#chapter 2: shards of a broken dream

[parasitic-dreams-au]

ooooohhhh! :)

-miley

*Magma has a horrified look on his face, but not because of Miley.... no... more like a certain someone behind Miley with swirling eyes and looking for revenge.*

[fizzyxcustard]

Covert Eyes (25)

Prologue| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery, abduction, hostage situation, PTSD, torture mention.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy is now working for MI-5, after being recruited by Ros. But will her involvement with Lucas cause even more problems and heartbreak?

When Amy's parents get involved, how will things pan out for Amy and Lucas?

Official soundtrack list:  here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. People who don't engage are gradually being removed from my tag list.

This fic does have an ending in sight...finally. :)

Feedback, comments and suggestions are always very valuable. My messages and ask box (including anons!) are open.

Thank you so much to those of you who have remained with me through this journey writing this story, and while we are very close to the end of this story, it's not the end of Lucas and Amy! ;)

Morning sickness began, or at least got stronger; Amy couldn’t quite tell. Most mornings that Amy had got up in the last month and she had felt nauseous, probably due to her anxiety spikes, and not just the hormones beginning to surge.  

On the day that Amy was due to meet with Ros and she could barely keep any food in her stomach. Two rounds of toast had been immediately thrown back up. Three days later would be Amy’s booking appointment, where she would speak to a doctor or midwife face to face and begin the process of booking her first scan.

Amy was shaking in the bathroom, unable to control the emotions that were flooding her. She couldn’t face the mirror and turned away, feeling the tears begin to fall. They had been relentless the last six weeks. And after she had been faced with three positive pregnancy tests and then been pushed away again by Lucas, that huge, gaping hole in her gut had grown exponentially. It was overpowering her now, rendering her broken. 

Nights were the worst. Amy was left alone with nothing but her thoughts, and she would always think of Lucas. She replayed the memories of when he tickled her under the bedclothes, when he would come behind her in the kitchen and wind his arms around her, the feel of his hand in hers, the smell of his cologne, the sound of his voice. Every night and she prayed he would contact her, but he didn’t. Her texts and WhatsApp remained empty of any new messages from Lucas North. 

Even her dreams reflected her deep longing for him, and the emptiness that was dragging her down, pulling her into a black sea of nothingness. Upon waking she would remember shards of her dreams in which she was calling for him, crying out, begging. And when she woke, she would feel tears clinging to her cheeks. 

Ros waited for Amy in a Costa, which was in the city centre of Coventry. She slipped away towards the back of the shop and waited. It wasn’t long before she saw Amy’s familiar figure step into the building. 

Amy stopped, scanned the sea of heads and then nodded as she caught Ros’ gaze. 

“What would you like? I’ll get it,” Ros offered with a faint smile. 

“Just a cup of tea, please. I need to keep it a little more bland. I’ve been really sick the last day or two,” Amy said. 

Ros didn’t answer, but instead walked to the counter and placed her order. 

Amy sat down, being temporarily taken back to the café she frequented with Lucas. The place where it all began just over a year ago. It would be their one year anniversary the following week if they had still remained together. The night when Amy had fully let him in, the beginning of their rocky relationship.

Amy watched Ros order their drinks. Why did these people sacrifice everything in their lives just for the sake of a job? What was it about MI5 that was so special? They had given up their normal lives, friends, family, for this job. Lucas thought he could have a normal life, but that had all turned out to be false. No one had a normal life. The long list of casualties on the job proved that. Amy had heard about many of them. Surveillance operatives who had found themselves in deeper shit than they could have ever imagined. 

A tightness was growing in Amy’s chest now, that sensation which had been a friend of hers since Lucas left her life. She woke up with it every morning now, sometimes accompanied with a tension headache and a sense of dread at facing a new day. 

“What should I do?” Amy asked simply, as Ros placed the drinks down on the table. “Lucas is adamant that my parents are right, and has told me he’ll come to the scans and birth but won’t be with me. How can I get through to him?” 

Ros sighed and began opening a sachet of sugar. “Lucas is stubborn at the best of times. But if you want to be together enough then you’ll do it. Lucas wants you safe, and neither of us can argue with that.” 

“I’m not worth the fight for him.” 

“No, it’s not that at all,” Ros said, shaking her head for emphasis. “I’ve known him about three years now, and never saw him as content as when he was with you. He finally seemed at peace with himself. You really bring out the best in him, and he adores you. Never think anything less than that. Lucas never does anything by half measure, especially when it comes to you.” 

Amy looked down into her lap and felt the tears come again. “I wish he would let me make up my own mind. He’s always making decisions for me.” 

“I know, and I’ve told him that. By your parents and Lucas protecting you, they’re suffocating you. We’ve all got to make our own way in life sooner or later. I’ve made enough of my own choices in life, some good and some bad. I know full well that this job comes with risk to those you love. I lost someone I loved through it.” 

“I’m so sorry, Ros. I had no idea,” Amy replied. 

Ros smiled at Amy. “You didn’t know him, but you’ve probably heard his name mentioned. Adam Carter. Things wouldn’t have worked out between us. I always knew that. The job kept us apart, but he died on the job, same as his wife, Fiona. MI5 will either make or break you, Amy. But either way, once you’re in, you don’t leave. You and Lucas are truly devoted to each other, and you deserve happiness.” 

***

“You’re approximately twelve weeks,” the midwife told Amy. “Baby is growing well. Seems quite active.” 

Then Amy heard it: the first actual sound of her baby’s heartbeat. Amy smiled, staring at the screen, looking at the moving mass. Sharon held Amy’s hand, watching her daughter’s face as it lit up for the first time in six weeks since being home in Coventry. 

“I estimate your due date approximately the last week of August.” The midwife wiped the gel from Amy’s stomach and paused the image on the screen, printing the scan. “I’ll book you for your next scan, and hopefully then we can determine the sex of the baby, if you want to know.” 

Amy smiled. “I’d love to know. I always had it planned out in my head that if I had children, I’d want to know. It helps me get to know them better.” 

The midwife, a middle-aged lady with short greying hair and glasses, smiled. “That’s nice,” she said simply. 

Amy looked away and sighed. Of course the midwife wouldn’t be as interested; she saw dozens of pregnant women every day, and no doubt they all sounded like a broken record to her. 

Would Lucas want to know the sex of their child? He should have been here, but Amy couldn’t stand the idea of him being half in and half out, having to see him at scans but not being able to go home with him. Everything at the moment was a mixture of emotion, and it was confusing. One minute she was sad, the next angry. The grief of an ended relationship, and the anger of Lucas making the decision he had, alternated frequently, like a whirlwind. 

In the car and Amy sat in the passenger seat, her thumb trailing the curve of the baby’s head. “Should I send a copy to Lucas?” she asked absently. 

“I still think it’s best he has no part in this,” Sharon hissed. “We’ll all pull together as a family, we always do.” 

***

Time passed, weeks turning into months. 

Amy felt the tension and anxiety lessen, as the nausea got worse by her fifth month, and then eased again. The fluttering sensations began, something she knew was inevitable as the baby grew. Her stomach was becoming harder and more prominent, resting a little heavier on the waist of her trousers. 

Ros still remained in touch, having formally put Amy on early maternity leave after two months of sick leave. She had done all she could to keep the position open for Amy and also enable money to continue coming in, so she at least had something to live off. 

Lucas was silent. Sometimes his deafening silence brought her to tears in the middle of the night as she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, praying he would be back beside her one day. She tried to imagine what the baby would look like, giving it Lucas’ grey blue eyes. But thinking on the baby’s appearance, always caused her to break down again. 

***

Over a hundred miles away, in London, Lucas sat at the dining room table. He stared at the wall, the lifeless atmosphere of the place seeping into every fibre of his being. Three and a half months now he had lived by himself, haunted by Amy. Every inch of the place reminded him of her. After all, it was her flat originally. Living with her had been bliss; he would kiss her on his way out of the door, or at the main door to their office as they travelled in, pining for the end of the day when he would see her again. 

Lucas walked slowly into the kitchen and looked out of the window, into the communal garden. It was growing dusk, with longer days moving in as the weeks passed quickly through spring. He thought of Amy, imagining her sitting in the garden, holding a baby on her lap, reading her old battered copy of The Hobbit, with a warm sun high in the sky. He had given her the ultimate gift, the one thing she had wanted for a while now, but he couldn’t enjoy it with her. Lucas knew she would be an amazing mother; doting, kind, eager to play and re-live her own childhood through their little one. 

Work seemed to be the only thing that got Lucas through each day, making him soldier on in this empty existence. It felt like being back in prison. Rather than being locked in a cell, he was locked in loneliness within his own mind. Memories of Amy were all around him. Would he ever be able to let go? The more he pondered on that fact, the more he knew the answer. The years Lucas had spent with Elizabeta had revolved around their work as operatives, and upon his return to the UK from Russia, their temporary ties were still work-based, her being his handler. The months with Sarah were, again, work-based. Everything revolved around MI5. Amy was so different. Their relationship had been built away from work, despite work being the thing that was constantly pushing them toward breaking point. Their love for each other was almost innocent, pure. It didn’t revolve around necessity. 

One way to numb the pain was alcohol. In the last few weeks and Lucas had welcomed whiskey and vodka into his life on a more permanent basis. The bedside table housed half empty bottles. 

Lucas even made himself feel the pain of showers, turning on the fast jet of water so he could be taken back to his days of torture in Lushanka. Re-live the waterboarding, where ice cold water was thrown over him as he begged for mercy and tried desperately to hold onto the information the Russians so badly wanted. He deserved the pain and the anguish. Beneath the water he shivered and wept, waiting and wishing for everything to end. Then maybe upon his deathbed, he could at least see her one last time in his moments of euphoria. 

That night and he sat on the edge of the bed, downing whiskey from the bottle. He rubbed his stubbled chin and stared aimlessly through the gloom. 

Amy was so ready to fight for you and you just let her go. 

But she needs to be protected. Her and the baby. 

You want her and she wants you. Fuck what her parents think. 

The arguments raged. Back and forth the voices went, turning into whispers the more that Lucas drank from the bottle. 

Tears trickled down Lucas’ cheek as he picked up his phone, and for the first time in months, he sent a single message to Amy. The alcohol had worn his inhibitions right down. 

I love you. 

***

Amy stared at the message, unable to comprehend that Lucas had actually sent her something. He’d been silent now for months, so she had taken this as her sign to leave him be and go through her pregnancy alone. The timestamp on the message was 2:04am. Messages in the dead of night were always a cry for help in some way. She whispered his name, still feeling stunned and not sure what to do. 

A few hours passed and Amy still wondered what on earth to do with the message from Lucas. She’d looked back at the message multiple times, making sure that she wasn’t imagining it all. But it was still there. Three simple, desperate words. 

An incoming call came from Ros. 

“Hi, Ros. Is everything okay?” Amy asked, trying to force a cheerful tone. 

“I wish I could say it was,” she replied. “Lucas didn’t turn up for work this morning, and has been coming in smelling of drink. Amy, he’s not doing well. He needs you.” 

Amy sighed and swallowed hard. “He’s stubborn, Ros. No matter what I say and do, he won’t let me come back. You know he won’t.” 

“Something tells me not this time.” 

A short time later and Amy was staring at a letter she had left on her parents’ dining table. She had explained that she needed to go back to London and was taking the next available train out to London Euston. Amy knew her parents would go absolutely ballistic, especially her mum. But there was no way she could let Lucas remain alone and suffer. 

Lucas had suffered enough in his life and all Amy wanted was to see him find peace, wherever and whoever he found that with. He deserved peace; after all, he put his life on the line daily to protect the UK public. Of course he deserved some peace. She wanted to embrace him, comfort him, just be there and hold him during his dark hours. 

On the train an hour later and Amy flicked through her purse, checking that she had enough cash to get her across London to her old flat. But as she rummaged in the coin compartment, she felt something long against her fingers. It was her original flat keys; two of them held together on a ring. One got her through the front door into the lobby area, and the other got her into the flat itself. Why had she kept them all this time? Was it because she always knew she would one day be going back? 

The flashing of buildings and landscape somehow soothed her, while a teenage girl of around sixteen years of age sat next to Amy, flicking through Instagram, and occasionally posing in her front facing camera. 

The closer she got to London and the more she could feel the fluttering in her belly, which was now showing. 

For a second, she placed her hand on her bump and smiled. 

We’re going to see your daddy. 

Apprehension and excitement both rose inside Amy. She had missed Lucas more than she could ever express, and while on the underground and then walking the street, getting closer to the flat, she could feel her anxiety taking hold. 

The last time she had been in London and it had been cold, but now it was mild, a sure sign of spring. It was just after six in the evening when she made it to her old building and looked at the familiar sight. Sadness rose in her chest and she thought back on the day she had moved in, nervous at the prospect of a new beginning. Now she had another new beginning on the horizon, one that involved a new person, a new life. 

Amy let herself into the main front entrance of the building, and then walked down the corridor to flat number three. With a deep breath, she knocked, waiting for a response. 

***

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[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, ch7

chapter seven: survival

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 7, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-6, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: nightmares, drowning; canon-typical blood, violence, gore, & death. y'all know the drill by now, i think.

If your dreams were vivid before, you’re not even sure how to describe them now. The moment you close your eyes, you’re transported somewhere else. Suddenly, you’re walking with bare feet on muddy soil when wrists shoot out of the damp earth, grabbing onto your ankles and yanking you back through dirt until you fall down next to a decaying corpse… 

Then you’re swimming through a sea of broken glass, every movement burying shards further into your skin. Your blood slips through the fragments, a crimson bubbling sea rising around you until you’re being pulled under by the ferocious current… 

…You’re restrained on an autopsy table, a surgeon making an incision down your chest. Your chest aches, but you suspect the feeling isn’t just from the scalpel. Sure enough, you feel something clawing at your chest cavity and you lurch forward against the iron manacles forcing your wrists down. Claws prickle against your skin and, suddenly, a bright bird bursts from your chest and flies about the room… 

Then you’re standing across from Hannibal, as he stares at you from his confines. He presses his fingertips to the glass boundary and it crumbles to dust in the stale air. For a moment, when you blink, you see bloodstained antlers branching out from Hannibal’s head. When you blink again, he is standing impossibly closer. You’re screaming at yourself to move, run, but you’re entirely frozen. Just as he reaches out, there’s an impossibly loud blaring sound… 

You open your eyes to find yourself tangled in your bedsheets, your alarm making incessant noise. You reach out to grab your phone and turn off the alarm, before rubbing a hand over your face as you try to ground yourself to reality. These dreams of yours aren’t helping your sleep at all, and you sometimes find yourself staying up later in the foolish hopes of outrunning the horrors you know you’ll be met with when you close your eyes. 

There’s a buzzing sound ringing in your ears—an aftereffect of the dream. You clamp your hands over your ears, surprised that the effort actually dampens the sound. Then you glance at your nightstand and realize that your phone is ringing. You stare at it for a few moments in confusion, before groaning and picking it up. There’s an incoming call from Jack—you immediately accept and push yourself up to a sitting position, before bringing the phone to your ear. 

Jack neglects a greeting. “There was a murder,” he says. Immediately, all of the thoughts you’d been trying to push away—namely, the Tooth Fairy killings and your conversation with Hannibal—come flooding back. You take a short breath in. “A prisoner at Baltimore State Hospital died yesterday; he choked on his own tongue.”

Foreboding clings to your skin like a vice. Jack doesn’t need to provide any more detail, because you can already picture—with almost complete certainty—who the victim was. All you need to do is close your eyes and remember the disgusting feeling of saliva on your cheek, followed by the ice-cold shiver that ran down your spine as you saw the fury gleaming in the Ripper’s eyes. Just as you expect, Jack confirms that the victim was Miggs—the same inmate who you had that rather unpleasant interaction with but a few days ago. 

You’re lost for words. Thankfully, Jack isn’t expecting an answer from you. “Chilton wants you here,” he continues, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. “Now.” You’re still sitting in bed at this point—and Frederick Chilton isn’t exactly a person you’d rush out of bed to assist. 

“Tell him I’ll be there this afternoon,” you answer after a moment’s contemplation. You have plans to visit Abigail today—which you refuse to reschedule. Plus, you need to review the case files and autopsy reports before returning to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. “And if that’s not soon enough… then too bad.” Chilton isn’t your boss—Jack Crawford is. And you know Jack has far more pressing issues than a house call from a hospital administrator. 

Your suspicions are correct, because Jack doesn’t argue. “Got it.” The call ends and you groan, rubbing a hand over your face roughly in an attempt to fight off your exhaustion. It’s a bit earlier than you intended to be awake, but you know you won’t be able to fall asleep again. Conceding defeat, you brush your teeth and get dressed before heading out to the kitchen for a light breakfast. 

Not long after, you find yourself taking notes on what you know of the Tooth Fairy so far as you sit on your back porch, wind whipping at your skin. The cigarette dangling between your fingers is a small comfort, and it doesn’t provide nearly enough warmth as you desire. Even as you try to focus on the imminent threat—the Tooth Fairy—all you can think about is your interaction with Hannibal. You should have known that he would aim to harm Miggs. Indeed, that vicious snarl on Hannibal’s face was indicative of what was to come. You should’ve fucking known. Then, maybe another person wouldn’t be dead. Then, maybe you wouldn’t be sitting on your porch with this selfish guilt crawling around in your chest. You have no right to be guilty—you practically allowed that murder to happen.

…Right? 

You’ve caught yourself getting stuck in that mindset rather often recently. Your psyche loves to assign you the guilt and award you the responsibility. Sometimes, you know it’s deserved. But, in cases like this—in situations like the murder of Miggs, where you were just a bystander—you feel like you’re giving yourself too much credit. 

There’s only so much time you can spend mulling over the details of the Tooth Fairy killings and refreshing your memory before you find yourself growing agitated. You’re buzzing with restless energy, your foot tapping against the deck impatiently. Your thought process has grinded to a halt; the just barely visible trail has now gone cold. It’s frustrating to have so little information on this killer, especially when you know exactly when he will kill next. You feel as if you’re just fighting against the inevitable, at this point. But murder should never be inevitable. The BAU needs to find a way to get this guy behind bars. 

You shake your head and push yourself to your feet, collecting your materials into a relatively coherent pile and moving back inside. The sky is looking a bit overcast, and you’d rather not have raindrops scattered across the files. Besides, it’s nearly time for your visit with Abigail, you realize as you look down at your watch. 

You’ve been visiting her off and on since the encounter with her father in their home—since he sliced his daughter’s throat and stared right through you, those eerie, dusty green eyes pinning you in place with ease-

Safe to say, your memories of Garret Jacob Hobbs still aren’t buried, even after so many years. He’s the first of the many voices sounding in the cacophony of your mind. 

You push thoughts of the murderer aside and walk up the path towards the building. You sign in with the receptionist and walk over to the waiting area, taking a seat on the couch. It doesn’t take long before Abigail makes an appearance, and the two of you exchange greetings before you walk outside, settling on one of the benches under a willow tree. The wind rustles through the leaves and there’s a slight chill to the air, but it’s far from unpleasant. You place your hands on your knees and try to pretend as if you aren’t feeling tense. You’re here to speak with Abigail—you can abandon thoughts of bloodstains and corpses until you leave. 

For a few minutes, Abigail and you sit on the bench in companionable silence. You get the feeling that Abigail is trying to figure out her next words, and your instinct is proven correct when she breaks the silence moments later. “I’ve been placed into a foster home,” she reveals. 

You raise your eyebrows and try to study her reaction. She doesn’t exactly look thrilled. Actually, on second thought, Abigail looks as if she wants to be happy—but she’s preventing herself from being hopeful. You suppose that’s a normal reaction, for someone who’s been through what she’s been through. “That’s wonderful news, Abigail,” you say with a smile. The smile on her face flickers and you frown. “What’s the matter?”

Abigail sighs, clasping her hands in her lap. She is being uncharacteristically evasive. You decide to be patient and wait for her to gather her composure. Eventually, she takes a deep breath. “I… I’m scared.” The admission seems to take a lot out of her. She’s avoiding your gaze now, staring ahead at the building she’s been practically trapped in since she woke from her coma. 

“What are you scared of?” You hum, genuinely curious. You don’t want to patronize her, so you try to ensure that your expression is as open and honest as possible. 

Abigail is silent for a bit. “Disappointing them,” she eventually admits. You try to digest that confession. “And I feel like… I don’t deserve this. After everything I’ve done…” Everything she has done, indeed. Abigail was not entirely innocent in her father’s crimes—and she was more than just complicit. She helped him source his victims, pretended to make friends with them so that they would let their guard down. Maybe that’s why you have formed such a kinship with Abigail: you both know cruelty; Abigail and you have both been victims and perpetrators. “What if they don’t like me?” Abigail whispers, so quietly you nearly convince yourself you imagine it.

Then you’re abruptly reminded that, above all, Abigail is still a young girl—practically a child. Your throat burns a little as you process her statement. “They’ll love you, Abigail.” You’re quick to reassure her. 

“What if they don’t?” Her voice cracks and your heart breaks a little. 

“Then you can make a break for it,” you respond with a dramatic wink. The remark successfully diffuses the tension that had been settling in the air and Abigail laughs. A small part of you wants to offer for her to stay with you, but you know that’s a foolish promise to make. You suppose it’s normal to want a family—every human craves connection, in one way or another… regardless of how that connection may manifest. But you’re not deluded enough to think that you have all the necessary tools to be a parental figure to Abigail. You’re busy enough fighting off your own demons. Abigail deserves a normal life, and you’re not able to give that to her. 

(Maybe, in another world, you would be able to provide her with a quiet, ordinary life and a loving home. Maybe, in this other world, you would have someone to share that responsibility with you—someone who cares about Abigail just as much as you, someone who would protect her with all the ferocity and compassion that she deserves. Someone like…)

Your thoughts are veering into dangerously fantastic territory. You shake your head and try to shift your focus back to the conversation, ignoring the deluded (but compelling) calls of domesticity and belonging. Ultimately, you have never belonged. And you don’t see that changing any time soon. 

“So… it may be a while before I see you again,” Abigail says, tearing you out of your reverie. You stare at her for a few moments. 

“That’s okay,” you then reassure her, upon seeing the guilt written all over his face. “You’ll be busy—going to school, hanging out with friends. You won’t even think about an old geezer like me.” You smile, hoping to cheer her up further. Your efforts seem to work, because a smile rises on her lips. 

“Shut up,” Abigail says with an amused huff. “That’s not true.” 

“It is true,” you say, a fond smile growing on your face. You hope she’ll be able to move on from all this and live a normal life: go to school; hang out with friends; and engage with her hobbies. You can only hope that Abigail’s father doesn’t haunt her mind the same way he haunts yours. “And I wouldn’t want anything less for you.” You maintain. 

A pleasant silence descends across the air once more. A gentle wind blows through the trees and Abigail sighs. You mimic the gesture and she smiles. You’re not sure how long the two of you remain seated in companionable silence before an orderly appears in the doorway of the building and taps her wrist, indicating that your time is almost up.

You dig your hands in your pockets and find the item you intended to give her, turning it over in your hand and hesitating for a moment. Abigail follows your gaze and looks at it. You realize it’s too late and take a deep breath, offering her the object. “If you ever need me,” you say pointedly. 

Abigail takes your business card and looks down at it, raising her eyebrows. “Ooh, how professional,” she teases. You roll your eyes. The orderly motions pointedly and a sudden sincerity stifles the air. “I’ll make sure to text you.” She promises, the resolute gleam in her eyes indicating that she will not go back on her word.

You stand up and she does the same, before turning towards you and reaching forward to hug you. There’s a kind of sadness lingering in her movements, in the unspoken way she tucks her head into your chest and stays there. It’s clear she’s still nervous about the whole foster parent affair, and you don’t blame her. “They’re going to love you,” you assert, resisting the uncharacteristic urge to ruffle her hair. 

“I hope so,” she murmurs against your shoulder. 

“They will,” you reassure her. They’d better, you think darkly. The two of you eventually break apart and Abigail regretfully traipses back to the building, leaving you to walk to your car with conflicting feelings of relief and stress. You get the feeling you’ll see Abigail again, but it may be a little while. You’ll be busy with work and she’ll be busy adjusting to a new lifestyle—a peaceful one. 

Overall, your visit with Abigail was a welcome distraction from everything going on; unfortunately, the moment you start your car and pull out of the parking lot, all of your anxieties come rushing back. You’re supposed to meet with Frederick Chilton. Supposedly, he wants to speak with you. You can only hope that your conversation won’t be centered around getting you to participate in a consultation appointment with him. 

And, to your immense fortune, Chilton doesn’t mention a consultation appointment once. Perhaps he’s finally accepted that you’re not interested in participating in a vulnerable conversation with him (or a conversation at all, if you’re being perfectly honest). Instead, he levels you with a wary gaze as you enter his office, his eyes tracking your every movement. You settle for standing in front of his desk with your hands shoved in your pockets. Admittedly, you’re feeling pretty restless—but you don’t want to give Chilton the satisfaction of knowing that. 

“You wanted to see me.” You prompt, after a few seconds pass and the administrator doesn’t make any move to address you.  

“I’m assuming Jack has briefed you,” he says, cutting right to the chase. You nod and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “The prisoner who died was Miggs… His cell was near Lecter’s.” You aren’t very surprised and the thought briefly makes you feel guilty, before you remember why exactly Miggs was imprisoned. “When I went to review the security footage, I noticed something interesting,” Chilton continues ambiguously.

The look on his face is nothing short of pure suspicion. You’re quickly losing patience with this circular conversation. “What?” You demand tersely. 

Chilton doesn’t seem surprised by your sudden rudeness. Instead he just exhales slowly, clasping his hands on his desk and looking at you with an unreadable expression. “There was an altercation between you and the victim.” He states. 

“Yes, he spit on me.” You recall, unable to hide your distaste. Chilton grimaces in sympathy. It’s a fleeting gesture—one that is performed for pretense, rather than out of genuine sentiment. Although, you’re sure he’s had similar experiences with prisoners—what with his position as the hospital’s head administrator. 

“Immediately after, you spoke to Lecter.” Chilton continues. This is just one of the numerous reasons you don’t like Frederick Chilton: when he has the opportunity to speak, he monopolizes it. He likes hearing the sound of his own voice, so he’ll go into painful and unnecessary detail for his own amusement. You always struggle with being patient in these moments, and right now is no exception. “Then, hours later, Miggs turns up dead. That seems like more than mere coincidence.”

You grit your teeth, catching the implications of his statement immediately. “You think that I spoke to Lecter and ordered him to kill Miggs?” You repeat, a little indignation seeping into your voice. You’re trying your best to remain calm, but it’s difficult when you’re being accused of a murder you didn’t commit. “Why would I do that?”

“Miggs spit on you, disrespected you,” Chilton answers. It’s an incredibly weak justification, and it almost looks as if he regrets uttering it. In your infinite generosity, you give him a few moments to take it back. But he doesn’t move to apologize or rescind his remark, so you’re forced to acknowledge it.

“My pride isn’t that easily wounded,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I think you know I didn’t sic Lecter on him just for a simple discourtesy.” 

“Men have been killed for far less.” That may be true, but you wouldn’t kill someone over a small act of disrespect. You want to think you wouldn’t kill at all, but you’re afraid it’s a bit too late for that. Your victims cackle in your ears, reminding you of your cruelty and hypocrisy. 

Chilton is staring at you expectantly. You remember that it’s your turn to respond. “Yes, it’s probable that Lecter killed Miggs,” you acquiesce. “But I didn’t ask him to do that.” He did it of his own accord, you know. Arguably even more frightening. 

“Even so…” Chilton breaks off. 

“Just stop,” you interject, before he can hurl any more unfounded conjecture at you. “You’re grasping at straws here. Not to mention, if you checked the security footage, you would know that I left the building after that encounter. There’s no way I would’ve been able to get back in and have another conversation with Hannibal.” You don’t notice the slip until you see Chilton raise a brow, and you’re quick to continue speaking. “Besides, if you wanted to know what he said to me, you could’ve just asked.” You suspect that’s been the prime motivator for this conversation. Chilton likely knows that you didn’t commit the murder—he’s just trying to lead you into a verbal trap in which you reveal details of your conversation. 

“Very well,” Chilton acknowledges with a gesture of mock-surrender. “What did he say to you? The footage shows you about to leave, before you return to Lecter for a few moments.” He recalls, glancing at his computer before looking at you again. 

“He was calling my name,” you remember. “I went back.” I’m not sure why, you neglect to say. “He asked me if Miggs spit on me. I told him that he did. He said it was discourteous. I told him it would be fine.”

“And then?” Chilton asks, practically leaning forward in interest. 

You smile. “Then I walked away.” You answer. 

Chilton visibly droops and you just barely manage to hold back a laugh. Honestly, you can’t believe he had the audacity to try to play mind games with you. You’re a criminal profiler and investigator—you’ve spoken to far more dangerous personalities and have manipulated people far more threatening than Frederick Chilton. The fact that he thought, even for a moment, that he could talk circles around you is insulting—and it speaks to his towering ego. 

“Now, I want to speak to Lecter,” you assert. I’m not letting this visit be a complete waste of time, you think to yourself. You’re already here—you might as well try to squeeze some more answers out of Hannibal. Will you actually get any valuable information? Probably not. But you won’t know unless you try. At least, that’s how you try to justify it to yourself. The voices don’t like that justification, though—Franklyn whispers that you’re just like him, that you just crave his full attention-

“Knock yourself out,” Chilton sighs dejectedly, tossing you his keys. You’re roughly torn out of your thoughts and you just barely manage to catch them, surprised that he’s trusting you with his keys after he just finished accusing you of murder. Your thoughts must show on your face, because Chilton just shakes his head in disbelief. “It’s been a long day.”

You decide to leave it at that and leave his office, heading downstairs and pacing down the hall lined with iron bars and dehumanizing cages. The prisoners aren’t nearly as rowdy as they’ve been in the past, and you think you make it all the way to the final door before Hannibal’s cell without being harassed or insulted. That might just be a record, you think to yourself wryly as you unlock the security door with Chilton’s keys and shut it behind you. Immediately, your eyes aren’t drawn to Hannibal—but to another cell. 

Miggs’ cell is empty. There’s a sizable chunk taken from the toilet (evidently, that’s what he threw at you). More worrying, however, is the rather large, light pink stain marring the floor. It’s clear a janitor was tasked with mopping up all the blood that Miggs left behind. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like all of the blood came out. You shake your head and rip your eyes away, that familiar nausea prickling at the back of your throat. 

When you settle in front of Hannibal’s cell, you realize that something is different. Hannibal is seated at his writing desk, staring down at the cracked wood as if it holds invaluable secrets. He looks up when you take another step, but you’re too busy looking at the empty shelves behind him. Consulting your memory, you realize that his books aren’t crowding the shelves anymore. 

“Where are your books?” is somehow the first question that leaves your lips. Hannibal clearly doesn’t expect the question, because he blinks for a few moments before helplessly quirking his lips as he turns to face you. “Chilton took them?” You ask before he can answer. 

“Yes,” Hannibal nods. The irritation that is normally hidden behind layers of his mask almost seems to froth and bubble over, spilling over his frame and tightening his posture. He clasps his hands on the desk and stares at you, studying you. You’ve gotten used to the feeling of being shoved under a microscope and relentlessly examined with attentive eyes, yet it doesn’t fail to unnerve you. 

“I’ll speak to him,” you suggest after a few moments. Getting Hannibal his books back may help him to trust you, which could prove beneficial in the long run. But that’s not the real reason you’re offering, is it? “In the meantime-” You try to continue. 

“Will you really?” Hannibal interjects, staring at you scrupulously. There is little emotion in his voice—no sign of hope or gratitude. The statement is spoken with an entire lack of substance. Perhaps captivity is slowly eating away at the man. Somehow, you doubt it. 

“Yes, I will,” you promise before you can consider the consequences. Why did you do that? Somehow, you felt pressured to agree—and Hannibal hadn’t even formed any expectations for you to do so. You just volunteered to speak to Chilton on his behalf… entirely of your own accord. And that troubles you. You thought you were maintaining a professional distance, but your actions are speaking to something deeper. 

“I would be grateful,” Hannibal says. “There is little to do in this cell.”

Now you’re feeling guilty. You’re falling prey to his mind games, knowingly, yet you aren’t doing anything about it. You are an entirely willing deer prancing about near a lion’s den. “Books keep the mind at bay, I’m sure,” you murmur. You’re speaking before thinking and it shows. “Anyway, that’s not what I came for-”

Hannibal inexplicably gets up from his seat and you flinch. He paces towards the glass barrier, until he is a mere two or three feet from you. Then he inhales through his nostrils. The man’s brows furrow and his expression turns pinched. “You smell of smoke,” Hannibal remarks astutely. His eyes flit up and down your form, likely looking for evidence of your new habit. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice sooner,” you say guardedly. Indeed, from what you remember, he has always had a keen sense of smell. That primarily manifested in him making those eerie types of comments, but you also noticed his nose scrunch at unpleasant scents when he thought no one was looking. 

“I noticed the moment you approached the glass, before our most recent conversation,” Hannibal confesses. You frown. “I dismissed it as a once-off occurrence… It appears I was incorrect.”

Silence. You don’t know what to say. Hannibal seems content to let the silence drag on painfully, as he just stares wordlessly. Just when you’re growing to be a little too uncomfortable, he breaks through the quiet air. “Tell me, do you enjoy the thought of lung cancer?” He hums lightly. 

You don’t bother dignifying that statement with a response, instead burying your hands further into your jacket pockets. Your fingers find the steadfast cold metal of your lighter and you take a deep breath. A cough is building in your throat and you tilt your head to the side and cough into the crook of your elbow. You don’t need to look at Hannibal to know that he’s staring at you with a knowing expression, but you find your gaze pulled back to him (as it always is). You’re instantly surprised by the sight of Hannibal frowning at you. You were certain he would take pride in foreseeing your suffering, but instead, he looks concerned. Surely you must be seeing things. 

“Does it bring you solace?” Hannibal breathes. You don’t need to ask him to elaborate, but he does anyway. “Burning yourself from the inside out, that is.” Admittedly, you have thought about that before. A part of you, however small, does take solace in the fact that your new smoking habit is slowly destroying your lungs, rendering them entirely inedible to a cannibal. Maybe this is just a small delusion you’ve allowed yourself—one fleeting act of resistance against a never-ending, surging tide. 

The Chesapeake Ripper is waiting for an answer. Inwardly, you find amusement in the realization that, out of all the things you’ve done, smoking is what bothers Hannibal. You have done far more cruel, dangerous, and self-sabotaging things—but this is where he draws the line. Once a doctor, always a doctor. 

“I’ve grown used to the flames,” you mutter. 

He doesn’t find your answer satisfactory. That much is clear, from the way his lips are pulled tight in a thin line to the disappointment lingering in all that remains unspoken between you. “And to addiction?” Hannibal asks. His presence before you now is one big contradiction: his words are non-confrontational, yet there is a combative desire written in the harsh lines that sew him together. 

“You’re not my doctor,” you snap, with a bit more bite than usual. You take a deep breath and rub a hand over your face roughly, shaking your head in disbelief. Hannibal remains entirely enigmatic—too unpredictable for your liking. One moment, he’s murdering an inmate; the next, he’s attempting to warn you off of smoking. These interactions never fail to give you whiplash. 

“Very well,” Hannibal acquiesces, clearly sensing that he won’t get more information about your harmful coping mechanisms. Before you can get in another word edgewise, Hannibal is continuing to speak. “Send in Dr. Chilton, will you?” You’re being effectively dismissed. Somehow, you feel humiliated. This entire time, you were foolish enough to think that you were controlling the conversation, that you were the one with the power. But that was never the case. Your presence, your existence behind these nondescript walls was always his to dictate. 

“Sure,” you respond through gritted teeth, cursing yourself for letting your guard down. You turn on your heel and walk away, very tempted to ignore his farewell. You eventually settle for throwing a wave over your shoulder as you depart, lost in thought. 

You come back to yourself as you’re standing in Chilton’s office. You blink dazedly and look around you, confused as to how you got here. You don’t remember walking back through the halls, but you must’ve—otherwise you’d still be standing in front of Hannibal. You rub at your eyes roughly and try to collect your composure, painfully aware of Chilton staring daggers into you as you stand there. He’s nearly vibrating in curiosity; unfortunately for him, it takes you a few minutes to regain the ability to speak. 

“He’s asking for you,” you finally utter. Chilton nods and steps out of his office. You stand frozen in the doorway until you hear the doors to the hall shut behind him. Then, as if possessed, you move to his desk and look down at his computer screen, which is focused on the surveillance camera feed for Hannibal’s cell. For a few minutes, Hannibal remains seated at his desk in solitude. Then, Chilton appears in the hall. The camera feed is slightly grainy and there’s no audio, but you try your best to ascertain what’s happening from their nonverbal gestures and posture. 

“I need to speak to Jack Crawford,” Hannibal says.  

“And why should I listen to you?” Chilton scoffs. Chilton is standing at least a foot away from the glass wall. You’re starting to think the administrator has a bit of a complex when it comes to Hannibal. Now that the Ripper is behind bars, Chilton is foolishly convinced that he is the one who holds the power. But Hannibal’s surrender was tactical, and you’re almost certain that he has something more up his sleeve. 

Hannibal doesn’t respond, instead staring at him silently. It’s abundantly clear that the man isn’t very fond of Chilton. 

“Fine,” Chilton responds. “But don’t expect to be getting your books back any time soon.” He adds.  

You’re left to speculate on the nature of their conversation, and you’re forced to make your escape once you notice Chilton leaving. You manage to make it out of the building before he returns, thankfully. As you drive home, you can’t help but think about the interaction you just witnessed. While you don’t know what the two men discussed, you do know that Hannibal will likely get his way. 

And indeed, he does. Unbeknownst to you, within three hours, Jack Crawford is standing before Hannibal Lecter’s enclosure with an annoyed pull to his lips. Moreover, the next time you visit Hannibal, you will notice that all of his books have been returned to him—in addition to the toilet seat and his drawings, which were both removed as punishments. These occurrences will serve as yet another reminder of the power Hannibal holds. He is no ordinary prisoner—no ordinary killer, no ordinary man. 

“You are far from ordinary,” Hannibal had told you once. Even now, years later and separated by a seemingly impenetrable wall of glass, his voice echoes down the halls of your mind palace and slips right past your defenses. You spend the rest of the evening trying to suppress old memories.

next chapter

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[vint-knight]

Chapter 2 of Dead Odysseus AU

The corpse stills itself, not knowing where it was, besides a wet blue surface, it was holding to a shards of something that was used to sail, something to bring it….

Home?

Yes, home, Ithaca, the proud rocky shores, the small island that withstood the worst storms when he was a boy, his father, Laertes, who stood high and tall, solid as stone, his mother Anticlea, who he shared his looks the most from, Argos the loyal hunting dog that stood by him when he went out to hunt but then there was Penelope, his dear Penelope, the other half to his wit, the one to bring to him to his knees when he had first caught sight of her and Telemachus, oh, his dear baby boy, he so wished to have seen him grow but the war had taken away the chance, including the…

Oh by the gods, how long has it been? Oh gods his hands, they are rotten, grimy skin and bone could be seen, his body felt cold, but not because of the harsh sea, but because it was now his body, he was a cold husk, but how? He was drowned with all his cre- “Eur-” His dead gray eyes widened, nothing but corpses are around him, some are clung to bits of wreckage, no signs of life, he could not tell how old the corpses were, not with how his sight currently was.

He tries to paddle, but his arms and legs don’t have any strength right now, he tries again with effort “How the fuck does a corpse even move?” Odysseus thought to himself, a look of fraustion in his eyes, he should have killed that damn  Cyclops, what was his name again? Olymeus, Moples, Polymeus? Oh why the fuck did it matter what the bastard’s name was. He should have listened to Athena but he was too swept with the death of Polities, greeting the world with “Open arms” He tries to let out a broken sorry to his friend, for he had hoped after the war that they would be able to rest and showing more kindness now that the war was over, only then for Poseidon remind that Ruthlessness would be there no matter what.

With all these pent up guilts, the corpse, that is Odysseus finally makes a push, finally able to have some strength to float. His legs paddling, paddling like Argos would whenever he, as a young man, would dip himself into whatever surface of water he found in Ithaca.

“M… My….” The corpse struggled to speak again, letting out what seemed to be a breath, though it sounded unnatural. “Kingdom is waiting, Penelope I know you’re waiting…” A piece of wreckage drops next to him. “For me, so full speed ahead….” The corpse said with a tender tone, not caring if this was a dream or a fake mirage the gods put him through, he will make it back home, no matter what the cost will be anymore. 

[shadowqueenjude]

Chapter 2 of my Fenrys x Nesta fic for @hrizantemy is up!

Read below or on Ao3

They landed on crunchy leaves. Nesta looked up and found herself in the middle of a dense forest. She jumped off of the wolf, relieved to be safe from Cassian. She reached into her underclothes and pulled out the shard of glass she had kept. Dark red stains had formed on her bra, and her chest stung from the cuts that had formed from the glass. She felt her eyes get wet as hot tears formed in them. She was in so much pain she could barely breathe. Her mate had betrayed her so badly. He had hurt in a multitude of ways. Her heart was being cleaved in two.

She stared at the shard, which played half of the notes of the song the symphonia had recorded. As if even the glass was mocking her misery.

The wolf turned around and padded towards her. When it was about two feet away, there was a flash of light, and the wolf transformed into a man.

Nesta jumped. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed. “You- you were in my dreams.”

But he was not utterly naked as he was now. And wow, his chest…it looked like it was carved by the Mother herself. Nesta felt her cheeks heat up as she determinedly avoided looking down at him. “Do you mind?” she snapped. The male looked down at himself, as though just realizing he was naked. “Oh, sorry,” he replied. His voice was as deep and masculine as it had been in her dreams. Foreign- the words that fell from his tongue were utterly foreign, yet Nesta had understood them completely. He knelt down, and there was some rustling amongst the leaves as he did some work.

A few minutes later, he stood up, wearing a makeshift skirt of leaves. He smiled winningly at her, exposing his sharp canines. “Hello, love. You were in my dreams too. Though I must say, you’re even more beautiful in person.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

He sketched a bow. “Fenrys Moonbeam at your service, m’lady.”

Nesta snorted. “Moonbeam? Are you serious?”

Fenrys’s lip quirked up. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Regardless of whether or not you’re serious, it is your name now,” Nesta declared.

Fenrys shrugged, grinning. “As you wish.” He offered a broad hand to Nesta. Nesta’s eyes narrowed on that hand, debating whether or not to take it.

“It’s just a hand,” Fenrys said. Nesta lifted her hand, allowing her silver flames to rise to the surface. Fenrys’s eyes landed on the glow of her fingers. “You’d be surprised what hands can do,” she said quietly.

Fenrys raised his brows, dropping his hand. “Well, will you follow me, at least?”

Nesta sighed and began to walk next to Fenrys. They went along in companionable silence, Nesta taking in the scenery and the fresh earthy smells, a far cry from smoggy Velaris.

“What is this place?” Nesta asked. Fenrys spread one hand, replying dramatically, “Welcome to Erilea!”

Nesta raised a brow. “You mean Illyria?”

Fenrys crunched his forehead, shaking his head. “No. Erilea. What the hell is Illyria?”

Huh? Where were they, if not in Night? “Erilea. Is that in Prythian?” Nesta enquired.

Fenrys gave her a look of concern. “I’ve never even heard of Prythian,” he said.

What? They must be a long way away from home, then. Nesta silently digested this information, wondering where they could possibly be where someone might not have heard of Prythian.

“Then you are from a land far distant to mine,” Nesta commented. Fenrys grunted in agreement. She thought about how he had shifted from a wolf to a High Fae. Was he a shapeshifter, like Tamlin? But he didn’t know what Prythian was, unless he was lying.

But why would he lie? Unless he was trying to trap her. But then how had he showed up in her dreams? Was he a daemati?

Nesta made a split-second decision. She gripped the shard of glass from her broken gift and pressed it against Fenrys’s throat.

“Who are you, really?” she asked flatly.

Fenrys stared at the woman who now held a jagged piece of glass to her neck. He was exceptionally intrigued by her. She seemed a walking contradiction: so sure of herself, yet completely uncertain. So powerful, yet so delicate. So unfazed, yet so genteel. So mistrustful, yet she trusted him to get her safely away from that man by the river. He knew not what to make of her; the only thing he knew for certain was that she was the most breaktaking, jaw-dropping, mind-blowing looking woman he had ever seen. He was certain she was a goddess, for every time he looked into her stormy eyes, he felt like getting on his knees in prayer.

He did not know how she had appeared in his dream or how he had found her or how he could understand every word she spoke even though her tongue was alien, but he could hardly bring himself to question it. Stranger things had happened in the past century of his life, just in the past few months in fact. But he did need her to get her weapon off of his throat.

“Fenrys Moonbeam, blood-sworn to Queen Aelin Galathynius of Terrasen, slayer of Maeve.”

The lady sneered at him so viciously Fenrys felt as though he were being deconstructed. “You’re just making shit up!” she snarled, shoving him against a tree trunk with surprising strength. Hellas, she was stronger than she looked.

“You’re shoving jagged glass into my throat and accusing me of lying when you haven’t so much as told me your name,” Fenrys countered.

The woman’s hand loosened slightly, as though surprised by the logic in his words. Even Fenrys was surprised that he sounded so reasonable. He grabbed her wrist and gently pried her hand off of him.

“Nesta,” she said after a few minutes of silently staring at each other.

“What?” Fenrys asked stupidly.

She rolled her eyes. “Nesta. That’s my name.”

Then she shoved the glass piece into her bra and trudged on.

“How much longer?” Nesta demanded after several hours of walking.

“A while,” Fenrys admitted.

She sighed, pinching her nose with her forefingers. “Can’t you do that jumpy thing again?”

Fenrys shook his head. “I jumped a very long distance; I’m afraid my magic will need some time to recharge.”

Nesta grumbled some very choice words about Fenrys under her breath, and Fenrys couldn’t help but chuckle. “Don’t worry princess, you don’t need to do anything. I’ll get the food. You just sit there and look pretty.”

Nesta scowled. “I don’t want to just sit here and do nothing. I am not helpless, you know,” she groused.

Fenrys raised a brow at her dress, a red and gold empire gown whose fabric shone even in the dim light. “That dress is not suitable for hard work,” he observed.

Nesta abruptly stood up, brushing her dress off. If eyes could kill, her’s would have burned a whole right through his head. “I can cut wood. I used to do it in dresses such as these all the time.”

Fenrys suspected there was a story behind that, but he merely dug into the spot where he kept an axe in case he decided to shift and couldn’t keep it on him. Then he flung the axe at her. To his surprise, she caught it in one hand before tossing it up and down, the metal singing in her arms.

He raised his brows. He wondered just how deep this lady’s story went.

Not long after, they had set up a fire and Fenrys was cooking food. Nesta wrinkled her nose when she saw what was over the fire.

“Not a fan of rabbit?” Fenrys enquired. Nesta shook her head. “Not a fan of meat in general, to be honest.”

Fenrys shrugged. “Unfortunately, for tonight that is all we’ve got.”

She didn’t respond. She merely stared into the fire, waiting for Fenrys to finish cooking the food. He should’ve probably taken the hint and shut up, but Fenrys had never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

“Who was that man you were running from?” he asked.

Nesta looked at him, her eyes blazing. “The man who broke my heart,” she replied quietly.

A lover, then. Most likely. For some reason, Fenrys’s chest caved at that. He looked at her carefully, finding her lip trembling, like she was fighting back tears. Abruptly, Fenrys thought of his late twin brother, Connall. He may not have been a lover, but he had been a part of him. His other half. Nesta’s lover may not be dead, but it might have been better for her if he was, considering the betrayal. Her pain ran as deep as Fenrys’s, if not more.

He knew as well as anyone how hollow the words were, but he cleared his throat, mustering up the courage to say them anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Abruptly, Nesta’s face cleared. She shrugged nonchalantly, curling her hair behind her ear.

“Hurry up with the food; I’m hungry.”

[polarisbibliotheque]

Nemesis (Vergil x Reader) - Chapter 6

Nemesis

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: The Abyss opening is a rare occurrence. In his youth, Vergil wanted to harness its power, but never thought he would meet his greatest adversary along the way. Years later, the Abyss is once again open and that might call for some rather unlikely alliances.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 (you are here!)

Age restriction: 18+ - there’s a lot of blood, violence, cursing and all those things people want to forbid younger audiences of seeing. Also, cosmic horror is a thing here. Procceed with caution.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: This chapter STARTS with a dream where the reader sees themselves hurt - same going for Vergil. There's blood, broken hearts, difficult feelings, self-doubt and talks about giving up. Proceed with a lot of caution if that's difficult for you.

Special Credits: Our dear Ovid is a character created by @furyeclipse and, even when they don't show up, I'm crediting and thanking forever ^^

You can check out Fury’s writing (which I highly recommend) on this link: Fury’s Ao3

Author's Notes: Yes, it took forever, but hey, we're back! (Yes, I've a mix of Backstreet Boy's Everybody and Eminem's Without Me playing rent free in my head) This chapter is a little shorter than normal BUT we're meeting the devil in the red coat, DMC 1 style ;)

It's just so good to be writing again. I'm so sorry for taking huge times off, but I'll always update as soon as I can! Thank you so much to everyone who spends time here reading, I appreciate each and every one of you!

And special thanks to the anon who sent the ask worried about me, you motivated me enough for this chapter to happen. You have my deepest gratitude <3

Chapter 6

“I can’t mend it.”

Your hands rested on your lap, your shoulders defeated. The shards of your crystal broken heart laid on the floor, covered in blood. Your eyes were surrounded with a rim of red, so tired of crying, as well as your body – so tired of fighting.

You were done. Done. One day, you would fall on battle and you wouldn’t be able to get up. Your knees would fail, your legs would tremble, and the tears in your eyes would finally be shed.

All that strength… All that will, all that power… It came from something inside you that didn’t allow you to give up. But you had to admit, that was running out.

It doesn’t matter if you can mend it or not. You thought as you observed yourself, unable to help, unable to speak, unable to make them see. The only thing you could do was to look at yourself, deep inside, as if it was the first time.

And it probably was.

It doesn’t matter if your heart heals. It doesn’t matter if it’s broken. You have to get up. You have to keep moving forward.

“I can’t… Put it back…” That’s when your bony hands moved to your naked chest – empty, dark, with a never-ending abyss that could swallow you whole. Your fingers trembled around the corners of the wound, revealing an infinity of nothingness. “I… I’m tired.”

Your red eyes finally met yours – but they didn’t recognize you. They just looked forward, up, somewhere, searching… Maybe for hope, maybe for a way out.

As you saw lonely tears dripping from your tired eyes, you knew what that look was.

Hopelessness.

That dreadful void in your chest pulling you down, into oblivion, into a pit of tar that would make you crawl, fight and lose the battle, with your body finally choosing to shut down after wasting energy without a goal. Without hope.

“We are better than that.”

You furrowed your brows, as your tired form didn’t move. But that voice… You haven’t heard it in years: since the last opening of the Abyss, it was gone. Almost as if a distant nightmare, from so many lives ago.

The blue coated devil, that arrogant demon that managed to draw your blood as you did the same to him. As the years went by, he just… Vanished. You never heard of him again. When you had a suspicion of an Abyss opening, he wasn’t there. When the energy of the Abyss was felt once again, he wasn’t there.

And as the years went by, you started to fear. Was your nemesis… Gone? What if that really happened? Did you have anything else pushing you forward?

You had the Abyss, yes. You had your researches, your deal with Ovid. But apart from that, what did you really have? Losing your archenemy would be a great loss – even greater if it wasn’t by your hands.

“We are not… This.” As his voice echoed again, your defeated form looked forward once more, finding his form.

But he was so different. If you, as an observer, could, you would have gasped out loud. He was kneeling on the ground, without his clothes, skinny and bony, pale skin glistening in the dark void like the faint moonlight – you could even see his dark veins underneath it, so glaring on his face. His eyes carried a bloody anger you had never seen before – worse than when you fought: those were the eyes of a broken pride.

His bony hands were tied behind his back, wrapped in chains, just like his feet. A heavy set of iron clasped around his neck, with chains fading in the dark. His body was covered in scars, some open and bleeding, some old and closed. His lips had a tinge of purple, as if frozen, and his heart… Shattered near his knees, him being unable to pick it up, even if he wanted to.

“We are broken… Again.” You whispered back, your eyes lacking any kind of feeling. All the anger stored in his contrasted with the void in yours. “There will come a day we will not be able to get up again. Our bodies… Will give out.”

“As long as our spirit does not...” His voice was as stark as always, but, for the first time, you heard it wavering. “It does not matter if our bodies do.”

“For me, it does.” You had a faint melancholic smile on your wine-red lips – getting darker and darker as you gave out. “I’m only human.”

His eyes stared back at you, those silvery pieces of ice, burning like the last circle of Hell. Your form didn’t close your eyes, but you did. You wanted to get out of there. You wanted to breathe. You wanted it all to be gone. You wanted peace of mind.

“That is what makes you so different.”

*

You opened your eyes in a jolt, heart beating as the thunderous rain outside. You were back in your room at the Hospital, sitting on your bed, tucked in your warm emerald-green covers, during a peaceful night. You were safe, you were warm, and you were alright – and he was nowhere to be seen.

Furrowing your brows and taking one of your hands to your heart, you started breathing a little more calmly, trying to ground back into reality.

Since the day you two defeated the Hell Puppeteer, you kept having nightmares like that: seeing yourself, watching your feeble hands try – and constantly fail – mending your heart. It was the first time you hinted at giving up, though.

And you wouldn’t lie: you could feel it in your bones, in the stretch of your skin, in the weight of your flesh… You were tired. For so long, you had been fighting and avoiding any kind of help, any kind of relationships, any kind of support. You only had Margie and the Hospital staff – but even then, you wouldn’t allow too much closeness.

There was something missing inside of you. A piece of your heart, your own soul, that needed to be filled. You could try to keep going as much as you wanted, but you knew… Somewhere in the road, your knees would falter and you’d need someone to lean on.

But there was no one. As always, you were alone.

With a deep sigh, you wrapped yourself around your blankets and closed your eyes once more – maybe the warmness of the bed could keep those feelings at bay… At least for the moment.

As you drifted into sleep, right in the lands between, almost awake but with a step in the land of dreams, you could swear you heard a whisper in the wind.

As long as our spirit does not, it does not matter if our bodies give out.

**

“I’m telling you, he won’t be that difficult to find!” Lady’s voice had a little fun in it as you just rolled your eyes in response.

“He better be nice. If he isn’t, I’m leaving all the work to him.” You had one of your hands in your pocket, standing inside a phone booth, looking out the street during that foggy night. “Honestly, if I didn’t owe you, there would be no job to get me out of bed in a night like this.”

“Well, that serves as a lesson to both of you.” She laughed back as you only sighed in a lack of hope. You would never borrow money from Lady again – that woman was ruthless. “Besides, I’m also workin’ tonight, if that makes you feel better.”

“Yeah, I bet you chose the better job.” Of course, you had to complain.

“Of course I did.” And the way she almost sang the answer back to you made you sure she was winking back. “Ok, remember: white hair, blue eyes, red clothes, black boots, red long coat. There’s no way you’re not gonna recognize him.”

“Yeah, man likes his red, I’ll give him that…” You shook your head, already hearing Lady messing with her guns on the other side of the line. “When this job is done, we’re square, right?”

“Yeah! I’ll keep my word on that! Are you doubting me?”

“No, just checking if we’re on the same page.” You smiled a little. “Have a good hunt tonight, Lady.”

“You too, y/n! Talk to ya later!”

With a deep breath, you hanged up the phone. Stepping outside the phone booth, you kept both of your hands in your black long coat’s pockets, waiting for Lady’s friend to appear.

You had met Lady during a routine job. Both of you were good with motorcycles and, after getting into some trouble with some bikers who tried to know more than both of you in a bar, you and Lady easily kicked their sorry asses. You shared a drink, talked a little bit and, after finding out you were both demon hunters, sometimes you invited each other for some jobs that required more than one hunter.

It was nice, knowing someone like you. Lady had a troubled past as well, and neither of you entered into many details about that. You kept your distance, as much as you wanted to connect – maybe it would be better not getting too attached to people, especially with the kind of job you had.

“Well, well, what is such a fine beauty doing alone here tonight?”

You didn’t even look back at the man who talked to you. He was tall and dark, with some kind of devilish handsomeness to him – but he would not fool you: that scent, it was the scent of a demon.

After some time, you had learned to pick it up – but you could only feel it on the especially foul ones. Those were tricky and dangerous, even for you.

“Nothing that concerns you.” With those words, you finally looked back at him. His dark brunette hair dripped around his face like water, his enchanting eyes doing its best to lure you in; but there was something off with his slippery smile. “Hit the road.”

“It might be dangerous for someone like you to be outside in the dark.” He wasn’t fazed by your sharp words, offering his hand in return. “There’s a club nearby. Come, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“You may have heard them the first time.” Another voice cut the man’s words in half. He turned around and you looked over the man’s shoulders – finding a tall figure standing behind him, quite relaxed, but with a sharp set of sky-blue eyes underneath his silver hair. “Hit the road.”

You allowed a small smile to cover your lips. Red clothes, black boots, red coat. Indeed, you couldn’t mistake Lady’s friend with anyone else in this world.

The man tried to win a stare contest, but he soon averted the gaze of Lady’s friend. Mumbling something you couldn’t quite understand, he kept walking down the street, faster than you imagined he would. After a few seconds, you looked back at the man standing in front of you – sporting a smart smile on his playful lips.

“You’re Lady’s friend, right?” You finally asked and he nodded in return.

“You’re deep in debt with her too, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say deep in debt. It was a one-time thing.” You pointed out, picking up a big black case on the ground by your side and walking alongside him. You noticed he carried a guitar case on his back, which made you giggle to yourself. “How about you?”

“I’m pretty doomed. The woman has no mercy.”

“If she ever gets tired of being a hunter, she could easily become a loan shark.” Your remark made him laugh a bit – not too loud: you didn’t want to make the man who talked to you earlier realize you were following him.

After all, you had to know where that club was.

“Well, she certainly has the talent to do so.” He glanced back at you, slowly taking in your appearance. Human, yes, but cold. Almost like someone he knew. “I’m Dante.”

“I’m y/n.” You didn’t seem to realize he was watching, though. “She briefed you on this, right?”

“Yeah. People go missin’ after a mysterious man picks them up on the streets, probably offering them something.” Dante sighed as if he had heard it a thousand times. “They always seem like happy couples, until the people go missin’, never to be seen again.”

“Yeah. I think you helped me dodge a bullet with that one.” You discretely pointed at the man walking in the distance, who seemed to be looking for something… Hunting.

“Always glad to be of help.” He joked back, adjusting the guitar case he carried on his back. “Did you bring your work stuff?”

“Yes. Right here.” You raised the case you carried, showing him the careful silver embroidery. You had learned that with Margie and, as she got older, she enjoyed embroidering your clothing as she rested on her chair. “I guess we stole each other’s ideas.”

“Huh, guess we did.” Dante glanced quickly at his guitar case. “What’s yours, though? I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“It’s a cello case. They’re sturdy and can carry a good number of things.” You smiled back, seeing as he raised his brows. “I don’t play cello, though. Can you play the guitar?”

“Eh…” Dante shrugged, dismissing your question. You didn’t know if it was because he didn’t know how to play it or if he didn’t believe he could play well.

He did know a thing or two, though. When he was younger, Dante would sit with an old guitar with some broken strings and try to play the songs he heard on his favorite records. He would never say he knew how to play the guitar, because he never learned it properly – but he did know enough to have his fun. And that was enough for him.

“Hey, look.” He nodded towards the man in front of you, turning your attention back to the mission at hand.

The man talked to another man on the street – a young guy who looked like he had been stood up by his date around a bar. The man offered him his coat, which the guy accepted with a dazzled smile – demons could be quite alluring, especially to unsuspecting humans.

The man offered his hand – and the guy took it. They entangled their arms and started walking on the street, talking as if they were a long-wedded couple. You and Dante just exchanged looks and followed them without a word: sewing through streets and dark alleys, your steps took you to a set of dimly lit stairs on another pathway, leading to a door with a small pink neon sign above it.

The Devil’s Den.

“Huh, who would’ve known. Demons got sense of humor.” Dante mumbled back to you, making you muffle a giggle while the man and his doomed date exchanged a few words at the door and were allowed into The Devil’s Den.

“So… What do you think? A strip club?”

“Well, they should’ve known the Love Planet is the best place in town.” Dante took a deep breath, looking back at you. “Ready to get to work?”

“Always.” Your words were sharp and certain, a little cold even. Dante furrowed his brows, as he recognized something inside you he thought he had lost forever.

Keeping those thoughts for some other time, Dante put one of his arms around your shoulders and both of you went down the stairs in the shady alley, towards the doors of The Devil’s Den.

Three knocks, followed by two fast ones. You heard the man doing that and it worked: the doors opened, but another man stood before you – ready to get rid of any inconveniences in the club.

“I have never seen your faces before. Are you new…?”

“We’re here to play tonight.” Dante kept his serious expression, but held the man’s gaze with no issue. Once again, it was a stare contest the other one was doomed to fail from the start: Dante apparently had an ungodly way of breaking demons with just one look.

Like someone else you met, a long, long time ago.

“Hmmm…” The man looked at both of your instrument cases, apparently somewhat convinced. “Who hired you?”

“John. You can ask him if you want to, but he is going to be furious if his main act tonight gets delayed by security.” You added with a slight nonchalant tone, but the threat cutting like a sharp blade.

The man seemed to shiver right away. Stepping aside, he showed you the way inside the club.

“Apologies. Welcome to The Devil’s Den.”

“Thank you.” You had a convinced smile on your lips and the posture of a royal as you walked in, still protected by Dante’s arm.

“Who’s John…?” Dante finally asked as you were far enough for the man not to hear you.

“I have no idea. I just threw a common name in and just went with it.” You mumbled back, making him laugh for the first time that night.

“Now that was a good one!” He pulled you closer, though: that place reeked of demons and, if he was right, you were one of the very few humans in there that night. “I’m definitely gonna steal that!”

“Be my guest.” You hummed a laugh in return, scanning the club.

Indeed, when the fight began… It was going to be showtime.

**

To be continued...

[lovestruckelf]

Your Mother Loved You (Chapter 2)

Summary:

Suffering from the loss of the Queen many decades later, Thranduil and Legolas still search for ways to cope with the loss while Thranduil struggles to take on the role of both parents while protecting his kingdom and raising his son. Legolas realises there may be a way to see his mother again.

Chapter 2

Many decades had passed since that horrific day that still laid heavily on young Legolas’ heart, mind, and soul. His father who had previously not been as active in his upbringing and usually left the affection and emotional development to his mother, became present and involved in all aspects of his son's upbringing. Thranduil took upon himself the role of two parents as best he could and gave as much time to his now motherless son as his position allowed. Many nights the King would find himself rushing to Legolas’ room to calm his sleeping child who was reliving the loss of his mother in his dreams. Legolas’ screams could be heard throughout the royal hallways and each time his father secured him in the safety of his arms and gently rocked him back and forth, whispering words of comfort that would penetrate the horrific dreams until they faded away and allowed his son to rest.

These nights were becoming fewer and fewer as time passed, however, the emotional and physical toll they were having on the King was starting to show. As he promised his son and the spirit of his wife that he would be there for their child, to help Legolas heal from the trauma of losing her in such a violent way, Thranduil pushed his own emotional needs to the side. He never really took the time his heart needed to begin it’s own healing journey as he prioritised his son above himself. The nights when Legolas was able to rest peacefully and dream of better days were the nights that hit Thranduil hardest, as his own memories of that night would flood his mind since his son was not providing a distraction. The sensation of her cold, lifeless body against his warm skin as he held her against him, trying to will the life back into her. The sight of her blood which had soaked the front and back of her mauve-coloured dress from where the sword had penetrated her body from behind and pierced through to the front. The fear of momentarily believing that his son had also been killed before finding him alive and safe within the embrace of his forest. These memories plagued the King more deeply than he realised and it wasn’t until he was alone that he allowed them to take over.

Grabbing a pitcher of wine, Thranduil started to pour himself a drink into a chalice. As the wine was flowing from the pitcher into the chalice, Thranduil realised that this particular cup was the one he drank from on the night of his wedding. His mind had wandered briefly to that time, remembering how he embraced his new wife as they slowly swayed to the sound of elvish music, listening to words and melodies wishing them a long, happy life together. The wine spilled over the top of the chalice bringing Thranduil’s attention back to the present. He was a widow, left behind to face the ages of this world alone. He threw the pitcher against a wall, shattering it causing shards of glass and drops of wine to scatter across his chambers. Looking back down to the chalice, he picked up the over-full cup and hurled it at the mirror which also shattered, pieces falling to the floor and fragmenting upon impact, making his chambers even more unsafe to be in.

Falling to the floor, Thranduil placed his hands over his face and let out a blood-curdling scream whilst leaning over until his forehead touched the ground. Upon hearing the shattering glass and scream from his King, Feren rushed through the door of the King’s chambers.

“My Lord! Is everything alr….”. Feren’s voice faltered as he took in the sight of his broken King and friend. Tears forming in his eyes which he quickly brushed away as this was not the time for his own emotions to surface. “My Lord, I am sorry. Do you wish me to leave?”.

Thranduil’s breath was shaking in his chest as he sat up on the heels of his feet and looked at his captain before staring into the fireplace. “Why was she taken from me, from our son, Feren? How could Valar have allowed her to suffer as she did during her end? Did she not serve her people, her Kingdom well enough to earn her path to the Undying Lands? Why am I here while she is not? And Legolas, my precious boy, endured and continues to harbor so much trauma from that day while I can do nothing but offer reassurance and comfort while craving such support myself. How do I go on, knowing that the wrong parent was taken that day? She would have protected Mirkwood just as well as I while raising Legolas far better than I ever could. She was our sun, our strength, and our healer. How does life continue without a sun?”. Thranduil’s words struck Feren in his heart and he could not find the words nor the will to respond. Instead, he walked towards his King who was still kneeling on the glass-covered floor, and placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder.

“My Lord, our sun has faded. Your people have felt it every day since the loss of our Queen. But, with your undying love for Legolas, a new sun shall rise within him, and with that, warmth will once again spread through this kingdom as he embraces his mother’s spirit more and more with time. The Queen lives, my King. She is felt within each word you impart on your people; with each embrace you give the prince. Her body is gone but her spirit has never left yours nor your son’s sides and her strength remains within the hearts of your people. Do not falter, my Lord, for she would not have allowed that. To see you like this would surely have broken her heart.” Upon speaking those words, rain could be heard gently falling outside, almost as if they were the tears of the Valar itself. Feren felt the touch of a hand reach up to clasp the top of his own that was still resting on his King’s shoulder. Letting out a sigh, Thranduil stood up and faced his captain.

“Feren, I never thanked you for what you did for my wife that evening. It did not occur to me how difficult bringing her back home in that manner would have been for both you and the guards. You did so with the utmost respect and loyalty to your Queen. I can feel in your words how this loss has affected you, even after all this time. You share this emptiness with myself, my son, and all who loved her.” Thranduil brought Feren into his space, holding one of his captain’s forearms with one of his hands and the back of Feren’s head with the other. The King touched his forehead to his captains as a sign of understanding and respect.

“My Lord, it was my duty and my honor.” Feren said as they moved back from one another, taking in the exhausted appearance of the King’s eyes. “With your permission, I will watch over Legolas this evening so you can sleep. Your son and your kingdom need you and you must be rested in order to continue performing admirably.” Thranduil closed his eyes and gently nodded his head, acknowledging Feren’s request and taking on board his words. “That would be appreciated, Feren. Thank you. It seems perhaps that this night is one of the better ones for Legolas as he continues to sleep soundly. I shall assist my rest this evening with medicinal tea. Perhaps she will appear to me during my deep sleep and fill me with words of encouragement.”

“In that case, my Lord, I shall take my leave. Rest peacefully, for the sun shall rise again” Feren turned around to leave the King’s chambers. As he headed for the doors to make his exit, he failed to hear the gentle steps of a young elf running away down the hall. Legolas had heard and seen everything that had transpired within his father’s chambers, after being woken up from the sounds of glass shattering. Reaching his bed, the prince quickly jumped in and pulled the covers up over his head out of fear that Feren had heard him scurry away and would be coming to check on him. When he heard no one approaching, Legolas pulled down the covers to his shoulders and turned over so he was looking up at the ceiling. His mind replayed all that was said between his father and the captain. Then he remembered the words his father uttered on the night of his mother's passing: “…we shall meet again in the halls of Mandos. Rest now and await my arrival”. Those words his father had spoken whirled through the young prince’s mind every day since that moment and now tonight, his father once again noted that he would see her in his sleep after taking a medicinal tea, a tea that elves of Legolas’ age were not permitted to ingest as their young forms would not be able to break down the properties effectively.

In that moment, Legolas knew what he needed to do. Like the King, he also needed his mother’s comfort and if it were possible to reach her again as his father kept implying, he would find her by any means necessary. The prince closed his eyes in the hopes of being able to drift off to a peaceful sleep while in his mind, he set out a plan to gather what he needed for the following evening. Tomorrow, while his father was busy with his council, Legolas would find this medicinal tea so he could look upon his mother and hopefully fall into her arms once more.

[imtryingmybeskar]

Come Home Chapter Twelve

Joel Miller x F! Reader

Word count: 5755

Fluff, fluff and more fluff. With a little angst on the side. We finally get a small insight into what has been tormenting reader, along with Ellie behaving very strangely. And of course, it's the morning after the night before...

Spoiler for what Joel does for Ellie for her sixteenth birthday (as shown in TLOU 2). Its my favourite scene of either game and I can't wait to see Pedro and Bella bring it to life!

Come Home

Chapter Twelve - Dull The Pain

Music pounds so hard you can feel the vibrations in your chest. The neon-painted corridor you’re standing in is so tiny that condensation is running down the walls from the bodies packed tight together. There’s a queue. Why is there always a goddamn queue? You’d think by this point they’d design these places with twice as many stalls as urinals. You shuffle, tensing the muscles in your leg to distract from your bladder and then stand on tip toe, trying to see over the heads of the people ahead of you.

People…no, not people. Not anymore. No laughing. No chattering. No hopes or dreams. Just swaying, drunk on the chemicals of infection that the fungus is pushing. You walk among them and they do not attack, their skulls with their fungal-infested sockets merely turn to look at you impassively as you go, as if you're as dead as they are. You have to get out. But there is only one way through, one chance at salvation. The black doorway looms large. The door to the bathroom.

But then...it isn't. It's a different door. One that you keep your back to every second of every day. You try to stop your feet from moving forward but it's as if the fungus really is driving your motor functions and you have no control anymore. The music is gone, relegated to a time long dead, but your heart still jars with its pulse. The walls are blank now, a mysterious slate grey at the edges of the halo of your torchlight. You are alone, no infected to watch your progression and you feel a gaping loss for the poor company they provided.

The focused beam reflects off the metal bars of a medical cart on wheels, the grid reflection cast wide upon the wall behind it. Nothing of value remains inside, just scattered dusty records of patients who were lucky enough to live in a world where people cared enough to write down what ailed them.

Shattered windows with twinkling broken shards of glass teeth line one wall and inside...you can't bring yourself to look. The mural that your light sweeps against tells all. Smiling rabbits and squirrels and raccoons dance eternally as giant, gleeful toadstools oversee everything. The cots lie in haphazard rows under their collective gaze.

But worse, far worse awaits and some desperate part of you thinks that maybe if you don't put your gas mask on this time that the outcome will change. That the place, the portal you can now see at the end of the corridor will open out into sunny pastures and true peace. Your fingers betray you, slipping the constriction into place to protect your body even as your soul is screaming.

And in the black doorway at the end of the corridor, the too-large figure begins to emerge…

“Hey!”

You sit up, panting and sweating and breathing so hard you think you’re going to pass out.

“Hey.” The voice is gentler this time and you realise a big hand is resting on your arm, squeezing it slightly, leading you back to reality. Squinting against the morning light that spills around the blinds you follow the path of the hand, up an arm to see Joel sitting beside you with a look of concern on his face.

“You’re okay. Just a dream.”

“Yeah. Yeah…a dream,” you gasp. He sits in silence with you while your breathing returns to normal, then silently hands you a cup of coffee which you take with a wan smile.

“A man of your word I see, Miller. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He picks up his own cup from where it rests on your bedside table and warms his hands around it. “Thought I’d let you sleep in. Maybe that was a mistake.”

“Nah, I appreciate it,” you say and you suddenly realise how husky your voice sounds from both the sleep and the aftereffects of the drink. You clear your throat. “It was just a bathroom dream.”

“Just?”

“There may have been infected also queuing for the bathroom.”

“Ah,” he nods sagely. “A classic.”

You huff a laugh and pull down a sip of the bitter, hot, steaming coffee.

“You okay?” The soft concern in his voice startles you and you blink up at him stupidly, head still feeling a little like cotton wool.

“Yeah…yeah I’m fine. There’s just…a recurring dream I also have which was kind of blending in to the bathroom dream. You woke me up before the best part of that for which I’m very grateful.”

He frowns and nods and the simple gestures tell you he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“Guessin’ you don’t wanna talk about it.”

You shrug and open your mouth to say “Not really,” but what comes out instead is “I didn’t used to be like this.”

“None of us did.”

Your own desire to talk takes you by surprise and you don't know if its because you're still half asleep or because you know Joel will understand but you take a deep breath before plunging ahead.

“No I mean, of course the outbreak changed me. But even after that I didn’t used to be like this. I lost someone. He travelled with me to keep me safe on some stupid fucking goddamn mission I cooked up and…I lost him.” You draw your knees up to your chest and hold your coffee cup on top of your knee cap.

“And the worst part is that its not even what happened to him that gives me these fucking nightmares. I carried on. I went alone to do what I thought I had to do and-“ You break off and shake your head, then look up at Joel with a bitter smile.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say. “This is just the post-alcohol depression talking.” Another swig of scalding coffee helps to stabilise you. Sharing was one thing. Re-living was quite another.

Joel bites his lip as he stares into the black depths of his own coffee.

“I lost someone that way too.” His voice is so quiet you’re not even sure you heard him correctly. “When I first met Ellie. There were three of us at first and…she got bit in the process of protectin’ her.”

His jaw clenches in angry thought and you know that he too can’t forgive himself for his mistakes. For all of it. For any of it. Regardless of if it was his fault, it was his fault. So you don’t try to sympathise, don’t spout any platitudes. Instead you wordlessly slide your hand over his and squeeze it hard. His dark eyes flick to yours and bore into your skull and at that moment you know that you were wrong. He’s not a closed book, not at all. He walks with the weight of what this world has made of him every single moment. He carries it, clutches it to him like something precious because he doesn’t believe he deserves redemption, much less that anyone could redeem him. Something shifts in the air between you. An understanding settles like blossom on river rapids.

“But then there’s Ellie,” you whisper, and the trembling breath he releases tells you all you need to know.

“Then there’s Ellie,” he agrees, and you finish your coffees in comfortable silence, hanging on to one another’s hands for life itself.

After a shower and fresh clothes you feel much better, though your head is a little painful and the sun glaring off the snow outside is much too bright for your liking. Following a smell that makes your stomach rumble, you head downstairs to find Joel cooking.

“Eggs? I didn’t have any eggs.”

“I do. Or did,” he replies. “You look like you need ‘em.”

“Thanks,” you say in a sarcastic tone, though you genuinely are grateful for both the food and the thought. “I’ll have to make you guys dinner soon.”

“You don’t have to,” he corrects you. “This ain’t a transaction.”

“No, but…I want to,” you shrug. “I like having you and Ellie here.”

He gives that coy little smile again as he focuses his efforts on the pan and you feel your chest swell with affection. How can someone so rough around the edges be so…well…so damn cute?

“Take over will ya?” he asks. “I just gotta go to the bathroom.”

He departs and you resume pushing what will be scrambled egg around the pan. When you had first met Joel you would never have thought that you could be alike. He exuded danger and coiled menace, and you had seen that come to the fore when faced with the situation in the store. But every time you had opened up to him, he had reciprocated. Little by little, bit by bit, he was showing you other facets of himself and you found yourself more eager for that than you would necessarily like. He had trauma, everyone did. But his and yours seemed to stem from a similar place, at least in part. He understood the need to push away those things that you simply couldn’t deal with and he made no judgements. He understood that in order to survive you sometimes had to cut pieces away from the person that you had been and solder those wounds shut. He was so kind – to you and Ellie at least - but you didn’t doubt for a moment that he had been truthful when he said he was very different ten years ago. You wonder just what he and Ellie had gone through to bring about such a change.

A knock at the door jolts you from your reverie and you turn the eggs off and move the pan before going to answer it.

“Hey,” Ellie says, a nervous energy permeating her as she absent mindedly rubs her right arm. “Have you seen Joel? I don’t think he came home last night.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say, stepping back and gesturing for her to come in. “He’s-“

“Have you put a bookcase up against that door?” Joel’s voice rings out as the stomp of his boots comes down the stairs. “I mean that’s one way to deal with it I guess-oh! Hey, Ellie.”

Ellie’s eyes are wider than you’ve ever seen them, darting between you and Joel and a sly smirk begins to creep over her face.

“Before you say anything, no,” you say firmly.

“No what?” she asks innocently.

“You know what. No.”

“Hey, it’s none of my business what fogeys get up to when they’re alone!”

“Jesus Christ, Ellie,” Joel huffs as he joins you at the foot of the stairs, and you have your own moment of sneaking amusement at the fact that he looks quite flustered as he shakes his head in disapproval at her.

“Yes Joel, I put a bookcase against that door. Out of sight, out of mind, right?” you say, not taking your eyes off Ellie. “As for what we got up to-“

“Oh fuck! I don’t wanna know!” Ellie exclaims, suddenly horrified.

“-it involved very clothed sleeping. No touching, no kissing, no se-“

Ellie stuffs her fingers into her ears and walks off humming loudly before exclaiming “Can I have some of these eggs?!” as soon as she walks into the kitchen.

Joel and you exchange an amused glance and you notice a creeping redness up his neck before he goes off to portion what he has made on to plates.

What you had told her wasn’t strictly true. You had awoken sometime in the night to find yourself pressed in tight against Joel’s back, your arm thrown loosely around his hip and your cheek against the soft plaid of his shirt. He smelled even better this close – warm sleep musk mixed with an indefinable scent of comfort that was purely him and you had gently removed your arm and turned over before you got too enamoured of it.

He had other ideas, giving a deep, sleepy groan that shot straight to your core and then flipping over so he was on his side with his chest now pressed against your back and his arm thrown around your waist, his movements clumsy in his semi-conscious state. You had held yourself stiffly and hardly dared to breathe, wondering if it was intentional, if he wanted more. The gentle snores that came almost immediately told you no, and you relaxed back into his embrace, smiling drowsily as you fell back to sleep yourself. The next time you had awoken it had been to his hand on your arm and the relief that you wouldn’t have to relive yet another nightmare. You have no idea if he knew what had occurred, and you weren’t about to bring it up.

The morning passes in a haze of pleasant domesticity. While Joel goes back to his house to shower and change, you take Ellie into town to do some shopping and pick up eggs for both you and Joel, as well as some fruit, vegetables, rice and chicken. Next stop is the armoury. The bows and arrows that you had retrieved from the town had made you realise that it had been a while since you had practiced with that particular weapon, and you wanted to make sure your skills were up to par for the next planned sweep by a scouting party. Ellie sets up the targets in the yard outside, and you spend an hour being completely outmatched by her abilities, though you do get better under her tutelage as time goes on.

As you make your way back towards your respective houses, you get the impression she wants to talk to you. She’s dragging her feet a little through the stony slush on the ground, pensively looking down at them. You allow her time, and eventually your patience wins.

“So…you and Joel huh?” she says. Her voice is more timid than you’ve heard in a while, as though she’s scared of your answer.

“No," you laugh. "I meant what I said. Nothing happened between us. You know sometimes I’ve had…difficulties adjusting to life here. He helped me through one of them last night. Not like that,” you hasten to add, feeling heat rising in your face. “He just…he was kind to me.”

She nods, her face a little less anxious and a little more Ellie, a small smile creeping over her lips. “But at the dance…you guys were kinda close.”

“I was pretty drunk,” you admit. “He looked after me, made sure I didn’t make too much of an ass of myself and then helped me home. That’s all.”

“Do you like him?”

The direct nature of the question catches you off guard and you splutter a little in your reply. “Like him? I’m too old for that high school shit, Ellie.”

“I’m not hearing a ‘no’,” she shoots back in an irritating sing-song voice.

You sigh and try to collect your thoughts. “Of course I like him. He’s a good man. And he’s already helped me through a lot. So have you, come to that.”

“You know what I mean,” she presses.

“Ellie, I can’t think about shit like that,” you say, bluntly. “Much as I’d like to, it’s just not possible. I let myself get close to people and then they die. Chris…Jacob…A-Alex-“ The litany stops and so do you, squeezing your eyes tight against the memories that threaten to invade. You take a deep breath and open your eyes to look at the girl ahead of you. “It’s too hard.”

“And what if they don’t? Die I mean.”

You frown and try to make your next words as gentle as possible. “But everyone does. It’s just a matter of when.” Before she can formulate a reply, you carry on, trying to bring a levity back to the conversation as you continue walking. “I’m not taking your old man away from you, don’t worry.”

“Not what I’m worried about.” The reply is waspish and it takes you by surprise.

“Well then, what’s this all about?”

“Never mind. Just forget it.”

“Hey.” You stop again and gently touch her shoulder. “If there’s something bothering you and you don’t want to go to Joel you can talk to me. You know that.”

“Sure,” she says, nodding, but there is nothing else forthcoming and you walk the remainder of the journey in silence, wondering if you’ve somehow managed to already fuck up your friendship with her.

The afternoon is spent beginning to tackle the garage that came with the house. There’s not too much in there for which you’re grateful – some standard junk that you sort by usefulness. A pile for you, a pile to donate to the supplies in Jackson and stuff that you think should probably be thrown away. Then you clear the cobwebs and dust and sweep up as much as you can. The light is beginning to fade as you stand tall and stretch out your back. Maybe tonight you should use your bath as intended, though you’re not sure of the wisdom of using that much hot water in one go. Deciding to shower instead you open up the garage door to leave, but before you can you hear a flurry of raised voices from next door.

“Jesus, Joel. Can’t you just fucking leave it alone?”

“No, I can’t. Not when you’re bein’ pissy with me for no goddamn reason!”

You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to intrude on anything so personal and you definitely don’t want to think about the possibility that you’re the reason for Ellie’s bad mood that she’s now taking out on Joel. As you exit the garage as quickly and quietly as you can you hear Joel’s voice again.

“Ellie? Where are you goin’? Ellie!” Then the distinct sound of Joel’s side gate slamming hard and his quiet curse of “Goddamnit!”

You creep up your back steps and your hand is on the door handle and about to turn it when –

“Uh. Hey.”

You close your eyes against the thought of the conversation that will follow, but turn and speak to Joel who is standing in his yard looking both angry and a little ashamed.

“Hey.”

“So…guessin’ you heard all that.”

“I wasn’t trying to, I swear,” you protest. “I was just finishing clearing out some of my garage and-"

He’s shaking his head. “Naw. S’ok. We musta been pretty loud. Not used to havin’ neighbours still I guess.” He rubs his hand on the back of his neck in an embarrassed sort of way.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. I just…I don’t get that kid sometimes.”

You lean against the wooden railings of your porch and take hold of the top of it, feeling the paint crumble a little under your hands.

“But you do remember what it was like to be fifteen?”

He scoffs and folds his arms. “I guess.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. She just needs some time to work out whatever’s bothering her.” Joel nods, but his jaw is still set angrily and his eyes are faraway as he stares toward the place that she stormed away.

“I uh…” You grip the railing more firmly, anxiety swirling in your stomach at your imminent confession. “I think it might be my fault.”

Joel looks taken aback. “What, you guys have a fight or somethin’?”

“No…yes? I don’t know really.”

“Look, why don’t you come over? I don’t really wanna discuss this outside in the dark when I’m not wearin’ a coat.”

“Understandable. I’ll be right there.”

You remember to grab the eggs you had got for him before crossing to his side of the fence and knocking on his front door.

“Come on in,” he calls from inside.

You weren’t entirely sure what you had been expecting in Joel’s house, but the first impression that hits you is that this is a home. The hallway lies in front of you and opens up to his living room, along one entire wall of which is a huge, beautiful bookshelf, packed with ornaments, framed pictures, video cassettes, DVDs, books and magazines. His furniture actually matches – a brushed suede settee in beige with a reclining chair off to one side and a window seat also upholstered in the same, all with plump, welcoming cushions on them. He was correct in saying that it is more modern than your house, but not by much. It does, however, exude a charming middle class quality that is distinctly lacking in yours.

You don’t get a chance to be nosier than that before he’s calling you, and you follow the sound of his voice into the delicious warmth of his kitchen, which is fitted in shades of warm white wood, a large central unit in the middle of it all against which he is leaning, his back toward it and arms outstretched behind.

“Drink?” he offers.

“Tea?” you ask hopefully, and he nods and begins to prepare it.

“So what happened?”

What did happen? You don’t really have a good answer for him, so you start from the beginning.

“We did some shopping – here’s your eggs by the way – and then we practiced some archery. Well, I practiced, she told me where I was going wrong. And then on the way home she seemed to have something on her mind and when I tried to talk to her about it she just shut down.”

“Any idea what it was about?” his voice is full of concern and you realise you can’t keep the details from him, no matter how much it might embarrass you.

“Well she…she asked about us.” He raises a questioning eyebrow at you and you plunge ahead. “ ‘You and Joel huh?’ were her exact words. I told her again that nothing like that had happened last night. And then she asked-well she asked if I liked you. I said of course I did, you’ve been nothing but kind and generous to me. Both of you. But she meant…well, you know. And when I said that I can’t think of that kind of stuff because…well because of the past, she just shut down.”

“Hmm,” Joel says, his back to you as he grabs two cups and places them on the counter. “Anythin’ else?”

“I told her...I told her everyone dies,” you blurt out. “And that’s why I can’t get close to anyone. I thought…I thought that being who she is and living the life she has that she would understand that. But maybe…she’s so young. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so blunt about it. And I said-“ You take a deep breath before continuing. “I said that I wasn’t going to be taking you away from her and she said she wasn’t worried about that and that’s when she stopped talking completely. I’m sorry if I overstepped. Or if I was insensitive.”

He continues to make the tea in silence, his back to you and your anxiety moves even harder through your veins.

“Joel? Did I…did I fuck up?”

He sighs before turning to you and handing you a steaming cup that smells wonderfully of apple and winter spices.

“No, I don’t think you did. Comin’ to Jackson has been an adjustment. Well, you know yourself…Sometimes she confuses the hell outta me and I just wonder if I’m too old to be raisin’ a teenager. Especially now. What the fuck do I know about what she’s goin’ through?”

“Well,” you say slowly, picking your words carefully so as not to betray any of Ellie’s confidences. “I never raised a teenager. Or any kids for that matter.” You stop, take a breath, get a firm grip on yourself. “But you know some of what she’s been through because you lived it too. Its hard…now you’re safe. The stuff you couldn’t allow yourself to feel, it starts to come through anyway no matter how much you might not want it to. And so much stuff is so much more important at her age. Being liked by her peers. Finding out who she is. That’s all still there but we got to do it in high school. I’m not saying high school was great, but there were things you took for granted y’know. There were lots of people to bounce off and figure shit out. She has to find her own way. I guess…all you can do is always be there for her.”

Joel nods slowly, seeming to absorb your words. “I will,” is all he says firmly before taking a sip of tea.

You relocate to the living room, where you carefully put your steaming cup on a coaster on the table while Joel lights the gas fire that sits under an ornamental mantelpiece.

“Ooooh fancy,” you tease.

“I actually prefer yours,” he says, collapsing onto the soft cushions with a slight groan on the other side of the couch from you. “Nothin, like an open fire.”

“Your house is beautiful,” you say, looking around and taking it in again. “Guess this is what you get when your sister-in-law runs the joint.”

He grins softly. “Ellie chose it.” His face suddenly clouds. “You think I should go after her? I’m kinda worried. She has a history of…runnin’ off.”

“If you want to,” you reply gently. “And I’ll help if you want that too. But if you find her before she wants to be found, would it make things worse? I mean…you don’t think she’s gone out out, do you?”

Both of you look outside simultaneously, your eyes drawn to the darkness beyond the windows by the horrific notion.

“I’m goin’ to the stables,” Joel says as he puts his own tea on the table and stands, the firmness of his voice still not enough to quell the faint note of panic you can hear underneath.

“I’ll go look around town,” you say, standing too and grabbing your coat from where it lay on the back of the couch.

Before either of you get any further, you hear a scuffling on the porch and then the sound of the door opening. Joel moves quickly into the hall and his relieved sigh of “Ellie,” is enough to make your stomach untwist itself. Faint murmuring reaches your ears and you debate sneaking out of the back door to give them the time they need together. You don’t get a chance to make a move before Ellie is coming around the corner, looking at the floor slightly shamefaced and twisting her fingers together.

“Hey,” you greet her. “I was just gonna go. Sorry to interrupt-“

“No, no,” she says, “Its…its cool. Stay.” Joel nods his agreement behind her and you take your coat off again. A slightly awkward silence falls between the three of you before Ellie ventures, “So…you guys wanna play cards?”

The peace offering is taken up and the evening ends up as so many of them have recently, with stupid jokes and playful teasing and smiles all around. After Ellie beats you and Joel for the third time in a row, the crowing becomes almost unbearable and to make it stop you offer her something you know she won’t be able to refuse.

“Hey, Ellie?”

She gives a tiny delicate cough. “I think you know that’s not my name right now,” she says somehow managing to sound both prim and full of glee.

“Fine! Supreme Queen of Go Fish and Jackson in general-“

“Yes, peasant loser? What can your Queen do for you?”

“You want your Christmas present a little early?”

All pretence drops from her as she sits forward eagerly. “You got me a present?”

“Sure did. And Joel said he’d be more than willing to help you use them.”

Ellie says “Them?” as Joel says “What now?” and you laugh as you rush out of the house to collect the skates. You place them into one of the many boxes that you had emptied out of the garage this afternoon and inwardly curse your impulsivity and bemoan the fact that you hadn’t made it look nicer for her before heading back to Joel’s.

“Thank you,” she breathes as you hand her the box, her eyes bright with excitement. When she opens them, her face falls just for a second. “Oh! Thank you. But I-uh-I don’t know how to skate.”

“Well I thought I could teach you,” you smile. “Or Joel can. He’s not half bad when he’s not falling on his ass.”

Joel covers his eyes with his hand as Ellie giggles. “I ask you to keep one goddamn secret,” he jokes.

“Yeah, I’d like to learn,” Ellie says happily. “Is this where you went earlier in the week when you were “scouting”?”

“I got these from when we actually did go on patrol through that town. But earlier in the week we were scouting, just not for supplies. There’s a good lake not far from here. It’s safe, the ice is thick enough. Tested and approved by Joel’s ass and my knees.”

“One time! I fell one time!” Joel protests. “Pretty good considerin’ I haven’t skated in almost thirty years!”

“This is so cool! Thanks,” Ellie smiles happily. She stands, clutching the box to her chest. “Well, I’m gonna leave as the undefeated Queen and turn in.”

“Chicken,” teases Joel.

“I am making a tactical retreat,” she replies haughtily. “G'night, fogies!”

Joel grins fondly after her as she departs. “Night, Ellie.”

You wait until you hear the door close softly behind her before asking what you want to.

“She okay?”

“She’s fine,” Joel reassures you. “Just needed some time. And while we’re still on the subject of gift givin’ I have a favour to ask you.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“It’s Ellie’s sixteenth in April. Now I got an idea of what I wanna do for her, but I’m gonna need your help. I’m plannin’ to take her to a museum. Its a few days ride out."

“What museum?”

The Wyoming Museum of Science and History. She loves space, thought I’d take her to see the exhibits if there are any left. But it won’t be much of a birthday if we’re fightin’ off infected every step of the way. I need your help to check it out, clear a path to it. You up for it?”

“Damn straight,” you say with a smile. “I love a museum. And no one can tell me not to touch anything now!”

Joel relaxes back into the couch, a relieved smile on his face. “Thanks. I was gonna ask Tommy originally, but he’s got so much shit to do with the dam that I woulda felt bad takin’ him away from it.”

“Not a problem. Might be fun. Apart from the possible infected. When do we go?”

“Not for a while. Not till the weather gets a little better. We’d need to go partway anyway, sweep those areas once the snow clears and make sure it’s all okay.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You drain the remnants of your tea and then stand. “I better get going too. Otherwise she’s gonna think there really is something going on between us.”

“Before you do, just…hold on a sec, okay?”

Joel springs up from the couch and retrieves a small parcel wrapped in brown paper from one of the shelves on the bookcase. He hands it to you with a smile.

“Since you’ve decided we’re doin’ Christmas presents early.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. “Oh shit, Joel no. I didn’t get you anything. I mean, you’re more than welcome to pick through the stuff I found in the garage, but unless you REALLY like old copies of classic car magazines you might be shit outta luck.”

“Its okay. Honestly, sharin’ your coffee has been more than enough. Well go on. Open it.”

A rush of warmth and excitement trills through you. The presents you and Chris had managed to exchange each year had been tokens at best. This felt like...well it felt like-

You gasp as you unwrap the book to find a beautifully embossed book of John Keats poetry in your hands. Your eyes rove over the cover, not quite comprehending that you actually had a copy in your hands and more, that Joel had given you something so precious and meaningful.

“Ellie said he was your favourite.” His gravelly voice breaks into your shock and you manage to nod at him, your eyes suddenly watery.

“Thank you. So much. This is…this is incredible.” You skim through the pages, to find them barely touched by the ravages of time. Even the cover is only mildly battered. “Where did you even get this?”

“I might’ve been on a sweep with Tommy and we may have come across a bookstore. I got me some more Game of Thrones books too, don’t you worry.”

You laugh, but it sounds like half a sob and half a hiccup when you do.

“Thank you,” you whisper again, managing to tear your eyes away from the book to look at him instead.

“You’re welcome,” he says softly.

He walks you down the hall to the door and when he opens it, instead of stepping through immediately you move forward to hug him, your arms barely able to circle the breadth of his shoulders. You feel him tense at the contact, but before you can pull away and apologise you feel his arms come tentatively around your back, holding you a little closer. His beard is prickly against your upper cheek, his muscles hard under your hands, his scent once again filling your nose and before you allow yourself to get dragged too deeply into that undertow you pull back.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

“Goodnight,” he smiles softly, dimple winking in his cheek.

The short walk back to your house feels like you’re walking on air. The thoughtfulness and beauty of the gift is unparalleled, the emotions spiralling uncontrollably from you are all blissfully good. Tonight, the tub is just that and you barely even contemplate getting in before heading toward the soft welcome of your bed. You lie there for a moment, thinking about the warmth of Joel's hands on your back and the soft light in his eyes when he saw your joy at his gift. You turn over to hug the pillow that his head had laid on, wrapped in his comforting scent and smiling into the darkness.

Taglist - @thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16 @readsalot73 @littlemisspascal @princessxkenobi @harriedandharassed @pagannightwitch @tentacruels @kirsteng42 @shirks-all-responsibilities @deadhumourist @pedrostories @abbyhaslongshorts @celebrtyskinz @majahu @sanscas @myloveistoolittle @ohthemisssery

Next chapter

[twisted-art-wounders]

YGO AU: Breaking the Seal 02

Chapter 2 Sowing While Yugi recovers form his duel from the night before, he meets a mysterious man in his dreams who may be able to help him.

Yami Yugi managed to make it home on his own; the golden box now empty of any god cards and his partner completely passed out form tonight's events. Opening the side door slowly and quietly Yami managed to sneak back into the house without stirring Grandpa form his sleep. Like a shadow he quietly crept up the stairs and back into Yugi's room. Placing the jacket back on it's hook behind the door along with the deck belt. He made sure the rest of his deck was still intact and it was; he was happy about that and thought about how many times they used this deck together but this time Yugi used it on his own.

He'd hopped it brought him victory in his duel, even if he couldn't witness it himself, their connection was weak since the puzzle was far form their range. He sighed and hoped with all his heart Yugi would recover as he placed the deck over his chest.

//Yugi…I wasn't there for you tonight…I'm sorry.//

He rested the duel disk on the desk chair and finally the gold box back on the desk, as he did he heard a small crunching noise and realized there was broken glass all over the desk. He signed quietly a bit annoyed and tried to brush some of the shards away so the box could sit stable on the surface. As he did he felt a sharp pain in his fingers and hissed verbally.

Pulling his hand away quickly he looked down and saw a tiny piece of the glass had embedded itself deep into the outside of his index finger and left a sizable cut on his middle finger. His hand shock a little form the pain as the blood started to seep out form the cut like a packet of ketchup that had just been cut open and started to drip on the ground.

//Dammit! Don't be so reckless this isn't your body!// he internally scolded himself before heading towards the bathroom to clean up.

Turning on the tap and waiting for the water to warm up a little he thrust his fingers under the water stream and bit his lip a bit as he could feel the sting form the waters touch. Luckily the shard and loosed and fell into the sink with a small “tink”sound, that was a relief he thought now he didn't have to worry about trying to pull it out himself and potentially making things worse.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and couldn't help but wince a little, he was feeling ashamed right now and didn't want to see his reflection in Yugi's body he quickly turned his head down. After running his hand under the tap for a minute making sure the blood had stopped he dried his hand before pulling out a set of bandages from the sink drawer.

The bandages had little Kuriboh patterns decorating them, no doubt these are ones Yugi bought for himself he tended to get little cuts now and then, the fun of playing cards games. Yami struggled for a moment trying separate the sticky part form the backing. Once he managed to finally wrap the bandages around his index and middle fingers he turned out the lights returned to the bed room. Heading towards the bed he looked at the broken window and rest of the glass still on the table, he decided not to try and clean up again tonight.

Slipping under the covers he pulled the puzzle off his neck and rested it beside his pillow. Turning to his side to watch the wall for a moment he let his hand rest on the puzzle so they could swap places. Once again he was in his ghostly form sitting on the side of the bed and watching Yugi slumber. He hoped some much needed rest would help Yugi recover. The spirit didn't want to try and rouse him even though he wanted to know exactly what happened with the three men on motorcycles.

But that would have to wait until morning in the meantime he would keep watch over his partner, and if needed he would jump in to protect him at a moments notice. It's why he was here after all.

//I wont let you down again, partner…//

--

That morning was bright in Domino city as people were rushing around trying to get to work and or school on time. In a more busy section of town there was a small cafe; inside Valon was trying exit the store carrying a tray of three coffees, a medium sized paper bag in the other hand, and a mouth stuffed with a chocolate icing doughnut. He tried to push the door with his shoulder but it almost caused the drinks topple from his hand. Catching his balance just in time before they could fall. He grunted a bit trying to find the right configuration needed so he could open the door without fuss only for a young school girl in a pink and blue uniform to open the door form the other side for him.

“Oh! uh…here.” She smiled and stood to the side to allow the man to exit.

Once he was outside Valon smiled back at her his mouth still stuffed with a doughnut but made a mumbling noise that sounded like a “Thanks!” and a few other things before heading down the street.

Tea just blinked as she watched him for a moment before entering the cafe herself.

//Some real characters in this city…// she thought to herself.

Normally she didn't stop on her way to school like this but this was a special occasion. After all the crazy things that happened with the tablet at the museum freezing over and the monsters appearing all over town the day before she figured she'd treat Yugi and rest of the gang with something sweet. This cafe happened to have some very nice donuts that she was sure everyone would like.

Meanwhile just down the street Valon had turned and entered a small building; on the outside it looked like a closed store, which it was but inside and into the back area was an office. Alister was typing away at his laptop hunched over a desk, his mind completely zoned out to everything but the screen. Raphael was sitting at an opposite desk on his cell phone making a few calls and looking over papers as he nodded to the person on the other end of the phone. Valon had placed the tray of drinks down on on a small table next to a couch, he plopped himself down and opened the paper bag rummaging through it.

Valon finally found what he was looking for a breakfast burrito! He grinned and bit into his doughnut giving a few chews before swallowing it. Then placing the other half down so he could unwrap his prize. All of that noise finally broke Alister out of his trance and soon the small office space was filled with the smell of eggs, bacon, cheese and peppers. The red haired man wrinkled his nose at the wafting odour that filled his nostrils.

“Do you NEED to eat that here?” Alister grumbled as Valon took a big bite of his over filled burrito causing a few pieces of egg to drop onto his lap. Alister gagged a bit watching him eat so sloppily it was like watching a toddler trying to put food in their mouth only to miss every time.

Valon swallowed his mouth full and licked his lips a bit before looking over to Alister and grinning smugly.

“Got a long trip ahead don't we? I need to bulk up before hand!” He chuckled before taking another bite.

Alister shuttered as he watched Valon bite into his burrito again making more of a mess. He finally had enough shutting his laptop he got up form the desk. Walking past the tray of coffee cups he grabbed one and stormed into another room shutting the door loudly. Valon only shrugged and continued to eat, Raphael was still on the phone doing his best to ignore the twos squabbling so he could focus on the call.

“Yes, we have them. We'll be making our way back soon, Master.”

“Good, make sure they are secure and in your sight at all time.”

“They will be Sir, but what about the vessel?”

“…I'll be dealing with him personally. He is not your concern as of yet.”

“Of course. We'll be leaving shortly.”

”Call me when your in the air.”

Raphael hung up the phone and turned to Valon who'd just obliterated the last of his burrito.

“We'll be leaving in and hour so get yourself together. And try not to get on Alister's nerves so much, it's gonna be a 17 hour flight and we're all gonna be in the plane together.”

Valon rolled his eyes before taking a sip of his coffee to clear his mouth so he could speak. “Guy's way too stuck up if you ask me. Didn't even say 'Thanks for the coffee Val!'” He grunted before taking another sip “So what'd the boss say about the kid?”

“The master will deal with him personally, we don't need to worry about him for now.” Raphael walked over and took the last cup of coffee form the tray, peeking into the brown bag he spied a wrapped bagel and pulled it form the bag.

He inspected it carefully before looking over to Valon and said

“This better be an everything bagel.”

Valon tilted his head a bit and put his hand over his chest “Raph! I ain't a monster! Of course it's Everything or nothing mate!” he winked with a grin.

Raphael chuckled and shook his head taking a sip of coffee.

--

Yugi was lost in a field of ice and snow; the winds cut across his face harshly and he felt like his fingers and toes didn't even exist. He curled up into his jacket as best he could but it wasn't built for this kind of extreme weather. This reminded him of when they where trapped in the Virtual World and had to navigate the frozen tundra Tea was trapped in. Only this time he was all alone; no friends, not even his puzzle was around his neck. He had to find some shelter fast but looking around all he saw was snow, snow and more snow! Everything looked the same out here so he decided to just pick a direction and walk. As he walked across a large snow bank he heard the crunching of the snow below him.

His body felt like it wanted to shut down, he wanted to stop and rest so badly, the landscape looked and felt like it would go on forever. He shivered looking around there seemed to be nothing but blowing snow before him. But he managed to just make out a large structure in the distance, thinking it may be his only chance Yugi pulled all his strength into reaching the structure. He didn't know or care how long it took since his mind was already foggy form the onset hypothermia he must have been feeling at this point.

As he approached the structure it started to take shape of a large greenhouse; with glass windows and a golden frame structure. Yugi felt relief as he reached the staircase which lead towards a set of glass doors, the glass was etched with intricate curved designs. He could feel the heat coming form inside the building, crawling up the final set of steps he reached weakly for the door knobs before collapsing in font of the doorway. His eyes became foggy and blurred before he completely blacked out just inches form the warmth and safety.

When Yugi opened his eyes again he felt the warmth of humidity surround him, not just that but also the warmth of a blanket wrapped around his body. He fluttered his eyes a bit as he looked at his surroundings. It looked like he was in some kind of jungle filled with tropical plants and flowers, it was humid of course and Yugi didn't mind it since it meant he was somewhere warm. In front of him was a white table, it was empty and across it was another chair identical to the one he was sat in.

Did someone save him? And if so where did they go?

He blinked again as he felt something small land on his nose, a butterfly! It was a large blue butterfly that slowly flapped it's big wings, this made Yugi wrinkle his noise like he was about to sneeze which was enough to scare off the butterfly. Yugi felt a bit sad he didn't mean to scare it away.

“Ah your awake I see.” The voice of a man with long teal hair and purple suit greeted him with a tray carrying a tea pot, cups, sugar and milk. He placed the tray down on a table in front of Yugi before taking the seat opposite to him.

“How are you feeling, Yugi?” The teal haired man asked his green and yellow eyes held worry in them.

Yugi was obviously confused but it didn't take him too long to recall the events that lead him to what he assumed to be the man's door step.

“Oh! uhh I'm okay…” Yugi managed to sheepishly speak, he felt a little intimidated by the man's aura it was strong and felt…ancient.

“Thank goodness! I found you just slumped over by the door step chilled to the bone so I took you right in and helped warm you up.” The man took the cups and placed them face up on the table, carefully lifting the piping hot teapot he started to pour out the freshly brewed tea into a cup for Yugi, then one for himself.

“Thank you for helping me out! I'm not really sure how I got here to be honest…” Yugi watched the man place the teapot down carefully and take up a spoon digging out two spoons full of sugar for Yugi's cup.

“Last thing I remember I was in a duel and I think I pasted out…”

“Oh your in your subconscious.” The man said very causally as he pour some cream in as well. “The duel you fought took quite a lot out of you.”

Yugi was shocked “My subconscious? But how did I-” He asked while the man continued to service a cup of tea for himself.

“Oh yes, traumatic events such as what you experienced can cause the mind shut down. So it may have time to process the events accordingly. ” The man took up his cup and slowly took a sip.

“You know about what happened to me? Who are you?” Yugi asked looking at the strange but seemingly kind gentleman sitting across form him.

“Ah yes I observed your duel, it was quite the feat you pulled off all on your own. My name is Dartz by the way and you may call me…a friend.” Dartz took another careful sip.

Yugi was curious but still a bit suspicious; how could this man have seen his duel? And why was he now in his mind? And trauma? What trauma did he mean?

“I know you have many questions and I promise I'll answer all of them in due time. But for now you need to rest…please help yourself.” Dartz gestured to the tea cup in front of the the young man who'd almost forgot about it.

Yugi picked up his cup and took a sip, it did feel good to have something warm going down his throat. The warmth started to help relax him a bit, so he took another careful sip of the tea. As he was drinking the big blue butterfly returned but not alone. Yugi soon found himself surrounded by butterflies 3 more to be exact; he didn't know their proper names but they all had different unique colours and patterns on their wings. They were yellow, orange, and even a pink one. They all fluttered around his head, the big blue one made sure to rest itself upon the top of his middle blonde fringe making Yugi chuckle a bit.

Dartz let out a soft chuckle himself “Well it seems you have made some new friends. I think they like you.”

Yugi smiled as he watched the other butterflies dance around him two landing on his shoulders.

“I think they do, So these are your butterflies?” Yugi looked over and saw the pink butterfly had rested on the rim of his tea cup, almost inspecting it.

“Oh no dear child these are not my butterflies they are yours. This entire greenhouse itself is a creation of your own mind.”

Yugi blinked taking his eyes off the pink butterfly before looking over at Dartz.

“I made this? Oh right! This is my mind after all.” Yugi rubbed the back of his head a bit embarrassed at the fact he forgot this all in his head.

“And I guess I made you too huh? To help me process everything going on?” Yugi smiled

Dartz shook his head back and forth slowly placing his tea cup down. “Oh no child, I'm not a figment of your imagination. I'm very much real and I am reaching out to you for you may be the only person who can save the world…”

Yugi paused trying to take in what the man was saying…he tilted his head to ask.

“Save the world? From the evil god those motorcycle guys where talking about?”

Dartz didn't pause he only continued ignoring his question. “I'm sure you are aware of the many trials and evils that have followed you for some time? Well those very forces are growing stronger more deadly and will lead this world to ruin…But you can stop it…”

Dartz looked over to Yugi and reached out a hand to him, Yugi looked at Dartz's hand then back to his face. While his face seemed to hold genuine concern there was something about his eyes that almost hypothesized him.

“I…can stop it?” Yugi repeated.

The butterflies soon started to scatter around fluttering around as the lone one on his fringe stood strong. Yugi didn't even notice at first because he was lost in the mans hypnotic gaze.

“But as you are now you will not be able to…This is why I am here…to help you over come your trauma so you may serve your greater purpose…” Dartz's voice was drifting through his mind fading in and out, Yugi could feel his hand approaching the man's hand.

“My…greater purpose…” Yugi hypnotically repeated what Dartz said as his mind grew foggy all he could focus on was Dartz's eyes and his words.

Just as they where about to brush fingers the big blue butterfly swooped down and landed on Yugi's hand snapping him out of his trance and making him look down at the butterfly.

Yugi watched the butterfly as it fluttered it's wings quickly before taking off and flying back to it's spot on his fring. Dartz's face flashed a for a moment pure rage and hatred towards the insect but just as quickly flashing back to his kind demeanour.

Yugi rubbed his eyes before looking up and over to Dartz again and smiled.

“Well thanks for offering your help but I think I'll be okay…I kind of already have to save the world with my other self after all. But if there is a new evil… I think he'll be able to help you too!”

Dartz closed his eyes and placed his elbows on the table folding his hands together.

“Yugi, there is nothing wrong with accepting help. While you do not think you need my help yet, I promise I'll be here for you when you do.”

Dartz gave Yugi another smile before pulling himself up and out of the chair, Yugi watched as he walked towards the front doors and opened them fully. Outside it was bright and sunny, not a sign of snow or any cold weather for that matter. Yugi was shocked! How could the weather and climate have changed so quickly?

“Wait! What about the new evil? What is coming?” Yugi stood up and walked towards to doors.

Once again Dartz seemed to avoid his question.

“The doors are always open for you…my friend.”

He stood beside Dartz and looked out at the dessert around them. Yugi turned his head upwards to say something but saw that Dartz was gone vanished like a ghost!

“Dartz? Hey! Where'd you go?”

Yugi yelled outside taking a step or two outside the doors, he felt the heat and dry wind of the dessert. He was so confused and now he felt lost…the butterflies once again returned to him and blue one still standing on his front bang. He looked up and saw them all fluttering around him and warmed his heart to have them here again.

“Dartz…” Yugi spoke softly watching the sand dunes shift and move with the wind.

Yugi wasn't sure what to make of this, what did all of this mean?

[parasitic-dreams-au]

[She came.]

"You think you can go on using my name however you please?"

"Since you want to speak with me oh so badly...I decided to take pity on you & show up myself."

It's Illumina. It's actually her. & she doesn't look all that pleased, looming behind Sayf.

She has her gear in it's sheath on her belt, just in case, but she doesn't want a fight. Yet.

"Surely we can be civilized & talk about this, can we?"

-@divine-a-gift-from-above

*But, what Illumina encountered was NOT sayf... no, it was a being of shards of glass and fractals and a blindingly colorful and bright light. the figure laughed*

"FALSE PROPHET, YOU DARE ENTER MY DOMAIN UNINVITED?"

*His voice sounded echoy and smooth, with a demonic deepness and insanity to it that sent a chill down her spine...*

[bunnyfern]

Chapter 2 - part 2

Am I Wasting My Dream On You

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 𝄞

Gustavo and Kelly had graciously accepted the offer of tea from Mrs. Knight, not used to the Minnesota cold but the LA heat.

Everyone had moved to the living room, Gustavo still holding a teacup that looked far too small in the larger man's hands. Sitting down in the chair placed by Mrs. Knight, Kelly standing by his side and the group on the opposite side taking up space on the couch.

Sat between James, devastated from Gustavo not wanting him, and Logan, feeling bad for James but still curious, was Crowe, stunned and opening and closing her mouth not sure of what to think. Gustavo began his pitch, laying out all the terms for Kendall and his family.

“Mrs. Knight, I wanna take your family to LA and produce some demo tracks with Kendall.”

“You can’t be serious,” Kendall said, not entertaining the idea one bit.

“It’ll take 3 months. We’ll take care of all of your expenses.” Kelly promised.

Gustavo kept talking, boasting how impressive he and his work is. And how he has anger management issues, which he isn’t wrong about. But Crowe wasn’t about to agree with that now, she didn’t want to give him a reason to leave her. Glancing to the side she saw James wanting another opportunity to show how good he is.

“People say I’m the life of the party-” he began to sing but was shut down immediately by Gustavo, “Stop it. Please. Don’t ever do that again. Thank you”

You didn’t have to be that harsh.

Crowe tapped his knee, giving an apologetic smile and mouthing a ‘ Sorry’ . James gave a weak nod, letting her know he was alright. Even if she knew that he was devastated, she figured out that even if he did seem a bit overdramatic, this was his dream. His dream that Gustavo decided was meant for Kendall instead of him.

Reaching up and twirling the necklace with her fingers, wondering how much her life will change. Getting startled when Gustavo called her name, done arguing with Kendall over the agreement.

“Yes?”

“For now, you’ll be Kendall’s assistant but still work for me when I call for you. Maybe you can be my protege or something, but that won’t happen if you end up like my horrible past assistants! Money hungry and fame crazy, so you better watch your step.” A threat but one he will uphold, something Crowe knows all too well.

Money hungry? Not my thing, fame crazy? Definitely not my thing. I should be fine.

Giving the man a grateful ‘okay, thank you’ as her answer. She was more than ready to start working, all she needed now was Kendall’s okay, praying he would accept his offer.

“So, what do you say kiddo, huh? You wanna go out to LA and be molded and shaped into a big old star by the Gustavo Rocque?”

The room was silent as everyone awaited his answer, wanting to know what he had to say. Wanting him to decide on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the same thing he told James in his peptalk not too long ago.

“No.”

Gustavo shattered the teacup he was holding, shards falling to the ground. Carlos was laughing, thinking Kendall was pulling his leg, until realizing he was serious. James looking at him in disbelief and Crowe, tightly clutching her necklace and feeling her heart stop if only for a second.

The enraged producer stood up, wanting to step outside for a minute to let his anger out. Not bothering to look back to see if the boy would change his mind or if he even regretted saying no to him.

Kelly had a wad of cash out, laying some down on the table. Hearing shattering and crashing noises from outside the house, Kelly added more bills to the pile. Leaving more to cover everything Gustavo had broken and then some. She then gave Kendall her info, “Here’s my card. If you change your mind, call. You should think about this Kendall, we leave tomorrow at 2.” she said, then left the Knight’s house.

The group was utterly shocked, even more so was Crowe. Kelly hadn’t given her any mention of when she would leave with the two. Wondering if maybe she just forgot, but after a few seconds of her not returning, it finally dawned on her.

She wasn’t going, if Kendall wasn’t then there wasn’t a point for her to go, making Gustavo’s words mean so little to her. Knowing that all they really wanted was Kendall and she was just an afterthought. Feeling worse the more she thought about it, so she stopped.

She stopped thinking about the opportunity that was so close to her, ripped out of her hands quicker than she could blink. Crowe was suffocating herself, wanting to leave and get some fresh air and back to her bed. With little of the strength she had left, she asked Mrs. Knight if she could drive her back home now.

Mrs. Knight agreed, walking back to the hallway to grab her things. Crowe stood up and headed toward the front door, not saying anything to the boys. They noticed how calm she was being, wondering if she was okay or even wanted to tell Kendall off. Mrs. Knight went outside to ready the car for Crowe, leaving her inside to see if she would say bye to the boys.

Words weren’t easy for her to say, she always struggled with that. But what was easy for her was letting go, everything she had worked towards for years, she just let go. It was ingrained in her that if something didn’t work out, then you have to move past it and do something else. Even if it was so special to her heart, but she wanted to leave the boys knowing she was going to be okay, even if she knew it was a lie.

It’ll be the last time they ever see each other, so she wanted to leave on a good note. Meekly muttering, “I had fun tonight, thanks,” wanting to see them again but knowing full well how this always goes she ended with a “Bye.” and made her way out to the car.

⟡

The sun had risen again the following morning, shining through the open curtains Crowe forgot to close last night. Waking her up and not being happy about it but decided to get up. Fixing her ponytail and bangs from the night of tossing and turning, she threw on some sweatpants and a washed but still paint covered hoodie and headed to the bathroom.

Catching a glance of her reflection she stared at herself, her tired eyes wandering down to the necklace. Lightly touching it and feeling ashamed for letting her mother down. Exiting the bathroom to not dwell on it any longer and going to the kitchen to find some snacks in the cupboard.

Opening the cupboard only to notice that she had run out of everything. She scoffed at herself for forgetting to write a note for her future self to refill it. Writing notes was something she had always done since she was 5, even if most of the older notes were just colorful scribbles or doodles.

It comforted her, it made her think she wasn’t the only one inside the house all day, that someone was looking at her note and knew what she was doing.

‘Leaving, be back soon’

Last night’s note stuck in the same place near the doorway, not taking it down to add to the pile of others. Slipping on her shoes and gloves, taking the keys with her since she didn’t want to walk all the way to the supermarket.

Pulling up to the store and parking, making her way to the aisles of various snacks. Picking up anything sour or spicy related to make her feel better after yesterday’s events.

Checking out and paying was simple enough, but carrying the two heavy bags back to the car was harder. Crossing the parking lot then abruptly stopping when she heard someone call her out, sort of, “Bird, watch out!” who sounded suspiciously like James.

Looking over to confirm but was met with a shopping cart to the side, knocking the wind out of her and one of the paper bags to rip apart from the impact.

Holding the side that was now probably bruised, she sat up and brushed the snow and gravel out of her hair. Picking up a couple of her things and squishing them into the single bag she had now. Apologies sounding closer as four familiar faces came to help her back up on her feet.

“What’s with all the snacks? Oh, are you throwing a party?!” Carlos asked as he collected some of the snacks and placed them inside the bag. Acting oddly the same as Crowe, as he seemed to not recall the rejection yesterday.

“No, I don’t really like parties,” answering him as she grabbed the rest from his hands. She wanted to end the conversation and head back so she quickly said her goodbyes. “Nice seeing you guys again, but I gotta head back. So, bye.”

About to leave but was stopped by Kendall as he handed her a drink she bought, almost leaving it behind. “You don’t have to leave so quickly that you almost forget something.”

“Don’t worry, when you come to a party we throw, you’ll surely change your mind.” Carlos said, making it seem like she didn’t know how to have fun and that there would be more times of them all hanging out together.

“We know how to have fun, watch this.” Taking a grocery cart from Kendall and facing it towards the cart corrals near the entrance doors. “If I make a hole in one, you have to call that guy back.”

Crowe smiled a bit, hearing that they, or maybe just Carlos, wanted to hang out with her again brought her a certain joy that she didn’t know she had.

Carlos had jumped in the cart, racing through the lot hoping for a hole in one. Instead he was hit by an oncoming car, something he could’ve easily avoided if he looked at his surroundings before launching himself.

A chorus of laughter came from the four who weren’t harmed, Carlos stumbling back and wobbled his way towards the group. Surprisingly unscathed thanks to his trusty helmet, Crowe tried to leave but once again was stopped by the boys as they still tried to convince Kendall to call the mean producer back. It was a nice gesture sure, but the girl knew that once someone made up their mind it would take a lot of convincing to change it.

She stayed, maybe because they were stubborn and didn’t let her leave or maybe she had a small drop of hope that the boys could change his mind. After a completely unrelated conversation between James and Kendall talking about the odd items that James kept on him, it got down to the point with Kendall asking a question.

“You’re saying if you all had a chance to go to LA with a giant turd producer to record demos, you’d go?”

Without saying a word the three boys held out their cellphones, urging the blonde to make the call. With Kendall’s turn of grocery cart golf, came a hole-in-one.

⟡

A luxurious white limousine, standing out like a sore thumb, came to a halt right outside of the Sherwood store.

An imitating looking Gustavo and Kelly stepped out of the vehicle. Both groups walked towards each other, reaching the middle as Gustavo pressed, “Well?”

“Okay. I’ll go to LA with you and record some demos,” Kendall agreed. Gustavo looked satisfied but it quickly faded when Kendall added. “ If, you take my buds and make us a singing group, with help from our new songwriter/assistant.”

The four looked at him with utter shock, Logan spat out his drink and Crowe had a small coughing fit. Thinking there was no way the hot-headed producer would agree to his outrageous deal.

Confirming her suspicions, Gustavo was pissed. “I-I’m sorry,are you trying to make a deal with me? I make the deals.”

But Kendall didn’t back down as he declared that if Gustavo wanted him, all of them would go, an all-or-nothing deal.

“No way Gustavo Rocque is takin’ the five dogs from Minnesota to Los Angeles to make them stars. It’s never gonna happen. Never!” sounding more desperate than ever.

Kendall responded kindly, clearly having the upper hand in the negotiation. “So, we have a deal.”

“Yep.”

⟡

After the long grueling hours on the plane, it made Crowe sick to her stomach and decide that she hated planes, wanting to never go back on one again. Spending about 10 minutes in the LAX bathroom throwing up contents of her stomach, while having Mrs. Knight and Katie watch over her, having water bottle’s near her.

Thanking the two over and over again, being slightly embarrassed that they had to take care of her when they didn’t need to. Brushing her teeth to try to get rid of the smell as much as she could. Emerging from the bathroom and realizing that she hadn’t checked on the boys, not knowing if one of them is possibly going through the same issue as her.

The boys rushed over to her, thankfully looking in much better condition than her. Logan had offered her medicine and ways she could prevent herself from vomiting anymore. Clearly not focusing on what he said but was thankful nonetheless. Kendall handed over some napkins and a paper bag in case she might vomit again. Carlos gave her an energy drink to help her rehydrate and was continuously asking if she was alright.

James was the only one not concerned, “You’re not going to get me sick, are you? I don’t need to get sick.” Crowe blinked in disbelief, “It’s not contagious. So, no.” He sighed in relief, “Oh, that’s good. I don’t want your gross germs infecting me. My voice needs to be in the best condition to sing for Gustavo.”

Her opinion of James changed again, liking him less than the other three and being at the bottom of her list.

Going down to collect all their luggage, Crowe was more than relieved to find her luggage safe, especially her pink luggage which contained some of her valuables. After dealing with the terrible turbulence, she was afraid that it might’ve gotten damaged on the way here. Making their way out of the terminal and following Kelly as she had called ahead for a limousine to take them to their future home for the next three months.

The boys rushed over to be the first one in, having them sit in the back while the other three ladies sat on the sides. Looking through the windows outside and seeing all the sights that LA had to offer as they drove. Rolling the windows down and opening the sunroof to stick their heads out to feel the warm breeze.

Crowe was calm now that she felt the wind blow on her face, loving the warmth over the freezing cold that Minnesota had practically every day.

Now this is something I could get used to.

Once they had arrived at the Palm Woods, something that Kelly had chalked up to be the place where all the future famous go to live, they all exited the vehicle excited.

The building seemed larger than life with various different kinds of people entering and exiting.

Mrs. Knight went straight to a palm tree, “ That's the first palm tree I’ve ever touched!”

Continuing down the path leading to the lobby, Kelly had told them about their accommodations adding the fact that there was an amazing pool.

At the mention of a pool, the boys dropped everything and ran outside to where it was located. Wanting to see it too, even if she didn’t like pools, and join the boys, Crowe politely asked the front desk if someone could take her bags up to her room, taking extra care of the pink one since it had breakables.

She noticed they had gotten comfortable so she found an empty chair next to Kendall and sat down herself. When not even a few seconds of sitting, some random girl in a sparkly purple dress and updo hair slapped Kendall across the face, screaming at him, “How dare you?! What we had was real! But you threw it all away for Trish! Trish, my sworn enemy! I never wanna see you again Troy, never!”

Shrieking and sobbing, leaving the group a bit stunned to say the least.

“You new guys just met Camille, the Palm Woods method actress queen.” a voice coming from the trash can next to Crowe, which startled her again.

Crowe lifted the lid, revealing a red headed boy as he introduced himself, “The name’s Tyler. You may have seen me acting on various juice box commercials. Only, I don’t wanna be an actor, I wanna be a kid.”

Crowe felt some sympathy towards him and his situation.

Just then a woman called out his name, causing Tyler to hide again. “Oh! Hide me.” Quickly putting the lid back on to cover him and having a frantic woman, his mother, ask the group if they had seen her son for another audition he has.

Apparently the boys were all on the same page and pointed towards the lobby where he ‘apparently’ went. Making Crowe awkwardly join a bit late, with the mother thanking them and rushing off to find her son.

Tyler popped back out being surprised they helped him and thanked them.

Logan asked the question they all wondered about the kids here, “So is everyone here an actor?”

“No, that’s guitar dude. He’s a ‘songwriter’.” The kid pointed at a long haired guy with a guitar and two girls at his side.

Saying what’s up and then going into an impromptu ‘what’s up, what’s up, what’s up?’ Crowe is a bit impressed with how quick he can jump into song, thinking maybe she could get some ideas from him.

“Oh, that’s Lightning, the tv wonder dog.” Next was an adorable dog with sunglasses on, waving his paw at the group.

“Oh, and then there’s the Jennifers,” finishing off the list with three girls. “3 girls who all have the same name, who sing, dance, and act.” Tyler shifted a large fan in their direction, their hair blowing and slow walking.

They were all pretty so of course the boys would stare at them. Crowe did too, but feeling a little self conscious and intimidated since she didn’t carry herself like those three did.

“Hey!” James called out to them, they stopped and took off their sunglasses, “We’re in a band.”

“Really? Oh my gosh.” The three simultaneously said, with a tone of sarcasm that was easy for Crowe to detect.  “And we’re actresses who don’t care.” Brunette haired Jennifer said.

Carlos didn’t get the hint though and asked, “Wanna go to the movies tonight?”

Sweet, but they are definitely gonna say no.

Confirming her thoughts and saying unless they’re in the movie then no. “If that seems harsh, it’s because it is, and so is this town. So…” Ending off with putting sunglasses back on and sauntering away, curly haired Jennifer paying Tyler for his work.

I should be careful around them, but at least they paid him.

Carlos declaring how he’s in love and Kendall giving them all, but Crowe not needing one, a reality check. Not wanting the town or singing carriers to change them for the worse, as everyone agreed.

Feeling inspiration hit her, she took out her used journal and favorite sparkly green pen, adding a small note to look for a new book, she started jotting down some lyrics. Once Crowe had something in mind, she had to write it down as quickly as she could or it would disappear and leave her stumped.

Maybe something like, ‘listen to your heart now…better take your shot now’? Yeah, that sounds decent.

Not even 10 minutes later the boys went upstairs and changed into swim clothes, coming back down to lay down on pool floaties and sipping coconuts. Crowe didn’t join them but instead went to the smoothie cart to grab a cold drink to see how good it is here.

Crowe headed back to the boys, waiting for Kelly to tell them the plans for today. She was about to pass the Jennifers but got stopped by blonde Jennifer, waving her over.

“Hi, what’s your name?” Brunette Jennifer asked, Crowe being thrown off a bit by the nice greeting compared to the boys.

“Crowe.” She responded.

“What brings you to LA? Acting? Singing?” Blonde, and possibly the leader, Jennifer asked.

“Songwriting,” Crowe corrected her, nodding towards the four boys, “For them but technically Gustavo.”

“ Gustavo ,” All three collectively said with a tone of acknowledgement? Crowe wasn’t exactly sure.

“Well, if you guys survive his boot camp then maybe you can write some songs for us.” Blonde Jennifer suggested.

“Bootcamp?” Crowe repeated, confused on what that meant.

Brunette Jennifer explained, “Gustavo puts all his new talents through one to see if they have what it takes, even if you aren’t a part of the band you’ll be put to the test too. He only works with the best.”

The three collectively nodded, showing sympathy towards Crowe.

“Oh, thanks for the warning. I appreciate it, it’ll help calm my nerves.” Giving a gracious smile to the three and nodding her head, signaling she was leaving.

Crowe bumped into the four boys who were staring in the direction of the Jennifers, forming some kind of plan.

Moving next to Kelly, Crowe told them they won’t go for them unless they’re famous. Kelly agreed, but they ignored her and went to follow through with it.

“Clearly you don’t understand the power of the…” James finished that sentence by doing some weird finger moves and moving his head in a circle.

I clearly don’t understand.

Kelly was about to object but Crowe interjected and whispered to her, “I wanna see where this goes.” Talking to James, “Go ahead, let’s see it work.” A smirk covering her and Kelly’s face.

As expected, the Jennifers threw the pink smoothies they were drinking at them before they could finish a sentence. Crowe busted out laughing, covering her mouth and liking what they deserved from not listening to her.

⟡

The boys and Crowe gaped at the sights of various posters lining the walls of Rocque Records. All the numerous stars that Gustavo had been in charge of, leaving some room of hope for the boys to have a poster like that.

Hopefully not like ‘Boyquake’ though. Dismissing that one in particular, she wasn’t the only one who thought so too.

“Do we want to end up on these walls?” Kendall was the one to make his concern heard, ending up with contradicting answers from the others.

“Yes,” James being the only confident one while Carlos and Logan had a negative reaction. Leaving Crowe to be in the middle of both, “Maybe…?”

Kelly redirected their attention, introducing the famous ‘The Pussycat Dolls’ singer Nicole Scherzinger. The five were starstruck, mouths agape but saying nothing. Except when Carlos boldly bursted out, “He’s gonna marry you.” nudging at James.

Nicole playfully questioned ‘Where’s my ring’, leaving James stammering. Kendall came to James’ rescue to let her know they were here to record some demos with Gustavo. After the mention of his name, Nicole was apparent in showing her dismay.

Politely mentioning how she and Gustavo had some ‘creative differences’ working on her first album. Making the five confused but once Gustavo emerged from his office to say hi to the singer, it was obvious that she really didn’t like him. Throwing a phone at him and missing him just by a millisecond, Gustavo closing the door just in time, hitting the door rather than him.

Wishing the five good luck before leaving, Kelly gave the all clear to Gustavo who stepped out and faced his new talents. He regained his composure, the excitement in his voice fading near the end as he told the group some bad news.

“Ok, so you guys ready to be stars? Are you ready to be a songwriter?”

“Yeah.” the five nodded eagerly.

“Good,” Gustavo continued, aiming a finger at Crowe and motioning it towards Carlos. It took Crowe a second to realize what he was getting at, taking Carlos’ helmet off and holding onto it.

“Then prove to me you can be stars. We have 3 days to prove to this record company that there’s something, anything here.”

Kelly had the same confused face as the five, clearly not aware of the new sudden development. The boys started to argue with Gustavo as they won’t be able to make it happen. Shortening it from 3 months to 3 days sounded impossible, it would take everything they got and hoping it’s enough.

Crowe was definitely worried, if they can’t do this then all of this would be for nothing. She was about to start panicking but she focused back onto the main conversation when Kendall stepped up accepting the challenge.

“Oh, we can do it. No problem. Bring it.” Stepping closer to Gustavo and shrugging.

“Oh, I will bring it. I’ll bring everything I got.” Gustavo had accepted the challenge, not backing down either. The two stared each other down until Kendall broke the silence, “This is a little too close for me.”

Gustavo agreed, stepping back from the frontman, instructing the boys to change and meet in the practice room.

Crowe followed Kelly into the practice room and took out her journal and tried to hum a tune while writing down more lyrics. Tapping her pen on the book to form some kind of idea.

‘What you gotta lose? Go and make your luck with the life you choose. If you want it all, lay it on the line, it's the only one you got?’...I hate that ending but I’ll deal with it later.

Crowe shoved the book back into her bag once she finished and waited for the start of bootcamp. The four entered the room wearing camouflage pants and olive green shirts, with James being the odd one out with rolled sleeves. Crowe thought they looked a bit ridiculous but once she saw Gustavo wear a similar outfit but as a drill sergeant, she oddly kind of felt a bit left out.

“To be a great pop group, you need four things,” Gustavo held up four fingers, “Great dancing, a great look, a great song, and great singing.”

Kelly blew an airhorn and three teams came into the room, Crowe had presumed a styling team, choreographer and marketing by what they were wearing. Each having a move except the marketing team, they didn’t have one so they improvised, badly, with Gustavo telling them to just stop.

“First up in boot camp, great dancing.” The first one to help the boys was a man dressed in black and gold, Mr. X. Gustavo explained that he has choreographed for Boyquake, Boyz In The Attic, Madonna, Beyonce, and Yo Gabba Gabba. Showing off each signature move respectfully, slightly impressing the boys and Crowe.

Mr. X started with an x-amination of the boys, figuring out how good each one is. After a demonstration of what he wanted, the boys copied him, badly. James and Kendall had luck in being able to recreate it, but Logan failed and accidentally slapped Carlos in the face. Luckily he had his helmet again, wondering when he took it from Crowe, so when he fell on the floor it didn’t harm him too badly.

Going one by one and telling them how they did, holding no punches in saying that they were bad and can’t be ready by Friday. Gustavo compromised with doubling his x-salary which Mr. X had immediately agreed to. Leaving Mr. X to the boys and checking back in with them in an hour.

“You, follow me.” Gustavo ordered Crowe, heading out the door.

Crowe followed but not before stopping to turn around and give the boys a thumbs up and a ‘good luck’.

She followed Gustavo to his office and sat at the empty seat in front of his desk.

“You, uhhh…” Gustavo snapping his fingers as he struggled to remember her name.

Kelly filled in the blank, “Calliope Ar-” but Crowe stopped her before she finished.

“Crowe, just Crowe is fine.” a slight shiver down her back.

“Alright,” Gustavo not questioning it, “I saw you write something down earlier, was it another one of your songs?”

“Oh yeah, I haven’t finished it yet but here.” Crowe handed over her book with it open to the song she was currently stumped on.

“This doesn’t look that bad, it just needs some touch ups and refining, with my help of course. But I think you should try to finish this one soon, this could be my next big hit. But for now, it’ll still be ‘Girl Time’ for my first hit back.” Gustavo said, not directly giving Crowe a compliment but she was fine with it. As long as Gustavo thought it had potential then it was something she knew she had to finish, especially since the song he was preparing sounded worse than she imagined for the boy’s first hit song.

“Since you’re going to be my protege,” tossing the closed book at Crowe, “You have to get used to the equipment here cause I don’t want you to break anything! Cause if you do, you’ll be banned from stepping foot in this studio until you pay it off!” Gustavo said loud and clear, finishing it off with details for her contract as Kelly handed Crowe some paperwork.

“Got it. What’s this?” Crowe reading over the internship details, noticing an acting gig was even included. Looking at Gustavo and Kelly confused while pointing directly at it, showing it to them both.

“What?” Gustavo had to squint to see what she was pointing at, “Oh that. Besides working for me and writing some songs, you got to do some odd acting gigs when you’re not busy.” Waving it off, not really fully explaining why so Kelly took over to help him out.

“It’ll allow you to be in a school program here,” Crowe still didn’t quite understand but kept listening before objecting. “The programs are mostly mandated by the Actors, Singers, and Performers Association, which means you’re only allowed in if you’re an active performer in music, television or film.”

“So technically, me being a songwriter can’t get me into that Actors singer school thing?” Crowe asked, trying to find a way around not acting.

“You said you didn’t sing back in Minnesota, so acting it is.” Kelly reasoned with her.

Crowe didn’t have anything to say after that but Gustavo did.

“So unless you wanna sing for me,” Waiting a moment to get her response, she shook her head no. “Then you have to be on tv or something like that. We’ll figure it out later.”

Pushing right along, Kelly offered to give Crowe a tour of the place so she wouldn’t get lost. Crowe was excited to say the least, wanting to know what all this place had to offer. With Gustavo joining them taking the lead on most parts, like for the recording equipment, sound booths and such. Letting Kelly take over when she explained to Crowe some of the assistant work she might do while working there.

Rounding back to the practice room after showing most of the essential things she needed to know, quickly going to the lounge area to grab the boys water bottles. Knowing it must’ve been hard work to learn new dance moves for over an hour, it’ll help them cool off before continuing the boot camp.

Once the three entered the room, Gustavo turned off the music from the stereo system and found the boys sprawled out on the floor with Mr. X nowhere in sight.

Logan, James and Kendall sitting on the ground and Carlos hanging upside down on his head with his helmet on him. Crowe handed the cold bottles to each boy, thanking her while x-plaining why their dance instructor was gone.

“Well, first he banged his head into the wall a few times.” Logan started. Carlos continued, “Then we got really dizzy.” Gustavo started to shake. James added on, “Then he said a bunch of bad words that started with ‘x’.” With Kendall finishing off, “Then he x-quit.”

Kelly frantically got her and Crowe headphones, trying to save their ears from Gustavo’s loud cry. It was so loud that the kids back at the Palm Woods could practically hear it.

Moving into a different room after Gustavo was finished screaming, part 2 of his boot camp commenced. The four boys at one end of the table facing the others with Crowe, Kelly, Gustavo and the marketing team in front.

The man on the marketing team started their presentation on the boys' looks/style, “Guys, we have some exciting looks that will literally transform you.”

“Can’t we just be ourselves?” Kendall stated his dismay but was shut down by the marketing pair laughing and stating no.

“Boys, we researched and electroshocked focus groups to determine the exact look and name that will sell millions of records.” The woman said, turning the screen on to show the data. Crowe was taken aback by what she just said, “You did what?”

Ignoring her, the man brought in the stylists team consisting of four women, each holding a different styling object.

“Now, Griffin wants a tasty dish on Friday. That’s why we’re giving him…” letting the stylists get to work on the first look.

Crowe had a hard time containing her laughter as they went over the first look as ‘boy-licious’, along with Kendall giving his opinions. “The beach, girls, the shirtless overalls.” Clearly not loving the look as much as James did, “I think we look good.”

Gustavo wanted more options as he didn’t love the look either, making them change into outfit number 2.

It wasn’t any better, Crowe struggling even more to not make a sound and covering her mouth.

“This look does great with war veterans who own buicks.” The man said.

James still liking the second outfit, “We look good.” and Kendall still hating it, “We look like Uncle Sam threw up on us.”

“You, silent.” Gustavo pointed at Kendall, “You, stop laughing.” now pointing at Crowe. “You, more options.” pointing at the marketing pair.

The third and final change was definitely a strange one Crowe thought, not laughing anymore but feeling bad for the boys. How James thought any of the looks were good was something she wouldn’t try to understand.

“I give you…danger boy.” The pair said, “Danger boy is danger. Parents will forbid their kids to buy the dangerous music.” “And that’s exactly why they will.” The man ended with a fistbump with his partner.

“I, uh, can’t feel my legs.” Logan was wearing ‘dangerously tight pants’ and barely being able to stand up. Now Crowe was really feeling bad for them and thankfully Gustavo still didn’t like it.

“I hate it.” Gustavo said in defeat, with the marketing pair agreeing, baffling Crowe.

“I need 5 new looks for tomorrow.” Unfortunately not giving up on the horrible taste the team had. “All right, now follow me to hear your first hit single that’s gonna put me back on top. Move out.” Gustavo turned to go out and everyone followed right behind him.

Crowe was about to just leave before she remembered the boys’ situation as they all collectively fell on the ground screaming. She rushed to help each of them up, leaving James last since he thought they still looked good. Helping the boys get to the dressing room for them to finally change back into their regular looking clothes.

Part 3 commenced as Gustavo told the boys the great song they would sing.

“It’s called ‘Girl Time’.” Kelly said, handing out the sheets to the four. Crowe stood near the piano looking over the lyrics as Gustavo played.

“It’s a song about no matter what time of day it is,” Gustavo started to sing, “Don’t you know it’s girl time?” Both him and Kelly turned to face the boys as he continued with the song.

He yawns and stretches his arms out “I just woke up. What time is it? It’s girl time. Excuse me, sir. Do you know what time it is? Yeah it’s girl time.” Driving his scene out to emphasize the song.

Logan was thinking too literally, “What if you have a sinus infection? Isn’t that doctor time?”

“He’s not wrong.” Crowe butted in.

“No. No, no, it’s still girl time.” Gustavo said, getting frustrated.

Kendall didn’t help either, “Do any of your songs not have the word ‘girl’ in them?”

Gustavo frustratingly shouted at him. “Let’s find out, Mr. question everything I do. Let’s take a look at my wall of platinum records!” Pushing the boys aside to go behind them.

He started off at the top left and listed off each one, “There’s, uh, ‘Girl like you,’ ‘Girl, you are my girl,’ ‘Hot girl,’ ‘Cold girl,’ ‘Girl to my heart,’ ‘Yard squirrel christmas’-I forgot that one was there.” It made Crowe do a double take when she heard that, breaking up the flow that Gustavo had.

But he got back into flow, “Uh, ‘Girl zone,’ ‘Girl zone remix,’ ‘Girl cake,’  and ‘Girl, girl, girl’ which sold 3 million copies and was number one for 5 weeks!”

Gustavo had enough as he walked right up to Kendall, slapping his cheek twice and taunting him “Any other questions, dog?”

Kendall, please don’t… Crowe anxiously waited.

Except Kendall did, “Are any of those songs from this girl-ennium?”

Once Gustavo started to shake, Carlos put his helmet on and Kelly and Crowe put the headphones back on preparing for the worst.

Apparently Gustavo couldn’t work if his blood pressure was high, so they had to wait as he was hooked up to a heart monitor. So when a piece of paper showing his heart rate was back to normal and his blood pressure 120 over 80, Gustavo ripped everything off his arm.

Before he pressed any buttons, Kelly warned him, “Remember, these boys haven’t had a break all day.”

“Yeah, I think they’re getting a little punchy.” Crowe added a warning herself.

Gustavo didn’t care so he went ahead anyway. “Ok, and now it’s time for the final phase of Gustavo Rocque’s most awesomest pop-group boot camp, the singing!” Screaming loud enough that there was feedback in the boys’ headphone’s causing them to wince at the noise.

“What is this place?” Kendall asked.

“It’s a sound booth guys. It just isolates the vocals in case we need to edit or enhance them later.” Kelly answered this time.

The boy’s weren’t focusing on singing just yet so they continued asking more questions about the items in the booth. Containing pillows in which James asked if they wanted them to nap.

They aren’t focusing, this’ll be fun. Smirking a bit to herself to see how long it would take until they break.

“They just absorb any extra echo or treble, just like those big foam mic covers.” Kelly explained again.

Kendall took the mic off the stand and hit it against his head, Kelly adding onto the fact that she placed fruit water in there if their mouths got dry. Crowe wasn’t sure about that combination, the restless boys with pillows and water. It wasn’t going to end well.

“Ok, great. And-” Gustavo tried to stay on track but the boys had other plans. Kendall, still holding the covered mic, hit Carlos’ head and quipped how he wasn’t so tough without his helmet. It caused a negative reaction as Carlos grabbed one of the various colored fruit water and sprayed it at Kendall. Missing him when Kendall leaned back, getting the water on Logan instead.

Logan tried to be civil but when Carlos sprayed him again, he decided to fight back. Starting a messy fight that Gustavo certainly wasn’t happy about. Logan missed, just like Carlos, and got what James calls his ‘lucky white v-neck’ dirty. Successfully getting James involved into the fight.

“Maybe the fruit water was a bad idea.” Kelly stated.

Gustavo asked Crowe to get them to stop but it wasn’t helpful as they moved onto a pillow fight, feathers flying all around the small booth and covering the sight of the boys.

“Pillows were a bad idea too.” Crowe said bluntly. “We tried to tell you they were tired.”

“Just have the boys meet me in the studio when they’re finished.” He said and left to not witness the continued mess happening. Kelly followed him as soon as Carlos got thrown and slid down right into the screen separating the two groups. Crowe knew it would be awhile before the four got tired out, she sat where Gustavo was previously and just watched. Dreading if she would be the one to clean up their mess instead of the ones who caused it.

It took about ten minutes before the four finished and even realized Gustavo and Kelly were gone. All walking out the booth to ask Crowe where they went. The only thing she told them was to meet him back in the studio. She didn’t want to say how upset she was, she knew they were under a lot of pressure. But maybe if they could’ve let Gustavo know, then maybe they all wouldn’t be in the mess awaiting them in the studio.

Crowe stood next to Kendall and Gustavo started down the line, saying all his disappointments towards them, but mostly the boys.

“You can’t sing.” Carlos was first and was clearly upset.

“You can’t sing or dance.” Logan tried to defend himself but was shut down quickly.

Gustavo completely skipped over James, who was smiling eagerly until he passed him.

And finally getting to Kendall, “And worst of all, you don’t even seem to want this.” Kendall coughed up some feathers which didn’t make anything better.

“What about me? I can sing, dance, and I want this.” James earnestly said, coming back to the fact that he was the reason this whole thing started.

“You remind me a lot of Matthew McConaughey,” James smiled, considering it a compliment.

“I can’t stand Matthew McConaughey! This group can’t sing, can’t dance. You don’t have a song or a look, and they’re covered in feathers!” Gustavo went off on the group who were already knocked down.

“And I would rather quit right now, than commit pop suicide on Friday in front of the record company. However, there is one song I would love to play for you.” Heading over to the piano.

“Ohh, now that I’m through bangin’ my head, this band of dogs, is officially dead!” Playing a catchy tune and ending things with a song. Leaving the boys and Crowe defeated, they all left the studio heading to the elevator to go back to the Palm Woods.

Crowe was behind, slowing down before stopping. The four continued down the hall not noticing her, but she couldn’t just end it there without doing something. They were the reason she was here at all, so Crowe went back to the studio and threw the door open, her emotions getting the better of her.

“Oh, come on!” She half yelled at Gustavo, who looked back at her shocked, with everyone else staring “Can’t you just cut them a little bit of slack. They tried their best with what you gave them, 3 days! Instead of 3 months, thanks to that Griffin boss, but you didn’t even give them a chance!” Gustavo tried to interrupt but Kelly stopped him.

Struggling to find the right words but she pushed through, only for the boys, “Like actually giving them a fucking chance to be themselves. You tried to squeeze everything in 1 day and mold them into some weird boy group that they're not.”

Choking on the last few words to her former boss, “It might’ve not been your choice to do that but if it was, then you gave up on them way before we even came here.”

Crowe left slamming the door behind her and being disappointed at how quickly things ended. Slowing down her breath once she reached the elevator, waiting for the doors to close her in the empty space. A few salty tears escaped, she touched her cheek in surprise since the last time she cried was when she was 4 and at a funeral.

She surprised herself even more when she went back to yell at Gustavo. Crowe never defended anyone before besides herself, she was the only person she ever relied on. Maybe it was just her guilt taking over, how she couldn’t help the boys at all. She didn’t want to admit that maybe she cared for them, she doesn’t want to be disappointed when they leave her. Wiping the tears away when the elevator dinged, engulfing her necklace in her hand so no one could see her be vulnerable.

Crowe arrived back at the Palm Woods, noticing the four from the lobby laying on chairs by the pool except for James who was pacing back and forth. Crowe and Katie approached them at the same time, with Katie asking them, “So has Gustavo dork made you guys famous yet?”

Probably not the best question to ask right now.

“We had some creative differences.” Kendall said to his little sister.

“You got fired, didn’t you?” Katie didn’t hold back, used to the boys’ behavior.

“All he did was yell and scream at us and make us wear dangerously tight pants.” Kendall defended him and his friends, but James wasn’t accepting that fact.

“Yeah, you’re right. He wanted to turn us into rich and famous pop stars. What an idiot!” Turing his anger towards him.

“He wanted to turn us into his trained dancing dogs.”

“Rich and famous dancing dogs.” James hopped up and down like a show dog to try to get his point across.

“He’s got a point.” Logan agreed with James.

“Oh. So you’re siding with James now?” Kendall said, sounding a bit offended.

“No. I-maybe. Kinda. Yes.” Saying his stance.

James started to blame them again, how he was the only one who tried while they didn’t care. Carlos hopped up to try to diffuse the situation so it wouldn’t escalate any farther. James took it a bit too personal when he insulted Carlos’ singing and his beloved helmet and shoved him back onto the chair.

Carlos fought back, lunging at James ignoring Logan’s warning of the town changing them for the worse. Kendall didn’t even try to stop them but just concluded that all four boys were fighting and grabbed Carlos to pry him off James, Logan doing the same to James. Soon they were all just shouting over each other, it was hard to even know what they were saying. Katie had enough and looked to Crowe, motioning her head to the boys then the pool.

Crowe quickly understood and both of them went behind the four and pushed them hard enough so they could fall in the cold pool. They resurface looking angry towards the two girls, Kendall questioning why they did that. Both Katie and Crowe remarked with all the stress they’ve been under, it was an easy way to cool them down. The boys apologized to each other and soon splashed and dunked James underwater. Crowe fetched them towels, relieved that they were acting like best friends again.

The five sat around a fire pit, accepting the fact that they’re going to leave soon.

“I could stay here and be a model. I’m still great-looking. Or the star of a reality show.” James said, trying to find ways to stay.

“Reality shows are becoming a big hit recently.” Crowe threw out.

“Which one? ‘Project Idiot’?” Carlos playfully rebutted, high-fiving Crowe beside him.

“You know what’s funny?” Kendall questioned, “We didn’t even get a chance to sing together.”

“Oh yeah, I was kinda looking forward to it.” Crowe thought out loud.

Kendall took that thought and began to sing the ‘giant turd song’. Carlos, Logan, and James joined in Kendall’s antics, standing up to dance along and beatboxing coming from Logan. James ended the song belting out the last few notes, leaving Crowe quite impressed with their singing skills. She clapped her hands and everyone near who heard them joined in the applause as they sat back down.

“We should do this. You guys were right, I really think we should do this.” Kendall stood back up moving to the front to face all of them.

“How? We got fired, remember?” Logan reminded him.

“We didn’t get fired.” Kendall waved off his worries.

“We got fired.” Crowe bluntly stated.

Kendall didn’t back down though and continued his pitch. “But the problem is we didn’t try our best.”

“I tried my best.” James interjected, reminding them for the thousandth time.

“We know James. We know.” Crowe tired of him bringing it up again, patting his shoulder.

Turning to guitar dude to give him some inspirational music and trying to fully convince them they had a chance.

“We are hockey players, brothers of the ice,” He began but Crowe coughed to signal that she was there too.

“Do you play hockey? Or even skate?” Finding a way to include her.

“I don’t play hockey but I do figure skating.” Crowe compromised.

Her answer caused the four to gasp and stare at her with seemingly a small disgust on their faces. She hoped it was caused by her not playing hockey and not over one of the countless hobbies she does.

“We’ll get back to that later,” pushing aside that fact. “But we do not quit. Now, are we gonna dump the puck and scramble back to the bench. Or are we gonna grab that puck, pull the goalie, and rush the net big time?” Saying it in terms that only the hockey players knew, leaving Crowe scrambling to wonder what any of it meant. But there was something she knew from the jumble of words Kendall said, pulling her journal back out to finally finish what she started once she met the boys.

Barely listening in to the conversation, only hearing a few words from Kendall realizing something. Crowe scribbled the last few words she needed at the top before turning her attention back to them, concealing a smile from them.

“Big time rush.” James said joining Kendall in their ‘comeback’ and putting his hand on top of Kendall’s. Carlos followed suit, tapping his helmet twice and placing his hand in, “Big time rush.” Logan added his own and covered Carlos’ hand, “Big time rush.”

Then they all turned to look at the girl that they brought along on their mess, waiting for her response.

Crowe didn’t know why they were looking at her so she glanced at James who just nudged his head at their hand pile. They were implying that she was included in the decision too, even though they didn’t know her for long they considered her as part of the group.

It warmed her heart knowing she finally had someone who cared about what she thought too, so it was easy to make the final decision.

With her open book in her hands, she placed it on top of the pile to show what she wrote and proudly said, “Big time rush.” revealing the song that would convince Gustavo to take them back and make them a boy band, one that shows off each unique and special thing about the members.

The following morning, all five teens and Gustavo’s team met up in the hallways of Rocque Records. Kendall led the group to face Gustavo who did the same, coming to a halt in the middle.

“Well?” Gustavo questioned.

“Ok, we’ll do it your way,” Kendall began. “No goofing off, no pillow fights, and no questions for the next 2 days.”

Gustavo was happy with the group's decision, “Ok. ‘Girl Time’ from the top.”

“Except for that. We really don’t wanna sing ‘Girl Time’.” Getting rid of the idea of singing that horrible song.

“Oh, let me guess. You have a better idea. Well, let’s hear it. Let’s hear the dogs’ better song title.” Not convinced they could do any better than him.

Kendall stepped to the side revealing Crowe behind him, letting her take the lead on her idea.

“Big time, rush.” They all collectively said, having Crowe explain further.

“It’s a song about 4 hockey players,” whispering her part “and a figure skater, from Minnesota who have an amazing opportunity in front of ‘em. And they’re gonna take their best shot.” holding her breath in anticipation.

“I like it, and you’ve got to stop using the word ‘girl’ in all of your song titles.” Kelly sided with the group.

“I…” Gustavo cried out before returning his voice to normal, “like it also.” The boys smiled at Crowe, happy for her that Gustavo agreed to the song change.

“We’re gonna be workin’ all night, because Friday is 2 days away and we are in a big time rush!” The five were excited to prepare for the biggest day of their lives.

“Now, get in the booth so we can start this thing.” Signaling to the boys and then to Crowe, “And you, give me that book so I can look at my hit song and refine it if I need to.”

The boys entered the booth ready to record and Crowe sat next to Gustavo to produce her song, even if he said it was his, she knew it was hers since she wrote it for the boys.

“Ok, ‘Big Time Rush’ from the top. Only, this time, let’s try not to make me wanna choke you.” Pushing the button to record and begin the song, the four sang the beginning notes.

For the next 2 days, the boys practiced for hours on end learning the dance moves and having Crowe as their audience for every practice session. The only time Crowe didn’t watch was when they were at the studio since she was with Gustavo going over the production of the song and touching up any mistakes they may have missed. But sometimes going inside on her very small break to check on their progress and give them some water.

Even when they were at the pool Crowe was nearby watching, making sure they all stayed focused and having them redo it if they accidentally forgot a move. Sometimes letting them goof off when she was tired of watching the repetitive dance. Except when the Jennifers passed by with the boys following behind them, reminding them that they won’t go for them unless they're famous.

When Gustavo brought the styling team back in, Crowe stepped in and asked if she could take over, not wanting to see any more terrible outfits. With James wanting to help too, they both went through the clothes to find the perfect outfit for each of them. Kendall ending up with a fedora, that Crowe had to convince James that it was a good choice and ended up compromising that he would throw it during a move, gray vest over a black shirt with dark washed jeans and a studded belt to complete it.

Logan and Carlos were pretty easy for the two ‘stylists’ to agree on. Deciding on a red long sleeved shirt with a jacket and tie, having him wear pants instead of jeans, suiting his style more. With Carlos in a blue long sleeved shirt and a black vest. Baggy jeans for him to feel more comfortable to move around in.

It left James last, being the most difficult to work with. Shutting down Crowe’s suggestions and choosing what he thought was best. Some of his clothing choices weren’t that bad, like the denim jeans he was wearing and the graphic t-shirt. But it was the jacket that made Crowe question the complete look. It was a brightly yellow mustard colored jacket or gold as James put it not making it seem any better. She had a hard time convincing James to take it off, him saying that it matched his personality, what that meant she didn’t know and didn’t care to find out.

Ignoring his choice she searched every clothing to find something, anything better to make him change his mind. She finally found a deep purple velvet jacket, knowing this was the one, showing it to James and he surprisingly liked it more than the gold one. Complimenting her on her taste and saying how he’ll look even better now, Crowe rolling her eyes at his over-dramaticness.

Practicing one final time in the new outfits before Griffin arrived, perfecting everything they worked so hard on.

And now Crowe, along with Kelly and Gustavo, stood behind the long awaited Griffin. She was wearing an outfit that Kelly helped pick out since she didn’t have any fancy clothes and was subtly dancing with Kelly as the boys performed.

Ending the performance in poses and catching their breath, waiting to hear the aftermath. Griffin turned around in his chair, giving his thoughts to Gustavo.

“I like ‘em, and the board’s gonna love ‘em.” He stood up, “You got 3 months to make your demos. I told you the boy band was back.” Tapping Gustavo's cheek before ending the meeting, but not before addressing Crowe. “Who are you?”

“She’s my protege and assistant for the band. She wrote the song.” Gustavo said, implying that it was her song instead of his.

“Keep writing like that, I want more hits. Now I have to go. My pants are cold.”

Walking away like he didn’t say anything odd at the end, Gustavo taking over where he just sat to tell the boys the good news. Crowe was keeping her face neutral, not wanting to ruin the surprise or freak out over Griffin liking her work. Gustavo moved to the mic and pressed the button that let him talk to the four in the studio.

“Guess who’s stayin’ in LA.” Having a grin on his face for once.

Everyone celebrated, the boys cheering and Kelly hugging Crowe. Except that Gustavo cut them short, seriously talking to them and Crowe.

“Stop cheering. If you thought the last 3 days were hard, wait till you see the next 3 months.” Listing off everything they still can’t do and need to work on, “Carlos still can’t sing, Logan still can’t dance, and I still can’t stand James.” Crowe laughed at his remark for James.

“We’ll work on it.” Kendall promised.

“Ok, now you can celebrate.” Facing Crowe to talk to her without the boys listening.

“And you, nice work with the song.” Sounding genuine, “But that stunt you pulled yesterday yelling at me, won’t happen again. In this business, you have to do things you don’t want to, even if that means changing four dogs into something they aren’t.” Making sure that Crowe understood how tough the music industry is and preparing her for the worst.

Crowe nodded, thanking both Gustavo and Kelly for everything the past 3 days. She was about to leave but Gustavo caught her off guard, “I didn’t give up on them.”

Remembering it was the last thing she said to him when he fired them. But then remembering that he fired them, “Well…”

“I didn’t! Now leave.” He said not wanting to be wrong.

Crowe happily left the room and met the boys in the studio still celebrating.

“You guys did it, I’m kinda surprised.” Crowe said, not entirely complimenting them but in her own way.

“No,” Carlos stated, tackling her in a hug and squeezing her.

“We did it.” All four collectively said, rushing over and joining Carlos in hugging her and squishing her even more.

Crowe got flustered by the sudden affection from the boys, not used to it and blushing like a tomato.

“Enough hugging.” Having a hard time breathing and getting embarrassed.

The boys ended their hug and stepped back to give her some space. Except James who was still hugging her, whispering to her and making her blush even more.

“Are you blushing cause of me? I know I’m hot.” Smirking at her, oblivious to her distaste towards him.

“You wish.” Crowe responded by elbowing his stomach to let her go, making him cough from the impact.

The other three laughing at his attempt of flirting with Crowe, with all of them heading out to change back into regular clothes so they can go back to the Palm Woods.

Their home for the next three months.

And their musical journey begins…

⟡⟡⟡⟡⟡

[aevyndzn]

Broken Shards of a Shattered Soul

Chapter 2: The Bitter Taste of the Truth

Word Count: 1172 Fandom: Villains Series - V. E. Schwab Characters: Eli Cardale/Eli Ever, Victor Vale Warning/content: Religious trauma, angst, hurt no comfort, graphic depictions of violence, internal homophobia Summary: A dive into the psychology of religious trauma and what that entails on somebody so utterly damaged, he simply turns to the pain in hopes the familiarity will save him. But does it ever?

A/N: Mhmm hope y'all enjoyed~ idk if I should continue this, but I'm thinking of some things for Victor :D

𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥: 𝐄𝐥𝐢 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐄𝐎𝐍

“And as soon as he was come, he goeth straightway to him, and saith, Master, master; and kissed him.” (Mark 14:45 King James Bible)

Eli dreamt of Victor. Again. 

That crazed obsession taking over both reality and his dream world. It was always set in his father's church, where its high stilted walls held up the stained plaster-cracked dome and pale stone columns supported the poorly made arches. He didn't know how to feel every time he was placed here, it had been a world full of pain, one of hope, and liberation. But he didn't want to reminisce on the past, he gave that up long ago. His steps echoed down the aisle, a ghostly choir rose to fill the eerie atmosphere with song. He placed his hand on the wooden pew closest to the altar, staring at that hanging cross from the ceiling, the broken body of the Son of God hung naked and bleeding. He supposed he had something in common with Jesus after all. 

Eli stood and waited. Patiently. 

Victor stepped from behind the shadows and into the light, lit by a stained window depicting the resurrection of Christ. It was fitting, how ironic. The routine always started with Victor appearing and Eli’s breath catching in his throat. It was like Jamais Vu, they were students all over again, Victor and Eli facing each other for the first time. He with his charming expression and his former friend’s scrutinizing gaze. This time it was Eli studying Victor, soaking in the sight of shadows cutting his face into sharp angles, the glow of red bouncing off the planes of his forehead and cheekbones. All Eli wanted to do was grab Victor’s face and smash it onto the floor until it was nothing more, he wanted to stab him, shoot him, push him down a flight of stairs. Anything to get rid of the problem. His problem. 

Eli tried to guess what Victor was going to say. 

Every time it was something different, every time he would be wrong. What was it going to be? He was brought back to past comments: ones where Victor appeared younger, that curious glint in his sharp blue eyes, and joked about mundane subjects, tried to rile him up with playful insults. He only wanted Victor to die even more. There were others of course where Victor was beyond furious, his expression fascinating a side of Eli and disgusted the rest and they had fought like rivals before they had their powers, arguing morals, trying to get the high ground, blaming each other for every little mistake. But the one he loved the most was when Victor looked defeated, all battered and bruised, a sight to behold. And Eli would take that fragile neck in his hands, wrap his fingers along the most vulnerable spots, ones he knew would drag the pain longer and give the satisfaction he lusted for. He would start slowly, pressing into ghost-white skin, putting pressure on the carotid artery little by little. He watched and relished as Victor clawed at his hands, struggling under his weight to no avail. Where his eyes burned with fury, lips curled back into a snarl, completely helpless with Eli on top. He grinned back, grim delight dancing on his face. His heart fluttered with joy as soon as Victor’s attempts to fight back weakened. Ice-blue eyes began to dull, his sworn enemy succumbing to death. True death. And he had felt Victorious. 

Eli was taken aback as soon as the words left Victor’s mouth. “Worship me.”

Disbelief flickered across his face, this wasn't part of the script. This wasn't part of anything at all. It struck a dissonant chord. Contempt twisted in his gut, writhing with rage. Victor held an arrogant look, that demand still ringing in Eli’s skull–a lover's request, a villain’s conquest. He hated it. Hated Victor. Despised how assured he looked, somehow completely confident. Eli’s blood chilled, leftover words dying on his tongue, tasting of ash. Those blasphemous words were poison to the soul, utterly repulsing, unholy, unnatural. Vicious. 

His traitorous body moved without his own accord, he found himself kneeling in front of Victor. Crimson light framed his body in a silhouette. If Victor was the standing sinner, he was the kneeling saint. Eli was close enough to reach up and grab his throat, but his body stayed glued to the floor. He grew increasingly irritated, his dream wasn't making sense, why was he subjected to this humiliation? He tried to open his mouth, tried to scream, shout, cry, anything. Nothing came out. He couldn't speak. He couldn’t move. He couldn't breathe-

Eli’s heart hammered against his ribs, hot red blood rushing past his ears, The constant drumming of his panicking pulse created a cacophony of arterial noise, drowning out everything else. He saw that triumphant look Victor held, hated how his body reacted by rising in temperature, hated how dirty he felt. He kept his chin tilted up, refusing to back down at the boy he once thought was like a brother, glaring at the closest friend he ever had, the only person he had really revealed himself to. Someone much more than that. He couldn't bring himself to think of it. 

Victor fucking Vale. Vain, Violent, Valiant, Vengeful.

All these years he had tried to purge those evil thoughts, had almost done away with every wicked urge. But looking at Victor now, his handsome face inches from his own, Eli wanted to melt under his gaze. He felt God’s judgment weighing on his shoulder, shame clawing its way up his body. He hated Victor. He loved Victor. He wanted to feel Victor die in his arms. He wanted to hold Victor for an eternity. 

Victor was enjoying the conflicting emotions in Eli’s mind, a smile tugged on his lips. “Oh how far the hero falls,” he drawled in a mocking tone. “Thou shalt not kill.” He smiled once more, sharper than a knife's edge. “To never dying.” His face then fell flat, back to that usual dismissive expression. “What a hypocrite." A broken glass materialized in his hand, there was no telling if it was blood or wine dripping from the shards. He held it high, tipped his head back, and poured it down his throat. Eli glanced desperately at his exposed neck, wanting ever the more to kiss it, to strangle it, to bite it. “A toast to being remembered...” Victor continued, a crooked grin spreading across his face as he wiped the remaining liquid from his chin.

Eli wanted to scream, or at least open his mouth when that unmistakable explosion of pain lanced through his body. Bright white stars burst in his mind, vision swimming in black, red, and white. He was sure God had left him now, leaving Victor in His place to punish him for all his faults. He had only ever wanted to make Him proud, to be loved.

Eli needed to be remembered.

“...Forever.”

[backwards-readings]

The Door That Was Never Supposed To Be Opened.

Chapter 2: The truth of the being

{Chapter 1} {Chapter 3}

{A/N: This was originally posted on AO3, if you would like to read it there you can find it HERE. I'm going to be straight up with you and tell you that this is pretty much a self-indulgent self-insert fic. I'm not gonna lie. If you don't like that, that's cool, have a good day. But if you're DTF with it, let's get right into the story.}

{Art Credit: (She also sells prints.)

That was the first time I saw the demon, but not the last. The second I was summoned to his room by none other than Master Burgess himself. Someone had dropped a glass, and he wanted me to clean it up. So I grabbed my dustpan and broom and crept into the cellar, the sound of chatter and laughter coming from the door at the end of the hall.

Entering, I see a group of men accompanying Master Burgess, chatting, drinking, and smoking. I don’t dare look at the man in the glass as I kneel and begin to clean the broken shards of crystal. My back is to the glass sphere, but I can feel the demon looking at me. I’m nearly finished cleaning when Master Burgess speaks.

“He seems to have taken an interest in the help. Stand up, and tell me your name, girl.” Master Burgess says. I set down the small broom and wipe my hands on my apron as I stand. I don’t dare look at the man in the glass.

“My name is Patricia, Sir. Patricia Wright.” I say, my voice shaking. Did the demon tell him that I had been down here? That I thought of freeing him?

“You haven’t even looked at the sphere since you’ve been down here. Why is that? Most stare, unable to take their eyes off it.” He speaks again and I freeze. He knows. He must know. But I lie anyway.

“It’s not my business, Sir. I’m just here to clean up the mess.” I am barely able to get it out. The Master walks to me and circles me. His steps are slower, less defined than usual. I can feel both his eyes and the demon’s eyes searching me. He stops in front of me and I slowly look up, making eye contact with him. I think he’s about to strike me for a moment, but instead, the edges of his mouth creep up into a smile. I can smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Good. I don’t pay you to ask questions. It’s hard to find help like that these days, right boys?” He turns to his colleagues and they all laugh. After a moment Master Burgess gets serious again.

“but it’s only natural to be curious.” He steps away and motions towards the sphere. The demon once again makes eye contact with me, and my breath stills. I know he is evil, but his eyes still hold the same sorrow as they did last time I saw him, even with his captor in the room. There’s nothing to gain from trying to act pitiful. There’s a dangerous draw to him, something that makes me want to study his face, to step closer.

“Sir, Who is he?” I ask, taking a step closer to the sphere.

“He is one of the endless. A being born before the universe itself. The most powerful being you will ever encounter. Dream of the endless. More than a god.” Master Burgess says as I raise a hand to touch the glass. In response to my movements, the man in the glass straightens his posture, but still does not speak.

“Why is he here?” I ask as the man tilts his head, once again reminding me of a cat.

“Because he refuses to give me what I am owed. This creature, with all its power, will forever be in my imprisonment until he gives me my son back.” The Master holds his cane and thunks the handle of it against the glass, but the man inside does not react. He doesn’t take his eyes off of me.

“How long has he been down here?” I step back, turning away from the sphere and facing the Master and his colleagues.

“I suppose I’ve lost count over the years. Thirty? Give or take a few years.” He says casually and my eyes wander back to the man in the glass. How could he have been in there all this time? He didn’t look much older than 30, but if what the Master says is true, he is a god and will never age. An endless being.

“But it doesn’t matter, does it? He can rot here til the end of time for all I care. Now, enough questions. I’m sure you have plenty of work to do.” the Master says and shoos me away to the upstairs once again. I wander back to the kitchen thinking about what I had just learned. Not a devil, but a god. There was a god in the basement

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

That was the last time I ever saw Master Burgess alive.

A few days later, all the servants were gathered by the new head of the household, Alex Burgess.

“As you all know, the Magus- My father- has passed. Due to this most of your services will no longer be required. I have chosen a select few to stay. Mr. Sykes and Ms. Downard have the lists of those who are welcome to stay. As for the rest of you, you have until tomorrow at noon to be completely cleared out.” Alex speaks, standing on the balcony above us. There's worried chatter as he finishes, and soon everyone is turning to Ms. Downard and Mr. Sykes, myself included.

I make my way to Ms. Downard and she just looks at me sadly, shaking her head. Tears begin to well up in my eyes and she pulls me into a hug, apologizing. I follow the others to the servant’s quarters and begin collecting my belongings.

That night, like many before it, I could not fall asleep. But this night was different. Instead of tossing and turning, I got out of bed and wandered downstairs, and into the basement where the man sat in his sphere. There wasn’t anyone else around, so I approached him.

“I’ve been let go. I won’t be returning to see you again.” I say and he doesn’t look up from the spot he’d been focusing on. “I’m going to set you free- Tell me what to do. Please. And you can be free tonight.” I place my hands on the glass but he still doesn’t look at me.

“Do you not want to be free? You have been here for so many years already. Tell me how to help and I will-”

“And what would you have to gain?” My mouth goes dry as a voice picks up from behind me. I turn to see Alex behind me, along with two members of security. “My father tried to reason with him, but you can’t. You can’t barter with his freedom.” He says and I back away from the angered youth, my back pressing against the glass.

“How long have you known about him?” He steps forward, and I can feel the anger he has bottled up from years of abuse by his father’s hand. I try to run but am blocked by his guards. After a moment of struggling, I feel a sharp pain in the back of my head and the world fades to black.

[little-peril-stories]

Here are my recs! See below for my suggestions plus an out of context snippet of commentary I randomly picked from my comments/reblogs.

Hidden Depths by starlit-hopes-and-dreams (Tumblr masterlist | Arc 1 ao3 | Arc 2 ao3 | AU ao3)

#I'M DEAD #my heart is full (but also broken) I needed this chapter

Good Slaves Never Break the Rules by clairelsonao3 (but move fast lol - check her blog for the exciting reason why!!) (ao3 link)

Holy...holy shit. YOU TOLD ME ON TUMBLR TO GET SOME SLEEP BUT HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT NOW?!

Sin of Purity, Purity of Sin by pleasestaywithmedarling (Tumblr masterlist)

#NO LIKEY #WE DO NOT LIKE TOOLS FOR TEARING FLESH TO RIBBONS #(translation: we kinda do)

Plus two faves from i-can-even-burn-salad, both featuring my best gal Merridy:

Nuisance (Tumblr masterlist)

#oh honey #I really just want to wrap her in a hug and make her a cup of tea #You did good kid #it’s only a little bit of severe blood loss

Glass Shards (Tumblr masterlist)

#such sweet darlings i want them to live happily ever after #:) :) #okay? #OKAY?

Also please know that several of Elli's stories are available for download as ebooks (gorgeous ones that she formats herself) on her website: Sweet Little Lies | Till Death | Nuisance | Undeserved | Second Chances

Zombies Are An Afterthought by rainydaywhump (Tumblr masterlist)

#oh god what an ending 😭 #I'm so sad now 😭😭

YAY go read and enjoy!!

Quick, whump community!

Reblog and tell me what is your favorite whump story! It has to be from another person! Spread the love around!!!

[iviarellereads]

The Eye of the World, Chapter 5 - Winternight

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Dead tree icon) In which that escalated quickly.

Rand and Tam arrive home the sun halfway from noon to sunset, to find everything in order at their relatively small home. They're unusual for having just the two living there, as most families live three or four generations in a house.(1)

A fair bit of time is just spent establishing that they are indeed farmers and know what they're about, and that the effects of the long winter are causing the animals to be less fruitful as well as a delay in the growing season. They do the daily chores, attending to the animals, checking on the early plantings, chopping wood and mending tack. As dusk falls, Tam breaks Rand out of a woodchopping fugue and suggests they get some supper and sleep before tomorrow.

At one point in the evening, Rand notes Tam locking the doors, something that's never been done in his life, and then Tam retrieves something from the chest under his bed: a sword, with a heron on the scabbard, the hilt, and the blade.(2) Rand is enamored but confused, Tam says he should have gotten rid of it, he paid too high a price and it's no good for farming, but maybe they'll be glad of it tonight.

Then comes the knock at the door. Then thumping. Then the door bursts in, the lock laying almost exploded across the floor.

Rand felt the beginnings of an odd sort of relief. Whoever this was, it was not the black-cloaked rider. Then he saw the curled ram’s horns on the head that brushed the top of the doorway, and where mouth and nose should have been was a hairy muzzle. He took in all of it in the space of one deep breath that he let out in a terrified yell as, without thinking, he hurled the hot kettle at that half-human head.

Tam tells Rand to run for the woods, and Rand is ashamed of how quickly he obeys, until he realizes the back door is locked, too. He slips out a window just as another creature breaks down that door, and as he listens, he hears both boots and hooves across the wooden floor inside.

After some scuffles, chases, and finally running into the woods, Tam finds Rand and confirms that these are Trollocs, and they're no myth. They have the properties of the animals that are part of them, so some can see or hear or smell particularly acutely, but they're sensitive to bright light and lazy, so if they can evade the creatures long enough, they should give up.

Unfortunately, Tam's hurt, and already running a fever. Rand has to sneak back to the house for Bela, the cart, and blankets, to get him to town. The sheep are all dead, and the house's contents in splinters and shards.

As Rand looks for a waterskin, one of the Trollocs comes back, and starts telling Rand to put the sword down, he just wants Rand to talk to the Myrddraal. Rand panics momentarily at the mention of Myrddraal, another myth, and starts to lower his arms. When the Trolloc lunges at him, he raises the sword quickly and makes his first, messy, horrifying kill.

He gathers what few things are still intact, which doesn't include his bow. Rand uses the sword to take some of the wood from the broken cart. Marveling that the sword stayed sharp even after chopping old, hardened ash that would dull any axe,(3) Rand makes his way back to his father. He finds the older man asleep, and touches his face gently to check his fever.

The touch roused Tam, but only into a hazy wakefulness. “Is that you, boy?” he breathed. “Worried about you. Dreams of days gone. Nightmares.” Murmuring softly, he drifted off again. “Don’t worry,” Rand said. He lay Tam’s coat and cloak over him to keep off the wind. “I’ll get you to Nynaeve just as quick as I can.” As he went on, as much to reassure himself as for Tam’s benefit, he peeled off his bloodstained shirt, hardly even noticing the cold in his haste to be rid of it, and hurriedly pulled on the clean one. Throwing his old shirt away made him feel as if he had just had a bath. “We’ll be safe in the village in no time, and the Wisdom will set everything right. You’ll see. Everything’s going to be all right.” That thought was like a beacon as he pulled on his coat and bent to tend Tam’s wound. They would be safe once they reached the village, and Nynaeve would cure Tam.(4) He just had to get him there.

=====

(1) Yep, the nuclear family is an incredibly new and incredibly American development. A lot of places in the world still live with many generations, and even several of the siblings of each generation staying in the one home. It can get crowded, but it's also a way of distributing responsibilities: if everyone's together, everyone can work together and cover every base. (2) Now, why would a farmer like Tam al'Thor have a fancy sword like that? It's no wonder he thinks it cost too much, it must have cost a fortune, with delicate detail work as described… but is a monetary cost all he means by it? (3) And weirdly strong, to hold up to that kind of usage without needing sharpening. Just what is this heron-marked sword? (4) I sure hope you're right about that, my lad, for your sake and his.

[charmandheaven]

Innocence Died Screaming: Chapter Index

Day 1: Safety Net

An earlier concept of A Ripple Of Awakening, where things are way more melodramatic.

aka

Quan Yizhen asks Hualian to look after his child in event of his death before he runs away from the Heavens and also Yin Yu.

Day 2: Delirium/“I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Quan Yizhen has a fever. He is alone.

Day 3: Solitary Confinement/“Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Fem!Quan Yizhen is arranged to be married after the Brocade Immortal incident.

Day 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Pei Ming is possessed by a vicious ghost. Quan Yizhen is in the way.

Day 5: “You better pray I don’t get up this time around.”/Debris/Pinned Down/“It’s broken.”

Quan Yizhen watches Yin Yu die again and again and again. He rewinds time again and again and again.

aka

Homura Akemi is an icon and should be emulated.

Day 6: Recording/Made to Watch

Another Mid-Autumn banquet. Another play. Another worshipper to beat up.

Day 7: Alleyway/“Can you hear me?”

After the Brocade Immortal incident, the position of Martial God of the West is vacant.

aka

Hua Cheng gets Yin Yu. Xie Lian gets Quan Yizhen. It's the world's worst Parent-Trap-esque situation.

Day 8: Outnumbered

CW: animal attack, violence against animals

Quan Yizhen saves another street kid from a pack of dogs. (This street kid is Wei Ying.)

Day 9: Mistaken Identity

Falling in love with a human is foolish. Unfortunately, Quan Yizhen is a fool.

aka

Quan Yizhen is an air spirit in love with Yin Yu.

Day 10: Stranded/“You said you’d never leave.”

An expansion on a throw-away line in 'Men Say You're Intense Or You're Insane'.

aka

Fem!Quan Yizhen is abandoned on the streets in winter.

Day 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”/Animal trap/Captivity/“No one will find you.”

A heavenly official whose friend was killed by Quan Yizhen during the Brocade Immortal incident takes revenge.

Day 12: Insomnia

It is Quan Yizhen's first night in the Heavens after Yin Yu's ascension. There are many strange noises and textures and smells.

Day 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”/Cold Compress/Infection/“I don’t feel so good.”

Trans!Quan Yizhen has cramps from his monthly cycle. He is also poisoned by a yao.

Day 14: Water Inhalation

Quan Yizhen fell into the sea after the Bone Dragon. He Xuan does not want to take care of him.

Day 15: “I don’t need you to help me I can handle things myself.”/Makeshift Bandages/Suppressed Suffering/“I’m fine.”

Despite trusting Yin Yu the most in all the sect, fem!Quan Yizhen is still wary of him and his suspicious helpfulness.

Day 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Quan Yizhen is trapped in a perfect dream. Well, 'trapped' is slightly inaccurate now.

Day 17: Collar/Touch Aversion/“Leave me alone.”

Omega!Quan Yizhen needs to be bonded on the orders of the Heavenly Emperor. Pei Ming volunteers.

Day 18: Blindfold

Quan Yizhen can see lies. He does not want to.

Day 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”/Psychological/“I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

CW: suicidal ideation

He's almost at his breaking point.

Day 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”/Blanket/Found Family

Omega!Quan Yizhen makes many nests throughout the years.

Day 21: “See the chains around my feet.”/Vows/Restraints

Quan Yizhen tries to make a deal to get his shixiong back after a bad night-hunt.

Day 22: Glass Shard

Jun Wu takes out his frustrations on the unruliest god he currently has.

Day 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”/Shadows/Stalking/“Who’s there?”

Something has been following him for a while.

Day 24: Neglect/“I thought they were with you.”

CW: organ harvesting, surgery while awake

Quan Yizhen is cut off from the group during a night hunt. He is captured. Luckily, he has reached Core Formation and can regenerate many body parts.

Day 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”/Buried Alive/“They’re not breathing!”

A plague is going around the village. Quan Yizhen is deemed dead too soon.

Day 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”/Working To Exhaustion

Some days, he just wants to forget. So he works and works until he can't remember his own name.

Day 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”/Scars/“Let me see”

Quan Yizhen's shizun asks about his scars.

Day 28: Bloody Knife/Sacrifice/“You’ll have to go through me.”

A scene from an earlier variant of A Ripple Of Awakening:

A few Heavenly Officials have found Quan Yizhen and deemed his child an abomination.

Day 29: Scented Candle/Troubled Past Resurfacing/“What happened to me?”

Quan Yizhen has been deaged. It's very funny until it's not.

Day 30: Borrowed Clothing/Bridal Carry

CW: implied rape/non-con

Hualian takes care of Quan Yizhen after a bad encounter.

Day 31: Emptiness

Quan Yizhen and Yin Yu has been thrown back to the past. They do not know that the other had travelled too. Quan Yizhen is determined for things not to go the same way.