#anyway i still did miss him so i would never lie or be dishonest or disgenuine

[bunnihearted]

🪿

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Love or Duty by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 4/8

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche

Chapter 4: Duty is Sacrifice

Emma woke as the sun rose in the sky, the light beams breaching the window to her room. She stretched her arms toward the top of her bed and sighed loudly. “It is about time you have risen from your bed.” She heard Ruby laugh from the other side of her room. “If you are to go riding with Prince Killian, you need to get ready.”

She yawned and sat up in her bed. “The sun has not fully risen, even the horses will still be sleeping.”

“Just because you enjoy sleeping until the sun is high, does not mean the rest of the kingdom follows.”

“You exaggerate, the sun has barely made it beyond the walls, the day is young.” She put her feet on the ground and closed her eyes, there was a sense of excitement and dread to get to see beyond the walls of the castle today, she hoped that wherever Killian took her riding would give her a better sense of this new prison she would be trapped in once she married Liam.

“Will you be standing on ceremony this morning and wearing a gown to ride?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She laughed. “You know I hate riding side saddle; this town might as well learn who I am because I have no intention of pretending I’m something else for the rest of my life.”

“You are going to be a handful for the Prince, I can assure you.”

“Good.” Emma replied simply. “Perhaps he shouldn’t have accepted to take me riding if he wasn’t up for the task.”

“I was talking about Prince Liam.” Ruby giggled. “But interesting that your mind went to his brother.”

“It’s not interesting at all, I simply thought you were talking about our riding adventure you are busy preparing me for.”

“Of course.” She said with a sly smile.

“What is this tone?” Emma inquired.

“Nothing at all, I was simply pointing out that perhaps you find the younger Prince intriguing.”

Emma snorted. “Intriguing. He’s smug, conceited, arrogant beyond all measure…”

“So, you’re attracted to him?”

“I’m not saying he isn’t easy on the eyes. I’m quite certain he’s been easy on many a maiden’s eyes.”

“I think he’s sweet.” She swooned.

“Of course, you do.” She exhaled with a laugh. “Men like Killian Jones most often turn out to be nothing more than a child and you do so enjoy taking care of children, don’t you?”

The women fell onto the bed giggling before going about the rest of the task of preparing Emma for the day’s ride.

By the time they emerged from her chambers it was lunch time and Emma hurried to the dining hall in hopes of finding the Prince. When she entered the chamber, the Queen was seated as she sipped her soup. Emma stopped in her tracks, realizing she was alone in the room with the woman.

“Princess Emma, do join me for some soup.” Emma bowed her head and sat down at the other end of the large table. “Nonsense dear, I prefer not to have to raise my voice over a friendly chat.” She motioned for the man behind her to bring her food next to the Queen, Emma took the seat nearest to the woman. “There that’s much better.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Please call me Alice, I have always hated formality. My mother gave me a name, I quite enjoy hearing people use it.”

Emma laughed. “You sound like my mother.”

“Ah yes, Lady Margaret. She is a fine woman.”

Emma’s head snapped up at the mention of her mother, she knew that the situation between her father and King Jones was not a happy one, but she was unaware that her mother and the Queen were acquainted. She thought it must be awkward considering her mother was once betrothed to the woman’s husband.

“I was not aware you knew my mother.”

A small smile spread on her face, “Men choose to stand behind years of resentment and bitter rivalry, but women, women understand matters of the heart, don’t we, love?” She paused. “Your mother is a brave woman in a time when women are not encouraged to speak their minds; she is someone I have admired for years.”

Emma smiled fondly thinking of her mother. “She would be pleased to hear that.”

“Are you ready to see all that Jonesboro has to offer you today?”

“Very, I love riding and experiencing new things.”

“Judging by your attire, am I to assume you are an accomplished rider?”

She looked down at her clothing, “My father and I used to go riding when I was a child. My horse back home, White Swan, I’ve had her for years. Some of my fondest memories are shared with her.”

“Killian will be pleased to know he will not need to teach you how to ride. My son is not the most patient of tutors.”

Emma laughed. “I never would have guessed.”

“How are you healing? My sons told me of the attack on the road here.”

“Sore, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“We are all very thankful that it was not worse.” She said, reaching over to grab her hand.

“Had it not been for Prince Killian, I fear it may have been worse.” She said honestly without thinking.

“I am most pleased to hear that. Besides, I could not bear needing to relay dreadful information to your father.”

Emma was about to ask the Queen how well she knew her father when they were interrupted by Killian’s arrival. “Good day, Mother.” He announced when he entered the dining hall.

“At this rate, it is almost evening.” She teased. “Can you ever emerge from your bed chamber before the sun rises?”

“What would be the point of that, if the sun has chosen not to rise, why should I?” He mused and Emma tried to hide her own smirk.

“You’ll be pleased to know that Princess Emma is an accomplished rider and should be well suited for a trip to the countryside this afternoon. Please be sure to show her the fields, the flowers are quite lovely this time of year.”

“Of course, Mother.” He said, kissing his mother’s cheek and grabbing a slice of bread from the table. “Are you ready, love?”

Emma felt herself blush as he stared in her direction. “Quite.” She said simply, standing from her seat. “It was lovely chatting with you, Alice.” She added softly, not missing the way that Killian’s face softened at the mention of his mother’s name.

She followed Killian silently through the halls until they found themselves outside, people milling quietly about, barely recognizing their Prince walking amongst them as if he blended with the townsfolk seamlessly without calling notice to the fact that he was royalty. The ones that did acknowledge that they knew him, fondly shook his hand, nodded in his direction, and a few of the women earned a genuine smile from the man. She could tell that he was well liked by their people.

“This way, M’Lady.” He gestured her toward the dirt path that led to the stables in the distance. “You are quite the surprise, Princess. I half expected you to show in full dress, ready to promenade around the villagers as their future Queen.”

She rolled her eyes at his dishonest comment. “You most assuredly did not. You know full well that I am not a helpless lady in waiting who sits back on her station in life. I’m quite sure I could match your skill with a blade, and I don’t think I’ve ever pretended to be a damsel in your presence.”

He laughed, responding with more honesty this time, “I supposed that is true, you are not quite what I expected, Princess of Misthaven.”

She found her eyes rolling again at the formality of it all, “Emma will do. I never liked the sound of Princess anyway; it makes me feel as if I am to parade around in pink satin and lace with braids in my hair and birds singing on my shoulder. It’s tiresome and boring.”

“You’re sort of an open book aren’t you, love?”

She flinched toward him as he opened the stable doors. “Usually, no.” She answered honestly. “I guess I don’t feel the need for pretense around you.”

“Should I feel honored then?” He joked.

“I am most certain the only reason I feel that way is that you yourself do not seem to be of the type to keep up pretense, unlike your brother, you do not have to worry that one day the crown will sit on your head.”

“And you believe this means that I do not have responsibility, or duty to the kingdom?”

“You speak of duty as if you understand it.” She laughed.

“Duty is sacrifice. I understand it more than most.”

“Sacrifice? What is it that you sacrifice? Your ability to roam from bed chamber to bed chamber? Missing a romp in the hay due to diplomatic responsibility?” She paused and snorted, “I misspoke, your father sends your brother for that.”

“I suppose it is more honorable that your duty is to lay yourself down for my brother.”

Emma felt the sting on her hand before she realized that she had slapped him. Her anger rising to the tips of her ears. Her mouth sat agape for a moment, his blue eyes glaring back at her. “I do not feel much like riding anymore.” She said angrily, storming away from the man and rushing back to the castle as the tears fell down her cheeks with each step.

~*~

Killian stared at her retreating form, his cheek burning from the contact with her palm. He knew he shouldn’t have said it, knew that Emma was set against marrying his brother simply because of duty. It was unkind to mention taking away her right to choose who she wanted to lie with. Yet he couldn’t hold his tongue. He wanted to scream at her, to tell her that he wanted more than his own station in life. He could do more if only his father allowed it.

Killian had waited in the wings for years for his father to call on him, he could be at the front of the Royal army, leading the charge toward battle, he could lead a diplomatic mission to other lands, be trusted to speak for the kingdom, to show his father and the town that he was more than just Liam’s little brother. But his father had little faith in him, only seeing him as the boy who caused mischief, the boy who could not be tasked with important things.

It angered him that he was always ignored, he was the Prince who would never be King. He was nothing.

Killian stormed back toward the castle, determined to spend his evening lost in drink and naked maidens. He would distract his anger away with more inviting emotions.

But his anger was not stemmed the next morning when he awoke with a hangover, his sheets clinging to his naked form as if he had tossed in the waves of another nightmare at sea. He was adrift in torment, unanchored and floating toward an ocean of regret and sorrow.

He did not like being at war with the Princess, yet he could not bear to be in the presence of the woman either. Seeing her was torment on his mind. As much as he wanted to shout his anger into her gravity, he was more tortured by the way he was affected by her company. As much as he loathed arguing with the woman, the result intoxicated him.

His mood was apparent through dinner, though his mother did not speak of it, his father was quick to point out that he was once again being difficult. Killian brooded while he ate, not making eye contact with the woman seated across from him.

“I never did hear how you enjoyed the countryside.” His mother spoke from the end of the table and Killian gulped his food down.

“I was feeling ill and had to cancel the ride before it began.” She responded quickly.

“I can summon Victor to have a look.” His mother responded.

“Thank you, but I’m feeling better today.” She said softly, looking back down at her food.

“Probably for the best, I’m sure Liam would do a better job of showing you around than Killian, unless you are only interested in the inside of our many taverns.” His father grumbled and Killian stood quickly from the table.

“If you don’t mind Mother, I have other duties to attend to.” He said, more forcefully than he intended.

His mother nodded with a frown on her face. “Of course.” He turned and bowed angrily toward his father and glanced only slightly at Emma before he exited the room, ignoring the look on her face as she tried to make eye contact with him. His feet pounded toward the courtyard, needing to feel the air, the breeze, something that wasn’t the inside of these rock worn walls.

Before he realized where he was going, he had saddled his horse and took off into the moonlight riding toward the forest. When he reached the small pool of water in the middle of the lush trees, he dismounted and sat down on the rock that had held him many times before. Times when his anger or sadness had pushed him away from the castle walls that he called home.

He pulled the flask from his jacket pocket, uncorking it and tipping it toward his mouth, the warm liquor coating his throat as it warmed him inside and quelled his discontent.

“You ride faster than I was prepared for.”

“Bloody hell.” He jumped as the voice approached him from behind. The horse stopped next to his own, and Emma dismounted, dropping down to the ground with ease. “Did you steal my horse?” He exclaimed, staring at the dark black mare behind her.

She looked back and ran her hands across her main. “Is she yours? She’s a beautiful animal.” The horse pressed against her hand, allowing her to run her palm against its face.

“Aye, her name’s Jolly, but she has not been ridden by anyone except me since she was born.” He said astounded that the horse not only allowed her to saddle it but to also sit upon her.

She shrugged, “I have a way with horses, I suppose.”

“What are you doing out here? It’s not proper for a Princess to sneak off with the brother of her betrothed. What would people think of your duty to him?” he added sarcastically.

“Don’t talk to me about duty.”

“Tell me Princess, why exactly are you marrying him? Are you perhaps too difficult for other men? Or do you not believe in love?” He spat.

“What do you know of love? You speak of it as if it is as easy to come by as getting water from a well.”

“I thought for sure that you of all people would reject the notion of performing your duty in the absence of love.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“For someone that comes from true love, one would think that it would be more important to you than duty.” Her mouth opened and he rolled his eyes. “You think I don’t know about your mother’s rejection of my father? She neglected her duty because she was in love.”

“How dare you accuse my mother of doing anything wrong. From my experience with your father, she made the right choice.”

“Don’t misunderstand Princess, I respect your mother’s gumption to defy the basic principles of royalty and duty. I just thought perhaps her daughter had the same spirit. I see I was wrong to make such an assumption.” She stepped toward him angrily and he laughed. “Did I touch on a nerve, love? Care to hit me again?”

“You arrogant, son of a…”

“Careful, that is not the language of lady in your position.”

“I’m no lady.” She said angrily.

“That part I believe. But tell me love, have you ever done anything that wasn’t part of your responsibilities. Sod the duty, no thought of what people will think of you, but you did it anyway simply because you wanted to?” He smirked.

“Of course, I have. Where do you think I learned to ride that damned horse like that?” He began laughing heartily and a pout formed on her face. “What?”

“You consider mounting a horse to be an act of defiance.” He stepped closer to her, pushing the hair lying on her shoulder behind her. “Perhaps you like the feel of the horse when you ride her bareback? Is it exhilarating having a beast as large as that between your legs?” She shivered against his touch and a grin grew on his face. He stepped back and tugged at the buttons of his shirt, dropping the garment to the ground in front of her. Reaching up to unbuckle his brace, he felt it loosen and drop onto the ground beside him. He did not have time to think about it, to feel the full weight of being this exposed to her, or anyone like this.

“What are you doing?” She asked nervously.

He reached for the string of his pants, loosening them, and dropping them the length of his body, standing in front of her nude and exposed as she rocked back on her heels, he was certain her cheeks were stained red if he had more light exposed to her. “Join me for a swim?” He asked nonchalantly, turning away from her with a grin and walking into the pool of water in front of him.

“Why on earth are you swimming in the middle of the night?” She yelled after him.

Once he was standing waist deep he turned toward her. “Because I wanted to.” He laughed with a shrug. “So, I did.”

He could see her contemplating her options on the shore, looking around nervously at the horses, staring at the pile of clothes he had left by the rocks. He knew he was being reckless; he had just discarded his clothing in front of his brother’s future wife. It was a game he was destined to lose.

And yet he couldn’t stop himself, whatever it was with Emma, it was like something was calling her to him. She was the air he needed to breathe and the blood running through his veins. He needed her and yet he couldn’t have her. “It’s alright Princess, I’m sure my brother would not want you catching cold anyway.”

As if he had just poked her, she angrily tore her gown over her head, pushing her shoes from her feet and standing on the shore in her thin shift. Killian felt his entire body catch fire as she slipped the straps from her shoulders and dropped the material to the ground, leaving her only in the flesh. His breathing wavered as she stepped into the water defiantly, almost marching toward him in the water, her eyes locked on his. God he wanted this woman.

When she was close enough to touch she sank down under the water, disappearing beneath as circles of water expanded out around her. Suddenly he felt something brush against his legs as they were pulled out from under him, and he found himself splashing backward into the water until he was submerged in the cool lake. When he breached the water, she was laughing, her hair soaked against her milky white skin, water pooling at the apex of her breasts. The mischievous grin on her face caused a reaction below the surface that he tried to tame.

“Aren’t you a bloody minx.” He chuckled. “Two can play your game, love.” He teased before he dove under the water, wrapping an arm around her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. She was laughing when she popped up from the water, wading in the deeper water behind him. She swam closer until she was able to stand, and he stared down at her.

Her eyes were wandering his body, glancing at his chest until they swept lower as if trying to see beneath the murky waters below. She bit her lip, turning her eyes back to his face and then onto his arm. “How did you lose your hand?” She asked suddenly and he glanced to his side, lifting his arm from the water, the blunt end of his wrist the constant reminder that he would never be whole.

“Sailing.” He responded sadly. “I fancy myself a pretty good sailor, but at 14 I was reckless, distracted, as my father has told the tale many times in the past.”

“Your father is an insensitive man.” She said softly.

“Aye, but not wrong. I have learned from my mistakes; I do not make them twice.”

“Couldn’t have been that easy for a 14-year-old.” She stared at him with sorrow in her eyes.

“I don’t require your pity, lass. All my other appendages work just fine.” He teased, cocksure and full of piss.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what, love?”

“Lie to me.”

“I can assure you; I’ve never lied to you.”

“Then you aren’t being honest with yourself. It’s ok for a 14-year-old boy to grieve the loss of something that everyone else takes for granted. There’s nothing wrong with struggling to feel whole.”

His eyes sought hers, her words striking something deep in his heart. How did she know that he had never felt like a full person for so many years? How was she able to see the thoughts and feelings he had tried so hard to hide from the world? Things he only spoke of in the solidarity of his own mind. He didn’t know who stepped forward first, how their bodies ended up so close that he could feel the vibration of the water beneath him from the way she moved back and forth beside him. He didn’t know when her arm brushed against his, her fingers lightly tracing the scars at his wrist.

He didn’t know how she ended up in his arms or why she was gazing at him with the look of want in her eyes but there was no denying that he was the one that closed the gap between them, his lips making contact with hers in a bruising kiss that left him feeling as though he would not be able to breathe if she pulled away from him.

She made a sound that sent shivers down his spine as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he pulled her against his body as they hovered in the water. His hand tangled into her wet hair, his thumb tracing the curve of her neck, his tongue dancing with hers as their bodies slipped against each other.

His cock bobbed under the water, brushing against her backside as her groans became louder in his ear. He could barely contain himself, his hand brushing against her breast as she hummed in his ear, her teeth biting at his lobe. “Emma…” He groaned and he felt her stiffen in his arms.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it was her who pulled away from him, a mortifying frown on her face. “Oh God.” She said into the air. “What have I done.” She started to pull herself toward the shore, marching toward their clothing strewn on the bank. “I must be insane.” She was mumbling to herself as he reached her side.

“Emma.”

“No, don’t talk to me right now. Don’t look at me.” She shrilled as she held her clothes up against her naked form. “I’m marrying your brother. We can’t…we should never have…Oh God.” She finished.

He turned around to speak. “Emma.”

“Please put your pants on.” She said anxiously and he reached for his pants, tugging them onto his wet legs, struggling to get them to slide up his legs with one hand.

“It was my fault. No one has to know about this.”

“You’re damn right, no one can know about this. I mean that Killian, no one can know. The dishonor it would bring to my family is more than I can bear.” She cried and Killian reached for her hand before she jerked away from him. “Don’t touch me.” She said before softening her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Emma, I’m the one who is sorry, I never meant to…” He continued to try and tug at the fabric on his legs refusing to budge.

“I have to get back to the castle before anyone realizes I’m gone.” She said nervously, wringing her hands as she approached the horse.

“Would you just wait, love. You’ll get lost in the dark.”

“No, we can’t be seen together, just…please Killian, leave me be.” She pleaded as she mounted the horse, her wet clothes clinging to her body. She urged the horse forward, turning to look back at him once before speeding off into the darkened forest.

“Bloody hell.” He swore, giving up on his pants and dropping down onto the rock behind him. He had royally screwed things up this time.

[silverbyuls]

( lee hyeri, cis female, muse i ) oh snap! is that SHIN EUNBYUL they work over at high volume where some of the other employees have labeled them as THE AVERAGE JOE. that’s probably because they can be a bit ( optimistic. ) but also pretty ( dishonest. ) they’re TWENTY TWO and they’ve been living in woodstock for TWENTY TWO YEARS. it must be their shift because i totally hear THE CRANBERRIES blasting from the record store. ( a little tikes piggy bank tucked under the bed, clothing label sticking out from the back, snap clips with varnish peeling off, jelly shoes with the strap taped together, leaving lisa frank stickers along record crates ) @volumeupdates

BIO

the luke hemsworth of the family but middle child

goes by byul

tried to go by ‘e.b.’ but her mum went berserk because she’d reduced her name to two letters for the ease of her yt friends and her brother bullied her for being e.t’s ugly sister so now she tries to go by silver star (her name translated into english) but it doesn’t quite stick

claims that her older sister and younger brother stole all her beauty, brain cells and height

family invested everything into older sister so she could go to college in new york: savings, loans, moved to smaller house which is even further from the town centre

brother requires all attention as he has high hopes of getting into college on a baseball scholarship and she lowkey can’t wait until he’s far away from woodstock

her grades have always been average so no one expects her to leave – her parents talk about how nice it is that she’ll be with them forever but she knows that’s because they want her to take care of them when they’re old … which she would! if they didn’t live in woodstock

she tells them she’s going to move to california, but they think she’s as serious about that as she is about wanting to go to college, or becoming supermodel of the world, or an olympic swimmer, when she has average grades, of average height, and can’t even swim

if her life was a movie, she’d have fallen asleep in the first ten minutes – it has always been so boring and uneventful, so she lives up in her head with her fake scenarios to keep things interesting – most of the time, they’re taken straight from a book or magazine

sometimes these thoughts spill over into reality because she can’t fathom the idea of people realising she’s as plain as she is, and her little white lies give her a bit of sparkle to stand out (in her opinion)

but she will get to california!

she even has a plan:

she’s been working at freddy’s diner since she was fifteen, escaping to high volume whenever she can, a place where she can pop her headphones on during her breaks and pretend she’s getting ogled at on venice beach, but she’s terrible at saving so seven years later she’s still grinding

once she graduates high school, she has enough time for a second job and she’d dropped enough hints in front of jerry for him to kindly offer her a job. after all, she spends as much time in high volume as she does at freddy’s so there’s not much of a difference once she becomes an employee -- still floating around the place, sipping on her coke can, either people watching or people chasing -- except now she has access to the register

after a big argument with her parents, she ended up moving out into a place in the middle of town. that was never part of the plan because saving was easier when she lived at home. she’ll say things got really bad but really, she was just getting closer to her target and she wanted a valid reason to put it off for a bit longer

she was only supposed to do it once – stealing from the cash register. it was just right there, no one was around, and she thought it was going to be her last shift because jerry was angry at her for being late again (granted, he hadn’t actually been mad, but it was one of those days when everything felt personal)

besides, she’d overheard a group of girls she’d idolised in school talk about how they stole some underwear and they made it sound so cool

she felt like everyone could hear her heart thumping against her chest as she walked out of the store but the day after, no one said anything about it, no one even noticed, and she wasn’t fired. so she did it again, and again, and again, and eventually she didn’t even bat an eyelid

the extra money was supposed to help her reach her goal faster but, again, she’s terrible at saving and her parents are so hardworking, she can’t help but feel guilty and buy nice things for them every once in a while and when they ask where she got the money from, she lies and says jerry gave her a bonus for being a good employee

on the other hand, if they’ve had an argument, or they’ve forgotten about her again, she’ll have a full on les-mis-i-dreamed-a-dream episode then splurge out on a cute jacket because it’s hers and it’s new! rather than worn out hand-me-downs from her sister or brother!

started her own side hustle called the separation agency – inspired after a customer at high volume asked her to help him break up with his boyfriend. so she’s the messenger for people who have things to say but don’t have the balls to say it to someone’s face themselves. usually they’re horrible messages, like break ups. she’s had like three customers and tries to promote her side hustle whilst on her shift at high volume

she thinks her “business” could actually thrive in a bigger city which is just another reason why she needs to get out of woodstock – it’s holding her back!

anyway, jerry’s missing, which is perfect for her because she gets to come in late and not get told off, and maybe steal a little more than she usually does

PERSONALITY:

when she’s around people, she seems like an extrovert: bubbly, talkative, dramatic ... which uses up a lot of her energy and her social battery is weak, so needs her own space often, and likes doing nothing by herself so sometimes she’ll lie to get out of plans or bail last minute 

she has big dreams, and talks about all her big plans, but has leaving anxiety which is why she’s shit at saving and makes up excuses as to why she can’t leave just yet 

has main character syndrome -- likes to live her life as a romcom, most of her lies revolve around her love life because she wants to be seen as desirable, but also will overanalyse everything 

sensitive, passionate, immature, sympathetic, fickle, clumsy, dramatic, caring, head in clouds

will pretend to knows things to fit in like ~hipster~ bands or anything really, depends on the crowd

could gladly spend all day talking to customers at work then the next day she’ll prefer to day dream in the storage room

rides a bike to and from work and almost everywhere else too -- the only one out of her siblings who had to bike to school because small car and siblings took up all the space -- she’s had the same bike since high school 

loves spice girls but feels like she’ll be judged so keeps quiet and plays it when she’s closing

honestly could hate you one day and have a crush on you the next but you wouldn’t even know it -- a vicious cycle 

collects stickers and leaves them everywhere and on everyone - often passive aggressive through them, basically uses them like emojis

will try to order food and get others to pay for it - especially kfc, never gets to eat the drumsticks at home so will honestly cry if people steal the drumsticks from her

buys lottery tickets and scratch cards because she has a 50/50 chance of winning

WANTED CONNECTIONS: (current connections)

start up: stolen str8 from a kdrama that ruined my life hehe her parents set her up with a pen pal to keep her busy out of guilt because they’re so busy with her siblings and work and obviously she romanticises it !!! her parents would’ve asked to lie a little bit, just so she’d be writing to someone she’d easily obsess over -- love island vc: someone who ticks all the boxes 

xoxo gossip girl: someone who loves a good gossip sesh -- they probably send 👀 at each other across the store when things feel a bit tense, which is code for ‘meet me in the storage room’ so they can chat away for the rest of their shift

lunch stealer: she makes her own lunch every day and is extremely protective over it but one day it went missing and she knows it was them (maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t) so now they are her sworn enemy

sister’s/brother’s friend: therefore an automatic enemy

shut up: someone who just tells her to shut up because she chats so much shit and she’s insane - just sandra x dina vibes from superstore (x)

carpool karaoke: she hates cycling in when it’s raining, so either she’s trying to get them to be her designated driver or has already succeeded and is annoying about it

crush #1: someone she has a crush on (more of an infatuation) and they’re not interested in her in the slightest but in her head they’re giving her mixed signals and she has made up a fake boyfriend to try to make them jealous

crush #2: someone she thinks has a crush on her. either because they’re nice or tease her or just mean, it doesn’t matter, she’s insane so she’ll interpret it however she wants

ex: they never broke up, or even dated, but she thinks something almost happened between them and she thinks she cut things off by giving them space

separation agency: someone who once used the agency either out of the kindness of their heart or for a different reason entirely and now she won’t stop pestering them to try and get them to use it again

no thots just vibes: i just like this gifset tbh (x) and we can brainstorm ! 

[vampiresuns]

Something Wicked This Way Comes | Prologue, Part 1

✴︎ SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES ✴︎

As Asra gets ready to leave again, Anatole handles two unexpected guests: one will alter his future plans, and the other will give him a headache. 2.7k words. For Anatole’s apprentice timeline, compliant with all the routes.

You can read the rest of Anatole’s apprentice timeline series here.

Asra was leaving. Again. 

Anatole wasn’t thrilled about it, but him and Asra had had this conversation several times and Anatole trusted his friend and teacher enough to not enquire any further — or to enquire behind his back. He said he had his reasons, and Anatole would respect that. Besides, it’s not as if he minded being alone. Maybe he had at the beginning of his recovery, when the City was still too unknown and disorienting, too much happening in it at all times, Anatole himself barely there.

He had read somewhere that all traumatic injuries which resulted in memory loss were different. Annoying as they were, he was better at handling the by-products of whatever the hell it was that had happened to him. Somewhat. He wanted to think he was, that even though the migraines still lingered, he could handle the shop, himself, his magic (magic that had begun advancing towards places and forms Asra could only guide him towards, not teach him). He just wanted to be good enough at it all, and he supposed he’d have no one he’d felt comfortable asking for help to if Asra wasn’t around.

He sighed. it didn’t matter, well, it did, but he’d be able to handle it. He was sure Antu would gladly help.

“I’ll miss you.”

“You better miss me, Asra Alnazar. Though, must you really leave tonight?

“In the dead of a moonless night. The right time for the beginning of a journey.”

Anatole frowned; Asra was full of shit. “Is that a ritual thing? Or is it a poetic licence thing?”

The magician didn’t reply, changing the topic instead like he always did when Anatole guessed too close to the truth about things Asra did not have the means to explain to his pupil. Instead he gave him his tarot deck.

Anatole can’t remember a time Asra’s separated from it. Normally, when Asra’s gone and Anatole had to a do a reading he used his own deck. It used to belong to his aunt, his connection to it jumping to his tongue before Asra could ask him if he knew, or remembered, whom it had previously belonged to. His cards were different from Asra’s — they were quiet, they gave him analytical and interpretational leeway. Asra’s were... too alive.

He took the Deck as Asra handed it to him, looking at the cards. “You trust me with your deck?”

“I do, Nana, I’d trust you with anything.”

Anatole decided to ignore the charged nature of his words. He had discovered within the last six months he was often able to call for the intention behind people’s words, how they were feeling in the moment, or if they were being dishonest. While most of the time it was useful, sometimes it was wildly disconcerting, others exhausting, or inconvenient. Like right now.

He was witness to the in-between-the-lines of communication whether he wanted or not, being too much information to handle at times. When it was too much, it could feel from invading someone's privacy to being overstimulated.

Instead of asking Asra if he had done that on purpose, he said: “You think I’m ready to use it?”

“You know I can’t answer that for you.” 

“I did it again, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay to need validation, Nana.”

Anatole knew that, in theory. Though he couldn’t deny Asra was right: he knew he still needed confirmation that he was doing things correctly, that he was doing a good job, that his efforts were meriting. Even when he had something completely figured out. Out of all the things Asra had thought Anatole would carry back from the dead, his tendency to overcompensate wasn’t one he’d accounted for.

Alright, that was a lie, he hadn’t accounted for Anatole’s entire personality to barrel through death to assert itself over the blank canvas of whom he had come back as. He should’ve foreseen Anatole to manage the impossible, twice. 

“Do you think you’re ready?” Now it wasn’t the time to allow his anxieties to govern over his capacities. Breathing steadily twice, he managed to give Asra the debonair smile with an inquiring, raised eyebrow the magician adored to see on his face. He hated not knowing, and the only way of knowing was to ask.

Asra found himself smiling too. “Why don’t we ask the cards?” 

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ 

As Asra said his last goodbyes, a knock on the door interrupting them both, Anatole thought he ought to ask where had he gotten his feathered hat. Another time.

Anatole wasn’t surprised Asra had already left when he went to the front of the shop to get the door, having slipped he High Priestess and her foreboding messages back into the deck. She’d have to wait for whomever had decided ‘after-hours’ wasn’t a real shop-keeping concept. Customers, Anatole swore. He really couldn’t blame Asra for leaving now. He himself hated being delayed or interrupted when he was focusing on something, and while Asra wasn’t quite the same (or didn’t have the same reasons) it was the same outcome. 

After-hours was the time he spent on himself and tonight he wanted to tackle his Zadithi. He had only just began picking it up again.

Again? That couldn’t be right.

A second, more impatient knock pulled him out of his thoughts. Anatole lunged forward to open the door, only to be met with Countess Satrinava, out of all people. He didn’t even know their shop had reached the Palace’s radar. For some reason he couldn’t pinpoint right then, he didn’t know if he liked it.

“Countess. Welcome to Moonstone & Jasmine how may I help—”

“Please,” she said, paying him little mind, “you must read the cards for me.”

Like he had said before, customers.

However, Anatole didn’t need to pick up on her words to notice the Countess was genuinely troubled by something, her comment on sleepless nights confirming his suspicion. So he decided to give her the benefit of doubt, instead of pinpointing the hour she decided to come at as a display of nobility’s entitlement.

The talk about his reputation was what shocked him the most, however. The temptation to dismiss her words as hyperbole was strong, but she sounded  too honest — a by-product of her state of necessity, Anatole thought, people tended to be worse at lying under pressure (How did he know that?).

When the Countess mentioned Anatole looked different in a dream she had, he speaks as if something had possessed him, having no idea he would speak until he did. “Do you possess any sort of clairvoyance, your Highness? I have a cousin who—”

He stopped as a throb made its way through the back of his head. As far as he knew, he didn’t have any family, he didn’t have anyone but Asra and a dead Aunt, but saying he had a cousin felt right in a way he couldn’t ignore. He had never been very good at lying to himself. Once he knew something was true, it cemented itself in his head, unshakable. He preferred it that way: falsehoods, even if lasting, crumbled. When you built with what was true, you built steady.

This felt like the truth, but was it? Was it a wish, or was it a lost piece of whomever he had been before? In the before he couldn’t remember?

Pushing his thoughts away, he said: “Excuse me, Countess. I forgot myself.”

“No matter. I come with a proposal.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Come to the Palace, and be my guest for a short while. You will be afforded every luxury, of course. I ask only that you bring your skill… and the Arcana.”

His first thought was ‘no’. His second, ‘absolutely not’. He had things! Plans! The only luxury he wanted right now was to be allowed to fill his after work hours as he saw fit. But this was a customer. They could use the money for supplies, and something told him — something he couldn’t pay any attention to right now, something inside of him he could only trust — the Countess was indeed in trouble. The kind of toruble where if he refused to help right now, he’d end up in the Palace anyway.

Sometimes it is better to cooperate with the universe; he had heard that somewhere, or perhaps from someone he couldn’t remember. Perhaps he read it. One way or another, now was not the time to mourn his plans.

“It’ll be an honour.”

“I will alert the guards to expect you tomorrow, but before that...”

Of course, she had come with a tarot inquiry, so Anatole redirected her to the backroom where readings and private consultations were held, finding himself face to face with Asra’s cards again.

He’d have to get used to their liveliness, sooner or latter. Unlike his own card, these spoke to you completely at random, compelling you to deliver their message, so you never knew if you were doing the reading or if the cards themselves were. Anatole didn’t love it, if he was honest. Nothing to do with the cards, though. It had everything to do with having asked Asra why do his cards work like they do, and Asra not giving him an answer which had fully made sense to him. 

He didn’t know what to make of the Countess as she talked to him about other times she had had her fortune read. His headache had moved from the back of his head to his temples. Familiar wasn’t the word for it, but she felt trustworthy, in an inconsequential sense. Like a coworker with good intentions but not enough turn out for his liking. He saw her out, opening the door for her, after her reading was done, still having not the faintest idea where on earth did he get such an impression from the Countess. He must’ve been reading too much, that was certainly it — too much politics before bed made Anatole a very imaginative man. 

As Countess Satrinava left, Anatole wondered if he should’ve told her anything about fees, at least as a joke. He wasn’t sure she’d appreciate the joke. 

He decided to brew something for his headache, worrying it might grow too big to sleep. Potions and brews had never been his strongest fort. He always needed to spend extra attention on them and their instructions, coming less organically than other forms of magic. Like languages. Languages were easy, even if messy sometimes. He still remembered one day, years ago, when he could speak nothing but a gibberish mess of Balkovian, Vesuvian and a very distant variation of Nopali. 

Still, it would keep his mind away from all the reputation talk the Countess had brought with her. He wanted to be convinced she must’ve been thinking about his aunt — Paris, that’s all Asra had told him — but Paris had been dead for even before his accident, so maybe... He took a breath, he was overthinking his way into a migraine again so he went back to his brew. 

He was missing enough of one ingredient, which meant he had to go to the Shop’s storage quarter, accessible only from outside and through the backdoor. As if anticipating his need, Antupillán, his familiar, fetched the keys for him and climbed onto his shoulder as Anatole made his way outside, looking for the sweet relief of willow tree bark. A victory which came at the price of getting his storage key stuck, fumbling for five minutes to unstuck it so he could go back inside. 

With all ingredients in front of him he could finally make himself a headache remedy. 

“Strange hours for a shop to keep,” said a muffled voice coming from somewhere, interrupting him.

If he got mugged, in his own house, he swore to everything he thought mattered in this world he’d spend the rest of his life finding whomever had come into his shop and making their lives miserable. He was sure no one had been around when he went retrieve the willow bark, Antu would’ve told him if there was someone. He was sure he had locked that door the moment he came in.

The thought that someone could’ve been staying in his own house, waiting for the right moment to strike made him sick, but mostly, angry. He knew he had a dagger somewhere in one of the drawers, if magic was not enough.

“Whomever it is, come out of where you are, and tell me what you want.”

“Behind you.” Anatole jumped back, giving himself more distance between this person, levelling a look to the red glasses the mask had for eye-sockets.

“So this is the witch’s lair… and who might you be?”

“Who’s asking?” He tried to sound as surefooted as possible, but the eye sockets of the mask were so vividly red, like a halo of auburn hair under the noon sun. His headache threatened to get stronger.

“I’m asking. I’d rather not do it again.”

The person lifted their hand, Anatole’s brain springing into action as it remembered the dagger was in the third drawer to the left. He lunged forward, he was quick with his feet he could just grab the dagger and protect himself with a shield if he— 

Instead of grabbing him, the stranger threw the mask to the floor. 

The flash of pain between his eyes, right where his nose begins was so intense it burned, making him wince. He patted the front table of the shop to hold onto something, fearing he will lose his balance and fall. He’s— he’s— he swears there’s a name on the tip of his tongue.

“As I suspected, shock, horror—”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s etched on your face! The gruesome reaction of facing the murderer himself. Fear not, I do not care about you, I only want information, so if you stop fooling around and tell me where is the witch.”

“The whomst?”

The man blinked, confused for a flash before he scowled again.

“Where is the witch?”

Something inside Anatole clicked. He was too tired to deal with any of this. If the intruder wanted to attack him, he would’ve done so already.

“Listen,” he said, barking back at this person who had interrupted his evening. “I have a migraine right now, so I will need you to be a little more specific. Secondly, you come into my shop, demanding things without exaplanation, manifesting behind me, and I do have to tell you, even with a migraine, I’m probably better with sharp things than you are so stand back and give me a bloody fucking second, alright?”

It wasn’t a lie. Anatole had always been good with blades. It worried Asra, for a reason he had never explained, but Anatole didn’t think it was a problem.

“You know, if you’re really feeling ill, I’m a medically trained professional—”

“Did you seriously just offer me medical help after you tried to intimidate me for information.”

“I—I, look you don’t look well… wait, did it work? Are you telling me where he is?”

“What? No, no it didn’t. There’s a lot of people who go by ‘he’ this City.”

“Not even the murderer part worked?”

Anatole shot him a death glare that made his uninvited guest look away. After finally retrieving that damn dagger, which he did just in case, he set himself to prepare his migraine remedy.

“You’re the guy who’s wanted for murdering the former Count, right?” He asked as he worked.

“Yes?”

“Wasn’t the guy a bit of an incompetent despot? Created a sanitary emergency and ran the city’s coffers dry? I’m neither of those things, nor I plan to rat you out before you try that line of intimidation, because I’m not a snitch. So please, if you could be specific.”

The intruder did not reply, instead he looked at Anatole like he was the weirdest person he had ever met. He shook himself from it. “The witch, I’m looking for him and I know he lives here...”

“Since you have no clue who I am, I will reckon you’re talking about Asra. He left. Don’t know when he’s coming back, don’t know where he went.”

“But if you don’t know, and I don’t know… why don’t you ask your magic cards?”

God, this man didn’t give up. Normally, Anatole would appreciate that, give him at least some credit as an interesting enemy to run into in the night, but right now? Right now he wanted him to go away. “Because the shop is closed.”

“That’s what the backroom there is for, right? Look, I’m already inside.”

Despite himself, Anatole couldn’t find it in himself to say no, so with a hesitant nod, he left his conoction on the counter and showed his night-time guest to the backroom, but he insisted on Anatole going first. He did, as he didn’t have time for plesantries, though he had to admit, for someone who just broke into his home, he was being very polite.

As he dropped himself into the reading chair, Antu climbed onto Anatole’s lap, sitting there, a comforting presence amid his very annoying evening. He had been his constant companion for almost two years. Antu came in one day unannounced and hadn’t left Anatole’s side since.

“Is that a Raccoon?” The stranger asked, with eyes wide open as he tried to pet him. Antu bit the air in front of him before he could come too close. 

Not forgiven yet, Antu said at the stranger, though only Anatole could listen. 

Anatole smiled to himself, making a mental note to give him extra grapes later. “His name is Antupillán.”

To Anatole’s surprise, the stranger pronounced the name perfectly. “What does it mean?”

“Not many people pronounce that correctly, look at you. People accent it wrong,” he paused, in all honesty Anatole didn’t know what it meant. Yet, once more, he found himself speaking without knowing what he was about to say. “A ‘pillán’ is a spirit, an embodiment. Antu means sun in Mapudungún, so Antupillán is the spirit of the sun.”

Anatole felt his stomach drop as he awaited for the migraine that would inevitably blotch his vision with black spots. However, it never came, the misplaced information settling into him like a homecoming he was not yet able to process.

As Anatole shuffled the deck, the stranger looked friendly, almost awkward in an endearing way. 

“Go on. No need to be shy.”

“Says the man who refuses to give out his name. I need to know it for the ‘magic card reading’, you know?”

“Julian, you can call me Julian,” he said after some stammering and a scarlet blush on his cheeks. His eyes followed his movements as closely as they could, a nervous anticipation to them.

Anatole pulled Death. It was, in Asra’s deck, a particularly quiet card. The horse skull was quiet like someone who opened their mouth to speak, but couldn’t articulate any sound. He wondered if the card in his own Deck — Anatole’s Death major arcana was a moth person holding a mask and a scythe — could hold any answers, other than white noise. It was cheating, technically, but Julian called them ‘magic cards’, Anatole didn’t think he’d mind.

Before he could do anything, Julian laughed. “Death? That means nothing to me. Death cast her gaze upon this wretch and turned away! She has no interest in an abomination like me.”

"What? Julian this isn’t how—”

He stood up abruptly, his mouth seeming to run on automatic pilotwith fatalistic statements and Julian’s hunch that Asra would come back. Which he would, Anatole knew he would. Asra always came back.

Instead of Julian’s advice about seeking him out when Asra did come back, for ‘Anatole’s own good’, whatever that could mean from a fucking stranger, he thought he ought to have accepted the medical help. Perhaps that way, Julian would’ve left earlier and his headache would’ve been dealt with.

Later, as he laid in bed drifting to sleep, he thought Asra left that day not because it was best for a journey, but because he somehowknew all of this would happen and he didn’t want to deal with any of it. 

[andimlonely]

Sometimes the Truth is Comforting, too | Kokichi Ouma

Kokichi Ouma x f!reader | Kokichi has come down with Despair Disease, and everyone has a turn looking after him. You volunteer for the night shift, and have more trouble than usual deciphering what’s true and what’s false (aka, Kokichi gets liar disease but because he’s such a liar already, it makes him tell the truth)

✧✿Angst, fluff

A/N: This turned out quite a bit longer than I intended, and it took longer too, but I like how it turned out in the end. I hope you will too ❤

______________________________________________________________

You never thought you would end up here, in the dorm of the Ultimate Supreme Leader, in a chair at his bedside and tending to his fever.

After Kokichi collapsed in the dining hall, Monokuma finally confirmed that he was sick after you all spent the whole day speculating why he had been acting so strange; though at that point, no one really thought otherwise. What you hadn’t expected, was that Kokichi’s fever isn’t just due to some infection or cold, but something you’ve never even heard of before: Despair Disease.

The group collectively agreed that in order to prevent someone from attacking Kokichi while he’s weak, or risking him dying from the fever, everyone would take turns watching over him, and you volunteered yourself for this shift. You figured since you sleep late anyway, it might as well be you with the night shift.

When you first entered the room, you were actually surprised by all the clutter. What even are all those boxes? Do you even want to know?

You try not to think about it, and instead decide to step out for a drink of water and a snack from the kitchen. You don’t know how long you might be here, so you might as well get comfortable.

But as you get up out of your seat and make your way to the door, Kokichi’s weakened whine halts you before you can leave, “(y/n)~”

“Kokichi, I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna get some water, okay--”

“But you can’t leave me here alone,” he suddenly sits up, eyes and skin dewy and hair a mess, “I might die!”

“That.. But, I’m only going to be gone a second.”

You couldn’t even refute his fear. If you’ve learned anything in this nightmare scape, it’s that you can’t trust anyone, that someone is always scheming and looking for any window they can to escape.

“You have to stay. Everyone knows I’m sick, and nobody likes me. Do you really think no one will try to come in here and kill me?”

You’re taken aback by his casually honest words. “Kokichi..”

“I took water bottles and snacks from the kitchen the other day,” he says in attempts to bribe you, “So stay.”

“..Okay.”

You go back to your seat, still registering what he said a moment ago. You always hesitate to believe what the boy says, but tonight his facade is different, softer.  

Kokichi had spent most of the evening asleep, with Gonta and Tsumugi keeping watch over him to prevent anyone from taking advantage of his weakened state. Of course it would be your luck that by the time it was your shift, Kokichi would be awake and somewhat delirious, and eager to talk to you. You’re thankful though; this Despair Disease seems to have rid him of his crude remarks for some reason.

But somehow his somber and emotional demeanor isn’t as enjoyable as you thought it would be. It might be nice that he isn’t insinuating you’re promiscuous, or teasing you about any number of your quirks, but seeing him so.. sentimental has your heart feeling heavy instead.

“Hey, Kokichi.. Here, give me that,” you order gently, gesturing to the drying washcloth on his forehead.

You take the cloth and run it under the sink, wringing it out a little so it isn’t dripping excessively when you carry it over to him.

Without a thermometer, you’re left just pressing the back of your hand to his forehead and cheeks. You withdraw it quickly the first time, recoiling from the intensity of his temperature against your skin. It seems like his fever isn’t going down much at all.

“You know, you’re so nice, (y/n).”

You let Kokichi babble about how kind you are as you place the damp washcloth back on his forehead and search for the alleged water bottles he has lying around. Kokichi needs to start drinking more water, or you worry he might not get any better very soon. You might not be his biggest fan, but you certainly don’t want him to suffer through this, and even less, die.

“Really, (y/n), I think you’re suuuper nice. That’s why I like you.”

“Kokichi, I think you should save the teasing for later.. Just take it easy right now.”

“But I’m not teasing, (y/n). You’re really really nice.”

“Thank you.. Anyway, here, drink as much water as you can, okay?”  

Kokichi obliges, and sits up slowly, his muscles aching and head pounding. The heat bubbling under his skin has him in a daze, everything seems a touch slower. You lean and reach over him to grab something, close enough for him to pick up your scent, and it feels like you’re there for hours - can’t you stay here that long? The urge to close his arms around you comes too late, and you’re back in your seat now, scribbling something in a notebook like you were when he just woke up.

In his daze, he can’t tell if you’re writing or drawing something. He also doesn’t realize he’s staring at you, but you don't seem to notice it either.

He watches your eyelashes open and close, open and close, your eyes trained to the (f/c) notebook in your hands. Would you look up from your book more if he were someone else? If it was Shuichi, or even Kiibo, lying here? Probably.

“Um.. Are you okay, Kokichi?”

Having noticed his pensive stare, you ask him this, your head tilted cutely.

He smiles and says absently, “No.”

Your eyes flick up from your book instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t wanna die.”

Die..? The word alone has your heart sinking deep into your chest. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel a duller version of the shock that overcomes you when one of your classmates’ body is found.  

You want to believe it's the delirium of his fever that has him talking like this, but something tells you that isn't true.

"You won't die. You're going to be okay. You’re.. You’re making me nervous, Kokichi.”

“Sorry.”

His apology brings you a pang of guilt. Him talking like this does make you nervous, but maybe you should keep it to yourself. It’s understandable he would feel fearful when he’s suffering from this previously unknown disease; maybe it even causes paranoia. It is Monokuma’s conception, and he did say that it’s a motive of sorts, so it must be awful.

“No, it’s okay.. But, really, you’re going to be alright. That’s why I’m here looking after you, so your fever doesn’t get worse, okay? Don’t worry.”

You’re misunderstanding him. Even if he does survive the Despair Disease, will he survive the Killing Game? He becomes less sure of it everyday. If he weren’t pretty clever, someone might’ve already killed him by now. But it’s only a matter of time until it actually happens. Your hands might be the ones to get dirty. You could even do it now, while he’s weaker than usual. At least then it would have been someone he..

No. He doesn’t want to die at all, and he can’t pretend he would be okay with dying at your hands.

“Hey, Kokichi?.. About what you said earlier..”

He blinks, having trouble accurately recalling what he’s said, let alone what you might be talking about.

“You know.. About everyone not liking you. It’s not that we don’t like you, it’s just..”

How can you explain it? You can’t truthfully say that anyone else is fond of Kokichi, but you also wouldn’t say that everyone hates him.. At least you think so, until all the hostile or at least skeptical interactions between Kokichi and one of the others play back in your mind. A sense of guilt accompanies your memories of your own rude moments, and you have to remind yourself why everyone is wary of him. No one would treat him this way if he weren’t so dishonest, or crude, and if he didn’t seem to find this Killing Game so fun.

But the more you think about his actions, the more you realize that more of it might be farce than you thought before, that maybe you were missing that it’s something else he’s hiding when he lies. After all.. Would someone happy, with nothing to hide, and nothing to fear, really lie so much?

“I’m supposed to be the liar, not you, (y/n),” Kokichi grins. In spite of his smile, you can see pain is reflected in his clouded violet eyes. “I know everyone hates me. Even you. Thanks for taking care of me, though. It’s really nice to take care of someone you hate.”

“That’s not true, Kokichi.. I don’t hate you. Why do you think that?”

“I just know. I mean, I know why. I’m a jerk to you, so I deserve it.”

Normally he’d probably say something like that with a pouted lip and lilted voice, but as you scan his features, you see that he isn’t just saying this to mock you.

“...I don’t hate you. I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

But you had to be here, didn’t you? Everyone probably pulled straws or something to see who was stuck with him. Or maybe you’re here out of pity. Maybe you didn’t want him to get worse, but only ‘cause you care about people in general, not him specifically, and sure that's a selfish thought, but the point stands.

You two sit in silence for awhile.

Kokichi occupies himself with the sliding puzzle you found in the warehouse, his thumbs deftly switching pieces like he's being timed. You listen to the constant clacking, a storm of questions weighing heavy in your mind.

"..How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess. Head hurts and stuff."

"Is it really bad?"

He hums in contemplation, "Kinda."

Despite his casual answer, you can’t stifle the panic that’s starting to rise in your stomach. You wish there were some medicine or something you could give him to help. A fever can go away on its own, but without medicine Kokichi could also get a lot worse.

"Do you need anything? I can get more water or--"

"Sit with me," he orders, “Please?”

He really is delirious. Your initial reaction is to refuse him, but the longer you look at his flushed face and pleading eyes, and the longer you think about how terrible he must be feeling, you find yourself unable to say no.

“Um.. Okay. But only for a second.”

It’s only because he’s sick, you tell yourself as you settle in next to him awkwardly. You keep your eyes on your lap, or on the opposite wall, or anywhere but Kokichi, and he doesn’t seem to mind. Unlike you, he isn’t uncomfortable at all. Instead, he’s so comfortable that he leans his head on your shoulder, and after a moment of listening to each other’s breathing, he closes his eyes and starts to hum.

Your eyes start to wander until you’re looking down at him, stifling the desire to stroke his dark, soft-looking locks. His humming lulls you into feeling less tense, and eventually you’re leaning your head onto Kokichi’s, trying to ignore the painful feeling in your heart as it races. If you’re not careful, you might end up falling asleep like this, and part of you doesn’t even mind.

Knock knock.

Both startled by the sudden knocks at the door, you exchange glances with Kokichi, who in his daze just stares at you owlishly. You glance briefly at the clock; your shift is still far from over. It essentially just started.

An uneasiness follows you as you make your way to the door, thankful for the pocket knife you always keep handy just in case. Never have you planned to use it, but you will if you have to, if only to incapacitate someone.

"Shuichi," you sigh upon opening the door, "What are you doing here?"

Immediately your dread dissipates at the sight of him, and the hand at your side relaxes. He gives you a sheepish smile, his hand on the nape of his neck.

"Ah, hi.. I just thought I should check up on you. How's Kokichi?"

"He's still pretty warm," you frown, stepping aside so Shuichi can see for himself.

"Hi, Shuichi," Kokichi greets from his bed, to which the Ultimate Detective reciprocates with a small greeting of his own.

He speaks to you briefly, asking you if Kokichi has been acting suspicious at all and if you feel okay being alone for your shift. You assure him everything is okay and that if anything happens you'll do your best to keep yourself and your 'patient' safe.

Still the slightest concerned, the male nods, "Well, I think that's all. Oh, that's right. Here, I found these in the warehouse. They seem safe and should help reduce Kokichi's fever."

You take the small bottle of pain medication and thank him. "Thanks, Shuichi. Be careful getting back."

Painkillers. You're surprised Monokuma was merciful enough to leave these in the warehouse for you all, you muse as you walk back to your chair.

Before you can even settle back into your seat, Kokichi hits you with a flustering question.

"Do you like Shuichi?"

"W-what? Of course, he's my friend."

"I mean do you have a crush on him," he clarifies, sounding like a child asking his babysitter about her love life.

"N-no! I don't like him like.. that."

"Well then is there someone else you like? You can tell me. I probably won't even remember any of this tomorrow."

Suddenly you feel the need to avert your gaze, completely caught off guard by this conversation.

"N-no, I.. there's no time to focus on things like that here.."

"That doesn't mean you can't have feelings. So... who is it?"

There's a chance that you are telling the truth and the topic alone is just that flustering for you. But Kokichi doesn't buy it. Or maybe he doesn't want to. But really, isn't this simultaneously the most and least perfect place for feelings to take root? Trapped within a limited space, with the same faces everyday, and, unless you're a fool, with absolutely nothing to look forward to day to day? Isn't that just asking for bonds to form, and then unceremoniously break, because this is still the Killing Game?

Even if you're too afraid and too angry to pursue someone, you probably still think about someone when you're sitting with them for breakfast, when you're on the way to the location of a body, when you're alone in your room.

"Kokichi, I'm not going to tell you something like that.. There's nothing to tell anyway."

"Hmm, how about this. I'll tell you mine then you tell me yours. Deal?"

After some back and forth and endless prodding, the Ultimate Supreme Leader does what he does best and manages to persuade you, if only to get him to stop bothering you. Plus.. like he said, he probably won't remember anyway, right? Maybe it wouldn't hurt to get something off your chest.

"Okay, I'll give you a hint."

"What?? But you said--

"She's cute, and she has (h/c) hair and… she's looking at me right now."

"W-what?! What are you saying..?"

"I'm saying I like you."

You feel like you're the one with a fever now. It takes you a moment, but you remember exactly who you're talking to, and how he would never say something like this except to make fun of you.

"That's not funny..," you mutter, gripping the bottle in your hand as you avert your eyes.

Suddenly your hand is in his clammy one, and you're staring at his flushed face, eyes shining with sincerity, or what he wants you to think is sincerity.

"I'm not joking, (y/n). I really like you," he insists, seeming confused as to why you're fighting him.

“S-stop it, Kokichi. Stop talking like that," you say as you try to pull your hand from his grip.

He doesn't let you go, insistent that he's telling you the truth. You wish you didn't want to believe it so much. You should have let the subject go, but it's too late to brush it off now.

"If you like me so much then why are you telling me now?.. Why haven't you told me before?"

Why say it now, when he's not even in his right mind?

"I didn't know how to say it, but I mean it. I really like you."

Of all the mean-spirited things he's said to you, this is one of the worst. Here you are caring for him - after volunteering to no less - and keeping watch over him, and he still can't even treat you nicely? Are your feelings really so insignificant to him that he can't keep from toying with them?

"You don't like me, Kokichi! I'm not going to fall for that so just stop, please!"

"How do you know that?," he cries, voice wavering lightly. You almost believe he's genuinely upset.

"I don't know," you reply bitterly. "I don't know anything about you. How can I? You want me to believe you but all you do is lie and hide the truth."

"But--"

You rise out of your chair, tossing two capsules of medicine onto his covers.

"No, just, just leave me alone. Take those and get some rest. I'll be here if you need anything but if you don't, then just leave me alone, please."

And to your surprise, he does. He doesn't say a thing for the rest of your shift, and eventually drifts to sleep, leaving you to soak alone in the wave of emotions roaring over you.

'Was I too harsh..?'

You can't help but question yourself. At the time you were completely convinced that Kokichi was only messing with you, trying to play with your emotions for fun, but now you feel guilty. What if it was true? Or what if he didn't mean any harm, and was just genuinely confused because of his high fever?

It's 2 a.m. when someone knocks on the door. You don't notice it at first because you're so consumed with the cycle of emotions that run through you at the thought of everything that Kokichi has said tonight.

You don't even feel relieved when Kiibo comes in for his turn; instead, you're almost angry. Angry at yourself and at Kokichi, and how you can't just have a normal conversation with him, how much you wanted to believe everything he told you in these past few hours.

After bidding the android good luck, you tuck yourself in for the night, still conflicted about the truth.

----

By the next afternoon, it's as if Kokichi was never sick to begin with. Due to everyone's careful watch, he had almost fully returned to his regular, obnoxious self.

Once you were aware of his recovery, his previously flushed face back to its typical pale hue, you actively avoided him every time you saw him. Somehow you aren't sure whether to be angry or happy that every time, he doesn't acknowledge you at all. It's not as if he would greet you like you want him to; he would probably just mock you, and tell everyone how sentimental you were being while watching over him last night.

You try to remind yourself that he probably doesn't remember anything after all, but the thought tugs at your heart as you realize that would mean he was more delirious than you thought, that he didn't mean anything he said..

Most of the day is wasted on those thoughts, little room in your mind to do anything else but mull it over.

Until you find an envelope on the floor of your room. It must have been slipped underneath your door, since you always make sure to lock it while you're away, and it's definitely meant for you because your name is scrawled along the back.

Upon opening it, you find enclosed a note and a small flower, its petals slightly crumpled.

'Dear (y/n),

Meet me in the courtyard at 7. It's important, so please come.

- Shuichi'

You can't imagine why Shuichi would summon you, and you're not even convinced this really is from Shuichi, but you decide to go nonetheless. Whoever sent this, you'll learn something from this encounter, you know that much.

Armed with your pocket knife and a mini taser you convinced Miu to make you, you step out into the courtyard, hoping you won't need to use either.

The sun is set, but it's relatively light out still as you move further from the dorm hall, which slightly eases your anxiety. But it comes back as you realize it's only a couple minutes before 7, and Shuichi is nowhere to be seen.

You walk further, thinking maybe he's coming from a different building, but you're stopped when someone taps on your shoulder.

"Heya, (y/n)," Kokichi greets casually, his arms tucked behind his head.

Immediately you try to move in a different direction, your eyes avoiding his, "I'm supposed to be meeting up with someone right now."

"Yup, me! I left you that note, not Shuichi."

You turn around to see him grinning, unable to decipher whether he's lying. "What..? But then why--"

"I knew you wouldn't come if it was from me, so I lied a little."

What else is new?

All the curiosity from before has left you now, leaving only exasperation. "What do you want, Kokichi?"

He drops his grin from a moment ago and sighs.

"Look, I'm sorry that I tricked you, okay? I just didn't know how else to get you to come here. But hey, listen, did I say anything.. weird yesterday? I can't remember much, so.. I wanted you to fill me in."

That's why he called you here? So he can clear up anything he said with some nonsense excuse?

"Yes, a lot…," you reply curtly, ready to walk away.

Before you can get more than a few steps away from him he stops you, "O-okay, wait, wait! That's not why I called you here. Just hear me out, alright?"

"Fine.."

"So.. I actually remember everything from last night. At least most of it, I think. I know I upset you, right?"

You nod wordlessly, and he continues.

"And it's 'cause you didn't believe my feelings for you. Right?"

"K-kind of.."

"Well.. I actually wasn't lying. I was trying to give you this yesterday, but since you were pissed at me I'm giving it to you now, so.. here."

In the arm hidden behind his back he holds a cardboard box, maybe a little bigger than the size of his head. Could it be one of the boxes you saw lying around in his room? He hands it to you, and it's heavier than expected.

"What.. is this?"

"It's a present, but y'know, there's no wrapping paper here so I just left it like that. Anyway, just open it. I promise it's not a bomb."

That hadn't crossed your mind but now you're less convinced that this present is something innocuous. But if Kokichi is still standing less than a foot away from you, you reason that whatever is in here can't be immediately dangerous. Hopefully.

You sit down, finding it easier to open this way, and when you open the flaps of the box, you're left furrowing your brow.

"What is all this?"

"They're weapons and stuff I told Miu to make."

You can see that much, but you're left wondering why. Is this some kind of joke too?

"I've had 'em for awhile. You can find out what they do if you look at her instructions and my blueprints."

"But, I don't get it.. why did you have her make these,  and why give them to me?"

"'I had her make those so we could find the mastermind, but if I die before we can use them, then you guys are screwed. I was waiting to see who I could trust, so I kept it a secret. Plus, if I told anyone else, they'd probably rat me out to everybody. So.. since you're not stupid enough to do that, and stuff.. I'm giving them to you."

You look up at him, only met with his side profile while he stares elsewhere, hands behind his head like they were before.

"I didn't know you thought so much about all this.."

Kokichi has his back turned to you now, in attempts to seem nonchalant, but really, he doesn't want to have to mask the emotions that might break through his expression.

"Meh. I couldn't let the game get boring, so. Plus it's fun to order Miu around, have you ever tried it?"

You dig around in the box, curious if there's anything else, and there is.

A kubspad.

Could it be..?

Your eyes flood first with happiness and then tears as images of your loved ones flash before you, first with smiles on their faces. You choke back a sob as Monokuma alludes to something terrible by the end of it. It's nothing you haven't considered before, but the thought that they could be suffering or worse is always distressing.

"K-Kokichi.. You had this?"

"Not at first, but yeah."

He clears his throat, uncomfortable with the lump that's started to form there.

"I was gonna show everyone's motive video, right? But then you guys got in the way, but I still saw them all. I was tempted to show you yours but I didn't know if you were trustworthy yet, so I held onto it."

Kokichi half expects you to snap at him for keeping this from you for that long, and he braces himself for it. He couldn’t really blame you for being mad about that; you obviously care a lot about the people in your video, and even he could understand the dread of not knowing exactly what was happening to them. But you don’t snap at him - instead, your voice is the softest he’s ever heard it.

"Thank you," you murmur, the pad pressed tightly to your chest.

He isn't sure what to say now. What do you say to someone when they're sad, when you don't want them to be?

At a loss of what else to do, he sits down beside you and plays with the grass. He has the urge to crack a joke to lighten the air but he has a feeling you might not appreciate it right now.

Still, the silence is making him restless and you notice it.

"Kokichi.. Do you really.. Like me?"

He doesn’t say anything right away, leaning back and letting his back rest on the grass.

“Ha.. I don’t know why I said that. Just forget about it, ‘kay?”

It’s easier said than done, and he knows that. He knows you can’t just forget, and he knows he can’t just forget. What he doesn’t know is why he cares. Why should he care how you feel, or how he feels, or about anything at all? It was simpler before you became a recurring thought, before just seeing you was infuriating because his stomach would fill with butterflies and he didn’t understand so he thought you just made him sick. That thought is kind of funny now, especially after you spent hours tending to his fever, worrying about him.

Despite what Kokichi is thinking, his words make your heart drop into your stomach.

“What? How can I forget that?”

“Well it’s not like you.. like me or anything,” he utters, and for a moment you know he’s sincerely crestfallen, but he recovers with a nonchalant smile, “Sooo, just forget it! It’ll just be awkward if you don’t, and neither of us wants to deal with that.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you realize, it was never that Kokichi was lying to you; he was afraid all this time.

“I’m not going to forget it.”

He sits up, caught off guard by your serious tone. “Huh? Why not?”

“Because,” you pause, steeling yourself to say it, "Why would I want to forget if I feel the same way?"

Kokichi is ready to make a doubtful remark but you continue before he can.

"That's why I got so upset at you.. I didn't want you to get my hopes up. I thought maybe somehow you knew that I had feelings for you and you were making fun of me for it. Plus.. I never considered you could actually feel the same way."

When you first realized you felt something for Kokichi, you were confused and angry more than anything. Sure, he is cute, but he’s always kidding about things you shouldn’t and stirring up trouble for everyone else. Not to mention that having feelings for someone, let alone someone like Kokichi, in a situation like this is just ridiculous, and not something to think about.

You finally bring yourself to look at the boy sitting next to you, curious why he’s been silent, but his knees are to his chest and his face is buried into them. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his shoulder.

“..Kokichi? What’s wrong? You’re making me nervous.”

At his continued silence, you tug on his white sleeve, “Kokichi.”

He lifts his head but doesn’t face you at first. You notice his shoulders shaking, and worry he might be crying. When he finally faces you, you see that tears are dripping down his cheeks, but he’s also.. smiling?

“What’s wrong?”

“Ugh, it’s this stupid disease. It’s making me all mushy,” he sniffles. “Don’t get used to this. I never ever cry. Ever.”

You’re only half convinced that his illness is to blame, but you’re relieved he’s okay anyway. Feeling emboldened, you slide a little closer to the boy and wrap your arms around him, for his sake and yours. It feels surreal being this close to him, feeling strands of his hair poke your cheek as you take in his scent and his warmth, a feeling you’ve thought about for so long.

Kokichi’s thin frame goes stiff, “H-hey! Geez, you’re needier than I thought..”

You pull away, a little disappointed but mostly embarrassed, but you’re pulled back into him almost immediately.

“But so am I! Guess we’re kinda made for each other or whatever, huh?,” he murmurs cheekily into your ear.

“Kokichi!”

He chuckles as he squeezes his arms tighter around you, and though you can’t see it, he’s smiling tenderly, newly instilled with determination to bring down the mastermind, to keep both of you alive at all costs.

The sincerest you’ve ever heard him, Kokichi makes a simple request of you. “Stay with me, okay?”

[aroseandapen]

Phantom Thief AU v. oumaede: On a night where Kaede and Shuichi have split up in their search of the thief plaguing the wealthy of the city, Kaede has a unintentional dance with the very one she’s looking for.

Of the two places Kokichi might appear that night, Kaede regretted offering to take the large formal gathering. Shuichi would fare worse, though, so she bit her tongue and held her sighs in. Anything to finally catch the thief hitting so many wealthy households in the city. The person who caught him would certainly gain renown--as well as a promotion probably.

The thought made Kaede feel a little guilty. Shuichi wanted to catch him purely for the sake of justice, but Kaede’s motivations were less pure. Not that she *didn’t* want justice, but she was also tired of being on the field for years. She’d like a cushier, more secure, less competitive position that gave her more time for her one truth love. The piano.

More than once, her eyes gravitated towards the unused piano in the corner of the dance hall, wistful and aching to sit at the keys. If only she could’ve infiltrated as a pianist rather than another one of the guests…

“Hey there, what’s a cute girl like you doing being a wallflower here?” The voice caught her off guard. The tone was overwhelmingly familiar, rather than the stiff elegance of the rich party-goers around them, and it had a playful lilt that suggested ‘cute girl’ was a nudge in the ribs rather than an actual flirtation.

She frowned, turning to the man who spoke--and again he stunned her, but with his height.

“Oh,” she uttered before she could stop herself. He was significantly shorter by over half a foot, and though Kaede was slightly taller than average when it came to women, most of the men around her tended to be around her height or taller. Embarrassed with her thoughts, she reddened. She couldn’t apologize, however, or else he’d know why she spoke and probably be offended. “Well, no one asked me yet, I guess.”

It was a bland lie, and she wasn’t sure why she bothered to be dishonest about it. Several guys had asked her already; she simply turned them down, uninterested in anything but watching out for Kokichi.

The man held out a hand, palm up, and Kaede regretted her lie.

“Well then, wanna dance with me?” he asked, and she didn’t have much of a choice but to slide her hand into his grasp.

“Sure,” she said, her smile surely unconvincing.

He stepped lightly back onto the floor, tugging her along. She sucked in a shocked breath, pulled along into a dizzying whirl. Kaede didn’t know anything about formal dancing, but her clumsy feet missed his toes with each stomp as he threaded them through the crowd. They whipped past another couple, so close without colliding that she couldn’t help a giggle as they spun again and again, all across the dancehall.

A second passed in an hour before their whirling came to a stop. Breathless and dizzy, she braced her hands on the other’s shoulders as his hands on her waist were weightless while they supported her. She hadn’t expected the cardio, her heart racing, cheeks flushing, nor did she expect it to be so much fun.

“What can I say? I’m a good dancer,” he said, chortling.

Kaede lifted a hand to her mouth, unsure if she’d spoken out loud.

He tilted his head inquisitively. “Do you play piano?”

Her eyes widened. “How’d you know?” she asked, baffled.

He jerked his chin in a direction behind her, and she didn’t need to look to know he gestured towards the dusty piano. “You were staring at it when I came up to you.”

“Maybe it’s just weird that they don’t have a pianist playing tonight. There’s always one at these fancy things.”

“Maybe,” he sang, and his smile grew, “but you already told me I’m correct.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Hey, I didn’t get your--”

“Oh!” he cut her off with a startling utterance. “I forgot to ask the pretty lady’s name, hm?”

It felt a bit odd to her that he interrupted just as she was about to ask for his name, but she brushed it off. “Kaede. That’s my name. And yours?”

He didn’t answer right away, taking up a cheerful hum. “Kaede, Kaede, hmm…”

Then he stood on his tiptoes, leaning in so abruptly that Kaede sucked in a quick breath. His lips were next to her ear, his voice dropped to a whisper--no, more a breath ghosting over her skin. She shivered at the sensation.

“The name’s Kokichi Ouma, Miss Detective-Pianist.”

The pressure against her vanished, leaving her body chilled from the spots he’d held her in during their dance. Kaede was left blinking, stunned, her brain short circuiting from the suddenness of what just happened and struggling to catch up. Meanwhile Kokichi had vanished, slipped off among the crowd. She swung her head around, trying to catch a glimpse in the crush of bodies.

There. At the glass double doors that led to the balcony, slipping outside.

“Scuse me, excuse me.” Kaede dove through people, bumping people in her haste to get past. The doors had already clicked shut when she got there but she burst through, knocking into the glass with her shoulder.

The balcony was empty. On a whim, she happened to look up, a dress shoe dangling above her head. The leg it was attached to vanished up onto the roof.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Kaede wasn’t one for rooftop chases or anything dangerous like that. Shuichi would be if he was here though. If she didn’t even try to catch him, then her partner would blame himself for not being here, no matter what she said.

Grunting, she yanked the straps off over her heels and kicked off her shoes. They flipped over the edge, clattering down to the ground floor but she didn’t care. She’d probably never use them again anyway. With a foot braced on the railing, she hiked up her dress and hoisted herself up. She was just barely able to catch the edge of the roof with her fingers. Slowly, groaning in exertion, she pulled herself up.

Kokichi hadn’t gotten far. As she climbed up, he turned towards her with a gaping mouth. Then he laughed, high-pitched and delighted.

“You really came up here? I really underestimated you, Kaede!” he gleefully called across the tiled roof.

She spread her feet to give herself more stability. “I’m taking you in tonight, you’re not getting away!”

A gust of wind buffeted her, making her sway back. Her stomach dropped; she curled her toes against the bottom of her shoes so tightly that one of her feet cramped. She didn’t fall, but the reminder of the drop behind her stabbed like an icy knife in her gut. Regret bubbled up in her throat. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But as she worked the cramp from her foot, Kokichi had put more space between them, placing each step with ease like he was just walking on an even path. He taunted her with a grin.

“Gonna have to move faster than that if I’m not supposed to get away, Kaede~”

Her frustration flared hot; she saw red. She gritted her teeth and lunged across the rooftop. The distance between them plummeted. Kokichi yelped and jumped back from her swinging arm. Her fist closed over air--she grunted and swung for him again.

He slipped to the side. She missed, but her momentum kept her moving forward. The roof fell away just a few steps away. Kaede gasped, her heart leaping to her throat to choke off a scream. She pinwheeled her arms to regain her balance, to stop, to avoid the fall.

Kokichi grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked. She landed on her butt--shaking, but still alive on the roof.

“Be careful!” he scolded, fear bleeding into his voice.

Kaede couldn’t respond. She was too busy trying to catch her breath. The wind whistled past her ears, her eyes fixed on the dizzying drop that she would’ve had if Kokichi hadn’t pulled her back. She swallowed and shook her head.

“Y-you saved me.” Kaede turned to face him.

The rooftop behind her was empty. In the time it took for her to regain her composure enough to react, Kokichi had escaped. She lifted a hand to her forehead, swallowing back her fears and regrets.

“N-next time…” she breathed. But next time, she’d leave these dangerous stunts to the acrobats. No promotion was worth death.

[wildwoodmage]

CROSSROADS

@boundforfreedomsonsal SonSal Week Year 3 Day 3

Second day in a row I'm cheating by repurposing fic I already had mostly written, but actually it's sonsal mod's fault for making prompts that suited my pre-existing drafts! This one is a continuation of Starlight Symphony, an AU featuring Sally as the Goddess of Order and Sonic as... well, why don't you read it for yourself? ;3 High fantasy with a touch of philosophy. Does it count as major character death if the scene takes place in the afterlife? Anyway...

Despite what humans and lesser gods might believe, Sally, Queen of the Gods, was not omniscient. Her knowledge was vast, unmatched by any who had not personally woven shapeless matter into planets and stars. She heard the song of every newborn soul, and remembered all who had come before. Human history was a tome she returned to time and time again, spending centuries pondering the stories of the strange creatures she and her husband had created. The future, however, remained behind a veil. Scourge had a unique talent for bucking her predictions, bending fate to his ever-shifting whims. Every once in a while, a human was born with a similar talent. These humans drew power from their defiance, their ability to stare fate in the eye and not blink. Sally soon realized that humans with this ability often became heroes, healers, leaders, or destroyers. They changed fate and the fate of all who followed in their wake. When Sally peered into a human’s future and realized that it was shrouded in chaos, she knew that they were one to pay close attention to.

When the triplets were born, fate ceased to be predictable. Infinite possibilities clouded Sally’s vision, and as much as the mystery vexed her, she found that she could not tear her eyes away. A lesser mind, studying them, would find them unremarkable; three children without wealth or protection, likely to die in obscurity. But they survived, and as they reached adulthood, Sally began to see the signs of three uniquely powerful souls, shining with defiance and infinite potential. Sonic, the eldest, was courageous and kind. He was a shield between his family and the myriad of dangers that threatened them. Sonia was a firebrand, with ambition that would never be satisfied with a life of poverty and fear. Manic was clever, and although his wit was often used for petty tricks, he could not fully conceal a profound love of justice. All three were dishonest, as humans often were; they pretended not to care about a world that did not care for them, but Sally could see that they ached for any innocent who suffered, and they yearned for a kinder future.

For two decades, a blink in the lifespan of a god, Sally watched them from afar. And when one reached the Isle of Souls, she approached him. Sonic lay on his back, cushioned by ivory sand, while rhythmic waves lapped at his feet. He stared up at a blue-gray sky, eyes tracing subtle shifts in the clouds. In all the years Sally had watched him, she had never seen him lie so still. On Earth, he had been eternally restless, his body overflowing with more energy than a single human could possibly contain. Here, however, he enjoyed a moment of perfect peace, untroubled by want or memory or anything that was not the rolling waves. He deserved it. Sally felt a twinge of pity that it may not last.

The Queen didn’t speak as she approached, not wishing to disturb him until he was ready. Her preferred form when speaking to humans was a lady, small and unassuming at a glance, with sensibly cropped hair and clothes of sturdy, deep blue linen. Unlike her husband, she cared little for striking awe and fear into the hearts of men. She found it was far more satisfying to reveal her true nature piece by piece, beguiling her followers not with power, but mystery. Her blessing was reserved for those who sought the truth beneath the surface. When she sat beside Sonic, legs folded demurely beneath her, only the vivid color of her eyes and clothes indicated that she was anything more than another ghost.

With uncharacteristic slowness, Sonic turned blank white eyes on her. He smiled, friendly but not familiar. “Howdy, stranger,” he said. “I didn’t know there was anyone here but me.”

“It’s best to give new arrivals space to adjust,” Sally said. “I hope I didn’t interrupt.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I was just enjoyin’ the atmosphere.” Sonic looked back up at the sky. His face was smooth and slack, untouched by worry. Although he had worn a carefree mask on Earth, there had always been fury and tension seeping through the cracks. Now, he couldn’t even remember what had troubled him so. Sally was almost jealous. Almost.

“I love to come here,” she said. “There’s not a place in the universe that’s more peaceful.”

“I believe it,” Sonic said. “But I haven’t seen much beyond earth and the night sky. How much of the universe have you seen?”

“All of it and more,” Sally said. Sonic snorted as if she had cracked a joke, although her tone was entirely sincere.

“All of it, huh? And here I thought I was well traveled. What’s your name, stranger?”

Sally introduced herself, and was momentarily taken aback when Sonic extended a hand for her to shake. His smile was effortless, and Sally had seen shades of it in the years before. To Sonic, everyone was a friend until they proved otherwise, even someone like her. She gave his hand a polite shake.

“I’m Sonic,” he said.

“I know.”

“Of course you do.” Sonic’s tone was mirthful, unafraid. Perhaps it was the soothing balm of his surroundings that kept him from worrying, but Sally suspected that she would not intimidate him even if they were still on Earth. Even if any sensible human would be afraid of her. “You know everything, right? Can you tell me where we are?”

“This is the Isle of Souls, a waypoint between Earth and infinity. Ghosts rest here until they are ready to move on.”

Sonic was quiet for a moment, his smile softening into something more subdued. “I’m dead.”

It wasn’t a question, so Sally didn’t answer. “What do you remember?”

“Not much,” Sonic said. “Faces. Family. I’m missing a lot of details, and the actual dying part is a big ol’ blank.”

“That’s normal. Those who die tragically rarely remember right away. The memories will return as you make peace with your fate.”

“And my family?”

“Grieving, but safe. I cannot predict their futures, but I suspect that they will not join you here anytime soon.”

“Good.” A pang of sadness crossed Sonic’s expression, the first since his arrival on the Island. “Sort of. I guess it’s normal to miss them. I want them to be safe, but I think they’d like it here.”

“Most souls wait here until their loved ones arrive. You are welcome to do so. However…” Sally chose her next words carefully. It was exhilarating, speaking with someone whose actions she could not predict, but the uncertainty was unfamiliar and vexing. “I would like to make you an offer.”

At that, Sonic propped himself up, turning away from the blue-gray waves to look Sally in the eye. “Do you always sound this spooky, or do you crank it up a notch for the recently-dead?”

“Words have consequences, especially when they are misunderstood. Especially words from a goddess to a human. I want to be sure you understand the gravity of your decision.”

Sonic breathed out a sigh, casting a longing glance back at the endless ocean. But he sat up, facing Sally, as tension crept back into his posture. “Alright, Your Majesty. I’m listening.”

“You have two paths forward,” Sally said. “You may remain on the Isle of Souls like multitudes before you, and those that will come after. Ghosts are welcome to stay as long as they like. When you are ready for eternal rest, you will sail across the ocean. The horizon is beyond the reach of even the gods, and on the other side you will be truly at peace. No matter what path you choose now, that horizon is your final destination.

“You died sooner than I expected. You are not the first human to do so, and you will not be the last. But I believe that you still have a story left to write. If you accept my offer, I will grant you a portion of my power, and you will be my agent in the realm of the gods. The reaper who brought you to the Isle is one such agent, though you would have different responsibilities. You would be not unlike an angel from human stories, a messenger and a warrior, defying those who would disrupt the balance between the gods.”

Sally couldn’t predict the future, but she knew with complete certainty what Sonic’s first question would be. “Would I be able to go back to Earth?”

“No,” she said. “If I were to bend the laws of life and death, even for my own champion, my own power—and every universal law I uphold—would erode. Any time you cross into the mortal plane, your power and ability to communicate with the living will be severely restricted. You are dead, and you will remain dead. Should you accept, your service will be temporary, and when it ends you will return to the Isle of Souls.”

A wiser man would ask for time to think. Sonic merely looked at the starless sky, then the horizon. The energy that flowed through him in life and death alike had him fidgeting, sweeping his fingers through the soft sand. Sally couldn’t predict him, couldn’t see into his racing thoughts, but she had crafted his beating heart and recognized her husband’s gift, the restless defiant that flowed through his veins.

She was not surprised by his answer. She couldn’t wait to be surprised by what was to come.

[dabiensworld]

"please stay"

Huge thank you for @ladysantebellum and @fallonsliam for giving me an opportunity to express myself and the best work they did with organizing this event. I suck when it comes to tumblr so it isn't look so pretty as I want but I hope you will enjoy the content.

They came back to the Manor from The La Perla party. It was just after 11 pm. The night wasn’t perfect, her mother’s presence and Jeff Colby weren’t the perfect addition to the perfect first date, but Fallon had fun with Liam tonight, but obviously Liam didn’t. Something definitely was on his mind what made him sad and pensive.

“It was really nice evening.” Fallon said with gentle yet seductive smile on her face.

“ Yes, it was.” Liam answered, but Fallon could sense that something was wrong with him. Liam mumbled something what sounds like “goodnight”, he kissed her cheek and then he turned around and went to his room. Fallon walked into her room and closed the door behind her. She didn’t know what went wrong. She was lovely and sexy and she didn’t say anything stupid like she used to when she was around boys she likes. And she definitely likes Liam and she thought he liked her too.

Fallon took a quick shower, dried her hair and she put on lingerie, nothing sexy, just classic but this could affect Liam’s imagination. She went to his room. The door was partly open. She opened it and walked into.

“Knock knock.” she said with a smile, but that what she saw wiped the smile from her face. He was packing his things.

“ What are you doing?”

“ I’m packing.” Liam looked like a child caught on candy’s stealing. He didn’t expect Fallon at this time.

“ Our contract is clearly saying that I should leave the manor till midnight. It’s almost 12.30 am so I need to hurry up cause I missed deadline.” he quickly came back to being charming and amusing.

“ Don’t worry, I won’t call out our bodyguards to throw you out of the gate. You can stay here till morning.” Fallon smiled widely and sat on a bed.

“ You also can finish packing at the morning. “ Fallon added so that there would be no awkward silence between them.

“Thanks Fallon, but I’d rather do it right now. In the morning I will make sure I took everything.” Liam came closer to bed and looked at Fallon. She was thinking that he wanted to touch her or maybe even kissed her and then it hit her. She realized she was sitting on his clothes. She stood up and sat next to them. She felt her cheeks blushed. She is Fallon Carrington, she’s never blushed. But the heat of her skin proved that she wasn’t completely herself when Liam Ridley was near. But he seemed to not seeing her shame, he was still absorbed in packing his stuff.

“ You wanted to leave without saying goodbye, didn’t you?” she said sadly and when he raised his head, she knew he could sense the sadness in her voice.

“No, of course not.” he replied but this was the most dishonest answer she’s ever heard.

“Liar.” Fallon felt a metaphorical needle sticking into her heart. She’s never felt it before. Not even with Culhane, but with guy whom she knows a few days.

“ I wouldn’t go without goodbye.” Liam stopped packing,set his backpack on the floor and sat next to her on the bed.

“ I could not do it to you. But I think we both know it’s time for me to go.”

“ Didn’t you enjoy our date?” she knew she sounded a little bit desperate but she didn’t care about it then.

“ I did Fallon, really. I did enjoy our date. It was a wonderful night and also the last couple of days.” maybe unconsciously but he laid his hand on hers and squeezed.

“ So what is wrong?” she said. She looked deeply into Liam’s eyes. Her sight let him know that she would know when he would lie again. He took a deep breath and said.

“ I started to feel something for you Fallon. Seriously. I don’t know what exactly it is but I know it’s something.”

Fallon couldn’t see herself but she was sure her eyes were shining and her face was more red than before. She smiled shyly. Liam’s face was completely different. He didn’t blush like a virgin teenager. His face was tense and Fallon could barely read any emotions from it. He squeezed her hand more tightly.

“ Also I know that I couldn’t start nothing serious with you knowing that I lied to you since the beginning.”

“ What are you talking about? Is it a joke?” Fallon wrenched her hand free.

“ That woman, who we met in church on your grandfather’s funeral had right. She was old coworker of my parents John and Laura. “

“ Wait a minute.” Fallon stood up and came closer to the windows. “ That means your name is…”

“Jack” Liam said. He wanted to get closer to her but she stepped back.

“ Why did you lie in the courthouse that you are Liam Ridley? “ she reached her hand in front of her to let him understand that she didn’t want him to get closer to her.

“ I didn’t. “ Liam knew he screwed up and Fallon was angry at him. He needed to calm her down and made her listen to him.

“ Please, let me explain everything.” he stepped away to give her space.

“ You have two minutes. “ she folded her arms.

“ Please sit down” Liam came to her and he pointed to the bed. She decided to sit but she tried to avoid his touch. Liam understood her intention and kept his distance. Fallon sat on the bed and crossed her legs. She sent him eloquent look to let him know he could start talking.

“ Clock is ticking, one minutes left.”

“ Okay “ he sighed and he knelt in front of her. Fallon recalled her business class about body language.

He gave her a sign humbling himself before her that he gave up his resistance and he wanted to be completely honest with her.

“ My full name is Jack Liam Ridley Lowden Van Kirk. My parents are John Lowden and Laura Van Kirk - shareholders of Van Kirk Industries in New York.” Fallon raised her eyebrows and she looked at Liam’s face and it seemed like he didn’t lie. She heard about Van Kirks. They are rich and powerful like Carringtons, some big and small scandals. Maybe she even heard about his Liam’s parents, maybe Blake met them a couple years ago.

“ Okay but why you introduced yourself as Liam Ridley?”

“ I changed my name a few years ago. My family’s mess very complicated my career and also my personal life. I’ve decided to cut myself off of them, started new life with new name and crystal clear card in Atlanta. Now I’m officially Liam Ridley. But some people still know me as Jack Lowden. People like Julia Haart or...”

“ Julia knows who you are?” she interrupted his sentence in half a word.

“ She does. I worked with her company last year during the promotion for Vanity Fair. That’s why I’ve acted that weird. I was afraid that someone would ask you about me.” he really wanted her to believe his words but he knew it’s all sound like a crazy story from stupid Hallmark movie.

“ So you didn’t want me to know who you truly are?” she was definitely disappointed. Another man in her life who failed her.

“ Honestly I didn’t. But not because I wanted to lie you. It’s because this is my real life. You’re part of Liam Ridley’s life, not Jack Lowden. I just didn’t expect this whatever is between us will survive. It was supposed to be for one day and then we would go our separate ways. ” he laid his hands on hers and squeezed them. It took several seconds before he could raised his head and looked into her eyes and it took another several minutes for either of them to break the silence.

“ You know how insane your story sounds? “ he didn’t see tears in her eyes but he could hear how her voice broke.

“ Trust me I would sound more insane if I told you this story the day we met on the bench.” it was funny that he asked her to trust him. He was totally sure he’s the last person on Fallon Carrington’s trust list.

“ Anyway, I will take the rest of my stuff and go. I will not impose you anymore.” he released her hand and stood up.

“ Wait.” she said and stood between him and door. Liam was a little bit disorientated.

“ Look I appreciate that you told me the truth about your past and I understand why you didn’t tell me about it before, because it’s almost intimate and I’m like a stranger for you while you are my husband and I am your wife. Or was… It’s past midnight. “ Fallon felt stupid right now and she was talking through her hat, but she realized something. She realized she wasn’t ready to let Liam Ridley go.

“ Anyway you lied to me and you made me think that I am hopeless date, which I’m a great date, but it isn’t the worst thing someone did to me and I feel I can forget you, because you don’t know so many things about me too but you can know if you want to. And I totally feel that I’m talking bullshit. And I always talk like this when I’m talking with a guy I like.” Fallon said with clenched teeth. She was sure she was as red as a tomato and she probably embarrassed herself. But she felt light too. It was the first time she told someone she liked how she felt and it was a great feeling. She was also happy this person was Liam.

“ I like you Liam… Or Jack… But I’d rather call you Liam. I like you. “ she said it twice, in less than one minute, in the same sentence. Fallon never believes she was able to do it. What this man is doing to her?

“ I like you too Fallon Carrington.” Liam answered. His eyes were full of happiness and relief. He touched her chin and closed his mouth to hers and kissed her. It was only their second kiss but Fallon knew that the taste of his lips was her favorite. He broke it and she smiled and giggled like a little girl.

“ I’m not going to keep you in the Manor, you can go back to your place. But I really want to know you better and you to know me better. Please stay, stay in my life.”

[shyvioletcat]

I give you the drabble no one asked for but you get anyway because I brotp Aelin and Dorian so hard.

~~~~~

It was supposed to be time. Yrene had been sent for and she had arrived, family in tow. Even Dorian had come along for the journey. The palace was practically bursting with guests. But the arrival they had all been impatiently waiting for was late.

Very late. And Aelin was pissed.

The Queen of Terrasen reclined on a long couch in the library trying desperately to focus on her book. But every time she relaxed enough to pay attention to what was happening the tiny person inside her would jam some appendage uncomfortably against Aelin’s insides.

For instance, the two characters were about to confess their love for each other as a thunderstorm raged about them. But just as Aelin was about to read those anticipated words something, she assumed a foot, jabbed violently into her ribs. It was enough shock and pain that she cried out, the sound echoing through the library.

The next sound that echoed was the book hitting the floor as Aelin hurled it across the room. She’d had enough. She needed this baby out.

Aelin felt like she hadn’t slept in a week. Which was half true as she was up half the night, every night, because she was either in pain, uncomfortable, restless or needed to pee.

Rowan had tried to help. But his helping was a lot like fussing and Aelin had had just enough of that too. Hell, the pregnancy had set all the Fae males on edge and they were starting to suffocate her. Even Lorcan was being helpful enough for Aelin to threaten to send him back to Perranth.

Hence why she had sequestered herself in the empty library, to get some peace and quiet and be by herself. But at that moment the baby stretched and reminded Aelin she not alone.

An exasperated groan escaped as Aelin pushed herself up. Great. Now she didn’t have her book. Even once she got up, how was meant to pick it up off the floor?

Footsteps sounded, confidently making their way towards Aelin. They were coming from the direction she had thrown her book, and by the momentary pause in the steps she assumed the owner had stopped to pick it up. Aelin watched the space in which the personage would appear, eager to know who had disobeyed her orders and entered the library.

It was Dorian who sauntered into view. A perfect smirk plastered on his perfect face.

“You drop this?” He asked still making his way towards Aelin.

“In a manner of speaking,” Aelin said as she struggled to sit up a bit further. A rather undignified sound escaped her mouth but she was more grateful than she could express when Dorian pulled up a chair instead of rushing to assist her.

“You look exhausted,” Dorian said as he placed the book on the small table next to Aelin and sat down. “But as beautiful as ever.”

“Why thank you, your Highness,” Aelin replied. “I see your time as King hasn’t improved your ability to lie.”

Dorian raised a hand to his chest in mock pain. “You wound me, Majesty. When have I ever been dishonest when it comes to your beauty. You’re practically glowing.”

“Don’t mistake that glow for the sheen of sweat I have all day,” Aelin said then gestured to her protruding stomach. “This thing is a furnace.”

In response a cooling breezed drifted by Aelin and she stifled the moan that rose to her throat. Gods knew what Rowan would do if he heard a sound like that come from here while in the presence of Dorian. Adarlan might need a new king.

Dorian had missed nothing and let out a chuckle. “I recall I once praised your beauty in a circumstance not too dissimilar to this. Even then you denied the truth.”

Aelin furrowed her brow in confusion but then she remembered. She had been curled under the blankets of her bed in the castle in Rifthold, the pain of her monthly cycles paralysing her.

Aelin scoffed. “Dissimilar? It was the complete opposite of this situation. And I didn’t deny my beauty. I was calling you out for your stupidity of flirting with an assassin.” Aelin looked to Dorian and saw him smiling and she couldn’t help but smile too. “Do you remember how Chaol bolted from the room?”

Dorian laughed. “Yes. He was the colour of a tomato when I met him outside the hall. It took him a good five minutes to actually explain what your ailment was.”

Aelin tilted her head back and laughed then said, “What did he do when Yrene went into labour?”

Aelin looked at Dorian and he had a tight lipped smile on his face, as if he was trying desperately not to laugh. He took a moment to clear his throat and then said, “He fainted.”

Aelin exploded with laughter.

“I was waiting outside then Yrene started screaming my name, so I went in and there was Chaol on the floor. I managed to wake him up before Myra arrived. Don’t tell him I told you, I swore I’d never tell a soul who was outside that room.”

Aelin was still laughing when Dorian finished and after a few moments she was able to calm herself enough to ask, “To what do I owe the honour of your company, Dorian?”

His initial smirk had returned, “There’s three fae and one demifae pacing the length of the hallway. I’d thought I’d see what the fuss was about.”

“Oh just me. And this thing.” Aelin ran her hands and over her stomach. “You hear all the stories about women who love being pregnant and it’s so blissful. I’m calling it for what it is. A dirty bunch of lies.”

Now it was Dorian’s turn to laugh.

“But really, I’m bloated and sore, I can hardly move and when I do I waddle. Sometimes even being still is agony. And I don’t fit into any of my nice clothes.”

“You have my pity, Aelin. You really do.”

“I’ll take it,” she said then winced as another appendage poked her from the inside. When she glanced at Dorian he was looking at her stomach. “Would you like to feel it?”

Aelin could tell Dorian was hesitant. “If you’re sure you wouldn’t mind.”

Aelin just waved him forward and Dorian slid from his chair to kneel beside her. Still his hand hovered over her stomach, hesitant to make contact. Aelin just took his hand in hers and placed it against the soft fabric of her gown. A few moments passed then the baby kicked right against Dorian’s hand. He gave a surprised laugh and Aelin smiled at him and his reaction.

“It’s a little odd,” Dorian said as he moved back to his chair.

“Yes, it is,” Aelin said. “I am very ready for the whole experience to be over. But Yrene says the baby will come when it’s good and ready.”

“What about all those old wives tales? Have you tried...”

Aelin cut him off before he could utter another word.

“Everything,” she said in a tone that left no room for argument. “We’ve tried everything.”

Again Dorian laughed and picked up the book Aelin had thrown across the room.

“Well, speaking of tales, shall I read to you?”

Aelin smiled and nodded and took the book Dorian offered to her and flicked through until she found where she was up to. Then she settled herself as comfortably as she could on the couch, head tipped back and eyes closed as she listened to Dorian’s lovely voice.

She didn’t even notice when she drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~

@fucking-winchester-trash I’m tagging because I recall you saying “all” my fics. If you didn’t literally mean all let me know. I’m just assuming here 😬

[sidespromptblog]

The End

Summary: “Was it worth it? Becoming a light side? Knowing what it would do?” His voice cut through the cold stillness of the air, and he could practically envision Virgil’s flinch, or rather how he’d attempt to hide it, before realizing that he didn’t need to.

Virgil swallowed thickly, and for a second his eyes darted to the ground. He hated it, but guilt coursed through his very veins.“Yes,”

Warning: Mentioned past abuse, sympathetic Deceit, Anxeit (can be seen as platonic or romantic), Deceit talks about “fading”, and just..a ton of feels. 

“Go away!” Virgil hissed, the words that escaped him slid past his teeth like a knife glancing across a plate, he could see the other side hold back from wincing, or at least try to. “I don’t want you here, and you don’t belong. So, get out!” He practically snarled, his nails were digging into the palms of his hands, as if that would take away from how he was sweating buckets in the other’s mere presence. He had no reason to be scared, to be worried, or to even fear the other now. And still…

He was sweating like a guilty man before a confessional.

“Okay,” Virgil’s entire back twitched at the response, shock coursing through him from his head to his toes, jolting through his veins like lightning on the surface of a deadly still pond. “I’ll leave you be once you’ve answered me this Virgil.”

Deceit’s yellow gloved hand clinched in a mockery of Virgil’s, he wasn’t even looking at the anxious side and yet he had been able to tell just what he was doing in that exact second in order to lie to him. To lie about just what they were going to talk about. Deceit could sense it, after all he had always been able to sense it. At least when it came to Virgil that was, everyone else was at least a little bit more muddled.

He could practically imagine Virgil’s narrowed gaze, the way that his dark eyes were staring scornfully back at him, wanting..no wishing that he would just leave and go. To let him be and to never come around again, to disappear into the subconscious and only appear when they had need of him. Which, Deceit already knew would be never. If they could help it, the other sides would never call on him, they would never need him. Or...they would never allow themselves to believe that, they would rather lie to themselves while he faded back into a figureless form. He’d lose his scaled face, the caplet that swished around his shoulders every time that he strode forward, and he’d lose everything that him..him.

And he would be content with that, only after Virgil did this one thing for him.

“Answer me this Virgil,” Deceit’s voice was a petty croon as he strode forward, he could feel his caplet swishing again as he took one step after another, only stopping once he felt the dip in the ground where Virgil stood. Or rather where he was crouched, “Was it worth it? Becoming a light side? Knowing what it would do?” His voice cut through the cold stillness of the air, and he could practically envision Virgil’s flinch, or rather how he’d attempt to hide it, before realizing that he didn’t need to.

Virgil swallowed thickly, and for a second his eyes darted to the ground. He hated it, but guilt coursed through his very veins.

“Yes,”

His voice was nothing more than a mere whisper, and yet Deceit heard it anyway as his lip tugged down while pinching together in a sharp frown. His fingers curled around the hem of his caplet, and Virgil knew that it was both the right answer...and the worst one to tell the dishonest side. Deceit would have hated him if he had lied, and yet...he felt utterly betrayed by the truth. Virgil knew how he worked, and it didn’t make him feel any better.

Nothing would at this point.

The dishonest side’s shoulders stiffened before drawing back, he held himself higher in a way that only a wounded man in both pride and person could do. 

“Are you sure?” This time it was Deceit who hissed the words out, “Was being pals with them worth leaving? Was it worth leaving me behind? Was it worth leaving me behind with him?” He took another half step forward, just to jerk to a stop as soon as Deceit’s foot collided with Virgil’s. The anxious side could hear his own harsh breathing, just as he could practically hear Virgil’s pounding heart. But even so, that didn’t stop him from leaning his face in until their noses bumped against one another, until he could feel Virgil’s baited but warm breath washing over his face. Until he was sure that Virgil was staring into his mismatched eyes, even if he could no longer see Virgil’s own stormy grey ones. “Was it worth me losing my sight to him?! Was it?!”

Virgil looked back into Deceit’s sightless earthy brown and golden eyes that were brimming not with hate..but a hurt so deep that nothing could heal it, a sob was barely restrained from his lips. A long time ago he would have cupped Deceit’s cheeks, he would have held him so close in an attempt to wash away the pain of both the past and the present. He would have done everything in his power to protect the side in front of him, who’s grip held onto the cane that was now the only eyes he could see with. He would have done everything for him.

Virgil closed his eyes, his fingers practically clawing at his arms, his nails sinking into his own flesh. As if that tiny pain would distract him.

But it couldn’t, it never did.

Deceit's cool breath hit his nose, the other side still hadn’t moved an inch from where he stood. “Well?” He hissed, the nearly invisible scar on his lips dragging the word the moment that it left his lips. “Was. It. Worth. It?”

Virgil knew the answer even before he opened his mouth to speak, he had pondered it every night after Deceit had revealed himself to them all. He had laid awake endless nights thinking, guilt consuming his every waking and sleeping moment until the answer was the same. He knew the answer, just as Deceit would know the answer if he even thought about lying to him. He knew it...the only problem he had would be actually telling him, confessing what had haunted him. What he had feared the very day he had left the other dark sides, what he had feared was coming for him if he hadn’t escaped when he did. Exactly what he had left Deceit to deal with...alone, alone and without him. Alone...abandoned.

His doing, his fault, and...his selfishness all rolled into one bundle.

“Yes,” The words that left his lips was little more than a whisper and yet there was not a single doubt in his mind that Deceit heard it, as the dishonest side rearing his head back. “I don’t regret it, I sometimes feel guilty that I don’t regret leaving you with him..I regret that I didn’t take you with me, that I didn’t get you away from him before he could..before he could do this to you. But...I will never regret leaving, never.” By the time that he was done, twin streaks of wet eyeshadow had drenched his cheeks, dripping onto his shirt as his bottom lip trembled. Every breath felt like a cinderblock being laid to rest on his chest, and yet he didn’t wail..he didn’t loudly sob and scream.

He just let the tears slowly drip down his cheeks as Deceit’s unseeing eyes stared back at him, while his frown slowly drifted up into a patient smile. He just watched as Deceit’s hand drifted up feelings its way along his face, before his gloved hand gingerly swept his tears away. Until there was nothing more but smudged blackness on his cheeks, and the sallow looking dark circles revealed under his eyes. Deceit couldn’t see them, but judging by the way his fingers traced them, he most certainly knew that they were there.

“Good,” His voice cracked almost immediately as his scared lips trembled as they curved into a watery smile, “Don’t ever regret running from him, or for getting somewhere safe with people who can and will protect you. I never could, so..so..” A tear rolled down Deceit’s cheek, smearing the foundation that covered with must have been a million tiny pale scars all over his cheeks. “I’m so glad that you’re safe.”

And just like that, the dam that had been holding back Virgil’s wails of grief burst open. As his face collided solidly against the other side’s chest, and as his fingers curled needily into Deceit’s shirt. Soaking up his smell that had been missing for far too many years for his liking, he cried and he sobbed for the first time in far too long as he felt the cold tears that felt like rain dripping into his hair. He clung onto Deceit, as if the mere idea of them being separated again would not only shatter him, but it would break him beyond repair.

And even so, Virgil couldn’t help the warbling whimper that crawled up his throat as soon as the other side started to pull back from him.“Please!” He gasped out, each word raking up his throat like a straight razor, “Don’t go, I know what I said...but please don’t go!”

Cold gentle hand smoothed his messy greasy hair down, and suddenly the tears were coming so much faster now as he practically clawed at Deceit determined to keep him right there forever. He couldn’t let him go, not after this, not after Deceit’s words that felt like a cold press against a blistering burn that had gone unchecked for far too long. He couldn’t let him go now that they had finally talked to one another, talked without the veil of who they were, their jobs getting in the way of things. Deceit had been honest with him, and he had been honest with Deceit. He couldn’t lose him after all of that, he just couldn’t. Not after all of this time alone, not after leaving Deceit alone after all that time.

Without anyone to help guide him, to keep him safe.

“It’ll be alright Starfish,” The sweet whisper of the lie made his entire body tremble, “I’ll go back to being a formless mass in Thomas’ mind. I’ll be different..blank, sure the next time I am called upon but...It will be okay. I promise.” His hand smoothed down Virgil’s hair once again, Deceit could feel the trembles that shook Virgil’s entire body, it was like an earthquake shattering him from the inside out.

Because...if he was really being honest with himself. He didn’t want to go either.

“Please...Please.” It was with that one solemnly whispered word that tore into his chest like a thousand daggers, gutting him in every way possible. “Please stay, stay with me.” It had been hard enough to refuse Virgil, when he had been begging and pleading like his life depended on it. But feeling the anxious side’s cheek pressed against his chest, his ear hovering over the hollow of where his heart was thudding against his ribcage. They both knew that he couldn’t do it, not again.

It took a moment, a mere split second of hesitation before his arms fumbled finding their way around Virgil’s firm muscled shoulders, and before he was hugging him even closer than before. It took only a moment, but after that, neither of them were willing to let go.

“O..Okay,” His voice cracked with that one word, and just like that, he allowed his stiff posture to dissolve.

Virgil was there for him, and never again would he allow anyone to lay a hand on Deceit.

Ever.

Tagged:

@dailypattondoodle

@thedreamer240

@snakeboicouldbegayer

[ajax-b1ue]

Beacon of Truth

Sometimes Virgil is wrong; sometimes he just wishes he was. 

WC: 2009 Warnings: Deceit, twisting someone’s words, angst (Alternate take of a scene in ‘Selfishness v. Selflessness’; spoilers)

(Oh dear, did you not want your heart shattered into a million pieces for April Fool’s? My mistake... Just in case the last one didn’t mess you up enough.)

“…you don’t want to go to the wedding at all, do you?” Deceit’s eyes bore into Thomas. “Admit it!”

Thomas pressed his lips into a line, trying not to squirm in his seat in the stand, until all at once he blurted, “I plead the sixth!”

Deceit’s face fell into a flat stare. “Oh sweetie.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s, ‘I plead the fifth.’”

Thomas didn’t falter. “No, the sixth amendment!” he insisted. “The accused—” he gestured to himself— “is guaranteed the right to a speedy, public trial, by an impartial jury!” He flung his arm wide to point at his anxious side in the juror’s box. “Virgil hates the prosecutor, and that’s not impartial!” Thomas pointed towards the back of the courtroom triumphantly. “Lawyered!” 

“That’s right!” Logan agreed, his voice drifting down to where the rest of them sat and stood.

“Well— I—” Deceit started to fumble, not nearly so suave when things weren’t going his way. Instead, his voice took on a petulant note, as he insisted, “Roman wants me to win, so—”

“W-w-what?” Roman half spluttered, half laughed. “Me? No— Co… come on…”

Their ‘judge’s half-hearted protests only earned another dry look from Deceit.

“I know you’re lying, Roman.” His eyes narrowed, the left one’s iris no more than a black slit. The corner of his lips quirked upwards. “Like I said— everything has a purpose... and you’re denying yours.”

“Stop it.”

The unexpected growl from Virgil caught the attention of Patton, but the moral side was the only one who seemed to notice— Roman and Thomas’s eyes were fixed on Deceit.

Ignoring Virgil, Deceit pressed on. “You want that callback so bad, and it will crush you if we miss it.”

“Stop!” Virgil snapped, lip curled. “Don’t you dare put this on him.”

“Oh it’s not on him—” Deceit turned towards Virgil, his face a mask of innocence. “Not yet. But it will be.” He rotated back towards Roman, head tilting. “After all, all of Thomas’s hopes and dreams are pinned on Roman. Aren’t they?”

Perhaps a little alarmingly, Roman said nothing— he just sank into his chair, looking uneasy.

“Deceit—” Virgil tried to cut in, but Deceit talked over him.

“Everything he’s ever worked for, everything he hopes to achieve.” Deceit continued to stare Roman down. “Every opportunity that could come from this—”

“Shut up!” 

“They would have you just throw it all away, and for what?!”

“Thomas…” Patton tried to intercede, his worried gaze flicking between the deceitful side and Virgil, who hands were clenching into fists on the wall of the juror’s box.

The anxious side was yelling at this point: “Don’t listen to him!” 

Deceit’s hands were planted on top of the bench, pushing forward into Roman’s space, the other side unconsciously leaning back. “You could do so much, you know you could!” 

“You’re assuming he’s even going to get the part in the first place!!”

Virgil’s angry cry brought all of them short. 

Thomas jerked upwards in his seat. Patton gasped, breathing his name; Logan went completely still with shock. Deceit looked downright appalled.

Roman reeled as though he had been struck.

And then, in an instant, Virgil’s hand yanked itself up and slammed over his mouth. 

There was a half second where no one moved or spoke, before the whole room erupted again, this time even more upset than before. Patton knocked his chair over as he leapt to his feet; Logan was rushing down the aisle towards the front of the room.

At first all Virgil could do was stand there, frozen, hand clamped onto his face. Then, as he overcame his initial panic, he fought to pull his hand free. Around him, the room grew loud with angry shouts and yelling, until finally, Thomas’s voice rose above all of the rest:

“Deceit, let him go!”

Deceit’s expression remained impassive, but he snapped his fingers, and Virgil yanked his hand off of his mouth with a harsh breath. The courtroom fell silent once more except for his gasping. 

Then Deceit’s mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile, though his eyes are were cold.

“I’m so sorry…” He spoke in a sotto voice that dripped with false remorse. “Knee-jerk reaction, quite impolite of me. What was it you were saying again, Virgil?” He folded his hands in front of him, never taking his gaze off of the anxious side.

Virgil still breathed hard, glancing up at Deceit. His eyes narrowed, before flicking back to Roman— 

Roman was staring down at the bench in front of him, not meeting any of their gazes, conspicuously silent.

Virgil opened his mouth. Then hesitated.

Deceit wasn’t about to let him off so easily. “Really, Virgil, I insist! Tell us all what you were going to say before I so rudely interrupted!”

Patton shot Deceit a pointed look, his voice low and admonishing: “Deceit…”

The dishonest side wasn’t having any of it. “Honesty is the best policy, after all,” he hissed, staring at Virgil, unblinking.

Virgil’s face and neck flushed with heat, as he could feel all of their eyes on him; he glared back at Deceit all the same.

That was, until… from the corner of his eye, he could see Roman’s head start to tilt up. Not far, just enough to glance his way— and Virgil faltered.

Virgil was caught in a no-win situation. He couldn’t lie and say that wasn’t what he meant— Deceit was just waiting for that, and would call him out in a heartbeat. If he stayed silent and refused, Deceit would just put words in his mouth— and it was as good as admitting that what he said was true, anyways.

But the truth itself… Virgil turned his head slowly towards Roman, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Their eyes met; Roman silently implored him.

Virgil wished he could take it back. Wished he could lie. Wished he could sink through the floor.

Instead, finally— reluctantly, he spoke again.

“We… can’t just assume that Thomas will get the part, even if he goes to the callback,” he said at length, subdued.

The rest of them were utterly silent, and yet Virgil felt as though they are crowding around him, pressing in on all sides, and it was getting harder to breathe.

“And… if he doesn’t?” His eyes drifted to Thomas. “Then… missing the wedding? Lying… It would all be for nothing.” His eyes fell to the floor again. 

Still, no one said anything. Why weren’t they saying anything? God, would someone just say something?

When he could bear it no longer, Virgil started talking again— this time with his head tilted down, hiding behind his bangs. “Not getting the part would hurt enough. You know how hard it hits you— hits all of us. But dealing with the guilt of lying on top of it…?”

He let the question dangle, trailing off. He could see it had hit its mark; could see Thomas swallow hard, and hated himself that much more.

For at least eight full seconds, no one said anything.

Then:

“...Wow.”

Deceit’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but as he started shaking his head, he lifted his gloved hands and slowly began to clap. Virgil pulled himself up, tensing through his shoulders.

“I am impressed,” Deceit went on, admiringly. “You truly do not waste a single opportunity to tear Roman down.”

That got a reaction from all of them, with the worrying exception of Roman, but Virgil’s protest was the most visceral. “Wait, what— no! That’s not—”

“Not true?” Deceit finished, tilting his head curiously. “Well it certainly wasn’t a lie,” he remarked, turning to cast his gaze back towards Logan and Patton. 

“No!” Virgil insisted, whipping his head towards Roman and Thomas.

“You literally just said that you don’t think Thomas will get the part.” 

“I didn’t—”

Deceit spun back to Virgil, his eyes narrowing in accusation. “You don’t think Roman is good enough.”

“I didn’t say that!” Virgil yelled, looking back to the other sides desperately.

Patton rallied immediately, trying to add his support. “Virgil would never—”

Deceit talked right over him: “How many times have you shot Roman down?” This time, he advanced on the juror’s box. “Told Thomas it wasn’t worth it?”

This time it was Logan’s voice that tried to break through. “Deceit—”

—To no avail. “To ignore what he wants, to not chase his dreams??” Deceit demanded.

Virgil tried to protest. “I—”

Deceit’s hands slammed onto the wall between them, and Virgil stumbled back into his chair.

“How many times have you told him no?!”

“Deceit, stop it!” Thomas yelled over all of them, eyes clenched shut.

Everything halted, for just a moment, as Deceit turned back to Thomas with a look of surprise. But just as quickly it melted away, and the dishonest side sauntered back over to the bench.

“No,” he said, voice a low hiss. “You stop. Stop listening to your fear, stop stalling, and admit it: what am I doing here right now, Thomas??” He gestured wide, inviting Thomas to make any argument. He got none. “Am I the snake come to trick you into sinning? Or, have you had your mind made up since the moment you received the news about the callback?” He curled a lip, baring teeth on one side; Thomas had ducked his head, his face screwing up. “You didn’t even forget about the wedding, did you?? It was all an act!”

“Fine!” Thomas shouted at last, flinching as he did. “I want to go to the callback!”

They all went still, all eyes on Thomas.

“...Then, what’s stopping you?”

Heavy silence descended; Deceit’s eyes were locked on Thomas, who couldn’t look away, as desperately as he wanted to. Patton and Logan were watching helplessly from where they stood.

Virgil could only see Roman, wincing silently. His eyes clenched shut. His hands tightening on the edge of the bench.

What’s stopping you, Thomas?

All of Thomas’s hopes and dreams— what was stopping them? What was stopping Roman?

The same thing that always has.

Virgil sank into his chair, wishing he could disappear. 

Thomas inhaled, then let out a shaky breath.

“I… was planning on playing Word Crush on my phone during the wedding ceremony to keep my mind off the fact that I’m single,” Thomas started. 

He continued to explain, his voice distraught, but Virgil was too numb to process the exact words. The room was turning into a dull blur around him. None of it was really even registering, until Thomas blurted at last:

“I’m a liar!” He paused, as his admission sank in. “...I’m a liar,” he repeated, voice breaking and falling quiet. 

Virgil could only stare, breath caught in his throat. Thomas’s head fell, and he brought one hand up to rub at his brow, expression pinched. 

“…Haha! Yes!” Deceit crowed in delight, oblivious to the sense of defeat that had settled over the rest of them. “The prosecution rests, or whatever. Let’s just call it here and put him out of his misery!”

“…Does the juror have his decision?”

The quiet question from Roman jolted Virgil back into the present, and he gripped the edge of the wall before him, his heart racing. Almost on autopilot, he levered himself up, trying not to notice all of them staring at him— all but Thomas.

“Yeah,” Virgil started, hating the way his voice wavered. He swallowed, and tried to steady himself— to not let on how much it was upsetting him. “I hate to say it, but, the …defendant…”

Thomas’s head still hung, staring down at the bench, silent and small in his chair.

Virgil didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to keep hurting Thomas. He had spent years hurting Thomas— but he had almost always been wrong. The truth had always come to light, in the end.

But this time, the truth was already out.

And no lie was going to take it back.

“…is guilty,” Virgil concluded, his voice barely audible anymore. 

“On all counts.”

[shellheadtm-a]

@shieldslinger​ | ❝ you don’t have to talk, we can just sit together. ❞

“No, I want to.”  It’s not a want.  Not precisely.  It’s a need.  There’s a weight that gets heavier on his chest every day that goes by; it feels dishonest, a thing he’s sworn, when this got started, he wouldn’t do anymore.  That he’d do his absolute best, not to keep anything from Steve.  That he wouldn’t hide anymore, he wouldn’t lie, he wouldn’t...Be that Tony anymore.  It’s not a decision he’s made lightly, or easily:  He’s been lying to Steve, in some way or another, since the beginning.  His identity, his heart problem, the fact that he’s been in love for him what’s been...Nearly his entire adult life, even if at times it seemed so obvious and that the whole world had to be aware of it, though Steve never said a word.  Other, bigger things:  The Illuminati, the infinity gems, the inversion, the bombs.  Too many lies and half truths told over the years while swallowing back bile because the guilt churns in his stomach every time he tells himself he has to, that it’s better that way.  That he’ll find a way to make it right, to make it up to Steve.  

And when this started, he had opened up - mostly - let Steve see all the dark and dirty parts of his soul that he could stand to expose.  Had finally admitted how much he missed Steve, when they were at odds, when they weren’t speaking, when...Well.  When there were times that it felt like Steve hated him, would never speak to him again, and how Tony very well knew it was all his fault.  It had hurt, doing that.  Had terrified him.  He’d wanted to cling back so very hard and at the same time knew he couldn’t, not without doing that.  Not without clearing the air then as much as he could.

And for the most part, he’s stuck to that promise he’s made.  He has to catch himself, sure, to not start hiding things.  To not close down and shutter himself off.  To remember that if Steve says he has his back, then Steve has his back, and he can take that to the bank.  But it still leaves him feeling raw, feeling vulnerable.  Unsteady and shaky, exposing that much of himself, with none of the masks and shields up.  And for all that, it’s been worth it.  Every bit of it.  He doesn’t deserve this, after everything he’s done, what he can and can’t remember, but he’s selfish.  He wants it.  Needs it like air.  And in the end, splitting himself open and letting what’s...Broken be seen is a small price to pay to have it.

Steve still deserves worlds better.  But he tries not to say things like that anymore.  Tries not to think things like that, tries to make himself believe otherwise.  It’s an uphill battle most days, he’s Sisyphus against the Zeus that is his own brain, trying and trying to finally reach the top of the mountain so that he can actually believe it.  So that he can maybe one day stop the days where he’s on edge, waiting on Steve to cut his losses and run, as far as he can, from the disaster that is Tony, and just...Enjoy it.  Enjoy them.  He just hopes it doesn’t take him another ten, fifteen years to get there.  He has so much lost time he wants to make up for, even if that train of thought is never going to lead him to anywhere good.

“I want to,” he says again, and stops himself from reaching out to take Steve’s hands.  “And...I want you to just listen, okay, Winghead, just...Let me...Get this out first.”  Being honest, neither of them are great at talking like this.  It’s caused so many problems and misunderstandings.  And he doesn’t...Want to live like that anymore.  No matter where it takes him.  If he can be honest, that’s what matters, in the end.

He takes a steadying breath, and pushes forward.  “I’ve lied to you.  I know...I know, we’ve been through this, it’s over, it’s done, it’s the past.  There’s no point in talking about it anymore, I know that.  I have to live with what I’ve done, and I’m...I’m doing that.  I shouldn’t be rewarded for it, and sometimes it feels like...Maybe I am.”  He clasps his hands together, putting them between his knees, because otherwise he knows he’s going to start to fidget.  This probably has come out all wrong, sounds dire.  He doesn’t know how to fix that except to keep soldiering on.

“But I never...I’ve never confessed to the biggest lie I’ve told.  And I need to.  I need to get this...Last...Sin.  At least out of my own head.”  Okay.  Alright.  It’s fine, everything is going to be fine.  And even if it’s not, he can deal with that.  He has to.  It’s what he does.  His hands are clenched so tight around each other his knuckles stand out sharply, white, in contrast.  It’s stupid.  All the lies he’s ever told and this is the one that has him twisted up in knots the most.  He knows why.  It’s not that it’s a lie.  It’s what he’s lied about.  And he can’t...He can’t go forward, one way or another, if...Steve still thinks that.  He can’t.

“You...I used you.”  He had.  He’d confessed to it, when caught out in it.  When Steve had gotten his memories back.  He can still remember the feeling of that well-deserved swing colliding with his face like a freight train.  He’d known Steve would react that way, when they’d done it.  When Stephen had cast the spell.  It had only been meant as a temporary measure, and he knew the day would come when Steve would come for him.  “And I told you...I told you I’d do it again.”

So smug, like it hadn’t hurt, deep down, to tell him that.  So matter of fact.  The Tony Stark song and dance.  He’d been out of options and well past believing anything, anything at all, could ever happen.  That after that, Steve Rogers would give him one more chance.  The world was going to end and they had no morally viable ways to stop it, and he’d decided to say fuck it, burn his bridges as fast as he could and run.

He was going to die anyway, he was going to die alone, it didn’t matter anymore.

And he’d been wrong.

“I wouldn’t.  I can’t.  It was a lie then and it’s a lie now and...It just sits there in the back of my head like a...Like a fucking intrusive thought, you know, things will be great, we’ll...We’ll be doing something so goddamn innocuous and I’ll look at you and all I can think about is telling you that and how you probably think I meant it and I never did.  Not once, not ever.  The world was ending and I couldn’t fix it, I couldn’t...I couldn’t save anyone but I couldn’t save you and I thought...I thought maybe it would be better if you believed that.  I didn’t...I didn’t want you to be there, to watch me fail.”

They should have been together, then, back to back, as the world ended.  He sees that now.  Not...Not what ultimately happened.  They should have gone down together.  But Tony had been scared and guilt-riddled and cornered and he’d done the one thing he always does in that situation once making himself small fails to save him; he provoked.  And then everything that had followed...It didn’t bear thinking about.  Not now.  Not anymore.  He understands it.  Part of it was a mind whammy he’d done to himself.  Part of it was sheer terror.  Part of it was simple shame.  He’d failed.  He’d failed so hard.

“I just-”  He pauses for a moment, forcing his hands to unclench from around each other.  “I never meant it.  I don’t...I don’t want...To be that, anymore.  I don’t want you to think that anymore.  I want it all to be over, but it can’t be, or couldn’t be, until I...Until I did this.”  And now it’s done, one way or another.  He forces himself to look up then, to meet Steve’s eyes, to not duck back down, look away, and not fill the rest of the space with the deflection he usually likes to throw in after this kind of confession, and it’s hard.  It’s very hard.  He’s Iron Man.  He’s...Probably helped save the world a hundred times over the years, faced things he’d never wish on his worst enemies, but holding back the babbling to fill that space, and being brave enough to actual look up, keep his gaze steady, is maybe the hardest thing he thinks he’s ever had to do.  “And...That’s it.  Tony Stark’s last great sin.  I wanted...I wanted you to think...You mean less to me than you do, when the truth is...Nothing else has ever meant as much as you do.  Ever.  Not since...Not since the day we met.”

soft caring starters | accepting

[bombshellsandbluebells]

Nomon

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The 100 (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Echo, Echo & Spacekru Summary: Echo is pregnant. Somehow, Bellamy is the last to know. Or: Echo struggles with the idea of motherhood and finds support with her new family. Set before Season 5 while Spacekru is still on the Ring. The title means "mother" in Trigedasleng. 

(Also featuring Spacekru Doctor Murphy because I said so.)

Also huge shoutout to @infernalandmortal for still being the best editor ever! Love you!

(Read on Ao3)

Echo recognizes the symptoms immediately. She’d seen them in her mother when she was young – watched her grow sick, then achy, then large with child, though Nia’s scouts had taken her from her village before she could see her sibling born. Sometimes, when Bellamy talks of Octavia, as he often does, or Emori of Otan, as she rarely does, Echo wonders what the child would have been like – a sister as fierce as Bellamy’s Octavia? A brother as soft as Emori’s Otan?  

If she had grown up with the child, if she had known it and helped her mother raise it, would she be more comfortable with children? Would that temper the overwhelming terror that threatens to devour her the very moment she realizes what’s growing inside of her?

A war would be easier, Echo thinks. A fight she could handle. Violence and bloodshed have been sown in her since she was young; it’s as simple and practiced as breathing. But what does she know of being a mother? What does she know of creating life instead of taking it?

Her stomach twists itself into tighter knots with every hour that passes since the realization.  She feels constantly sick, unsure if it’s the worry or the child. Either way, she feels adrift – shaky and unbalanced in the same way she felt when she first came to space. Her world feels rocked, tipped on its side, and thrown into chaos.

She doesn’t tell Bellamy.

It isn’t worry for his reaction, but that telling him will cement it into something certain, as if the child is only a possibility until she voices it aloud. And maybe she does worry slightly for his reaction – that he might laugh at the idea of her with a child, that he might find the concept of her as a mother as ridiculous as she does. Most of all, she fears the news will strangle this thing that’s grown between them as soon as Bellamy starts to question why he chose her to build a life and family with.

Won’t he want a better mother for his child?

So she keeps the secret buried within her, lets her stomach twist and writhe and her nerves pile up inside of her and tries to hide it from him. Bellamy notices anyways. While they lay in bed one night, he smooths a land down her back. The ends of his fingers bring goosebumps to her skin. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

“Nothing,” Echo lies, and, though she’s good at lying, she can’t disguise the way her body tenses at the question.

Bellamy, with his hand and eyes upon her back, notices that too. “It doesn’t seem like nothing. You’ve been upset all week.”

The truth is a terrifying thing she cannot voice, but she doesn’t want to lie to him, either. She’s lied to him enough in the past; the thought of doing it again, doing it now when he trusts her enough to share himself with her, makes her insides burn like they’re on fire.

“I’ve been thinking about my mother recently,” Echo says, because it isn’t a lie – not exactly. “Something reminded me of her a couple days ago, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking of her.”

“Oh,” Bellamy says, then falls silent. It’s clearly not the answer he was expecting. “What was she like?”

“I don’t know,” Echo answers truthfully. “I was taken to train as a spy when I was young. I hardly remember her.” Bellamy’s told her many stories of his own mother. It hurts that she can’t do the same – that all that still exists of her are a few hazy details without the frame to place them in. Did her mother look like her? Did she have her eyes? Was she kind?

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy tells her sincerely. Echo knows he knew his own mother well enough to miss her dearly when she was gone and that he still holds the weight of that loss like a shackle around his ankle. She’s not sure he’d understand the way she views her own like a stranger.

“We all lose people. I’ve made my peace with it.” She’s not quite sure if she’s lying to him again or not, but if she is, it’s a lie she’s already told herself many times. “I remember this one song she used to sing me,” she adds suddenly, the melody drifting into her mind. She sings a line softly, aware that it’s butchered in her voice.

“That’s beautiful.”

Echo rolls her eyes. “Don’t flatter me. I can’t sing.”

Bellamy laughs. “You’re right – it sounded terrible. What’s it mean?”

“Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow,” Echo translates. “I don’t remember the other lines.”

“That’s beautiful,” Bellamy repeats. “I just used to sing Rock-a-bye Baby to Octavia. That one’s not as pretty.” At her confused look, he sings a few lines of it. He’s no singer either, but Echo thinks his rendition sounds much nicer than hers. His voice is deep and gravely; it sinks into her chest and settles near her heart. She pictures him singing this to a young Octavia – and then the image shifts, and it isn’t Octavia he’s singing to, but their child.

It’s only Azgeda’s many years of training that help her keep her emotions hidden.

“See,” Bellamy says. “Not much. Yours was a lot prettier.”

“It was nice,” she manages, and then, daring, brave, and terrified all at once, she asks, “Have you ever wanted children?”

Bellamy looks caught off guard. His eyes are wide, his eyebrows high enough that they’re half-hidden in his wild hair. He trails his fingers down her arm, draws little circles on her wrist, then trails them back up towards her shoulder as he thinks about it. “I think so,” he says finally, words coming slowly as he gathers his thoughts. “Before Octavia got locked up, I thought about it. But I couldn’t even take care of her –“

“Stop,” Echo commands. The steel in her voice makes him pause, eyes flickering up to her in surprise. “Did you not protect your sister in the Conclave?” It’s a sore subject to bring up – and one that took them years to overcome – but it’s worth the discomfort she feels at the memory to convince Bellamy he’s wrong. “And I’ve heard the stories from the others about your camp – you protected her many times there. You protected your people in Mount Weather. I watched you stop a war without violence. You can protect people, Bellamy – you do.”

It’s one of the reasons she loves him. Protection is not a foreign concept in her world – she herself had been taught to give everything of herself to protect the interests of her clan and queen – but Bellamy’s version of it is. Protection for protection’s sake – purely because people deserve to live because they’re people, not because he’s sworn his loyalty to them. He hadn’t talked down the Skaikru man with his gun on Roan just because Echo would kill him if he didn’t – he’d done it to prevent more fighting. Echo has only ever known how to help win wars – never how to prevent them.

“Not always,” Bellamy argues, voice quiet, but it’s an argument that has lost most of its weight after years of carrying it. Every year it grows lighter. Hopefully one day it will be gone completely.

Before she can answer, Bellamy changes the subject. “I always thought about having more than one kid.” And then he laughs and the bitterness in it is tangible. “Which was stupid, of course. I knew the laws, and I didn’t want to lock one of them in the floor, but – it was nice growing up with a sister. Octavia and I always had each other. I didn’t really have friends growing up, but I think O and I were probably closer than most friends are. We tell –” He pauses, swallows something like grief. “We used to tell each other everything. I wanted my kid to have that.”

She doesn’t say, I had a sibling I didn’t know. She doesn’t say, I wish I could understand what that was like. She doesn’t even say, You might get to have that soon, if you wish.

What she does say, because it feels safer, is, “You could have had that on the ground.”

Bellamy frowns. His finger picks a spot on her arm and sticks, circles there around a scar she doesn’t remember receiving. “Not really. We were always fighting and trying to survive. Bringing a kid into that didn’t seem right.” His forehead wrinkles as he thinks about it. “I like kids, though. I think I’d want one – someday.”

The secret stirs inside her, but she’s too scared to voice it, so she stuffs it down deeper and wrestles with it until she falls asleep.

It eats at her. Lying has never bothered her before, but after all the time it took to earn her family’s trust, being dishonest feels like another betrayal. She will tell them, Echo assures herself – just not now. Not until she’s ready.

But as the days pass and she stays silent, she grows more agitated. By the time a week has come and gone, she feels desperate to spill the secret cased within her body – feels desperate, at least, to share her uncertainty and fear with another person. It should be Bellamy, she knows. After nearly two years of knowing each other in ways Echo didn’t realize you could even know another person, there’s very little she’s kept from him – she has opened herself up so many times for his viewing and given him permission to dig inside of her. This should be no different. And yet it is.

She goes to Harper instead; of all of them, she trusts Harper the most to keep the matter between them – and she’s been a source of support and comfort in recent years. Echo finds herself needing that now more than ever.

“Are you sure?” Harper asks when she’s done speaking.

“Very,” she says dryly. “I’ve missed a month.”

“Oh,” Harper says, taking that in. “Why haven’t you told Bellamy yet?”

Echo opens her mouth to explain and falters. I don’t know, is the truth. I’m scared, is also the truth. She isn’t sure which answer she hates more.

Harper catches on to her uncertainty and lays a comforting hand on her arm. “Hey, it’s okay. I won’t tell him before you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” Echo says, and then she finds herself opening her mouth and adding, “I don’t know anything about babies.”

The youngest children she had ever been around had been those of warrior age, and her only role had been to train them, not to mother them. There’s something far more chilling about the idea of a baby, young and vulnerable, reliant on her for everything.

“I do. They’re not that bad,” Harper replies easily. She doesn’t sound nearly as terrified of the prospect as Echo feels, and Echo hates herself for resenting her a little bit for it. Why couldn’t it have been Harper with the child growing inside of her, if she was so prepared to handle it?

“You have experience?” Echo asks. It comes out more cutting than she means for it to. She wishes she could blame it on her changing body, but she doubts that’s the cause.

Harper nods. “My neighbor had a baby when I was like nine or ten. Her husband died a few years earlier, and she had to work, so she needed someone to watch her during the day. My mom volunteered. And then when my mom was busy, I got to be the babysitter. They’re really not that bad, I promise. Not any harder than being a spy.” She nudges Echo’s arm gently as she says it.

It’s meant to be a joke; Echo can tell from her grin that she’s trying to lighten her mood. Still, Echo wants to argue – being a spy was easy, because it was all she had ever known. Raising a child will be the most difficult thing she’s ever done.

“You don’t have to tell Bellamy until you’re ready,” Harper tells her as they head back to the others. “But you should go to Murphy for a check-up.”

“You’re pregnant?” Murphy repeats dumbly. His face filters through a series of emotions and settles somewhere between shock and uneasiness. In a way, it’s more reassuring than Harper’s confident support had been – at least Murphy is on the same page about the issue as Echo is. She doesn’t feel as inadequate next to him as she did next to Harper.

“Yes,” she confirms.

His face settles even further into uneasiness. His eyes keep flicking towards the exit, like a cornered animal trying to flee. “Why are you coming to me?”

“Because Harper suggested I get a medical check-up.”

“Oh,” Murphy says. “Right.” Even after years of serving as their healer aboard the Ring, he still always looks surprised when people treat him like one. She wonders when – or if – that will ever wear off.

They walk to Medical in silence. Out of the corner of her eye, Echo watches Murphy glance at her frequently, eyes catching often on her stomach, even though it’s hasn’t grown enough yet to be visible.

“I’m surprised Bellamy didn’t come with you,” he says finally as they enter Medical and he pulls up his tablet. “Would’ve figured I’d have to deal with his overprotective hovering.”

“I haven’t told him yet,” Echo explains. She watches Murphy pause in his actions. His eyes jump up to hers in surprise.

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Relationship problems? You guys breaking up or something?”

“Hardly,” she scoffs, hoping she makes it sound like she finds that possibility far more absurd than she really believes it is. “I just haven’t decided how to tell him yet, that’s all.” Murphy stares at her for a moment as he takes that in, then he shrugs and goes back to clicking around on the tablet in his hands. “Don’t –“ she starts, suddenly nervous.

“I’m not going to tell him,” Murphy interrupts her, sounding both bored and annoyed with the conversation all at once, which she’s come to realize is a particular skill of his. “You think I want to be the one to break the news? No thanks.”

Worry stabs her insides. She takes a deep breath to steady herself – without it, she thinks she’d spill everything in a torrent of worry the moment she opens her mouth – and calmly asks, “Do you think he’d be upset?”

Murphy pauses. He looks up at her, then grows awkward as he catches her eye and looks away again. “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Does he like kids?”

“He said he wanted them.” Echo holds tight to that conversation, uses it to steady herself and keep her footing. Bellamy will want the child – he said he did.

“Well, yeah, but,” Murphy starts, and Echo’s chest grows tight with terror at his coming words. She can hardly breathe as he says, “That doesn’t mean he wants them here. I mean, it’s already hard enough keeping the seven of us alive. A baby’s going to suck.”

Echo’s silent during the rest of the check-up, only speaking up to answer the questions that Murphy prompts her with. The air of Medical is heavy. It pushes her unrelentingly towards the ground, and it takes great effort to not let it show – to keep her spine straight and her head high.

Afterwards, as she’s about the leave, she sees Murphy eyeing her again. It isn’t just the confusion or uneasiness of before – his gaze is intense as he turns something over in his mind. it makes her pause. She’s learned to trust when he looks serious.

“What?”

His mouth twists. “We’ve got a year left, right?” Echo nods, confused by the change in subject. “How the hell are we going to take a baby in a rocket?”

It’s as if he’s laid an actual blow on her. She hadn’t even considered that.

“I know you don’t want to tell Bellamy yet for some reason, but…” He pauses, shrugs. “Maybe you should tell Raven.”

“Are you shitting me?”

Of the few people Echo’s told so far, Raven is by far the angriest. She tries not to flinch under the force of the other woman’s words.

Raven mutters a curse under her breath and runs a hand roughly over her face, dragging at the skin. “What, Bellamy couldn’t keep it in his pants for one more year?” she snaps.

Echo bristles. “It wasn’t intentional, I assure you.”

“Do you know how hard it’s going to be to get a couple-month-old baby down in a rocket safely? Like it wasn’t already hard enough.”

Echo can’t help but feel defensive. She hadn’t planned to do this, and Raven’s anger is only making her feel even more aversion for the child growing inside of her. Feeling guilty and terrified and defensive, she throws something at Raven that she knows will hurt. “I tought you didn’t even know if we could make it down in another year.”

Raven flinches. It breaks the anger, and she’s left looking upset and vulnerable. Echo doesn’t feel at all better for it.

“Sorry,” she says. “Raven, I’m sorry.”

Raven nods, accepting it, though there’s still a terrible guilt behind her eyes that never fully goes away these days. She sighs heavily and takes a seat on her bed, then pats the spot beside her. Echo takes it.

“How are you holding up?” she asks, sincerely, after releasing a deep breath.

Echo tries not to crumble. She tries to stay resolute and strong. She tries to put up her mask.

Maybe it’s that the act of telling so many people has worn her down. Maybe it’s Raven’s anger, or the guilt about complicating the rocket situation, or the all-consuming fear that she will destroy the life of the child within her and lose Bellamy in the process. Maybe it’s all of it together. Whatever it is, Echo breaks.

Outside of Bellamy, it’s always been easiest for her to be vulnerable in front of Raven. She buries her face in her hands and sobs in a way she hasn’t since Roan banished her and stripped her of everything that made her who she was. She feels just as directionless now – how does she even begin to think of herself as a mother? How does she remake herself again, when doing it the first time was the hardest thing she’s ever done?

A hand rubs at her back; she angles herself into her friend and takes comfort in her arms, in the warmth of Raven’s body beside her and the steady beat of her heart.

“Hey,” Raven says softly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t want it,” Echo gasps, her voice cracking. “I’m going to be a terrible mother.” It burns her throat coming out, but once it’s free, it crumbles the floodgates she’s built inside of her and every other fear spills out with it. “The child will hate me. Bellamy will hate me.”

“Are you going to feed the kid?”

The question is so sudden that it startles Echo out of her crying. Baffled, she turns to face Raven. “What?”

“Are you going to make sure your kid gets food?” Raven asks again.

Echo nods dumbly.

“Are you going to trade the kid’s food away for booze?” Echo shakes her head. “Are you going to ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist when you’re too tired to deal with it?” She shakes her head again. Even if she can’t help resenting it a little – for there’s no question that the thing inside of her will change the routine she’s finally settled into – she would never deny it what it needs. How could she, when doing so was her duty as its mother? Even if she doesn’t understand motherhood, she understands duty.

Raven pats her on the shoulder, then wraps her arm tightly around her. “You’re going to be a better mother than mine, then. And I turned out just fine.”

Echo collects herself. She wipes the tears from her face. “I don’t think it’s fair to compare my child to you,” she says, the humor creeping slowly back into her voice.

Raven laughs. “Damn right. I’m one of kind.”

Echo sits with Bellamy in their room the next night, sharpening her sword while he mends another shirt Murphy has managed to rip. There is little reason for her to do so, but it gives her hands something to do while her mind wanders, and it has always been a relaxing habit for her.

Nights like this are comfortable – and something Echo can only describe as soft and warm. They have grown familiar enough with each other that they don’t need to fill the space between them with words. Sometimes, Echo has found, simply existing beside each other is enough.

But on this night, she does not find the peace and comfort she normally does. Even the mindless, familiar act of tending to her weapon fails to settle her raging mind. She finds herself watching Bellamy far more than her sword and nicks herself once in her distraction.

Bellamy is soft on nights like this, as he quietly mends clothing or reads books, smoothing out the ragged, forgotten pages as he goes, speaking up occasionally to read aloud a line he finds particularly interesting or to share an anecdote from his day – or occasionally, Echo’s favorite, to tell her stories of his childhood when they come to mind.

On Earth, she had known him as a warrior with hard edges, just as she herself had been. There had always been something different about him – a kindness she had rarely experienced in the people in her life that pulled her in and captivated her – but he had still been harsh in the way the Earth demanded he be.

Space, Echo has found, softens things. It softened Bellamy until he was someone new to rediscover – a different sort of person entirely to anyone she had ever known, soft and gentle, preferring knowledge and books, and unfailingly supportive of the family he had chosen.

He would make a good father, she can’t help but think. He would be gentle and kind with a child, as supportive of them as he was with the others aboard the Ring. He would read aloud from his books and tell them stories and encourage them with kind words.

It’s easier to picture Bellamy as a father than herself as a mother. He will approach their child with the same earnest way he approaches all things: with his heart fully in it and without an ounce of hesitation. Echo doesn’t know if she can do the same. She doubts she can.

Bellamy loves fiercely and easily – perhaps too much, sometimes. Echo thinks her own heart is too hard for it. It struggles with love. Sometimes she fears she only has so much of it to give. Maybe she’s already given all of it away to the six people on the Ring.

Maybe there’s no more love left for the child.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her voice is strangled before the truth can escape. She closes it again and wraps the still-bleeding cut on her finger with a strip of fabric she rips from her shirt.

The group of them tend to take their meals together. It’s a routine Echo treasures dearly. She delights in the laughter of her friends, the antics of Murphy and Monty as they squabble over something unimportant, and the reassuring reminder that she is still offered a seat at their table. The familiarity of it is almost enough to make her ignore the thing inside her for a while and let her weary mind rest.

But this time, Monty catches her arm as she moves to leave. Echo turns to find he’s watching the others trickle out of the room, and it’s only when they’re the last two left that he says, “I have an extra portion for you in the kitchen. I figured you’d want to eat it in secret.” He frowns. “Since it’s still a secret.” There’s something odd about his tone and his expression – something like both support and disapproval all at once.

Echo freezes. “Another portion?” she asks stiffly and fights the urge to wrap her arms around her stomach, as if that would hide the truth from him. Which would be pointless, of course; he already seems to know. “Harper told you.” It’s very nearly a groan. She feels betrayed.

“Only because she was worried,” Monty rushes to assure her. “She knew you weren’t eating enough.”

Echo follows him silently into the kitchen and accepts the additional plate of algae without comment, wrestling with her emotions as she eats. That’s four people that know now. Sharing the secret has actually been a relief in many ways – she has been hungry lately, and Murphy’s instructions, pulled from the medical files that he treats as law, had demanded she eat much more than usual, but she’d been unwilling to tell Monty the reason why and had decided instead to suffer the hunger in silence.

But at the same time, every time someone knows, the child becomes a little more real, and with it, Echo becomes a little more panicked.

“I’ll sneak food to you if you’re so determined to keep it a secret,” Monty tells her as she’s finishing. In that moment, the disappointment seems to overwhelm the support. “But don’t just skip eating. You and the baby both need it.”

She thanks him and doesn’t admit that the word “baby” spoken so casually nearly makes her throw up what she just ate.

She feels even guiltier now that Monty knows. Now four people know before Bellamy does – the very person she should have gone to first.

She can’t help pulling away from him that night, keeping her back to him as she lays in their bed so she doesn’t have to see his face. It doesn’t make her guilt any easier to handle; her stomach still rages like a ferocious storm, pitching and wailing. She doesn’t speak to him that night, though he tries to start a conversation many times; she fears that when she opens her mouth a torrent of apologies will spill out, and though she knows she will have to tell him the truth soon, she wants at least to be composed when she does.

Echo knows Bellamy is wounded by her silence, but she holds it still, trying to fall asleep quickly so she can mask it as exhaustion. When he tries to pull her close, her skin crawls with shame where he touches her, so she pulls herself out of his grasp and shifts towards the edge of the bed. She doesn’t have to turn to sense Bellamy’s hurt behind her.

She tries desperately to ignore it, but it’s impossible. The tempest within her grows larger. She wonders how long it can rage before it tears her apart from within, before the shell of her snaps and shreds with the force and all of them see the truth of her – lost, cowardly, and the very furthest thing from a mother she could be, fearing and half-despising the thing within her in equal parts.

Bellamy won’t stay with her when he sees all that, she knows, and that insidious little thought is enough to spin nightmares as she sleeps.

In the morning, she feels as though she’s hardly slept at all. Her body is fraught with exhaustion, her mind worn and weary from the constant anxiety. She sits for a long time on the edge of their bed, eyeing the vacant spot beside her, trying to quell the storm inside of her before she meets the others for breakfast.

She’s sick once, before she makes it to the common area, and she can’t quite say whether it’s the sickness of pregnancy or simply nerves. As she takes a seat and gratefully accepts the plate of algae Monty hands her – despite the fact that the very smell of it turns her stomach – she notices Emori staring at her shrewdly. Echo feels, perhaps a little ridiculously, like one of the other woman’s many machines under her gaze – gutted and ripped open, all her parts exposed. The grounder-turned-mechanic has the same look of fierce concentration that she does when she works on the ship or listens to Raven’s careful instructions. Echo feels like a problem the other woman is trying to solve.

It takes her an embarrassingly long time to figure out why Emori is watching her so intensely, and she can’t help the heat that flushes her cheeks when she realizes, though she manages at least to keep her expression flat. A glance towards Murphy, who seems determined to avoid Echo’s eyes, confirms it for her. Surprisingly, she doesn’t feel anger – only bitter acceptance and an exhaustion so great it seems to pull at the very essence of her.

It was foolish to tell Murphy and not expect Emori to know soon after. Echo doubts there are any secrets kept between them; what one knows, the other will know soon enough. It very often makes her jealous; she’s never been sure if she and Bellamy could ever reach the level of easy closeness and unity that Emori and Murphy have achieved. Right now, though, it only makes the shame burn hotter, because how could she ever reach that place if she deliberately hides things from him.

And then realization falls over her as suddenly and chillingly as if she’d fallen through the ice into the frozen, winter water below. That’s everyone now.

Everyone but Bellamy.

Echo twists herself into knots all day. Her thoughts are a fragmented jumble of panic and worry, rehearsed and rejected confessions buried amongst imagined rejections. Her stomach remains in a constant state of nausea; she throws up several more times throughout the day, until little else comes up but bile.

She hides herself in her and Bellamy’s room, alternating between pacing the room like a caged wolf and laying on the bed. The day passes slowly, but eventually, it nears late evening, and Bellamy returns to the room.

“I have something to tell you,” Echo says as soon as Bellamy enters, before her fear can keep her silent.

He is clearly caught off guard by her urgency. “Oh, okay,” he says, and then his face twists. Echo can read the irritation in it. It rides the hard line of his mouth and the deep furrows of his dark eyebrows. “Does it have anything to do with why you wouldn’t talk to me last night?”

“Yes,” Echo admits quietly. She watches Bellamy wrestle with that answer, looking somehow both relieved at the truth and even more frustrated all at once. He sighs deeply and takes a seat on their bed, then looks at her expectantly.

Echo falters. She’s held onto this secret for so long that the fear attached to it has grown comfortable inside of her. How much force will it take to pull it out? “I –“ she gasps, feeling as if she can’t take in enough air to breathe. Feeling as if she’s under the ice still, freezing and drowning and trapped.

She’s horrified to feel tears on her cheeks. Her composure is gone, the years of training from Azgeda no match for her fear. Her body reacts like a mindless, panicked animal.

Bellamy, equally panicked at her sudden change, rises quickly from his seat and reaches a hand towards her. It hovers uncertainly in the air as he stares at her with wide-eyed shock. “Echo, what’s wrong? What is it?”

How does she say, I have lied to you again? I have betrayed your trust once more. I have saddled your child with a mother who cannot love fully and isn’t fit to raise it.

“I’m sorry,” she manages, and that’s all it takes for Bellamy to surge into action. He closes the distance between her and wraps her tightly within his arms. From her place of safety, Echo shudders, sobs, and breaks. The tears come faster than she expects. The sobbing steals the air from her lungs, until she’s hiccupping and gasping against him. It has been a long time since she has cried like this; it nearly feels like her body has forgotten how, tripping unsure into the motions of such strong emotions.

Through it all, Bellamy rubs a gentle hand across her back, murmuring soft words she can’t quite make out into her hair.

When it’s all spilled out of her and she feels empty and exhausted, she manages to regain control over her words. “I’m pregnant,” she says quickly, before the fear can strangle her again.

Bellamy tenses. His hand stops its gentle massaging, freezing in the middle of her back. For a minute, he forgets to breathe. “You’re pregnant?” he repeats dumbly.

“Yes,” she whispers. It seems it’s all she can say. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re –“

Echo chances a look at his face. He doesn’t seem to know how to respond, struck dumb with the news. He stares at her with wide eyes, mouth awkwardly shaping words he doesn’t seem to know how to voice. Finally, he manages to speak.

“I think I kind of helped,” he says weakly.

Echo stares at him in confusion.

“You said you’re sorry. I’m pretty sure I kind of helped make the – the baby, though.” He gives her a weak smile. His hand resumes massaging her back.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admits, disgusted with the way her voice cracks in the middle. “I don’t know anything about children, Bellamy.”

“Well, luckily, I have some experience.”

She turns to stare at the wall, unable to keep looking at him, but he cups her cheek and gently turns her face towards his. His gaze is warm. She doesn’t feel she deserves it. “You deserve someone better to start a family with.”

His other hand comes up to mirror the first on her other cheek. “No, I chose you because I love you. Because you’re loyal and determined and incredible. And our child –“ He falters at those words. And then he smiles, wide and full of joy, his eyes crinkling with it. “Echo,” he gasps, voice reverent. “We’re having a baby. We’re going to have a family.”

“You want that?” she can’t help but asking, staring intently at his face, checking for signs of dishonesty. She can’t find any.

“So much.” His words are as happy as his grin. Her heart flutters wildly. For the very first time, she doesn’t feel sick at the knowledge of the child inside of her.

“With me?” she nearly whispers.

Bellamy stares at her. He brushes at the tear tracks on her cheeks. The ice is melting underneath his gaze; she feels finally like she can pull herself free of the water and breath again.

“So, so much,” Bellamy says.

Echo feels warm.

When it happens, all Echo knows is pain and Bellamy’s voice, panicked as he yells at Murphy, gentle and filled with love as he squeezes her hand and tells her she’ll be fine. There’s chaos – her, in pain and screaming curses in Trigadasleng while Raven tries to tie her hair back, Murphy, in a state of panic like she’s never seen him as he forgets everything he’s ever read in the face of an actual birth, and Bellamy, shoving him aside and taking over.

The others hover around the edges of the room, and though Echo can hardly focus on them at all, she appreciates their presence.

After the baby comes and she hears its cries, she only has a brief moment of relief before the pain returns. With it comes more chaos, more panic, and more screaming, the room sent into a flurry of frenzied activity.

And then comes a new cry. A second baby, following just shortly after the first.

Siblings.

She loses track of time for a moment, and comes to when Harper places a bundle gently in her arms, smiling proudly down at her. “It’s a boy. Bellamy has the girl.”

A boy and a girl, Echo thinks. A brother and a sister.

The others leave the room. Only their small family of four remains. Bellamy has a stupid grin on his face. Giddiness bursts out of him as he stares down at the little girl that already looks so much like him. Echo hopes they both continue growing to resemble their father. She wants desperately to see them keep those dark curls. She wants them to have their father’s eyes, loving and kind.

“They’re beautiful,” Echo says. Her voice is still hoarse from the earlier pain. Exhaustion pulls her body to the bed; she wants to stay awake forever and watch the man she loves hold their children, but her body wants sleep.

“They are. Siblings. Echo, they’re siblings. There’s two of them,” Bellamy says, his sentences stumbling over each other in his excitement. His eyes turn on her, and Echo finds herself on the other end of his overwhelming love and joy, and, suddenly, she realizes that perhaps she can love as much as Bellamy can – because her love for him is more powerful and overwhelming a force than anything she has ever known before.

“What should we name them?” she asks, voice nearly a whisper.

Bellamy looks back down at their girl – their girl, Echo thinks wildly. They have a daughter. And she has a younger brother. Their son.

“Diana, for the girl,” Bellamy answers softly. “Apollo for the boy.” He has a familiar grin buried in the corners of his mouth, and Echo cannot help but roll her eyes with fond exasperation.

“What book are those from?” she asks.

Bellamy turns slightly pink, though his darker skin hides most of it. “Roman mythology,” he admits, looking sheepish. “They’re twins. Am I that predictable?”

“You are,” Echo says. She can’t contain her grin; it overcomes her entire face.

What had the child been like, she wonders suddenly, her brother or her sister? Had her sibling wished they’d known her, like she often wishes? How would it have changed her to grow beside them? Had her mother mourned her when Nia’s scouts stole her away? How would she feel if she watched the same happen to this little girl or this little boy with Bellamy’s eyes and curls?

She thinks it might ruin her. She thinks maybe they already have ruined her, because their entry into this world has snatched away any picture Echo could imagine of a life without them.

She has been remade twice now, and that cannot be undone.

But she thinks herself better for it.  

[flyswhumpcenter]

Chest Pains

Summary: [Set during Second Opinion’sEpisode 6-3] There was something dirty about hiding something so severe from his most trusted assistant and nurse, but alas, there were priorities in life. (or: the world's most-needed surgeon and his discovery that he's been affected by what he sought to eradicate)

Fandom: Trauma Center

Wordcount: 1.4K words

Notes: Is 2019 too late to show up to the Trauma Center party? Oh well, won't be the first time I write for a dead fandom (looks at my post-Go-Galaxy-but-pre-Ares no Tenbin Inazuma Eleven fics).

Hello Trauma Center fanbase, or rather what's left of it! I've come to corrupt you again with my pseudo-literary Not gonna lie, this story is very experimental. I usually don't write about canon scenes and would rather invent my own, but I feel like rewriting the infamous 6-3 and/or 6-4 episodes of Second Opinion (or what happened after it, because ATLUS didn't deliver smh) is a rite of passage in the fanbase (or what's left of it, it's 2019). It's certainly not going to be my last fic for this fandom, considering the... mess this is, so stay tuned! I'm a professional fandom necromancer you guys.

(it’s technically not that whumpy, but since it depicts chest pain and infection.. I thought I could use it to keep this blog alive)

AO3 version available here.

There was something dirty about hiding something so severe from his most trusted assistant and nurse, but alas, there were priorities in life.

 Being a surgeon meant to prioritize the patient above everything else. Treating GUILT, in a way, forcefully taught him this. No matter the context, the place or the difficulty of the surgery at stake, he had to go through with it anyway. He couldn’t complain: it was the path he had chosen, and countless lives counted on him to go against GUILT. It was, simply, how priorities were heading and going, and he just had to swallow his pride down and go with the flow of things. It wasn’t too hard when he wasn’t the one affected with the damn parasite, but today was… a different case. There was something wrong with him, but what?

 He trusted Angie with everything, of course. He’d trust her with his life, even. However, even if he had an iron certainty about her skills and how she could handle and stomach so much, like she had done countless times in a single year before this day, he still didn’t want to tell her about what seemed to be a bad, but rather easily understandable, case of fatigue. It wasn’t out of pride, because that’d have seemed pointless. It was more of a want not to make her worry, put it simply. He didn’t want to see her get concerned for him, that was it. Not here, not now. There was no time to worry people, and there was no need to make her worry at the wrong time. He was a surgeon, she was a nurse, and they were busy. That was it.

 Well, technically, it was too late not to make Angie concerned for his own condition. She had asked him during the pre-op conference if he felt all right, to which he had lied through his teeth. It hadn’t convinced her, considering she had kept her frown on even after he had responded. He had never been a good liar, but God had he wished he would have been earlier when saying that. Everyone could read right through him, but he absolutely had to give her a special mention for reading even more through him than anyone else could. Aside from his mother, that was.

 “Are you feeling all right, Derek?”

“S-sure, I’m fine…”

This was one big lie and he was fully aware of it, even felt bad for being such a dishonest guy. And yet it was only the first which drenched his throat in acid and made his chest ache. She had to have had noticed his unnatural gulp following this.

She must have.

 He thought he was clear for the length of the operation now that his lie was done and over with. He gritted his teeth through his mask, unseen from others, but very painfully conscious of how much the pression in his chest was steadily and quickly becoming something else much more sinister. It simply wasn’t anxiety anymore. There was, however, still no time to worry about it because he was a doctor. Right as he was thinking that, all the while trying to keep Tetarti at the centre of his thoughts as a way to save the patient and distract his attention away from the growing pain, relieved that his mask was hiding his clenched jaw, a question of Angie reared its ugly head.

“…Doctor.” A sterner tone resonated throughout the operation room, slightly taking him aback despite how used he was to this very voice scolding him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. It just surprised me, is all.”

 To be fair, it wasn’t an entire lie, more like a half-truth. He had indeed gotten surprised by the sudden new mutation of Tetarti: they had never had to deal with these colour-blind until they emitted some toxic gas to add on every other poison these could emit. These pesky bugs had helped him escape a death trap for sure there, but there came the half-lie part. As much as his surprised had been real, his focus was far from complete. The fault to trying to operate when being the host of something himself, he guessed.

The irony was complete.

 The surgery continued as smoothly as it possibly could when Angie realized the same thing as he did: how to distinguish between the different Tetarti cells flying around the liver. At least, as long as he operated on them, he wouldn’t awaken any suspicion from anyone… Well, as long as he didn’t mistake green Tetarti for yellow Tetarti and vice-versa again. Focus, dammit, focus. There, all done, until the next and last wave that was. He let out a sigh, as a way to unwind some stress and let go of some suffering. It was harder to retain a pained sigh than he’d have expected before today, frankly.

 “…Are you sure you’re feeling all right,” Angie’s voice softly came to his hears, “Derek?”

The message took time to get registered inside his brain, as if his hearing had shut down for a few seconds.

“…What?”

 But the fact she had used his first name couldn’t mean good for him. The mask and all his focus didn’t work out in his favour, because why would they after all, and he’d have to reply again. Hah, at least, the surgery would be all over with soon. Good for them, frankly. The pain was starting to resonate against his pulse. Time to lie again.

“Yeah, of course…”

He focused on the surgery again. He’d have to check whether lying to an assistant was against the Hippocratic Oath after they were finished with this patient. For now, Mrs Lyans was the priority and so was exterminating Tetarti.

“…I’m fine…” he added in a pitiful attempt to dismiss all worries levelled against him. It wasn’t even convincing himself, it would never convince Angie. His chest ache was only getting worse from there, and his organs were getting set on fire as he finally exterminated the Tetarti strain. He silently apologized to the patient for all the missed shots he had done in the liver. These flies really were quick when his brain was foggy.

 There was no way to fully express his relief when he heard Angie say “We have a negative Chiral reaction. Good work, Doctor”.

 His hands were shaking as he closed the patient up. Another quiet apology, another wish to be forgiven for having missed something, somewhere. As a surgeon, as the one doctor everyone counted on to save the world from GUILT and its suffering, he had to be close to perfect and… it wasn’t the case, today, and it’d never be again if…

If he died.

 Right after closing Mrs Lyans and seeing her get wheeled out of the room, the pain flared, blurring his vision under a thick layer of tears. A panicked “what the” shuddered under his breath as he clutched his chest, desperate to determine what the hell was wrong with him right this moment. All he knew was that it was bad, very bad, very painful, potentially lethal and God it just hurt like a bitch! Coughing ensued, as if his body was trying to eject something, but all it did was drying his throat even more and amplifying the pain. Goddammit.

“What’s wrong with—” he attempted to say, but he was stopped by another coughing fit. His legs were about to buckle up under his weight and the sheer power of the pain.

‘Dr. Stiles…” Angie’s voice first trailed off as she looked towards him, right before her voice started panicking along with her. “Is there something wrong with the patient?!”

 All she could see was his back, thank God, but he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore, could he? That was potentially life-threating and he knew it.

“No… This is…”

Another fit cut him off. By now, the patient had been wheeled outside the room and he was left being the centre of unwanted attention. Well, it’d be unwanted if he wasn’t sure this was all GUILT’s doing, so close to his heart.

So that was what it felt like, to have one’s heart lacerated by Kyriaki?

“Ugh…”

 His eyes rolled inside his skull as he let go of a small grunt, knees giving in, OR turning to black. All he felt before going fully unconscious were arms wrapped around him, preventing his body from hitting the ground, and a distant cry from a very familiar voice he had barely heard being so torn apart.

Derek! What ha…

[justjen523]

Save You

Saeran x MC

Rating E (18+)

Chapter 4

“Absolutely not.” 

“Saeran! You can’t do it by yourself yet.”

“I don’t need help!” His face was bright red as he scowled at me. I couldn’t help but giggle. I understand why he was being so stubborn but it didn’t change the fact that whether he wanted it or not it was time for a bath.

“You KNOW you can’t get in the tub by yourself AND wash yourself. Just let me give you a thorough sponge bath.”

“N-No! I’m a grown ass man, I can wash my own ass.”

“Oh boy are you stubborn. Too bad there is no room for negotiation mister.”

“D-Don’t you dare!” I laughed as I wrung out the soapy cloth and slowly approached him. 

“Y-You! You are seriously asking for it!” 

“Ohhhh you look so mad but is that a smile you are trying to hide?”

“I’m warning you!” He pulled the sheet tightly over his head and I couldn’t help bursting into laughter.

“You’re evil!”

“Hahahaha!

“Seriously I’m going to report you to the medical association and they’re going to take away your nursing licence!”

“Hmm...that may be a problem, I might have gotten my nursing licence out of a cereal box.”

“I knew it! Stay back wicked woman!” I pulled the sheet away from his feet causing him to scream then laugh wholeheartedly. It was the first time I had ever seen him laugh this way and it was such a wonderful sight I didn’t even realize I had stopped to stare lovingly at him. 

“W-What? Did you just fall more in love with me?” 

“Yes.”

“Hahaha! That was shamelessly honest.”

“Do I have a reason to be dishonest with you?”

“I certainly hope not.” That smile. How beautiful. He looked truly happy and unburdened. Like the way he was always meant to be. 

“Saeran?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Yeah? I love you too. Except when you try to bathe me.”

“Pffft! You can’t possibly know that considering I have yet to give you one.” 

“I’m willing to take my chances.”

“Well that’s too bad. I WAS going to surprise you with an entire quart of ice cream tonight but, I’m afraid ice cream is only for good little boys.” He stared at me incredulously for a whole minute before his shoulders shrunk in defeat. 

“I hate you.”

“Hahaha! That would almost have been believable if you weren’t smiling.” 

************

After his bath even he had to admit how much better he was already feeling. 

“Aww...I didn’t know your hair was so curly! How cute!”

“You find the strangest things adorable.” 

“I’ve never seen you with wet hair so it’s cute. Plus I happen to love curls.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Please can I play with your hair?” He snorted and waved his hand signaling it was okay. I pulled my fingers through the thick, pale and curly locks, a grin plastered from ear to ear. 

“Now you’re the one being cute.” He leaned in and kissed my nose making me giggle. 

“You’re hair is so thick. You are going to need a haircut soon.”

“Let me guess, you just so happen to be a barber too?” 

“Was that sarcasm just now?”

“From me? I have no idea what you are talking about.” I pulled the strands taught away from his face to see his beautiful eyes and that was the moment it caught my attention.

“Oh? Are those...roots?”

“Oh! Haha yeah I guess it would be growing out by now.”

“Wow! I had no idea, the white blonde hair looked so natural on you.”

“I’m full of surprises like that.”

“So I see! Hmm....what’s your natural color? I can’t quite tell yet.”

“Meh, doesn’t matter, I’ll be bleaching it as soon as I am able anyway.”

“You don’t like your natural color?”

“It reminds me too much of my past.”

“I see. Oh! Wait! Come here, turn your head like this.” I made him tilt his head so the light was shinning directly on the roots.

“Woah!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Your hair!”

“What’s the matter with it?”

“Nothing! It’s just...so red!”

“Surprise!”

“Aww are you sure you won’t grow it out?”

“Why, you have a thing for red heads?”

“As long as it’s you than yes.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Mmm when it comes to you I am.” I snuggle into the crook of his arm and he smiles at me. 

“You are very precious to me.”

“Just as you are to me.”

“Mm.” We lie entangled in each others arms comfortably as if it’s the most natural feeling in the world.

“I love this feeling. Like we were made for one another.”

“You feel that way too?”

“Yeah. I mean I still can’t believe I’m even alive let alone here with you beside me. You must be my angel.”

“I will certainly try my very best to always care for and look out for you. I wish I would have realized just how precious you are to me a hell of a lot sooner. Then I maybe could have-”

“-Nope! Don’t even try. You never allow me to take that path and I am sure as hell not letting you. The past is just that, the past. I want to live here in the present with you. I want to wake up every morning seeing your beautiful face and being able to touch you reminding me that it’s real and not just a dream. I have never felt this way before in all my life. I used to think I would never know what being happy felt like. Now I am so overwhelmed by it I don’t even know what to do half the time! I just want to stare into your eyes like this and get lost in them knowing I have finally found my way home at last.”

“S-Saeran.” We share a tender kiss then rest our foreheads together.

“I love you too. So much it makes me feel I’ll go crazy if I’m away from you for too long. There’s not a part of you yet that I have not found beautiful. I love learning new things about you every day.” We stare longingly into one another’s eyes and what I suddenly realize steals my breath away.

“Saeran? Can you....see okay right now?”

“Yes? Why?”

“Your eyes....they’re different....”

“Different?”

“Yeah.....wow how strange. Beautiful don’t get me wrong, just unexpected and...”

“...strange?” 

“Your eyes, they are....changing color. Is that...normal for you?” Saeran sighs before shutting his eyes tightly.

“It’s because of the elixir. I haven’t had in quite a while and I guess the color change was temporary. I had originally thought it would be permanent but I guess I hadn’t perfected it yet.”

“Wait you made the elixir?!”

“No, but I did play with the formula and found ways to strengthen it, weaken it, and how to manipulate it’s properties the way I wanted.”

“Please don’t ever take that again! You were so miserably ill when your body was going through withdrawal. I was worried sick.” His sweet smile reassures me without the need for words that it will never be something I will ever have to worry about again.

“Wow...your eyes are really changing. It’s kind of odd that it just happened out of the blue and so quickly.” Once again he shuts his eyes and looks away from me.

“Saeran?”

“Don’t look. I’ll get contacts okay?”

“What? Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to see me this way.”

“You don’t want me to see the real you?” I offer tenderly as I slowly pull his hands from hiding his face.

“Look at me Saeran. I think you are beautiful no matter what. I didn’t fall in love with your looks I fell in love with your heart. Even still, I am seriously excited to have learned you’re actually a red head! Now you even have different color eyes? To me it’s exciting! I wanna see the man behind the mask. Please, show me?” Reluctantly he opens his eyes and once again I tilt his head to get a better view with the light. 

“So...beautiful. Saeran, I think you are absolutely gorgeous.”

“Yeah right....”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Considering it’s you I do....it’s just...”

“It reminds you of your past?”

“More specifically, it reminds me of him.”

“Who...your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. It’s actually weird to think but, to me you actually kinda look like Sev-”

“Hi there.” I jump with a start at the unexpected familiar voice behind me. When I turn I see him standing in the doorway, a smile on his face when our eyes meet.

“SEVEN!” Without thinking I run over to him and give him an enormous hug making him laugh.

“I was so worried about you Seven! You’ve been gone for three weeks! I didn’t think you meant that long.” Pouting a moment I watch as Seven’s eyes travel to meet Saeran’s. 

“Y-You! What are YOU doing here?!”

“Saeran?” Seeing him seething with hatred and rage makes me recoil a moment. As I watch the pair stare each other down I FINALLY put two and two together. Saeran looks just like....”

“It’s been a long time Saeran. I-I.....I’ve missed you, brother.”

tbc

[walkersdrake]

if my heart had a voice

When the universe decides it’s meant to be, then it’s mean to be. Drake should know that better than anyone.

All of these feelings are saying That I could never find a better love Better love than you The silence is killing me, doll That's how I know I haven't said enough

Word Count: 3,444

Pairing: Drake x MC

Warnings: smut, a bit nsfw

A/N:  This is part two to Perfect Stranger, enjoy!

Drake Walker was finally moving out today.

He had been searching for a while ("for a while meant" that he procrastinated until Victoria had to basically sit him down in front of his laptop and force him to start searching) before settling on a new apartment downtown that was close to the school he usually teaches at. 

In reality, Drake was actually really fucking nervous about having to move. Sure, he had a little epiphany a while back—carpe diem and all of that—but he had dragged out the whole moving process for a month because he was so worried about the change happening in his life. 

It wasn't that he regrets anything, he doesn't. Andrea was just a time in his life that came and went. He was just worried about potential bad things happening once he did move. It wasn't until Victoria went to his apartment one day with pizza and heard the piercing noise of a violin downstairs that she told Drake he had to move. 

Drake agreed wholeheartedly once the violin playing interrupted a pretty steamy moment between the two.

"I'm exhausted," Maxwell groaned exaggeratedly as he picked up the box Drake had left by the front door. 

"From what?" Drake had asked as he placed another box on top of the one Maxwell had gotten, "you've barely carried anything out."

Maxwell's jaw fell open in fake-defense, "I've helped a lot!"

"Yeah not really," Liam interrupted, appearing at the door. "First you said you were dizzy, then you said you were too hungry, then you said you stubbed your toe and had to sit out for a while."

"Aren't you a personal trainer?" Victoria asked from the kitchen, placing the Tupperware in separate boxes while also taking note of how much Drake needed new kitchenware. 

"Yes, thank you, Victoria," Maxwell turned to Liam. "My job is already very tiring."

Drake and Liam responded with an eye roll while Victoria giggled, closing up the last of the boxes in the kitchen. She picked two of them up and walked toward Maxwell, nudging her head toward the door for him to leave. 

As she walked out, Drake couldn't help but look at her fondly. The end of her hair was purple now, which he happened to like the most out of the three colors he's seen (although in his defense, he'd like any color on her). 

Liam caught this, taking a step forward to completely block Drake's view from her. "Whatcha thinking about?"

Drake huffed, going back to placing the last few boxes in front of his door. Typically, when Liam got all big-brothery (even though he was only like, four months older), Drake would just ignore him until Liam would let go of the topic. 

It was just their dynamic since they were young. Liam was the expressive one while Drake was basically the sidekick (don’t tell him that) that supported Liam through everything. Drake hadn't really run into a “big” problem until recently anyway, so this was all still new to him.

"Don't do that, man," Liam said in a tone that made Drake stop what he was doing and look up. "How long have you guys been dating?" 

Drake huffed, "about two months, I guess."

"And you haven't thought about making it official?" Liam questioned, sitting on the floor of Drake's practically vacant apartment.

"Well… yeah," Drake responded awkwardly. "But I figured the timing still isn't right."

Liam smiled, shaking his head softly. 

Did that come out believable? Drake thought. Of course, he wouldn't get passed him. 

"You love her," Liam said quietly enough for only Drake to hear. 

Drake paused before responding to Liam. It was true, he loves her. Then there was the other sensible part of him saying, that's too soon, you'll scare her away. 

Liam didn't need Drake to respond, he knew. Liam got up off the ground, hearing the footsteps approaching the apartment. He grabbed a box, lifting it onto his shoulder before departing with a massive but straightforward response, "when you know, you know."

Victoria came through the door, smiling from ear to ear. She noticed Drake's expression and froze, suddenly overcome with concern, "is everything alright?" 

Drake plastered a smile onto his face, "everything's fine." 

And I love you.

All the boxes and furniture had been unloaded into Drake's new apartment by the late evening. Maxwell and Liam departed shortly after, leaving Victoria alone to help Drake start unpacking.

She noticed he had been reticent since they left the old apartment; he wasn't responding to Maxwell's Maxwell-ness, wasn't really talking to Liam, and he seemed to be avoiding her the most. 

So she was relieved but also kind of nervous when they were left alone. Had she said something to offend him? She played the tapes in her head over and over again but he only started acting differently when she came back up with Maxwell.

Oh god, was he jealous of Maxwell?

In that second, she became furious. How dare he. She's never given him a reason to believe she was a dishonest person. Did this mean he was being dishonest? Should she even be upset considering they weren't technically dating? She didn't even notice that she was tearing the boxes open with such a fury that she didn't even need a box cutter. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Drake rushed in, breaking her trance. 

"Oh, now you want to talk?" Victoria snapped. Drake's eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Look, I'm not interested in Maxwell."

"I never thought you were," Drake responded, taking small, slow beats between the words. He didn't want to offend her but did she think he thought that she was interested in Maxwell? 

"So why have you changed? Don't lie to me, Walker," she retorted. Drake should've known better than to try to hide from Victoria. This was technically the girl that was able to see he was going through shit back at the New Year’s Eve party.

He took a deep breath, "I just have a lot on my mind."

Victoria's shoulders dropped, not having realized how tense she was. "I don't want to push you into telling me but if it has something to do with me then I have the right to know."

Drake tried to swallow the lump in his throat but it wouldn't go away. He wanted to say it, he really did. Wasn't there a saying, "you miss 100% of the shots you don't take?" It's something his school told their students, yet he was afraid of spitting the words out. 

I know it's only really been two months but I've fallen in love with you.

Instead, he merely stood their quietly. His mouth was open, ready to speak but nothing would come out. 

"Are you having second thoughts?" Victoria asked, a hint of sadness laced in her voice.

"No!" Drake said so loudly he spooked himself. "I just, it has to do with us and I just need time to think."

In Victoria's cloud of sadness and anger, she only really heard the words "it has to do with us." 

"If it has to do with us, Drake, then I deserve to know. There are two people in this relationship, if I can be so bold to call it that, and what's your doing isn't communicating," she crossed her arms in front of her chest, glaring.

Drake didn't say anything.

Victoria nodded her head. She walked up to Drake, staring at him straight in his eyes. "I'm not going to wait for you to decide whether you want me here or not," she tried to say boldly but her voice was starting to break. "I need you to tell me."

Drake opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Victoria, in defeat, nodded her head one last time and walked past him.

He heard the sound of her footsteps decreasing as she approached the door. In his head, he turned around and ran after her to tell her how sorry for what an idiot he was and that the truth was that he was afraid that he had fallen so quick for her. However, it was like his feet were glued to the floor and he made do with the sound of the front door opening and closing. 

Drake was now lying on the floor of his old vacant apartment. It seems like it was the right thing to do, considering that he was now right back where he started. He allowed the fears of his life overtake the possibility of something great and now he's lost someone that he had fallen for. 

So why not make this symbolic? 

He was probably there for hours, with his only source of entertainment being his phone. He had been close to sending 10 different messages to Victoria but never sent any of them. She doesn't want to hear from me.

It wasn't until his phone was at 20% that he decided to get up and head down to the lobby of his old apartment one last time. Once he got there, he sat down at the sofa, not quite ready to leave. He wasn't worried about anyone kicking him out, as the person at the front desk was actually knocked out considering it was past midnight. 

Drake ran his fingers through his hair, huffing. He was just about to get up when someone walked up and sat next to him. 

"Rough night?" They said. Drake turned and was greeted by a man much older than he was, with snow-white hair, sitting down next to him.

Drake's response was to nod.

"Anything I can help with?" 

Drake was going to shake his head no and just wish the man good night but then he figured why not share his problems with a complete stranger.

Because that's not what people do, Drake. 

"I fell for a girl but I was afraid that if I told her I'd lose her but I messed up and lost her anyway." Drake's eye felt tired but his mind was racing. He stared at the coffee table, thinking it would somehow give him any answers on how to fix the mess he was in.

The elderly man smiled sympathetically, "I fell for my wife two weeks after I met her, I felt the same as you did. Terrified. Then I realized that if I told her and she didn't feel the same, it would be okay. I would be okay. So I took the shot and we've been married 52 years now." 

Drake smiled.

"Now I'm not saying everyone is lucky in love but I do know that if this girl has made you fall in love with her as fast as you say you did then there's a big chance she already feels the same way too." 

Drake couldn't believe that for a second time in his life, a stranger was talking some common sense into him. 

The old man got up and leaned down, grabbing a violin case off the floor. Drake looked at it in confusion and disbelief, scratching at the scruff on his face. 

Is HE the awful violin player?

"I know that face," the man said. "No, it's not me actually. My wife is terrible at the violin but the joy on her face when she practices is enough for me to tolerate it in the front row."

Drake watched the man get in the elevator and disappear, shaking his head before finally gaining a burst of adrenaline.

Drake arrived at Victoria's apartment at a quarter past two in the morning. He knew it was incredibly late but if he didn't fix things now he would end up chickening out and if he ended up chickening out he would probably end up a miserable old man. That may be an exaggeration but Drake could very well see that happening.

Drake rang the doorbell three times consecutively and put his hands in his pocket. He rocked in place as anxiousness overtook his body. Would she turn him away? 

Maybe if he does end up a miserable old man, he could get a dog. Or two dogs. He's always wanted dogs but what breed would he get? Would he-

"Can I help you?" Drake's train of thoughts was interrupted and he hadn't realized his mind was so preoccupied that Victoria's roommate had opened the door.

Drake stuck his hand out awkwardly for Hana to shake, "Hana, right? I'm Drake. I really need to talk to Victoria."

Hana shook his hand back, "nice to meet you, Drake. Although I'm afraid she doesn't want to see you right now."

Victoria had told Drake about Hana's gentleness. Any other friend would have probably threatened to call the cops but it was as if Hana knew Drake was having a hard time as well. 

Drake was about to shake his head and leave before realizing that if he didn't do this now that he could spend the rest of his life wondering what might have been. Good or bad, he had to know.

"I understand," he began. "But I messed up tonight and if I don't get a chance to fix this then I'll never forgive myself."

Hana stared at Drake for a second, as if trying to analyze the degree of sincerity in Drake's aura. Drake gulped, looking at Hana with pleading eyes. He could tell Hana was between a rock and a hard place. After what seemed like an eternity, Hana stepped to the side, opening the door even wider for Drake to enter.

"She's in her room."

Drake made a beeline for Victoria's room, stopping in his tracks right in front of it. He looked over at Hana, who nodded at him in support. Hana stepped back into her room, leaving Drake alone in the hallway. He took a deep breath before gently turning the knob and opening the door.

Victoria was sat in bed, watching something on her laptop. He could tell her eyes were puffy from crying and he hated that he was the reason for it. She sat up, pushing the laptop off her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I love you," Drake replied, quickly enough that it could've easily been missed. Victoria's mouth closed shut as she looked at him, doe eyes piercing at Drake. "I was an idiot because I was afraid it would scare you off and instead I panicked. I never wanted to end us, I don't. I love you."

Victoria got off her bed to go meet Drake by the door. She walked right up to him, his tall stature easily overtaking her smaller frame. She placed a hand on his cheek, gently rubbing a line with her thumb.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" She asked.

"I felt like it was too soon. Like it wasn't normal for it to happen so quickly," Drake replied, looking down at her. 

"When you know, you know," she replied. Maybe he should listen to Liam more often. "I don't think normal is even a thing between us, Drake Walker."

"I'm sorry for making you think otherwise," Drake replied. Victoria nodded in a way that told him it was okay.

"And for the record," she said. "I love you too."

That's all it took for Drake to pick her up off her feet, kissing her repeatedly. Victoria giggled into every kiss as Drake spun her around. He placed her gently onto her bed, wiping her face of any stray hairs. He gazed at her lovingly, feeling as though it was only the two of them in the entire world.

This time, Victoria leaned up to initiate a kiss. She pressed her mouth hungrily against his as if he was the air that she needed. Drake naturally responded to her, taking her bottom lip in between his teeth causing  Victoria to moan quietly into his mouth. 

Victoria placed her hands behind Drake's neck, bringing him closer—needing him closer. He hummed in response, his right hand trailing down her sides before stopping at her waist. He pressed her body against his and Victoria could feel his slight erection against her pelvis. It wasn't until then that she realized how hungry she was for him, how desperate she needed to feel his skin against her. 

Drake placed kisses across Victoria's jaw, then down her neck. Victoria shuttered at the contact, lifting his head from the sensitive spot on her neck and kissing him again. In the heat of the kiss, Victoria's hand came down to Drake's belt, fumbling to get it off. When Drake, realized she was having a hard time, he brought his hand down and in one motion undid the buckle. Victoria picked up where he left off, unbuttoning his pants and bringing his zipper down.

Drake pulled away from Victoria, "are you sure?"

Victoria nodded, "I've never been more sure." Victoria further proved this by taking off her pajama shorts, leaving Drake to do the rest. He pulled her underwear down slowly, teasingly, earning a frustrated sigh from Victoria. 

Drake pulled his boxers down, freeing what Victoria desperately wanted. Drake hovered over her in the bed, giving her more hungry kisses. Drake took the chance to bring his hand down to the area that she most craved his touch. 

He began rubbing gentle circles, sending shivers all over Victoria's body. She rocked against his hand slightly, leaving Drake in a complete daze. She was desperate for a release and Drake knew it because he was too. Drake leaned in again, pressing his lips against Victoria's. The tension of it was starting to become too much for Victoria as she quietly begged, "Drake, please."

Drake nodded but hesitated after a realization. 

"Shit, I don't have a condom."

Victoria pointed at her nightstand, which Drake eagerly went through to find the one thing they needed to finally get what they both craved. Drake rolled the protection onto his length as he and Victoria never broke eye contact.

Drake eased slowly into Victoria, as if afraid to be too rough with her. Victoria hummed at the feeling. He searched for any signs of discomfort in Victoria's face, as she ran her hands across his chest. 

"Please move," she breathily replied. 

Drake began to rock against Victoria, sending waves of pleasure through both of their bodies. Victoria arched her back, causing Drake to groan. He began to pick up the pace and Victoria shuttered at the feeling of him exiting and entering.

Drake's head to Victoria's ear, his breathing sending more electric bolts through her spine. 

"You feel so good," he panted, his breath fanning one part of Victoria's neck that made her want to cry out. 

Victoria's sounds of pleasure further pushed Drake, which is what she wanted. She began to whisper his name into his ear, repeatedly with each thrust. Drake's movements became harder as Victoria responded overwhelmingly the feelings. Victoria could feel the knot in her stomach tightening and she begged he wouldn't stop until she got to the release she desperately wanted from him. 

Drake took the sight of this, bring his hand down to where her thighs meet to speed up the process. Victoria tried hard to keep her mouth closed, as to not wake anyone else but the feeling was becoming a lot to bare. She had built up a lot quicker now, panting Drake's name over and over until finally with one of Drake's thrusts she fell to pieces, her eyes closing shut as she rode the waves of her orgasm. 

It wasn't long after that Drake fell apart too, his movements becoming a lot more slow. The sight of her was enough to send him through a frenzy. He fell into a plank, careful enough not to crush Victoria. They were still breathing heavily but that didn't stop them from sharing a final kiss. Drake had beads of sweat covering his forehead that cause his hair to stick. 

After recovering, they both got dressed and sat at the edge of Victoria's bed, sharing gentle kisses that were utterly different from the hungrier ones from before. 

Victoria asked Drake to stay the night and he agreed. It felt almost too good to be true but it is true. They were here, together, having put their fight in the past. It was them now, in love. 

They got under the covers before Drake pulled Victoria into his chest. He placed a kiss into her hair. They were just starting to succumb to sleep when Drake suddenly had a memory burst into his mind.

"I think I'm going to wake up to a parking ticket."

60 dollars would be worth it.