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wintrcaptn · 28 days ago

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Apples and Butterflies Part 5

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary : You caught your bf in bed with another girl two months before winter break. Now with no where to go for the next few weeks, your roommate invites you to her hometown so you don't spend the holidays alone.

But you never expected her dad to be the guy who pretended to be your date so you didn't look pathetic in front of your ex. The same guy you can't stop thinking about...Joel miller.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

A/N: I already have 15 chapters for this. But idk if I’ll post it all. I just really love a slow burn with Joel so much!! 😭

The sky had faded into a soft indigo, the last hints of daylight caught in streaks of lavender and gold across the horizon.

If a postcard came to life, it'd be this place.

The Christmas tree farm was glowing under a blanket of string lights, each row of pine trees lit from beneath like they were part of some quiet fairytale. The air smelled like fresh-cut fir, spiced cider, and wood smoke. Every direction I looked, there were families bundled in scarves and beanies, holding hands, carrying trees, laughing. There was a merry-go-round, a tiny ice rink, reindeer rides, and even an old Ferris wheel turning slowly near the back, like something out of a vintage movie.

Sarah bumped my shoulder. "Told you. This place is like Stars Hollow threw up."

"It really is," I grinned, taking it all in.

Joel trailed behind us quietly, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, boots crunching along the gravel path.

We spent the first part of the evening looking for a tree, Sarah elbowing Joel every time he passed on a perfectly decent one.

"You're impossible," she said, laughing. "We are not building the Rockefeller tree in our living room, Dad."

"Just pick one that ain't got holes in it," he muttered.

Eventually, we did. A big Douglas Fir that smelled like Christmas itself.

"Atta girl," he said, tossing Sarah the saw. "Your turn this year."

She groaned dramatically but got on her knees and started sawing at the trunk, grunting, while I filmed her struggling, laughing and cursing the tree under her breath.

And Joel? He just held the trunk steady, one boot planted at the base, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Watching him made my heart ache a little. Not in a sad way—more like the way you ache after a song that hits too close to home.

Later, Sarah and I hit the ice rink. I hadn't skated in years, and my legs wobbled beneath me like Bambi learning to walk, but I laughed so hard I didn't care. Joel stayed at the edge, leaning on the railing. His dark eyes following our every move like he was waiting to catch me if I fell, without ever stepping onto the ice.

He was always right there, but never too close. Close enough to feel, never enough to touch.

We grabbed some hot cocoa after that; warming my frozen hands against the paper cup, smiling at the marshmallows floating on top.

Sarah led me through the rest of the farm, pointing out people she knew; old neighbors, old teachers, even someone who'd once babysat her. She glowed like she belonged to this place. And maybe she did.

Then came the moment that shifted everything.

"Mason?" Sarah stopped mid-step, blinking at the tall guy in a flannel and Carhartt beanie standing near the Ferris wheel line.

"Holy shit. Sarah Miller?" He grinned. "I thought that was you."

"Mason!" she laughed, stepping in for a quick hug. "God, how long has it been?"

"Since our grad night," he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "You look great."

Joel, just behind them, visibly stiffened at the way the guy's eyes lingered a little too long on his daughter.

They caught up briefly, light banter, a few inside jokes. I noticed the way Sarah's eyes glistened, lighting up every time she looked at him. It was so obvious she liked him, but she kept her cool. Then Mason nodded toward the Ferris wheel. "You remember when we used to ride that thing like five times in a row? Just to get the top seat?"

Sarah laughed, a little awkward. "Yeah. I remember."

"Wanna go again? For old time's sake?"

She hesitated, then glanced over to me. "I probably shouldn't—"

"Go," I smiled.

Sarah raised a brow. "You sure?"

"I'll be fine," I said, waving her off. "Go relive your teenage glory."

Sarah rolled her eyes but grinned and gave Joel a quick look before heading off with Mason toward the line.

I stood there awkwardly for a moment, watching the lights of the Ferris wheel spin in slow circles. He stood beside me, quiet, still, like always.

"You havin' fun?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

I looked up at him. Surprised that he initiated the conversation first. "Yeah. It's beautiful here."

He nodded once. "Sarah lives for this. Always has. Christmas season... it's her favorite."

"She lights up when she talks about it," I said softly. "It's sweet."

Something shifted in his expression then. Just a flicker.

"You don't talk much about your folks."

My smile faded. I wasn't expecting that. Most people didn't ask. Or if they did, they didn't really care to know. But Joel wasn't like most people.

Talking about my mom hasn't been my strong suit since...

"There's not a whole lot to talk about."

He shifted just slightly, his gaze locked onto me as he crossed his arms over his chest. Usually I'd drop it here, change the subject. Anything then bringing up my family. But for some reason, I felt like I could talk to him about anything.

"It was just me and my mom," I said quietly, after a long beat. My breath clouded in front of me in the cool air, soft and slow. "Always. My whole life."

Joel's eyes stayed steady on mine as he gave a slow nod. "And... she okay with you skipping out on the holidays this year?"

I looked down at my cocoa. The whipped cream had already started to melt. "She passed away. Four years ago."

I said it flat, the way you rip off a bandage—fast and without looking. There's never a right time to say something like that. Never a comfortable way to bring it up. I hated how it always changed the air, how it always made people go quiet or look at me like I was breakable. But it was the truth. She was gone. And no amount of pretending otherwise would ever change that.

"Breast cancer," I added, barely above a whisper. My fingers tightened around the cup, chasing the fading warmth. I blinked down, fighting the familiar sting in the back of my eyes.

Joel leaned on the railing beside me, his shoulder close to mine, but he didn't say anything yet. Didn't rush to fill the silence or tell me he was sorry. I was grateful for that.

"Were you two close?" he finally asked, voice low and rough like gravel, but gentle.

I swallowed hard. My throat tightened before I managed to get the words out. "She was... everything."

The breath caught in my chest before I forced it down and kept going. "She was my best friend. My safe place. We did everything together. She taught me how to ride a bike, helped me study for every test, stayed up watching movies with me when I couldn't sleep. But her favorite thing—our favorite thing—was baking."

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my lips. Not a big one, just enough to warm the ache.

"Cookies, muffins... but her apple pie?" I let out a small laugh. "One bite and you'd swear it could solve world peace."

I didn't say how I still kept her recipe in a little stained index card tucked in my journal. I didn't say how I still made that pie every year, even if I didn't eat it.

Joel didn't speak right away. His gaze drifted toward the Ferris wheel, lights blinking in soft reds and golds against the darkening sky.

"You scared of heights?" he asked suddenly, nodding toward it.

The question pulled me back, sharp and unexpected. I followed his gaze, heart still aching, but a little lighter somehow.

I tilted my head. "Nope. Are you?"

He glanced down at me, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth; barely there but real. His expression was unreadable, as always, but something in his eyes flickered, amused. Or curious.

"Nope," he said again, echoing my tone, and held my gaze a second longer than necessary.

Then he reached out; rough, warm fingers curling around mine. The world stopped around us and we were the only ones alive. My breath caught in the back of my throat. His hand was calloused and firm, the kind of grip that made you feel anchored. I didn't even realize I'd gone still until he gave the tiniest tug.

"Come on."

He led the way, weaving us through the small crowd. And I let him. I couldn't stop the flutter in my chest, or the warmth crawling up my neck. I didn't want to.

He handed over two tickets without even looking at me, then motioned for me to go first.

I stepped onto the ride, heartbeat in my throat, and slid into the seat. Joel followed, slipping in beside me and suddenly we were shoulder to shoulder, thighs pressed against one another, the cold seat doing nothing to cool the heat between us.

The bar lowered. The ride jolted forward.

And I didn't know what scared me more. How high we were climbing...

Or how much I didn't want to pull away from him.

The cart rocked gently as we settled in, cold metal against my legs even through my jeans. The night air bit at my cheeks, but the cold was sharp in a way that made everything feel a little more alive.

The lights below shimmered like a sea of fireflies—twinkling booths, the blue glow of the ice rink, shadows skating in circles, kids darting through rows of trees with cups of cocoa in mittened hands. From up here, the whole farm looked unreal, like something you could fold up and tuck into your coat pocket.it was beautiful.

But all I could feel was the warmth of Joel beside me—solid, quiet, and taking up way too much space for someone trying not to be noticed.

I peeked at him out of the corner of my eye. He hadn't said much since we sat down, which honestly wasn't surprising.

"So..." I drew the word out, turning toward him. "What do you do when Sarah's away at school? Besides read newspapers and brood?"

His lips tugged just slightly at the corner—almost a smile. Almost. "I work."

"Clearly." I nodded, grinning. "But doing what?"

"Construction," he said simply. "I run a company with my younger brother. Tommy. We mostly do pretty much anything; custom builds, remodels, that sort of thing. It's not much, but it keeps the lights on."

Something about the way he said it made my heart tug a little. Like he didn't think it was worth much. But also... it felt steady.

I smirked. "Of course you do. I should've guessed."

Joel raised a brow, suspicious. "Should've guessed what?"

"You're such a grumpy old blue-collar type. I bet you drink your coffee black, fix things without ever reading instructions, and complain about 'kids these days' on a regular basis."

That earned me a look; but this time, the smile actually broke through. Small. Real.

"Shut up," he muttered.

I gasped. "Oh my God, was that a smile? Did I just witness an actual Joel Miller smile?"

"It was not a smile."

"Holy crap, you do have more emotions than just broody!" I said, eyes wide, hand to my heart in mock shock.

He huffed a small laugh under his breath, shaking his head. "You're real mouthy for someone stuck on a ride with no exit."

"You love it," I teased, shrugging my shoulders.

Joel didn't respond right away, but the corner of his mouth still curved up like he couldn't quite fight it.

"And what about you? I bet I can guess what you're majoring in." he said, turning the tables

I narrowed my eyes. "Oh, this'll be good."

"You like books. I saw a few books in your bag. You overthink everything. Noticed that at the cafe when you were hiding from—what was his name again?"

"Dylan." I said with a smirk.

"Yeah that asshat. You like to talk a lot. So... psych major?"

I laughed—like, really laughed. "That's... honestly not a bad guess."

"But wrong?"

"Wrong," I confirmed. "English literature."

He nodded slowly, like it made sense. "Should've known."

"What gave it away? My over thinking or my inability to shut up?"

His mouth twitched again. "Both."

I beamed. "You're not bad at this, Miller. If the whole construction thing goes under, you could be a therapist for emotionally repressed men who only communicate through silence and beer."

Joel gave a quiet chuckle. "I'll keep that in mind."

The conversation rolled so easily after that, like we'd somehow slipped into a rhythm that was just... ours. Laughter. Teasing. The kind of warmth that crept in slow but deep, settling under your skin before you even noticed.

But as we neared the end of the ride, I felt him pull back. Not physically, but the quiet returned. The tension. Like he'd suddenly remembered himself.

I glanced up at him, trying not to feel the cold where the warmth had been just moments ago.

When we stepped off, I looked at him one last time, heart thudding for reasons I didn't really want to name.

"I really like talking to you," I said softly, more vulnerable than I meant to be. "Even if you barely talk."

Joel opened his mouth, like he might say something back—but then—

"Y/N!" Sarah's voice rang out, cutting through the air.

She bounded toward us, grabbing my arm with a grin. "Sorry for ditching you."

And just like that, I was pulled away—leaving Joel standing there under the lights, silent again.

But I swore, just before I turned around...

He was still watching me.

Sarah looped her arm through mine and practically skipped us over to the reindeer ride. Everything was glowing now; twinkle lights draped along fences, lampposts wrapped like candy canes, the faint sound of sleigh bells in the distance. The scent of pine and cinnamon hung sweet and heavy in the air.

"I can't believe Mason was here," Sarah said, beaming. "That was so random. I haven't seen him since high school."

I raised a brow. "He looked happy to see you."

She blushed, eyes flicking to the ground like it might hide the grin she couldn't suppress. "Yeah... I always had the biggest crush on him back then. Like huge. But I was a total chicken. He dated older girls, and I was awkward and always had dirt on my face from softball."

I snorted. "You? Awkward? No way."

"Oh, I was a mess," she said with a dramatic sigh. "By the time I was brave enough to maybe say something, he graduated. I figured that was it. End of story."

I leaned into her a little. "But maybe not. He asked how long you were in town..."

Her smile softened. "Yeah. He said maybe we could hang out before I go back. Just catch up or whatever."

"Sarah," I said, tugging her to a stop. "You have to do it."

She blinked. "Do what?"

"Go. See him. Hang out. Flirt. Do whatever feels right. I mean, what are the odds? You run into him after years. Fate has a funny way of giving second chances when you least expect it."

She was quiet for a beat, then her voice came out soft. "I don't know..." she drawled out. "What if I make a fool out of myself or he doesn't feel the same way or—"

"Or what if he does?" I cut her off before she spiraled into her own negative thoughts. "You'll never know unless you try."

Sarah pondered her thoughts for just a moment. Her expression almost mirrored the way Joel's did whenever he thought to himself. It was uncanny.

"Fine. I'll do it if you promise to give this place a real shot. No Dylan. No school. Just be in this moment. With me."

I wasn't sure if being in the moment would be a good idea. Now that whatever I was feeling for Joel was now growing more and more...

No. I'm not having feelings for my best friends dad. I'm not.

I met her gaze and forced a smile. "Promise."

She let out a sigh and squeezed my arm just slightly as she continued to walk toward the truck. "Sorry for ditching you with my dad. That was a little shitty of me."

I waved her off, pretending my heart hadn't nearly beat out of my chest the entire ride. "It's fine. We talked. A little."

"I know he can come off kind of... cold," she said with a laugh. "And a little bit of a dick. But he's not. He's just quiet. Doesn't like small talk or people in general, but he's solid, ya know? Like once you're in with him, you're in."

I wanted to ask her so many questions. Questions like if he were seeing anyone? Has he seen anyone? What are his interests? Etc., but I didn't. I couldn't.

I need to push whatever I was feeling aside because nothing could ever come of this. Of us. I couldn't do that to Sarah. Or to Joel.

—————

By the time we got home, it was late. The moon was high, the night cold enough to bite through our coats. Joel hauled the tree from the back of his truck, thick gloves on his hands, flannel rolled up just enough to show strong forearms that made it very difficult not to stare.

Sarah and I headed into the garage to dig through the shelves for the bins marked Christmas.

"I swear," she muttered, yanking down a dusty red tub, "he keeps everything like it's a museum in here."

The minute we walked back in, Sarah lit the fireplace, throwing the whole room into a golden glow, and queued up a playlist on her phone. The first notes of Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree filled the living room, and something inside me fluttered like I was ten years old again, decorating with my mom. Something I haven't felt in a long time.

We opened bins and pulled out old ornaments, twinkling lights, garland, a crocheted stocking with Sarah's name stitched in red thread.

The scent of pine filled the house as he anchored the tree into its stand and stepped back, hands on his hips.

"Not crooked," he muttered.

"A Christmas miracle," Sarah teased.

He rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

The three of us moved in a quiet rhythm after that. Sarah humming along to the music, Joel sorting through the tangled lights, me fluffing branches. The tension between Joel and me was subtle but pulsing—charged. Every time I turned, I felt his eyes on me. Every time I laughed, he lingered a little closer.

We reached for the same branch at one point, hands brushing, fingertips grazing.

I froze.

He didn't move away.

It was just a second; a flicker, but something warm bloomed between us like heat from the fire.

"Hey!" Sarah said suddenly, pulling out a sad-looking ornament made of macaroni and glitter. "Remember this?"

Joel smirked. "You were six. Ate half the glue."

Sarah cracked up. "I did not!"

He raised a brow. "You cried when it didn't taste like marshmallow."

Their laughter bounced through the room and I watched him; really watched him. Joel Miller, the man who barely spoke above a grunt, was relaxed and smiling, eyes soft as he looked at his daughter.

God, he loved her. It radiated off of him.

"I'm gonna grab the star," Sarah said, darting toward the garage. "It's in the green bin we missed!"

And just like that, it was quiet again. Just Joel and me.

The only sound was the crackle of the fireplace and the rustle of pine branches as I adjusted an ornament near the top of the tree.

Joel stood across from me, winding a strand of gold garland in slow, thoughtful loops around the lower branches.

I hummed under my breath, a Christmas tune Sarah had been playing earlier that got stuck in my head. I didn't even realize I was doing it until I caught him watching me.

I turned slowly, raising a brow. "I can feel you staring."

He cleared his throat and looked away too quickly, like he'd been caught red-handed. "Just admiring the tree," he said, a little too casually. "It's not bad."

I stepped back to scan the tree myself, arms crossed, eyes flicking over the soft lights and scattered ornaments. "So," I said, "do you guys have any other Christmas traditions?"

Joel reached for the last of the garland and shrugged. "We do what most folks do, I guess. Cookies. Movie marathons. We used to try carolin' once, years ago, but Sarah was tone deaf at five and insisted on singing every verse of 'The Twelve Days of Christmas.'"

I laughed. "So that got retired quick, huh?"

"Let's just say the neighbors begged us to stop."

I grinned and leaned slightly against the couch arm. "Any other small-town traditions I should know about? Hidden secret snow rituals? Sacrifices to the Santa gods?"

He gave me a sideways look like I'd lost my mind but shook his head with a faint smile. "We ain't that kind of town."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Bummer."

"We do have a holiday ball. Two nights before Christmas every year. Local community center hosts it."

My eyebrows lifted. "A ball? Like, actual dancing and everything?"

He nodded. "Pretty big deal around here. Music, food, everyone shows up. Been goin' on since I was a kid."

"People dance?"

"Yeah."

I tilted my head, eyeing him playfully. "Do you dance?"

"No."

"Not even a little sway here and there?"

He didn't even blink. "No."

I let out a dramatic sigh and pressed a hand over my chest. "Damn. And here I was hoping you'd save a dance for me."

He looked at me then, really looked, and for a second, I couldn't breathe.

His eyes didn't hold any obvious answer, but they lingered a little longer than they should've. Just long enough to send that flutter through my stomach again.

Then the door flew open and Sarah reappeared, holding a large storage box in her arms. "Finally found the star," she huffed. "You really need to downsize on the crap you save, I swear. There's, like, five green bins in there labeled 'miscellaneous.'"

Joel glanced away from me, clearing his throat again, as if nothing had passed between us. As if my pulse hadn't just stuttered from a single look.

But I felt it.

——————

Part six here

#pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller imagine #tlou #tlou hbo #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #tlou2 #pedro pascal imagine

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namariko · 4 months ago

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Chapter 1: A Shadow in the Sun

The sun stood high above the endless wasteland, burning and relentless. The wind carried a fine layer of dust and sand, which settled on the cracked path leading to Garucia. Far away, on the path leading to Garucia, lay an old truck, motionless and abandoned by the roadside.

D rode past, his dark cloak barely moving in the hot wind. He had already noticed the truck from a distance—an abandoned machine often meant danger, whether from bandits, scavengers, or something worse. But this time, there was only a single person, Y/N, making her way toward Garucia on foot.

She walked with a steady, determined pace, showing no sign of struggle despite the brutal heat. A metal canister hung from her hand, swinging slightly with each step. Her long, dark hair was tied into a loose braid, though a few strands had escaped, clinging to her sun-warmed skin. Though simple, her clothing had a certain grace to it—clean, well-fitted, and more dignified than one would expect on the road.

D let his blue eyes rest on her for a moment. Most travelers reacted in some way when faced with a lone rider like him—whether by seeking help, keeping their distance, or eyeing him warily. But she simply continued forward, gaze fixed on the distant town, as if he wasn’t there at all.

He guided his horse ahead, passing her by a few feet before slowing his pace.

Left Hand stirred at his side, its voice laced with amusement.

“Look at that, she’s really trying hard to act like she doesn’t see you.”

D ignored him, though he knew the hand wasn’t entirely wrong. People usually kept their distance from him—some out of reverence, others out of fear. But this woman… she didn’t seem intimidated.

Behind him, there was no reaction. If she had heard Left Hand’s voice, she gave no sign. Either she hadn’t noticed, or she had chosen to pretend she hadn’t.

He let his horse slow until he was beside her again. For a moment, she stopped and looked up at him, her expression unreadable. No surprise, no desperation. Just a brief, assessing glance, as if weighing whether he was a threat.

D said nothing at first, letting his gaze drift over her face—a slight flush on her cheeks from the sun, a hint of fatigue in her eyes. But no sign of weakness.

Then he spoke, his voice low and direct.

“Get on.”

A moment of hesitation. She seemed to weigh his words, as though not used to accepting help. Then, shifting the canister to her other hand, she wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, glanced once more at the distant town—and finally nodded.

D reached down, extending his hand. She hesitated only a second longer before gripping it. He pulled her up effortlessly, and she swung her leg over the horse’s back, settling behind him with practiced ease. She didn’t hold onto him, didn’t seek support, simply sat quietly, balancing even with the added weight of the canister.

Left Hand sighed theatrically. “Ah, this silent communication… so romantic.”

This time, there was a reaction. A slight tilt of her head, barely perceptible, as though she had heard—but still chose not to acknowledge it.

D ignored him again. But as he nudged his horse forward, he became aware of the warmth of her presence behind him, steady and unshaken.

He wasn’t sure why he had offered her a ride. It hadn’t been necessary. Maybe it was because she didn’t behave like an ordinary traveler. Or maybe… Left Hand was right.

Maybe he didn’t want her to simply keep going.

__________________________

I hope you enjoyed reading it! In case you’re interested, I originally wrote this story with a character named Elyse, but I changed her name to Y/N at the end because I thought readers might identify with the character better. Do you find it more relatable? I’m not a great fanfic writer—I only wrote one or two a long time ago that I kept just for myself. 😄

#vampire hunter d #vampire hunter d bloodlust #vampire hunter d x reader #d x reader #x y/n #fanfiction

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 9 months ago

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Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Mental health struggles; Injuries; Sexual dialogue

You are just like him.

You sat all the way on the other side of the camp, as far away from Daryl as you could possibly get. Your knees were pulled to your chest, your insides twisting and coiling in disgust. Why had you claimed him? You wished you could blame it on the boys but that wasn’t it. Not at all. You wanted to have him, wanted to break him. He kept asking what was wrong with you, but could you even begin to explain?

You are him.

“I’m not.” You whimpered, covering your ears as if it could block out a voice that lived inside your head. The woman was so loud for one bound and gagged. She was also very inconsistent. “I’m not him.”

Look what you did.

Shaking your head against your knees, you tried to stifle the sobs, the constriction in your chest making each attempt so much more than painful.

Look at him!

Hands still over your ears, you raised your head partway, swallowing hard before seeking out Daryl. He was right where you had left him, glaring at you so intensely that you thought for a split second about just giving him your gun so he could set you free from what you had become.

Maybe you should let him go, ask for a black eye so it looked like he had taken you by surprise. But you knew the Claimers. They wouldn’t stop until they hunted him down and taught him all the way, killed him after a hefty dose of torture.

You had damned him. Either way, he was dead. He would have been dead no matter what once he had been unfortunate enough to be in the boys’ path. Maybe you could coerce him into staying, prove him to be an asset, but something told you he’d rather face that inevitable end. You’d need to be the one to pull the trigger. It had to be you.

Would you really show him that mercy?

“Of course, I would.” You whispered, lowering your forehead to your knees.

You wanted him.

“I did. I do, but I can still do the right thing.” You countered, not realizing you were rocking back and forth.

The right thing by killing him?

“What else can I do?” You sat up straight and threw your arms out to the sides, staring ahead of you to find no one there—not that you expected anyone to be, not really. With Daryl still watching you, unreadable eyes narrowed, you waited, but the voice remained blessedly silent. Blowing out a calming breath, you scrubbed both hands over your face.

“S’goin’ on with you?”

The question was asked in a gruff tone that was oddly laced with a hint of concern. With an indignant sniff, you schooled your expression and met his gaze as he studied you, visually picking apart your pieces like a puzzle.

“Nothing.” You answered coolly. “Just your average, run of the mill batshit crazy. Why? Turn you on?”

Daryl curled his lip and scoffed. “Ya gonna kill me or what?”

“Or what.” You shrugged.

I thought you were going to do the right thing.

“Look, I got places to be. If ya ain’t gonna kill me, —”

“Late for a crossbow convention or something, Sir Hops Along?” You teased, pushing to your feet and dusting off the back of your jeans. Crossing the distance between you took seconds. You crouched in front of him, away from his legs, and only then did you realize that you hadn’t restrained him to the tree. Still, he made no move. He was a smart one.

“None’a your business where m’goin’.”

You narrowed your eyes.

Do the right thing.

“You could stay.” You blurted, the voice in your head prompting you before you could spare any coherent thought toward the words. Daryl pulled a face.

“Don’t seem like I got much of a choice right now.”

“No, I mean, you could stay.” You tried, thumbing at your nose with a sniff. You had no right to cry for him. “Be a Claimer.”

“Y’should just shoot me.” He snapped without a single heartbeat in between. You reared back onto your heels, incredulous.

“It’s the only way you’re gonna stay alive, you fucking idiot!”

“Why do you care if m’alive or not?” His intense gaze flipped your stomach, made your chest hurt. Why did he have to be so stubborn? And why did he have to be so hot?

Do the right thing.

“Shut up!” You shrieked, watching Daryl’s expression shift to an annoyed twist of confusion.

“You came over here an’ talked to me.”

Fuck.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shook your head. “Not you.” Even worse, idiot. “I mean, yes, you, but not you. Fuck. Just—are you gonna stay or what?”

His eyes gave you a once-over, scrutinizing behind a scowl that you wondered if he just naturally carried around those with which he allied himself.

“Or what.” He turned his head then, looking straight ahead while drawing up his knees to drape his bound hands across them. God, you wanted to climb him like a tree.

“Suit yourself.” You muttered, standing and traipsing back over to your own perch.

He won’t stay.

“Yeah, I know.” You made sure to mumble under your breath, hoping he couldn’t hear you. From the way he angled his head, you were sure he could.

Then do the right thing.

“I’m not killing him.” You growled. “I’ll think of something.” When you found him still staring, your shoulders slumped. “Mind your own business.” You barked, feigning anger in the face of his perusal.

This was going to be a long day.

“Slow down.” You grumbled for the millionth time, yanking on the rope that was tied to Daryl’s wrists. He pinned you with a glare over his shoulder, his lip curling slightly. Not in the mood for his bullshit, you fixed him with a hard stare of your own. How he was moving so fast on a bum leg was beyond you.

“Walk faster.”

“What’d you say to her?” You weren’t quick enough to stop Len from driving the stock of Daryl’s own crossbow into his face, sending the man flat onto his back, his bound hands covering his face. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.” Your comrade spat—literally—onto your captive’s chest.

“Cool it, Len!” You hissed, kneeling next to Daryl. With a gentleness you thought you had lost long ago, you wrapped your fingers around his hands and pulled them away from his face, barely spying the bright blood before he roughly shoved you away.

“Get off’a me!” He roared while struggling to sit up. Good, the blow hadn’t knocked him unconscious.

“I was just trying to help.” You pouted, shuffling on your knees towards him once again. “Let me see.” You reached forward, drawing back only slightly when he jerked his head away from you. Still, you persisted. When your fingers grazed his chin, he didn’t resist, allowing you to turn his head. His face was a mess. “Ouch. That’s broken.”

“Know it is.” He brought up both hands and wiped the back of one though the blood. Before you could even fully remove your hold on his chin, he grasped his nose with both hands and jerked, grunting beneath the sharp crack.

Your jaw gaped, your ears tuning out the ooh, thinks he’s a tough guy behind you while you stayed on your knees as Daryl levered to his feet. When he managed to make it upright, he limped forward while drawing up the rope to toss the end across your lap.

“We goin’ or what?” He obviously knew better than to try and run.

Clearing your throat, you gathered yourself enough to fix him with a sultry grin. “I need a second to bounce back after cumming that hard, stud.”

“Y’need—what?” He stammered, the cogs of his brain working overtime. There was something so attractive about the cluelessness adorning that handsome face. Maybe you had embellished the phrasing but you couldn’t deny the distinct tingle between your thighs.

“Phew, you really know how to make a girl fall in love.” Getting to your feet, you dusted off your jeans and picked up the rope, biting your lip as you passed him. “Just one time, Daryl. Just one ride and you’ll never want anyone else.” You challenged.

The man scoffed. “Keep dreamin’.”

“Oh I will.” You retorted, placing the rope across your shoulder to guide him along behind you.

#murda writes #daryl dixon #i know im bad news #the walking dead #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon the walking dead #claimer!reader #the claimers

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my-stories-vault · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 4 ~ The Supernatural Wars.

Pairing: English Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N

Blurb: Purgatory suits you, to be honest. Plenty of distractions to choose from, you can kill as many as to your heart's content. And your heart is one insatiable bastard—it'll do anything to keep the memories of your ex away. Until a face much similar to his struts up into your territory, looking for you, promising you a home you lost too long ago. Your heart melted once before, do you think you would be able to risk it all again for the same criminaly handsome face?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Supernatural Wars spoilers, major and minor character deaths, mentions of previous major character deaths, voilence, gore, tons of angst, (sort of, but not really) love triangle, language, self-sacrifices (not exactly suicide), betrayals, etc.

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Chapter 4: At 10.23 p.m.

He could smell irises - the flowers of hope and faith. It hinted at a trick, he was walking into a trap. Hope and faith? What cruel things to say when those were the flowers that would be offered to someone he loved, someone who . . .

He was walking in a field of irises towards a headstone, on a path where the flowers had parted for him. It was a large headstone, home for two. Carved in warm words on the cold stone: Mary and John Winchester; he could see it from far away, their names. "Beloved Leaders, loving parents, soulmates," it read. He suddenly had a bouquet of dead irises in his hand, the only dead things in this vibrant valley - well, besides the bodies buried six feet under, in a couple's coffin, holding hands to walk away into their afterlifes - away from their sons.

He felt the ground on his knees. He placed the flowers at the foot of their shared tombstone. Then he started apologizing like he always did to this tomb - it was always in a different setting, but he ended up kneeling in the same place before them - their criminal who was never put to justice.

'Come with me, Dean,' said a voice of a lullaby; he would never forget it.

'Go away,' he growled, but there was not much fight in him - no matter how much he struggled, she never left him.

Predictably, she placed her hand on his shoulder. Her cold, powerful, God-like hand. But not God, she was his sister - or so they'd thought.

When God left, he left behind a part of his sister to sustain the Earth eventhough this place was just a fucking draft in his story, an unedited version. God's real story, the one that he might've been proud of, was playing out somewhere else - that was where his real sister was - with him, even if she might be prisoned in that Universe as most cross-dimensional Travellers say.

So, this . . . this monster - whatever she was; perhaps a shadow of her true self - was something like a battery to keep this world going. But why did she have to become a villain; had she not thrown a tantrum, Dean wouldn't have had to be responsible for her death.

Her death that bought him nightmares. He traded a life of nobody for a life of popularity the day he killed her, he traded a life of a spoiled, moderate hunter for a life where the archangels and the heirs of Hell wanted his head, he traded a life of love and family for a life of . . . what? What did he even have?

'I'm here,' she told him. 'I'm never leaving you.'

'Go. Away!' he emphasized. His heart was trying to bruise his rib cage as she crouched - that must be where the pain was coming from.

'Look at me, Dean,' she spoke in his ear, her right hand on his left cheek, her front against his back, her voice silky. 'You love me - you have to look at me!'

He cringed away from her, trying to physically put distance but her grip was too strong. At least he had his eyes shut - she couldn't make him look at her without his permission.

'I hate you!' he had to utter forcefully - as if he wasn't so sure himself.

'You can't,' she said simply. 'You are meant to love me. Only me.'

She was so compelling that he wanted to peek at her face - even if he could see her image clearly on the thin film of his lids; the fair-skinned woman, tall, with dark hair tresses that she never tied up, and just as dark eyes. Those eyes pormised him no pain, contrary to what she aspired to do to millions of souls around the globe - contrary to how she'd killed his parents . . .

'You're wrong! You're wrong!' he shouted. 'I fucking loathe you!'

'You love me!' she screeched back. 'You desire me! You are meant for me!'

Any second now, Dean would be grovelling to be left alone. He would be begging for Amara to let him go. He would be sobbing to move on. She would wear him down, she always did - all the time when he wasn't too tired in his sleep.

'Please,' he shuddered. 'I can't love you! You killed my family!'

'But you do. That's why you're perfect for me,' she cooed. 'Because you're dark like me. You can't live without me!'

Tears of agony streamed down his face. He rocked on his haunches, tortured by the fate forcing him to be in love with a woman who murdered his parents - a woman that he'd already killed.

He was on the verge of breaking. He would turn, look at her as if she was his entire world - and then wake up to an empty life. Any second now . . .

'Wake up!' a woman roared louder than both of theirs - something that had never happened before - but the new enraged voice wasn't unknown.

His eyes snapped open and he could only glimpse at those burning, protective e/c orbs seared in his mind—before he was gasping awake in reality, his eyes opening to his room where there was no headstone, no Amara, and . . . no Ms Heart who woke him up.

'What the hell?'

He just took his bedside drinking water to splash on his face, drenching his sheets and nightshirt in the process. The water got in his eyes and effectively woke him up - he could tell the dream apart from the reality now. Just like he could tell what the dull ache in his chest was. He poured himself another glass, this time to quench his thirst but even the cool water wasn't enough to soothe the jagged edges of the hole in his chest.

That bitch Amara, spit his mind. She always left him floundering for peace, even five years after she was in the fucking ground.

He put his shaky legs on the freezing floor. His curtains were billowing with the breeze, his large balcony giving him the freedom that he got from nothing else in his life. The moon was like a silver cutout pasted into the dark navy night, giving no real light to his grounds below where he could see few of his soldiers on shift. They walked the street between small farms and battle arenas, in groups of twos. He doubted they would see him however, if he were to lean against his balcony.

He decided to change and have an early start on his day. He slipped into his flannel and jeans - the palace was one of the few places where he could dress like he wanted to, except when there were Balls or Meetings. He could slip into his jacket and feel like a normal human being loitering about on a normal Tuesday morning. And he would have enjoyed his few precious hours at his palace before he was inevitably pulled away for another job, if he hadn't been so worried about his family.

Upon reflection, he knew it was a stupid thing to overthink - if it was any other group of Leaders, he would personally be seeing off the group at the Gates, wishing them luck with a few cursory flowers, never to see them again - but he was moping now. He tried to explain to himself that he did what he could - he offered his help like he would any other Leader, and he played a good host - he took care of his continent . . . Then why was there despair filling up his chest like rot in a well?

These weren't just any Leaders. His family, his only remaining family.

He exhaled long and deep from his nostrils.

He decided he could concentrate on the half-imagined and half-real Ms Heart. Dean was almost sure that he was obsessed with her - but only because he knew he could never have her; she was just one of those desires to crave something he won't deserve . . .

Until it struck him.

His thoughts about Ms Heart made him recall the invitation the temp Leader had handed out to him.

He dialled his best friend.

You bolted straight in your seat, your hand on your dagger before you could register that the car had hit a cluster of thick roots that had clambered onto the road - and not a monster.

'Wow,' Baz whistled. 'You slept for almost two hours without pulling a knife to someone's throat - must've been a good dream.' There was a slight tease in his voice, a tease you couldn't seem to escape whenever you talked to Baz for the last two days - ever since you met that handsome stranger.

You scrunched your nose at the Chief of your army, but he wasn't wrong; you were notorious for jumping out of a bed with a weapon loaded and aimed, almost hourly when in an unfamiliar territory. Your deep sleeps only greeted you when you were in a comfortable setting - like home. Thus, it was safe to say that you hadn't slept well for a few weeks now, and the likelihood of a proper night's sleep was a few months away as you adjusted to your new environment.

Your word was careful, almost warning him to discourage any line of questioning: ''Twas.'

It had been about him again, as every sleep had been about him since you met him - and you couldn't grasp why.

Just like you couldn't grasp why you approached him eventhough he wasn't a part of your team; or why you indulged your personal information to him; or why you let him think that you weren't an important person; or why your heart throbbed without him.

'Is it my shift yet?' you wondered, stifling a yawn.

You were lined up after Baz for about eight hours before it would be Boa's turn. Selina or Sal didn't drive; they knew the basics, but they were backseated quite literally during road trips in areas that could possibly teem with Ferals. The Griffith twins and you rotated shifts, just like several other cars that were heading and tailing your spacious Mercedes. Every day and a half or two, every car would stop for about ten hours' worth of break, to freshen up, restock food, and rest at one of the treehouse motels before the road journey would continue. Even the bathroom breaks were scheduled.

'In another hour,' muttered Baz. It was early in the morning. From the gaps between the leaves that formed a rather dense canopy over your trail, you could spot the yellowness of the rising sun. Sal was asleep with books in his lap, his snores filling the car periodically. Selina had an iPad with fireworks bouncing around on the screen, never getting cornered, from not being switched off. Boa's hands were on his belt, in a rather stiff position, but it was the nearest he could be to his weapons on either side of his stomach.

'So, was it Mr Smith again?' Baz popped the question. You tried to stave off your irritation upon the glint of invasive curiosity in his eyes.

You didn't gossip, even if it was about your own life from your own mouth. You tried to understand that it wasn't Baz's fault, he was used to knowing about people - he was very social that way. You just weren't used to considering yourself "people" . . .

'Again?' you scowled in realisation. 'I don't dream about him at all.'

A little white lie. The dream you had of him right now was more like a nightmare though.

He was blackmailing you with the secrets he knew for a kiss. You shuddered slightly at the thought. What was the scariest part is that you wanted to give in.

He was in the Eastern Europe, so he wouldn't know you or work in the same spheres as you. But then, he was also at a five-star hotel - if he was rich enough to afford it, he must do something worthwhile. He even paid for his drinks and yours; you had felt bad, but giving him money would have compromised your identity.

You would deserve the defamation, a nasal voice that suspiciously sounded close to your mother's, told you.

Why, oh, why did you have to open your mouth? What was it about him that made you spill your guts?

What would your publicist say?

Lay, you shivered. You had to talk yourself out of the wallowing and guilt that you were pretending you didn't feel. You refocused on berating yourself.

How dumb could you have been for being enchanted with a person you just met? He said a few words and riled you up enough to break your stoicity - people usually need hours of work of getting on your nerves before they can do it. But he seemed to know exactly what to say to you - exactly what he wanted from you.

He kissed you on the forehead.

It shouldn't have affected you like it did. You were stunned as he had swung away into the world, leaving you to gather yourself for uncountable moments.

People didn't kiss you besides on the hand as a royal gesture or on the cheeks if they were close, like Seth and B/F would do as close royals. Or your mom if she was feeling affectionate, your father was taciturn enough to avoid contact altogether.

Then this man shows up. A perfect stranger who lied about his name. Mischievously smiling. Eyes glinting with beautiful mysteries and haunting darkness. Beauty beyond belief. It was as if his soul was shining through to you, like he was keeping himself bare for you, so for once in your life you became fair, and did it for him too. And he kisses you on the head which last you'd known was a sign of intimacy - he takes your forehead virginity - or whatever the fuck that's called; no one has cared or dared to before.

And none of this you'll be uttering out loud to another person.

Ever.

' . . . was saying you are into exophilia,' Baz was telling you.

'What?' you blinked in confoundment.

He scoffed. 'Back to Earth, are we?'

You relaxed by the look on his face. You had a habit of zoning out of conversations that held no interest to you, or the ones where you could afford to ignore the speaker.

When you confessed this to Baz after you did it to him "accidentally" a few years ago, he made up his own ritual: whenever your eyes glazed over, he would start insulting you because you were "insulting" him, and it would go on till you decided to, in his words, "grace the lesser humans" with your attention again.

'Sorry,' you sincerely said.

Baz grew a side-long glance. 'Daydreaming about Mr Smith?'

You narrowed your eyes. 'Enough, Baz. He meant nothing.'

'Nothing? That's bollocks,' Baz claimed. 'I mean, did you see him? He was sex on legs. He must've done something to you!'

'Aren't you a celibate?' you gently reminded him.

'Yeah,' he didn't take your bait. 'With eyes. He would be perfect for you.'

You sighed. 'You know how I hate matchmaking.'

'I'm just saying,' he continued, 'you two would make a sexy couple.'

Amusement curled your lip from one end but the reprimanding tone oozed through your words. 'That's highly inappropriate, Mr Griffith.'

'Oh, what are you gonna do?' he said. 'Report me? I think you're the premiere authority here, Lead.'

You shook your head despite grinning. 'Europe has changed you, Baz.'

'Yeah! Europe is free, baby!'

'Shut up,' grumbled Sal from the backseat, stilling you and Baz for a moment. Sal twirled in his seat and he was snoring again soon. You shared a smile with Baz.

'Our workload in Europe is tenfold to what we had in America,' you addressed his previous statment.

Baz shrugged. 'So? This is our work. No one dumps it on us. This is what we were raised for! We are going to have so much fun.'

'Be serious, Baz,' you said with certain amount of dourness yourself. 'We are in-charge of half a continent.'

'No. You lighten up,' he insisted. 'Admit it, we're free at last!'

'Baz—'

'Come on! Have you no dreams?' he asked.

'Do you understand—?'

'Oh, I understand all right,' he cut you off again; the only persons who dared to do that were your teammates. He adopted the graveness you wanted from him, 'I didn't say it would be easy. Yes, we've lost people,' he paused, and it was as if he aged ten years in that second, but he forced his cheeriness back again. 'But, we can still live.'

A pause.

Baz had always been audacious with his ideas, attitudes and beliefs - maybe that's why it was so hard to listen to him. If you listened to him, you would hope to do something new - you will be motivated rebelliously . . .

But you heard the longing in him.

'What do you mean?'

'Dreams!' he laughed quitely. 'Don't you ever dream?'

You were reluctant when it turned to you. Noticing that you might be closing up, he tried again.

'If you tell me, I'll drop Mr Smith.'

You would take that deal.

'I want to learn how to climb trees,' you answered the first thing that came to you.

'That's not a dream! That's work,' he complained. 'Give me something juicy.'

You sighed as you wracked your mind for a presentable dream.

'Okay,' you said. 'I . . . am having dinner. On a gazebo.'

Baz gave you a dry, disgusted look. 'Wild.'

You rolled your eyes. 'It is for me! I've never had an uninterrupted meal before. I would like a night, amidst peaceful waters to have a meal under the stars, just . . . living, as you said.'

That seemed to impress him. 'I like that. But you keep working on it - that can't be all you want from life!'

'What's yours?' you steered away from your life, wanting to give him a space to talk.

He jumped into a fifteen-step plan that was ridiculous bogus, but the intention behind it was warming. He used hyperboles to trapeze an event that was unreal even by your standards. He was in the middle of explaining how he wanted to ride a pegasus above Atlantis - or something as unbelievable, you sorta zoned out - when a phone ringing interrupted him.

You glanced at Boa who rumbled something unintelligible, patting himself down for the phone that he kept forgetting he had. He pulled it out of his back pocket and gave a death glare to the screen.

''Ello,' he grunted. 'Uh-huh . . . Uh-huh . . . Uh-huh,' he glanced at you that time, 'Oh. Uh-huh,' he extended the phone to you.

You'd gained no preparedness from his side of the conversation. You put it to your ear and greeted the other side formally.

'Good day, Lady Y/N!' said a way too excited voice. After Boa's side of talk, you didn't think the other person could be . . . so over-the-top. 'May I speak with you for a moment?'

'I think you already are,' you said.

The unknown male on the other end laughed. 'I take it, then, that it's a good time?' He didn't wait for your answer. 'I'm Sebastian Slay. I've been in touch with Mrs Layla Stun. Is she all right?'

You didn't expect a stranger to sound so genuine about your publicist. Then again, this wouldn't be the first time a stranger appeared caring for no reason at all.

'Excuse me, who are you?' you asked.

'Oh.' He paused, 'I'm Dean Winchester's assistant, ma'am.'

It was your turn for an "oh".

'I couldn't reach Mrs Stun, so I used the second number she gave me - of Mr Boa Griffith. After yours, of course.'

'Is there a reason why you didn't call me directly, Mr Slay?'

'Part of the reason I called itself,' he said, luckily moving on from Mrs Stun's topic. 'We were supposed to inform you weeks ago, but you'd already changed the course of your ship. May I ask why?'

You had changed the ship's route because Captain Laffitte thought it would be your best option. After the werewolves, twice again, the ship had been attacked. It took your numbers down to fifty from a hundred - even before you'd come to Europe. It was a loss greater than any other Leader had suffered in the past - no one lost as many soldiers as you did in just the travelling. Benny had suggested the change in course because it seemed that the monsters were tracking you instead of discovering you.

It was also why you suggested a night of drinking to the remaining families so that they could drown their miseries and give themselves at least one night of healing.

Maybe that was also why you struck up a conversation with a total stranger - who wouldn't be internally judging your qualities as a Leader. Who wouldn't know you at all, and thus, blame you for no one's death - in his mind, that is - no one dared say it to your face, yet you felt almost sure that you were being resented.

You had just wanted a night of peace. A night of talking about your successful cases, to feel confident again.

'Is it relevant?' you asked, consciously trying to not take a long pause.

'Um, not really.' He seemed to be taken off guard by your tone. 'I guess not, unless it concerns the continent.'

'Doesn't. Please tell me why you've called me.'

'Right,' he cleared his throat, his happiness gone. 'The Irish Sea and the areas around are currently populated by the Leviathans.'

'They're only found in Asia.'

'They spilled over. It's increased the number of monsters on the streets as well. Since you're travelling by road, I'm sure you've noticed.'

You had. You just took it to be your rotten luck that attracted more monsters than possible.

'I see. Why weren't we informed priorly?' you asked sharply.

'The matter isn't to leave Asia or Europe, ma'am. We were waiting for you to step on our land before we told you, unless you had made the journey to the Irish Sea, we didn't see a point.'

'It's been three days since I've stepped on the land, Mr Slay,' you didn't let up.

'. . . That'd be our mistake, ma'am. We were caught up in a case. We figured you might take at least a fortnight before you faced them near your Headquarters anyways.'

Your anger was disarmed by your surprise. 'You were on a case? Didn't you say that you're Lord Dean's assistant?'

'Yes. I'm his personal bodyguard, chief of army, publicist - whatever you'd wish to call me.'

'And you left him to go to a case?' Were the conditions so bad that even the Leader was left unprotected?

'Just for a while. We were on a case together before. Then, he had to welcome Lord and Lady Winchester.'

You frowned. A Leader on a common case? You'd never heard of it before. You'd gone to cases as training, even your brother had gone to cases when he was being raised for his position. But he stopped going when he became the Leader. So would you . . . right?

To not sound like an imbecile, you concentrated on the second half of his reply. 'Mrs Stun informed me of their arrival—' it took extra effort to not let your voice waver at her mention '—is it because of the Leviathans?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

At least that made sense. Such high-profile and most top-secret jobs belonged to the Leaders. 'Will they be dealing with it?'

'As soon as possible. Until then, please be careful.' Again, his sincerity was unfounded. Beyond relaying information, he had no use being caring. Or at least, it sounded like he cared - maybe he was just excellent at pretending?

'Kindly send us a memo of the Leviathans so we know what to expect.'

At the utterance of the monsters' name, a wave of gasps rocked the car. You noticed that everyone was wide awake and listening. You didn't change your expression despite the panic that was mounting in your chest.

'I would send it to your phone, but we think all the Leader phones are being tracked. For sure - the Asian and European ones are. Leviathans are smarter than your average monsters.'

'Duly noted. Send it to this number then.'

'Of course.'

'Very well. Thank you. Goodby—'

'We have one more request to make,' he said quickly. 'We would like to reconsider your invitation to the Debutant Ball.'

The mention of the Debutant Ball somehow surprised you more than the mention of Leviathans.

'Oh.'

'You might remember that Mrs Stun asked for some manpower - for the arrangements. Then extended an invitation. But we RSVP'd no.'

'Right,' you said. You'd forgotten about it. It was so stupid an endeavor that you probably wouldn't have remembered unless someone recalled it for you, or worse case, you showed up at your castle and saw the decorations. 'I remember,' you lied.

'Mr Winchester would like to come. On the condition that no one knows he's there. Even you.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'With the Leviathans so close to Britain, we would like to offer you our security; he'll be personally there to help us gaurd you. But we wouldn't want to expose his location to anyone, so he'll be under a fake name, mingled into the crowd.'

'Do you not trust us, Mr Slay?' it was edged into a snarl. How typical.

'We don't trust the people, ma'am. There'll be many servants milling about and so on. We don't want to risk a sighting and bring down the Leviathans to your post - you're just a harmless human Leader to them right now and we don't want to change that assumption by letting them know that you are sheltering Mr Winchester.'

You were appeased by his explanation. 'That's understandable.'

'Awesome. We'll be a group of five. See you soon, ma'am. Welcome to Europe.'

It must be the fact that your army was travelling in a group of fifty that scared off any group of monsters from encountering you on land; it had been almost a fortnight, and there hadn't been many hurdles.

Inspite of the warning from Sebastian about the monsters on land, you were just happy that you were on land. As much as an unique experience the seas had been - you didn't ever want to travel on them again unless you were strictly required to.

Even your castle was decent. Unkempt, but it wasn't a treehouse you'd embarrass yourself on.

The cars were guided into an underground parking space that had two escalators and two lifts at the centre which would carry everyone up into the castle. The castle itself didn't have main visible doors. You'd just seen it from afar before your car had went underground - it's walls were covered in moss and it had small windows cut into its sides, it had a roof like a hat over the top and it was heavily canopied by old gnarly tall trees. The sea was just a few hours away from the place.

So far, you hadn't met any Leviathans. Sebastian's guess that your group wasn't important enough must be true. Or they are waiting for an ambush, came a warning.

'We are prepared for it,' you told it, under your breath so no one else heard.

You took the first lift up with your team, all of your weapons drawn. No one had seen a Leviathan in real life before. Sal said he'd researched, but hadn't found much. They were Earth's first monsters, and had been banned to Purgatory for the longest time. The files that came from Sebastian didn't have quantitative details, only how to be safe from them - which will be with Borax and temporary decapitation. The permanent solution was apparently only Lady Winchester's business.

You remember your brother vaguely mentiong that Jessica Winchester had taken that job up - he told you this after he returned from one of his Half-Yearly Meets, this one had been in Asia right before Christmas. You'd never attended a meet like that unless you count the time when you were eight and between nannys and your mother couldn't find anyone, so she had to take you.

If your memory served right, you'd met Dean there - just a few years older to you. Your hand absently brushed the scar on your elbow that you'd gotten that night.

The elevator doors opened silently into an elaborate foyer which could hold about hundred and fifty people comfortably at one time. There was only one person in it now - a maid, in her black and white attire, dressed traditionally. Her hair braided too, and no make-up except the blush dusted onto her cheeks. There was a nametag pinned over the strap of her pinafore, spelling "Clara".

'Your Majesty!' she curtsied, pinching the sides of her frock and lifting them gracefully.

'Lady Y/N is fine,' you said. 'Give out your hand.'

She paused in confusion but followed your order. Boa poured the Borax onto her hand, confusing her even more. There was no sizzling, no shock. Everyone from the lift relaxed.

'Told you there was nothing to worry about,' Baz said.

'Can you tell me where the hospital is?' Selina asked. 'There are supplies I'll need after the journey we've had.'

'Yeah, and point me to the labs?' Sal added impatiently.

'One at a time,' you said, raising a hand. 'Baz, bring everyone up. Boa, check rest of the servants in the castle. And whoever is clear, ask them to help Sal and Selina.

'Clara, you're with me.'

'Wh-What are you checking for?' she wondered timidly.

'I'll tell you once we're sure,' you said with a curt non-friendly smile. 'First, we have work to do.'

After a quick tour of the castle by Clara, you were having her update you about the Debutant Ball arrangements. The food, the music, the flowers - it was a fucking migraine. How did Lay ever handle it?

Once the torture was over, you ordered for files on every guest who would be joining you - the Governors and the other Leader.

At that, Clara had produced a rolled up list from her apron. 'But my lady,' with a scowl, 'Lord Dean said no.'

'Right, they changed their mind. They'll be sending representatives. As a gesture of faith.'

She nodded and then she excused herself to work on something. About an hour later, there was a stack of files on your desk in your new room that you would have to learn by the end of the week.

Fun, you gloomily thought as you sat down at your desk for a long night with a cup of joe.

Alien ears, Gov. Yuvan Blunt; Bushy moustache girl, Gov. Sarah Dude; Snake eyes, Gov. Hart Hale.

Even as your cheek was pressed to the table, your memorized names wouldn't escape your dreams. You were superficially asleep - not deep enough to realise you were trying to rest and just deep enough that you could have a night terror about the Debutant Ball.

. . . Long nosal hair, Gov. Missen Paw . . .

A large thud rattled the table. You moved faster than thought, your hand shot out from where the noise came and the gripped pen in your hand stabbed . . . a book.

You blinked. Your makeshift weapon had pierced the pages of the weak paperback. Selina peeked from behind her "sheild", lowering her ruined medical journal. She plucked the pen out with more effort that you had used to plunge it in. She offered it back to you.

'Whoever said pen's mightier than a sword, rests happily in their grave,' she smiled.

You snorted, ruffling your hair out of your face. 'It was Edward Bulwer-Lytton,' you spewed. 'I apologise—'

'Don't. I know you tend to jump up from sleep. Why'd you think I was prepared?' she showed you the mutilated book which she then threw in the trashcan beside your new desk.

You grinned sheepishly at her. Your eyes drifting to the barricaded, weathered window. You could only make out that the sun was rising on the horizon, and it made your heart sink.

To distract yourself, you eyed the pile of books that Seilna had dropped on your desk.

'Do I have to read those?' you asked hopefully. Reading meant escaping reality, it meant learning new facts like Edward Bulwer-Lytton.

'No,' she said. 'These are for me. I'll be keeping you company while some handmaids play dress-up with you.'

An involuntary groan leaves you. 'Right now?'

Selina had a sympathetic press to her lips. 'You have to be ready in the next three hours to welcome the first guests.'

You'd forgotten about that. You had been so anxious for an evening of pretending and dancing with other people who would be pretending and dancing just as much - that you forgot you had gate duty all day until you had to redress for the Ball.

'If it makes you feel better, I'm taking on Mrs Stun's load of socialising,' she warily checked the books she'd brought. You just then realised that they were from Mrs Stun's collection on politics and extrovertism. 'Would you mind if I borrowed your notes?'

Your "notes" comprised of names and accomplishments, strengths and weaknesses - basically résumés of the permanent governor staff - while you enjoyed books, learning about Governors was menial.

Selina, luckily, wouldn't have to learn all of it - just skim over the material that you had spent days compiling and learning. Just like she would only have to skim over the political books. Your team had redistributed Mrs Stun's work until you found a better candidate. None of them looked forward to the evening (except Baz).

At least they knew what you went through now. You empathized with them.

You sighed. 'Sure, Ms Doll. Mind though, I envy you.'

Some of her amusement returned. 'Why?'

Because you were to stand the whole day in six inch heels that you hadn't broken in, in a sweltering humid forest, in a puffy gown from hell, with your fakest smile glued to your face - greeting Governors, mostly men who were supposed to fucking court you. If all these bureaucratic brats weren't enough, there was always the hanging sword of the Leviathans. Even worse - your Leading partner was going to show up without you knowing who he is.

It wasn't like you hadn't reaserched Dean Winchester this past week. You just didn't have any photos of him. He was apparently camera shy. You would only know him, if you knew him. And once someone met him, apprently, they wouldn't forget him because he's not only one of the legends of your planet, but also very hot - or so they say. It was just frustrating to not know his face.

'Lady Y/N?'

You snapped out of your thoughts. 'Yes? I . . . What was I saying?'

She smirked. 'Never mind. The handmaids are here.'

Indeed, the door to your chambers had been opened. In marched racks after racks of clothes and servants pushing them, infiltrating the square room that bore no personal possessions sans the tiny duffel of things you actually liked at the foot of the bed which you hadn't slept in because you'd spent every night of the last week on your desk or working downstairs.

Your back and shoulders went ramrod straight, all your resentment melting into a fake tranquil expression.

Let the daymare begin, you braced yourself.

Sebastian said, tying his tie: 'She doesn't seem very . . . nice,' he made a face. 'She won't be happy about you using her location to keep tabs on Lord and Lady Winchester. Especially when they warned you not to be there . . . It'll be like deceiving Lady Y/N.'

'We live in constant war. If she's happy, she's mad,' Dean said, fixing his own collar in the mirror he was sharing with his best friend, ignoring the comment of the Asian Leaders.

'Hey, I'm happy!'

'Exactly,' Dean grinned. 'You're mad.'

That earned him a slap on the shoulder.

The boys moved in tandem, dressing up in their treehouse, just an hour away from the Western Headquaters. They had been in the area for almost three days, but didn't want to show up before time. They were stopped at the only reststop they will have before reaching the castle, and now they were dressing up. Per code, they needed to look sharp.

Dean didn't know why he bothered - he looked stupid in a tux (or so was his opinion). But Sebastian would probably chew his ear off if Dean didn't maintain fashion; and Sebastian can nag like an old woman with nothing to lose - it was his superpower.

As he eased his coat on, his mind wandered to his brother and the battle that must be ongoing in the Irish Seas right now - it had been happening for three days, word on the radio was that it would end by the night.

He hated that he wasn't there to take care of his family, and he hated even more that he was going to a party instead. A fucking Debutant Ball, of all the fucking things. A stupid waste of money, if you asked him. But then, he was in the area to be the back-up - that was the best he could do when he was so unwanted.

'Tell me more about this Y/N,' Dean said. He wasn't a fan of research. That was all Sebastian. Dean didn't even bother getting to know most people. But, he would like to be on semi-cordial terms with the Leader he would be working with for who knows how long.

'Oh, you've met her before.'

That gave Dean a pause. His memory didn't give him any clues. 'Really?'

'Long time back,' specified Sebastian. 'At a After-Meet Party, after a Half-Yearly Meet, when you were children. You pushed her off a tree.'

Then, Dean remembered. He'd been thirteen. She had been eight. They'd been playing. And, 'She fell,' Dean corrected, wincing at the reminder, 'Scarred her elbow.' And a few more things, his gut churned with the remenants of guilt. 'Damn, that's her?'

'My sources are never wrong.'

Dean sighed. 'What else?'

'She's the best marksperson of our generation. Decisive, tenacious, good hunter. I don't know anything about her personal life,' Sebastian frowned. 'Either she doesn't have one, or she keeps it strictly private.'

'Kinda like me,' Dean noted.

'I know. I mean, you would think two Leaders who held world-changing potential would flaunt a bit,' he playfully pouted.

'Suck it up,' Dean jokingly said. 'You're only mad because you like that publicity shit.'

'Hey, I just like a good story. People will really inspire from yours, you know? Imagine all the documentaries they will make for children.'

Dean tucked his weapon under his jacket and grabbed the handles of his bag, shifting his hair up in spikes.

He had only one last word to get in: 'You can shoot me when you've shot me.'

The drive itself was meditating to Dean. He could distract himself with songs, drone out Sebastian who attended many calls, only a few of which Dean had to answer to every now and again.

All their pages had been diverted to the castle staff and the special armies back at his own Headquaters. He did feel a little guilty about missing his cases, but this was a well-planned idea to be near his family - shall they need him at all.

When he pulled up into the packed parking lot, his two cars were immediately guided towards a few reserved spots - requested by Sebastian.

As planned, one of his men, Dakota Fanning, would be in the centre. Sebastian and Dean would flank him, followed by Reed Sed and Raya Slim (the only girl of the group). She was there only because she was an excellent fighter, the rest of the men were for the purpose of not singling Dean out as the Leader.

Everything was practiced.

Except for what actually happened.

They'd taken a lift up. When the doors opened, he hadn't expected the shortness of breath that came to him when he met her eyes . . .

Ms Heart.

Dressed royally in pastel colours and gloves that crossed her elbows. Jewellery and make-up so perfect that she might as well have been an angel. Her hair in carefully messy piles atop her head that didn't suit her naturally. Her smile was as fake as ever, but it flatened when she saw him too, almost as instantly as him. Her eyes were raw to him, and his heart made a giddy jump - before it slowed in disappointment: he was about to find out who she is.

Dakota stepped forward with a hand. She seemed to snap out of her shock and promptly presented it. Dokota kissed her glove while bowing, and she curtsied.

Dean didn't like it; it was all just so make-believe.

'Dakota Fanning,' Dean's personnel introduced.

Her eyes strayed to Dean's in wariness and he thought he saw her swallow. She didn't want him to know her name either.

Despite his knowledge that names would ruin their vague familiarity, he still held his breath when she said it.

'. . . Leader Y/N L/N.'

Not a stranger anymore, Dean thought, bittersweet.

It earned you another bow from the whole group this time (and a curtsy from Raya).

No wonder you were so artificial. You were a Leader too . . . Like Dean.

'I'm Sebastian Slay,' Dean's assistant said. 'We talked on the phone.'

You gave a slight nod. The same response you gave to everyone until it was Dean's chance.

'Gary Plant,' he said, as rehearsed.

Your brows furrowed as if you were trying to figure out if he was lying again. Bemused, he raised his eyebrows playfully at you. You seemed to gather yourself.

'If you would please follow Mr Griffith up the stairs, and he would lead you to the rooms you'll have for the night.'

Dean recognised the twins from the other night. One with a scar and one without. The identical brothers exchanged a quick glance behind your back - apparently placing Dean's faces in their memories as well. One of them cracked a smug smile while the other neared you as if he feared your safety.

The happy dude would be the one to guide them all upstairs. Dean stepped around you, the Leader, to follow his team when your voice stopped him.

'Mr Plant,' you said. 'Could we have a word?'

Sebastian spared a curious glance but he didn't make a big deal about waiting for his boss - or it might give Dean's status away. All of Dean's guards uneasily walked away from him, without blowing his cover.

Dean posed a radiant smile himself, tipping his head in the other Mr Griffith's direction who had a sore glare on his face.

'Alone?' Dean asked.

'If you'll come with me,' you agreed.

You were freaking the fuck out. As the towering man trailed behind you to the first empty room you could find - which wasn't for a while - you wondered how many secrets he had divulged to his Leader. Or worse, what if he was the Leader? There was at least a twenty-five percent chance of that.

You knew he had been rich to have been in a five-star hotel. You knew he had to have been some sort of official with how respectfully people had treated him. But how could he be an official of that high a level when he behaved the way he did?

Nothing about his demeanor screamed to you a fucking Leader. Not to mention the most legendry one of all times. The way he's playful, or mysterious. The way he casually flirts. The way he lets his guards down to strangers.

You're not a stranger anymore, came the distressing warning in your mind. He knew you.

And he knows you. A little more than most people in your life did.

You shut the door to a broom closet, locking it behind you. A light flickered on over your head - Mr Smith, or Mr Plant, or whoever the fuck he was, had found a switch for the dangling lamp that gave the room a dim glow.

He had a dazzling smile in place. 'I was hoping to run into you.'

'Why are you here?' you gritted out, holding onto your decorum barely. There was a sense of betrayal underneath the anxiousness.

'I'm here to work,' he said.

'You are here to spy on me,' the accusation left you. The last reaction you had expected, came from him.

He laughed.

Your jaw clenched and you moved swiftly than he anticipated from you in the gown. He was pressed against the wall with a dagger to his throat. His smile melted into something smirkier, resembling cockiness.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you.' There was an edge of danger lurking to him; like he was still in complete control of the situation.

'Who are you?' you asked, unbudging.

'For now? Gary Plant,' he said.

You couldn't spot any sign that he was lying. 'What does that mean?'

'I'm not going to compromise the position of my Leader just because you feel unsafe,' he said, as if reading your mind. 'Not everything is about you.'

You scowled at him. 'But you just said you were looking for me.'

'I was hoping to run into you,' he repeated.

'Why?' you demanded.

'Work doesn't have to be boring,' he shrugged, unbothered by the cold blade at his addam's apple. 'I can enjoy your company while serving my continent.'

'I don't understand you.'

'I think you're the only one who does,' there was a surprising sincerity you thought you felt. His eyes - you'd never seen them so serious. It compelled you to lower your hand, and step back. It was almost as if his green were controlling you.

'You're playing me.'

He gave you half a smile, stepping up to look down at you from a feet away that made you conscious. Your bonus six inches almost brought you eye-to-eye with him.

'What do you think can I do with your favourite colour or your most embarrassing hunt?' he rationally asked.

Logically, there wasn't a single dent he could make in your reputation by the knowledge he possessed - no one had ever asked you that information because it was irrlevant to life; who cares about pets or birthdays anyway? (You never had an animal and you never celebrated a birthday.)

Spies care.

Love and hate cared about these stupid things.

Why would anyone feign interest unless it was to spy on you? Obviously, this man hated you or something.

You suddenly stepped away from him, pointing your dagger at his chest. He didn't try to lessen the distance but stared at you unimpressed.

'Why did you ask me those questions?' your voice was sharper, strict with awareness of what all unknown things this man could do to you.

'To get to know you,' he said, tinged with incredulity. 'Lower the weapon, darling. You're making a fool of yourself.'

You scoffed, 'You did make a fool of me. I should've never opened my mouth in the first place!'

'You're not serious,' he said.

'Why else would you want to get to know me?' you snarled. 'You already must have known I was a Leader and you wanted leverage! You were testing me for your Leader. He killed Gordon, didn't he? You all must be here to test me - if I fail—!'

'Are you listening to yourself?' he sharply ran over your irrational rant. It made you tense and flex your daggered hand.

His eyes didn't even flick to the weapon.

'Is it so hard to believe that I asked you those questions because I thought you are attractive?'

Cold-hearted? Yes. Deadly? Of course. Bitch? Behind your back. A fucking snake? Somebody called you that on their deathbed, after you put them there.

You are everything but attractive or beautiful - or whatever this person calls you. Last time you ignored his compliment, because you believed he was trying to butter you up for something. Did he want to know your trade secrets? Does he want insider information to kill your army?

He looks like a Trojan Horse to you: pretty packaging for lethal destruction.

You will not have a man force your gaurds down.

'You are a liar,' you said. 'I can't kill you as it will be offensive to your Leader. But you're still on my land.'

'You hold no power over me,' he said, authoritatively. He seemed to mean it.

You smiled. 'I have no power over my fellow Leader. Since you are only his lackey who threatens my safety . . . .' You yelled then, 'Boa, now!'

Your gaurds poured in to arrest Mr Smith. Contrary to your expectations, he didn't fight. Just like he didn't want to fight you when you told him that you could have him thrown out of the bar. It was like he was respecting your wishes without fulfilling them. You didn't understand him.

'You will regret this,' he growled as your people handcuffed you.

'Tell me your name, and I leave you,' you shrugged.

He stared at you defiantly, looking dangerous even when surrounded by your men. Your fear cemented your resolve.

'Take him, and release him only when they're ready to leave tomorrow.'

'You will regret this, Y/N!' he said over his shoulder even as he walked out, simmering but without fight.

'It's Lady Y/N to you!'

Sebastian was laughing as soon as the guards left him alone with Dean. He was laughing harder than he had in years.

'You got arrested,' he wheezed.

'Not. Funny.'

Dean glared from the other side of the jail. His fingers curled around the cold rusted bars. He wanted to cuff his best friend in the head, but he knew that Sebastian was a step too far.

'This has to be some kind of a record,' Sebastian chuckled, wiping his eyes.

'Look, ha-ha. Can you get me out of here without blowing my cover?'

Trusting you wasn't the problem; the Eastern Leader just thought that Gordon had to have help from someone in the continent - someone who very well may be present at the Ball tonight. Besides helping Sam and Jessica, their motive was to root out the whistleblower - thus, Dean's fake alias. This whistleblower, if he knew Dean was attending, could tip the Leviathans off and hurt this western side of the continent and many innocent Governors along with the temp Leader.

'Why would I do that?' Sebastian snorted.

'Sebastian!'

He raised his hands to placate his boss. 'Even if I make something up - whatever you did, really pissed her off.'

'I didn't do anything!' Dean was close to screaming. He lowered his voice, almost as if he was embarrassed. 'I just told her . . .' he rolled his eyes at himself, '. . . complimented her.'

A sly smile curled on Sebastian's lips. 'You dog! You've slept with her before.'

'What, no!' Dean's cheeks burned. 'I . . . I met her. Once. And . . . we . . . we talked. That's all!'

Sebastian got an unbelievably smug look at that, the opposite of what Dean hoped. 'Oh, my God, you like her!'

'Are we in middle school?' Dean's face was red. 'I met her once, we talked for half a night. It was fun. It's over! Can we focus on the real problem here?'

'Sure.' Sebastian's tone said that it was anything but over. He did as asked though, 'Well, like I told you, she's not nice.'

'I figured that out,' Dean gritted. He wasn't humiliated except for the part where Sebastian tried to talk to him about his feelings. Mostly, Dean was pissed. He was powerless from a fucking cell, and if he blew his cover, he was vulnerable. Somehow, within the five minutes that he managed to freak you out, you had managed to corner him. How the fuck does something like that happen?

How can you both so easily threaten each other? Emotionally or otherwise.

'The best way to earn her trust would be to do nothing,' Sebastian said what Dean had already figured out.

He hadn't felt as helpless, even if it was only for the night, since he was a child. He groaned, 'I hate that bitch.'

Sebastian's answering laugh told Dean that his assistant agreed to disagree.

Appetizers were making you queasy; the idea of Mr Smith consuming and braving the prison food in solitude wasn't treating your stomach right. It was frustrating that Mr Smith's prisonment should bother you. To be validated, you refused to call him anything but "Smith" in your mind because that was the crime he had committed - it was because of that name that you had condemned him - any other rational explanation might make you retract your verdict.

You breezed through political conversations with ease, trying to affirm confidence in every Governor, making them like you by talking to them about their hobbies that you'd learned. Making them feel special as you'd learned all their names, and joking with them into the night. You even danced with quite a few. To your absolute surprise, most of them were pleasant. Charming, even. They all seemed to match a bit of your wit, and your nervousness about working in Europe was slowly waning. Your social battery wasn't draining as quickly as it used to at American parties - none of the men here only saw you as a piece of meat, but they conversed with you as if they knew you had a brain. It was rather refreshing. It was almost like they had respect for you.

Until they decided to court you.

Even with all those positives, almost all of the conversations left you wanting to bang your head against a wall. You rejected everyone, of course - some took it graciously, some seemed to pretend that they hadn't been rejected at all, and some just didn't quit. The last kind was something to avoid.

Mr Smiles-A-Lot, as you called him, or Governor Slander Sail approached you as you finished with the Bulgarian governors. He was the Governor of Switzerland. He bowed, taking your hand and pecking it as you curtsied. He had his famous smile attached to his lips, and it even looked genuine.

'Lady Y/N,' he acknowledged. 'We've heard so much about you.'

'I'm sure it was to warn you,' you joked, applying a bit of charm yourself. 'I'm fairly lethal, Mr Sail.'

'You know everyone's name,' he chuckled. 'Pretty and clever - I don't think they warned us enough.'

You laughed uncomfortably. 'You flatter me. I shall tell you - it will get you nowhere.'

'Maybe a dance will change your mind?'

You shook your head but accepted. He twirled you around gracefully, keeping a respectful distance and leading you well. Soon, you relaxed under the influence of his jokes and infectious laughter. He didn't try to praise you again until the very end.

The song ended, and you stepped away, but he clung to your hand, asking for a second to talk.

'Is it true you're open to court, my lady?' he wondered, taking you to the edge of the dance floor.

You tensed right back up. 'People are allowed to try,' you said, smiling tightly.

He read between the lines. 'I'm sorry,' he let go of you. 'I didn't mean to push you.'

His apology surprised you. Before you could assure him that it was part and parcel of the party, he bowed to you in departure.

'Have a good night.'

He was the first and last man to not hit on you after you expressed your irate. Conclusion, he seemed to be the only decent one.

You happened to overhear the huddle around the radio chatter. It was mostly white noise until the sound of gunshots and panicked responses randomly popped through. The four people from the Eastern Leader's office were listening so closely to it that they didn't notice you until your shadow hovered over them like a dark cloud.

Sebastian was the first to peel away from the walkie-talkie with a grimacing smile.

'Lady Y/N.'

'What's going on, Mr Slay?'

His eyes darted to the room where most people were flocked near the buffet tables next to the dance floor. They were on a secluded table, heads put together.

'We're . . . keeping track . . . of the Leviathan fight.'

What Sebastian won't tell you is that this job had been Dean's who was previously planning to sit in the room with Dakota and Reed. Dean couldn't have come to the party either way because the Governors might recognize him, which is why his job would've been to keep an ear on the whole thing. With him in jail, Sebastian decided it would be best if all the men stuck together so that you didn't get suspicious that someone was trying to free Dean from jail. Which landed them here, listening to the fight on their radio.

'You're eavesdropping,' you icily said.

'Jessica and Sam are going for the neck!' the speaker crackled to life.

Sebastian guiltily winced. 'We can stop?'

He wasn't guilty about listening, he was guilty about being caught. You could see in their eyes that none of them were going to stop. You wanted to scold them for compromising privacy but you paused.

None of the men here had socialised all night; you realised that it was by design so that if any of these men were Dean, then the Governors wouldn't give it away. Even their faces were mostly shadowed at their selected table. They were all only here, listening to the radio, sticking with one another, because they were a man down - because of you.

Plus, Dean's brother and sister-in-law were off to war. You remembered the agonizing wait of not knowing if your own brother would return from his special assignment of Raphael or not. Sympathy thawed your strictness and you decided you could be lenient enough for even Mr Smith to listen in.

'For the record,' you said. 'I was never here. You all excused yourself for an early night but went to visit your friend downstairs instead to listen to "songs" on a radio. I shall be seeing you all off when you leave tomorrow morning,' you ended with a warning.

You marched away.

'I really think you are not taking enough advantage of the open bar, Governor,' you said with a fake smile. You wanted to get this French man's slobbering kisses away from your glove and then you wanted to burn this glove and the dress to signal the angels so they could strike you with lightning or something.

When you were able to shake off the pervert, you escaped the humungous ballroom with two drinks in your hands, hoping to catch a minute to yourself, using the back paths to go unnoticed. You finished your drinks disappointingly quickly and left them in front of the kitchen doors before rushing to the garden you hadn't had the time to explore yet. When you burst out the doors from the side of the castle that allowed everyone to walk over the underground parking, the chill air washed over you. It cooled your flushed skin and gave you time to shudder. You focused on the dense surrounding forest and the land rolling with grass. You could hear the crickets in the night.

You took a seat on the bench against the palace wall, giving yourself a few minutes. You practiced deep breathing and counted to hundred. The buzz from the alcohol made you forget a few numbers, and you could hear Mrs Stun for reprimanding you that you'd overdone it.

Anger like a hot balloon grew in your chest, threatening to burst at your mother - because she was practically selling you as a washed-out Leader - she was having you fix up in a marraige so that when you were let off from your position, you could settle. You tried not to let that insult be personal - it was a rule of your world, all very patriarchal - but your own mother didn't think you would last long.

While you were on that topic, anxiety related to Mr Smith came back. You were sure that if Mrs Stun were still alive, she would scold you for imprisoning him too. She had always been so much better at this than you. She wouldn't have felt insecure enough to arrest Mr Smith - arrest the person who could be the Eastern Leader, and if so, he could make your life hell without doing much.

But if you were talking about insecurities, you also needed to think how you fucking opened up to Mr Smith in the first place. Yes, Mrs Stun would have stopped you right there. No more disasters then. She would never have made the mistake of letting you talk to a complete stranger. That's such bad PR.

It feels like your confidence in your decisions is shaken after she's gone. She used to approve your every move. Now, you have no fucking filter!

You were only a good hunter, a good survivor. It was your job to protect Mrs Stun and her family because that was the one thing you are good at . . . Or maybe you've just been fooling yourself. Maybe you rely too much on your team, maybe that's why you've been floundering without Mrs Stun. If you remove the Griffith brothers, Ms Doll and Mr Syl - you'll be a nobody.

'I can't think like that!' you told yourself, speaking over your thoughts. 'You'll be the best Leader. You're born to be a Leader.' Your affirmations echo what your brother has always told you. You listen to his voice with a deep breath. 'I am a good Leader. I'm a survivor.'

Yeah, you thought. I make good decisions.

You decided to let Mr Slay and team go see Mr Smith, right? Even though you did that out of empathy, it was an olive branch - sort of.

Maybe you could've released Mr Smith altogether. Then again, it would've been a sign of weakness.

'A good Leader trusts her instincts,' you said. Your instincts told you that Mr Smith was a danger, so you heeded that advice. Your instincts told you that he made you weak, so you listened to them. He penetrated all your mental gaurds so he had to go.

And you will stand by your decision and face the consequences because that's what a good Leader would do. A good Leader never admits defeat - they are survivors.

Your reverie was broken with sound of hurried footsteps from the stone corridor. They grew louder until a panting man burst into the subdued moonlight.

'Mr Slay,' you rose, startled.

He swiveled towards the bench. 'Y/N, we need gaurds at the perimeters. And we need to let them in!'

You pursed your lips because he called you by your name, but given how huffy he was, you decided to let that slide.

'Let who in?' you said, calmly.

'The Winchesters,' he said. Your eyes widened.

'Are the Leviathans—?'

'Dead,' he confirmed. 'But the mosters in their support, they need to be fended off - they're chasing the Winchesters back here!'

'How far are they?' you asked, running back with him inside - as fast as your heels and bulky gown would carry you. Your shoes made a dreadful rhythm against the ground, barely keeping up with Sebastian's lengthy strides.

'An hour.'

'Good enough. Get Boa, he has the keys to Mr Smith - or Plant - whatever you call him. I assume he's a good fighter?'

'The best. Prepare some hunters. If we don't dismiss the initial wave of monsters, they can seal us in for days. We need to scare them off.'

You were surprised by his confidence and audacity but you realised this wasn't the time to deal with it. Maybe Dean Winchester's men operated in a different manner, somtimes ordering the Leaders?

'Very well,' you agreed before parting ways.

Gaurds were posted. The Governors pitched in their few men as well, and some even went themselves to the border. Selina requested whoever knew the slightest thing about medical aide to wait back and help - you were in that crowd. Along with Sebastian, and Mr Smith. The Griffith brothers were gone to the gates. A few people like Sal would be the middlemen, bringing the injured in.

When the first line of wounded tided in, the infirmary was thrown into a quickwitted frenzy. The less injured were pawned off to the amteurs like you while the terminal cases went to the surgeons and diagnosticians.

Over the clamour of moans, groans and grunts, over the machines and orders, over the whine of the patient whose hand you were relocating, if you really focused on your listening, you would hear the faint battle cries outside. It took a measure of self-control to not leave the side of your patient; you can fight monsters with ease but saving these lives was harder and far more important right now.

When you were done with the first one, you moved to a simple sprain on another.

You had a moment to sweep your eyes over the room. Sebastian and Mr Smith were a few beds away from you.

Governor Sail flew into your vision when he came to help the bed next to you - he shared a grim smile with you before he discussed symptoms; you didn't have time to think how weird that had been.

You must've passed through three more patients when you noticed a tall six-foot three man stumbling in, head bleeding and feet unsteady, carrying an unconscious woman in his arms. As he fell, you lunged forward to save the woman's head.

'I need a doctor here!' you yelled, your hand flying to the cloth tied around the poor woman's waist. She was bleeding heavily through the cloth; as if she had been stabbed through and through.

'Help!' gasped out the man who seemed more worried about the woman in his kneeling lap than himself. You noticed the wedding bands on their held hands.

'Lord and Lady Winchester!' Raya Slim announced to draw more help in. Reed Sed was on her heels. You realized with no less amount of horror that this was all that was left of the Asian Leaders.

Sam started to tip to one side, and Raya cushioned him with her body - which would have been comical in another situation given the height difference; Sam was almost twice the Raya's size. Reed was more focused on Jessica, he carried her out and onto a bed. You waited to help Raya lift the large man. Even sharing his weight didn't make carrying Sam Winchester easy.

'Sammy!' yelled a familiar voice. Suddenly, the heaviness of Sam was being pulled away from your shoulders and Mr Smith was bodily hefting him.

Their resmblance shocked you even if there had been a twenty-five percent chance . . .

No, no, no - it can't be him!

The green-eyed man carried away Sam Winchester with relative ease. He checked his pulse, he checked for wounds. Mr Smith's hand only came away with blood once - it was a head trauma.

'Somebody help!' another cry shook you out of your denial. 'I need someone who can perform CPR!' it was the snake-eyed Governor Hart Hale who screamed; you went to help him.

You lost count of people you helped. Even as the patients with less injuries lessened, there were more people in cirtical care. You got pulled into a surgery or two where all you had to do was wipe the sweat off the surgeons' foreheads.

Your dress was a mess by the time the infirmary quieted down and your legs felt like they were dying too. You wanted so much to have a seat and drink some water before you passed out and added to the problems of your overworked doctors.

Yet, you swept a glance over the room, making sure there was no one left to help. Your eyes paused on Mr Smith who was pacing Sam Winchester's bedside anxiously. Sam's eyes were shut but he was twicthing restlessly in his sleep, moaning his wife's name now and again.

You hesitated and were about to go over when a large crash sounded from one of the operation rooms; someone screamed bloody murder. You reached the room before anyone else, wrenching the door ajar - your dagger drawn.

A vampire had somehow invaded the room from the nearest window and broke through the safe and sanitized confines of the surgical room, infecting the sterilized area with germs. It had attacked the nearest doctor, slashing through the shoulder of the medic, rendering him useless. The doctor's blood had distracted it and it was ripping into his neck.

You kicked it away from the injured doctor and brought down your machette at its neck before it could do more damage, spraying everyone with its blood.

'Suction!' the lead doctor yelled.

'The patient's crashing!' shouted another.

You kicked the lolling head and body of the monster away from the surgoens' feet, trying to be less of a nuisance to them. You tore a piece of your dress - you'd been doing that a lot to your severely puffy ball gown throughout the night - and applied it to the wounded doctor's neck.

Inspite of quick action, it seemed like the vampire had done its job.

Not only was losing a set of hands for the operation bad, but also, the exposure of the chest cavity to Europe's frigid night air made the stablised patient take a turn for the worst.

Your eyes drifted to the open door where an open-mouthed Mr Smith stared with paralyzing terror at the patient. You mustered more courage to notice the patient's face yourself.

The innocent and peaceful face of Jessica met your eyes - an image that would probably haunt you as much as Mrs Stun.

The doctors screamed orders rapidly, almost incoherently, it seemed to you.

The machine hooked to the woman stilled with a shrill grating sound: Jessica Winchester had flatlined.

All your heartbeats seemed to still with hers for a moment, in solidarity.

The doctors couldn't resuscitate her.

All your hearts began pounding, knowing hers had stopped forever.

The time of death was 10.23 p.m.

It was also at 10.23 p.m. that you saw Mr Smith gripping the doorframe so that his knees wouldn't buckle - and there was no shadow of doubt left in your mind.

This crying man is Leader Dean Winchester.

A/N: Cost of being human is pain, I suppose . . .

{P.S.: I posted a day early because I have a personal emergency and just wanted to get this out of the way today. Hope you guys are having a better day than I am 🙂🙃! Take care, and please be safe out there ❤️.}

Tag List.

@stoneyggirl2 @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @emma1998sblog

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zoropookie · 10 months ago

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Hey so uh could we get a soft sweet moment of ynkiss and hhab scara in the orchard I mean always thought they got a poetic vibe to them romantic too idk maybe we got something like that already I don't remember lol sorry if that's the case maybe like resting on each other shoulders or like smth brief like that please please please whenever you have the time make it happen (iam the English not my first person Soo uhm if anything seemed vague sorry also really love your ficss)

Besides the modernity of how the two of them lived, the orchard spreading in longevity. Woven from its threads of a later summer, rows and rows of apple trees standing tall, branches heavy with the vow of their harvests. Air rich with the scent of the ripened fruits they have yet to pick.

Kuni and you walked down the path between the orchards trees, and his gaze drifted upwards towards the sky. He observed the way the light of the sun filters through the leaves while the shadows below them did a dance with the grass. For once in the years that he stayed here, has he realized how peaceful they were. Every gnarled branch of older trees, stretched wide like the arms of an old friend.

The stillness settled in him, eased tension that had been a companion for as long as he could remember. The elation he felt watching you, a few paces away picking apples and gathering them into a woven basket, was similar to a cool weight. You looked ofer, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. “Hey! I was getting the red ones ready for sale, but I saved some really good ones for our picnic.”

His lips twitched upward, there was a soft blooming that grew in his chest as he watched you carefully pluck them off the tree. “We’ve never done that.”

“Right? I never realized how many stuff we just don’t do as a couple. Why not start?” Your eyes were bright with a quiet excitement, going back to the task. “There’s nothing for both of us to do today. How many times are we going to get this chance, Kuni?! I wanted to take advantage of it, anyway. What do you think we should get? Do you want sandwiches?”

His eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing. “Yeah.” He drawled, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “This is weird. I don’t know how to feel.”

“You could feel grateful,” You suggested, your eyebrows rising with a slight tilt of your head. “Maybe…elated that I’m an amazing partner? That’s so willing to do things for you? Unfathomably?”

“All of the above…” He felt disjointed watching you, almost trying to gauge you actually having a genuine outlook on him. It was still unbelievable, he couldn’t properly articulate what was happening right now. Especially from how uncomfortable he was. “But stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

He paused, struggling to find the right words. “That. The prepping for the picnic, you’re supposed to let me do all of it. I’m the provider.”

Your eyes dulled. “I can help too.”

“You don’t do it like I do.” He watched you, severely skeptical but softening with every word. The way the light caught in your hair while it was swaying from the leaves. The sincerity in your eyes— it disarmed him from anything else. If they were to be in severe danger, he’d be too enamored to pay attention. “Alright, but only because you’re working hard.”

“Does it make you nervous? You barely have anything to say right now.” You asked, your tone playful.

“Yeah.” He walked closer to you while you’re picking apples, holding your waist as his eyes stared at your back with internal longing. The feeling of an adoration was warm and unfamiliar, but with the foliage and greenery of the garden around the two of you, you looked royal to him. “I’ll adapt with you if you plan on putting some more weight in.”

“I don’t know about all that, I still know my place here.” You said with a dull tone.

#zoropookie #♡ hhab asks #hhab archive

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6oydyke · 3 months ago

Text

— A Comprehensive Guide to the Relationships of Frankie Davis AKA Frankie's Relationship Charts Explained (Ongoing, Part 1)

Word Count — 6.45k

AN: I am super hyperfocused on my Yellowjackets OC Frankie right now so I wanted to outline his relationships while I'm still penning all of his lore. I'll be updating his charts through the seasons as I finish writing them. :) My writing features a tmasc!Nat (he/him/they) and a genderqueer!Van (they/he) so just a heads up! It's not super important to the lore, mostly just a personal headcanon. Naomi Lynch belongs to @honestlynervousnut

Pre-Crash Chart !

Frankie has always liked and respected Taissa Turner. She has a good head on her shoulders, charming Frankie's lifelong neighbor and friend Van. Tai can be a bit of an asshole at times, but hell, so can Frankie. Frankie admires Tai — admires her confidence, her take no shit attitude, and of course admires the way she's got Van wrapped around her finger. Frankie is constantly poking fun at Van for his hopelessly obvious crush on Tai, though truth be told he's far too intimidated by Taissa to try and befriend her, as much as he'd love to be closer to her. Despite coming across as bold and carefree to many of his peers, Frankie has always struggled to make friends, being constantly bullied due to being nearly a year younger than most of his peers since his birthday falls after the cutoff date. Tai feels admittedly neutral towards Frankie in return, although due to his proximity to Van she'd like to get to know him better. She likes the way he can make Van light up, and laugh for real, a hyena-esque snort laugh that practically bursts from the ginger as opposed to the sarcastic "haha" they greet some of their other teammates with. With Taissa being an AP student, she and Frankie's paths don't cross very often except on the soccer field which is why she feels more neutral than anything else towards him, but she respects his skill and dedication on the field, believing him to be a good potential friend.

Frankie feels fairly neutrally towards Jackie Taylor, though hints of dislike slip into these feelings. To be quite honest, Frankie doesn't think about Jackie all that often. He doesn't truly dislike her, but she tends to annoy him with how bossy she can be and her clear soft spot for Shauna at times getting in the way of her being the best possible captain for the Yellowjackets. Sometimes he'll poke fun at Jackie behind her back with Van but mostly because she's the captain of the Yellowjackets, not because of her specifically as a person. Unfortunately for Jackie, any shit she gets from Frankie is tied to her role on the team rather than her actual personality. Frankie actually thinks Jackie is quite sweet, but whenever something on the field pisses him off he generally will end up placing the blame on the poor captain. If he's in a pissy mood Frankie might tease Jackie — she's a rather easy target although Frankie tends to feel shitty after ripping into her, cheeks flaming red with shame. Despite Frankie's petty attitude towards Jackie, the captain of the Yellowjackets respects and admires him in return. Jackie respects the way Frankie is completely himself, admiring his skills on the field and his determination to improve with each practice. Unlike Frankie, Jackie never seems to hold a grudge, always brushing off Frankie's bitchiness as him having a bad day, continuing to treat him with kindness and respect nevertheless. Although Jackie doesn't know the extent of Frankie's home life, as it's something he tries to keep from the rest of the Yellowjackets, she's heard rumors and admires the butch's resilience as well.

Frankie and Shauna don't really have any type of relationship whatsoever. They're not friends, rivals, enemies, or anything in between. They're simply teammates. Frankie feels entirely neutrally towards Shauna. She doesn't tend to hang around with his friends, and similarly to Tai is in a lot of AP classes. Frankie doesn't really have a strong opinion on Shauna at all — similarly to Tai and Frankie the two don't often cross paths aside from at practice. While both Shauna and Frankie are extremely competitive, and will occasionally joke in the locker room their relationship doesn't go beyond that. If Frankie is petty with Jackie, however, Shauna is even pettier when it comes to Frankie. While Shauna is fairly neutral on Frankie in return, she's certainly not his biggest fan. While she's not committed to disliking him, she pettily leans towards disliking the butch due to his petty treatment of Jackie. She'll give him death glares when he teases her, oftentimes letting a snarky remark about his fugly mullet slip in return. Though Frankie doesn't much care what Shauna thinks of him, this doesn't stop her from holding a bit of a grudge against him for his treatment of the Taylor girl.

Nat and Frankie's relationship started as children living in the same trailer park. The pair and Van all grew up in the same trailer park, quickly forming a bond as strong as brotherhood, united by their hatred for their given names (Natalie, Frances, and Vanessa). Despite Nat and Frankie's close relationship as children, in middle school they were forcefully separated by Michael (Frankie's father) when he caught Frankie, Nat, and Van smoking a joint outside of Nat's trailer. When Frankie joined the Yellowjackets he was unaware that Nat (and Van), his oldest friends were on the team, as he was out of touch with Wiskayok High's culture and extracurriculars. Though embarrassed at first, as Frankie was the only junior on the JV team that year, Frankie eventually rekindled his relationship with Nat after getting through a rough patch in his relationship with Van. Nat had been eager to befriend Frankie once more, though out of loyalty to Van he'd been on rocky terms with the butch until they worked things out. Nat and Frankie found it easy to fall back into their old dynamic afterwards, especially when senior soccer season came around and they were both on varsity. Their mutual familial view of each other is one of the strongest bonds Frankie has ever known. They have a strong mutual respect for one another, although while Frankie still views Nat as a best friend, Nat's not sure he can continue to equate his level of friendship with Van and Frankie. See, Van and Nat only got closer while Frankie was forced out of their lives, and as pleased as Nat is to have Frankie back in his life, it will take time for his bond with Frankie to be restored completely. While Nat is dependable and Frankie trusts him without a doubt, Nat isn't quite so sure he can trust Frankie anymore, despite still loving him as a brother.

Although he doesn't always like him, Frankie massively respects Coach Ben. He always went out of his way to be kind to the butch when he played JV, giving him pointers and cracking jokes on the sidelines with him. Ben had kind of taken Frankie under his wing to be completely honest. Due to his friendship with guidance counselor Naomi Lynch, who had been the one to encourage Frankie to join a team, Ben knew a bit about Frankie's situation. Aside from what Naomi told him, he'd heard the rumors of Frankie's home life, noticing a cross shaped scar on the palm of his hand one night after practice as they talked while picking up cones. Frankie grew to trust Ben during his time on JV, a few times feeling bold enough to confide in him about his academic situation and feeling of purposelessness, though he was never bold enough to confirm what little Ben knew about his home life. Ben likes Frankie, both admiring and respecting his dedication and determination both on and off the field. While he tries to come across as detached and uncaring about his job and his players, Frankie helps to spark his passion, bringing out a kinder, softer, almost fatherly side of him.

Frankie has always liked and respected Mari. He finds her amusing and she was one of the better JV players when they were on it together the previous year. Although she oftentimes doesn't quite measure up this year on varsity, leading to her being primarily a substitute, Frankie still is fond of the girl, cracking jokes and offering her smiles of encouragement whenever they cross paths. Mari likes Frankie in return, secretly viewing him as a brother figure due to his propensity to laugh at her jokes and crack them in return, oftentimes taking the opportunity to show her new moves on the field. He's always giving her high fives when she facilitates a particularly good play, and Mari admires this about him. Despite her ego being too big to express this, Mari would really like to officially befriend Frankie, respecting him a lot more than some of their other teammates.

Frankie has always felt a petty dislike of Lottie. From the outside she seems to have it all, and Frankie has always resented Lottie's obnoxious wealth due to coming from an impoverished family himself. Frankie has never made an effort to befriend Lottie or really have a one-on-one conversation with her, leading him to mistakenly assume she's just another spoiled rich girl who still finds a way to complain about her father at every turn. He feels a bit uneasy around her, as if expecting her to poke fun at his own financial situation or the way he presents himself. To be quite frank, Frankie has Lottie all wrong. He's too blinded by his own petty dislike of the girl to ever get to know her properly. While he certainly doesn't hate the girl, at times even leaning into more neutral territory, his false assumptions about her get in the way of befriending her or getting to know her on more than a surface level. Despite Frankie wrongfully assuming Lottie holds a sort of disdain for him, Lottie is rather neutral on Frankie, although she respects the butch. He's never made an effort to talk to her, so she hasn't really had anything to go off of to determine a strong opinion on him. She does feel a bit uneasy around him; with his propensity to wear his emotions on his face she can sense his disliking her although the feeling is certainly not mutual. She tends to avoid Frankie if she can, not wanting to cause any problems and having enough on her plate that she doesn't much care to start petty drama that her heart's not in.

With Akilah still being JV, Frankie hasn't had much of an opportunity to interact with her. Therefore he feels rather neutral toward her, though he respects her. He respects Akilah's unwavering kindness and her clear dedication to the team despite her not being exceptionally skilled at soccer. Akilah really admires Frankie — his skills on the soccer field and the easy way he jokes. She admires how openly himself he is, and looks up to Frankie on the field due to his leadership position on JV the year before. While she wasn't on the team then, she frequented the Yellowjackets' games, wanting to show school spirit and always having liked soccer. Akilah wants to be Frankie's friend, although she feels a bit shy at approaching the older player.

Javi Martinez both respects and admires Frankie. Frankie has always gone out of his way to include the young boy in soccer drills and has taken him under his wing. Javi was always forced to attend the Yellowjackets’ practices so his father could keep an eye on him what with Javi being his youngest son. He’d found them interesting to watch at first but overtime he grew bored, feeling lonely being left to his own devices of entertaining himself, getting little to no attention from his father who was too busy coaching the team or the players. Frankie is cool though. He’s always commenting on whatever worn comic book Javi’s got resting on his lap, pointing at Javi and winking whenever he makes a good play. Javi trusts Frankie who’s always been kind to him, acknowledging him even when the others don’t. Frankie really likes Javi — he’s chill for a little kid. Javi’s never been very talkative, not having many friends due to his tendency to keep to himself and his quiet nature. This doesn’t bother Frankie though. He’s always got something to say or a joke to crack to make Javi smile shyly. Whether Javi’s aware of it or not, Frankie sees him as the little brother he never had. With Frankie being an only child, Javi gives him the opportunity to be a role model, Frankie quickly taking the boy under his wing. While Javi tends to be rather shy he likes being acknowledged and appreciated, especially when his real brother Travis seems so intent on pretending he doesn’t exist.

Frankie feels mostly neutrally toward Misty Quigley. While he’s never been especially kind to her, oftentimes laughing at Mari’s cruel taunts, and playing harmless albeit humiliating pranks on her with Van, he’s never played an active role in bullying her, leading to Misty’s developing infatuation with him. Unlike so many of the rest of his teammates, Frankie doesn’t feel any strong dislike for the Quigley girl, although nor does he feel any particular sympathy for her. His pulling pranks on her is not out of malice but more because she’s an easy target, and has amusing reactions to them. The pranks are for entertainment and amusement for the team and for both Frankie and Misty – they’re not entirely meant to be at her expense. Frankie doesn’t share in the majority of the team’s disdain or outright hatred of the poodle-haired blonde, but he never goes out of his way to defend her, valuing his place on the team more than their equipment manager who is arguably hopeless with a soccer ball. If Allie or Mari goes too far he’ll call them out with a disapproving shake of his head or a half-hearted attempt to defend Misty, but he doesn’t typically intervene further than that. Nevertheless, Misty admires Frankie for standing up for her, developing an obsessive crush on the butch due to her perception of him as an ally, on top of his exceptional skills on the field. Frankie interests Misty – she’s attracted to his boldness, his charisma, his joking manner, the way he’s unapologetic in his unconventional identity. To Misty, Frankie is everything she’s not causing her to almost idolize him. With Misty’s limited experience with romance, she mistakenly conflates Frankie’s pranks with flirtation, causing an electric jolt to run through her whenever he and Van pull off a particularly good one. Misty badly wants Frankie’s attention, wanting nothing more than to incite a mutual fascination in him, wanting to get close to Frankie at the very least through friendship. Unfortunately for Misty, she doesn’t often cross Frankie’s mind outside of practice. While a part of him finds Misty’s enthusiasm endearing, he’s more weirded out by her than he’d let on.

While Frankie doesn’t feel particularly negatively towards any of his teammates, Travis Martinez is a different story. Frankie doesn’t like Travis at all – in fact he dislikes him so much the feeling borders hatred. Frankie feels rather uneasy around the moody boy, often a target of his homophobic and misogynistic vitriol. Travis openly hates Frankie, secretly harboring a deep resentment towards the butch for his positive borderline familial relationship with both Javi and his father. Although Travis generally pays no mind to his little brother, he’s secretly jealous that Frankie, a butch lesbian, has a better relationship with Javi than he does. Travis’s seemingly only goal in life is to make Frankie’s life a living hell, leaving Frankie wary of him and going to great lengths to avoid him. Still another reason why Travis hates Frankie so much is him being unafraid to fight back verbally. Though Frankie’s not much of a physical fighter he’s confident he could take Travis if absolutely necessary. While Frankie is determined not to give Travis the satisfaction of a brawl, his words cut deep, his bark being worse than his bite. Travis is deeply insecure in his masculinity, feeling threatened by Frankie and his proud butch identity.

Frankie's view of Laura Lee is admittedly narrow and misguided. Frankie's resentment towards the blonde "Jesus freak" has grown over the years due to the blind way she's always clung to the words of Michael's sermons since she was barely a toddler. Although in reality Laura Lee is hardly the religious fanatic Frankie credits her to be, he harbors resentment toward the girl due to his warped perception of her. Throughout his childhood, Frankie was subjected to varying levels of religious abuse at the hands of his parents, led by his father, the pastor Laura practically idolizes. He views Laura Lee's blind belief in his father as an act of hatred, although in reality she believes in the words of the Bible, not Michael specifically. He blindly dislikes Laura Lee, dislike bordering on misguided hatred in a misplaced attempt to protect himself. Despite Frankie's resentment of the girl, Laura Lee is blissfully unaware of his negative feelings towards her, respecting and admiring the butch and making attempts to reach out whenever they cross paths. Laura Lee would like to befriend Frankie, respecting his status as the preacher's child, wanting to become closer to the butch she's been in close proximity to since childhood.

Coach Martinez is like a father figure to Frankie. His advice and constant pushing Frankie to be better on the field encourage the butch, both on and off the field. Due to his poor relationship with his actual father, Coach Martinez is like the loving father Frankie never had. Frankie respects the way he's both encouraging and motivating, never failing to high five one of his players after a particularly good play while simultaneously critiquing his team when necessary, wanting them to be the best they can be both on and off the soccer field. He admires Coach Martinez's clear passion for both the game and the players, his dedication being clear in the way he coaches. Even off the field he and Frankie have a solid relationship, with Frankie trusting the man enough to oftentimes ask for advice. Coach Martinez rather likes Frankie, considering him to be dependable and dedicated on top of being one of his best players. He respects him for certain, allowing him a leadership position on the team. Though he wouldn't admit this to any of the players, he occasionally regrets making Jackie the captain of the Yellowjackets instead of Frankie.

Van and Frankie have a long and complicated history going back to childhood. Van, Nat, and Frankie were an inseparable trio as children, having a bond as strong as brotherhood. While I previously detailed the forced end of this relationship, the following year Van was outed as a lesbian, following which Frankie wasn't even allowed to be outside at the same time Van was, with Frankie's parents making constant disparaging remarks about "Vanessa" while Van was in earshot. This led to Van harboring a strong resentment, mixed with a bit of uneasiness for Frankie, although internally Frankie never bought into the bullshit of his parents. In fact, Van's outing led to Frankie beginning his research into being butch, leading to his own self-discovery. When Frankie joined the Yellowjackets it was the first time he and Van really saw each other again. Frankie was the only upperclassman on JV, being a junior at the time, a fact that embarrassed him profusely. As goalie, Van would oftentimes have to step into JV practices due to the less skilled team not having their own consistent goalie. Due to Van's resentment toward Frankie the pair would often hurl insults at one another, earning them frequent scoldings from Coach Martinez. Although Frankie badly wanted to reach out to Van, he used insults as a defense mechanism, feeling too insecure to allow himself to truly feel hurt by the butch who'd once been like a brother to him. Frankie quickly became a leader of the JV team, throwing himself into the soccer world to cope with the situation, being the only real JV player to give Van as a goalie a run for his money, which eventually led to him winning Van over once more. Frankie had always respected and admired Van, even after being barred from having a friendly relationship with him. Frankie admired the butch for the way they handled being outed, and the way they handled the shit they got from Frankie's parents after the fact. Once the two had made up on the soccer field, they quickly fell back into their old patterns of friendship, quickly rekindling their brotherly bond and mutual view of each other as best friends. Unlike Nat, Van is perfectly content with having multiple best friends, and that's certainly what Frankie and Van are by senior year. Frankie will oftentimes spend nights at Van's when the wrath of his father gets to be too much. With Van's alcoholic mother oftentimes being in a drunken stupor, she's often too intoxicated to even notice the extra person in the trailer, on bad days even mistaking Frankie for Van. Despite their familial bond for the most part being restored, Van slowly begins to develop conflicting romantic feelings for Frankie which confuse them as they very much are still into Tai as well. Van's view on Frankie begins to shift watching him on the field into a sort of warped and idolized version of him, especially after he assists Jackie in winning the game determining the Yellowjackets' spot in the Nationals game. With Frankie being the only other butch Van knows, he grows infatuated with him, feeling an overwhelming amount of confusion for the way he views the other butch. Van strangely views Frankie's game winning assist as him saving the pair of them with both of their home lives slowly growing more unbearable. Van views nationals as their ticket out of Wiskayok, even if only for a short while, associating this prospective fleeting freedom with Frankie himself.

Directly Post-Crash Chart !

Immediately post-crash, Frankie's feelings on Taissa haven't changed. He's quite fond of Tai, respecting her strength and the admirable way she's handling things despite the situation. Tai is constantly checking in on the other Yellowjackets, even taking Ben's feelings into consideration despite some of the others cynically believing he should've died in the crash. Frankie's initial feeling of Taissa having a good head on her shoulders is reaffirmed as Tai repeatedly steps up as a responsible almost motherly figure to her younger teammates and even those she's not as fond of. While precrash!Tai was pretty neutral on Frankie, not having many opportunities to interact with the butch, the crash forces all of the Yellowjackets into close proximity, and Tai finds herself liking Frankie, admiring the way he aided in getting Van off the plane and respecting his resilience after the way his teammates left him. She's apologetic to him, respecting Frankie and feeling grateful for his hand in saving Van.

After the crash, Frankie harbors a great resentment towards Jackie Taylor. The reason why Frankie resents Jackie is because she left him and Van to die on the plane in her rush to save Shauna. While he was never the biggest fan of the blonde before, Frankie was fairly neutral on Jackie before the crash. However, resentment begins to grow when he wakes up still on the plane with footprints on his back, the rest of his teammates having used him as stepping stone when fleeing the plane, crawling out of the wreckage to find Jackie who is shocked to find out that he and Van are still alive. He tries to alert her to Van still being trapped on the plane but much to his chagrin passes out once more, waking up again to hear Van ripping into her for leaving both them and Frankie to the Wilderness. Despite his growing dislike for the girl who would've let him die in his eyes without a care (the entire team thought he was dead hence the footprints on his back though Frankie still blames Jackie), Jackie respects and admires the butch for his dedication to the team and his survival instinct. Although she doesn't know the extent of it, with Frankie doing his best to keep his home life under wraps out of shame and embarrassment, Jackie admires the butch's resilience, especially with surviving the crash, although she feels uneasy about him due to his inability to hide his own feelings towards her.

Shauna and Frankie's relationship hasn't changed much at all with Frankie still feeling largely neutral towards the girl. Shauna can hold a mean grudge though, her neutrality towards Frankie teetering closer and closer to overt dislike given the way Frankie and Van treat Jackie after the crash. Shauna has pretty much entirely written Frankie off, preferring to pretend as if he doesn't exist, not caring immensely about him either way but not taking kindly to his outright resentment of Jackie. Just as before the crash, Frankie doesn't care enough about Shauna to care what she thinks of him but he's perfectly content to stay out of her way unless absolutely necessary.

While Nat and Frankie's brotherly bond had been restored by the time of the crash, Nat secretly begins to doubt their relationship, being unsure of how close they really are anymore — while Nat still very much treasures Frankie he's very aware of how close Van and him have gotten, almost starting to push Nat away. Frankie seems far more drawn to Van at this point than interested in Nat. Nat begins to feel uneasy around Frankie after the crash as he begins to see the decline of Frankie's physical health, and more importantly along with that, his sanity. Frankie on the other hand, feels a powerful devotion to Nat after the crash, his view of Nat as a simultaneous best friend and brother figure only growing. Nat in a way saved him on the plane, securing his oxygen mask when Frankie was paralyzed with fear, only dully aware of the situation at hand. Nat is probably definitely the person Frankie trusts most, especially after he saved his life. Frankie respects and admires Nat over anybody else, in a warped way beginning to worship him after the crash, conflating Nat with his own survival, building Nat up into a pedestalized version of him after the crash. As Nat's unease surrounding Frankie grows, their trust beginning to waver more and more as Frankie begins to lose himself, Frankie only grows to worship Nat more.

Despite Frankie and Ben's positive relationship before the crash, Ben quickly begins feeling uneasy around the butch after the crash. Generally detached from the Yellowjackets, he admittedly fears most of them after overhearing the way some of the girls were discussing the way they wished he had died in the crash. He knows he's in an awkward position around them, feeling exceptionally uneasy around Frankie who seems to be losing himself in the Wilderness almost immediately. The gentle hearted, secretly insecure butch he took under his wing seems to be disappearing, replaced by something far more sinister... While Frankie continues to respect Ben, despite the majority of his teammates quickly turning on him, he no longer feels he can trust the assistant coach, wary that even respecting him might eventually put a target on Frankie's back. While the pair tentatively try to keep their friendly relationship on track, it seems to be doomed though neither knows how to distance from the other.

Frankie's opinions of Mari haven't changed much directly after the crash. The pair were always friendly precrash, with Mari having secretly been Frankie's favorite underclassman. Although not many others do given her snarky and sarcastic nature, Frankie trusts Mari. As much as she'll joke and as mean as she can be, she's dependable both on and off the field. Frankie was pleased when they both made varsity this year, although Mari isn't the most skilled player in comparison to some of the other Yellowjackets. As Frankie begins to morph into a Godlike figure in the Wilderness, Mari is one of his first worshippers, hopelessly devoting herself to the butch. Mari sees Frankie in a similar way that Frankie sees Nat post-crash. She sees him as a brotherly figure, shyly hoping to befriend Frankie though she wouldn't admit it were she questioned on the matter. Mari idolizes Frankie, a fact that he enjoys way more than he probably should. This is another reason that he trusts the girl — she's loyal to him. Mari trusts him in return, looking up to him and constantly looking to the butch for advice on what their next move should be. Her trust may be more blind than she believes but you'll have to stay tuned to know for sure ;). Although Mari initially began idolizing Frankie due to his assist in winning the game earning the Yellowjackets a spot at Nationals, his survival in the crash is really what motivates her to worship him.

I'm anticipating Lottie and Frankie's dynamic to be quite interesting. I'm in the process of writing Frankie's official Wilderness lore and fleshing it out but the first person the Wilderness "chooses" is Frankie, at least in the eyes of the majority of the Yellowjackets. Lottie is currently a big believer in this, though at this point directly after the crash Lottie is still on her medication so this is subject to change as time goes on. Lottie feels uneasy, getting the sense that Frankie will play a very important role as time goes on without rescue, but at this point she highly respects him, although they will eventually become rivals. While not as devoted to Frankie as some of the others like Mari, Van, or Misty, at this time she's participating in the idolization of Frankie, feeding into it although not maliciously. Lottie is conflicted on whether or not she fully believes in Frankie as somewhat of a Godlike figure, but she believes (or at least convinces herself she does), also secretly contributing to Frankie's idolization in a slightly "selfish" way of not wanting to take on the role that she eventually will be forced into after the crash. Both Frankie and Lottie can strangely sense each other's importance, which as stated previously has the potential to become a future rivalry. While before the crash Frankie resented, and even disliked Lottie due to her wealthy status, this petty resentment feels suddenly unimportant to the butch after the crash, high school drama no longer high on the ranks of things on Frankie's mind. Frankie feels rather neutral towards Lottie after the crash, especially as he learns more about her own poor circumstances which in a way mirror his own despite their class differences. Still, there's something about the girl that makes Frankie rather uneasy...

Immediately post-crash, Frankie's feelings on Akilah haven't changed. He remains neutral towards the JV girl as even after the crash they don't interact much, but he still has respect for her. Akilah is a sweet and selfless girl with a gentle soul. Post-crash Akilah is not sure if she admires the person Frankie is slowly becoming, but nevertheless at this point she trusts him, if only because her girlfriend Mari does. Although she's one of the kindest people around, Akilah can be meek, struggling to form her own opinions at times. Since Akilah trusts Mari and Mari trusts Frankie so deeply, surely Frankie must be trustworthy, right?

Post-crash Javi and Frankie mutually view one another as brothers. While Frankie had always liked the young boy, viewing him as the brother he never had, his bond with Javi only strengthens after the crash. Javi continues to trust and admire Frankie who goes out of his way to check in on and include Javi after the crash, taking care of him when Travis refuses to do so. Both Frankie and Javi are utterly devastated by the death of Coach Martinez what with Javi being his biological son, and Frankie's view of the man as a surrogate father, finding solace in each other and their mutual grief when so many of the other Yellowjackets hardly even seem to care. While utterly horrific, his death facilitates the strengthening of Javi and Frankie's bond, urging Frankie to get even more protective over the Martinez boy which only strengthens Javi's trust and reliance on the butch. While Javi is even quieter after the crash, being mute for the first few months following his father's death, this doesn't bother Frankie in the slightest. While Travis rags on his younger brother for this fact, a few of the other Yellowjackets practically forgetting about Javi due to his propensity to keep to himself, this only motivates Frankie to look after the poor boy, something that Javi is immensely grateful for.

Misty's budding obsession with Frankie before the crash begins to completely consume her after the crash. Given her crush on the butch combined with his position in winning the game leading up to nationals she's idolized Frankie for awhile, but her obsession only grows post-crash what with Frankie having been presumed dead before crawling from the wreckage battered and bruised, acting as a hero in aiding in getting Van off the plane, his very survival being the first sign of the Wilderness choosing him. Misty nurses Frankie back to health after the crash, getting off on the control she has over him yet never quite taking advantage of his vulnerable position, though Frankie's not quite sure he believes this. She devotes herself to him, worshipping the ground he walks on and blindly putting all of her trust and faith in him, always eager to second his opinions and advice in a warped attempt to get him to like her. While Frankie finds her parroting his every word more annoying than anything else, in Misty's mind her coming across as likeminded to the butch will put her in a more favorable position. Frankie's neutrality towards the Quigley girl doesn't change much after the crash though it slowly begins to morph into more of a dislike. However, after the crash he grows to resent the girl who nursed him back to health and now follows him around like a lost puppy instead of demanding something in return. Frankie resents her clear obsession with him, resents her surprisingly competent nursing skills (which she has babysitting training to thank for), and quite honestly fears her just a bit, although he'd never admit this. Given the murkiness of Frankie's consciousness directly post-crash given the state of his injuries, Frankie doesn't quite believe the Misty who clearly worships him never took advantage of him, only furthering his unease and fear of the girl. As much as Frankie wants to commit to disliking Misty he can't quite bring himself to after she saved his life after the crash, quite possibly being singlehandedly responsible for his survival. He feels indebted to Misty providing him with another reason to resent her. She's never asked him for anything, even outright worshipping him, yet Frankie feels he owes Misty his life.

While Travis's feelings towards Frankie don't really change at all directly after the crash, aside from maybe his resentment of the butch growing, Frankie's strong dislike for the boy has morphed into full blown hatred. Frankie absolutely despises Travis for the dismissive, unkind way he treats Javi. Instead of being there for his brother after losing a father, Travis if anything seems to almost hate Javi after the crash with him only serving as a reminder that his dad is gone. When not ragging on his younger brother, Travis seems to try to forget Javi, acting as though he doesn't exist, although Javi yearns for the comfort of his older brother. Aside from his disparaging treatment of Javi, Travis's bigotry only worsens directly after the crash, with Travis using it as a defense mechanism against his insecurity surrounding being one of the only men alive in the Wilderness post-crash. With Travis being the coach's son, he never would have participated in Nationals anyway, only furthering his resentment and hatred for the Yellowjackets.

Frankie's misguided dislike for Laura Lee is no longer so prevalent after the crash as he's exposed to her true self more and more. Similarly to his feelings on Lottie, Frankie's priorities no longer lie with upholding a petty, high school drama level view on the religious girl, given the life or death situation of the Wilderness. Still, he can't just get rid of the prejudiced view he's held of the girl for more than a decade, leading to him feeling largely uneasy around Laura Lee. Nevertheless, they strike up a tentative friendship after the crash, with Frankie being drawn to the familiarity of Laura in such an abnormal, frightening situation. Laura Lee continues to respect and admire Frankie, growing to trust and have faith in the butch she's been fond of since childhood. While Frankie's still not entirely sure he likes Laura Lee, she certainly likes him, considering him to be a friend and glad to have bonded with him a bit after the crash. Laura Lee trusts Frankie despite his own wariness towards her.

Van and Frankie's relationship only becomes murkier after the crash. After the crash Van is Frankie's rock (as mentioned he'd often stay at Van's pre-crash), and without question he'd die for them. Although they may not be related by blood, in Frankie's eyes Van is just as much of a brother to him as Travis and Javi are. On top of that, Van is without a doubt Frankie's best friend, and being pretty much the only two butches in Wiskayok given the time period, their best friend bond is only strengthened by shared experience. Though it's not something that Frankie is consciously aware of, he began distancing himself from Nat after winning back Van, leading to a rift in both Nat and Frankie's relationship and Nat and Van's relationship. It is because of Frankie that Van makes it off the plane and as a result of this Van is Frankie's first and most devout worshipper. Frankie is Van's driving force in surviving the Wilderness — everything Van does is for Frankie. Frankie and Tai are Van's primary motivation to stay alive. A post-crash Van has a warped kind of infatuation type crush on the other butch. They greatly admire him and the way he saved them, leading to them misconstruing the Yellowjackets' win as all Frankie's doing despite Jackie actually being the one to score the winning goal. Van harbors an intense resentment towards Jackie, ripping into her for her role in leaving both them and Frankie to die on the plane, implying that she's too stupid to understand that Frankie is the reason they made it to Nationals in the first place, despite this not being the reality. While a young and directly pre-crash Van mutually viewed Frankie as a brother figure, post-crash Van views Frankie as a God.

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sageandred · 10 months ago

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This is a bit long, but my thoughts on Carlos/Season 5:

Gonna say something controversial, but Carlos' storyline has been foreseeable for a long long time now and the show has been laying the groundwork as early as season 1.

Carlos being a ranger and "following in his dad's footsteps" has been hinted at since the first season, and definitely in the works since his investigative journeys with Grace and the missing girl when his boss tells him he should take the Detective Exam. This isn't surprising. Carlos in "Bad Call" was shown to have good instincts and his dad couldn't admit to it (for protocol reasons), but they were shown at a point of contention for their differing work tactics and disagreeing on the kidnapping case with TK. And maybe Carlos "never wanted to be a ranger" and this goes against his beliefs — I get it, but I've always viewed it as he was scared and becoming a detective was inevitable. The moral compass of the Texas Ranger angle and his dad having potentially corrupt actions on his record is interesting and will definitely be a point they address for Carlos either going down a bad path or being conflicted within his rank.

I've had thoughts on this relating to a different topic, but there's a lot of storytelling they could do with Carlos taking on the same title as Gabriel. Could Carlos struggle in this position either with corruption and tough decisions or because following his dad ends up being "too big of shoes to fill"? Could he become so obsessed with the investigation that he loses himself completely and his morals along the way before he pulls himself back? Will Carlos' career upgrade actually make him an even better "officer" and be more fitting of a job calling for him where he challenges the history of the job and sticks to his belief system? This is obviously a connection to Gabriel and his motivations for doing it will come out upon the premiere, but he still has the opportunity to make his own path if he sticks with the title by the end of the season.

Another controversial take, I need to get off my chest: Gabriel and Gwyn's deaths were necessary and narratively vital to progress the characters Here's the thing with Gabriel: he and Carlos did not have a good relationship; they were on the path to mending (..kind-of), but they didn't see eye-to-eye and Carlos' hurt from his coming out was/is still present. I don't really see how they could keep him alive without sacrificing some of the deeper exploration into Carlos' progression and insight to his character. They already set-up the "Carlos, you and dad got along so well" narrative that he doesn't remember via his sisters.. This is important. I've always seen Carlos as viewing Gabriel as a strict father and (with 4x18's knowledge), he didn't fair well as the only son (who's also gay). Carlos is going to have to revisit some childhood memories and the memory of his dad and I don't think he would ever come to some conclusions without the death. Tbh, some mending and epiphanies only come in grief and Carlos realistically probably would never feel close with his dad the way he should've or have untainted views re: his upbringing without the event happening. He will probably feel closer to his dad and come to see Gabriel's personal perspectives & truths more than he ever has, if I'm right about the storytelling.

Lastly, I wanna talk about tarlos and their differing inputs on kids, or uncertainty for the future. I think it's cool that Carlos is shown to lean towards not wanting and they settle to desiring to be together in their own way in the end. If Carlos never has a definitive desire.. cool! I think they'll be fine and the story will be an uncommon on-screen representation of where it works out. However, as someone who's more leaning towards not wanting kids, I don't really think that's Carlos based on what he's said. It seems to me, Carlos has concerns about being a father AND being like his father that hinder him from feeling comfortable about this (no hate to Gabriel; again I think Carlos' experience of growing up conflicts to Gabriel's perception of being a parent and how others' viewed them together). The fact that the kids conversation happens in season 4 means the writers knew they were going to kill Gabriel off at the end of the season and were well on their way to setting up the story they're trying to tell for the audience. I know if Carlos grows fond of parenting or he has a new conversation with TK about his thoughts, there are going to be some people that say he "changed his mind" when the story is laid out evidently from where I'm watching.

Stories are set up with purposes that have beginnings, middle, and ends that you can usually tell where they're going once you make it so far in the journey. And you can predict this with every well-known character that I even just implied yesterday that Wyatt would struggle as a dispatcher, because that makes sense narratively (with what we've seen from him in the past), and when Grace is absent, he's the only option that makes sense to take her position rather than someone random (from a show-development point of view).

#i'm tired of seeing negativity ahead of the final season of the show #911 lone star #tarlos #carlos reyes #tk strand #wyatt harris #911 ls #gabriel reyes #911 ls s5 #911 lone star season 5

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teriwrites · 2 months ago

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November 2023: Beyond Alder Creek

Wordcount | 124,504 Status | Completed Draft, WIP

First Line

On the first day of spring, Bran Pewitt was determined to greet the season by spending the entire day outdoors.

Changes Between Drafts

While the general trajectory of this story remained the same between drafts, some of the finer details did end up getting a lot of turnover. Naming conventions shifted away from Welsh roots towards generic fantasy. Winnie's original ideals as an early feminist fighting for education rights, while fitting to her character as a whole, fell apart pretty quickly when she goes on to spend most of the story in a world where none of that is really all that relevant, so it was cut. Her early struggles in the start of the novel instead became struggling against the superstitions of her hometown as a skeptic of the fae. Which makes her meeting Taliesin a little contentious, and ultimately changed the nature of their initial deal to be less easily manipulated lol

There were a number of worldbuilding questions that I needed to clear up for myself before setting out on a second draft. Issues of making the Beyond weirder, tightening up its rules and how humanity interacts with it, how magic works, what truly separates the fae from humanity, stuff like that.

A lot changed between the first and second draft of BAC, and a lot stayed the same. While both stories follow more or less the same trajectory, I knew even while writing the first draft that the beginning needed some work. The pacing was weird, Winnie's real-world motivation revolved around the idea of making her an early feminist and fighting for educational opportunities while avoiding her mother's heavy hints that she needed to settle down and get married. None of which feels out of character, per se, but it definitely fell apart when she went on to spend most of the book in a fae world where none of that was really all that relevant. There were a lot of other, smaller details I worked on: trying to make the Beyond weirder, including more run-ins with various fae, altering some of the side characters, shifting the naming conventions from strictly Welsh to a more generic fantasy. But arguably the two biggest changes were Winnie's initial disbelief in the fae entirely and her deal with Taliesin. Here, her modern spirit shows up in her looking to distance herself from tradition and superstition, until she literally finds herself standing face to face with a golden man in a faerie ring. Which then sort of has her confronting ideas of modernism as refusal of tradition and heritage. Meanwhile, her deal with Taliesin shifts from something vague he proposes and she accepts on-the-spot ('I'll help you save your brother if you help me defeat this powerful fae') to something a little smaller that she takes time to craft herself ('I'll give you access to some specific parts of the Beyond you can't enter by yourself, if you protect and forewarn me of the trappings and tricks of the fae along our path').

Pre-Reading Thoughts

This draft may have the most drastic internally-differing quality of writing out of anything I've ever written. November 2023 has also earned itself the top spot in 'most difficult times I've written 50K in 30 days'. This might make me sound like an asshole, but when you've completed that task 12 times before, it becomes pretty easy to lose sight of the challenge of it. Not to say that writing that much is ever easy, but a lot of the stakes and self-doubt that you might feel when you're participating for the first time, or the first several, aren't really present anymore. Especially when the past few years have sailed along smoothly. So cue my horror when, on day three, my cubital tunnel started flaring up. Badly. 'Cannot type 1,667 words a day' badly. 'Cannot type more than 250 words a day' badly. 'Probably shouldn't be typing at all' badly. I don't think anyone, including myself, would've blamed me too harshly for deciding to drop out for the year. But I'm stubborn. And a little obsessive. I wasn't dropping out until every avenue available had failed. Which is how I wound up making a deal with my worst enemy: dictation. I hate dictating. Storytelling never feels half as natural coming out of my mouth as it does my hands. But it was that or nothing. So I dictated a couple chapters. Trying to maintain the same quality work while dictating as while typing was impossible. Hitting 15K was simultaneously the most elated and most devastated I've ever been during November; it showed off my progress, while taunting me with how much farther there still was to reach that elusive 50K. So I adapted. Again. I grabbed a rubber ducky and sat it in front of me, turned dictation on my phone's notes app (my laptop at the time had no access to its audio jack or its built-in speakers or microphone), and explained the first chapter to the duck. And then the second. Eventually, I was able to start typing up some of the story on my phone, and things evened out a little more. But the majority still involved sitting on my bed, talking into my phone and correcting its many, many, many errors. Every single day, I was forced to try keeping up with par in the hours between getting out of work and going to bed. Which was fine, some days, and Herculean, on others. I honestly felt like Sisyphus for the entire month: that damn boulder just kept escaping me. Even up until the 30th, I wasn't totally convinced I was actually going to cross the finish line. But then I did. I hit 50,000 words. I think I was even able to type up the last few on my Scrivener file, where I'd been importing everything at the end of the day. I hit the 50K, and very nearly cried, and didn't touch the document again until my flare-up had entirely passed and I could safely type again. Logically, I know that that month wasn't actually one of the hardest in my life, and it's probably not the highest achievement I've ever had. Especially considering the whole thing was self-inflicted and entirely voluntary. But I'm so proud of myself for having done it, and a masochistic part of me was thrilled to once again see the challenge for the truly daunting feat it is.

#teriwrites down memory lane #my writing #my wips

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liebe001 · 1 month ago

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| Bury Me in Black |

Chapter Two: The Sun

Orin panted, raking both hands through his now sweaty black hair. “Okay…” he managed between shallow breaths, “we should be fine here.” He let his back hit the cold wall of the abandoned building they’d ducked into, sliding down until he was seated on the gritty floor.

Across from him, Caeris sat hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands pressed hard against his temples. He hadn’t spoken since that moment in the club, his mind clearly somewhere else.

Orin watched him, the usual sharpness in his ice-blue eyes dulled with worry.

“Caeris?” he called softly.

When Caeris looked up, Orin froze. Tears streaked his friend’s face, glinting in the dim light. It threw Orin off in a way nothing else could. He’d met Caeris when they were twelve, back when a pack of older kids had jumped him in an alley. Caeris, cocky and half their size, had thrown himself into the fight without hesitation. He got beaten bloody, but still grinned through a split lip as he stuck out his hand and introduced himself. Ever since then, they’d been brothers — and in all those years, Orin had never seen him cry.

And Orin… wasn’t good at this part. Emotions, comforting people, knowing the right thing to say — it was a language he’d never learned. So he just bit his lip, dropping his gaze to the ground.

The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, heavy and brittle.

Finally, Orin shifted, something hard pressing against his ribs. His eyes widened in sudden realization. The box. He fumbled in his jacket, pulling out the small, nondescript item he’d grabbed in the scramble.

He turned it over in his hands. “Grabbed this on our way outta there.” His voice came out low, a little rough. He tossed it underhand to Caeris.

Caeris caught it without thinking, looking down at it in confusion. “What is it?” His voice was strained, thick from holding back.

Orin shrugged. “No idea. Figured… maybe it’s worth something.” He gestured for him to open it.

Caeris fumbled with the box, cursing under his breath as he struggled to figure out how it opened. Frustrated, he growled and slammed it down against the ground. The box cracked with a sharp sound, the lid splintering slightly. Caeris huffed in satisfaction and pried it the rest of the way open with his hands.

He turned the busted box upside down — and a small, gold object dropped to the floor with a faint metallic clang.

Orin’s eyes widened a little. He shuffled closer on instinct, gaze fixed on the item.

Caeris picked it up carefully. It was a smooth, golden ball, small enough to fit perfectly in his palm. He turned it toward the light, examining the faint etchings on its surface, then let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.

“Kriff… this might be real.” Caeris glanced at Orin, a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Orin felt the tension bleed out of his body in an instant. His shoulders sagged, and he let out a heavy, relieved sigh, letting the back of his head thump gently against the wall behind him. He didn’t give a damn about the shiny ball — not really. All he cared about was that, for the first time since things had gone sideways, Caeris wasn’t falling apart right in front of him.

Caeris rolled the ball over in his hand, tossing it lightly in the air before catching it again. His grin widened.

“I know someone who’ll take this off our hands. Could be enough to buy us outta this district.” He chuckled softly. “Not off-world… but it’s something.”

Orin nodded a few times, his brows still knit. “Who’s the buyer?”

Caeris gave an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jevo.”

Orin’s expression darkened instantly. His scowl said everything. He hated that name — Jevo was a back-alley black market dealer with a reputation for double-crossing anyone stupid or desperate enough to trust him. Orin had crossed paths with him once, and that had been one time too many.

“No.” Orin’s voice was sharp, final. He pushed off the wall, standing to his full height and folding his arms over his chest. “Find someone else.”

Caeris stood too, trying to match Orin’s height — which wasn’t happening — but he wasn’t backing down. “We don’t have time to find someone else,” he reasoned, keeping his voice calm even as his hands moved with every word. Caeris always talked with his hands — a habit he’d never kicked.

Orin bit the inside of his cheek, staring at Caeris, who met his gaze with that infuriating “you know I’m right” look. It was the same one he’d worn a hundred times before, back when they were kids pulling dumb stunts in the alleys for pocket change. And every time, it meant Orin was about to do something he hated.

“Caeris,” Orin warned, his voice low.

Caeris just shrugged, “We don’t have time, Orin. It’s Jevo or nothing.”

Orin stared at him for a few more moments before groaning, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine. But we get a middle-man. We don’t do the deal directly.”

Caeris opened his mouth to argue, but Orin cut him off with a sharp motion of his hand. “We get a middle-man,” he repeated, voice firm and leaving no room for debate.

Caeris sighed, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright. Middle-man it is.”

Orin let out a breath, tension easing from his shoulders just a little. He knew Caeris hated adding extra steps to a score, but Orin wasn’t about to roll dice with someone like Jevo without a buffer. Not now. Not ever.

The deal went through. Barely.

Orin leaned against the wall of an old, crumbling building tucked away in one of the quieter alleys of the Underworld. The air was thick with the usual grime and stench, neon lights from nearby signs casting dull glows against the slick walls. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion setting in now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

Footsteps approached, and Orin didn’t have to look up to know it was Caeris.

“Told you it’d work,” Caeris said, voice light like they hadn’t just risked their lives over a stupid gold ball.

Orin scoffed, shaking his head as he dropped his hand. “We got lucky.”

Caeris flopped down beside him, leaning his head back against the wall, the middle-man had done his job, and Jevo hadn’t tried to slit their throats — which counted as a win in this place.

For a long while, neither of them spoke.

The distant sounds of speeders overhead and the occasional shout from somewhere deeper in the district filled the space between them. Orin stared ahead, watching the glow from a flickering sign bounce off the wet pavement.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Caeris finally asked, breaking the quiet.

Orin didn’t answer right away. He didn’t have to. He knew exactly what Caeris meant. The credits they’d made tonight were more than either of them had seen in months. Not enough to get off-world, not by a long shot — but enough to start moving up, maybe get a place that wasn’t falling apart, stop pulling scraps out of dumpsters to eat.

Orin let out a breath. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Caeris grinned, one of those crooked smiles that had gotten him into trouble more times than Orin could count. “Told you we’d crawl our way outta this mess.”

“Or die trying,” Orin said dryly, though a faint, tired smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Caeris laughed, leaning his head back again and closing his eyes. “Yeah, well. Better than rotting in this place.”

Orin looked up, watching streaks of color bleed from the Uscru District above.

“We’ll use the credits to get to Uscru,” he muttered, voice low. “Then we’re getting off this kriffling planet.” His eyes dropped to the streets below, slick with grime and crawling with speeder lights like insects.

He and Caeris had been born down here — Coruscant’s forgotten levels. No sky, no sun, just concrete, metal, and neon bleeding through the cracks. They’d clawed their way up, level by level, chasing scraps, dodging death, always a little too reckless for their own good.

Orin leaned against the wall, gaze falling to his forearms. Tanner than Caeris, always had been. Sometimes, in the rare stretches of quiet, he wondered what his skin might look like under real sunlight. What it’d feel like. The warmth of it. The way the holos made it look — gold and endless.

But he’d never felt it, none of them down here had.

And he was done with it.

They’d get out. Somehow, some way.

He didn’t care if they had to crawl through blood and broken glass to do it. One day, they’d feel the sun.

#star wars oc #star wars #original character #star wars fanfiction #coruscant #found family #star wars the clone wars #sw fic #the clone wars #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #my ocs #anakin skywalker #anakin #the underworld

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starmatzz · 6 months ago

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Chapter 15: Doubled

Treasure Of Utopia

TW this chapter might be a bit triggering for those suffering from emetophobia and anxiety from "not feeling well". I am putting this as a warning as i struggle with these things myself, and had to take few breaks throughout writing the chapter. The sensitive passage starts with red colored paragraph and end with it as well :)

The next morning, the crew gathered back at the dock, as though the events of the previous night had never happened. Hongjoong and his crew made their way back to the ship, their footsteps echoing against the wooden planks. Mingi was already there, standing at the helm, his posture stiff and eyes focused, as if nothing had transpired the night before.

“Captain, um…” Mingi’s deep voice broke the silence, his tone different than usual, more composed but still carrying a weight. “I already prepared the ship for taking off.”

Hongjoong paused, raising an eyebrow at him. Mingi’s expression was unreadable, as if he had returned to his usual role without a hint of the tension from the tavern. But something in the air felt different, and Hongjoong couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“Alright,” Hongjoong replied, his voice steady. “Let’s get moving.”

“Wait!” Mingi suddenly called out, his voice sharper than usual. He quickly turned, his eyes wide with a hint of urgency. “I think I forgot my vest at the tavern I went to yesterday. I’ll be right back!”

Before anyone could respond, Mingi was already off the ship, his feet hitting the wooden dock with a thud as he sprinted away, moving faster than Hongjoong had ever seen him. His sudden departure left a strange silence behind, the crew exchanging confused glances.

Hongjoong frowned, his instincts prickling. “That was odd,” he muttered to himself, but he didn’t voice his concerns aloud.

“Let him go,” Yunho said quietly, watching Mingi disappear into the distance. “He’ll be back soon.”

But even as they got ready to set sail, a nagging feeling settled in Hongjoong’s chest, something telling him this wasn’t just about a forgotten vest.

Few minutes later, Mingi came back, and they were back sailing the seas with everything falling into its usual rhythm. The wind filled the sails, the waves gently rocked the ship, and the crew went about their tasks.

Seonghwa twirled in front of Wooyoung, grinning as he showed off the different outfits he had to say 'yes' to, according to Hongjoong; he was the one who happily paid for them after all. “The captain really wanted you to look nice, didn’t he?” Wooyoung laughed, pretending to be a fashion critic, nodding along with exaggerated approval.

At the wheel, Jongho steered the ship with steady hands, his focus sharp. Yeosang stood beside him, intently studying the maps and compass, carefully tracing the path with Seonghwa’s intricate necklace as a guide.

Towards the back of the ship, Yunho and Mingi worked side by side, cleaning weapons and maintaining the cannons. They were quiet for the most part, only the sound of cloth against metal and the occasional grunt breaking the silence. But there was an unspoken tension between them—Mingi had been distant since their conversation the night before, and Yunho couldn’t help but keep an eye on him, wondering what was really going on in his mind.

Yunho stood there, polishing a cannon, his mind swirling with thoughts. He kept stealing glances at Mingi, who was focused on cleaning his weapons, his expression unreadable. It wasn’t like Mingi to be so distant— at least not to him, and Yunho couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

He wanted to ask, to check in, but the words felt stuck in his throat. He had never been the best with delicate situations, and with the tension between them, especially after Mingi’s strange behavior the night before, he didn’t know how to approach it without making things worse.

“Hey, Mingi…” Yunho began hesitantly, his voice quieter than he intended.

Mingi didn’t look up, continuing his task. “Hmm?”

Yunho scratched the back of his head, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know… you just seem different today. You good?”

Mingi paused, finally glancing at him. His gaze was guarded, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—something Yunho couldn’t quite read. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Yunho stepped a little closer, his heart racing. He knew he should back off, but the words spilled out before he could stop them. “You can tell me, Mingi. You don’t have to bottle it up.”

There was a beat of silence. Mingi’s fingers tightened around the handle of his weapon, and for a moment, Yunho thought he might push him away. But then, Mingi sighed, his voice quieter than before.

“I just… don’t know how to deal with things sometimes,” Mingi said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And sometimes, it feels like I’m alone in all of it.”

Yunho’s heart clenched, and without thinking, he reached out, placing a hand gently on Mingi’s shoulder. Mingi stiffened at the touch, but Yunho didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in, his voice low and full of sincerity.

“You’re not alone, Mingi,” he said, his eyes locked onto Mingi’s. “You’ve got me. And I’ve got you.”

Mingi’s gaze flickered to his, and for a moment, their faces were inches apart. Yunho could feel the heat rising between them, the tension palpable in the air. He didn’t know if Mingi could feel it too, but the closeness—the shared silence—it made his pulse race.

Mingi’s breath hitched, and Yunho almost thought he might say something. But instead, Mingi pulled away, taking a step back, his eyes avoiding Yunho’s.

“Thanks, Yunho,” Mingi said, his voice steady once again, though his eyes were distant. “But I’ve got it handled.”

Yunho didn’t press further. He wanted to, desperately, but something told him now wasn’t the time. He let his hand drop to his side, but the ache in his chest lingered.

“Alright,” Yunho said softly, his voice low with something unspoken. “Just remember, I’m here. Always.”

As Mingi turned away to continue his work, Yunho couldn’t shake the feeling that something was changing between them. But whether it was for better or worse, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he couldn’t ignore the pull he felt toward Mingi, and it was becoming harder to deny it.

Suddenly, the bell rang, cutting through the silence and signaling the end of their work for the moment. It was time for dinner. Mingi and Yunho both paused, the tension lingering in the air as the ship’s crew started to move towards the dining area. Meals after a fresh stock-up were always the best—everything was still fresh, and the food was a comforting relief after the day’s work.

Yunho quickly looked away, his heart still pounding from their earlier conversation. He didn’t know what was happening between him and Mingi, but it was harder and harder to ignore the pull he felt.

Mingi, on the other hand, didn’t meet his gaze. He gave a quick nod and started walking toward the dining hall, his shoulders stiff and his steps brisk. The silence between them felt heavier now, almost like there was something unsaid that both of them were too hesitant to address.

As the crew gathered for dinner, the delicious smell of freshly prepared food filled the air. Laughter and chatter broke out among the pirates, but for Yunho, there was an unspoken tension still hanging between him and Mingi. He couldn’t help but wonder what Mingi was really thinking, and if he was starting to notice the shift in their relationship, too.

But for now, all he could do was sit down and try to enjoy the meal, though a part of him couldn’t help but wonder when things between them would change again.

“The good thing is…” Hongjoong said, taking a bite of his steak, a satisfied smile on his face. “We’re closer to the treasure than I expected. If we continue at this pace, we can be there in two days.”

At his words, the crew erupted into cheers, excited murmurs filling the air as they celebrated the news of the impending treasure. The excitement was palpable, and it seemed like everyone was caught up in the energy of the moment. But amidst the laughter and cheers, Seonghwa remained unusually quiet.

He sat at the table, his fork paused in mid-air, his expression distant as he gazed at the food before him. His eyes were not focused on the excitement around him, and his silence felt out of place in the otherwise lively atmosphere.

Hongjoong noticed it almost immediately, his smile fading as he glanced at Seonghwa. “Seonghwa?” he called softly, his voice a little concerned. “You alright?”

Seonghwa blinked, as though snapping out of a trance, and quickly gave a small, tight smile. “Yeah, just… thinking,” he murmured, but his eyes didn’t meet Hongjoong’s. There was a lingering unease about him, a quiet tension that wasn’t typical for the usually cheerful Seonghwa.

Hongjoong studied him for a moment, but before he could press further, the crew’s excitement continued to fill the space. Still, a part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off with Seonghwa.

Seonghwa’s gaze lingered on the table, though his mind was far from the meal before him. His thoughts were clouded with an unsettling feeling that he couldn’t shake. There was something about the treasure, something Hongjoong had mentioned in passing, that gnawed at him. He couldn’t quite recall the specifics of why Hongjoong needed him for this particular mission, but he knew it was important. Yet, the way his captain had said it—almost like there was a hidden meaning—left him feeling uneasy.

It wasn’t just the treasure, though. The air around him felt thick, charged in a way he couldn’t explain. He shifted in his seat, feeling restless, as if something was about to happen. The sensation was all too familiar, but it didn’t make sense. His heat cycle had ended only a few days ago, and yet, his body felt off, as if it were preparing for something that wasn’t possible.

A flicker of unease twisted in his chest, and his fingers tightened around the edge of his glass. He tried to push it down, to ignore the instinctual tug, but the feeling persisted, growing stronger. It was as if his body was telling him something he didn’t want to hear, a reminder of how vulnerable he had been the last time he’d felt this way.

His eyes flickered briefly to Hongjoong, but the captain was too engrossed in the celebration to notice Seonghwa’s inner turmoil. He quickly looked away, pretending to take a sip from his glass, though the unease in his chest wouldn’t let him settle.

There was something wrong, something he couldn’t place. And no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the anxiety kept creeping in, pushing against his walls.

After dinner, the crew began to scatter, some heading back to their duties while others lingered in the dining hall, continuing to enjoy the evening. Seonghwa and Hongjoong, however, made their way to their quarters in a comfortable silence.

Once inside, Seonghwa couldn’t help but breathe a little easier. The tension from earlier had not completely faded, but being in Hongjoong’s arms always provided a sense of comfort he couldn’t deny. As they settled into the bed, Hongjoong pulled him close, his warm body a soothing presence against Seonghwa’s.

Seonghwa closed his eyes for a moment, letting the calm wash over him as he rested his head on Hongjoong’s chest. The steady rhythm of the captain’s heartbeat beneath him was grounding, and slowly, the anxious feelings began to settle, even if they still lingered faintly in the back of his mind.

He ran his fingers over Hongjoong’s bare chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath his skin, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. The movement was gentle, almost absentminded, but it soothed Seonghwa, offering a rare sense of peace in the midst of the storm swirling in his thoughts.

“When is your rut coming?” he asked, glancing up at Hongjoong.

Hongjoong, nestled against him, thought for a moment before answering. “In a week, I guess,” he said, his voice low, and he pressed a kiss to Seonghwa's hair.

“Why, worried you won’t be able to handle me?” Hongjoong teased, his fingers gently running through Seonghwa’s hair.

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, but Hongjoong's mind was distracted by a thought from earlier. “Actually… back in the city, Wooyoung got manipulated by some crazy old lady into buying some special herbs,” he mumbled.

Seonghwa's expression shifted, intrigued. “Herbs?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What for?”

“They’re supposed to help balance ruts… and work on heats too,” Hongjoong explained. “Supposedly, they help with the physical side of things—manage the intensity of it. If they really work, it could make things easier for both of us.”

Seonghwa frowned slightly, still uncertain. “You think they’ll really help?”

Hongjoong nodded, his gaze softening as he looked down at Seonghwa. “If they’re as good as the lady claimed, we could use all the help we can get. Especially with how… intense things can get between us.”

Seonghwa hesitated, his thoughts swirling. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try,” he said quietly, though a part of him still wondered if the herbs could really do what they promised.

Hongjoong tightened his hold, offering a comforting silence between them.

After a few sweet kisses shared between them, the warmth of Hongjoong’s embrace lulled Seonghwa into a peaceful sleep. The night passed quietly, the soft sound of the waves lapping against the ship’s hull a constant backdrop to their rest.

But as dawn approached, Seonghwa stirred. The sky was still a pale blue, the air crisp with the early morning chill. He woke suddenly, feeling overheated and uneasy. Sweat clung to his skin, and a wave of discomfort washed over him. His body felt wrong, as if something inside was shifting, a heavy unease gnawing at him.

He shifted carefully, trying not to disturb Hongjoong, and slipped out of the bed, his bare feet meeting the cool wooden floor of their quarters. The familiar sensation of the ship swaying beneath him only made the nausea worse, so he quickly made his way to the front deck, hoping the fresh air would help.

The moment he stepped outside, the ship made a sudden lurch, throwing him off balance. His stomach twisted painfully, and before he could steady himself, he rushed to the edge of the boat. A moment later, he was leaning over the side, retching violently as his stomach emptied into the sea below.

The cold air didn’t help; it only made him feel worse. Seonghwa gripped the rail of the ship, trying to steady himself, but the feeling of dizziness and nausea refused to subside. His thoughts were hazy, and he couldn’t quite understand why he was feeling this way.

He stayed at the edge for a few moments, trying to calm his breathing, but his body refused to listen. Something felt off, and it wasn’t just the physical discomfort. The feeling from last night—the one he couldn’t shake—had returned, gnawing at him with an unsettling force.

Seonghwa sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes scanning the vast, open sea before him. The crisp morning air felt sharp against his skin, but it wasn’t enough to calm the storm brewing inside him. He needed answers—answers he didn’t have.

Seonghwa’s heart raced as the deep voice broke through his thoughts. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” Mingi’s tone was low, and as Seonghwa turned to face him, he saw that Mingi had just finished his morning ship check-up.

The moment their eyes met, Seonghwa felt that strange, uneasy sensation intensify within him. It was as if something in the air had shifted, and he instinctively took a few steps back, his nerves on edge. His mind was clouded, and he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“I just… I am going now…” Seonghwa muttered, his words barely audible, his body already turning to move past Mingi.

But before he could step away, Mingi’s grip closed around his wrist, firm but not painful. Seonghwa froze, his breath catching in his throat. The touch sent a jolt through him, making the uneasy feeling grow stronger, more immediate.

Seonghwa’s pulse quickened as Mingi suddenly pulled him closer, his body pressing against his own with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. The warmth radiating from Mingi was suffocating, and it didn’t take long for Seonghwa to realize exactly what was happening. Mingi was in rut.

A surge of panic shot through Seonghwa. He needed to get away—fast. He was already too close to Mingi, the tension between them heavy and charged. His stomach churned again, not from illness this time, but from a deeper, more primal unease.

Before he could pull away, Mingi’s strength overpowered him, and Seonghwa found himself pushed back against one of the ship’s poles. His breath hitched as Mingi bent down, his face dangerously close to Seonghwa’s stomach. Seonghwa froze, a sense of dread crawling up his spine.

Mingi inhaled deeply, his breath rough and strained. “No way…” he muttered, his voice low and thick with frustration. His grip on Seonghwa’s wrists tightened painfully, making escape impossible. “No fucking way!”

Seonghwa’s heart raced, his mind frantic. Mingi continued to drag his nose along Seonghwa’s belly, the sensation both disorienting and terrifying. The roughness of Mingi’s actions sent a shiver through Seonghwa’s body, his muscles locked in place, too caught in shock to do much more than tremble.

“Stop, Mingi..” Seonghwa whispered, his voice shaky, but the words seemed to fall on deaf ears. The pull of Mingi’s rut was too strong, and Seonghwa was too caught in it to break free.

Seonghwa’s breath caught in his throat as Mingi pulled back, standing tall before him. The shift in Mingi’s posture was unsettling, his eyes now dark and filled with something Seonghwa couldn’t quite decipher—anger, jealousy, frustration, all mixed into one. It made Seonghwa’s stomach twist in confusion.

Mingi’s voice was a low growl, each word laced with an intensity that made Seonghwa’s heart race. “Not only do I have to endure you and the captain being all sweet,” Mingi spat, his tone venomous, “But now you’re even carrying his stupid pups.” he growled, his canines sticking out.

Seonghwa’s mind went blank for a moment, the words sinking in slowly. It took him a few heartbeats to understand the gravity of what Mingi was saying. The realization hit him like a wave, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze.

The nausea, the sensitivity to scents..

He had no words. His mind raced, but the only thing he could focus on was Mingi’s accusing gaze, the anger radiating from him. The implication of Mingi’s words—the idea that Seonghwa might be carrying Hongjoong’s pups.

Seonghwa’s breath hitched as Mingi’s words pierced the air. His heart pounded in his chest, the realization of his pregnancy crashing over him in waves. In a different situation, he might have cried from joy, overwhelmed by the life growing inside him—a part of Hongjoong. But now, all he could feel was fear as the alpha in front of him, deep in the throes of his rut, stared him down with dangerously flashing eyes.

“Whatever…” Mingi muttered, his voice low and strained, his movements erratic as his instincts overpowered his reason. “I… I’ll make you carry mine too…” The words were slurred, broken by his ragged breathing, but the intent behind them was clear.

Seonghwa froze, his body trembling as Mingi’s hands moved, groping him with a desperation that made Seonghwa feel trapped and vulnerable. He wanted to scream, to push Mingi away, but the alpha’s strength and sheer presence made it impossible to act.

“Mingi, please..” Seonghwa pleaded, his voice breaking as he struggled against the grip holding him. Panic coursed through him, the fear of what might happen next leaving him breathless.

But Mingi, blinded by his senses and overwhelmed by the pull of his rut, wasn’t listening. His actions were frantic, his grip possessive, as if he was trying to stake a claim that wasn’t his to make.

Seonghwa’s mind raced, his instincts screaming at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. The ship felt too small, the danger too close, and the weight of the situation too much to bear.

“I’m telling you,” Yunho laughed, placing a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder as they strolled from the back of the ship. “The fish was bigger than my arm!” He stretched his arms wide for emphasis, his grin infectious as Wooyoung rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“You’re exaggerating again, Yunho—” Wooyoung started but paused mid-sentence as his gaze shifted. His cheerful demeanor faltered, and his eyes narrowed in concern.

Yunho followed his line of sight, and his smile vanished. Up ahead, they spotted Mingi and Seonghwa, and something about the scene felt off—too close, too tense. Seonghwa looked pale and cornered, his body language screaming discomfort.

“Hey!” Wooyoung yelled, his voice sharp as he took off running toward them. His sudden movement snapped Yunho into action, and he followed, his longer strides quickly closing the distance.

The air was heavy with an unspoken tension, and both men knew immediately that something was very, very wrong.

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