing his hand against the railing of the bridge. “It’ll… it’ll be fine… We can sort this out in the morning, and maybe Kubix will be okay…”

A moment of tense silence passed, and Blixer sighed, quickening his pace. He began to feel like someone was watching him, so he focused on the road, watching his surroundings with a cautious eye.

Internally, he heard New Game give an apprehensive, “Watch out…. Something’s following us.”

Blixer nodded, looking down at his hands. There was a slight flicker of pinkish light as his fingertips sharpened, filling with a volatile energy. It was just powerful enough to harm, but not to shatter or otherwise get him into any trouble.

Whatever was behind him would just be in for a rude awakening if they thought they could get the drop on him. It was probably some petty thief, either that or some half-witted crook who thought a kid would be an easy target. Blixer didn’t carry much money with him, anyway, and he doubted the competence of any minor criminal who dared act at night, when New Game was on the prowl, ready to skewer any villain in a fifty mile radius.

Of course, Blixer could barley access his powers now, let alone “skewer” anything, but the villains didn’t need to know that. He was sure the monster had scared them all off, anyway.

He sensed that whatever was following him had sped up, tensing. He hoped that it wouldn’t have to come to this…

Suddenly, he swerved, thrusting out his claws to catch whoever was behind him. His hand met red, stinging spikes, and he recoiled, eye going wide as he processed the sight before him.

He’d been followed by a villain, alright; the worst villain of all. The monster that had once been Kubix towered over him, glowering down at him with a hollow stare. Its red eyes shone brightly in the night, although it was too dark for the rest of the creature to be seen, save for when the occasional car passed by, lights flaring.

Blixer had cracked off one of the beast’s spikes, although it didn’t look too inconvenienced, concerned with watching Blixer, almost guarding him.

For a moment, he cradled his injured hand, hoping that the mere brush wouldn’t do the same to him that it had done to Kubix… then he met the eyes of the red creature, and he felt his tension drop, replaced with a feeling much worse.

A bitter realization made the pink shape’s stomach do flips, and he almost backed away, before he laughed again, breaking eye-contact with the beast. He’d seen that intelligence, that thoughtful, cautious gaze, many times before. Never had he ever seen such sapience in the most corrupted of monsters, so only one thing could be possible.

“You… you’re in there, aren’t you?” His voice was soft, barely heard over the sound of distant traffic. The monster lowered itself… himself… to be at eye level with Blixer. The young shape felt tears well up in his eye, and he took a shaky step forward. “Kubix…”

The corrupted beast let out a low, sad croon, unable to speak but desperate to convey his sentience. He was still conscious. He was sorry, he failed to protect his son. Whatever the red corruption was, it had a tight hold on his soul; it had filled him with a mindless rage that was worse than anything his natural corruption could do. He was afraid that his mind would slip once again, an he wanted to warn Blixer to stay away, no matter how much it hurt. He couldn’t say anything, however, so he just reached out, pulling Blixer close in a shaky, tentative embrace.

Blixer limply allowed himself to be hugged, before he returned the embrace, quivering. He buried his face into Kubix’s shoulder, unable to stop the long-awaited sobs from spilling out. His emotions were a mess; he was a mess.

Kubix had suffered, all because he chose to flee. All because he couldn’t just fight back and let himself be corrupted for the greater good. Kubix had jumped in front of him, although it wasn’t his job to be the hero, and it ended with him becoming a monster, powerless to stop the transformation.

The guilt made Blixer’s heart shatter, and he sighed shakily, blinking the tears from his eye.

“I’ll fix this…” he whispered. He didn’t quite believe it himself, but he had to assure Kubix. “We’ll reverse this somehow. We’ll fix you.”

Kubix only whimpered sadly, the red shine in his eyes lessening.

Blixer, wanting to fill the silence, kept talking, desperate. “I’m sorry… I couldn’t save you…” He tightened his hold, afraid that the red beast would lose his mind again if he faltered. He squeezed his eye shut, trying to stop the tears. “I… I promise we can fix this…”

In that moment, Kubix seemed so fragile. Something deep inside Blixer broke at that realization. Suddenly, his whole worldview shifted. Even the seemingly indestructible could be broken. Even the King... could be usurped.

[royal-writer]

Memories 12- The Drow Part 5

Not really happy with this piece but I want to try getting through the final sections of Essie’s more important memories/encounters in the next couple months. I’ve been such a lazy procrastinator lately hufff

The heavy drops of rain had turned into a fine mist, coating everything in a fine dew. Water clung to her scales and beaded on her skin as Essätha shivered beneath her sopping wet cape. The flap of the hood had to be pushed up to prevent covering her eyes as she turned to look back, bouncing in her seat with legs dangling off the side of the carriage. The world didn’t smell refreshed, but sodden in mucky soil and drenched animals.

Each of the pair of bulls tugging the wagon along lumbered through the slop without much trouble. Their heads down, antlers swaying with the broad movement of their shoulders. The lanky looking farmer at the helm was hunched over with his hat collapsed against his ears and hanging limp. He sighed heavily, giving a flick of the reigns to urge the beasts on with his coarse-looking dark hands. Laying in the emptied cart just behind the man, his watchdog lifted their head at her staring, and cocked it curiously in her direction. Resisting the urge to reach up and scratch the damp, wiry gray coat of the shaggy beast was hard. His beard and mustache drooped from the rain, and he unfurled his large body to stretch; showing his teeth and tongue before curling back up in his spot.

“How much longer until we reach town?” Essätha dared to pipe up. Her bottom ached from sitting on the rickety ride so long. She looked forward to getting off, trying to stretch out her aches, and get something to eat.

“Just behind that bending treeline over yonder,” the man expressed loudly. He released the reigns to emphasis, gesturing off to the east where the road wound past a flank of trees on the right, and open fields on the left. She could just make out a few short structures as they exited the path lined with trees to stare into the distance.

A hot meal and a warm bed, that’s all she asked. That’s all she wanted.

Her eyes closed with a sigh, thinking of mister Tibiius’ shop and the hard bed upstairs. Given a different mattress, it would be suitable. Cozy even; with home-cooked meals and a supportive smile that wrinkled up the old man’s face and lit up his eerie scarlet eyes.

She brushed the images away of the small sitting room, the quaint kitchen, the tiny stairwell and crooked floorboards in the shop. Washing away the door in the corner that lead to the alley, and the additional stovetop where they’d made brews of tea to try. Some bitter, others sweet, just like their conversations.

It was no more home to her than Miamoorgyte had been. But the company made her wish it could have been.

They continued on the remainder of the road in silence. A pair of gleaming eyes watched inquisitively from the deeper undergrowth off to the right. The figure crouched low, and prowled the edges of the brush to vanish without a trace, unseen and unheard save for a twitch of the lazy canine’s ear.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After a night at the inn, Essie wandered the town with the small handful of coin she had on hand. There was enough to cover a week’s worth of a cheap room at the lodge and meals; what she couldn’t catch herself out in the outskirts undetected. Not nearly enough to splurge in the small shops. She did manage to swipe a few sweets from the general store discretely. They tasted heavily of molasses. Not the best snatch.

There was nothing of significant here to pick up, otherwise. It seemed the kind of place easy to get lost in. Off the beaten road; not a traveler’s destination when there was a similar path further south that lead to a larger town as a better rest point. But even the most unsocial of creatures sometimes craved conversation. Even ones who isolated themselves due to their own precarious nature.

Catching a few vermin in and out of the town as replenishment (and loathing the way the creatures felt sliding down her throat like she was some kind of animal herself), the sun rose and dipped in the sky as she explored the buildings of the aging place she would call her residence for the next few days. Smelling of musk; stone covered in lichen and moss, plenty of tired faces and wary eyes. People were mostly polite, but kept to themselves.

Best of all, no one seemed off-put or seemed to suspect a single thing about her.

As the first uneventful day disappeared beneath a sky just beginning to break free of heavy clouds, Essätha returned to the tavern for a night’s rest. A few key phrases there, a purr of sultry words there, and she had found herself warm company for the night in one of the barmaidens; a full-figured woman who for all her shyness in public, was certainly no such thing in the sheets.

Her side of the bed was empty far before the sun rose the next day. Which was fine, the young lady likely had work the next day or hell, maybe someone to get home to. Essie didn’t care at all. She huddled herself up into a ball, trying to trap as much warmth as she could in her frigid lonely bones, and lulled herself back into a fidgety, lonesome slumber.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Money was running low. She had a sneaking suspicion that the barmaid might have taken some of her currency the second night’s stay in this quiet isolated town, but there was no proof. They could have easily vanished paying for her meals or in the sole drunken night she sat at the bar far too long, loathing her existence with a bottle of whiskey for company. A purse left unattended for even a sluggish blink in her mind-numbed state would have been ample opportunity for someone to steal from an unwitting crook like herself.

It was time to get moving, and hope to pick up some odd job along the way for a bit more cash. Clean a few stables, see if any shops wanted help stocking wares, whatever might help pay off for more travels and expenses. Even the most creaky old uncomfortable bed proved better than a dirty sleeping bag every night; not including foul weather.

Placing what few things she had removed from her old knapsack (another item to replace before it fell apart), Essätha left it in her room to scout the town, starting with the tavern owner.

“You wouldn’t happen to need a temporary hand around here, would you?” she hummed, propping an elbow up on the counter while peering over the pudgy old man.

He looked up, his eyes fractured in discoloration with cataracts. “What for?” they asked suspiciously. “Ya paid your weekly due. Unless yer plannin’ on stayin’ longer, but haven’t the money, and wantin’ to service yer stay?”

Smiling sweetly, she shook her head. “The opposite actually: I’m planning on leaving town soon. So a bit of ext-”

“I won’t be needin’ no extra hand, then,” he muttered fiercely. “Between payin’ the staff with low customer income, I can’t spare it. Sorry lassy, ya’ll have to look elsewhere.”

So she did. Trekking to one, and then the other town general store across the way, she came up with the fruitless same answer.

“My kids and I stock, miss. I won’t be needin’ the help. Good luck though!”

“Don’t need the extra hands. Never did. S’not personal, just don’t trust folks. Ya have a good day there, ma’am.”

Maybe she’d have to walk to the next village along the route and hope for better luck elsewhere. Determined not to give up immediately, Essie lurked along the small plots of farmer. A few raised hogs and hens, and she even managed across the man once more who drove her into town; the sole individual to own cows and steers close to town.

Their answers were resounding declines. Though the most pitying was the rancher who drove her into town,;he set her up with a basket filled with milk, eggs, tough jerky, and some sharp-smelling cheeses that made her mouth water. It was at least another week’s worth of rations; longer if she measured her portions and continued hunting down small game and rodents to fill in gaps of hunger.

Drifting through, she nibbled on the tough dried meat (which felt nearly inedible on, making her question how old it might be) heading back to the inn. Tonight and tomorrow night, and she would have to leave the straw-stuffed pallet. Essätha cringed to consider swiping a few coins from the townsfolk tomorrow. It seemed harder than ever to take with Tibiius words still ringing in her head; warning her it would catch up with her, telling her she could do better. It would probably be easy, but where she might gain, it might force another’s suffering. And how long could she outrun the wrath of someone wrongly scorned? Their money a heavy weight on her conscious as well as in her hand.

Perfectly on cue, a shadow moved from behind the saloon as she approached it. Pale eyes and a tick-infested raggedy mane of a wolf stepped around the bend, their gaze fixated upon her. The dead-end street otherwise, empty of all other occupants.

Essätha stiffened. She raised a hand as the animal moved closer, raising her voice in warning: “Back!”

The beast snarled, baring its teeth. As it stepped closer, it’s forepaws began to shift. The toes expanded; the fur retracted. It’s muzzle began to sink into its face and color of its fur began to shift from muted gray to white. Essie watched in stunned silence as it rose; hindquarters bending silently as it grew vertical.

Within moments, in place of where the intimidating canis lupus stood a woman in tattered traveler’s clothes and a torn cloak. Her hands; ashen grey skin freckled with specks of black, reached up to wrap a leather strap along the milky color of her thick hair that fell nearly to her rear.

They smirked. “Good to see you, Es-”

Uttering a choked hiss of ancient Draconic, Essätha blasted a bubbled sphere of acid at the Drow.

Backpedaling, the Dark Elf snarled in pain as the fizzling acid burned into her flesh and soaked her shirt. She placed a hand against her wet clothing, casing a series of Mending spells upon the rips and frayed areas where the Acid Splash had began to devour the material.

“That was entirely unnecessary.”

The Yuan-Ti woman stared, baffled and furious.

“You kidnapped me! You tried to kill me! It was completely necessary!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Essätha, you’ve been in worse situations, have you not?” the Drow expressed, exasperated as they continued trying to fix their soiled disintegrating apparel.

She hesitated, squinting upon the figure of the woman. She was shorter in build, but otherwise about the same thinness as herself. Easy enough to take on. Wreathed in her hair was something she hadn’t seen before though: a crown made of leaves and twigs, her neck ringed with ivy plants. She looked more feral and wild than she had even back at that decaying old house. Not intimidating or lethal in appearances, but still mysterious.

“How would you know that?” Caution. Curiosity. She kept her hands ready, prepared for any unexpected attack the Drow might seize upon her.

They scoffed, rolling their lilac eyes. “Re-stealing an amulet of the house of Teken’rae? Please: that wasn’t your first time stealing something. No one’s that successfully sneaky on their first try.”

A grimace settled on her face. “What do you want?”

They expressed a toothy grin, dropping their hand from their shirt. It was now covered with light burns like their chest from touching the drying acid on their clothes. “To thank you.”

“Thank me?” Essie mumbled, uncertainty knitting her eyebrows close.

“Yes! Thanks to you incapacitating Jayfier, I’m now free of that wretched bastard,” they stated eagerly. “He was assigned to me you see; a real brute, not too smart but plenty cruel. With him gone now, I’m finally free to do as I see, and be myself again. No more fights, no more arguments, no more being strangled-”

“Why didn’t you just leave him before?” she blurted out, relaxing her shoulders a fraction. “Or throw him out?” The realization began to dawn on her. Slow at first; then all at once.

He was gone now. But she hadn’t disposed of him. She couldn’t. Looking down at him; helpless, unconscious. He was right there. A man who tried to murder her; who purred like syrupy honey that he wanted to watch her squirm and torture her before he was through, and she’d let him live. And if she hadn’t stolen his last breath, then…

This stranger had been okay with him, killing her. She’d taken part in her abduction.

She took the man’s life.

Before the Drow could reply, Essätha composed her stance once more. “I find it hard to believe you came here to just thank me,” she remarked with icy venom. “If you’re smart, you’ll leave now. We’ll never have to see each other again. Stop tracking me-”

“Ohh poor little ssa j’nesst,” the woman sang smugly. “You think you’re special? You think you matter? You think I or anyone else cares about your existence enough to trail you to the ends of the Earth? Oh poor creature, no.”

“I did follow you for more than a simple thank you, though,” they admitted. Their slender ears gave a twitch behind them for a moment as they paused. Before the Yuan-Ti woman could evaluate what she was listening for, they continued: “You see because of you, I’m out of work. I’ve nothing, now. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to dispatch of you alone these long roads, but in good faith and interest, I have not. Instead I thought to offer my aid, as I’m sure you’re well aware very unhappy people are interested in what becomes of you.”

“The people you work for?”

“Worked for, poppet. We’re no longer associated. But as the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Essätha gave a snort of disbelief. “You must think I’m a fool if I’d accept such an offer.”

“What other options do you have?” they offered a bit sharply, removing some of the ivy from their person to drop to the ground. As the plant hit the ground, a few yellow-ish green buds upon the plant erupted; sprouting flowers. With her eyes fixated on the plant as it began to entangle roots into the earth; something surreal for something that should be non-sentient, the gray woman went on, “I have knowledge on the people after you that you don’t. You have an advantage with me around. We could make an alliance, temporarily. They will lose interest after all. It’s just petty redemption right now. You stand in the way of nothing important.”

It’s magic, Essie realized, only half listening. It was an old, wild kind of magic rooted in nature. She hadn’t the studying or knowledge of what kind it was, or what it could manifest, but she knew the look of magic when she saw it. It spooled not around the Drow like it did her, but from the plant in a shimmering evergreen color around it. And after witnessing the woman’s unusual polymorphic shift, there was something she knew, or something in her blood, that could call to such ancient magic.

“Or a disadvantage,” the Yuan-Ti mumbled. “You could draw them right to me; on purpose or on accident. By moving together we’d become a more obvious target, if one were to believe your story. I’ll take my chances.”

Their thin lips grew thinner at her answer. The ivy, having stabilized in growth, seemed to have found itself a new home creeping up the corner of the tavern building. Turning her lilac eyes from it back to her, the Drow tisked unpleasantly.

“I see.” She stated stiffly. “Should you ever need me, I’m sure you’ll be able to find me.”

A dark snicker escaped Essie. “Why would I ever need anyone? And how would I even find someone I don’t know?”

The cryptic woman laughed. It wasn’t anymore appealing than the rest of her.

“Everyone needs someone, poppet,” they chimed. There was an eerie look of knowing in her expression that sank into the pit of Essätha’s stomach uncomfortably. She smirked before continuing: “It’s Miz’ri Abravylhell. The trees whisper my name, my pet. They will hear you, and I will come.”

Misery? What a name. It was as unsettling as the look the Drow pinned to her. Whatever subtle signals she’d given off or things they’d somehow found out about her through their spying, it left her troubled. There was no understanding in Miz’ri’s gaze; no gentleness, not even remorse or apathy. It was calculated and meant to alarm and disarm. And she felt that way. Uncomfortably bare, unaware of what else they might know or realized, or what she’d seen since following her all the way back from that village hidden amongst the wood.

She hadn’t needed anyone since leaving her birthplace. She was a grown woman. What connections she might need in companionship, she grew briefly, and cut fast. It was all she required to survive; to get what she wanted, to live. It was enough.

Intuition told her not to trust. It warned her this would not be the last time she saw of the woman covered with nature, her tongue coated in poison. She didn’t care much for the feeling.

Raising her chin, she jerked her head defiantly to the side. “I won’t be needing the summons. We’re done here.”

Miz’ri raised her thin fuzzy white eyebrows, smirking. “Are we ever really done, with people who leave an imprint on our lives?”

It was an unnerving question. Left hypothetical, the woman’s body began to shift once more. The woman seemed to mock her; her appendages disappearing as she grew smaller and smaller, with scales forming over her skin until it was gone completely. It took mere seconds for her to wild shift from a humanoid being, into a harmless garter snake. It was gone swiftly; even as Essätha stepped forward to examine her, the Druid Drow slithered into a crack beneath the inn and disappeared out of sight.

It would have been a lot easier to just kill her. It would have been a lot easier, if she’d never taken the damn coin pouch in the first place, and wound up with that crest. Or if she’d simply handed it off, and fled before finding out what it was and what it was tangled up in.

Sighing uncomfortably, Essie wrapped her arms self-consciously around herself in a short hug, before dropping them to her side and heading for the door, shoulders slumping.

She’d better start packing. Tonight would be the last night here, regardless of lost profit missing out on tomorrow night’s pre-paid stay.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was dark out. The sun hadn’t risen yet. The only people who seemed to be awake and beginning to move around were the farming houses she passed, where candlelight spilled out faintly from windows.

Essätha didn’t pause to stop and stare. She didn’t stop to beg for coin or work. She walked, her boots caked with dry dirt quiet on the roads stomped flat. The silent predators of night owls flew overhead virtually undetected. She could make out their hooting calls from time to time, and the sound of rustling in the brush.

Everything around her felt like a potential enemy. More than usual. She tensed, expecting the scurrying mouse that fled past her ahead on the trail or the eyes shining in the dark; their green meeting her crimson reflection, to launch at her. They did not. Nothing seemed malice; nothing seemed any more interested in her than any other wandering walk yet she couldn’t shake the sight of the woman changing not once, but twice before her.

She could be literally anywhere. Everywhere. And she wouldn’t know it, until it was too late.

What did Miz’ri want?

Twigs cracked underfoot. The lane began to thin of housing the further out of town she went. Along the route, a man already outside of his house was busy replacing broken fencing bordering his farm. The rapping of his hammer punctured the lulling sound of quiet as it pounded nails into wood. He lifted a hand in greeting to her as she approached, grunting.

“A bit early to be takin’ a walk, lass.”

Essie smile wearily. “A morning stroll is good to enjoy the peaceful scenery,” she replied truthfully. “What happened here?”

“Damn horse big as could be came barreling through last night,” he sighed. “Never seen a beast so bold and clumsy to hit a fence. But I wanted to get it fixed, before letting out the cattle to graze. You mind holding that there board for me? Pay you a couple copper shillings for the help.”

A couple coins for holding a board in place? It seemed hardly worth being paid for, but the good act would at least make her feel useful. Better than nothing, especially considering all the mindless pleading she’d had to do yesterday in hopes of some pay. Pocket change would have to do. Maybe it’d end up enough to get a poor-man’s meal the next town over; some bread, or some fruit to break up what she’d been gifted.

She stepped forward to take hold of the new sturdy point, offering a slight smile. “I’d be happy to.”

The man smiled. He adjusted the wood, indicating where he’d like for her to hold it calmly. His hands were surprisingly soft for a work-hand.

Steadying the hammer, he tapped a new nail into place a few times. His arm recoiled, bracing for a firmer strike.

The leather satchel at his side moved against his hip. A heavy bound book’s binding glinted; a scroll of words written in a foreign tongue embellished in gold glaring up at her.

The hammer came down with a gargled mess of curses from the man.

Essätha wasn’t fast enough to retract. The blunt object smashed into her arm, and she cried out. There was a painful crack of bone; bruising immediately seizing into the skin. Strikes of lightning sprang off of the man’s arms; rippling static energy into the air. They coursed their way up her arm and left distinctive lightning burns creeping up her limb.

She yanked her arm back, howling with agony. The wooden board swung back, hitting the individual in the knee so they yelped with pain.

“Fuck! Come here ya little-”

Recoiling, Essie barely missed being struck again by the mallet; swinging in the air with a sizzling crackle of electricity arcing off it. She stepped back quickly, lifting her hand in a sign of peace.

“W-Wait-”

The hammer swung again, but this time the remnants of the fence were her savior. The man fell over the wood not properly nailed into place, and sprawled half over the posts with a groan. He pulled his arm back, ready to chuck the small hand-weapon in her direction.

A flash in the grass, and a lengthy weasel sprang forth. Their form almost seemed to explode; fur disappearing or flying off as they expanded and reformed in shape and size. A woman replaced the sight of the beast, and landed on the man’s lower half, dragging him back over on the farmer’s lot of land.

“Get off of me!” the wizard spat, furiously twisting. “You! You wretched woman! By the name of the Keepers, I will end you!”

Miz’ri snarled down at the man, ramming her scimitar blade through their chest. He violently convulsed as blood foamed in the spittle on his lips, raising his hand in the air. Clipped words of a spell begin to froth from his chest, and a semi-transparent hand flashed into existence to grab at his captor’s throat. The mage hand missed however as the Drow woman dived, driving a fist into his back and winding him.

Nursing her arm with the throbbing, fractured bone within it Essätha dared to advance. “What the hell are you doing?”

The woman whipped backwards as she looked up. “What I have to,” she shrieked, pulling her weapon free to puncture it through the wizard’s backside once more. They let out a strangled noise while slumping forward, their struggles ceasing as they curled into a twitching ball of pain.

“Stop,” Essie gasped. “That’s enough! You’re killing him!”

“And what do you care?” Miz’ri retorted. “He tried to kill you!”

“Get off of him,” she insisted, trying to kick aside the fallen fencing. As she did so, the Drow woman rolled off of the heavily bleeding man. He cringed at her approach, realized who it was, and spat at her feet. Ignoring his wheezing sneers, the Yuan-Ti woman bent down, trying to look at the severity of his injuries.

“Sir?”

They offered a crooked grin at her, hands moving against their waistcoat. Essätha reeled back, wary of any possible weapon they might try throwing, but instead they pulled out a small vial from their pocket. It sloshed a dark purplish liquid inside, and as they pulled out the loose cork, its color darkened intensely. They made a gesture as if to toss it; causing her flinch, which ultimately wasn’t necessary. As she peered back at the man, having expected some source of pain, all she saw was the glass bottle in his parted lips, and the sunken discoloration of his eyes. His veins deteriorated rapidly into dark lines webbing across his features.

Miz’ri gave a throaty, nasally, harsh barking laughter. “The bastard poisoned himself!”

She couldn’t believe it. Vacantly looking at the corpse of the man, she shuddered. Was she still sleeping? People didn’t just up and attack you, only to commit suicide after they’d been wrestled down and stabbed.

“Don’t look so distressed, Essätha, the man did it to himself,” the Drow scoffed. Miz’ri was already filing through his pockets and satchel, tossing out items as she examined them. The coin purse was quickly deposited on her person, but most anything else was deemed worthless or not exciting enough to study past first glance. As she inspected the wizard’s spellbook, she stated: “He was a member of the Virtuous Reclaimers for Her Lady. He was probably ordered to kill you. I warned you you were in danger. You angered some people prone to bad tempers.”

“Virtuous what nonsense?” Essie expelled hoarsely. She licked her lips, racking her brain for information. “Is this- is that what this is about? Your Keepers?”

A jump appeared in Miz’ri’s throat. “They aren’t my Keepers,” she muttered. “I’m not associated with them anymore.”

The booklet. She’d left it with Tibiius, unable to read it, but it had spoken of the group these people were associated with. She wished she’d asked more questions and clarifications from the kind old gentleman before she left. The only knowledge that came back to her now was that awful night in the dusty old house, and the goddess they followed, Lolth.

“I told you you were going to need my help,” Miz’ri stated, stuffing the wizard’s log into her backpack as she shrugged it off. She dug around, producing a sizable clear bottle of red liquid. After a pause, Miz’ri offered it out with a nonplus expression. “Take this. It’s a healing potion. It should help your arm.”

Essätha reached for the vial, and paused. Her fingers twitched in the air, just shy of grasping the beaker. Her other arm still held at the same angle, throbbing.  “How do I know this isn’t poison?”

Cursing in a clipped voice, Miz’ri yanked off the stopper at the top of the flask. She took a quick swig; swallowing, before offering it again. “If it was poison, do you think I’d drink it?”

Possibly, Essie wanted to respond. She didn’t have it in her though. Her mind was still processing the insanity of the morning, with the sun twinkling on the horizon and leaving long shafts of shadows stretched across the ground. So she took the bottle, sniffed, and drank it solemnly. Silent and watchful of the Drow woman as she finished going through the man’s things, the potion swiftly eliminating the ebbing pain in her arm.

“He was a Virtuous… Whatever?”

“A Reclaimer, yes,” Miz’ri replied, keeping her gaze down while Essie’s scored the skyline with a detached expression. “He’s no Drow though obviously; he’s human. I had a skirmish with him the other night, and broke down the fence. He doesn’t live here; the real farmer’s already out tending the land, I checked. As a human he knew his place among our faith. He knew his fate would one day lead to death. He made his choices. Taking the poison now or tomorrow or a year from now, he would have eventually died.”

She swallowed. Her eyes, though she told them not to, looked down at the man’s corpse. You could make out his veins beneath his transparent flesh. They were discolored and dark, with unseeing eyes staring forward. It seemed to be deteriorating his body faster than a normal death. Bruising was already taking over his swelling appendages.

“That’s…” Her voice trailed. Disturbing was too little a word. It was beyond appalling. Not only supporting a cause, but joining it knowing you would die. Willingly accepting yourself as collateral to others.

Miz’ri didn’t acknowledge her nauseous expression, and simply went on, “They won’t tag after you forever. You won’t be worth the trouble and resources. Sure you got in the way of one scheme, but that is one among many. They’ll have other chances. In the mean time, we should get out of town.”

“What did they want with that family heirloom? What is their goal?”

“You really know nothing about Drow, do you?” she scoffed.

Essätha gave a small shake of her head. “A… little. But I-”

“Of course, why would you bother learning about the Drow,” Miz’ri bitterly sneered. “Lolth, our Dark Mother, is the true God of the Drow. She protects women, and seeks our strength and rule in a world where men see themselves as the superior power. She wants the Drow to have honor once again; to be seen. Our brothers and sister who have lived on the surface level, they are given respect and admiration, where we are looked at as nothing more than filth. She is giving us the chance at a better society; where the intelligent, compassionate and understanding of a mother can lead, and from her ruling womb birth a prosperous world.”

“I do not agree with all of the Reclaimers methods. I never did. But I did want to be seen. Surely you’ve seen it before, up here on the surface. Men are given all the glory and power. They’re complimented for their strength, nobility; given titles and castles and riches, seen as the ruler of a household. Women are asked to be at the call of a man. Seen as submissive, weak, nurturers; nothing but the one who gives and raises the children, and cleans the house.”

“Do you not see the sort of change Lolth offers?” Miz’ri dreamily sighed. “I want the sort of rights and respect a man can get. I want a world where my people; my race, is seen. Respected. We live in the Underdark because that is where we were forced and punished to exist, eons ago, and now our entire name is seen as a bad omen based off location. But that can be fixed. Following the guidance of The Queen of Spiders, we can once again ascend and let our name be known and we shall be witnessed once more.”

A fearful sensation squirmed helplessly in the Yuan-Ti’s belly. It sounded like conquest. The ruling of women was of course plausible; hell, it existed. Etheron itself had a Queen. To proclaim that no women out there had that sort of control over territories, economy, towns; it was inaccurate. But then again, this was not the Underdark.

That didn’t make it any more right, however. Forcing a gender, a race; anyone beneath another, it was simply wrong. Her own people showed her that. Other societies and history itself proved that. A sense of humanity in the hearts of anyone with a shred of decency, they knew that sort of outlook was wrong. Some did not see each other as equals. Some never would. But a truly balanced scale would never fall short or tall, simply for placing two different souls upon it. You could not equate one life with another. There was no value, better or worse, to be placed. Living was living; existence was existence, people were people, and that was that. No begger was worth more or less than the aristocrats, and everyone deserved a place of comfort of joy.

Not every Drow followed this Lolth. The name was already lost to her, but she vaguely recalled how Tibiius had spoken of his clergy to another deity. Some other dark lady, or dark maiden he had said. But the way Miz’ri spoke, with such idol worship, she made it sound like the center of the universe itself settled on her goddess, and that was worrisome.

“So your old faction wanted peace through murder?” she hedged. Her foot moved over the broken up railing of the fencing, back towards the road. Slowly.

“They did. I did not,” the slate gray woman insisted while getting up from the ground. “I believe in Lolth’s rule, but I do not want to kill my people in the process. I don’t want to kill anyone. I just want to be recognized.”

A thin smile stretched across Essätha’s lips. “Well, I see you.”

She realized the cruelness of her own words a moment too late. It was not a time for teasing.

But strangely, the soft lavender color of the woman’s eyes rounded huge. Highlights of color seemed grow against her cheeks, although it was difficult to tell with such a monotone skin color. She offered a shaky version of a smile of her own in response.

“… Thank you, Essätha.”

They picked their way over the wooden boards after her. Essie wriggled her hands together, clasping and gripping at wriggling fingers to keep from reaching for a dagger. Miz’ri didn’t seem to notice the uneasy distrust still lingering in the air as she reached up to pull her mane of hair back into a ponytail.

“You’re just a Yuan-Ti, but maybe if you can make the effort, so can other people,” the Drow stated. It was impossible to tell if it was meant to be a jab, a joke, or just a terrible compliment. Nevertheless, with the leather band tied around her messy hair, she beamed proudly.

“We should continue-”

“You’re not coming with me.”

Miz’ri drew a frown across her face, knitting her eyebrows. “Why not?”

Essätha dropped her jaw. “As if I need to explain myself- again? I appreciate that you saved me- I do- but you’re still the reason I got abducted!”

“I’m sorry, did I tell you to take that amulet off of me? We’d both be in different situations if not for your grabby fingers. Well, I would, anyway. You’d still be smuggling goods and moving restlessly from place to place hoping for change you’re never going to find to better your miserable life, and I’d be stuck with Jayfier still on a mission. All of this: it’s because of you. You stole, you took something that you had no right to, and it finally caught up and bit you in the ass.”

“Don’t get mad at me for your own lifestyle,” Miz’ri sneered. “It won’t work. I came with information. I saved you from becoming a sizzling smear on the road just now.”

“I never asked you to rescue me!” Essie fumed.

“This arrangement is for the benefit of us both. I’ll have your back, you’ll have mine. You don’t exactly look like you have any friends, ssa j’nesst, and I lost everything I had when I elected to leave my following,” they snarled. “You owe me.”

They stood tense. Eyes locked. Essätha grated her teeth together until her jaw was aching.

Finally, the Drow spoke: “It’s only temporary, until I’m sure they’ve lost interest. It probably won’t be more than a few months. I’ll split my funds, my rations, and whatever else I need to do to gain your trust. Deal?”

Exhaling roughly, the Yuan-Ti woman doubtfully examined the hand extended towards her.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

The woman paused. Her face, as empty as her face was; as empty of her voice, clarified the simple answer: “You don’t. But you will. I’m the insider. I’m your best bet. And you’re mine. I don’t want to go through this alone, any more than you do. I’ve all you got if you want to sleep soundly at night.”

Each chilling word sent another wave of unease through her. Narrowing her eyes, Essie turned away, her cape flapping behind her.

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Her boots scuffled the dirt road as she began to walk once more. Her thoughts, unable to shake the vision of the dead man staring hauntingly up at her. Every sense was pinpointed not to the future; not before her, but to the silent figure behind her. Waiting. Expecting the attack that never followed; the desperation, something. Anything.

Instead, she could make out the exasperated groan of the woman, and her words floating after her: “You’re going to regret turning down my offer!”

I’m better off without it, Essätha thought viciously. She didn’t need friends. She didn’t need others to complete her; defend her, support her. She didn’t need pretty fibbing lies to sleep at night. She didn’t need anyone. The disappointments they brought, the hurt, the pain.

She had survived this long in life. She could go on longer. She would go on longer, without the help. For how long, who was to say, but she’d get by.

For now, at least.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next town over had a bit more tourism than the last. It made it easier to swipe a few stray coins shopkeeps had yet to deposit. No inn was cheap enough to take her in or any willing to allow her to pay another way, but at least she had food and a musty bedroll to curl up in just outside a wooded villa. Stars twinkled above her. The light of the dying fire embers from her campfire a steady glow. It didn’t produce the blistering warmth she wanted. Even an inferno could not kill the frost that seemed to live in her bones.

Soft cracking of wood and the swish of leaves padded through the grass. Essätha reached for the dagger kept close to her sack, her teeth bared and magic blooming along her palms.

The tracker’s palms were held open and defenseless. Not entirely defenseless, she told herself; recalling the plant-growths that had ensnared the side of the tavern some days back.

“I knew you would sssshow up again,” Essätha hissed. “I am not your sitter, and you are not mine. I gave you my answer. Now-”

“I’m sorry,” Miz’ri blurted out.

A heavy silence filled the air, briefly.

“You don’t have to believe me, but I need you,” the Drow woman whispered, her voice breaking as tears welled up in her eyes. “I have no one else to turn to. I’m scared. I’m being hunted. I’m seen as a traitor by my own people. I need help, and right now, you’re my only hope. I have nothing else. I probably am going to bring more trouble than you need, you’re right about that. I know the Virtuous Reclaimers. I might be able to outwit them for a while, but not forever.”

“You’re already in danger. I just… I’d hoped you would see the benefits as much as I did. I know I’m pushing. I can’t stop myself. They won’t quit until I have been punished. You are forgettable, but I have brought shame upon my faith.”

“I’m not asking you to commit your life to mine,” she hiccuped. “I’m asking for a chance to make things right. If I get stronger; if I can make it in this world, maybe I’ll find my own place and I won’t need to be afraid for my life anymore. You don’t need to put your faith in me. I’m just asking for a little companionship, and some time to sort myself out.”

A savage no was right on the tip of her tongue. She owed this Drow nothing. They had endangered themselves for her, yes, but she had not asked for it. She could have defended herself from her assaliant days ago.

Essätha didn’t trust her. She didn’t believe many of her words, but there was a speck of pity in her heart. Her intuition told her that not everything Miz’ri said was fabrications to gain her mercy. The dreaded terror in her expression was real. The Drow woman truly believed that she was in danger. She honestly thought that if she had to go out, and face the dangers of the world alone, that she wasn’t going to make it.

Only the strong survive. Wasn’t that how the saying went?

It was a lie. Essie was proof of it.

Debating the teary-eyed woman, she finally gave a curt nod; her eyes still and frosty. “Fine. I can not seem to shake you off, so you’re welcome to join me. But I am not responsible for you, any more than you are of me. If we encounter these Reclaimers, that will be the only time cooperation is key. Otherwise, I am entitled to myself, only to myself, and you are to yourself. I do not want a copper piece out of you. You will not get one from me. We will not be sharing room and board, meals, or other expenses. Are we clear?”

“I am indebted to you nothing,” she verified.

Without hassle, the woman was quick to nod her head in agreement. Her tears had almost vanished completely as she shuffled closer, offering out her hand.

“Thank you-”

“Do not thank me,” Essie muttered, ignoring the outreached fingers. “Let me sleep, or I’ll change my mind. Already tired enough…”

“Sure.” Miz’ri agreed, stepping back. Her grin was massive as she went on, “I’ve never traveled with a Yuan-Ti before. Your magic is from Shadowfell, is it not?”

That caught her attention. Mutely, she nodded while settling back into her bedroll. “It is…”

Nodding, the Drow woman removed the small sack from her shoulder. It was a bedroll, and as she unrolled it, it contained what little she had on her. She placed the mismatched items aside without a backpack to place them in, and began to unroll it.

The question nagging at her mind finally jumped to the surface. “How are you able to change like that? I’ve only ever heard of Yuan-Ti, and cursed werewolves…”

Sliding into her bedding, Miz’ri grinned proudly. “Druidic magic,” she explained. “It is a connection with nature and its magic that allows me to wild shape into other creatures. It’s a thrill. Unfortunately not all beasts are very powerful, so if I were to change into, say, a fly… you don’t really want to be swatted.”

Making a soft noise in the back of her throat to show she’d heard, Essie rolled over on her opposite side. It was an indication the conversation was over, as she shut her eyes.

Sadly, Miz’ri didn’t seem to catch on.

“What’s it like for you? Changing into a-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh… okay. But-”

“I’m trying to rest,” she grumbled. “Goodnight, Miz’ri.”

“It’s not really fair I talk about my stuff,” the muttering voice of the Drow venomously spat, “and I get to learn nothing about you.”

Essie bit her lower lip to keep from shouting: Just because you are willing to give information out freely does not mean I have to.

She was grateful for the silence that finally came. But sleep never really did. Uneasy by the person beside her, who she waited to get up and stab her in the night. The sound of Miz’ri tossing and turning. The jumpy unease of every noise that scrambled across the leaf litter in the night.

All she hoped was that she’d be able to lose her new ball and chain, sooner rather than later.

[minister-for-femslash]

Hard Choices

Summary: With his memories restored, Quentin and Alice face a difficult choice when it comes to Julia.

Warnings: Mentions of rape

Pairings: Julia/Penny23 

Word Count: 4,960

Author’s Note: A fic for Welters Challenge, Procrastination Week, theme: Blackout

Quentin spends days in bed.

His head lies back against the pillow. His hair clings to his forehead with sweat as he thrashes across the mattress, the bed sheet long discarded. His temperature is high, too high and Alice spends hours by his side pressing a damp cloth against his face and neck as he whimpers and whines.

His mind is at war. Quentin's memories are still forming, still taking shape, forcing out the falseness of Brian and it's taking it's toll.

He mutters, whispers her name and grasps at her hand.

"The Beast," he says. "He's coming."

"No. The Beast is gone, Quentin, you're safe." Alice stops. "You're safe from him."

Quentin shakes his head.

"He killed you." His eyes are squeezed tight. A tear slips out and makes it way down his cheek. "He killed you!"

"I'm here. Quentin, I'm right here. See me," she says.

Quentin doesn't open his eyes, but he seems to settle slightly and when he stops thrashing and his grip on her hand loosens she leaves him to sleep.

She finds Dean Fogg in the kitchen. He watches her closely as she grabs some ice from the freezer and places a few cubes into a towel.

"How is he?"

"He's in pain."

"Yes, I imagine he would be. The reversal process can be rather unpleasant."

"It shouldn't be necessary."

Dean Fogg goes silent for a moment. Alice grabs a glass from the cupboard and quickly fills it with water.

"I suppose you're right. I did make a mistake, but we both bare a responsibility for what happened at the castle, don't we, Miss Quinn?"

Alice doesn't respond. There's nothing for her to say, they both know the answer. Instead she takes the glass of water and the damp cloth, and heads back upstairs.

She sits by Quentin's side, wipes the sweat from his brow, brings the glass to his lips whenever he becomes lucid enough to ask for it, and hopes that he can make it through this. When he starts muttering again, about Julia, and Margo, and Eliot, screaming for them, her own tears fall.

By day five Quentin is well enough to eat. Alice makes him a sandwich and when he devours it in a few minutes, she makes him another. He goes back to sleep. It's more peaceful this time.

By day six he's out of bed. His legs are shaky as he discards the pyjamas and pulls on his clothes. He almost falls and Alice grabs his arm.

"You should be in bed. You're not strong enough to be up yet,"Alice says. "The potion is still..."

"I'm fine." Quentin steadies himself.

Alice lets go of his arm and he manages to stand by himself. She looks at him. She doesn't say anything but she doesn't have to. He stops. The button and fly on his jeans are still undone as he leans against the chest of drawers and takes in a deep breath. Alice can hear him wheeze slightly.

"The monster is still out there and the others, they don't know he's coming. Julia and Margo and..." He stops.

He shakes his head and Alice can see the pain etched on his face.

"They're vulnerable. At any moment he could... And Eliot." There's a quiver in his voice as he says Eliot's name. "The longer the monster is in his body the less chance there is that... I have to do something. I have to save him."

"Okay."

-----

Quentin leans against Alice as they head out of the cottage, across the grounds and step through Brakebills' many protective wards. She feels him shiver.

The taxi is waiting for them two streets away. Quentin flashes her a look when she leads him towards it but he says nothing. They climb in and Alice gives the driver the address. L'Experience on Target street. A small but quaint French restaurant. It's lunchtime, which means its quieter than of an evening and they can seat themselves. They choose a small table at the back and Alice orders a bottle of the house red when the waiter brings them the menus.

"What are we doing here?" Quentin asks.

"Just wait." She checks her watch and then looks over at the door.

Alice almost misses her entrance when the waiter returns with the bottle and insists one of them check to see if it’s corked. She takes a quick sip and nods her head. He asks if their ready to order and when Alice tells him they need a few minutes he leaves the bottle and another glass. By the time Alice turns back she's already sitting at the bar.

"Jules," Quentin says.

"Yeah. They named her Kim."

"She looks..."

"What?"

"Different."

Alice looks at her closely.

Julia is wearing a suit. Black trousers and a white blouse buttoned to the collar - work clothes. Her hair is scraped back into a tight ponytail. It's her heels that stand out; purple, not so bright to be garish but bright enough to add a splash of colour to an otherwise plain outfit.

"She's an architect. Her firm's just a couple of blocks from here," Alice says, as if that explains it, but Quentin's right. There's something different about her.

Alice noticed it the first time she saw her. There's a lightness to her, a calmness. As if the weight of the world has fallen from her shoulders.

Alice watches as Julia pulls the bobble out of her hair and runs her fingers through it a couple of times. She undoes the top two buttons on her blouse and then reaches into her handbag for lipstick which she applies quickly and without the use of a mirror. The bartender brings her drink, pink gin and lemonade - Alice has seen her order it before - and after some small conversation Julia undoes another button on her blouse.

"She has a lunch date, " Alice says.

"How do you know that?"

"I've been watching her, I heard her make it." She sees the surprise on Quentin's face. "Just basic reconnaissance. The Library weren't exactly forthcoming with information about your new identities so I've been doing some research."

"By stalking us."

"It seemed like the most effective way."

Alice glances towards the door.

"Is that why we're here? To watch?"

"No." Alice reaches into her pocket and takes out a small vial full of purple liquid. It shimmers under the light. It twists and turns in the bottle as if it's trying to find it's way out.

"Is that...?"

"Yeah."

Quentin reaches out and picks up the vial. The liquid presses up against the glass as if it's trying to reach out to him.

He places the vial back on the table.

"So what's the plan? Are we just going to walk over there and slip it in her drink?"

"I was thinking of something a little more subtle. Stay here." Alice stands up.

"Where are you going?"

Alice smiles.

"The restroom. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Alice switches on the tap. She gathers the cold water in her hands and splashes it against her cheeks. It doesn't have much effect so she tries again. She's tired. There are large, black bags under her eyes and she can't stifle her yawn. She's been living predominantly off coffee and adrenalin since Dean Fogg broke her out of the Library. When this is over - if it's ever over - the first thing she plans to do is sleep, for at least a week.

She heads back into the dining room, intent on ordering a coffee from the first waiter she finds, but when she gets back to the table Quentin isn't there. For a moment she panics. She looks around and sees him standing by the bar. He's leaning against it, trying to appear casual, but it's not working.

He's talking to Julia, or at least he's trying to. She's leaning away from him, her smile is forced and she fiddles with the straw in her drink.

Alice quickly walks over.

"Sweetie," she says, as she places her hand on his lower back. "What are doing? I've already got us a bottle of wine." She makes a show of looking at Julia. "Oh hello, Kim isn't it?"

Julia looks confused as Alice holds out her hand.

"Alice Quinn. We met at Bianca and Darren's engagement party. I work with Carl, in human resources."

There's a moments pause where Julia's eyebrow furrow as she looks at Alice, half a second where she has to make a decision. She plasters a smile on her face - more convincing than the one she was giving Quentin but still fake - and shakes Alice's hand.

"Yes of course, hi." There's an over enthusiastic tone to her voice. "It's good to see you again."

"You too. This is my boyfriend."

"Hello," Julia says, as she shakes Quentin’s hand.

Quentin doesn't say anything, he just stares at her until Alice gives his shins a little kick.

"Hi," he says. "It's nice to meet you."

"So, what are you doing here?" Alice asks

"I'm suppose to be on a date actually, but he seems to be running a little late."

"I'm sure he'll show up," Quentin says.

"Is it your fiancée? The guy you're waiting for."

"Erm, no." Julia looks down at her hand. There's a faint line around her finger where her engagement ring use to be. "Actually, we erm, we called off the engagement. I called off the engagement."

"Oh I'm sorry. What happened?" Alice asks even though she already knows the answer.

"It'll sound terrible."

"No it won't."

"Trust me it will. Every time I try to say it out loud it sound awful, I'm awful."

"Maybe that's why you should say it," Quentin says. "Because it sounds so awful."

"I met someone else."

Alice sees the slight flicker of a genuine smile on Julia's face.

"It's going to sound crazy but the moment I saw him I... Do you ever get that feeling when you meet someone, like, I know you, I don't know who you are but I know you?"

"Yeah, yeah I have." Alice glances at Quentin. 

She sees a flash of purple in his hand as he subtly tries to pull Julia's glass towards him. She shifts closer to him, moves her hand across his back and grabs the fabric of his jacket just near his elbow. She manages to pull his arm back and he looks at her. She shakes her head.

Quentin places the vial into his pocket.

"I didn't cheat if that's what you're thinking. It's just, meeting Hansel, it made me realise, Anthony's a great guy. He's smart and funny, and kind, but he's just not the person I'm meant to be with."

"And you think this Hansel guy is?" Alice asks.

"This is only our fourth date, so I think it's a little too soon to be..." Julia pauses. She bites down on her bottom lip. "Yeah maybe. Oh my god that sounds crazy." Julia laughs. "He's a D.J. Can you believe that? If my parents found out I was dating a D.J."

"Screw them," Quentin says. "If he makes you happy..."

Julia smiles.

"Screw them. I like that."

"Well, we should get out of your way. I think your date's just arrived."

Julia looks towards the door. She lifts up her hand and gives a little wave.

"How did you know?" She asks.

Alice hesitates for a moment.

"He looks like a D.J."

Julia lets out a laugh.

"Yeah, he kinda does. It was good to see you again."

She sees Quentin's eyes go wide.

"You too. We'll get out of your way." Alice quickly steers Quentin away from the bar and back towards their table.

Quentin stares over his shoulder.

"Quentin."

"That's Penny."

"Yes."

"That's Penny."

"Don't stare," Alice says as she glances over her shoulder and sees Julia step down off the stool and embrace Penny.

"That's Penny," Quentin says again. He's finally turned away. He drops down into his seat, pours himself a large glass of wine and downs it quickly. "Alice, what's going on?"

"I don't really know, if I'm honest. When the Library conjured up Julia's new identity, they didn't just give her a job, and family and friends like everyone else. They gave her a fiancée. A lawyer. They met in high school, were friends for years and the night before they left for college they both confessed they loved each other at the same time. The Library falsified this entire relationship for her, the perfect relationship and then she met Penny, or Hansel, and it all just crumbled away."

"Was that their plan?"

"I can't imagine it being. Julia's already fought her way through one memory wipe why would they risk her fighting through another by throwing Penny into the mix. No, I think it was just a coincidence, them running into each other like that. Remarkable really."

"Julia said when she first met him, in the other timeline, Penny called her his soulmate. Maybe he was right."

"Really?"

"They found each other."

Julia and Penny walk past their table, and Julia offers them a smile as she does. They sit just a few tables away and Alice watches as Penny immediately takes Julia's hand and gently kisses the back of it.

"They found each other." His voice is quieter than before. "Across timelines, even with brand new identities, they found each other. How do you explain that, other than soulmates?"

"And what about Kady? Where does she stand in all of this?"

Quentin goes quiet for a moment.

"I don't know."

"Are you ready to order?" Their waiter has suddenly reappeared, an order pad and pen in his hand, and a cheesy smile plastered across his face.

"We'll both have the duck," Alice says.

"Excellent choice."

Quentin waits until the waiter has left before he leans closer.

"So what is the plan?" He asks. "I almost had the potion in her glass at the bar until you grabbed my arm."

"We can't do it here."

"Why not?"

"Quentin." She keeps her voice gentle. "Think about what you've been through the last few days, all those memories flooding back into your head. How hard it was, how much pain you were in. We can't do that to her here, we need to make sure she's somewhere safe before we give her the potion. I imagine it's going to be particularly difficult for her."

"And Penny?"

"I think right now, we should treat them as a two for one deal. We need to find a way to get them both back to Brakebills.”

"Is that why we're here?" Quentin asks. "Wait, what do you mean particularly hard for her?"

"She's going to remember."

Quentin looks confused.

"Reynard. The library removed that memory along with all the others. Quentin, she doesn't remember being raped.”

Quentin turns in his chair. He looks over at Julia and so does Alice. Julia smiles, slowly brushes the hair away from her face and then places her hand on Penny's.

When Alice turns back to Quentin he's still looking - no staring. He stares so long and so hard that Penny must feel it because he turns and glares in their direction.

"Quentin," Alice says. She reaches across the table and takes his hand. "Quentin."

"No." He pulls his hand away. "No!" He stands up. The chair scrape loudly across the floor. There's a thud as it tips over and suddenly all eyes are on them. "I can't do this." He rushes out of the restaurant.

"Quentin." Alice chases after him.

Quentin gets halfway up the street before he stops and drops back against the wall of a small flower shop. When Alice catches up he's breathing hard, almost gasping. His face is pale, grey. His eyes are squeezed tight and his head moves from side to side, as if he's trying to shake something, dizziness perhaps.

"Quentin," Alice says.

She reaches for his arm. Suddenly his eyes open, he lifts up his head and she stops. He has a glazed look and for a moment Alice thinks he's going to faint, instead he shakes his head again and then stands up.

"Are you okay?" Alice asks.

"No. I can't do this, Alice. I can't force her to remember that. I can't."

"I understand, Quentin, I do. But we have to do this."

"You don't."

"What?"

"You don't understand, because if you did you wouldn't say that. You wouldn't say we have to do this, you'd know that we can't.

"You think this is easy for me. I have agonized over this for weeks. I have watched her just like I watched you and do you know what I saw? Happiness. She is happy, just like you were. Quentin, you were happy as Brian and I had to take that from you, I had to drag you back into this world of magic and monsters, where everything is hard and everything good just gets ripped away, and now I have to do the same to her. I have to make Julia remember Reynard, I have to make Penny remember Julia's death, I have to make Kady remember Penny's. I have to carry that because the Monster is coming for them and if they don't remember then they're vulnerable."

"There's has to be..."

"There's isn't, Quentin. We need Julia. It was the gods that imprisoned the monster last time, if we're going to do it again we're going to need a god."

"Julia gave up her powers making the keys, she's not a god anymore."

"I don't think it's that easy to stop and even if you're right, even if giving up her powers did make her mortal again she's still our best chance of getting the other gods to help us. She can talk to Persephone."

"I can talk to Bacchus."

"Bacchus is low level and not exactly known for being helpful."

"And Persephone is? Because according to Julia she just does what she wants."

"I think in this instance she'll realise that helping us is in her best interests." Alice takes a breath. She feels tired again. It washes over her and its her turn to slump against the wall. "Quentin..." She can hear the exhaustion in her own voice.

"I know. But she's my best friend, Alice. I don't know how I can do this to her and forgive myself."

"You don't have to." Alice reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out the vial.

"I just need time."

"Eliot doesn't have time."

"I know. I know somebody has to make the hard choice."

Alice runs her finger across the vial.

“And I'm making this one, so you don't have to.”

-----

They head back to Brakebills. Dean Fogg is waiting for them as they step into the cottage. Quentin doesn't notice him, he just heads straight for the stairs. Alice lingers for a moment and when Fogg gives her a questioning look she shakes her head. She places the vial on a nearby table and follows Quentin up the stairs. Alice can feel Dean Fogg's eyes on her but she ignores it.

Quentin reaches his room and then stops and looks back at her.

"I'm going to get some sleep, maybe you should do the same."

"Okay."

He opens the door. Alice stays in the hallway as he steps inside. She waits for the door to close before she turns away and heads for her own room.

Alice doesn't sleep. She tries, climbs slowly into bed but all she does is toss and turn. She feels hot, so she throws the covers off and then ten minutes later feels cold so she picks them back up again. She turns over the pillow. It doesn't tuck under her head properly so she adjusts it, again, and again. She just can't get comfortable. The numbers on the clock, shining bright red, seem to taunt her, counting down minute by minute, hour by hour and then finally she begins to drift off.

Alice is almost asleep when the door opens. The sound of the click causes her to bolt up in bed, it's a sound she heard too frequently while a prisoner of the Library.

It's Quentin.

He looks at her with surprise. But it's not just surprise, there's concern there as well and after a moment Alice can't stand it. She turns away from him. She grabs the glass of water from the bedside table and takes a drink.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.” Quentin hovers near the door.

“That's okay. What's the matter?”

“I had a thought,” he takes a seat on the edge of bed. “About Julia and Penny.”

“Okay.” Alice takes another sip of water and then places it back on the bedside table.

“When Julia was talking about Penny she said it was like I knew him.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“That wasn't Kim talking, that was Julia. Julia remembered Penny and he remembered her, that's why they're together.”

“Yeah.”

“That means there's a part of her that remembers who she really is.”

“It's possible, yes. I don't know is that's quite...”

“I want to offer her the choice.”

“What?”

“Julia. I want to tell her the truth. I want to tell her about magic and Brakebills, about the quest and the castle, about the Library and the memory wipe. I want to tell her about Reynard.” His voice goes soft on the last one. “I want to tell her who she really is and then I want to offer her the choice. She can keep the life she has, a good life but one that is ultimately a lie or she can take the potion  and she can be Julia again, with all the good and bad that comes with that.”

“What if she says no?”

“If it happens then we'll deal with it, but I don't think she will. Julia would want to know the truth.”

“But she isn't Julia, Quentin. I agree with you, Julia would probably take the potion, Julia would want to know but Kim, we don't know what Kim will do.” She sighs. “You know, Julia once told me that life doesn't always ask permission, it just is.”

“This isn't life, Alice, this is us. We're making a choice and I think we should ask her. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Okay. I'll erm... I'll see if I can set up a meeting.”

“Today, yeah.”

“Today.”

Quentin steps off the bed and heads for the door. He opens it and is about to step out into the hallway, only to stop.

“Thank you, Alice.”

“Sure.”

He disappears through the door, and Alice feels herself smile. She climbs out of bed, throws on yesterdays clothes and grabs her phone off the bedside table. She makes the call to Julia's office as she steps into the hallway, completely unsure of what she's going to say other than asking for Kim.

In the end it doesn't matter, the receptionist tells her that Kim is out of the office and as she heads for the stairs she hears voices from downstairs. Dean Fogg's and....

“Julia...” Alice rushes downstairs.

Julia is standing in the middle of the cottage with a mug of something – coffee maybe, or water - in her hand. Her brows are furrowed as she turns slowly on the spot. She's in another suit, dark blue, with sensible black shoes this time. She makes a sort of humming noise as she walks over to one of the walls. She places her hand against it.

“What do you think?” Dean Fogg asks. He stands in the corner of the room and watches her closely.

Alice looks at him and they catch each others eye.

“I'll need some time to draw up the plans, and I'll need to get Marcus, he's my surveyor, down to take a look but yeah, I think we'll be able to do something.”

“Excellent.” Dean Fogg walks towards her and offers his hand. “I appreciate you coming out here at such short notice.”

“Well when somebody asks for you by name that kind of makes you curious.”

“I saw the work you did on the North Corde building and I was very impressed.”

“My receptionist said you were quite insistent.” She takes a sip from her mug and grimaces slightly as she stares at the contents.

“I was, I wish you could apologize to her, on my behalf. But alas.”

“Dean Fogg,” Alice says. She steps into the living room and Julia smiles.

“Oh, hello again,” Julia says. “What are you doing here?”

“Erm, my boyfriend, he's a Professor here.”

“Oh, nice.”

“Not as nice as a D.J.”

Julia laughs.

“Dean Fogg, can I have a word, please?”

“In a moment, Miss Quinn. I was about to tell Kim here why it is that I asked her to come here today. I think that's rather important, don't you?”

“Don't do this,” Alice leans in close and tries to keep her voice down but she's sure that Julia heard her. “Please.”

“Of course. Feel free to look around,” he says to Julia. “Hopefully inspiration will strike.”

Dean Fogg steps away and Alice follows him.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm thinking of doing some remodelling and Miss Wicker is the only architect that I know.”

“This isn't funny.”

“I'm doing what needs to be done. We are going to need Miss Wicker if we are to deal with the Library.”

“You're the one that wiped her memory in the first place.”

“That was before I had access to all the information. I understand your anger, I do, and you're probably entitled to it, but this is important. If you and Quentin are unable to...”

“We're dealing with it.”

“Are you?”

Alice sees the vial still sitting on the table where she left it last night. She moves quickly past Dean Fogg and scoops it up.

“Quentin has a plan.”

“I'm sure he does.”

“He can do this.”

“Good, I'm glad to hear it. Take that -” he points to the vial in her hand - “and give it to Penny. I'll make up more for the others. We're going to need them all.”

“What about Julia?”

“She's already had her dose.”

“What?”

Alice looks over at Julia. She's slowly walking around the room, looking closely at the layout. She brings the mug to her lips and drinks the rest of whatever is inside. She grimaces again and then places it on a nearby table.

“No,” Alice says. “No, not like this.”

Julia stops. She sways on the spot and then stumbles. Alice rushes over and catches her just as Julia falls. She holds her up. Julia has suddenly turned very pale, just like Quentin did.

“I suddenly don't feel so...” Her eyes seems to roll back inside her head for just a moment.

Alice turns and looks at Dean Fogg.

“You bastard!” She spits the words out.

“What's happening?” Julia asks.

“It's okay. You're gonna be okay.” Alice cradles Julia against her. “You didn't need to do this.”

“I did what needed to be done.”

“No. You did what was easiest for you, just like you did at the castle. You made that deal with the Library because it was the easiest way for you to keep being the Dean of Brakebills even if it meant betraying us and now you're doing it again. You're betraying her because it's easier, because you don't want to take the time to figure out another way. A better way.”

“You think there's a better way.”

“Alice,” Julia's voice sounds faint, muffled against Alice's shoulder. “What's happening? I feel... There's this thing, inside my head, it's...” Julia's legs give out and they both stumble.

“It's okay. I have you. You're going to be okay. Not right away, but you will be okay. I promise.” Alice glares at Dean Fogg. “We were going to ask her. We were going to let her choose, because unlike you, she's capable of making the hard choice.”

“You think this was an easy decision.”

Alice hesitates for a moment. She wants to be certain, wishes she could be certain.

“Yes.”

Dean Fogg stares at her and Alice sees something in his eyes. Then he shakes his head, turns on his heel and walks out of the cottage.

Alice watches him leave, watches the door slam shut behind him and then turns back to Julia, who's gripping her shoulders tight. So tight Alice can feel fingernails digging into her skin. Her eyes are closed.

“Kim,” Alice says. “Kim.” She gets no response. “Julia,” she says tentatively.

“This isn't my... My life is... Who am I?” Julia asks.

“You're Julia. You're Julia Wicker.”

“No. No I'm Ki.... Quentin?”

Alice turns as best she can and sees Quentin standing on the stairs. His hand grips the banister as he stares down at them.

“Quentin?” Julia whispers.

“What did you do?” Quentin rushes down the stairs. “Alice, what did you do?”

“It was Fogg, he gave her the potion. She's remembering.”

He's beside them now. He gently places his hand on Julia's back and she lifts her head out of Alice's shoulder.

“Quentin. We're in the.. Fillory. We're in the books. The witch and the... Did we... The Quest... Did we...” Julia's grip on Alice's shoulders tighten even more. Her head falls back and Alice can't hold her up anymore. The two of them tumble to the floor.

Quentin kneels down next to them.

“Julia,” he says. He takes her hand and Alice takes the other.

Julia's head tips back against the floor, her eyes close and she lets out a scream.