#because the spirits were too high apparently

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

I've been thinking a lot today about how easily people condemn Solas for making the choices he did or for so regularly refusing the help and love his friends or a romanced Lavellan extended to him and how that's a very easy thing to do from behind a screen in a fictional game where you are able to (with very few exceptions) curate a world in which your allies are loyal and your decisions will go the way you'd like them to.

And yeah, it's a game and that's kind of the point, but if I were to look at it a little more deeply (and who am I kidding, I got back on this website exclusively to process the aftermath of Veilguard) I'd say that there's so much to be found in wondering if the protagonists in any of the other games would have fared better in similar conditions.

Apparently I can't stop making long posts, so buckle in.

What would Morrigan have become in a world where the Warden never stumbled upon her cottage with Flemeth, if she never got the chance to see more of the world and decide what she wanted out of it? With just her mother (who, coincidentally in this Solas-y discussion is also kind of Mythal) and no support, who is to say what she would have unleashed upon the Korcari Wilds one day when the confines of her cage became too much?

What about Leliana? She, too, suffered at the hands of a very controlling abuser who tried to convince her that one lifestyle was all that her future held. What do we think she would have become if not for a chance meeting in Lothering with someone who could help her face down the woman that molded her?

Fenris, a character MANY people are just fine with was incredibly ready to kill a mage on sight if need be, no questions asked. Where do we think his story goes if he doesn't have someone in his corner early on enough in the game? If he doesn't get caught by Danarius, he's almost certainly going to end up on a murder spree, and he doesn't even have Justice whispering in his head to do it.

Cullen. Just all of him. It's an absolute miracle he hasn't snapped by the time you encounter him in Inquistion, and even then you get the benefit of intervening at a critical point in his story several times over.

Almost every other character could face this analysis and I think we'd reach a result that suggests perhaps the only thing keeping them lovable is your playable character's investment in their well-being.

Enter Solas. We don't meet him when he's twenty to thirty something and on the precipice of falling down a dark path. He's been there for literal millennia already, and with the exception of one close friend he's been alone. And not even Felassan is enough because of the years Mythal had prior to that friendship to make Solas exactly who she needed him to be.

I've had shit friends before that aren't just good at isolating people, they're naturals. I barely made it through high school with my mental health in place (in fact, looking back, it almost certainly wasn't). When you think you've got a true friend and they need something of you, it's so easy to blindly follow them because you think your love is enough to mark someone's soul as trustworthy. Solas doesn't learn that lesson until it's too late, and even when he does he can't turn back: the spirit that was once Wisdom has been exposed to several of the worst ancient elves to ever exist and now he has to stand his ground rather than let it all fall, because that is what Pride would dictate. Admitting that the person you gave your love and labor and time to is a monster is hard. And he was alone.

Give me Morrigan after centuries with her mother. Show me Leliana after the years have become a blur and the only voice whispering in her ear is Marjolaine's. Show me the innocent mages that don't make it through if all Fenris has for years and years and years are the scars Danaris left him and the means to make more. Show me Cullen if he stays in a chain of command under a Knight Commander who knows exactly what he fears and holds it over his head for so long he forgets what it was like to be an excited kid begging the templars for training because he just wants to keep people safe.

We get companions in these games who are broken by the time they're twenty. Solas has spent thousands of years in servitude to a cause of a woman he believed to be his only friend. He doesn't know who he is without her influence, anymore, only exists physically in the first place because she asked it of him and then asked again and again and again. He doesn't have a witty band of merry fools to pull him out of that cycle. He has Felassan, but he has him during war after war after war in the hopes of freeing others from the very situation that torments him.

Trauma from war affects everyone touched by it, nevermind the fact that Solas is actively responsible for saving the lives of thousands and feels each life like a weight around his neck because maybe he can save them like he cannot save himself. We should always be worried about the people trying to do the most good. Who is looking out for them? Why are they so determined to help others? Could it be that it's something they wish others had done for them?

Solas certainly feels comradery with Felassan from working together to free slaves from the very people he helped put in power because Mythal told him it would be okay only to leave him with the pieces, but even the Solas that Felassan knows has been turned into an attack dog shying away from the touch of the very person it desires to be near above all others by the time their relationship forms.

The fact that Solas is able to try and show the Inquisitor who he is at all is a miracle as far as I'm concerned, a sign of a peaceful spirit of Wisdom who loves knowledge for the sake of it finally sensing that there might be a chance to embrace its nature again.

Yeah, if you give him what he has come to expect from people with power, if you let near-absolute power over the masses corrupt you, he's going to bristle and try to shut your inquisitor down.

But if you show him even the smallest bit of kindness? If you treat him like the starving wolf he talks about and feed him instead of fighting him? God, it shatters his entire existence.

It's called a cycle of abuse for a reason. Finding friendship, finding the love of your long-ass life can be the first step in realizing there's better out there. But the time it takes to learn that? When you're too weary to even reach out for help in the first place and afraid of every kind word or gesture because you've never known such tenderness (on a platonic OR romantic level, both matter so so much) before?

Part of the compelling tragedy of Solas is that it's almost Orpheus-like how he knows what he has been made into and still cannot stop himself from yearning for more, from turning around to see if just this once something has changed. You can't convince me that he hasn't spent years hoping that someone will hear the legend of the Dread Wolf and see it for what it is, a leash the Evanuris created for Mythal's whipping boy to ensure that even if he ever escapes them, the people he fought to save will hate him. And I cannot blame him for the shock and terror that consumes him when he realizes someone finally has.

You give me any of dragon age companions after the amount of time Solas spent under Mythal's thumb without your character's intervention and you tell me how that looks.

You tell me if they're able to change at the first sign of something that feels too good to be true.

And then, I want you to tell me they're any less worthy of trying to save, especially when you know how good their best can be.

Solas might be hard for some fans to love, but it's only because he serves as the perfect representation of the beast we are all capable of becoming when the love that sustains us, assuming we receive any at all, is laced with poison.

The journey out of that place, out of a literal prison of regret, is brutal, and I'm thrilled that even with the many things about Veilguard I'm still struggling with, we have the chance to let Solas try again with the help of those who love him not because he never fell down, but because they believe in the beauty of a future where he gets back up again.

[haveyoureadthismcytfic]

Summary:

The moon was waxing gibbous, not full enough to let him change all the way. Ren forced the claws off his hands and didn’t even bother with the ears. He had better things to do than wrestle with his audial organs, if he was gonna get back to the RV without causing even more of a spectacle. Renbob had been really excited about going on a trip. Heck, Grimdog had been getting into it, saying the Red King wanted them to go now or they’d lose too much summer vacation time to the full moon. Road trips on summer vacations were sort of an abstract concept to Ren, though, like in-person classes or deep dish pizza. Apparently people who got to be people were allowed to go other places and have fun while they were there, if they weren’t in school. Apparently the resumption of Burning Man was such a crucial experience that the Red King wanted them to have it now, and honestly, who was Ren to contradict him? Ren was still learning how the outside world worked. He was at the bottom of the pecking order– below False, even, because she could definitely win a fight with him if she wanted to– and that meant if RK said it was high time they took a road trip, then a road trip there would be. 

Author: @droidofmay

Note from Submitter: absolutely OUTSTANDING rendog voice, and grim dog, and renbob, and false, and martyn— outstanding cast of characters in this urban fantasy road trip. Spirit storms!

[girafferoyalty]

Happy St. Stephen’s Day! Being very much a Christmas person, I felt like doing some doodles based on Finnish Christmas songs.

The first one is inspired by Kettu ja tähti (the Fox and the Star), which places the nativity scene in the northern Finnish scenery. The song mentions the Northern Lights, which in Finnish are called “foxfires”, based on an ancient belief that they were made by the tail of a giant fiery fox.

The second one is based on Sylvian joululaulu (The Christmas Song of the Sylvia), where Sylvia refers to small a bird caged in Sicily, who sings about his distant homeland. It is not widely agreed upon which bird the writer meant by “Sylvia”, but some believe he might’ve meant the robin, who was believed to be part of the genus Sylvia.

[baekuras]

I have finally, hundreds of years after everyone else, started playing Dragon Age....2

(the first one didn't run with sound and i wasn't in the mood to fix it because i was cranky today okay-another time...i will get context eventually don't worry i have at least 2 braincells w/ me)

and the main thing I noticed is

Every companion sure knows how to make a fucking entrance huh?

[chuluoyi]

✎ attraction

- gojo satoru x reader

to think it started with your crush on his best friend...

genre: high school!gojo being a menace, jealous!gojo but he doesn’t realize it? enemies to lovers, fluff, gojo begins pining on you

note: thank you anon who asks for gojo falling in love with a first year! i added some spice though haha

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Back in 2006—

There was this tiny weeny part of Gojo that was like... questioning, how did his best friend Geto Suguru catch your eye, whereas he didn’t? Like, at all?

"I want Geto."

"Hah?" Gojo arched a righteous brow, swiftly turning your way—feeling the stings of irritation gnawing at him. "What?"

You shot him a look. “I said, you suck and I’m lamenting that I’m paired with you instead of Geto for this mission.”

Once upon a time, you did hate him for obvious reasons as other people do. He was obnoxious, boastful and overall grating on your nerves.

Well, actually, “hate” would be too strong of a word, so probably “dislike greatly” it is.

“Ehh, Suguru? With you?” Gojo glanced at you, purposefully scrunching his face into a mocking sneer. “No way. Absolutely not. Incompatible. I won’t give him my blessings.”

“Who are you to grant blessings?” you hissed with a bulging vein of frustration. “And no, it's not what you think! I—” you wanted to kick yourself for stumbling over your words, “—I just respect him in a way an underclassman would!”

Gojo let out a strained laugh.

To him, you were this cute little junior who looked funny when mad. Riling you up was on his daily to-do list, and poking fun at your obvious crush on his best friend was supposed to double the fun, until it made him wonder despite himself... just what exactly did Suguru have that he apparently lacked, leading you to always follow him with your eyes, whereas you spared him with nothing but glares and sharp retorts?

You didn’t exactly hide your feelings. Whenever Geto was nearby or greeted you in the mornings, you'd blush like a tomato. It was silly, because Gojo was sure his best friend’s type wasn’t a girl as skittish as you—surely, it must be someone as vivacious as Inoue Waka.

He knew you were doomed to fail.

"I suggest you go pick up some slack," he teased. "Better if you don't become a dead weight while assisting him in missions, no?"

He knows. Really.

"...do you know that there are only three things I can't stand here?"

"And those are?"

But...

"Your stupid glasses, your Limitless—and you."

He was still irked, regardless.

"Well, poor you, then," he shrugged, shit-eating grin on his face. This time he pushed his luck. "Do you know that you're nowhere nearing Suguru's type?"

Scratch that. You hate him. You turned to him with a reddened face, and it wasn't because you were blushing.

"I'm going by myself!" you declared, seething. "I couldn't care less about what you're about to do—I'm finishing this and going home!"

With that, you you marched towards the haunted house, paying no heed to his taunts behind you.

You felt a wave of embarrassment washing over. Gojo always messed with you and normally you would chalk it up as one of his shits—but this time, you didn't appreciate how he touched on that sore spot of your not-so-hidden infatuation with Geto. So what if you weren't his ideal type? He didn't have to be mean!

But soon you regretted leaving his side, as a monstrous cursed spirit quickly chased you out.

Gojo was still outside, bidding his time. He merely huffed when he heard you screaming in fear.

He was ready with a jab. "Well, well... Look who's running back into my arms—"

But his smirk quickly fell when he saw the cursed entity was apparently way beyond your level. You ran out—no, by some idiotic impulse of survival, you actually leapt out of the two-story window and almost fell flat on your face and broke your bones, but before then, he sprung to action, catching you, wrapping one arm on your waist.

You were grateful you that you weren't doomed—until you felt yourself dangling mid air in his hold... like a cat.

"Gojo!" you wailed. "I'm going to fa—!"

Oh, but Gojo was convinced that this was his moment to shine. He directed a smirk your way as the bright blue mass in his hand totally caught your attention. With one swift flick of his hand, he muttered the mantra for Blue, and exorcised the cursed spirit in one go.

He marveled at his own show of power—and hoping that somehow, you would too. Then, he placed his hand under your knees, repositioning you in a princess-carry, and the way your gentle curves nestled snugly in his arms sparked some intriguing thoughts in him.

Your wide, crystal-clear eyes gazed at him with such wonder. Red tinted your cheeks. The corners of his mouth curved into a winning smile.

It was at that exact moment when he realized it: he wants you. This funny girl who often made his day, he wanted you to look at his way too.

...but goddamnit, you like Suguru.

"Well, not that scary now with me around, isn’t it?" he boldly announced, and your amazed expression immediately turned into a cute frown.

"Thanks," you blurted, still with rosy cheeks and looked frazzled, but then you realized the state you were in his arms. "But—put me down!"

"Ehhh, I will if your feet can reach the ground!"

Who cares if you like Suguru? As he burst into snickers and you screamed at his face, Gojo Satoru decided then and there—in that spring of 2006—that he would make it his mission to win you over. To make you his.

And years later, not only he achieved that but also so much more—a ring on your finger serving as the testament to his success.

Epilogue

"Yaga-sensei," Geto sighed wearily. "Can I be paired with Shoko, please?"

"Geto-san, wait, please—" you frantically tried to explain, glaring at Gojo in the process. "I'll do my best so—"

"You're such a bother, even Suguru doesn't want to go on missions with you," the white-haired clown remarked with an evil grin. "Right, Suguru?"

"No, Satoru—"

"Well, but if it's me, I'll gladly mentor and teach you though~"

"I don't want you! You're so insufferably annoying!"

"Yaga-sensei, can I please get paired with someone else—"

[julietsf1]

From Raya to Rivalry - Franco Colapinto x Sainz!Reader

Summary: Carlos Sainz's little sister is pushed to the limit when rookie Franco Colapinto, who stood her up after a flirtatious encounter on Raya, re-enters her life—without any sign he remembers her at all. Between race weekends and time with friends the tension between them becomes impossible to ignore. Will Franco finally remember why she’s been driving him mad all along?

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, Charles wearing those hideous pants again. Possibly wrong Spanish?

AN: Sup sweeties!! Another one! 9k words oh my days... inspired after seeing him on Raya last weekend, help me manifest a match pls lmaooo

___

The Singapore paddock was buzzing with its usual mix of high-speed energy and humidity so thick you could practically swim in it. Most people hated the sticky heat, but I loved the chaos of it all—the lights, the fans, the noise. Normally, I’d be soaking it all in, grinning from ear to ear, but today… well, today was different.

Because today, I was about to meet Franco Colapinto. Or rather, remeet him.

“Y/N!” Carlos’s voice called out to me as I made my way through the maze of hospitality suites. I spotted him standing with a guy I hadn’t seen in months—but who I recognized immediately. Short brown hair, that annoyingly perfect face, and a grin that screamed trouble.

“Come here!” Carlos waved me over, looking way too pleased with himself.

I made my way toward them, my mind racing. Franco Colapinto. Of all the people Carlos could’ve become friends with, it had to be him.

“This is Franco,” Carlos said, introducing the rookie driver standing next to him, completely unaware of the history. “He’s the one I’ve been telling you about.”

Franco extended his hand, that infuriating smirk plastered on his face like we hadn’t met before. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

I hesitated for a split second, surprised he didn’t seem to remember me. I forced a smile, shaking his hand. “You too,” I said, keeping my tone neutral even though irritation bubbled under the surface.

He didn’t remember. Seriously?

Carlos, oblivious as ever, kept the introductions going. “I’m showing him around first time in Singapore—helping him settle in.”

Franco’s smirk only grew as he glanced at me. “Carlos told me a lot about you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “All good things, I hope?”

“Of course,” he replied, his tone smooth. “Apparently, you’re always by his side, keeping him in check.”

I forced an awkward laugh. “Someone has to.”

Franco chuckled, and I hated how casual he was, how easy this all seemed for him. How could he not remember?

Carlos nudged Franco. “She’s tough. But you’ll get used to her.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a feeling we’ll get along just fine,” Franco said, his eyes glinting with amusement.

I forced a tight smile. “Sure. We’ll see about that.”

The second we’d been introduced, I knew this weekend was going to be hell. Not only did Franco seem every bit as cocky as I remembered, but the fact that he didn’t even recognize me? That stung more than I cared to admit.

"Look at us! Latinos taking care of Latinos!" Carlos proclaimed, slinging an arm around Franco’s shoulders like they were long-lost brothers. 

“We’re Spanish, Carlos. Not Latinos,” I corrected him for what had to be the hundredth time.

Carlos just waved me off. “Same difference, hermana.”

I shrugged; it was no use. Carlos had it in his head that he and Franco were kindred spirits, bonded by heritage and brought together by fate.

Franco didn’t even seem to care though. He’d just grin at Carlos, play along, and occasionally throw in a “sí, jefe” for good measure, which, for some reason, made Carlos beam with pride. And every time he did it, I swear, a small part of my sanity chipped away.

It wasn’t just that Franco was arrogant—plenty of the guys on the grid had egos to match their talent. No, my problem with Franco was that I knew him. And not just in the “we’ve crossed paths a few times” way. No, this was personal.

We’d met on Raya a while back. You know, that exclusive dating app for “famous” people. I’d been curious—mostly out of boredom—and swiped right when his profile popped up. It wasn’t that he wasn’t my type; he was cute, in that annoyingly perfect way. But there was something about his bio, some sarcastic line about how he was “not just here for friends,” that made me pause. Still, I swiped.

We’d exchanged messages for a week or so. Flirty, teasing. Nothing too deep. He was funny, I’ll give him that. And then we’d made plans to meet up. Dinner at a rooftop restaurant in Monaco. Classic.

Except… he never showed up.

No text. No call. Just nothing.

I’d waited for over an hour, feeling like a complete idiot, checking my phone every few minutes as people around me gave me sympathetic looks. I left that night swearing off drivers for good.

And now here he was, strolling around the paddock with Carlos like he hadn’t completely ghosted me months ago. Worse still, he didn’t even seem to recognize me. The same smirk, the same cocky attitude, but no flicker of recognition.

The audacity.

I mean, sure, I wasn’t about to bring up a failed Raya date in the middle of race weekend, but still. A part of me wanted to shake him and scream, “Seriously? You don’t remember me?!”

But instead, I kept my cool. Sort of.

“Franco’s a quick learner,” Carlos said, turning to Lando, who’d just wandered over with his usual laid-back grin. “Picked up on everything in no time.”

Franco gave a modest shrug, but the look in his eyes was anything but humble. “I’ve got a good teacher.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I don’t know if Carlos is the best person to be learning from, mate.”

“Hey!” Carlos protested, but his grin showed he didn’t mind the teasing. “Just watch—you’ll see Franco out there killing it this weekend.”

I rolled my eyes, hanging back as the boys bantered. Franco was already fitting in too easily, blending into the group like he’d been there all along. Normally, I’d be cracking jokes, joining in on the fun, but every time I looked at Franco, that old irritation flared up. I couldn’t help it. The guy brought out the worst in me.

“So, Y/N,” Lando said, turning his attention to me. “What’s the verdict on the new rookie?”

Before I could answer, Franco cut in with a grin. “I think she likes me. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

I blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know,” Franco said, leaning in slightly, that smirk never leaving his face. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“How can someone be so full of themselves?” I looked at Franco in disbelief. 

Lando burst out laughing, clapping Franco on the shoulder. “Mate, I think you’ve met your match.”

Franco chuckled, completely unfazed. “Glad her brother is fun at least.”

Carlos, completely missing half of the conversation, tuned in again. “See? Latinos taking care of Latinos.”

I shot Franco a glare. “We are not Latino, Carlos.”

“Details,” Carlos waved dismissively, already walking ahead toward the press conference room. “Come on, we’ve got a schedule.”

As we made our way through the paddock, I kept a few steps behind, watching Franco saunter beside Carlos like he owned the place. Every time he laughed or tossed his hair back, my hands itched to strangle him. How could someone be so infuriatingly charming? And why did everyone seem to love him?

Because he’s a flirt. That’s why. He charms his way out of everything.

Like that time he charmed me into thinking he was actually interested.

By the time we reached the press conference room, I was already dreading what was about to happen. Franco, armed with a microphone and an audience? This was going to be a disaster.

Carlos took his seat beside Franco, and I hung back by the entrance, watching the chaos unfold.

It didn’t take long for Franco to work his magic. The first question was simple: “Franco, you’re new to the grid. How’s the experience treating you so far?”

He smiled, leaning toward the mic. “It’s been... quite the ride,” he said, his voice dripping with that smooth, confident tone. “But I like rides. The faster, the better.”

I felt my eye twitch.

The reporters chuckled, but Franco wasn’t done.

“Any nerves going into your first race here in Singapore?” another reporter asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Franco’s grin widened. “Nerves? No. Excitement, maybe. A first ride is always a fun challenge! Can’t wait to get familiar with all the curves of the circuit.”

I groaned, quietly enough so only the people nearby could hear. I caught a few knowing glances from the journalists around me, and I was tempted to yell, “I’m not with him!” but held my tongue.

“He’s unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath.

Unfortunately, Franco’s hearing was sharper than I’d anticipated. He turned his head, locking eyes with me for a split second, and that smirk—God, that smirk—widened as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Handling the heat well, Franco?” another reporter asked, her tone light and teasing.

Franco leaned back, grinning. “Heat’s never been a problem for me. I like it hot actually.”

I wanted to crawl into a hole. Or possibly throw something at him. How could one person be this insufferable?

“And what’s been the highlight of your time in Singapore so far?” one of the female reporters asked, her tone more flirtatious than professional.

Franco grinned, locking eyes with her. “The highlight? Let’s just say there’s been plenty to... keep me entertained.”

I wanted to crawl into a hole. Or possibly throw something at him. How could one person be this insufferable.

By the time the press conference wrapped up, I was practically vibrating with irritation. Carlos was chatting with a few reporters when Franco sauntered over, his confidence turned up to eleven.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

I forced a smile, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “It was... enlightening.”

He chuckled. “You seem tense. Maybe you should try smiling once in a while.”

I blinked, narrowing my eyes at him. “I’ll smile when you stop talking.”

His grin widened, clearly enjoying this way too much. “So, never then?”

Before I could respond, Carlos reappeared, blissfully unaware of the tension brewing between us. “Ready to head to dinner?”

Franco gave me one last smirk before turning to Carlos with a casual, “Let’s go.”

As they walked away, I stood there, fuming.

This weekend was going to be hell.

.

The city lights of Singapore sparkled in the background as we arrived at the restaurant, one of Carlos’s favorite spots. It was tucked away, hidden from the main buzz of the city, the kind of place that only locals and celebrities knew about. Naturally, Carlos acted like he was both.

The rest of the group was already there when we walked in. Charles, Lando, George, and Alexandra were scattered around the table, mid-conversation. They waved us over, and I took a seat between Alexandra and Lando, leaving Carlos and Franco on the other side of the table.

“About time,” Lando grinned, motioning to the drinks. “We’ve already started, and George is on his second story about the ‘importance of a good cravat.’”

George shot Lando a withering look. “I do not recall making that remark. Besides, I would never subject these fine people to a lecture on cravats—unless they specifically requested it.”

Lando snickered. “Sure, mate. I’m sure everyone here was just dying to know how to tie the perfect Windsor knot.”

George adjusted the nonexistent collar on his shirt, sitting up straighter. “Actually, it’s the Prince Albert knot. Very distinguished.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Please, no more knot talk, George. I’m still recovering from the last fashion seminar you gave us.”

I grinned, watching as George tried to defend his sartorial wisdom, while Lando and Charles tag-teamed to poke fun. It was typical—Lando being the class clown, George being... well, George.

Franco slipped into his seat beside Carlos, flashing that smug grin as if he was the star of the night. I immediately braced myself, knowing where this dinner was going to head.

I was happy to be seated next to Alexandra. Over the past year, we had grown really close after watching each race together in the Ferrari motorhome. She was one of the kindest and most intelligent girls I had ever met, and also one of the only friends I had confided in about the whole Franco mess. 

Alex sent me a beaming smile as I sat down, subtly grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze. “So glad you could make it tonight!”

I smiled back, tension slowly falling off my shoulders. “Missed you loads, Alex!”

The waiter came around, taking our drink orders, and for a moment, the chatter filled the space, making it easy for me to avoid engaging with Franco. Lando was still on about FP2, sharing exaggerated stories about his heroic saves during the practice session.

“And then—just as I thought I was gonna bin it—bam! I pulled off the most insane save. I’m telling you, pure Norris finesse,” Lando said, throwing in dramatic hand gestures.

George raised an eyebrow, sipping his drink like an English lord. “Oh yes, the Norris magic... or, as the rest of the world calls it, ‘sheer dumb luck..’”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “Dumb luck? I’ll have you know that the precision with which I operate is unparalleled.”

“Uh-huh,” Charles smirked, leaning back in his chair. “If by finesse you mean nearly crashing into the barriers, then yeah—spot on.”

Lando threw up his hands in mock defeat. “You know, I don’t have to sit here and take this kind of abuse. I could be at karaoke right now, stealing the show with my rendition of ‘Wonderwall.’”

I laughed. “Karaoke? Again? I still haven’t recovered from your ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ performance at Fewtrell’s birthday party.”

Lando winked. “It was legendary, and you know it.”

George smirked. “Legendary for all the wrong reasons. I’m still wondering how you managed to be both off-key and out of sync at the same time.”

Alex leaned in, grinning. “I think we should all be grateful Lando isn’t a professional singer.”

Lando pouted. “Fine, fine. Take away a man’s dreams. Just for that, I’m definitely doing ‘Wonderwall’ next.”

The banter was light and fun, and for a while, it felt like a typical dinner with friends. But then, of course, Franco had to open his mouth.

“So, Y/N,” Franco said, leaning forward slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’ve been traveling with Carlos for a while now, haven’t you?”

I tensed slightly, not sure where he was going with this. “Yeah, a few seasons.”

“Must be nice,” Franco continued, that smirk never leaving his face. “Traveling the world, living the F1 life...”

I felt the undertone of his comment, but I stayed neutral. “It has its perks, I guess.”

Lando, sensing the shift in tone, jumped in. “Y/N’s basically our paddock princess at this point. She runs this place better than half the team bosses.”

Carlos grinned, clearly loving the banter. “Y/N’s like my second team principal. Only scarier.”

Alex nudged me gently, her voice soft. “I don’t know how you handle them all, Y/N.”

I smiled, feeling a bit more at ease with my friends supporting me. But then Franco, never one to let things rest, spoke up again.

“Yeah, it must be nice,” he said, his tone sharper now, though still laced with that smug charm. “Getting to enjoy the F1 life without actually having to work for it.”

I froze, my grip tightening around my glass. There it was. He’d been building up to that jab all night.

Before I could respond, I felt a light touch on my arm. Alex, sensing the shift in my mood, shot me a concerned glance. “You okay?” she whispered, her eyes searching mine.

I gave her a small, tight nod. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

She squeezed my arm gently, a silent reminder that she had my back.

“Already upset by that? Thought you’d have a thicker skin than that, Y/N.” he smirked. 

I shot Franco a tight smile, my patience wearing thin. “Oh, I’m definitely enjoying it here, Franco. What’s it like by the way, being the rookie who’s all ego but without a seat for next year?”

Lando choked on his drink, turning it into a cough to cover his laugh. George raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, while Carlos looked mildly concerned but didn’t intervene.

Franco, though? He loved it. He grinned like he’d just won the verbal sparring round. “Touché. But at least I’m doing something with my life.”

My eyes narrowed. “And what exactly is that? Besides trying to flirt with every reporter in sight?”

He leaned back, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I miss you swooning? Or were you too busy hanging onto Carlos’s wallet?”

The table went quiet for a beat, the playful banter coming to an abrupt halt.

George immediately jumped in, waving his hands. “Whoa, whoa, let’s calm down, people. No need to escalate. We’re all friends here. Except maybe you two. You two seem like... frenemies? Enemies with benefits? I’m not really sure anymore.”

Lando snickered, jumping on George’s bandwagon. “Enemies with benefits—that’s a movie I’d watch. Maybe we should take bets on how long it’ll be before you two—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Norris,” I warned, cutting him off.

Lando just grinned wider. “You know me too well.”

Franco, ever the instigator, leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the way George and Lando were trying to ease the tension. “I think George is onto something. Maybe frenemies is the right word.”

I shot Franco a look. “More like enemies, full stop.”

Charles nodded dramatically, ignoring my pointed glare. “Yep, definitely frenemies. A modern romance in the making.”

Alexandra elbowed me gently under the table, shooting me a knowing look, but I ignored her. The banter between Franco and me had always been sharp, but tonight it felt like something was shifting. The sarcasm was still there, but there was a new edge to it—one that I wasn’t liking too much.

The rest of dinner passed in a blur of conversations and laughter, with George and Lando regularly cutting in whenever the tension between Franco and me threatened to boil over. Every so often, Franco would throw another sly remark my way, and I’d respond with one just as cutting. It was like a game neither of us could resist playing, even though it was obvious that everyone else at the table was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the tension.

By the time dessert arrived, the atmosphere had cooled slightly, but I was still on edge. Franco hadn’t let up the entire night, and I could feel his eyes on me even as I pretended to focus on my crème brûlée.

“So,” Lando said, trying to break the awkwardness again, “who’s ready for some karaoke after this?”

George immediately perked up, always the entertainer. “Oh, I’m in. I’ve been working on my acapella version of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’”

Charles groaned, “Please, not again.”

Everyone laughed, and for a moment, the mood lightened. But as the night drew to a close, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the dynamic between Franco and me was shifting into dangerous territory. The sarcastic comments were becoming more personal.

Carlos stood, stretching and pulling out his phone. “Alright, we should call it a night. Big day tomorrow.”

The group began to gather their things, preparing to leave, but Franco lingered by the door, his eyes catching mine for the hundredth time that evening.

“Good night, Y/N,” he said, voice dripping with faux sweetness.

I shot him a tight smile. “Night, Franco. Try not to let all that charm go to your head.”

He grinned. “Too late.”

With that, we all parted ways. Carlos walked beside me, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. This was only going to get worse.

.

One thing about Carlos is that he is a man of habits. Every race, we either play padel or golf the morning before the qualification. Just us two, to get his head clear and stuff, a peaceful moment. So when Carlos invited Franco and me to play golf with Lando, I could already sense how this was going to go.

“I hope you’re ready,” Carlos said, swinging his club dramatically as we arrived at the pristine green course. The morning sun glinted off the lush landscape, and birds chirped in the background like we were about to film a serene nature documentary. Definitely at odds with how my lovely company was making me feel. 

Lando was already halfway through his first practice swing, clearly just happy to be outside and away from the track for a bit. “You guys know I’m going to win, right?” he said, flashing his signature mischievous grin.

I rolled my eyes. “Please. The last time we played, you couldn’t even make it past the windmill at the mini-golf course.”

“Hey!” Lando protested. “That windmill was rigged. I swear it wasn’t regulation size.”

“Uh-huh. Sure Go call the stewards to whine about it.”

He laughed and jokingly rolled his eyes at me. 

Carlos tapped Franco on the shoulder, handing him a golf club. “Franco. Focus. You might be a rookie on the grid, but you can’t afford to be a rookie here.”

Franco smirked, clearly unfazed by the competition. “I don’t know, Carlos. I think I’ll be just fine.”

The vibes were good at first, as we each took turns at the tee. Lando, predictably, spent more time making jokes than actually playing, which was a nice distraction—until Franco started making subtle digs.

“You sure you don’t just want to be our caddy, Y/N?” Franco asked, adjusting his own stance. “It might be easier for you to handle.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, gripping my club tighter. “I’m fine, thanks.”

He grinned. “Just checking. I wouldn’t want you to feel left out.”

I lined up my shot, trying to focus, but it was impossible not to notice Franco standing a few feet away. His white shirt made his tan even more striking under the morning sun, and his hair, still slightly messy, added to that infuriating, effortless charm. My eyes kept drifting back to him—how the fabric clung to his broad shoulders, the casual confidence in every move. Just as I was about to swing, he caught me looking. That smug grin appeared, and I immediately looked away, gripping the club tighter. The nerves in my stomach went crazy suddenly. I swung too hard, sending the ball off into the trees, nowhere near the hole.

Lando snorted. “Wow. Impressive.”

I shot him a glare. “Shut up, Norris.”

Franco chuckled, his voice annoyingly smooth. “Need me to fetch that for you?”

“I’d rather fetch it myself than owe you any favors,” I snapped, heading off in the direction of the lost ball.

As I disappeared into the trees, I heard Lando muttering behind me, “They’re like an old married couple. It’s wild.”

I rolled my eyes, but the comment stayed with me as I searched for the ball. An old married couple? More like two neighbours in a judge judy episode. At least, that’s what I told myself.

When I finally returned, ball in hand, I noticed Franco lining up his shot, a smug look on his face. And of course, he hit it perfectly—right toward the hole, as if to rub salt in the wound.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, tossing my ball back onto the course.

“You’ll get it next time,” Franco said, his tone dripping with fake encouragement. “Maybe just... aim a little better.”

My jaw clenched. “I swear, if you say one more thing—”

“What? You’ll beat me with your superior golf skills?” He flashed that infuriating grin again, and something in me snapped.

“I’ll beat you with this club if you give me any more reason to,” I shot back. 

Lando, who was clearly enjoying the show, whistled. “Oh man, this is getting spicy. Should I grab popcorn for us Carlos?”

Carlos shook his head, finally sensing the rising tension. “Let’s keep it civil, guys.”

But that ship had already sailed. Franco and I were now locked in a full-blown competition, every swing of the club feeling like a personal challenge. My frustration grew with each passing round, especially as Franco continued to hit one perfect shot after another, all while making snide comments under his breath.

As Franco lined up for his next shot, he muttered something in Spanish, just loud enough for me to hear. “¿Cómo es posible que siempre estés tan enojada?” How is it possible that you're always so angry?

I stopped mid-swing, narrowing my eyes at him. “¿Perdón?” Excuse me?

“Digo, si te relajaras un poco, tal vez serías... soportable,” Franco replied with a shrug. “Dudo que sea posible, pero quién sabe.” I’m saying, if you relaxed a little, you might actually be... tolerable. I doubt it’s possible, but who knows.

I stepped closer, my voice dropping. “¿Soportable? No creo que tengas ningún derecho de hablar de soportar nada cuando eres el ser humano más insoportable que existe.” Tolerable? I don’t think you have any right to talk about tolerating anything when you’re the most insufferable human being that exists.

Franco chuckled, completely unfazed by my insult. “¿Ah sí? ¿Insoportable, yo?” Oh yeah? Insufferable, me?

“Sí, tú. ¿Te sorprende?” I shot back. “Porque honestamente no entiendo cómo alguien puede soportarte.” Yes, you. Does that surprise you? Because honestly, I don’t understand how anyone can stand you.

“Qué drama, Y/N. Si no sabías que te caía tan mal, tal vez me habría ahorrado el esfuerzo,” he replied, his tone mocking. What drama, Y/N. If I had known you hated me this much, maybe I would have saved myself the effort.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Eso sería genial.” That would be great.

Lando, hearing the rapid switch to Spanish, looked between us with raised eyebrows. “Whoa, what’s happening? Can we switch back to English? I’m missing all the tea.”

Carlos sighed, trying to keep the peace. “They’re just... passionate.”

Lando grinned. “Yeah, passionate about killing each other, maybe.”

Franco, still smirking, leaned in a little closer. “¿Sabes qué? Tal vez no te caigo tan mal como dices. Creo que te encanta pelear conmigo.” You know what? Maybe you don’t hate me as much as you say. I think you love fighting with me.

My frustration flared even more. “Me encantaría no tener que verte nunca más.” I’d love to never see you again.

“No creo que sea cierto,” Franco teased. I don’t think that’s true.

“¡Cállate!” I practically growled, my patience officially worn thin. Shut up!

Lando, now fully entertained, clapped his hands together. “Alright, alright. You two seriously need to cool off. This is golf, not a soap opera.”

Franco finally backed off, still grinning like he’d won the argument. I was fuming, and it didn’t help that every time I looked at him, he seemed so... calm. It was infuriating.

The rest of the game was a blur of snide comments, sarcastic remarks, and way too much tension for what was supposed to be a friendly game. By the end, I was ready to hurl my golf club into the nearest lake.

Lando, of course, took the whole thing in stride, wrapping an arm around both me and Franco as we finished up. “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it? We should do this again sometime. Maybe next time without the whole ‘I want to strangle you’ vibe.”

Franco chuckled, giving me a sideways glance. “I don’t know, I think the tension added something.”

I rolled my eyes, pulling away from Lando’s arm. “You would think that.”

Carlos, still oblivious to the volcanic-level tension, checked his phone. “Alright, let’s head back. We’ve got a busy schedule.”

Franco shot me one last smirk before following Carlos to the car. I stood there for a moment, watching him walk away, the frustration boiling over again.

Lando leaned in, his voice low. “You know, this whole enemies-to-lovers vibe you two have going on is a real treat for me.”

I shot him a glare. “There is no ‘lovers’ anything.”

He grinned. “Not yet, darling.”

With that, he jogged off after Carlos and Franco, leaving me standing there, shaking my head.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

.

After the hectic race weekend it was time to go home again, in Carlos’s case home was a beautiful country between France and Italy. Monaco was every bit as picturesque as people said—yachts dotting the harbor, luxury cars roaring through the narrow streets, and the smell of the sea mingling with high-end perfume in the air. It was the kind of place where the rich and famous went to flaunt what they had, and Carlos loved it. Naturally, he always loved inviting me for a visit. This time along with a certain Argentine unfortunately.

“Come on, Y/N,” Carlos had said when I tried to protest. “It’ll be fun! The weather’s perfect, we’ll explore the city, and we’ve got clubbing plans tonight. What could go wrong?”

So here I was, walking down the sun-drenched streets of Monaco with Franco striding a few steps ahead, Carlos chatting away beside him. The group had grown since we’d arrived—Alex Albon had joined us since he lived next door to Carlos, and Lando and Charles, both Monaco residents, decided to tag along as well.

“Alright, Carlos, I’ll admit it,” I said as we strolled through the streets. “Monaco’s got charm.”

Carlos grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “See? I told you. Best place in the world.”

I chuckled. “I’m not going that far, but I’m willing to appreciate it. I’d have more fun though if I didn’t have to watch Franco pretend he’s king of Monaco.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “Relax. He’s not taking that title from Charles any time soon. He’s just enjoying Monte Carlo.”

“Yeah, enjoy it with every girl who crosses his path,” I muttered, watching as Franco winked at a passing woman who giggled in response.

Lando, catching my glare, sidled up beside me, grinning. “Ah, the drama is back. The sole reason why I’m here.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, though a smile tugged at my lips despite myself.

I was trying, really. The sun was shining, the atmosphere was relaxed, and even though Franco was a few steps ahead of me, I figured I could let it slide—for now. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my day in this beautiful place.

As we meandered through the harbor, I nudged Lando, who was soaking in the views with his usual enthusiasm. “Bet you wish you had a yacht like one of these.”

Lando flashed a grin. “Give me a couple more wins, and you’ll see me with the biggest one in the harbor.”

“Oh, you’ll name it after yourself, I’m sure,” I teased.

“Obviously. It’ll be called Seao,” he joked, striking a ridiculous pose.

“The what now?” I asked confused.

“Get it? Like Land-o, Sea-o?” he said with the proudest face ever. 

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’ll be sure to stay far, far away from it.”

Lando gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “You wound me, Y/N. I was going to offer you the best cabin!”

The lighthearted banter was helping to keep my mood up, and even as Franco joined the conversation with that usual swagger, I managed to stay upbeat. For now.

“You know, Y/N,” Franco said, giving me that infuriating grin, “you’d look great on one of those yachts. You’ve got the whole ‘Monaco gold digger vibe’ down.”

I rolled my eyes, but the smile lingered on my face. “Nice try, Franco. Flattery’s not going to work on me.”

“Who said I was flattering you?” he shot back with a wink.

Before I could respond, Charles chimed in, proudly displaying his fashion choices for the evening. “What do you think of these pants?” he asked, clearly fishing for compliments on his intersting patchwork denim.

Lando snorted. “I think it’s a crime against fashion.”

I giggled, taking in the ridiculousness of Charles’s outfit. “It’s... bold, Charles. Very bold.”

Charles looked pleased. “It’s couture.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” I said with a laugh, earning an approving look from Lando.

The day continued on with playful banter and an easygoing atmosphere. We explored the city, enjoyed lunch at a café with an incredible view of the sea, and even though Franco occasionally made snide comments, I let them roll off my back. I wasn’t going to let him get under my skin today.

As the sun dipped behind the Monaco skyline, the group started getting ready for the night out. The air buzzed with excitement—everyone still riding the high from Lando’s win last week—but I couldn’t shake the unease settling in my stomach. I knew exactly what was coming. Franco, who looked like he’d just stepped out of some annoyingly perfect cologne ad, would be in full flirt mode, and I was not going to enjoy his little display. 

Lando, ever the showman, stretched dramatically as we gathered at Carlos’s apartment. “Monaco nightlife, everyone. Prepare yourselves for the full Norris experience.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “The Norris experience? What’s that? Getting involved in drama you didn’t start but somehow make worse?”

Lando smirked, undeterred. “Hey, the drama just follows me. I’m an innocent bystander.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure, innocent. I’m still trying to figure out how those girls at the last afterparty got into a massive fight about you and you walked away untouched.”

Charles snickered, nodding. “Lando’s like a magnet for girl drama. He’s always in the middle of the mess but always forgiven somehow.”

Lando shrugged with a grin. “What can I say? Some people just have that natural charm.”

Charles snickered. “No amount of charm can compete with Franco’s... well, Franco-ness.”

I sighed, already dreading the inevitable. “Yeah, lucky us. Another night watching him do his thing.”

We arrived at the club, neon lights flashing, music already pounding through the air. And, of course, Franco didn’t waste any time. Within minutes, he was at the bar, leaning in close to two women, his signature smirk on full display. The worst part? He looked effortlessly good. Hair perfectly tousled, his shirt just tight enough to show off his broad shoulders... it was annoying how well he pulled it off.

I slid into the booth next to Lando, my drink in hand, trying to ignore how damn good Franco looked tonight. “How long do you think it’ll take before he’s flirted with every girl in here?” I muttered.

Lando glanced over at Franco, then back at me, a grin already forming. “Hmm... five minutes, tops. He’s like a sniper. Quick, precise.”

Charles chuckled, leaning in. “Make that four. You look like you’re about to march over there and take him out yourself.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. I couldn’t care less who he’s talking to.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Oh, really? Because that death stare you’re giving those girls suggests otherwise.”

“I am not giving them a death stare,” I shot back, probably a bit too defensively.

Charles smirked. “Sure you’re not. You’re just... monitoring the situation. Very closely.”

I scoffed, trying to keep my cool. “I just don’t understand how someone can be that... shallow.”

Lando shrugged, barely suppressing his laughter. “Or maybe he’s just really, really good-looking. I mean, come on, Y/N, you’ve noticed.”

I shot Lando a glare, but my cheeks felt hot. “Not helping, Lando.”

Lando leaned back in the booth, looking smug. “What? It’s okay to admit it. Franco’s got that whole ‘sexy and Spanish speaking’ thing going for him. You’re allowed to be jealous.”

I groaned, taking a bigger sip of my drink. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t get why people fall for that whole act.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his grin only growing. “Oh, so it’s the act you’re mad at. Not the fact that he’s talking to those girls?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Exactly. It’s the act. He’s a walking cliché.”

Lando exchanged a glance with Charles, the two of them clearly enjoying my frustration. “Right, right, it’s the act. Not the fact that every time he smiles at them, you look like you want to burn this place down,” Lando teased.

I groaned, leaning further back into the booth. “You two are impossible.”

“Impossible, but not wrong,” Charles said, smirking as he raised his glass to toast. “To Franco’s charm—and Y/N’s growing annoyance.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not about the charm. It’s the fact that—”

“—he’s ridiculously good-looking, and it’s pissing you off?” Lando finished for me.

I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. I hated that they weren’t entirely wrong. Franco was annoyingly good-looking. And watching him flash that stupid grin at anyone within a five-foot radius was making me grind my teeth.

“You’re so totally jealous,” Lando declared with a triumphant grin.

“I am not jealous,” I protested, feeling the heat rise in my face. “I just think it’s ridiculous that he’s—”

“—charming the entire club while he should be talking with you?” Charles added, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

I glared at them both, trying to keep my composure. “I don’t care who he talks to.”

“Right,” Lando said, winking. “That’s why you haven’t stopped looking at him since we sat down.”

I groaned, shaking my head. “I’m not doing this tonight.”

Lando raised his glass in mock toast. “Famous last words, Y/N. Famous last words.”

Charles chuckled, leaning in with a mischievous grin. “You know, if you suddenly get the urge to go over there and throw a drink in his face, I’ll cover the next round.”

I shot him a look. “I’m not throwing drinks at anyone. But if he flirts with one more girl, I might reconsider.”

Lando burst out laughing, nudging me. “I’ll be ready with the camera. Would make a killer lando.jpg comeback post.’”

I sighed, swirling my drink as Franco’s laughter drifted over from the bar. His stupid, perfect laugh. This was going to be a long night.

After ordering his drink, Franco sauntered back to the table, his usual cocky grin in place. “Having fun, Y/N?” he asked, his tone dripping with faux innocence.

“Oh, absolutely,” I replied sarcastically. “Watching you work your charm on half the club is just... delightful.”

Franco chuckled, sliding into the booth across from me. “You know, Y/N, you should try it sometime. Flirting. It might make you less... uptight.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Uptight?”

“You heard me.” He leaned back, smirking. “You’re always so... tense. Maybe if you loosened up, you’d have a bit more fun.”

I could feel my annoyance rising, but I forced a smile. “Right. Because flirting with strangers is the key to happiness.”

Franco shrugged. “It’s a start.”

“You are so sad.” I shot back. “Getting your validation from strangers, never taking anything seriously.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I take plenty of things seriously.”

“Really? Because it sure seems like all you care about is attention. Who you can charm next. Who’s going to fall for your dumb act.”

Franco’s smile faltered for just a second before he recovered. “And what exactly is your problem, Y/N? You act like you’re so above it all.”

“Maybe because I don’t need to rely on shallow charm to get by,” I retorted. “Some of us actually have depth.”

“Oh, right,” Franco said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “What is it exactly you rely on then? Besides your brother’s finances, of course.”

Switching to Spanish, I snapped, “¿Sabes qué? Estoy harta de tu actitud de sabelotodo.” You know what? I’m sick of your know-it-all attitude.

“¿Y qué vas a hacer al respecto?” Franco replied, his voice low and challenging. And what are you going to do about it?

“Voy a ignorarte, como debería haberlo hecho desde el principio,” I hissed. I’m going to ignore you, like I should have done from the start.

“Claro, porque ignorar las cosas es lo tuyo, ¿verdad?” Franco shot back. Of course, because ignoring things is what you do best, right?

Lando, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes, suddenly jumped in. “Okay, hold up! Time-out. We’re not turning this club into a fight club, alright? I’ve seen Brad Pitt way too many times already this season.”

Carlos, still deep in conversation with Alex, remained blissfully unaware, but the tension at the table was palpable.

Franco leaned back, his smirk returning. “Whatever you say, Y/N. Keep telling yourself you’ve got it all figured out.”

I stood up, glaring at him. “You’re not worth this argument.”

“Good to know,” Franco replied with a shrug, as if the whole conversation had barely affected him.

I turned on my heel, heading straight for the bar to get another drink. As I left, I could still feel Franco’s eyes on me, that smug grin probably plastered on his pretty face. 

.

The night had that strange Monaco mix of high-energy and quiet tension. The streets were buzzing after our time at the club, but beneath the neon lights and laughter, something more was brewing. I could feel it in the air between Franco and me, unspoken but undeniable.

We all stood by the curb as Carlos waved down a taxi. My mood was already on edge after the club, and I just wanted to get home and forget about the whole night. Franco had been in his element—flirting, chatting, showing off—and I was done.

“Alright, taxi’s here!” Carlos called, gesturing for us to pile in.

I moved to follow, but then Lando, who had been suspiciously quiet, suddenly stepped in. “Actually, Carlos, Y/N and Franco are gonna hang back for a bit,” Lando said, his voice way too casual for someone who clearly had mischief on his mind.

Carlos blinked. “What? Why?”

“Yeah, why?” I echoed, shooting Lando a look.

Lando waved it off with a dismissive hand. “They need some air. Clear their heads. We’ll see you at the apartment.”

Before I could argue, Carlos shrugged and got into the taxi with Alex and Charles, the door closing behind them. In a flash, the car was gone, leaving Franco and me standing on the empty sidewalk, bathed in the glow of the streetlights.

“What the hell was that about?” I muttered, pulling out my phone.

As if on cue, it buzzed with a message from Lando:

Enjoy your walk ;)

I rolled my eyes, showing Franco the text. “Of course. He’s messing with us.”

Franco chuckled beside me, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Well, looks like we’re walking.”

I sighed, my frustration already simmering beneath the surface. “Great.”

We started walking in silence, the noise of Monaco nightlife fading behind us as we wound through the quieter streets. Franco was close, but not too close, keeping that distance we’d both grown used to. I could feel his green eyes burning on me occasionally, lingering a bit too long.

After a few minutes of walking, Franco finally spoke. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Oh yeah?” I replied, my voice laced with sarcasm. “About what? How great you are?”

He sighed, clearly realizing I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “About our date.”

I stopped walking, turning to face him. Dumb shock written over my face. The mention of our failed date had been hanging over us since we met again, but I thought he had forgotten me. “So you remember?”

Franco hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t ghost you on purpose, Y/N.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Then why didn’t you show up?”

He looked down at the ground, taking a deep breath. “I crashed during testing.”

That caught me off guard. “Wait, what?”

“I had a pretty bad crash during testing with my team,” Franco explained, lifting the sleeve of his shirt to show me a faint scar on his shoulder. “I was out for a while. It happened the morning before we were supposed to meet.”

I stared at the scar, my mind racing. “You crashed? That’s your excuse?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, pulling out his phone. “I’ve got footage of it if you don’t believe me. It wasn’t pretty.”

He handed me his phone, and I watched the video of the crash—his car spinning out of control, hitting the barrier, the wreckage that followed. My stomach twisted as I handed the phone back to him.

“I didn’t know,” I muttered, feeling a wave of guilt wash over me.

“I know,” Franco said, pocketing his phone. “By the time I was back on my feet, our chat on Raya was gone. I couldn’t reach you. Didn’t even know you were Carlos’s sister.”

I swallowed hard. Of course I deleted him first thing when I got home. “I figured you just... stood me up.”

Franco shook his head. “I never wanted to. I wanted to explain, but I didn’t know how and honestly... I didn’t want to make it worse. Honestly, I am so sorry Y/N. I did not handle this well at all.”

I stared at him, the anger and hurt I’d held onto for so long starting to unravel. “I just thought you were another guy playing games.”

“I wasn’t playing games,” Franco said, his voice soft but serious. 

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “If we are having a heart to heart, there is something I have to get off my chest as well.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath, deciding it was time to tell the whole truth. “I’ve been traveling with Carlos because... well, because I didn’t really have a choice. I used to be a tennis player. A good one. But I had an injury—tore my ACL. It ended my career.”

Franco’s eyes softened as he listened.

“I’ve been a bit lost ever since. Carlos thought taking me to races would cheer me up, keep me busy,” I continued. “But that’s why I’m here. Not because I want to profit off of him.”

Franco’s expression shifted, guilt flickering across his face. “I didn’t know, Y/N. I... I’m sorry. I’ve been a jerk.”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice catching slightly. “You kind of have.”

There was a heavy silence between us as everything settled. The frustration, the misunderstandings, all the things we hadn’t said to each other. It felt like we were standing at the edge of something, ready to fall.

Franco’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “You think I don’t take anything seriously, but... I do. I’ve worked my ass off to get here, and I am trying so hard to make it to next year. But you keep talking like you’ve got me all figured out. Like I’m some shallow, cocky guy who just flirts his way through life.”

“Isn’t flirting your way through life exactly what you do, though?” I shot back, my frustration flaring again.

Franco’s eyes darkened. “No. But you wouldn’t know that because you never gave me a chance. You just made up your mind about me from the start.”

“Because all you’ve shown me is that side of you!” I snapped. “You literally flirted with every girl at the club tonight. How was I supposed to think otherwise?”

“Instead of judging me, you could just admit that you're jealous,” Franco fired back, his voice rising.

“Judging you? You’re the one who’s been making up stuff about me from the moment we met!” I shouted, the anger boiling over now. “While you don’t know anything about me!”

“¡Porque no me dejas conocerte!” Franco shouted back in Spanish, his voice raw. Because you won’t let me get to know you!

“¡No hay nada que conocer!” I yelled, my heart pounding. There’s nothing to get to know!

Franco stepped even closer, his eyes blazing. “¡No digas eso! Sé que hay más en ti. Lo he visto, pero siempre estás empujándome lejos.” Don’t say that! I know there’s more to you. I’ve seen it, but you keep pushing me away.

I clenched my fists, trying to hold back the flood of emotions. “¡No quiero que te acerques!” I don’t want you to get close!

“¿Por qué? ¿Porque te asusta?” Franco asked, his voice softer but still intense. Why? Because it scares you?

“¡Porque no confío en ti!” I shot back. Because I don’t trust you!

There was a beat of silence, both of us standing there, breathing heavily. The street was quiet around us, but the energy between us was electric, almost unbearable.

My breath caught in my throat.

“¡Eres tan... frustrante!” I yelled, my voice cracking. You’re so... frustrating!

“¿Sabes qué más eres?” Franco said, his voice lowering, his eyes burning into mine. “Eres tan sexy cuando te enojas.” You know what else you are? You’re so sexy when you’re angry.

The words hit me like a shockwave, and for a moment, I was too stunned to respond. Before I could even think, Franco closed the gap between us and kissed me.

It wasn’t just any kiss—it was fiery, intense, and filled with all the pent-up emotion we’d been holding back for what felt like weeks. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer, and I didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, all the frustration and tension melting away in that single moment.

His lips were soft. I melted into him, my hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing heavily, the weight of everything we hadn’t said hanging between us.

I stared at him, my mind racing. “Franco...”

He smiled, his hand still resting on my waist. “Finally.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you like it,” he said with a grin.

I didn’t argue.

We walked the rest of the way home in silence, but this time, the tension between us had shifted. There was no more anger, no more resentment—just something new, something that hadn’t been there before. My hand was still in Franco’s, and I hadn’t even thought about pulling it away.

The soft hum of the Monaco streets accompanied us as we approached Carlos’s apartment. The usual quiet after a night out seemed louder now, like it was filling the space where our words had been. My heart was still racing from the kiss, and every time Franco’s shoulder brushed mine, that warmth spread through me again.

I glanced over at him, catching him looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He smiled—a small, almost shy one—and I couldn’t help but smile back. That smug smirk he’d worn all night was gone, replaced with something softer. It was the first time I’d seen him look... real.

As we reached the entrance to the building, Franco opened the door for me, his hand gently resting on the small of my back as I stepped inside. The gesture was subtle, but it sent a wave of warmth through me.

Inside, the familiar scent of Carlos’s apartment hit me—clean, with a hint of cologne that always lingered in the air. The place was quiet, save for the faint sound of the ocean outside. It felt surreal, like everything that had happened tonight had been part of some strange dream.

Lando was, of course, sprawled out on the couch, his feet up, his phone in hand. The second we walked in, he glanced up, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “Look who finally made it home.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at my lips. “Shut it, Norris.”

“Awww look at you, Y/N!” Lando replied, wiggling his eyebrows. “Blushing. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Franco chuckled beside me, his hand still resting lightly on my lower back. “Nice work, Lando,” he called over his shoulder as we walked past Lando toward the hallway.

Lando just winked, not missing a beat. “What can I say? I have a gift.”

As we walked down the hallway toward the guest rooms, I felt the tension ease from my body, replaced by a strange kind of peace. Franco’s presence beside me didn’t feel overwhelming anymore. It felt... comforting.

“Do you want to go back to that rooftop restaurant?” Franco’s voice was soft, a whisper just between us as we stopped in front of my door.

I turned to face him, my heart doing a little flip at the thought. “Are you asking me on a second first date?”

He grinned, but it was different now. Less cocky, more sincere. “Yeah. A real one. No crashes, I promise.”

I smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “I’d like that.”

For a moment, neither of us moved, the weight of everything unsaid still lingering in the air. But instead of more words, Franco leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before pulling back and meeting my eyes.

“Buenas noches, hermosa,” he whispered, his voice like a warm caress.

“Buenas noches, Franco,” I replied, my voice equally soft.

[animezinglife]

Nyx Headcanons

Headcanons for my favorite little bean, because we don't talk about him enough.

He 100% inherits Rhys's "earth-shattering" power. That extra chapter where Feyre and Rhys were deciding on a name and basically felt powers shifting in the Force when Nyx came up makes me firmly believe that.

He's a good, sweet kid but also goes through a few phases where he's an absolute nightmare to raise through no fault of his own. Nyx is a happy baby, but has zero concept of his power when it starts to show, leaving one very tired High Lord and High Lady when he shatters a window in his nursery when wiggling his arms excitedly.

He's an intuitive little guy though and very quickly figures out he needs to be careful when Feyre and Rhys try to teach him to get a handle on that power. He learns this the hard way after accidentally nightmisting one of his toys.

Nobody for the life of them can figure out why he adores cranky Auntie Amren so much. Though he's not old enough to explain it, he thinks she's another child to play with. Cassian suggests this and Amren nearly rips his head off.

Nyx is a full-fledged mama's boy. He adores Feyre and is a complete snugglebug with her. He's also very protective of his mama.

That said, he idolizes his dad too and copies everything he does. He follows Rhys around and mimics everything, right down to trying to copy the High Lord's graceful swagger. Feyre, naturally, absolutely melts at the sight of him waddling after his dad with one hand in his pocket looking too cool for school on his tiny little legs.

Nyx is obsessed with Starfall, and his first-ever painting is a finger painting of him with his parents under those stars. Rhys gets misty-eyed when he sees it.

He's besties with Kallias and Viviane's little snow angel. The fact they're the same age is perfect--when the grown-ups are too boring tending to one courtly matter or the other, Nyx and his friend can easily pass the time playing in the snow. Nyx already has met his match in the realm of snowball fighting, and takes a new tactic or two back to absolutely wallop his uncles. Rhys could not be more proud of this fact.

Nyx takes his role as Eldest Cousin very seriously, but there's one cousin in particular who absolutely does not and will not listen to a word he says. Guess whose kid that cousin is.

Nyx takes a little too much after his mother sometimes in that he befriends every semi-civil demon-thing or dark spirit that walks the face of the earth. To Uncle Cassian's absolute horror, Nyx is apparently friends with Bryaxis...and Bryaxis loves this kid.

[iikatsukii]

Too Late.

synopsis: they loved you when it was too late. 

pairings: sully family x daughter/sister!reader, neteyam x twin!reader, neytiri x daughter! Reader, jake x daughter!reader

warnings: mentions of death, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts(?), swearing, familial issues. 

word count: 3.6k

a/n: would yall believe me if i said i wrote this while listening to pussy talk by city girls LMFAOOOOO p.s. Happy valentines day (THE RED TEXT IS "FESTIVE" im trynna get into the valentines day spirit :D). I wish i could've given yall part two of illicit love instead of this but i'm not done with it </3. ALMOST THO!!! (gif creds: @world-of-pandora)

(p.s. part two is out now!!)

it was never supposed to end like this. jake's mouth felt bitter. his whole body shook as he let out the most heart-stopping scream when his eyes landed on his eldest daughter. you, neteyam's twin, lay lifeless in his arms. your father cried because he never got to tell you he was proud of you, or that he loved you, or that you didn't need to compare to your brother to still be considered his baby girl. 

it wasn't always like this, though. 

you and neteyam were always happy and playing around together when you were younger. still, as you two grew older, neteyam took on olo'eyktan training and became his father's perfect warrior. where does that leave you? mo'at had chosen kiri to pursue tsahik training because of her apparent connection to eywa. so where does that leave you? lo'ak took on the role of the troublemaker, and tuk, of course, is just the baby of the family. so where does that leave you?

you're lo'ak's babysitter. making sure the boy doesn't get into trouble, but with your lack of training due to your father training your brother more than you, you weren't really the best babysitter. honestly, it was more lo'ak protecting than you protecting him. he kept you from losing balance while in high places, saved you when you fell into the rapids and flew you home when you forgot your way as if you had not lived in this forest your whole life. 

you felt like a burden on your family. 

nothing you ever did was right. 

you went hunting? cool, but you didn't bring back enough for the whole family, so now neteyam and lo'ak have to go out and find more food for everyone else. 

you bead a necklace for your friend? great, but you messed up the pattern she asked for, so she brought it to kiri so she could remake it.

tuk wanted to go play with you? of course! but now she has a sprained ankle from falling into the river while you were looking at flowers a few feet away.

and every time, somehow, some way, your family always managed to say something that felt like a blade stabbed through your heart.

"next time, y/n, just leave the hunting to neteyam and i. at least we know the right amount to bring back." it was lo'ak before he and your twin had to go hunting for more food for dinner a few weeks ago.

"you know, sister, your jewelry hasn't been the same recently. i've had sooo many of your friends coming back to me saying you messed up the pattern they asked for. just try and pay more attention when you're beading." kiri said as you walked into your home. she was re-beading the necklace you gave to your best friend yesterday. 

the one she told you was perfect and that she loved it.

"how could you leave your sister unattended like that y/n she could've been killed?! why can't you be like neteyam? you’re twins, for crying out loud, y/n. do you not care for your sister's well-being?" your father scolded you outside your grandmother's hut. you could hear her cries inside the tent, along with your mother's gentle words of comfort, as she tried to calm her youngest daughter down. 

you were being compared to your twin for the millionth time in your life, and as used to this as you should be, it still hurt just as bad as the first time your father had said it. 

"she only sprained her ankle. it was an accident sempu–" you tried to defend yourself, but you were cut off. 

"NO. it is, sir. do you understand me?" jake yelled at you. in your 18 years, your father had never raised his voice at you, let alone for you calling him 'sempu.' he used to love it when you called him because you were his ite and he was your sempu. but right now, to him, you were just someone who had hurt his child and nothing more than that. you hang your head, eyes falling to the floor in front of you as you didn't want your father to see you cry. 

"sorry, sir." was all you said before walking away. you don't know where you walked, but you found yourself at the abandoned shack. you knew this area was forbidden, so when you realized where you were, you immediately crouched. you were just gonna walk back because your father would kill you if he found out you were over here, but then you heard voices. you looked through the bush to see a group of 3 or 4 avatars. you knew you couldn't escape now, so you pressed on the collar of your neck.

"sempu– sorry. sir, i need help, i wasn't paying attention to where i was walking, and i can hear avatars speaking english and–" your father cut you off.

"where are you?" he, your mother, and your two brothers were patrolling around your land's territories when they heard you through their earpieces. 

you let out a heavy sigh, praying to eywa that he wouldn't chew your ass up for being here, before pressing the button again and saying, 

"i'm at the abandoned shac–AHH! OWW, LET GO, YOU ASSHOLE!!" you couldn't finish as one of the avatars found your hiding spot, grabbing you by your queue.

thankfully your family had heard enough. your twin telling his father he knew a shortcut, they all flew as fast as they could to you. honestly, this was their last straw. everyone was fed up with you constantly making things hard for everyone.

your mother, though, was worried. you were caught by those skydemons all by yourself. who knew what they would do to you?

as you waited for your family, you were roughly held by your queue as they poked and prodded at you like they had never seen a native before. 

"let me see your hands." the man with a buzzcut spoke. 

"why don't you look at my feet instead?" you said. they all gave you a confused look until you kicked quaritch right in his face. you don't know how, but it caused the avatar behind you to loosen his grip, so you tried to make a break for it.

unluckily for you, the female avatar grabbed your arm, pulling you back into her form. she gripped you by your neck, unaware that she had pressed the button on your communicator. you hissed at her. the man you had kicked was only laughing as he wiped the blood dripping from his nose. "she must be one of his. she's defiant. grab her hands, let me see." he said

the avatar behind you grabbed your hands, holding them both out. 

"hm��� four fingers. maybe she's not one of his." were they gonna let you go? wishful thinking.

"fine. she may not be one of his but if one of their people go missing they're bound to come for her. keep her." his words made your heart sank. were they gonna take you? away from everything? your home? your family? if you could even call it that. 

but then you thought about it. you really can't call it that. you don't remember the last happy memory you had with someone, anyone, in your family. it clicked to you that it had been about 10 minutes since you had radioed your father, and he wasn't here yet. were they even coming for you? you knew it was a stupid question. they weren't coming for you. why would they when this was the easiest way to get rid of the weak link of the family? it's not like your blood would be on their hands, and their life would be way better without you.

"they're not gonna come for me. i have no family. you killed my family in the last war, you dickhead." you lied to the man you had kicked earlier. 

hearing you say this confused your family. what were you talking about?

"dammit you're an orphan? i didn't know the na'vi had any of those. then what do we do with her. she's useless. nobody will notice she's gone." the woman behind you asked her superior. 

"hmm.. i have a better idea. kill her. use her as a warning to the sullys. this is what we're capable of now. it'll be a threat. give us jake sully and nobody else will die. but this one… this one is our lab rat. we're gonna make you bleed out nice and slow little one." he said as he grabbed his pistol off his waist, pressing it below your jaw. the nickname made you internally gag, but you held your ground. 

these people had no real idea how tired you really were. you were exhausted. you were ready for life with eywa. you wanted your deity to hold you close, keep you warm, and protect you from the harsh real world. the world that your parents didn't adequately prepare you for. the world that you were ready to leave. 

"kill me," you said as you grabbed quaritch's wrist and moved his gun from under your jaw to right above your heart. "and make it quick. nobody will come for me anyways," you said in a monotone voice.

the avatars all looked at you in awe. they had never once seen a na'vi so willing to give up their life. the natives they had all met were vicious, hissing and armed, always ready to kill. but you. you were the opposite.

you were fed up and ready to die. but not for your people. for your own inner peace. 

"no," quaritch said, putting his gun down. that shocked everyone. like he shocked his soldiers and your family, who had been listening the whole time. they were trying to get to you as fast as possible.

hearing how you really felt was a wake-up call for your family. and when they heard bullets moving within the chamber of quaritch's pistol, they all flew their ikrans as fast as possible, weaving through trees and around mountains, trying to get to you.

you looked at the man like he had just betrayed you. 

"DO IT, YOU COWARD! FUCKING DO IT! NOBODY WILL COME FOR ME!! THEY DON'T CARE!! THEY DON'T FUCKING CARE!!" you don't know what came over you, but you tried to wrestle quaritch's pistol out of his hands. your family was only 2 clicks away and could hear you struggling. everyone landed at the same time. the sullys, excluding tuk and kiri, who had stayed with mo'at, caught quaritch's attention, which distracted him enough for you to pull the gun from his grip. 

you distanced yourself from everyone, and looking around, you realized you were surrounded by everyone. your family and these random avatar people. everyone could read you. you were a ticking time bomb and the only person in control of the trigger was you. one of the avatars took a step forward slowly, but you saw him move and point the gun at him. it didn't stop him from moving, but you heard screams of protest when you pointed the gun at your own head. that's when everyone froze. the avatars. your family. nature. time. eywa. you. everything was frozen.

"babygirl…" the nickname made you snap your neck to the man who was the root of your problems. 

"NO! no, you do not get to call me that. if i can't call you ma sempu, don't bother referring to me as your daughter." you said. your energy was depleted, and you knew you would only be able to stand here for a couple more minutes before you opened your own doors and walked to your great-mother. jake tried to take a step closer to you, which only caused you to tense up and pull on the trigger a little bit. everyone immediately backed up, your mother hissing at you through her tears. "MA ITE, PUT THE GUN DOWN," she screamed at you.

"sa'nok…" you whimpered, not even being able to look her in the eyes. 

"sa'nu… i can't" you sobbed. you could barely breathe and your tears were coming down in waterfalls at this point. you couldn't see anything clearly. your tears had blurred your vision. 

you knew your mom loved you. she and tuk were the only ones in the family who had never uttered a harsh word in your direction. though she was busy taking care of tuk, so it wasn't like you got much attention from them either. but there's no way you would blame her or tuk for that. if anything, you're sorry that you have to leave them, but this world isn't for you. you turned on your heels, looking at the man whose gun you took.

"you are a coward. you should've pulled the goddamn trigger. you're fucking pathetic. are you happy now? now everyone here gets to experience what they've waited so long for." nobody had ever heard you speak to anyone like that. honestly, they couldn't tell if your words were directed at quaritch or yourself. 

you inhaled, looking up at the eclipse, your bioluminescent freckles glowing brighter than they ever had in the nighttime as tears cascaded down your face. 

"goodbye," you said as you squeezed the trigger, hearing a loud bang and tons of screaming. you felt no pain, though. you opened your eyes, not realizing you had closed them, and looked around. you noticed your pistol was stuck in the tree in front of you with an arrow clean through it. you turned to your twin with hate in your eyes. he lowered his bow as he read your expression. 

"now you wanna save me?" your voice was weak but filled with venom. 

"why didn't you save me when you noticed i stopped hanging out with you guys? hm? why didn't you teach me when i was younger? huh? why didn't you talk to me other than when you were chewing my ass out for something that was A FUCKING ACCIDENT, GODAMMIT. WHY?!" you felt like your tears were endless. 

"WHY DIDN'T YOU LOVE ME?! ANSWER ME YOU FUCKERS!! WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME?!" you screamed your frustrations at your father and brothers. none of them could look you in your eyes, save for your mother. "you only want to save me because you know how much i don't want to be saved anymore but it's too goddamn late," you said.

you turned to the female avatar who was holding you from before. you noticed her gun earlier and hoped you looked threatening enough for her to use it as you ran in her direction. she didn't know what to do. she didn't know you were a barely trained warrior or that you wouldn't have put a scratch on her. she didn't know you were harmless. all she knew was that you were a native, and the natives were hostile. 

so she pulled her gun out and fired two shots into your chest.

the momentum of the bullet was enough to stop you from running. you felt the searing pain start to blossom in your chest area. falling to your knees, your eyes met the woman who had shot you. you looked at her shirt, reading her name. it was a funny name to you, but you didn't care. she had fulfilled your wish without even knowing it. so you used your last breath to speak.

"thank you, z-dog" you slumped over on your side, as everything started to go slow. your vision was starting to darken, and you let it consume you, not wanting to fight for your life anymore. 

cue the screams and cries from your family and the fleeing steps of the rda soldiers. your chest stopped rising and falling, and your breathing had ceased. your family surrounded your body, trying to stop your bleeding and preserve the life that had already left your body. still, you had been shot twice, and both bullets had exit wounds. it was no use. nearby, na'vi had heard the screams of distress and had called over some hunters and scouts to investigate the scene since they knew the area was near the forbidden old shack.

the hunters and scouts arrived at the scene armed and ready to defend their people, but what they were met with was the last thing they expected to see. the eldest sully daughter was lying on the floor, motionless, with two bullet holes in her chest and her blood sinking into the forest floor. her family leaned over her body, screaming and crying for her to be okay and to return to them. they whispered how sorry they were. they whispered to her how if she came back, they would treat her right, teach her, hang out with her, and love her like they were supposed to. but it's too late.

nobody knew how to react. the eldest sully daughter had died, and nobody but her family knew what had happened. 

“ma ite, oel ngati kameie. i see you. i'm sorry, i'm so so sorry. you don't have to be your brother. being you was just fine." your father cried as he cradled your head. brushing your hair away from your face, getting blood on your cheek since his hands were covered in it. 

neteyam and lo'ak were each holding one of your hands. they cried as they watched their tears pool in your palm and then fall off the edge to drip into the soil below your body. they couldn't believe they treated you like anything less than their sister. they treated you like you were a stranger, a burden to deal with. and now that you were gone, they could not tell you how sorry they were for how they treated you.

neytiri was inconsolable. her firstborn daughter had just died in front of her eyes. willingly. she wanted this. her own daughter wanted to take her life. and she couldn't do anything to stop it. how could she not know? how did you go 18 years hurting in silence? how did she not know you needed to be saved? 

"ma ite. my baby. ma y/n." neytiri's heart shattered when she saw those bullets go through your chest. she cried over your body for what felt like hours, but it was only a few minutes until the male healers came so they could carry you to the healing tents to prepare you for your burial ritual. 

as jake pulled his mate from your body, she started to push against him trying to get him to let go of her so she could return to her daughter. 

eventually, jake lets go, unable to keep his mate from her child. he joined her and just asked the healers to give your family a minute with you. 

they just nodded in understanding, leaving your family to grieve. 

two pairs of footsteps rushed towards the clearing, where the family mourned one of their own. 

kiri and tuk had heard the news and came as fast as they could. tuk screamed, running up to you and curling herself into your chest as she sobbed into your neck. she didn't care if she was getting blood all over herself. you were her older sister, and she didn't even get to say goodbye. she felt nothing but sadness and loss. tuk felt terrible because the last time she had seen you was earlier when you brought her back from the stream because she had sprained your ankle. and now you were lying on the forest floor dead? how did this happen?

"HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! SISTER, PLEASE!!" kiri begged you to wake up as she placed herself where her father was earlier. she rested your head in her lap, looking into your lifeless yellow eyes. you were her elder sister. as much as you didn't know, kiri looked up to you. she knew how hard you tried for the family, and though it wasn't your fault that you would mess up a necklace every once and a while, she couldn't help but feel guilty for the words she said to you in those moments. she knew she could've should've been nicer about it. 

when it was finally time for the healers to take your body, once again, neytiri tried to fight against them. this time everyone in the family had to hold her back as the healer walked you away in a leaf big enough to cover your entire body from the eyes of those around you. once you were gone from her view, neytiri fell to the floor again, sobbing into the ground, 

"GREAT MOTHER, WHY?!!" their mother's screams felt like a knife in their hearts. the sully family felt nothing but guilt and grief upon your death. nobody got closure because there is no closure for this kind of thing. they were the reason you wanted to die, and now that you got what you wanted, they had to live with that guilt. 

you were high in being held in eywa's embrace as you cried. looking down on your family. you did not regret your decision, but you just had one question for your deity. 

"did they really love me, great mother." eywa heaved a sigh before answering you. 

"my ite, your mother and youngest sister loved you everyday, they were just very poor at showing it i'm afraid." you nodded your head, asking a follow-up question, 

"what about the others?" you knew by her face that you wouldn't like the answer, but it was too late. the question was asked. and the answer is precisely the reason why you did what you did.

"they loved you just a little bit too late, my child."

[noodle-is-unstable]

The JJK Characters as cryptids

(Drabbles)

Ft ~ Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryoumen Sukuna, Choso, Takuma Ino, Shiu Kong, Uraume, Yuki Tsukumo, Shoko Ieiri, Mahito

Synopsis ~ The JJK Characters if they were cryptids. Could be Kinktober because if you squint hard enough it looks a little like monster fucking

Content Warning ~ 18+, spooky cryptid folklore things, Idk adult stuff

Gojo ~

Á Bao A Qu

the A Bao A Qu lives on the steps of the Tower of Victory in Chitor, from the top of which one can see "the loveliest landscape in the world". The A Bao A Qu waits on the first step for a man brave enough to try to climb up. Until that point, it lies sleeping, shapeless and translucent, until someone passes. Then, when a man starts climbing, the creature wakes, and follows close behind. As it progresses further and further up, it begins to become clearer and more colorful. It gives off a blue light which increases as it ascends. But it only reaches perfection when the climber reaches the top, and achieves Nirvana, so his acts don't cast any shadows. But almost all the time, the climber cannot reach the top, for they are not perfect. When the A Bao A Qu realizes this, it hangs back, losing color and visibility, and tumbles back down the staircase until it reaches the bottom, once more dormant and shapeless. In doing so, it gives a small cry, so soft that it sounds similar to the rustling of silk. When touched, it feels like the fuzz on the skin of a peach. Only once in its everlasting life has the A Bao A Qu reached its destination at the top of the tower.

This reminds me of Gojo because he was always living up to other people's expectations while never picking his own path. He wanted his students to surpass him so he would follow and watch to see if they could do it. Following his students lead him to fight Sukuna, freeing him and allowing him to achieve his true nirvana

Geto ~

Atmospheric Beasts

Atmospheric Beasts are the strangest of the flying monsters from ufology, cryptozoology and astrobiology. According to eyewitness reports, these beings are, apparently, living creatures, but they break all the usual rules that the biologists apply to living organisms. They appear to be able to levitate without any need for wings; as well as their bodies are even depicted in a semi-solid, often partially invisible, state.

I like the idea that these Atmospheric Beasts were actually just Geto flying around with his curses. He too was floating and flying above everyone. Breaking the laws of physics by simply existing

Nanami ~

Domovoy

The Domovoy a Slavic household Guardian shape-shifter spirit of a given ancestry a spirit who lives in the fireplace or behind stoves. Root word Dom meaning house is from Slavic folklore that lives in the home and protects the family from harm in all ways especially the children and animals. They have a troll-like appearance they have the power to shape-shift into anything but most likely cats, dogs, bears and horses. The Domovoy is said to be able to predict the future, however if enraged the Domovoy will lash out or in sometimes even leave the kin. The Domovoy even has a female counterpart called the Domania. The domovoy is believed to be coexisting with the house. The kin of the domovoy can give gifts and offerings to him.

Nanami would absolutely protect his house and everyone in it with all his power. He is very protective of those younger than him already. I dunno, he just gave me the vibes

Toji ~

Fear Liath Moor

Am Fear Liath Mór, or Big Grey Man or The Grey Man of Ben MacDhui is known to stalk the people who climb the mountain Ben Macdhui, the second highest peak in Scotland. Because of the high levels of fog there, not many people have seen it. Some believe the Grey Man to be a guardian of the mountain, but others believe him to be the guardian of a gate to other dimensions. The grey man is reported to be very tall humanoid, at least 8 feet high (Although sometimes as high as 30 feet). It is covered in short, gray hair, hence the name. Many times the witnesses didn't even see it, but still could hear it due to the loud footsteps. Many believe the Gray Man is a relative to sasquatch/bigfoot. It normally stalks its victims until they realize that it is following them, and then it chases them. This is a common pattern. It walks on two legs, and walks (and runs) like a normal person.

Toji feels like the gateway between the normal and curse knowing world so it seems fitting he would guard it. It is also an interesting parallel because it was of great note when Gojo perceived Toji. It was the first time he said someone actually saw him and he didn't like it

Sukuna ~

Achiyalabopa

Achiyalabopa was a huge bird god of the Pueblo people. He is described as being of extraordinary size and having rainbow-colored feathers as sharp as knives. It was considered a celestial creature and may have once been attributed to the whole of creation.

Sukuna is almost a pseudo god with his reputation and skill. Wings as sharp as knives paralleling his technique. Obviously not attributed for creation but could be argued he was the best showing of what sorcery could truly be and therefor the creator of true curse prowess

Choso ~

Horned Cat

Horned demon cats or Horned cats are the phenomenon of felines with various kinds of "horns" on their head or on their body. These cats or mostly of an occult origin however there are accounts of biological animals and mutations.

The idea the Horned Cat is from occult origins and Choso was born from curse, human experimentation. A creation that was never meant to be of this world but was still created. He also gives cat vibes

Ino ~

Manitou

Manitou is a term used to designate spirit beings among many Algonquian groups of Native Americans. It refers to the concept of one aspect of the interconnection and balance of nature/life, similar to the East Asian concept of qi or the Hindu concept of Brahman; in simpler terms it can refer to a spirit (compare to the Japanese concept of kami). This spirit is seen as a (contactable) person as well as a concept. Everything has its own manitou - every plant, every stone, even every machine.

Ino's technique being Auspicious Beasts Summon allowing him to be a spititual medium it feels fitting. He connects to beast souls and embodies them for his technique, living as a balance between human and spirit beast

Shiu ~

Pale Crawlers

Pale Crawlers are a phenomenon, usually enigmatic entities that appear at night. They are humanoid creatures described as thin and pale, with long limbs with claws and large black eyes. They are known to be incredibly fast, stealthy, and smart. While unconfirmed it is likely that pale crawlers are hyper aggressive.

Shiu is someone that works from the shadows, smart, stealthy and doesn't do his own dirty work. Though unconfirmed it's most likely when backed into a corner Shiu would have no problem being aggressive and even kill

Uraume ~

Abatwa

The Abatwa of Africa are a legendary race of minuscule hunters originally told of by the Zulus as being a menace in their territories; but in the past few decades the tales told of these beings in English language media has greatly changed.

Uraume is the definition of small but deadly. Tiny and likely to go unnoticed but an absolute menace. Uraume could take out people ten times their size and decimate populations

Yuki ~

Siren

In Greek mythology, sirens are female humanlike beings with alluring voices. They are always around locations surrounded by cliffs and rocks. Sirens continued to be used as a symbol for the dangerous temptation embodied by women. "Siren" can also be used as a slang term for a woman considered both very attractive and dangerous.

Yuki will always ask "What's your type?" hoping the answer is her. She has been shown to get agitated when not answered. Her words have often left people in danger or injured. (Leading Geto to become a curse user, leading Todo in training that left him scarred)

Shoko ~

Akkorokamui

According to Shinto mythology, the creature is human-like and contains a bright red color. The Akkorokamui is also characteristically described with the ability to self-amputate, like several octopus species, and regenerate limbs. This characteristic manifests in the belief in Shinto that Akkorokamui has healing powers. Consequently, it is believed among followers that giving offerings to Akkorokamui will heal ailments of the body, in particular, disfigurements and broken limbs.

Shoko's reverse curse technique parallels the healing ability of the Akkorokamui. Though she isn't as destructive she is willing to help those close to her

Mahito ~

Nixie

The Nixie, are humanoid, and often shapeshifting water-spirits in Germanic mythology and folklore. The enthralling music of the Nøkk was most dangerous to women and children, especially pregnant women and unbaptised children. He was thought to be most active during Midsummer's Night, on Christmas Eve, and on Thursdays. However, these superstitions do not necessarily relate to all the versions listed here. Many, if not all of them, developed after the Christianizing of the northern countries, as was the case with similar stories of faeries and other entities in other areas. When malicious Nøkker attempted to carry people off, they could be defeated by calling their name; this was believed to cause their death.

Mahito is known to be a shapeshifter of sorts. Very whimsical and joyful, almost childlike. Dancing, playing, general glee but very dangerous. He lured Junpei to the sewers and is still a curse after all. Though whimsical he would take, torture, experiment and kill people

[aphroditelovesu]

⸻ The Lost Queen - II ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader.

— word count: 1,820.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @silmawensgarden, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23.

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 2

You were afraid.

In fact, you felt mixed emotions. Fear, dread, horror, terror.

You didn't know why the hell you were in an old military camp, let alone why you were facing one of the greatest conquerors in history. Nothing that was happening made sense and your mind tried to look for logical answers, but it was in vain.

Because nothing that was in front of you was logical.

Maybe it was a really bizarre dream, maybe you were high or drunk, but you knew better. It was real and very real.

Nothing made sense and you felt like crying and going to your mother's lap for comfort but you couldn't do that. Not while you were being held by a scarred man and the others were staring at you with curiosity and... disdain? You couldn't tell.

How did you end up there? It was your first question. Your last memory was of you in your room, reading a book about the conqueror and falling asleep. Was that book cursed? No, that was not possible. But it will be? It seemed like the only acceptable option considering the fact that you were over 2,000 years in the past.

Fuck.

You took a deep breath, trying at all costs to avoid the urge to scream and cry. That wouldn't be acceptable to do now, you needed to stay calm and try to find a solution.

''Can you speak greek?'' You blinked in surprise when one of the men addressed you. It was the one who was next to Alexander. You glanced at him lightly, why he looked familiar?

''Hephaestion, I don't think she's fine or that she even understands what we're talking about.'' One of the slightly tall men spoke up. You shifted your gaze to him when you heard him say the name.

Hephaestion.

Oh, oh.

''It doesn't hurt to ask, Ptolemy.'' Another man said. You looked at him and blushed a little. He was handsome, maybe not by 21st century beauty standards, but he was attractive. Blonde hair and dark blue eyes.

And Ptolemy? Like in Ptolemy I Soter of the Ptolemaic Dynasty?

''She could be a spy sent by the persians. I mean, just look at the way she's dressed.'' The man with dark brown hair and green eyes said, looking you up and down with disdain.

You glared at him, daring him to say one more thing about your pajamas. Yes, it wasn't the kind of clothes they wore but it suited you it was comfortable and the print had kittens!

Adorable.

But the man held your gaze and you shuddered slightly as you noted their intensity.

''Look at the way she's dressed, friends. She clearly is a whore.'' One of the men said, looking at your breasts shamelessly.

If you weren't trapped in another man's arms, you would have kicked ass.

''Whore is my hand in your face if you say another word!'' The words came out before you could stop yourself and everyone looked at you in shock and you felt like slapping yourself.

You could have feigned madness, claimed amnesia or that you couldn't speak greek and, you really didn't, but apparently the ''magic'' that brought you to this place decided not to screw you around so much.

''She has spirit!'' The man holding you laughed and you glared at him.

Finally, Alexander decided to say something.

''Bring her to my tent. I want you all there.'' Were his only words and he turned his back on you without another word, with Hephaestion following, but not before giving you one last look.

You gasped as you began to be dragged towards what appeared to be the King's tent. Several people in the camp watched you curiously as you were led away and followed by the other generals.

You were so fucked up and not the way you liked it.

Alexander didn't know what to do with himself at that moment. He didn't understand what was going on and he hated it.

There were so many questions in the King's mind and none of them were answered. But the most puzzling of them was why he felt awkward around you.

Alexander felt an unknown feeling and what it attracted to you. How a stallion was attracted to a mare in heat. Not that he was thinking about sleeping with you, no, it wasn't that but he felt weird.

It was like he already knew you and that bothered him a lot. You had never seen each other, he was sure of that, but then why did he feel that way?

He needed answers and fast. He looked at his best friend who was looking at him with concern.

''Are you alright, Alexander?'' Hephaestion's soft and warm voice rang out and the friend touched his shoulder to try to calm him down.

''I'm fine, just tired.'' He lied quickly and something told him that Hephaestion didn't believe his words.

But there was no time for questions, not when the mystery woman was led into his tent, surrounded by the curious generals. Alexander frowned, but held the pose.

He looked right at her and his mind filled with disturbing thoughts.

She was the strangest woman he had ever met in his life. She was beautiful, albeit in a different way, but what really drew him to her was the fear in her eyes, the kind of genuine dread he had only ever seen in the eyes of his enemies. And the way she was dressed… He had never seen such clothes, even in Persia.

And that attracted him.

Alexander cleared his throat before asking the question that had been on her mind since he met her, ''Who are you and what are you doing in my camp?'' The King's voice was serious and authoritative and he could have sworn he saw her shudder.

The young woman opened her mouth to speak, but stopped and closed it again, avoiding Alexander's piercing gaze. It made him uncomfortable, but he could not and would not show weakness in front of anyone, let alone in front of his generals and a complete stranger.

He watched her for a few seconds and realized what made her sulk, the fact that she was still being held by Cleitus the Black.

''Let her go.'' It was a simple command but the general obeyed instantly. Alexander smiled a little when he noticed that the woman's posture visibly relaxed when she was released.

''I'll ask you one more time.'' Alexander said and moved a little closer to the woman, ''And I suggest you answer.''

She just stared at him as if she was seeing a god in front of her. Well, maybe he was a god.

''Who are you and what are you doing in my camp?''

''I'm (Y/N) and I don't know how I came to be in your camp.'' She finally said it in a low voice but he could hear it loud and clear.

Alexander was stunned. (Y/N)... A name he had never heard in his life and yet it seemed to suit this woman. And when he was finally able to hear her voice again, the King found himself wishing he could hear her speak more often. She was so strange yet so endearing and Alexander found himself wanting to know everything about her and he would.

He was the King, after all, and he always got what he wanted.

"It's an unusual name. What it means?''

She shrugged, ''I don't know. I never tried to find out.''

She was so insolent and disrespectful. Did she not know who she was talking to?

A laugh was heard and Alexander glared at Nearchus, who stopped laughing at the same moment.

''Where are you from?'' Alexander asked, looking at her curiously. He had decided that she wasn't a threat, she seemed too stupid to be a threat anyway.

She thought for a moment and smiled. Alexander felt his heart skip a beat when she smiled at him.

''Uh…I come from a very, it's... a distant place.'' She said between pauses.

Alexander scoffed. She was a terrible liar, and he felt like laughing when she looked insulted when he scoffed.

''And where is this place so far away?'' He insisted.

(Y/N) glared at him.

''As far away as you could tell.''

''The name?''

If she looked angry before, she looked furious now.

''You would not understand. It's not your language.''

''Really?'' Alexander thought, ''And how come you speak my language so well?''

She paled, but recovered very quickly.

''I studied.''

Alexander hummed and decided to stop questioning her. For now. She looked tired and scared, from what he could read from her body language and something inside him told him not to disturb her anymore.

''Call the servants. Give her a tent, clothes and food.''

All of her generals looked perplexed, even Hephaestion.

Even the woman, (Y/N), looked confused.

In fact, he didn't even know why he was doing this, but he needed to make sure she was going to be alright.

It was a need that screamed inside him. The need to protect her and he didn't know why.

He needed to find out about her. Who was she, where did she come from, everything.

You were taken to a tent away from the camp and left alone.

You looked around curiously. It was a small tent but it had a small bed, which you recognized as a cot, and some candles. It was just that.

You wondered if you could freak out now, but it wasn't feasible. No, everyone could hear it and it would get you in more trouble than you already were.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You started to feel the tears in your eyes. You wanted to cry and scream and cry some more. But you couldn't. Not when you were in such a vulnerable position and you were scared.

So scared.

You were scared of everything. Fear of being tortured, dying and being abused. You noticed some soldiers looking at you with lust and it scared you so much. What would stop them from making you a booty? A toy?

Nothing.

And it was so desperate.

You sat down on the small cot and finally allowed yourself to cry, the hot tears running down your face, as you sobbed and contained your screams of frustration.

You didn't even notice the servant entering your tent and placing a plate of food beside you or the clothes that were brought for you. You didn't notice because you were so desperate and you were sinking in your fear and despair.

You needed to go. You needed to go back to the 21st century.

And you had no idea how to do it.

And just that thought made you cry even harder.

— lady l: I was going to post it tomorrow but I got some time and I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer so finally chapter 2 is here. I hope you enjoyed it, what did you think of Y/n's first interaction with Alexander and some generals? Feel free to give me your opinion. I love you all and until the next chapter!! ❤️

[animehideout]

Hello!! can you do gojo x dumb but kind reader?

like reader could be playing a game and someone starts bragging to her about how they won and she just like "Oh okay well I think you were really good! you deserve it:D"

Like she can making anyone who was insulting her feel bad in seconds

and gojo sometimes calls u dumb or makes joke that you don't understand so you think he's serious or calling you dumb so you start crying and he has to make it up to you (^o^)

Please and thank you lots of fluff as well!!!

Gojo Satoru X Dumb but Kind Fem! Reader

a/n: thanks anon for this request, and sorry for the late update 🫶🏻

ps: I'm working on all the requests, sorry for taking too long to post all of them, but there are a lot of requests + working on Wattpad so thank you for your understanding

It became a weekly routine for you to gather in the Jujutsu high school common room, playing games together to unwind and have some fun, aiming to relieve stress of the missions. Occasionally, students from Kyoto high schools joined in for friendly competitions.

Gojo, was always there, he has always enjoyed the competitive spirit during these sessions.

The air was full of laughter and cracking jokes every now and then. You were quietly playing by yourself in a corner, minding your own business. But, your peace had to be interrupted by none other than Mai. She's always eager to tease and make fun of you without any apparent reason. She enjoyed showing off, knowing you wouldn't fight back. You're just too kind for this world.

She approached you and everyone in the room knew what she's about to say, a smirk revealing her intentions.

"Watcha doing, Y/n? Oh, you're still there. I don't think you made any progress. You see, I already won that game—all the levels."

Her aim was clear: to make you feel weak, dumb and like a loser. However, you excelled at turning insults into lessons in kindness. Without missing a beat, you paused your game, flashed a smile, and responded,

"Oh, wonderful! You did well Mai; you deserve it."

It's Mai we're talking about, so she wouldn't feel bad, but rather embarrassed. She continually attempted to bring you down, but always faces your kindness every time. Not only her, but others often underestimated your abilities, often teasing you about it and calling you names.

Perhaps because it takes you a bit longer than others to understand something, but that's completely normal. People are just mean.

"Hey, why don't you compete with her?" suggested one of them.

"Whaaat?. She'd probably get her ass beaten in less than 3 seconds," exclaimed Mai's best friend.

"I think Mai is a formidable opponent; she's brilliant," you responded with a friendly smile, shifting your focus back to your game.

They exchanged glances, attempting to provoke you, but couldn't. Your kindness often shields you, either because you don't fully grasp their intentions to bully you or because you don't take them or their words too seriously. After all, why let someone your age calling you dumb make you feel sad?

However, this is not the case with Gojo Satoru.

You take him way too seriously, hanging on to each word as if it were truth. You know it's his nature to be playful and teasing, but his occasional jokes have a different impact on you. Despite this, you've never dared to confront him. Instead, you've worn a fake smile, blinking away tears. But today was different; it became your breaking point.

Finally, Mai left you alone, granting you some peace to play without disturbance. While others were busy competing and laughing, you didn't notice Gojo standing right behind you. A small mistake slipped into your gameplay, one that could have been easily avoided, but you couldn't help it.

"That was a dumb move, Y/n!" Gojo exclaimed, startling you.

"Huh?"

"That mistake could have been easily avoided, but you had to be dumb as usual" he added, rolling his eyes.

A lump formed in your throat, tears threatening to fall.

"I-I was just—" you stuttered.

"You've gotta practice if you want to be like your friends. I'm not only talking about this game but real life too" he added.

Unable to respond, your eyes remained fixed on the game in front of you. They were red from holding back tears, and you didn't want him to see.

Gojo then stood in the center of the common room and said,

"Hey, guys, listen to this joke. Why did that kind girl try to tell a joke about time travel?" He started , and when they asked why, he said, "Because she thought it was about fixing all her past misunderstandings. Turns out she couldn't grasp the punchline in any timeline."

The room erupted in laughter.

"That was a good one" said one of the students.

You stood there feeling out of place, realizing the joke was about you from the way everyone laughed and pointed.

Overwhelmed, you excused yourself from the crowded room, seeking comfort in the garden. The weight on your chest felt unbearable, and tears were threatening to fall. Gojo, sensed your distress when you left the room, mentally cursed himself, his joke might have gone far. So he decided to follow you.

He found you on the stairs, tears streaming down your face as you gazed at the trees.Concerned, he approached,

"Hey Y/n, are you okay?"

It was time to confront him. Keeping your focus on the trees, your voice cracked as you spoke,

"Why do you always do that? Make fun of me in front of everyone? Is it fair to call me dumb for the slightest mistakes?" Frustration overflowed.

Gojo's playful side vanished, replaced by sincerity and seriousness,

"I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry if it seemed that way. I didn't realize it was affecting you like this."

Wiping away your tears, you replied,

"Giving no reaction and faking a smile doesn't mean it doesn't affect me. I'm just good at hiding it."

He felt really bad, realizing that he took it too far this time and that his jokes and teasing had been making you sad all the time.

"Why do you even do it?" you asked again.

"I thought it was all good and fun, just like with everyone else. I was trying to lighten the mood. I didn't know it bothered you that much. Sorry about that, princess. I'll make it up to you."

"Nah you don't have to" you resisted,

but he insisted,

"No, I want to." Standing up, he exclaimed, pulling you close.

With his thumbs, he wiped your tears and tucked your hair behind your ears, whispering,

"Let me fix it. I'm sorry for making you feel that way. You're a kind soul. Would you give me a chance?"

You're too kind to turn him down so you nodded.

"come on show me that precious smile of yours here you go princess oh I love that sweet smile I'll make sure it never leaves your face"

To say the least, he made you feel significantly better. His comforting gestures were genuine and sincere. you could feel him pulling you into a warm, big hug.

You're precious to him, and teasing is his way of expressing love.

"You're too good for this world Y/n!!"

He realized that sometimes words even in jest, could cut deeper than intended. He promised to be more careful, acknowledging that people might not see through good intentions, since people can't read minds.

So it's always better to speak something positive or remain silent.

if anyone treats you with disrespect, make sure to defend yourselves pookies. Never let anyone calls you dumb or underestimates you. You're too precious, you're unique, don't let people bring you down! speak up and defend yourselves 🫶🏻💪🏻

[bomberqueen17]

liveblogging the aubreyad 1: Master & Commander

ok so. i'm going to liveblog my reread of the Patrick O'Brian Jack Aubrey series of books, in potentially more or less detail, because it's something to do and it's funny. Starting with book 1, Master & Commander, copyright date 1969, which I definitely first read in like 1991 when I was waaaaay too young to understand approximately half the references. There will be spoilers. There may or may not be an accurate representation of the entire contents of the series. We'll see how long I keep this up. I wish I could write it in the entertaining style of my Wee Precious Flower Prince Geralt Witcher 3 playthroughs of yore but those were written under 1) quarantine confinement, 2) incredible amounts of gin, 3) after collaborative sessions, and I just can't make that happen solo.

But I will do my poor, reduced, older and more sedate best. I promise that while these books are not quite as dramatically crack-addled as Witcher 3, they are weirder than you think, which is critical.

OK so. We start off swinging with the meet-ugly. In fair Port Mahon we lay our scene, in the year 1800 (or 1801?? we also start off swinging with never quite having the tiny details quite laid down), we meet our fair hero Jack Aubrey, a six-foot, well-built, yellow-haired lieutenant in the Royal Navy, a cheerful high-spirited cove who immediately pisses off the unpleasant little man sitting next to him at this chamber music concert by singing along to the music. Relatable reaction by the unpleasant little man, to be sure. Aubrey is having a bad time, though— he has not been promoted and he doesn’t have a ship so he has nothing to do but get in trouble, and his spirits are too low to get into a fight with the unpleasant little man, though he briefly considers it. We soon find out that the sole bright spot in Jack's life is that he's fucking his boss’s wife, which seems like a bad idea but who are we to judge. But lo! He gets back to the inn where he’s staying only to find a letter informing him that he has been promoted! He is now the master and commander of his very own ship, which we are informed is a sloop. Also throwing us into the deep end of Listen Baby It’s Just Vibes. The nautical language and technical shit comes fast and thick and if you just sort of roll with it you figure it out. Don’t Worry About It. There Will Be Context Clues.

Now that Jack is professionally fulfilled he is happy, and so the next morning when he happens to see his unpleasant little man from the previous night, he shows his true colors: he immediately bounds across the street and wholeheartedly, unreservedly apologizes for being a dipshit, like the golden retriever he really is at heart. The unpleasant little man is so shocked by this that he loses all his unpleasantness, has a really nice conversation with Jack, and immediately gets distracted by the sighting of a rare bird. Stephen Maturin is now successfully introduced, exactly as he means to go on as well. He is a physician, but his patient died and he's stuck without money to get home, literally sleeping rough because no one will answer his letters and he's out of cash. Jack meanwhile has a ship with no surgeon on it, and a vacancy, and they like one another, so it seems a simple solution. And so Stephen shall go to sea.

I suppose, really, that’s the genius of this series. The characters are round, complicated creatures, with obvious and consistent surface qualities but also equally consistent, apparently-contradictory, deeper qualities. Even minor characters sometimes possess this level of depth. Even the cartoony-awful little shit Harte (sometime captain, then admiral, the boss whose wife Jack has been fucking but in Jack's defense so is everybody else) has depths. Unpleasant depths, but he's got reasons and motivations and you do really believe in him; this pays off in book 8 in particular.

We meet Jack's first command, the Sophie, the loveliest tiniest little ship ever, staffed by a pack of utter weirdos. TOM PULLINGS makes his first appearance (he is my favorite supporting character throughout the series, so he will be capitalized henceforth) along with his delightful henchman (the other senior midshipman) Mowett who is James in his first and last appearances and most of the others but for some reason becomes William for a while in the middle, most notably in book 8, and has thus passed into the movie as William. Those are our master's mates, or senior midshipmen. In O'Brian's typical fashion we don't get really concrete physical descriptions of them in the normal sense, but instead get really evocative but nonspecific ones. TOM PULLINGS is "a big shy master's mate", elsewhere specified to be sort of gangly, long and thin, young, with a country accent and foremast-jack antecedents (i.e. started out as a regular sailor and was promoted, instead of the more normal approach where a family of means sends a son to sea as a midshipman), who absolutely blossoms under Jack Aubrey's leadership-by-enthusiastic-example, and we will see him through most of the rest of the series continuing on this trajectory with great competence and charming humbleness.

James Mowett gets a great introduction. He's had a few lines prior to this, mostly repetitively described as (and shown to be) cheerful and generally enthusiastic about things, running around and getting to be the one to fetch Stephen from the shore, and later we find out that he is a prolific writer of somewhat-terrible poetry, which we'll get plenty of excerpts of over the course of the series. But his first real description is:

“James Mowett was a tubular young man, getting on for twenty; he was dressed in old sailcoth trousers and a striped Guernsey shirt, a knitted garment that gave him very much the look of a caterpillar."

There are also the youngsters. Meet my beloved son William Babbington, a miniature midshipman of between eleven and thirteen who has every venereal disease and gets drunk a lot. He also cries and swears a whole lot, mostly while sober. I love him immoderately and we will see him in several more of the books. He never gets much taller or less obsessed with womanizing. Adolescence was hard in the Georgian era. (Yes, this is the Georgian era; the Victorian era does not begin for another thirty years.)

“'I suppose you grow used to living here,' [Stephen] observed, rising cautiously to his feet. 'At first it must seem a little confined.' 'Oh, sir,' said Mowett, 'think not meanly of this humble seat, Whence spring the guardians 'of the British fleet! Revere the sacred spot, however low, Which formed to martial acts an Hawke! An Howe !' 'Pay no attention to him, sir,' cried Babbington, anxiously. 'He means no disrespect, I do assure you, sir. It is only his disgusting way.”

Throughout this series, O'Brian so so so vividly shows and describes the many phases of awkwardness that young men go through especially in military settings. It's incredibly vivid; the breaking voices, the smells, the idiotic capers, the weeping, the complete lack of foresight, the incredible cruelty and also loyalty and bravery, the sheer adolescent enthusiasm coupled with shocking laziness.

We also get some insight into contemporary social mores through the introduction of Marshall, the sailing master (a warrant officer)-- 1) he's gay and 2) Jack Aubrey is extremely his type. Different people's different attitudes toward this unspool throughout various points of the book, but the critical point is that Jack Aubrey himself has absolutely zero gaydar and while he has heard the rumor about Marshall's tendencies, he doesn't care about that stuff, studiously avoids enforcing any of the regulations against it, and he absolutely never at any point relates this to himself, and never ever realizes why the man is so driven to excel at his job. Not even when an injury to his head and face gives Jack a horrible haircut and worse appearance, and Marshall is horrified and dispirited about it; Jack never twigs just what's amiss.

To be fair to Jack, many many many of the men aboard also respond to him in a similar, though crucially different, way. This is a common thing in this kind of cooped-up little setting; you have a guy who's in charge and gives you positive feedback and like, immediately you'll die for that guy, which is kind of how the military works because you may in fact have to literally die for that guy and it's easier if you're intrinsically motivated in some way. And Jack is very, very good at this in most cases, at taking the measure of the people under his command and getting them to respond to him.

(We can return to Mowett for an explicit example: “'You may light up the sloop, Mr Mowett, and show her our force: I don't want her to do anything foolish, such as firing a gun - perhaps hurting some of our people. Let me know when you have laid her aboard.' With this [Jack] retired, calling for a light and something hot to drink; and from his cabin he heard Mowett's voice, cracked and squeaking with the excitement of this prodigious command (he would happily have died for Jack), as under his orders the Sophie bore up and spread her wings.”)

Anyway so back to the plot summary: a very good side plot throughout is that the ship's first lieutenant, James Dillon, is an Irishman, and he and Stephen Maturin were both involved in the Irish rebellion in 1798. When they meet, James recognizes Stephen, and cautiously sounds him out about having met before, and Stephen very coolly replies we've never met but you must be thinking of my cousin who looks just like me but uglier, *so* ugly, he has the face of an informer, and everyone hates an informer and james is like Ah. You Are Absolutely Correct Sir We Have Never Met. This subplot develops into a delicious meditation on divided loyalties and the agony of staying true to oneself while doing what one must do. Highly recommended, A++. Begins to give us some insight into the various depths of Stephen, who doesn't understand tides or wind and hasn't the sense to come in out of the rain but has a deep and complicated history and identity and above all an incredible capacity for ruthlessness, absolutely none of which Jack understands.

Stephen and James in dialogue when they're finally in privacy enough to discuss it (Stephen is the first speaker, James the second):

“I speak only for myself, mind - it is my own truth alone - but man as part of a movement or a crowd is indifferent to me. He is inhuman. And I have nothing to do with nations, or nationalism. The only feelings I have -for what they are - are for men as individuals; my loyalties, such as they may be, are to private persons alone.'' "Patriotism will not do?'' "My dear creature, I have done with all debate. But you know as well as I, patriotism is a word; and one that generally comes to mean either my country, right or wrong, which is infamous, or my country is always right, which is imbecile." ''Yet you stopped Captain Aubrey playing Croppies Lie Down the other day.” "Oh, I am not consistent, of course; particularly in little things. Who is? He did not know the meaning of the tune, you know. He has never been in Ireland at all, and he was in the West Indies at the time of the rising. [...] But as for that song, I acted as I did partly because it is disagreeable to me to listen to it and partly because there were several Irish sailors within hearing, and not one of them an Orangeman; and it would be a pity to have them hate him when nothing in the manner of insult was within his mind's reach.”

uhhhhhhh but meanwhile: Jack Aubrey and the Sophies wreak havoc in the Mediterranean and make a lot of money and enemies, to the point that the local merchants band together to commission a fairly serious ship expressly to fuck them up. They meet this ship unsuspectingly, manage just in time to disguise themselves, and Stephen hails the ship and asks them in bad Spanish if they know anything about treating the plague, could they send a doctor over, could they spare any medicine. This scares them off and they go away. But now the Sophies know what this ship looks like and what armament it has. So the next time they meet it, they fight it, and so the tiny 14-gun Sophie with 82 men and boys aboard manages to capture the 32-gun Cacafuego with 319 men aboard, and it's very gallant and dashing and probably should not have worked, but it does.

And a little later, the Sophie accidentally meets a pair of very powerful French ships and gets taken in return despite doing some really heroic evasive manoevers.

The French are super nice to them, and we meet a French ship captain named Christy-Palliere who becomes a recurring character, who has English cousins and speaks great English and is both charming and nice, saying things like gather ye rose pods while ye may and being generally gallant. Until some even more powerful English ships heave into view, and the tables turn, but even then Christy-Palliere remains gallant and well-behaved.

We end the book with the court-martial. Any officer who loses his ship for any reason has to go before a court of sea captains to ascertain whether he did everything in his power to avoid losing his ship. So all the officers of the Sophie, including the midshipmen, including the surgeon, have to testify about this. (I feel like the other warrant officers should also have had to testify? but they weren't there and i'm not sure why. TOM PULLINGS is also not mentioned in the scene which he absolutely should be present for, so it's possible that they were just omitted for time.)

“They had each received an official notification the day before, and for some reason each had brought it with him, folded or rolled. After a while Babbington and Ricketts took to changing all the words they could into obscenities, secretly in a corner, while Mowett wrote and scratched out on the back of his, counting syllables on his fingers and silently mouthing. Lucock stared straight ahead of him into vacancy.”

Spoiler: the jury decides that there's not really anything more a 14-gun sloop could have done against two French ships of the line, so they exonerate Captain Aubrey for the loss of his sloop, and thus ends the book.

[valkyriepirate]

Elrond x Reader- Always Been Yours

Summary: You and Elrond have been close for many years because of your positions on the council. When an army of orcs unexpectedly attacks Lindon while Elrond is away in the dwarven kingdom, you become near-fatally wounded in battle. Elrond rushes home to find you barely alive, calling the name of your lover in your sleep. Little does he know you are dreaming of him. 

Word count: 4.9k words

Warnings: Battle violence, fluff <3

#1- Always Been Yours

Spring had finally arrived in Lindon, and the air was thrumming with the promise of life. A fresh, warm breeze gently swayed the trees of the forest like a rebellious eddy on the open sea, lifting your long sleeves and carrying your voice to the sky. It wasn’t often that you sang on the palace grounds; while you had a beautiful voice, you never prided yourself in it, but the day was far too beautiful not to let it fill your heart with joy through song. You could almost sense the flowers readying to break the surface of the soil and taste the dew that would settle on their leaves.  

You knelt next to a tree by the river, caressing the dirt with your fingers. Your mother had always said that the forest should be greeted as your dearest friend, for it was your greatest protector. As you ran your hand through the crystalline water, you could imagine her voice intertwining with yours, just like how you two would sing together all those years ago. Being here amongst the trees and the earth made you feel closer to her, as if her spirit lived on in the forest.  

“I didn’t know you sang,” a familiar voice from behind lurched you from your thoughts. You turned around, already feeling the tips of your ears heat in embarrassment, to face your longtime friend.  

“Anyone with a voice to speak can just as well sing, can they not?” You brushed loose dirt from your dress as you stood up.  

Elrond smiled, glancing politely toward the ground. “Many can speak, but not many can sing like you. Please- don't stop on my account.”

“I’m afraid that is a song for the wind and water, not for the ears of well-meaning friends,” you teased.  

“Then it would be best I said nothing at all,” said Elrond.  

“And leave me to go on with silent listeners nearby? I think not.”

You stepped out onto the main path, Elrond falling in step beside you. Even though you were reluctant to let him hear your voice, you felt comfortable in every other way around him. You couldn’t help the little spark of gladness that flickered in your chest whenever he was near.  

“What are you doing out here in the forest?” you asked, glancing sidelong at him. The sun was casting amber hues through his hair, making him look like a crowned prince.  

“Looking for you,” he folded his hands behind him. “The High King Gil-galad is sending me to Forodwaith to establish terms of trade with Durin and the dwarves of Khazad-Dum. He expects me to leave in the morning.”

“So soon? It feels as if you just returned from your last journey,” you said, trying and failing to keep the disappointment out of your voice. Seeming to hear it, he nodded regretfully.  

“Apparently I was specifically requested by Durin. The High King fears he won’t negotiate terms with any elf other than I.”

“Ah, I see. The dwarf wants another excuse to see you.”  

Elrond laughed good-naturedly. “I doubt that. I think I’m simply the one he wants to hit with his hammer the least.”

“You give yourself too little credit, Elrond. You have a spirit more kind and gentle than anyone I know. Even a dwarf can see that.”  

He pinked in the cheeks. “And I think you give me too much credit, (Y/N). Besides, the kindest heart in Eriador certainly doesn’t belong to me. I’m afraid that title is taken by a particular elf-maiden with a lovely voice.”  

A fluttering sensation enveloped your stomach, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling. “When do you think you’ll return?” you asked evenly.  

“In a fortnight, perhaps. Though these trips always seem to take longer than initially planned. You know Disa’s hospitality.”

That you did. You considered the female dwarrow a dear friend. Your position as the general of the Sindarin army sometimes took you to distant lands across Middle-earth, and you had become acquainted with Disa in your travels long ago, before she had married Durin. Though you suspected you were in for a thorough scolding the next time you saw her, if Elrond’s account of Durin’s anger amounted to anything. Your kind were wont to lose track of the days, unlike the mortal races. It made you wonder how long it really had been since you’d seen Disa last.  

“Give her the warmest tidings from me,” you said sincerely. “I miss her dearly. How I wish I could accompany you.”

“I wish much the same,” said Elrond bashfully, not meeting your eyes. “The road travel can be quite lonely and tedious at times.”

“Here.” You bent and plucked a white-plumed daylily from a bush that was rooted in the stream, handing it to him. “Keep it with you. When you feel alone, you can pull it out and think of me.”

He handled the flower reverently, as if you had bestowed upon him a precious jewel. He looked up at you, the sweetest, humblest smile gracing his features. “I most certainly shall.”

The two of you talked far into midday, wandering the forest and ignoring the existence of your duties. Your heart began to ache the more time you spent with him, however, knowing that he was bound to disappear once more, and all too soon you bid him goodbye. There were several things concerning the Sindarin warriors to discuss with the king, and Gil-galad was not one to be kept waiting.  

You slept fitfully that night, Elrond’s face flashing in your mind every time you closed your eyes. You rose before the sun the next morning and raced as elegantly as possible to the road past the waterfall where Elrond was set to depart. Only the guards were awake, nodding respectfully to you as you passed. All of Lindon dutifully recognized your position as a war general even when you weren’t in your armor.  

As periwinkle streaks of dawn bled across the sky, you nearly began to worry that you had missed him, but your worries ameliorated when you caught sight of his robes by the front gates. Elrond was loading his supplies onto his horse, his face turned away from you. Silently, you approached him from behind, hoping you didn’t appear as if you’d rushed out to meet him in a frenzy.  

“Attempting to leave without saying goodbye, are we?” you said into the still morning air. Elrond looked up, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.  

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he tied one last knot around his knapsack. “I only wished for you to have as much rest as possible. It is early to be awake even for I.”  

“So you may say.” One side of your mouth quirked up. “Is everything prepared?”

“Yes. All I need is to collect my will to mount this horse and leave Lindon behind.” His voice caught as he said Lindon, as if he were about to say you.  

Your heart was buzzing inside your chest as if you were a restless bumblebee being separated from your flower. “Do not forget,” you reminded him softly, spotting the daylily tucked into his robe. You reached over and tenderly pressed the petals against his chest. “This flower means I am with you. You will be in my thoughts, Elrond.”

He held your gaze, his eyes filled with some deep emotion you couldn’t express. Gently, he grasped your hand and grazed your fingers with the barest of kisses. Physical affection was rare among your kind, particularly in public, though you sensed the only bystanders observing your interaction were the dandelions beneath your feet and the forest critters slipping between the trees.  

“And you will be in my heart, (Y/N),” promised Elrond. He was the embodiment of a dulcet predawn dream, the kind you wanted to get lost in forever, to never wake up from. Yet you knew both his duties and yours were to the kingdom before they answered your own desires.  

You gave his fingers a slight squeeze. “You will give Durin and Disa my best, will you not?”

He smiled. “I shall.”

“Do be safe. You have duties and friends to come back to, you know.”

“I will do my best,” he bowed. “I am sure my heart will ache with every step I take away from you.”

You parted, feeling as if you were forcing yourself awake from a pleasant dream, and watched as he mounted his horse and trotted away from the front gates. At the end of the path, he halted and turned to face you one last time.  

“Goodbye, (Y/N),” he called.  

“Goodbye, Elrond,” you returned, and didn’t allow yourself to blink until he had passed over the hill into the far reaches of the forest, where the trees seemed to lean down and caress him with their branches as if he were not simply an elf, but a king venturing into a distant land, riding away with your stolen heart.  

*****

A harsh, screeching noise tore you from your sleep. With a jolt of panic, you bolted upright in bed, trying to collect your bearings. Liquid moonlight spilled through your leaf-paned window and leaked over the floor. You judged that it was a little over two hours past midnight. The horrible, dissonant noise seemed to come from all around you. You picked out the sound of Lindon’s warning bell from among the chaos, coupled with pained screams and the sound of something shattering.  

In a heartbeat, you leaped out of bed and grabbed your silver-plated longsword by the door. You burst out of your room and flew down the stairs towards the commotion. The clanging noises intensified as you ran to the royal courtyard. You deduced the source before you saw them- orcs.  

Dozens of the grisly fiends were pouring over the gates, brandishing crude, makeshift weapons and baring their black teeth. Several other elves had already arrived on the scene, defending against the attackers with deadly grace. Swords flashed and arrows flew under the silvery light of the moon, and blood the color of the night sky painted the ground before your eyes.  

You seamlessly entered the battle, lopping the heads off one orc after the other, not stopping to ponder how or why the orcs were leading this raid. Your senses clicked into the mode of war, as familiar to you as breathing. Within seconds, you had effortlessly picked out the opening points of the battleground that were most concentrated by the enemy, and called out regiment orders as more of your brethren rushed into the courtyard. The few elves donning soldier’s gear hastened to obey your command.  

You drove your sword into the gut of a nearby orc and sliced another in half at the waist. The rest of your thoughts fell away with every kill as you allowed your sword to become a part of you, as dexterous and fluid as an extension of your arm. Any sleepiness you might have felt was replaced by an acute focus of your surroundings.  

You worked your way towards the gates to quell the flush of orcs streaming into your territory. With a spin, you dropped three of the beasts at once, moving with all the poise and accuracy of an elven warrior. As you did, you spotted Galadriel at the far side of the courtyard.

You had to step over the bodies of your victims to make berth towards her in the rushing sea, as if you were caught in a dangerous dance between life and death. “Galadriel!” you yelled. “How did this happen?”

“Someone has left the anterior parapets unfortified,” she called back, ducking to avoid a swinging club. “These gates were open when I arrived!”

“How can that be? There are guards stationed here day and night!”

“I do not know. The Dark Lord must have found out about our affairs in Númenor. We are at half our strength. He senses weakness.”

“He won’t find any,” you gritted your teeth. You stabbed a nearby orc in the neck and spun to avoid the spray of black blood. If the Dark Lord thought catching you off your guard would give him the advantage, you were prepared to prove him wrong.

“There is something adrift about this attack. Something...foul. Within the kingdom.”

You raised an eyebrow, though it was doubtful Galadriel could see it in the dark. “You think there is a traitor?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Or an intruder yet to be detected.”

This troubled you. You were the head of the Sindarin army. It was your job to keep the kingdom safe. If there was a spy under your nose, you would be the first to know about it. Yet with half the army stationed in the Southlands aiding the Númenorians, an attack could come from any side.  

Irrationally, you found yourself becoming steeped in worry for Elrond. It had been days since his departure, and if this orc army had advanced in from the south, it was likely Elrond may have crossed paths with them. While he was more than a capable warrior, standing alone against an entire army wouldn’t be easy even for you. You hoped he had already made it to Khazad-Dum...

Suddenly you cried out in alarm. While you were worrying about Elrond, an orc had approached on your left flank and slashed you across the shoulder.  

Focus, you reprimanded yourself. Do not forget the battle in front of you.  

You dispatched the orc quickly and kicked the dismembered helmet away. Then Galadriel screamed. You whirled around to come face-to-face with the largest orc you had ever seen.  

It was almost twice your size, and armed with a cruel-looking blade. Its armor was detached in places, as if it had outgrown its battle garments too fast for them to be replaced. Galadriel had taken a swipe at the exposed part of its hide, but her sword had lodged in its armor on an angle. In a blink, the orc slammed both its fists into her arm, emitting a sickening crack.  

Her sword dropped to the dirt. You rushed to her side, ferociously stabbing your sword through its calf. The orc roared in pain and slashed at you with its blade. You deflected and thrust upward at its chest, but its height momentarily gave it leverage. It swung again and you narrowly dodged what could have been a fatal slice to the throat.

“Archers, to me!” you yelled over the din of battle. Two elves equipped with bows and arrows raced toward you, taking aim. “On my count!”

You pressed forward, trying to prompt the orc to step into the open. Galadriel took position on your right, one of her arms hanging limply at her side. Together you attacked as fiercely as you could. You needed to wound it somehow and step out of range for your archers to have a clear shot. Any head shots would be futile against its obsidian helmet.  

You moved to the left, trying to keep it distracted, but the orc was swiping at you with its sword in one hand and swatting at Galadriel with the other. You ordered the archers to fire, but most of the arrows struck harmlessly over the thick armor. The ones that buried in its skin didn’t seem to slow it down at all.  

With a growl, the orc hobbled forward and shoved Galadriel to the ground. She cried out as she landed on her broken arm. Without hesitation, you lunged to put yourself between her and your attacker. It raised its blade above its head.

“Fire!” you screamed at the archers, but it was too late. Time seemed to slow down. Arrows flew. Your sword glinted in the light of the moon, sending the world up in a flash of white, and you swung.  

There was a thump and you looked to see the orc’s meaty arm lying in the grass, separated from its body. Its crooked fingers were no longer clasped around its blade. You blinked and gasped, suddenly hit with a wave of pain, and looked down to see that the blade was buried in your stomach.  

One of the archer’s arrows struck clean through the orc’s bare neck, and it was dead before it hit the ground. The sound of it rattled your brain. You felt blood gushing from your torso and trickling down the front of your white nightgown. Your hands grasped the hilt of the orcish blade, but you didn’t have the strength to dislodge it. Your knees gave out and you crumpled.  

Galadriel was frantically calling out your name, but her voice soon melded into the sounds of swords clashing and orcs roaring in the battlefield around you. Your vision went blurry, your lungs desperately searching for air; you were drowning, and all you could see was red before the night itself bled over the trees, overtaking your body completely.  

*****

Elrond rode on a steed of wind and rain. The sky over the next range of hills was darkening so quickly it was as if clouds of ink had been spilled from the heavens, leaking down to the earth in the form of icy droplets that stung his eyes and soaked through his cloak. His heart was pounding in tune with the beat of his horse’s hooves on the soil. Desperately, he pressed one hand against his heart, where (Y/N) had tucked the daylily. He had taken it out each morning of his journey and run his fingers over its soft petals, knowing that with every step he was farther away from her, but feeling her presence in his mind at the very thought of her face.  

He pictured her now and fervently prayed that she was unharmed. Elrond had only been in the dwarven kingdom two days when Durin informed him of the attack on Lindon. The report hadn’t come with many details, only word of casualties among the elves. Elrond was trying to ignore the fact that (Y/N) would have been on the front lines, leading the defense.  

He urged his horse faster. Lindon’s sunset-orange elm trees came into view. He sped into the kingdom, past the gates, and into the royal courtyard. The midnight battle occurred over a day ago, but Elrond could still see the bloodstains painting the ground, a canvas saturated with too much color. He averted his eyes as he dismounted his horse and rushed into the palace.  

Lindon’s exquisite halls, which usually shimmered with magic and light, were opaque and desolate, echoing the sound of thunder and rain pattering against marble. No one was about roaming the palace grounds. It almost seemed that the kingdom was deserted.  

He spotted Gil-galad as he turned the corner, standing in the hall outside the infirmary. The High King, usually so serious and serene, was gazing in concern at the inside of the room.  

“My King,” Elrond said as he approached. “I came as soon as I heard of the attack.”

Gil-galad nodded solemnly. “The Dark Lord sees too much. I’m afraid if he were to advance again, with double the forces, we may not be able to hold our position for long.”

“Our army. Is it...?”

“Intact? Yes. Yet not entirely stable. All we can do is wait and recover.”

“And the wounded?”

The King looked at Elrond and in his eyes was utter sorrow. “Perhaps you should go in.”

Elrond bowed, feeling as though his thoughts were laid bare. With his heart in his throat, he steeled his emotions and stepped into the infirmary.  

It was a wide, circular room, the far side bordered by an arched veranda that opened out onto a terrace with a view of the waterfalls. Curtains of leaves were draped over the arches to keep out the rain, cloaking the room in dim light. Cots layered with forest-green silk were placed evenly about the space. Nearly every one was occupied by a wounded elf. A handful of healers moved about the room, pressing cold cloths to foreheads and spoon-feeding herbal concoctions. A scatter of lit candles cast the place in a sleepy red hue like blood washing away in a river.  

Elrond walked among the wounded. Most of them were familiar faces. Some had sheets pulled over their heads. Others were so scarred and bloodied or covered in salve that he couldn’t recognize them. But there was one elf he was searching for in particular.  

He found her on a cot by the far wall. Her face was so gray that she looked on the verge of melting into a puddle of raindrops. Heavy gauze was wrapped around her navel up to her sternum. Her hands rested peacefully at her sides.  

Elrond’s heart broke at the very sight of her. (Y/N) looked so drained, so lifeless- the stark opposite of the lively elf maiden he knew.  

He lowered into the chair at her side and took her hand in his. Her fingers were like ice. Fighting the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, he whispered, “I’m here, hiril vuin. It’s me.”

She didn’t stir. Elrond could almost imagine that she was a statue made of marble, carved by a delicate hand, framed in stormy light. Her breathing was so shallow it was hard to believe she was alive at all.  

Elrond didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at her unmoving form. He murmured sweet nothings under his breath as he stroked her palm, as if his whispers would coax her from her sleep.  

A healer came by at some point to check up on (Y/N), but there wasn’t much to do besides dab her forehead with a cloth and make her as comfortable as possible. The healer hummed an old elven healing song over her before moving on.  

“Come back to me,” Elrond whispered as soon as the healer was out of earshot. “You are the light in my life, (Y/N). I cannot walk the darkness alone.”

He reached into his cloak and brought out the daylily. The tips of its petals were wilting, as if responding to the condition of its giver. He leaned over and tucked the flower into (Y/N)’s hair. “There was never a moment you escaped my thoughts,” he said. “You, nin lilui, my daylily, are my dearest friend. Yet you are also so much more.” A tear traced its way down his cheek and dripped onto her fingers. Elrond caressed her cheek, his voice breaking. “You are so much more to me.”

He stayed by her side as the night passed. Soon enough rogue streaks of dawn shone through the curtains. Weariness and heartache weighed him down, but he couldn’t sleep while she was like this. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath her eyelids like she was trapped in a dream and couldn’t find the way out.  

Elrond pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Dawn is here, nin lilui. Do not let the darkness claim you.”

(Y/N) made a sound in the back of her throat. Her brow furrowed in pain. “Nin onlui mel...”

Elrond sat up straight. He searched her face for signs of life. “(Y/N)?”

She mumbled unintelligibly in Elvish. Elrond’s heart raced. “It’s me,” he said. “It’s Elrond. I’m here.”

“Nin onlui mel,” she muttered. “Mi van me, nin mel...”

Where are you, my love?

Emotions clouded Elrond’s mind in a swift blur. She was on the verge of consciousness. She was going to be okay. His daylily hadn’t left him. And yet a bitter taste filled his mouth.  

She was calling out for her true love. And it wasn’t him.  

*****

You ran through an endless forest. Black trees like twisting claws kept bursting from the dirt, redirecting your path. The hungry screams of your enemies echoed from all sides, and you spun in confusion and fear, unsure where to run. You had no weapon. Your nightgown was drenched in blood. Your heart beat frantically in your chest like you were a wild, hunted animal.  

You followed the line of trees, but shadows formed illusions in the darkness. The trees seemed to grasp at you, pulling your hair, tearing your clothes. Everything looked the same. There was no way out.  

The screams sounded closer now. You turned and ran, but the ground was wet and you slipped. When you got to your knees, you realized you had fallen in a pool of your own blood.  

Your vision was hazy, but you could see vicious shapes snarling and snapping out of the corner of your eye. You felt so weak, so tired. Looking up at the gray sky, you were ready to give up hope.

“Elrond,” you sobbed. You yearned for him with an aching you couldn’t express. The thought of him was like sunlight in this dark place. Your Elrond- kind as summer, gentle as a breeze. “Where are you?”

Your enemies howled, and the world was then no more.  

*****

You didn’t remember opening your eyes.  

At first, you weren’t sure what was a dream and what was reality. The shadows seemed to linger around your body, their wispy hands trailing against your skin. Your head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. The gray sky had disappeared, and the light of day was pouring into the room from somewhere.  

You blinked, feeling like your eyelids were made of iron. Your entire body ached. An incisive pain ripped through your stomach as you woke, bringing your surroundings into focus. You laid on a cot in the infirmary. Sitting to your left was an elf with tousled brown hair.  

“Elrond?” you groaned. It was as if your throat had been charred with firewood.

"(Y/N),” he sat forward, holding your hand. In his eyes were a million emotions.  “It’s okay. I’m here.”

The sight of him was going to make you cry. “Oh, Elrond.”

He quickly poured you a glass of water and held it to your lips. “Drink this.”

You obliged, though just the movement of your neck set your torso on fire. You had been wounded in battle countless times, though never as bad as this.  

“You came back for me,” you said. Your voice sounded scratchy to your own ears.  

Elrond looked on the verge of tears. He smiled at you, and despite your pain, giddiness fizzed in your veins. “No sooner had I been in Khazad-Dum two days when Durin gave me word of the attack. I set off again that same hour. I came as fast as I could.” He looked down. “(Y/N), I am so sorry.”

“Elrond,” you reached out and cupped his face. “I am a soldier. Battles happen. Warriors fall. Nothing is your fault.”

He closed his fingers around yours. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were drawn and his hair was a tangled mess. You had the urge to run your fingers through it.  

“(Y/N),” he said carefully, “What were you dreaming of?”

You closed your eyes again, remembering the figures in the darkness, the gnarled trees moving you about the forest like a ghost, the way you were drenched in blood.  

“I thought I was dead,” you responded weakly. “There was darkness, and I was lost- there was so much blood...”

“You were calling out for someone in your sleep,” he said softly.

“I was? W-who?”

You saw the answer in his eyes before he spoke. “’Nin onlui mel.’”

Silence like an ocean stretched between you two. You turned to face the terrace, where the curtains had been pulled back to provide you with a view of the waterfall. “My true love,” you translated, unable to look at him.

He let go of your hand, placing it at your side. He didn’t speak for a long time. The silence was devastating.

Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore. “Elrond-”

“(Y/N)-”

You turned to face him again. He didn’t meet your eyes.  

“It would be a lie to say some part of my heart does not ache,” he said. “Yet the desire of my heart is for you to be happy. I will not get in the way of your devotion to another.”

You tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea forced you back down. “Elrond, I don’t understand.”

“I am sorry if I have been a bother. It was foolish of me to think...to think with such selfishness.”  

“What are you saying?”

He glanced at you. “Whoever he is, as much as I wish not to be, I am, shamefully, envious. I only hope that you can forgive me.”

“No.” You shook your head. “No, Elrond, you don’t understand. There isn’t someone else.” You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Nin onlui mel. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

His expression matched himself on the day you’d given him the daylily- as if your small kindness was as valuable to him as sparkling treasure. “Me?”

You nodded. “I cannot help it. You are the water to my soil; you have made spring bloom once more in my heart where I thought it not possible. You give me hope. My soul longs for you, nin mel. I love you as I love life.”

Tears fell from his eyes. He was beautiful. He brushed a stray curl from your face and murmured, “And to truly live is to love. Will you allow me to love you with all of myself?”

“My love,” you whispered, “I cannot live any other way.”

His lips were soft as he kissed your temple. He leaned his forehead against yours, and in that moment, you had the world.

Masterlist

[ameagrice]

Capsize

chapter thirty | fine line

percy jackson x fem reader

There are silver streaks shared by Annabeth and Percy, scattered through their hair.

It’s something that will connect them forever, you know for certain. It’s a symbol of a shared strength.

It’s just one more thing to make your heart melt.

Realistically, you should feel nothing but proud of them both, and in your own way, you do. But there has been too much loss to feel any sort of good from the ending, and you can’t get Zoe Nightshade’s death from your mind.

“I can see the stars, my lady,” she whispered, so gently you’d barely heard her at all. The wound on her side gaped, and bled, the golden ichor of an immortal on her way out. An inch of a smile appeared on her face, struggling, before it dropped, and the light faded from Zoe Nightshade’s eyes. A wisp of silvery light lifted from her lips, drifting up into the air, before it, too, faded.

In the sky, the stars showed an image of a girl, running across the sky. Zoe Nightshade had, finally, found her peace.

Atlas was in his rightful place. His daughter had been stolen from the world. Luke Castellan was kicked to his death by Thalia’s action.

Except, they couldn’t find a body.

Body, upon body, upon body. They just kept piling up.

Bianca; Zoe; Luke. Lost lives; people who could have had so much more than they were given.

But Gods who couldn’t care any less.

And if you had to, you’d bet they didn’t even know their names.

You could see now, just why Luke was so angry. Because you felt it too. And it was terrifying.

“You don’t believe me about Luke,” Annabeth said, sounding faded amongst your thoughts. “We’ll see him again. He’s just under Kronos’s spell.”

Thalia jolted away, somehow seemingly unbothered by the height at which you travelled in the sky, Artemis in the lead. “There it is,” she pointed, sitting up. “It’s started.”

“What’s started?” Percy leaned forward, catching your hair between his hand on the seat he held onto. You didn’t say anything.

High above the Empire State Building, Olympus was its own island of light. A mountain ablaze with torches and braziers.

“The Winter Solstice,” she breathed. “The Council of the Gods.”

In the early-morning darkness, torches and fires made the mountainside palaces glow twenty different colors, from bloodred to indigo. Apparently no one ever slept on Olympus. The twisting streets were full of demigods and nature spirits and minor godlings bustling about, riding chariots or sedan chairs carried by Cyclopes. Winter didn’t seem to exist here. The scent of the gardens in full bloom, jasmine and roses and even sweeter filled your senses. Music drifted up from many windows, the soft sounds of lyres and reed pipes.

Towering at the peak of the mountain was the greatest palace of all, the glowing white hall of the gods.

You touched ground outside towering, silver gates, just inside the courtyard. Pegasi travel was rather terrifying, and you were much more than glad to be alive and on the ground. Olympus glowed with warm, the kind that settled in your bones. The warm wind, blowing from nowhere, shifted your hair when you clambered down to the ground.

“Yeah,” Percy muttered.

“Huh?”

Percy froze. “Uh—the horse. Sorry! Pegasi.”

A laugh escaped you, startling in the night. Thalia turned, eyebrow raised. “Why are you talking to a horse? It didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Haven’t I told you?” He averted his gaze.

“What,” you landed your hand on your hip, waving the other to the pegasi. “You talk to animals now, too, like Grover?”

“Just sea creatures. And horses. Pegasi, sorry!”

“Yeah, you’ll really have to explain that later,” you trailed off. “We’ve got more important matters at hand.”

The Pegasi flew off, leaving yourself, Percy, Thalia and your sister together. You liked to think, years later, laying on the glass floor of a ship, that you were all trying to gather the courage after everything to step inside the giant building, and face gods you had once only ever heard about in stories.

Side-by-side, you walked into the throne room.

Twelve enormous thrones made a U around a central hearth, just like the placement of the cabins at camp. The ceiling above glittered with constellations—even the newest one, Zoë the Huntress, making her way across the heavens with her bow drawn.

All of the seats were occupied. Each god and goddess was about fifteen feet tall. Under their judging eyes, despite your own mother being one of them, you were uncomfortable.

“Welcome, heroes,” Artemis said.

“Mooo!”

That was when you noticed Bessie and Grover, the latter standing at the side of a pool of water which Bessie swam in.

“Grover! You made it.”

He started to run towards your friends, then stopped, and looked back at Zeus, who up close, felt a lot scarier than he looked. You only realized then, that there was a major difference in terror of humans, and the intimidation of gods. You could deal with this kind.

“Go on,” Zeus nodded once. But he wasn’t looking at Grover—he was looking at Thalia.

None of the gods spoke. Grover’s hooves echoed on the marble floor, Bessie the Ophiotaurus mooing warmly at your arrival.

You took the time to observe the gods up close, because you might never get the chance to again. Artemis, looking as if she hadn’t ever even been hold hostage, watched the exchange between Percy and Grover. Percy’s father, Poseidon, dressed so casually you might have laughed in other circumstances, had this sort of barely-there smile on his face, bright eyes shining just the way Percy’s own did, too. Apollo, sunglasses covering his eyes, had his earbuds in, golden head of hair tilted back to the ceiling. And…

Ares. It was impossible to not feel him looking at you. Why the special interest, you wanted to ask. Do you see yourself in me? You wondered. Do I see myself in you?

Your eyes met his dark ones, a stark difference, between the extreme fatigue, and the colors. Your eyes burned with exhaustion and the tears you had shed since yesterday. He wore his signature black leather jacket, dark, dark hair being tousled by Aphrodite’s touch. When it was obvious her husband wasn’t looking at her, perched at his side, her love-ridden smile slowly fell away, and those sparkling eyes fell on you as well.

Or maybe it’s you, I see myself in. Too romantic. Too caught up in feelings. After all, you only had so much love to spare between friends, and the dead ones.

What do you see in me? You were desperate to ask, curiosity clawing at your chest. Why am I the way I am?

Gods sometimes took a special interest in heroes. All the tales told you so. You just had to wonder, what would come of this.

Ragged and bruised, you felt as though you were being picked apart under the watchful eyes of so many olympians.

You hadn’t realized Grover was doing the rounds until he yanked you into a hug. You found it in yourself to hug him back—at least he was still alive.

“Glad you made it,” you whispered.

“You too.” He nodded. Neither of you smelled amazing after this quest, but it went uncared for. A trouble shared is a trouble deeply understood.

“You have to convince them,” he said to the remaining four of you. “They can’t do it!”

“Do what?” You blinked.

“Heroes,” Artemis called. The goddess slid down from her throne and turned to human size, a young auburn-haired girl, perfectly at ease in the midst of the giant Olympians. She walked toward your little group, her silver robes shimmering. There was no emotion in her face. She seemed to walk in a column of moonlight.

“The Council has been informed of your deeds,” Artemis spoke loudly, addressing everyone in a steady, clear tone. “They know that Mount Othrys is rising in the West. They know of Atlas’s attempt for freedom, and the gathering armies of Kronos. We have voted to act.”

There was some mumbling and shuffling among the olympians, as if they weren’t all happy with this plan, but nobody protested.

“At my Lord Zeus’s command,” Artemis said, “my brother Apollo and I shall hunt the most powerful monsters, seeking to strike them down before they can join the Titans’ cause. Lady Athena shall personally check on the other Titans to make sure they do not escape their various prisons. Lord Poseidon has been given permission to unleash his full fury on the cruise ship Princess Andromeda and send it to the bottom of the sea. And as for you, my heroes…”

She turned to face the other immortals.

And that, was the moment you saw your mother for the first time.

Dressed in a beautiful white dress, draped over one shoulder, her eyes, as gray as your own, as gray as Annabeth’s appeared lost in thought. You took the chance to just look at the woman you never thought you would meet.

“I gotta say—” Apollo cleared his throat. “These heroes did okay.” He began to recite. “Heroes win laurels—”

“Um, yes, first class,” Hermes interrupted with a side-eye in his brother’s direction. You were unable to help the smirk. “All in favor of not disintegrating them?”

A few tentative hands went up: Aphrodite, Demeter, Apollo—waving his iPod.

“Hang on a minute,” Ares growled, sitting up on his throne. He pointed at Thalia and Percy, on the other side of Annabeth. “These two are dangerous. It’d be much safer, while we’ve got them here—”

Don’t say anything, you begged yourself. Even Annabeth elbowed you.

“Ares,” Poseidon interrupted. “They are worthy heroes. We will not blast my son to bits.”

“Nor my daughter,” grumbled Zeus. “She has done well.”

You leaned forward around your sister, who visibly shook, pale, in need of a lie down from the looks of things. Thalia blushed—you grinned wickedly. All the things you could do with this moment in the future.

Athena cleared her throat. Annabeth sighed. The goddess leaned forward. “I am proud of my daughters, as well. But I agree—there is a security issue with the other two.”

Annabeth elbowed you a little too late, this time.

“Mother!” You exclaimed.

Your heart dropped and splattered on the ground. Never had you addressed her as such. And never had she looked you in the face the way she did now.

Too late to back out, now.

“How can you just—”

Athena cut you off with a girl, but calm look. “It is unfortunate that my father, Zeus, and my uncle, Poseidon, chose to break their oath not to have more children. Only Hades kept his word, a fact that I find ironic. As we know from the Great Prophecy, children of the three elder gods…such as Thalia and Percy…are dangerous. As thickheaded as he is, Ares has a point.”

“Right!” Ares said. “Hey, wait a minute. Who you callin’—”

He started to get up, but a grape vine grew around his waist like a seat belt and pulled him back down.

“Oh, please, Ares,” Dionysus sighed. “Save the fighting for later.”

Ares cursed and ripped away the vine. “You’re one to talk, you old drunk. You seriously want to protect these brats?”

Dionysus gazed wearily. “I have no love for them. Athena, do you really think it wise to destroy them?”

“I do not pass judgement,” she said. “I only point out the risk. What we do, the Council must decide.”

“I will not have them punished,” Artemis cut in hotly. “I will have them rewarded. If we punish heroes who do us such a great favour, then we are no better than the titans, are we not? If this is Olympian justice, I will have none of it.”

“Calm down, sis,” Apollo scoffed. “Chill. Jeez, you need to lighten up.”

“Don’t call me sis! I will reward them!”

“Well, perhaps. But the monster must be destroyed. We have agreement on that?”

“Bessie?” Percy burst out. “You want to destroy Bessie?”

Your heart swelled. Gosh, he cared. It was lovely.

And then you wanted to slap yourself.

What was up with the emotions lately?

Poseidon frowned. “You have named the Ophiotaurus Bessie?”

“Dad,” Percy said. “He’s just a sea creature. A really nice sea creature. You can’t destroy him.”

Poseidon shifted uncomfortably, a trait Percy shared with him, you noted. “Percy, it’s power is considerable. If the titans were to steal it, or—”

“You can’t,” Percy insisted.

Zeus opened his mouth, looking as though he was getting antsier by the second. But you had experience with this sort of thing that needed a good negotiation, so you cut in.

“Controlling the prophecies never works. Isn’t that true?” You tried, stepping forward. All eyes landed on you, and you swallowed. “Have we not just experienced it? Are we not experiencing it now? The Ophiotaurus is innocent. Killing something like that is wrong. It’s as wrong as Kronos eating his children just because of something they might do.”

Zeus looked to be considering it. You breathed heavily, in a mild panic after consulting the king of the gods head on. If he wanted to, you could be zapped out of existence in less than a second.

“And what of the risk? Kronos knows full well, if one of you were to sacrifice the beast’s entrails you would have the power to destroy all of us. Do you think we can let this possibility remain? You, my daughter, will turn sixteen on the morrow, just as the prophecy says.”

“You have to trust them,” you tried, pleading with your eyes. “Please, you have to trust them.”

Zeus scowled. “Trust a hero?”

“She is right,” Artemis nodded slowly. “Which is why I must first make a reward. My faithful companion, Zoe Nightshade, has passed into the stars. I must have a new lieutenant. And I intend to choose one, but first, father Zeus, I must speak with you privately.”

Zeus beckoned Artemis forward, leaning to listen as she whispered to him.

“Annabeth,” Percy whispered from behind you. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Look, I need to tell you something. I couldn’t stand it if—I don’t want you to—”

Artemis turned. “I will have a new lieutenant, if she will accept it. Thalia, daughter of Zeus, will you join the Hunt?”

Your jaw almost dropped. Stunned silence filled the room.

“I will,” Thalia said firmly. She moved to your side, and then a little bit further ahead. Confident.

Zeus rose, his eyes full of concern. “My daughter, consider well—”

Don’t let him change your mind, you prayed. Hold your ground.

“Father, I will not turn sixteen tomorrow,” she shook her head. “I will never turn sixteen. I won’t let this prophecy be mine. I stand with my sister Artemis. Kronos will not tempt me again.”

She knelt down before Artemis, and repeated the same words Bianca had uttered what felt like years ago at the cliff side in the snow and weary sunlight.

When she had finished, she hugged each of you and said a few words. You felt awkward, putting your hands into your coat pockets, when Thalia stood in front of you. For once, there was no spiteful comments from either one of you. She smiled small, looking rejuvenated the same way Bianca had, as if the quest had never happened.

“You’re a good friend,” she nodded. “You’re brave. You’ve got what it takes to help them with this prophecy.” And then she leaned in, and hugged you just as she had with Annabeth and Grover and Percy. “Trust yourself.”

Thalia went and stood with Artemis, and the atmosphere changed instantly.

“Now, for the Ophiotaurus.”

“The boy is still dangerous,” Mr. D. opposed. The beast is a temptation to great power. Even if we spare the boy—”

“No.” Percy said firmly. “Please. Keep the Ophiotaurus safe. My dad can hide him under the sea somewhere, or keep him in an aquarium here. But you have to protect him.”

“And why should we trust you?”

“I’m only fourteen. If this prophecy is about me, that’s only two more years.”

“Two years for Kronos to deceive you,” Athena uttered. “Much can change in two years, young hero. It is only the truth. It is bad strategy to keep the boy alive. And the animal.”

Poseidon stood. “I will not have the creature destroyed if I can help it. And I can, help it.”

He held out his hand, and a spear shimmering with blue light appeared. “I will vouch for the boy and the safety of the Ophiotaurus.”

“You won’t take it under the sea!” Zeus stood suddenly. “I won’t have that kind of bargaining chip in your possession.”

“Brother, please,” Poseidon sighed.

Zeus’s lightening bolt appeared in his hand, and the whole room filled with the smell of ozone.

“Fine,” Poseidon nodded. “I will build an aquarium for the sea creature here, with the help of Hephaestus. The creature will be safe. The boy will not betray us. I vouch for this on my honor.”

Zeus thought about it. “All in favor?”

A dozen hands went up, besides Mr. D, your mother’s, and Ares just sat looking bored.

“We have a majority. And so, since we are not destroying these heroes, I imagine we should reward them.”

—

There are parties, and then there are Olympian parties. And Olympian parties are filled with gold and beautiful colours, exotic flowers and the Muses music, braziers of fire, and delicious food and drinks. It became busy very quickly, and before you knew it, you found yourself stumbling into a corner to get yourself together. All you wished to do was go to your cabin and cry. To let it all out.

“This doesn’t look like you’re partying.”

“What the hell are you? A spy? Just leave me alone.” You shoved yourself further into the corner just away from all the partying, a quiet corridor devoid of anything but cold marble and tall, golden ceilings.

Ares hummed lowly. You didn’t have to see him, shoved into the corner like a child, but you knew he was just on the other side of it.

“I’ll let you off just this once, demigod.”

You rolled your eyes. The marble edges dug into your back uncomfortably from how hard you were trying to disappear for a few minutes. “What do you want? Spit it out.”

“If you weren’t her’s, I would say you’re one of mine. You’ve got the fire, I’ll give you that. And my wife has taken a special interest in you and that boy. Her business is my business, you’ll understand. Since you’re her business, now, you’re my business, too.”

You wanted to scream at him to leave, to go away so you could breathe for five minutes. But…you really wanted to know what he had to say. Curiosity always got the better of you.

“I don’t want to be anybody’s business,” you settled on, weakly. “I’m my own person.”

“Whatever, kid. I’m just here to pass along a message.”

“Which is?”

“She says, you’re doing exactly what you should be doing.”

“Oh, really?”

You shoved away from the corner, and paused.

He’d already gone.

—

Making your way back into the crowd was the last thing you wanted to do, but it would be best to show your face for a little while. Eventually you made your way back to Percy. He smiled as you popped up next to him, and then slowly frowned. His green eyes glistened under all the lights.

“You’ve been crying,” he reached up, and then lowered his hand, unsure of what to do.

You laughed pitifully. “Yeah.”

Because, really, what more could you say? It was rather obvious. And you sounded as if you’d just developed the world’s worst cold and stuffy nose.

Percy still stared at you, concerned. It was touching, really.

“I’m just tired.” You nodded. “I promise. When we get back to camp you might not see me for a couple weeks. I’m about to fall off the face of the earth in sleep mode.”

He smiled, tight-lipped, those eyes dancing across your face. For the first time ever under Percy’s eyes, you felt self-conscious.

“I’ll clean up later. My dad always says I look like I’ve just done thirty rounds of coke after crying. It’s funny because it’s true,” you tried lightly.

Percy’s dark curls shook. “No,” he denied. “I think you look…I think you look pretty—uh—I mean—”

Your heart jumped into your throat, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. Because AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

“Uhm—” you frantically tried for something to do; hair behind your ears, leaning back and forth on your heels. “Thank you. Thanks.” Heat flooded your cheeks. Percy was already scarlet in the face, nodding frantically, avoiding your eyes.

When you looked up, Athena watched from a distance, and then looked away, as if she hadn’t been interested at all. But you weren’t about to let her ruin what just happened—Percy called you pretty.

“I was thinking,” he shoved out. You turned your head, blinking expectantly. “I owe you a dance, don’t I? We got interrupted at Westover Hall, right?”

This time, you allowed yourself to smile, your heart and lungs expanding.

“Right.” You took his hand, shaking.

The music played on, a gentle tune of the future, the past, and the present.

—

Chiron greeted you all at the Big House with hot chocolate and toasted cheese sandwiches. Grover went off to his satyr friends, telling them all about his brief experience with Pan.

Annabeth, Percy and yourself sat with Chiron by the fire. A couple of others joined you, too—Clarisse, back from a quest of her own it seemed. Her hair was cut short, like somebody had hacked it with scissors without a care, and there was a jagged scar on her chin. For once, she kept quiet.

“I got news,” she said glumly. “Bad news.”

“I’ll fill you in later,” Chiron said with forced cheerfulness. “The important thing is you’ve prevailed. And you’ve saved Annabeth!”

The Stoll brothers were there, too. You hadn’t even looked Travis in the eye. The high of the short dance with Percy had worn off, that tiny spark of normality had gone, and left you with the sadness you’d been feeling before it. You struggled with getting Bianca and Zoe’s deaths from the front of your mind, and Thalia’s moving on. Everybody was leaving, it felt like. And everybody was too happy for what had happened along the way.

Percy, sitting next to you in front of the fire, felt the same. You could tell by the sheer look of something bordering on a deep sadness he had.

You didn’t speak.

Annabeth talked about Atlas, and where she had been kept. She yawned the whole way through, still shaking with weakness even after some ambrosia.

Chiron’s positivity spread a little bit to you tired campers, but in the end, the unwavering need to go somewhere and cry won. You set down your mug of hot chocolate, and walked away. Another chair scratched the floor behind you, as you walked away toward the fields.

“Let her be,” you heard Chiron utter. “She needs time.”

You heard happy babbling just as you wandered away, boyish, childish talking. You looked to the left, and there was Nico di Angelo, two figurines in hands, talking to himself the way children tend to do. Every organ in your body twisted painfully, and you got away before he could see you. You couldn’t be the one to tell him Bianca was long gone. You still didn’t want to believe it yourself.

The air was bitter cold, your fingertips numb already. Snow fell lightly as you wandered into where you probably shouldn’t have been. You didn’t get far until his voice caught you up.

“Scout?”

You stopped, the snow crunching quietly. Behind you, Travis grew closer until he was right in front of you. You hadn’t even realized how tall he’d gotten until you saw him again, like seeing him in a different light.

Bundled in a red sweater and jeans, a coat and scarf atop of that, he still shivered.

“I just need to go for a walk. I’ll be alright later.” You shrugged.

Silence captured the air. Until he said, “Chiron…mentioned what happened to Nico’s sister. And the Hunter girl. Zoe. I’m—I’m so sorry.”

The first tear fell without any effort. And then you grew too cold too quickly. And crumbled.

He enveloped you instantly, as if without thought—like the action would be unknown, to hesitate in your arms. Against his warm, soft chest, Travis’s heart beat gently against your ear, his hands coming up carefully to your back, to your shoulder.

Safety.

And at the end of it—Travis.

You allowed yourself the tears. Your hands scrunched at his shirt. He smelled of the outside weather, of wind

of life.

—

PAIN. So, we’ve reached the end of Titans Curse! How are we feeling so far about relationships and eve thing? Feedback is always appreciated!

taglist: @bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281 @charlesswife @jessiegerl @crackerphobic20 @mata0-0mata @jccc1000 @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138 @i-love-books-and-the-bible @obxstiles

if they’re not highlighted, it wouldn’t let me tag you!

this chapter’s quite short. I didn’t want to drag it out too much.

aaaaand I’ve added a few more songs to the playlist (on my profile if you don’t have it saved!) if you want to give them a listen. thanks for reading!

[ch4osworld]

THE PASSENGER

Chapter 1.5

Words:1568 @cherry-4200

Hi! I made this as a gap chapter because I thought that going straight to Lilith disappearance wasn't a good idea. In this chapter you will explore more of the characters feelings and dynamics. I hope you like it! And remeber...

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE MOST BOOSTING AND LIKED

Y/n's pov

Many years have passed since you fell, you lost the count, maybe it was millions, maybe even an eon. You walked through the intricate roads of hell, your footsteps silenced by the crowd of people always wondering around god knows where. Each step was like a burden, a sign of your longing, always getting heavier, binding you to your past. Both sweet and agonizing memories flooded your mind, taunting you with images of the happy times in heaven. You remeber the first time you laid eyes on Lucifer, he attracted you, like moths are to lights. From that moment on you have been captivated by him, consumed by a love you never felt, not even for Adam. But apparently, that feeling was not good, not at all, it only causes pain, for the seraphim was not yours to claim. He belonged to another, the same one that took Adam away from you, love truly is a deadly feeling. You tried to bury your feelings down, but your adoration for him refused to die, it only waited for the slightest provocation to burst once again into flames. And so you were stuck in a cycle of longing and despair and your inability to let go. You knew that the only possibility for your feelings to flee away were to distance yourself from him, but the only thought to leave him shook you. Every moment you assisted to the romantic gestures between him and Lilith served as a reminder of what you had lost. You longed to feel his embrace once more, but you knew it was futile, it was bound to failure. And so, you wondered hell to distract yourself from all of this, because you were the passenger, and you were destinated to do this.

Lucifer's pov

In the greatness of his throne room, Lucifer sat, but despite the illustriousness, his mind was hit by a storm of conflicting emotions, dark feelings of longing and guilt that threatened to ingulf him all. From the moment he saw y/n in heaven, he has been enamored by her ethereal beauty and radiant spirit. Unfortunately she didn't see the beauty he saw, oh how he wanted to change that. She captured his heart threatening him to keep it all to herself, not that he minded , she could keep all of him locked up from the glances of outsiders and he wouldn't dare to oppose. He would have confessed to her so many times, but the fear of rejection too high to ignore, so he let her slip from his grasp and he moved on to someone else, Lilith. He vowed her loyalty and devotion, she was his queen and even after this, he still loved her and his feelings for her could not be easily cast aside. But even after letting y/n go, he found himself haunted by her memory every day. Her image stayed in his mind, as a reminder of the love he could never possess. Each interaction with Lilith only made things worse, making him feel more and more guilty. He knew he should be content with what he had, to cherish the love he and Lilith had, and he did! He really did! But his heart was a stubborn one, and refused to let his emotions go. Deep down he wanted to confess his love to y/n and beg for her forgiveness, but it was trivial, as he was already bound to someone he also loved, and no amount of regret could break their bond. He remained on his throne, trapped between a love he could never have, and another love he could never betray.

Lilith's pov

In the dimly lit bedroom there she was. Lilith stood in front of the ornate mirror, her reflection showing the distorted rage and insecurities that plagued her soul. Her heart was heavy with the weight of doubt and resentment, a toxic spirit soon invading her surrounding. In the past she was ecstatic knowing that she could finally meet y/n, but from the moment she came, Lilith was plagued by her specter. She was like an haunting presence that lingered on her mind like a malevolent spirit. She wasn't stupid, she knew from the start the feelings they both had for eachother, and she still knows that, after all this time, they still longed for eachother, and it filled her with such a rage that it could consume her from within. For years she has been trying to hide her envy beneath a facade of sweetness and loving gestures, to convince herself that she was the only woman he could ever love and adore. But y/n's presence in both of their lives was like an illness, slowly infecting her from her insides, until she could no longer ignore the emptiness present in her heart. Each passing day served only to deepen the resentment and contempt toward her, as she watched from afar the glances she would give to him and the subtle touches his husband would give to y/n. She knew he would never abandon her, he had vowed that to her, she was smart enough to understand that he would never cheat on her, especially with someone so worthless as y/n. Lilith grew to be jealous of her though, jealous of her manners, of her appearance, her grace. She despised her entire existence, for she was a constant reminder of her own inadequacies. She tried to suppress her feelings, but every turn she would make only consumed her with jealousy and rage. She envied the hold y/n had on Lucifer's heart, a hold she once had and that it's getting weaker and weaker as the years pass. But beneath the layers of rage and hate, there were many insecurities, a fear that she could never measure up to y/n. She questioned her own worthiness as a queen multiple times, thinking on how y/n would be a better fit. Oh how stupid it was of her! Of course she was worth being the queen, of course she measured up to y/n! In fact, she could even deem herself superior to her in every way. It was impossible Lucifer would leave her for someone so worthless, nasty and weak as that. She created this empire along her love, a reign they would govern togheter forever. As he was eternally bound to her, as long as she was there with him. And so, Lilith stood there, before the mirror, her fist clenched, as tears of frustration welled in her eyes. She longed to confront y/n, to scream and lash out at her for the pain she had caused her, but she knew it would be all in vain, it would only serve to bring her and Lucifer farther apart.

In the large dining room of Lucifer's palace, the three of them sat in the long table, a tense silence ingulfing them all , while haunted in unbearable thoughts. It was the day when hell truly started to become prosperous many many years ago, and so they all decided to celebrate it togheter, trying to put their hollow feelings aside, but it all seemed futile, as the pressure still  lingered among them, getting heavier and heavier by the second. Lilith, her gaze cold and calculating, observed as his spouse and y/n exchanged furtive glances, a subtle tension enduring between them, like a volcano in the brink of eruption. As the servants served course after course, Lilith catched the opportunity to break the echoing silence that incessantly hung over the room: "Dearest"  she said, her voice slicing through the tension: "I must say, this feast is quite impressive. It seems our personnel have outdone themselves once again."  Lucifer nodded, shifting his attention to his beloved: "Indeed", he replied, his voice chirped with cheerfulness: "I am glad you approve, my love. I wanted tonight to be special, a celebration for how far we have come." 

You remained largely silent throughout the meal, your eyes fixated upon your plate, as you struggled to restrain the roiling emotions that  churned within your chest. You could feel the weight of Lilith's gaze upon you: "What about you, y/n?" She asked , turning her attention to you, with a predatory gleam in her eyes: "Are you enjoying the dinner?"  You shifted uncomfortably in your seat: "Yes, thank you" you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper: "the food is....delicious". Lilith's lips curved into a smirk as she watched your clear torment: "I'm glad to hear it" she replied, now her tone shifting to a more sarcastic one: "it would be a shame if you didn't enjoy the food on such a special day."

As the evening wore on the tension between the three only seemed to rise, a hollow and heavy energy present, that seemed to crash into each of them, but as the night progressed, the conversations turned to lighter topics, a layer of happiness seemed to wrap all around them, genuine happiness, and for a brief moment, they were able to put their feeling aside and found themselves joking as if they never existed. But underneath it all, they were still there, a looming presence guarding above them, because the anger of Lilith could never end, like the love y/n and Lucifer felt for eachother that they tried so much to deny.

[mikavlcs]

Elysium

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x cryomancer!reader

Summary: After realizing her untimely feelings, Wednesday pushes you away, but the arrival of a certain dance proves that she may have made a fatal mistake in doing so. 

Warnings: ooc!wednesday(??? i honestly can’t tell), tyler galpin, baby’s first attempt at a recurring metaphor

Word count: 8k (...)

Notes: so...i don’t completely hate this lol. shout out to the anon that requested this, i had fun with it! hope you enjoy<3

Masterlist | Part 1

Wednesday was happy to be alone.

Being alone was the most natural thing in the world. A necessity that she could never dream of giving up for anyone. Other, lesser human beings may have been social creatures, but not Wednesday. She found peace in solitude, happiness in the silence that came with self-induced isolation.

She was a solitary island surrounded by an ocean that she had no interest in ever exploring.

So in order to maintain her seclusion she built the walls around her island up so high that they obscured the sun and surrounded them with wooden spikes for anyone dumb enough to approach to impale themselves on for her entertainment.

The only people she would ever open up to was her family on the incredibly rare occasions that she allowed it, but other than that, no one was ever let inside. Her walls stood tall, strong, and impenetrable.

Of course, despite her best efforts to fend off intruders, there were always the occasional daredevils that liked to see how close they could get to the fire without being burned.

Enid, it seemed, was one of those people, brazenly ignoring her warnings and threats and advancing toward her barricade. She’ll learn eventually, Wednesday supposed.

But never had she seen someone be so unbothered by her defenses until she met you.

Because you didn’t try to approach or swim onto her shore, nor did you comment on the height of her walls or the myriad of weapons crowded around them.

No, you seemed happy to just float out in the open ocean and engage with her from there, utterly content to wait for her to come out to you instead of forcing the opposite.

It was odd. But Wednesday held that same opinion for you in general.

You were a peculiarity, different in a way she hadn’t quite encountered before. Both because of your abilities and personality.

In Wednesday’s opinion, your powers were something you had much too little pride in considering how versatile they truly were.

From the solid, nearly impervious walls you could build within seconds, to the various weapons you could make—your powers had many applications that Wednesday was more than happy to take advantage of when allowed.

(She had even seen you turn your arm into solid ice. Only once, and you could only make it to the middle of your bicep, but it was impressive, nonetheless. Certainly something she could find a use for in the future.)

And that wasn’t even mentioning their practical everyday effects.

Wednesday had been told that her presence metaphorically chilled a room, but you did it literally without even meaning to. To the point where some classrooms had to turn the heat on early this year because of students’ complaints about your effects on the temperature.

Personality-wise, you were a bit warmer but not overwhelmingly so. You were friendly, but not overbearing as her roommate could often be. Positive, but not to the point where you lacked realism.

You were missing the innocence and naivete that most others your age immaturely grasped onto. 

While you were still what she would classify as an optimist, it was apparent that the world had sunk its teeth into you and ripped away something fundamental.

Not enough to break your spirit, but enough for you to know what it truly meant to suffer.

And that gravity that you held, that perfect point of neutrality you maintained, made you more tolerable than anyone else in that prison of a school.

You were peculiar. Unlike anyone Wednesday had seen or met before. You held within you the most stunning mixture of warm and cold that she’d ever seen, like a winter’s first sunrise.

You never offered up anything about yourself nor did you try to push her for any personal details. You simply did as she asked of you, helped her achieve her goals without asking for anything in return.

Whenever you were with her you seemed content to just…be.

It was so atypical, so exceptionally strange that she couldn’t help but keep you around. Couldn’t stop her feet from traveling down that familiar woodland path that you would inevitably be sitting just off of.

Over days and weeks, she found herself stepping outside her walls and slowly inching toward the shoreline, feet traversing over the damp sand to get just the slightest bit closer to you. But for the most part, she was able to refrain from ever touching the water.

The Outreach Day incident was a turning point.

Wednesday wasn’t sure why, but there was a fundamental paradigm shift in her relationship with you after that day.

She hadn’t told you the horrors that befell Mary that night, but there were inklings of it. The spilled blood on the paper, the use of that same blood to sign her name at the bottom. She showed you that for a reason.

It was a warning of sorts. Not a show of power, but a display of what she was capable of. 

And you didn’t run, you accepted the letter and all its implications with a smile and possibly the sincerest thank you Wednesday had ever received in her life.

That specific night stuck with her for weeks afterward.

It felt like that was the point when she allowed herself to step off the firm ground of the shore and wade into uncharted waters with you.

The worst part was that she didn’t even notice until the effects translated into physical symptoms.

The first was an irregularity in her heartbeat. An arrhythmia caused by the sight of your soft, crooked smile.

It jolted her in the moment, but she wrote it off as a once-off, an anomaly. Until it happened again and then again and again, all while in your presence. And that wasn’t the only thing.

There was a growing warmth in her chest that accompanied the thought of you, one powerful enough to combat your natural frigidity. And it seemed that when you were around her, the very air between you electrified, sending sparks up her veins.

Not to mention the subtle shortness of breath and nerves that persisted in your presence.

These instances didn’t scare her, but they did draw her concern. She took note of all her symptoms and did as much research as she could, but there was no disease or sickness she could find that matched what she was experiencing.

That left the next most logical conclusion—sabotage. Considering all of these oddities happened when she was with you, that theory was somewhat plausible. But she had a hard time believing it.

Motive was the first thing that didn’t add up. Why would you want to do this? And with such an ineffective method, it made no sense. What even was your methodology here? Poison?

Wednesday was a self-taught master of poisons. She had ingested nearly every toxin she was able to get her hands on to both study its effects firsthand and build an immunity. There was no poison on the planet that Wednesday wouldn’t be able to identify in seconds, let alone any that would actually be able to incapacitate her, so that didn’t track either.

There were other holes in this theory as well. The unusual electricity, for instance. Sure, your powers were elementally based, but you could only create and bend ice to your will, not electric currents.

And generally, she just found it hard to believe that you would do anything nefarious to her.

She decided she would push the issue to the back of her mind. It wasn’t actively impeding her ability to function in any meaningful way, so it would wait until the current investigation was laid to rest, a mystery to be solved after the monster was found.

But everything finally clicked weeks later, when Eugene was guiding them to a cave pictured in a drawing she stole from Xavier, one of her current suspects.

Eugene was leading a few paces ahead while the two of you lingered behind, strides matching the others perfectly. He was going on about the insect life local to the area. Wednesday had little interest, but you indulged him, asking questions and listening with a smile.

She preferred to just listen to you both, stealing occasional glances at you while you laughed along with Eugene.

It was only when she caught herself pondering how well you would get along with her brother, how much Pugsley would enjoy the company of someone like you that the realization hit her with all the force of an incoming bullet train.

The “symptoms” she’d been experiencing for the past months were not indicative of any kind of medical issue, but instead of something else. Something far, far worse.

For it was a sign that she had become a hypocrite, that she had gone off and done exactly what she swore to her mother she would never do. Just like that her world was turned upside down and she was left to reevaluate everything that she knew about herself.

She didn’t realize she had stopped in the middle of the forest until you entered her direct line of sight, stepping in front of her with worried eyes.

“Hey, are you alright?”

A harsh swallow and hard blink were all she needed to regain her bearings, but she still couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

“I’m fine.” She walked past you, discarding the worried looks you were giving her.

The rest of the afternoon went without issue, even gathering a critical piece of DNA evidence from the monster, but the revelation weighed heavily on her from then until deep in the early hours of the morning.

Troubled, she lay awake, the resting shadows of Enid and Thing taunting her from their respective places in bed and atop her desk. But sleep was the furthest thing on her mind then, no matter how much she wished it was.

Instead, she was stuck replaying every moment that she had spent with you, wondering when and how she had wandered so far from the safety of her shore.

The water was up to her chest now, lapping at her chin roughly. You were there, encouraging her to swim out farther with you, but Wednesday was at a standstill.

She was in far too deep to ignore, and she had to choose between swimming back to shore now without you or risking you letting her drown beneath the tempestuous waves. And as tempting as your invitation was, Wednesday had to choose the option she knew guaranteed her safety.

So the next day, for the first time since she had stepped foot in the forest, Wednesday avoided the familiar path that led to you.

Both to and from, she walked the opposite side of the woods, the unfamiliar trees doing little to assuage the harsh stinging in her chest.

You approached her about it after classes the next day, confusion and curiosity abound, but she forced herself to keep walking. Even as your words died and your face fell, she kept one steady foot in front of the other until she made it back to her dorm.

Wednesday preferred to be alone, it was the optimal state of being in her mind. Without the burden of others’ emotions and weaknesses, she was free to do whatever she pleased. But that wasn’t what it felt like now.

Instead, the lack of your presence felt like a burden and weighed down on her like a thousand stones on her back every time she stepped into the woods without you. Sweat formed on her skin even in the brisk autumn breeze.

She found the world was far too warm without you near.

In truth, she wasn’t sure what was worse, the sudden separation or the fact that you didn’t even protest against it.

Though she avoided you in the woods, seeing you around school was inevitable. But even when you sat next to her in class, you never tried to confront her about her recent behavior. You just…accepted it.

Anyone else would think that you didn’t care, that you were unbothered by her absence but Wednesday knew better. She knew you.

She saw the way you walked the halls with downcast eyes, noticed the near-permanent sorrowful frown you wore wherever you went.

It was clear that you were affected by her decision but chose to do nothing about it.

For some reason, that bothered her nearly as much as the distance did. You weren’t scared of her, so why were you acting like you were now? It made no sense.

Though she wouldn’t be inclined to admit it aloud, you were powerful. Between the nature of your powers and your near-perfect control over them, you were more than capable of demanding answers if you really wanted to. And yet you didn’t.

It nagged at her during the day, incessantly whispered in her ear at night, keeping her awake.

She was half-tempted to ask. The part of her that cared for you latched onto it, wanting any excuse to see you and be near you again.

But she didn’t. Because she made her choice.

Wednesday was back to being alone, safe on the desolate shores of her island with her stark walls, and she would have to learn to accept it once again.

-

A considerable amount had happened over the span of a week.

In terms of her case, Xavier had officially been promoted to prime suspect. Meaning that she had been sneaking around him to gather evidence for the better part of the week.

She had to relocate her crime board to the Hummer’s shed because of Enid’s impossibly weak stomach, and somehow, one of the largest thorns in her side was the imminent arrival of the school’s yearly dance—the Rave’n.

An event both you and she initially decided not to attend in order to further your investigative efforts but…circumstances changed.

She very nearly had to go with Xavier. An attempt to raid his personal art shed ended with him finding her there and, to cover her tracks, she was forced to ask him to the dance. But after getting caught inside his art shed only days later, that disaster was thankfully called off.

At least she successfully managed to do what she went there for in the first place—steal something with his DNA.

Now, she was trying to convince the stubborn sheriff to run both the claw and the cloth with Xavier’s blood then cross-reference the DNA to see if they matched, but of course, he refused.

The possible answer to her mystery was a hair’s width away and the only thing holding her back was the oversized ego of an old man. Typical.

Just as she was about to walk out, he agreed to run her evidence, and for the first time in seven days, she felt like she could breathe. Finally, after months of chasing this mystery, concrete answers were on the horizon. It was a refreshing change of pace.

(There was only one thing missing…)

Wednesday walked out of the sheriff’s office with only the forming hypothesis about her suspect to keep her company.

Thing refused to come with her. He had been far less cooperative since she’d started avoiding you and as annoying as his moods could be, she knew she deserved it, so she let him rebel.

As long as he still assisted her in her investigation when needed, he could do whatever he wanted.

Against her better judgment, she wondered if he was with you. He had immediately taken a liking to you, always trying to rope you into his elaborate schemes when she brought you to her dorm to aid in her research efforts.

So it wouldn’t be implausible to assume that he had been in contact with you since she had cut you off. She wondered if he knew how you were doing. If he would actually tell her if she asked.

After what she’d done, she wondered if she even deserved to know.

“Hey, Wednesday, wait up!”

She paused, annoyance already coursing through her veins because she knew that voice. Turning, she was met with the sight of Tyler Galpin jogging over to her from across the street.

A mixture of annoyance and unease coursed through her. She was tempted to just leave—dealing with one Galpin had already drained her limited patience—but the inherent intrigue kept her in place.

Tyler was an enigma to her, a contradiction that was made all the more interesting when put in contrast to his father.

Sheriff Donovan Galpin was a dogmatic, stubborn prick at the best of times. Truly one of the most inherently irritating men Wednesday had ever had the misfortune of interacting with. 

But he was a genuine man.

He was passionate about his job, upfront about what he wanted, and he didn’t let anything stop him from finding answers, not even when told to stand down by the mayor himself. In a sense, it was something Wednesday respected about him.

Tyler was the opposite, all counterfeit charm and synthetic smiles for no outwardly apparent reason.

Wednesday didn’t like him. He was only kept around because he was a useful source of information. Having lived in Jericho his whole life, he knew things about the town that she didn’t, but he was still just…off.

She couldn’t explain it, even with her extraordinary diction.

Something about him just caused an innate, negative alchemical reaction within her. He set off her intrinsic alarm bells whenever he was near, like he was the culprit of a terrible (not in the good way) crime that she just couldn’t prove.

Instinctively, she thought back to the observation you offered when she asked your opinion of the boy.

“He’s just…weird, y’know?” you said, eyes glued to the birds flying between the branches overhead, admiring them as you both walked down the familiar woodland path. 

“It’s like he’s wearing the skin of the perfect small-town boy next door. He’s perfected the shy dialogue and sunny personality, but he hasn’t quite gotten the movements and mannerisms down.”

It made her tense, already perfect posture straightening up even more as he rounded her and slowed to a stop a few feet in front of her, effectively blocking her way.

“Hey,” he grinned. “I wasn’t expecting to see you in town. What are you doing?”

“Running errands,” she answered tersely.

“Oh? Shopping for a certain dance perhaps?”

She gritted her teeth at the mention of the event. “We’ve interacted enough for you to know that I have no interest in frivolous school events.”

“Right,” he chuckled, awkward. “Well, hopefully, this one isn’t completely off the table.”

Wednesday had no qualms against squashing the hope in his voice. “It is.” She sidestepped and tried to leave but he blocked her once more.

“Wait, I need to ask you something.”

“Tyler, I have neither the time nor the interest for your inquiries right now.” She tried to move past him, but he grabbed her shoulder to stop her, grip a bit too tight.

Immediately, she ripped herself out of his grasp and gave him a glare so sharp it could’ve cut him in two.

Tyler put his hands up, sounding genuine when he said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that, I know. I just… Please, just hear me out.”

She continued to glare, but it was clear he wasn’t going to leave her alone about this. Wednesday sighed, jaw clenched tight. “Fine. Hurry up.”

“I was…well, I was just wondering if—”

He cut himself off with a cough. Wednesday exhaled sharply.

“Spit it out, Tyler.”

“…Do you maybe wanna go to the Rave’n with me?” he asked, bringing his hand to scratch his neck in a gesture of nervousness that wasn’t quite convincing enough. Your words echoed in her mind, and she couldn’t help but realize how right you were.

She narrowed her eyes, the no just about to slip off her tongue but she bit it back at the last second and looked at him—really looked at him.

His artificial boyish grin was present, stiff pseudo-withdrawn posture accompanying it. But his eyes were different.

Usually, they were unreadable, vacant of any of the emotion injected into his voice, but not now. Now, she could see the echoes of an unspecified emotion creeping just along the edges of his irises.

There was something lurking within the shadows of his eyes, something that even Wednesday couldn’t quite decipher.

It unsettled her, enough for her to change her plans on the spot.

“Fine. Pick me up at 8. If you’re late, I’ll have Thing remove one of your fingers.”

She didn’t bother waiting for a response, promptly moving past him and around the corner the moment she was finished speaking and maintaining that speed until she was halfway through her new forest path back to Nevermore.

Once she passed the marker of her halfway point, she finally slowed and allowed herself to process what she had seen.

What was that?

Sure, she had thought that something with Tyler was off, but this was her first time seeing an inkling of something genuinely sinister. Could it have some deeper meaning? Could she have been putting her focus on the wrong person for the past few weeks?

She brushed her mild shock aside and took the next logical step in her process—mentally categorizing and contrasting her two suspects.

Xavier had been within close proximity both times she had encountered the monster, at the festival and in the forest with you on Outreach Day. Additionally, he had those suspicious scratch marks on his neck, and though he said they were from a painting of the beast brought to life, that could very well be a lie.

But Tyler’s whereabouts in both of those instances were unknown, so in theory, he could have been there as well. For all she knew, he could be an outcast of some sort as well.

Wednesday sighed, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

Looked like she would be attending the dance after all.

-

The night of the Rave’n came far too quickly for Wednesday’s liking.

She was sitting on her bed, squirming uncomfortably in the dress Thing stole for her as she awaited Tyler’s arrival. The sentient hand had already gone off to the dance, under explicit instruction to monitor Xavier for her while she observed Tyler for the night, which he thankfully agreed to without protest.

Enid was also long gone, thankfully. She would already have to deal with her at the dance itself, so she was grateful to have some time to prepare without her roommates squealing.

8 pm rolled around and with it came a knock on her door.

He was technically thirty-seven seconds late, but she wasn’t about to throw away an ample opportunity such as this over that. (Though she would at least think about going through with her threat. Thing would be more than happy to add another finger to his collection.)

With a quiet sigh, she stood and pulled the door open to reveal her companion for what would undoubtedly be a hellish evening.

Tyler looked up when the door opened, a big grin creeping onto his face when he saw her.

“W-Wow, you look…amazing,” he stuttered out, eyes void of the wonder in his voice. Wednesday hummed, running her eyes over his outfit.

Plain white button-up, blazer, slacks, and dress shoes. Following the dress code to the letter. Disappointing.

“You look passable,” she said plainly, moving to stride past him. “Let’s go. Even ‘fashionably late’ has its limits.”

Without bothering to wait for him, she marched onward out of her dorm, leaving Tyler scrambling to catch up behind her. 

She wasn’t sure where exactly the dance was being held, but it was a nonissue. All she needed to do was allow the obnoxiously loud music to guide her way, like a North star.

Unsurprisingly, that worked and before she knew it, they were walking through the entrance, adorned with lights and sequins, and stepping into the event proper.

She took a cursory glance around the room as she entered, and she had to give the decorating committee a bit of credit because the place was not hideous. The flashing lights and nauseating amounts of glittery décor were heinous, but at least there appeared to be a theme present.

Onyx eyes found you instantly, drawn to you like magnets, and she froze in place. Tyler stopped a few paces ahead of her, giving her a weird look but she paid no attention to him.

There were many other eyes on her as well, but she ignored them just the same, instead focused on two things.

First, not only were you here despite saying you had no plans to attend but you were also dressed from head to toe in black. Just as she was. 

And while you weren’t the only person not following the assigned dress code—she was particularly happy to see both Bianca and Enid forgoing it—you still stood out to her far more than the others.

You had forsaken the theme in a way that no one else had. No one besides her, that is.

And second, you were with Eugene.

He was there next to you, smiling and laughing in tandem with you as you talked about god knew what. Her chest tightened and burned with an unfamiliar emotion.

Now, logically Wednesday knew that you had no feelings beyond friendship for the boy, considering both his age and the fact that, to her knowledge, you had only spoken to him a handful of times. But it didn’t matter.

Eugene could be replaced with any other faceless student, and she suspected she would still be upset to see you here with someone else. (In her color, nonetheless.)

As if you could sense her gaze, you looked over toward the entrance where she stood, and you stilled instantly, reflecting her own reaction.

Your smile waned, as did whatever sentence you had been in the middle of, and the shock that painted your expression turned to hurt when your eyes traveled to the boy she walked in with.

Even from across the room, Wednesday could see frost building on the glass in your hand, and she yearned to know what was upsetting you so greatly that you were losing control of your powers. Was it just her mere presence here? Or Tyler’s? A mixture of both?

Before she could properly react, Enid bounded up to her, clapping her hands excitedly. “O-M-G, I love the look! I can’t believe you actually showed up.”

“Neither can I,” she muttered with distaste. Her eyes wandered over Enid’s shoulder to where you were and found that you were no longer looking at her, but instead back at Eugene.

You looked upset, the happiness you radiated only moments ago long gone, and she hated to think that she was the possible cause. Eugene appeared to be consoling you about something. Wednesday itched to go over and ask you herself.

Enid followed her eyes, her smile dropping a bit. “Yeah, you guys are totally matching. I thought it might’ve been coordinated but…” She gave Tyler an unimpressed once-over. “I guess I overestimated your taste.”

Wednesday’s brows raised, focus darting back to Enid. The corner of her lips twitched. Maybe she was beginning to rub off on her chipper roommate.

Again, Wednesday peered over her shoulder and this time found Lucas. When their eyes met, he waved at her nervously, his posture noticeably stiffening as he lingered at the table behind Enid. 

The realization hit and any traces of a smile were gone instantly.

“Well, I suppose I could say the same about you, Sinclair,” she drawled, sending Lucas a pointed look.

Enid grimaced, sending him a sheepish glance. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear. He’s trying to make his ex jealous and I’m just trying to make Ajax jealous. It’s a mutually beneficial temporary partnership, nothing more!”

That sounded immensely stupid to Wednesday, but she nodded anyway to placate the girl. “Well, if he does anything stupid, don’t hesitate to inform me,” she looked back to the boy behind the werewolf, projecting her voice so he could hear. “I brought my pocket mace. The medieval kind.”

Lucas gulped loud enough to be heard over the music, but Enid just giggled.

“Of course. And if you need to ditch your ‘date’, just let me know.” She sent Tyler, who was speaking with Miss Thornhill, a half-hearted smile.

Suddenly, Enid gasped; eyes locked onto a certain gorgon quickly approaching from across the room.

“Ajax is coming this way, I gotta go,” Enid hurriedly explained, going to grab Lucas. “Try to have some fun, Willa! Or as much as you can with that normie.”

Wednesday glowered at the nickname.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that, Enid?” she called after the retreating girl, who only offered a wave in return.

Tyler, finally finished with whatever conversation he was having with her teacher, sidled up to her with his hands buried in his pockets. “So, uh…what do you wanna do?”

Leave, she immediately thought but didn’t say. She looked around for anything remotely interesting and when she found nothing, her eyes settled on the beverage table. She wasn’t thirsty in the slightest, but it was something.

“I’ll go get us drinks.” She only made it a step forward before she was blocked by an arm.

“Allow me,” Tyler remarked with that ever-irritating grin. “You stay here.”

He straightened his blazer and sauntered toward the table, leaving her by herself. 

Aggravation built in her chest, but she couldn’t get worked up so early into the night, so she took a long breath and searched for an empty table.

Only a few seconds into her search, someone snagged her arm and pulled her off to the side. She whirled on them the moment they stopped moving, fist fully prepared to strike, and only halted her attack at the last second when she saw the culprit.

Xavier.

Maybe I should’ve struck anyway, she mused idly. But aloud she said, “What do you want?”

“I can’t believe you’re here with him,” he spat. The vitriol in his voice piqued her interest.

“Why?” she asked. “Do you have history?”

He laughed, rough and humorless. “That’s one way to put it.”

Wednesday crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows expectantly. After a moment, he obliged.

“You remember that blank wall I was staring at on Outreach Day?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Well, last year Principal Weems asked that I paint a mural there to celebrate Outreach Day. I was there after dark finishing it up when Tyler and his asshole friends jumped me. They held me down and beat me up then ruined the painting and just left me there. It took weeks for me to recover.”

Wednesday would admit that she was taken aback. She knew Tyler was hiding something, but to find out that he had been responsible for something so violent was unexpected. Unexpected and incredibly valuable.

She was reminded of what Xavier said the day after the festival about Tyler not being who she thought he was. More and more, it was beginning to look like he had a point.

“And was that his first instance of violent behavior?”

“No,” he said, “he’s been picking on outcasts for years. Only recently has he stopped because he’s ‘reformed’ or some bullshit. But I don’t believe it. People like that rarely change.”

On that, they could both agree.

“I’m only here with him because he’s a suspect, like you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Xavier didn’t seem comforted by her words. He snorted, “Well at least I’m not the only one you’re willing to use for your own gain.”

She rolled her eyes, not bothering to even respond to the comment. She assumed that to be the end of the conversation, but Xavier remained there, watching her.

He was waiting for something, she realized. Something that would never come.

“I’m not going to apologize for putting my investigation, and thus the safety of everyone in and around Jericho, over your fragile feelings, Xavier,” she said, slowly and succinctly. “So if that’s what you’re waiting for then don’t bother further wasting your time.”

Xavier’s jaw clenched. “Fine,” he gritted out, rueful, and stalked back over to his table.

Wednesday didn’t bother watching him leave, still processing what he told her.

The revelation of Tyler’s violent past marinated in her mind. Seemed like she had a new prime suspect on her hands.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something crawl up onto the table next to her. She looked over and was greeted by Thing. He stood to attention; his stance was alert, but it was clear that he was still excited just to be there.

He even had a bowtie tied around his wrist for the occasion, one she’d never seen before but it was a perfect fit.

“Nice bowtie. Enid?”

He tapped out a confirmation.

“I figured,” she said, then got serious again. “I’m assuming you heard everything that was said?”

Another affirming tap.

“It seems that Tyler is shaping up to be the real prime suspect, but I still want you to keep all five fingers on Xavier. I need to make sure all of my bases are covered, just in case.”

She looked around for her date and found him a few tables away, two drinks sat in front of him. Considering the weird looks he was shooting at Xavier; one could assume that he had seen their discussion. She sighed.

“I should get back before Tyler gets suspicious. Make sure to follow my instructions.” She gave him a look. Then, “Since I know this will be getting dull soon, you can feel free to trip however many people you want. Just make sure it’s within my sightline. I need as much amusement as I can get tonight.”

Thing perked up and gave her an excited thumbs up before scampering back off in Xavier’s direction, likely looking for his next victim along the way.

Once he was out of sight, she made her way over to Tyler, valiantly ignoring the questioning look he was giving her as she took a seat on the other side of the table.

Not one to be deterred, he asked, “What was that about?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” came her easy answer.

“Oh, uh ok,” Tyler stammered. He opened and closed his mouth a few more times (movements still just a bit too scripted to feel real) before sliding one of the cups over to her side of the table.

“I got us the drinks,” he offered, sounding more unsure than he seemed.

“Thanks,” she deadpanned. The cup went untouched, however. She remembered what Xavier said about the punch being spiked, and she had no desire to be inebriated. Especially around Tyler.

Wednesday stared carefully at the boy across from her, watching and waiting for any more unnatural behaviors. But he got suddenly quiet, seeming to actively avoid her gaze, so she turned to survey the dance floor.

The lone black silhouette was easy to spot in a moving sea of white.

You were grinning harder than she’d ever seen before, dancing energetically to a headache-inducing pop song with someone—Eugene, given the curly hair.

It was a mesmerizing sight, seeing you shed your usual reserved nature and be so unrepentantly joyful around so many others.

As she watched you dance and have fun with Eugene, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had made a grave mistake.

She thought back to your earlier reaction when she arrived at the dance, the hurt in your eyes when you saw Tyler. Under the assumption that it wasn’t just a figment of her imagination, could that have been indicative of something?

The idea that you could be harboring feelings for her, mirroring her own current predicament, made her heart race uncomfortably.

If it was true, had she ruined her own chances by pushing you away?

Self-sabotage was an abstract concept to Wednesday. The idea that she would ever hinder her own road to success was laughable. Especially when people like Sheriff Galpin and Principal Weems were content to do that all on their own.

She had always taken what she perceived to be the most logical next step to get her closer to achieving her goals. And that was what she thought she was doing when she pushed you away—eliminating a problem that stood in her way.

But now, being faced with the possibility that she had ruined what she had with you because of her own emotional ineptitude was staggering, inconceivable almost.

Wednesday ruminated over her mother’s parting words to her on her first day at Nevermore.

“You’re a brilliant girl, Wednesday, but sometimes you get in your own way.”

Perhaps her mother held more wisdom than she was willing to give her credit for.

Her self-introspection was halted by Tyler.

“Do…you wanna dance?” he asked, hesitant.

Her answer was immediate. “No.”

Abruptly, someone on her left tripped, falling forward with a piercing squeal and a loud crash. Wednesday smirked. At least Thing was enjoying himself.

The song changed from one loud and irritating pop song to another, prompting more students to flood the dance floor.

Spotting you amongst the chaos was harder, but through a pocket between some students, she was able to catch a glimpse of your dark figure alongside Eugene as the tempo began to pick up.

Some other familiar faces were joining you now, including Enid and her normie not-date, Bianca, who seemingly came to her senses and ditched her date, and a few other people that Wednesday could vaguely remember from the Nightshade’s library. Her lungs burned in her chest despite the abundance of air around her.

It was ironic, she thought, how she felt like she was drowning more now on dry land than she did when she was in the water.

Once again, her observations were interrupted, this time with an angry scoff.

Crossing her arms, Wednesday turned to Tyler, her agitation showing in her voice. “What?”

He released an incredulous laugh at her question, as if she was crazy for even asking.

“You know, I don’t get it, Wednesday. You’ve been distracted all night. First with that werewolf girl, then Xavier, then whoever,” he made an angry gesture in your direction, “that is. What was the point of accepting my invitation if you’re not even going to have the decency to pay attention to me?”

Wednesday forced a sigh through her nose. He was right, but not for the reasons he thought.

She should be using this event to her advantage, taking this time to analyze the boy in front of her for the sake of her investigation. Yet her mind remained steadfast on the thought of you, eyes wanting to get just one more glimpse whenever they possibly could.

She couldn’t begrudge him in his anger here; she knew that she was technically in the wrong, but she wasn’t apologetic either. After all, there was still the chance that he was a serial killer.

A flash of black in her peripherals got her attention. Without turning her head, she looked and saw you heading toward the exit. Her breath stuttered, the urge to get up and follow you pulling painfully at her chest. And for a moment, she genuinely considered it.

In front of her, Tyler banged a fist on the table, successfully bringing her full attention back to him. “You’re doing it again,” he growled out. His fist was clenched so hard that his knuckles were bone white.

The shadows crossed his eyes again, a flash of something malevolent making her dig her nails into her arms. Unflinching, she stared right back with raised brows, practically challenging him to do something, to confirm her rapidly increasing suspicions.

Unfortunately, he didn’t. In the face of her challenge, he backed down and sat back in his chair, posture slumping over once more.

If he was the monster, then he was at least smart enough to pick his battles accordingly.

Wednesday glanced toward the exit again. She knew he was going to make her decide and though it should have been much harder to come up with an answer, she suspected that she had her mind made up from the start.

“Choose,” he demanded, barely loud enough to be heard over the blasting music. “Me or—”

She was on her feet before he could even finish.

Tyler’s shouts of protest went unacknowledged, her feet leading her in the same direction you went. On her way out, she caught Enid’s eyes.

Her roommate flashed her a smile and a thumbs up, to which Wednesday rolled her eyes. But deep down she was glad to have the encouragement. She would likely need it for what came next.

The music faded to a dull roar behind her as she exited the dance, scanning the outside hall for any sign of where you could’ve gone.

Turned out there was no need to search for you because you were right there, on the far side of the room. You were reclined on a bench with your back turned to her, leaning your head against the back of the bench with your eyes closed.

She approached as quietly as possible, her heart thumping so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if it shattered her sternum.

Wednesday had never given much thought to the phrase “absence makes the heart grow fonder” before, thinking it to be a stupid and nauseatingly sappy sentiment. But the ache she felt in her very bones to be close to you again proved her incorrect.

The air chilled the nearer she got to you and the static electricity sparked along her skin. She welcomed both sensations with open arms.

Slowly, she rounded the bench and seated herself on the far side, leaving a generous amount of space between you and her in case you wanted it. With a breath, she broke the quiet.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Taking a break, actually,” you responded, not opening your eyes. “Dancing’s a lot more tiring than it looks and it’s hard to take a breather when there are so many people in there. Too much body heat.”

You didn’t say anything after that and neither did she. Because she wasn’t entirely sure what to say if she was being honest.

Selfishly, she wanted you to just ask. Ask her why she shut you out, why she kept walking every time she saw you. She wanted to know that you, in some capacity, still cared about the work you were doing with her. That you wanted to regain the closeness that she had so swiftly taken away.

More than anything, she wanted to know that you might have missed her. Because she missed you, far more than she had any right to.

And when your voice finally pierced the silence, you did ask her a question, but not the one she wanted to hear.

“How’s the investigation?”

“Still pending, but seminal progress has been made. The suspect list is narrowing steadily,” she informed, keeping her tone neutral.

“Oh?” You raised a brow in her direction. You looked like you wanted to question her further but didn’t. She told you anyway.

“My main suspects at the moment are Xavier and Tyler. That’s why I allowed him to drag me to this horrific affair.”

“I see,” you said quietly. Then, with just a hint of teasing, “And are you having fun?”

She answered with an exasperated look. You looked away with an airy laugh, allowing the thrum of the music to encapsulate the space.

Again, she let the quiet linger to give you an opportunity to speak. She waited and waited but nothing came. It was driving her mad.

Finally, she cracked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Why aren’t you asking me why I suddenly left? Do you not wish to know?”

Your head dropped, a sad smile creeping onto your face. “No, I just figured it would happen sooner or later. I would wear out my usefulness and you would leave me behind to continue on with your investigation by yourself. I guess it was inevitable.”

Your confession caught her off guard. It was odd to see someone so powerful think so little of themselves. She also noticed how it was now her investigation instead of both of yours.

The connotation made something curdle in Wednesday’s stomach.

All at once, she found herself at an impasse. She wanted you to reach out and give her a sign. A sign that you still wanted to be associated with her. That you still felt something—anything for her. That maybe, just maybe you might want her.

But she also knew that it wasn’t right for her to expect that of you. It was only fair that she, as the one that severed the connection, bridged the gap herself if she truly wanted to make things right.

And she did, she found. She wanted it more than anything.

The ache in her bones deepened and urged her to take that first step off the blistering sands and back into dauntingly unfamiliar waves.

“That’s not why I did it.”

“Hm?” you hummed, turning slightly in her direction. You still weren’t looking at her, instead counting the dark frills on the end of her dress and it was bothering her. She clenched a fist.

“I didn’t leave because you were no longer useful to me,” she said, carefully.

She was neck deep now. The final chance to turn back presented itself, but Wednesday let it pass and plunged her head beneath the water. One final leap of faith to reach you.

“I left you behind because I was developing feelings that far exceeded the bounds of a partnership…or a friendship, for that matter,” she admitted, gripping the bench till her knuckles were white. “I thought that if I parted ways with you then they would disappear.”

It was quiet for a moment, the dull thrum of the music in the next room filling the space between.

Then, “Have they?”

“No,” she admitted after a beat.

The air thickened and it made the simple act of breathing a challenge. Wednesday stayed still, eyes studying even the tiniest movements of your face. That made it easy to spot the beginnings of a smile on your face.

“Good.”

The stutter in her heartbeat returned. She swallowed roughly against the sudden dryness in her mouth. “Good?”

Your smile widened, and for the first time since she sat down beside you, you met her eyes. “Yeah. It’s nice to know that my feelings are reciprocated after months of uncertainty.”

It took a minute for the words to truly register. The electricity turned into rolling waves of thunder in her chest, raging a storm as her heartbeat picked up.

“You…feel the same?”

“Of course,” you said, softly. “How couldn’t I? You’re the most riveting person I’ve ever met, Wednesday.”

Even if she could speak, she wouldn’t know what to say to that. In lieu of a verbal answer, she stood and crossed the distance between you and her.

When she settled back down, she was much closer. So close she could feel the blessed cold of your skin against hers. She took a breath then slowly, tentatively, she rested her head on your shoulder.

Wednesday felt you stiffen under her, then relax again. A moment later, you settled your head on top of hers, your cheek nuzzling the crown of her head. That simple act alleviated the deep-seated ache within her.

Finally, she broke the surface of the water and regained her breath. Floating atop the restless sea with you at her side, helping keep her head above the wild waves. In that moment she felt ethereal and unafraid and free.

She would confront Tyler later, hopefully with you at her side once more. But for now, she wanted to maintain this closeness, this blissful weightlessness, and just be here with you for as long as the universe would allow.