#been having a horrible week so far and I haven’t drawn anything in a while

[holidaybrews]

bluffybbird oaaughhhhh dog

[orchidwilt]

what a time, what a time

(a song-inspired diary entry)

i feel a little nauseous and my hands are shaking

i see hundreds of cars every day working in the drive thru, and sure, every once in a while i’ll see the occasional dark red jeep that reminds me of yours. but i know it’s not your car, because it just never is. i thought you’d know better than to visit the store i worked at, but i guess you probably thought i wouldn’t be there, apparently we were both wrong.

but even though i know it’s not your car, my heart still flips at the sight. the idea of you coming through secretly excited me, i think some romantic part of me hoped you would try to remedy what you did while ordering some chicken.

i remember feeling scared too, like if you would pull through with a girl in your passenger seat or one of your friends that probably wouldn’t even know we knew each other. that’s how i would react realistically, i’d say, like a professional because i’m not getting paid to fulfill my personal vendetta i’m paid to take chicken orders.

i guess that means you’re close by

i saw the jeep roll around the corner far before you saw me i’m sure, and tried to will it to go into another lane so i wouldn’t have to think of it again. but of course, only two cars away was the owner of a crimson red jeep that was sincerely regretting his lane choice with every passing moment.

summer wind ripped through my hair and i straightened up, blinking surprise out of my eyes and tending to the car in front of me. but i knew what was happening, and ready or not you were going to have to talk to me.

my throat is getting dry and my heart is racing

the half second of eye contact we shared was enough to confirm my greatest fear as you stared straight at me. i wish your laser stare had disintegrated me, i really do.

i tried to stall the cars before you as i scrambled to think of how to handle this, but within minutes your tires rolled in front of my feet.

i haven’t been by your side in a minute 

i remember coming out of the dorm hallway through those double doors and down the steps to your tinted windows. but as soon as i tried the door i was met with your smiling face fucking with the locks, every single time. in the nights where i hadn’t smiled in hours and called you to cheer myself up, that stupid prank was usually the first thing to break my mood.

that feels so far away, i suppose now it has been 8 months. but when you came through 6 months ago, you showed me the pain of strangers, to lovers, to strangers again. 

i hate thinking about the way you looked at me. a icy blue wall of waiting for me to speak, lips pursed and eyebrows drawn. you were waiting for me to set the tone, but something in your eyes told me you already knew i wouldn’t pass this opportunity up. i had you trapped. i remember your eyes felt like you were monitoring my response to your presence. that pissed me off, how you ghosted me up until the very moment i had to make the first move.

but i think about it sometimes

“if you don’t have anything to say for yourself then go ahead and order.” my voice sounded strong, fueling to my anger above every other emotion. i pushed my panic down and took his order, a twinge of annoyance present in his tired voice. it made me angrier. i remember flicking his card from his hand, and firing some last remark before walking to my next car. 

each step sent me further into the sky, walking away from someone i used to value but no longer know. details flooded back to me, the freckles on your face and what hung from your rearview mirror. my brain rushed to update my now painful memories of you with more accurate descriptions of your voice and your eyes, and suddenly i was the one that felt trapped.

even though i know it’s not so distant

the panic demanded to be felt. icy blue memory broke my mental dam and i was a flood in a paper cup at the weeks of heartache and confusion i experienced a month before this horrible day. i got through three cars before my hands shook too much to take orders and my breathing in the summer heat was beginning to concern the guest. “take a minute,” she said, and i snapped my head up as i realized she was a real person and i needed to stop interacting with guests before i started crying.

i shoved my shit to my coworker and sped into the restaurant, past your car waiting for your food but i didn’t look back at you, i knew my face was heating up and my efforts were focused on walking tall in case you noticed. i doubt you did.

oh no i still want to reminisce it

i was especially grateful for storage closets for the first time in my life, but hating how my sister in law had to rub my sweaty, shaking back as i blubbered to her about having to take the order of someone from the list of people i never wanted to see again. despite her efforts i was done working for the day and wanted to go take a shower and pack a bowl to take my mind off of it. i’m grateful i was able to leave, less grateful for feeling like taking care of my mental state gave you power.

but i felt like it did. because i went home and told a friend, and just like tonight the memories of our friendship felt visceral in my mind. it bubbles up and i distract myself, but like that day i decided to embrace it tonight and write this clusterfuck of a tumblr post.

i think of the night in the park it was getting dark and we stayed up for hours

we were in your new car then, the brand new crimson jeep you prided yourself on, one hand at 12:00 wrapped loosely around your steering wheel. that was the night we came up with our handshake and i showed you photos of how pretty i could be--but we were just friends, it was just mindless flirting, right? that’s what i thought when we pulled into a neighborhood you dared not to visit since your ex from so many years ago lived here. but we pulled up anyway because i gave you the confidence to show me this ethereal lake you hyped up so much. “the perfect date spot” i thought mainly you showed it to me to brag about being a local.

it was the spot of some magical date with her, and i could soon see why. clamoring out of the car and into the midnight cool air, immediately regretting my thin leggings and letting you get a blanket from your trunk for me. it was rancid, but i was cold and something about the classic florida brush and trees walling off the forest intrigued me.

so we ducked into a seemingly random area of trees near the car and stumbled down some wooden “path”, flashlights dashing wildly to the woods as i freaked you out about animals to ease my own fears. when we finally broke into a clearing that felt straight out of the hunger games, pure moonlight shone in pearlescent blues to the grass below. and the stars, god, you would have never guessed we were standing in the middle of a suburbia in florida. I remember stopping to take it all in when you continued to walk, even before the dock I knew this night would have any girl of yours swooning.

not me, though. because we were just friends, and we were just driving somewhere to clear our heads from our own busy little worlds like we had so many times before. so i walked after you, closing the distance in fear of the neighbors up the hill behind us. and we walked onto the lone dock, overlooking a perfectly secluded lake, a thick tree line separating the tranquil scene from the interstate. it felt straight out of a john green book, and i thought you were going to try to kiss me. the stars over the water were rooting for us, i’m sure of it.

it’s what i thought would happen when we leaned against the wooden railing, and i told you how i felt like i failed as a daughter and a sister, but never as a friend. and how you know, and how much you cared for me and valued our unlikely friendship. we sat on the bench and i pulled my knees into my chest, the smelly blanket draped over me, and i wanted to rest my head on your shoulder. i wish you had tried to kiss me that night, something tells me i would have let you. and looking at it now, i wonder if it would’ve prevented or accelerated our fall from ethereal nights.

what a time, what a time, what a time,

i have the moment on stream clipped where you called and told me to meet you out, mainly to watch the conflict in my eyes and faint hurt from you ignoring me on my birthday thus far. i quickly end stream after that and sprinted a few blocks to the line you were in, and thus began our last night.

i didn’t think i would let it get that far when we were walking to your friend’s car after getting pissed off in the club and you asked if you looked good in your shirt, and i said yes without thinking. you got me good for admitting that one, you little shit. i sat in the drivers seat because it was the same make and model as my car, and we cranked the ac and pulled out a handle of pink whitney. that isn’t what i thought you meant by getting a drink from the car, by the way.

i wasn’t going to indulge you after being distant on my birthday, but i got bored of being sober and gulped it down like the best of them. i’m pretty glad i did, i think it added fuel to the fires. 

you asked to kiss me before i was drunk, and i said no. i said it was too soon, that i wanted to wait a little bit. i was echoing what i had said to my mom and my therapist about you, even though i didn’t really want to wait once i realized i liked you that night. and then we watched college kids stumble from club to club in college town, a typical friday night in the spring but watching it from a parked car somehow made it more glorious. it was helpful to watch something when you made me blush with sudden compliments, the streetlights and neon store fronts making it easier to talk somehow. 

you asked to kiss me again, and i told you on june 18th i’d kiss you but not before then, thinking that hopefully by then your friend will be away and we can pile memories to distance ourselves from how we met. it was almost a plan in my head i thought of for a while, this hope that by the summer everything would work out for us but i didn’t want a relationship before then. maybe that was trivial, but you almost agreed to it too. then pink whitney woke up something within me, and i realized you were right in front of me, looking at me like that and talking in that lower voice about how i was all you could think about. 

i can’t believe that even worked. i think i just wanted it to, wanted it to mean you thought about me even when i wasn’t drunk on my birthday wearing that in a locked car with my hot best friend. you wanted me there and then, so why resist someone i’ve gotten so close with?

our slowburn friendship finally got the better of us that night, no doubt aided with that adult pink lemonade we passed back and forth.

you clinged to my body like you wanted it forever

you had asked to kiss me again, this time i caught your smile with my lips, pulling on that shirt you did look good in and letting low flames flicker in my stomach. you brought your hand up to hold my head into yours, and only then did i realize my hands hadn’t appreciated their perfect compliment enough. our lips danced and pink whitney fizzed on our lips, a taste so delicious i couldn’t believe it took me this long to kiss you. my hands on the side of your neck then in your hair, pulling you in but matching your rhythm, every pressure and touch melting my judgement.

and then your phone went off, because i really am in a john green novel. it was your friend, marching back to his car with some random women i didn’t really want to meet. i think they were fates, shooing me off before i could make more memories that would come back to haunt me.

i remember stepping out of the car to leave and you hugged me, and i think part of my intoxicated brain knew this would be the last good night in a long time. i looked at you in the dark parking lot, the streetlights and storefronts painting the last mental picture i’d have of you smiling at me.

i ran home. with every step i began to lose my breathing, and by the time i got to the dorm i realized what i’d done and how irreparable it could be.

this thought haunts me. that when i got home, part of me knew everything would change for the worse. i cried because if you were like all the others you’d probably walk away at this point.

you said you wouldn’t but you did. and part of me knew you would. for one, you told me about girls for months and i knew you wanted to run or lie when things got complicated. for two, you were never one for keeping secrets from your friend, and i’m sure as soon as you told him what happened the two words for our terrible conclusion were spoken.

what a time, what a time, what a time,

i refused to believe i was right. i called you dozens of time, texted you more, tried to pull together the perfect words to get you to respond. it didn’t work, you never did. i don’t need to tell you that.

i cursed every color into my pillow, face beat red with disappointment and rage and desperation. i cried until my ribs folded up and bled, until i cried dust and my big heart couldn’t ache any more. 

every bone in me wants to spit at how i reacted to you leaving me, but in kinder moments i know you were just the perfect trigger to a manic episode waiting to happen. i was manic because you said you cared but apparently not that much, you said you wouldn’t leave like how i’ve been left before but you did. you were just a trigger, the exact way to unravel me again until i sunk through the floor and into the dirt.

every day that passed, every missed call and unanswered text sent another pang into my heart, another reminder that you really didn’t care. that i was the last to figure it out, and it showed with every embarrassing fail to talk to you. i wish you had just blocked me. it would have been kinder. i wish you had just sent those two words even, i feel like my dumbass would have realized much sooner.

for you and i

but hey that’s bro code  ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

[thelmworkspace]

Feeling Better– Seungcheol x Reader

Hi, all! Thank you for all the love on the Woozi fic I posted a few weeks back. I wanted to introduce myself briefly! My name’s Lily (she/her) and I love to self-indulge with writing sometimes. Here is some Seungcheol comfort and the rest of the boys being cuties for everyone :) Let me know if you have any ideas you’d like to see!

Warnings: being sick, alluding very vaguely to throwing up 

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Ever the confident, sure of himself, optimistic, and resourceful, Seungcheol projected himself as calm and collected to his members, his coworkers, and to you. It was one of the things that had initially drawn you to him. He was a constant steadying force in your life, even when he was feeling anxious and overwhelmed himself. As a leader, he always tried to keep his worries to himself in order to take care of the other guys. They almost never saw him shook up, although there were some exceptions, especially when it came to you.

It was a Monday and the guys had come in early to run some choreography. Seungcheol had noticed you’d been a bit off over the weekend, not your normal self. You had said you felt a little under the weather, but nothing too bad. When Monday morning rolled around, however, Cheol could tell something was wrong. “Babe,” he nudged your knee slightly under your shared covers while you looked over emails on your phone, “are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to see if I can stay home?” 

“No, no, I’m fine it’s just a stomach ache,” you grimaced a bit, pausing in typing out an email response to a coworker. Seungcheol sighed, placing a hand on your head and smoothing down you hair, unconvinced. “Okay, stay in bed for a bit,” he mumbled, reluctantly leaving your bed to get ready for practice. A few minutes later he walked back into your bedroom, a glass of water for you in hand. You hadn’t moved much from the position he left you in, but your hands were pressed into your brow and your head was bent downward. Hearing him walk in, you looked up and met his gaze. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital? You know I don’t mind being late,” he raised his eyebrows at you, moving to set the water on your bedside table. “I’m fine I just didn’t sleep well,” you said, quickly adding, “I have work to do, shoo” and reaching out to push him towards the door playfully. He holds onto your outstretched hand, though. “Try to eat something and call me if you need anything,” he says, pressing a kiss to your hair before heading out for the day.

A couple hours later, Seungcheol and the other guys were still running choreography, all the details taking a little longer than expected. A secretary popped their head into the room, looking around for Seungcheol. When he meets his eyes Cheol makes his way across the room to him, a little confused at the interruption. “Sorry to interrupt, I have a ‘Y/N’ in the lobby for Seungcheol?” the man asks, keeping his voice low. Despite the effort, all the member’s heads snap to the door– you never make such a formal entrance. Dokyeom almost starts to laugh before seeing all of the color drain out of Cheol’s face and his back stiffen. His mind jumped immediately trying to work through why you didn’t just call, if you were okay, feeling guilty for not insisting he stayed home with you. He knew you wouldn’t just show up unannounced unless something was really wrong. All twelve of the other men felt his shift in mood, but Jeonghan spoke first, reaching out to grab his elbow, “is everything okay?” Cheol’s eyes shifted to Jeonghan’s, noticeably panicked, “she was sick this morning but seemed okay when I left, I don’t know if-” 

“I’m sure she’s okay, hyung,” Wonwoo interrupted him, noticing Cheol’s volume raise as he kept talking. He turned back to the secretary, still waiting in the doorway and looking incredibly unsure of what to do, “Could you bring her up, please?” he asked before walking over to Cheol’s stuff and grabbing his water bottle for him. A hush had fallen over the room– the guys didn’t have much experience comforting a shook-up Seungcheol. “Hyung, she was sick?” Dokyeom asked, “I’m sure she just doesn’t feel good and missed you!” he laughed slightly, trying to raise the mood. The guys nodded, agreeing and throwing “don’t worries” his way as they went to grab their phones or water, gladly accepting the impromptu break. 

A knock on the door signaled your arrival a few moments later, the secretary opening the door for you and quickly retreating as you thanked him quietly. “Y/N-ah” Seungkwan called out quietly in greeting, earning a glare from Jeonghan. Seungcheol took a couple big, rushed steps towards you. You were in the comfiest sweatpants and hoodie you could find, the hood pushed up over your unbrushed hair and makeup-less face, and just your phone and keys in your front pocket. Cheol’s left hand found your shoulder, his right pushing the hood off of you and cradling the back of your head. You give him a futile smile, knowing before you even started shifting your face that it won’t convince him. “Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?” he whispered, lowering his head slightly to meet your tired eyes. You looked down, avoiding his eyes out of embarrassment for interrupting his and all the other guys’ work . “I’m sorry,” you started, feeling Cheol automatically tighten his grip on you, “I feel awful and I haven’t been keeping anything down and I’m afraid I’m gonna get dehydrated. I wasn’t sure I should go to the hospital so I thought maybe I could see one of the medics here?” Cheol had brought you to one of them once before when you’d twisted your ankle badly in a pair of heels. He could see how uncomfortable you were, heart breaking a bit knowing you felt so crappy. He pulled you into his chest, hand still holding the back of your head protectively. “Why didn’t you call?” he mumbled, “You know you can always call.” 

“I know,” you said into his chest, “but I thought you would be in a meeting by now and I figured having you excuse yourself for a minute would be more professional than having your phone go off.” Despite his nerves still calming down from the panic he felt a few minutes ago, he let out a broken laugh. “You’re so funny, you think too much.”

As he lets you out of his embrace, Jeonghan extends a water bottle to your side, “here you go, Y/N- ah.” You smile up at him, feeling tears well up in your eyes involuntarily. Both men notice, Seungcheol concerned and Jeonghan smiling at your sudden emotion, “are you okay?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so tired and I really don’t feel good. I cry easily when I’m sick,” you sniffle, trying to push your tears back and letting out a choked giggle. Seungkwan and Dokyeom let out audible “aww’s” at you from across the room, making you laugh a little more. “Okay, you, let’s get you to the medic,” Seungcheol wraps a protective hand around your waist and steers you out of the room. “I’ll be back,” he says, followed by your rushed “I’m so sorry, guys” before you’re ushered into the hallway. 

Fifteen or so minutes later, you try your best to sneak back into the practice room, Seungcheol holding your hand behind your back and following you in. You stand against the edge of the room for a minute before he lead you towards his bag on the other side of the room, letting you sit down next to his stuff and handing you your half empty water bottle. The guys were all focused on going over a particularly intricate hand movement, but stop when Cheol walks over to join them, looking at him expectantly for an update. “They gave her an IV for hydration. She’s gonna hang out until we’re done and then I’m taking her home.” The guys’ eyes shift to you, your back leaned up against the mirrored wall and head tucked far into your hoodie. “I’m sorry!” you say to the room, a whine in your voice to indicate that you feel horrible about your interruption. They shush you, Seungkwan rolling his eyes playfully, “as if we don’t love having you here no matter what, Y/N.” You smile up at them from the floor, eyes meeting Cheol’s and finally feeling a little better.

[titilationexpress]

StarscreamxReader-Sweet Dreams are made of Screams Ch.1

First ever lemon. Please give your input. Reposting from my Ao3.

You haven’t been able to sleep properly for weeks now. And frankly, you’re wondering if you ever will again in your lifetime.

Yet what caused you to have such a problem with something that once came to you so easily? Ok, maybe not easily. No, scratch that. It was never easy. You had to take some sleeping pills every night to even get a few hours in. Still, how did it happen?

Well, the trouble had started back not long ago. In fact, from what you could recall, it hadn’t even been a full month before your ‘problem’ started. See, you were a fairly average individual. You had your quirks, your habits, the little things that make each person an individual. One particular interest you had though was quite specific, and even more, came from a decade long before you were born.

Transformers.

Oh yes, your beginnings were humble when you first started with the franchise, and you looked with wide, awe-filled eyes. Your starting place was where you first discovered it, the one show that will remain in your heart forever. From that, you got into the characters, the story, the lore of what started as a toyline for young boys (though it was clear now that both sexes had a love for it), all of it. And from there, you went on to past and future generations from your starting point, and now, you were a certified Transformers fan! Hell, one of your favorite sites ever is TFWiki.

With this entrance into the fandom, you took to devouring everything that you could: the cartoons and animes, the books, the movies, fanfiction, fanart, fan comics, doujinshi, anything and everything that you could get your hands on, you did. And not long after, you began contributing yourself, drawing, writing, whatever you could to make your stand and have your place in the community. At first, it worked well enough, you weren’t exactly prolific, yet you were doing well enough. You managed to get a few requests for certain things to be drawn/written, believe it or not, but still, you weren’t overly big.

And then came your discovery of the Reader genre.

What is the Reader genre? Why, as far as you were concerned, only one of the greatest genres ever to be conceived! Well, to be more accurate, the form of writing wasn’t anything new, remembering the ‘Choose Your Adventure’ books. It seemed said genre now spread everywhere, you being very aware of the numerous games and dating sims that ranged from well done and engaging to outright ridiculous and stupid (but those were fun in their unique way). And since you didn’t have any knowledge or time to do that, you settled for writing them yourself. Your first piece was a simple Optimus x Reader with the standard plot and standard outcome, which was a declaration of love and a resulting kiss with the Autobot Leader. You were NOT expecting the overflow of response that it had gotten. You were quite shocked, but at the same time, overjoyed. Soon, you decided to try your luck with another one, this one being of Bumblebee, the scenario being mostly the same, albeit with a bit more cutesy fluff, as in your mind, Bumblebee was always the little guy. This one was just as successful, and you beamed, having finally found your calling.

Since then, you were getting requests left and right for more and more choices, all spanning different universes. From the animated cartoons to the comics, different universes, everything that spanned from the most well-known incarnations to the more obscure. It was through these that you managed to get even more into the Transformers multiverse as a whole and even discovered some truly overlooked gems. You opened yourself up to the people and declared that you would write whatever they requested, but you had some taboos that you wouldn’t touch. But any scenario, character, and universe, all of that was fair game.

You had originally begun working on more mundane, typical stories with expected outcomes (but sweet ones nonetheless), yet over time, the requests and your imagination began getting more creative and crazy. Soon, you were delving into several different areas that you had never touched. Elves, goblins, mermaids, vampires, forbidden love, love triangles, all of these were laid at your feet. And while it took a bit to find your rhythm, all of this having come on you so fast, you eventually got it and soon, you had a wide collection of X Reader stories, ranging from G1 to Prime and IDW’s run.

You mainly did Autobots, for you had to admit that writing for them, while they were still complex characters, came somewhat easier for you. True, each of them had their faults and quirks (both from canon and headcanons people had come up with), yet they were still the good guys, and even those with more questionable morality still came out as heroes in the end. But then one day came where you were asked to write about a Decepticon. This threw you for a loop, as, while the thought had intrigued you, you had been writing for good guys for some time, so a total shift in direction was somewhat off-putting and scary. Possibilities of it being too saccharine or sweet, or getting the characters wrong or out of character scared you a bit, yet still, you wanted to test the waters and see if you could do it. And if you could, this would open up so much more for you.

And judging from the input, you had just struck gold yet again.

Soon, not only were you flooded with requests for Autobots, but now their foes were also available, and, as you found out, people had just as much an attraction for the darkness as they did for the light. Again, the same scenarios were implemented, yet now, they had something of a darker edge to them, which allowed you to explore some subjects you couldn’t touch with the Autobots without toning it back somewhat. In a way, the Decepticons provided you with more freedom. Ironic, seeing as Megatron’s motto was “Peace through Tyranny.”

That said, you went through the list of available characters throughout the generations, and so far, those had been garnering quite a following as well, your Autobot and Decepticon stories neck and neck in popularity. Everything seemed to be going well for you.

Then that one question came.

‘Hey, where’s Starscream?’

Then another.

‘Could you write one about Starscream?’’

Then another.

‘Hey, hate to bother you, yet I think that Starscream could use some love here.’

More and more questions and requests for the particular Decepticon filled your messages, and frankly, you were at a loss on what to do. Truth be told, you and Starscream had something of a complicated history. When you had gotten into Transformers, you had heard of the character, yet at first, you never saw why he had gained such a large fanbase. True, he wasn’t a bad character, yet he wasn’t your favorite. But over time, as you wrote more and more for the Decepticons, as well as read X Reader stories from other people, you slowly began to, as one would say, gain an interest in the winged robot. And soon, you found yourself enamored by the smug jerk as well.

But this only made you reluctant to write for him.

True, when you started writing for the Decepticons, you were allowed to experiment with some more intimate and extreme situations, yet with Starscream...it was different. It was hard to explain, yet whenever you got a request to write for him, your brain seemed to seize up. Thoughts came to your head that you had tried to banish, thoughts that came every time you saw the Seeker’s name. You had no idea what was going on or why this was so difficult, yet it seemed the Silver Snake had taken to making your fingers not touch the keyboard.

You had no idea at all. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

And since you had gotten the slew of requests, your sleep problems began. The moment you shut your eyes, the scenario began all over again.

…

You needed no introduction to where you were or what you were seeing, it all quite familiar to you now. Around you were towering walls of a silvery mauve color, the only available light from above sparse and leaving several areas coated in darkness. This place was all too familiar, for you had seen it many times in your watching and reading of Transformers.

You were in Decepticon headquarters.

Your dreams had been filled with the base of the enemy faction of the Autobots, and at first, it had shocked you as to why you were here at all. But over time, night after night, you came here, and soon, you grew accustomed to the sight of it. You took on the form of your Transformers persona/OC or remained in your regular, human form, whatever pleased you as if you had some control over this environment. Yet as you grew more familiar (you were never sure if you’d be comfortable), you began to explore the place, finding that, to your surprise, there was no one here. No signs of any sort of life aboard the ship, and while it took a good while, you traveled everywhere you could think of, and still, nothing. No Megatron, no other Decepticons, no one but you had been aboard.

At least, that was what you believed when you first had this dream. Then, you heard it. The voice. His voice.

“Oooh, I’m the Boogie Man,”

Singing, serenading, just loud enough for you to hear, yet low enough for you to know it was far away. It always started this way.

“The terrible, horrible Boogie Man,”

Your ears/audio receptors registered the voice as it echoed throughout the ship. When the dreams had begun, you knew immediately who was singing, and then you were more surprised at how it sounded. Sure, it had its infamous high pitch, yet it wasn’t bad to listen to. Daresay, it was rather enjoyable in its own way.

“I come in the middle of the night and frighten bad little girls like you.”

The first few times you had this dream, it would almost always startle you, yet it led you to look down the other balls and corridors of the ship. The results were always the same though: no one was aboard. No one but you...and him.

“Beware, better have a care,”

The song changed each and every time you entered the dream, tonight being a track you heard on a video game you played not too long ago (Bioshock 2 you believed). Yet the songs always had the same effect on you.

“I’m going to follow you everywhere.”

Despite your trepidation, you wanted...needed to follow it.

“I crawl through the ceiling and the wall and call on bad little girls like you.”

Walking, then running, you traversed the winding path before you, taking several left and right turns, having no sense of direction but that voice. A voice that, despite its infamous sound, held power to it, a siren’s song in a way. Ironic, you thought. Still, you followed, for you had reached your limit. You knew what would happen if you didn’t find him.

“I’ll torture you and hunt you,”

And never leave.

I’ve got you where I want you,”

And never let you escape this dream.

“A victim of my dark and dirty plot.”

And he knew it too. He knew he had power over you. And you hated it.

“And at the slightest whim, I’ll tear you limb from limb,”

Or…

“In other words, I’ll put you on the spot.”

Did you?

“Oooh, I’m the Boogie Man,”

You were close. So dangerously close.

“The terrible, horrible Boogie Man.”

Just a turn around the corner.

“I come in the middle of the night and frighten…”

He paused, you stopping in your tracks at what you saw. There he was. Situated behind violet bars of energy in a cell, the Decepticon stood there with his arms folded and looking upon you with satisfied, hungry red eyes.

“...bad little girls like you.”

It was him.

Starscream.

Your favorite incarnation of Starscream, those ruby orbs boring into your own eyes/optics. You stepped back from the cell, eyes/optics wide at what was before you. Sure, if you were to go by dream logic, some part of you always knew that it was ‘him’ that awaited you at the end of this journey, but still, to actually see him, standing there so casually when it looked like he was locked up, it chilled you. As if he had absolutely nothing to worry about.

“My, my, so you finally found me,” he said, his voice perfectly matching the incarnation that stood before you. “Or rather, I found you. Whichever way it goes, it doesn’t matter,” he smirked. “For I already know the outcome.”

You blinked a few times, still trying to see if who was before you had truly been there. “St…” you began nervously. “Starscream?”

The Decepticon chuckled and stepped out of the shadows, allowing you to fully see him. “In the mesh,” he said. “And I see that introductions won’t need to be made either, will they, Y/N?” your eyes/optics went wide. “That’s right, pet, I know everything. This IS your mind after all.”

“Wh-What?” you stammered. “I don’t understand.”

Starscream’s grin only grew wider. “You will soon. You will understand EVERYTHING.”

Just what was he talking about? From the looks of it, he seemed to be enjoying your tension and trepidation, very amused. Your mind went into fan mode, recalling every fact you had known of Starscream and his various incarnations, which then led to you going on the defensive. “You…” albeit, it took you a try or two. “You’re the one that’s been doing this to me. Giving me these...these weird dreams.” the Decepticon didn’t answer, yet it was clear that he already knew that the secret was out (even if it wasn’t much of one). “You’re also the one that’s not letting me have one decent night’s sleep without being trapped here!”

“Or me serenading you?” he added in. “How do you like it? I don’t do it often, yet if I wish, I can stretch out my vocal components if I want.”

Your cheeks grew hot. Damn, this bastard was already making you too wound up, and you had only gotten a few words in! “Well...I’m here now,” you said, trying to sound confident, and, ironically enough, trying to channel Megatron’s dominating aura. “So, what do you want?”

This didn’t phase him in the slightest. Despite him being the one locked up, you were the one who felt like his prisoner. “I think you already know that dear Y/N,” he said. “But to put it simply, I’m feeling left out.”

You were confused. “Left out?” You asked. “Left out of…” you paused. Indeed, you knew well what he was talking about. “My...my reader inserts.”

Starscream nodded. “Quite an extensive library you’ve built up over time.” He told you. “Though your choices could be much better.” he scoffed. “Of course goody-good Prime would be on the list, along with the rest of the Auto-dolts.” Then he grimaced. “Yet there are those that actually want to FRAG Megatron? Ugh! No taste at all!” He then looked back at you. “You’ve written for everyone, from either faction, of every series,” he then pouted. “But none for me. Truly, Y/N, I’m hurt.”

You felt quite awkward. True, while you were known online for your stories, it was your username and persona they were seeing. They weren’t someone that was right around the corner that could walk in and see you writing these things. While you loved doing it, the thought of your family or friends discovering you wrote in this genre was a thought you dared not entertain, as you swore that you’d die from embarrassment. Thus, you were very careful whenever you did it, your room completely locked tight so you could focus without fear of someone barging in. The only times you left during your writing periods were for bathroom breaks and/or to eat/drink something. It was a big secret...and thinking about it now, it was a secret no more to the most infamous backstabber in all of Transformers. You had been found out.

“Well...so what? Are you going to keep haunting me until I do?” you asked. “You can’t do that!”

Starscream didn’t seem phased by this at all. That damned smirk of his both frustrated and made you excited, a combination that left you very unsure. “Can’t I?” he asked.

You didn’t like his tone. “What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s consider for a moment, Y/N,” he said. “You believe that I’m merely a figment of your imagination, yes? A stubborn thought that is lodged in your subconscious. Am I right?” you shifted a bit, knowing well what he was saying would lead to something else. Something that probably would flip everything on its head. “Well...who’s to say that I am?”

“I...I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. But what I say might just jog your memory.” he then went on. “In your last X Reader, you spoke of multiple versions of the characters, such as Prime and...yes, even Megatron,” Starscream scoffed. “And how it would’ve been peculiar if they met. Then, one of your readers linked you to a page on the TFWiki.” Starscream then chuckled. “Quite an array of knowledge, I must say. Especially for a primitive species such as yourselves. Anyway, said page spoke of what is labeled as the Transformers Multiverse, which, if I may say, is an excuse for you all to toy with and shape us into what YOU want. But back on track, you did a small amount of research on that, then went on about your business.”

“...and what does this have to do with why you’re here?”

Starscream smirked. “Then, after some time, you went and read the entries of me from various series and incarnations. To get a better feel for what you were thinking of writing. What you wanted to write. Only, you never did.” You were about to speak again, but the seeker spoke again before you could. “There was one detail from my earliest incarnation that spoke of a ‘ghost’, an immortal spark that couldn’t be snuffed out. One that could travel through space and time.” He drew closer to the bars. “And then discovered a way to travel through dimensions. Wherein, I found out all about how so many humans have seen my reality behind a television screen.”

What was he talking about? What did any of what he said mean? It was then that it all clicked for you. Sparks were essentially the ‘soul’ of a Transformer, which Starscream’s was indestructible. You read that he made an appearance in Beast Wars, and had made cameos elsewhere. What was before you right now...mere feet away…” Are you.. “ you stammered. “Are you really…”

The Decepticon nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am, Y/N.”

You were left speechless. No. No, this...this was impossible. It...it couldn’t be him! It couldn’t be the REAL Starscream! He was a cartoon, no, a toy! A damn toy! A toy from the eighties that were made to be marketable to young boys (and the girls that were secretly into it) among several other toys that were made be marketable to young boys (and again, the girls that were secretly into it)! There was NO way he was in your mind right now! He wasn’t real! He wasn’t real! He wasn’t-

“You step out into the chilled air, wrapping your arms around yourself as you do.” the Decepticon suddenly began. “He’s there to pick you up. He’s there to pick you up. You’re both terrified and exhilarated, eager to start the night, but also to make it fly by just enough so nothing embarrassing would happen between the two of you.” your jaw dropped when you heard him say that. How did he- “Know that you recently read over your very first entry? The one that started it all?” he then ‘rolled’ his eyes. “The one that clearly displayed that you had little taste at first?”

Of course, you did! That was from your very first X Reader story! It told of Optimus Prime and you, a human, in a relationship. Odd start, you knew, especially given that Transformer x Human relations was sort of controversial, yet overall, it wasn’t a bad one. Still, the fact he knew that…” No.” you said aloud. “It can’t be.”

He smiled. “I am.”

You stepped back until you hit a wall. “S-Starscream.” you stuttered. “You’re him. You’re the...the real one.” he was quite satisfied with your reaction, you clearly flustered yet cautious at the same time. The sensation drove you mad. But then you remember, this was just a dream! You were just making up all this stuff! You were relieved by this revelation...yet at the same time, you were...curious. Just where would this go if you continued? “Well...well, what are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Exactly as I said before, I feel left out,” Starscream told you. “And considering my popularity in this universe, I’d think me being here should tell you something.”

You knew what he wanted. “You want me to write about you.” it was obvious. “I-I know. I mean, I’ve been wanting to. Really, I have. But...but I...I just…” you sighed. If you knew Starscream (and you had at least a decent enough faith you did), you knew that this could potentially earn you his anger. Yet, to your surprise, he didn’t try to order you around. Instead, he seemed like he already knew you were going to say that.

“You can’t,” he said for you. “Understand, I’m the one in YOUR mind. Thus, you could say, I know everything about you. A perk of being something that, in this universe, started out as a drawing on a piece of paper.” you were confused, this seemed to humor Starscream even more. “Oh, come now. Surely you know that concept art exists, right?”

All of this was so insane for you, yet it was then that you felt the urge to speak up and say something for yourself for once. “Well, if you’re here from the...well, YOUR universe, what are you doing here in the first place?”

“Why, this is one of the few places I win!” Starscream exclaimed. “Of course, when I first came here, I was quite perplexed about how I and many others were known as products from a company called ‘Hasbro’. But overtime, I discovered your version of the internet, and, well, as you flesh bags say, the rest is history.” he then continued, not giving you a chance to speak. “And bring that I am an idea in this universe, I can go freely as I wish, peering into minds,” his red eyes looked upon you. “Become one’s permanent muse or vice versa.”

God, you felt weird. You felt so confused and conflicted. You wanted to sink into the wall to get away, but you also wanted to know more about this. You had to know more. You needed to know more. “So…?”

“So, I’ve come to you, as you’re truly in need of some inspiration,” Starscream said. “As well as some changes in your thinking.”

“Like what? Worshiping the ground you walk on?” you ask, feeling a little bolder.

“Oh, you already do.” he said. “If you didn’t desire me, I wouldn’t be here.” he grinned at your shocked expression. “That’s right, Y/N, I know what truly holds you back from writing about me. Your fears, your anxieties, your loves and lusts.” you had no words. “You fear that you may get me wrong if you will. That I won’t be in character. Or you fear that you won’t be able to satisfy the wants of your readers, as I AM so highly anticipated. Or…” he leaned closer to the bars, the only barrier separating you two. “You fear exploring those more intimate pleasures with me. You’re intimidated and unsure. After all, writing for Autobots is easy, yet us Decepticons are more difficult. But it HAS awakened things in you that you wish to explore on either side. Things that you are dying to let out.”

You had no words, he was completely right. Damn him! The smug bastard knew he had you in the palm of his hand...and yet also probably knew that’s what made you so hot and bothered right now! “So...what? Are you here to force me to write those things with you in them?”

“Dear Y/N, I can’t technically make you do anything,” Starscream told you. “Oh yes, I can stay and torment you night after night until either I pass onto another universe or I grow bored of you, but my reason being here is for both our benefits.”

“How?”

“It’s quite simple,” he said. “We shall go through those scenarios in your head.” his ruby red optics bore into yours/your eyes. “Together.” he then reached out from in between the bars and traced a digit around your jawline. “Believe it or not, I want to help you, Y/N.” his voice was smooth and sultry, something you never expected from a voice like his. “But only you can allow me to do so.” he then stepped back from the bars. “This prison of mine is something you’ve constructed from your fears and insecurities. Allow yourself to embrace what you fear…” he then extended his hand again, yet stepped back as well, sinking into the darkness. “Only then, will you truly be free.”

You were at a standstill. You knew what he wanted, and, to your horror, you were wanting to give it to him. Deny it all you want, this was something that had been in your mind ever since you got the first request for the Seeker. You approached the bars, trying to get some sign that he was still there. Surely he hadn’t left you, had he? No, he hadn’t. He was still there, you could feel him. Watching, waiting, and perhaps, knowing what you would do before you did.

Yet would you do it? Would you bite into that forbidden fruit?

Some while after pondering this question, you looked at the cell, the energy bars vanishing. Why fight it when you could already taste the sweet tartness of said fruit in the back of your throat?

[enternalempires]

Downfall of a Liar

This is a Lukanette fic. Some fluff, some angst, a lot of salt and Luka being a King of Revenge. You all get to see the more conniving part of our snake boi. Hope you enjoy! Haven’t figured out how to use links yet but my Ao3 username is the same. Basically,  Lila Rossi has gone too far and Luka Couffaine is going to do something about it. He is, after all, a Couffaine… a little chaos never frightened him.

Marinette came to him on a Friday afternoon with sad eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Her knees were bleeding and her wrists were bruised, hair messy and lip busted. Her dress was ruined with an ugly paint smear and her stockings underneath were ripped.

“I fell down the stairs,” She told him, looking away. “I didn’t mean to. I must’ve fallen into some paint.”

Luka didn’t believe this.

The wobble in her voice and the unsteady way she had stumbled right into his chest when she saw him was not the actions of a girl used to her own clumsy feet. Marinette was a strong girl and he knew how much of a burden was placed onto her shoulders. She did not crack easily and she did not do it over being a klutz or smudged paint. She did not cry over repairable things, over broken nails or washable clothes. She did not come to him looking upset and watery-eyed without feeling one step from breaking.

These were things he knew.

So, after calming her down and getting her to take a shower, offering her clean clothes and a warm bed, and letting the girl he fell in love with fall asleep on his chest to the sound of his heartbeat, he did some digging.

He went to his sister first and found out the real story.

Marinette was in the art workshop, Mrs. Bustier having set up a lesson in there during the last hour of the day, with the other members of the band as she helped Nathan and Marc on their story.

She was honestly just being nice— as Jules explained— then the bitch, his sister’s respective name for Lila, sauntered into the room and started to wail about how Mari was only helping the two co-creators because she wanted the credit for their work.

The girl he fell in love with defended herself, and her friends did the same but with most of the Akuma class— excluding the band members and Nathaniel— having fallen for her tails of woe and amazing, yet false, life experiences, they sided with the liar instead of Mari.

Then, throughout the rest of the class, the bitch found ways to terrorize Marinette (going as far and tripping her and cutting her dress with scissors, dropping her paint onto her, pushing her into things, or slamming different objects onto her wrists) and then blame her for getting in the way.

Juleka and Rose had helped Marinette calm down a little as the girl broke into tears as soon as they were away from the rest of the Akuma class but she just kept panicking— and ran away. They didn’t know where she ended up until he texted them and asked.

Then Luka asked for Alya Cesiare’s phone number and made an unsettling discovery.

Marinette and the blogger were no longer best friends.

And, horrifyingly, she had been accused of being a bully, a liar, and a manipulator. Lila painted his melody in the way that everyone should view her instead.

Finally he created a group chat with a few allies he could trust.

He contacted Adrien Agreste (because even if the boy had been painfully oblivious that Marinette had once been in love with him, he would do anything for his lady), Kagami Tsurigi and her girlfriend and spoiled brat, Chloe Bourgeois, the boyfriends Marc and Nate, and then the rest of his band.

He named it ‘The Marinette Protection Squad’ and, just like that, the war was on its way.

*-*-*

Lila Rossi was waiting in the back of the school by herself when Luka arrived. He found her hidden between one of the walls and a thick oak tree and he didn’t bother to hide himself as he crossed the grounds over to her.

She saw him, surprise lighting her features for a second before it shifted into a— what he would guess, if it wasn't on someone so repulsive— a seductive smile.

“Luka!” She squealed, sauntering up to him and stopping a few feet away. “How are you, sweetheart? It’s been forever since we saw each other, since your last year in Lycee, right?”

“I don’t care,” Luka took a step back, face emotionless as he looked down at her. His eyes gave away nothing as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’ve made a lot of people angry, Lila.”

“A-Angry?” She stammered, feigning innocence by putting her hands over her heart with too wide of eyes to be real. “Why would they be angry with me?”

“Because you’re a liar and you hurt the people they care about— you hurt the person I care about.”

“Oh,” Lila straightened her back. “You must be talking about my bully.”

“Your bully?” Luka scoffed, less than amused. “Sure, I’ll play along for a minute. Who is your bully.”

“She’s... s-she is Marinette,” The liar sniffles. “And she says such horrible things about me and they’re not true! She pushes me and, and she rips up my homework and she insults me. Whatever you heard isn’t true, I swear!”

“Are you done?” He sighed out, shrugging his shoulders to make them relax more. “You’re a lying bitch, I get it. I’m not here to let you try to sink your claws under my skin, not that it would work, I’m here to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?” Lila asks, voice going a bit nastier than she probably intended.

What a two-faced bitch.

“That you should watch your back,” He says simply, turning slightly to walk back to his house. “You pushed a lot of people into your enemy list by threatening Marinette and now you’re about to face the consequences. It’s only fair to give you a head’s up.”

“Marinette,” she shrieks, “is nothing but a liar and a horrible person—”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, no matter what anyone says, is the kindest person you will ever meet,” Luka snarled, whirling on the sausage-haired girl so fast that she stumbled back, unprepared. “And I’m hers. You hurt the wrong person, you egocentric bitch, and you’re going to pay for it.”

Lila gaped for a second before she forced an innocent look on her face, mouth opening to say something but the musician just continued, eyes hard and narrowed and angry, mouth drawn into a tight line.

He was a generally calm person, he could handle a lot before ever blowing a fuse. Because he was also a Couffaine at heart. He thrived in chaos where others wither and when it came to those he loved, nothing would stop him from protecting them.

Especially when the one he loved and had to defend was the girl he fell in love with.

“She is thoughtful and compassionate and selfless and astounding in how she will push herself to the knife’s edge just to make sure her loved ones are okay. She is a cinnamon roll but the fiercest ally you could ever have. There is no stopping her, there is no convincing her to step down when she’s standing up for something that’s right— when she’s standing up for someone, unless that someone is herself.”

He took a step closer and, well, that must’ve been pretty intimidating because she scrambled to take one back, causing a humorless chuckle to leave his lips.

He was his mother’s son but he had enough of his father in him to leave others terrified.

“And you want to convince me that just because you have the Akuma class, Mlle. Bustier, and M. Damocles so far up your ass that people will hate her? Really? Let me tell you something, sweetheart," He gave a cruel smirk, voice mocking as he repeated what she called him earlier. “This isn’t you and all your puppets against Marinette, it’s now you against the entire school. You might pretend to rule this place but she is the one who everyone looks up to and loves. She’s their sunshine child and leader and she has connections everywhere. She knows people that could make your life a living hell and it is her kindness alone that has spared you in the past. And you should have cut your losses when you had the chance because I, however, am not as kind. You declared war, Mlle. Rossi, do not be surprised when your downfall comes knocking on your door.”

With that and smirking at the ugly glare on her face, Luka saunters away, whistling a happy tune despite how tightly his fists are clenched inside his pockets.

It’s a week later when they make the first move.

Ivan and Rose, because despite her size she puts up one hell of a fight, are Marinette’s bodyguards during school. They prevent her from getting hurt while Mylene, Marc, and Nate make sure to record anything and everything Lila does that’s incriminating towards her reputation. 

Juleka is on sabotage duty during school to make sure any plans backfire onto the bitch while Adrien is the distraction. Both were excellent at their job. Almost scarily good.

Outside of school Kagami and Luka strategize and come up with plans to make sure anything Lila says can be used against her. They organize groups and make sure that Marinette and her family doesn’t get bothered by Lila or any of her followers.

One by one more people in the school help. Marinette’s friends from different classes going from the highest grade level to the first year students at Lycee all jump in when needed— when they overhear a lie and debunk it by pulling up proof or contacting the people involved directly (Marinette isn’t the only one with contacts).

One by one Lila is getting more isolated, one by one she’s losing her power.

And it’s so satisfying to see that Luka goes to sleep laughing.

It’s not even a full month before the Akuma class had fully left Lila’s side, the last to turn was Alya— the reporter so distraught over how she realized she had been treating her former best friend that she had a mental breakdown.

It was a month on the dot when Honeybee and Ryuko got video footage of Lila snatching one of Hawkmoth’s butterflies from the air with a wide grin and a “What can I do for you today, boss?” and it was a week later when her life got ruined.

(Marinette was so overjoyed that the constant terror— in her civilian— life was going away that she kissed Luka until their lungs ached and, just like that, Luka got revenge and a girlfriend in one sweep.

And that girlfriend was very, very grateful for it too. Most nights he went to bed with bruise-kissed lips and a beautiful girl in his arms. Marinette looked happier than she did in years and all the planning and frustration melted away when he saw her wake up with a smile.

He couldn’t protect her when she was fighting an Akuma but he’s proved more than enough times that he could protect her when she goes back to having two left feet.)

First she got expelled from her Lycee for false accusations, thief, bullying, and cheating. 

Then her lies— ever last one of them— were exposed and her mother was informed about what her daughter was up to and even waved her daughter’s diplomatic immunity— being absolutely disgusted with her daughter’s behavior— when the court cases of people suing her for fraudulence, harassment, threats, attempted murder, and acts of terroism.

Last, but not least, Lila was banned from Paris and all the cases stacked up against her were moved to a different court within France so they wouldn’t even have to see her again.

Though they did see her screaming and shrieking and snarling towards Luka as he joyfully waved at her when the bitch was getting dragged to the back of a cop car, “You! You did this! You made this all happen! I’m going to get you back for this, Couffaine, I swear I’m going to get you!”

She seemed absolutely insane, drool going down her chin from how hard she had been yelling, eyes frantic and face flushed and she jerked like a wild animal trying to get out of her cuffs and the officer’s hands that held her back from attacking the young musician.

He was a Couffaine and this chaos made him delighted to witness.

After all, it’s not everyday you get to see the downfall of the bitch who made the love of your life miserable.

Luka just laughed and sent her a cocky wave, “I look forward to it, sweetheart.”

Well… you can’t say she wasn’t warned.

[vanderlindemorgans]

Cross My Heart (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings are as follows - mentions of alcohol, descriptions of blood, Whiskey being a bit of an ass and some brief talk of dead relatives. 

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You watched him as he settled himself back down into the couch, taking note of every breath he took while he reclined back, refusing to look you straight in the eye. That didn’t bother you too much - you were too busy studying the myriad of bruises and cuts splayed along his body, from the tears and scuffs in his denim jacket to taking note of his perfectly maintained Stetson. How on Earth that thing had managed to escape from whatever situation Jack had gotten himself into unscathed mystified you, but from what you remembered of him you knew he loved that damn hat to death. 

Neither of you had said a word to each other since he stumbled through your front door only moments before, that heightened sense of tension undoubtedly ripe in the air. You thought if you ever saw Jack Daniels face again that you’d have a couple of cutting remarks to say to him - if you ever did think about him that is, and you usually didn’t. Jack hadn’t haunted your thoughts for years now, memories of the summer you two first met and the cold dark of winter when you fell apart falling away to the sands of time. The last thing you ever expected was to have him show up on the front step of your ranch, looking like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. Gazing over him now, you felt it was somewhat your obligation to make sure he was fine: despite your less than amicable feelings towards him you weren’t about to let him die on your couch. 

“Can I get you anything?” you asked him, a hint of uncertainty to your tone. He turned his gaze towards you and shrugged slightly, looking no less unsettled than he had a moment before. “I’m fine for now. Trust me, it doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks”. 

“You sure about that? No offense, but you kind of look like a wreck” you shot back, to which he replied with a small scoff. “Nice to see you too, sweetheart. I forgot how hospitable you were to those in your care”. 

You could feel a spark of heat rise in your cheeks at his words, and almost wanted to retort back with something equally if not more biting. That fucking bastard. Here he was, lying on your couch looking like he’d walked out of a gang fight and he had the gall to give you attitude. “Alright, ignoring your completely rude and uncalled for attitude for a moment, you still haven’t answered my question. What the fuck did you get yourself into?” you asked.

There was a momentary pause where Jack looked back up at you, an expression of remorse crossing over his face in the brief glance he shot at you. Turning his gaze back down towards the wooden coffee table before him, he shook his head and sighed. “Sorry about that, darlin’.I just...I got myself into a bit of a tight situation. Things have gotten complicated now” he explained, prompting you to raise your brow at him. 

“Yeah, I can see that. Who did this to you?”. 

“Just some other agents. It doesn’t matter” he replied curtly. 

“From where? Statesman?” you asked. After dating him for about a year, you were well aware of his position as an agent to Statesman, and you knew exactly what that job entailed. Jack had been injured before, sometimes worse than how he was now. You remembered once he came back from a mission with several different bones broken, multiple gunshot wounds and a concussion. You’d been left worried for weeks after that as he recovered, only being allowed short visits to see him due to the very nature of his job. This time was different though. You knew Jack was a survivor, but for him to show up out of the blue after several years of no contact, looking the way he did, something was horribly wrong. Studying his expression intensely, you couldn’t help but let out a low sigh in frustration. It annoyed you to some degree of how evasive his answers had been thus far. It was almost like he was ashamed to even say what had happened to him, ashamed to be even talking to you. 

“No, no, they...they weren’t. That’s not important right now though” he finally answered, running the edges of his fingers over his tattered jeans. If it were any other day you would have been more upset at his dismissal of your question but upon seeing the troubled look on his face you felt it best to let it go. An uncomfortable silence had started to hang over the room, the space between you and him feeling more and more tense as the moments ticked by. You looked down at your shoes, taking note of every scuff and streak of mud as if they were the most interesting things in the world, and giving yourself another minute of hesitation before blurting out “Why are you in Dallas?”. 

“It just so happened to be the place the cargo plane I was stowing away on landed. I wasn’t tryin’ to seek you out or anything, if you’ll believe me”. 

His explanation gave cause for you to raise a single brow at him once more, not entirely believing it to be a coincidence that he just happened to show up in Dallas after seven years of radio silence. “Really? Why come here then? Don’t you have your agent buddies to fall back on for shit like this?” you inquired, your tone coming off far more biting and bitter than you originally intended it to. You could see Jack seize up slightly at your callousness, a pained expression passing over his face that made your breath catch in your throat for a second before you darted your eyes away from him, focusing back down to your shoes and deriding yourself for even having a moment of fleeting attraction to him. All these years and those pathetic puppy dog eyes still managed to get to you. Damn him. 

“Usually, yeah. Not this time round though. I’ve…” he stopped himself, his eyes betraying the deep wounded pain woven within them, strengthening every second longer he dwelled on the memory of his former glory. “I’ve been kicked out of Statesman. Or, well, I haven’t officially been kicked but after what happened the other day I’d be a damn fool if I even tried to walk through their doors again”. 

You blinked at him in confusion, his words not fully registering with you. Statesman kicked him out? Him of all people? You briefly considered the possibility that he was simply just pulling your leg and trying to gain some sort of sympathy but upon remembering the pained expression on his face you were instantly told all you needed to know about the truth behind his words. Ok, so he’s not lying, but still...why? “I find it hard to believe that they’d just boot out their best field agent. What did you do to warrant that?”. 

You could see Jack’s mouth twitch slightly, indicating that he wasn’t entirely up for divulging such information. Running a hand through his hair, he trained his eyes to the ground and refused to look up at you as he went on to explain what exactly had gone down to lead him there. “Long story short, I had a disagreement of sorts with a couple of agents from a fellow organisation, and may have gone against Champ’s direct orders in order to hinder them. I guess you could say I went rogue” he elaborated, intentionally trying to keep some of the finer details out. You had half a mind to push for more info, though after another seconds thought you decided against that idea and instead settled for nodding at him semi-sympathetically.  “I see. So...why are you here then?”. 

He didn’t answer you right away, rather finding himself to be staring straight upwards at the wooden beams on the ceiling above. You analysed his expression, trying to find any sort of hint towards what he was thinking. Your eyes kept being drawn back to that dried gash of blood across his cheek, and you winced at the thought of him being in any sort of prolonged pain. Maybe you should have fetched some medical supplies for him after all - knowing Jack and the way he was, he always liked to downplay the dangers associated with his job. Every time he wound up in Statesman’s medical wing needing some sort of bullet taken out of him he never once admitted to ever being in pain. Getting injured was part of the job, he always said, so it wasn’t worth it to worry over him everytime he got hurt in the line of duty. He was an expert at saying he was fine when it was all too clear that everything wasn’t. 

The sound of Jack sighing heavily pulled you from your thoughts, looking up to see him with his head in his hands, practically exhibiting every clear sign of tension in the book. A small part of you wanted to feel sorry for him, for seeing him like this. “Look, I realise this may be too much to ask of you, considering our history, and part of me hates that I have to in the first place but...I have nowhere else to go. I can’t go back home to either New York or Kentucky. I’m not an agent anymore, so I can’t ask any of them for help, and I’m almost a hundred percent sure that I’ve got some sort of bounty on my head now. I’m on the lam as they call it”  he prattled. “I need a place to hide out, to lay low while I sort some shit out”.

The day had already been weird enough already, hearing him ask for your help was only just the cherry on top. Blinking slowly and with your mouth hanging open in utter disbelief, you blurted out “Let me get this straight: you need my help?”.

“Just for a little while, and I promise, sweetheart, as soon as I’m able to I’ll be outta your hair” Jack assured, turning his eyes upwards to you so that you could see his lovely brown eyes, the very same ones that you felt yourself get lost in all those long years ago. “I would never ask this of you unless I had no other choice. You and I both know that”. 

You were at a complete loss for words. Between his tone and those frustratingly sweet eyes of his, you weighed your options carefully on what you should do. Should you let him stay with you? On one hand, with what he’d done to you years ago, something that still left you hurting even now, some part of you felt hostile towards him being around again. You remembered being young and 21, giving your heart out to him and only ever receiving empty promises in the end, leaving you with the painful memory of standing crestfallen on a flight of marbled stairs, on a night that you had sworn was gonna end with a ring ending instead with a shattered heart and never-ending glasses of merlot on your lips. Eventually, you’d learnt to live with the heartache. And pretty soon, for the most part, you’d forgotten. Seeing him there, tonight, in your living room of all places, was starting to bring those feelings back. No matter how hard you tried to stifle them, ignore them and focus on the matter at hand, you still felt the bitterness creep into your tone every time you opened your mouth.

Still, even though Jack had hurt you, you couldn’t just leave him out with nothing. From what he told you, he truly had nowhere else to run. If you threw him out now, he could be dead within hours. The mere thought of that made your heart sting, and despite any bad blood between you two you weren’t heartless, so with a small sigh, you at last settled on the answer you would give to him. “Alright. I’ll let you stay. On one condition though: you gotta help out a little with some of the ranch handling stuff. Once you’re all healed up from your injuries of course” you posited. “And don’t bother trying to butter me up, I’m not enough of an idiot to fall for your charms twice. I’m doing you a favour so it would be in your best interest to avoid pissing me off. You think you can handle that?”. 

He smirked back at you, though it was void of it’s usual playfulness and felt to be more out of sadness than anything resembling his usual jackassery. “You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart, but yeah, of course. I’d be more than happy to help ya out”. 

“Alright. Now…” you nodded at him before turning on your heel in the direction of the kitchen in search of some bandage and gauze for his injuries. “I am going to get you some medical supplies because even though you said you’re fine you clearly aren’t, and I’m not about to have you dropping dead in my goddamn living room. The blood would get all over the carpet and I ain’t lookin’ to pay to get it cleaned” you announced, dropping down to your knees and rifling through one of the lower kitchen cabinets for all the necessary items. 

You could hear him chuckle from the living room, imagining him to be wearing a more toned down version of that charming grin he always seemed to have on him. “Ah, you wound me, my dear girl. Where are your folks?”. 

His question made your heart seize in your chest, your hands grasped around the roll of bandage and bottle of antiseptic you’d scrounged out from the back of the cupboard. Rising to your feet, you stuttered on your words as you led yourself back into the living room with an arm full of different medical equipment. “They...they died a couple of years ago. It’s been just me for awhile” you answered back, doing your best to ignore the look of surprise that spread across Jack’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that, darlin’”.

Tearing off a strip of bandage, you motioned for him to give you his arm so that you could begin tending to some of the deeper cuts on him. “It’s ok. Well, not ok, really, but what can you do?” you murmured, brushing the length of his torn denim jacket out of the way and pressing down a dash of cold antiseptic cream across one of his cuts, watching as how he winced slightly from the sting. “Life goes on. It has to, or else you get left frozen”. Shaking your head, you began to tie the strip of fabric around his forearm, eager to get off the topic of your deceased loved ones as soon as possible. “I’ll put you up in the guest room upstairs. Don’t go through any of the shit in the cupboards, ok? It’s private stuff”. 

“I would never dream of doing so, sugar”.

“Good. Lucky for you, none of these gashes seem too bad so they’ll most likely heal within a couple of days. I’ll just put a bit of adhesive over that awful one you got across your cheek and you’ll be right as rain in no time” you said, popping open the box of adhesive bandages. 

Jack smiled at you, albeit weakly as you smoothed the bandage over his cheek. “Thank you for doing this for me. I mean it. Honestly, I didn’t think you were even gonna let me stay here”. 

You shot him an odd look at that comment, leaning back down to pick up the various bits of first aid paraphernalia off the floor to deposit back onto the coffee table. “What do you take me for, Jack? I ain’t a cold hearted bitch. I hate you for what you did but I don’t want you to die or anything” you quipped, staring at him straight in the eyes as you said those words. Not allowing him a second to respond, you turned away and began to walk off towards the stairs, starting to feel the exhaustion of the day sink in once again when you placed your foot on the first rung.“You’re all good to go. I’d say go upstairs and get some rest, lord knows that’s what I’ll be doing. If you need anything give me a shout ok?”. 

He nodded back at you wordlessly, abruptly turning away afterwards the lean against the couch with his back turned to you, lost back in his own thoughts. You allowed your gaze to linger on him for a moment longer then dragged yourself up the stairs and towards your bedroom, flicking off the hallway lights as you went. In an instant after you heard the click of your bedroom door shut behind you, you allowed yourself to groan out in agony at your entire predicament. So, your ex-boyfriend is on the run and hiding out in your house. This could prove to be interesting...

[transbuckaroo]

pain, applause

hello. my name is andrew, and i wrote a short lambden fic a few days ago. this will be based on the “following the thread” quest from “the witcher 3: wild hunt” developed by cd projekt red. the characters are based on dev patel as sir gawain in the 2021 film “the green knight” as directed by david lowery, and paul bullion in the upcoming 2021 seaon 2 of “the witcher” as directed by stephen surjik. i haven’t written very much these past two or three years, but i am proud of this finished product. please keep any comments/criticisms kind. thank you, enjoy!

_________

The moment Aiden realized how well and truly fucked him and Baby Steadfast were, he was already surrounded on all sides. He could sense them. His medallion hummed gently against his chest with the signal of danger with every step he took. If he could get out of this clearing, he thought, just into the tree line to stay hidden. It wasn’t far; he could make it, just keep going. The Cat kept his hand at the ready to make quick work of grabbing his battle axe and kept his breaths even as he walked. Aiden knew what was waiting for him. It seemed the fox did as well. Always intuitive, the little one.

Jad Karadin came out of the trees in front of him like a shadow from an alley, looming and dagger drawn in his right hand. Aiden slowed his pace, too exposed, ears picking up the slide of multiple steel swords off to the left. Then two figures emerged from behind Jad, appearing as if they had come directly from within his body. Lund first, after came Hammond. Baby laid back his ears flat, centering himself lower to the ground in a defensive position. He placed himself between the three and Aiden as he went.

There was no running from them. These people were never meant to be his enemies; Jad was supposed to be his brother especially. If anyone here was supposed to be on his side more than anyone, it was Jad. An elder Cat, someone Aiden was supposed to be able to look up to as a mentor. Jad had broken the mold. Had children, a wife, a life away from being a Witcher. Beyond it. He had proof that there was more.

These things didn’t matter anymore. Whoever Jad Karadin was supposed to be was pointless now. Because he was an evil man today. He and whoever else followed him here.

Aiden drew his axe, pulling a deep and centering breath as he went. There were more of this group, hiding somewhere in the thick of trees, awaiting their moment. This was only to end one of two ways. There would be no other option besides these. For a split second, Aiden found himself missing the presence of a certain Wolf over his right shoulder.

Lambert. Lambert wouldn’t let him get hurt. He would protect Aiden here and now, and the Cat wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. In fact, Lambert would have already drawn his sword and made a calculated advancement on their enemy. He would have won, too, because Aiden has never seen him fail a task when he gets that crease between his brows as they furrow in his determination. Lambert, with his fiery curls and attitude to match. Lambert, with his impossible wit and unrelenting promises made to Aiden that have never broken. Lambert, the little brother of Kaer Morhen, baby of the lot of them.

Lambert, who Aiden swore to see back in the valley in Kaedwen where the Buina and Gwenllech rivers part in Daevon so them and Baby Steadfast could finally make the trek up to Kaer Morhen together.

The heat in between Aiden’s shoulder blades told him he wasn’t going to make it up to the keep this year.

“Aiden,” Jad spoke, knuckles white around the hilt of his dagger. Aiden snapped back into focus. He didn’t even dare to blink. “You know why I’ve come?”

“I didn’t kill the Duke’s daughter. I couldn’t save her. I tried.” The contract Aiden had held just months ago in the start of spring. A young girl, cursed, incurable despite the Duke’s pleads and Aiden’s best attempts to reverse it. She had succumbed to her circumstances. Aiden was paid for his efforts, bowed his head with sorrow as the Duke grieved, and went on his way.

“I’ve come to hear otherwise. You’ve botched it, boy. People are angry with the results of your work and lack thereof. You fucked up, and you’ve not shite to say for it.”

“I didn’t botch anything, I did my job. Not everyone gets a happy ending, Karadin. You’re a Cat. A Witcher. You should know.”

To be completely honest, Aiden hadn’t a goddamnable clue how he was going to get through this. Maybe he could take them. Most rivals don’t tend to waste time talking through events, let alone listen to their target. This time, maybe this time, Aiden could walk away with a mere banishment from the city. Possibly, hopefully, he could meet Lambert in time in the valley.

“You’re right,” said Jad, some semblance of resignation on his face. It wasn’t real, his tone sounded fabricated. “Aiden. Not everyone gets a happy ending.”

The arrow came right in that moment, whizzing through the air and lodging itself into the ground by Aiden’s left foot. He startled, stepped back, whipping his head around to try and follow its trajectory. Someone was up high. Someone was in the trees. Jad brought a sniper with him. Of course he did. Oh, of course that motherfucker did. This horrid, abomination of a man. The tree line was too dense, impossible to know where in the leaves the arrow came from where Aiden was standing in the field. He had only tried to look for a moment though before the sound of running footsteps came too close for comfort. And fuck, he could only gain so much momentum with his axe from this angle but he had to try.

Aiden spun back around on his heel, hands braced on either end of the hilt of his axe, prioritizing blocking the blow and creating distance before landing a strike of his own. Jad was successfully pushed back at the chest. Sent fumbling backwards to regain his footing. He growled in anger at the same time Aiden swung at his accompanying attackers, just barely missing them with the blade of his weapon. Steel struck and sounded a metal clang through the clearing. Aiden grunted with the effort of three-and-a-sniper against one, swinging his axe to catch a sword under the head and vaulting his enemy away. Distance was vital, energy was crucial to use sparingly.

“Baby!” He shouted towards his fox, whom of which was bee-lining for the trees where the arrow had come. “No! Run home! Home! Go home!”

It was something they’d agreed upon once. Home. They knew what home was, who home was. Where home was. The valley. Lambert. The point they meet and part at every year, the small town the Wolves have passed through many times in prior years. It was an easy place to go. That was where they found home, him and Baby. Lambert was home. Baby Steadfast knew this command well and clear as day. Go home. Go find Lambert; he’ll know what it means for the fox to show up without the company of his Cat Witcher. He’ll spring into action.

All it took was one incorrect turn, expose just a little too much of something or other, at just the right moment. It wasn’t because he’d called out to Baby; he knew how to give direction without faltering in his task. It was fucked luck. Terrible, awful, shit luck. All he did was avoid another two arrows in the ground, one grazing his cloak as it went.

Jad caught him in his right side with his dagger, blade plunging in deep and ripping a pained and surprised shout from Aiden’s throat. All the way in and right back out. Aiden staggered, snarled, and lunged at the man in front of him. Jad was a monster on this day, and Witchers know damn well to dispose of those. His side was on fire. The younger Cat swung, but Jad ducked underneath the blade. As Aiden turned with the momentum, one of the others kicked a boot into his chest and sent him backwards into Karadin’s grasp. The dagger entered the same area as before as Jad grappled an arm around Aiden’s throat. He was stuck. He was bleeding horribly. Baby Steadfast had gone to get Lambert. There was no way they would find one another in time.

With a strong shove from the man behind him, the dagger dislodged, and in the same moment whoever was at his left ripped his axe out of his hands. Aiden tried to spin around to face them as he propelled forward, but only managed to end up on his back on the grass. It was still cold with morning dew. Aiden could see the fog of his breath as he fell.

And in the most startling of realizations as Jad came to kneel over him, Aiden realized he was going to die. Without Baby. Without his dignity. Without Lambert. Without telling Lambert how much he truly and purely loved him.

He thought he had more time. Had it all planned out. They would meet in three weeks hence, and the night before they would make the ascent to the keep for the winter, Aiden would tell Lambert that he loved him in their room. This incredible, selfless, beautiful Wolf. Part of him even believed Lambert might say it back. He would feel the same. They were just like comfortable lovers already, what with the way they shared beds and blankets and curled up in the night to sleep, the way they helped wash and put up one another’s hair, cooked for each other, looked out for each other, lost all sense of personal space with each other. Melitele, the two of them even refused to separate their bedrolls while they camped out during their travels. They called each other “pup” and “kitten” respectively, dressed wounds, mended clothes and armor, cleaned weapons, hunted together, laughed and smiled and hugged and shared stories. Oh, Lambert was beautiful. Of course Aiden was in love with him. To expect anything else were a fool’s game.

“Oh, kitty cat,” he heard from above, and focused his eyes on Jad. The coldness of his gaze, so detached and unaffected. The only indication he’d ever been in a fight at all was the way his chest pulled bigger breaths than before. “Don’t go and cry now, will ye? This is just the natural order of things.”

Oh, Gods above, Aiden was crying. Silent little tears slipping free from the corners of his eyes, sliding down into his hair that lay fanned out in the grass below. Without dignity indeed. Wounds screaming in white-hot pain, vision blurring with tears that he could not control, heart aching, voice beyond him.

“Please,” the younger Cat spoke in a soft, quivering voice. He blinked hard once, twice, willing the tears away. They did not relent.

“Please.” He was being mocked. Then someone spat from out of his sight right into his hair. It smelled of salmon and tobacco. This time Jad’s dagger entered slowly, and new hot tears fell from Aiden’s eyes with the hurt of it, hand coming to grab his wrist in a feeble attempt to stop him. It did nothing. If anything it encouraged the man.

Aiden couldn’t grant him the final victory of looking away from Karadin’s eyes. Even as the blade ripped out of his body once more. Karadin spoke again. “You beg me to spare your life. Your pathetic little life. Insignificant, worthless, liar’s life. You were never going to change; your batch was doomed from the start. Your death is hardly any repayment, but it is the best we can do to provide peace and closure for the Duke and his people. A life for a life. It is but the way of the world, Aiden. Certainly you understand.”

Oh, he understood. A life for a life was the most polite way to speak of revenge. Talk of debts and dues, exchanges of wins and losses. A life for a life meant a day of reckoning to come. Lambert, kind as Aiden ever saw him, would cash this in as quickly and mercilessly as he could. He was coming no matter what. If he was unable to save Aiden now, he as sure as all things was going to tear apart whoever hurt him. What a gorgeous soul he was.

The fourth and final stab, a telling sign of Karadin’s assassinations. Aiden couldn’t fight it this time. A cluster of wounds just under the right side of someone’s ribs, always in four, always fatal. Aiden choked out a cry of searing agony, feeling the blade twist inside of him with force, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw so tightly he should have broken a few teeth. It twisted again as it was taken out, and all Aiden could do was let the fat tears roll as it happened. He felt Jad grab his medallion from under his shirt and opened his eyes as it was ripped off his neck and placed into a pouch at Karadin’s hip. Proof of death. The easiest form of it, but still worth enough to get paid. Hired by anyone associated closely with a Duke, Jad was sure to be rewarded handsomely for his work.

“Now,” spoke Jad. Aiden’s eyes were starting to get heavy, chest heaving, vision spotting behind the blur of tears. “You’ll be gone in moments, boy. A few minutes and this will be over. The pain will dull just prior, don’t fret. I will not seek out your fox nor that Wolf you travel with, but should they come I will be ready. Goodnight, Aiden. Sleep well.”

Then Jad started to walk away. Hammond and Lund went with him. Aiden could only lay there in the grass, sending his apologies to Baby and Lambert skyward and hope they would understand. He never meant for this to happen. If there hadn’t been that damned sniper, then maybe he could have taken them. But there was no time to dwell now. Darkness crept in, and Aiden’s breathing slowed, and it went dark once and for all as he bled out. He had failed. He was sorry. He could only imagine how horrifically pathetic he appeared. Perhaps he could be forgiven in time by his fox and his Wolf for never coming home.

In some months, when the snow lay thick on the ground, white and untouched blanketing where grass once resided, there would be the choking gasp of a man within the Brokilon Forest. Waking from a healing sleep induced by an old magic, cast by resident Dryads within the cover of trees that towered above. Known by many as the forest of death, breathing life back into someone who simply had not been due to die.

“Sir Witcher Aiden,” said a calming voice, a person standing kindly to the side. Her palm lay gently at the crown of his head, soothing. “We welcome you back to the living world. It has been some time.”

[rjhpandapaws]

Something Familiar

Chapter 1: Conditional Exchange

Sharing his house with someone else after years of living alone took some getting used to. And while he was a horrible patient, Silas was a great housemate. Daniel didn’t know how much of that came naturally to Silas, and how much of it was his fear of getting kicked out. He’d done enough prying already so he wasn’t all that inclined to ask. That and Silas has only just started talking to him after they had made their contract. The contract was a simple thing; Daniel would provide healing and a place to stay in exchange for magic. The conditions were that Silas remain in an animal form whenever Daniel had company or patients; and Daniel couldn’t alter Silas’s consciousness or state of awareness without explicit permission to do so. It was a small thing and Silas still hadn’t spoken to him anymore than what was strictly necessary for three and a half months. Of course things had come to a head eventually because Daniel had never been one to mind his own business. In a fight that he had ultimately caused, he learned a whole lot more about what Silas had been through than he had ever thought he would be allowed to know. Exactly how many traumatic things their contract had brought back to the fore front of his mind. It had made Daniel feel sick and he had done what he could to make it up to Silas. Which amounted to leaving the house for a little over a week so Silas could have room to breathe.

Understandably, things changed after that. Daniel learned to tread more carefully around Silas and made more of an effort to learn about his situation. It was admittedly something he should have done before they made the contract. It was too late to change anything though, as it had already been drawn up and sealed. They still agreed to new unspoken rules and began to live more like housemates than contracted partners. He spent a lot of time teaching Silas about the things he had missed. Silas taught him long forgotten healing magic and a few secrets that had been lost when the shapeshifter settlements had been destroyed. They used very little magic and almost felt like cheating compared to what he was used to. Daniel was tentative to call them friends, but at the very least they were no longer strangers in the same space. Silas often had horrible nightmares. Daniel was woken up pretty often to his cries of fear or pain, and on some occasions screaming. Though the nights those dreams didn’t wake Silas were the ones that worried him most. In the morning he would find Silas on the balcony watching the sunrise with tea or coffee in his hands, still steaming but long forgotten all the same. Some days he would be crying silently, and some days he would be blank and neutral; but there was always this hollow distance darkening his eyes.

As soon as he woke up Daniel knew he would find Silas on the balcony. The night had been a quiet one with no screaming and no tears. Which meant whatever had chosen to haunt him would be doing so in his waking hours instead. Daniel wished almost desperately that there was something he could do to help, but Silas never answered him when he offered. He would just look at him with that dark oppressive distance in his eyes. So lost to whatever memories that had chosen to torture him that Daniel was unable to reach him. He took his time to get out of bed and ready for the day. Silas wouldn’t be ready to talk for a while, and it didn’t matter when Daniel came up to check on him. Despite knowing that it wouldn’t be eaten until it had long gone cold if at all he still made Silas breakfast. Though he had gained some of it back, Silas was still concerningly underweight. Daniel made his way up to the balcony with the try. There Silas stood. As close to the edge of the balcony as he could get with the railing in his way. There were trying tear tracks on his cheeks and the steam of his coffee was curling away into the morning light. He always used the same mug. A pale nondescript thing that he had found in the back of one of Daniel’s cabinets. The difference today was that the distance in his eyes was somehow darker, and he held the mug in a white knuckle grip.

Whatever was after him this morning had to be particularly painful. As it always did, Daniel’s curiosity weighed heavily on him. He knew better than to ask though. Silas never answered him when he was like this. Which is exactly why Daniel nearly jumped out of his skin when he spoke. “There were three of us you know.” His voice was flat as he spoke. There was no emotion to it, not even pain. His grip tightened on the coffee cup and Daniel feared it might break. Silas didn’t seem to notice, “That made it out. Me and then two of my brothers. I lost them in our mad dash to get out, and now I don’t even know if they are alive.” He blinked and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks, “After everything we had been through I couldn’t be bothered to stay. I ran like a fucking coward and sold myself out in a desperate bid to survive. Some fucking brother I am.” For all his wishing that Silas would speak his mind, Daniel didn’t actually know how to respond now that he knew. Saying that he was sorry felt hollow and fake, and not to mention it was too little way too late. He couldn’t really relate; he and Simon had parted ways amicably. Daniel set the tray down and tried to gather his thoughts. Figure out a way to bring Silas some long overdue comfort. If there was even a way to soothe such deep regret.

He was out of his depth and grasping at straws at this point. “In a few weeks you’ll be healed enough to safely handle mildly strenuous activity. We could go looking for them if you would like.” “Why? So you can add them to your collection?” Came the sharp reply. Angry and emotionless at the same time, “So you can have a complete set of the last shapeshifters known to man?” “No.” Daniel said firmly, “So you can have some damn closure and a place to go once this contract is up. I actually want you to be safe believe it or not.” There was a long rather uncomfortable silence as Silas came back from whatever distant place in his mind that held him. His shoulders slumped as he came into the posture of a man defeated by his own thoughts. He set the mug down on the table beside the tray and Daniel saw the start of a crack. He would have to mend it one of these days so Silas could keep using it. “I’m sorry.” Silas said eventually. “You have been nothing but kind to me, and yet I still fear completely offering you my trust. You may very well be the only human with my best interests at heart and I keep pushing you away.” He finally turned to face Daniel and there was a deep sadness to his eyes, grief hung over him, “I'll think about it but that is asking a lot of faith from me; and for now I think I would rather be alone.”

“I understand.” Daniel kept his voice level though it took him a lot of effort, “I’ll be in the house if you need me.” Silas gave an absent nod and Daniel went back inside. Perhaps he shouldn’t have offered at all. Looking back, it did seem like he had malicious intent in that. He hadn’t meant it that way of course, but all of the humans Silas had ever met had been unspeakably cruel to him. Daniel should have been more careful with his words, or just kept the idea to himself. It was too late now of course, it was out there now and there was no taking it back no matter how badly he wanted to. He set about cleaning the house to keep himself occupied. He wasn’t expecting any patients today, so barring an emergency, all he had to keep his mind busy was cleaning an research. Had he been feeling particularly ambitious, he might have started on a travel plan; but he didn’t want it to seem like he was trying to push Silas toward an answer. He sighed quietly, “Good to know I still have a knack for getting in over my head when it comes to trying to help. Some things never change I suppose.” It was just his nature to be overly concerned for those around him to the point of being an annoyance it seemed.

The afternoon was slowly turning to evening by the time Silas was ready to be around him again. He didn’t say a word though. Just walked into the kitchen and began to clean his dishes. Daniel was at the table going over his medical books and making a list of things he would need to pick up the next time he went into town. He was glad to see Silas had at least eaten something while he battled with his thoughts. Silas seemed a little more composed now at the very least. That made him feel a little better, even if it didn’t shake off his guilt. “I’m sorry Silas.” He eventually said, “For this morning. It was insensitive and out of line.” Silas laughed and the sound was dry and humorless. It was an unpleasant shock to Daniel. He had never heard Silas laugh and this was definitely not the context he had wanted to hear it in. “Was it?” He asked sharply, “Are you rescinding your offer to help me find my only remaining relatives then?” “Well no.” Daniel started. “I just - I wanted you to know that I meant no offense by it. I feel like I’ve messed something up, and I want to know how to fix it.” He sighed quietly, “I hate seeing you so upset.”

Silas deflated some and that same posture of defeat returned, “It’s a matter of learning to trust you. My entire life so far has been spent fearing humans. I just have to keep in mind that you haven’t posed any danger to me yet.” He looked down, “I’m sorry for being so... defensive, I guess would be the word for it.” “You’re alright.” Daniel said gently, “These things take time. Even at that you have a lot of trauma to work through and - “ “Daniel stop.” Silas cut him off, “I need someone to listen to me not psychoanalysis. Believe me, I am well aware of my trauma and the power imbalance of our dynamic. I don’t need a reminder.” “Right.” He replied, “It can be hard to turn my doctor off sometimes.” “I understand. It’s the only way people will acknowledge you so it has become your primary mode of existing.” He said, apparently he was out for Daniel’s soul today, “You’re more than that to me you know. You’re the closest thing I’ve had to a friend actually.” “First of all ow. Secondly, what happened to not psychoanalyzing one another?” He replied with a laugh, “I’m glad you almost think of me as a friend.”

Silas smiled and Daniel was pretty sure it was the first real smile he had ever seen from him. “I figured that you’ve done it to me enough times that I deserved a turn.” “Fair enough.” Daniel began to pick up his books and put them away. His list was as complete as it was going to get until he ran inventory. “How many weeks?” Silas asked after a long stretch of silence, “Until we can leave?” Daniel paused for a moment as he thought about it, “Six if you mind your limitations; eight to twelve if you keep ignoring them.” Silas frowned, “That was a lot more than I was hoping.” “You’ve been stubborn.” He remarked, “Agitating old injuries and coming away from your little excursions with new ones. You need rest.” “Fine.” He said as he looked toward the bookshelf, “I’ll be a better patient from here on out. Six weeks to look for a place to start should be enough.” Daniel smiled, “Of course it will.” Silas nodded his agreement and retreated back into his thoughts. He took traveler’s guides and the few maps Daniel had then settled on his bed to look them over. Daniel started to run inventory of his supplies and started on a list of traveling provisions. They would have to be ready for anything. Daniel had never traveled farther than the town after finding his place here; and the world had changed a lot since Silas had been in it last. They were venturing out into the unknown.

[wellimaginethat]

Nothing to Worry About

Pairing: Kelly Severide x (female) Reader

Requested?: Yes

Word Count: 2311

Author’s Note: I’m pretty sure I’ve said it before, but I love getting requests for Kelly.

Trigger Warning(s): Implied sex, implied consumption of alcohol, nervousness, long distance relationship, implied hooking up/casual relationship

Disclaimer: I don’t owe nor am I affiliated with any of the Chicago shows, I just like to play with the characters

Summary: Kelly has been dating a doctor from out of town for a while now, well when she gets a job at Gaffney, Kelly finally introduces her to everyone.

Y/N = Your Name

Y/LN = Your Last Name

You met Kelly when you were in Chicago for some doctor’s convention thing that you hadn’t been too keen on going to in the first place, so you ditched and went exploring.

At first you weren’t going to give him the time of day. His entire persona screamed player and you weren’t the kind of woman to fall for the game.

But then you decided why not have a little fun while you were in Chicago, so you let the cute firefighter take you home.

You didn’t know what it was, but for some reason the two of you were just drawn to each other after that night. Before you left he had asked for your number, and that began a somewhat casual relationship.

However, casual did not last long because before you knew it, you were starting to really fall for him. And he was starting to fall for you just as hard.

It all came to a boil one night. He paid you a surprise visit at your apartment, having driven hours to get there, only for you to not be home.

You came walking down the hallway an hour later and saw him sitting there, outside your door, waiting for you.

“Kelly?” You asked quietly, confused. “What are you doing here?

He looked up at you, blue eyes locking onto yours. You could tell he was confused and hurt by the conclusions he was drawing. You were dressed nicely and had your hair and makeup done up nicely as well, you looked like you were coming back from a date.

He stood up and went to move past you. “This was a bad idea.”

You stopped him by grabbing onto his arm. “Kelly wait.”

He only partially turned to look at you and shook his head. “Nah, I get it. I’m just a fun time whenever you happen to be in Chicago, a guy you keep on the hook just so you don’t have to be lonely.”

His words cut you deeply, but you knew he was only saying them because of how the situation looked. You shook your head. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh? Then what is it like?” Kelly asked you, and just the tone of his voice showed you how much he was hurting.

“Well it’s not what you think.” You told him. “Can you just come inside so we don’t have to have this conversation in the hallway?”

“No, I think I should just go.” He replied, pulling his arm out of your grasp. Even with how hurt he was, he was still gentle when pulling away from you, he never wanted to hurt you.

“Kelly please.” You begged softly. “I just got done dealing with my family being all dramatic.”

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at you. “You were…”

“With my family, yeah.” You nodded. “I decided to take them out to dinner and they all decided to be dramatic and make the night horrible.”

Kelly’s face fell into an expression of instant regret and embarrassment. “I...I thought…”

“That I was on a date?” You asked and shook your head.

“And now I feel like an idiot.” Kelly ran a hand over his face and looked down. “I’m sorry.”

You smiled softly and shook your head, taking his hand in yours. “It’s fine, but can we please go inside now? I have extremely nosy neighbors.”

Kelly nodded and let you lead him into your apartment after you unlocked the door.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” The words came out of his mouth before he realized how they sounded, it only dawning on him when he saw the look on your face. “I mean how casual it is between us.”

You immediately relaxed and nodded slowly, a soft smile finding its way onto your lips.

He walked over to you. “I know it’s long distance, but I think we could make it work. I mean, we’re already making time for each other as is.”

“Kelly.” You started softly, eyes meeting his. “What are you saying exactly?”

“I want you to be my girlfriend.” Kelly told you, placing his hands on your hips gently. “I’m not interested in seeing any other girls besides you, and I hate the idea that there could be other guys in your life.”

“There aren’t.” You assure him softly. “It’s only you and has been for a long time.”

“So does that mean we’re exclusive?” He asked with a small smile.

You nodded, smiling a bit more. “Most definitely. And yeah, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

After that, you two were completely exclusive and made the whole long distance thing work. You’d either go to see him, or he’d come see you, or you’d meet in the middle somewhere. You made it work.

And then you got offered the position at Gaffney. You immediately called him up.

“Y/N? Everything okay?” Kelly asked, worried because you seldom called him in the middle of the day like this.

“Everything’s fine.” You breathed out, trying to contain your excitement. “I was just offered a position at Gaffney.”

“Here in Chicago?” Kelly asked, surprised.

“Yeah.” You breathed out, then it dawned on you that maybe he wouldn’t want you to move to Chicago, as well as a bunch of other insecurities.

“Are you going to take it?” Kelly asked you.

“I don’t know...do you think I should?” You asked timidly.

Kelly paused. “Do you want to?”

“Do you want me to?”

“This isn’t up to me, Y/N.” Kelly told you, getting a bit frustrated.

“Would you be okay with me living in Chicago?” You asked after a moment.

There was another pause on his end and that sent a pang of fear through you. “Do I want my girl to be living in the same city as me? Of course I do. But I also want you to make sure this is what you want, I don’t want you unhappy.”

Relief flooded you and you smiled wide even though he couldn’t see it. “Then I’m going to take it.”

You could practically hear the smile in his voice when he spoke next. “That’s great. I can’t wait until you’re here.”

And within the next few weeks you were moving. Kelly was excited to introduce you to his friends, but gave you time to settle in. He helped you pack up your previous apartment, and unpack at your new place in Chicago.

You smiled and admired your new place after you had gotten everything situated so that it was just so.

Kelly wrapped his arms around your from behind and placed a few chaste kisses to the crook of your neck and shoulder, causing you to giggle softly.

He smiled at you. “So what do you think of your new place?” He asked you softly, his arms still wound around your midsection.

You turned slightly in his embrace to get a good look at him. “I love it.”

“And Chicago?”

“So far? I love it too.” You smiled at him.

Kelly smiled and looked down briefly, not meeting your eyes as he asked his next question. “Anything else you love?”

“You.” You whispered your response, causing him to look up and finally meet your eyes.

There was a small silence between you and it almost made you panic, but you somehow remained cool on the outside, waiting for him to say something.

“You serious?” He asked softly, his breath catching.

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m serious.” You whispered out again. “I love you Kelly.”

He smiled softly. “I love you too.” He breathed out, a look of relief on his face.

It was about two weeks later that you were finally settled in enough to meet his friends, and you were nervous as hell.

You were still getting ready when Kelly showed up at your place and knocked on the door.

You hurried to pull the door open and greet him. “Hey.” You kissed his cheek. “Just give me a few more minutes and I’ll be ready, promise.”

He could immediately tell you were nervous just by the way you were acting, and grabbed your hand as you went to scurry away. “Hey, babe.” He said softly, pulling you back to him and causing you to look at him.

“Kelly, I gotta get ready.” You told him.

Kelly looked you up and down and raised a brow. “This isn’t ready?”

“I haven’t even started on my makeup.” You protested.

“I don’t really think you need it.” Kelly told you, but let it go. “I just want you to take a breath, okay? They’ll love you.”

You took a deep breath and nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am, trust me.” Kelly told you, kissing your forehead. “Now you can go finish getting ready.”

You smiled and scurried off to the bathroom to do your makeup.

You fidgeted in the car the entire ride to the bar, causing Kelly to place a hand on your leg in an attempt to calm you.

When you finally got to the bar, Kelly led you in with an arm wrapped around your shoulders.

You were met with a few questioning looks from people you’d only heard stories about and you immediately felt awkward, your stomach was in knots. You were well aware that the people you were about to meet were more than coworkers, more than just friends, they were Kelly’s family and that meant you had to make a good impression. You were beyond worried that they wouldn’t like you.

You realized that the questioning looks weren’t directed at you, but at Kelly, causing you to look at him.

He walked over to the group, his arm still around your shoulders. “Everyone, this is Dr. Y/N Y/LN.” He introduced you, and the looks didn’t change. “My girlfriend.”

The questioning looks then turned to a mix of surprise and confusion. A blonde man stepped up. “Girlfriend?”

Kelly nodded to him and you were left confused, had he not told them about you?

“So that’s why you haven’t exactly been friendly with the ladies lately.” Someone commented from behind, you didn’t see who.

“It’s been long distance for a while now and she just moved to Chicago.” Kelly told them.

“Why’s this the first we’re hearing about her?” A man from behind the bar asked.

“I wanted to keep her to myself.” Kelly answered him sarcastically. “I didn’t wanna jinx it, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” He looked down at you with a small smile.

“So this is where you’ve been disappearing to?” The blonde man asked.

Kelly nodded to him.

Instead of commenting, he turned to you and offered his hand out to you. “Matt Casey.”

“Ah, the best friend.” You commented, shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Introductions went off without a hitch and you seemed to fit in pretty well with them, and your nervousness from earlier melted away over the course of the night.

You currently sat across from Sylvie Brett, talking to her about different things when the conversation got turned around to you and Kelly.

“So how long have the two of you been together?” She asked you before taking a sip of her drink.

“Well we started out as causal.” You told her. “And that was about a year ago, but a few months in he asked me to be his girlfriend, and we became exclusive. So we’ve officially been dating for nearly eight months.”

“Wow, I didn’t think he had it in him.” Sylvie commented.

You chuckled a bit and played with your drink nervously. “Yeah, I know he’s got a thing with the ladies.”

Sylvie noticed your unease and was quick to try to remedy it. “Hey, he seems pretty serious about you.” She spoke softly.

You looked up. “Then why didn’t he tell anyone about me?”

“You heard him, he said he didn’t wanna jinx it.” She answered, still in the same soft voice.

Your eyes went over to Kelly, he was across the bar talking to Matt and Herrmann about something, and when he noticed you looking at him, he smiled at you. You returned the smile before turning back to Sylvie. “I really hope that’s why.”

She nodded and smiled at you. “It is. He loves you, I can tell by the way he looks at you.”

Your cheeks turned pink as you smiled softly and nodded.

When you got back to your apartment, you sat on the couch and waited for Kelly to sit next to you.

“Alright, go ahead, ask me.” Kelly told you as you leaned into his side.

You raised a brow. “Ask you what?”

“Why I didn’t tell them about you.” Kelly answered, looking down at you.

“Well, why didn’t you?” You asked softly, you didn’t sound upset or hurt, because you wanted to believe what he had said, and what Slyvie had said.

“Because if I had, then they would have wanted to meet you sooner.” Kelly answered you honestly, letting out a small sigh. “And I wasn’t ready.”

You nodded slowly. “But you could’ve told them before we walked into the bar. You could’ve told them when I moved here.”

“I know.” Kelly sighed again, nodding, he knew you had a point.

You looked down at your hands. “Just tell me that the reason you didn’t tell them wasn’t because you aren’t serious about me.” You said quietly.

Kelly turned to get a better look at you. “That’s not why.” He said softly, getting you to look at him by lifting your chin gently with his fingers. “Hey, I love you.”

You smiled softly and nodded. “I love you too, I was just worried.”

He pulled you into his side again and kissed the side of your head. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” He assured you.

[silverostro]

EMBERS TASK // LETTERS​

sent and unsent letters to: @othcrhalf, @honimoore, @ncllysnge, @swannscngs, @sinksand, @digitalrcge, @dawnhardn, @blythefm, @hovergrove

we put down in writing what is happening in our minds once it’s on the paper we feel better, we feel better it’s like some kind of clarity when the letter’s done and signed

to robyn, sent before the 74th hunger games 

Robyn,

I know how much you hate the very thought of receiving a letter, yet alone writing a response, but unfortunately you’ve humored me enough that it’s habit to think of you when I sit to write. Old-fashioned, perhaps, but also safer. And there’s something about the act that brings honesty that’s more difficult to offer face to face, or over telecom even, if you’ll forgive a moment of vulnerability.

This letter is out of character, to be completely honest. I apologize that you won’t find the usual ranting and raving about my work, or any of the indifference that I know you adore so much from me. I’m certain you’ll miss it this once, but I promise we’ll be back to normal soon enough. If it helps, you’re welcome to include a few comments speculating on what will surely be another silver monstrosity I’m forced into for this year’s Games. Bacchus is hard at work as we speak, unfortunately.

But I digress.

Something about this year feels different. I know you understand that well, in a way that even I can’t fathom, and wish I had some way to ease. I’ve found myself considering this unease, this restlessness, and it took me far too long to realize what it is, selfishly, in my case.

I’ve never liked celebrating my birthday. The first birthday I still have memories of is my eighteenth; it was only a few days after I woke as a victor, all of my other memories distorted or gone. Ironic, isn’t it? A birthday I had been convinced a week earlier that I wouldn’t live to see, a thought I had made peace with the moment my name was drawn from that bowl, fate sealed, the first I still have memories of now. 

I’ve been wrong more often than I would admit to most anyone else, but just this once I’ll admit it to you, Robyn.

This year’s birthday is...strange. They’re always strange, but they’re easy to overlook. In the wake of victories that are rarely Three’s, it’s easy to slip into the background. But I haven’t been able to stop my thoughts from lingering on how strange it is to be here at all. Forty. Horrifying, isn’t that? I should be pleased. I should be grateful to have lasted so long when I believed I wouldn’t live to see eighteen. And yet, in the quiet moments of the night, when it’s more difficult to fill the blank spaces in my life with work, such simply human needs as sleep making it impossible not to reflect. (Yes, even I need sleep, sometimes.) I can’t help but feel I haven’t done nearly what I should have with all of these unexpected years, though. Does that make sense?

I look around around my workroom, my home, the quiet almost eerie, if I wasn’t so used to it after so many years, and I realize that I’ve spent so much time in my own bruised mind, that I’m a little more than alone. Used to something no one should be used to. A circumstance of my own making. There aren’t many memories left of my parents, but the few I have, I remember the way they told me it was better to keep my head down, keep a distance from the world for my own safety. In the absence of their guidance, anyone’s guidance, I took those words to heart, and I did them well. But I have no one to blame but myself. I thought I wanted this, I thought distance would benefit me, but now? I’m not so certain it does. 

I can only assume that your own birthday is something a little strange now, too. And I’m sorry for that. But I’m glad you’re still here.

All this to say, perhaps when I’m back in the Capitol, we could celebrate. Nothing wild, I’m much too old for that now, but... a drink or two? I think we could both use the distraction.

I’ll only accept your RSVP in writing...

Yours, Silver

to perri, sent shortly after the 66th hunger games

Perri,

A call would probably be easier, I’m well aware, but I can’t shake this paranoia lately, and the very real feeling that the static might crowd my mind and cause me to forget all I have to say, if I don’t put pen to paper. I know you understand.

I’d rather not give anyone a reason to keep a closer eye on me, or Three than they already have.

But it feels strange, not to be alone in victory any longer. 

I should be grateful that for the first time one of the children put in my care against my will survived, but I’ve found it difficult to feel that way. Of course, I’m glad that she survived––I wish desperately she wasn’t the first in my years of mentoring to do so––but from what I’ve seen already of how the Capitol is going to treat her, this outcome feels just as horrible, in an entirely different way. I know I shouldn’t think like that. It’s cruel, and perhaps it’s selfish, too, in a way, because in survival there’s guilt. She didn’t survive because of anything I did; I haven’t made a real effort beyond the bare minimum since my first few years mentoring. I’m certain she realized that I thought she wouldn’t make it out of that arena. 

Now there’s a reminder of my failures standing by my side. Now we’ll have to stand there together and watch children die year after year.

It’s not the same, but there are twisted parallels here that I have no desire to accept, but have somehow only fully realized now that Three has another victor. Parenthood and mentorship. Sometimes both as unwanted, and unasked for as the other. I don’t know how you do it, how you do both, when either alone is hard enough. This feeling of responsibility for another’s well being is terrifying. And I feel an immense amount of guilt for not allowing myself to see it that way until this year.

Could I have helped any of the others survive if I had tried harder? Would that have been dooming them to an even worse fate, if I did?

Am I cruel, for thinking this way? I can’t even tell anymore. It’s been too long, I have no sense of what’s normal any longer, if I did at all even before my own victory. 

I’ll see you soon enough. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to go on a Victory Tour, I’m not sure I remember how it’s done. But I’m glad for the excuse to see you and Sage. Perhaps I can convince our watchers to let us have dinner with you. I have a feeling you would get along well with Digit, she reminds me a little of you when we first met all those years ago. Perhaps you can give her understanding that I haven’t been able to find yet.

Give Sage my love, as always. And I suppose you can have some of it for yourself, too.

Yours, Silver

to nelly, sent after the 70th hunger games

Dear Nelly, 

You mentioned your newest set of stationary the last time we ran into each other, so I thought I might give you an excuse to test it out, in case you’re not waiting on any other replies at the moment. (Although I’m certain you have much more interesting letters waiting for you than mine.)

I hope you’re doing as well as anyone can, in between Games. I realized, as I sat down to begin this letter, that I’m not actually entirely certain what the life of an escort is like outside of the little I hear from ours. In fact, it’s rare that I see much of the Capitol at all outside of the bustle of the Games, usually sequestered in a windowless room in some high rise to do work when I am asked to come in during the off season.

Do you spend your time planning for whatever might come during the next Games, or are you allowed a few months of rest from responsibility? It says something that I can’t tell if the idea of rest sounds appealing or horrifying. Only I suppose it’s hard for me to imagine what life in the Capitol must be like, or even just a life without my days filled with work, no room to think of much else.

Although, that’s not quite true, is it? I’ve found enough time without work to write. Oh, and I apologize if this is utterly illegible. Years of making notes only for myself or my assistants’ interpretation has led to rather awful handwriting. Perhaps you can offer me some pointers, that seems like the sort of thing you would be an expert at, perfect handwriting.

Anyway, I could go on about what I’m currently working on, but I won’t bore you with those details, when I’ve done enough rambling as it is. 

It seems that work is going to bring me to the Capitol for a few days in a week or two, perhaps I’ll see you at one of the parties they inevitably ask me to attend while there. The possibility of a friendly face at one of those events is always something to look forward to, at least.

In the meantime, take care of yourself, Nelly, you deserve a break.

Warmly, Silver

to swann, sent before the 72nd hunger games

Swann,

I hope I’m not being too presumptuous in writing to you. I know there’s no need for a letter, a call, at the very most, would have sufficed, if not simply a silent acknowledgement the next time we both find ourselves forced to attend a Capitol celebration. But something compelled me to do so anyway. 

Perhaps it’s because understanding is such a rarity, even among the unfortunate many of us who have been put through what we’ve faced.

I know I wasn’t in any state to offer the appropriate gratitude at that party. This is something that I’ve dealt with for years, but it rarely becomes so bad so publicly. I hope you know that I would do my best to offer you the same understanding you gave me, if our positions were ever reversed. I’m not so certain I would be able do so with as much compassion and grace as you, but we all have our strengths. Mine clearly not being my memory.

Trust isn’t an easy thing to give, but the risk was worth it, in this case. Still, if you could keep the...severity of my situation quiet, I would be very grateful. Flaws, weaknesses are too dangerous for those in our position, I know you’ve seen that firsthand as well. 

Which I suppose is why I’m all the more grateful for your help in remembering. That’s all I really wanted to say, I appreciated the reminder you gave me, and the humanity you showed. It’s all very easy to forget, sometimes.

There’s no need to write back.

Sincerely,  Silver Ostro

to aven, unsent, written several years after desmond’s death

Aven,

I’ve been thinking about Thalia a great deal lately. And when I think of Thalia, I can’t help but think of you, as well, of course.

It’s not rare to see her face in nightmares, to see her body. I relive those last few moments of my Games over and over again more nights than not, slowed down, sped up, in excruciating detail each time. 

I try to remind myself of what she was like before, but it’s been harder lately to remember those few good moments in the arena with her, when both of us were safe, when she showed me care it felt like I hadn’t been given in years. 

It’s selfish, but I wish we could talk about her, like we used to. I want to hear your stories about what she was like back in Five, before the Games took her, about how the two of you got along. It was always easier to see her smile in my mind, instead of her death, right after you talked about her with me.

But that’s not fair of me to wish for, is it?

I know you blame me in some ways for what happened, and I accept that. I know what I create is used for, I know how dangerous it all is, even those things that would be harmless in less cruel hands than those of the Capitol, and yet I still do so anyway. 

I have more blood on my hands that most victors, all without ever laying a finger on anyone.

Sometimes, I wonder if Thalia would have survived, if she hadn’t made the mistake of showing me kindness, and if everyone might have been better for that. I have a suspicion you know that feeling well yourself.

But there’s no use in speculation. We survived, and we continue to survive only because of the choices we’ve made. Choices that have hurt others we care for deeply. Perhaps that’s why it’s so easy to blame each other, to stay at odds, because we’ve both made those choices, and they’ve caused immeasurable pain. 

It’s not easy to look into a mirror.

I could apologize to you, but nothing I can say will undo what I’ve been apart of, and what I’ve caused with my selfish desire to live, despite this not feeling terribly like life at all. So instead I’ll just say that I understand, even if you don’t want me to. And perhaps that’s as far as we can hope to get just now.

- Silver

dawn, unsent, written several years ago after oversharing then pulling away lmao

Dawn,

I owe you an explanation. In fact, I owe you much more than that, but I’ve never had such an easy time with admitting I’ve been wrong, expressing vulnerability, so all that I can offer just now is an explanation, as a start.

You might have guessed that I’m not used to talking openly when it comes to things more emotional. In the absence of many memories of my own childhood, I have to simply assume from what I’ve been told that this has always been the case, something that I learned early on from my parents, who were both more content to hole themselves up surrounded by electronics and blueprints, rather than face the world. Logic reigned in our home, from what I’ve heard, and the little I do remember now. There was never much sharing of emotions, and that was that.

After my Games, I suppose I took that to the extreme. But it’s easier to swallow it all down, bury it deep, when facing it might break you in ways that you’re not sure you could come back from.

This is my overly formal way of saying I’m shit at anything emotional. And when I’m faced with just that, it’s instinct to do exactly the opposite.

I’m self aware enough to know this is an instinct I need to break. And I’m self aware enough to admit that it’s not always as helpful as I like to believe it is, and that it’s possible, despite so much pain, to live through it with gentleness. You’re proof of that.

In our conversations, you opened my eyes to that possibility, something that I would have scoffed at if I had been told before witnessing it firsthand. At first, it was simple curiosity, you baffle me. I can hardly fathom how someone can be put through the cruelty and pain that you have, and still show such kindness for everyone.

You made me want to try, though. I don’t understand why you’re so intent on trying with me. That’s not something that happens often, I don’t give anyone a reason to want to try with me. And yet you shared, and somehow it compelled me to do the same.

And that was terrifying.

It’s not a good explanation––it’s one that I could use for each and every one of my actions in honesty––but it’s cowardice that made me run from that honesty. But perhaps it’s a start to admit that at all. 

Next time, if there is a next time, I’ll try to do better.

- Silver

to blythe, unsent, written after the president’s party, kept in one of their notebooks

B.B.,

I needed to set our understanding in writing, for my own sake. Supremely ironic, isn’t it, that writing is less dangerous than words spoken. I’ve helped make sure of that, unfortunately, and so from the moment I left the arena I found myself clinging to the act of putting thought to paper for safety, I think.

But that’s neither here, nor there.

That hug you shocked me with during the party at the president’s mansion is something I’m considering. It was a surprise, but also a reminder of how much someone can say with something so simple. I’ve forgotten in my years spent with my head down, doing as the Capitol says, that simple can be powerful. An agreement sealed in that gesture, trust, perhaps. It left me speechless, unbalanced, but not in a negative way. 

Before then, I can’t remember the last time I hugged anyone, isn’t that depressing?

Physical touch, any form of it at all, is such a rarity now that I hardly know how to react to it. I’ve spent so much of my life making certain I was beyond any such attachment that I’ve left myself thoroughly alone, when it counts. Strange, then perhaps, that I’m realizing how deeply I desire just that. I’ve been alone for a long time, I’ve kept myself alone for a long time. I’m tired of that.

(Maybe I’m presumptuous to think you understand that feeling well.)

Perfect timing, this strange little agreement of ours. 

I’m well aware I’m not easy to trust, and I shouldn’t be. I’ve spent the past twenty-two years working for the very people who caused us all so much pain, helping them take lives, and keep us in line. It’s something I have to earn. Something I plan to earn, right along side the penance and control I so desperately seek. The risk you’re taking is not lost on me, and I’m grateful for it. 

I’m going to do everything I can not to disappoint you, or any of the dozens of others I’ve already disappointed with my actions. I promise you that.

- S.O.

to digit, unfinished, written after the quarter quell announcement, kept with other letters

Digit,

If this letter ever makes its way to you, you’ll have to forgive the archaic form it’s taken, but I know you’re just as aware as I am that nothing spoken out loud is safe, and anyway, I’m not so certain I could put my thoughts into words if I tried, face to face.

That’s always been part of the problem, after all, hasn’t it?

We’ve agreed to try, but that’s much easier said than done after years of doing the opposite, years keeping as much distance as possible, despite the Capitol forcing us together. 

There’s no need to beat around the bush anymore. You deserve candor in a way I’ve rarely offered, something I’m trying to learn to do better at, but still is a foreign concept in honesty.

I’m sorry. That’s the base of it. 

You deserve more than just a simple apology, after everything that I have done, and even more so for the things I haven’t, but I’ve never been particularly good at this sort of thing. And I don’t expect your forgiveness, or anyone else’s for that matter. You, of all people, have every right and every reason not to offer it. What have I offered you, after all? Certainly nothing to inspire trust or faith.

My goal here is to do the opposite now. You’ll be a better judge than I am of if I’m succeeding in those attempts or not––and I’m certain you’ll have no trouble telling me bluntly if I am not––but as we’ve said, there’s little to do but try.  

My fear is that I might not have a chance to get far enough to make a difference, and my hope is that you might be willing to keep trying in my stead if that happens. It’s a great deal to ask of someone I’ve given every reason not to trust me, but I trust you. Oddly enough, I’ve always trusted you, even if I’ve done nothing to show it. Almost laughable, how in forcing us together, the Capitol might have created its own problems by forcing me to care.

Because I do, despite what I’ve shown.

But I hope it’s not to late to admit that.

to hudson, unfinished, written after the quarter quell announcement, kept with other letters

Hudson,

This is a rather morbid letter, the sort of just in case I’d rather not consider, but with so much uncertainty, precautions need to be in place if things go wrong. 

Firstly, I knew your parents, or rather, knew of them, when they were still in Three. And you deserve to know why you ended up where you are, too, I believe, whether they want to admit it, or not. 

A well-kept secret in Three. We make the technology, and thus, as I mentioned during our brief conversation on the train, it’s more difficult for them to keep it from us. We’re as advanced as the Capitol in our own way, if not more so, if only covertly. There’s a thriving...market, as I’m certain there is in every district, numbered high or low. There are needs that aren’t met by strictly by the book, and there are those who are willing to bridge that gap, in various ways, for various reasons.

It’s a situation that we all have considered before, in various ways, a situation some of us have lived out, unfortunately. There’s the heroic thought, that if we were put in a position in which keeping quiet would doom us, but save others, we would holdfast. But the reality is not so simple. 

I could never blame anyone for breaking under that pressure, under that desire to keep their own life, yet alone those of their family, safe. I know many who have done the same thing. In honesty, I’ve done just that, although not in such an outright way.

It’s preferable to take the lighter punishment, rather than something much worse in the name those you hardly know, isn’t it?

Is it?

I’m not so sure it is. I only wish I could offer some sort of reassurance that none of us will end up in a position like that again.

Which brings me to my second point. You’re intelligent enough that I believe you might have read between the lines during our last conversation. Personal projects that are not actually so personal. And I need someone to know that, several people to know that, in case something happens and I can’t see them through. 

Communication, what we spoke about, sharing information between all of us, instead of trying to win this fight alone. But also weapons, for the inevitable. It’s all coded in my notebooks, and the blueprints are hidden away, but I think between Digit, and you, certainly you might be able to interpret enough of them to glean something useful. Enough that I might make it easier for you to help fix things. Or at least I hope so. 

If not, I’m certain that you’re intelligent enough to come up with your own solution to this problem. Find a way to fix things, just as you mentioned to me you enjoy doing.

[latestageyouth]

I saw your virgil angst post au where Thomas started repressing him after DWIT and I love that idea soooo much! I fell in love just reading the au idea, but could you write a fic? If so could you please tag me in it? Sorry to bother you lol but I just wanted to let you know i love that au so freaking much it just makes me adifjsaydfasgfsjd

It happened slowly, oh so slowly. No one is really to blame even though they think they are. He just started...being there less and less. Skipping the occasional family dinner. And then movie night. And then he stopped debating with Logan. And then he just. Stopped doing everything. 

Until nothing remained.

“Oh, and Janus?” 

“Yes, Logan?” 

Logan hesitated before continuing, Roman already on his mind but he didn’t want to hurt Janus, make the wound worse on both sides, “Thank you for today, but...I would appreciate if you tried to talk with Roman. I am sure both of you said things you didn’t mean.”

Dec- Janus’ face fell on the mention of Roman, but he still put on a smile that somehow wasn’t as smug as it used to be, “Of course, I will try.”

And then they departed. 

And then Janus checked up on Remus.

“Remus, look, I’m-”

“The ‘Evil Twin’?! Really?! I can’t fucking believe you!”

And then the door shut to his face.

And Logan checked up on Virgil.

“Virgil?” he said after his third set of knocks.

More knocks.

“Virgil, I am quite concerned with your well-being, please open the door.”

More knocks. 

“...I know you don’t like it when we come to your room, but if you don’t answer I will be forced to act accordingly to the situation.”

He didn’t knock after that.

“...Virgil?” the name started to sound strange in his mouth.

Logan looked around the empty room.

Maybe he went to the dark sides? To make amends, maybe?

Logan walked out of the room, ignoring the feeling of wrong slowly rising in his gut.

- - -

“So how are things with Virgil?” 

Janus shrugged. Remus still hasn’t come out of his room. “Maybe worse than before, haven’t seen him in over a week. Did he say anything about me?” he reminds himself to add, “Or Remus?”

Patton furrowed his eyebrows, “Well, I wouldn’t know, he’s cooped up in his room all day and night. Logan told me he was probably at your place.”

“I haven’t seen him in over a week,” Janus repeated.

“We neither.”

- - -

“He’s probably just throwing a tantrum,” Remus sounded annoyed, edging on irritated.

Remus hasn’t come out of his room until Roman basically dragged him out of there with bribes of fighting a new, better Dragon Witch and just general “please”es.

Not like Virgil, no. Virgil didn’t talk to anyone or even played his music way too loud like he did before and Logan wasn’t even sure he came out of his room to eat.

No, Remus was just angry at Janus. Which is fine, he understands. He fucked up and of course Remus is angry with him.

“Somehow I think Virgil would be more...vocal if he did.”

“Why don’t we just go into his room?” Roman played with the tablecloth on the dining table.

“I already tried that and I told you it was empty.”

“Logan, that was like a week ago.”

Eyes were rolled on both sides.

“A week and four days ago, actually.”

Roman groaned, “Whatever.”

“Roman’s right,” Patton finally spoke up, he had been unusually quiet, “We should go in his room, even if it’s against Virgil’s wishes. I am scared for him.”

So Remus got up, ignoring the others asking him what he’s doing, and went to Virgil’s room because god fucking damnit he just wants to get over with this and be angry again.

“Hey, raccoon, you better open the fucking door up or I’m coming in,” he accompanied the harsh words by equally harsh knocks, “And don’t you dare get all pissy about it when I do.”

He didn’t wait for Virgil to answer - if he even would answer.”

And Virgil didn’t get all pissy when he came in.

Because there was no Virgil.

And no cobwebs. And the lighting was brighter than he remembers.

So Remus went upstairs just as the other sides got to the door.

“Yooo, Stinky McStink, I’m in your room, don’t you wanna yell at me?” his voice was exaggerated and obnoxious. Maybe he was...just sleeping. Right?

The bed was made.

The curtains weren’t drawn. 

It started to look too much like Thomas’ real bedroom.

That’s…

No there’s no way, right?

It’s not like Thomas actually could-

“Remus?”

Of fucking course it had to be Janus.

“You noticed it, right? The lack of...Virgil-ness.”

He doesn’t have the energy to be angry right now, “You don’t think that...Thomas couldn’t hate him that much...right?”

Right, Janus?

“You guys found him?” Roman’s voice came from downstairs.

“No,” Remus’ voice came quieter than he intended, but still enough for Roman to hear.

And a day later it became official when the door vanished.

Virgil was gone.

- - -

No one went to check up on Thomas anymore, because he would always ask Where’s Virgil? Where’s Virgil? Where’s Virgil? and they would have to tell him He’s not feeling well He’s tired He’s probably rewatching Nightmare Before Christmas again and Thomas knew something was wrong.

No one really spoke anymore or did anything. 

“Could you get me the cereal?” Roman asked one morning, voice quiet and messy like his hair. It was too early to speak.

“...He ate the last cereal we had,” Janus responded after a while. It was too early to speak of Him.

“Oh.”

- - -

They weren’t exactly sure how to break the news to Thomas that he repressed his anxiety about everything so much that he repressed Anxiety.

Thomas still wasn’t quite sure how that worked but his anxiety levels haven’t changed much so he figured that it was temporary.

- - - 

A month after they told him it became normal to speak.

“Could you get me the cereal?” Roman yawned. 

Janus hummed, reaching to the cupboard for the box.

“Thanks,” the shorter mumbled, opening the box and eating it’s contents dry.

“You’re gross,” Janus watched after him.

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!” Remus giggled. He wasn’t mad at Janus anymore and Janus apologized. 

- - -

Two months after they told him it became normal to walk the hallways. They still avoided That Corner Where It Was but it was normal to walk there again.

“Do you think we should paint the hallways?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “Roman you do know you can just change the colour of the hallways with your mind, right?

Roman tsked, “No I meant like,” he fumbled his hands, trying to find the words, “Paint Paint.”

“You mean like decorate them with drawings?”

“Exactly!”

“Well, I suppose it would be a good bonding activity, and possibly make Thomas feel more welcome.”

It was Remus who ended up painting a dragon over That Corner Where It Was. And as far as Logan was concerned, the drawing looked rather - how the kids would say - rad.

- - -

“Three!”

“Two!”

“One!”

“Happy New Year!” they shouted in unison, even got Logan to join in.

Thomas was invited to a party at his friend’s house on New Year’s Eve, there were fireworks in the sky and everything. Thomas wasn’t sure when he got a party hat.

“Alright you guys, see ya’ next year!” Patton was the first one to return to the mindscape, ending the night off with a corny joke.

The rest of the sides gradually went back too, as the night turned into very early morning. Roman and Janus were the last ones to stay, some of the fireworks still going off and the sound of parties and laughing and too loud conversations filling the air around them.

“I like that you grew your hair out, it’s a good look on you.”

Janus looked at Roman, who was sitting on the stairs beside him, “Well, you know what they say:”

“New year new me.”

Roman joined in on that part, doing his best to imitate Janus’ voice.

And they laughed.

And they talked.

And for the first time in a while it felt like nothing was missing at all, and maybe it wasn’t.

- - -

“Remus! Where did you put my hairbrush?” Roman’s voice came loud and shrill from the bathroom.

“I didn’t put your fucking hairbrush anywhere, you’re just a blind idiot!” Remus’ voice came from the kitchen, somehow even louder.

Logan ignored the twins’ squabble and continued his morning routine. What was he doing? Ah, right. Put in eyedrops. Make coffee. Clean his glasses-

…

“Remus why are my glasses broken?”

Remus groaned, “Why is it that when something goes wrong everyone always thinks it’s me?!”

“...Do you want me to list off the things that went wrong that you did cause?”

“Whatever, I didn’t break your fucking glasses, Logie,” he drank the coffee Logan made straight from the coffee maker.

Remus could basically see the gears turning in Logan’s head.

“House meeting!” Logan finally yelled, the loud noise making even Remus flinch. Logan repeated the words a few times until the rest of the sides came into the kitchen.

“It’s too early for this, Logan…” Roman whined, “‘m not sure Patton was even awake.”

Patton rubbed his eyes, glasses missing, “I wasn’t.”

“Sit down, I have something I want to discuss with you.”

“Well, yeah, you better,” Janus sat down beside Roman, who was still half-asleep. 

“Right, so, you have noticed a lot of things go missing or break as of recently, as well as Thomas being significantly more anx- stressed out.”

A chorus of agreement came, some looks pointed at Remus.

“And we can’t be sure it’s Remus.”

“At least someone here trusts me. Not that you should, trusting me is a horrible idea.”

“So?” Roman rubbed the last of sleep out of his eyes.

“So who is it? I am sure that you wouldn’t do anything like this, and neither would Patton. While me and Janus aren’t exactly the fondest of your pranks.”

“Maybe it’s Virgil’s ghost haunting us,” Remus laughed.

The rest of the table didn’t laugh.

“He…” Logan started again, “It’s not like Thomas can resent someone, especially a part of himself, for so long, can he?”

“He’s gone, Lo,” Patton’s voice was sterner than he intended.

“You know very well that I couldn’t keep everyone hidden from Thomas forever,” Janus grew visibly uncomfortable at the talk of the past.

“Yes, but this time Thomas consciously chose to repress him-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake did you forget his name or some shit?! Why are you so afraid to say it?! Virgil is gone. Maybe dead. None of us have been suppressed like this and none of us know if Virgil’s somewhere in Thomas’ mind or not, maybe it is him.”

“Maybe you’re just holding onto a fantasy of getting your best friend back when he wasn’t that for a long time before he disappeared!”

“I...what did you just say?”

Patton stumbled over his words, “I-I’m sorry, I just-”

“Get fucked! I don’t want your fucking half-assed apology!”

Reopening an old wound can sting.

Especially reopening it so quickly.

“I don’t want to fucking hear it.”

“Remus-”

Roman called out too late, as Remus was already out the kitchen, the coffee pot shattered on the ground.

And the silence covered them like a big blanket, the slam of the door distant in the quiet. They just sat there for a few seconds, or minutes, or maybe an hour, no one was really sure. Until Patton broke the silence.

“God, I messed up. I always mess up.”

Surprisingly, the second one who spoke was Logan, “Everyone deals with the stages of grief in their own way and for how long they need. It’s okay to not always be okay,” huh, what a hypocrite.

- - -

No one mentioned it again, but it was always on everyone’s minds when Logan’s glasses went missing, or Janus’ cane, or anything else from any other side. Or when Thomas got more anxious than he should be.

Or when he had his first panic attack in years.

They all did their best to calm him down, but no one could replace Virgil in their department. Sure, Janus is good with self-care, but that’s more to prevent a panic attack and what to do after a panic attack. Patton can’t think, he spirals just like Thomas. The twins only supply more “what if what if what if what if” scenarios. Logan still can’t do emotions. 

After that, they all knew something was wrong. That Something always lingered in the mindscape and made everything seem...off. Like when Remus moved all furniture a few inches to the left and everyone crashed into it without knowing why. Except this wasn’t Remus and it wasn’t just a dumb prank.

No one wanted to say it, so no one would say it.

It was all just like it was in the beginning.

- - -

Roman was tired. He hasn’t slept in two days and has an art block and everything is horrible. But it’s been worse, he can get through this. Not like he has much of a choice.

The hallways are dark and the floor is cold and he almost trips on a dirty shirt on the floor that he’s probably gonna scold Remus about.

Just one more cup of coffee. 

He’s been pushing it to three days.

One more day then I’ll stop.

Everything is dark so it’s puzzling - to say at least - to see light coming from the kitchen. Just faint, barely illuminating the walls.

Is Patton awake again? Or Remus?

No, no, Remus is in bed you know that you share a room.

Roman walked to the kitchen nevertheless. So what’s a little conversation along with coffee, he knows the side won’t ask him about why he’s awake because he will, in turn, ask them and he’s sure they don’t want that.

“Hey, I hope there’s still some coffee left in the-”

The fridge door shook slightly as the figure jumped in surprise and looked at him.

The rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat and forced down into his gut where a sick feeling was building up, but he doesn’t want to vomit.

It’s eerily similar to their first meeting. At night, Roman going for a midnight snack while he...He, just looks through the fridge. And then Roman scares him. And they stare at each other.

Will he throw in some insulting comment and grab something to eat before walking away like the first time?

No, no, this is not the first meeting all over again you don’t hate Him He doesn’t hate you but you shouldn’t be meeting in the first place He’s dead He’s been dead for almost 3 years why is He standing here what-

“Oops,” He put his hands next to his head like he’s getting arrested, “got caught in the act.”

This wasn’t the same voice He had. It was laced with venom and anger and there was nothing about it that said We’ve been friends for years and you accepted me and we are on good terms.

“Might as well tell me then, Princey,” the nickname souned bitter and harsh and sharp on his tongue and Roman wanted to throw up. He put his hands in the pockets of his dirty patched up (there seemed to be more patches than the normal fabric, much like how even though this was Him it didn’t feel like Him or act like Him and he wasn’t even sure if he was talking to Him anymore) hoodie, hiding his bitten nails with chipped patches of fabric on them.

“What did I miss?”

[theladyofdeath]

Alone in the Ashes {8}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, drugs, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click >  Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Short & Sweet. As far as feel good chapters go, this one nears the top of the list.

Also, I’m fully aware I’ve used this gif in everything i have ever written, and i do not regret it, whatsoever.

Comment to tell me what you think, or to be tagged! x

“Your hand,” he repeats. “Give it to me.” I extend my shaking right hand. And – in a moment that is a hundred dreams come true – Joshua Wasserstein laces his fingers through mine. A staggering shock of energy shoots straight into my veins. Straight into my heart. “There,” he says. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.” ― Stephanie Perkins, Isla and the Happily Ever After 

The past week had been blissful.

Since the day Rhysand got drunk off his ass, all had been well between him and Feyre - amazing, actually. 

It was all so easy, so natural, so normal.

And the sex was incredible.

When Feyre got home from work on Friday afternoon, nothing sounded better to her than soaking in a nice, hot bubble bath, but it seemed her plans would have to wait, because the moment she walked through the door, Rhysand was standing in the middle of the room with a bouquet of roses, looking handsome in his jeans and button down shirt.

He smiled.

Feyre eyed him, suspiciously, as she shut the door behind her. “Well, hi.”

“Hi,” he said, chuckling. “Go put on something nice.”

Feyre lifted her brow and gestured to her scrubs, covered in weenie dogs. “This isn’t nice?”

Rhysand laughed. “Feel free to keep that on, but you may get some strange stares.” 

Feyre slipped off her shoes and set down her bag before walking toward Rhysand and taking the flowers from his hand.

“These are pretty,” she said, quietly, cheeks heated. “Thank you.”

“Mhmm,” Rhysand said, biting his lower lip. “I realized this morning that I have yet to take you on a proper date.”

“Is that so?” Feyre asked, kissing him on the cheek before bringing the flowers into the kitchen. She found a tall glass and filled it with water.

Rhysand came up behind her as she put the flowers inside. His arms wrapped around her waist, his teeth nipped at her neck. “Yes, so go get dressed.” 

Feyre turned around and placed her palms against his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his gray flannel. “Is this a new shirt?”

“It is,” he agreed. “See, I went shopping for this. It’s a pretty big deal.”

Feyre laughed. “Alright, fine. I’m going.”

“Good,” he said, eyes narrowed, as she tauntingly walked away, down the hall. 

She closed herself inside of her bedroom and stripped off her scrubs. She should hurry, no telling what he had planned. 

At last, she chose a black slip dress that reached just past her knees. A long slit went up the side, stopping mid-thigh. She paired it with some simple, black strappy heels before brushing her hair out and putting it all into a messy bun at the top of her head. 

Thanks to dry shampoo.

After a quick make-up touch-up, and drowning herself in perfume, she was walking back out into the living room. Rhysand was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone when he looked up, and smiled. 

Phone long forgotten. 

“Do you approve?” Feyre crooned. 

“To put it lightly,” he said, and stood, and held out his hand.

Feyre intertwined her fingers with his, grabbed her purse, and they were gone. She thought they were going to go to the car, but Rhysand just led her down the sidewalk. 

“If I knew we were walking everywhere, I would’ve worn more comfortable shoes.”

Rhysand grinned. “We won’t walk far, I promise.” 

“Hopefully toward food,” Feyre grumbled. “I’m starving.”

Rhysand said nothing. He kept his lips shut, his smile broad. 

True to his word, not far after, they walked up to a bistro and sat on the patio, below a series of string lights. 

“Does Velaris really need string lights?” Feyre asked, sipping on her wine. “Takes away from the starlight.”

Rhysand huffed a laugh. “I suppose that’s true.” All he had done since the moment they sat down was stare at her. Even when he was ordering, he never took his eyes off Feyre. 

“You’re making me nervous,” she murmured. 

“Can’t I look at you?” he asked, brow lifted. 

“No,” she laughed. “You may not.” 

“And just like that, you’ve defeated my purpose for the night,” he said, shaking his head. “Cruel woman.” 

“I thought the purpose of tonight was to spoil me,” she said, with a wink. 

“That too,” he laughed, just as the waitress brought their food. “But that’s the purpose of every night.” 

They ate their meals, and laughed, and joked, just as they always had. Conversation swept between them easily, naturally, as it always had. Nothing had changed - everything had just been made stronger.

After they ate, they walked along the Sidra, through the Rainbow, all around town, her hand in his. 

It was simple.

But it was perfect. 

Feyre Archeron was falling in love with her best friend.

~~~~~

Elain was nervous.

It had been a long time since she’d been out on a first date, and only a few months since Graysen. She wasn’t ready.

But she couldn’t tell Azriel no.

She liked him.

She was drawn to him.

And, according to Mila, they should be married. 

A statement that did not, at all, help Elain’s nerves. 

She slipped on a skirt and a tank top, paired with a necklace and some flats, deciding that was appropriate for most places they could go to dinner in the city. 

Elain was ready before he arrived, and she spent the remaining minutes pacing in the living room. 

Then the doorbell rang.

Followed by a soft knock on the door.

After a deep breath, Elain opened the door and smiled. “Hi.”

Azriel stood there, a head taller than she, wearing jeans and a black Henley shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Hey. Ready?”

She nodded, stepped out, and shut the door behind her. 

He was the perfect gentleman, opening the passenger side door and helping her up inside of his truck before he got himself inside. 

He turned on the engine, and soft rock n’ roll came out of the speakers. 

“Hungry?”

No. “A little bit.”

Azriel smiled. “Good.”

“Where’s Mila tonight?” Elain asked, hands in her lap, over her purse. 

“With my friend Mor,” Azriel explained. “She’s here from school for the summer.”

Elain nodded, and smiled.

And an uncomfortable silence ensued. 

She knew Azriel was feeling it too because he was lightly tapping the steering wheel, his lips sucked in. 

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Thankfully, the restaurant he was taking her to was only ten minutes away.

When he pulled into a parking space, he cleared his throat, and turned off the engine. “Look,” he began, just as Elain said, “So-”

They looked at each other and laughed.

“You first,” Elain urged.

Azriel scratched the back of his neck. “I just...I’m not very good at this.”

Elain nodded, smiling faintly. “Neither am I. It’s been five years since I’ve been on a first date.”

If Azriel was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Well, then I guess we’ll both embarrass ourselves together, yeah?” 

Elain smiled. “Yeah.”

He got out of the truck and went to her door. Once he opened it, he held out his hand. She took it, his fingers warm and calloused.

Once they were seated, after they ordered their food, Azriel asked, “So, what do you do? I mean, you know what I do.”

Elain laughed. “I work at a boutique downtown. As of yesterday.”

“Nice,” Azriel said, nodding. “And for fun?”

Elain had to stop and think about it. She hadn’t done anything for fun in a long time. “I like to garden. And I like to write.” Although I haven’t in a while. “What about you?” 

“I do a lot of woodworking stuff,” Azriel said, then shrugged. “Not that I have a lot of time for it. Especially now, with Mila.”

“What happened with her mom?” Elain asked, before she could think about it. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

But Azriel just smiled. “It’s okay. Mila’s mom is my sister. To make the story short, she is now in prison, and will be there for a long time.”

“That’s horrible,” Elain whispered, “for Mila.”

Azriel agreed. “It’s hard to explain it to a four-year-old.”  

“But you’re so great with her,” Elain said, gently. “She really loves you.” 

“She’s pretty great,” Azriel chuckled.

After that, the conversation began to flow a little easier. There were no more awkward pauses, just curious questions. Elain didn’t mind the “meeting new people” questions. She welcomed the innocent small talk. She asked about his childhood, about his parents. He told her that his mom died when he was young, and then he was adopted, along with his older sister, Amarantha. 

He asked her the same question, and she told him about her mother. He listened as she listed off her favorite memories.

Elain asked how he knew Feyre so well, and he explained that he had been good friends with Rhysand since high school, even though he graduated two years after they did. Rhysand was family, he said.

They finished their dinner, but stayed and talked a while longer, until they felt they overstayed their welcome. Then, she climbed back up into Azriel’s truck and they drove down to the river and parked. 

Elain started to feel uncomfortable, but then Azriel hopped out, and opened her door. Once again, he held out his hand, and once again, Elain happily took it. 

The stars were out in full force. There were very few things that were as beautiful as the Velaris night sky.

Azriel unhitched his truck bed before asking Elain if it was okay for him to help her up. Once she said yes, his hands found her hips, and he lifted her up before joining her there. They looked out over the Sidra. 

After a minute of silence, Elain began, quietly, “You know, don’t you.”

Azriel tensed up. “Sorry?”

She fiddled with her thumbs. “Feyre told you about my engagement.”

Azriel stayed silent, and to Elain’s surprise, she laughed, softly. “It’s okay. Really, I just...it’s the one thing you didn’t ask about tonight. I mean, you didn’t ask why I’m home with my dad, or why I just got a job, or why I haven’t been on a date in so long, or any of that. I thought you would have. So, I assume you already know.”

She looked at Azriel through the side of her eye, and he nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. 

“No, it’s not,” Azriel said, looking down at her. “He didn’t treat you right. It wasn’t okay.”

Elain’s heart felt a little bit lighter as she said, “Thank you.”

Azriel cleared his throat. “I understand if you’re not ready for...dating, but I’m glad you said yes tonight.”

“Me too,” Elain said, and she meant it.

Azriel was not like she thought he would be. He was kind and gentle. His smile was rare, but stunning. He was quiet, reserved, but truthful and passionate. 

“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” Elain added. “Sometime soon.” 

Azriel’s eyes softened as he said, “I’d like that.” 

~~~~~

“Come on, Ax.”

Bryaxis came running to Cassian after doing his business in the field beyond their apartment building. Like the good boy he was, he followed Cassian up to his apartment without having to be told, again. They’d gone on a night run for a few miles, and Cassian was exhausted.

Just as he was about to walk inside, he turned around and knocked on Nesta’s door.

No answer.

With a sigh, he opened his own front door and slipped off his flip flops.

And froze.

Sitting on his couch was Amren, a glass of red wine in her hand, and sitting next to her was Nesta, a glass to her lips. 

“You didn’t tell me you had such a charming neighbor,” Amren sang as he walked inside. 

Silently, Cassian let Bryaxis in before shutting the door behind him. Then, he asked, “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

The two women on the couch grinned. 

“I have asked you over for a drink at least fifty times since I moved here, and she asks you, what, once?” Cassian asked, exasperated. “And you fucking came?”

Nesta shrugged. “I like her better than you.”

Cassian snorted, padding to the kitchen. “Apparently.”

As he poured himself a glass of whiskey, Amren said, “Don’t worry, you may join us.” 

“I’m not sure that I want to,” he mumbled, joining them, anyway. He sat on the floor, his back against the coffee table, facing them. “Alright. What are we talking about?”

“You,” Amren said, obviously.

Cassian sipped from his glass. “Liar.” 

“She’s not, actually,” Nesta said, and when he looked her way, she grinned. 

He didn’t like that grin.

It reminded him too much of Amren’s man-eater grin. 

“Okay, I’m going to bed,” he said, standing up. “Come on, Bryaxis.”

“Here, Ax,” Amren followed.

Bryaxis jumped up on the couch next to Amren and laid his head on her lap.

Cassian’s lips tightened. “Traitor.” 

“Stay, Cass,” Amren called after him.

“No, you two are drunk and gossipy, and I don’t trust either of you,” he called back, already halfway down the hall. He dipped into the bathroom and shut the door. 

After downing the rest of his glass, he turned on the shower and let it warm up. He pulled his shirt over his head before slipping off his sweatpants and stepping into the steaming water. 

A long, slow breath left him as he closed his eyes, letting the water soak his hair. He washed his body with the soap Amren brought along - lemon something or another. 

His muscles relaxed, the sweat rinsed off of him.

All the while, all he could think about was that Amren, of all people, got Nesta to come over. Then again, he supposed the two weren’t all that different.

The biggest difference between them was that Amren actually enjoyed Cassian’s presence. 

By the time he turned the shower off and stepped out, drying his skin and wrapping a towel around his waist, the apartment was quiet.

In the living room, Amren was out on the couch, her head resting comfortably on Bryaxis’ back. Cassian grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over her before turning to the kitchen and jumping backwards with a curse. “What the hell? You can’t just sit in dark rooms, silently, in other people’s houses!”

His voice came out as a harsh whisper, careful not to wake Amren, or Bryaxis, but he nearly pissed himself. 

Nesta chuckled as she sat at the kitchen table, fingers fiddling with the stem of her wine glass. “Sorry. I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Yeah, well,” Cassian said, sighing, “great job.” 

Nesta looked at his body, to his towel, and shook her head. 

“Checking me out?” Cassian asked, walking into the kitchen. “Don’t make it so obvious.”

“No,” Nesta said, as Cassian poured another glass of whiskey. “But, I was going to make a sarcastic comment about how your towel has little pink hearts on it.” 

Cassian looked down at his towel as he meandered to the kitchen table and sat opposite of Nesta. “This towel is adorable, don’t deny it.” 

Nesta snorted. “Right. Well, I’ll get going.”

She didn’t move. So, Cassian said, “At least stay until your glass is empty.”

Nesta nodded, slowly. “Okay.” 

“Get along with Amren, then?” Cassian asked, sipping from his own. 

“Yeah,” Nesta said, quietly. “She’s nice.”

Cassian arched a brow. “I have a lot of words to describe that woman, nice is not one of them.” 

“I disagree,” Nesta said, but she was smiling. 

The kitchen light was off, but Cassian could pick out her distinct, shadowy features in the dim light coming from the lamp in the living room. 

He could see her lips, plump, curved upward on one side. Her gray-blue eyes, full of sadness and destruction, like a late-Summer storm. 

“What’s on your mind?” Cassian asked, watching her intently.

She met his stare, chin held high. “That we should fuck.”

Cassian laughed, but her expression didn’t change.

She was serious. 

Cassian shook his head. “No.”

He expected her to get pissed, but she didn’t. Her head tilted. “Why?”

“I’m a lot of things,” Cassian said, bringing his glass to his mouth. “But you’re drunk, and I don’t take advantage of intoxicated women.” 

Nesta nodded, slowly. “That’s what separates you from every other man in this fucked up city.” 

“Maybe you’ve just been hanging out in the wrong places,” Cassian followed. 

“I hang out in the places that accept me,” she whispered, looking down at her wine glass, half full, before downing the rest of its contents.  

She set the glass on the table and stood. The moment her feet hit the ground, she nearly fell over.

Cassian chuckled. “Go home. Sleep it off.”

She nodded, eyelids drooping. Cassian followed her to the door, a step behind, and made sure she made it across the hallway safely.

She turned around in her doorway. “Next time, put on pants.”

With that, she shut the door, leaving Cassian and his towel with the little pink hearts staring after her.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List (to be tagged, comment or send me an ask!)

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty  @starkovsnesta​   @redisriding​  @photofeesh

@mariamuses​   @tswaney17    @amaranthas-whore​   @awesomelena555

@danika-defendyr​  @rachaels14 @faequeenaelin​  @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn​

@hashtolanashoba  @poisonous00​  @chemicha @samotita​

@mynewdreamwasyou​ @humming-asong​  

@candid-confetti @awkward-avocado-s​

@my-fan-side @queen-of-glass​  @stars-falling​

@ifangirlninja  @sleeping-and-books  @burritowithfeels

@morebooks-pls @kindofawalkingpoem​

@sannelovesreading @empressnesrynfaliq​

@halstudies @sleeping-and-books​

@amren-courtofdreams

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@girl-who-reads-the-books

@mis-lil-red

@shhhimreading03​

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@negativenesta​

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@itsme-malin

@flora-and-fae​

@feyrethedarklady​

@starryandbooks​

@gingerglides​

@gloriouspaintercreatorbandit​

@6255igntm​

@littlehoneyybee

@the-regal-warrior​

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@aelin-rowan-whitehorn​

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@ugh-avila​

@superspiritfestival  @the-dark-swan​  @girlgotattitude448​  @eversincebeirut​

@midnightrose-reader​  @lord-douglas-the-third​  @thestarguidingyouhome​

@empress-ofbloodshed​

Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

[confused-android]

Day 13, Todd - Family

----------------

Amanda: hey, what time are you showing up at mom and dad's on tuesday? (7:02PM)

Todd: For what? Why would I go to their house? (7:05PM)

Amanda: …for hannukah? they sent out the invite three weeks ago, asshole. check your fucking email (7:10PM)

Todd switches apps on his phone and opens his Gmail account. The only things in his inbox are bills and spam. He looks in his spam folder, and even checks his agency account, just in case they had, for some reason, found that email address and sent him an email there.

Nothing.

He searches both accounts for his mom's email address, and finds only the last email she'd sent him, before all of this shit went down. Before he'd told Amanda the truth, and she'd told their parents. Before he was on the FBI's Most Wanted list for almost three months. Before they opened the agency.

From: Debora Brotzman <deb.b.brotzman@zmail.com> Date: 4/8/16 2:14 PM To: Todd Brotzman <theodore.brotzman@zmail.com> Subject: Visiting Mandy?

Hey sweetie, it's MOM. Mandy said she's feeling better this week – are you going to visit her? Call me when you get there, if you can!  :-) Dad found a place to give him an interview, even with his knee, so send him some love and prayers! :-) I miss you, you're doing great.

Love, MOM <3 (Mandy says this is a heart, but in case you can't tell, imagine I put a heart there!)

He hadn't called her on that visit – all of his attention was taken up by Dirk, and it felt weirdly vulnerable to call his mother in front of some weird stranger. After that visit to Amanda, he'd been a little too busy to call her during the Patrick Spring case, and then he was afraid calling her would be trackable, and would bring the FBI down on his and Farah's heads. And since getting back to Seattle… Well, he's tried calling his parents a few times, and sent them an email over the high holidays, but they haven't responded.

He knows why, but it's just been easier to pretend that they were busy, to let Amanda send him occasional messages when she visited home, to imagine that they just… hadn't gotten around to responding to his lengthy apology email.

That strategy doesn't seem to be possible, here.

Todd: No email. (7:43PM)

Amanda: you sure? (7:44PM)

Todd: Yeah. (7:46PM)

Amanda doesn't respond and Todd slumps back into the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. This was… this was utterly predictable. He knew this was coming as far back as Amanda's first Pararibulitis attack, and this is what he knew would happen if they ever found out, and he can't pretend that they're just busy any more. He hasn't been invited home for the family Hanukkah celebration. He's not family any more.

This is the natural consequences of his actions, and he isn't even sure if he deserves to feel miserable.

Fuck.

Why does this suck so much? It's not like he was close with them, anyway. Not for a lack of effort on his parents' behalf, of course. That last email from his mom is typical. Just that it's hard to want to spend time with people you hurt, you're hurting, even if they don't know it. He kept hanging with Amanda because she needed him, and he needed to keep trying to make up for how shitty he was, but there was no way that he could ever save up enough to pay his parents back for years of – of stealing from and lying to them. So spending time with them, talking to them beyond occasional five minute phone call and a yearly awkward hanukkah gathering, never really happened.

Does this even matter? Should it matter?

Of course it matters. It's a punishment from his parents, for being awful to them. He's supposed to feel like shit.

Well, that's successful, then.

Dirk and Farah are out at some kind of trivia night thing, and Todd is honestly kind of relieved. He's not sure if he can handle them right now. Not in a bad way. Just that, Farah wants to be comforting but isn't ever really sure how, and Dirk is sure that he knows how to be comforting but rarely succeeds, and Todd always has to pretend that he feels very comforted by whichever of them has drawn the short straw to hang out with him when he's miserable, and he doesn't really feel like pretending right now.

His phone dings.

Amanda: i texted mom. (8:12PM)

Todd: …? (8:14PM)

Amanda: she said it wasn't an accident (8:20PM)

Todd: I figured *shrug emoji* (8:22PM)

Amanda: i feel kind of weird about this, tbh? (8:24PM)

Amanda: like, i'm still pissed at you, but you know that, and we're working on it (8:24PM)

Amanda: and i told mom that and she said that you emailed her for yk and apologized and that she didn't respond (8:24PM)

Amanda: and that sounds shitty of her? (8:25PM)

Amanda: but also you were shitty (8:26PM)

Amanda: like, really shitty (8:26PM)

Todd: I know that. I was shitty. And she doesn't have to respond to me. (8:27PM)

Amanda: it just feels weird bc she's our mom (8:31PM)

Todd: Yeah. (8:32PM)

Todd: I'm… having some feelings about it. (8:32PM)

Amanda: well i guess i'm proud of you for having feelings? idk (8:33PM)

Amanda: do you want me to not go? (8:37PM)

Todd: No! (8:37PM)

Todd: No, no. Go spend Hanukkah with mom and dad. I'm bummed, but I'll be fine.  (8:37PM)

Todd: I'll try emailing them again next Yom Kippur, I guess. That always seemed to mean something to dad. (8:39PM)

Amanda: that could work (8:40PM)

Amanda: idk (8:40PM)

Todd: I don't know either, if it helps. This sucks, but I knew it was coming, I guess. (8:42PM)

Amanda: :/  (8:45PM)

Todd: :/ (8:46PM)

Todd drops his phone on the coffee table and stands up, shoves his hands through his hair, and sits right back down. Then he stands up again, because while he has no idea what to do with himself, he at least wants to not know what to do somewhere other than the couch. He looks in the fridge without taking anything out of it, contemplates and rejects the idea of a shower, and then grabs the pipe and lighter from his dresser and climbs out the kitchen window and on to the fire escape. He leans up against the side of the building and shivers as a gust of December air hits his neck and seeps in through the fabric of his hoodie.

"Fuck," he says, voice lost in the night, and cups the bowl in one hand and lights it with the other. He takes a long inhale. The smoke floods his lungs and he tops it off with clean, cold air, then holds the breath for a beat before exhaling. He lets the smoke drift away and sits with the scent lingering in his nose before taking a second hit, and then a third. He taps the ash out through the grate next to him, shoves the pipe and lighter back into his hoodie pocket, and thumps his head back against the brick.

It's hard to not feel like a complete piece of shit when your parents have disowned you. Like, the people who are supposed to love and care for you no matter what just don't want to see you for the holidays? That's pretty bad.

He knows that it's not like he doesn't deserve it – he did a horrible thing. Like, a really horrible thing. The kind of thing that gets you disowned by your parents. But it… it really sucks. This whole situation sucks. And it's a situation he made, which means that he sucks.

It's cold outside. Not quite freezing, but not that far above it, either, and his hoodie isn't quite cutting it. He doesn't go inside, though. If he goes inside, he'll check his phone and reread the conversation with Amanda, and have to start thinking about it all over again. So he just stays on the fire escape, buries his chin in the collar of his hoodie, and tries to think about anything other than his parents choosing to ignore him, and not see him for the holidays.

"Fuck," he says again. And that seems to sum it up.

Todd loses track of how long he spends on the fire escape, but it's long enough that he's not really cold any more, just trembling slightly, when the door to the apartment bangs closed.

"Shit," Dirk swears, his voice drifting through the window. "It's bloody freezing in here."

"The window's open," Farah adds, baffled, and then says, "Todd?"

"Todd!" Dirk echoes, his voice a little louder than hers.

"I'm out –" Todd coughs, then tries again. "I'm out here! Sorry!"

He can hear some bustling and movement from inside, and then a long leg sticks through the open window and taps around, looking for the floor, and is then quickly followed by a body. Dirk steps out of the way for Farah, who is altogether more graceful when exiting the building, and they both look down at him, separate expression of confusion on their faces.

"Why are you out here?" Dirk asks bluntly.

Farah shakes her head and puts on hand on Dirk's shoulder, asks, "how long have you been out here?"

Todd shrugs. "Maybe since nine? I'm not sure. What time is it?"

"It's almost ten," Farah says, and crouches down in front of him. "What the hell, Todd?"

"I'm sorry," he says, too tired to really get riled up, or even defensive. "I didn't know what time it was. I left my phone inside."

"Will you, um. Come inside now?" Farah tries, and looks up at Dirk for back-up. Dirk has a funny expression on his face, though, and steps around both of them. He sinks to the floor next to Todd and wiggles up close, until they're pressed together at the shoulder and hip. "Dirk!" Farah exclaims.

"Come on," Dirk says, and gestures to the floor on the other side of Todd. She opens her mouth like she's going to object again, but then something on Todd's face, or on Dirk's face, seems to speak to her, and she scoots back a bit and tips off her heels and down to sitting. Farah holds still for a long moment, steeling herself with a deep breath, then presses against Todd's other side. The brick at his back and the metal grate under his ass are still cold, but his two best friends are warm on either side of him. For a moment, at least, he feels like he has family.

------------------

Link to: day one, Farah - Youth day two, Farah - Dance day three, Farah - Gore day four, Farah - GNC fashion day five, Farah - AU day six, Farah - Family (to be written) day seven, Farah - Pride (to be written) day eight, Todd - Youth (to be written) day nine, Todd - Dance (to be written) day ten, Todd - Gore day eleven, Todd - GNC Fashion day twelve, Todd - AU

prompt list

[stragglewort]

Tales of Barovia - “One-Offs in the Mist“

Picture from WarlordStrahd on World Anvil - copyright Wizards of the Coast

TW: Blood, fighting, burning, kidnapping

_______________________________________________

“A Royal Visit in the Blue-Water Inn” -

     This was the result of our DM bringing a certain someone to our tavern room after a rousing day causing trouble in Vallaki. He, of course, left us off on a two-week cliffhanger - naturally I had to fill in the blanks. (Ardolf, in-fact, did not get kidnapped by Strahd at the end of this encounter. Strahd did, in-fact, leave through the window in a puff of mist.) 

----------

        Ardolf jumped for Irenea. Grabbing her shoulders and drawing her back with whatever sliver of strength he had in him. His hands flickered with a faint light blue – the color of wards – the magic shimmering from his fingertips like thread being pulled from the air. It was pitiful compared to his usual show, but his magic (what little he was practiced with to start) had been drained through the chaos of the day. It left just a light, fading glow that engulfed the woman before the color seeped from both the glimmer on his fingers and the tan of his face. Even in the darkness he had gone noticeably pale.

        That was the last of the magic he could conjure on his own; without the intervention of the divines he would need to rely on his shield and the others around him if the Devil decided to pull anything hostile.

        "You look ghostly, have you been eating well?" Strahd rose from the seat, taunting them, and the whole party shifted. He strode forward, walking with the confidence of a man who knew none could oppose him.

        Honestly? He was right.

        He grimaced at the ward, looking down at the woman who glared back with a fiery rage. If the magic held, he could hurt her – sure – but he couldn't charm her, couldn't scare her. Ardolf held solace in that idea since it took the rest of his wavering energy to keep the spell functional.

        "Doctor – Physician General – You do care quite so much about these people you've never met." Strahd ran a single sharp nail across the woman's cheek, moving slowly, taking care not to cut her. No one dared to move, but they watched, stunned –

        "Don't touch -" Ardolf started, but Zarovich continued.

        "…And the paladin, the Templar, here to spread the joy of your god to the dark reaches of a land who doesn't even know its name." Imposing on the Elvish woman he tapped gingerly against her shield, scraping the holy symbol etched in its body. "Lastly? You two." He almost chuckled, facing the thief and warlock. "We're a little more personal, you being here for my head." He stopped again, towering over them while the party tried in vain to stagger away. "Really, doctor. You should've saved your spells for yourself." His hand shot, first what looked to be towards Irenea before it shifted, like a crossbow bolt curved by the wind, and grabbed the doctor by his throat.

        Strahd was strong, terribly, horrifyingly strong –

        "Tell me, doctor. Could you spare the dying while bleeding out on the floor? Could you mend their wounds with your throat ripped out?" His voice lowered to an icy whisper, his hollow eyes meeting Ardolf’s before he broke out into mischievous, freezing laughter. "Oh, but you can't, can you? You finally rely on your magic and you're all used up – pity."

        Ardolf couldn’t tell if he gasped or the others – he tried to speak – but Strahd’s grip tightened. Even if there were still some semblance of magic in the man, he wasn’t going to let him drudge it up.

        “Alright!” Strahd hummed, stepping back faster than the party could comprehend to catch him. Ardolf’s feet dragged across the floor in the shift. “You’ve refused everything, and I’ve been very generous, so I will give all of you one last offering out of politeness.” He had a strange idea of politeness, punctuated as he raised the doctor off the ground – lifting him like a ragdoll. If Ardolf didn’t realize he was supposed to be the leverage in some horrible plan, he would’ve feared Strahd would break his neck then and there.

        They hesitated, Ardolf hesitated, and Strahd waited for the split second it took them to process his words –

        “Stop this, please, stop this.” Irenea cried; her voice shrill but hushed.

        “Oh, I will!” Strahd answered, near instantly. “You know exactly how to make me do what you want… you just haven’t done it.”

        “Go.” Ardolf struggled the word out before he could feel nails pierce into flesh of his neck. “You –“ He winced. “You know where to go.” Did they? Did they really? The answer was no, but Strahd didn’t need to know that.

         He lessened his grip on the man’s throat, just enough to let him speak. “And that would be…?”

        “Anywhere but here.“ If they weren’t seeing things, it almost looked like Ardolf had grinned. Though the look cleaned off his face as Strahd scratched further into his neck, drawing blood.

        “Is that your decision, truly?” He scanned the room; they’d drawn their weapons, but the majority wouldn’t move with their only healer like puddy in his hands. He turned to face the rogue who had broken from the group to take him by surprise – catching him right before their own desperately calculated attack. “If that’s your decision, then you forfeit my kindness. It’ll be a chase, then?”

        “No! We can –“ The Templar started, pushing through the group.  

        “Yes.” Ardolf interrupted. Strahd grinned, that fanged smile the last thing the party saw before, in seconds, they both disappeared into out the window and into the night faster than was even comprehensible. The room now two monsters less.

        Where the Devil planned to take their doctor in this horrible, unwitting game of cat and mouse they had no idea. But the gods knew damn-well they’d scour every inch of Barvoia if it meant getting him back.

_______________________________________________

 “Impromptu Rendezvous” or “My Assumed Worst-Case-Scenario” OR “Me Not Knowing Anything about Ravenloft but Writing it Anyway”

        This one was from the far start of the campaign - Ardolf had just been found out to be a lycanthrope, we were just starting to learn about what Strahd was and how he worked, and I’d just been told about Ravenloft. Not to mention we’d just saved the Freek and Myrtle from the Old Bonegrinder. Even though we had actually found a place to keep the children safe, our DM still found a way to put them in danger by the ending battle.

---------

         There wasn't any place to secure the children, because of this Ardolf and the rest of the party had instead decided against their better judgement and brought them along. They'd been wandering around the borders of Castle Ravenloft for days by that point, daring to stay in one spot lest The Devil catch them intruding. At first Ardolf didn’t mind the idea of facing Zarovich alone - at the worst, he hoped the monster would make the encounter quick. But they had children now - even living in Barovia hadn't corrupted them, and their presence, along with the camaraderie from the others had given the poor doctor a sense of normalcy he hadn't realized he had lost.

        He was afraid to lose it again.

        It had become routine: move camp, fight the undead that horded around the castle, and do whatever possible to keep the others healthy. It nagged that Strahd could be watching them - it was almost impossible that he hadn't noticed their presence being so close to his home, but Ardolf chose not to focus too sorely on the idea. It's hard, though, when the thing you try to Ignore grabs you by the neck. He'd been bandaging a scratch on one of the children's arms when something, unbeknownst to either Ardolf or the young boy, grappled his neck and trapped him in a hold as tight as an iron trap.

       "And here we are...” A sharp, cackling voice whispered. “Blood, like wine, gets better with time - wouldn't you agree, doctor?" The voice hissed into his face, a cackle hinting under the words while they spoke.

       All his fears of being caught came to the fold - gods, so many ideas passed his mind over what he could do; functional ones, things that might help you when staked at the neck by a demon. But the child was there, he couldn't risk getting the boy hurt. Strahd's breath, cold, boasted against Ardolf's skin - he was too afraid to move.

        It was then that a too-familiar clawing dug in his stomach.

        The child had never seen him turn - it was such a silly worry, but he couldn't let his fear put the boy in any more danger than he was now already in. "....Letting that worry, that horror seep into the blood for days; it's really quite a delicacy. You should try it." The monster got closer, if it wasn't for the razors against his neck assuring Ardolf he was still alive, he would've assumed his heart had stopped. It beat too fast for him to process. He knew he had few options that didn't lead to his own instantaneous death, submission or aggression - neither were things he wished Freek to see. Ardolf hesitated, his voice shaking against his breath as he struggled to take in air -

        "Please... Freek, look away." Ardolf hushed, pleading.

        He wasn’t sure, then, as he let the curse take over if the boy had the time to get away.

_______________________________________________

"I Wonder What It’ll be Like... Trying to Kill Strahd”

        Something about lycanthropy, something about a silver family crest Ardolf carried around with him as motivation - this one wasn’t my idea, though!

...I just wrote it.

----------

        "It's a shame you came all this way for failure." Strahd's clothes were shred and his armor dented, but as a man he seemed entirely intact. The fight had gone on for hours and the party was nearly torn.

        "Get out of here, we can return again at a different time!" Ardolf threw a frantic wave to Lùthien and the party, he yelled, screamed that they retreat. He was trapped in front of the count, trembling, a tremble in his hands he'd mostly repressed, a tremble he couldn't quite get rid of. Strahd could see how much he tried to shadow his fear, how his resolve was mostly shattered. "You're a monster, Zarovich."

        "Such harsh words, Doctor. It's almost like you hate me." The vampire hissed.

        "Almost -" Ardolf mimicked while he readied himself again; the undeniable possibility of his death was already settled, with that in mind it made no sense to back down.

        "You're barely standing - what makes you think you can hit me?" That blasted, freezing laugh bellowed off the stone walls of Ravenloft's hall.

        "I managed it before -" He cut his own words off and swung his mace back after the vampire, pushing all his energy to aiming. It had to land, had to hit, just one more would be enough -

        "Gods, Ardolf - wait! Watch yourself!" Lùthien, having realized their healer wasn't with the party in their retreat turned and caught the scene just seconds too late. Strahd took advantage of the doctor's careless hope and struck him, forcing him into the ground as he sprawled across the carved brick inlay. He rolled over the tiling and the bag he'd kept so dearly close to his side broke open at the seams. Papers, ink, and fabric fell over the hall - one particular white cloth rattled from the casing and unfolded - revealing a brandished crest. Something not even Lùthien recognized.

        "What's... This?" Strahd spoke in a hollow whisper, the fear in the doctor's face when he approached the metal urged him further. A strange sun shaped sigil was molded on it's face - sternly carved common written over and under the polished seal. He took a moment to read the doctor's reaction before he lifted the small decorative piece off the ground. A short look of surprise - of shock - scrawled itself over his face. "Silver, doctor?" He asked before he continued his inspection. "No Man Left Defeated. Take it this is yours?"

        Ardolf hesitated, but ultimately refused an answer.

        "...Or your family's? You did say something about them. Human affairs, pathetic ones. How long has it been since you last saw them, Greymouth?" Strahd knelt to the doctor's side, came down to his level. Hardly humbly. "Years maybe, time moves slow in my world - slower than out there. They might've forgotten you. You might've even forgotten them?"

        "I wouldn't." Ardolf spat out, a sputtered cough cried out against the words.

        "Everyone forgets, doctor. Can you see their faces? Have their voices muffled?" The Count's eyes lit up with a bout of sudden realization. "I'm not a monster. Please, let me give you something to remember them by." It wasn't difficult ripping the canvased fabric of Ardolf’s shirt, the count's nails were practicality razors. He exposed his skin and before there was even time to react, forced the brandished symbol into his chest. The sound of a rough, searing hiss rang off the stone walls. It danced scattered with the doctor's screams while the silvered crest burned its image into his flesh.

_______________________________________________

        This one’s pretty different compared to my other posts, I know! I haven’t gotten around to writing much of anything new, school-work made working on drafts impossible. But! We just finished our Curse of Strahd campaign (which I used Ardolf as a character in) and I’ve had these saved in the memos of my phone forever. I thought about trying to post all the in-universe journal entries I wrote for Ardolf on here as well, but formatting those into a post might be a little much. 

Poor Ardolf, though. I would’ve written the others in the party - but I’ll be honest, I felt really bad writing any of the other player’s characters in these situations. They don’t deserve this kind of treatment; Ardolf just has the misfortune of being mine.

[nanoland]

am writing hellblazer fic asfdfsfff

title: The Cave

fandom: Hellblazer

characters: John Constantine, Chas Chandler, the First of the Fallen

blurb: John gets lost in a cave. 

warnings: Depression, covid19, demons getting themselves Extremely murdered. 

0 

It was when the death toll had crested 100,000 that he’d snapped and made his way to Number 10 Downing Street with murder in his eyes and a briefcase full of every cursed artefact he owned.

“What are you gonna do, eh?” bellowed Chas, who’d been following behind him in his cab for the last half mile. He’d already tried to physically drag John into it and had received a bite on the hand for his trouble. “Chuck ‘em through the windows? That’s bulletproof glass, John! Fuck’s sake! Be reasonable!”

“Stop sodding shouting!” John shouted over his shoulder, wiping rain off his face. “You’ll spread sodding germs!”

“John, I already had it. Four months ago, remember?”

“You can have it more than once! Christ, does nobody in this city read the papers but me?”

It was fair to say that John wasn’t at his best. In his defence, he’d spent the last year sitting inside his tiny, poorly-ventilated, roach-ridden flat, vividly imagining what a respiratory virus would do to lungs that had suffered over forty years of heavy smoking, two run-ins with cancer, and the actual devil sticking his actual great big grubby clawed hand in ‘em. No fucking thank you.

Chas sighed heavily and climbed out of the cab again, slamming the door as he did. He splashed through a dozen puddles before coming to stand in John’s path, arms folded. “Listen, Conjob. I love you. Even when you’re a complete prick, which is most of the time. And I know you can do amazing things. But mate, hear me out; you cannot assassinate the British Prime Minister.”

“Someone bloody has to!” John Constantine, greatest wizard of his age, screamed at the top of his wretched, ragged, Satan-besmirched lungs.

Eventually, Chas managed to calm him down and get him home for a cup of tea.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” John grunted as his socks dried in front of the heater and the rational parts of his mind re-exerted themselves.

“S’alright.”

“How’s the bite?”

“Didn’t pierce the skin. John, you need a break. A holiday. You need to get out of town for a few weeks. Go breathe fresh country air, do some weird mystical shit with a goat, whatever it is that sorts your head out these days. But you can’t carry on like this, mate. I haven’t seen you this miserable in years.”

He handed John one of Renee’s strawberry-patterned towels. Dragging it across his face, John grunted, “Holiday? At a time like this?”

“Why not? Makes as much sense as any other time.”

“What if you come down with it again? Or Geraldine? Or Renee?”

“John,” said Chas, gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You already tried to cure me with magic. It didn’t work. At all. Just wasted a lot of chicken blood and Renee’s best spoons. Get this in your skull: there’s nothing you can do. Alright? I know you hate that, but it’s the truth.”

John swallowed thickly. “Yeah. Yeah. Alright.”

So he went home to his tiny flat, stuffed fresh socks and his toothbrush into a backpack, booby-trapped his front door, and fled London in the dead of night, feeling like one of those gits in Boccaccio’s Decameron.

0

“It’s called glamping.”

“Some new wizardy stuff, I’m guessing?”

Chas’s voice over the phone was distracted, like he was half-watching the telly. John was relieved; he’d wanted to hear another human speak but wasn’t feeling up to a proper conversation demanding his usual levels of sparkling charisma and staggering wit. Not right now. Not without weed, and he’d not thought to bring any.

Nestling deeper into his teak folding chair and drawing a thick woven blanket up over his knees, John said, “Nah. Not buggering about with any of that old guff until I’m back in town. Promised myself.”

“Right.”

“Don’t sound so sceptical, you git. I’ve done it before.”

“Mm-hmm. What’s your record? The longest you’ve ever gone without doing anything mystical and creepy?”

“‘Bout… hmm. Three days.”

“You’re coming up on the tail end of that right about now.”

“I know. Chas, on my word, I am going to make it to Sunday without so much as sniffing around a graveyard or wanking off a werewolf. I am on holiday.”

“Alright, alright, if you say so. Good for you, mate. So what’s this ‘glamping’ business, then?”

“It’s camping. But posh. I’m sitting up here atop a hill in Yorkshire with a tent the size of a cathedral and me chic woodburning stove and me box of white wine and feeling like the yuppiest old cunt who ever drew breath.”

“Sounds horrible.”

“It does, doesn’t it? That’s why I chose it over a nice comfy bed and breakfast. Figured I’d wake up with a cow shitting on my head and could use that as an excuse to come home early. Actually, though… it’s alright. Quiet. There’s a river at the bottom of the hill where these giggling honeymooners like to have a morning bonk but it’s far enough away that I can’t hear them unless they’re really having fun. And the weather’s been alright. It’s all surprisingly decent.”

“And you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Yep.”

“Hmph. I should have come with you. You get all weird and introspective when you’re left alone for more than a couple days.”

“I’m not alone. There’re birds. Squirrels. A few ghosts hanging out by the toilets.”

“John.”

“Ain’t gonna talk to ‘em! Mind you, one did give me a wink when I was zipping up. How’s everything back home?”

“Er – look, I won’t lie, it’s shit. It’s all shit. But it’s not any more shit than it was when you left three days ago. Not any worse, not any better, yeah?”

“Right.”

(Stupid to be disappointed. Stupid that a part of him had secretly believed that as soon as he abandoned the sinking ship that was London, things would miraculously get better for everyone, even as another part of him, on the opposite side of his brain, had been convinced – maybe even hoped – that the moment he was gone, the entire city would descend into screaming anarchy, at which he could point and laugh from a safe distance.)

“Listen, John, I’ve gotta go. Renee needs groceries. Be careful, please?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Don’t fuck about with any occult bollocks. Don’t go foraging for brain-melting mushrooms. Don’t do anything. Just stay in your tent and read your dirty books, yeah?”

“Heard and understood, Mum.”

“Bastard.”

“Love you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

John dropped his phone onto the grass and stared up at the sky. A herd of thin grey clouds drifted past. Off in the distance, he could just make out the shape of a barn – or was it a church? Either way, there were sheep next to it.

A squirrel scurried down a nearby tree trunk and then up another one.

Yawning, he scratched his chin. (Getting scruffy. Hadn’t shaved in two days now.)

“Should prob’ly do some reading,” he mumbled to no one.

A few minutes passed.

He dangled his head back behind his seat and sang quietly: “First produced my pistol… then produced my rapier… said ‘stand and deliver’, for he were a bold deceiver… mush a-ring dum-a do dum-a da…”

Heaving a sigh, he stood up and walked around his tent to dispel pins and needles, then went inside to read his book.

“I am not bored,” he muttered fiercely, staring down at pages that might as well have been blank.

“Oh, but you are, John.”

England’s greatest wizard jumped up, wielding his novel as though it were a club, and dealt a devastating blow to empty air while screaming something along the lines of, “Raargh die die die!”

Then he waited for a moment to see if the voice returned. Tried to determine whether he could sense anything. Nope. Admittedly, that didn’t mean much these days. Lots of beasties and bastards out there had learned how to hide from him.

“Either I’m hallucinating or someone’s pissing me about,” he concluded, placing his hands on his hips. “Chas, mate, I’m sure you would agree that either constitutes a fine reason to leave this fucking tent.”

And leave he did. 

0

He went caving.

The BBC had published an article a couple years back calling the UK’s cave systems its ‘last true wilderness’. He and Chas had had a good long laugh over that, Chas suggesting that John take the caver quoted on an expedition to Faerie or maybe direct him toward any of the two hundred portals to Hell between Plymouth and the Orkney Islands.

But the article had stuck with him. Perhaps it was the obvious love the caver had for his hobby, the clean and simple joy he got out of crawling around in dark, damp holes. John was always drawn to people like that, and not just because it sounded smutty.

(Imagine if he’d loved something clean and simple; gotten into bird-watching or carpentry instead of magic. Would have saved him a lot of hassle.)

Idly, one evening, he’d poked around on the internet – now that, that really was the last true wilderness – until he’d found a map listing all the cave systems in the UK, along with a guide to which were popular, which were dangerous, which were good for a family holiday, and yes (inevitably), which had been the scenes of grisly accidents.

(Wikipedia said that historically there’d been only 136 fatalities ‘associated with recreational caving’ in the UK and that, statistically, it wasn’t a particularly dangerous hobby. Hadn’t stopped him from having vivid dreams about bodies wedged in tiny tunnels miles below ground, cooling and rotting and bloating, except how could they bloat when there simply wasn’t enough room, what happened when…

Anyway, Chas had eventually rescued him from his maudlin musings and dragged him to the pub.)

And while his memory was a messy old thing, especially these days, that just happened to be the sort of useless information that tended to hang around in his head for years, like the words to every song in Sweeney Todd or the rituals required for an exorcism spell that didn’t actually work, doing nothing but taking up space.

There was a cave only a few miles from the campsite.

When he arrived, he beheld a clumsily painted sign nailed to an oak tree next to the entrance:

CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC UNTIL SPRING

NO TRESPASSERS

HAZARDOUS! ENTER AT OWN RISK

He lingered at the cave’s mouth. Though it was big enough for him to stand up in, it made for an unassuming sight. Squirrels played in the old oak with three sets of lovers’ initials carved into it that stood at its left and the pathway leading up to it was strewn with weeds and wildflowers.

“Am I really this stupid?” he pondered aloud, before correcting himself: “Am I really this bored?”

After five minutes’ internal debate, he decided that yes, he was.

He took a step towards the narrow crevice, before stopping himself. No. This was ridiculous. What was he thinking? Shaking his head, he turned and walked away.

Three hours later he was back, now with a good pair of leather boots (stolen from an arsehole in a nearby village), a Power Rangers backpack (given to him by a kid in exchange for a cigarette and some magic tricks), a cheap flashlight, two cans of lager, and a packet of crisps (paid for with the last of his cash).

“Off we go, then,” he said, and marched into the dark. 

0

Like a well-fed leopard on a low-hanging branch, the First of the Fallen lounged across his throne of vertebrae, long black hair dribbling off his broad shoulders and pooling on the ground. Though he was wide awake, his eyes were closed. This, combined with the corpses of three supplicants dangling from nearby steel hooks, would hopefully discourage anyone from bothering him for the next few hours.

“My liege?”

Shit.

He kept still. Said nothing. Perhaps they would go away.

“Um… my liege, I’m terribly, monumentally sorry to disturb you, but…”

With a wave of his claw, the messenger exploded into red mist.

When, ten minutes later, a second messenger summoned up the courage to approach him, he realized that it must be very serious indeed.

“You have five seconds,” he said cordially, holding them up by the neck.

“Con… constantine!” they croaked.

Brightening, the First set them down. “Indeed? What’s the little bastard up to this time, eh?”

“Nothing, my liege. He’s dead.”

A few minutes later, a fourth corpse hung from a hook and the throne of Hell was empty. 

0

To the First of the Fallen, caves were still a novelty.

Confined spaces, in general, were still a novelty.

At 13.6 billion years, he was only slightly younger than the universe. While solid planets had come into existence around the same time, he’d not actually visited one until the emergence of homo sapiens and his subsequent quarrel and falling-out with God – a mere 300,000 years ago.

Cast from Heaven, naked and freezing cold, he’d stumbled into a rocky cranny by the shoreline and wedged himself between its slimy walls. That was his earliest memory of ever being ‘indoors’. No surprise, then, that he avoided such places when he could. He had built no castles in Hell; his throne sat atop a mountain beneath an endless red-gold sky.

But right now, it wasn’t the cave that had his attention, dark and chilly and, yes, slimy as it was.

“Stupid turd,” he grumbled, glowering at the corpse. “Ow!”

He’d bumped his head on the cave ceiling again. It was too low for the average human to stand upright, much less an eight-foot primordial being.

Constantine stared at him, blue eyes blank and glassy. His body was unmarred save for the dent in the left side of his scalp, which had stopped leaking some time ago. As far as the First could tell, his nemesis had simply tripped and fallen onto an unfortunately positioned, unfortunately sharp rock.

The First spat on his tie and snarled, “Pathetic! What the fuck are you even doing here, eh? And – God’s hairy bollocks, when did you last bathe?”

His soul was still dangling off him, like drool from a dog’s mouth. Heaven, obviously, had no interest in him and the First hadn’t yet authorised his admission into Hell.

Because he wasn’t ready, dammit.

He’d not been expecting to welcome John home for at least another thirty years.

“Always have to make it difficult, don’t you?”

When he reached down to take hold of the soul – such a grubby, tattered thing – it bit, blazing gold for a sliver of an instant before he snatched his hand back. Stuck his index finger in his mouth until the sting abated. Fumed.

He tried again, grasping it firmly, as one might a snake. It thrashed. He gave it a disciplinary shake before opening Constantine’s mouth with a claw and forcing it down his gullet.

Coming back to life was never enjoyable. Constantine spasmed and gurgled, legs and arms contorting as pink foam gathered at his lips. The First, bored, sat down beside him, reclining against the cave wall with one knee crooked. Surveyed their surroundings. The ground was – oh dear – littered with crisp crumbs, an empty foil packet, two cans, and dozens of cigarette butts. How foul.

“Disaster in your wake, as ever,” he commented, tutting.

Constantine groaned, eyelashes fluttering.

Belatedly realizing that he wouldn’t be able to see in this subterranean gloom, and very much wanting to afflict him with the identity of his saviour, the First snapped his fingers. A dozen lit candles appeared across the cavern, hovering ghost-like in mid-air.

“Urgh… fffu… whu… oh, Christ Almighty.”

Watching him sit up, the First assumed a lordly expression, tilting his head. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

Unhealthily pale skin and facial muscles stretched and twisted to an indeterminable end.

Then John Constantine set his jaw.

Growled: “I’m on holiday, you bellend.”

And passed out. 

0

He awoke to the smell of slightly burnt waffles.

Better than burnt flesh, which was what he’d anticipated after His Infernal Bloody Majesty had popped in for a fag and a chat. Certainly better than sulphur.

“For you,” the First of the Fallen purred.

A white plate – averagely-sized but rendered absurdly dainty by the dimensions of the clawed fingers holding it – was set down in front of him.

He frowned at its golden-brown contents. “The catch?”

“No catch. I was peckish. I imagine you are, too.”

“Come on. Not in the mood. Did you piss on ‘em? Did you mix a baby’s blood into the batter?”

“Honestly, John.”

Scratching his chin, he reviewed the facts. Still in the same sodding cave, albeit far better illuminated than the last time he’d been conscious. Alive, but with that unmistakable stiffness that he’d come to associate with having recently been dead. Cold. Irritable.

Hungry.

His archenemy’s smug smile was almost enough to make him spit the first bite back out. Instinct borne from months of extreme poverty forced him to swallow instead.

“Tastes like shit,” he remarked, wiping his lips. “But I suppose you usually have minions to prepare food for you. Where’s the syrup?”

A regal sigh, before a bottle appeared beside the plate. He emptied a third of it and spent the next few minutes in delicious, sticky silence.

There were, as ever, consequences to allowing the First of the Fallen centre stage. The moment the big smelly git realised that John really wasn’t in the mood for banter, he waved a hand and conjured up a thin hardback with Into the Underworld: The Amateur’s Guide to Caving in Britain on the front.

As John rolled his eyes and stuffed another waffle into his mouth, the First cleared his throat and read: “‘According to the National Speleological Society, the minimum number of people required to safely embark on a recreational caving expedition is four – at least one of whom should have prior caving experience.’ Did you know that, John?”

John chewed sullenly.

“I did. I’d wager that most people do. At least, I’d wager that most people know that going caving in groups smaller than two – going caving alone – is wildly inadvisable. Caves are dangerous, John.”

Where were his cigarettes? Had the bastard nicked them?

“And… let’s see – ah! Here we are. ‘There is a great deal of commercial equipment available to a first-time caver, some of which is necessary, some of which is not. Two items, however, that are absolutely non-negotiable are a helmet and a helmet-mounted light.’ Do you have either of those, John?”

“Do I criticise your fucking hobbies?” he exploded, knowing better, knowing it would only encourage him. Sugary crumbs flew everywhere.

“You do, in fact. Often. And quite understandably. My favourite hobby is murdering your friends, after all.”

John threw the plate at his head. 

0 

He’d had a good sense of direction even before he’d learned how to see psychic residue coating streets and walls, left behind by previous travellers. Always scurrying around in places no kid should; subways, sewers, dirty basements, any haunted house his greedy little eye fell upon.

When he’d reached sixteen, burgeoning schizophrenia had muddled him up now and then. Occasionally, it’d even left him standing in streets he didn’t recognise with no earthly idea how he’d got there. PTSD had compounded the problem.

Even so, at fifty plus, he didn’t make a habit of getting lost. Meds, practice, and years of experience meant that he could walk from Chas’s house to Saint Paul’s with a blindfold on.

Long story short: This was embarrassing.

“I’m fairly sure we’re going in circles. That stalactite is very familiar.”

And he certainly wasn’t fucking helping.

(The floating candles, following them like ducklings, were. John’s torch had broken when he’d tripped. Still, he didn’t need the First of the Fallen for light. Could conjure it up himself, no bother. It just made sense to avail himself of a primordial being’s infinite magical resources before dipping into his own, far more limited stockpile.)

“Do you know the way out?” John asked, not breaking his stride.

“I do.”

“Will you tell me where it is?”

“I will not.”

“Then shut up.”

In his defence, John hadn’t thought the cave was big enough to get lost in. It hadn’t looked it from the outside.

But he’d wandered, then crawled, down at least a mile of twisting, increasingly narrow tunnels before getting himself killed. He’d kept meaning to stop; said to himself five times, ‘Okay, Conjob, this is getting stupid, let’s trot our arse back to civilisation’. Then he would notice another crevice wide enough for him to squeeze into.

“Curious place for a holiday,” the First of the Fallen commented after bravely keeping his tongue still for an unprecedented five minutes.

“Curious times we’re living in, innit?”

He hummed in agreement. “Are you really not here for any particular reason? Not – I don’t know – trying to find a missing child abducted by the fae? Searching for a wicked spirit who’s been cursing the local shepherds? Treasure-hunting, perhaps?”

“No.”

“You’re just here.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“I told you. I’m on holiday. Taking a nice long break.”

“John. We’ve known one another for some time. I am familiar with the ways in which you ‘take a break’. You either go to the pub or you go to several pubs. Attempting to reconnect with nature is hardly your style.”

“Being oblivious to current events – especially shit ones – is hardly your style. Been too busy shaving your chunky arse to pick up a newspaper lately?”

“Print is dying. Besides, you try managing an entire dimension. See how much spare time it leaves you. Honestly, I’m run off my feet most days.”

“So quit.”

“Don’t be silly. What else would I do?”

“I dunno. Could be a camgirl. You’ve got the legs for it.”

“Stop trying to change the subject. Why aren’t you at home?”

John stopped walking and spun to face him. “There’s a plague, you gormless, oblivious prick. I can’t go to the pub. I can’t meet up with me mates. I can’t visit people’s homes to perform exorcisms. I can’t do anything but sit indoors, on my own, for months on end, just watching everything get worse, and that… and that’s not an option. Not for me. I crack too easy. So I got out. Before I killed someone. Now, for the last time, shut up and let me concentrate.”

He bent down to tug off his shoes and socks.

Telepathic magic tended to work best when you were naked. But sod that. Not with the First of the Fuckheads watching. Waffles or no waffles, he did not deserve a treat.

“Oh, is this what we’re doing now? Marvellous! I do love watching your quaint party tricks,” he oozed with a mocking round of applause as John dropped to his knees.

Ignore him.

Taking a deep breath, John let his awareness expand.

It was hard, with the First standing right there. His presence was staggeringly heavy, weighing on the ley lines like an iron ball on a lace hammock. And so alien; elements found nowhere on Earth, bones and muscles formed before Earth had been a glint in God’s eye.

John sneered into the darkness. Piss on that. On him. This was child’s play. Buggered as his brain might be, John Constantine wasn’t going to falter at the sound, scent, or sensation of a mean-spirited old cosmic relic.

Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.

Seven years ago, three people came this way. A family. A woman; her sister; her daughter. They were having fun. The sisters had done this before; the daughter had been begging to come along for years. Afterwards, they were going for pizza. It was a good day.

Two years ago, four people came this way. All friends from work. Well – ‘friends’. One was the company CEO, the other three wanted promotions. Everyone but the boss was miserable. One was arachnophobic.

Eight months ago, a… sheep? Yeah. A sheep. Barely more than a lamb. It was lost. There was a storm and it came down here looking for shelter. Went too deep. By the time the shepherd found it, it was half-starved.

“John? What are you-…”

Ignore him.

Ten years ago, another family. Fifty years ago, a frightened child running from a monstrous father. And others – a hundred others – a thousand. The cave had a rich and storied history. Almost against his will and entirely against his better judgement, John followed its threads through the rock layers, chasing faded ghosts, brushing up against magic so ancient it had fossilised.

“John!”

Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore-

His head was ringing. His blood was on fire.

Fuck, I’ve gone too far, too bloody deep, fuck, oh fuck.

“Constantine! Heed me!”

His eyes snapped open.

“Ah,” he said.

“Precisely,” said the First of the Fallen, who was holding him up by his coat collar like a jizz rag in need of a bin.

The cave had changed.

It was brighter, thanks to a small, well-constructed fire in its centre.

The walls were covered in paintings. Deer. Hogs. Great red and brown bulls.

A woman sat in the corner, wrapped in furs, adding detail to what might have been a fox. She didn’t seem to have noticed them.

“Did you mean to do that?” the First of the Fallen queried. 

0

“In thirty thousand years, a monk will come down here and find them. He’ll be horrified, believing that they’re the work of… well, me. So he’ll leave and return with water in buckets and scrubbing brushes. As he lies on his deathbed, he will be firmly under the impression that this great good deed will grant him entrance into Paradise.”

The First of the Fallen paused for effect, then added, “Alas, he will be mistaken.”

Without looking away from her work, the woman spoke several words in a language miles removed from any contemporary tongue John had ever heard.

“The young lady says she doesn’t mind spirits wandering her caves, but requests that we don’t chatter while she’s trying to concentrate.”

Crouching next to freshly-etched cow and her calf, feeling uncharacteristically dazzled, John said, “Ask her if I can take a picture. Ask her!”

“Homo neanderthalensis, John. She won’t have the faintest idea what you mean.”

Rolling his eyes, he fished his phone out of his trenchcoat pocket and waved it at her. When she deliberately ignored him, he shrugged and took the shot.

The flash won her attention. She stood – revealing a faded seashell necklace and a long, curving scar across her left thigh – and approached them, limping slightly. John held out the phone to show her the picture and, after a resoundingly unimpressed inspection, she uttered a terse sentence.

“She’s unsure why the sickly-looking spirit thinks shrinking her beasts in any way improves them,” said the First of the Fallen.

The woman raised her head (hard to tell how old she was; younger than him, definitely) and looked John in the eye, squinting. Another few sentences followed, some of which sounded like questions.

Sarcastic questions, unless he was mistaken.

“She asks if you shrink them because large beasts frighten you. She speculates that, if the only beasts you can bear to approach are scrawny ones, it’s no wonder that you yourself are such a measly creature. She says that she too was scared of bulls when she was a child, but that her mother taught her not to be. She wonders why your mother failed you in this regard. Should I tell her your mother died in childbirth, John?”

“Stick your head up your own arse and choke. But ask her name first.”

Tossing back his thick black hair, he scoffed. “Why? What does it matter? She’s a primitive, doomed creature and she’s not even really here. This is just one of the cave’s memories.”

“Christ – are you jealous I’m talking to her more than I’m talking to you? Because that’s fucking inane. This is a one-in-a-lifetime type deal. I’ve never spoken to a legit bloody Neanderthal. I speak to you all the blasted time, more’s the pity.”

Yellow eyes narrowed. “Maybe I’ll kill her.”

John laughed. “You said it, squire; she’s a memory. You can’t kill her. She’s long dead. Now shut up.”

He wasn’t able to learn her name. Still, via pantomime and pointing, he eventually managed to convey his desire to find a way out of the cave – or so, at least, it seemed.

She took a bundle of sticks from beside her fire, lit them, and walked towards the nearest inky-black tunnel.

“See?” he said to the First of the Fallen as they followed her. “Politeness. All it takes.”

“Don’t act like you have any real idea what’s going on. She could be leading you straight into a trap. You’re aware, I’m sure, that archaeologists generally agree Neanderthals practised cannibalism? Ten muscular relatives might be waiting right around the corner with clubs and a cooking pot.”

“For fuck’s sake – I have literally stood and watched you slouching on that colossally pathetic bone throne of yours and nibbling the edge of someone’s pelvis like it was a turkey drumstick. Loathsome bloody hypocrite.”

“That doesn’t remotely count as cannibalism, John. That was a human pelvis. I’m not a human. I’m the prototype. A species of one. Which, I suppose, means it’s technically impossible for me to commit cannibalism. Hmm. What an interesting philosophical notion.”

Walking a short way ahead, bare feet soundless against the rock, their new self-appointed guide said something.

“What was that?” John whispered.

“‘If you must burden my ears by bickering like children, you could at least do it in a language I can understand’. Then she called us a rude word.”

Then the First of the Fallen spoke several sentences in his usual bored, drawling cadence and, to John’s surprise, she laughed.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” the First of the Fallen said, innocently.

“I’m serious, bastard. What’re you saying to her?”

“Nothing important, John, really.”

More than once after that, he caught her glancing back at them and snickering. 

0

The artist and the twisting stone galleries through which she led them – it couldn’t possibly have all been hers; the monk had destroyed the work of generations – were insufficient to keep John’s mind from straying back to important matters.

“Hey. Ponce. What’ve you done with my cigarettes?”

The First of the Fallen had plucked them from his trenchcoat pocket while he was unconscious. When it came to his sorcerer, he’d learned, you always wanted a bargaining chip to hand.

“We’re in the company of one whose lungs are as yet unsullied by the Industrial Revolution, Constantine. Are you really planning on exposing her to second-hand smoke?”

It was a prospect John, it seemed, hadn’t even considered. Obviously angry with himself for that (oh John), he snapped, “No! I was – it’s – look, she can’t get lung cancer, can she? She’s dead. Doesn’t matter what she breathes in now.”

Smothering a smile, the First of the Fallen said, “Oh? So the fact that she won’t actually perish upon inhaling your fumes is all that matters, is it? Never mind her comfort or dignity, I suppose; as long as you don’t have to clean up another corpse.”

Nostrils flared. Fists clenched. Blue eyes gleamed with something hotter and even more violent than divine wrath.

“Like you give a shit about her,” John growled.

So much in this miserable world reminds me of Heaven. The grass. The sky. The beauty. You alone remind me of the time before Heaven; that bizarre, unpredictable time when there were no rules, no beauty, only feelings, only sudden bursts of light, fierce and erratic, cutting through the void.

“Or anyone,” John continued, gathering steam. Nicotine withdrawal, the First of the Fallen suspected, was kicking in. “Remind me, what was that you said the day we met? ‘To be mortal is to be stupid, proud, conceited – and ultimately pathetic’. You showed your hand, idiot; you loathe us all. Ergo, any taunts that depend on you concealing that are a total bust. Forget about the ciggies. If they’ve been anywhere near you, I don’t want ‘em.”

For years, the First of the Fallen had secretly hoped John had forgotten his, in hindsight, ill-considered words.

(He’d meant every one of them, but at the time he’d been trying to come off as a Gentleman Devil, the quintessential Man of Wealth and Taste, affable and urbane, not a bitter, angry old monster.)

Should have known better. John was so foolishly protective when it came to humanity as an abstract concept, even while his attitude towards actual humans tended to be far more variable. He’d probably been furiously gnawing on that phrase – ‘ultimately pathetic’ – like a dog with a bone for thirty years.

Thirty years.

Was that really all the time they’d known one another? John Constantine, his Constantine, He Who Was Most Hated… a mere thirty year acquaintance?

“What’re you laughing at?”

“Heh. Nothing, John. Reminiscing, that’s all.”

“About what? Poor old Brendan?”

Brendan, Brendan. Who -? Oh yes. John’s friend. The one who’d sold his soul. The catalyst, in fact, for their meeting. Pity the bastard was in Heaven; he’d have liked to thank him.

“You see these?” said the artist, holding up her torch to illuminate a painted wolf pack. “My grandfather did these.”

“What’s she saying?” John demanded.

As the First of the Fallen translated, he gazed dispassionately at her.

The first time he’d encountered a human, they’d looked much the same. Small. Unremarkable. Clad in skins and hardened from a life exposed to this planet’s weather (he personally hated weather and had made sure there was no such thing in Hell).

Mind you, the ones he’d run into while naked and terrified and still injured from being swatted down to Earth like some insect had been much less hospitable. They hadn’t known what he was; only that he was wrong. When he’d tried to approach their campfire, they’d thrown stones at him. Slaying them all hadn’t even occurred to him. Father had said that they were precious and at that stage, he’d still given a toss about His rules. Instead, he’d slunk away.

Catching food wasn’t a problem. He was faster than any buck or bird. It was loneliness, not hunger, that drove him to try again, and again, and again. In time, they grew used to him. Even showed him kindness. They had an extraordinary capacity for that. (For all that it was so often conditional and withdrawn the moment one became too strange or too frightening.)

But he’d never grown used to them. They were, at heart, creatures of community. And he simply wasn’t. He was a species of one. The prototype. He’d always been alone but for God’s company, and adjusting to life as a member of a tribe had proved impossible. Their norms, their traditions, their complicated etiquette – it had all bewildered him, then intimidated him, then irritated him. That, combined with his ageless body and supernatural strength, had driven an inevitable wedge between them, and he’d returned to the wilderness to wander alone.

He considered telling John that story.

(Why not? He’d told him everything else and the idea that his nemesis might have an incomplete view of him was, for some reason, concerning.)

Then he considered John’s likely reaction. The curled lip. The scornful snort. “What, you looking for pity? ‘Boo-hoo, my rotten childhood turned me into a git’? Hah! Jog on, squire.”

No. John’s hatred was a hard-won prize. John’s contempt was to be avoided at all costs.

“You realise most people aren’t allowed down here,” the artist said, glancing his way. She was shorter than John, who himself was slightly shorter than the average man; her eyes were level with the First’s navel. “Only elders and those who’ve earned the right. There are grave penalties awaiting any who sneak in.”

“Really?” he replied, interested only in John’s furrowed brow and silent, aggravated attempts to work out what they were saying.

“Yes. Because this place is important. Sacred. When I was young, I spent years dreaming of being allowed to venture this deep. I don’t know the ways of spirits – but I’ll not pretend it doesn’t rankle that you spend more time studying your sickly friend than your surroundings.”

“You’re still young. Compared to me, everyone is.”

“He doesn’t even seem to like you very much. Why are you travelling with him?”

“I don’t know. Why do urine and semen come out the same hole?”

“‘It’s none of your business’ would have sufficed. Are you always this rude? Is that why the sickly one doesn’t like you?”  

“No. No, he dislikes me for other reasons.”

“Well, well, well. Hullo,” came John’s voice, and they both realised that he’d stopped walking.

Turning, the First of the Fallen spied his nemesis standing with his hands in his pockets, studying a man dressed like a thirteenth-century peasant.

“Eh? Where did he come from?” the woman asked.

In quavering tones, the peasant said, “Are you angels?”

The First of the Fallen laughed. “John! He’s asking if-…”

“Just because I can’t speak Neanderthal doesn’t mean I don’t know sodding Middle English. Give me an ounce of credit. I’m only a cocking wizard, after all,” John snapped, before addressing the new arrival: “No. Just travellers.”

The peasant’s shoulders slumped. “Oh. I thought maybe God had sent me angels. I’ve been requesting them for several days.”

John shuddered. “Bad idea. Trust me. You don’t want to mess around with that lot.”

“But I need guidance. Protection.”

“From what?”

Eyes wide, the peasant took his hand and clutched it. “My friend, can’t you see? I am being pursued.”

“By who?”

“By demons.”

(to be continued) 

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty || 8

All Aboard.

The countryside was a wonderful time and a refreshing getaway, but I have been drawn back to reality and it has been nothing short of horrible from the moment I stepped foot back on the grounds of the palace. I’m starting to resent Buckingham, I can’t wait to move to Windsor or one of the other palaces; I’d be more than pleased to travel to the private palaces, we all know my love for Hillsborough Castle. I’m at the point where I want to get away from my father. I would like to have more space between us. Buckingham, although has 775 rooms, isn’t large enough for his temper and narcissism. My father doesn’t appear like my father, he is furious, all of the time. Nobody wants to be around him, and I am not quite sure how my mother deals with him. I don’t know whether or not she sees what the rest of us see, she is silent and using her time to do her duties. 

I heavily sigh as my ladies maid opens my bedroom door and steps inside my room, a small indication I have overstayed my welcome in my bed. I sit up as I gaze over at her, surprised that I have managed to stay this long in bed without being interrupted. “It is quiet,” I point out, cocking my head to the side while she steps closer and begins to adjust the covers of my bed. 

Since I got home a few weeks ago, the Palace has been far from placid, from my father firing and yelling at people to him throwing things around, today is the first morning I haven’t woken up to him on some sort of rampage. “Where’s my father? He is still alive, right?” I half chuckle. 

“He is in town, Anastasia, I’m not meant to talk to you.” 

I roll my eyes as I get out of bed and I shuffle closer to her, “That is nonsense, I don’t care what my father says, he is being a prick right now. You can talk to me, Eleanor.” I assure Eleanor, a little bothered that my father has decided to take his wrath out on the staff, they shouldn’t be frightened to speak to anyone, no matter the status. “What happened?” I prompt Eleanor, beginning to help her with making the bed. 

At first, she is hesitant, but I continue to probe her, eager to get an understanding of what is happening with the staff. “He doesn’t want anybody speaking… May I speak out of term?” 

“Go ahead.” 

As I have gotten older, I have been the one to listen to what the staff have to say, I don’t take much offence to their opinions or even their advice. I may be in line for a crown, but I am no better than they are, I still see them as equals. Sometimes, they are a better companion and support than my parents’. Don’t get me wrong, my parents’ have been excellent with raising me and shaping me into who I am. I have never had much of an issue with them, but when my parents’ were gone, it was the staff who also contributed to who I am, they helped me when I was at my whits ends, they encouraged me when I felt down, and they have stepped up as a friend when I have had nobody to turn to. There are somethings outside the castle that can’t be understood to most people. I haven’t had the privilege to have numerous friends’, they have all twisted into snakes, therefore, my circle is extremely small. To be honest, my circle consists essentially of Harry and the staff assigned to me who I have formed relationships with. My father doesn’t get to tell them they aren’t allowed to talk to me when they have done nothing wrong. 

“Princess,” Eleanor whispers, “I think-, I think he is scared the palace staff will rat him out.” 

“Rat him out?” I immediately question, my mind driving to race with the possible things that could be happening behind the scenes.

Eleanor looks around my room, scared that someone may overhear us, “I’m not sure, but nobody is allowed to speak and we aren’t allowed to clean his office, it is now off-limits.” 

I frown for a moment, unsure of what is going on, but I can’t help but remember what Harry told me over the weekend about how there are theories that all the staff have. I can only assume he knows a little something about what is going on. He has to know things, he is constantly watching and kept in the loop of things. 

“Where is Mr Styles?” I challenge, noticing how I have yet to see him this morning. He usually makes it a routine to at least stop by if he has other things to do. Usually, Harry steps in the room, kisses me goodbye and leaves or he will send me a text, but today, not a word.  

“He is escorting your father, he insisted on having the best of the best. I was told I need to have your suitcases packed, is there anything specific you would like to wear?” 

“Anything is fine, Eleanor, I have a few meetings and things to attend to, I trust your judgment of clothes.” … “The best of the best?” I raise a brow. 

Eleanor nods her head, “Mr Styles is the best, the entire palace knows it. Always on the move, assertive and knows what’s happening. His looks are also a bonus,” Eleanor chuckles. 

“Is it common knowledge that he is good at his job? Is this what the ladies maids do? Swoon over him?” I question with a laugh, rather intrigued. I have heard a few sly comments about Harry that the ladies have made before. 

“I don’t think he is aware of how good he is at his job, quite humble.”

“Mhm, let’s keep it that way. Too many compliments and he might gain an ego,” I playfully wink and Eleanor nods her head. “Does he have a girlfriend?” 

Eleanor shrugs her shoulders, “Nobody knows, he doesn’t talk much on personal matters when we are off the clock… He’s never really around. We have our speculations that he has a lady. We joke that he meets her in the underground tunnels around town.” 

“Everyone loves a mystery man,” I respond, “I will leave you alone now, I have to prepare for Greece.” I politely excuse myself from Eleanor and I’s conversation, discreetly moving to my closet to get dressed.

When I was rambling to Harry about running away to Greece or something, I did not mean I wanted to go to Greece because of royal duties. I guess the universe got my requests confused. I’m not sure why my father has decided a prompt royal visit is to happen. I am sure we will find out what the reason is. We don’t do significant business with Greece, in fact, I don’t remember my father ever having much collaboration with Greece. We have been to several countries on official state visits, but not Greece. There isn’t diplomatic sensitivity, at least, not in my opinion, so I can only assume it’s mainly because there is no monarchy in Greece. 

♔♔♔

I pace the aisle of the private plane, my nails tapping against my phone screen anxiously. I haven’t heard from Harry all day, no text or call, and here I am on a plane with no clue what’s happening. I have no clue why I am even on the plane, I don’t foresee there is any logical reason for us to be going to Greece. There are no foreign affairs for Greece that need our attention. If I had my way, I would be using this time and the taxpayers’ money to be going somewhere beneficial to the monarch, I would be doing a small trip to bring light to the monarch since Henry has created a turmoil of issues and slammed me with the press. But, I am not Queen, I do not have the say, it all lays in my father’s hands-on where we go as royals. 

I’m not entirely certain what the itinerary has me doing, I have a gut feeling that it will change one-hundred times before I get to the hotel, but with the way Eleanor packed my suitcase I can only assume this is going to entail five outfit changes in a day and consists of lunches or formal dinners’ with diplomats or god knows who. 

I gasp as I hear the plane door open and I immediately settle when I see Harry with his suitcase right behind him, “I’m sorry, just know I’m sorry,” Harry immediately begins as he gives me a quick kiss to the cheek before walking to place his suitcase at the back of the aircraft. “It has been a long and rough day, my phone is dead in one of my pockets and Matthew is probably going to strangle me for being late but it wasn’t my fault. Your Father almost missed his flight with British Airways and I don’t know why we can’t all just fly together and save me some time. Had to run to opposite ends of Heathrow.” Harry mutters, not too amused with his journey for the day. 

My parents are flying British Airways, meanwhile, I have the privilege of the private plane, mainly because my meetings ended later than my parents’ flight. “Yes, I know heirs can’t fly together, I’m just tired. Did Matthew already check the plane?” Harry glances over towards me before he shakes his head, not giving me a chance to respond, “Nevermind, I’ll check it myself. Before you ask one hundred questions, we have a full team of security, I’m on your service, there’s a new kid I have to train but that’s beside the point, high security, which means Matthew is concerned there’s a threat, so don’t stray.” Harry begins informing me of what he knows without me having to ask.

I guess he’s used to the questions by now.

Harry settles his hands between each seat, tugging at seatbelts and eyeing every inch of the plane he possibly can, “We should be taking off in a few minutes, it’s a clear flight plan. Matthew will sweep the hotel first. It’s a three and a half hour flight, we should be arriving at four in the morning since they’re two hours ahead of us.” 

“Harry,” I step in front of him as he’s manoeuvring his way around the plane, “You can relax. You’re like spitting out information.” 

Harry pauses for a moment and takes a breath, “Been a long day, I’m ready for bed, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, 

“Why is the royal family going to Greece? Do they even have a king?” Harry questions. 

I shake my head, “The Constitution of Greece, which describes Greece as a "presidential-parliamentary republic"-“ I begin but I’m promptly cut off. 

“Darling, I’m tired, can you dumb it down or say it in English, please?” Harry offers me a petite smile, stopping me from rambling and explaining things thoroughly to him. 

“There’s no monarchy. In July 1973 the Greek military called a 'referendum', which abolished the Monarchy for the second time in Greek history.” 

“It failed, twice?” Harry curiously inquires. 

I nod my head, “The Greek monarchy existed from 1832 to 1924, and again from 1935 to 1974.” 

Harry grows withdrawn for a moment. “So, tell me again why we are being dragged to Greece?” 

“Well, I was hoping you’d have the answer to that.” 

“Why would I?” 

“You were with the king all day.” 

Harry heavily sighs and nods his head, “And it was a long day. But he didn’t tell me why we are all going to Greece, in fact, he barely spoke to me. Which, I’m fine with, I’ve heard he has been an ass to everybody.” 

“He didn’t mention anything?” 

Harry shakes his head, “No, nothing that could point to why we are going to Greece. Are they bringing back their monarchy?” 

It appears as though we are both at a loss as to why this trip is happening. There has to be someone who knows the exact reasons. The itinerary doesn’t reveal much. For the most part, it is my father doing most of the obligations solo and at unusual hours. 

“I highly doubt it. Maybe we have finally been invited by the Greek president to make a state visit? Maybe he wants to boost ties in the region? I don’t know. Nobody wants to be around him, nobody knows what the hell he is doing. I think he’s going to end up turning the monarch to shit.” I inform Hary of my opinions. Up until recently, he has done a standup job with handling things and with keeping the monarch up to high standards, but for some reason, he has flipped a switch. 

He wants me to get married and to take over for no real reason. There is no reason for him to abdicate and I don’t see why he would want me to stand in for him. This isn’t a situation where he is handing me his legacy because he thinks I am fit for the job because let’s be real, he doesn’t think I am ready yet. I’m not ready for the responsibility,  but everyone wants to bestow it upon me. It is all anybody talks about since it was announced. 

“I don’t think he’ll ruin the monarchy, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.” 

“Yeah, burning it to the ground,” I grumble. 

Harry grows reserved for a moment before clearing his throat and speaking, “Would that be such a bad thing?” …. “I mean, I’m just asking as a future king, ya know?” Harry immediately adjusts his tone, regarding my glare and the fact I’m not amused by the concept of the monarchy burning to the ground. 

I hum, “Mhm, I’m sure the future king is very concerned about the monarchy.” 

“Of course, I am. I mean, the people’s lives are in my hands.” 

“Steady there, don’t get too far ahead,” I chuckle, “There’s no way my people's lives are in your hands.” 

“Wouldn't they be our people?” Harry emphasises ‘our.’

I roll my eyes playfully, a chuckle escaping between my lips. This is why I love this man. “Uhm, do you know how the monarch works, darling? You’re lucky if they honour you as king consort, and at this rate, you aren’t being honoured at all, did you forget? Nobody knows we are engaged because everything will fall apart.” 

“I don’t care if I don’t have an honour title as long as I’m your husband.” 

“You can claim that title when we get married.” 

Harry nods his head before slumping down in a seat, his hands rubbing his eyes while his elbows rest on his knees. 

While Harry takes a minute to decompress and relax, I begin to rethink everything that has been packed, the feeling of forgetting something sinking into my thoughts. 

I mentally check off the things that I’m aware have been handled, passport, black outfit (mourning attire), skincare, makeup, jewellery. “I feel like I’m forgetting something,” I murmur, watching as Harry leans back and closes his eyes, “The luggage has all been counted for, right?” I ask Harry, aware that he has probably double-checked everything as well. 

“It is hard to ignore the colour-coded luggage system. It’s all perfect, monograms and all,” Harry responds with a petite grin, “I know you’re staring at me, stop,” Harry chuckles. 

“Harry, I’m forgetting something… luggage, passport..” I begin to think out loud. 

I can’t wholly think of what it is, but there is a deep-rooted sense in the pit of my stomach that I can’t shake. It is either my gut telling me I have forgotten something or my intuition is screaming at me for some reason. I can’t assume it is a bad feeling,  but whatever it is, I can’t seem to shake it. Whatever it is, it worries me.

“Did you forget your ring?” Harry opens an eye and glances at me with droopy, grey eyes. 

I shake my head, drawing my necklace out and showing him my ring on the chain, “It’s here… oh no… Harry…” 

“What?” He softly challenges, still wanting to doze off. 

“My briefcase, it has all my documents and work in it, correspondents and—“ I begin to fret. 

“I got it.” Harry cuts me off with a heavy sigh, “I saw it when I had to grab your father’s luggage because he fired his damn valets.” 

I let out a breath of relief and smile at him while I carefully decide to rest in his lap, straddling his hips.

He opens his eyes, blinking at me. I don’t say a word, instead, I lean down and leave a trail of sugary kisses on his neck and jawline. His hands move and rest to the small of my back as he lets out a heavy breath. “Anna,” Harry whispers. “Darling, I can’t, I’m tired. I love you, but the next four hours are the only hours I get to sleep, as soon as we land I have to work, can we finish this later?” 

“Later? We won’t have time, I have my duties.” I huff, a little irritated that he is turning me down. We have been too busy and constantly surrounded by people that we have not had many moments to be intimate. 

“I promise there will be time, I’ll make sure of it.” 

“What do you even have to do when we land? Can’t you come to the hotel with me?” I ask Harry, batting my eyes at him in an attempt to get my way.

“I have to make sure the itinerary is being kept secret by the palace. I have to do my job, Anna, so many things to do before your family meets with the public officials, or the world leaders, I don’t know what the hell your Dad has fully planned. What I know is that I have a lot to do. I have a new guy to train, I’ll be jumping from your service to the kings—“ Harry begins to somewhat ramble about things, his thoughts running at one-hundred different things. “You need to do your SAS training, you have a refresher course to do.” 

“Just go to sleep, you need to turn your thoughts off. Turned down again.” I mutter unhappily, getting off of him and sitting in the seat beside his. 

Harry sighs heavily and places his hand on my thigh, trying to inch towards my hand, “Come on, don’t be like this.”

“No,” I shift his hand away. 

“Anna—” 

“Don’t ‘Anna’ me.” 

“Princess.” Harry is purposely attempting to irritate me now. 

I glare at him and huff. “Don’t, you know how I feel about being called a princess by you.” 

“Darling,” Harry sighs, “I’m tired, I am. I love you and I’m not turning you down. I know it has been a while but I promise we will find the time.”

I understand he is exhausted, he has been working without much sleep for the last few weeks. I am not solely sure what he has been working on. Harry hasn’t had to watch over me; I have kept to myself at the palace and been in the office doing paperwork, responding to letters and over the phone conferences.  “Go to sleep.”

“Tell me you love me, too,” Harry sleepily requests. 

I rest my head on his shoulder, allowing my fingers to slip between his, “I love you, too.” I respond.

♔♔♔

 Harry's pov 

Since landing at four this morning, I haven’t slept or stopped working, I feel as though it has been one thing after another that has necessitated my direct attention. 

It’s times like this that I wonder why I agreed to become a royal bodyguard, life would be more peaceful if I had stayed in the countryside with my mother, but then I wouldn’t have met Anna.  

I’m on the Kings service for most of the day, and I already despise it. He’s not the most straightforward man to look after at the moment. He can’t give me a full list of the men and women he desires to meet today, therefore not permitting me to do a fitting background check to ensure the safety of the family. He won’t cooperate at all, and I’ve already had to play hide and seek with him twice. By the time I’m off his service, I’m going to require a stiff drink, perhaps even the bottle. I’m not sure what has shifted with the king, but he is not acting like himself. Well, he’s acting shadier than usual, and it doesn’t settle well with me. Matthew has noticed a few red flags but not enough to take too much action, not that he can do anything, he is hired by the king, who is Matthew to confront the king? 

I take a sip of my third coffee of the morning and stroll down the hallway of the hotel room, checking each door handle in the corner of my eye, making sure they all still have the do-not-disturb sign on them. We’ve managed to clear the floor so only the royals and the staff are on it. If any sign is disrupted, I know we aren’t the only ones using certain rooms. I reach the end of the hallway where I meet the trainee, Oliver. 

I give him a nod and he clears his throat, “The princess hasn’t come out.” 

“Mhm, I was requested to go over protocol for today with her. While I explain it to her, I expect you’re already aware of the procedures and the itinerary?” I challenge, taking another sip of my coffee— I need something stronger. If it wasn’t immoral I would add a shot of liquor to this coffee.

Oliver nods his head, “Yes. Do I ride in the car with her?” 

“Yes, and you never let her open or close her car door. Don’t let anyone touch her, today isn’t about hugs.” I inform Oliver. “Do you know where the nearest A&E in case of a medical emergency?” I question, making sure he has the basics covered. 

I don’t assume a trip to A&E is on the cards but there is no telling what will happen. 

Oliver nods his head, “Twelve minutes from where we will be at. And twenty-five minutes from this hotel.” 

“Correct.” I swipe the key to her room. “Put your tie on before you leave for the event,” I instruct firmly. I know wearing a tie is irritating and an insignificant thing, but we have to fit in with everyone else, which means dressing the part as well. If photos are taken, we don’t want to look like the odd ones out in the background. Also, it is part of our attire when diplomats and possible other royals are around. 

I walk into Anastasia’s room and close the door behind me. I step closer towards her as she remains at the edge of the bed in her coat-dress, “Good morning, sweetheart.” I softly beam, leaning down and kissing her cheek. 

She looks beautiful. I am one lucky man. 

“Good morning. You never came to bed last night.” Anastasia gazes up at me while I take a step back. 

“Your father has had me working since we landed. Already done two meetings and I’m on my third? Cup of coffee. Could it be my fourth?” I challenge myself, unsure of what number I am on. 

Anastasia beams up at me, “I’m sorry, will you be on my service today?” 

She’s hopeful, I can recognise it in her eyes, but we both know the answer. “I’m leaving you in the hands of my trainee, but I’ll keep a close eye on him and you. Your father wants me. Not sure why.” I inform Anastasia, placing my cup of coffee down before I kneel before her, “Maybe tonight I’ll make it to bed,” I smile up at her, taking one of her heeled shoes and sliding it on her foot. 

Anastasia sighs, “I hope so, I’m tired of sleeping alone.” 

I fiddle with the clasp of her shoe, struggling to clip the damn thing securely around her ankle, “At least you’re sleeping,” I mutter under my breath, not meaning to sound like a prick. Once the words slip from my mouth, I know she didn’t deserve the comment. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” 

Anastasia shakes her head as she leans back on her elbows, waiting for me to clasp her other shoe for her, “I’d be irritated too if I was you.” 

“Well, doesn’t mean I’m entitled to snarky comments with you.” I point out my own mistake. 

“I’ll remind you the next time we argue and you throw me snarky comments.” Anastasia chuckles. 

I roll my eyes before I stand to my feet. I tower over her before I place a hand on either side of her on the bed, gingerly lowering myself closer to her. “That doesn’t count,” I whisper, kissing her lips slowly and sweetly. 

My lips proceed to brush themselves against the delicacy of hers, teasing her for a brief moment. I take possession of her mouth, my lips syncing with hers, tongues colliding while her shameless hands investigate my body, one hand pressed to the back of my neck, the other travelling up and down my body, cunningly, undecided on what part she wants to devour more. 

I can’t help myself as I drag my lips from hers and begin to leave kisses down her neck, loving the sensation of her fevered skin and her breaths accelerating. Amid audacious hands striving to seize every inch she concedes, my own hands working their way to the hem of her dress, delicately gliding my warm hand gradually up the side of her leg, my fingers resting when I touch the lace hidden under her dress. I leisurely creep my agile fingers to fondle the lace line, delicately dipping my fingers around them, the bold caress of her tongue becoming further filled with passion, my fingers mildly teasing her with every graze over the lace. 

I move them to the side and before I can do anything, a knock at the door sounds. “Fuck,” I murmur with a heavy breath. 

“Harry,” she breathes, “Please.” 

“I can’t explain this to the King on why I am late, I need my job.” 

Anastasia huffs and sits up, adjusting her dress as I move away from her, “You can afford racehorses, I think you’d be fine.” 

“Without a job, I could never afford your lifestyle,” I respond. 

I might be able to afford racehorses and a few other things; I am not grappling for money, but it doesn’t mean I can leave my job. I make great money with what I do, I know it won’t ever be enough to buy some of the things Anastasia has, but I can afford to look after both of us with what I have… As long as I have a job. 

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

 I roll my eyes with a sigh, “I have to go, start looking for a wedding dress.” 

“I spent most of the flight over here looking while you were asleep. You know, we aren’t too far from Skopelos.” Anastasia points out, reminding me of her comment in my mother’s garden when she wanted to elope and move to Skopelos.

“We are very far,” I chuckle.

“So we aren’t eloping to Skopelos?” Anastasia grins while I adjust my shirt and tie. 

I shake my head, “Sorry, can’t make it happen.”

I can’t make it happen, it did cross my mind to endeavour to take a few hours to go elope, but the itinerary doesn’t give us enough time. 

“Can we talk about our wedding?” 

“We aren’t eloping in Skopelos, but yes, when I’m not on your father’s service, goodbye before he kills me.” I step to where I left my coffee, cupping it in my hand as I wander towards the hotel door. I need to walk out before I end up hovering over her again. 

I step out of Anna’s room where Oliver and Matthew stare at me with their pockets in their hands, “She is well aware of the protocol,” I inform them both, keeping up the charade. Matthew hides his smirk as he clears his throat and nods. I should probably be more careful about how I handle things with the new guy, I’m not sure whether he can be trusted or not, and since he’s on my service, I need to have excuses for why I’m around Anna when I technically don’t need to be. I’ll be glad when we aren’t having to hide and tiptoe around everybody, but I have this feeling that things won’t change soon. 

“Harry, the King is ready for you to escort him to the car. Oliver, you’re with the Princess. I’ll be watching you both and scouring the boat.” Matthew informs Oliver and me, keeping a stern glare towards Oliver. It’s not the easiest to train someone when I’m having to be on someone else’s service, but I’ll do my best to watch him from afar and keep an eye on him. Surely, he can manage a few hours while we are all together. 

I nod my head and begin to wander down the carpeted hallway, enjoying my last few moments of silence and coffee before I’m thrown into the hectic world of watching over the King. 

♔♔♔

I stand beside the King, examining each person who shakes his hand, one immediately catching my attention. I take note as his eyes shift from the king to me, following my suit jacket and resting at my waistband. He can be gazing at one of two things, and I sure as hope he’s looking at, or for, the pistol that I have hidden in my waistband but not where it can be seen. I stare the man down and he pretends to stare innocently in another direction. I continue to stare him down until the King decides to move forward, moving to another area of the boat with one of the few men he has been talking to. 

I accompany the king around on the tour of this navy boat, not impressed with the boat itself, more so interested in why there’s a meeting with leaders on a retired navy boat. This has to be the most pointless and uninteresting reveal that I have had to attend. I don’t understand why this was on the itinerary or even why Anastasia came but the Queen was able to stay at the hotel.  

The King’s conversations have been kept very hushed, not even I can listen in too much, for some reason, the King doesn’t want me hearing and he is doing everything possible to keep me in the dark when it comes to the conversations taking place. At least he isn’t running off on me like he has a few times. I am surprised he hasn’t forced me to stay in a corner while he discusses affairs with these men. I chew on the corner of my mouth, noticing that Anna and Oliver are nowhere around me. I side-eye towards Matthew, looking towards him for instructions or some sort of update. He knows my look when I want an update on Anastasia. It takes Matthew a moment to catch my stare before I hear him come through my earpiece. 

“You have a relentless stare. She is fine, Oliver is downstairs with her. Watch the man in front of you, he’s pacing,” Matthew instructs, forcing my attention to go towards the man who already has an eye on me. I mentally sigh, reminding myself that deep down, I love my job. 

With a swift moment to spare, I glance at my phone— no signal. It hits me. This meeting is happening off the grid, there’s nothing to track us besides the tender boats that we took out here and it also means no unwanted people can listen in on conversations. 

“Harry.” The king grasps my attention, pulling me to the side once one of his conversations is dismissed. “This isn’t the unveiling of an old boat like I thought, get Anna out. Leave my service and take her to the hotel.” The King instructs, catching me off guard for a moment.

Just a little ago, Matthew informed me Anastasia was fine. I am not sure what has altered, I can only imagine that the King has picked up on how these men he is engaging with don’t appear to have great intentions. No government officials or royals have ever looked me up and down in search of any weapon I may have on my person. I have never been watched by multiple people as I have today. Things don’t add up, things haven’t added up from the start.

I waste no time following my orders. I discreetly leave the king and radio into Matthew, attempting to explain the orders in code in case anyone is listening to me and observing me. 

I weave in and out of areas of the boat, thanking god for my photographic memory, this ship is a maze in itself.

I discover Oliver who is guarding Anastasia. I stand beside him, “Go to Matthew, don’t speak to anyone, understand?” I mutter loud enough for the two of us to hear. He glances over at me with furrowed brows, confused and wanting to question me. I don’t blame him, he’s new and has no clue what’s happening, he needs an explanation but not right now. “Go,” I instruct firmly. I trump him, and if he can’t listen to me and take my instructions in situations, he doesn’t need to be apart of our travel team. I don’t need anyone to question my authority or my instructions when on duty. I despise travelling as it is, I don’t need others to make it more difficult. Matthew and I have a system, we know what to do in situations and we know how to communicate; Matthew trusts me and knows me. I require Oliver to listen and learn. 

Oliver steps away and walks off, leaving me with Anna who has three officials talking with her. I heavily sigh as I think for a moment, needing a way to lure her away from her conversation. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” I begin with half a smile as the men stare me down like I have interrupted a presidential speech. “But I was asked to check on you, your father knows how you are on boats.” 

“Uh— not the best.” 

“Princess, would you like to get some air?” I suggest, trying my best not to tip anyone off that she’s getting off the boat. I don’t trust anyone on this damn thing and her father shouldn’t have put any of us in this position. 

Anastasia nods and excuses herself from the three men. 

Without a word, I begin to escort Anna through the boat. I don’t say a word and she continues to walk beside me, allowing me to lead the way. This will be the last time I work on a damn boat that has too many areas to keep track of. I can’t watch my back and lead her to an exit at the same time. I need a damn map. We are stopped by two men, one of them being the one that was searching for my pistol. “Princess Anastasia, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you,” he grins ear to ear, “I hear you’ll be taking over the monarchy soon, or is it all rumour?” 

Anastasia politely smiles and shakes her head, “That’s not up to me to decide. It was nice seeing you.” 

“Where are you going?” He questions, blocking us from walking further.

Nosy. I see. I don’t like him. There’s something about him that is far from charming. Before Anastasia can answer, I begin to speak. “She needs some air.” 

“I’ll join you.” 

“No need to join, just a bit of motion sickness.” 

The man stares at for a moment, testing my patients. “You can barely feel the boat move.” 

I clench my jaw with icy content, taking a breath and stopping myself from escalating matters and shoving him against the wall. One step closer and I might just have to put my hands on him. “She’s sensitive,” I respond, placing an arm around her, forcing my way between the two men and leading her away. 

I finally make it to the outside and onto the deck of the boat, relieved more than ever.

I tenderly tug on Anastasia, stopping her from walking. I can’t turn around to see if we are being watched, it would be too obvious. Anna turns to gaze at me, “Anna, look discreetly over to my left, is anyone watching?” 

“Yes.” 

“Fuck,” I mutter before letting out a heavy sigh. “One person?” 

“Yes.” 

I tilt my head to my left, “Eagle, I’m being watched. Be Careful. Send me Eaglet.” I radio into Matthew in code. If we are being watched, we are being listened to as well. It’s a no brainer. 

Getting Anastasia out of here without issues is proving harder than I had anticipated, the slightest tip-off to anyone that we know something is happening could potentially make things worse. We need to get Anastasia and her father off this boat promptly and subtly.

“Harry, what’s happening?” 

I shake my head, not wanting to answer her question, signalling for her to stay quiet for a moment as I listen to what Matthew is striving to tell me. 

“I can’t hear you, I have interference,” I respond, carefully peering over my shoulder to see where the watchers are. “Eagle, come in?” 

Matthew responds but I can’t understand him, it’s like static on an old radio, and pierces my ears. It’s the sickening screech of an AM radio where it gives you a headache for a split second and makes you reconsider ever wanting to listen to the radio again. Matthew attempts again to get through to me, but the screeching pitch causes me to take my earpiece out. 

Something's not right. 

I check my pockets and subtly pet myself down, looking to feel for any sort of difference within my suit jacket, although highly unlikely I’m to discover anything. 

Anastasia stares at me, her hand pressed to the railing of the boat while I take my jacket off and shake it out. Nothing. 

I take notice of her for a moment, taking my attention away from my search, “You okay? Motion sickness isn’t kicking in is it?” 

Anastasia shakes her head, “I’m fine, you’re making me anxious here.”

I slide my jacket back up my arm and I step forward, closing the space between Anastasia and I. “Don’t say a word, I’m just checking something,�� I whisper in her ear as softly as I possibly can, gently pressing my hands behind her, feeling every inch of her back— nothing. There’s nothing on her back. I carefully slip my hand into her jacket pocket, grasping the small circular device between my fingers. 

I discreetly remove the small device from her pocket and I lean over her to drop it into the water. “You were bugged,” I inform her, not too pleased with how the events of the day are taking place. Oliver shouldn’t have let anyone close enough to her for her to be bugged. “I’m trying to get you off the boat, this was meant to be some unveiling of an old ship, but it has turned into… how do I put this…” I begin, unsure of how to explain to her that some shady things are happening, “Just... just know I need to get you off the boat, okay?” I mutter, glancing around in an attempt to find something to help me figure out what the hell I’m meant to do. 

There’s a reason why I sought to tell the King being on a boat with foreign leaders and God knows who, was a dangerous idea, but he refused to listen to me. 

Sometimes I wonder why I stay in my position of job, life would be simpler if I quit my job. I could find something less bothersome. Special intelligence is only riveting when the king listens or when Anastasia isn’t in harm's way. 

“Protocol?” She whispers, her voice breaking as her eyes grow wide, the sensation of danger settling in. 

I nod my head, “Don’t panic, I’ll think of something.” 

“How? We’re stuck on a boat and—“ She’s spiralling, I can see it in her eyes that she’s beginning to panic and mentally think of scenarios that could occur. 

This is the part I loathe. 

“Anna, darling,” I kindly cut off her, “Let me do my job and worry, just trust me. I’m trained for this.” I remind her of my duty, at the moment I’m not her fiancée, I’m her bodyguard that has her life in his hands. I’m the one who is trained to take a bullet for her, I do it because it’s my job, but also because I’m madly in love with her. 

“Trained to get me off a boat in the middle of a volcano?” Anastasia questions, pointing out the location of the boat. 

“Actually, a water-filled caldera is what it’s called.” I correct her, not knowing how to handle the situation besides using a sense of humour. 

“Harry.” 

I heavily sigh and my eyes catch a glimpse of the distance between the boat and the shoreline, “You can swim, right?” 

“Yes?” 

“You might have to.” I flick my head towards the water, causing Anastasia to stare at me. 

“This isn’t funny.” 

She’s going to kill me. But if it comes down to it, I need to know that she understands that she might have to take the plunge. 

“It’s the last resort, but uh… it might have to happen,” I respond, “I’ll get you off, one way or another.” 

“Why can’t we just keep the peace and stay until we’re meant to get off?” 

“Because this doesn’t seem like a peaceful ending, just stay with me, okay?” 

“What do these people want?” 

“Sweetheart, I don’t know. I don’t have many answers. Come with me.” I mutter, beginning to get frustrated, but not with her. I’m frustrated that we are put in this situation, I’m frustrated that the king ignored the red flags that Matthew and I expressed, I’m frustrated that because of the King's ignorance and determination, we are in a mess that I’m not sure we can get everyone out of. 

The people on this boat are not here for a grand tour of an old navy boat that has come back to life, this isn’t a celebration or a coming of a union, this is a nightmare, a nightmare that could have been prevented. 

I should have listened to my instincts and told Anna to stay at the hotel, I should have done the thorough background check on each member, but the King had me occupied running errands with him and meeting with other leaders. He managed to direct my attention away from where it needed to be, he created his destiny with this mess and he’ll have to reap what he has sowed. 

I follow the edge of the railing and Oliver finally comes into view, stepping out of one of the doors. Anna and I make our way towards him and I waste no time with barking orders. 

“Get her off the boat,” I instruct, gesturing towards Anna.

Oliver shakes his head, “I can’t, there is no way off, we are all being watched. The next Tender isn’t for another hour.” Oliver responds, looking at me for answers that I don’t have. Part of me feels bad for him, his first trip and attempt at being a part of our team and he has been thrown into this monstrosity. 

“Get her off the boat or keep her safe for an hour.” 

“How?” 

“Get creative, I don’t care if you go through the galley, keep her safe.” 

“What’s the galley?” Oliver questions. 

“For christ sake,” I shake my head, surely he isn’t this dense. “Either get her off the boat or keep her safe for an hour. Keep her safe. If anything happens to her, I will personally kill you, got it?”

Oliver nods his head, his eyes wide as he nervously peers around. I can’t believe I am leaving her with him, but I have no choice, I know I need to get back to the King, he is my priority at the moment, I am on his service, I have Anna somewhat safe, I have to do this. 

I turn towards Anastasia and I lean closer to her, “I love you, take my jacket, there’s a spare in the inside breast pocket.” I whisper in her ear before I slide my jacket down my arms. Anastasia takes her jacket off and I take her jacket and give her a small smile before I throw it overboard. 

She stares at me with the eyes of daggers, and as much as I wish I could laugh, now is not the time to let my guard down. There was already one bug in her jacket, there could be more. I slide my jacket up her arms while she huffs, a clear indication that she is far from pleased with me. Right now, pleasing her isn’t a part of my job description, she will have to get over it.

I kiss her on the cheek before I look towards Oliver, “I’m serious, if anything happens to her—“ 

“I get it, you’ll kill me,” Oliver nods his head. 

I don’t want to leave her with him, but I know I’ve given her enough hints and tips over the years for her to figure out ways to keep safe if Oliver fails. All I can do is pray that nothing happens to her. 

I march away from the two of them and I begin to make my way to the men who have been watching. I climb the stairs and disregard them as I walk past them. I feel their eyes burn into my back but I don’t dare turn around. I keep moving forward. I have bigger fish to fry. 

I walk the different passageways of the ship, striving to locate Matthew and the King. I can’t get any response from the radio and there’s no cell service for me to track any phones, all I can do is rely on memory for how the ship is built. 

“Where’s the princess?” I’m distracted from my search and I stop in my tracks. I turn around to face the same man who was trying to look for my concealed pistol. 

“Why?” 

“She’s meant to be in a meeting.” 

“She’s unwell and won’t be attending the meeting,” I respond. 

“Where is she?” He’s determined to get his hands on her from the sounds of things, and I’m not okay with it. 

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, “Don’t know, but do you know where the King is? I assume his meeting is where hers is meant to be as well?” I’m somewhat being a smartass. There’s no way in hell anyone is going to tell me where the king is, everyone is shady. The man stares at me in an attempt to assert dominance. 

I heavily sigh and reach behind my hip where my pistol is. I use my left arm to push the man against the wall before my right-hand holds the barrel of my pistol to his neck. “Tell me where the king is and don’t cat and mouse me. I’m not in the mood.” 

The man gulps, his life perhaps flashing before his eyes as he begins to stutter, “I-I—“ 

“Spit it out. Where are they?” I demand.

“Upper deck near the upper deck escape hatch, there’s a room, they’re there.” 

With my pistol in position against his skin, I use my other hand to promptly search him, finding his pistol and shoving it where I keep mine when it isn’t in my hand. 

“Lead the way.” I instruct, pulling him away from the side of the wall and pushing him in front of me, keeping the gun to his back, “Don’t try any funny business.” I forewarn, pushing him to start leading to where I need to go. 

♔♔♔

I cough out the portion of seawater I managed to inhale as I eventually manage to get to the shore, pushing myself to get a little further before I give myself a break, collapsing to the sand. I glance to my side and Matthew and the King are doing the same, all of us coughing out salty water. My lungs burn from the salty intake and my body aches from the long-drawn swim and the bitter coldness of the Aegean sea.

I take a few deep breaths, “Everyone okay?” I cough while the King assists me to my feet. 

“Ye’ a fuckin’ asshole,” The King murmurs.

I glance at him, moving my arm into an L formation and holding it with my other hand, “I guess that is code for thankyou,” I respond, trying not to lean on the King as we both move away from the water but I can’t help it. 

All three of us sit on the sand and take the moment to fully catch our breath back and rest what little strength we have left from fighting the currents. We sit in silence, nothing but the crashing of the waves echoing between us. I stare out into the water, keeping an eye on the navy ship we left behind, all we can see of it is the lights of the boat. We left the vessel at dusk and at nightfall, we have made it. 

With heavy breaths, I think about the events that have transpired. 

I stared at the king as he scowled at me, not wanting to take my instructions for the hundredth time since we landed here in Greece. “Sir, if you do not jump, they will kill all three of us, jump.” I raised my voice towards the King who was contemplating whether jumping was the best option. At that point, it was the only option. 

When I was lead to the king and Matthew, I encountered Matthew being held at gunpoint and the King tied up. I don’t know what lead the two of them to that point, but I do know that everyone on this boat is against us. No amount of training can prepare you for the moment you have to fire your pistol to save not just the King but also the head of security. No amount of training prepares you for the sight I walked into and created. Untying the king was easy, getting all of us out and away from the other members on the boat, not so much. I heard a gunshot and my eyes widened, but none of us was hit, the shot came from another area of the boat. I held my breath for a moment, hoping and praying that Anastasia managed to get off the boat. “Get up, let’s go!” I commanded, hauling the King to his feet and shooting a glare towards Matthew, requiring his direction. From that moment, it is mostly a blur. Everything happened quickly. 

I glanced around, taking note that nobody had yet to follow us to the point in the boat where we were at, but it was only a matter of time before we were discovered. “Sir, you have to jump, we need to get off,” I commanded again, driving him closer to the edge. 

A gunshot fired and for a split second, my world froze, my breath hitched in my throat and I looked behind me. I disregarded the King and pushed him into the water, giving him no option. It was and still is my job to take a bullet for him and keep him safe, no matter what it takes. 

“They were going to kill us, weren’t they?” The King questions, taking me from my thoughts and breaking the silence between us, the realisation of what happened finally settling in with him. 

I nod my head, “Anna,” I breathe out, suddenly becoming alert with the fact I have no earthly idea on where she is. 

The King punches my shoulder, causing extreme pain to shoot through me so severely that it makes me want to throw up. “You were in charge of her, don’t you dare tell me you don’t know where the fuck she is.” 

I wince, slamming my eyes shut and I bow my head, trying to catch my breath back as it feels like I have had the wind knocked out of me, “Matthew,” I cough, “Where’s Anna?” 

“Fuck mate, I didn’t put a full swing behind the punch.” The King positions himself in front of me, Matthew inching closer. The king wastes no time with unbuttoning my button-down, trying to move the material to get a look at my shoulder. 

I look past him and glance towards Matthew, “Find, Anna,” I instruct. 

“Harry, how the fuck did you swim?” The King questions with wide eyes. 

I shake my head, not concerned about myself, I did my job, I got us all to safety. “Find your daughter, I left her with Oliver.” She wasn’t on my service, I did my job as security but I failed as her fiancee. “Everything is wet, we can’t call,” I mutter, using my good hand in an attempt to reach into my pocket, unfortunately realising that there is no way my phone or radio will work. 

“Harry, she is fine. She got off,” Matthew informs me while the King runs his finger over my collarbone, causing me to flinch once he reaches the corner of my shoulder. 

Thank God she is okay. I don’t think I could have ever forgiven myself if I had of left a dangerous situation meanwhile she was still on the boat. I should have stopped to think before following Matthew and the King with swimming to shore. I should have double-checked. I a notorious for double-checking but this time, I failed. I failed on many levels. 

“What did you do?” I look at the King, wanting answers in an attempt to ignore the throbbing pain I am feeling and have been feeling since the boat. 

The King stares at me for a moment, his lips curling into icy contempt. He wants to lie to me, but he can’t think of anything plausible. “Don’t lie to me,” I continue with a heavy breath, my eyes and body burning. I know I am overstepping my job description, but if I can dodge bullets and swim for my life, I can ask for an explanation for what the hell is happening. 

The King nods his head, bowing it in defeat, “Ever love someone so much you’d do anything for them?”

I nod my head, knowing all too well what it is like to love someone so much you would do anything for them. I would walk to the ends of the earth for Anastasia, I would wholeheartedly do anything for her, no matter the cost. Of course, I cannot tell the King that that ‘someone’ is his daughter, although, I wish I could. 

“They saved my wife. When I first married my wife, a terrible accident happened, Harry, she was dying in my arms. They saved her, I vowed to do anything in return, and from that night, I have had a debt to pay.” 

“Who is they?” Matthew quickly questions. 

“The Ace’s,” The King whispers the name, almost too scared to speak of the name too loudly. 

I grow withdrawn for a moment, trying to figure out who he is talking about, then it hits me. “No,” I breathe out, putting the pieces together. 

“Henry’s family saved my wife. When Henry was born, they forced my hand and made me promise he would one day be King and have a higher royal title than what he was born with. I paid them for years but the money isn’t enough. They want his title, they want the estates, everything, they want it all to cover their debts. I can’t give them what they want if Anastasia doesn’t marry him.” 

“So, they orchestrated all of this?” I ask, needing to understand things. 

The King nods his head, “A life for a life. They saved my wife and I haven’t kept up to my end of the deal so they want my life in return. The Ace’s have to be behind what happened, they are a big influence with who was on the boat, turned them against me.”

“All of this for a fucking crown?” I mutter. 

“Harry!” Matthew scolds. 

“It’s fine,” The King sighs, “Things were fine until that family started their ‘life for a life’, I didn’t want to include Anna in any of this but they forced it. It was either try and force their relationship or they…” The king trails off. 

“Or they what?” I quickly ask. I don’t think I want to know the rest of the sentence. I can read between the lines, but I need to hear things first hand. 

“They threatened to kill her.” 

I shake my head, not wanting to hear anything further, I have had enough for one day, “I’m ready to go to the hotel, it is fucking cold,” I mutter, forcing myself to my feet. 

“Mate, we need to get you to a hospital.” 

“I’m not going to a hospital, I want to go to the hotel. We need to get the fuck out of this place. It is safest for all of us to be back home.” 

“Let me take care of that, Harry, we need to—” Matthew begins but I cut him off. 

“I’m not going to a hospital here. If they catch any of us at the hospital, it is game over, that will be the first place the look expecting the King to have been shot.” 

♔♔♔ ♔♔♔ 

Matthew and I stand in the elevator, watching the golden numbers increase slowly. 

“Matthew, I want Anna on a plane back home.” 

“Harry—“ 

“Matthew,” I cut him off, not wanting to hear anything about the fact that it isn’t my decision since it is a royal duty, “We may not be married just yet but for the sake of this conversation, I want my wife on a plane back home, now.” 

“I’ll have the jet ready for her as soon as we wake her, we’re all getting out of here. The palace will be in lockdown, we will take them in through the tunnels before deciding where to keep them. I don’t think Buckingham is the safest.” 

I nod my head as the elevator doors open and we step out, discussing a few things as we walk down the hallway. 

I stand in front of Oliver and he looks me up and down, “Please don’t kill me.” 

I glare at him, unsure of why I’d kill him if he got Anna here safely, “She tripped, but she’s fine, barely even a scratch.” 

“It’s your lucky night, even if I wanted to kill you right now, I probably couldn’t,” I half chuckle, “Good job, Eaglet.” 

“Thank you. She has been asking for you every thirty-minutes… are you two a couple?” 

“No, I just do my job very well.” I dismiss his question about the relationship. I can’t tell him about the relationship. I don’t tell anyone about us, mainly because Anna doesn’t want everything to be exposed and right now, I don’t need everything to be exposed. With what’s happening with Henry and the intent of them murdering the king or Anna, I don’t think it would be a good idea for our relationship to be outted. I can only imagine the turmoil it’ll cause. Fuck. 

Matthew and I both step into Anastasia’s room. The light is on and she’s wrapped up in a blanket on the bed with the television on low. “Harry!” She’s quick to her feet. 

Matthew lets go of me and I open my arm for her, welcoming her with a partial hug. I kiss the top of her head, “Hey, darling.” 

Anastasia steps away from my half-hug, instantly looking me up and down, “You’re wet, and look like hell. What happened? Are you okay? Matthew, what happened?” 

“Princess, pack your things,” Matthew instructs and Anna looks towards me. 

“Sweetheart, just listen. Do you need help packing?” I offer, not wanting to have to explain everything to her right now. 

If I’m being quite honest, all I want to do right now is to lay down. 

“No, you’re not lifting a finger. You’re off duty until further notice.” 

“Helping my fiancée isn’t a duty,” I respond, nudging Matthew away from me as he attempts to help me to sit on the bed. 

I rest on the edge of the bed, disregarding my wet clothes for a moment. Matthew and Anna go withdrawn as I lay down, my eyes following them around the room while they gather all of Anastasia’s things. 

“Harry, do you need anything?” Anastasia softly challenges, looking over at me. 

“Morphine.” 

“Why are you not at A&E?” 

She’s not going to give up, she means well, I know, but I am the one that needs to worry, not her. “Anna, I’m fine. I’ll survive until we get home.” 

“That’s not for a few hours.” 

“My priority is getting you out of here.” 

I can’t say that I don’t care about the pain or myself, I do, the pain is excruciating, but either way, her safety is my priority. None of us are safe at the moment if we stay here, getting her and her family back home is the safest and most logical plan. 

“Harry, you need to be checked. Did you break something? Did you dislocate something? If we don’t pop it back in, you could need surgery and—“ 

“Anna,” I softly cut her off, “I am fine.” 

“You just asked for morphine.” 

“You’d want morphine too if you felt this pain. I’m alive, I’m not dying, I can wait for a better moment to go to a hospital where we won’t be watched. Jus’ pack your things, or do you need my help?” I question, slowly sitting up to face Anna. 

Anastasia shakes her head, “No, just lay there.” Anastasia instructs, beginning to help Matthew pack her items, leaving me to lay on the bed, resting my eyes in an attempt to relieve the pain.