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fitzs-trained-monkey · 2 years ago

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🗒️ Vandal 🗒️

Word Count: 16,000+ (And nobody asked for any of it!)

Summary: A quiet high school student looks a little too closely at the tragic events afflicting their hometown. Can you uncover the truth while keeping your own secrets hidden? Or will a lapse in judgment expose you to a world of hurt? || Kol x disabled!reader || Here lies my Masterlist

Warnings: Some language, references to blood and gore, Kol being a psycho, and some dubious consent but nothing violent or graphic. This turned out a little more Yandere than I intended. Just expect ya gal's general tomfoolery.

A/N: Howdy-doo, this is your captain speaking. I know I promised a lot of you that I would have the sequel to Run for Your Life finished last week, but it's still not done and I'm really sorry. I wrote this instead. Please forgive me. I hate letting y'all down but inspiration has been really low as of late and, as some of you know, I've been facing some very serious struggles with people in my life. My sense of self-worth has been suffering, but writing this fic has been my best escape. So again, I'm really sorry to those who were expecting the Klaus fic, but I hope you like this one nonetheless.

🗒️ Story Begins Below 🗒️

When Niklaus Mikaelson confined himself to his studio, it was common knowledge among all parties of blood relation to the original hybrid that any sibling who valued their breathing privileges should promptly vacate the premises until such a time as that tortured artist ceased muttering his internal monologue aloud.

Kol, for one, was quite fond of his breathing privileges, thank you very much.

Ugh, breathing.

The one thing he’d never thought would require adjusting to through the centuries was now yet another factor among a dozen others that required getting used to.

The air of this new age he’d found himself in was thick and hazy with chemicals and other nonsense he didn’t care to think about. Drawing the filthy mixture into his lungs required significantly more effort from him than it used to. He wondered vaguely how the humans surrounding his seat at the bar of this stodgy town’s only decent restaurant did it with such ease. It must’ve been tiring. Perhaps that was why so many of the patrons around him seemed content to spend their morning religiously devoted to quaffing down as much of that - oh, what had Mary-Alice called it? - caffeine stuff as they could possibly contain.

Though the name would suggest otherwise, Kol figured the only way the Mystic Grill, as the place was called, could remain in business was to serve breakfast, lunch, dinner, and drinks. Hence why the place was packed with half-conscious teenagers at the ungodly hour of six in the morning, stopping off for something to eat on their way to school. How did Rebekah enjoy this? Though she’d accompanied him to the grill, Kol’s sister had been quick to grab her coffee and ditch him. She wanted to arrive to school early so she could “talk”. (The notion tempted Kol to impale himself on a billiard cue.)

Rebekah was also rather upset with him, or more specifically, his newfound enrollment in her high school. There was nothing he could do about that, however. If it was up to him, Kol would choose to spend his time literally any place else. Unfortunately for him, after that little incident with Rebekah’s date, mother dearest had been contemplating ways to keep him in line. High school was evidently what she’d come up with. It was Finn’s idea actually. Kol’s eldest brother - dull lout that he was - had suggested that perhaps attending high school with his sister would provide a convenient way for Kol to catch up on recent history, as well as assist him in developing some control over his appetite seeing as each family member had given their word not to shed the blood of any locals. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Esther had done more than just readily agree. She’d also cast a tracking spell on him. If he strayed beyond the town’s limits, she would know.

Rest assured, he would find a way to weasel out of it - that was certain. But for now, Kol was stumped. This resurrected version of his mother wasn’t quite so dismissive of him as she’d been in Kol’s human life. He should have liked that - should have reveled in it. Yet, having her attention this time around came with a cold harshness he wasn’t so fond of. For now though, he would have to endure his punishment. Thanks to Klaus, he couldn’t even skip out.

Thus Kol found himself in an overly crowded restaurant, at six in the morning on his first day of school, surrounded by teenagers.

Kol desperately wished he could eat one or two of them.

They were so rowdy and obnoxious. The whole world it seemed had grown significantly louder since he’d been daggered in nineteen fourteen. So much information assaulting his senses constantly. It was maddening. Being surrounded by thirty or so warm bodies didn’t exactly help. The chorus of their heartbeats fell on his sensitive ears like the cresting of ocean waves and like a riptide, he would surely be carried away if he allowed himself to listen much longer.

The boy’s throat burned. He was hungry. Always hungry. He could practically taste the relief on his tongue. The high he could get from just one little cheerleader…

Kol got up from his seat, grabbed his bag, and shoved his way out the door, cursing Finn’s name to Hel and back. He reached the end of the street and stopped. Raking his fingers through his hair, Kol rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath.

Wrong move.

A gentle autumn breeze swept past and carried with it a hint of something sweet. No, that was too tame. That scent on the air was like pure sugar and spring water, something like berries and roses and cotton candy all rolled into one supremely tempting aroma so overpowering he nearly choked. White hot pain shot through him and his mouth watered. He was standing in the midst of town square before he even realized he’d moved.

There, kneeling hunched over on the ground, all alone in the early morning, was a young woman who looked about the same age as he did. Any view of her face was obscured by the curtain of her hair as it fell around her in something of an untamed mess. Her clothes, nothing fancier than a t-shirt and shorts, were rumpled and irreparably stained with just about every color one could imagine as she focused intently on whatever she was doing. Scattered all around her were about a dozen cans of paint and at least a hundred individual sticks of chalk in a variety of shades. She was decorating the walkways, Kol realized as he watched her dip her hand directly into one of the cans of paint before slathering the color over the flagstones she was working on. Once satisfied that the area was evenly covered, she sat up.

The girl paused to wipe her hand on a wet rag before shuffling back around to a different section where the paint looked a little drier.

Kol had just enough time to register the pattern of scrapes that decorated her hands and knees before that delicious scent washed over him again. It was stronger now that he was so close and like a punch to the gut, just a whiff of it knocked the wind out of him. His throat seared and his fangs ached. She was right there in front of him, trickles of blood seeping from her hands and knees - rivers of temptation. Whatever ichor was rushing through that girl’s veins would certainly be divine. Kol wanted it. He wanted to taste her warm human skin - wanted to lick the scarlet from those teasing little scrapes she’d made. No one was around. He could have that sweet, sweet crimson ambrosia all to himself.

There was just one problem. This girl was a local. Her residence was clear from the tags dangling from her backpack which she’d tossed a few feet away. Kol couldn’t eat any of the locals, he’d given his word on it.

Unfortunately for him, that boy’s sense of honor apparently wasn’t enough to keep his legs from moving. He was standing over her shoulder in a matter of seconds. His looming shadow must have caught her attention because the girl paused her work (she was rubbing lines of chalk into the paint now) and twisted around to look up at him, squinting against the rising sun at his back. Her cheeks were twinged with a delicious shade of pink, likely due to the warm, humid morning, and she smiled in a friendly, albeit slightly confused way.

“Hey!” She greeted - voice practically a chirp. The girl lifted a hand to her face in an effort to further block out the sun, but the offensive light couldn’t dampen her smile. Kol fought the urge to roll his eyes at her sunny disposition.

“Good morning, darling.” He flashed her a grin - the crooked one that made girls like her faint. Kol gestured to the swirling mix of hues currently stinging his eyes. “What’s this going to be?”

The girl blinked and tilted her head. “Could you say that a little louder?” She asked. Her voice was soft but rich with a delicate, wispy quality to it like a warm caramel stretched apart. He supposed it wasn’t entirely unpleasant to listen to.

“Are you painting something specific or is it more abstract?” He wondered, raising his voice a little. Abstract was certainly the most polite term for eyesore, he thought.

“Oh, uh, yeah! It’s Mystic Falls,” She said brightly. Then she paused. Her face scrunched up a bit and even Kol could admit it was a little endearing. “Um, I mean, not the town, but like, the falls as in the waterfalls… yeah.” Her voice tapered off into a whisper at the end and she cast her eyes away.

Kol hummed. “I see.” He didn't actually care, however. He’d seen enough. This girl, tantalizing as her blood might be, wasn’t worth his time - nor his mother’s wrath should he break his oath. There was no thrill in chasing someone like that, girls like her gave in too easily.

Without warning, the little artist stiffened and whipped her head back up to face him, drawing Kol from his thoughts.

“Say, what’s the time?” She wondered, biting her lip anxiously. Her lips looked rather tasty when she did that.

Kol raised a brow and checked his watch. “Ten to seven,” He answered.

She cocked her head again. “Sorry, what?”

“Ten to seven,” He repeated a little louder.

“Huh?”

“Bloody hell!” The boy huffed. “It’s six-fifty! Are you Deaf?”

She snorted. “Uh, huh. Yeah.” Kol’s eyes narrowed but the girl only turned her head, shoving a lock of hair back to reveal some technological array perched over her ear. The artist shrugged and faced him again. “It’s the accent, I think. Plus, it ain’t my fault you mumble. What time did you say it was again? I forgot.”

It wasn’t the disability that annoyed him, he wasn’t that shallow. It was her attitude he couldn’t stand.

“Six. Fifty. One,” He ground out through clenched teeth.

Her eyes widened. “CRAP!”

The annoying little artist sprang to her feet, scooped her bag from where she’d flung it, and dashed off just like that. He huffed at her lack of tact - not so much as a word of thanks. It was probably best for both of them if they never saw each other again. That mouth-watering ray of sunshine was unlikely to survive another encounter with him.

As he debated whether or not to just wander around aimlessly for the remainder of the day, Kol caught sight of an object that must have tumbled out of the artist’s bag. Only the slightest bit curious, he bent down to pick it up. Upon taking a closer look at it, Kol raised a brow. Well worn and faded, the sketchbook in his hands was nothing special - almost every artist had one, that was no surprise. What caught his attention, however, was the design on the cover, or more accurately, what had been made of it. Whereas the front of the sketchbook had once depicted a quaint scene from what he recognized to be the story Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, with little Alice looking up at the Cheshire Cat perched lazily in a tree, the girl had turned it into something far more sinister.

For one thing, she’d given Alice a broadsword. Her dress had been redecorated with dirt stains and blood. As for the Cheshire Cat, the artist had transformed the feline into a marionette with blood-stained teeth and dreadful claws. The background had been scribbled out with a black marker. All save for a grinning silhouette, tugging at the strings of its Cheshire Cat puppet, and a line of bold, bloody letters spelling out the phrase: “We’re All Mad Here.”

It was a delightfully grotesque perversion of a story Kol had rather enjoyed reading when it was first published. Perhaps that girl wasn’t quite so boring after all.

Kol smirked and slipped the sketchbook into his own school bag. Serves her right for being so disrespectful. Besides, the book was steeped in that exquisite aroma of hers, and if he couldn’t devour the poor thing then keeping a little memento was his next best option. If she wanted it back, she’d simply have to prove herself deserving of it. Until then, that little book of horrors was all his.

Who knows what he might do with it?

No matter what, this was bound to be… entertaining.

***

You’d never liked cheerleaders. They’d always seemed so shallowly chipper - the sort of nice that giggles behind a person’s back. Most people said you were just jealous, wishing you could have their beauty, body, or popularity. They were wrong, of course, cheerleading simply wasn’t your thing. As for appearances, at least you were confident enough in your looks that you didn’t require validation from fellow minors. You never corrected the masses though. You let them think whatever they want. (After all, you had other, more important things on your mind.)

All feelings about cheerleaders aside, they were excellent subjects for drawing poses. It was them or the football team and you couldn’t be paid enough to go anywhere near them. Besides, you had already obtained permission from the members of the cheer squad to sit in on their practices. They figured you must have been lonely and seeking their approval. You didn’t correct them either. The girls on the squad were nice enough, though you didn’t know any of them very well. Just some first names.

Caroline, Bonnie, Amber, Laura, Rebekah.

Now that Rebekah was an odd one. She sort of unnerved you. Like the rest, the British blonde was nice enough, but something about her wasn’t quite right. She’d just dropped off the map for a month and a half and then showed up today as if she’d never been gone. Then there was her relationship with the other cheerleaders. Half of them avoided her like the plague and the other half worshiped the ground she walked on. It wasn’t normal.

Life isn’t like the drama shows all over tv. Kids in the real world don’t act that way.

You hadn’t grown up in Mystic Falls. Your parents moved your family into town one year ago. Though you were just a sophomore then, you knew enough to understand that something about this whole town and everything that had been happening within the last year just wasn’t right. Within your sophomore and junior years alone, no less than twenty-six kids were reported missing. At least six were later confirmed dead.

Was it really any wonder you kept to yourself?

You were fine with being alone. It didn’t bother you.

What bothered you was that you had somehow lost track of your sketchbook. That bundle of pages hardly ever left your person. You never went anywhere without it, and yet when you had sat on the bleachers and reached into your backpack to pull it out, lo and behold, it was nowhere to be found. Who knew what small-town hic had gotten their grubby little hands on it?

Alright, that was mean. You just wanted your book back. The idea of someone else flipping through your sketches irked you to no end.

“Well hello again, darling!” A semi-familiar voice rang out from behind you on the bleachers and you twisted around to face him. Had that kid been up there all this time? The boy grinned down at you. “Fancy meeting you here.”

You offered him a tight smile.

“Yeah,” You said quietly. “Fancy that.”

The boy was pretty, that was for sure. Dark hair, dark eyes, a strong brow, and a sharp jawline. Not to mention that smile, you’d sooner light yourself on fire than call it “dazzling” but you would like to draw it sometime. All in all, he was probably the closest thing to masculine perfection you would ever lay eyes upon. But you weren’t dumb enough to judge a person off of looks alone.

Though you had nothing to go off of aside from your brief meeting that morning, you didn’t quite like that kid. On the surface, he seemed alright. A little impatient but still pretty normal. It was the way he looked at you… it reminded you of the feeling you got back in your old town whenever you noticed that your best friend's pet boa constrictor was watching you from inside its tank - how its eyes would follow you no matter what you did. It wasn’t an exactly pleasant sensation. Those onyx eyes of his - when you looked into them, you couldn’t see much of a person looking back. His eyes sparkled when he smiled but behind them… behind them there was nothing. A charming grin without a person inside.

The boy’s odd smile only broadened.

“You know, I-I didn’t take you for the cheerleading type,” He said. You tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear, squinting against the sun in your eyes. Did he always have to position himself so you had to blind yourself to look at him?

“I’m… not.”

He chuckled. “Obviously.” Climbing to his feet, the boy hopped up onto the seat in front of him and walked gracefully down to your level - at least, as gracefully as one can while walking on bleachers. You should probably warn him about the-

“Careful, that next one wobbles,” You spoke up. Your voice never seemed to come out as loud as you intended, yet he didn’t seem to have a problem catching it.

“Ah-” He tested the next row with his foot and stepped over it lightly. “Thank you very much.” He grinned again as he jumped down beside you.

The boy was much too close for your liking.

“You’re welcome,” You mumbled, shuffling away slightly. He only leaned in closer.

“So, if you’re with the cheerleaders, but you’re not one of them, then what does that make you?” He wondered, oblivious or insensitive to your discomfort. You couldn’t tell which. “Unrequited lover or wannabe?”

He raised a brow, smirking in a way that appeared bemused but you could sense its condescending edge. You just shrugged. He could think whatever he wanted.

He was baiting you, that you were sure of. The dark-haired senior wanted you to answer. He waited for you to answer. But his was a lure you weren't going to bite. You just kept on drawing - filling in lines, and fine-tuning expressions. You were sure he would give up eventually, kids like him always did.

“Are those your chemistry notes?” He asked finally.

You hummed and nodded. You’d never been too much of a talker. It had nothing to do with your hearing loss, or maybe it did. That was just who you were either way.

“And you’re sketching in them?”

You shrugged. “Lost my sketchbook.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” At least he had the decency to sound sympathetic. “Did you have it this morning?” You nodded. This boy was persistent, you would give him that. He kept talking. “I see… Well, I'm sorry to hear that, darling. I would have loved to see it,” He said.

Your lips twitched up in a smile. You wouldn’t have shown him anyway, but that didn’t matter.

“Thanks,” You whispered.

"You never answered my question," He pointed out. He was trying to get to you - get closer to you - and while any other girl would do backflips for the attention of a boy like him, you weren't any other girl. If he wanted to know you, then you couldn't let that happen. If you did, he might figure out your secret. Then you could lose everything - your education, your clean record, and the only money-making opportunity you were likely to get in this tiny, provincial town.

"I know." You sighed and closed your substitute sketchbook, just a little fed up. Maybe it was time to let the sunny, shy-girl facade drop. Perhaps a quick glimpse of who you really were would deter him. "But you're here too. So which are you? Unrequited lover or wannabe?"

The boy threw his head back and laughed, loud and clear. His laugh sounded like a stone splashing into a calm pond. Sudden and unique - one of a kind. When his gaze returned to you, he seemed to look you over as if reevaluating his previous judgment of your character. After a moment, he gave a slight nod and shrugged.

"That's a fair point you make there, darling. I'll have to disappoint you, however, as I am merely here to pick up my sister." He gestured to the girls practicing on the field and then shot you a smirk. The boy held out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, darling. I'm Kol, Kol Mikaelson.”

Your eyes flicked to his outstretched hand, weary.

"I…"

Glancing up, you met the endless black pits that were his eyes. Your stomach felt queasy. Better to be safe than sorry.

You pushed his hand away. "I… don't particularly care."

Without another word, you packed up your things and skipped down the bleachers. Exiting left of the football field.

Perhaps you'd left him stunned. You didn't bother looking back to check.

You started seeing Kol quite often after that, which wouldn't have been weird had he not been a year above you. If it wasn't coincidence that saw you sharing both lunch period and study hall with him, then you didn't want to think about what it was. He kept his distance, which you appreciated. Kol didn't approach you for a while, but whenever you were in the same room with him you couldn't seem to shake a feeling that you were being watched. Closely.

The day that pattern changed was the day you walked down the hall and found yourself greeted by photocopies of your art taped to every locker. A chill ran down your spine as your eyes landed on that first row of metal doors. The papers fluttered in the wind generated by passing students but you would recognize your art anywhere.

It was one of the pages from your sketchbook - one of the sketches no one was supposed to see.

This one depicted the football team, gathered on the field for practice. The sky above was dark and they had their helmets off. Each player's complexion was ghostly pale and their glowing red eyes all stared soullessly at the viewer. Their expressions displayed no emotion, but together they stood in a threatening formation. You had taken inspiration from both classic zombie movies and The Matrix for that sketch. In the top left corner, you had etched the title. You called it "The Hive."

The only problem was, you hadn't exactly obtained the team's permission to draw it.

To make matters worse, someone had added an inscription to the image that read: "Members of The Hive possess no individual thought or personality. Furthermore, they acknowledge only other facets of their collective consciousness." The words were scrawled across a crumpled sticky note attached to the top right-hand corner of the page. You hadn't written those words, but it sure looked like your handwriting. Your name was even signed at the bottom.

Someone had stolen and altered your sketchbook, and now they were using it against you.

Panic and paranoia welled up inside you. Clutching your books to your chest, you quickened your pace, catching glimpses of more and more hallways decorated with your sketch. Whispers followed you as you rushed down the hall to your locker, hoping to escape and find solace in your first class of the day, but you had no such luck. Reaching your destination, you gasped at the sight before you, recoiling in shame and confusion. It was like a shot taken straight from a television drama. This thief - whoever they were - had covered your locker with copies of that picture.

Who would do something like this? You had only been in town a year - you wouldn't have thought that long enough to garner this degree of animosity from anyone.

"What the actual hell, Y/N?" A student exclaimed from down the hall.

Your mouth hung, gaping in shock and you floundered for something - anything to say. There was nothing. No defense.

"Yeah, Y/L/N! What did Matt and the team ever do to you?"

Your eyes widened. "What?" You shook your head, blinking rapidly as you tried to explain, but your voice refused to rise over the commotion, accusations, and judgment. "N-no, they didn't. I mean, I wasn't trying to-to…"

"You realize how sick this is, right?" Another kid demanded, closer to you this time. "Like, seriously. Judgy much?"

"No, it's not like that," You insisted. It felt like your whole world had been tossed upside down. "I-I just-" You stammered, hapless. For once, it was the people around you who couldn't seem to hear.

"What a creep," Muttered someone else as they passed close enough for your hearing aids to register. Was that what everyone thought of you?

"No! Y-you don't understand! I-I didn't mean it like that. I-" Your heart sank. Shame overwhelmed you and you buried your face in your hands, sliding down the wall to the floor.

Your heart felt like a voodoo doll, impaled with all sorts of pins. You'd never felt impressed to explain yourself to anyone. You had never cared what anyone else thought of you. But when you had imagined all the ways your life might fall apart, this wasn't one of the ways you had envisioned. That drawing and the dozens of others like it - they were yours.

You wished you'd never made them in the first place.

Shaking your head, you switched off your hearing aids and hugged your arms around yourself, perfectly content to stew in your own misery. A dull roar met your ears as students passed by. None stopped to address you. A few of them tossed crumpled-up photocopies of your sketch at your head but you ignored them.

Then a hand settled itself on your knee.

Startled, you peeked between your fingers, expecting someone like the assistant principal or guidance counselor to be kneeling in front of you. Instead, you were met with the concerned countenance of none other than Kol Mikaelson.

You froze, staring at him with wide eyes.

He proffered a gentle smile and said something, but his words were lost to the prattling hum that encompassed your world without hearing aids. You preferred it this way. It was your natural state. You saw instead of listened, it was what made you such a good artist. Or so you'd thought.

You shook your head at him weakly, pointing to your ears, and mouthed, "I can't hear you."

Why was he here? Was he just going to tease you as he had a few weeks ago on the football stands?

Kol nodded. "I know," He signed. His movements were small and lax - nonthreatening.

Unsure how to interpret his sudden kindness and understanding, you shifted to sit up a little straighter, eyeing him. Kol's lips pressed into a thin line that tried to look like a smile. Without warning, he removed the textbooks resting in your lap and stood.

"Let's get you out of here, yeah?" He sighed, offering you his hand. Hesitantly, you reached out and took it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You stiffened as the boy let go of your hand and instead wrapped his arm around your waist. He pulled you swiftly against his side, shielding you from the view of others in the hallway as he hastily but gently herded you down crowded hallways and out the heavy steel front doors.

Just outside the school, there were picnic tables set up where students could sit to study or eat lunch. Those were deserted by now as first period was speedily approaching. Kol guided you to one of them and dropped your books on the table, gesturing for you to sit. You weren't overly fond of being told what to do, but you figured this was probably Kol's best effort to be nice so you obliged. He sat down in front of you and cupped your jaw in his hand. With his brows furrowed and expression drawn the boy seemed to be inspecting your face, though for what you couldn't be sure.

Absently, you noticed that his hands were very warm despite the changing season. (Why that thought made your stomach queasy was a question for another time.)

Kol's thumb brushed over your cheek and you wanted to look away to hide the flare of heat that consumed your cheeks, but he wouldn't let you.

"Well, you're not panicking," He observed after what felt like an eternity. "That's good."

His words were muffled without your hearing aids but now, away from the commotion of the bustling hallways, you could understand him well enough.

You gave a small nod and, refusing to meet his eyes, focused instead on the grass beneath your feet.

"I'm fine," You whispered. Your voice was a little hoarse but he didn't know you well enough to recognize that.

"Are you sure?"

The question was inevitable, yet you found yourself scowling anyway.

Of course you were fine. You were always fine.

You wanted to tell him that you didn't want his pity, that you weren't some distressing damsel and that he needed to mind his own business. You weren't some charity case he could use to prove to all the senior girls that he could be a sensitive boyfriend. (You'd been there once. You weren't going through it again.) But, as always, the boldness in your head could never seem to leave your lips.

"It's not your responsibility to take care of me," You told him instead. In your lap, your hands fiddled and tugged on the too-long sleeves of your sweater. You'd gotten chalk on your jeans again.

He let his hand drop and the swirling autumn winds cooled your cheeks. You sort of missed the warmth.

"I know that." Kol's concern morphed into a smirk. This was it. You prepared for the incoming ridicule. It never came. "You don't like anyone getting close, do you?" He guessed, casually leaning back as though he already knew the answer. (And respected it.) "Makes you uncomfortable, I'd imagine."

You shrugged and picked at the loose threads on your sleeve. Honestly, he was right - you were just a bucket of trust issues in a Technicolor wrapper. But was that any of his business? No.

"Why are you here?" You wondered in lieu of an answer.

Kol raised a brow. "Apologies, darling. I was unaware that it's illegal for a bloke to be a good friend 'this side of the pond."

"It's not illegal," You said. Your eyes narrowed. "But we're not friends."

You'd made a handful of friends since moving to this town. None of them had come to your aid. Then again, none of them knew about your sketchbook.

Kol smirked. "Consider this an application then!" He surmised, eyes glinting. Those unnerving tar pits seemed a little less dead today than they had before. What changed? He chuckled, amused at your loss for words, and continued. "Besides, I get the feeling I'm just about the only one who knows that sketchbook of yours was stolen from you. The only thing I want to know is, what made you draw that picture?"

Maybe… if you told him the truth about the sketches, he wouldn't look any closer.

"I don't like Stefan Salvatore," Came your quiet answer.

That didn't seem to be what he was expecting, but he didn't look disappointed. Kol's lips twitched and he wet his lips in a way that betrayed a certain excitement.

"Go on."

You took a breath.

"He and I were the only two new kids last year," You began. If you said this, you were going to sound like a lunatic, that was why you'd always opted to draw it out instead. "Strange things happen in this town, and they happen around him. No town has as many "animal attacks" as this one and those only started when he showed up. People started going missing. Some were found dead. Mr. Saltzman is our history teacher because the guy before him got ripped up right over there in the parking lot just before Stefan's first game as part of team. The police said it was a mountain lion, but I was there; I saw the body and there were no scratches. Then there's the way some of his friends a-and Mr. Saltzman look at him sometimes - I've seen them do it - like he's about to murder everyone in the room and they don't know how to stop him."

Kol stared at you. His expression had grown increasingly weary the longer you kept on rambling. When you finally closed your mouth, he nodded slowly, brows furrowed. You bit your lip, awaiting his response.

"That is…" He trailed off. To your great surprise, however, he nodded as if he actually believed you. "Deeply disturbing, darling." Kol's eyes narrowed and he leaned in closer. "You say you saw your teacher's corpse?" He asked.

You nodded. "The "bite" on his neck looked a lot more like buck-shot to me."

His eyes widened. "You think someone killed him?" He hissed.

"And the police covered it up."

"So why draw the football team?"

You hugged your arms around yourself. "Because Matt Donovan is in on it. It's him, Tyler Lockwood, and Stefan Salvatore - they've been acting so weird. Two months ago, Tyler and Stefan started acting really mean all of a sudden and the rest of the football team just started acting like zombies, doing anything they said. It was really freaky."

"And you drew it so you wouldn't have to be afraid." Kol nodded, smiling softly. "Put all the horrors in a little book and out of your head."

This kid had you dead to rights.

You tugged on the sleeves of your sweater. "I never meant to hurt anyone," You sighed.

"I know," He said. "For the record, I quite liked your little interpretation."

"You don't think I'm crazy?"

"I'm not sure yet," The dark-haired boy admitted with a shrug. "Honestly, I've never known another town to have as many functions as this one."

"Right?!" You exclaimed. Finally, someone else saw it! "Smells like organized crime to me…"

"Or cult activity."

"Or that."

"Or maybe you're just a little paranoid," Kol surmised. "But if that's the case, then who am I to judge?"

For the first time in a while, your shoulders shook with a genuine laugh.

"Thanks Kol."

"Anytime, love."

And that boy lived up to his word. Over the span of the next several weeks, more of your sketches were spread about the school. It wasn't long before your so-called friends had all cut contact. Kol became the only person in town willing to talk to you. Every time a drawing was leaked, no matter how dark, twisted, or gruesome the image, Kol was always there to comfort you and compliment your art style.

Each drawing that circulated the school was more damaging to your reputation than the last. Anyone you thought was in on the secret of Mystic Falls' suspicious deaths, you turned into a monster in the pages of your sketchbook.

Jeremy Gilbert became a tortured Voodoo doll.

("Well, there's an odd comparison," Kol commented idly, inspecting the array of pages that had overtaken your locker. "I quite like it."

A student shoved past you on their way to class, ramming painfully into your shoulder. You winced, aware that the action was purposeful, but you didn't say anything. Kol, however, glared at the kid - a cold, chilling sort of glare.

You shrugged, readjusting your backpack.

"He just always seems so pained lately. 'Looks at everyone like they're gonna kill 'em.")

Elena, his sister, you portrayed as a prim, psychotic puppet master.

("I'm sorry, but have I done something to you?" The popular and gorgeous former cheerleader asked when she confronted you about the sketch she clutched in her hand. Seniors Stefan Salvatore and Matt Donovan stood with their arms crossed, flanking her on both sides. The sight only served to reinforce the role your imagination had given her - the girl wore her ex's around her like accessories. They were always there to cover for her strange behavior.

"N-no, it's not like that. I-I-I swear!" You stammered, eyes flicking between her broad-shouldered bodyguards. You swallowed thickly.

"Look, Y/N," Elena sighed. "I'm not mad at you, but whatever is going on in your life, you can't take it out on me. Or anyone else."

"That's not what I'm doing," You mumbled, shuffling your feet. She didn't seem to hear you.

"You know, if there's something bothering you, then you need to tell someone about it," Elena said. You were only a few months younger than her, yet she talked down to you as though you were a toddler. You wished the anger that flared and frothed inside you, didn't look like shame as it stained your cheeks. "I know we're not close, but you can always tell me if something's happening, okay?"

"No thank you, I'm fine."

"Y/N, it's okay to let someone in." The girl pressed.

You gritted your teeth, wishing she would just go. "I-"

"Pretty sure she doesn't have to tell you anything, sweetheart," A melodiously snide voice hummed from behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you shot Kol a relieved smile. He dropped a quick wink in return before focusing on his fellow seniors. Elena and her posse seemed to tense up around him for some reason.

"What's it to you, Kol?" Stefan demanded.

"Oh, I dunno. Basic human decency? Nothing much," He replied. The dark-haired senior shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked, smug as a bug.

"How 'bout you mind your own damn business for a change," Matt snapped. He almost made a move toward your friend but Elena stopped him with a hand on his arm.

Kol snorted at their reactions. "Why so defensive? 'Weren't expecting this lovely young lady to have some back-up?" He slung an arm around your shoulder and began twisting a lock of your hair around and around his finger. You sort of liked him tugging on it the way he did.

"We were just a little concerned," Elena claimed.

"Right." Kol smiled thinly. Releasing his fingers from your hair, he took a threatening step forward. You hadn't realized before just how tall that boy was. "Well, as Y/N said, she doesn't need your concern. So why don't you run along and take your puppets with you."

The three seniors reluctantly surrendered under the force of Kol's steely glare and you watched them go, hugging your arms around yourself and shivering. Kol turned back to you. His hands found their way to your shoulders and he stopped down a little to look you in the eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asked. His eyes were still dark, but not the pits of tar they'd been before. They were more like soft dirt now, holding the promise of future life.

Kol gently smoothed his hands over your arms, spreading a gooey, molten warmth everywhere his skin touched. There was something bubbly in your lungs and the shudder that ran down your spine this time wasn't from nerves.

You took a breath and tried to ignore how his touch made you want to melt.

"I'm fine," You lied. You were fine. You were always fine.

The boy smiled as though he didn't quite believe you. "That's good." He tilted his head in the direction Elena and the others had disappeared to. "You were right about them, though. There's definitely something strange going on there."

You nodded. "Thanks."

"Of course, darling.")

Bonnie Bennett, by the grace of your overactive imagination, had been transformed into a wicked witch. Ancient runes glowed in the air, surrounding her dark ritual. Oddly enough, the thief had changed a few of them, though you weren't sure why.

("If I might ask, why a witch for that one?" Kol asked as the girl herself scowled venomously at you from the other side of the gym.

He sat with his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, leaning in close so you would hear him though he spoke softly, having stayed a little longer after school to help you with your chemistry homework now that no one else would. You could smell cinnamon and something tangy on his breath as his lips brushed over your ear and you tried not to shiver. The whole school probably thought you were a couple, but you knew that wasn't the case.

"There's some weird looking stuff in that girl's locker," You whispered back, pretending to be blissfully unaware of the daggers she was glaring at your head. If you didn't know better, you would have sworn the temperature of the room dropped a few degrees. "At the fundraiser we had last year, there was this car that just caught fire outta nowhere. The thing wasn't even running and it just exploded. Everybody was freaking out and running but Bonnie just stood there, staring at it like she was possessed."

Kol glanced up at the Bennett girl again. "You know what?" He decided, tilting his head. "I can see it." He sent Bonnie a little wave and turned back to your homework. "I loved the runes you included in that drawing, though," The boy added.

"Yeah?" You couldn't help but smile.

"Absolutely. Most of them were even correct," He shot you a crooked grin. "It was impressive."

You raised a brow. "Can you… read Runic?"

"Mmhm," He hummed, checking off another problem on your homework. "Remind me and I'll teach you sometime."

You were about to ask where and when he would have learned something like that, but the question was plucked from your brain before you got the chance.

You drew in a sharp breath as his hand, which had previously rested like a ghost's on your hip, slipped deftly under your shirt. Unsure whether you liked it or not, you couldn't decide as your brain had simply quit functioning properly. All you could seem to register was that Kol was touching you and it wasn't a "just friends" sort of touch. Your cheeks felt like they'd caught fire as you glanced up at him, blinking owlishly, only to find that he was already watching you with an unexpectedly sweet smile. He studied your expression, waiting for you to protest - to say no.

When you remained silent, that sweet smile twisted into a smirk. Leaning down, you felt a soft, tender kiss to your cheek just as Kol pressed his fingers firmly into your skin, wasting no time before he began to explore. His hand was warm, gentle, and soft as he stroked and petted your stomach. Something warm and jittery built up in your chest. It climbed up your throat, threatening to spill out. You whimpered quietly, unable to hold it back. Yet, that only seemed to encourage him. Kol hummed and slid his hand lower with another kiss to your cheek. What was that boy doing to you? Your whole body burned as he continued to fondle and caress you shamelessly. Shuddering, you bit back a moan and curled yourself closer to him, fisting his jacket as though he could hide you from the world. Kol just smirked and continued going over your homework.

He didn't let go of you - didn't stop touching you - until the bell rang. Then he just got up, shot you a wink, and left without another word.)

Slowly, that boy earned your trust because, though you didn't know exactly how to define your relationship with him, he was always there for you. It was nice to have someone who knew why you had drawn those pictures. Not because you were self-righteous and judgemental, but because there was something very real and very disturbing going on and you needed a way to purge the constant fear from your mind.

Kol believed you. There was something wrong with this town. You weren't crazy.

But no one else could see that.

The day a sketch of Sheriff Forbes - Caroline's mother - made its way around the student body was the day you were called to the principal's office. The picture displayed Sheriff Forbes as a creature like the Other Mother from Coraline, dutifully sewing shut the mouths of townspeople and stitching buttons over their eyes. The Sheriff was a kind woman. She didn't deserve to be depicted that way. But at the same time, you knew she was hiding something.

So there you sat on the wrong side of the principal's desk, eyes locked firmly on your lap as the graying woman watched you with a disappointed frown.

"Y/N, this is not acceptable," She said, tight-lipped with tired eyes.

"I know," You mumbled.

"Then why did you draw these pictures in the first place?" The woman demanded.

You shrugged haplessly. She wouldn't believe you if you told the truth. She'd probably recommend you to a mental health institution.

The principal sighed. "Y/N, it's not my business what you do in your free time, but this has to stop. You need to stop."

"It's not me!" You protested. "Someone stole my sketchbook."

"Well, then you had better find a way to get it back, and once you do I highly recommend you burn it. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to suspend you," She said, folding her hands atop the desk. "The mayor has also been made aware of these sketches and she asked me to warn you that, should another one of these offensive images appear, you can consider her commission canceled."

Your heart stuttered and sank.

You wanted to scream and cry and tell the world it was all so unfair but all that came out of your mouth was, "Okay."

The principal nodded. "Good afternoon, Miss Y/L/N."

That was your cue to leave.

You exited her office and shut the door behind you, letting go of a long sigh. Kol was sitting outside, waiting for you. He was always there for you. Upon seeing your distraught expression, the boy got up and wound his arms around you, holding you close. You clung to him, squeezing your eyes shut and grinding your teeth as you buried your face in his chest.

Kol pressed a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head. “Are you alright?” He asked, just as he always did.

You took a deep breath-

(You were fine. You were always fine.)

-and let out a string of cuss words so foul they’d make a sailor blush.

He hissed in sympathy and hugged you tighter. “I take it that’s a no.”

Kol was a good friend. True, his words sometimes carried a sting to them and some of his touches lingered a little too long to be just friendly. But he was good. The two of you had come a long way since you'd first met him. When he pulled away, he probably should have rested his hands on your waist but Kol grabbed you by your hips instead. His hands were very warm and you found yourself blushing. But if you were being honest, you liked the way he was touching you - the way he had been for a while now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, hesitantly watching your face though you refused to meet his eyes.

"No," You answered.

Kol offered you a strained smile and tugged you back into that tight hug. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" He said, gently.

Kol had been such a good friend to you. The least you could do was show him some trust.

"I'd rather show you."

***

Her hand slid down his arm to his hand which Kol reluctantly lifted off her hip. Then, without another word - because she didn’t talk all that much - she led him off down the hallway. He allowed her to pull him along, amused (and two other things he was trying really hard to ignore.)

There was this funny feeling he got when he looked at that girl sometimes, with her chalk and paint-stained clothes, messy hair, and tired eyes. It was warm and pleasant and it reminded him of how he felt after a really big feed, except not like that at all. He felt satisfied, content… full, but there was nothing sinister about it. Kol found himself unsure how to label that sensation seeing has he’d so rarely felt it and when he had it was fleeting - gone before he could enjoy it.

This time, however, when it came, that feeling lingered.

And not because he’d killed anyone recently! Kol Mikaelson had not rubbed out a single soul in that miserable little town. (A surprise to all, certainly.) That odd feeling stayed with him day to day, and he tried to ignore how pleasant it was because surly it would disappear any day now… But it never did. Kol knew it had something to do with his little artist but, honestly, that just confused him further. More baffling still was the notion that, over the past few weeks, he hadn’t found himself craving the high that exacting death always afforded him. Sure, he felt a little… hungry (that didn’t seem like the right term) on the weekends, but then he’d see her in the hallways and he felt content again. It wasn’t the sort of satisfaction he took from any of his games either.

That’s what this whole thing had started as - what it was. (Just that he had to remind himself of that fact was unsettling.) It was just a game. He’d played it hundreds of times before with hundreds of girls like her. It was the game where he came into their lives from out of the blue, stripped away every single thing they cared about - robbed them of their friends, their reputation, their comforts, their dreams - and did that all while making them love him for it. Then, once he got them into his bed, he shattered their illusions right before he killed them.

He was so close to winning this one too. Her friends had all abandoned her, half the town was convinced she was schizophrenic, and her dreams were one little sketchbook page away from being crushed. There was just one problem.

This time, he didn’t want the game to end.

This time, he felt an uncomfortable stabbing sensation in his chest (not unlike the point of a dagger) every time she flinched. Every time she switched off her hearing aids, every time she hugged herself and sighed, every time she pursed her lips on the verge of tears - Kol felt something he hadn’t felt in well over nine hundred years. Guilt. Because he was the one spreading that girl’s naughty little pictures through the halls just so she would want him around.

Kol simply didn’t understand what made her different. She was human. She wasn’t strong or powerful or even witty. The girl was shy, she hardly said a word to anyone but him, and when some kid shouted abuse in her face she just stood there and took it. She was so plain and boring that Kol often found himself wondering why he hadn’t eaten her yet.

Sometimes though, she surprised him.

She surprised him when she shoved her way though the front doors in the middle of the school day. Previously, Kol was convinced that girl had never broken a rule in her life.

She surprised him when she cussed like a sailor and didn’t apologize one bit. Was a girl like that even allowed to say those words? Legally?

But most of all, she surprised him when she tugged him along by the hand in the drizzling rain through the backwoods of Virginia, off the hiking trails, and down into a ravine where she only stopped in front of a looming chain-link fence. That fence had a big, red “No Trespassing” sign attached to it.

She suprised him when she was always fine. That girl accepted his hugs, his touch, his comfort - but she didn’t need it.

Thus, Kol was well and truly floored when his tiny sweet, delicious little artist dropped his hand and scrambled up and over that fence like a monkey scales a tree. He couldn’t believe his eyes. She had absolutely, positively, and without a doubt just broken a law. That couldn’t be right. She was too shy to break the law. This was the same girl that apologized when she broke her bloody pencil.

"You coming or not?" She challenged. And then... Then, she smiled.

The sight of it took Kol's breath away.

That smile. He didn't understand it. Y/N was no witch - he knew that for certain. But somehow there was something magical about that smile.

There were moments - only a handful of them - like the one he was in right then. Those times were so rare but when they occurred, Kol's tiny, sweet, piquant little artist would look back at him, usually over her shoulder, and send him this... this smile. The twist of her lips he'd seen her wear when he'd first met her, the one she passed out to her so-called friends, was a fake he came to realize.

This real one was so much prettier.

Words had so rarely failed him, but there was no language Kol knew that could quite describe just what that smile looked like - what it made him feel or why. That smile of her's was just so real - so deeply heartfelt - that it always made him want to smile back. Her's was never never a silly or obnoxious grin that she gave to him. It was this tiny quirk of her lips that made her eyes sparkle and her cheeks glow a subtle, appetizing pink. Her beauty wasn't like that of the models in those magazines Bekah liked - she wasn't spectacularly eye-catching. That girl's smile didn't light up a room, but it lit a fire in his chest the likes of which he'd never known. It twisted his stomach and Kol felt so hungry every time he got to witness that smile. Except that hunger wasn't the sinister kind he was so familiar with. When she smiled at him, he didn't want to hurt that girl.

He just wanted to pin her against a tree and kiss those beautifully curled lips until the taste of his extraordinary artist was seared into his infallible mind for all eternity.

It wasn't just lust either. It was more than that. Kol didn't want her just because she had a pretty smile. He needed her because that smile only appeared for him - no one else. Kol could make that girl smile and it had nothing to do with his physical appearance. His little artist's smile was reserved just for him simply because he was there to see it. She smiled because he existed and that idea was one he couldn't help but revel in. After all, when was the last time he got something all to himself without having to fight tooth and nail for it?

“Say, love, are we getting close to the bridge?” He wondered. It was the bridge or the falls, but he couldn’t be sure. Y/N didn’t reply. Her lovely, perfect, scrumptious little laugh was all he got in response. After a few more minutes of walking in silence - which he found he liked better than all the other girls he’d ever played with who always felt a need to fill the gap with meaningless prattle - they reached their destination.

So, Kol grinned. That was his real smile too. Only she could bring it out. "Of couse, darling."

He jumped and scaled the fence with the same ease as his quiet companion who took off again as soon as his feet hit the ground. It wasn't long before his enhanced hearing caught the sound of water rushing nearby.

Once free of the tree line, Kol glimpsed the dreary silhouette of Wickery Bridge breaking through the haze of rain and gloom. His little artist glanced back at him with something wild and ferocious gleaming in her eyes. For a moment, he was taken aback by the sight. But that moment was swiftly overtaken by sheer, lucidious excitement. He returned her smile and she bounded off down toward the water. He followed, enraptured and curious as she came to a stop underneath the bridge.

“Alright, my sweet, I think I’ve let you go on long enough,” He said upon catching up with her, not that doing so was any struggle. “What’s so important that you brought me all the way out here?”

The girl didn’t say anything. Instead, she began climbing up the mess of rocks and driftwood that had collected on the banks of the river, making her way up to the crevice where the bridge split from the shoreline. As she did, her hand slipped on one of the rocks and she spat out another string of cuss words that would peel the scales off a snake. Normally, Kol would have been impressed; however, he was a little too busy focusing on the minuscule part of him that didn’t want to rip out her throat.

She’d cut her hand on those rocks and it wasn’t just a little scrape, like the ones he’d grown accustomed to. This was a long, jagged slit across her palm and her all-too-tempting blood was spilling down her arm in beautiful crimson rivers.

And terrible, awful, horrid reality came crashing back in on him.

For a while there, Kol had almost forgotten the two of them weren’t the same. Somehow he’d felt full enough - full of something, full of her - for long enough that he’d forgotten he wasn’t who and what he was pretending to be. He’d forgotten about what he was doing and why he was there and what he was supposed to be doing with her. He’d forgotten that he was the predator and she was the prey.

He was there solely to charm her into surrendering her blood and her body. That was it.

THAT. WAS. IT.

Kol hurt people. That was what he did. He screwed up, and he hurt people, and he laughed about it.

So why did the thought of sinking his teeth into that artist’s pretty little neck seem to tear his lungs to shreds? No - not his lungs - that thing between them. That thing he ignored. That thing he didn’t have. Most people call it a heart.

What was that about? Kol was a monster. He hadn’t felt anything in years, aside from rage, hunger, and the occasional apathy. One thousand years of never giving a damn about the value of human life. And now what? His heart suddenly decided to garner affection for one lonely, miserable, pathetic, perfect, baffling, innocent, gorgeous, plush, soft, disillusioned little artist? Now?

Why now? Why her?

(It had been so long. And he’d had no one.)

She was the only one who ever smiled just for him. The only one who ever trusted him enough to let him see how terrified she truly was. She was scared, so scared all the time that something would spring from the shadows that lurked around every corner to snuff out her soul. She should be, he knew. She was right to be scared. Because Kol was right next to her and he was the only person not in her sketchbook. Sure, she’d never had the chance to put him in there but he’d asked her once what he would look like if she were to draw him like she did everyone else, and his tantalizing little artist had told him she didn’t see Kol that way - that he was her friend. She didn’t know it, and he didn’t want her to know it, but she should be scared of him.

Kol wanted to kill her - needed to kill her. He craved so desperately to ravish that appetizing girl right where they stood. Bloody hell, she should be terrified!

Yet, he didn’t want to scare her - didn’t mean to. He was just hungry - that was all. No one was around. No one could stop him. She didn’t need to be afraid. He could make her feel good. She might like it. Kol was just hungry - he didn’t want to hurt her. One taste wouldn’t hurt her so bad, would it? She would forgive him. One bite would be enough and then he’d stop. Except he wouldn’t and Kol knew that. He would drain every last drop of scarlet from her body and he knew she would be the most exhilarating high he’d ever get. But he didn’t have to feel bad about it. He could dump her body in the river and he’d never see her again.

Oh.

That was it.

He’d never see her again.

No. No, he wanted to see her smile again. Wanted to hear her laugh. Wanted to listen to all of her secrets and wanted that girl to let him touch her for real. No. No, no, no, nonononononononononono.

And all this ran through his head before his artist had even finished cussing.

Y/N waved her hand in the air, displaying her cut. “God hates me!” She called down to him cheerfully. That sunny demeanor that had once annoyed him so now brought him a laugh.

“That’s on you, darling. Perhaps if you were to tell me what it is that you’re trying to achieve, I might be able to assist,” He pointed out, still chuckling to himself. The girl shrugged and reached into the crevice, feeling around for something. “If you get bit by a snake, I’m going to laugh,” Kol mused. She twisted her other hand around and flipped him the bird. After another moment of watching her grope around in a dark hole, his little artist let out an exclamation of success and retrieved her arm which was now attached to a large, black duffle bag. Carefully, she climbed down and tossed the bag on the ground.

“Ta da!” She grinned at him. It was an odd expression - like her face didn’t quite know how to express her current joy to another being.

Kol raised a brow. “Wow,” He deadpanned. “Color me impressed.”

Her smile didn’t falter.

“The council just finished renovating this bridge,” She said as though that explained everything.

“And?”

Instead of answering, she simply bent down and unzipped the bag at her feet. Meanwhile, ever the gentleman, Kol forced himself to turn away from admiring the exquisite view of her cleavage this action presented him. He wanted her, yes. Kol delighted in reducing his little artist into a blushing puddle when he touched her. But if he was going to have that girl, he was going to have her everything. Her smile, her heart, her mind, her body, and her respect. Everything. Not just empty lust.

From out of the bag, Y/N drew a pair of gloves, a mask, and two cans of what Kol now recognized to be spray paint. Then, donning the gloves and mask, she marched down to the concrete trusses of Wickery Bridge and got to work. The giant concrete slabs were practically one perfectly untouched canvas for her to exploit.

Suddenly, all those strange behaviors made a whole lot of sense.

“Bloody hell, the girl’s a vandal!” Kol barked a laugh. "I wondered what it was you were so desperate to keep me away from,” He said, shaking his head. “I had my suspicions but this… was not one of them.”

“Oh really,” His artist scoffed. She started out her mural with layers of red. “And what were those suspicions?”

“Abusive parents was number one,” He listed, stretching out casually on the ground, back against a rock. Not the most uncomfortable position he’d ever held. “Self-harm was number two, and number three was a sordid drug habit.”

“Do I really come off that pathetic?” She wondered blithely.

“Most of the time, yeah.”

The girl snorted. “Good for me!”

“That desperate to hide your little crimes, are you?” He chuckled.

“Yep!”

“Why?”

“Well, mostly-” She paused to switch colors, going with black now. “-because if Mayor Lockwood ever found out I was the one painting her little town red, I’d lose my commission to paint town square and uh… I like money.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I sense an “and” coming.”

“And,” She continued with a slight laugh. “I might have possibly tagged a few properties worth a lot more than a bridge.” She hesitated. “Or a town… or a castle.”

That last remark was enough to have Kol sitting up straight. “So you were the miscreant who wrote out “Blood Money” on the side of my house!” He exclaimed, wide-eyed. It was impressive as no one in his family had heard anyone approach the house that night, yet the message had been there in bright red the next morning. How had she pulled that off?

The girl froze in her painting. “That was your house?”

“Indeed it was.”

“Whoops.”

Kol waved a hand. “Eh. No harm done.”

“So… not a mafia base then?”

He wished she was wrong. Kol really wished he wasn’t everything that terrified his precious artist. But he was. And that wouldn’t change.

So he laughed.

“Well, if I told you that, I’d have to kill you,” He joked. Except it wasn’t a joke. But he could let her think it was. He could pretend he believed that too. He could pretend he was just a normal kid, enjoying the company of a beautiful girl. He could pretend that.

She threw her head back and laughed.

What a beautiful thing.

“Okay! I’m done talking now!” She announced without providing any segue whatsoever. He liked that about her though, that she was blunt and direct. It amused him.

“Well, what am I supposed to do then?” He protested. He wasn’t all that broken up about it. Just being around that girl was enough to sate his hunger for her. That's what his little game had turned into.

She shrugged and flipped her hearing aids off, so he supposed that was the end of it.

“You know, I’m actually a vampire,” He told her. Kol knew she couldn’t hear him and his words fell on deaf ears. He figured he should tell her the truth though. Even if it was only this once. At least then he could say he had.

“I’ve murdered hundreds of thousands of people - plenty of them for no reason at all. As for you…

“Well, I’ll probably kill you one day. Hell, I almost did just now. I’m not all that great at self-control, you see.” He let go of a bitter laugh and scooped a pebble off the ground, laying back he tossed it over his head and caught it again and again. “But I’m really great at screwing things up!”

“I stole your sketchbook,” He admitted, a little quieter. “It was just supposed to be a bit of fun, but it’s not fun anymore. I-I don’t like to see you hurting. I could stop. That bloody school would never see another picture.”

He lifted his head, watching her back as she continued painting.

“But would you still love me if I did?” Kol sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t think you would. You don’t need me.”

This time, when he tossed the rock, he didn’t catch it. The stone flew and landed in the river, lost to the moving water.

“Nobody does.”

He was glad she couldn’t hear him. He could talk to her and she would never know. Blissfully ignorant, he could watch with a lazy smile as she swung her hips and just kept on painting, without a care in the world. His horribly lovely artist sang quietly to herself as the light of the setting sun bounded off the water and carded through her hair, casting an ephemeral glow all around her. He wondered if her quiet verse might be meant for him. He knew that wasn’t the case. For someone so observant and suspicious, she could be quite blind. He doubted she could be in love with him or that she understood how he felt for her. But like with the rest of this bittersweet scene, Kol could pretend.

“Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows

Everything that's wonderful is what I feel when we're together

Brighter than a lucky penny

When you're near the rain goes, disappears, dear

And I feel so fine

Just to know that you are mine…”

***

Robert Frost had been right, you decided the day your world fell apart. You would have preferred your world had been destroyed in one giant, raging fire. Of course, you didn't get to choose. Your world froze over slowly. The cold strangled your opportunities and relationships one by one until you were left entirely alone.

You stood in front of your locker that day, staring at the final nail in the coffin of your reputation and future. This was how it was to end. In ice. You felt like ice as you stared at that final drawing - cold and despondent.

That sketch was of Alaric Saltzman, your kindhearted history teacher who believed in infinite chances for a student's grades. He always wore a pained smile - it was a smile for everyone else because he was still hurting but wanted the kids he taught to look forward to the rest of their lives as he no longer did.

You had drawn him differently.

No smile. Just the pain. Pain that had morphed into bitterness and bitterness into hate. He was sitting in his desk chair, facing towards the door - toward the viewer - with a bottle of bourbon in one hand, and a gun in the other. Smoke rose from the barrel of that gun, and the viewer's perception was tinted red.

You had drawn your history teacher murdering you in cold blood.

Who does that?

"So…" The silky lilt of Kol's gentle accent tugged you from your thoughts and brought just a little relief. Even if you had nothing, you had Kol. "Do I want to know what inspired this one? Or would I rather sleep tonight?"

You shrugged, apathetic. The weight of the moment yet to sink in.

"I saw a gun in his desk," You answered tonelessly.

"No shit?"

"Uh, huh." You nodded. "Right next to the colored pencils."

The boy whistled. "I'm regretting some of the things I put in my essay now," He said.

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. "As if you did it."

"Ouch, darling. That hurts." He chuckled lightly and you felt his arms encircle your waist from behind. He tugged you close, resting his head on your shoulder. "You don't know everything about me."

He was trying to joke, for your sake. But nothing could make this better.

"What do I do now?" You asked with a sigh. Kol pressed a kiss to your cheek - light as a feather. For whatever reason, it felt like an apology.

"Well, if I were you," He said. "I'd go out with a bang."

You nodded and shrugged - indifferent. "A bang sounds good."

Kol released you as you slipped your backpack off your shoulders. Eyeing you with a mix of confusion and anticipation, your best friend's eyes flew wide as he watched you wander over to the nearest window, arms reeling back.

With all your might, you flung your back through the window.

It shattered into a million tiny pieces.

The raucous hallway fell silent and a few dozen pairs of eyes locked on you.

"One of you bastards stole my sketchbook," You told them, not bothering to raise your voice in the slightest. "Is that what you wanted? To see me fall apart?"

No one answered of course as you glanced between stunned expressions.

"Well, I hope you're happy now," You rasped. Shoving a few kids out of your way with the harshness that had been building inside you for months now, you left that school behind you and didn't look back.

The only sound to be heard was Kol's low whistle as the heavy steel doors swung shut. The tears streaming down your face were silent.

You sprinted home through the driving rain, the sky dark and close, almost like a blanket. Perhaps the whole world was crying with you. After all, it always seemed to rain when you were sad.

To your relief, your parents were still at work. You had the comfort of crying in peace. Slamming the door shut, you pressed your back against it, slid to the floor… and screamed.

This was your life and it was crumbling in your hands. What else were you supposed to do?

A light knock tapped against the door. So quiet you wouldn't have heard it if the vibrations weren't centered right next to your ear.

"Y/N?" Kol's voice called from the other side of the wood. You didn't say anything, though your ragged breathing was far from quiet. "Y/N, I know you're in there. I can hear you crying." He laid his hand flat. You could hear that ring he always wore scraping against the wooden surface. "Please let me in?"

You shook your head. "I'm not some charity case," You choked out, throat raw.

"Perhaps to someone else you are," Kol said. He must have been kneeling on your front porch. "But not me. I don't have charity, darling. I'm rather selfish actually."

You huffed a laugh. It was humorless.

"Then why come?"

"Because I'm selfish," He replied. Then quieter. "I don't like to see you cry." His ring tapped against the door a few times. "Darling, please let me in? I want to help."

Your teeth clenched like a vice.

"I don't need you."

For years you'd longed to say those words. Finally, in this haze of fury and anguish, they weren't so hard to speak.

"I know." He sighed. "I know you don't, darling. It's part of why I like you so much."

Well as long as he understood, perhaps it was alright

You scraped yourself off the floor and opened the door. Kol stood outside, drenched to the bone, same as you. His eyes weren't dead anymore - not the distant black holes they'd once been. No, his eyes were warm chocolate now, melting with something sad. He really did care.

"Come in," You signed, too worn out to speak.

Kol's brows furrowed. He seemed worried for a moment, though you couldn't guess why. Then he took a tentative step through the door, smiled, and stepped closer, closing the door behind him.

You watched him take his shoes and coat off through the dim light. Your house was dark. You hadn't bothered with any lights. Once he'd finished, Kol glanced up at you questioningly. You regarded him for a moment. After all, these sorts of situations never seemed to turn out well in the books you'd read and the shows you'd watched. The characters in those stories always seemed to end up doing something they'd regret.

Or maybe they didn't regret it.

You thought you would though.

So, contrary to what Kol was likely expecting, you didn't throw yourself into his arms. You just turned and shuffled into the kitchen. You finally switched on some lights. After a moment, he followed you, watching intently. Milling about in science, you collected the supplies required to make the two of you a cup of tea. Your quiet nature combined with your parent's distrust of humanity meant you'd never really had a friend like Kol before - someone you brought to your house and shared food with.

"You hungry?" You asked, waiting for the water to boil. Your hands shook a little, but you didn't feel like speaking. He leaned against the counter opposite you and offered a thin smile you felt you didn't quite understand.

"I'll be okay," He signed back after a moment. He took a deep breath. "I'm more worried about you."

You grimaced involuntarily, eyes shifting to the kettle on the stove. Inside, the pressure would be building until it all rushed out.

"I'm not broken, Kol," You whispered, voice hoarse and thick with more emotion than you'd ever known how to say.

"I know that-" He began, lifting his hands defensively.

"Then why do you look at me like I am?"

Kol's lips pressed into a thin line, nodding. You'd caught onto his ways a long time ago. That boy had been eyeing you like no one you'd ever known since you'd first met him. The only difference was now you were brave enough to call him out on it. So what if he saw you for who you really were? He'd seen enough of it by now. You were sick of hiding anyway.

Kol sighed and pushed off the counter. He made his way toward you with soft eyes and tentative steps until he stood just inches away, boxing you in. You met his dark chocolate eyes and refused to back down even though you knew your cheeks were stained pink. You'd never let anyone this close before.

Pursing his lips, the boy glanced down at the space between you and lifted his hand. He trailed his knuckles hesitantly over your side, then met your eyes again as if to ask permission. You swallowed thickly, but didn't tell him no. With a ghost of a smile, Kol laid his hands on your hips and squeezed firmly. You couldn’t withhold a shudder. His thumbs slipped under your shirt and rubbed your skin softly as he'd done for you a few times before, knowing how much you liked it. His hands seemed to fit perfectly over your hips as though he'd been made to hold you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you relaxed into his touch, letting go of a sigh. His searing hands felt nice when the whole world felt so cold. You needed him closer.

Reaching up, you fisted the collar of his shirt rather harshly and dragged him toward you, pressing your whole body against his. He flinched slightly, surprised by your newfound eagerness, but he quickly reciprocated. Kol chuckled softly and you felt his lips graze your temple before he clinched your hips tighter and lifted you to sit atop the counter. Your heart stuttered and raced in your chest and you gasped sharply, drawing back enough to catch the smirk dancing on his lips. Your cheeks reddened further as he urged you to spread your legs so he could stand between them. His arms circled around your back and you hesitated.

So what if he was a senior? So what if you were a couple of months younger than he was? He'd been a good friend to you.

Shaking your doubts away, you wrapped your legs around him and rested your head on his chest. Kol hummed quietly and pressed another soft kiss to the crown of your hair.

"I know you're not broken, darling," He said. His hands ran up and down your back, massaging a blazing heat into your bones. "I'm just trying to figure out what it is that you really are."

Your hands on his shirt clenched tighter.

"I'm angry,” You admitted.

“Why?”

His question prompted your lips to twist into a scowl as a hysterical laugh bubbled past your lips.

“Really? You’re asking me why?” You huffed, shaking your head. “How ‘bout why not? I’m sick of it, Kol. All of it. The lies, the expectations - nothing is right in this town and I hate it! I’m seventeen! I should get to feel safe but I see people and they’re dropping like flies. And you’d think I’d at least get the luxury of being terrified, but no! I have to act like nothing is wrong!” You looked up at him, tears returning to sting your eyes. “I tried to. I really did. But it was too much and I couldn’t and I had to put it all somewhere. Now some idiot who thinks they’re funny just up and ruined my whole future. I’ll never get a job here now, not like it matters because mom and dad are shipping me off to some mental institution-”

“What?!” Kol cut your rambling off suddenly. Reeling back, he stared at you with wide eyes. You just shrugged. “Your parents are sending you away over this?” He demanded.

You raised a brow. “Kol, this is kind of a big thing.”

“How?!” He exclaimed. His grip on your hips tightened. He seemed agitated - more than you would expect. “You drew some creepy pictures. So what?! Who cares?!”

“A lot of people care,” You deadpanned. “I drew the likeness of people around me without their consent. That's a big no-no. My parents are worried I’m overstressed, narcissistic, and paranoid. They say I need help.”

“No, that’s not-” He cut himself off this time, teeth grinding. He wouldn’t look at you, just squeezed his eyes shut tight. You waited for him to gather his thoughts.

“They can’t take you away from me.”

Finally, he looked up. Smoldering black eyes met your own with a determination that couldn’t possibly have belonged to an eighteen year old boy. It was etherial - hard to capture and even harder to understand. His eyes seemed darker all of a sudden. An odd trick of the light.

“That’s a nice sentiment,” You said quietly. “But unless you’ve got some hard-core magic up your sleeve, it’s not gonna change anything.”

Kol nodded stiffly. “Magic, eh?” His voice was dry - strained almost. He let go of you and took a step back, bracing his hands on the counter. The breaths he drew were long and deep - shaking. His eyes flicked back to yours, blazing with something needy. He cursed.

“Screw it.”

The boy surged forward and his lips caught yours before you could even blink. His arms wound around you again and held you tight and close. One hand wove itself into your hair, tugging on the strands greedily. You couldn’t seem to focus enough to keep your eyes open, they fluttered closed as Kol pressed closer to you. You weren’t sure what to do or how to react, so you just tentatively kissed him back.

Kol flinched. Actually flinched, like he hadn’t expected his affection to be returned.

He pulled away, chest heaving with ragged, uneven breaths.

Had you done the right thing? Would you regret this tomorrow? Would he?

“Kol, wha-”

His lips on yours shut your doubts up pretty quickly.

“I’m so sorry about all of this,” That boy whispered into your mouth. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to worry anymore. I’m going to fix everything, darling. I promise.”

He left you no time to think. He just pressed you closer - as close as he possibly could and you felt warm. Warm and safe and wanted. His fervent kisses grew increasingly heated and desperate by the second. It was like you were in a haze, possessed almost. There was a sweetness and hunger to him that you were entirely unaccustomed to. Holding the back of your head with a gentle hand, Kol was tender and patient yet determined as he licked at the seam of your mouth. You gasped, flinching as you felt his arm around your waist constrict almost painfully. Seizing the opportunity, Kol swiftly deepened the kiss with a hum of satisfaction. He wasn’t harsh or forceful about it. You just weren’t sure. A tiny whimper escaped your throat but he just swallowed it eagerly. Did you really want this? Were you ready?

You felt suffocated, trapped, and unable to breathe. You pulled back, trembling. But Kol wouldn’t let you go. He broke away, shaking his head.

“No, no. Darling, shhhhhh.” He combed your hair back with his fingers. It was comforting. “You’re alright. I’m not doing anything.”

“Kol, please-”

“No, you’re fine. Everything is going to be alright. Just trust me,” He promised. The boy smiled and settled his lips on yours again. You didn’t fight him. All you could seem to do was shudder as he captured your lower lip and bit down. On his shirt, your hands relaxed. It was almost as if he’d drugged you. Something about that was disturbing, yet you clenched your thighs around him nonetheless.

“See?” Kol flashed you a soft grin as he broke away this time, pressing a sweet kiss against the corner of your mouth. “You’re okay, love. This isn’t me hurting you.”

Then what was?

Kol’s hands slid beneath your shirt and they were so warm as he ran them over your waist and higher onto your ribcage. You had half a mind to let him do anything he wanted, but something wasn’t right. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks at terminal velocity.

On the stovetop, the tea kettle screamed a warning.

Magic was your first clue. That and he’d said he’d fix things.

What if he already had?

You stilled. All the warmth in his touch faded in an instant and you let go of him. You didn’t cry out or shove him back. You just quit moving.

Kol’s mouth slowed soon enough. He pulled his hands away and stepped back. The boy eyed you for a moment, but you wouldn’t look at him. Then he cursed.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what happened.” Throwing his head back, he scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned. “I don’t even know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have pushed you. That was a disgusting thing to do. Please forgive me?”

You didn’t. You just drew your knees up to your chest, curling into a ball. The tears came back. Your ribcage shook with your pained breaths.

“Y/N?” His voice was faint and far away. “Y/N, please look at me?”

You hardly heard the words that left his lips. You were too busy processing his greater sin.

The declaration came out as hardly a whisper.

“It was you.”

Kol blinked. Then he frowned.

“Darling… what are you talking about?”

You shook your head. Tears streamed down your face.

“Why?” You seethed. “Why would you do it?!”

He took a step back, seeming hurt. “Sweetheart… I’m sorry but you’re not making any sense.”

You weren’t going to play that game. Wordlessly, you hopped off the counter and strode over to the kitchen doorway. Kol had dropped his backpack there. You tore it open and rummaged around until you found it. A little book covered in black Sharpie.

“How many high school students do you think know Nordic Runes?” You challenged softly.

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Probably quite a few. I suspect it’s a relatively common niche interest.”

You hummed. “Let me rephrase then: How many high school students in Mystic Falls do you think are fluent enough in runic languages to correct it when they see a mistranslation?” You whipped around, displaying your oh-so-precious stolen sketchbook in your hands.

The color drained from Kol’s face.

“Darling… I can explain that,” He tried, voice raw - desperate for you to believe him. You wouldn’t.

You offered him a smile. That same fake, hateful smile you offered to all the people in this town who lied to you.

“Leave.”

Kol looked as though he’d been shot.

“Y/N, please. Just let me explain.”

You shook your head.

“I won’t say it twice,” You spat. Then, switching off your hearing aids, you turned away and started for the stairs. “You know where the door is,” You called over your shoulder, half growling the words. “Don’t let it hit you on the way out… bastard.”

Upstairs in your room, you locked the door and cried. This time you didn’t make a sound.

***

Kol had screwed up. Royally.

In fact, he was convinced that this was even worse than that time he’d accidentally played god on the continent now known as Australia. (Mammals shouldn’t lay eggs and none would if not for his hubris and an escaped lab rat. Or in this case, a lab platypus.) However, this time, Kol couldn’t just run away. Of course, there was mother dearest’s spell to consider but, that wasn’t the only thing keeping him from leaving that girl and her stupid precious tears behind. For whatever reason, he couldn’t stand what he’d done. He knew this for a fact because he’d had all night to think about it.

Her face, sparkling with fresh tears, was an image burned into his memory. Kol couldn’t seem to forget the tremble in her voice as she’d pulled that bloody sketchbook out of his bag. He could still hear her crying on the other side of her bedroom door. No matter how long he’d begged her to let him in, that door had remained locked.

This wasn’t how things were meant to go - not when he’d been so close. He couldn’t stand it.

She’d almost been his. Kol had finally held his sweet little artist in his arms and nothing, nothing - no drug nor blood-induced high he’d ever experienced - could ever compare to finally getting to touch her. He could have had more. He could have won his prize - could have kept her forever.

But he’d screwed up. Now, she loathed him.

He could stand losing a game every now and again. That was what kept things fun. But this wasn’t a game anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. He couldn’t lose. Kol refused to lose.

Luckily, his delicious little artist was very, very human.

He would go to her one more time, he resolved, to try to explain things. Truthfully, he knew there was no excuse for what he’d done, but that couldn’t change the facts. Kol needed her. He wouldn’t give her up just because he’d been dumb enough to let her snatch that sketchbook from his satchel. It wasn’t her fault. Had their roles been reversed, he wouldn’t forgive himself either. But luckily, his steel-spined artist was human. Luckily, Kol could erase his little mistake.

Perhaps he could grab a quick bite from her too before he wiped her memory. A little taste might aid his patience for her - he didn’t fancy slipping up again like he had the night before. If he hurt her without realizing what he was doing, Kol knew he would kill his little artist far too soon.

He’d made his decision. The only thing that gave him pause was the wrinkled sheet of paper Bekah found that morning.

“Kol?” Her voice rang through their brother’s mansion carrying confusion and worry. “I think you might want to see this…”

He’d been at her side in a split second, snatching the paper from her hands. It was a drawing, and Kol recognized its style of it instantly. Her lines were intimately familiar to him now, even as harsh and erratic as they were in the sketch he held.

His beloved artist had finally drawn him.

The twisted image was startlingly and horrifically accurate. Something clenched in his chest at the sight. She’d drawn his countenance pale, his hair was a wild mess and his eyes were black, empty holes. A vicious snarl warped his lips, accompanying razor-sharp fangs that looked all too real. In the picture, he knelt in the driving rain, cradling a limp corpse. His lips were coated in thick, crimson blood. Enamored as he was with his nightmarish likeness, Kol’s eyes were drawn to the most lifeless part of the image. He would have recognized those paint-stained clothes anywhere.

Now, Kol had added little notes to the drawings he’d stolen from his sweet artist’s sketchbook. This time, she had included her own.

The harsh, hate-filled words read: “Vampire - a creature that feeds off the misery of others.”

At the bottom of the page, his artist had left him one more note.

“I hope you’re satisfied.”

Rebekah, peering over his shoulder now, whistled lowly.

“That’s not Nik’s work,” She noted.

“No.” His voice came out sharp, clipped. “No, its not.”

“So who’d you piss off this time?”

Kol shrugged and tucked the drawing in his pocket. “No one important,” He lied.

Shortly after that, he arrived beneath the trusses of Wickery Bridge. He knew where that girl would be - knew his artist couldn’t leave a piece unfinished. If she noticed him coming from a far ways off, she gave no inclination. Kol, however, noticed quite a few things. The tremor in her hands as she moved a can of paint back and forth in front of her. A used sleeping bag laid out among the rocks. A banana peel displaying the only proof she’d eaten any sort of meager breakfast. He noticed. He always noticed.

His feet crunched on the gravel as he approached but he doubted the girl heard it - more than likely she had her hearing aids powered off. He could see the appeal in it. After all, it got quite loud in his head sometimes. Turning off the sounds of the world might be nice, but such was not his curse.

Kol wound his arms around her waist from behind and leaned down. Her skin was so smooth and perfect, it was hard to resist simply biting down and taking her all to himself, but instead of piercing her throat he opted to kiss her a few times, gently. He knew how she would react by now. Y/N wouldn’t fight or squirm, she wouldn’t even scream.

She just relaxed.

Fight, flight, freeze, and fawn.

A spitfire when angered, she could be quite impressive; however, when confronted she would always resort to that last option.

He could scent her fresh tears as they slipped down her face, while in his arms her body shuddered, though not quite the way he would prefer. Only one word could seem to manifest through her pain.

"Why?" She didn't say it out loud, just signed it. Kol held her tighter, shrugging.

"Because I'm an attention whore," He answered simply. It was the truth too. "And I don't know when to stop."

He would always need that artist more than she needed him. From the first moment he'd met her, that was how their story had gone.

If it was even possible, that girl melted further into his embrace. Her head rested against his collarbone and she sighed.

"So you think I'm crazy too, huh?" She smiled and it was a miserable thing.

"I never thought you were crazy, love," He admitted, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I just didn't care for a while at first."

"What changed?" She wondered, brows furrowing.

"You smiled at me."

The girl barked a laugh. "Oh, well that's nice." She rolled her eyes.

Kol pulled her closer to him, as though he could make her feel the emotions he couldn't explain. "Don't believe me?"

"Nope." And she never minced words.

"It does sound rather cliche, doesn't it?"

"Ya think?" She scoffed. Her chest still shook with sobs she tried to suppress. He twisted her body around to pull her into a proper hug. Again, she didn't resist. She'd completely given up.

Kol didn't like this hopeless, hysterical version of the strong, dagger-sharp artist he'd come to adore. He'd seen this sort of apathy before and typically it bored him. In her, it only seemed to hurt. It impressed him to hold her close until she finally understood that he was bloody sorry!

"Can you ever forgive me?" Kol found himself asking. Funny, he couldn't seem to remember another time he'd wondered such a thing.

Y/N snorted humorlessly.

"Maybe in a million years," She replied sourly. "Or maybe when the nut-house straightens me out - whichever comes last."

Those words stung like poison. It had been so, so long since he'd made a mistake he couldn't fix with a snap of his fingers. Accountability was a nasty, uncomfortable thing.

A voice in the back of his mind reminded Kol that he could always compel his pretty little artist. But… he'd rather hoped her affection for him might be real. He didn't want to ruin that just yet.

Kol groaned quietly and tucked his face into the crook of her neck, fixing his lips over that girl's pulse again. The effect was somewhat calming despite making his fangs ache like nothing else.

"I care about you, darling," He mumbled into her skin.

"And I trusted you."

He understood. That girl didn't trust anyone. Now he was just another reason why.

A police siren flared to life in the distance, drawing closer. The artist in his arms chuckled dryly.

"Sounds like my ride's here," She observed, void of all life or emotion. The wheels of a police cruiser pulled to a stop not far off. She'd be caught in the act and Kol happened to know the police force had been set on vervain.

"I won't let them take you," He swore, tightening his grip on his little artist. A car door slammed shut. Footsteps began approaching.

"And what are you gonna-"

Kol picked her up and ran. Consequences be damned. That girl was his.

He stopped on the pretentious front porch of his brother's mansion and allowed her to absorb her new surroundings. She trembled in his arms, eyes round as saucers as she glanced around.

Her eyes met his and she shook her head, taking a step back. "Kol?" Her voice was thick with dread. "What… just-"

"You're okay," He assured her in lieu of an answer. He spoke calmingly, but she wouldn’t allow him to step any nearer. "You're safe now."

"No." Her voice was bold and firm. She held out a hand, increasing the space between them. “Tha-that wasn’t right. We-we-we were, uh… We were there… a-and now we’re here. What happened? Tell me. Tell me what you did!”

“Relax darling, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” He lied. The boy smiled disarmingly, voice a honeyed guise - it had worked before, back before she’d trusted him. “It’s just me.”

“No… No, y-you’re not-” She bit her lip and retreated further, blinking rapidly.

He took another step closer, shushing her disoriented protests. “You’re alright, love. It’s. Just. Me.”

“NO!” The girl cried out with a tone forged from steel, but Kol watched as her resolve warped and cracked. He could see it rise to the surface - that all-consuming fear in his delectable little artist that he so relished and despised. “No… Kol, stop. Please.” Her sweet melody of a voice came out as a hoarse whisper now. “Y-you were my friend, and… I-I still want you, I do. But you need to stop. You’re not supposed to be like everyone else. Stop lying.”

Kol sighed heavily. His artist had been betrayed, time and time again. He couldn’t be like the rest of this godforsaken town - not if he wanted her. Yet… If he told her the truth - if he revealed himself to be everything that terrified her so - how would she possibly stand his presence?

“Do you truly wish to know?” He asked, unable to meet her gorgeous, all-too-perceptive eyes.

"I have to,” She whispered, almost to herself. “I’m not crazy. I-I didn't just imagine that!"

“You’re right.” He nodded and offered her a slight, halfhearted smirk. "You see too much for your own good, sweet thing. But please remember, you asked to be shown this part."

Kol thought about her - about his gorgeous, perfect artist. He inhaled deeply, taking in her mouth-watering scent. He focused on her heartbeat - wet and strong - let it lull him. He pictured that adorable, appetizing blush that always spread across her cheeks when he touched her. Kol allowed himself to imagine just how sweet, how lush, how devastatingly succulent that girl would taste just beneath her soft, warm human skin.

Then, welcoming that corrupt temptation, surrendering to it, he opened his eyes.

His little artist screamed.

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kikijackson-blog · 3 days ago

Text

Lost Girls - Part 2

PART 2

PLEASE READ PART 1 FIRST

Reader and Coco try to come to terms with the prisons they've each created for themselves. Longing for something beyond their reach and fighting for forgiveness for their past mistakes and a loss that tore them apart and hurt the ones they loved the most.

***Readers 18+ Only***

Warnings: Contains/mentions/implied pregnancy/childbirth, drug use, abuse (adult and child), SA (though not graphically described, it is implied), death. Not all are mentioned in every part, it is throughout.

Tonight was one of those dreadful nights Coco loathed so much. He had built walls around the past, tall and unyielding, but tonight, the memories returned to haunt him. He stood in the doorway of his daughter Letty’s room, the moonlight spilling in and illuminating her angelic face. She slept soundly, her fingers clutching a photo he hadn't seen in years. His breath caught as he realized it was one of the two of you. Where she had found it, he had no idea.

He gently pulled the sheet back over her, his fingers trembling as he tucked it under her chin. He’d missed out on years of this so he’d take the opportunity to tuck her in whenever he could. Now a teen, he’d feared that he wouldn’t get much more of those father daughter moments, his time with her would soon be over, she was almost fully grown and soon she’d move out and find her own way and one day a family of her own. He hated himself for losing out on so many years, years that he can’t get back. Years that, much as he tried, he knew he’d never be able to make up to her. She got the shit end of the deal and it was partly his fault. She stirred slightly, murmuring something he couldn’t make out, and his heart squeezed. He told himself he was checking on her to ensure she was safe, but the truth was harder to admit. He needed to see her, to remind himself that she was still there. That she hadn’t abandoned him too.

He retreated to the kitchen, the cold beer in his hand doing little to cool the heat of his anger and sorrow. Settling on the worn couch, he lit a cigarette and pulled the photograph from his pocket. Staring at it, he was hit by a wave of memories, sharp and unrelenting. Your laugh, the way your curls bounced as you moved, the intoxicating scent of vanilla you claimed was just shampoo though he’d caught you spritzing you hair with vanilla body spray more than once.

"You're weird," you said, laughing as he sniffed your hair.

"Oh, I'm weird? You're the one putting perfume in your hair. Who does that anyway?"

"Lots of girls do," you replied, then paused under his quizzical stare. "Well, maybe not lots. But I know I’m not the only one."

Those moments seemed a lifetime ago. He’d once thought you were his salvation, an angel sent to pull him from the dark pit his childhood had dug for him. His mother had made sure he felt like he was never enough, her words sharp as broken glass, her hands even sharper. Then you had come along, with your warmth and your light. But angels, it turned out, could also fall. You had become his greatest tormentor, a ghost that haunted him long after you’d walked away.

“How could you leave?” he muttered to the empty room, his voice low and bitter. “How could you not want her? This beautiful child? How could you walk away from me?”

He downed the beer in one long swig and hurled the empty bottle against the wall. It shattered on impact, the shards scattering like his thoughts. He dropped his head into his hands, his cigarette smoldering between his fingers.

His daughter’s laughter was the only thing that kept him going most days. She was a bright spot in his otherwise dark world, a reminder of the good that could still exist. But she longed for something he couldn’t give her. A family.

She never said it outright, but he saw it in the way she clung to the rare moments they spent with other families, in the glances she gave at mothers and fathers with their children. At sixteen, she was old enough to understand the gaps in her life, but she carried them quietly, never voicing the ache he knew was there. She didn’t remember her mother, and she never asked about you, but he knew the questions were there, lurking just beneath the surface. And tonight, finding her clutching that photo, he couldn’t ignore the longing he saw etched on her face, even in sleep.

He’d always been a bad boy, the kind mothers warned their daughters about. Trouble seemed to follow him, or maybe he sought it out. It didn’t matter now. He’d been running jobs for as long as he could remember, small-time stuff at first, lifting wallets and boosting cars. As he got older, the stakes grew higher. Smuggling. Racketeering. He was good at it, and it kept a roof over their heads and food on the table. But it also meant he was always looking over his shoulder, always one misstep away from losing everything.

Letty had an idea of what he did, but he didn’t know the details, of course. To her, he was just Coco. The one who made her pancakes on Sundays, who teased her about her crushes, who sat through her endless rants about school and the world. But he wondered how long he could keep the truth from her. How long before she started asking questions he couldn’t answer?

The first time he’d seen you was in high school. You’d been running down the hall, late for class and not paying attention. He’d seen you coming, your curls bouncing wildly, and he’d been too distracted by your beauty to move out of the way in time. You’d collided with him, and he’d caught you before you fell.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” he’d said, steadying you. “Where’s the fire?”

“Fire? No, no. No fire. I… I’m late for class. Sorry,” you’d stammered, your cheeks flushed. You’d started to run again but stopped a few feet away, turning back with a confused expression. “Wait… class doesn’t start for ten minutes.”

He’d laughed. “Yeah, loca. Maybe slow down next time.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away, muttering something he couldn’t hear. He’d smiled, watching you go, but thought little of it. You weren’t his type. You were a good girl, all sunshine and rainbows. Innocence. And he… well, he was everything your parents probably warned you about. Yet somehow, against all odds, you found each other. And for a while, you’d made him believe he could be something more. Someone better.

But people like him didn’t get happy endings.

The photo felt heavy in his hand as he stared at it, the edges worn from years of handling. He thought of his daughter upstairs, asleep and clutching the same image. She’d never known her mother, but she missed her all the same. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she sometimes sat quietly, lost in thought. She wanted answers, and he had none to give.

“All bitches are the same,” he muttered bitterly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “Demonic, man-eating, soul-sucking leeches from the goddamn pits of hell.”

But even as the words left his mouth, he knew they weren’t true. You weren’t a demon. You were human. Flawed and broken, just like him. And that’s what hurt the most. Because if you were human and not the demonic presence he’d made you out to be, then maybe… just maybe… it was his fault you’d left.

Part 3 Coming soon

PART 1

Lost Girls

#mayans x reader #coco x reader #coco cruz x reader #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans fanfic #coco cruz fanfic

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the-bloody-sadist · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! Fellow yanagihara hater here. Please share more of your views on a little life i beg because that book was so promising with its themes goddamn but then the writer had to fuck it up -

OH NOOOOO THE CHANCE TO BE A HATER WHATEVER WILL I DO.....

THANKS FOR ASKING.

I'm really glad to hear from someone who was also angry at the book and its author! I tend to be more bothered than usual when any form of media is popular for so-called "trauma representation", held up as a classic, etc., and then when I consume that media, I find out that the way it's written is more of a pretentious normie's view of "suffering", which, in my opinion, is disgusting. NOW. PLEASE BE REMINDED THAT I HAVE STRONG OPINIONS, AND ALSO TAKE THEM WITH A GRAIN OF SALT, AS I'M PARTICULARLY TRIGGERED BY WHAT I FEEL IS HORRIBLE TRAUMA REP. And a second grain of salt, too, since I did NOT read all of A Little Life (because I got too angry, knew exactly where it was going, and said FUCK YOU YANAGIHARA, I'm going to watch a video essay breakdown of the plot instead so I don't kill myself), and also watched behind the scenes interviews that made me hate Yanagihara even more.

If you're curious what video I watched that broke down the plot and confirmed all of my expectations on this book, it's here! I remember not agreeing with a lot of what that YouTuber said, because some things are silly to complain about in fiction and I don't believe in the whole "sexual abuse should not be shown in graphic detail", which I think was part of his discussion?? Bad memory, sorry. What I think is ugly about the book is the pile-on of RIDICULOUS amounts of trauma for Jude, to a degree that makes it a parody, almost comedically, of real trauma. From a writer's perspective, I'm furious at the way she used it and the way it succeeded at it's one job--NOT to help people understand the effects of trauma and CSA--but to make them cry. It's cheap, it's gross, and it casts all of Jude's trauma (for me) in the light of "this author was proud of herself for how much she could stuff into one boy just to make SURE you were devastated, while paying no special attention to make sure these traumas were handled with care". It's enraging to see how low the standard is for professional books that A Little Life is held up the way it is.

Now, don't get me wrong, her prose, while bogged down by excruciating and needless detail a lot of times, is very engaging. It's part of why I was so mad that it failed in the most important areas. I wanted it to be good! I really did! And I loved Jude, he would've been a wonderful character if not for her amateur decisions. Had she picked one or two traumas to focus on, created a realistic background for him, and had his death make for better impact and purpose to the plot, I'd probably have the book on my shelf as a top ten. But instead, I listened to her speak about how she did ZERO RESEARCH ON TRAUMA for Jude, apparently doesn't have trauma of her own that she's referencing (because then, no matter how much I disliked it, I would be more forgiving if she's pulling from her own experiences), and just...is so FLIPPANT about how she wrote it. Plus, in my personal opinion, I don't like her attitude in general. She comes off like a cringe edgelord for the slop she wrote, and I know so many authors who aren't even professionals that write trauma WORLDS better than she ever could.

Also, I'm so sorry, but the COVER??? What a perfect representation for the book, honestly. That old photo of the dude making an expression of pain that looks fake as fuck to me, just...eugh.

You know those gacha life cringe videos where the characters are all gory and talk about fucked up shit that happened to them, but it's extreme and ridiculous? That's what this book felt like once it dove into Jude.

When I write my own characters, I try to pick a single trauma for them and a couple coping mechanisms. It's important to me that one trauma isn't just tossed in there without regard for how much it changes someone's life, behaviors, and thought processes. Other traumas exist, of course, but they fit within the theme for what the character will represent. And I think it's important to have characters around them that will balance that trauma, a caretaker, a friend, and some sort of hope. Even if it might be true in real life that some people do have out-of-this-world experiences of trauma, there's not a lot of ways to correctly convey that in fiction without coming off as silly or over-imaginative. It quickly feels like the author is jerking themselves off in how "good" they are at making characters suffer, when for me, it's about how good they are at portraying how even a "small" trauma can affect the character deeply. I respect it more when media explores the subtle aspects of trauma, incorporating multiple side-effects instead of just one. Again, I know not everyone is as picky as I am. I'm trying to have more grace for what others think is realistic, but A Little Life is WAY over that line. Whenever I read or watch something that has overdone, overdramatic, or unrealistic depictions of trauma, it's intensely triggering, and sometimes I've become suicidal for like a whole week afterwards LMFAO, so I'm super passionate about this subject, and I think it's because I'm both a writer and a trauma survivor. Having CPTSD and watching shit like Bungou Stray Dogs get praised for "good PTSD rep" with ATSUSHI????? Straying a bit from the topic, but I lose respect for anyone who expresses that opinion.

Anyway, as a closing opinion, Yanagihara just sounds like a teen fanfic writer who crams their story full of misery and thinks she's done a great job just because there was a lot of it and people went “aww, so sad”. It just felt like trauma is a spectacle for her, not a crushing psychological experience.

I already feel misunderstood enough, as is. I already feel like my trauma has been disregarded by anybody who hasn't shared the same type of trauma. The last thing I need is confirmation that it'll continue to be misunderstood because of media depictions like A Little Life.

THANKS FOR LETTING ME RANT, ANON! I hope I shared a lot of the same things you felt about the book!! I don't think I said everything as well as I wanted to, but I pushed the book out of my mind as much as possible after getting triggered by it, so I can't recall all of the details in full clarity. LMAO...

MUCH LOVE TO YOU!! And to leave on a positive note, I recently watched Room (with Brie Larson) and it was one of the BEST realistic representations of trauma I've seen in a LONG TIME. So that was nice!! It's in my favorites list now and I recommend it to everyone so you don't have to think about A Little Life anymore 🫵😡

#sadist’s answered asks #there are a lot of fictional works I feel this way about #idk why I'm so worried about being hateful on this one #but maybe it's because I didn't read it all for myself #so if you think my opinion is invalid #I get it

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late-to-the-party-81 · 8 months ago

Text

Sunshine and Gunsmoke

Chapter 3 - A new dawn, a new day

AN: Here we are, the third chapter. Thank you for joining me so far on this wild ride and thank you for all your comments - they mean a lot. Also, the chapter count has gone up. I just could resist adding an extra chapter/epilogue for these two. I wouldn’t have got here without my cheer-reader @kahey2804, and my ever wonderful beta @zenaidamacrouras1 .

Catch up on Chapter 2 here

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Summary: WIth the imminent threat removed, Bucky needs to make a decision about Steve’s welfare, knowing neither option is ideal. How will Steve feel when he comes back to himself? Will he understand the choice Bucky made? Will he forgive Bucky for lying about who he was? Will either of them be able to recover from this trauma and move forwards?

Relationships: Platonic Alpha Bucky & Beta Clint, past Omega Steve x Alpha Stephen, FWB Omega Steve x Alpha Bucky

Chapter WC: 9k

Chapter CW: Omegaverse, Shrinkyclinks, Strip club AU, references to past abusive relationship, references to misogyny, inferred Mafia elements, Alternating POV, Panic attack,Trauma response, unhealthy coping mechanisms, alcohol abuse, angst, vomiting, therapy, healthy communication, feelings reveal, forgiveness.

Steve’s head was spinning. His body was ready, pleading for relief, but there wasn’t any. It hurt so much. He needed an Alpha’s knot - Bucky’s knot! Why wasn’t Bucky giving him what he needed? Had he done something wrong? He must be a bad Omega. Bad.

Steve let out a tortured wail, and felt himself being pulled even firmer against Bucky’s body. His fingers tugged at Bucky’s clothes and he rubbed his face all over the scent gland in Bucky’s neck. For a moment he felt some relief, but it was like throwing an ice-cube into a raging inferno.

When he couldn’t access Bucky’s cock, Steve grabbed at the Alpha’s hand, hoping he might get some kind of relief from being fingered, but Bucky wouldn’t let him. Steve could hear the words, “I’m sorry, Sunshine. I really am,” but they made no sense and he let out another cry.

Beneath him, Bucky shifted, and a rumble in his chest alerted Steve to the fact that his Alpha was talking to someone.

There was someone in the room.

Near his nest.

Steve’s head shot up, his top lip curled and he let out a warning growl.

“It’s alright, Stevie. It’s just the doc.” Bucky’s voice sounded as though it was coming from underwater. “She’s here to help, I promise. And she’s a Beta. She’s not gonna hurt you.”

Steve turned his head and peered out from under hooded eyelids. The doctor was a woman with glasses, a kind looking face and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Hi, Steve,” she said in a low, melodious voice. “I’m Dr. Cho, and I’m going to help you feel better. Can I put this blood pressure cuff on you?” She held up the grey piece of equipment in front of her so he could see it. Steve cocked his head, confused. He didn’t understand how this would help him get Bucky’s knot.

A set of strong fingers gently took hold of his chin and steered his head so that he was looking up into Bucky’s misty blue eyes. “Please, sweetheart. Let Dr. Cho check you out. I promise I’ll give you everything you need soon.”

With that guarantee, Steve gave a small nod and extended his arm. The doctor wrapped the inflation cuff around him and pressed the button on the unit. It whirred into life, pumping up to an almost painful point, before it suddenly deflated. With a pencil in hand, the Beta woman copied out whatever it was that had been recorded.

“Thank you, Steve. You just relax for a moment, while I talk to Bucky, yes?”

Steve nodded again, and buried his head back in Bucky’s neck and continued to rock his hips back and forth.

It had felt as though he’d been waiting for the doc for hours, but in reality it had turned out to be about thirty minutes. But for Bucky, each whimper, each cry that had broken from Steve’s throat shattered his heart.

However, she was here now and Bucky watched, almost with a sense of pride, as Steve allowed his vitals to be recorded, before curling back up against him and starting to hump against him once more. Dr Cho, ever the professional, averted her gaze.

“You said he’d been drugged,” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed. “Check the trash can.” He jerked his head in its direction.

While waiting for her to investigate, he rested one of his hands against the small of Steve’s back, trying to slow down his movements, not because he was embarrassed or wanted him to stop, but mainly because he didn’t want Steve to rub himself raw. His jeans were soaked to the skin with Steve’s slick, the scent of aroused Omega making the air thick, but strangely, Bucky’s own initial reaction to the smell had worn off. At least for the most part. His cock was no longer straining against his zipper, so he guessed that his concern had overridden his natural instincts to mate.

“You’re right, Mr Barnes.” Bucky turned his head at the doctor’s statement, to find her holding a spent hypodermic in her gloved fingers. “He’s been injected with synthetic hormones to induce heat.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “So now there are two options. Either we let his heat run its course and you - an Alpha - provide whatever is necessary, or I can administer heat suppressants to counteract it, but he would need to be carefully weaned off them over the course of a month or so.” There was an apologetic expression on her face. She knew that she’d given him two less than ideal options. “I’ll give you a few minutes to think it over, but we need to decide soon. He can’t carry on in this limbo state for much longer.”

She was right. Steve was visibly tiring, and who knows what long term damage would be caused if he delayed making a decision much longer. Bucky screwed his eyes up, as if blocking out the light would mean that making a choice between effectively raping Steve or drugging him further would be easier.

“Drugs,” he croaked out. “Give him the suppressants. I can’t…” He tailed off, knowing that he didn’t need to explain further. His eyes blurred with tears as he held Steve still in his arms while Dr. Cho gave him the initial injection, the frightened Omega just crying out for him, over and over.

“He should drop off to sleep soon. When he wakes, he’ll need to take one of these tablets,” she held up a pill bottle. “And one every day for the foreseeable future. Give him my number so he can call me and we can sort out a regime for weaning him off them.” She gave him a wan smile. “He should be okay, Mr Barnes. At least physically. You’ve done the best you could.” With that, she packed up her equipment and supplies and Bucky and Steve were left in peace.

“Alpha,” Steve mumbled.

Bucky dropped a kiss to the top of his sweaty head. Steve’s rutting had already started to slow, but he supposed that could be from exhaustion as much as from the suppressants.

“Yeah, Sunshine? How can I help?”

“Feel strange, Alpha. Do I get your knot soon?”

“I know, sweetheart, but you’ll start to feel better shortly. Then, I promise, you can have anything you want.”

He watched as Steve smiled sleepily and snuggled impossibly further into his chest. Then, as his hips finally - finally - stilled, Steve started to purr. His eyelids drooped and his body relaxed, and Bucky felt a wave of relief wash over himself. He eased them both into a lying down position and covered Steve’s naked body with a loose corner of blanket.

“I’ll be here when you wake up, Sunshine. I hope you can forgive me.”

His whole body ached, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth.

Steve blinked his eyes open, noting the bright sun shining through his bedroom window. Shifting slightly he became aware of an arm around his waist.

Stephen!

He sat up, panicked, twisting around to see Bucky sleepily blinking his eyes at him. A Bucky who was fully clothed, while he was entirely naked. What was going on? He searched his memory and it came back in horrifying Technicolor. His hand flew up to his neck expecting to feel a fresh wound as he gulped in lungfuls of air. And why wasn’t he still in heat? His head felt light, and the room was tilting sideways and…

“Stevie! Breathe!” Bucky’s hands had curled around Steve’s upper arms, stopping him from falling over and off of the bed. Bucky’s eyes bored into his, preventing him from looking away. “You’re safe. Just breathe in with me now, two-three… and out, two-three.” Steve followed Bucky’s directions, breathing in and out with him, and slowly the world stopped spinning.

Bucky’s hands fell away and he gave Steve a soft smile. “I’m just gonna go and get you a drink and a snack, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

Still not feeling capable of speech, Steve just nodded and watched Bucky walk out of his bedroom. He looked around his private space, feeling terribly exposed. Stephen’s scent still lingered in the air, along with those of a few other people Steve didn’t know, and he launched himself up, crossing to the window and throwing it open with all his strength. He pulled some boxers, sweats and an oversized hoodie from his dresser, fighting his way into them, feeling as though he needed the protective layer they provided. Then, on wobbly legs, he returned to the bed, pulling all of the blankets and sheets from it.

As each piece of fabric was thrown to the floor, Steve could feel the anger and humiliation building in his gut. Stripping his bed wasn’t enough. He picked up his favourite nesting blanket, one of the first things he’d bought after moving here after escaping Stephen the first time, and ripped it down the middle. He did the same with the next, his vision blurring with tears, and when Bucky returned a few minutes later, he was kneeling on the floor in a pile of remnants, sobbing his heart out.

In a heartbeat, Bucky was beside him, his arms wrapped around him, and Steve cried into his chest. “It’s gonna be alright, Stevie. It’ll be okay. I promise. He can’t hurt you again.”

Bucky’s words flowed over him and eventually his sobs subsided, turning to small hiccups, until he self-consciously extricated himself from Bucky’s embrace. He swiped at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“What happened,” he asked. “I mean, I remember bits of it, but a lot of it’s still a blur. I remember-” His head shot up with a gasp and he turned his head towards the back wall, where the bullet hole, surrounded by chipped plaster, taunted him. “You shot at him! You shot at Stephen with a gun!” He stared back at Bucky. “And you - you’re… you’re.” He shuffled backwards, putting some distance between them. Bucky returned his wide-eyed gaze with a sad smile and a small open armed shrug.

“I am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t really know.” Bucky said. “Maybe it’s because I’m selfish? Maybe because I didn’t want to frighten you away. Why didn’t you tell me?” He gestured at the bed and the ruined blankets.

Steve wrapped his arms around his own waist, but raised his chin. “I thought I could handle it. I didn’t want to have to have somebody - an Alpha - help me out. I never thought he’d take it this far.” He stopped for a moment, nibbling on his lower lip as a thought came to him. “Where is he?” Steve asked guardedly. “Is he - you know - dead?”

“Not yet.” There was a chilly rumble to Bucky’s voice that sent a shiver down Steve’s spine. He wasn’t sure if he was scared by it, or aroused. “My men have him. They’re waiting for me, but I had to make sure you were okay first. You were my priority, Stevie.” Bucky’s tone softened and for a moment Steve’s heart fluttered, but Bucky’s words reminded him of his other query.

“And how am I okay, Bucky? How has the heat gone already?” There was a soreness between his thighs, but it wasn’t what he normally felt after having sex. And it didn’t escape him how Bucky turned his head away at the question and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“You gotta understand… you were outta your head from the drugs he’d given you. You weren’t in your right mind to agree to anything, so I had to make a choice. I coulda knotted you, but… I just couldn’t… it wouldn’t’ve been right. So I took the other option… and I’m sorry.”

Steve felt a sense of foreboding grow inside his gut. “What other option? Bucky, what did you do?”

With an apology in his eyes, Bucky pulled a small plastic bottle from his back pocket, along with a business card. “Call my doc, Dr Cho. She was here. She’ll go through everything with you. It’s all paid for.” He held them out tentatively, and Steve plucked them from his fingers, knowing what he was going to see, but hoping against hope he was going to be wrong.

He wasn’t.

He let out a sigh. “Suppressants. Of course.” Tears prickled behind his eyes, and all of his emotions - fear, anger, frustration, disappointment - tangled around each other within him. “You knew how I felt about these! About how he’d made me go on them. And here you are…”

Bucky reached out a hand towards him. “Stevie, I-”

Steve knew deep down that he was being unreasonable, but his logical mind was not in control right now. “Don’t touch me!” he bit out as he jumped backwards, throwing his hands up in the air.

Bucky huffed. “I just did what I thought was best.”

“Best for who?” Steve shrieked. “For you, definitely. You don’t have a bunch of chemicals rampaging around your system, suppressing what you are. Who you are! God, I don’t even want to look at you right now.” He turned his back, emphasising his point, but he heard Bucky shuffling behind him. His inner Omega was telling him to turn back around and go to Bucky - get lost in the security of his embrace, but Steve was mad - mad with the world - and Bucky was the only person available to take it out on.

“Maybe I should go then?” Bucky mumbled from behind him.

Now it was Steve’s turn to huff. He shrugged his shoulders for good measure as well, feigning nonchalance. “Whatever you think is best, Buck. You’re good at making decisions for both of us. Do me a favour though. Don’t kill Stephen. He’ll be missed if he disappears without a trace.”

He heard a resigned sigh. “I promise not to kill him if you promise me you’ll call Dr Cho. Be safe Stevie and I’ll tell Clint that you won’t be in for a while” A heartbeat’s silence, then “‘bye, Sunshine.” Bucky’s feet padded across Steve’s threadbare carpet getting quieter as he walked away, until Steve couldn’t hear them any longer.

Steve sank back to his knees and the tears flowed again.

Bucky slumped into the office chair, holding the open bottle of whisky.

“Fuck!”

He took a swig and slammed the bottle on the table. Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, he steepled his fingers against his face. Never had he envisaged that things with Steve would play out like this. He almost regretted his promise not to kill Steve’s piece of shit ex.

After leaving Steve’s apartment, Bucky had headed straight to where his men had taken the deluded Alpha. It had been cathartic to take out his frustrations on the sick fuck, but he’d stopped short of finishing him off. He had broken - no, shattered - the guy’s hands though. He wouldn’t be doing any surgery for a long time, if ever again. His men had then dragged the good doctor out, having instructions to make it look as though the Alpha had had a drink fueled car crash. That should explain away his injuries and he’d definitely think twice before harassing Steve again.

However, as satisfying as it had been, it didn’t solve the issue of the chasm between the pair of them. Bucky had known that Steve was going to be upset about the heat suppressants, but he hadn’t imagined such an extreme reaction. He’d wanted so badly to take Steve in his arms and tell him that he’d do anything for him - that he loved him. But Steve had been disgusted by him - by what he’d done and by who he was.

Bucky slumped further in the chair, his feet up on the desk and picked up the whisky bottle again, taking another large gulp. The burn was his just deserts for hurting the man he loved, but that pain would soon be dulled by the alcohol. It was a vicious circle and no less than he deserved.

A knock at the door had him lifting his head. “Yes?” he bit out with more force than was strictly necessary. Clint opened the door and walked through, warily.

“Hey, boss. I was wondering, are you gonna work tonight?”

Bucky took another drink. “Yes, but not behind the bar.”

“Okay,” Clint replied with a nod. “Cool. Cool. And Steve? He’s okay, isn’t he?”

“Physically? Better than he could have been - nothing debilitating. Mentally? A wreck. I wish I still had that knot-head fuck in front of me.” As he took another mouthful he thought that maybe he heard Clint mutter ‘that would make two of you’, under his breath, but chose to ignore it. “Make sure Steve’s pay and an average tip amount is deposited in his account until he comes back.”

Clint gave him ‘a look’ before shuffling out, but Bucky just pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Hi Dad. Yeah - I got my problem sorted. I was just wondering, cos I’m at a loose end, whether you had any jobs you needed me to do.”

Numb.

That’s all Steve could describe his current state as. It had been that way from the moment that Bucky had walked away from him. He’d held the bottle of heat suppressants in his hand, and had seriously considered flushing them down the toilet, but deep down he’d known that he’d end up in a worse way if he did that. Bucky had said that it was all paid for, and he couldn’t afford to look a gift horse in the mouth. If he ended up in hospital there’s no way he’d be able to afford it, even with his co-pay.

It had been four weeks now since Stephen’s assault, and Steve had taken the tablets religiously. He had an appointment in two weeks to discuss the withdrawal regime. Dr Cho was kind and understanding, and Steve almost couldn’t believe that she was mob affiliated.

He also hoped that he’d get some of his mojo back as he came off the drugs, although that might be a false hope. While they were almost definitely affecting his mood, he hadn’t been like this last time, with Stephen, so he knew that his emotional state was being impacted by the trauma. Maybe he should take Dr. Cho up on the offer of connecting him with a therapist. She’d hinted that Bucky would cover that as well.

He continued to muse upon it as he walked home from his diner shift. He’d been lucky that they’d held the job open for him for the week he’d taken off to get his head in some kind of order. As he reached his front door, he couldn’t help but place his hand flat against the wood of it. To anyone else, it looked exactly the same as every other front door in this block, but he knew it was different, and on some level reminded him of how he himself felt. Identical on the outside, but still changed.

The afternoon of that day, a few hours after Bucky had left, there had been a tentative knock against the damaged door. Upon careful - and baseball bat protected - investigation, it had turned out to be a crew of workers, again, all paid for. They’d replaced his door and installed more secure locks on both it and all of the windows in the apartment - even the window in his bedroom that only someone who could climb like a spider would be able to get through.

He knew it should make him feel better, knowing that it was almost impossible for anyone to break in now, but his confidence was still shot, and he jumped at every strange noise. On top of that every so often he caught a whiff of gunsmoke in the air, despite how long it had been. Steve couldn’t decide if it was residue from the actual gun Bucky had used to scare Stephen, or whether it was Bucky’s own Alpha scent still lingering in the remaining fabrics of his nest, no matter how much he’d washed them. Every time it wafted through the air, he felt his heart lurch.

He hated how he was caught in this limbo, missing Bucky like crazy, but also feeling sick at the thought of actually seeing him. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t been back to The Alpha Barne - he didn’t know if he was going to go running into Bucky’s arms or start shouting at him, letting out all the hurt and pain he knew was bubbling just under his skin. Because Bucky had lied. Hidden who and what he was, and it made Steve sick, just to think about it, although he wasn’t sure whether he felt that way because he didn’t like what Bucky did, or because he felt so foolish for not working it out. Whichever way it was though, everything, Bucky, the Barne, dancing, the lies, were all intrinsically linked to the assault and he couldn’t separate them as hard as he tried.

Steve had been listening to the radio only last week, when one of the songs he’d danced to came on. It had all been fine when he’d been dancing along subconsciously, but as soon as he realised what he was doing, all his emotions had come crashing in. In his mind’s eye he saw Stephen leering at him from the audience, saw Bucky flirting and kissing other Omega’s. He’d felt himself pinned down and begging for something he didn’t want. He’d dropped to the floor of his kitchen, his arms around himself as he’d sobbed.

Frustratingly, it wasn’t as though Bucky didn’t care. He obviously did if the flurry of texts and voicemails Steve had received was any indication, but Steve couldn’t find it within himself to answer with more than a bland ‘Busy, speak soon’. He just didn’t know what to say - how to articulate how he felt. Hell, he didn’t even know how he felt, other than it was too soon to even think about going back to his other job, no matter how much he’d grown to love and enjoy it. For the time being he’d just have to be frugal and take every single diner shift he could. He’d plaster on his best customer service mask, despite how he felt inside, and hope for tips.

Ditching his work gear and toe-ing off his shoes, Steve shuffled to his kitchen cabinet, pulling out another pack of 50 cent ramen noodles. Hopefully when he went to see Dr. Cho she’d have that fruit bowl on her desk again. He was certain that the oranges he pilfered from her were the only reason he hadn’t developed scurvy.

He slumped onto the sofa, bowl of noodles in hand and idly turned on the TV for background noise. He wasn’t quite sure what was happening on the British cookery programme he was watching, but it was entertaining nonetheless. The one bright spot in the past few weeks is that he hadn’t heard anything from Stephen. Not a peep, not a sniff. No more break-ins. No more feeling of being followed. Bucky had promised him that Stephen was still alive, so whatever Bucky had threatened his ex with seemed to have worked in making him stay away. If only he could relax though. Logically he knew he was safe, but he’d let down his guard before and look what had happened.

Steve whiled away the next few hours with mindless TV shows and an action movie, before dragging himself to have a shower and then collapsing into bed. The morning came all too soon, and Steve felt as though he hadn’t slept, despite not feeling as though he’d woken up during the night. He poured coffee down his throat to support the matchsticks holding his eyes open, and headed off for another day at the diner. He felt as though he was trapped in Groundhog Day.

A few hours in though, and something different happened. Or rather someone different walked through the door. Steve was having a chat during a lull with Stan, the line cook, when the bell over the door rang and Steve picked up the muted Beta scent of Clint.

He turned and flashed his old manager and -almost?- friend a sad smile.

“Hey, Clint.”

“Hey, Steve. Thought I’d come and see how you were doing. And from the looks of it, you’re not so great.” Clint slid into an empty booth and Steve took a seat opposite him. “So, tell me. What’s eating you, kid?”

Steve let out a sigh. “What’s not eating me? It’s all fucked up, Clint. I’m fucked up.”

Clint let out a snort. “I hate to tell you this, but life, in general is fucked up. I don’t think I know anyone who isn’t off kilter at least a little bit. And we miss you. Me, the girls. Bucky. Heck, I think even the patrons miss you.”

Steve’s lips twitched up at that. “I can’t dance, Clint. Not yet at least. It’s all too raw. I don’t know how much you know, but I have nightmares. And when I do sleep I don’t wake up rested. I want to reach out, I really do, but I just can’t.” He sighed again. “I thought I had something good. With Bucky. I was starting to think that maybe… But he was lying to me the whole time. I thought I knew who he was, but it turned out he was this whole other person after all.”

It was Clint’s turn to smile wanly.

“I know you’re hurt by it all, and I take some of the blame - I didn’t know you didn’t know - but tell me this; how was one different from the other?”

Steve’s eyebrows drew together as he tried to understand Clint’s question. “What do you mean?”

“When Bucky came to your apartment that night, when he ‘became’ this other person, as you put it, what did he do that was so different? Did he treat you any differently to how he had before?”

Steve sat, looking at Clint wide-eyed as realisation washed over him. Through all the hurt and all the pain, he’d never really broken down what Bucky had done that night, what lengths he’d gone to. He felt a lump form in his throat and tears form in his eyes as he answered.

“No. He didn’t treat me any different. In fact, he saved me.”

Maybe it was time to meet that therapist.

The rear door of the club banged on its hinges as Bucky shouldered his way through it. It was not in the mood for, well, anything. He stomped down the hall and into the office. His office. It was no longer just a place to do the odd deal, it was now the centre of the operations that his father had handed over to him.

Stalking across to the desk he yanked open the bottom drawer and pulled out the first aid kit and a part full bottle of whisky. He took a healthy swig of the latter before opening up the former. Ripping open an alcohol wipe, Bucky let out a restrained hiss as he swiped it across the bloody knuckles of his right hand.

It was strange how so much had changed in the past few weeks. While he had never shied away from the physical aspects of the business - knowing that sometimes it was the only way to deliver a message - he’d never actively sought out participation, quite happy for his father’s enforcers to do the majority of the dirty work. However, it now seemed that his mind was only ever quiet when he was beating seven shades of hell out of some snitch or rival punk. Or when he was deep in the bottle. Sometimes both.

George Barnes had been thrilled when Bucky had requested more involvement and responsibility, clapping his son on the shoulder and immediately drawing him into his traditional study and getting out his books. His mother, Winnifred, has known something was wrong though. Bucky could see it in her expression when she looked at him. He knew she was worried about what had prompted this change of heart regarding the business, but every time she looked as though she was about to start probing, he’d brush her off. Part of him wanted to pour his heart out to her, just as he had when he’d been a child, but another part of him told him that it was just life and he had to suck it up. Things got damaged and broken in their world, so he might as well get used to it.

Dropping the wipe, Bucky picked the bottle up again, tipping it up and just letting it burn down his throat. He didn’t even move when the office door opened and Clint walked through. Bucky did his best to ignore his friend, because if it wasn’t his mother trying to get him to talk, it was the stubborn Beta. Of course, Clint immediately noticed Bucky’s wounds.

“Sit down, Boss,” Clint said with a resigned note. “Who better to fix you up than the man who’s been there and had the blood splattered over his t-shirt?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but did as asked, although he didn’t relinquish the grip he had his bottle. Clint pulled out another alcohol wipe and got to work cleaning Bucky up. However, with Bucky now captive to him, it gave him a chance to start up on his new favourite topic of conversation.

“You haven’t gone to speak to him yet.” A statement, not a question. “You need to get a grip, man. Tell him how you feel.”

“He knows where I am,” Bucky snapped back. “I’ve texted him, but he’s barely responded. I’ve said all I need to say.”

“Have you?” Clint scoffed. “Have you really? Because if you had then I doubt you would be sitting here bloody and drunk, and Steve wouldn’t be sleep-walking through life as though he’s an emotionless automaton.”

Bucky tipped back the bottle again. “Butt out, Clint. It’s not your life. It’s mine. I’m just doing what I gotta do.”

“Yeah, and what you’re doing is ruining it.” He grabbed the gauze and started to wrap a bandage around Bucky’s knuckles. “Come on, Bucky. You were so happy before. You and Steve. But now you’re on the path to self-destruction. There’s a big difference between getting more involved with the family business and using it to block out your pain. Steve cares for you, I know he does, but he’s confused and traumatised. I’m thinking that maybe you are as well.”

Bucky let out a derisive laugh. “Me? I wasn’t the one who was attacked.”

“Yeah, but the Omega - the person - that you love was,” Clint countered. “You only just got there in time to stop it and then you had to deal with the aftermath. Had to watch him distraught and in pain. However, you only helped him through part of it. As soon as feelings on both sides got involved you ran away.”

“He asked me to leave, Barton.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Did he? Did he say ‘I want you to leave’?”

Bucky’s brain whirred, sorting through his memories of the last time he’d seen Steve. Had he asked Bucky to go, or had Bucky said that he was going to and Steve just went along with it? His head started to pound with it.

“You know what, Clint? Fuck off. I don’t need you trying to analyse me. I’ve got a shrink if I need to do that.” Bucky pushed himself up from the chair, knowing he shouldn’t be talking to his friend like this, but feeling just so full of frustration he couldn’t stop it from spilling over. He took a last drink and threw the now empty bottle into the trash. “Call Kate. She’s working tonight to cover my shift. In fact, she can cover them all until further notice.”

Without even looking at Clint, unable to meet his eyes, Bucky strode out of the office and onto the main floor of the club. He kept his gaze fixed forwards, not wanting to see the pity-filled expressions of the people he knew. When he reached the bar he stopped at it long enough to grab another bottle, tequila this time, before heading out of the main doors.

He wasn’t really thinking about where he was going, just knowing he needed a walk to clear his head. A little voice inside commented that it was difficult to do that if he was going to continue to drink while he crossed town, but he told it to shut up. He was aware that he was receiving concerned and cautious glances from other pedestrians, and even noticed a few folk going out of their way to avoid him, but he didn’t care.

His world had gone to shit. He loved Steve. His Stevie. His Sunshine. But he’d been stupid and selfish. Through his own actions and ineptitude he’d broken Steve’s trust in him and allowed him to get hurt. How different would the present be if he’d been straight with Steve from the beginning? Would Steve have still wanted to know him - have a relationship with him? Would Bucky have been brave enough to declare his feelings? Could they have avoided the whole Stephen thing altogether?

Finding himself in familiar surroundings, Bucky wasn’t even surprised to realise that he’d walked all the way to Steve’s apartment. He was even less surprised to note that it had started raining, and from the state of his clothes, had been for sometime. On top of that, dusk was falling and the street lights were turning on. Time always seemed to pass quickly these days, stuck in his own head as he so often was, and both his parents and Clint had called him out on a few occasions for blanking them when they were talking to him.

He crossed the street and made his way down the alley at the side of the building. Although he couldn’t see in from here, he could see Steve’s living room lit up at the top of the fire escape, and could make out shadows flitting around inside. Cautiously, tucking the tequila bottle into his pants, he began to climb up. As drunk as he was, he somehow managed to scale the metal rungs quietly, and he crouched on the platform outside Steve’s window, looking in through a crack in the curtains.

Bucky could hear music playing from Steve’s speakers and he shifted slightly so he could see where Steve was jigging along in his little kitchenette, cooking something up on the stove. God, Steve was so fucking beautiful it hurt. What he wouldn’t give to be inside with him right now. Dancing and singing along, cooking together. He imagined how after a simple meal for two, he’d pull Steve close, whisper sweet nothings in his ear and then take him to the bedroom and take him apart in the most beautiful way. His eyes burned with unshed tears and he pulled the bottle from his pants and took a drink. It was only as he righted it that he realised that he’d gotten down to the bottom.

He stared at it for a moment, his heart beating wildly in his chest, thoughts swirling and realisation starting to crystallise in his mind. He looked up at Steve again, seemingly happy or at least on his way to being so, and then back down at himself. His clothes were rumpled and smeared with dirt, blood and alcohol.

What the actual fuck was he doing?

He was acting just like Stephen - mooning over Steve and making it all about how he felt. God, he was even creeping like the deranged Alpha, watching Steve from the shadows. He felt bile rise in his throat and retched, his stomach emptying the alcohol over the side of the fire escape and onto the concrete below. When no more came up, he scrambled down the ladder as fast his legs could safely take him and leant against the wall.

This wasn’t right. He wasn’t right. And if he stood any chance of rebuilding his relationship with Steve he had to fix whatever the hell was wrong with him. He caught sight of a dumpster a few feet away, and threw the empty bottle overhand into it, listening to the tinkle of glass as it smashed upon impact.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialled a number he hadn’t called in months. As it rang he took one more look up at the windows of Steve’s apartment, before turning on his heel and heading towards the nearest taxi rank. When the phone connected, he had no time for pleasantries.

“Banner? Yeah, it’s Barnes. I need my head shrunk and I need your soonest appointment. Tomorrow at 10am? Yeah. I’ll be there.”

Steve let out a sigh and stretched his arms over his head. He’d been lucky enough to score a lucrative night shift for once. Unluckily, it came as part of a double shift because one of the other servers had called in sick. Still, it would help to bolster his bank account and he could live with that, even if it came at the expense of feet ache, back ache and sleep deprivation.

There had been a rush on around midnight, when all the local clubs had kicked out, and Steve had kept his head down as much as he was able when he recognised some patrons from the Alpha Barne, but since then it had been fairly quiet. The only patrons they’d really had were a few of the local homeless who used their meagre scraped together coins to buy bottomless coffee and use the diner as a place to stay warm and safe overnight. Steve couldn’t begrudge them that, especially as he considered how close he’d been to being their shoes. However, it was now nearing 5am, and the night shift cook had told him to start expecting the early risers. They often got a lot of construction workers looking for a cheap and filling meal on their way to their job sites.

It was now two months since the attack, and he’d been seeing the psychiatrist, Dr Banner, who Dr Cho had put him in touch with. With a kindly face, and a soft spoken voice, the older Alpha had listened patiently to Steve’s story, his fears and feelings of betrayal, and while he knew he still had a long way to go, Steve knew that he was on the right path. He was looking forward to coming off the suppressants in the next few weeks, hoping it would make him feel even more like himself.

At Dr Banner’s insistence, he’d tried to dance at home again. “You shouldn’t let these incidents rob you of what brings you joy, Steve,” he’d said, and Steve had vowed to try again. Without a proper pole in his house, he’d tried to replicate his dance from that first night, and while he’d struggled to get through it, had finished in a puddle of tears, he had done it. Maybe some of the tears had been down to relief? But still, it gave him hope. If he could regain his confidence with dancing he might be able to find the confidence and strength to go back to the Alpha Barne - work there again and face Bucky. As he considered it all, Steve stretched out his legs, rotating his ankles to ease the ache, unconsciously going into a dancer’s pose.

The bell above the door rang and he grabbed his notepad. He turned to face his new customer with a smile which froze on his face. There, with the door closing behind him was Bucky. But this wasn’t the Bucky that Steve remembered.

His Bucky had worn jeans and either plain black t-shirts or maroon or navy Henleys, his long hair casually tied up in a bun. This Bucky was an altogether different beast. He wore a suit; black with a subtle pinstripe check. His hair was still tied up, but it had been slicked back and tamed - something which caused a pang of disappointment to dart through him. This Bucky also had hollow looking eyes and bandaged hands.

Bucky stepped forward. “Hi, Stevie.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. “Hi, Buck- I mean, James.”

Bucky’s lips turned up, but there was no joyful smile in his eyes. “I’m still Bucky. Buck. That hasn’t changed. I was wondering if we could talk?”

Steve pulled his lower lip between his teeth as he looked around. There were two homeless guys sitting in a booth on the far side, doing yesterday’s crossword puzzle between them. They’d already been here two hours and were unlikely to order anything, but he didn’t know who was going to work through the doors before then.

“The next shift comes in at 6am, so I am sort of working until then. Do you want to wait?”

“Of course I’ll wait,” Bucky replied and this time his eyes did reflect his smile, albeit shyly. “But could I trouble you for a cup of coffee? I’m not used to seeing the day from this end.”

Steve couldn’t help but flash his own smile. “Take a seat. I’ll bring it over. And it’s bottomless.”

“Even better.”

Steve made his way behind the counter, finding the cleanest and most un-chipped mug he could, and filled it up with steaming coffee from the jug. Automatically he added a small spoon of sugar and dollop of cream, his hands remembering how Bucky liked to drink his joe.

When he turned back around, he found Bucky sitting in the opposite corner to the other two customers, and he was looking at something on his phone. Steve’s heart jumped in his chest as he took this opportunity to quietly study the Alpha who produced such conflicting feelings within him. He was so glad to see him, and his inner Omega longed to curl up in Bucky’s lap and trade lazy kisses until he was purring with contentment. However, he knew that to do so without clearing the air and saying what he needed to say would lead to disaster in the long term. The pair of them needed to be on the same page.

Squaring his shoulders, Steve walked over to Bucky’s table and placed the cup in front of him. Bucky tilted his head up, his eyes shining with emotion, and Steve opened his mouth to start to say his piece when the bell rang again. Looking over his shoulder, Steve saw a group of labourers, hats in hand and hi-vis vests tucked into their pants, crowd through the door.

“Go do your job, Stevie. I said I’d wait, and I mean it.”

Over the next hour Steve served the customers who came in for early breakfasts, a mixture of labourers, early-rising office workers and first responders coming off shift. In between orders, he’d glance over a Bucky, who asked for a refill twice, but was more often than not still reading and typing on his phone. Eventually though Carol, who was scheduled to do the early shift, came through the door. After handing over to her, Steve returned to Bucky’s booth.

“So I’m done. You said you wanted to talk?”

“I do. I think we have a lot to say to each other, but if you’re anything like me, you’re famished. Would you mind getting me some pancakes? Maybe a double stack and you can eat too?”

Steve felt a blush make its way up his neck. Bucky remembered how much he liked pancakes. He’d eat them at every meal if he could.

“Sure, Buck. I’ll be right back.”

[Image description: A moodboard. The background is a cityscape at dawn, the background different shades of orange. There are five picture frames. The first is the interior of a diner. The second is an external view of a diner in the morning. The large sign is turned off. The third is of a lit up, bent arrow sign at night, declaring a Diner, with the word “eat” underneath. The fourth is a quote - “Create the life you can’t wait to wake up to.” The fifth picture is of a stack of pancakes with a jug of syrup and a cup of coffee on a diner table.]

He returned a little over five minutes later, carrying a massive plate, groaning with buttered pancakes, and with a jug of syrup in his other hand. Placing it down, he slid onto the bench seat opposite Bucky.

They looked at each other and as Steve opened his mouth to speak, Bucky did the same.

“How’ve you been?” Steve asked as Bucky said “I hope you’ve been doing okay.”

They both stopped and Steve was pleased to note he wasn’t the only one blushing. Bucky gestured with his hand and Steve answered first.

“Not badly, all things considered. I mean, it was rough at the beginning, but Dr Cho has been great - explaining to me why I need to stay on the suppressants for so long before coming off them. I actually start the process of weaning off them next week, which I’m looking forward to. And I’ve started therapy. It’s probably something I should have done when I got away from Stephen that first time, but better late than never, I suppose. My psychiatrist is really good at helping me deal with all the anger I’ve been feeling. What about you?”

Bucky laced his fingers together and rested his hands on the table in front of him. His thumbs fidgeted against each other and his gaze was cast down.

“I’ve - umm - been working. With my father. Not behind the bar.”

It seemed to Steve that Bucky was worried how he’d react to the news. To be honest, Steve wasn’t actually sure how he felt. He didn’t want to make a spur of the minute judgement. “And do you enjoy that more than bar-tending?” he probed gently.

Bucky did look up at that, cocking his head with a snort. “I don’t know if enjoying it is the right word. I mean, it’s good to get more involved in the running of everything. Working on logistics and planning. Although I can’t say that I don’t enjoy some aspects of ‘taking out the trash’.” He glanced briefly at his knuckles and Steve couldn’t help but follow his gaze. “But I do miss the club. Clint. The girls. It felt like a big family, you know?”

“Are you going to continue with it?” Steve asked

“Will my answer make a difference to what happens next?”

Steve gave a little shrug. “Possibly. I don’t know. I think I need to get my head around it.”

“That’s fair,” Bucky agreed with a nod. “But I think this change was inevitable. I couldn’t keep myself out of it forever. It is a family business after all.”

Silence fell between them and in order to stop feeling awkward, Steve grabbed his cutlery and cut off a wedge of pancake, dunking it in the jug of syrup.

“Heathen,” Bucky hissed in amusement, and Steve felt himself grin, unbidden, around his mouthful. For a few minutes they both ate, but the silence grew heavy again and when he finished a mouthful, Steve blurted out, “I never thanked you. So ‘thank you’. For saving me.”

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky sighed out. “You don’t have to do that. Not at all. And I’m so sorry that I didn’t get there sooner. I’m sorry he even had the chance to hurt you again.”

Without thinking, Steve reached out across the table and took Bucky’s hand loosely in his own. “It’s not your fault, Buck. None of it. I should have told you. I trusted you more than anyone, but I still didn’t say anything.”

Bucky smiled back at him, gently squeezing his hand back.

“I remember,” Steve continued, “when you came in, and you were facing off against Stephen, talking about how I got to choose who to fuck and love and trust. I remember you saying that you hit two out of the three.”

Bucky’s eyebrows rose up towards his hair. “You remember that? You were pretty out of it. I’m sorry that I don’t check any of your boxes now. I doubt you trust me any more, but I wouldn’t blame you. I lied about who I was.”

“Yes,” Steve agreed. “You did. I made assumptions and you didn’t correct them. Numerous times. And I am cross about it, but I still trust you. And when it comes down to it, you only lied about who you are, not what you are.”

“What do you mean ‘what I am’?” Bucky asked, obviously puzzled.

“You, James Buchanan Barnes, are a good man. You’re a good Alpha and a good friend. You are my lover and my hero. And you’re the man that I love. You don’t tick only two of my boxes, Bucky. You tick all of them. All three of them.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. “Y-you love me? You never said anything, Steve, other than wanting to be friends.”

“How could I not love you? From the moment you took me home before my heat I was a goner. You looked after me. Cared for me. You weren’t disgusted…” unbidden memories of Stephen’s treatment of him came flooding into his mind and Steve stuttered to a halt, pulling his hand back from Bucky’s. He didn’t dare look at Bucky, and instead stared at the drips of syrup that were domed atop the melamine table top. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think I was worthy of love, especially yours. So I kept telling myself that you wouldn’t want more than friends with benefits. Every time I said it out loud I think I was trying to convince myself more than anything. Anyway, I wanted you to know. It seemed only right. I don’t want to have any secrets from you anymore.”

In the following silence, Steve was sure he heard crickets chirping, and despite how awkward and embarrassed he felt, eventually he peered up from under his eyelashes. Bucky looked like he’d stopped working. His mouth was still open like a fish and he was blinking like he was trying desperately to process what Steve had just said. Worried about what he might say when he did get his wits about him, Steve pressed on.

“The therapy is really working though. I’m feeling a lot more myself. Better than in a long time, even though I know there’s still a long way to–”

“I love you too.” The words tumbled from Bucky’s lips, stopping Steve mid-flow as surely as the way that Bucky reclaimed his hand did. “And, fuck. Of course you’re worthy of love, Stevie. You’re worthy of everything. If anything, it’s me that isn’t.” He pulled Steve’s hand up to his face and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I lied to you, over and over again. I knew I should tell you, but I was so scared that you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. You seemed so against this whole ‘family business’ thing, and while I desperately wanted something more, I wanted to respect the fact that you only wanted friendship.”

Steve couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “What a pair we are, Buck. And as for how I spoke about what you did, what your family does, I don’t know anything about that world outside of newspaper clippings and over the top films. For the most part I was just being silly - winding you up to watch you smile.” He shifted his hand within Bucky’s grasp so that their fingers were entwined. “I love watching you smile. Watching you blush. I love you, James Buchanan Barnes, but as I said earlier, no more secrets, yeah?”

“Yeah, no more secrets, Sunshine.” Bucky reached up his hand and swiped his thumb over Steve’s cheek. “I promise that whatever I do will have as little impact upon you as possible. You can know whatever you want to know.”

Steve nuzzled into Bucky’s hand, feeling a purr build in his chest at the closeness. “I don’t think I’m gonna be feeling some kinda way for a while, but I wondered, after we’ve finished here, if you wanted to come and doze in my nest with me. Maybe watch a movie or two?”

Bucky smiled at him adoringly. “Sunshine, I'm happy to do whatever you want.”

It was difficult for the pair of them to finish off the pancake stack with only one hand each, but Steve wasn’t willing to let Bucky go, and it seemed as though Bucky felt the same.

He knew they both had a way to go yet, but it was a new day and they were going to face it together.

Chapter 4

Tag list:@christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @crayongirl-linz, @mightstill, @nicoline1998enilocin, @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796

Bingo and Challenge fills:

For the whole fic: @Buckybarnesevents Into and alternate June-iverse - Strip Club | April Babb - Pet names

For the Chapter: @Stuckybingo -Pancakes | @steverogersbingo - Worthy Steve | @Stuckygeekevents - “How could I not love you?” | Alpha Bucky April - Purring

#shrinkyclinks #steve x bucky #stucky au #omegaverse #connect 4 #stuckybingo #steve rogers bingo #stucky geek events #Alpha Bucky April #alpha bucky barnes #omega steve rogers

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loyal-house-of-lupin · 2 months ago

Text

Whumptober 10 : Passing out from pain

Please, Please, Please

Pairing: Remus x Severus | WC: 2292 | Tags: Remus as Death eater, enemies with benefits, Marauders era, Hurt no comfort, angst, torture, ambiguous ending, Whumptober2024

TW: Torture, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood, Mentions/thoughts of death

Summary: After being continuously called a traitor by his friends and lover, Remus has enough and leaves. He does the one thing they accused him off; join the death eaters. Though with a bigger plan in mind; Destroy Voldemort from the inside. Turns out, he isn’t the only one with that plan.

Just as the group finally have a small victory the prophecy happens. Remus find out Severus has alternative motive. One that involves none other than Lily.

A/N: please! read the trigger warnings And if I missed one please correct me. (dear merlin I hope I got them all) I have a plan for this long, very dark fic. But I wanted to improve my writing first? To write darker, grittier themes? Well, here you go.

(You can also read this on AO3)

"And what did you expect would happen?" Remus yelled, being completely fed up. He so desperately wanted to help, wanted to prevent a wizarding war from happening. Trying to look after his former friends even though they made it clear they hated him. Was called a traitor when he’d done nothing wrong, yet. But also standing here. Having to deal with these death eaters that he'd formed an alliance with. Who, just like him, wanted Voldemort gone. At times it was so hard. All he wanted to do was just, give up. Flee the country. Start somewhere new. Forget all of this. "Did you actually expect this grand plan of yours to work? That he would kill James and Harry and what? Leave Lily for you? You can't honestly be that stupid."

"Shut up you filthy animal. You don't know what you're talking about," Severus shot back at him. They were standing barely a meter apart yet were yelling at the top of their lungs. Severus looked uncomposed and a bit mad, which was completely out of character. Hair tangled, clothes in disarray, face red. The sneer was a familiar one.

"I do know what I'm talking about. After all they just dropped my ass like I was nothing. Almost a decade of being a tight nit group just thrown in the trash without a second of hesitation! And you think she will forgive you? Accept you? You honestly think Lily will love you at all?"

Every word he said was meant to hurt. He'd always felt like there was more to Severus plan. He'd always seemed like the person who wanted to fit in, climb the social ladder, get the power, hate on muggles. So why would he join the group to take Voldemort down? For a while Remus had been certain that he was a double spy, ready to take their group out. But the realisation that it was this crush, this obsession with Lily. That was an unexpected turn. Or maybe he was blindsided by this because they’d been fucking. Getting rid of all that build up tension. The sudden reveal of a lifelong love for Lily combined with how he was talking about her. It made him ill.

"That is because you are nothing. You cumulate to nothing. You're a passable wizard. A disgusting, uncontrollable animal. A leech of a friend. Desperate to fuck anything that walks. You have no redeemable qualities," Severus hissed. Every word stabbed him like a knife, then it was twisted before it was pulled out. Only to repeat it over and over again. It wasn't like he hadn't told himself all of those things over and over again. Apparently it wasn’t low self-esteem. It was common knowledge. And it stung.

His hands balled into fists, shaking slightly with the pure rage that was building in him. This wasn't even about him! This was about Severus and his insane plan. He stepped closer and grabbed the front of Severus clothes, yanking him closer.

"Finally doing some self-reflection?" he said, voice shaking with anger. Anger that always laid so close to the surface now a days. Just waiting, ready to pounce. And if Severus was handing himself on a plate, he would gladly take it. "Hi Lily, remember me? The one who called you names and dropped you for people who hate you and your kind with every fibre of your being? All so I could finally feel a tiny bit of power?"

"You only felt powerful because you could hide behind Black and Potter."

"As if you weren't hiding behind Malfoy and Mulciber. As if you weren't just as big of a bitch as I was."

It was quiet for a moment but he knew a storm was brewing. Those black eyes were on fire. They were roaming his face, probably looking for the best place to attack.

"Lily will forgive me for all of that. The manipulated, sad, lonely boy. Black on the other hand will always think of you as trash that he's glad to be rid of."

And wasn't that the truth. He was pretty certain Sirius would never forgive him. Lily, James, Peter. They would all understand his motives, they understood the grey area. But Sirius worked in black and white. He had turned to the death eaters. No matter what his reasoning was, he would never be forgiven. He'd known that. Realised it pretty early on. After all, he loved that man and knew him almost better than himself. If he went along with his plan, Sirius would still hate him. But at least there was a world where he could be hated in. He'd given up his love to ensure there was a future. He didn't believe even for a second that was true for Severus. The man was too selfish for that.

"You think she will? Really?" he whispered softly, grinning at Severus. He knew he probably looked insane, but he wasn't letting this slide. He wouldn't accept the death of James and Harry just so Severus could have his wicked fantasy. "Hi Lily. Heard you're single again. Sorry about the death of your husband and child, whom you loved dearly. Yes, I could've saved them. But I couldn't let them get in my way of having you. You’re mine after all. Now be a good girl an-"

He was roughly shoved backwards, stumbling for a second before he found his footing again.

"Ah what's wrong Severus? I think she'll be begging on her knees for you to take her back!?"

"Shut up you disgusting beast!"

"Oh Severus! I was so wrong! Of course I don't want the nice, good looking, family man! I don't know what came over me!" He pitched his voice, pouted and purposely acted horribly. Hands clasped together on his chest and blinking rapidly. Lily would never sound or act like that. But anything to get under Severus's skin. To make him see how insane his plan was.

"You're my hero Sev! You saved me from a comfortable life with a loving family!"

"CRUCIO!"

There was no way to dodge or avoid being hit by the spell. The red light flashed and hit him square in the chest. Pain rushed over him and seemed to reach every part of his body. As if a thousand little needles were stabbing him everywhere. His body contorted, he didn't feel like he was in control anymore. All his muscles cramped into pain.

Then suddenly the stabbing pain was gone and he had control over his limbs again. Not that it improved the situation much as more pain registered in his brain. Pain in his back and shoulders, head pounding in several places. He was apparently on the ground now and it stung against his limbs. Cold seeping through his clothes making his cramped-up muscles stiff and unmovable. His mouth was dry. But when he tried to swallow it felt like someone was rubbing sandpaper in his throat.

"Who's the pathetic bitch now," the words were like venom spat at him.

"Crucio."

The pain returned and it didn't let up for a long time. He had no idea how long he lay there. Every muscle in his body was screaming in pain. It felt like his skin was slowly being stripped away from his flesh. Leaving him open and raw. He could feel his heart pounding in his head. Any moment his veins were going to burst. He was screaming, crying. But no begging. He refused to let those words pass his lips. Even now. Rather death than give in. At least all of this was finally done. Finally, peace.

Abruptly the pain stopped again. He had no idea why but he took the chance he had. Taking in deep gulps of air, his lungs burning with every intake he did. There was at least one thing clear. No matter what they already gone through, Severus truly hated him. After all, you had to actually mean it for a Cruciatus curse to work. He didn’t just want to hurt Remus, he clearly took great pleasure in it.

A sharp pain in his side made him cry out. It took him a while to realise what was happening. It only clicked when a weight pressed on his chest. Severus's boot. He was being kicked and trampled on.

"I should end your pathetic life and make a rug out of you. That way you at least serve a purpose."

The weight on his chest disappeared and he felt like he could breathe again. Not that it improved his situation much. His breaths came in short bursts, black spots darted across his field of view. He tried to swallow. He didn't succeed. It became harder and harder to control his own body. Most of it felt like it was on fire. His head felt ready to explode. He was probably drooling with how difficult it was to swallow.

"Th-eh fckn doit." he managed to mumble, unsure if it was articulated enough or loud enough.

"With pleasure. Sectumsempra!"

That was a spell he was familiar with. Of course, Snape would end his life that way.

He thought he knew the pain of knives after being hit by the Cruciatus curse. He was wrong. The feeling of a sword cutting him open over his torso was agonising. Like he could feel body being split open, the flesh peeling away. He trashed. He choked. Any movement he made increased the feeling of slowly being drained. Yet it was impossible to lie still. He attempted to raise his hands, wanting to... He wasn’t certain. Push the wound close? Ripping it further open so it was finally finished?

Then it stopped. He gasped, trying desperately to get air back in his body. Every breath hurt, lungs burning, throat raw. A few muscles were impossible to move, feeling like lead. Others were shaking, spasming. His chest felt numb, like there was nothing there. He was certain his eyes were open, but they saw nothing. His ears were supposed to work, though it was as if instead he could hear the blood rushing in his veins.

Was this what dying felt like?

Too bad it hurt so much. He had hoped that when he finally died, the pain would be gone. But it was still here. It was still all consuming.

The world was confusing. It almost felt like the pain was slowly pulled out of him. It was still there. It still burned hot, made his limps tingle and raw. But the edge, the worse of it was slowly taken away from him. As if someone had taken a needle and was ever so slowly sewing his chest back together.

He took in a deep breath and whimpered. He wasn't sure whether it was because he could finally actually breath again. Or if every single breath still hurt.

"Don't you dare fucking die on me now Lupin." He wasn't sure who said it. What did those words even mean? He was dying, wasn't he? The voice should just let him die.

"Come on you animal. I'm not letting you die before you've been useful."

"Oww" He tried to say. He didn't succeed. While he finally felt his tongue again, it was bleeding and swollen in his mouth. Not that he could feel that pain. Everything else hurt too much for it to stand out. At least his ears were working a little bit. Though every word felt like another hammer to the head. But they were working better than his eyes at the moment. They saw just black everywhere.

"The fuck is wrong with you Snape?!"

He flinched because of the loud sound, then cried out in pain because he flinched.

"We're better off without that filth."

"We're better off without you too if this is how you are going to act! What's next? You're going to poison our food? Murder us in our sleep?"

The voices were so loud and so painful. He barely registered what it was that they were yelling about. It was as if his brain tried to nudge him, but instead it only increased the painful pounding. Another wave of relief hit him. As if someone carefully took a layer of pain off of him. He tried and was finally able to swallow. The taste of iron stinging in his mouth.

"Lllly," he muttered, blood trickling out of his mouth as he attempted to say it. That had been what his brain was trying to tell him so badly. Lily. Why though? He wasn’t sure. It probably didn't matter.

"What did he say?"

"Lily. I think- for fucks sake Lupin stop moving. Merlin’s balls there is blood everywhere."

"I don't think he's in control of his body. The fuck did you do you pathetic son of a whore!?”

"Lily? Are you fucking serious? Are you still after that bitch Snape? We are trying to stop a war from happening and you can only think with your dick?"

"Guys! I need potions, now! I don't know if he's gonna make it-"

There were so many voices. All spoke so loudly and at once. It was impossible the follow. It was a complete sensory overload. Combined with the pain that kept on coming back, then disappearing again. It was so much to deal with.

He blinked a few times and was still unable to see anything. Would he ever see anything again? Maybe it was better if he didn't. Why was he still fighting? It wasn't as if anyone cared that he would be gone. No one would morn him. No one would weep for him. Maybe it was better. One less monster on this earth.

"Hurry the fuck up I'm losing him!"

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povfirst · 1 year ago

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What is Maya?

Maya is a software in which it is also named as 'Autodesk maya'. It is a 3D graphics application. Maya has various animation tools that can be used for: simulation, animations and modelling. It can be used in VR (Virtual Reality), motion graphics, low poly, UV maps and character formation.

youtube

#Youtube

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subukunojess · 1 year ago

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SNJ's Yuletide 2023 Letter

Dear Yuletide Writer,

Hello!

From one busy writer to another, thank you for writing something for me whether I am your main assignment or an extra treat. Your hard work and time is appreciated. I will also do my best to write something for my person, I'm the type of person who loves anything that is given to me as long as you enjoy it and you have read my Do Not Wants. I hope this letter would serve as a guide.

Please forgive me since this is my first year attending such a gift exchange and I am unsure whether I will do it again next year; I would like to try it and see where it takes me. Before we begin, here are some things about me that might help you under the cut:

I am SubukuNoJess at Archive of Our Own (AO3). I am an autistic asexual currently studying for a Master's degree in Professional and Creative Writing. I write fluff/humor/dark fanfiction and I'm known to like obscure fandoms/monsters. Even in a fic exchange dedicated to the rare and obscure, I am most likely the odd one out again. Haha, we'll see! I dive into multiple fandoms and I am willing to try new things most of the time. If you want to know more about me, you can visit my AO3 or Tumblr page to get an idea of what I write about and like.

Speaking of trying new things, I usually go with the flow and if I come across something I do not like, I will stop and mostly say so. Due to this being a surprise exchange, here is a Do Not Want list that I hope would help:

General DNW's: No explicit smut/sex: With NSFW in general, I am more tolerant in writing than art. If I do read it, it's under certain conditions and moods. Having said that, I generally do not like reading graphically detailed scenes of the actual act or the body parts involved. If anything, I would prefer it if it fades to black or after the fact. No PWP/PWC: Concerning with above, I would like to add that for the NSFW sexual pieces I do like, it's usually because I like the writing, interactions, and the characters. Having said that, Porn Without Plot is not my cup of tea. I don't know if PWC is a term (please correct me if I'm wrong), but I mean it by Porn Without Character. I do not want to read smut for the sake of smut and in the rare chance that I actually do, I want to do so with characterization at least. No Sexual Assault/Rape. Instant turn off. Squick. No Non-Con or Dub-Con. No Pedophilia. No incest. No excessive gore or violence. I do not mind blood or violence, but I do not want too much of it.

Next, here are my general likes. I would like anything that you can come up with, but here are some ideas to get you started: Found Family Friendship Humor/Comedy Exploration of platonic and romantic relationships Intimacy & Emotions Fluff Dark Angst Headcanons Autistic Representation LGBTQ+ OCs, AUs, Reader-inserts, Canon-Divergence, etc. Anything Creative!

And here are some specific interests/kinks I have that are completely optional/bonus points! I put them separate just in case and I'll put some of myself out there: Giants, Tinies, Sizeshifters, Height Difference (G/T) Monsters Giant monsters Hivemind Possession/Hypnotism Monster/Human relationships (whether platonic or romantic) People getting Eaten/Vore (Whether it is used as horror/fear or safe/oral) Fusions (ala Steven Universe) Anything describing voice, especially if it's deep, low, loud or multiple at once

Finally, I want to go over my requests that I would like to propose for this year including the characters I have in mind, why I like the fandom, and some ideas:

Moana (2016) - Movie Where To Find It: Disney (DVD/Blu-Ray)/Disney Plus Characters I Have In Mind: Maui, Moana, and Tamatoa Must Haves: Any About the Fandom and Why I Like It: Moana has made a big impact on me in my adult life so far. As I started college and my place in the fandom/creative world changed drastically, it was that I watched Moana and fell in love with it. Moana is the Disney Princess I relate to the most, my mom adores the film, and I grew interested in one of the antagonists, Tamatoa. It was Tamatoa that I made an account on Tumblr and helped me create again. For a year or two, I've been active in the Moana community especially on the Tamatoa side of things. Currently I still am and I have wips in the back burner. Moana is the story about a girl who is the daughter of a chief in the island of Motunui. Taking place in Polynesia and the age of Wayfinding, Moana goes on a journey to find the demi-god of the wind and sea, Maui, and restore the Heart of Te Fiti while overcoming obstacles along the way. Ideas and Prompts: I pick Moana, Maui, and Tamatoa because I love those three so much. You can either have one of them, a combo of two, or all three. I do not mind which one you use. I like prequels, mid-scenes, sequels, what if's, etc. I like anything incorporating Polynesian mythology/folklore respectfully. Moana ideas: Her interacting with the Ocean and her people, becoming a chief, telling her adventure to the children, going on a journey with Pua the Pig and Heihei the Rooster, discovering a new island, becoming immortal Maui ideas: Maui shapeshifting for the first time, him and Mini Maui having an adventure, maybe a look at his feats (pulling up islands, lassoing the sun, etc.) that are well-known or not, shapeshifting into a completely different form not shown in the movie, him interacting with the humans Tamatoa ideas: How did Tamatoa get Maui's fish hook? How did he became the unspoken ruler of Lalotai, the realm of the monsters? Hunting with bioluminesence. Tamatoa interacting with other monsters. Giant Monster Rampage. Tamatoa/Reader fics. Human!Tamatoa. Tamatoa being bigger than canon (50 feet) like maybe 100 feet. Anything having to do with his voice and teeth. And his colors. Tamatoa in the modern world. An AU where Modern Human Tamatoa somehow transforms into his giant crab form like a werewolf thing. Moana and Maui ideas: The two reuniting and going on adventures together, sailing and hanging out Tamatoa and Maui ideas: Them meeting for the first time, their friendship/relationship before the events of the film, the scene where Maui cuts off one of Tamatoa's legs, them meeting post-film, and how do things go from there, Tamatoa hypnotizing Maui to do something (angst) Tamataoa and Moana ideas: They meet after the film and slow-burn reconciling, friendship bonding, Tamatoa hypnotizing Moana (not angst) Moana, Maui, and Tamatoa ideas: The two help Tamatoa get off his back, the three go on a journey/treasure hunt, the au where Tamatoa starts off small but grows bigger over time as he interacts with Moana and Maui on the surface, the three fighting a monstrous foe

Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King (Theater) Where to Find It: On National Tour, the Album on Spotify, what clips you find on YouTube Characters I Have In Mind: Lydia and Beetlejuice Must Haves: Lydia and/or Beetlejuice About the Fandom and Why I Like It: Inspired by the 80's film of the same name, Beetlejuice the Musical is a horror/comedy story of life and death when a mourning Lydia Deetz who moved to the Maitland house and thinks about death meets a demonic ghost named Beetlejuice who thinks about life and wants to be seen. I am surprised this made it on the tag list and I'm not going to question it. I love the music and the aesthetic of this. At first, I thought it was just some random thing I saw a commercial for, but I got obsessed with the album around 2019 and I managed to watch it at the Winter Garden theatre on January 7th 2020. The actors are amazing in their roles, the dynamics the characters have for each other make my day, and the themes really get to me. Ideas and Prompts: I thought about it and when I think of Beetlejuice, I think of the friendship/chaotic sibling energy that Lydia and Beetlejuice have. You can write about either of them or both. Lydia ideas: Anything with her and her mother Emily Deetz would be like. I headcanon that her middle name is Chrysanthemum, but that's optional. Anything post-musical. What are the new changes she has made with her new extended family? Does she go to school and make friends? I know that Worldbuilding was not nominated for this fandom, so this is completely optional, but I would love to see how Lydia thinks about Winter River, Connecticut through her eyes. Lydia bonding with Delia or the Maitlands. Lydia and Charles slowly healing from their trauma. Lydia has supernatural abilities! Beetlejuice ideas: What happened with Beetlejuice after the musical ended? Did he find his father? How does he reunite with the Deetz/Maitland family? Any headcanons/lore you have of him especially demon/ghost related. Favorite pairings with Beej: Beej/Adam/Barbara, Beetlejuice/Reader or OC, and in a different universe Beej/Emily/Charles. Beej interacting with his star namesake Betelgeuse. Beetlejuice's job of a guide to the recently deceased. Giant Beetlejuice, Giant Beetlejuice, Giant Beetlejuice. Lydia and Beetlejuice ideas: What happened between acts 1 and 2? How did Lydia survive three days without adult supervision in a haunted house? Lydia and Beetlejuice explore the town for supernatural discoveries. Beetlejuice being a big brother figure to Lydia. Neurodivergent headcanons. The two take over a holiday (whether Halloween, Christmas, or whatever!).

Little Shop of Horrors - Menken/Ashman (Theater) Where To Find It: Clips on YouTube, Off-Broadway Show in New York, and plenty of albums on Spotify Characters I Have In Mind: Audrey Fulquard, Audrey II, Mr. Mushnik, Seymour Krelborn Must Haves: Audrey II About the Fandom and Why I Like It: Little Shop of Horrors is a horror/comedy musical written by Alan Menken and Howard Ashman about a man named Seymour who discovers a strange and interesting plant he nicknames Audrey II who can talk, sing, and feeds on blood. The musical was based on the 1960s film "The Little Shop of Horrors", has a 1986 film version with different endings, and is currently Off-Broadway. Again, I am surprised that the musical and the movie are here, but I'm not going to question it. I decided to go with the play version of Little Shop since I think it doesn't get enough love like the movie. While I was a teenager, I remember seeing a crossover art with Oogie Boogie (Nightmare Before Christmas) shaped like Audrey II and I got curious. Ever since then, I have become obsessed with Little Shop of Horrors. I go flowing into the fandom when the mood hits. I love the songs and characters, especially the plant so much. I have introduced my friends to Little Shop in the past and it makes me smile to this day. Ideas and Prompts: For this fandom, this is going to be one of my advanced requests. My requirement is that Audrey II, the man-eating plant must be in the piece. Whether by themselves or with any character of your choice. You can have Audrey, Seymour, Mushnik, a combination, or all three as well, but Twoey must be present in the fic. As for general random ideas to inspire: Audrey II as a species and their home planet. Human or Gijinka Audrey II. Audrey II crossbred with another plant/flower of your choice. A creative new outlook for Audrey II based on different play versions (Twoey having multiple heads, Twoey being a different carnivorous plant, hivemind Audrey II, Twoey's voice being the last person they consumed, etc.). Audrey II having hypnotism/siren-like powers. What does the plant apocalypse look like? Rampage. Giant Audrey II. Giant Audrey II. Giant Audrey II. Twoey interacts with humans in different stages of life. Twoey bonding with either Seymour, Audrey, or Mr. Mushnik. Twoey discovering human music. Audrey II in a modern AU/setting. Any Twoey/Reader. Anything else is fair game.

Disney Dreamlight Valley (Video Game) Where To Find It: Switch, PC, and other Game Consoles as well as Playthroughs on YouTube Characters I Have In Mind: Player Character, The Forgotten Must Haves: Player and Forgotten About the Fandom and Why I Like It: There's just something about cozy games where you meet and live next door to your favorite Disney characters that just get to me. When I got my Switch this year, I immediately wanted to get Disney Dreamlight Valley and I am so glad I did. This magic decorating, fishing, and cooking game has you as a Dreaming Ruler who wakes up in a mysterious valley overrun with Night Thorns and beloved Disney Characters such as Merlin, Mickey Mouse, Donald, and Goofy living together, but slowly forgetting their memories. As you go restoring the village and getting new villagers along the way, you uncover secrets and memories that shake your core and have you reminiscing… and that's just the first act. Ideas and Prompts: For this request, you must use a version of the player character and the Forgotten. I did not sign up for worldbuilding because I'm more interested in character development and relationships. Please note that the Forgotten does have feelings of anxiety, depression, and negativity but by the end is slowly recovering. So definite angst and hurt/comfort here. I do love the notion of the Forgotten being the child side of the player character. The one who has teenage angst and has a realistic point of view of the world, but feels alone and forgotten about. For the angst side of things, you could focus on how the Forgotten feels about being betrayed and ignored as well as how they feel about the player character prior to the game. For fluff/humor/comfort, you can have the Player trying their best to make the Forgotten comfortable. Maybe they go on a picnic or they go treasure hunting together or they stay indoors and read books. Or they help the villagers together. Since this is a Disney game, you can put whatever Disney references/cameos you would like. It's entirely optional for you. Bonus option: I associate the Forgotten with the song "Once Upon A December" from the animated Anastasia film. Since this is Yuletide, I thought it would fit but again, optional for you.

Mario + Rabbids Series (Video Games) Where To Find It: Nintendo Switch and Gameplay on YouTube Characters I Have In Mind: Beep-0, Phantom of the Bwahpera, Rabbid Mario, and Rabbi Must Haves: Phantom of the Bwahpera/Tom Phan About the Fandom and Why I Like It: Honestly, I do not know how I got hyperfixated with this fandom until recently. This series is somewhat of a crossover that stands alone, combining the world of the Mushroom Kingdom (Mario) with chaotic characters known as the Rabbids. It resulted in a new and funny combo of the Mario characters interacting with Rabbid versions of themselves first in Kingdom Battle, and then four new original adventures with the sequel Sparks of Hope and the three DLCs. At first, I was neutral about this. I liked Mario first and I didn't know what to think about the Rabbids since I did not grow up with them. I just knew they existed. It wasn't until one of the boss fights that I took interest and that's the Phantom of the Bwahpera. I love the music, the concept of a giant ghost rabbid with a phonograph in his body, and the voice. At first, I thought it was a one-time interest. I could see how some of my friends were fans of the character and I enjoyed how in Sparks of Hope, the Rabbids not only had voices and personalities, but a brand new story and characters. It came and went… until last month when the third DLC came out: Rayman in the Phantom Show. And I am currently obsessed with this. I love love love the dynamic between the five main cast of characters: Rayman, Rabbid Mario, Rabbid Peach, Beep-0, and the Phantom as they run the Space Opera Network together. Unfortunately, I could only nominate four characters I do not know if Rayman would be allowed, so you get the other four to work with. Ideas and Prompts: This is my other advanced request. You can use any character you would like (Rabbid Mario, Rabbid Peach, Beep-0, or any combo), however, The Phantom of the Bwahpera must be in the fic. He's one of my villain blorbo's and he's only in three fics on AO3 so far. Here are some random suggestions: What happened with the Phantom after Spooky Trails? Did he turn it into a theater? How did he get started traveling across the galaxy? Pairings that I like with Phantom: Phantom/Woodrow, Phantom/OC, Phantom/Reader. What happened between Phantom and Bea? Phantom partakes in different music genres and how that genre gives him new powers. During a time when he lost his voice, what did he do to fix it? How did he heal? Did he study sign language to communicate? How did he meet with the Space Opera Network? Phantom roasts your favorite character! And how do they react? Phantom actually wins and takes over, having ultimate power. What would that be like? Phantom uses sound powers, including luring people/Rabbids to their doom. Phantom interacting with his own acting troupe. Chaotic adventures of the Phantom filming a scene with Rabbid Mario and Rabbid Peach. The Phantom and Beep-0 teasing each other. Oh no! Either Rabbid Mario or Rabbid Peach used Mayhem the Spark to hypnotize the Phantom. What will he do? Giant Phantom, Giant Phantom, Giant Phantom. A battle scene with the Phantom. Phantom duets with the love interest.

Sackboy: A Big Adventure (Video Game) Where To Find It: Playstation 4 and 5, Microsoft Windows, and Gameplay on YouTube Characters I Have In Mind: Sackboy, Scarlet, and Vex Must Haves: Any About the Fandom and Why I Like It: Sackboy: A Big Adventure is a stand-alone Little Big Planet game about Sackboy trying to save the Imagisphere from a chaotic being named Vex from taking it over using the Uproar. Sackboy is guided by a Knitted Knight named Scarlet during this quest. This was another instance where I saw the villain first on a random post and immediately obsessed over the game after I looked it up. I love the art style, gameplay, and the voice-acting. I got it for myself on the PS4 and I suck at it, but luckily, my brother plays with me sometimes and I get through the levels. Ideas and Prompts: For this, you can choose any character and combination for the piece. I would love to read a piece with any of them and I'll be happy. Here are some random ideas: What are the Knitted Knights like? Did Scarlet and Vex meet in the past? Scarlet and Sackboy found family! Sackboy interacting with other knights (Co-Op) or the people of his village. Intense interactions between Sackboy and Vex. Giant Vex, Giant Vex, Giant Vex. I do like Vex/Reader fics. Vex taking Sackboy in as an apprentice. Sackboy trying to stay alive. Sackboy trying on different outfits and becoming comfortable with his new look.

I hope this all helps somehow. Thank you and happy writing!

SNJ

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would-holden-caulfield-like-nge · 3 months ago

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Bully Design Time!

I admit, I mostly made this drawing because I re-watched Heathers yesterday and I really liked the colors. So I wanted to colorpick a screenshot and see how it would go.

(Forgive the low quality, this is screenshotted form Dailymotion haha)

I didn't get the effect perfectly, obviously, mostly because my background is just a gradient, meanwhile, the screenshot has the blue wall broken up by the warm brown props. But I do think I managed to gain something from this.

One thing that I thought about while watching Heathers was, that the movie has this beautiful and ethereal feeling to it, yet the colors are often surprisingly dark. Obviously, this can easily be explained with color values and saturation and such, not that strange. But it's good to keep in mind, that in real life (and on video), skin can look much darker than you might go for when trying to draw it from memory. I think a part of this might be the fact, that in digital art, you start out with a pure white canvas, which feels as the "default". When I first put down those colorpicked skin tones, it really did feel too dark, but as I put the other colors around it, it felt right.

I do think the skin turned out nice and natural looking. Usually, I would go for a bit more stylized, sickly yellow look for this Shut In Gary, but it's nice to try something else.

What I also noticed when looking at this screenshot (and Heathers in general) is that often, there are these warm neutrals and then a few bright pops of colour. Again, I realized, that this movie is much less colorful, than I remembered it. This is also a good thing to remember, as it's a pretty simple and effective way to place colours. It's a pretty simple idea - I read a bit about this on John K.'s blog. And these pops of colour don't even have to be so bright on their own! Again, color context. I'm sure you're all sophisticated individuals who have heard of it, it's a classic.

Now, about the props on the table. There's a graphic tablet with the pen, a big laptop (I tried to go for a more bulky 2000s design, though it might not be obvious, since it's so simplified). There are also these two opened cans of an energy drink. My first instinct was to make it a Monster, but then I wanted to be more creative and so I went with an energy drink from my country, Semtex.

(It's named after an explosive!)

I asked myself "Wait, why would this american boy drink energy drinks from Central Europe?" but I just concluded, that he's drank so many of them, that he's become a connoisseur and orders energy drinks from all over the world, trying to find the best one. That's a bit of lore for you!

There's also a drawing of a silly little Jimmy inspired rabbit, inspired by someone on the tags of the first post, who suggested, that Gary draws cartoons featuring a little rabbit named "Rabid Jim". 10/10, no notes.

There are also papers with... things written on them. I had to flip the image upside down to write these. If you don't want to flip the image yourself, one of them is just... scribbles resembling cursive handwriting, signed by Peter "Petey" Kowalski.

Another one reads "I am an artist, please god forgive me". Just a funny little song reference. And the paper underneath it just has "Ha!Ha!Ha!" written on it over and over again to show off how crayzeeee Gary is and stuff.

So yeah, that's about it! Cool stuff, right?

20 year old Gary, totally epically eviscerating someone on the internet with his genius. Ain't he cool?

#bullydesign

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valleyrunearchives · 2 years ago

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Binary

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Fandom: Boku No Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Pairings: Aizawa Shouta/Yamada Hizashi Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Chapter 20/?

“Binary code is a series of zeroes and ones strung together in a specific sequence. On paper, it’s useless. Annoying. Worthless. But put that same string of zeroes and ones into a computer, and suddenly it’s a language far more complex than the human mind can comprehend. I was the same way. The world decided I wasn’t good enough in the physical plane, so I went digital. That’s why I chose the name Binary. And you should be very,” He smirks at the underground hero on the screen, “Very afraid of the reach I have here. Aizawa Shouta.”

Midoriya Izuku is tired of the world treating him like nothing. So he decides to becoming a hacker to show the world that nothing can be anything.

Featuring Midoriya Izuku as the Genius Hacker Aizawa Shouta as the problem child wrangler Yamada Hizashi as the moral support to his husband Tsukauchi Naomasa as the man who needs a long vacation PLEASE Shinsou Hitoshi as the intentionally adopted one Toga Himiko as the unintentionally adopted one Dabi as the really didn’t want to be adopted one but he guesses this is his life now and Nedzu as the Rat God of UA

Previous | First | Next

Click here to Read on AO3!

Hitoshi is careful when pouring his attempt at cake batter into the pan. He doesn’t want to lose any of it and baking is still pretty new for him. He’s trying so hard not to mess it up. A mix of boredom and waiting for Izuku and Himiko to finish whatever they were doing resulted in this. Dabi also was not very available for company the last little while. A mixture of his appointments with various specialists and searching for a small part time job to pass the time when they go into high school apparently.

He had tried a couple of other things to pass the time but nothing stuck. Not painting or drawing or knitting. Nothing. So CATRA suggested baking. He started small with cookies and other easy things that would be more forgiving if he messed it up. Now he’s moved onto a cake. His very first one.

He finishes pouring in the batter with a sigh. CATRA purrs happily before chirping, “Very good, Hitoshi-kun! Now, into the oven it goes for thirty five minutes!”

Hitoshi nods and follows her instructions, carefully placing the cake pan in the oven on the top rack before setting a timer on the microwave for 35 minutes. He leans back heavily against the counter. He hopes he did it right. Now it was just a waiting game. But waiting meant thinking. And thinking meant questions that had weighed on his mind for a bit now.

“CATRA, do you think Izuku is in danger of being caught?” he asks the AI cat. Ever since their talk about Nedzu searching for him, Hitoshi can’t get it out of his mind of what would happen if Izuku was actually caught.

“I do not know. I wish I could say no and, as an AI, I should be able to estimate the likelihood of his capture but Izuku’s mind is somewhat unpredictable. He told you all he was going on the down low with Binary but I can tell he’s getting anxious. His normal hacking work for his contacts is starting to not be enough to keep his attention. Truthfully, I fear for him,” Her face turns away from him, “Should he stray too far off this lower path, it may end up in a situation where it would be too late for me to redirect Nedzu-san’s attempt to find him. Then there will be no stopping them.”

“Would you be able to redirect them somehow after he’s been found?”

“Negative. Though, I do have measures in place in an attempt to keep him out of Nedzu-san’s and the police’s clutches.”

Hitoshi’s eyebrows scrunch up at that, “Measures?”

“Yes. It is labeled in my files as Operation Zero Zero. Essentially, should it come to the moment that Izuku is discovered by the police and scourings show that serious actions are being brought against him, Operation Zero Zero begins. It will wipe all programs and files associated with hacking from Izuku’s computer and cell phone. That way there will be no proof of claims connected to Izuku’s equipment. However… It also includes a step that completely deletes me from the system as well.”

“What?!” Hitoshi turns wide-eyed to her, “You’d be deleted too?!”

“Yes. If I exist when the authorities arrive, it is much more likely that they will associate Izuku’s identity as that of Binary; Especially since I have used my motif when dealing with Nedzu’s hacking attempts. For the good of Izuku’s safety and freedom, it is best that, should Operations Zero Zero have to occur, that I be deleted.”

“But… you’ll be gone forever… I-I’m sure Izuku could remake you or reprogram you or whatever but… it wouldn’t be the same, would it? There would always be something that stood out which showed it wasn’t really you…” Hitoshi feels sad at that idea. CATRA was as much a part of their family as any of the humans were. If she wasn’t there, were they really a family anymore?

“Oh Hitoshi-kun… you are correct. However, you must understand,” she shakes her head, “It is an unfortunate consequence that I am extremely willing to take if it means that all four of you stay safe, happy, and together. I know I am just an AI and that I’m not a human being. I was created to be an assistant and companion to Izuku who already felt so lonely by the life this world forced him to live. I was not supposed to feel anything beyond commitment to my tasks. Yet in my experiences and my talks with and just even my time here with you all… I have come to care. A bit of an oddity for a non-human, I’m sure. I don’t mind though. Caring was an evolution of my coding that I have come to gladly welcome. I’m so grateful that I have the capacity to care about you and Izuku-kun. And Dabi-kun and Himiko-chan as well! You all have taught me what family really is and means. And I’m so, so glad I’m a part of it; That you all consider me a part of it as well. That is why I will have no qualms about my deletion should it have to occur. Because I know I existed with a family who cared.”

Hitoshi’s eyes, surprisingly, fill up with tears. It makes sense though. She’s acted like more of a mom to him that literally any human of the foster system has. She was right too. He did consider her family. He knows Izuku did too and so did Himiko. Dabi would never say it out loud but even the older man was fond of the AI cat. But to know that she also feels this deeply about them? That she learned how to feel that deeply from them? It’s a whole other level. Which is why it makes him even more sad at the thought of her being deleted.

“We’ll… We’ll do better! Himiko and I, we’ll figure out ways to keep Izuku more distracted! Or ask Iwai-san to find something for him to do! I’m sure something can be done to ensure you get to stay with us as well! We’ll just have to try harder!” He exclaims through his tears. He’s determined now. If CATRA is willing to take as many risks to keep their family safe, then they’ll just have to do the same. CATRA is family, regardless of if she’s an AI or not.

“That would be very helpful, Hitoshi-kun, thank you,” She purrs happily again.

Hitoshi wipes up his tears with the sleeves of his hoodie. Just as he gets the back under control, the timer beeps. CATRA gives a meow and stretches on the screen, “The cake has finished baking. Be sure to test it with a toothpick in the center of it to make sure it’s baked all the way through. If the toothpick comes away clean, take it out and set it on the rack to cool for ten minutes. Don’t forget to use oven mitts!”

“Right. We make the frosting while we wait for it to cool, right?”

“Correct!”

Hitoshi opens the oven and pokes a toothpick into the cake. It comes away clean so he takes it out of the oven. (Yes, CATRA with oven mitts because he’s not a complete idiot.) He sets it on the cooling rack before getting the ingredients out of the cabinets to make the frosting.

“Hitoshi-kun,” CATRA calls for him a few moments later, causing him to turn his head to her, “Please keep the information about Operation Zero Zero to yourself for the time being. I don’t want Izuku-kun to be aware of it right now. When he’s accepted into UA then I will tell him about the deletion plan but not a moment before.”

“You know he’s going to get into UA?” He says, mixing up the frosting as she talks.

“Yes. I have faith in all of your acceptances into UA of your own skill and wits. However, I will ensure all three of you get into UA regardless of your scores since that is what you desire. It’s the least I can do.”

“I won’t say anything then,” He turns the cake out of the pan and starts frosting it before adding, “I’ll also keep Izuku in the dark about you being willing to hack into UA to change our entrance exams scores. I don’t imagine he would be pleased to hear about that either… Especially since he’s so determined to get in by his hacking conduits.”

“A wise decision,” she laughs at that. It sounds a bit odd since it’s just a bunch of short meows clipped together. Somewhat cartoonish in nature. But it’s hers and Hitoshi wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Toshi-nii!” Himiko’s bedroom door chooses that moment to burst open as the blonde bounds out over to her purple haired brother, “I’m all done with my school work for today- Ooo! Is that cake?!” She steps around him to peer excitedly at the cake on the counter.

Hitoshi makes a final swipe of the knife to finish frosting it, “Yep. Just finished it up actually. Want to go get Izuku so we can have some?”

“Omigosh! Yes! Izu-Nii! Come out of there!” She cries, running over and crashing through the door of the home office after just three quick knocks on it, “Toshi-nii made a cake! C’mon c’mon! Let’s have some together!”

Hitoshi smiles. Maybe if he keeps up this baking thing he can get Himiko’s unintentional help in keeping Izuku’s attention away from Binary. Good. He quickly glances to the monitor as CATRA is trailing off of it to likely move to Izuku’s computer screens to help convince Izuku of a break. That’ll help make sure CATRA never has to use Operation Zero Zero… hopefully.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #mha fanfic #hacker!izuku midoriya #bnha shinso hitoshi #himiko toga #CATRA (MHA OC)

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lastleggysee · 2 years ago

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Substitute Lovers - Sage Lesath

Friends with benefits with Felix? Sure!

Going drinking with Sage? Hell yeah!

Facing the mortifying vulnerability of letting your feelings towards Sage be known? Absolutely not!

I have no idea where this fits into any route/timeline but here we are.

Also, I <3 catman sm but I haven't written anything in years so

Warnings: Alcohol, slight NSFW? (nothing graphic imo, either way minors DNI)

Word count: 4,115

You should have known. With a building like Fathom creaks and groans are to be anticipated, not unlike the modest home you grew up in. Unfortunately, the groans you heard had less to do with the settling foundation than you would’ve hoped.

He was there, as you expected. Your eyes pass over the figures on the bed to the flowers struggling by the bedside table, wilted petals mimicking the spots of paint peeling from the aging windowsill.

Your efforts to feign blindness did little to convince the two men of your ignorance of their situation. Over the sound of your blood vessels opening their floodgates to color your cheeks (Is it normal for a heart to beat so fast?) a familiar, low chuckle made itself known.

He’s going to be so proud of himself for this later.

It was too late. Regrettably, you had already caught the sound of a sharp gasp as the stranger nearly knees Sage in the chest, hands reaching for unfound garments settling for something, anything, to cover his body with something more forgiving than an unanticipated stranger’s gaze.

“Gods, Sage”, you breathe, whether to him or yourself you are unsure. “A gentleman would’ve locked the door at least.”

The flowers (Marigolds? Giant dandelions? To Felix’s dismay, you had yet to master the many flora of Astrea), no longer the leading act for your distraction, now seem to point you towards his direction when he speaks. Your previous focus now broken, your mind takes the opportunity to relish new stimuli to drink in.

The self-satisfied flip of his long hair over his shoulder. His now unoccupied right hand lazily rising and calloused fingers attempting to soothe the flushed skin of his neck, rubbing idly up and down for a moment. The matching blush high on his cheeks as he cocks his head towards you, mouth moving-

“...and besides, people don’t come home with me for the gentleman treatment. Though I’d be glad to demonstrate for you another time.” Sage’s retort shatters your trance. You make a mental note to bury your gratitude for the distraction deep, deep down.

“Awfully rude of a host to make plans in front of a different guest.” Your mouth manages to work out before your brain fully catches up to the gravity of the situation. “Your abysmal etiquette aside - think you’ll be done in an hour or so?”

The nameless partner (you wasted no time nicknaming the poor bastard “Gasp”, but there’d be no opportunity to inform him of such) makes his presence known again with a hurried “YES!” at the same time Sage shrugs. You know his gesture of uncertainty is vain. If you seriously asked, Sage would escort the stranger out immediately with a few honeyed words of a promise to continue at a later date.

“I’ll be in the kitchen. Come dressed this time, please.” You turned, realizing your hand had never released the doorknob, wondering if you’re gripping it tightly enough to leave a permanent indentation of your fingertips.

“Nice to meet you, by the way!” You yell over the slamming of the door. You’re unsure if the company heard you over the boom of Sage’s laughter. Hand still grasping the doorknob, you allow energy to flow through your fingertips until you hear the click of the door’s bolt locking itself. It’s the least you could do for the poor stranger, after all.

The echoes of your boots through the empty hallways are your only company as you make your way to the kitchen. A silence that would’ve unsettled you in your old home, your old world (Can you even call it that? It’s still there, after all, just…without you), blankets you with comfort as you sit down in a hard-backed chair. Stella has made herself scarce for the majority of the morning, Anisa is out Anisa-ing, and then, there’s Felix.

Felix said he’d be gone for the rest of the week, something about consulting Florian on a poisonous bloom he’d managed to cultivate over the past few full moons, meeting with an ambassador, and other aristocratic errands he so nonchalantly complained about. You and he both knew the true reason for his visit was Ecell’s birthday celebrations, which Florian insisted Felix be present for; even threatening to send Scylla to drag Felix by his ear to the party if he didn’t make it himself. You doubt he’s left his old room for the majority of the day, picking away at the polish on his nails and flipping through old books and memories from his childhood.

* * *

He has trouble meeting your eyes, after. You’d grown used to this over the past month, batting away the insecurities you refused to bring up with him, and rose to sit on the edge of the bed.

Your own skin burned hot against the cool air that cradled you. Still coming to terms with the reality of air conditioning being a thing of the past, you were grateful for the ever-present draft that plagued Felix’s room.

Felix lay on his back, propped up by pillows, hand across his bare chest. He was beautiful by the very definition of the word, and you counted his steady breaths as time passed over you both. It would be pleasant, except for the knowing.

Neither of you really wished to be next to the other, all things considered. And yet, you found yourselves in each other’s chambers more often than not at night.

He whispered your name and the spell was broken. “Going so soon?”, danced across his lips before his own danced over your shoulders, softly. You choose to ignore the ache bubbling in your chest. Now is not the time for emotion and heaviness. You quiet your internal quarrel like soothing a small child.

“No, just looking around,” you turned to him as you replied, giving him a faint smile. He’s looking at you now through half-lidded eyes, and he returns your grin with one of his signature smirks.

The ache intensifies. You wonder if he can feel it, with the two of you being so close.

“You’re so keen to see the bigger picture of it all. You’ll simply have to forgive whatever impression of me this mess gives you.” He punctuates his sentences by placing feather-light kisses against your cheek.

“That won’t be a problem,” you chuckled. “Since I’m not the one that has to wake up to it.”

You did not realize your mistake of your own accord, but the absence of his lips against you alerts you. Felix’s face is flushed and he’s avoiding your gaze again. He mumbles something along the lines of “No, I suppose it won’t be”, but his attention appears elsewhere. Your hand grasps at his of its own volition but he’s already fiddling with the hem of his sheets.

Felix notices your gesture and entwines your hand with his.The gesture is warm, comforting, and platonic, despite your actions mere moments prior.

“Rime used to say the same thing, about waking up to a mess. We usually slept in his room because of that, but it’s gotten worse since....” Felix trails off, and you don’t have to meet his eyes to know he’s blinking back tears.

You squeeze his hand lightly. There are no words of comfort or condolences. You do your best to focus on Felix. You turn to him and smooth his hair, and offer him your ear to listen and your shoulder to cry on.

You do your best not to sink into bitterness, but a small voice in your head nags you regardless. At least Felix had something to cry about, unlike yourself. The words of flirtation Sage exchanges with you are nothing special, and that’s all you’ll ever be to him - nothing special. An ear and a shoulder at times, but nothing more. A placeholder until the next ear and shoulder came along.

You extract yourself from Felix, reprimanding yourself for the rudeness of thinking of another man while still in Felix’s bed. After a brief moment digging through a pile of your discarded clothes, you find your flask. You return and straddle him, wiping the ghosts of tears from his cheeks and placing the vessel of water into his hand.

He takes a sip and mutters his thanks. “I won’t spend the rest of our time licking my wounds, I promise.” he whispers, taking the opportunity to explore your exposed chest.

“It’s fine. I’ll lick your wounds, you lick mine, and neither of us end up bleeding out all over the place. Win-win,” you begin to prattle on until his mouth finds a particularly tender spot to leave his mark on, and you lose the patience for your usual banter.

He pulls away slightly, enough to look into your eyes but not enough for you to examine his work. “What a fine pair of substitute lovers the two of us make,” he chuckles darkly, his free hand coming to rest on the small of your back.

His words fell to the wayside in your mind as you focused on the way his voice wavered. Is that how you sounded, when you talked about Sage? Felix’s mouth on your ear, your shoulder, and the thought was gone. The night carried on.

* * *

The jarring sound of a chair scraping against the floor alerts you to Sage’s presence. You flinch slightly, some of the many dangers of Astrea flashing through your mind.

“Ha! Doesn’t feel so good when someone else is doing the sneaking, huh?” He laughs, and you know this quip will be the only indication of your run-in earlier. No hard feelings. It’s a part of Sage’s charm; the actual charm, not the facade he puts on to lure strangers into his chambers. “Now, what was so important that you had to disrupt my very, very important meeting?”

“That’s your third meeting this week,” you scoff, turning towards him. There’s a familiar disorder to his outfit, evidence of haste as he dressed in the misalignment of his many belts. At least some things will stay the same.

“I’m a busy guy. Your point?” Sage has already lifted his feet onto the table, leaning back in his chair.

“My point would take longer to drill into your thick skull than I have the patience for.” His smile is still easy, despite the threat. He rocks on the back legs of his chair, a silent invitation for you to actually get around to the reason for your earlier intrusion.

“I’m going drinking.” You blurt at last. “You know how I get around crowds. Figured if anyone was going to accompany me, it might as well be someone who enjoys the scenery at least.”

His ears perk up, and he’s as lively as you’ve seen him all day. Under any other circumstances, the glint in his eyes would’ve been enough for you to approach the scheme with the same caution of walking over a frozen lake. Sage’s head bobs from side to side, as though he can hear the gust blow past from your uncharacteristic tossing caution to the wind.

“Gotcha. I do charge a two-drink per hour minimum for my bodyguarding duties, though.” He purrs.

You’re already standing before he finishes his sentence. His head follows your form to the cupboards as you remove two short, stout glasses. He detects the strong, almost sickly, sweet smell before you place the glass in front of him. Sage studies it for a moment - you must’ve picked a damn good hiding spot - before your hand calls his attention. Still wrapped around the perfect match of his own glass, idly, he wonders about the scars across your hands, the indentations of recently-removed rings left on your fingers, lingering evidence of a habit of picking at the skin around your thumb-

“Consider this my deposit, then,” you grin, waiting for the celebratory clank of his glass against your own before downing its contents. Mercifully, Sage grants you the permission you so sought with a muffled “Cheers” before following suit.

“So, any place in mind?”

* * *

The dizziness you’re feeling is approaching the fine line between bliss and unbearable. You take another small sip from the glass of water in front of you, tapping your dangling feet lightly on one of the posts of the barstool you’re perched on.

Sage had garnered the attention of a small crowd of onlookers as he engaged any who approached him in an arm wrestling match. The thud of his challenger’s forearm slamming against the creaky table is overshadowed by riotous cheering and laughter at Sage’s victory. His hand, free of his signature gauntlet, roughly grabs the pile of coins on the table before tossing them into the air in a triumphant gesture, his tail flicking as he exclaims there’s more where that came from, asking for the next contestant, all punctuated with jubilant laughter.

He knows how to work a crowd, if nothing else. You whisper to yourself before flagging down the bartender. You order the next few rounds of your drinks, you’re on Sage’s time now, after all, paying for them with the money he forfeited to you in a card match earlier in the evening.

Your corner of the bar was much dimmer and quieter than his. Despite falling into Astrea from another dimension, you wonder how the two of you can exist in two separate worlds while still remaining only steps from each other. Unable to find an answer in the shallow water remaining in your glass, you seek counsel from the newest concoction placed in front of you.

As far as you’re concerned, Sage was the best person you could’ve asked to accompany you on a night like this. He’s got a knack for reading people - Intuition? Instinct? - but he doesn’t pry, content to live and let live. You find yourself humming “Hakuna Matata”, and you’re pulled further into the whirlpool in your head.

“Anything else while I’m here?” The bartender’s eyes looked tired. A sense of camaraderie between the two of you as the opposite end of the room erupts into brilliant hysterics once again.

* * *

Golden as the pile of coins jingling in his pocket, his eyes flit across the bar until they settle on you.

“That’s an impressive collection you’ve got there,” he says, taking one of the empty glasses into his hand in mock examination. His voice comes out louder than he means for it to, reverberating through your dizzy ears still as his smirk above you awaits a reply. His face is flushed, pupils all but blown - his collection of drinks couldn’t have been much smaller than yours, you silently conclude, as he moves to spin the glass on its axis like a top.

“Impressive party trick you’ve got there,” your retort is cut short by a hiccup that could only be described as violent. “But what’s really impressive is how you’ve managed to keep your hands to yourself all night-” another hiccup, as Sage’s eyebrow raises. “-really thought you were going to put that one guy’s head through the table about an hour ago.”

Sage’s laughter reverberates through you like echoes bouncing through a stone hallway. You wonder if the pores in rocks are able to soak in the sounds they toss back and forth through spaces like that, or if the echoes just wear them down over time.

“‘S getting late; plus I think this dump shuts down soon anyways,” Even as his words run together ever so slightly, he speaks with a sort of clarity.

Despite his drunken state, he notices as the corners of your lips rapidly fall at his suggestion. There’s visible tension in your shoulders that creeps its way to your jaw. You shake your head slightly, idly swatting him away like an annoying fly that’d crept too close to your meal.

“Seriously, I’m not holding back anyone’s hair tonight,” Sage said slowly, hoping you picked up on the earnestness in his request. “Come on. I’ll even make you a few drinks back home if you want, let’s just go.”

You feel his eyes roll without having to look at him. “Fine. We’ll sober up here for a bit, but damned if I’ll sleep in a booth tonight when there’s a perfectly good bed waiting for me.” Sage grumbles, all but tossing himself down onto the flimsy stool next to you. He glares at the candle waning between the two of you, as though he could intimidate it into remaining lit. You briefly recall something Felix mentioned when you first met, about Sage’s abysmal magical prowess, and as soon as it appeared the memory is soaked in emotions like muddy water.

You extend some of your energy towards the candle and the flame erupts into the air, nearly meeting Sage’s nose. Instinctively, he raises an arm to swat the flame off the counter, cursing gods you’ve never heard of, before he catches your gaze. Half shocked, half something else entirely, he exhales sharply through his nose and shakes his head, the ends of his braid sweeping the surface of the bar.

“Thought you’d be used to hanging out with magicians by now,” satisfaction drips heavily from your voice as you pick through the glasses in front of you.

“So that’s why you brought me out here, to give me a heart attack?” he mutters, choosing to believe it’s the heat of the flame that warms his cheeks when you speak.

“I could’ve done that anywhere. For much cheaper than a night of drinking, I might add,” you chuckle, picking up a textured glass and placing it atop the small candle. The divots in the glass fragment candle’s flame brilliantly, and you wonder how long the two of you have before the bartender tosses you out on the street.

Sage’s attention is briefly called to the now-refracted candlelight moving across the table, but his eyes eventually wander back to you. He has no issues seeing in dim light, but he finds himself grateful for the now-illuminated space between the two of you. The tautness in your jaw has yet to subside even as the light bounces from your eyes like the sun reflected on moving water - have there always been so many colors in them? Images of you over the months he’s known you flash through his mind in comparison for a moment longer than he’d care to admit, and he shakes his head violently, chastising himself for having too much to drink.

Although the silence between the two of you was anything but uncomfortable, it felt almost painful for you to break it. “I’m thinking of ending things with Felix.” you state matter-of-factly, like describing the weather. The sip of water you take does nothing to quell the burning in your throat, yet you hold onto the glass regardless.

To his credit, not that he’ll ever hear it from you, Sage takes the news in stride. “Want to talk about it? Or not talk, not talking is fine too.”

“I’m not even sure what there is to say,” You mutter. “Other than it’s what has to be done, so I might as well go ahead and do it.”

“I get that.” Sage said, unsure if he actually did get it, but he was no stranger to a sense of duty so that had to count for something.

He didn’t lecture. He didn’t ask why. He didn’t want a list of your reasons, didn’t want to weigh the pros and cons. You nod.

You’re unsure of where you want to go with this conversation. You’re unsure if this should even be a conversation you’re having with Sage Lesath of all people. “I just don’t…I just don’t know how to do it is all, you know.”

Sage offered a noise of approval, eyes fixated on the candle once more. His pulse was pounding in his ears, tail flicking against the legs of his stool.

“I guess it’s not that much of a secret, that we were together, but not together together,” your voice shakes. You haven’t said this to anyone, you haven’t said it out loud even to yourself. “And it’s a good enough arrangement, but I don’t think it’s good for him. For either of us, really. Not when he wants to be with someone else the whole time.” Not when you want to be with someone else, either.

Sage nods. “Look, I’m not exactly the authority on relationship advice,” he says, shifting side-to-side in his seat. “Anyone could tell you that. But you think about it too much-”

“It’s kind of hard to avoid thinking about someone when you’re with them for more than just one night.” You bite at him. Although his hands are clenched, his gaze is level. Understanding. Kind, even.

You wish you could muster up the anger to hate him for that, but you can’t.

“Rime being back or whatever…it messed with everyone. But Rime’s different, and so is Felix. And guess what? He’s with you, not Rime. Felix made his choice a long time ago when hell’s favorite reindeer came back from the dead. And guess where he’s at now? Probably writing crappy love poems to read to you whenever he gets back - or whatever you guys do, no shame.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose as a particularly strong wave of dizziness washes over you. The bartender is off sweeping up the remnants of Sage’s party, obviously preparing to close shop. “Sage, it’s not just about that-”

“Well, what is it then?” He asks, removing your decorative glass from the candle and extinguishing it.

“C’mon Sage, even you know there’s more to relationships than just a - a choice!” you grumble, suddenly feeling the weight of this conversation upon you.

“Oh, I’m well aware of how much more goes on in relationships,” he begins, suggestively, but cuts himself off when he notices your expression. “I don’t know what else you want from the poor bastard. He brought the damn guy back from the dead, but he can’t turn back time and make it so they were never together. They were a thing, and now they’re not. Like I said, you think too-”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be second place, do you, Sage? You feel that shit.” you manage to get out through gritted teeth. Your blood heats up a degree with each word of consolation that falls from his mouth. The idea of him, of all people, telling you to stay with Felix. The compassion he coats your rejection in, without even knowing he’s doing so, ignites a fire in your throat. “Forget it. Forget I said anything.” You do your best to take a sip of water, but struggle to swallow it down.

The subtle waves in your glass alert him to the trembling of your hands, and Sage finds his own raising to take the cup from you.

That was his intention, at least. Looking back on this moment Sage would blame the alcohol, the dim lighting, an imperceptible earthquake that pushed him off his center of balance, if he even claimed he was able to remember it at all, as he overshot and instead grazed the skin of your wrist. He didn’t move. You didn’t move. The room didn’t move. The world didn’t move.

Sage’s mind did move, however, soaking up every detail of this moment. His middle finger resting softly on the pronounced tendon of your wrist, while his other fingers sat atop the thin skin that served as the only barrier between himself and your veins. The tender flesh beneath his calloused fingers keeping him a hair’s breadth away from your heartbeat. Your heartbeat. Another eternal moment passed. He didn’t move. You didn’t move.

The world resumed its former speed with your inhale, shaky as the voice of reason in Sage’s head, and he righted himself. Not entirely able to remember what he’d been trying to do just a moment ago, he settles for taking your glass of water and quickly bringing it to his lips for a sip.

“Sorry, I’m no good at this thing,” he rasped. You’re so much smarter than him; everyone is so much smarter than him. There were no mirror-rehearsed pickup lines, no recycled one-liners, nothing in the recesses of his brain as he struggled to find something to say. Nothing to neutralize the electricity crackling through him as his gaze moves to your lips, spit-damp and slightly parted-

And besides, how could Sage do anything but what you asked?

“Well, you’re better at this than you were at cards, at least,” you turn to hop off of the bar stool, cocking your head at him as you go. “C’mon, bodyguard. Walk me home.”

#sage lesath #last legacy sage #sage x reader #last legacy #felix escellun #sage is so pretty it hurts my feelings

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