#carrying them around for hours or days before anyone figures it out because she keeps it tucked away

[steveseddie]

apply directly to the forehead

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompt: alone | rating: t | wc: 997 | tags: hurt comfort, steve has migraines, eddie takes care of him, hand holding, forehead kisses read on ao3

No one notices when Steve slips out the front door. No one but Eddie, who tells Jonathan he’s going out for a smoke and follows him.

There are only woods around the Hopper-Byers cabin, and the only light comes from the Christmas lights hanging from the roof so it takes a moment for Eddie’s eyes to adjust to the near darkness. He sees Steve sitting on the steps with his head between his knees and taking slow, deep breaths. 

“Steve?” Eddie speaks softly, trying not to startle him but Steve still flinches. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Steve mumbles, keeping his head down. 

Eddie sits next to him. “Wanna try again? That wasn’t very convincing.”

Steve groans but it’s not his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan, it’s a pained groan. 

“‘S just a headache, ‘m fine,” Steve insists but his voice sounds weak. 

“Look at me.” Eddie squeezes his knee. “Stevie, please, look at me.” 

Steve sighs but lifts his head. Eddie can’t help but wince at how he looks. His face is twisted into a grimace, his skin is paper-white and there are tears in his eyes. 

“Oh, Steve. It’s a migraine, isn’t it? A bad one?” He gently brushes some hair off Steve’s face. Steve gives a tiny nod. “When did it start?” 

“A few hours ago,” Steve says with a shuddery breath. “While shopping with Robin, all the lights, the music and the crowds–”

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

Steve shrugs, then winces. “Didn’t want to worry anyone.” 

“Of course not.” That’s why Steve still showed up to the Hopper-Byers Christmas party, knowing there would be loud music and even louder kids, and then forced himself to smile through his pain. Eddie sighs. “C’mon, I’m taking you home.” 

“No, Eds–” Steve protests weakly. “I can drive myself-”

Eddie huffs. “Steve, you can’t even keep your eyes open right now.”

“But the party–”

“–will carry on without us,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes. “Wait here, okay?” 

Steve sighs and nods, and Eddie squeezes his knee again before heading back inside. 

He finds Robin and tells her that Steve isn’t feeling well and he’s taking him home. 

“Do you want me to come?” She asks, worried.

“Nah, I got him,” Eddie says. Steve wouldn’t want someone else to leave the party early because of him. “Just tell Hopper I’ll pick up the van tomorrow, okay?” 

“Okay, thanks, Eddie,” she says with a quick hug. 

Outside, Eddie finds Steve leaning against the railing, looking like he’s about to keel over. 

“Alright, big boy. Let’s get you home,” he says, leading them to the Beemer.

“No van?” 

“Nope. You complain about how fucking loud my van is on a good day. Figured you wouldn’t appreciate it today of all days.”

Steve chuckles weakly. “Admit it, you just want an excuse to drive a cool car for once.” 

Eddie scoffs indignantly. “My van is plenty cool, Harrington.” 

“Uh huh.” 

He sticks his tongue out at Steve and starts the car. The drive to his house is quiet. Eddie turns the radio all the way off, Steve keeps his head against the window and his eyes closed, and Eddie tries his best not to jostle the car too much. 

He has to gently shake Steve’s shoulder once they arrive and then he follows him inside. 

He goes straight to his bedroom and collapses on the bed, taking his shoes off but leaving his jeans and his ugly Christmas sweater on. 

Eddie finds some sleeping clothes and tosses them his way. “Take those jeans off, Harrington.”

Steve huffs. “At least buy me dinner first, Munson,” he says, his hands working on his belt buckle. 

Eddie’s cheeks turn pink but with just the moonlight illuminating the room through the curtains, he doubts Steve can see it. “So that’s what it takes to get into Steve Harrington’s pants?”

“Usually,” Steve says, shoving his jeans off before sliding on sweatpants, keeping his movements slow to not make his headache worse. “But for a guy as hot as you, I can make an exception.”

Eddie chokes on his spit. Leave it to Steve to flirt while his head is waging a war against the rest of him.  

After changing out of his Christmas sweater, Steve falls back into bed, burrowing his face into his pillow with a groan. The mattress dips when Eddie sits next to him, his back against the headboard. Steve blinks one eye open. “You don’t have to stay, I’m–”

“-in no condition to be alone right now,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes.

“You should go back to the party. I didn’t mean to ruin your night–”

“Steve Harrington called me hot. Nothing could ruin my night after that,” he jokes even if there’s some truth to it. 

Steve groans– this time it is his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan. “I’m gonna regret saying that.” 

“Because you didn’t mean it or–”

“Oh, I meant it,” Steve says, rolling to his side and looking up at Eddie through half-lidded eyes that might not have anything to do with his migraine. “But now you can hold it against me.”

“It would be kind of hypocritical of me since I also find you hot,” Eddie says, playing with a rip in his jeans. 

Steve’s fingers find his, intertwining them. “If my head wasn’t about to explode I would suggest we do something about that.”

Eddie’s widen. “Something like–”

“Like kissing. Though I could be persuaded to do other things.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says laughing shakily. “Now my head feels like it might explode.”

“We can talk in the morning,” Steve says, shifting until he finds a comfortable position. 

“Thought you didn’t want me to stay,” Eddie teases.

“Said you didn’t have to stay, Eds. I always want you here.” 

Eddie’s stomach flutters. “Okay,” he says, sliding down until he’s lying next to Steve, their fingers still intertwined. 

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Steve whispers, half asleep already. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, kissing Steve’s forehead. “Anytime.”

[harknessxo]

Professor Harkness

Paring: Darkish!Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: Agatha is a very attractive but strict Professor in your College. You somehow manage to keep up with her without seducing her like many students tried but failed to, which makes her take an interest in you.

Warnings; spanking, fingering, cunnilingus, professor kink?

Word Count: 3.5k

A/n: Haven’t posted in quite a bit, my bad!!! This is lowkey ass but I hope you like it!

This was your first year of college. You lived in Eastview most of your life but chose to go to Westview college when you got a full ride scholarship. It was scary at first, moving away from home, away from your parents but you got a new start.

As you got comfortable in your new environment, you had asked around about your teachers to know what to expect from them and everyone told you they were chill except for one, Professor Harkness. Many of the people you asked said she was a bitch, was way too strict, acted like she had a stick up her ass but “at least she was hot.” ‘Lucky me,’ you thought. You later figured out you had her once a week on Wednesdays. At least you only had to deal with her one day a week.

Your first day soon approached, your teachers all seemed very easygoing and understanding which only made you more nervous to meet the infamous Professor Harkness. Wednesday rolled around and you woke up nice and early to get ready. You wanted to make a good first impression, well, at least attempt to.

You were the first student to show up to the lecture hall. You took a seat at the very front, you liked to be able to hear everything your teachers said. After about five minutes, more students strolled in, filling up all the seats and finally, in all her glory, she walked in last. They weren’t lying when they said she was hot.

She walked to the front of the room, carrying a stack of papers and a bag. She placed the stack on the podium and began to set up for class. She didn’t bother addressing the class until the bell rang.

“Good morning everyone. I’m Professor Harkness and you will address me as such, no ‘Miss’ or ‘Mrs,’” she picked up the stack she had previously placed on her desk and started passing the papers out, “This is my syllabus. My email and office hours and at the top, if you have any questions, competent questions I mean, feel free to reach out. The first section talks about my deadlines-“ she was suddenly interrupted by a tardy student knocking on the door.

Her expression turned from somewhat welcoming to anger in seconds. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly frustrated by the tardy student, then opened the door.

“Don’t bother coming back to this class.” She stated in a cold tone before shutting the door on the student’s face. She continued on going over her rules and expectations, which were extremely high but nothing you couldn’t handle, like nothing happened.

This was going to be fun.

As the weeks went on, less and less people remained in her class either because they couldn’t handle it or they got kicked out. Many tried to seduce their way to an A but Professor Harkness was not having any of it. You found it embarrassing how the boys tried to flirt with her, sometimes even girls.

She dealt with the various attempts made to seduce her in the most professional ways, or unprofessional too, she didn’t seem to care. She would ignore their comments or straight up insult them, she had no time to deal with idiots.

You found it hot. You might have thought about her treating you just like that once or twice while getting yourself off, but of course you would never admit it or tell anyone. You were too scared to approach her anyway. She would most likely report you if she ever heard that you found her strict and harsh ways “hot”.

She didn’t seem to notice your presence much until she started noticing the efforts you put into her class. She couldn’t remember the last time any of her students were competent enough to reach the bare minimum of her expectations. She was not one to have a soft spot for students yet she found herself paying more attention to you in particular, she found it amusing how serious you were about her class.

You didn’t seem to notice her attraction at all. You didn’t notice the hungry looks or the way she would speak just a bit softer towards you if you raised your hand in class. Well, you did but you thought you were imagining things or that she was just in a good mood. You never actually approached her one on one. You thought she was very intimidating plus you always understood her material and never had to approach her. That was until now.

She had assigned a project and you couldn’t seem to understand a specific part of it so when the class was over and everyone strolled out, you stayed behind.

“Professor Harkness?” You called out nervously. She looked up from her papers and saw you still sitting in the classroom, the rest of the students were gone.

“Ah, Y/n.” She spoke your name, which honestly kinda surprised you. She set down her pen and stood up from her desk, walking over to you and leaned against the edge of the desk.

“You need something?”

“Y-yeah. I don’t mean to be annoying, I know you said if we had any questions, to reach you through email or visit you during office hours but I promise this is quick.” You rambled on, hoping she wouldn’t curse you out like she did other students. To your surprise, she simply nodded for you to go on.

“I can’t seem to understand this part of the project,” you pointed to a specific part of the rubric she gave out, “Could you explain further please?” She leaned over your desk to look at the rubric, her body hovering over yours. She studied the part you were pointing at, taking note of your struggle.

“Ah, I see. That part can be a bit tricky for some,” she proceeded to explain the section in more depth, her eyes scanning your features as you took in her every word. She made sure you were understanding every word she said, her gaze never leaving your face as she watched your expressions. It was almost addicting how attentive you were.

“Oh okay. That makes so much more sense now, thank you Professor Harkness. I hope it wasn’t a bother.” She smirked at your response, amused by how polite you were.

“It’s no bother at all, Y/n.” She said, straightening up and leaning against the desk again.

“But, since you’re still here…” she turned to a stack of archives on her desk, “Would you be a sweetheart and help me take these to my office?”

“Of course!” you agreed immediately. You took half of the stack while she took the other half and led you to her office. The office was spacious and organized. She had shelves full of books, papers and other things. A large desk was displayed in the middle of the room, along with a comfortable looking couch against the wall and a chair across from it. She gestured to the chair as she set her half of the archives down on her desk.

“Set those down here, please.” You carefully placed the stack on her desk. She walked over to her chair and sat down, watching you set the archives down with a satisfied smile.

“Is there anything else you need, professor?” You asked, sweetly.

“No, that’s all for now. But I have a question for you, Y/n.”

“What is it?” She leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving yours as she studied your expression.

“You’re one of my best students, if not the best. You’re not like the other idiots who just show up to class and fail every test. You actually care about the material, don’t you?”

“Mhm…” you hummed in response, trying to figure out what she was getting at. She chuckled softly, crossing her legs.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint me then, would you?”

“O-of course not.” She smirked at your stutter, finding it adorable how nervous you seemed.

“Good. You may go now. Have a good day, hon.” Your cheeks flushed at the pet name.

“H-have a good day, professor.” She watched as you left her office, a smirk still on her face. She couldn’t help but think about how cute you were when you blushed like that.

—

As the semester went on, Agatha tested you. She would give you material that was harder than the rest to see how you would do and you always came out on top. Rarely did you ever ask for help, nine times out of ten you could handle yourself. She was proud of you but she felt the need to punish you for something. To make you submit to her in a way, so when midterms began and you took her exam, she failed you on purpose.

When you got your grade back, you were stunned. You had studied your ass off night after night to prepare for it and you still somehow failed. This could potentially jeopardize your scholarship and not only that but you let down Agatha. You desperately needed her approval for some reason and you knew she would most likely not give you a chance to retake it but you chose to test your luck.

“Professor Harkness?” You said meekly as you strode into her office. It was six in the afternoon so mostly everyone had already gone home except for her apparently even though it was way past her office hours. She looked up from her desk, a small smirk on her face when she saw you. It was like she was expecting you.

“Yes, Y/n? Come in, close the door behind you.” You did as she asked.

“I um…I wanted to talk about my test score. I know you’re not one to give second chances but I really need to retake it. I studied so hard for it and this could put my scholarship at risk.” You pleaded with her. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms and looking at you with a cold expression.

“I was so disappointed when I graded your test, Y/n,” she stood up from her chair and walked around to the other side of the desk where you were, “But the fact is that you failed. I can’t just give you a second chance. It’s unfair to the other students who work just as hard as you.” Her words hurt you to your core. You let your favorite teacher down and now she was disappointed in you.

“Please, professor! I’ll do anything! I want to make you proud again.” You pleaded, desperately needing her approval. She stepped closer to you, standing in front of you now. She tilted your chin up with her fingers, making you look at her.

“Anything, huh?”

“Y-yes…” She smirked again, looking into your eyes and noticing the desperation in them. She could see how much you needed her approval, it was like you were addicted to it.

“I think there’s a way you can make it up to me…”

“Tell me…please?” You leaned further into her touch. She chuckled at your eagerness, running her thumb across your lower lip as she looked down at you.

“It’s going to be quite the task, darling. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Anything just- please? I’ll be a good girl.” You almost sobbed. She shushed you, pulling you closer by your chin.

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re already such a good girl. So eager to please…I can’t wait to see how well you can do this for me.” She pressed her lips against yours and you let her. You let her take control and so as she pleased.

She explored every inch of your mouth and moved her hand to grip at the nape of your neck. She roughly pulled your head back with a grin plastered on her face. In one quick motion, she manhandled you to bend over her desk. A pathetic moan left your lips when she did so.

She chuckled darkly at the sound, enjoying the way you bent over for her. She pushed everything off her desk with one arm, making a loud thud as it all fell to the floor.

“You want to be a good girl for me don’t you?” you nodded your head, “Then you will take this punishment for me and if you do good, I will change your grade on your test, is that a deal?”

“D-deal.” She smirked and moved her hand from your neck to your back, gently running her hand down your spine. She then pulled your hips back, pressing them against her.

“Good girl…” She lifted the hem of the skirt you were wearing and admired the lacy purple panties you had chosen to wear. Her eyes darkened as she ran her fingers over the lace.

Sometimes, when you would start daydreaming in class while staring at her beauty, you noticed she would always wear something purple. You guessed it was her favorite color and therefore wore purple panties. Of course, you didn’t expect for things to turn out this way but good thing you did.

She was quite pleased with your choice. It was almost like you were a perfect little doll for her, a toy to play with and do as she pleased. She knew you would submit to her easily and it was going to be so much fun breaking you in.

“Look at you, already being a tease for me even before I’ve begun. You look so pretty in my color, honey.” You blushed at her compliment and gasped when she started sliding the fabric off until it reached your ankles, leaving you completely bare before her.

She ran her hands up your bare thighs and ass, her touch leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. She admired the way your body reacted to her every touch, she loved how easily she could rile you up.

“I’m going to give you ten spankings and you’re going to take them like a good girl, right?”

“Yes, professor…” you whimpered. She hummed in approval, her hands still roaming your thighs. She leaned down and whispered in your ear, her breath hot against your skin.

“Stay nice and still for me. If you move too much, I’ll have to punish you even more. Understood?”

“Understood.” She smiled at your obedience and straightened up. She raised her hand and brought it down on your right cheek, leaving a red handprint behind.

“Count them for me, darling.”

“One…” She hummed again, satisfied with your response. She continued her onslaught of smacks, each one harder than the last. By the time she reached ten, your skin was red and sensitive, stinging from her touch. Tears had managed to escape your eyes and your breathing was ragged.

She rubbed her hands over your stinging cheeks, admiring her handiwork. She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lower back, her lips gently brushing against your skin.

“You did so well, darling. You took your punishment so well for me…such a good girl.”

“T-thank you, professor…” you sniffled. She smiled against your skin, her hands still rubbing soothing circles into your flesh.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you. Maybe I should reward you…” You felt your own arousal pool down your thighs at the thought of what kind of reward she meant.

“A r-reward?” She chuckled as she noticed the way you were reacting, noticing the way you got wet at the mere thought of a reward.

“Mhm…you look like you really want one, honey.”

“P-please? I’ve been so good!”

“I know you have, sweetheart. You’ve been such a good little toy for me…” She hummed in agreement, her hands slowly moving from your ass to your folds, dipping her fingers in your wetness. You shuddered at her touch, moaning as she spread your juices all over your lips. She smirked at the sound of your moans, enjoying the way your body reacted to her every touch. She circled your clit with her thumb, teasing you as she spoke.

“Look at you, so desperate and needy. You really do want a reward, don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I need it!” She chuckled darkly, continuing to toy with your sensitive bundle of nerves as she spoke. She leaned closer to your ear, her voice a low whisper.

“Yeah? You need it? You need your professor to fuck you senseless?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Her smirk widened at your desperate pleas.

“Such a good girl…” She removed her hand from your cunt, bringing it up to your lips.

“Open your mouth.” You opened your mouth almost immediately, allowing her to slide her arousal coated fingers inside. She pushed her fingers into your mouth, her eyes darkening as she watched you suck on them.

“That’s it, pet. Taste yourself for me…” She pulled them out slowly, a string of saliva connecting them to your lips. She then roughly pulled your head back by your hair and crashed her lips against yours. You moaned shamelessly against her lips. She kissed you passionately, her tongue exploring every inch of your mouth again as she held you in place all while tasting you as well.

“You taste sweeter than I imagined.” That made you even wetter. The fact that she’d been thinking about you as much as you made you feel warm inside.

She could tell that you were getting even more turned on by her words, and she loved it. She knew just how to push your buttons and make you squirm for her. She pulled away from the kiss, a grin on her face as she looked at you with hungry eyes.

“You’re so responsive, darling. It’s adorable.” You gasped loudly when she slipped her fingers inside you without warning, thrusting them in and out without letting you adjust. She chuckled at your reaction, enjoying the way you gasped and moaned for her. She started to pump her fingers in and out of you at a fast pace, curling them against your g-spot with every thrust.

“Look at you, taking my fingers so well. You’re so tight, sweetheart…”

“Thank- thank you!” you stuttered out, overwhelmed with pleasure. She hummed in amusement, enjoying the way you were struggling to form coherent sentences.

“Such a polite little toy…I love how easily you unravel under me…”

“Only- fuck- only for you, professor!” She smiled, her fingers continuing to move inside you at a relentless pace. She leaned down and began kissing and biting your neck, leaving marks all over your skin.

“That’s right, only for me. You belong to me, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes! I belong to you!” You panted out. She let out a low growl against your neck, her possessive nature coming out.

“Good girl…now cum for me. Cum for your professor…” her mouth soon joined her finger, sucking mercilessly at your clit, sending you over the edge. You had to bite down on your hand to withhold the loud moan that almost left your lips as you came. Mostly everyone was gone but there were still janitors and such. You didn’t want to get caught.

She kept her mouth on you, helping you ride out your orgasm. She smirked against your skin, amused by your attempts to be quiet.

“Oh, pet…you’re trying so hard to be quiet, but I can see how much you’re struggling.”

“It felt so- so good…” you muttered, tiredly. She pulled her fingers out of you and licked them clean, looking at you with a satisfied expression.

“I know, hon. You did so well for me…” she reached down and pulled your panties back up. She gently patted your thigh once your panties were back in place, her eyes raking over your body with a possessive gleam.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up. We can’t have you walking around with cum on your thighs, can we?”

“Mhmm…” you hummed, too fucked out to form real words. She chuckled and picked you up, carrying you bridal style towards the bathroom in her office.

“You’re adorable when you’re like this, all dazed and fucked out.” She placed you on the sink countertop and used a wet cloth to wipe down your inner thighs. She was gentle as she cleaned you up, making sure to remove any evidence of your encounter. She smirked as she looked at your face, noticing how you were still coming down from your high.

“There we go, all clean and presentable again.”

“Are you changing my test grade?” You asked shyly. She chuckled and shook her head, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head up to look at her.

“Well, of course. We made a deal and you even got a reward out of it. Now, run along. I don’t want people to get the wrong impression.”

“Yes, ma’am.” you hopped off the counter and almost ran out of her office. Did that really just happen? Did you let your professor fuck you senseless? God, you were a mess.

She watched you leave, a satisfied smirk on her face. She chuckled to herself as she sat down at her desk, picking up a pen and grading papers as if nothing had happened.

“See you in class, pet.”

Taglist; @polaris-likethestar @wandasreallover @oh-no-bummer @phixiesworld @eliscannotdance @venomhimbo @aka-patsy @scoliobean @chlondykebar @marvelwomenarehot0 @mgruiz @daenerys713

[spoilers-ahead]

okay!! now that it’s not 2am for me, i’m going to post my selkie!jason todd hc’s straight up au apparently! 

(uh. this was supposed to just be a list of hc’s but i got slightly,,,, carried away)

his selkie skin looks like an oversized red hoodie in his human form, and is just warm enough to help him survive new england winters.

when the summer heat becomes unbearable, he slings the hoodie around his waist

alternatively, he just coasts it out underwater. perks of living in a coastal city!

willis todd was a selkie. he used to tell jason stories of what it was like to swim through the big, wide ocean. of how freeing it felt. how different it is, from the smoggy, heavy air of gotham --- different, but both theirs, in their own right.

but to be honest, jason doesn’t remember much about the stories he was told, or really, anything about willis --- he had been in and out of blackgate for most of jason’s life, working for two-face to try and make ends meet, before dying. 

what jason mostly remembers, are the warnings. don’t let anybody know you’re a selkie. don’t let anybody find your skin. they will find it, and they will use it to control you. even decades later, jason would still remember those warnings. 

catherine is the one who teaches him how to swim, who helps him trial-and-error his way into putting his skin on, and learn how to make the transition seamless. 

after she dies, jason spends three months as a seal, to just... exist. forget.   

although jason technically lives on the streets, whenever he can;t find food, whenever he can’t find somewhere warm to sleep, whenever just being human becomes too unbearable, he spends the night as a seal. he ends up spending more time in the ocean, than on land.

that’s not to say he’s very good at being a seal --- he barely knows how to swim, has to learn how to fish the hard way. 

when bruce finds jason stealing his car tires, he marvels over how nice jason’s hoodie is, soft and fluffy even after all of jason’s time on the streets, especially given the condition jason is in, ribs showing from malnutrition, and the worn and raggedy shape of the rest of his stuff.

jason is skittish when he goes to live in the manor, even after a few weeks. he always adopts an expression particularly similar to a cornered wild animal around alfred in particular, alfred, who keeps on trying to take his hoodie away, purportedly to wash it.

alfred eventually gives up on trying to force jason to wash it --- he figures that as jason becomes more comfortable living at the manor, he’ll wind up telling them why he’s so protective over that hoodie, and they can work something out then. 

whenever wayne manor overwhelms jason with how big and how decadently expensive all the decor is, jason runs away, run to the ocean. 

jason doesn’t actually end up telling alfred and bruce that he’s a selkie --- bruce just has a ridiculous amount of motion alarms, which are triggered every time jason ran off. he had followed jason the third night, and saw him transform. 

bruce doesn’t tell jason that he knows, assuming that jason kept this a secret because he didn’t fully trust either of them. he would later learn that he was right in this assumption (a rare win for bruce in terms of emotional awareness)

except jason doesn’t fully trust either of them, even after a few months. bruce impulsively decides to do a few things --- a) tell jason about batman and robin and his crime-fighting secret identity, and b) tell jason he already knows about him being a selkie. 

jason is absolutely bamboozled by the fact that bruce knows, and yet hasn’t tried to take his hoodie to control him, or to stop him from playing in the ocean for a few hours. 

in fact, (under alfred’s encouragement) bruce offers to take him to the ocean during the day, so he can get “a proper night’s rest that a growing young boy such as himself would need”

jason remembers what his father told him, to never trust anyone, never let his guard down. but bruce has known about jason being a selkie for so long, and he didn’t take his hoodie or try anything. of course he can trust bruce. 

and when he tries on the robin costume for the first time, it fits perfectly. just like his hoodie, his second skin. it fits just like magic. 

oh, it’s a little loose in some places, the legacy of dick fucking grayson a little heavy sometimes, but he’ll grow into it. he’ll make himself, if he has to. 

also, jason finds the fact that even though he’s a friggin’ selkie, his callsign is a bird (a robin, no less) incredibly ironic and funny 

being a selkie is actually so useful for vigilantehood. the amount of people who talk freely, openly, and loudly about their drug smuggling plans near the ports is quite frankly, ridiculous.

honestly, towards the end of his robin years, jason remains genuinely surprised nobody catches on to him or his tactics yet. bruce is very proud.  

even though jason is safe, has been safe for three years, and trusts bruce with his life, his skin, and everything, old habits are hard to break. so he has his hoodie on when he goes to find sheila. 

and anyways, he wants to see if sheila is a selkie too. he’s taking biology right now, and they’re learning about punnett squares. jason’s never met another selkie before, other than willis who he barely remembers. there’s a possibility that sheila knows something, anything, so he has to try. 

sheila gets a glint in her eyes when jason mentions that he’s a selkie, tells him that while she’s not one herself, she’s familiar with the myth. she has long suspected that willis was a selkie, she tells him, and she’s glad to have confirmation. 

jason positively vibrates with excitement, can’t wait to ask, to pester his mother (mother!) with questions upon questions until. 

until. 

sheila doesn’t do anything after she gives him to the joker. she just smokes and smokes. and she doesn’t tell the joker about his hoodie, despite how it would have been much easier for the joker to destroy him that way. much more painful too.  

small mercies, he supposes, in between hacking coughs that brings blood bubbling up his lips. 

after he dies, his hoodie is ripped and in tatters from the crowbar, with burns along the edges from the bomb. bruce has to carefully peel it off his body. 

when jason was alive, his magic kept the hoodie in perfect condition, always. even when the rest of him was covered head-to-toe in mud, or dripping sludge from the nasty gotham sewers. 

bruce stares at the same hoodie, blood-soaked and mangled, so incredibly dissonant from how he remembered it on jason, when he was bright, whole, and alive. 

he can’t stand it. the hoodie that was so precious to jason, that was jason, at the core of him, in this state. dirty and ripped and devoid of the magic jason had exuded. 

in a moment of desperation, late at night, bruce asks alfred to teach him how to sew. he doesn’t dare to practice on jason’s beloved hoodie --- instead, he starts with the suits in his closet, grabbing the first one he sees, regardless of price. rips a hole and sews it back together over and over until he perfects his technique. 

and then he washes the fabric gently, using baby fabric cleanser and scrubbing for hours upon hours until the last traces of the deep-set brown stain from jason’s blood washes down the drain.

he painstakingly sews the scraps of fabric back together with a red thread, carefully sourced to match the hoodie to try and make it flow seamlessly like it used to. 

it doesn’t work, not exactly. despite his best efforts, the creases bruce had carefully sewn together are prominent and thick like scars, littering the  soft fabric.

so he gives up. he hangs it over the grandfather clock entrance to the cave in his study. brings it with him every time he visits jason’s grave, because he doesn’t ever want to keep jason’s hoodie away from him, but he also can’t bear for it to get ruined. 

dick visits him. a rare occurrence, these days. 

dick yells at him, as he is wont to do. 

these days, it feels like they spend more time angry at each other than not. dick says that this isn’t right. isn’t fair to anybody, not to alfred, not to himself, definitely not to jason. he rants, jason deserves to be remembered as he was in life, not frozen in death. 

perhaps he is right. bruce is not unaware of the state of violent, cutting stasis he is in, this putrefaction of his life. and he is certainly not unaware of how it is affecting the people around him. dick. alfred. the neighbor’s kid, the one who wants to be robin.   

bruce tries. not for himself, but for tim. for alfred, for dick. even for stephanie brown, who sometimes, when she smirks just right, or says something with just the right twang, he swears he can see jason in her. 

he still can’t bear to put the hoodie away, because jason deserved better than to be forgotten, so he folds it gently and places it in his closet instead. 

he also can’t bear to look at it for very long, so he forces himself to every single day. 

it’s different from the glass case that houses robin’s tattered suit in the cave --- that, is a reminder of how he failed robin. this, this is salt in a constant, stabbing, festering would, reminding him of how he failed his son. 

it was stephanie, that eventually helped him figure out what to do with the hoodie. when she was young, young enough to cry at ripped pants and skinned knees, young enough that her mother hadn’t touched the drugs yet, her mother would dry up her tears, give her a hug and a kiss on the forehead, before patching her pants up. 

what not many people know, is that before crystal brown set her mind on becoming a nurse, she wanted to be an artist, first. and so she grabs her old set of embroidery needles, and stitched little designs. dogs and cats. stars and planets. tools and gadgets. 

bruce doesn’t react, doesn’t even move, even as stephanie finishes her story. she hangs there awkwardly for a second, stares up at jason’s suit, waiting for him to respond, before shuffling towards the exit of the cave. 

thank you, spoiler, bruce manages to croak out. 

ah, yeah, she says, shrugging lightly while slouching in on herself, any time, boss. she walks out, and bruce watches her go from the reflection on the darkened computer. 

that night, he takes out jason’s hoodie, smooths it out, grabs his threads, and stitches. 

he stitches on constellations, argo navis, for jason’s namesake in the greek myths he had loved so much. a tiny seal, playing with beach balls. little books, with quotes on the sides. a robin, big and bold. 

he tries to make it as true to jason as possible, not just in death and in bruce’s memories, but as he was in life.

jason wakes up abruptly.  

he wakes up in a coffin, cold, alone, and with a gaping hole in his chest. getting dipped in the lazarus pit only made it worse, only made him all the more aware of what he was missing, all the more conscious of it. 

he doesn’t bother trying to learn how to swim with two arms and two legs, instead of two fins and a tail. it doesn’t feel the same. it only reminds him of what he’s lost. 

sometimes, on sleepless nights that happen more often than not, he wonders what would have happened if he still had a hoodie, still could swim. 

if he still was robin. 

and he doesn’t have access to the cave anymore, or to the titan’s tower, or the watchtower, and his memory of the past is still patchy and shitty in some places. 

so in a burst of impulsivity fueled by the person he no longer is, he prints out photos of robin’s costume from the internet and recreates it on his own. 

if his skin is gone, then fine. fine! he’s perfectly perfunctorily aware that nothing about this resurrection of his is natural. if he doesn’t think too much about it, he’ll be alright. his hoodie, his skin, that was something he was born with, a birthright that died with him. 

but robin, robin was something that he helped shape. robin was something that he worked for, changed himself for. 

and the makeshift robin suit --- it doesn’t fit him, not anymore. no, it feels wrong, like a child playing with their parent’s suit. or --- he realizes, perhaps more accurately, like an adult realizing they no longer fit in their favorite clothes. 

and --- and --- what was the point of it all? what was the point, of trying to make bruce proud of him, of getting dick’s approval, of trying to futilely save people over and over again from the same gallery of supervillains who keep on escaping from prison?!

and what was the point of carving out a space for himself if the joker was just going to beat him out of it, and if tim drake was going to insert himself in the hole he left behind?

and then the next thing he knows he’s in titan’s tower hitting tim drake over and over again because who let him? who let him take jason’s role as a son, as a brother, as a hero? how dare he?

but when he’s slit tim’s throat and torn the ‘R’ off his chest, jason doesn’t feel any better. the robin suit still doesn’t fit. his hoodie’s still gone. 

he’s starting to think it never will, not again. 

sometimes, when he gets tired enough to let his mind wander, he wonders what happened to his suit. 

he’s pretty sure he died with it, so either the hoodie is with the joker, batman, or... gone entirely. (it’s not like they found willis’ skin after he died. maybe selkie skins just disappear in a cloud of sea foam once they die, or some little mermaid shit like that)

it’s a cold comfort, that nobody can manipulate him now. nobody can control him --- not even batman. 

(bruce had thought about it. when he first had his suspicious regarding who the red hood was, before he knew there was any trace of the son he once had left. he thought about using the hoodie, using jason’s selkie skin to coerce him, at least to stop murdering people, to stop hurting their family.) 

(he would never go that far, in retrospect, or at least, he doesn’t think he could ever. to do that to jason, betray his trust so thoroughly and completely... but it would be a lie to say that he didn’t consider it.)

bruce reflects on this as jason reveals himself, the joker tied up at his feet with a gun pressed to his head, and venom spitting from his son’s mouth.  

but when he lifts the batarang to hit jason’s gun, or wrist, or anything that’ll force him to drop the gun, he realizes that his hands are shaking. 

and when he throws the batarang, he knows a millisecond after he’s let go, that he’s miscalculated the ricochet. 

so when jason escapes that night, bruce knows he’s fucked up. 

jason goes off the maps, completely. bruce doesn’t know where he is, if he’s safe, if he even made it out of the explosion that night. 

it takes weeks. weeks for bruce to track jason down, from meticulously documenting the dropped threads of where the red hood was pulling strings in the gotham underworld behind the scenes, to tracking security cameras with facial recognition. 

once bruce manages find where he’s staying, make sure he’s safe, he knows what he wants to do. and, he knows what he needs to do. 

jason gets a package in the mail, five weeks after his disasterous meeting with batman and the joker. unmarked, unsigned, no return address. 

when jason opens the box gingerly and carefully, he holds on to his skin for the first time in years. and then, and then, and then --- something right slots into place. his fingers brushed gently over the tiny spotted seal he knows he used to look like, the books he remembered ranting to bruce about for hours on end. 

the robin, on the top left, over his heart, big enough to have changed him, yet small enough to not define him. 

it’s not perfect. it doesn’t even fix anything, not entirely. he still fights with bruce most times he sees him, tries to punch dick in the face, steadfastly ignores tim and steph the entire time. 

but it’s something. it’s something, and the next time nightwing, batman, spoiler, and robin fight a gang on the docks, the red hood gives them a helping hand before jumping back into the ocean and swimming away.

fin!

wow this got long

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Eighteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Violence. A lot more violence than usual. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.3k

A/N : if you haven't already voted for what you want to see me write next, you've got a day and a half left

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN | CHAPTER SIXTEEN | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Eighteen

It felt like the world was unravelling around him, like he was coming apart at the seams. While he’d said the words hours ago, it wasn’t until that moment that he started to feel the weight of them. He loved you. He loved you in a way that he’d never allowed himself to love anyone else. He loved you in a way that was so deep, so visceral that if he lost you, he knew he’d never recovered. 

You were inexorably linked, two halves of one soul. You were everything to him and Billy knew he couldn’t go back to the empty, bleak life he’d been living, no matter how many times he’d tried to convince himself overwise over the last couple of months.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, running a red light to get to Krista’s building. Frank and Madani were talking but, to Billy, it all just sounded like static in his ears.

He couldn’t lose you.

He wouldn’t.

Pulling up, he killed the engine and before anyone could think to speak or question, he was out of the car, clearing the steps to the building two at a time. Frank and Madani had to rush to keep up with him, each still talking, calling after him. But Billy didn’t care about waiting, about figuring out ‘what to do’. No, Billy knew what he was going to do; he was going to make Krista talk, he was going to make her understand why fucking with you had been the worst decision of her life

It was a blur and, for a few minutes he lost himself; he kicked the door open and the next thing he knew, he had his hands around her throat, with Frank yelling at him to calm down.

“Where is she?” The voice that left his lips wasn’t quite his own.

“Gone. I don’t know where,” Krista answered, grinning despite the grip he had on her. “You’ll never find her. Just like you never found Mary.”

Somehow Frank managed to wrench Billy away but Krista didn’t even try to escape. She was enjoying the scene playing out before her, she was taking pleasure in his pain, glad that she’d had some small part in causing it.

“Mary?” It was Madani who spoke, gun drawn, stepping forwards. “Mary Poots?”

“Poor little Mary,” Krista said in a sing-song tone, barely holding back a laugh. “You thought you could replace me with someone so... fragile...”

“You killed Mary Poots?” Madani tried to continue her line of questioning despite the fact that Krista’s attention was fully on Billy.

“Now you’re going to lose the new one,” Krista carried on, all eyes on her. “I’ll take the next one, too. And the one after that. All of them. Every last one, until I’m all you have left.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Billy spat and that drew a laugh from Krista.

“If I am, it’s because of you, because you infected me...” she laughed again. “Or, no, I suppose it was Layla... not that it matters. You fuck up everything you touch, don’t you, Billy?”

“Just tell me where she is!” Billy demanded.

He lunged towards her, but Frank was too quick, too strong, wrapping an arm around him and holding Billy back.

“I don’t know,” she answered, still smiling, seemingly unbothered. “I never asked and he never told. You shouldn’t worry, I’m sure she’ll make a beautiful bride. Her fiance was so happy to finally have her back.”

Billy snapped and snarled, struggling against Frank and against himself, his last shred of control quickly starting to split and fray. He wanted to kill her, wanted to do what he knew he should have done months ago.

“She’s not worth it, Bill,” Frank told him, trying to pull him away.

“You’ve just confessed to murder in front of a Federal Agent,” Madani finally piped up, earning a laugh from Krista, before her attention shifted to Frank and Billy. “If Justin Drake has her and they’re still in the city, we’ll be able to track her down.”

“And what if she’s not still in the city?” Billy snapped. “There’s only a few hours until dawn...”

“We’re going to find her,” Madani answered, her tone sharpening to match his.

“And what about her?” Frank dared to ask, drawing all eyes back to Krista.

“I can send someone to pick her up.”

Krista finally moved, attempting to bolt for the door but, somehow, Billy managed to wrench free of Frank’s grip and lunged for her, knocking into her so hard that they both fell to the ground.

She ripped and tore at him with her nails, sinking her fangs into his shoulder and not letting go until his elbow connected with her face. They rolled, Billy ending up on top before she caught him across the face, clawing at him. She rolled him, straddling him as she landed another hit across his face while Billy’s hands gripped her throat.

By the time Frank pulled her away, they were both bloody and bruised, each bearing the marks of each other’s hatred. She kicked and screamed against Frank’s grip as he pushed her face first into the wall, pinning her there while Madani cuffed her to a radiator.

“You think that’s gonna hold her?” Frank asked, eying Krista as she dropped to the ground.

“It’s all we can do for now,” Madani answered. “We need to move.”

“She needs to die,” Billy snarled.

It felt like his body was vibrating with rage, like the thing inside of him had finally won. But, before he could move, Frank was on him, forcing him backwards, hands shoving him so hard that he knocked the breath from Billy’s lungs.

“You wanna waste time on her while your girl’s out there? You wanna throw her life away and yours just so you can settle a score with this crazy bitch?” He barked in Billy’s face, shoving him again. Billy didn’t have an answer. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now fucking move, this guy isn’t gonna find himself.”

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

It felt like the world had tilted on its axis and gripping the edge of the table was all you could do to keep yourself from falling. It had never made sense why he wanted you, why he’d been so adamant; you weren’t anything special, you weren’t worth anything (certainly not when compared to the amount of money your parents owed him). But, now you finally had answers, it made even less sense.

He was doing this because you looked like a distant relative who you shared only a fraction of your DNA with. 

He was doing this because she had denied him, just like you were trying to deny him.

He wanted you to be a vampire, to spend an eternity at his side.

“No.” The word fell from your mouth with a certainty that you didn’t feel.

“You don’t have a choice,” he retorted, already sounding like he was done with your denials and insolence.

“Yes, I do,” you answered back, remembering all the times Billy had told you as much.

You hadn’t believed it at the time, you’d thought that it was just a line, something he was telling you to make you feel better but, now, faced with someone who wanted to remove your choice, your agency, you realised that Billy had been right all along. Lifting your head and sitting a little straighter, you silently promised yourself that you weren’t going to cower before him, you weren’t going to let this sorry excuse for a man decide your future.

“You can do what you want to me. I’ll never be yours,” you told him. “Even if it takes my whole life, I’ll do everything I can to escape you.”

“I don’t know what you think you can -”

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” you interrupted, not letting him get the upper hand, not letting him treat you like the naive child you had been when you last sat across from him. “You will never get what you want from me.”

Anger flickered across his face and it took him more than a few seconds to tamp it down again. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting such resistance from you.

But then came the laugh, a sound that caused dread to coil in your stomach.

“Like I told you; I’m a patient man and I have an eternity to bend you to my will,” he sai, his voice softer than his expression. “There might be nothing I can do to you anymore, but I already told you that your sister, her children...”

“You won’t hurt them.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because you’ll lose your leverage over me if you do,” you answered, trying to hide the discomfort in your voice, hating that you were gambling with your sister’s safety. “And if you think I’m being difficult now, you’ve got no idea how much worse I can be.”  

Drake let out another callous huff of laughter, a twisted smile pulling at his lips.

“You’re right, but there are other ways to hurt you, aren’t there? Other people close to your heart...” he trailed off for a moment, letting his words sink in. “What about William Russo or his little human friend? Karen is it?”

As much as you wanted to remain defiant, the thought of anything happening to Billy made you feel sick to your stomach. You couldn’t let anything happen to him. You wouldn’t. 

Before you realised you were doing it, your hand was gripping the knife in front of you. 

It took him by surprise when you lunged across the table, aiming the blunt knife towards his chest despite knowing that it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. You didn’t care. The outcome of this didn’t matter; either he would die or you would. Either way, Billy would be safe.

Plates and glasses smashed as you half-fell over the table, tipping his chair back and knocking him to the floor, you on top of him.

His fingers gripped your wrist, stopping you as you tried to bring the knife down, holding the tip only a few inches from his chest.

There was noise all around you and it wasn’t until some time later that you realised it was you, that you were screaming, telling him you were going to kill him, that you wouldn’t stop until he was dead.

The struggle felt like it lasted a lifetime when, in reality, a few seconds after you’d cleared the table, one of his goons had arrived and pulled you off him. Kicking and screaming, you were carried back to your room and thrown inside.

You landed with an awkward thud, pain radiating up your bad arm despite the cast. But, seconds later, you were back on your feet, banging against the door, trying to get out, only to find that you were locked in. But that didn’t stop you from continuing to kick and scream at the door, telling him that you were going to kill him, that the only way he’d stop you was by killing you.

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

After they’d left Josie’s, Frank had text Karen to let her know what was going on and where they were headed. She decided to stick around and keep asking questions around the bar, making sure that nothing had been missed but, after half an hour or so, she decided to call it a night and head home.

She left with your suitcase, having stuffed Bill the Beagle back inside, rolling it along the sidewalk behind her. Her apartment was only a couple of blocks away and, despite the late hour, she’d never felt particularly unsafe walking home from Josie’s.

“Hey, uh, excuse me Miss?” A voice rang out.

Not thinking, Karen stopped and turned, seeing a large man dressed in a dark suit heading towards her.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked, finally noticing the limo parked in front of Josie’s.

It couldn’t be a coincidence; Josie’s wasn’t the sort of place anyone would want to leave a limousine, especially not twice in one night. Karen took a step back, realisation causing her blood to turn ice cold in her veins.

“Yeah, I think that suitcase belongs to a friend of mine,” he answered, slowly stepping towards her. 

The moment he started to move, Karen reached into her purse, trying to find her gun but not taking her eyes off of him for even a second.

“Funny,” she answered, “because this case happens to belong to a friend of mine.” 

Gun in hand, she lifted it, pointing it straight at him, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. She couldn’t be sure if he was a vampire or not, but she wasn’t going to take any chances, and aimed the gun at his chest. It might not kill him, but it would definitely slow him down.

“Where is she?” Karen demanded.

“It’s none of your concern,” he answered back, daring to take the slightest step but hesitating  again when Karen lifted the gun a little higher, aiming for his heart.

“I said, where is she?” She repeated, taking a step of her own.

“She’s with her fiance and if I were you, I’d just hand over the case.”

Karen opened her mouth about to refuse again when he moved, clearing the distance between them with a supernatural speed, knocking the gun from her grasp and into the road. As she moved to grab the suitcase, he struck her with the back of his hand, knocking her off balance and sending her to the pavement.

Karen scrambled for the gun but, by the time she had it, he was almost back at the limo, throwing the case into the passenger side before moving around to the driver's door.

As he started up the engine, Karen noticed a taxi and quickly tried to flag it down. When it didn’t stop, she stepped out into the street in front of it, making it stop for her.

“Follow that limo,” she told the driver as she climbed into the back.

“Listen, lady, I -” the driver started to refuse.

“No, you listen, the piece of shit that owns that limo has kidnapped a friend of mine and I have a gun, so you can either follow that limo and get paid at the end of this, or I’m going to have to take your taxi.”

The threat hung in the air for a few seconds. She could see the driver wearily eyeing her in the rearview, no doubt taking note of the gun in her lap and her split lip.

“Alright, fine, just don’t go doin’ anything crazy,” he muttered before starting after the limo.

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

They were barely outside of Krista’s building when Frank got the call. Billy watched as his friend's expression dropped from one of calm control to absolute rage in less than five seconds. He’d been busy listening to Madani, to all the measures she was putting in place to try and track you down; tracking the limo, credit cards, checking hotel guest lists. It only vaguely occurred to him that it wasn’t until then that he heard your so-called fiance’s name for the first time tonight.

Justin Drake.

Not that it mattered what his name was; he’d be a dead man the moment Billy got his hands on him.

But, for a few seconds, all of that stopped mattering and his attention was fixed on Frank.

“Are you okay?” he demanded of the person on the other end of the call. “Did he hurt you?” There was a pause for an answer that Billy couldn’t quite make out over the sound of traffic. “Where are you? No - no, stay outside and wait for us. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

“What’s going on?” Billy asked the moment Frank ended the call.

“He sent one of his goons after the suitcase. Karen followed him back to the Park View hotel, she thinks that’s where he’s got her.” Frank explained.

A second later Madani was relaying that information on her call, but Billy was already moving for the car, and Frank was quick to follow.

“Wait, I can get back up and -” Madani started, falling into step behind the men.

“We ain’t waiting,” Frank answered.This time it was his turn to be angry. They’d gone near Karen and, now, it was personal for him. 

The conversation continued as they got in the car and carried on until they arrived at the hotel; Madani wanted to wait for back-up. Billy and Frank didn’t. It was that simple. They weren’t going to wait.

“You can help us, or you can stay here,” Frank told her, though his attention was immediately focused on Karen the moment he saw her, his blood starting to boil at the sight of her split lip. “We’re killin’ this fucker.”

“Yeah we are,” Billy responded.

Frank gave Karen some quick instructions, telling her to go wait in the car and to stay out of the way. He tried to tell Madani to wait with her but the Homeland Agent refused, trying one last time to convince them to just wait a few more minutes for back-up to arrive. Before she could even finish, Billy was moving past her and heading for the hotel’s entrance.

He moved through the lobby, drawing stares from everyone that looked his way; blood from the wounds that Krista had inflicted was still fresh on his clothes and he looked as if he’d just torn someone apart with his bare hands.

By the time he reached the front desk, there were already two members of the hotel security team standing there.

“I’m Agent Madani with Homeland Security,” she spoke before anyone else had the chance, and before Billy had the opportunity to do anything stupid. “You have a Justin Drake staying here, I need access to his rooms, now.” 

“I can’t just -” the receptionist started to answer.

“He has a woman with him up there, doesn’t he?” Madani asked, stepping up to the desk. “A woman that turned up earlier tonight?”

Billy took a step forward, getting ready to take matters into his own hands.

“I can’t reveal -” the receptionist tried again.

“He kidnapped her,” Billy snapped, “and he’s planning on hurting her. So you can either let us in peacefully, or we can make you.”

The security guards moved closer but then, at the sight of Frank stepping forwards, they seemed to shy away.

“We can wait for a warrant, or you can let us in now. Either way, if anything happens, it’ll be on you,” Madani explained. “Call Homeland - hell, call the cops, the FBI, whoever you want. Have us arrested when we’re done. But if anything happens, her blood will be on your hands.”

“And we’ve got Karen Page from The Bulletin sittin’ outside waitin’ for her friend to come out, so I suggest if you don’t wanna be named as complicit in this...” Frank let the threat go unfinished.

The receptionist had turned snow white, her hands trembling as she handed over a keycard and directed them to the elevator. The two hotel security members followed after.

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

You heard the commotion before everything went to hell.

There was a phone call; from what you could gather they had a friend in the FBI who’d gotten wind of a Homeland investigation, and there was about to be a raid on the hotel. They needed to get out of there, as quickly as they could.

“Come on,” he demanded, holding out his hand to you.

“No.”

“I’ve had enough of your games,” he muttered, his voice changing, turning softer. “Now, come with me.”

When he held out his hand again, you took a step towards him, wanting to do exactly as he said.

“N-no,” you said, shaking your head, trying to block him out, trying not to let him sway you.

“Come on, come with me. Right now,” he tried again.

Again you took a step, then another. Something inside of you told you to stop, to fight him, but you couldn’t. All you wanted to do was go with him.

“That’s it, come along and -”

“Boss, they’re in the elevator!”

The sudden disruption was enough to snap you out of it. You stepped back, reestablishing the space between you. You weren’t going to make this easy for him. 

“Told you I’d never be yours,” you muttered defiantly, triumphantly.

You both knew that there was no way that Drake was going to get out of this, at least not with you at his side. He’d have to let you go if he wanted to escape.

But you realised all too late what letting go looked like to Justin Drake.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” He asked, starting towards you. “I would have given you everything if only you’d chosen not to act like a tempermental whore. But it’s really no bother. I’m sure when your niece is old enough she’ll be far more amenable, far more grateful for what I have to offer.” 

You stepped back as he closed the distance, until you found yourself against the window.

“At least I get to have one last taste,” he muttered darkly.

“No!” 

Your arms shot out, trying to push him away, trying to keep him from biting you. But he was bigger than you and infinitely stronger. He pushed you back, held you in place despite your thrashing and screaming. You tried everything you could to stop him from pressing closer and closer, trying to turn away as he bowed his head towards your neck.

“Not so defiant now, are you?”

“Please, no - no!” You screamed and begged, tears streaming down your face.

He bit down. Hard. 

Fangs tore through flesh, but rather than lingering to feed, he pulled back, his lips and chin dripping dark with your blood.

It took a moment for you to realise that blood was slowly filling your throat, that he’d left you with more than just a puncture wound.

Your hand lifted as he pulled back and started to walk away, feeling the wound he’d left and the way blood was spurting from it. Lightheadedness quickly over took and you found yourself sliding down the glass and onto the floor. Desperately you reached for the hoodie you’d discarded on the floor when you’d changed for dinner, pressing it against the wound, hoping you’d survive long enough to see Billy one last time.

You weren’t sure what was happening, but you heard gunshots and shouting. Then someone was at your side, her hand holding the hoodie tighter against your wounds and shouting for Billy. 

Madani.

(What was Madani doing there?)

“Hold on, help’s on the way,” she told you, but the words barely registered.

You had so many questions but it seemed too late to try and ask them.

But finally - finally  - Billy was at your side. Dropping to his knees, his eyes filling with tears at the sight of you.

“B-Billy,” you managed to choke out despite the blood filling your mouth and lungs, “you’re h-here...”

You felt him squeezing your hand, holding you so tight, like he never wanted to let you go. There were tears in his eyes as he looked down at you and you knew exactly what they meant; you were dying. In your efforts to save him the pain of watching you die, you’d brought it about decades early.

“I told you,” he muttered softly, “I’ll never let you go.”

Madani continued to press the cloth against your wound but you could tell from Billy’s face that it wasn’t helping.

“S-sorry,” you tried to mutter, wishing that you had more time, wishing that you could apologise properly.

“Don’t,” he told you, “don’t try to talk. Just - just stay still, stay with me, it’s going to be alright.”

“I l-love -” you couldn’t finish, there was too much blood and you were starting to feel so cold, so tired.

“Hey - hey, hummingbird, keep your eyes on me. It’s going to be okay,” Billy told you, but his voice sounded so far away. 

You struggled to hold his gaze, some part of you glad that you’d gotten to see him one last time, but the rest of you hated the agony on his face and the tears streaking down his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” he told you, squeezing your hand tighter, like he was trying to hold you in this life and not let you slip away. “I love you and - and I’m sorry, I know you’ll hate me but...”

The rest faded into the sound of your own panic, some part of you knowing what he was trying to tell you, knowing what he wanted to do. You tried to shake your head, tried to pull at his hand but you were so weak you could barely move. 

You were so far gone that you didn’t hear him screaming and pleading with Frank, nor did you hear Frank’s initial refusal and Billy’s threat to do it himself. 

Your eyes went wide when Frank loomed over you, looking at you for a moment, an unspoken apology colouring his features. You tried to speak, trying to say something - though, confronted with your own death, even you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore. But you felt Billy’s hand squeezing yours and some piece of you wanted to hold on, wanted to have his hand in yours for longer than this moment, longer than the six months that you’d had together. 

You wanted him.

You wanted the man you loved.

(It wasn’t fair. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to leave him.)

But it was too late. Your eyes fell shut and you let out a gurgled breath, and the last thing you heard was Billy’s shouts.

End Note : So, yeah... I have a lot of feelings about this chapter. I know it jumps around and I'm not the greatest at action sequences (I'm working on it). And I know people won't like the ending and so on, but I'm having fun. I'm not sure if next week will be the last part now or if I'll have an epilogue the week after to tie up loose ends. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this and it wasn't a let down! Also I'm sorry if any typos slipped through, I lost a night of writing to go see Deadpool last night..

As ever, thank you so much for your support/reading/liking/reblogging/screaming at me in the comments! Have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

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[jrow]

May Prompts (8)

Day 7 here. Day 9 here.

Hobby

Reading the faces in a crowd has long been a hobby that centres him.

Strangers who will never know he was there.

There is no risk of derision and pity as long as he doesn’t say any of his deductions out loud. But it’s too tempting when he’s reading family, colleagues, acquaintances. In those cases, he never can seem to keep his mouth shut. His naive excitement at figuring something out overpowers his good sense. Every time.

So, from the time he was a young child, he’s learned he is safest when reading the masses at a distance. No risk of ruining everything. Sure, he never finds out if his deductions are right, but that’s not the point.

For a time, this hobby was the only way to centre himself that didn’t involve illicit substances. He remembers spending hours sitting in town squares during the time after The Fall just reading the faces of everyone that walked by. It was essential for his survival.

Now, things are different. John centres him. Rosie too. Even when the former is angry and the latter a menace. They have become as essential as the air that he breathes.

He supposes this is what love feels like.

But, he still heads to Trafalgar Square sometimes, just to watch the crowd. Identify the tourists, the locals, the petty criminals, and the honest people. He still rides the tube a few extra stops because he’s immersed in reading the masses around him. It is still soothing.

It is not soothing today.

Thirty minute ago be received a call—not text—from Mycroft while walking towards Putney Bridge station, having just dropped off Rosie. His brother wasted no time (thank god) in explaining that John was unharmed, but a man had been caught sneaking into his room. A man wanted by police on a whole range of charges. A man who was carrying enough morphine to kill several people.

A man who somehow slipped away (the incompetence).

It was lucky that they caught him at all. John’s nurse (perhaps the only competent person involved) clocked him as suspicious and kept a close eye, eventually spotting the vials. But if she hadn’t been working at the desk when the man came in ….

Sherlock should have been there. Should have been faster with Rosie. Dropped her off early.

But he didn’t, so now he is walking quickly through the tube station outside the hospital deducing everything he can about the people around him. But it’s not soothing because he needs answers and these people aren’t providing them.

He can’t fathom why anyone would attack John. He should know, though. It’s his job. What is he missing?

He needs to understand, needs to fix this. Needs to prove he’s worth keeping around.

Needs to know John is safe.

Apologies for any errors today, friends. This entry was written and posted entirely on transit on mobile.

Thank you all for the kind words! I assure you I have no idea what's going to happen before reading the prompt each day. I am having fun making it up as I go :).

[ravenromanova]

My Shining star

Pairings: Insecure Bucky x Healer Female reader

Summary: You’re the official healer for the Avengers. When Steve comes in begging you to heal Bucky you immediately say yes… But Bucky is hesitant (giving you guys a lil something before my next post)

word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Ptsd, talk of torture, Mentions of abuse and blood, (not really a warning but soft bucky 🥹 ik we all love him)

Main masterlist - Send me requests!!!

-

Ever since you joined the team 5 years ago you’ve been the north star to light the way. You were originally brought on as Bruce Banners second hand, But quickly became the teams personal healer. They figured out you had healing powers when one day Tony came in carrying Morgan who was in tears. He told you she had cut her finger on a piece of metal and wanted you to see how bad it was.

When you walked over to her you saw her puffy eyes and her snot filled nose. You held her hands and told her to take some deep breath with you. Once you two fell into a rhythm you saw a orange-ish glow emit from your hands. Before you could comprehend what had happened her cut was healed.

You dropped Morgan’s hands and freaked out looking at Tony and Bruce. They both looked at Morgan’s finger and saw that the cut was completely gone. Bruce asked you if that had ever happened before, and you said no. They proceeded to ask you about your family and if you knew of anyone who had powers, again you said no.

Eventually after they calmed you down they asked if they could run some tests to see what it could be. After a shit ton of tests and long nights you three finally found and answer. Biotherapeutic Manipulation was what your power was. Unfortunately you have no idea where it came from but, it’s assumed it’s a gene in your family that lies dormant.

That was two years ago and ever since then you’ve been the official team healer. Everyone comes to you for your healing powers along with them just loving being around you. The team loved having you around because you were just a ray of light.

No matter how hard you’ve been working. No matter what’s been going on in your personal life you were always happy. So it was a no brainer when Tony asked you to move into the compound. You accepted the offer with the brightest smile. And within a week you were moved onto the same floor with Steve, Sam and Bucky.

A few months went by and you got a lot closer with everyone on the team. Well everyone except Bucky. He was never a man of many words to begin with, But since you joined he was even more silent. He also never let you heal him. Bucky claimed that the serum would do it and that he didn’t need it.

So for months now when everyone else comes into the lab to get healed…Bucky without fail will tell you he’s fine.

You didn’t really think anything of it until he came back from a mission really beat up. He had three stab wounds, and at least two gunshot wounds as well. Steve brought him into the lab begging you to heal him. And again without fail he told you he was fine and that the serum would fix it for him.

“you’re not fine Bucky! you are profusely bleeding and you’re lucky you have passed out yet” You say a little annoyed at the super soldier.

“i will heal in a few hours y/n really i don’t need it” He continues to protest and Steve just sighs.

“Punk let her heal you ok? you can’t keep refusing when you’re seriously hurt” Steve tried to coax him into letting you heal his friend.

Bucky just shakes his head in response and You and Steve just sigh. It takes you a second to come up with an idea. Once the lightbulb goes off you give Steve a look that tells him to leave.

“i’ll give you guys a minute” He says as he leaves the lab with a nod and you walk back over to Bucky.

“why won’t you let me heal you?” The question is laced with concern as it leaves your lips.

“i don’t des- need it.” He switches he word choice thinking you won’t notice but of course you do.

Suddenly everything makes sense. Why he doesn’t talk. Why he trains alone. Why he doesn’t let you heal him. It’s all because he think he doesn’t deserve good things.

“Bucky- do you think you don’t deserve to be healed?” You ask as you slowly reach for his metal hand. He’s hesitant but he lets you hold it as he looks up at you.

His blue eyes meet yours and you can feel the sadness in them. Bucky slowly nods his head at your question. Your heartbreaks and this realization.

“Well that’s just not true. You deserve it just think the rest of the team does” You simply state trying to ease him into it.

“No i don’t. Not after everything i’ve done. I don’t deserve your kindness or your healing” He protests shaking his head and you grab his face and make him look at you.

“Listen to me very carefully James. You deserve good things. okay? You are a good person. And before you try to use your past to say you don’t. Let me ask you something. Did you ask to be taken by hydra?” You ask already knowing the answer but needing him to respond.

He shakes his head no at your question.

“Okay now did you ask to be turned into the winter soldier?” You question again as you drop your hands from his face.

He shakes his head again.

“Now lastly.. Did you ever ask to do what they made you?” The words are softer coming out this time.

Bucky shakes his head no and looks at you.

“Then it’s not your fault James. They did awful things to you. Yes it was your body doing it… But it wasn’t your mind. It wasn’t you. Because YOU are a good person. I know we don’t talk that much around here but i know you’re a good person James. Everyone around here knows that. Now let me heal you and show you something good” You kinda ramble on but you hope your words made an impact.

Bucky stares at you in response not quite sure how to respond. It makes him a few minutes before he mutters out an ‘okay’. You smile softly as you approach him taking off your white gloves to reveal your perfectly manicured hands.

“this might be a little awkward but i need you to take off your shirt” Bucky’s eyes widen at your words “I can’t heal the wounds if i don’t touch them” You continue to explain hoping it would ease his mind.

“o-okay” He stumbles out as he lifts up his shirt and takes it off. It takes everything in you to not stare at his broad chest. You rip your eyes off his toned abs and approach him.

“you’re gonna feel a tingling sensation but it won’t hurt okay? you can even watch what i do if that makes you feel better” You say as you place your hand over a small cut on his chest. Once you close your eyes and focus your breathing a orange glow emits from your hand.

Bucky watches as you place your hand on the cut and it slowly fades away. His eyes widen in amazement. Sure he’s heard of the power you hold but he’s never seen it in person. He watches as you go from wound to wound healing him. Suddenly you stop at his left shoulder and run your finger over the scar tissue.

He worriedly watches you as you place your hand on his shoulder blade. You hum to yourself as you attempt to heal any nerve damage in his shoulder due to the metal arm.

“H-how did you do that?” Bucky asks as he feels the pain disappear in his shoulder.

“Well i figured that HYDRA didn’t properly give you that arm so i had i feeling you had some nerve damage- plus Steve has also mentioned it before” You respond and you finish up the last cut on his face.

You’re suddenly really aware of how close your faces are. You notice how his deep blue eyes are focused on you. He grabs the hand that’s on his cheek and brings it to his lips. Bucky softly kisses your palm before holding your hand softly.

“Uh thank you for helping me- you really didn’t have to” He shyly says as he hops off the table and stands in front of you.

“Don’t do that- I helped you because yes it’s my job. But i also wanted to. I will gladly be the one to show you that you deserve any shred of good humanity has to offer” You respond as you start to clean up the lab a little.

“But still it means a lot that you healed me. You know you’re like the only person besides Steve to not look at me like a monster? or like i’m broken..” He says trailing off as he looks down at his feet.

“well you aren’t a monster nor were you ever one. And like i said you deserve nice things” You say finally looking up and meeting his gaze with a smile.

He nervously rubs his hands together before he speaks again. “would you like to maybe go out sometime? like to dinner or a movie?” Bucky asks still not meeting your gaze.

You laugh a little at how nervous he is. Even though you aren’t quite sure why he’s so nervous when he looks like that you still find it cute. You walk up to him and gently lift his head to look at you.

“I’d love to James.” You smile and he reaches for your hand and intertwines your finger together.

“how about tomorrow around 7?” He says with a goofy smile on his face. You admire his smile before you respond.

“sounds perfect” The excitement in your voice makes him smile wider. He runs this thumb over your knuckles for a moment as he looks at you.

“It’s a date then” He says before kissing your cheek and walking out of the lab. You stand there for a moment smiling like a idiot.

As bucky leaves he can’t contain the smile on his face. He finally got a date with the woman he’s been pining for since she’s arrived. You’re finally gonna be his shining star

~the end~

i do not give permission for my work to be translated or posted on other sites

[toodleoorblx]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal Word count: 4,841

Summary: Agatha finds her brooch, and sees someone who is incapable of death. (Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - /?) Warnings: cursing, angst, scars, burn scars, toxic relationship, agony, needles. A/N: Chapter twooooo

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 ꧁𝐀𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐬꧂

Agatha’s thoughts churn like a storm. She’s barely keeping her fury in check, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, her nails digging into her palms. It's been a few hours since she first came. It’s been nothing but silence from everyone. And Agatha reckons that she's the reason why. They seem close to each other. More or less. Agatha has not yet told them her name, (though she learned there's against her will), her name normally evokes fear into those who hear it. Agatha wants to use that to her advantage. She’ll use her name as a ticket, if anyone decides to fuck with her, she’ll announce who she is. Because Agatha is the only one in this room who doesn't have any magic. She doesn't know what they are capable of.

Agatha glances around the room, noticing how small it actually is. Agatha has always despised being in cramped spaces with too many people. It’s like the walls are closing in, making it impossible to breathe. Her mind drifts to Evanora, who once exploited that very weakness.

She tries to focus, but her thoughts keep circling back to the conversation she had with Alice. Anonymous Adversaries. She’d already known they were bad news, but hearing Alice explain their true nature had confirmed one thing: Agatha is in deep shit.

They aren’t just some rogue group of witches—they’re a cult. A twisted, fanatical coven that thrives on experimentation, constantly testing the boundaries of magic, pushing witches to their limits to discover new powers. But that’s not the worst part. No, what makes Agatha’s skin crawl is the way they worship their work. It’s not just experimentation—it’s ritual, obsession. Jennifer had said they have altars. Many altars. The word alone sent a shiver down Agatha’s spine.

She’s dealt with cultish witches before—drained them dry, in fact—but these people are something else entirely. They take blood magic to a new level, a grotesque devotion to the craft. And to make things worse, the Witches' Council condones it, lets them carry on their horrific work without consequence. Agatha always loathed the Council. She’s kept her distance from them, preferring to live by her own rules, far from the grip of so-called "authority." She always figured they’d leave her alone as long as she left them alone. That’s probably why she never heard of the AA—as the boy calls them.

Agatha sits on the cold white tiles, her knees pulled up to her chest, the coolness of the wall pressing against her back. She’s trying to think, but the oppressive heat and the weight of the situation gnaw at her. Her piercing blue eyes flicker to the others in the room.

The boy named… she cant remember, she’ll call him Tenn she suppouses. Teen sits cross-legged on the floor, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He has dark circles under his eyes, his deep brown eyes are like voids. Scars snake up his hands and forearms—burn scars, twisted and discolored, as though he’s been through something unspeakable. He absently picks at them, his expression dark, eyes filled with a hatred Agatha knows all too well. It’s the kind of hatred that festers, the kind that rots you from the inside out.

Alice is standing, her eyes are closed, her head is tilted back against the cold wall, she looks awake. Her arms are crossed. There aren't any visible scars on her. Agatha wonders how all the witches got here. Not that she cares enough to ask, but it crosses her mind. For now? She has bigger questions.

Lilia perches on the edge of the bunk bed, her posture alert but weary. Agatha notices scars lining her palms, and a thin, deep slit on her neck—healed, but unmistakable. More signs of what these people have endured. Each scar tells a story, but Agatha doesn’t care to hear them. She’s not here to make friends, and trust is a currency she’s unwilling to spend.

Jennifer is sprawled on the top bunk, her long limbs hanging lazily over the edge, like she owns the place. Agitation simmers in the room, but she seems almost… relaxed. Bored, if anything. Agatha's eyes flicker toward her, narrowing with disdain. Jennifer has a small scar on her jaw—barely noticeable, unlike the jagged marks that mar the other witches. But there’s something about her that grates on Agatha's nerves. Maybe it's her overconfidence, the way she exudes this casual arrogance, like nothing and no one here can touch her. It pisses Agatha off.

Jennifer is fidgeting with something—her fingers twisting a small object over and over. A glint catches Agatha’s eye.

Wait.

Agatha’s heart stumbles. Her hand flies to her chest in a panic. Her brooch. It's gone.

Her breath quickens as her hands frantically pat down her body, searching every pocket, every fold in the thin hospital gown she’s wearing. Cold dread sinks into her stomach as her fingers meet nothing but fabric. She feels exposed, vulnerable.

She stands up and spins in place, eyes darting around the room like a caged animal searching for a way out.

Alice pushes off the wall, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. She glances at Jennifer, who’s finally sat up, her brows raising as she watches Agatha lose control.

“Uhm… Is she… okay?” Jennifer asks. She swings her legs over the bunk and hops down. “She can’t already be going crazy, can she?” Her tone is mocking, but Agatha doesn’t care. Her chest tightens with fury as she searches the floor.

“Ughhh, where is the damn thing!” Agatha snarls through gritted teeth, her frustration boiling over. She drops to her knees, clawing at the cold tile beneath the bed, throwing the thin mattress aside. Her fingers scrape the floor, searching for something—anything.

Finally, she snaps her gaze toward the others, her blue eyes wild with rage. “Do any of you have it?” Her voice is low and dangerous, a growl of pure venom.

Jennifer scoffs, crossing her arms. “We don’t even know what you’re looking for, smartass. Maybe give us a clue instead of throwing accusations around.” She gestures to the witches.

Agatha’s eyes flash with something murderous. Before she can launch herself at Jennifer, Alice steps between them, holding up her hands in a gesture of peace. “Alright, alright, let’s just—calm down, everyone,” Alice says quickly, trying to defuse the tension before it explodes.

Agatha ignores her. Her eyes lock onto the boy—Teen, she thinks, but she doesn’t care enough to remember his name. He hasn’t moved from his spot on the cold floor, his thin body hunched in a miserable huddle. His eyes are wide, filled with alarm.

“You,” Agatha spits, her voice cutting through the room like a whip.

The boy glances up, startled, his pale face growing paler. “M-me?” His voice is a shaky whisper.

“Who the fuck else?” Agatha’s words are laced with venom, her hands clenching into fists as she stalks toward him. She crosses the room in quick, furious strides, her face twisted in a snarl. Without warning, she grabs him by the shoulders and slams him against the wall, her nails digging into his flesh. He yelps in pain, his breath hitching as she lifts him up, pinning him there with a strength that seems impossible for her slender frame.

The boy’s breathing becomes ragged, his eyes wide with fear, but there’s a flicker of something else there—determination, maybe defiance, but weak and trembling under the weight of her fury.

“You were looking awfully suspicious over here, kiddo,” Agatha hisses, her face inches from his. “Got anything that doesn’t belong to you?” She gives him another shove against the wall, her fingers tightening. His skin is cold and clammy under her touch.

“Where is it?!” Agatha roars, shaking him roughly.

"Get off him, you bitch, he's just a child!" Lilia shouts, her voice shaking with anger. “He didn’t steal whatever—"

Before she can finish, the boy—his jaw clenched tight, his body trembling with a mix of fear and defiance—interrupts. "Fine. Do you want it? Have it." His voice is sharp, laced with bitter resentment. Reaching into the pocket of his hospital gown, he pulls out Agatha’s brooch and, with a flick of his wrist, throws it across the room. The small, silver artifact arcs through the air, clattering against the white wall with a dull thud before dropping to the floor.

Agatha immediately releases him, her grip loosening as she bolts for the brooch. Her heart pounds as she reaches it, hands trembling slightly as she picks it up, inspecting it with sharp eyes. It’s intact, untouched, thanks to the centuries-old protection spell she wove into its metal long ago. A flood of relief washes over her as she cradles it close to her chest, her eyes falling shut for a moment. Her magic, her essence, lies within this object. Losing it would’ve been catastrophic.

Breathing in deeply, Agatha opens her eyes and slowly turns to face the others. She catches the looks they give her. Alice’s face is twisted in fury, her fists clenched at her sides. Jennifer wears an expression of mock offense, though her narrowed eyes show a sliver of disdain. Lilia’s gaze is one of disappointment, her lips pressed into a thin line as she crosses her arms. And the boy—Teen—is rubbing his arm where she had gripped him, the bruising already visible on his pale skin.

For a moment, the weight of her actions lingers in the air like static. Agatha sees the mark she left on him, the way he winces when his fingers brush the bruise. She knows she was rougher than she intended, but the sight doesn’t move her. If anything, it reinforces her superiority—he should’ve known better than to take what was hers.

Clearing her throat, Agatha stands tall, flipping her dark hair back over her proud shoulders. Her posture straightens, regal and unyielding, her chin lifting as if to remind them all who she is. The momentary vulnerability she felt is gone, replaced by her usual arrogance.

“It’s bad form to take something that’s not yours… Teen,” she says, her voice dripping with condescension. Her cold, blue eyes lock on his, daring him to challenge her again.

He scoffs, a hint of anger flashing in his gaze. "My name is—"

Agatha cuts him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Like I give a shit, dear.” Her eyes roll, the conversation already beneath her.

__

Agatha sits on the cold, hard floor of their shared cage, the only sound in the room the faint, rhythmic breathing of the others as they sleep. Whoever runs this hellhole has turned off the lights for the night, casting the room in thick, oppressive darkness. According to Lilia, this is routine. But Agatha can’t sleep—won’t sleep—not here, not surrounded by strangers.

The bunk beds, big enough to cram two or three people per level, are all occupied. Alice, always on edge, sleeps lightly beside Jennifer, whose chest rises and falls steadily. The woman sleeps as if nothing could possibly disturb her—a dreamless, peaceful slumber. Lilia, on the bottom bunk, shares her space with the boy—Teen, Agatha still hasn’t learned his name. He’s curled up tightly, shivering even beneath the blankets. His face is scrunched up in distress, his body trembling faintly with each breath.

Agatha tilts her head, watching him for a moment, curiosity flickering through her mind. What’s he dreaming about? Is it something that happened to him here? Or somewhere else? She had almost forgotten—these witches had lives before being captured. They weren’t born in this cage like prisoners of fate. The thought strikes her as odd; she hasn’t considered them as anything other than pawns in the same twisted game she’s been thrown into.

Her contemplation is interrupted by a soft voice from the darkness.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping, dearie?” Lilia asks, her voice groggy but alert. Agatha flinches, not having noticed Lilia’s eyes were open, faintly glowing as they peer through the shadows. Lilia lies just below Teen, her head tilted slightly, her gaze fixated on Agatha. Even in the dark, she feels those eyes boring into her, weighing her.

Agatha quickly recovers, scoffing lightly as she presses a hand to her chest in mock offense. “Are you implying… I can’t have my own sleep schedule?” she quips, her tone dripping with sarcasm, her words meant to deflect.

Lilia lets out a small sigh. “You have insomnia too?”

Agatha pauses. She hadn’t thought about it like that. “No,” she says, her voice thoughtful, almost distant. “I’m not an insomniac. I’m... nocturnal.” There’s a smirk in her voice, the faintest trace of humor as she remembers the spell she cast on herself decades ago. The enchantment allowed her to survive on less sleep, so she could study and practice magic uninterrupted, without the constraints of time. Ah, the efficiency... But now, in this cage, without her magic—without her freedom—it’s a cruel irony.

Gods, how she misses the escape of sleep.

Lilia chuckles softly, a sound so foreign in this place that it takes Agatha by surprise. For a moment, Agatha’s brow furrows, her mind reeling at how strange it feels to hear someone laugh at her joke—at her—after all these years. She pushes the thought aside, unwilling to dwell on it.

“So,” Agatha says, her voice lowering as she shifts slightly on the floor. “How long have you been in this place? You all seem to, uh, have a story.” Her tone is casual, but there’s a clear implication in her words. She’s referring to the scars, the bruises, the broken parts of these witches that she can see even in the dim light.

Lilia falls silent for a moment, the weight of Agatha’s question hanging in the air between them. She seems to understand what Agatha is really asking.

“...Everyone in this place has their ‘stories’,” Lilia finally replies, her voice soft but tinged with a quiet bitterness. It’s a truth that doesn’t need elaboration; the scars, both seen and unseen, speak for themselves.

Agatha clenches her jaw, her fingers absently tracing the edges of her mother’s brooch, the familiar weight grounding her, even here. Her mind races, but she tries to appear calm. She’s always been curious, but the question that escapes her lips surprises even her.

"...What happened to the kid?" Her voice is rough, raspier than usual. She isn’t used to caring about other people’s stories, but something about the boy… it nags at her. Maybe it’s the scars, or the way he seems haunted, as if he's already been through hell despite his youth.

Lilia doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, the silence stretches on, heavy and uncomfortable. Finally, she sighs softly. “...I don't know. It's not something that's easily brought up, for any of us. He doesn’t want to talk about it. We don’t.”

Agatha hums, though the sound is more out of habit than genuine interest. That was a buzzkill, she thinks. The mystery will remain, at least for now. Maybe one day, she’ll find out what broke the boy so badly. But today isn't that day. She doesn’t care enough to dig deeper—not yet.

She shifts on the cold tile, her body tense from sitting on the floor for so long. That’s when it happens.

A tingle.

A strange, electric sensation starts crawling over her skin, creeping through her limbs like pins and needles. It feels like a slow burn at first, but then—then it gets sharper. Hotter. Lighter.

No...

Agatha's breath catches in her throat, her pulse quickening. Her eyes snap wide, panic settling in her gut like lead.

Magic.

It’s unmistakable. Magic. But not hers. She’d know her own magic anywhere, would recognize its feel, its signature. This? This is foreign. Yet… Familiar. 

The air around her pulses with it, vibrating as if the magic is alive. She scans the room frantically, her gaze darting from one sleeping figure to the next. None of them are awake, none of them are casting.

Then whose is it?

Her body starts to tremble, the tingling sensation growing, overtaking her muscles. Her legs feel weightless, her arms too light to be real. Fucking hell, her mind swears, but her voice is lost. She gasps for breath, her mouth slightly ajar, sucking in air that feels too thick, too hot.

Lilia watches from the bunk, her eyes barely visible in the dim light but unmistakably wide. “Well, shit,” she mutters, her voice rough with surprise.

Agatha whips her head toward Lilia, desperation clear in her eyes. “Whose magic is this?!” she hisses, her voice trembling along with her limbs.

Lilia’s eyes narrow, scanning the room like a predator sensing danger, her expression unreadable. “Someone is—”

But before she can finish, everything around Agatha explodes into a bright, searing green light.

Blinding.

The room vanishes. The witches vanish. Reality warps and bends, and Agatha is swallowed by the overwhelming rush of magic. It surges through her body, pulling her under like a tidal wave she can’t escape. Every muscle locks, her vision distorts, and her mind plunges into darkness.

She blacks out.

__

Agatha’s eyes flutter open, her vision swimming through a haze of confusion and dull pain. Her head feels like it’s been filled with lead, every blink heavier than the last. The lights around her are mercifully dim—nothing like the blinding fluorescence from before. But something about the darkened room gnaws at her nerves. As her vision sharpens, a sinking realization hits.

She’s bound. Tightly.

Her wrists and ankles are strapped to a cold metal chair, and as soon as she tries to pull against them, the restraints bite into her skin. Panic flares for a moment as she jerks, trying to break free, but the leather straps hold firm. She groans in frustration, her pulse quickening as she frantically assesses her surroundings.

How the fuck does she keep getting caught in these situations? Two hundred years ago, things weren’t this complicated. But now—now it feels like she's constantly being caged. The room around her is shrouded in shadows, but she can make out just enough in the dim light. And what she sees sends a chill crawling up her spine.

The place reeks of dark magic.

Every surface is cluttered with strange plants, vials filled with glowing liquids, lanterns, herbs she recognizes, and bones—scattered, hanging, arranged in ritualistic patterns. It’s almost a mirror of her lair. The air is thick with the familiar scent of earth and decay. It makes her stomach turn. She shudders. This is the kind of place she would have crafted for herself. Hell, it smells like Rio’s lair.

She lets out a bitter laugh, her dry lips curling into a sneer. "Fuck..."

A sharp ache blooms in her leg, radiating from the bandaged wound. Agatha grits her teeth, stifling the groan that tries to escape her throat. The pain is real, tangible, and it's getting worse. But she’s dealt with worse. She always has.

“Riiiiiiooooooo,” Agatha drawls, her voice dripping with mockery as her head swivels around, eyes narrowing, searching the shadows. She knows exactly whose magic has her trapped here. She feels it in her bones. “I know you’re in here, sweetcheeks.” Agatha licks her lips, her voice low and taunting. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

The taunt hangs in the air, but her confidence falters when a sharp pulse of pain rips through her leg. "Fuck..." She mutters under her breath, biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. The copper taste grounds her, keeps her steady. She won’t give Rio the satisfaction of seeing her in pain.

She glances up, her eyes sweeping over the room—and then she freezes.

There she is.

Rio stands just beyond the shadows, her silhouette sharp and striking, her presence almost suffocating in its intensity. The soft light catches on her tan skin, glowing with a warmth that Agatha both loathes and craves. Her dark hair cascades down her shoulders, disheveled but somehow perfect in its imperfection. Agatha’s eyes narrow, hatred and desire swirling in a volatile mix as they meet Rio’s.

And that smirk.

That condescending, amused smirk curls Rio’s lips, like she’s toying with Agatha, like she’s already won. Agatha’s pulse quickens for entirely different reasons now. She wants to rip that smug look off Rio’s face with her teeth, wants to splatter her skin with blood and magic. But just as much (maybe more), she wants to grab Rio by the hair and kiss her until neither of them can breathe.

Rio stands before Agatha like a haunting specter of the past, exuding effortless confidence. Her black leggings cling to her legs, streaked with earthy brown lines that start from her torso and stop just shy of her thighs—one of those small, stylish touches that could only be Rio. She’s wearing one of her custom tops, the intricate pattern running down her sides almost distracting in its beauty. And over it all, the jacket—tailored, fitted, and distinctively hers. But it’s the dagger in her hand that steals Agatha’s attention.

Rio tosses it into the air, and the blade catches the dim light from the nearby lanterns, a deadly glint flashing for just a moment before it drops back into her grasp. The ease with which she moves, the fluidity—it’s mesmerizing.

Ethereal.

Agatha clenches her jaw at the absurd thought, suppressing the heat rising in her cheeks. She would never admit such a thing, not even under torture. But there’s no denying it—Rio looks as sharp and lethal as ever.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Agatha seethes internally. Rio isn’t someone who gets tangled up in cults. Agatha knows her ex-wife too well for that. There’s always a larger game being played, especially when Rio is involved.

Suddenly, Rio’s voice cuts through the air, low and teasing, dripping with that familiar taunt. "Oye, mami, mierda, parece que tuviste un mal día."

Agatha scoffs, hating the way her body reacts to the sound of that voice, the heat crawling up her neck. She growls in response, masking the fluster with defiance. “What are you doing here, Rio? Didn’t take you for the cult type.”

Rio shrugs with a careless, almost feline grace, her movements slow and deliberate as she crosses the room. “I’m not.” Her voice is thick with amusement as she leans against a cluttered table, casually twirling the dagger. “But what better way to get fresh bodies than to infiltrate a witching cult obsessed with witches? You’d be surprised at the number of souls I’ve led out of here.”

Agatha sneers, her lip curling. “So what, you just lie around all day, waiting for your precious bodies to roll in?”

Rio’s chuckle is soft but dangerous as she flips her hair over her shoulder with a practiced ease that only Agatha would recognize. She used to do that. She still does that. Rio had picked it up from her. The small detail makes Agatha’s stomach twist.

“Nope. I’ll have you know I’m their doctor.” Rio says with a smirk, her dark eyes gleaming. “I heal their… patients, injuries. Sometimes.” There’s an unmistakable pride in her voice, a kind of twisted joy in her role here, as though her hands play both healer and executioner.

Agatha’s eyes narrow as she watches Rio slip on some surgical gloves, her focus shifting to the collection of vials and potions scattered across it. Each one is strange, glowing, and undoubtedly dangerous. Agatha’s heart races as she takes in the scene, her mind spinning with every possibility.

“What… what are you looking for?” Agatha asks, her voice betraying a touch of wariness. She won’t show fear. She refuses. But Rio knows her too well—knows every crack in her armor.

Rio hums absentmindedly, sorting through the vials with casual indifference. “Oh, nothing much.” Her fingers glide over the glass, pausing before plucking a glowing green vial from the assortment. “Aha!” She holds it up triumphantly, her eyes flickering with mischief.

Agatha’s throat tightens as she watches Rio pick up a syringe from the table, extracting the glowing liquid with expert precision. The green substance swirls inside the syringe like poison, and Agatha feels a spike of panic claw at her chest.

“Rio…” Her voice cracks, her earlier bravado starting to slip. Agatha yanks at her restraints again, her muscles burning with effort as adrenaline surges through her. She pulls harder, her body thrumming with fight-or-flight urgency, but the bonds don’t give. Fear starts to creep in, a feeling she thought long buried.

Rio glances at her, amused. "Nuh uh, mami," she says with a soft tsk. "Te lastimarás si sigues tirando. No tardará mucho, te lo prometo."

Agatha’s snarl echoes through the dim room. “¡Aléjame esa mierda misteriosa!” she shouts, her voice raw as she yanks against the restraints, pain shooting through her wrists as the leather bites into her skin.

Rio's expression shifts, softening in a way that’s almost disarming when Agatha speaks Spanish. It’s a language they used to share—intimate, once. “I’ll be gentle, mami,” Rio purrs, kneeling between Agatha’s legs, her presence suffocating in its intensity. Each of Agatha’s ankles is bound to a chair leg, leaving her vulnerable, utterly at Rio’s mercy. Agatha thrashes, but the restraints hold tight, offering no escape.

Rio’s free hand reaches up, fingers brushing the side of Agatha’s face with an unexpected tenderness. She tilts Agatha’s head back, exposing her neck with an air of quiet reverence. “Perfection,” Rio murmurs, her voice low, a hushed, almost sacred tone that sends a shiver down Agatha’s spine.

Agatha's breath catches at the sound of Rio's praise, a knot of emotion twisting deep inside her, but she quickly shakes it off, refusing to let Rio get inside her head.

The needle hovers over her skin, poised and ready. Agatha feels its presence even before it touches her—cold and menacing. The moment it pierces her flesh, sharp and deliberate, she tenses. A strangled groan escapes her lips, the pain brief but sharp.

And then the real agony begins.

A scream tears from Agatha’s throat as the burning starts, searing its way through her veins like liquid fire. She jerks against the restraints, her body convulsing as the burning intensifies, spreading with every agonizing pulse. It’s like her blood is turning to molten lava, boiling her from the inside out. Agatha gasps, choking on her own breath, every inhale shallow and desperate as if her lungs can’t find enough air. Her entire body trembles, muscles locking in violent spasms.

Her fingers dig into the wooden armrests, nails splintering under the pressure, and her eyes squeeze shut, trying to block out the overwhelming sensation, but it’s everywhere. It’s too much. The pain is all-consuming, drowning her in its depths.

“Make it stop,” she gasps, voice cracking, tears of pain and desperation pricking at the corners of her eyes. “Please… make it stop…”

Rio watches, her expression calm, almost serene, as if this is nothing more than a natural process. She slips off her gloves with practiced ease and reaches for Agatha, her fingers threading through Agatha's sweat-drenched hair. She strokes it gently, tucking stray strands behind Agatha’s ear with a tenderness that feels perverse in the face of such agony.

“Shhh, mi vida,” Rio whispers, leaning in close, her breath hot against Agatha’s skin. Her lips press soft kisses to Agatha’s neck, tracing a path along the sensitive flesh, her voice a soothing murmur between the sharp bursts of pain. “I know it hurts. I know… but it’ll be over soon.”

Agatha shudders, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as the fire in her veins rages on, the heat consuming her from the inside out.

“Three,” Rio’s voice is steady, unwavering, like she’s counting down to something inevitable.

“Two…”

The pain flares once more, a final burst of unbearable heat surging through Agatha’s body, and she cries out, her voice breaking.

“One.”

And then, like the flick of a switch, it stops.

The pain vanishes—completely, utterly gone. One moment, she’s drowning in agony, and the next, there’s nothing. Agatha slumps in the chair, her body spent, breath heaving in ragged gulps as she fights to catch her breath. Her skin tingles, still buzzing from the aftershocks of whatever Rio injected into her, but there’s no pain. It’s as if it never happened.

Agatha’s head hangs low, her limbs trembling as she struggles to regain some semblance of control. Her chest rises and falls with labored breaths, her throat dry and raw. It takes her a moment to find her voice again, and when she does, it’s hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“W-what… what did you f-fucking do to me?” she rasps, her voice broken, head still bowed.

Rio tilts her head, standing over her, dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “The Anonymous Adversaries’ newest creation,” she says, her tone almost casual, like she’s discussing the weather. She twirls the empty syringe between her fingers, amusement dancing in her expression. “Artificial magic.”

__

Aspectus Tristis = Grim Glances

"Hey, mommy, shit, looks like you had a bad day." = "Oye, mami, mierda, parece que tuviste un mal día".

"Nuh uh, mommy. You'll hurt yourself if you keep yanking. This won't take long I promise." = "No, mami, te lastimarás si sigues tirando. No tardará mucho, te lo prometo."

"Get that mystery shit away from me!" = "¡Aléjame esa mierda misteriosa!"

Mi vida = My life

[silvervioletvalentine]

🦋His Best friends ex girlfriend🦋

Pairing: Charles leclerc X Cherrie! : Past Pierre/Cherrie!

Word count: 7.4K

Summary: in which he’s in love with his best friends ex girlfriend.

Charles stood by the bar with his drink in his hand as he looked around the jam packed, crowded club , the pounding music that was vibrating around the room already making his head rattle as he clenched his teeth together to try and hear the odd conversation that was being spoken around him.

He was only keen to speak to one person that night , his eyes eagerly searching each person that passed him in search for her familiar wild hair, keeping his ears open for her loud , familiar laugh.

She had been in high spirits all day, pracitically skipping across the paddock with a large grin on her pretty face as she waved at anyone and everyone that she saw. Getting nothing but amused laughs and celebratory calls over to her in return.

It was her birthday after all. The one day of the year where Cherrie let herself get black out drunk and shovelled her face with cake as she did so.

She had been specific in telling them what kind of cake she wanted too and as Charles looked over at the now half missing , six tier chocolate cake with raspberry filling and ganache covering it, he couldn't help but smile , more than pleased with himself .

He had been the one to order it for her. Had made sure that every stack had come with bright sparklers hanging out of it too, he knew how much she loved tackiness and the extraness of it all. It was why he had also made them put a icing copy of her on top of it too. The little figure was an exact replica of cherrie , or at least the best that could be done out of icing .

She had cried with laughter when she had seen it , shrieking and jumping on the heels off her feet in excitement as she warned everyone , very loudly, that no one was to touch the mini Cherrie but her . Charles knew that by the end of the night , she would be shoving it into her sparkling purse to take home with her .

If she made it home at all that was . She had been throwing back every single shot and every single glass of booze that was given to her. He only hoped that she hadn’t suddenly become a lightweight overnight , thankfully she could usually handle her liquor well .

But it was her birthday and he knew that the usual limit between happily drunk and dangerously drunk would be pushed that night . Which was why he was so keen on finding her pretty face in the crowed room again, wanting to keep an eye on her to make sure that she was okay and that she stayed that way.

Plus he missed her . Even though it had only been an hour since he had heard her loud laughter, since she had wandered off into the awaiting crowd after shoving a piece of cake into his awaiting hands . A kiss on the cheek and she was gone before he could even beg for her to stay.

He knew that it was Pathetic , to be so attached to her that not having her by his side made him completely miserable . But he couldn't help it. She made his heart race and kick into overtime with each little smile she gave him .

She was just so beautiful that sometimes he found it hard to remember how to breathe normally when she with him. And It wasn't only her looks that had turned him into a complete fool in love either, it was the way she carried herself with such easy confidence . The way she pushed the limits and proved to everyone that had ever doubted her even a little bit , That they were wrong about her .

When she had first been signed to Ferrari alongside him so long ago now , Charles had been more than worried . Not of her skills . Definitely not. Because she was a natural born winner , she proved that each time she got into her car and defied the odds that were stacked against her .

No . That hadn't been the issue. The problem had been that she was his best friends ex girlfriend .

The same woman that had dumped Pierre on his ass because she just simply 'didn't want to be his girlfriend anymore.'

The same woman that he had comforted his friend about while pierre complained to him all night about how it just wasn't fair and about how he had been so certain that she was the one.

The same woman who Charles had quickly become close with on track and off the track too. He tried to blame his job for his closeness towards her at first .

He had to bond with her , she was his teammate after all. They needed to get along and be friendly. He couldn't just not get to know the woman he would be driving with all year around .

But it got more and more difficult to use the same old 'I have to. We work together.' Speech to those that has started to question their sudden closeness to one another . Because then their hangouts started to not include racing at all.

He had offered to drive her home one night when her car was in the garage getting new wheels put on. He didn't have to , aware that she had plenty of other friends in the paddock who werent her ex boyfriends best friend , that would happily drive her home . Yet he did.

Then he had started bringing an extra lunch box with him so that they could eat together in their breaks . Looking forward to the smile that she would beam his way whenever she would open up his messily made lunchbox and see different flavoured cupcake for her for each day of the week after he had noticed what a sweet tooth she had .

Then he had started seeking her out outside of racing. He spent more time at her apartment than he did at his own home. They gamed together . They dined together . They partied together . They did everything together and he loved it.

He went back to her hometown with her during the summer too. Where he then met her dad and all three of her brothers who hadn't even blinked an eyelash at the sight of him accompanying her side , his hand tucked into the back pocket of her jeans as though it was completely normal for him to do so.

Pierre had never met her family . A fact that he had quickly learned when he arrived back in Monaco to his upset best friend asking him what the hell it was that he thought he was doing by going home with her like that .

"It's no big deal." He had told him at the time. Forcing casualness into his voice as he tried to shrug off his growing suspicions . "We have to be friends. We work together . Think of it as team bonding.." he had lied terribly . Just like he has continued to lie every time it was brought up to him since .

Because they didn't have to be anything . Not to the public at least. But Charles wanted them to be . And it was a big deal because he knew deep down that it just wasn't right to do this to his friend .

But honestly , he was finding it harder and harder to care anymore . No matter how many furious glares Pierre gave him whenever he arrived to social gatherings with his side pressed closely against cherries . His mouth against her ear as he whispered jokes to her all throughout the night just so that he could hear her laugh again.

A proud smile lighting up his face and his chest filling with a dizzying lightness whenever she would turn to him with that dazzling smile of hers and simply pinch his cheek, giggling to him that he needed to stop making her laugh before she choked on her drink.

He struggled to feel remorseful because he truly hadn't meant for this to happen. To fall in love with his best friends ex girlfriend, who Pierre so clearly wasn't over still.

But love didn't have rules and love didn't care about the consequences. It just happened .

He was so consumed by it that he could feel nothing else but the love that he had for her . Why should he feel ashamed of something that was out of his control? That would simply be a waste of his energy and time.

So as he finally spotted Cherrie across the room, his best friend leant against the wall opposite her as he spoke down to her with a gleam in his eye and his hands drifting up to play with the ends of her Long hair. He felt his face tense up at the sight.

Charles wasted no time in picking up the Cosmo that he had ordered for her before quickly pushing through the crowd to get over to them. His stomach twisting as he caught the sound of cherries sweet giggle as she laughed at something Pierre had said.

He slid up beside her with a forced smile , gently nudging cherries shoulder with his own to get her attention and ignoring the way Pierre's eyes narrowed dangerously at his sudden appearance at her side . Again.

"I got you a Cosmo." He simply said to her as he carefully handed her the glass, making sure she didn’t spill it.

Smiling to himself as he watched her face light up at the sight of him and her favourite drink , leaning up to press a loud, obnoxious kiss against his cheek in thanks .

Pulling away with a tipsy grin as she took a sip of the Cosmo, humming happily to herself as she pushed herself under Charles awaiting arm without a second thought . Just like she always did. The alcohol making her forget that they weren’t home anymore, and that no longer was it just the two of them.

"Cheered my dears!" She chirped , clearly pleased with him .

"Where have you been? I called you like ten minutes ago!" She had to raise her voice to be heard over the loud music .

Not seeming to care that her ex boyfriend was watching their growing familiarness with each other a little too closely.

Charles let out a amused laugh, pulling a silly face down at her . "How would I hear my phone ringing in a club you silly woman? I was only over by the bar! I've been looking for you as well!" He told her with a grin.

Leaning his head down slightly as she offered him a sip of her drink, lifting the glass to his lips for him to sip from. Only lowering it again once he had squeezed her shoulder to tell her that he had enough .

She just shrugged at him "I've been with Pierre!" Seeming only then to remember that they weren't alone . She turned to the French man and smiled , not noticing the way that he had been glaring at Charles from beside her .

Charles pretended not to notice as well. For everyone’s sakes.

"We were just talking about how I took her to Spain for her birthday last time. When me and Cherrie were still together." He made a point to empathise , to remind his best friend that this was in fact his ex girlfriend that he was cosying up to.

Charles just looked back at him blankly , raising his brow a little mockingly .

"Was that the same place where your relationship also abruptly ended?" It came out snappily before he could even think to stop it. Just as lando and Daniel pushed there way into their little group as well.

Both laughing and drunkenly greeting patting them all on the backs in hello . Daniel throwing his arms around Cherrie with a happy yell.

"This is a great party! Happy birthday by the way! You feel any older yet ?" He shouted down to her . Rubbing his knuckles against her hair just to annoy her .

Making Cherrie bat his hands away from her with a groan. Quickly trying to fix her hair again as lando glanced between Charles and Pierre a little warily , the only one noticing the way that they seemed to be in a staring match.

"You can thank Charles for the party! He arranged everything! Did you see my cake?" She giddily exclaimed . Still buzzed over it.

"It had a mini me on it! And the cake is almost as tall as I am!" She gushed .

Daniel laughed loudly , grinning over at Charles in amazement .

"See it? Half of it is in my stomach! Best cake I've ever had!" He made a show of pushing his stomach out and patting it with a pleased sigh.

Cherrie kicked at his leg with a joking gasp "you better not have ate it all!" As they started bickering between the two of them.

Shoving at each others shoulders like children before Daniel pretended that he was going to steal the mini icing version of her , making her run after him while he cackled like a mad man.

Leaving Lando to carefully look between both Charles and Pierre warily , clearing his throat a little awkwardly as he disrupted their stare down.

"Er- everything all right guys? Good party eh?" He said finally getting their attention . Only to grimace at the look that crossed Pierre's face as he shook his head with a pissed off purse of lips.

"Not really lando." He clutched his drink that was in his hand even tighter as he glared over at Charles who was already rolling his eyes. Knowing where this was about to go.

Yet he was too drunk to care this time. Having drank far too many of cherries favourite cosmos to think to make any more excuses and lies like he usually would .

Lando sighed "oh. Should I ask why?" He didn't really want to know why but he also didn't want a fight to break out in the middle of cherries birthday party either.

Mentally cursing out the fact that he always managed to be caught up in somebody else's drama, his timing was just horrible and he felt like a little child that was stood between the two of them, head snapping between the two of them rapidly as they engaged in their little stare down .

Making him more and more uneasy as the seconds passed by, glancing pleadingly over the crowd as he tried to spot Daniel again. Just wishing that he would come back and crack some of his jokes so that the tension could be diffused between the two friends who were starting to behave more like enemies now.

Pierre scoffed loudly , glare never leaving Charles as he shook his head at him in disgust. "Why? Well, why don't you ask this idiot why I'm not happy Lando? Im sure he can tell you all about it!" He seethed , sick and tired of the lies that his best friend had been feeding him for months now.

Charles rolled his eyes at him , pulling a incredulous face . "Oh for gods sake! You're being ridiculous! I haven't even done anything wrong!" And he stuck by what he said. Because despite his feelings for Cherrie, he hadn’t acted on them for a long time out of some strained respect for his friend.

But he was finding it more and more difficult to just sit back and let this chance of true love go by. Why was it so bad anyways? Cherrie had made it clear a long time ago that anything romantic was over between her and Pierre, telling him firmly that they were only ever going to be friends now. That she just didn't feel the same way anymore , having never been one who dragged people along, instead she told the truth and let him know that she just wasn't feeling him anymore.

And it may have hurt Pierre to hear it but wasn't that better than staying with someone out of fear of hurting their feelings and useless pity?

She did the right thing and she hasn't done it cruelly or with bad intentions , she just did what she thought was right.

What wasn't right was the spark of relief and not so subtle glee that Charles had felt when Pierre had told him about their sudden breakup and how blind sighting it was for him. He had comforted his friend, told him that he was going to be okay and that it just wasn't meant to be. Because that's was the right thing for him to do at the time.

However, he could admit now to himself that what wasn't the right thing to do was to was head straight over to cherries home the very same night as well, telling himself that it was because that she was his friend too and that he only wanted to check in on her to make sure she wasn't crying her eyes out like his other friend was.

But she had opened the door with a smile and a knowing look on her pretty face as she glanced down at the bottle of expensive champagne and chocolates in his hands, as he held them up to her with a curious look on his own face. His breath catching in his throat when she looked him in his eyes and smiled that Angel smile of hers and said casually

"Are we celebrating?" Jokingly.

Only Charles wasn't joking when he answered with a smirk of his own , chewing on the inside of his cheek as hope filled his chest. Their arms brushing as she invited him into her home and locked the door behind them without any hesitation.

"Are we?" Was all he could reply with a curious glance her way. Wondering why she didn't seem upset about her breakup with his friend in the slightest.

Although he really should have known better than to assume that she would be cut up and upset. That just wasn't who she was. She was calm , cool and collected. Still the same old Cherrie with a contagious laugh and sunshine grin, pouring them a tall glass of the champagne that he had bought and handing him his glass with a familiar twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

She had just shrugged at his question for an answer. Then Charles had pulled her into his arms on her fancy couch, his arm never leaving her shoulders even as they played a intense game of Mario kart for the rest of the night. And he should have gone home as soon as the night became the morning.

He Should have went back to check in on his heartbroken friend. Instead he had hopped on a plane the next morning for a weekend trip to Greece with Pierre's now,  ex girlfriend. Texting him that he was just going to visit a friend and that he would be back soon.

And he knew that he shouldn't have done it. Shouldn't have done any of it. Shouldn't have felt the way he did towards Cherrie. Shouldn't have been so bitterly jealous when they were together, his stomach turning whenever Pierre would as so much as mention her name.

But he couldn't help it and he had tried to ignore his overwhelming feelings for her for so long. Tried so hard just to be her friend. But nothing worked and each time he tried to push back his love for her, his love would only grow and everything she did made him smile.

He saw her in the sun. He saw her in the stars. He saw her in his night dreams , his daydreams , his past and his future.

Everywhere he looked, no matter where he was in the world. Monaco or Spain. Australia or Texas. She never left his mind.

He would go into a shop and see party style cowboy hats and remember how she always wore these obnoxious, glitter filled and brightly coloured cowboy hats to every single party they went to. Telling him that it was her good luck charm. Then she had made him one two .

She had spent hours gluing and sewing on his name to the rim of the bright red cowboy hat, sparkles and all. And Charles had worn it to the paddock too even though he felt like an idiot as everyone giggled and took photos of him in his massive , glitter filled and faux fur trimmed cowboy hat. He wore it because it made her happy, as silly at is was.

And because she was happy and she smiled like the fucking sun when she saw him wearing it the whole day, he smiled too. Because  nothing made him happier than hearing her laugh and feeling the warmth of her smile against his flushed skin.

He saw her in the moon. He saw her at sunset. He saw her in his mornings, in his midnights. At his dining table sharing a large portion of takeaway between them as they chatted shit for hours and hours until they fell asleep leaning against each other , feeling comfortable and safe enough to do so when no one else was around.

She was always with him even when she wasn't there at all. And well, how could he be ashamed of that?

He had read somewhere once that love like that only ever came around once and that you had to grasp the chance of real love with both hands and never let it go.

Nirvana. Eternal happiness and Charles was so sure that she was the one that would bring him that , day in and day out. He wanted her.

He had wanted her from the moment he met her, pierres arm around her shoulders as he introduced the beautiful woman beside him as his girlfriend. Charles hadn't been able to look away from her since then. And he didn't think this feeling was every going to fade, he didn't want it too.

And it was with that thought in mind and the alcohol streaming through his blood and turning his regret into shameless confidence that made him look Pierre straight in his eyes and say

"She's not yours to keep anymore. You need to let her go."

Even Lando looked at him with wide , shocked eyes while Pierre's face hardened in anger towards his friend who no longer seemed to care about the consequences of his own feelings.

"She's not yours either! And what- you want me to just let her go so that you can slide in and play Romeo?!" Pierre spat at him furiously , looking betrayed. Having never thought that it would be his own best friend to do something like this to him.

Charles sighed loudly in annoyance, pursing his lips as he returned his glare easily. "She's not an object for anyone to own mate. I'm just saying- this isn't healthy. She's moved on so why can't you?" He retaliated back to him , fed up with the same old fear of Pierre finding out about how he felt for Cherrie.

He was done being scared . He loved her and that was the truth. And he was almost ninety percent certain that she loved him too.

He felt it in the way she showed up at his doorstep with a boutique of flowers and a congratulations cake she had made in her hands after he had won a race. Pride clear in her voice as she told him that she knew he could do it, and that she never doubted him for a second.

Charles had skipped the after party and spent the night on his balcony with her tucked into his side instead , a content grin on his face that refused to budge the whole night. Even when his friends texted him asking him where he was. He was right where he wanted to be. By her side , sharing cake and cutting the stems off the flower and putting them together in a old vase he found. Cherrie had signed the vase in her messy handwriting 'for the greatest driver in the world. I believe in you.'

Charles put the vase right in between his awards and trophy's and she gave him a new set of flowers when the others withered away. She'd turned up with another boutique and a smile.

How was he not supposed to fall in love?

He felt it in the way she made him a home cooked meal whenever he was home , stressing over him like a mother hen. Making him pick out a recipe and demanding that he stay out of the room so that the dinner would be a 'surprise' even though they both knew that Charles would end up rushing in the kitchen and helping her as soon as the first curse escaped from her lips in frustration. They ended up making a meal together and eating it together too as they both spilled gossip and chatted away about their weeks to each other , backing eachother up and just being there for one another when things got tough.

He felt her love in the way that she silently passed him a water bottle when they were out with friends, knowing that he would forget to keep hydrated otherwise.

It was in the way that she gave him her spare key so that he could chill out at her home when she was away after he had told her that his place just didn't feel like home like hers did to him.

It was the way that she looked for him in a crowded room. The way that he was the first person she would always call. The way she would check in on him over the radio to make sure that he was doing okay during their race . It was the way she would excitedly celebrate whenever he won, the way she would still get excited even when he came p3. The pride never left her face when she embraced him and told him that he did so good and that he would do even better the next race too.

And he knew. He just knew that she was it for him. But how did he explain that to his friend that was still so hung up on her? Why couldn't he understand?

Pierre had fell in love with her too. Just like Charles had. The only difference was that Cherrie hasn't chosen him. Hadn't fell in love with Pierre , no matter how hard she had tried to do so.

And it was a hard pill to swallow as Pierre inhaled sharply , looking at Charles with hurt in his eyes . "Yeah - moved on with you! What kind of friend are you? Getting with my ex fucking girlfriend! What's wrong with you?!" His voice rose in anger , in disbelief.

Lando was looking between the two of them with wide eyes. Completely out of the loop and feeling like he had missed a giant chunk of the story.

He gaped at Charles in shock "you're with Cherrie?" He questioned Charles , speechless by what he was hearing. As far as he had known , Pierre was still in love with Cherrie and her and Charles were just friends.

How wrong he was.

Charles groaned "no! No I'm not! I haven't done anything with Cherrie Pierre! Not immediately-I—And I'd say I'm a good friend- it's been nearly a year since she left you! She doesn't love you and I know it hurts but you can't keep doing this! This isn't fair to you, it isn't fair to Cherrie and it isn't fair to me either mate!" He exclaimed , fed up with holding back in fear of hurting his feelings.

He was done.

Pierre laughed humourlessly "isn't fair to you?!" He repeated incredulously "how do you think I feel?! My best friend is in love with my ex girlfriend-"

"Exactly! Ex! Meaning not anymore! You have no say over what she does or who she's with! Don't you want her to be happy? You can't keep clinging on like this!" Charles cut him off angrily , swiping a hand down his face in annoyance.

Pierre felt like crying, voice cracking as he shouted back "yes I do but not with you!" Downing the rest of his drink in one go. Unable to look at Charles anymore , instead his eyes searched the crowd around them and found Cherrie instead.

He watched her as she laughed loudly at something Daniel had said, both of them cutting themselves even more cake. Stuffing their faces as they gossiped like teenagers , heads bowed together as they judged the people around them with matching grins on their faces.

Charles followed his eyesight and let out a long sigh, swallowing down the sudden lump that was rising in his throat.

"Mate..come on. You've got to know that I didn't mean for this happen. I couldn't help who I fell in love with . It just happened . I never wanted to hurt you like this.." he told him honestly , smiling a little as he watched Cherrie throw her head back in laughter , the club lights shining down on her and making her glow.

Pierre sniffled , exhaling loudly as he shook his head and tore his eyes away from the woman he had thought to be the one. But not anymore.

He glanced back over to his friend and swallowed as he saw the look on Charles face as he looked at her as though she was the only woman in the world. Nobody existing to him but her.

"Charles .. I don't want you to lie to me anymore." He spoke up catching his attention again.

Charles frowned at him , unease growing in his chest as he saw the look he was giving him. "What do you mean?"

Pierre looked at him blankly for a moment before asking him bluntly "when did you fall in love with her? Was it while we were still together?" He wanted to know. Wanted a timeline of this mess.

Meanwhile Lando had found a bag of candy from the table behind him and was chewing on them silently as he watched the scene play out between them with wide eyes , chewing slowly as he watched the show.

Charles hesitated for a moment before slowly nodding his head , guilt across his face as he answered him quietly . "Yes. I felt something for her the first night that you introduced her to us. But Love.. I didn't know that I was in love with her till Austria."

Pierre couldn't believe it. Looking at him in disbelief "that was two , nearly three years ago! You're telling me that you've had feeling for her this whole time and you didn't say a single thing?!"

Charles swallowed and simply shrugged "like you said. You two were still together and I wasn't going to ruin that. I wouldn't do that to you Pierre. I promise." He needed him to know that he had never made a single move on her the whole time they were together . Had only ever let himself be her friend back then.

Pierre slowly nodded his head, sighing loudly as he felt his anger slowly began to fade . Being replaced with a feeling of defeat and dread instead.

"But you did do something. There's no way that you  just continued to be just her friend when we broke up." He stated matter of factly . Reading the guilt on his face easily . "Did you tell her how you felt?"

Charles shook his head , feeling bad. "No. Not then.”He mumbled, looking away from him uncomfortably. Unable to look him in the eye, already knowing the questions he was going to ask him next .

Knowing that he couldn't lie his way out of this one anymore. He was done making excuses and lying to his friend. He was tired of sneaking around. Tired of the guilt and worry.

It was time to confess.

Pierre slowly nodded his head , never taking his eyes off him. "Did you kiss her that night? When we broke up and you went to her place after mine?"

Charles looked down at his feet, fidgeting with the glass in his hand as he let out a deep breath. Nervously glancing  back up to him after a moment of tense silence between them.

"No." He finally breathed out quietly "I didn't. Not-not then." He muttered , swallowing thickly.

Pierre's eyes narrowed at him "when then? Cause you have kissed her haven't you?" He knew.

Charles pursed his lips and looked him in the eyes as he reminded himself that it was time for the truth.

"I have , yes. But not till a few months ago. When I was sure.." he admitted to him , fiddling with the ring on his finger that Cherrie had bought him.

It was a crystal ring , supposed to ward of bad energy. But from the air of suppressed fury and upset he was getting from his friend. He had a feeling that the ring would no be working for him tonight.

"Sure of what?" It was Lando who asked him the question .

Both of the drivers had momentarily forgotten that he was even there as they looked over at him in surprise , he had been watching their drama unfolded with keen interest the whole time .

Thoroughly enjoying himself.

Charles sighed , shaking his head to himself as he glanced over to the crowd again. Finding Cherrie easily , his heart skipping a beat in his chest when she turned her head and caught his gaze on her. Giving him a bright smile and a cheerful wiggle of her fingers before Danny dragged her into yet another conversation.

"That she loves me. I didn't want to - to kiss her until I was certain that it wouldn't be for no reason." He told them truthfully .

There was a long Stretch of uncomfortable silence between them. Pierre simply looking between his ex girlfriend and his best friend quietly , arms folded over his chest tightly as he let the truth (the truth that deep down, he had already known.) sink in deep.

"How are you sure that she loves you too? She's not exactly a fan of commitment. What makes you think that is it different for you , that you're the one for her and not me?" He asked him genuinely. Wondering what made him think that way.

Charles looked at him apologetically, knowing that his next words were going to hurt him but he needed to say them anyway. Pierre needed to understand that truth, no matter how much it hurt.

"Because she looks at me in a way that she never once looked at you Pierre." He stated with a grimace , not enjoying hurting his friend like this at all. But how could he let her go and let the idea of them fade away if he didn't listen to him?

If anything Charles was giving him some closure , giving him the answers to all the unanswered questions he had wanted to know all year round.

Charles just wished that it didn't have to be like this.

But he loved her. He was in love. Falling more into each day. Cherrie was the woman that he wanted to spend the rest of his life making her happy , making her giggle till she had tears of laughter in her eyes.

She was the reason he even believed in love. They just had their timings mixed up a little.

Because the night they Pierre had met Cherrie was the same night that Charles had meant to be at the gala in his place. But he had gotten sick and asked Pierre to go in his place instead. Leading him to meet her that night instead of him.

Charles had always wondered what would have happened if he had been the one to arrive there. Would Pierre's story have been his? Would he have fallen in love with her that night as full heartedly as he had the night that pierre introduced her as is girlfriend in the summer? He didn't know.

He had a feeling that it was fate being tested twice. Two chances for him to meet her and fall in love. He had missed the first chance. And took the second one given to him and he wasn't planning on letting this one go. Because he knew that there would be no third chance if he did.

"I love her Pierre. I'm sorry that you did too but I'm not going to apologise for being in love with her. I'm not sorry that she makes me happy. And I'm not sorry that I can make her equally as happy too." He told him sincerely , meaning every word .

He knew then the truth. And defeat weighed on him heavily as he let out the breath he had been holding in. Uncrossing his arms from his chest with a loud sigh , running his hands over his face in defeat .

"She's-this isn't a fling to you is it? It's serious? You want forever? Because  if you don't-" he started to warn him.

Charles hurriedly cut him off just as they heard her loud voice echo across the room towards them, both of there heads turning at the same time as she shouted Charles name over and over again . Trying to get his attention.

She was beaming over at him brightly , waving her hands towards the cake that was left on the table. Less than half left.

"Can we put this in your car Charles?! I want to save some for my family! Dad wanted a big slice!" She shouted over to him drunkenly , hands on her hips as she inspected what was left of her giant cake.

Charles laughed affectionately, shaking his head at her with a grin. "Yes! Don't touch it though! I'll grab it!" He hollered back to her in amusement.

Forgetting that Pierre was even there for a moment , his gaze locked on cherries as she pouted at him. Hair a mess and makeup smudged across her eyes as she swayed with a bottle of half drunken champagne in her hands.

"But I want to go now! Dad is coming in the morning and taking us to that car meet up remember?!" She screamed back to him.

Uncaring off those around her wincing and giving her looks as she screamed across the dance floor instead of simply going over to him and telling him. She decided to shout instead .

Charles laughed loudly "I know! He texted me to remind you! You're the one that sleeps in!" He grinned before pausing as he remembered that he had been mid discussion about their love to her ex boyfriend and his best friend before she interrupted him and made him forget what he was doing in the first place. Again.

He sheepishly looked back at Pierre , Lando grinning to himself as he looked between them all in silent amusement. Not saying a thing, just enjoying the show.

"Sorry.." he mumbled blushing, scratching his jaw awkwardly as she screamed his name again . He pursed his lips and turned to look af her for a moment , holding up one finger for her to wait .

"I'm coming in a minute! Grab your things! Get your purse and meet me at the door!" She just gave him a thumbs up in response before hurrying off to find her jacket and purse again. Trusting him completely.

Pierre looked at him in disbelief "her dad texts you?"

Charles felt smug even though he knew that he shouldn't . But he managed to keep his face straight and solemnly nodded his head . "Yes. Er-he helped me with the cake actually . Well- he just told me her favourite since she was a kid. We both like vintage cars so he's taking us to see some in the morning. I've been helping him fix up his own vintage Chevy too.. well, more like he's fixing it and I'm watching but .. it's fun, yeah! He's really nice and-" he exhaled nervously. Rambling on. "Yeah." Completely flustered .

And Pierre knew then that he had no chance at all. That this was it. Cherrie wasn't his to love anymore and it was clear to him now that he was never going to be the one she chose. She had never even mentioned her family to him, definitely never let him meet her father.

And while it hurt he knew what he had to do.

So he smiled tensely at his friend and said "if you fuck up, I will be there . Swooping in to play Romeo. So.." he inhaled deeply , looking at him seriously. "Be careful and treat her right." He mumbled quietly , focusing back on his drink. Having a feeling that he needed another whole bottle now.

Charles looked at him in shock , having expected a fist to the face. Not the go ahead . "You're not mad?"

Pierre scoffed at him "oh I'm fucking furious but there's nothing I can do about it is there?" He gave a sarcastic shrug . "You love her and she clearly loves you. There's no stopping you is there?"

Charles slowly nodded his head in agreement , glancing over to the door where Cherrie was impatiently waiting for him. Waving her hands at him like a crazy person . Miming a arrow sign with her body as she leaned towards the exit door making him chuckle quietly at her antics.

God. He loved her.

"There isn't." He confirmed to him softly "and I won't fuck up. I can promise you that." He then hesitated as he went to walk away, patting Pierre's shoulder gently . Apologetically. "I am sorry though. I didn't mean to fall in love with but.." he sighed long and hard, motioning hopelessly towards Cherrie who was now trying to do a handstand against the wall and failing miserably . Making him laugh softly beneath his breath .

“Look at her! I didn't have a chance against it. She's it for me mate. She's-"

"She's the one."

Then he patted his shoulder again , giving him once last look before quickly walking off, hurrying over there to Cherrie before she could break her face from her sudden desire to become a gymnast at the club.

Pierre and Lando could only watch silently as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder , the other one snaking around her waist as she leaned into his side with a bright grin on her pretty face. Squeezing him tightly as she tilted her chin up, saying something to him that they couldn't hear.

Then she reached up and closed the gap between them without any hesitation , kissing him softly as she ran her fingers through his hair. Breaking away momentarily to giggle against his lips , both of them locked in their own loved up bubble together . No one else mattering to them as Charles fixed her dress for her , pulling it down her thighs further and then straightening out her hair too.

Looking down at her with nothing but love in his eyes as he cupped her face in his hands gently , leaning forward to lay a small kiss between her eyes. Smiling softly as he did so.

And Pierre turned away from the sight with a thick swallow , sighing shakily as Lando just patted him on his back in sympathy. Wincing pitifully for him.

"Do you think any other of our friends are in love with her as well?" He unhelpfully blurted out curiously . "I mean- Lance and max are-"

Pierre just shoved at his head with his hand and huffed moodily at him . "Shut up. If someone else is in love with her then that's charles problem now. Let him see how it feels!" He exclaimed bitterly before stomping away to find another bottle to down his sorrows in.

Leaving Lando to simply shrug and pull out his phone to text his friends to tell them what had happened. Max and Lance too.

God did he love some drama. He couldn't wait to give a play by play act to Carlos and Daniel about what had happened. They weren't  going to believe this!

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

This is a heavier ask so please ignore if you don't have the spoons or the desire to answer this. Also I hope you're doing well and having a good day and feeling happy and whole. I know I'm just a stranger on the Internet but you've been very helpful and sweet to my asks before, so I figured I'd try.

Momdad, can I have some gentleness? The best therapist I ever had just told me that she can't help me anymore and will refer me to someone else, but I feel so bad and broken and ashamed of my trauma and my mentally ill brain. I've been working a physical labor job so much, averaging 12-13 hour shifts, and I am so, so tired but I can't rest. I really want a hug but I have nobody around to help me.

oh, sweetie, i'm so sorry, that sounds really rough. i think you really deserve to just sit down for a minute and let yourself really know that this is an incredibly difficult situation and anyone would struggle underneath its weight.

i mean, if you grabbed anyone off the street and saddled them with this hard of a job and the fatigue it causes, the trauma you've been through, the mental illness you're dealing with, the loneliness and isolation, and then took away one of the few things that was helping keep them afloat, they'd have a really hard time with that, don't you think? i don't think it's feeling sorry for yourself to just let yourself acknowledge that life is really hard right now, and it's okay to struggle with something that's really hard. struggling in a really hard situation is not failure.

and you know what, if you need to cry about that, that is completely okay. if you need to rant to an imaginary person about every difficult thing you're facing, that's totally okay. it's taken me a long time to learn, but bottling it all up just doesn't help. you've gotta let the pressure out somehow.

the fact that you've made it this far tells me that you're really, really strong, but as someone who is also strong, i know how that can almost feel like a curse sometimes. because we shouldn't HAVE to be this strong, should we? we shouldn't have to carry loads so heavy that all we want to do is fall apart, but we know we can't, because we have to be strong. it fucking sucks.

it's so damn hard to internalize, but being weak isn't the end of the world. being tired, and sad, and damaged, and lonely, and sick, and wanting everything to be different... it doesn't make you less. it just makes you human. all of us are fucked up and flawed and broken, no matter how hard we pretend otherwise.

please give yourself as many little moments of weakness that you can, honey. give yourself crying, give yourself telling someone how you feel, give yourself something soft or funny or warm. give yourself not making things harder by telling yourself it shouldn't be this hard. it IS this hard, and no, somebody else wouldn't be handling it better. it really does suck this much, and you're doing the fucking best you can.

i really hope the new therapist will turn out to be really good for you, and i hope you get that hug from someone. i'm here, of course, but try to be gentle with yourself too, love. take care. <3

[magmahearts]

TIMING: current PARTIES: @ohwynne & @magmahearts LOCATION: the magmacave SUMMARY: wynne comes to question cass's recent behavior and finds something unexpected. CONTENT WARNINGS: implications of emotional manipulation.

Frustration was a building, bubbling thing these days. Ever since her run-in with Zane, it had been a tangible add-on, chasing out Cass’s usual optimism and brightness and replacing it with something darker. Everything her friends said to her felt like an attack, spurned on by Makaio’s commentary. They weren’t messaging her, he said, and if they were, it was only to tell her that she was different. He was sorry, he was hurting alongside her, he loved her as she was and he hated that they didn’t. He told her it didn’t matter, that it didn’t need to matter. Cass had Makaio, and Makaio had Cass. What more did either of them need?

And yet, the frustration bubbled. It built. It was a living thing in her gut, churning and yowling. She wanted them to understand, and they didn’t. No one did. Makaio informed her that most were likely judging her for how she’d handled the hunter, just as Leila had seemed to. It hurt, but it was fine. It had to be fine. Cass had Makaio. She repeated it like a mantra. 

“Perhaps we should go for a walk,” Makaio suggested. Cass had been sitting in the corner of the cave for hours now, running her hand across the stone. She knew he was worried even if he hadn’t said so, and knowing this made her chest feel a little less tight.

“I don’t want to run into anyone,” she replied glumly. “Everyone is so —”

She broke off, tensing. Footsteps were approaching the mouth of the cave. Cass turned to Makaio. “Maybe you should —” But before he could disappear, a figure was outlined in the light from the mouth of the cave. Makaio stood, and so Cass scrambled to her feet alongside him. She clenched her hands into fists, ready for someone looking for retribution for the hunter she’d mutilated, but instead…

“Wynne?”

—

Something was wrong with Cass. Ever since she had saved Ariadne from that hunter, there had been a shift. And Wynne understood that instances like that took a toll on someone’s psyche, that they could make communication hard and make every word seem like a run around the block. After the barn, after the ritual, after Ireland — they had felt themself being reduced. In their smaller form they’d struggled, hadn’t they, with their friends. But they’d kept reaching out, had kept letting them in, had known that there was no room for them to throw up walls and become inaccessible. It would go against their instincts and teachings, but Cass had not been taught the lessons they’d been taught. The ones about controlling their emotions, about keeping their upset to themself, about being a beacon of calm. And that was good.

But what would not be good was to just leave Cass in a time like this. Though they had taken a step back from trying to interact with her online, they would not simply accept this change without attempting to reach out. In part because of how much it hurt Ariadne, but most of all because they were worried about her.

So Wynne had gone up to her cave unannounced, figuring it best to leave their bled out online conversation for what it was. They felt a swirl of nerves in their system as they carried a tote bag up, the strain on their muscles as they walked up a welcome distraction from the pit in their stomach.

They weren’t sure what to expect upon arrival. They weren’t even sure if Cass was going to be home. But they hadn’t expected this, the sight of glowing red. Not embers, but magma, and not just on Cass’ unglamoured form but another one.

Wynne halted, eyes searching out Cass. The stranger made something twist in their stomach. Why hadn’t Cass said there was another fae like them in town? “Hi Cass. Sorry for coming by unannounced, I wanted to see if you were alright.” They gestured at their tote. “I brought some fresh lemonade.”

—

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Nothing was going as it was supposed to lately. The world kept throwing things at her, and Cass didn’t know how to catch them all. Ariadne hadn’t reached out since the incident with the hunter, her father told her; she must have been angry with her, must have been haunted by the image of Cass clinging to the man and trying to burn him to ash with her rage. 

She was afraid to ask her father for her phone back, both in anticipation of his reaction and for fear of what she might find in her messages. He told her about some of the ones coming through — Anita’s anger, Thea’s statement that her heroes would be disappointed in her, Burrow’s excitement to meet him. He told her of the silences, too. She asked after Ariadne, after Metzli, but her father told her that both had been silent throughout. He said Leila had only messaged to agree to give her space, and even though she’d asked the mare to leave, her absence still ached. She’d hoped, perhaps childishly, that Leila might put up a fight. But maybe she wasn’t worth that.

It was strange then, wasn’t it, that Wynne was here now? It didn’t quite fit, a piece that felt just as clunky and strange as Zane’s words to her in the grocery store. Like she had then, Cass closed her eyes to it, desperate for her story to remain a thing that made sense with her father in the position she needed him to be in. She needed him to be supportive and kind and here, so she invented a world with no inconsistencies. Wynne was here, she thought, to chastise her. To tell her she was wrong for not protecting Ariadne better, to condemn her for giving her friend another nightmare to cope with. It was the only thing that made sense in the way she needed it to.

And so, Cass was tense right away. Her father shifted beside her, and she could feel his discomfort. She wanted to scream, wanted to thrash and bang her fists against the wall without knowing why. Makaio wasn’t ready for this — couldn’t Wynne have told her they were coming? 

“I’m fine,” she replied flatly, uneasy as she observed her… friend? Was that what they were? Before, she would have said yes with little hesitation, but everything was different now. If Ariadne wasn’t speaking to her, wouldn’t Wynne take her side? Wouldn’t everyone, once they heard about how Cass nearly burned a man into nothing, about how she wished desperately that she hadn’t left it at almost? She’d wanted to kill him. She wanted to kill him still, wanted to find him and finish what she’d started. Would Wynne really still think of her as a friend, after that?

She looked down at the tote, stiff and still so uncertain. She glanced to Makaio, as if looking for an answer to a question that hadn’t been asked. His face was flat and unreadable, and fear prickled down her spine. “I don’t want any lemonade,” she said, still watching her father’s face. He seemed to nod at that, a hint of approval flashing in his eyes. This was how she was supposed to respond. “I think you should go. You can’t just — You shouldn’t come here unannounced.”

—

Ariadne had told them, what had happened with the hunter. How Cass had almost killed them with her heat. Wynne wasn’t sure how they felt about it — they understood the anger. They remembered speaking with Cass about wanting Rhett dead, too. They knew that sometimes it seemed like the right thing to kill someone. Hadn’t they mocked Padrig as he’d begged for his life and not felt wholly deplorable for it? 

They hadn’t judged, that was the primary thing. They had been there for Ariadne and held her tight and known that they’d want to speak to Cass about it because they were worried. To hold someone’s life in the palm of your hand was a terrifying feeling, wasn’t it? And wasn’t anger terrifying, too? But Cass had become hard to talk to and Wynne was still mostly used to talking to people in real life, somewhat old fashioned in that regard. So of course they were here now, having gathered their bravery and hoping to finally see their friend again. To check in.

But Cass didn’t seem happy to see her. Magma flowed where she stood, as it did on the other person. They were confused. Not scared, not really — they knew Cass wouldn’t hurt them. There were just pieces missing in their mind, the picture incomplete without all the correct puzzle pieces.

“That’s okay,” they said. “You don’t have to drink it.” Food and drink were one of the ways they managed to connect to people, so of course they’d brought some. It was how they’d gotten friendlier with Zack, when he’d just been their unfamiliar roommate. How they had expressed gratitude to Emilio. How Ariadne and them enjoyed plenty of their times. But they didn’t need lemonade to be there for Cass.

“I … I mean, I think if I had asked you beforehand you would have told me not to come. And we’re all very worried about you, Cass. It’s okay if you’re upset, you know?” Wynne shifted awkwardly. “And also if you aren’t. I just … well, we miss you. I miss you. I don’t want to go yet.” They looked at the other person. “Hi. I’m Wynne.”

—

They were worried about her. Months ago, it would have been enough to send a thrill of excitement through her — that she had friends, and that those friends thought of her often enough to feel concern when things seemed uncertain. But now? All Cass could think of was Leila outside her cave, of all the things she had said between the lines. Wasn’t Wynne doing the same now? They were worried about her because they thought that something was wrong, because they couldn’t fathom that Cass was angry and justified to be this way. They were worried about her because she’d stopped acting like someone she’d never really been to begin with. They were worried about someone who didn’t really exist, and they resented the person who’d taken her place. 

Because wasn’t this who Cass really was, after all? Not the girl who had been too afraid to fight back against the hunter with his hand around her throat, but the one who had burned a man nearly to death and regretted only the fact that she’d been asked to stop at nearly. Wynne was worried about her, but only because she was acting like the person she was supposed to be instead of the person they wanted her to be.

Something strange burned in her chest. It wasn’t anger, but she let herself pretend that it was. It was easier that way, wasn’t it? It was better to be angry, it was expected. But… Wynne said they missed her, and Cass felt her resolve shift. 

“I…” She wanted them to stay. It was a jolting feeling, a quiet realization. She loved her friend, and she wanted them to stay. She took a step forward, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. Immediately, that uncertain feeling of doubt was replaced with shame. She knew better than this, of course. She knew who she was, who she was supposed to be. It was silly of her to forget that.

“You come here,” Makaio rumbled, “with no notice. Without asking. Do humans learn manners?”

He was right. Wasn’t he? Of course he was right. Cass put her walls back up, schooling her features into something flatter, something more stoic, something closer to her father. “I — I want you to go.” It was a lie; she could tell by the way it burned her tongue, the way it made her stomach clench painfully. She tried not to let it show.

—

Wynne watched how Cass struggled to speak, how she moved forward and how then, a hand landed on her shoulder and held her back. They tried to make eye contact with Cass, to ask her what was going on, if this was alright, who this man even was. Another oread, that was certain, but how did they know each other? Hadn’t Cass been cast out by her family?

Then the stranger spoke, not to introduce himself like they had done. They had thought themself polite when they’d offered their name, but in stead he was curt and clear. He thought them rude, for appearing without notice. And maybe they should have texted, but it had hurt to look at their recent messages with Cass, where she had said she didn’t really care. Looking at those too long would have discouraged them from coming here, and they had to. Not only for Cass, but for Metzli, who had asked them to, and for everyone else who’d been confused by her switch in behavior.

“Oh,” they said. “We do – we show up without notice all the time. Cass is always welcome at my place.” And they had thought they were always welcome at hers in return. They had been, hadn’t they.

Wynne looked at the two people in front of them, at the magma that moved and the heat that radiated off them. A bead of sweat formed on their forehead and it was solely because of that, or at least so they figured. Cass was hesitant as she spoke, Cass had a hand on her shoulder that had held her back from moving towards them. Wynne swallowed. “I haven’t seen you in so long Cass, wouldn’t it be nice to hang out for a bit? I really did miss you.” In Ireland and after. “Or maybe we can make some plans now, at least, so we can hang out soon? Watch a movie? Talk?” They looked at the man again. “What’s your name? I think it is manners … um, I mean polite to introduce yourself.” They smiled cautiously, but they felt a surge of indignation swirl at the pit of their stomach. 

—

Wynne tried to make eye contact, and Cass turned her head quickly and deliberately. Her throat felt tight, her chest hurt, and she wished they hadn’t come. It would have been simpler if they hadn’t, wouldn’t it? The problem with people like Wynne wasn’t just that they would leave intentionally, after all. Wynne was so painfully mortal, and Cass had never been more aware of it than she was in that moment, with her father’s hand heavy on her shoulder. Even if they weren’t upset with her now — even if Ariadne’s fear and anger hadn’t spread, even if Wynne got it… What good did it do her? They would still die. She would still be alone.

Well… She focused on the hand on her shoulder. Not alone. Never alone again. Her father was like her — a long-lived being built to last. He wouldn’t die. And he wouldn’t leave, either. He was the steady force she’d been looking for all her life. She couldn’t let go of him now. She didn’t want to.

She shifted her weight as Wynne insisted that they showed up at one another’s houses all the time. What if her father judged her for it? Didn’t Wynne realize how delicate this all was? They could ruin everything if they weren’t careful. A brief flash of anger flared in her chest, but it was squashed by the grip on her shoulder tightening. She told herself it was reassurance, even if it bruised. “Your home,” Makaio said, “is walls and a roof. Cassidy’s home is a part of her. Surely you wouldn’t open someone’s ribcage uninvited, sink your hands into their chest?”

Relief flooded her, though she didn’t let it show. An exception was made for her. It sent a quiet thrill through her. She’d never been anyone’s exception before. The feeling quickly faded as Wynne continued, that tightness back in her chest. A hint of anger flared, and she grabbed it with both hands and held on tight. “You left,” she pointed out sharply. “You and — and Nora, and… Everyone just ran off to Ireland!” She’d understood it when it happened, but the more her father spoke to her, the more she wondered. Hadn’t it been a little too easy for so many of the people she loved to hop a plane and fly to another country? Hadn’t it seemed as though they barely thought about it at all, barely even considered? She was allowed to want them to stay, wasn’t she? She was allowed.

Wynne was looking at Makaio, and he was looking back, and Cass had wanted this, once. She’d imagined Wynne at a big table, with Ariadne and Nora and Metzli and Leila and Van and Thea and so many others being introduced to her father over bread and wine and too many jokes. Had it been a stupid thing to imagine? Had she been kidding herself? Maybe it was harder to love her when she wasn’t pretending.

“Makaio,” he said, sounding disinterested. “Akamai.”

Cass held her breath.

—

As the stranger spoke about Cass’ cave, Wynne was hit with a wave of doubt. It was easy to question oneself after weeks of online conversation, but still. Hadn’t Cass always been glad to see them show up? Hadn’t Cass burst with excitement at the sight of them once? “I … if Cass has a problem with me showing up unannounced she never said so before, is all. I can stop doing it if she wants.” They put some extra weight to the she, eyes boring into the hand on Cass’ shoulder.

When Cass spoke again, though, and when she did so sharply, they severed their stare and looked at her. Wynne dug their teeth into their bottom lip. They had tried to remain calm and sweet, because they had figured that would be the best approach — even if Cass had hurt their feelings and even if now she was hurting them too. But maybe it was a useless method. They felt their back straightening.

“I did not run off to Ireland to have fun, Cass,” they said tersely, “I went because Nora was in trouble. Would you rather I hadn’t gone? She might have died.” They didn’t understand where all of this was coming from, but they were sharp enough to understand that grip on Cass’ shoulder might have something to do with it. “Are you mad at me for that? For going to help our friend? If you’re mad at me, you should talk to me about it. I’m always down to talk, you know that. I would prefer to talk rather than have you —” They inhaled. “Tell me you don’t care and shut us out.” 

The man introduced himself, the surname making things sort of land into place, but not really. Makaio — he was family. Cass’ family, who had abandoned her. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” they said, looking between them, “Are you her father? Or brother?” Cousin, possibly. Why hadn’t Cass said anything? That hand was still on her shoulder and even though it was all rock and magma, Wynne saw there was something tight about it. They remembered plenty of tight hands on their own body. “I didn’t know — well, it’s really nice that you’re reunited!” Was it? Would it be good if their own dad showed up? Would it be good?

—

The thing was, Cass didn’t have a problem with Wynne — or anyone, really — showing up at her cave unannounced. If anything, the opposite was true. People showed up at her cave without warning, and it made her feel warm and happy and loved. It made her feel good to know that they’d been thinking of her enough to prompt an unannounced drop-in, made her feel like she was a thing worth visiting even if you didn’t have time to send a word ahead. But she wasn’t supposed to feel that way. Makaio’s hand on her shoulder was steering her towards a corrective course, making her question everything that had ever lived within her chest. Did she feel this way genuinely? Or had she convinced herself that things that weren’t okay were good in order to make herself more digestible? So much of who she was was carefully constructed in the interest of curving the bitter taste that clung to her skin. Did she know who she was at all? Did Wynne? 

Makaio did. She reminded herself of this, let it settle the pounding in her chest. Makaio knew who she was, didn’t he? She was a part of him. All the things she tried to hide about herself lived in him first. The anger, the resentment, the quiet thought that things should be better… It was Makaio as much as it was Cass. And if she knew those things and loved her father still, didn’t that mean that he did the same for her? Maybe the problem had never been that she was unlovable. Maybe the problem had always been that she was trying to make the wrong people love her. Makaio understood her in a way Wynne couldn’t. It didn’t have to be a bad thing.

“Nora shouldn’t have left, either!” Her voice was shrill, was tight, was bouncing off the walls of the cave. “It was — Things were good here! Things were fine! And then Nora left, and you left, and Regan left, and Metzli left, and it’s — None of you had to go anywhere!” It felt like there was a fist closed around her heart, squeezing it so tightly that it was bound to burst. Which was worse, she wondered — for people to leave and come back in a way that meant they could have just as easily never left at all, but chose to anyway, or for people to leave and stay gone forever? At least with the latter, you could sometimes convince yourself that it was something they had to do, or that it was the city, or something. But couldn’t Nora and Wynne and Regan and Metzli and everyone else have just stayed? Couldn’t they have chosen to do that?

Wouldn’t they have, if they had thought Cass worth staying for?

She barely heard what Wynne was saying, barely managed to continue drawing breath at all. The hand gripping her heart was at her shoulder, too, but that one was a comfort. It squeezed and it ached, but it was a hand that loved her. It was a good thing. It must have been. 

“Her father,” Makaio confirmed, and some of the tightness in Cass’s chest lessened. He was her father, and he’d say it aloud to someone he didn’t know. That meant something, didn’t it? “And I am here to protect her.” It felt like a cool breeze on a sweltering day. She clung to the words. Her father was here to protect her. (From what? She didn’t need protection from Wynne, Wynne was her friend, Wynne was only here to talk.) She was protected. (Did she need to be?) 

Pushing aside the doubts, Cass nodded. He was her father. He was here to protect her. And — “It is good.”

—

Cass’ voice was gaining volume and Wynne felt an instinctive flinch run through them but most of all, they were relieved. It was real. It was something real and emotional and something true. They wanted that from Cass, to see something raw and to talk it through, to let her be angry if she wanted to be and then move around it. Even if what she was saying was frustrating, even if she had hurt their feelings — because Wynne loved Cass, and they knew that sometimes when big things happened it made everything seem impossible.

And though they were the type to implode, to simply wish to hide away and to build walls upon walls of okayishness around themself, they understood the urge to lash out. Sometimes they wish they could be comfortable enough to. That they could rage. That they could set that anger that slumbered within it loose.

“I agree!,” they replied, their own voice not as quiet, “They shouldn’t have — none of them should have gone there, it was a bad place, but I know bad places, and maybe you don’t –” This wasn’t about their pain. That was one thing Wynne was good at, at least, to not make things about them. Cass had told them that it was hard for her to pretend to care about their old home and all the aches that came with it, and it hurt, but they could push their own pain away. That was one of the lessons from home that stuck. “But they did go, and someone had to go after them, and we already – I’m sorry if it was upsetting, I really am, and I know it wasn’t good, that bad things happened while I was gone but —” Ariadne had almost died. Cass had almost killed a hunter. “I don’t know. I was just trying to make it better, Cass. To get Nora home.” And Nora looked like death because she’d seen it. “I was just trying. And I never meant to make you sad. But I had to try.” 

Why were they trying to explain this, now? Hadn’t Cass known why they were going? Hadn’t they already talked about their time in Ireland? It made no sense. Wynne swallowed, trying to keep themself composed. It was another lesson that had stuck. It was a lesson that would serve her well while across from the other fae.

They looked at him, looked at the similarities between Cass and him. He was her father, he was her protector, he said. They were reunited. Re-united, because he hadn’t been there for many years, and now here he stood judging Wynne for showing up, his words feeling pointed. As if he was protecting Cass from them — they, who couldn’t possibly hurt Cass except perhaps on accident and emotionally. (Where had he been, when Rhett had tried to kill Cass? When the agropelter fell from the sky and had nearly eaten Cass’ finger? When Ariadne had been attacked?) 

“How did you two find each other?” They looked between them, “And that’s … that is good, that sounds very good. It is dangerous, here. Or, well, everywhere.” But then why was he clenching her shoulder so tight? Why had he held her back? So why had he not been there when Cass had nearly killed that hunter? Why had he not been there, all those other years? Something was wrong. They looked at Cass. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

—

Wynne flinched a little at the tone of her voice, and Cass couldn’t help but dissect the small motion. Would they have done that before the hunter, before whatever version of the story Ariadne had told them? Did they look at Cass now, unglamoured in her cave, and imagine what she must have looked like with her rocky hands burning through a stranger’s skin? Were they afraid of her?

Another question lingered, just beneath: should they be?

Cass would never hurt Wynne. It was a ridiculous notion, wasn’t it? The idea that she’d ever be a threat to her friends, that she’d ever do anything to harm them. But… that didn’t seem to go both ways, did it? Wynne hadn’t done anything to her physically (they couldn’t, because humans who weren’t hunters weren’t capable of that, Makaio said), but hadn’t they hurt her all the same? Hadn’t Nora, and Metzli? Didn’t Ariadne’s silence sting? Didn’t she ache when Leila walked away, even when it was Cass who told her to go? Cass would never hurt her friends, but it often felt as if they made a habit of hurting her. And that wasn’t fair, was it? It didn’t feel fair.

“Nothing is better! Nothing is ever made better by — by leaving!” Frustration clung to every inch of her, and it didn’t used to. Wouldn’t she have accepted this only a few short months ago? She used to make herself so small. It was pathetic, she thought. She was pathetic. But not anymore, right? Not now, not here.

Cass opened her mouth, readying herself to explain, but Makaio squeezed her shoulder once more and she shut it. Her father spoke up instead. “That is not a concern for you,” he said, and Cass found herself nodding along. Yeah. Right. It didn’t matter how they came to find one another, only that they had. Makaio was right, of course. Of course he was. 

With Makaio’s words as guidance, Cass steeled herself against the question. “Why would I need to? It’s not your business, Wynne.”

—

Cass’ frustration was infectious and Wynne stared at her and the words she was saying, trying to make sense of it. Trying to find the root of the problem so she could tug at it and remove it from the soil and toss it away. They wanted to dig their fingers around it, dirty them with soil and mess around in the earth until every root was undone and they could fix this.

“Did you not hear what I just said? Nora would have died. Nora could have died in Ireland! And I think me going helped, so that is better. And we came back, like I said we would — why –” They breathed in and out, and they felt the lemonade slam against their body as their body moved with the anger that swirled through them. “Cass, we came back. I’m sorry it sucked that we left, I really am, but we came back. We can’t always — you can’t.” They threw up their hands, not sure what they were saying any more.

Wynne saw it, then. Cass wanted to answer their question but her father’s grip remained tight and she closed her mouth. They let their eyes dance between the two of them, their faces and that meeting place of their two magma bodies. Makaio said it wasn’t their concern and it only took a moment for Cass to echo the sentiment, to say the same thing in different words.

They had done this. They had said the right thing, the perfect thing, while being guided there by a hand with digging fingers. Padrig echoed in their head still, didn’t he? His voice infected their thoughts, just as Alys’ did, just as their own father’s did. 

They tried to look only at her as they spoke, “Because I am … your friend, because I am interested to know what is going on in your life, Cass. Why would you not tell me if a good thing has happened in your life?” Because maybe it wasn’t good. They could feel the ghosts of fingers digging in the skin of their chin. “Maybe we can go for a little walk, just the two of us? It’s really pretty out, you know. Spring.” They wanted that hand away from Cass’ shoulder. They wanted to talk to her without her echoing something said by another. They had wanted someone to pull them aside, back at home. “Please?”

—

“So she shouldn’t have gone! She shouldn’t have gone, either! No one should have!” She didn’t want Nora hurt, but hadn’t Nora made the choice to leave? Hadn’t Dr. Kavanagh, hadn’t Metzli? Maybe Wynne was the most understandable of them, maybe there was something a little better about knowing that they, at least, had gone with the interest of saving someone that both they and Cass loved, but couldn’t it have all been avoided from the beginning? None of it had been necessary. It was all just another excuse to leave, another thing they could all tell themselves to make them feel better about the people they left behind. It didn’t count for anything if it was temporary, right? It made the pain of the departure less important! That was how they all saw it, Cass thought. They all thought that her pain was — small and petty and unreasonable. None of them believed she was allowed to feel the way she felt. 

But Makaio did.

Makaio had listened as she’d cried about Nora’s public posts detailing how awesome Ireland was, had put an arm around her shoulder when Metzli poured salt into the wound by telling her that they, too, were departing for a place where everyone seemed to be going without her. It felt like all her friends had planned a vacation and raved about it publicly without asking her along, and it stung. Even knowing now that it had been dangerous, that they’d been hurt, it still stung. And they all thought she was being silly, but Makaio didn’t. Makaio told her that her feelings were good and valid and allowed. No one had ever really done that before. 

“I can’t what?” She snapped, and the anger felt steadier now, more tangible. Good, she thought, and she clung to it. Angry was what she was supposed to be. Angry was what she was meant for, what she deserved. She was allowed to be angry. She should have been angry. She wanted, so badly, to be angry. It was what was expected of her, and she knew it. “Why don’t you tell me, Wynne? Why don’t you stand there and tell me what I can’t feel?” 

Makaio made a sound, low in his throat. It sounded pleased, it sounded proud, and Cass straightened her back a little, reveling in it. It didn’t matter what Wynne said, did it? It didn’t matter if Ariadne wasn’t reaching out or if Metzli left or if all of her friends were angry with her for defending herself. Her father was proud of her, and that was all that mattered. That was all. 

Still, some part of her wanted to take Wynne up on that walk. Some part of her wanted to understand, wanted to salvage things. She hesitated, and Makaio must have sensed it. He shifted behind her, that grip on her shoulder loosening. “If you’d prefer,” he said, “I can leave.”

It felt like an avalanche. Like a cave-in, like the world closing in. I can leave. Did he mean temporarily? Or…

Panic gripped Cass’s throat, and she whirled around to face him. “No!” She exclaimed quickly, shaking her head. “No, I — I don’t want you to. I don’t…” She turned back towards Wynne, setting her jaw in a stubborn line. “I don’t want to take a walk with you. I didn’t tell you about this because you left, Wynne. You were in Ireland. All anyone was talking about was Ireland. I didn’t tell you about it because none of you cared. And that’s fine! If you don’t care, that’s fine.” The words tasted like acid, and her stomach clenched. It was a lie. It was a big lie. She powered through it, anyway. “I just wish you’d stop pretending.” 

—

Cass was snapping at them and it was all wrong. Maybe a year ago Wynne would have just averted their gaze and left already, but a year had passed and they’d found something of a spine in those months. An angry determination that never seemed enough, but that they weren’t ready to throw away just yet either. 

They shook their head. “I wasn’t going to tell you what you can and can’t feel or anything like that, just that you can’t expect everyone to always be in this town, because sometimes there are things out there we need to do, like how I had to go to my home to solve something, or now Ireland or … maybe a trip to New York sometime, to do something fun! I will stay in Wicked’s Rest because it is home, but sometimes I will leave and that — you get that don’t you?” They inhaled sharply. “You can feel how you want. It’s just not fair.” 

Nothing was fair. Makaio seemed to interject again, his voice a rumble and his lava glowing. Another bead of sweat rolled down their head, multiple sliding down their back. They were wearing cotton, but it wasn’t airy enough to keep them from getting hot. They had to keep looking at Cass, because if they looked into the glowing eyes of her father for too long, they would surely slink away and fold at his authority. 

Was that it, then? What he had over her? Authority? Cass hated authority. Cass broke the law and didn’t care about the cops. Wynne didn’t understand, but they did, because they had been held like that.

“I care. You don’t — you don’t get to tell me that I don’t care. I care. You are my friend.” They looked angry as they said it, because it was angering to be Cass’ friend right now. “And you — you said that to me, you said to me you were tired of pretending to care about my problems. I never said I didn’t care about yours.” Which was why they felt their stomach hurt, with the pain of those sentiments and words. “I’m here and I care and I wish you’d told me so I could be happy for you.” But – well, now they weren’t. And not because they didn’t care, but because this whole situation was wrong.

—

This wasn’t how she’d wanted things to go. It was all she could think, a mantra that kept repeating. This wasn’t how she’d wanted things to go. She’d wanted both. She’d wanted the friends she’d come to love here and the man she’d come from to all get along with one another, had wanted some hodge podge, patchwork family made up of both blood and bond. She’d wanted family dinners with everyone included — Makaio, Metzli, Leila, Nora, Ariadne, and Wynne, too. She’d wanted to keep what she’d had and gain something new.

But… maybe she’d never had what she thought she did. She remembered sitting in the cave with Makaio, remembered recounting her friends and realizing that each and every one of them had either broken her heart in the past or would do so in the future. Maybe Wynne meant well here and maybe they didn’t. But how much did it matter? Even if Wynne loved her the way they claimed to, they were human. They would grow old, would die. And, beyond that, wouldn’t they take Ariadne’s side, if she decided Cass was no longer a thing worth keeping? 

She’d wanted both, but she couldn’t stand the thought of having neither. And, if she didn’t do something, that was exactly what she’d end up with. She could accept what Wynne was saying, could go with them, but then what? Makaio would leave and, in a few decades when Wynne died, or sooner when they left, Cass would be alone again.

She was so tired of being alone.

She took a step back. Away from Wynne, towards Makaio. I don’t know what you’re talking about, she thought, but she was afraid to say it. She was afraid the same way she had been in that grocery store with Zane, when he spoke about messages she’d never sent him and conversations they hadn’t had. So she only shook her head, only swallowed the words. “It doesn’t seem like you’re happy for me. It doesn’t seem like anyone is. I’m — I don’t know how to be whatever it is you all want me to be anymore. This is me. If you don’t like it, just go.” 

Stay. I want you to stay. She couldn’t say it.

—

When Wynne had been young, they had thought adults had all the answers. That had been what they’d been taught, after all — that their elders were the ones to listen to, that it was them who spoke the truth about the past, present and future. And part of them still clung to that idea, though that part was growing smaller. It grew smaller as Emilio insisted on things that weren’t true. It grew smaller when Regan stood in her aos sí, just as lost and confused as they had once been. It grew smaller with Metzli in that self inflicted cage, with their boss at a Latte to Love being irrational, with being faced with Makaio Asami.

Adults were just people. Parents were just people. They were flawed and sometimes they were good and safe, but sometimes they were twisted and cruel. Sometimes they gripped Wynne’s jaw and made them look at them. Sometimes they told lies. Sometimes they failed to protect, sometimes they were glad to watch their own firstborn die, sometimes they gripped shoulders and kept words from leaving someone’s mouth.

It was hard to come to terms with these things. It was hard to accept that they had been misguided, and not only that, that they had been manipulated. That all that forming and shaping the elders had done at home had not been out of duty but perhaps out of something darker. That at the end of the day it didn’t matter what the intentions were. 

They were starting to accept this now. That it had been a cult. That there were things in their mind they had to unravel and unlearn, instincts that had been honed to keep them obedient and quiet. If this had happened a year ago, Wynne would have bowed their head and left. But they had been unraveling and rebuilding.

Cass took a step back and Makaio’s hand was still on her shoulder. If they were to leave now, he’d follow her into that cave. Would he grab her chin? Would he tell her poisonous lies that would make the world make sense again? Would he be mad? 

Wynne took a step forward. Another bead of sweat rolled down their face. “Cass …” They swallowed. “I care about you. I like you. All of you. Okay? Let’s make that … let’s establish that.” They took another step forward. “I think — Cass, he’s manipulating you. I th–” No, they didn’t think. They knew. Sometimes the elders would drive Wynne in what seemed to be a corner. When Beca had broken up with them and they’d cried to Padrig, he’d made it make sense to them. No one can understand what it is you carry, what it is you are to do for us. But I do. I can help. And it is better, without her. She’s a distraction and she’s not strong enough to hold this with you. You must carry your duty yourself, but I can help.

“You’re not speaking freely. I told you — at home, they would –” Wynne remembered how Cass was tired of pretending to care, but maybe that was just a sentiment the other had whispered into her ears. “I can see. Can’t you see? I want to be happy for you, but I think he’s changed you. I think you aren’t saying what you want to. Cass, let’s just walk … just you and I, okay? I want to be happy for you. I want nothing but the best but —” Their eyes were glued to the arm still on her shoulder. They shrugged, not saying what they were thinking.

—

Wynne said her name, and Cass could feel where things were going. She’d known the answer before she’d asked the question, just as she had with Leila. Wynne wasn’t happy for her. Was anyone? She had this thing she’d wanted all her life, had something she’d dreamed of since she was a little girl, and people were acting like it was bad. Wynne was acting like it was bad, like she should be — afraid, or uncertain, or wary. And — and maybe it wasn’t Wynne’s fault. Maybe they were tainted by their experience with their own family. But just because Wynne’s family was bad didn’t mean Cass’s was, too, did it? Makaio would never hurt her. She wanted to tell Wynne as much, wanted to reassure them, but the words got caught in her throat as her friend continued. 

He’s manipulating you. 

The walls went up higher, one stone stacking atop the next to make it impenetrable. Of course Makaio wasn’t manipulating her. He wouldn’t do that. He loved her. Hadn’t he proven that? Hadn’t he held her while she trembled after what happened with that hunter? Hadn’t he comforted her? Hadn’t he told her that she was good, that she had done good? Hadn’t he whispered reassurances into her ear, hadn’t he stroked her hair, hadn’t he said he wouldn’t leave and meant it? Wynne, she thought, was projecting. Wynne had a hard time knowing the difference between love and manipulation because they’d been shown more of the latter than the former. But it wasn’t like that with Cass and Makaio. Makaio loved her. She knew he did.

Cass shook her eyes, the expression on her stony face somewhere between hurt and offended. “Just because your family didn’t care about you,” she said lowly, “doesn’t mean mine doesn’t care about me. This is who I am, Wynne. I’m saying what I want to say. Here, in front of him and you. No one is forcing me to do anything. You’re — You’re not getting it. Maybe you never got it. Maybe nobody did. I want you to go.” This time, it didn’t taste like a lie. She wanted Wynne to go, because she didn’t want to hear what they had to say. She didn’t want to see that look in their eyes, didn’t want to deal with any of it. If Wynne wasn’t happy for her, that was fine. She was happy for herself. She was happy. She was. Anyone who didn’t like it must not have cared about her at all.

—

It was all wrong. The way Cass had spoken to them online, the way she had blocked Metzli and had started ignoring Ariadne, insulting her in public. The hand on her shoulder. That hand on her shoulder, fingers digging in. The way she didn’t even want to share a glass of lemonade, or how it had taken both of them so long to see each other after Wynne had come back from Ireland. It was all wrong. And perhaps it was short sighted to blame it all on the strange man that was Cass’ dad, but it was a clear connection, was it not? If Cass was just mad at them, they would have blamed themself — but it was the fact that she was being mean to everyone that made them sure it wasn’t just because of their trip to Ireland.

Fathers — well, Wynne wasn’t sure what they were typically supposed to do, but the idea that they were protectors was a sweet thought. But what was he protecting her for? What dangers did he see on the road? What dangers had he made her believe were there? They looked at the pair and they were afraid of what they had said and what it would make Cass feel or say, because if anyone had insulted their father growing up, they would not have responded kindly.

But they hadn’t expected this. Cass aimed her fists and aimed low, gut-punching them verbally with a conclusion that wasn’t entirely untrue but that still cut like a knife. (Like the knife that would have cut them with their parents watching, because they hadn’t cared, at least not enough.) Wynne staggered back two steps and the wet on their face wasn’t just from sweat any more — there were two thick tears filling their eyes too, blurring their vision. They refused to blink and make them slide down their cheeks, refused to make Cass see how much that stung. And so their eyes burned and they shook their head, exhaling deeply.

“That’s just cruel,” they said, their voice something soft and airy. Like it wasn’t theirs. Like their body wasn’t theirs, their voice box controlled by something else. If they were meaner, they might have pointed out that Cass’ family had abandoned her. But it felt like their throat was constricting, something forming there that could be released if they blinked. Their eyes were burning like acid on skin. “Just — fine. I’ll go. I’ve …” Wynne blinked, unable to keep themself from doing so, and twin tears rolled down their cheeks. Thicker and wetter than any of the drops of sweat. It felt like defeat. They clutched their bag and tried to start turning to leave. “Just — remember who was there before he was.” 

—

It was impossible not to see the look of hurt that overcame Wynne’s face, impossible not to recognize it. Immediately, Cass wanted to take it all back. She wanted to say I’m sorry, wanted to say I didn’t mean that, wanted to say it’s not your fault, but the hand on her shoulder squeezed again and she said nothing at all. Wasn’t it better this way? Wasn’t it easier to sever the tie now to spare her the pain of having it forcefully cut in the future? Wynne was mortal, and mortals aged and withered and died, and hadn’t Cass watched enough people disappear? It wouldn’t hurt any less to watch Wynne disappear into a grave than it would to watch them choose to walk away, would it? If anything, it would be more painful. This was better. This had to be better. 

So, as she had done so many times over the last few weeks, Cass swallowed the apology resting on her tongue. She assured herself that she had nothing to be sorry for, and so long as she didn’t say the words aloud, she wouldn’t have to feel the twisting of her gut and the burning in her mouth that reminded her of her own dishonesty. Wynne’s feelings were hurt, but Cass hadn’t asked them to come here, had she? She hadn’t invited them, hadn’t wanted them here to begin with. They could have avoided the sting if they’d just stayed away. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t. 

Still, she felt heavy. Her eyes stung, and she told herself it was pollen or dust or anything other than what it really was. This was her choice. Hers. How many times had she been allowed to decide something like this? How many times had she been granted the kindness of being the one to sever a tie instead of the one left flailing with a rope sliced clean through? This was what Cass wanted. It had to be. She leaned back a little more, let her shoulders brush against her father’s chest. She reminded herself that if Wynne couldn’t accept him, they couldn’t really accept Cass, either. Cass and Makaio were the same. She knew that. 

Wynne took a step back, and Cass watched them. Tears slipped down their cheeks, and Cass pretended to care less than she did. She felt the stone wall that was her father shift a little behind her, heard his quiet scoff. Later, he would call the tears a manipulation tactic and Cass would decide that it was easier to believe he was right. For now, she only watched her friend (could she still use that word? Did she want to?) step back, could only grit her teeth against the final words thrown her way. 

“First doesn’t mean best,” she replied. “Family is family. It’s okay if you don’t understand that.” She turned then, the hand on her shoulder loosening to allow it. Reaching up to grab his arm, she gently tugged Makaio towards the back of the cave. As the pair of twin flames moved further into the darkness, Cass resisted the urge to turn back towards the light. This was what she wanted. 

(The more she repeated it, the more it would feel like the truth.)

[beaker1636]

The Scavenger Hunt Pt. 2 - Confessions

AN: was going to wait until tomorrow to post this, but I’m really into this story and may or may not have written almost all of it, because I think it’s absolutely adorable so you all can have a double update of it today!

“So which park are we going to, you can’t just tell me that we are going to ‘the park’,” your sister teases you, she knows which park you mean because she remembers you coming back from that walk the two of you took with a smile, telling her that he somehow liked you too, that you were going on a date together the next week.

“Backbone, we intended to go for a walk but we spent a couple hours sitting on the beach instead, watching the sun set that night. We got some weird looks, being the only people in all black on the beach, but we had a lot of fun. Wound up renting one of those paddle boat things and messing around in the lake. At some point I lost one of my sandals in the water, remember the look on your face when I came home barefoot?” you ask, looking at her in the driver's seat with a smile.

“Oh yeah, I asked you if you lost your sandals when you beat him with them. You thought I was nuts,” she laughs at the memory, continuing the drive.

“You are nuts, but yeah I did. You questioned me so hard that night, asking me if I was sure he was worth my time and everything,” you say, thinking about that night.

“To be fair, the guys before Rick we're all duds, you never were much good at picking a decent man. I didn’t want you getting hurt by an idiot again,” she admits. “Luckily he hasn’t.”

“Okay, you said that you have to guess the beach part? We are almost to that part of the park, you ready to figure out your next puzzle?” She asks you, pulling into the parking lot before she stops.

“Of course, but I have no clue where it would be…. Wait, is that Chris?” You ask her, noticing the tall man at the other end of the beach sitting there.

“Looks like it, maybe he has your next puzzle?” She asks you, both of you starting to walk across the sand towards him. Luckily with it being early spring and not the warmest there isn’t anyone else here, only the two of you.

“Hey, about time the two of you showed up. You look beautiful as always, are you ready for your next puzzle y/n?” He asks you, pulling you into a tight hug as you approach him.

“Yes, and thank you by the way, for helping with whatever the hell this is,” you say with a smile, appreciating him taking his time out of his day to do this for you.

“Of course, I am always happy to help with things, but that is all you are getting out of me. Anyways, there are 12 hidden orange shells on this beach that you have to find and bring back to me, once you do I will have your next letter and rose. You better start searching!” He says, his eyes meeting yours while he smiles.

“I know you probably can’t help, but do you want to walk with us? That way you aren’t just sitting here watching me and bored?” You ask him, a slight giggle emerging as you think of him just sitting there by himself, watching you.

“Of course, after you,” he says, starting to follow you as you begin to walk around the beach, finding a couple shells easily as you start but quickly realizing that some are going to be harder to find.

You notice a bucket laying upside down on the beach and walk over to pick it up, smiling when you find one underneath it and hand it to Chris, who has agreed to carry them all for you.

“That’s 3, only 9 more to go,” he says.

“Just because I am curious, did he hide them or did you when you came here to do this for me?” You ask Chris, continuing to walk through the sand as you keep looking. Finding another one by a tree trunk that you hand to him.

“He did, I just showed up with what he told me to bring and waited for you. All of this was set up by him, each puzzle is one he came up with for you and got together, we are just helping him with them. He did send me a list of where they all are so if you take hours to find them I can help you but so far it doesn’t seem like you are going to need my help.” He teases you, nudging your side as you pick up your fifth shell, this one was was next to a pair of sandals, the same color as the ones that you lost when you two came here the first time.

When you laugh they both look at you like you are crazy, wanting the story of why you are laughing at where the shell was.

“Okay, so what is this laugh about,” your sister asks, an amused smile on her face as she watches the joy that spreads across yours.

“Remember how I lost a sandal that day, it was a pink one. I’ve given him shit ever since that he owes me a new pair of pink flip flops, I guess he replaced them for me today,” you say with a smile. “I lost it down in the water, we had to take a couple steps to get into the paddle boat and I sank into the mud, we couldn’t find it after that.”

“I remember that, you came home with mud all over your legs that night, I didn’t know that was why. That is funny,” your sister says, taking a sip of her coffee.

You find number six quickly, having made your way to the paddle boats after reliving that memory and finding one sitting on the seat of the number that the two of you had rented that day. Number 7 was right on the edge of the beach, where you had fallen in the mud that time.

“Nice try Rick, not gonna fall in it this time,” you mumble, making Chris and Kayla laugh behind you at your words. Both of them mostly letting you do your thing while they chat behind you.

You see number 8 and let out a groan. “Ugh that little fucker, Chris, can you reach that one up in the tree? We both know that I can’t,” you ask, giving Chris a sweet smile and hoping that he will just help you with it.

“I guess, not sure if that breaks the rules or not but I can,” he says, laughing and reaching it for you, quickly adding it to the bag that he has with him to put them all in. You give him a playful shove before starting back on your mission again.

Number 9 is underneath a towel that you find down the beach a little more.

“3 left, you are getting so close y/n!” Your sister exclaims, her hand giving one of yours a squeeze, encouraging you.

Number 10 is on a log that is halfway in the water, number 11 underneath it where the log sticks up. You let out a sigh, hoping that you find number 12 soon. As much as you are enjoying this you just want to move on to the next thing, want to get this show on the road. You have never been much of a patient person so having to do a task like this, that takes a lot of time and patience is starting to annoy you.

About 15 minutes later you finally notice a sandcastle in the middle of the beach, letting out a groan as you make your way over to it and notice that the last shell is sitting on the top of it, almost like it was mocking you.

“Thank fucking god, here Chris, your final shell. Can I have my letter now?” You ask, making both of them laugh at how quick you were to ask for it, ready to read what to do next and what Ricky has to say.

Baby,

You have finished the second puzzle, you are getting closer. I know this one tested your patience a bit, but I wanted it to. That day seemed to test your patience, nothing was going how we wanted it to. Both of us leaving covered in mud, you missing a shoe, me not having the guts to ask you on that date until we made it back to your house when I was dropping you off. That day really tested both of our patience.

But when we did ride that stupid swan paddle boat I remember how much you smiled, how beautiful you looked with the smile on your face as we watched the sunset from the beach that night. How well we seemed to get along despite the challenges of the day, that despite the fact most people would have been upset about the mud, about losing a sandal, you took it in stride and still enjoyed the day, that smile never leaving your face. In fact you laughed when you fell into the mud before me trying to find your sandal, the laugh that is still my favorite sound in the world.

That night showed me who you are, how positive you are, and gave me the courage to admit I liked you finally, and breathed a breath of fresh air when you said you felt the same way.

To figure out where you are to go next the shells spell it out, arrange them into words and you will know where you are to go next. When you are done let Chris keep them, he will make sure they get back to us but you have enough to carry and worry about today.

I love you, and can’t wait for you to see what else is in store.

Rick

You look at Chris, who is handing you the bag of shells after you have read the letter out loud before you take a seat on the beach. Lay them all out in front of you as you start to move shells around, figure out different words they could possibly spell before it hits you and you move them.

“Our First Date,” you say softly, looking up at your sister and Chris who are watching you as you solve this.

“Well, tell me where we need to go,” your sister says, helping you off the beach while you brush your sand off your dress.

You turn, pulling Chris into another hug and thanking him again for his part in this while he hands you your third rose.

The tag on this one reads “I love that you love me, accept me despite all my flaws and baggage.”

[incorrectsibunaquotes]

AU: Joy is the Chosen One & Patricia is her Osirian

Okay this is based off this post of mine, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot since. This is just gonna be bullet points and fragmented ideas, so if someone wants to write something along these lines fully, feel free! This goes of any of my other AUs, like my Fabian is Victor’s protege AU. Basically what I’m saying is if anyone talented wants to get creative, I’m very much cheering you on!

Anyway, without further ado, here is the AU:

Right around the same time as Mr. Sweet is gathering up the Descendants, he comes to the realization that Joy Mercer is in fact the Chosen One. Born on the right day, the right time— all of it.

Without clueing Victor into his role as the Seeker (since that’s none of his business at the time), Mr. Sweet informs his Society leader that he’s found the Chosen One.

So when the four students on the Candy Scholarship get to school, they’re all four placed in Anubis House: Joy, Patricia, Alfie, and Jerome.

Victor is beyond delighted to have the Paragon in his sights only a few years before the Chosen Hour, and he makes sure to keep her close by and unharmed from anyone who might want to exploit the Chosen One (only he’s allowed to do that, thanks).

Rufus is long gone at this point, though of course, he’s just in hiding. But the Society assumes he’s dead since he hasn’t come sniffing around in quite some time.

Right away, Joy and Patricia are thick as thieves, and the adults take notice of Patricia’s protective nature immediately.

They aren’t positive Patricia’s the Osirian— there is no bloodline marker or any special indicator to confirm or deny it one way or the other, after all. And the Osirian is typically a masculine figure— but Victor has his suspicions, keeping a watchful eye over both of them.

Naturally, disaster strikes everywhere the girls go, but they don’t give a singular shit, because growing up in a boarding school far away from your blood family, you tend to forge a different sort of bond.

Joy was a sensitive child, and before she became as popular as she was pre-S1, she faced constant ridicule from the other students for things like carrying a stuffed bunny with her to school.

Patricia got in so many fights on Joy’s behalf, it was only by the grace of her future role in the eclipse ceremony she wasn’t expelled and thrown in juvenile detention.

Both the girls have vivid dreams and nightmares, but because Sarah and Rufus are still alive, neither of them have fully come into their destined roles.

Despite oddities here and there, Joy and Patricia function as normal pre-teens most of their school life. They went to town together, watched movies together, signed up for the same classes, painted each other’s nails, shared secrets, and did all the normal things normal best friends do.

Of course, as the mythology states, if the Chosen One and Osirian are in close proximity to each other, trouble is sure to follow. A burst lightbulb here, a small fire there. One time, Amber’s curling iron short circuited and blew every fuse at the school after Joy and Patricia used it for a school dance. Little things that could be written off as coincidence, but when combined, put the Society on edge.

Until one day, two weeks into a new school term…

The Chosen Hour fast approaches, and there are whispers that Rufus has resurfaced. Though skeptical, the Society doesn’t want to dangle the carrot that is Joy Mercer, the Paragon, out in the open for Rufus to kidnap, so the Society does it first. Joy is removed from school, and erased from the records without a trace.

Mr. Sweet thinks they ought to inform Patricia, just in case she does happen to be Joy’s divine protector (he’s still not convinced his own son isn’t the Osirian, but he doesn’t tell Victor that).

Victor orders him and the other Society members to tell Patricia no such thing. He does it to see if his long-held theory was correct, and because he knows that if she is the Osirian, Patricia would do everything in her power to thwart the building of the Cup.

So when Nina arrives, Patricia is going ballistic, because why does she feel so lost and confused? She can just tell that Joy is afraid, tell that she needs her, but she can’t find Joy. And now, here’s this random girl who seems to have taken Joy’s place.

Nina still finds Sarah, and because Sarah can sense that Nina is just a kind, pure-of-heart girl (with a birth date very similar to the actual Chosen One), Sarah entrusts the locket to Nina with the instruction to find the one who can use it.

Meanwhile, Patricia is searching high and low, met with increasingly bullshit excuses as to where her best friend has gone.

She comes into contact with Rufus, who immediately clocks that this girl is exactly like him and can lead him to the Paragon.

He gains her trust and begins to slowly but surely manipulate her into doing his dirty work.

Patricia and Nina actually become cool way faster in this AU because the moment, Patricia touches the locket, it starts glowing. Nina’s like “oh, damn I guess this is yours.”

A lot of the same exact stuff that happens in S1 happens in this AU except that Patricia is the one able to use the locket. Sibuna still forms, and Nina still is de facto leader since she’s good at getting shit done and is slightly unhinged, but Patricia is one hundred percent the brawn of the operation.

She still gets kidnapped, still has all those crappy things happen to her, but now there’s a tiny voice in the back of her head guiding her through the motions.

Rufus mentions something about how their destinies align, and Patricia is like “bruh you’re crazy” but something in her knows it’s not as bonkers as it sounds.

Flash forward, Joy buys them time by very slowly building the Cup of Ankh, and Fabian and Alfie pull the same trick, so it all works out relatively the same.

Patricia and Joy are the ones to hide the Cup.

Victor is now certain that Patricia is an Osirian-to-be, and he fears what Rufus still being alive out in the world now means for Joy. She’s a full Chosen One, but her own Osirian isn’t able to fully protect her until Rufus is dead.

In the S2 plot, Joy functions as more of a Noa type character— aka: she stays the hell out of Sibuna stuff. She and Nina are still fighting over Fabian, but there’s less hurt there because there isn’t any bitterness about Joy being kidnapped for nothing, since she actually is the Chosen One.

Still, they don’t get along all that much.

Patricia is the one to get targeted by Senkhara first, because she goes to check on the Cup. She demands to know who the Chosen One is, and of course Patricia is like “lol no kys”

So she gets marked, of course, and Senkhara hates this petulant Osirian bitch. Like seriously, why doesn’t she do what she asks? Doesn’t she know her life is on the line? So she curses Piper into a coma lol. That’ll keep Patricia in line.

Nina, being the team player she is, agrees to pretend to be the Chosen One to spare Joy for Patricia’s sake. Senkhara believes it and marks her too, which of course means that Fabian, Amber, and Alfie soon follow.

A lot of the same nonsense happens Sibuna-wise, just with Patricia getting her shit mostly rocked by Senkhara (and Nina catches smoke too)

Knowing now that Eddie is safe to reconnect with, Mr. Sweet has his son enroll at school.

Patricia and Eddie are immediately beefing for all the same reasons as canon.

It’s harder for Patricia to juggle that with Sibuna, though, considering her increased role.

She still doesn’t know what an Osirian is though. She just knows that Joy is the Chosen One, and she’d rather die than see her hurt.

Still, she and Eddie are constantly bickering (flirting), and Joy’s oblivious ass is obsessed with this ship.

Patricia and Eddie get together way earlier on in the timeline of the season, after he gets brought into the Sibuna nonsense almost right away when he’s the one to save Patricia from falling down the chasm.

So now all of Sibuna (plus Eddie) is trying to find the Mask, while keeping Senkhara away from Joy, which works for a while until it doesn’t.

Joy discovers everything that Nina’s done for her once Sibuna asks her to help with the Senet game. (Patricia was very against clueing her in at all, but she was outvoted)

Joy feels super bad for her treatment toward Nina and you KNOW she put aside the baggage and was like “we are besties now and I’m gonna save you even if you totally stole my boyfriend.”

Anyway, a lot of the same stuff happens, but Senkhara discovers that Joy is the actual Chosen One and makes her wear the Mask.

Nina takes the hit for Fabian in this, and Patricia uses the crown to un-possess Joy.

Rufus rocks up, and Eddie steps in to beat the shit out of the guy who kidnapped his girlfriend. Eventually tho Rufus overpowers him and puts on the Mask.

Bye, Rufus!

Piper’s awake again! Happily ever after.

Holy shit! Now Patricia’s a full Osirian, and Joy is a full Chosen One! Wowza. Now what?

Well, bad shit starts happening more frequently. Nothing crazy, but more blown fuses, more burst lightbulbs, more small fires.

Mr. Sweet is panicking bc he needs both Joy and Patricia for this ceremony, but everyone knows that trouble always follows a Chosirian duo.

Maybe nothing bad will happen tho…?

Anyway, Patricia and Eddie don’t break up, and Nina and Amber stick around. Basically all the same stuff happens in S3 as it does in canon except Patricia’s the Osirian, and Sibuna is unified from the jump. Joy stays in Sibuna in this AU too.

KT and Patricia are fast friends, and Joy and KT hit it off immediately.

The eclipse ceremony is unsuccessfully thwarted, and RFS is as shitty as ever.

Eddie gets captured as a Sinner immediately because of course he does, and he is very much the same as Sinner!Patricia, except he targets both Nina and KT to destabilize two romantic relationships in the group (and also attack the Chosen One where it hurts: her gf)

Nina also gets captured as a Sinner, who catches Fabian, who catches Amber. Oops.

Now it’s Sibuna (Joy, Patricia, Alfie, and KT) vs Team Evil (Frobisher, Victor, Denby, Eddie, Nina, Amber, and Fabian).

World is saved eventually, but boy does it almost go so wrong.

Anyway, TOR is the same but Patricia “dies” instead, which means that Joy is officially the final Chosen One.

Everything ends pretty chill I guess. This got very lackluster toward the end I’m sorry there’s so much to cover

[talanashta]

Baby on the Way

For this prompt ("Lamaze class") for the Four or More Fic-a-thon (but unfortunately, only Stobin shows up in this, so I won't be submitting it to the event)

Rating: T | No CWs | Word Count: 1,018 | Pairings: Platonic Stobin, Background Spicy Six Plus Chrissy Polycule Additional Tags: Future Fic | Pregnancy

Continuation of the "my lonely days are gone" series. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (This one will read better with the context of the other ones)

“Oh my god, I’m so fat!” Robin complained, panting slightly and holding up her belly in both hands, as the two of them walked into the side door of the hospital building.

Steve made sure to hold both sets of doors for her as they entered and said, “You’ve got our baby in you, Robs. You’re not fat!”

“Well, I’m ready for her to come out already,” Robin countered. “The things I do for you,” she huffed, rubbing up and down her belly with one hand, the other still holding it up.

Steve was slightly behind her, so he knew she couldn’t see the face he was making. “You were the one who suggested it!”

“Only because you eventually want six kids! I figured we had to get started eventually!” she said, flailing her arms around. After quickly checking that there wasn’t anyone else in the hall with them, she added in a hiss, “And you know Chrissy couldn’t carry them, and Nancy doesn’t want it to interfere with her career.”

Steve stopped in his tracks. “Did I pressure you into this?” he asked, softly and sadly.

Robin spun around as quickly as she could at her size and started flailing again. “No, Stevie! I’m just feeling gross and big, and my body keeps doing weird things, and I just wanted to joke around.” Once she was in reach of him, she wrapped him in a hug, pressing as tightly as she could against him.

She added gently, “We’re having a baby, Steve. I’m so excited to get to do that with you. You’re going to be a great dad, and I love that. I want to give that to you, dingus.”

Steve wedged his hands between them to cup the sides of her belly and rub it softly. “Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I get to have a baby with you. I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Now come on!” Robin said. “Class is starting soon, and we still have to walk, like, half the building.” She turned and started an almost-march toward their destination, hands back to holding under her belly.

He just laughed at her and moved to catch up. “We literally only have to go around the corner and take the elevator up.”

Robin dropped her head back and let out a groan, “Giant baby inside me.”

Steve nodded. “Yep. Yep. I’ll stop arguing with you.” He wrapped an arm around her and guided her down the right turn (she always missed it), then pressed the ‘Up’ button to call the elevator.

The two chatted the rest of the way to the classroom, arriving just on time for it to start.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Buckley!” the instructor greeted when they entered the room. “Lovely to see you again. We’re just about to get started!”

They both nodded to her and took up their regular position, Robin far enough along now that Steve had to help her down to the floor.

Once Steve was settled with her, their instructor started up the class. “So, as we go into the 8th month, we’re going to shift focus onto what happens after birth, but don’t worry, we’ll go over a review of our best labor practices too…”

About two hours later, after being informed about the importance of skin-to-skin contact between mother and baby after birth and re-practicing all the techniques that were supposed to help with laboring, Steve was peeling Robin back up off the floor and getting her upright.

As they started heading out the door, the instructor started waving and flagging them down. “Mr. and Mrs. Buckley!” she called.

Steve and Robin waited for her to reach them before Steve said, “Yes?”

“I wanted to thank you! It’s been such a joy to have the two of you in this class,” she told them. “A young couple as in love as you two are is something special.”

He could hear Robin trying to hold in her laughter.

“Oh, it reminds me of myself and my husband,” the woman continued, a smile on her face. 

“And Steve! Such thoughtful questions every time we met,” she told him. “Oh, you’re possibly the most involved father I’ve ever had come! I wish you two the absolute best.” She reached out and shook both their hands.

She finished, “If you two have any more questions before the birth, my number is on your registration forms from the class, but also,” she pulls a small case out of her purse and retrieves a small piece of paper, handing it to Steve, “it’s here on my business card.

“Oh, good luck!” She beamed at the two.

Steve thanked her and said all the appropriate things as quickly as he could to get Robin out of there before she burst.

Once they were in the elevator, Robin started cracking up. “Steve!” she crowed. “We’re so in love!”

He responded with a little chuckle. “Yeah, Robbie.”

She kept laughing and laughing until the elevator dinged and they reached the ground floor. “Oh!” Robin said, stopping her laughter abruptly and flushing.

Steve instantly started panicking. “What’s wrong?” His hands ran all over her to check her over.

Before he’d worked himself up too much, Robin let out a little giggle. “I just peed my pants a little!” she told him with an awkward smile on her face. “I know she said that might happen, but I wasn’t expecting it right now.” Then she laughed some more.

Sighing in relief, he wrapped her up in his arms and giggled a little too. “You had me worried, Rob,” he said. “Do you want to go get cleaned up before we head home?”

“I don’t exactly have anything to change into, Steve,” she told him.

Steve sheepishly smiled at her. “I might have started keeping a spare pair of underwear and pants in each of the cars for you after last class when she told us it could happen.”

Robin gaped at him before teasingly smacking him on the arm. “I wondered where some of my clothes went! I thought I was going crazy!”

Read the Next Part

[mastcrmarksman]

He's been gone for some time; it's been longer for Stephen than for Clint due to time dilation, so to say that Stephen missed him would be an understatement.

Pulling Clint into a kiss, he grins. ❝ So, should I get you a CHANGE OF ADDRESS form or...? ❞

He doesn't allow Clint to answer before his lips are on his again, and the Cloak of Levitation chooses to partake in their reunion with a very thoughtful and tasteful pinch to Clint's ass.

Time was always the greatest enemy of any superhero and their mind; Clint's battle with time had to do with how long it took him to recover form anything, where in someone like Captain America might be out of days, he was always weeks. Carol could shrug off a bad hit in hours, he'd still carry a bruise for days.

Stephen being away for weeks was bound to happen, would keep happening, because that's the nature of both being superheroes. Clint doesn't really take Avenger calls much these days; although he's repaired his place with them and he still wants to be an Avenger. He's just never the right fit for the call, and he has a duty to the Thunderbolts and city of New York. Although if anyone needed him for any world saving crisis he'd be there; he'd be there if Stephen needed him. Even if all things magical were way out of his depth. Or even something he was entirely comfortable with.

Staying at the Sanctum over the month had proven two things for him. Time away absolutely makes the heart grow fonder and the Sanctum might actually be home; like he might sublet his own apartment and only visit Bed-Stuy to keep up with being the neighborhood's protector and landlord for his building. He's gotten use to the mundane chores around the Sanctum; that it's felt like home.

Being there every night happened because he rather sleep in Stephen's bed. Clint's always known that once he's really with someone, he wants to be around them all the time. Ask any of his ex-girlfriends and they'd tell that he could quite annoying in that way.

There's a new stand with bunch of barren branches in one of the corners of the room with a hood light installed above; since magical snakes were still snakes and Clint figured that Anton and Aleister had been good enough, that he'd fix them up a basking tree which he had.

The kitchen's still a war zone, but Clint's positive that Wong has made peace that this was Clint's kitchen now too and he saw the man break out leftovers from the pasta that Clint had made. Bats has been getting walkies with Lucky three times a day. He's taken several messages, all transcribed onto sticky notes and put into a stack, for when Stephen returns to sort through and figure out if he needs to still deal with that.

All that unfortunately does confirm what one annoying visitor has said. He's become a houseboy, which had been offensive when Satana had said it. He didn't believe in anything, but he had to thank someone when she had FINALLY taken off.

Clint's done the best he can with staying here; but Stephen's still missing (not literally; just in his heart). He's even killed a monster; it was a really fucked up looking rat with eyes on its back and spider legs. He stored it in the freezer because as far as Clint understands; Stephen needs to eat monsters now and again. Well, the creature had really freaked him out, but it seemed big enough to make a small meal out of... so into the freezer it had gone.

Clint's currently assembling arrowheads when a wayward sorcerer came home. His work with the Thunderbolts recently had led him to getting into more situations where arrows were left behind (it's really heartbreaking this keeps happening). So he had to stock up on arrow shafts and remake a bunch of his trick arrows; it's intricate work. Especially when he's working with his putty or explosive heads. Luckily, he's simply spooling some cable that gets stashed on his quiver for when he needs to attack it to an arrow and make a zipline or anything.

Since there very well could have been explosive being set off when the dogs startle him with their barking and there stands Stephen. From the sight of him, he can tell that it's been possibly longer than the month it's been for Clint based on his hair alone. He looks good, however and Clint's not sure who pulls the way inward first since he has suffered terribly this past month. How dare he, he's had to put up with so much, and he needs to get his hands on him and his lips on him.

❝ You ⸻ ❞ He starts to say before Stephen's cutting him off with a question. CHANGE OF ADDRESSS. Considering Clint's has set himself up a little workshop for his arsenal and his Hawkeye gear is hanging up, still needing to be sent to get cleaned; the question is more on the nose. His neighbors have taken to calling him the Hawkguy again to tease him for how little they see him besides needing him for apartment maintenance or scheduling the building a handyman.

Clint should later debate if that's a serious query he should answer. It would be easier to burn his junk mail if it was coming to the Sanctum's address. It's something to consider, and ask Stephen if he'd like that too later.

There's no complaints that could possibly leave his lips before Stephen's covering them again. Good man, smart man, because Clint's always been known for his ability to complain about anything. This next kiss is interrupted and punctuated by a yelp from an emphasized HMPHT OH from Clint as something pinches his ass. It's definitely not a hand, he knows that much.

A hand strays to slip past and rub over Stephen's back, it's a gesture not for Stephen but for the Cloak. ❝ Hey there, Red, missed you too. ❞ His other hand, however, goes to grab at the front of Stephen in his garb, fingers hooking into the top of the collar and holding him still. ❝ You owe me big time. ❞ It's been a long month after all; and he's been lonely. Doing it solo just wasn't his style. ❝ If we're not wrapped up with Red in bed, in five minutes; you're in even bigger trouble. ❞

He can deal with arrow assembly later, although things later. First, he need to get reacquainted with Stephen, who realistically probably needed a shower. After, he can worry about making food, Clint needed to tell him about the monster rat in the freezer. ❝ I took so many messages for you and look, the Sanctum didn't fall apart. ❞ He thinks that actually may be Wong's doing, but Clint's taking the credit. If only because he's treating the sex they were about to have as one part of the many rewards he deserved for suffering for a whole long month.

[sensei-venus]

Poly!Sam and Moon with pregnant!Sam and mom!reader and mom!Moon explaining to their baby girl that she's going ro be a big sister?

(Unedited) (Support Me Links🌺) (Pregnant!Sam, Pregnancy, Reader carried their first daughter, fluff/soft, domestic fluff, their daughter is around five) ( @gemini-sensei )

Everyone in the household was happy about the new and exciting idea of a baby. Moon and Reader where all giggles when the test Sam took came back positive. Lots of hugs and kisses where sheared after the news came out. Sam was a bit nervous at first but her mood soon changed as it sunk in.

Her wives where so ecstatic and loving, holding her and telling her how much they loved her.

It wasn’t their first baby as Reader had carried their first daughter. It did nothing to still give them mass amounts of joy with the new development.

At first none of them told anyone about the new baby, wanting to keep Sam calm during the first month or so of the pregnancy. Plus they wanted the down time to enjoy being a family before telling people they where expecting a second child. Then life got ahead of them a bit. They didn’t end up telling anyone until the end of her second month into the pregnancy, and it was just their families they told.

The Larusso’s where excited to have another grandchild on the way. They knew that the family was trying for another baby so when they where told they where expecting they where so happy for their daughter and daughter-in-laws.

Into the third month is when they told their friends about the pregnancy. All of them where happy for the family. Most of them joked about the idea of having more “karate baby’s” out in the world was a good thing. This was mostly from Miguel and Hawk.

Things started to get a little more intense as the women started to realize they needed to tell the most important person about the baby.

Their daughter.

It wasn’t as if they forgot or didn’t want to tell her about her new sibling, they just didn’t know how. They thought a lot about it and took time to try and figure out what they where going to do. Moon and Reader didn’t have much luck on there end besides some articles and books. Moon had no other siblings so she couldn’t ask her mom. Sam ended up asking her parents how they went about telling her as a kid about Anthony.

She was around the same age as her daughter when her parents had to tell her about being pregnant with Anthony. Honestly she couldn’t really remember the conversation they had back then about it.

They just told her that they sat her down and explained that her brother was just hanging out inside her moms belly for a while. Apparently little Sam understood, apparently she was just really easy with the news and they didn’t actually have to explain much.

Sam started to show into her third month, just enough. Her belly started to plump up a bit, her once’s flat belly starting to descend. She looked overly bloated all the time now. She couldn’t help but smile as she rubbed over her naked bump in the bathroom mirror. Her belly was silky and tight now.

It all started one night when all three girls where in bed. They where getting ready to go to bed for the night. Moon was sitting up at the head of the bed, kissing Sam’s cheek and rubbing her belly over her loss tank top. Reader was getting out of the bathroom from her night routine and telling them about her day.

Their conversation abruptly ended when the sound of heavy little feet came up to their door and a second later that door was being opened just a crack. Little eyes peered from behind the door and into the room. Staring at the three women who look back.

“Mama, mommy mom can I come in please?” Their daughters voice was shy and low. Probably nervous because she knew she shouldn’t be up this late. They had put her to bed over a hour ago.

“Of course Sweety, come on in get on the bed with Mama and Mom.” Moon said as she patted the spot next to Sam. The girl bolted into the room slamming the door shut behind her. She raced over to the bed but struggled to get up. Reader walked over and helped push her up and into the bed along side Sam. The girl scooted over and sat by her mom.

Her eyes stared at Sam’s belly, watching as Moon rubbed it in small circles. Reader got onto the bed and sat right next to her. The little girl cocked her head as she watched for a good few minutes.

“Why is Mama rubbing Mom’s belly like that? Does she have a tummy ache? Is that why her belly looks big??” The girl randomly said out loud. All of them looked at one another. This was the perfect moment to tell their daughter about her new sibling.

“No Mom doesn’t have a tummy ache, we’ll not right now at least.” Reader snickered a little, Sam’s morning sickness was not a walk in the park these days. Sam rolled her eyes before looking over at her daughter. A smile spread over her lips.

“Mama is rubbing mom’s belly because…she wants to say hi to the baby that’s in there.” Moon says gently. The toddler's eyes widen for a moment as she looks from her Mom to her belly.

“Baby??”

“Yes there is a baby in there, your sibling.”

“Can I touch mom’s belly?? How did baby get in there??” Sam nods as she takes the girl's hand and places it on the open area of her bump. Her tiny fingers rub gently at the skin. Her little mouth opens in awe as her hand runs over the now tight round skin. Sam rests bet head on Moon’s shoulder as they both watch.

“Well, you know how Mom loves me and Mama so much? Well, sometimes that love can grow, and...well a baby starts growing. When you're bigger you will understand more. But for now, your little brother or sister is in there.”

A small “wow” passes through the girl's lips as she keeps looking at her mom’s belly.

“Mom is going to get a lot bigger in the belly the more they grow inside her, but that's how we know the little one is safe and growing in there.” Moon says.

“Can I play with them??” the girl questions as she glances at her mom. Her eyes were wide with excitement at the idea of having a new friend to play with.

“Of course! But we have to wait until they come out and get a bit bigger. Then you can play with them all you want.” Sam smiles.

The girl grins and giggles before reaching up and clinging to her mom. Her hands wrapped around her neck. Sam kisses her all over the face making the girl break out into even louder giggles. All three adults laugh as well at the good change of events.

“Are you excited to be a big sister now?” Reader says as she rubs the girls back.

“Yes!!! I can't wait to be a big sister!” she laughs as she kisses her mom’s cheek.

The rest of the night is spent talking about all kinds of things. The girl keeps asking about names, when they baby will be here, and how long she has to wait to be able to play with them.

Everyone is just so happy to be having a new member of their family coming soon.

[masterwords]

no two ways about it

Summary: Hotch and Emily are old, grouchy and bitching over drinks while they wait for Derek. (Set in the retirement in Chicago universe.)

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: alcohol consumption, lots of swearing

Words:

Notes: I just wanted to have Hotch and Emily sit and bitch for a while after he's packed up all of his things from his office. And be salty with them, let them be mean to each other for a while with love. This pointless and plotless. Enjoy.

**

“You seriously downplayed the amount of paperwork involved in your job,” Emily groaned, sucking down the last drops of her bourbon. There was time to mix later, she figured, but for now...for starters...it was straight up. It was the first of the afternoon and she was in the mood to get shitfaced. Or...reasonably buzzed, anyway. She did have to get back to work at some point.

Hotch cocked an eyebrow at her assertion.

“In what way?” he asked quietly, just turning his glass between his thumb and forefinger. Around and around. She'd downed one in its entirety, save for what she'd spilled when she knocked into the table with her knee, and he hadn't even set his to his parched lips yet. “I think that my complete lack of a social life should have been a pretty good indicator.”

“Oh please!” She shouted, raising her glass to indicate to anyone who would listen that she was ready for another. And to keep them coming. In London she could just have asked them to leave her the bottle...damn she missed London. “You made it look so easy.”

There were two heavy boxes of books and memorabilia between them, file boxes they'd barely managed to lug inside the little speakeasy. They would make Derek carry them back out. Boxes that contained the life he'd lived within the walls of the BAU, his awards and medals, his books, Jack's handprints when he'd been small enough to happily endure fingerpaints and construction paper. She guessed that now his tastes ran more toward video games and bikini posters, though with Hotch for a father...maybe not the latter. She wasn't sure he would even know where to begin with those things...that kid needed Derek's influence in his life.

“My marriage fell apart because of the hours I worked, if you recall.”

“No, your marriage fell apart because you wouldn't leave the BAU for a job that didn't require you to travel so often. You know what? Let's be real here...your marriage fell apart because you chose Derek Morgan over your wife.”

He frowned at that cruelty, but he couldn't refute it. Wasn't it sort of the truth? Derek called, asked for his help, said they needed him and he came running. But was he running away from Haley and a job that would be mediocre at best, or was he running to Derek and a serial killing single father who was using his son as bait? Well, that was a question better left for another day, or maybe never. He would rather not think about comparing the two great loves of his life, and the way they each in their way drove the other to ruin. Derek allowed photos of Haley to hang on their walls and that had to be enough when it was all said and done.

Emily, with a fresh drink in her hand, relented at his silence. She crossed a line and didn't want to see how much further she could push him before he simply got up and left. He was known to do that, just up and leave. “How is it that you, of all people, managed to land Derek Morgan anyway? I tried. You know that? God...did I try...”

“That's not the way he tells it. You refused his advances...many advances, from what I understand. He was pretty taken with you.”

“Well,” she started, licking the bourbon from her purple stained lips. There was a rush of memory that flooded her, warmed her tired bones. Gideon once told her that everyone went through a phase when they started working at Quantico, no one was immune. Emily scoffed, said she preferred the fairer sex but Gideon only nodded that knowing grandfatherly nod and walked away, leaving her to her own devices. Some of which involved flirting with a man she didn't want to sleep with. “I won't speak ill of your lover...but he sure gave up awfully fast.”

“On you.” Hotch smirked then, finally taking a sip of his drink. Scotch and soda, the cubed ice clinked against the edges of the glass. He really was getting old. She didn't care much for the implication hanging in the air between them even if it was true.

“What are you saying, Hotchner?”

“Just that he knows when something is worth pursuing...” There was that damned twinkle in his eye that she loathed, and if they were in private, she would probably have punched him in the shoulder, knocked him over. She was sure she could do it.

“You're a catty old bitch, you know that?”

“Will you stay with the BAU? I know that you had intended to return to Interpol once Peter Lewis was apprehended, but with my...”

Oh, she wasn't ready for that abrupt change of topic. She calls him a bitch and he blindsides her with that? She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, interrupting him mid-thought. Before he had a chance to say something endearing...she didn't want it.

“Your betrayal.”

“Yes, of course, with my betrayal...will you go back to London, or will you stay?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Hotch, to his credit, forced a smile. The kind that read as weary, world-worn, like he understood more than she did. And he'd come by that knowledge through years of pain. His voice was quiet and forlorn. “Everyone has a choice.”

“I don't know. It does seem easier now, the idea of putting down roots. I don't mean to be rude, but without you there it feels...less like I'm intruding on something. Playing in someone else's sandbox. After I died, it was just...aw shit. It was just hard, you know? Knowing what you and JJ did for me, what the team went through on my behalf...but hell. I'm over it now. Shiny new Emily, right?”

He nodded, understanding in some way. He was sort of in the thick of that right now himself, coming to terms with his old life being out of reach and a new life stretching out before him. Uncharted territory. Her words stung, he wouldn't deny that, but he did understand it. She'd never really been able to re-establish her life after her death, and while the team moved on and forgave them all...she hadn't. She looked at him losing weight rapidly and knew what lengths he'd gone to, what he'd sacrificed on her behalf, and it would never be okay. She could never go back to where they'd been. He risked it all for her life, and he would have done the same for any of them in the same position...but the thing was, she was never supposed to come back. He grieved her like they all did, he moved on like they did. He didn't keep tabs; he didn't ask questions. She was dead and buried, for her own safety and the team's because she knew...it hadn't just been for her. It was to keep all of them safe. With her dead and buried, Doyle wouldn't target the BAU, and even then they dispersed like leaves on the wind.

And yet...here they were. Square one. Older, maybe wiser, definitely tired. And a little bitter.

“Good. They need you.”

“Oh horsehit. Finish that drink, dammit. I'm practically drinking alone here. I do not drink alone.” She was already hailing her next, frustrated that he wasn't keeping up. He never really had, but he used to at least try. He looked so old, so worn, but also somehow happier than he had in years. Maybe ever. Derek was good for him. And, in that turn, she knew he was good for Derek too. It was rare that a couple achieved the kind of balance that they came by so naturally.

She might have been a little jealous, but that would go to their heads so she wouldn't let on.

“I can't toss them back like I used to,” he answered mournfully, sipping a little more. “My stomach can't handle it. It's already complaining.”

“Soft. You've gone soft.” She paused, reclining a little in her seat and nudging him with the toe of her boot playfully. She still couldn't believe he was sitting across from her in this little speakeasy that smelled like old leather and booze. “I know what you mean though. I'll have a hangover for a week after this. One drink and I pay for it. Getting old fucking sucks.”

“I injured my back two nights ago,” he offered, finally finishing off his drink. She gave him a look of concern, glancing first at him, then the boxes he'd just stubbornly carried from her office down to the bar, and he smiled that infuriating smile of his. The one that was meant to be reassuring but only filled her with anger. “I'm fine. It's nothing, just strained I suppose.”

“What did you do?”

“I slept. I went to bed feeling fine and woke up hardly able to stand up straight.”

“Oh,” she started, staring into her third or fourth glass of bourbon with some apprehension. Hangover imminent. “I bet your honey rubbed that sore spot right out with his big strong hands...”

“He did no such thing.” Hotch paused, pursing his lips, eyes wide. It wasn't that he was scandalized, but talking like this in public did make him feel a little on edge. “I was home alone. He works much earlier than I do, and I tend to sleep in these days. I called in sick and laid in bed all day if you can believe that. I read an entire book.”

“Wait wait wait...you sleep now? You actually sleep? You sly sonofabitch. You set me up. It's been weeks since I've slept more than 3 hours a night and you're over here sleeping in? Calling in sick and laying in bed? I'm starting to feel like I've been tricked...”

“No one forced your hand, Emily. You missed them and you came back willingly.”

“Yeah, okay, I missed them but your job sucks.”

“Your job. Your job sucks.”

“Ohhhhh...you know what? You know what? You're cut off. No more drinking for you, Aaron. I don't think I like you drunk.”

“I'm not drunk.” He hadn't even ordered a second drink, poking at her was too fun to be distracted from.

“No more for you. I, however, need another. Pronto.”

Hotch did finally order a second drink, but at his request it was more soda than scotch. He wasn't lying, his stomach couldn't handle that kind of assault anymore. It never really could but he used to try harder, be more willing to deal with the consequences...he'd lately grown accustomed to a different lifestyle. His misery was not a given any longer. Not anymore than was necessary, anyway. A certain amount was owed to the damage he'd done to his body in his younger years, either at his hand or with his permission, but he wasn't in the market for new problems.

Emily, however, sucked down two more before she ceased. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know.”

“And him. I love Derek too. Even though he took you from me, from the team. I bet you would have come back if not for his pretty face...”

Hotch, smiling a little sadly, wouldn't deny her that. He had very little to live for outside of that, when you really dug down to it. He wasn't too proud to admit it. But there was Jack, and there was Derek and there was Hank, and that was three very good reasons to not only live, but thrive. At fucking last.

“This may come as a shock to you, but he didn't actually ask me to stay in Chicago,” Hotch said quietly. She stared at him, eyes wide and wild in the dim light of the bar. She'd assumed that Derek professed his love in some grand way, begged him to please stay, move in...maybe even given him a key. To hear that he'd done no such thing gave her pause. “He'd been operating under the assumption that I would go back. To Virginia, certainly, and likely to the BAU. Jack asked to stay and as it turned out, I had no actual desire to leave either. My mind had been made up about the BAU from the moment we left. Chicago took a little longer.”

"Jack likes Chicago huh?”

“He does. He's happy there, and I think I've done enough damage...he deserves to have a say in our lives.”

“So Jack said no more serial killers.”

“He did. In fewer words, perhaps, but yes.”

“Could he do that for me, too?”

Hotch smiled and glanced up in time to watch Derek's shadowy figure come through the open doorway of the bar.

“When you're ready, give me a call. I'll have him quote you a price for his services.”

Bending forward, Derek pressed a kiss to the top of Hotch's head. That was one of the few PDAs Hotch would allow, even though he could have done without Emily seeing it.

“You losers ready to hit the road? This place is lame. What is that, elevator music?"

Derek, ushering them along quickly, hefted both boxes into his arms while Emily paid the entire tab. Hotch stood slowly beside the table, rubbing absentmindedly at the small of his back...that chair hadn't done him any favors. Maybe he would ask Derek to rub his back later, that idea hadn't sounded half bad. Slowly he gazed around the bar, taking it all in. Some part of him knew he wouldn't be back to Virginia for some time, and it was possible he may never come down to this area of town again. With no real attachment to Quantico any longer, it didn't seem likely that he'd have any reason to come this way. There was a peacefulness in that realization. He'd anticipated some sadness, some remorse, and gladly found none. He had moved on.

“You wanna come back to the hotel for a few more drinks? Order some room service?” Derek asked, and Emily glanced at her watch apprehensively.

“Because of you and your siren song, I have a fuck-ton of paperwork to finish...I'll text you losers when I get done and see if you're still awake. Maybe we can have ourselves a nightcap.”

“Sure,” Hotch said, knowing that it wouldn't happen. That Emily would be at work until she couldn't concentrate anymore, until she was practically falling asleep or vibrating out of her skin and then she'd catch a cab home. Because Emily hated goodbyes and this sure as hell felt like a big one. “Text Derek. I may be asleep.”

She did punch him in the shoulder this time, scrunching her nose in disgust.