#enjoy this glimpse of the clutter I’ve been living in

[novelconcepts]

“Mom, more breakfast please.”

[whaleofatjme1920]

Coughing in the Bathroom (Eyeless Jack X F!Reader)

🌸 Coughing in the Bathroom

[Eyeless Jack X F!Reader]

[Warnings: Slight blood, slight language, slight alcohol, emotional cheating]

Part 2

        In the world you live in, there’s a terrible thing called ‘Hanahaki Disease,’ and while it is ultimately rare, it is still feared widely throughout the globe. Love is an emotional virtually everyone feels, and it is through that monetary softness that the disease may take root. It affects those whose love is unrequited. 

        Five years ago, you never thought you would be under its spell. 

        The first time you met Eyeless Jack was a mess of combined hot headedness and a ‘my horse is bigger than yours’ type of deal. He was so brash and such a know it all! How could you NOT butt heads with him? The two of you spawned a little rivalry, and that rivalry grew to love. 

        How could you not fall in love with him? He’d been everything you’d ever wanted, and in your line of work, that’s hard to find. You’re what’s known as an ‘independent,’ someone who does not work directly under the Slender Man, but often crosses paths with him due to common goals and your abilities. While there is nothing inherently supernatural or otherworldly about you, you do have the gift of clairvoyance. Your clairvoyance isn’t super special, as you’re only prone to glimpses of the future based on current actions and what might (you are the world’s greatest predictor). 

        Jack IS supernatural. He’s not human, calls himself ‘a demon of some sorts.

         The Slender Man saw potential in the two of you from your rivalry and decided to put the two of you together. It was that proximity that led him to falling helplessly, hopelessly, and ardently in love with you. 

        You never saw that coming. 

        Jack had told you he loved you when the two of you had just finished some of the grossest work you’ve done to date. He didn’t want to go back to the safe house the two of you had been holed up in with various other independents and instead urged you to hang out on the roof with him. 

        “Why are you rummaging through their fridge?” You asked, hands resting on your hips with a smile on your lips. 

        “Beer?” He finally asked as he poked his head out from the door. 

        You suppressed a chuckle and threw caution for the night to the wind. “Yeah, sounds good.” 

        With that, Jack tossed you a bottle, before snatching one for himself. Normally, he doesn’t drink, but he felt as if he needed the liquid courage to face you. He felt like he was being obvious with his intentions, but you’d managed to miss every gesture and hint he threw up to this point. If you’re anything like he is, you’re dense. 

        The two of you walked upwards and opened the door to the roof and were greeted by the lights of the city. The two of you don’t spend much time in people cluttered areas, but when you do, you always spend a moment together. He took a seat next to you on one of the lawn chairs hanging around and cracked the drink open, practically gulping it down. 

        “Are you thirsty?” You chuckled before opening your own. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you down one like that before,” you noted before taking a much smaller sip yourself. 

        Jack shifted uncomfortably for a moment as he took the bottle from his lips. It’s not that he was uncomfortable with you, but he was uncomfortable with the possibility that if you didn’t feel the same way, he could be subjected to the disease that’s claimed the lives of some damn good proxies and independents who fell in love with humans they never had a chance with. He hates getting sick, but he doesn’t think he can handle a broken heart and lungs full of flowers. 

        “No I-,” he took a deep breath. “Reader, I think you’re great.”

        You laughed slightly. “I think you’re great too.”

        Jack shook his head and took another swig before he attempted to speak again. “Not like that, it’s… I’m bad with words,” he sighed, feeling overwhelmed. The man isn’t used to speaking about his feelings. 

        You raised a brow. You know Jack, your Jack, to be someone concise, clear and to the point. He’s not one to fumble over his words. He’s not one to get bashful. You know where this is going, you can see it in your mind’s eye, but you won’t say it because a part of you enjoyed his aversion. “Right now you totally suck at speaking,” you lightly joked, which made him crack the tiniest smile. 

        That’s when he shot you a look. “You already know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?” He deadpanned, eyes narrowed at you slightly in accusation. 

        You let out a laugh and nodded, hand up in submission, “I did,” you giggled. 

        “I swear,” Jack breathed out as he tossed his bottle to the stone floor before he snatched yours and repeated the action. Before you could be surprised, he took you in his arms, his lips pressed to yours in a kiss full of everything he just couldn’t say. 

        Your arms wrapped around him, pleased that he had gotten to the point. 

        Jack has always made your heart flutter. He’s charming, but in his own way. Even though you have future vision to some varying degree, he has never failed to surprise you. For your first anniversary, he had brought you to the most beautiful flower field you’d ever seen. 

        “Have you always known that this was here?” You asked, eyes shining over the field full of lavender, sunflowers, poppies and other wildflowers. The scent rivaled that of the Slender Man’s garden. 

        “I spent the past year cultivating it,” he said as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, his head resting on top of yours. “Thought you’d appreciate it.” 

        “And I’m guessing you built the gazebo too?”

        “Had some help from the proxies. Hoodie is surprisingly good at craftsmanship,” he said with a small chuckle. Jack pressed kisses to the crown of your head. 

        You allow him to sway you as you listen to the birds sing from the surrounding trees. “Is this what you were up to?” You asked. 

        Jack breathed out and shrugged. “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he teased.

        You turned around in his grasp and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hands loosely connected ‘round the back of his neck. “You suck,” you teased, sticking your tongue out before you pressed a kiss to his nose. 

        Jack laughed, his smile rivaling the warmth of the sun. “Thought that was your job,” he mused, making you gasp and smack his chest. He laughed again before you dropped the feigned annoyed attitude and joined him. 

        The rest of your anniversary was held under that gazebo, talking well into the night. 

        When the nights were hard and you were bruised from jobs that were rough, he was always there to pick you back up. You’d come back to the Slender Man’s mansion in need of minor medical attention and had only come to his home because it was close to where you’d gotten banged up. 

        “You can just wait in the waiting room,” a female proxy said as her green eyes scanned you over with little concern. She gestured for you to head down the hall to your left. “You won’t miss it.” It seemed your injuries paled in comparison to the gunshots, knife wounds, musical instruments to the skull and other more hefty injuries. 

        You thanked her with a small smile and then walked down the hall. You’d never really spent extended time in the Slender Man’s mansion; you had no reason to. You didn’t serve directly under him. Still, it was nice to be in something regal looking rather than a dirty field house wondering if the first aid kid was even usable or not. 

        You took a seat once you finally reached the waiting room, displeased to see that there were so many other people - mostly proxies - waiting for service. Some of them looked on the verge of passing out due to blood loss. How had no one attended to them yet? You waited and waited, watching as the more in danger patients were taken in before you finally nodded off. Your dreams were for the most part, empty, but your vision showed you that Jack was here, working. That thought alone was enough to wake you back up. 

        When your eyes reopened, you were overcome with emotions to see Jack in the doorway waiting for you to get up and follow him to the back. You scrambled up from your seat, mindful of not outwardly showing you were in a relationship (the Slender Man detested such bonds) and tried your best to remain cool and level headed. 

        Jack, who wore his mask, showed no signs he had any business with you until he brought you into a secluded room where he could attend to your injuries. The moment the door closed, he took off his mask and looked you over, worry lined on his face. “What’s wrong? Is it serious? O should have seen you sooner. Are you hurt-”

        “Woah, woah,” you tiredly chuckled as you took his rapidly moving hands into yours. “It’s just minor bruises and cuts. Just wanna get them disinfected. I might’ve also sprained my wrist,” you sheepishly admitted. 

        Jack’s face fell again. “Jeeze, I should have seen you earlier,” he muttered to himself, moving around the room to get the supplies he needed. He slapped on his medical gloves again, and then got to work, leaving no part of you untouched. When it stung, he hushed you with words of love. “How did this happen?” He asked quietly. 

        “Alcoholic guy had way more power than I originally expected,” you winced. “I saw the possibility of him throwing me, but not him almost tearing off my wrist by slamming it in a door.” 

        “He what?” Jack growled. 

        “He’s dead now, don’t worry,” you said before you flashed Jack a reassuring look. 

        Jack seemed barely placated by your words and continued working. 

        When he finished working, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and gave you a look that told you he didn’t want you to leave. 

        “I have to,” you said as you allowed him to snake his arms around you. “I’ll be seeing you soon though, right?” 

        “I’m gonna be stuck in this area for a while,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “And you? You’re leaving Alabama right?” 

        You hesitantly nodded and sighed into him before you took in his scent that instantly calmed you. “Yeah, unfortunately. I have some work calling me out east,” you continued as he tensed in your arms. “Besides, I’m getting the vibe that if I stay much longer, the Slender Man is gonna be pissed at us.” 

        If Jack had eyes, he’d roll them. “I don’t care what he wants or likes,” he replied. That’s not entirely true, but love does weird things to people. “Stay a moment longer.” 

        You did. 

        There were times in your five year relationship that the two of you were split up for extended periods of time mostly on the whims and requests of the Slender Man. Those times you were apart were hard. And unfortunately, the two of you couldn’t actually text or call. Phones, electronics in general, were considered liabilities for people like you due to tracking and everything else. It just wasn’t safe, and BEN can only do so much. 

        Instead, the two of you would write letters to each other and enlist the help of Jeffery’s dog, Smile. Of course, the dog doesn’t always enjoy playing mail-dog, but he does enjoy the treats and favors he gets from the two of you. 

        The fifth year of your relationship with him had been a particularly long, hard separation due to distance. The two of you traded letters weekly via Smile. Everything from little anecdotes to how much you missed each other was shared between them until you got a letter that was calm before the storm. 

        ‘Dear Reader, how have you been? I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write back to you, but Slender has put me on a really weird task. It’s time consuming as all hell and I kinda hate it. I’ve been placed with the proxies for a little while, and they all say ‘hi’ and hope you’re well as much as I do. … I love you, J.’ Of course, interspersed in the letter was a whole treasure trove of everything Jack had been up to. 

        ‘Dear Jack, I’m glad to hear you’re doing alright. I’ve been lighting up the Midwest's farm fields - I don’t know why (I do have my inklings), but the proxies I’m currently with get it. They’re a nice bunch, but the one with a pig mask is kinda mean? Maybe you’ll have to fight him or something. There’s also talk of us converting some people to the proxy side, which is weird because it’s not my territory, but I’ll do what’s asked of me. What’s the task you’re currently up to? I love you, R.’ 

        It had been a few weeks since you got the next letter, and that letter was the beginning of your end. You just didn’t know it yet, and you purposely blinded your future vision to it. 

        ‘Dear Reader, I’m so sorry it took so long to get this letter back to you! I hope I didn’t worry you, but things have once again been really, really busy. In truth, I’m not supposed to tell you about this, but as long as he doesn’t find out… I can trust you with this, but you need to promise you won’t tell anyone else? I suppose it doesn’t matter because the whole of our society is going to be talking about it regardless. We’ve never seen something like this before. Zalgo (may his name burn for all eternity) had a kid, right? They call her Leia and she’s been causing a storm of issues for the tall man. We got a hold of her and she’s been under our watch since. She’s powerful, I’ll give her that. In a way, it’s admirable, but she’s also Slender’s biggest threat. The weirdest thing? She willingly gave herself up to us because she’s got daddy issues. Can you believe that? Zalgo’s favorite kid has daddy issues. She’s naturally murderous towards proxies so Masky, Toby, Hoodie and Kate have to be extra mindful of her. For the most part, she’s with me. We talk a lot, but I have no idea if I can trust her. She’s a great conversationalist though - nothing like her father. She doesn’t look anything like him either (you have seen his human form, right?) In fact, nothing about her screams spawn of Zalgo. She looks… normal, if that’s the right word. Other than that, her attitude reminds me of you. Funny, right? She asks about you every now and then, which is odd because I try not to mention you unless it’s with Hoodie. Hoodie says hi, by extension. She seems to not like you despite having never met you, which is also incredibly strange as she’s been nothing but kind to me and the proxies (despite her trying to kill them when her instincts take over). I digress, and I miss you. I love you, J.’ 

        You’d read that letter over so many times poking and prodding it. The energy didn’t feel right, and your mind had shown you glimpses of what was to come. But of course, still in love with him, you acted like nothing was wrong and the future you had seen wasn’t absolute. 

        The first time you met Leia was largely an accident. A short while after you’d gotten that letter from Jack, you ‘swung by’ the area he was in and decided on a surprise visit. You knew Masky well enough, and the proxy had never been angry with you for visiting prior to. What difference would this one have been?

        You knocked on the door in a way that only Masky would recognize to be greeted by the unmasked proxy. 

        “You’re here for him, aren’t you?” He asked, a tired smile coming onto his lips. 

        You nodded excitedly. “Where is he?” 

        “Back room, with uh-”

        “She already knows,” both Hoodie and Kate said in unison as they barely spared a glance over their shoulders from the terrible movie playing on Lifetime. 

        Masky shot a slight glare towards his teammates but relented and moved aside in the doorway. “Have fun,” he said as you stepped inside. “Don’t do anything stupid and if you do, do so quietly?” 

        You slapped Masky’s shoulder and walked down the hall. You took a brief moment to wave to Toby who was reading something in one of the rooms before you reached the end where you heard laughter. To be polite, you knocked on the door, and to your surprise, it was not Jack who answered the door. 

        There she stood with long silver hair and the most alluring blue eyes you’d ever seen, her skin as warm as the cinnamon that floated on top of hot chocolate in the winter. She gave you a sickly saccharine smile before she turned her head over her shoulder to address Jack, “Reader is here,” she giggled. 

        You bit back a grimace but smiled when Jack got up and gently moved Leia aside in the doorframe to greet you. 

        “It’s so good to see you,” he said as he took you into his arms before he crushed you in his grip. “How have you been?” He whispered in your ear before he peppered your face with kisses. 

        You wished you could have enjoyed the moment as you laughed in his arms, but your eyes fluttered open for just a moment to see Leia’s unamused expression. “I’m okay,” you replied in a tone lacking the enthusiasm Jack expected to hear. 

        “Are you sure?” He asked as he checked you over to ensure you physical self was safe. His hands cupped your cheeks as you were forced to look up at him. 

        “Of course,” you replied in an attempt to play it cool. 

        “If you say so,” he trailed off before taking your hand in his and leading you to sit next to him on the bed. 

        From there, the world’s most awkward conversation took place between Jack and Leia with you attempting to cut in every once and a while. You saw it in little glimpses. 

        Her eyes never left his sockets, and he allowed it. 

        When her hand touched his knee, he made no motion to move it. 

        When she laughed, he smiled in a way that only you had been used to seeing. 

        He talked with her with so many inside jokes, you felt as if you were just peeking in on someone else’s conversation, not one you were invited to.

        Gradually, through the hour, he’d moved closer to her than he had you. While his arm remained loosely wrapped around your waist, he’d leaned forward to hear her better. He watched her interaction first after he shared a story. His focus was on her. You’d left his field of vision. 

        A few weeks into your fifth year was all it took. 

        Things did not get any easier from there. Eventually, you were moved to helping the group in regards to Leia. According to Slender, it was to ‘protect her’ from her father and her now murderous siblings. That’s when the rift grew wider, and the roots took hold. 

        See, after that first in person interaction with Leia, you’d felt a scratchiness in your lungs. At first, you chalked it up to being under the weather, but after being moved to Masky’s group, you knew nothing would ever be the same. Your worst fear had come true, and all it took was a pair of blue eyes. 

        Physically, Jack was still yours. He’d hold you, kiss you and touch you like you were still his. He never physically left your side, nor did his flesh betray your relationship. No, it was something much deeper than that that brought about the sprouts that took hold in your lungs. 

        Emotionally, he’d left you the moment he laid sockets on her. Why did he give in so easily? Who knows - boredom? A premature seven year itch? You’re not sure. But you saw it - you saw his heart leave the space it once shared with you and take up residence with hers, and it was painful. So, so painful. 

        He looked at her like she owned the moon and commanded the tides. 

        He smiled at her in a way he used to smile with you. 

        He spoke to her in a tone so gentle, you assumed he’d only used it for you. 

        He spoke with you less frequently, and when he did, it was much shorter and to the point. Whenever you prodded him, he had chalked it up to being stressed and that of course, he still loved you. 

        “You’re just being paranoid.” 

        He told her things you’d never even scratched the surface of. 

        She viewed him as hers. 

        And he allowed it without leaving the safety net that was you. 

        Of course, this did not go unnoticed by the proxies. None of them wanted to get directly involved though. 

        Hoodie was amongst the most disturbed as he was usually the first to call out Jack’s bullshit and the first proxy to inquire about you and your wellbeing. Despite not spending any time with you, Hoodie viewed you as a good friend. 

        "You realize what you're doing isn't cool, right?" Hoodie said as he walked back to the temp house with Jack. 

        "I'm not doing anything," Jack replied. "This about Leia?"

        "No, it's about Pennywise we met last year - of course it's about Leia," Hoodie hissed as he rolled his eyes. "You're digging a hole you won't be able to get back out of. You know that, right?"

        Jack lightly shoved Hoodie's shoulder in response. He was uncomfortable with what Hoodie had insinuated, mostly because Hoodie's BS meter is never far off the mark and normally strikes true. But when he entered that house and saw Leia sitting at the table, he couldn't help but take his place at her side. 

        Perhaps Kate just believes in girl code, but as a fellow being under the Slender Man’s control, she’s got her eye out for you. She believed wholeheartedly that what Jack was doing was scummy, but of course, her focus is on you. It came in mugs of hot chocolate and late night living room talks. She cares, just quietly. 

        "Don't overwork yourself, okay?" She said softly as she draped a blanket around your shoulders. 

        You'd been nodding off much more in the living room than in the room you shared with Jack. "What?" You said sleepily. 

        Kate chuckled softly and let you rest your head on her lap. "Turn your brain off for a while with me and let's watch this gods awful movie." Anything to get your mind off of what's going on and if this movie does it for you, that's good enough for the moment. 

        "Yes, ma'am," you tiredly rib, a smile on your lips. 

        Toby is inexperienced when it comes to these things. He was the first person to find you hacking up forget-me-nots. That was a scary experience as he’s never seen the Hanahaki before. He’s too young and too inexperienced, where would he have seen it? 

        He can distinctly remember walking with you, patrolling the area for threats when you suddenly stopped. It’d been a few months of you in his group's care, and he’d seen you retreat into yourself the longer Jack spent time with Leia. He knew it, just didn’t know how to go about it. 

        “What’s w-w-wrong?” He asked. 

        You waved for him to go on. “I’m fine-” you tried to wheeze out before you began violently coughing. 

        Toby initially thought you were going through what Masky did. He’s handled that before and naively thought he could help you until he rushed to your side to see the small forming pile of blue flowers covered sparsely in drops of blood. “Oh n-n-no,” he whispered as he knelt at your side. He held you like you were glass. “R-Reader-”

        “I said I’m fine!” You tried to reason before coughing once more, this time more blood than cursed flower. 

        “Does t-t-this look f-f-fine to you?” He asked in stress and worry. “We n-need to t-t-tell M-Masky or J-Ja-”

        “No,” you coldly cut off as you wiped your mouth of the blood that dribbled down your chin. 

        Toby wanted to fight that notion badly, but instead focused on getting you back safe. “I-I’ll tell M-Masky we s-saw some n-n-not deer on t-the p-property,” he murmured as he carefully picked you back up. 

        You allowed him. 

        Masky knew the moment you walked back into the temp house with Toby holding you as inconspicuous as he could. It’s unfortunate, he thinks, because he knows what that’s like - to love someone and physically suffer because of it. 

        One day, he’d sent everyone out of the house except for you and urged you to sit down and have some apple cider with him to ‘celebrate’ his favorite season, fall. 

        “Let’s not beat around the bush,” he began. “You’ve got it.”

        You shifted uncomfortably and averted your gaze from his and chose to look into your apple cider than his eyes. “What?”

        “Reader,” Masky sighed as he sat up in his seat. “Please…”

        “It’s not that serious,” you attempted to retort. “It’s not… It’s not that bad.”

        “You’re delusional,” Masky said. “I saw the flowers in the trash bin.”

        You rolled your eyes but crossed your arms over your chest anyways in an attempt to soothe yourself. 

        “You know what happens, right?” He continued, leaning forward. “It either takes you or you get the surgery done.” 

        A pregnant pause passes before you reluctantly speak. 

        “Is… Is it really that bad?” 

        Masky nodded, “From experience? Yeah,” he mumbled. 

        You gave him a look of both sympathy and intrigue. 

        “The Operator forced me to get the surgery,” he admitted. 

        You look into his eyes and see for the first time that he’s empty. His dark brown eyes, that are full of amiability, protective nature, it’s all a front. He doesn’t actually feel that way - it is what is expected of him, but he is hollow. 

        “What happened?” You asked shyly, unsure if that’s too sensitive or not. 

        “I don’t quite remember as that’s an outcome of having the surgery,” Masky hummed. “But I remember that I loved him- I don’t feel it, obviously - but I remember that I loved him more than anything, would’ve moved mountains for him, and then he died,” he sounded vaguely perturbed by the words, but they did not reach his heart. “I think his name was Jay.” 

        You felt something pierce your heart, but it was interrupted by the flowers in your lungs blooming through your mouth. 

        Masky held you as you coughed petals and blood in the bathtub. 

        You promised Masky you were going to speak things over with Jack. You promised you were going to solve this. But when he spoke to you with his empty words coated in honey, the pain became too much to bear. It hurt. Seeing him hurt. Hearing him hurt.

        “Jack?” You ask quietly, slowly sitting up in the bed you shared with him, much too used to his arms not being slinked around your form by this point. 

        He roused slightly in the bed before he opened his eyes. “Yeah? What’s up?” He asks, a slight bite in his voice from being woken up. 

        “Can we talk about something?” 

        “Can’t it wait?” He sighs in a slightly exasperated tone. 

        You shake your head, and through the darkness, Jack’s form sloughs in defeat. 

        “What is it?” He asks. 

        “Are we okay?”

        “Of course we’re okay.”

        “Are you sure?”

        “Yes.”

        “Do you love me?” 

        “I love you more than anything,” he replies, hand gripping yours. 

        He feels like ice. 

        “And what about Leia?”

        “She’s a really good friend of mine.”

        He suddenly feels warm. 

        “I’m sorry for waking you.” 

        “It’s nothing, now go to sleep, baby. We can talk about this in the morning,” he says with a small yawn before falling back into the comfort of slumber. 

        Your other hand at this point, has wrapped over your mouth to stifle the sounds of silence and the threat of flowers crawling up from your esophagus. You suffer in silence for a few minutes until you’re certain he’s asleep, then quietly excuse yourself to the bathroom. 

        You begin to cough as softly as you can, not wanting to be a burden to anyone in the house as forget-me-nots begin to fill up the sink. Blood splatters on the porcelain as well as the mirror. Your eyes are full of tears. You feel cold, much too cold. 

        As you continue to empty your lungs in vain, the light flicks on. You’re in too much pain and absorbed in velvety petals to realize it at first. 

        “I thought I told you to handle this,” Masky’s exhausted voice chides gently, his eyes dipping to the mess you’ve left in the basin of the sink. 

        You grip the edge of the sink before hacking up the rest of what the garden in your lungs has to offer before slinking down to the tile floor, utterly exhausted. “Turn the light off,” you whisper. Your back rests against the tub. 

        Masky does as you ask, allowing the moonlight to overtake as the main source of light in the small bathroom. His shoulders sag slightly as he joins you on this floor, his arm around your shoulders. “Get some sleep,” he says softly, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder. 

        You smile softly as the flowers continue to clog up your lungs. It looks like another fit is coming. 

        “Just let it pass,” he murmurs softly into your ear, his head resting loosely on top of yours as you attempt to suppress the flowers from reemerging. “It’ll be over soon.” 

        You move your eyes to look at his profile before you take in the scent of cigarettes. You continue to feel your lungs grow heavy with blossoms when you hear Leia’s door open. Her steps pad quietly along the wooden floor as she crosses the hall to the room you used to share with Jack. “You promise?” You manage to choke out before stifling your coughs as quietly as you can. Your eyelids are growing heavier. You can hear your heartbeat through your chest to the hallways of your ears. Leia has slipped into bed with Jack. You hear him shift. He’s holding her now. 

        “I promise,” he says gently, holding you just a little tighter. 

        You close your eyes and listen to Masky hum, hoping sleep washes over you soon.

[rockingrobin69]

Learning Curve

Four out of five dentists would recommend against reading this piece (1.7k). Think of your teeth! 

“Uncle Harry, did you know Uncle Draco is a weredragon?”

“A what now?” he frowned, tucking the duvet under Teddy’s chin.

“A weredragon. Like how dad was a werewolf, but with a dragon.”

Harry huffed a small chuckle. “I’m pretty sure he isn’t, Ted.” To be fair, considering all the things he’d learned about him since Malfoy adopted Teddy, Harry wouldn’t be too surprised if he actually turned out to be a weredragon. It won’t even be the most shocking discovery.  

“No, he is. All the best people are were-something, he said. So he’s a weredragon.”

Harry resisted the temptation to ask if he was a were-something, too. “All right then, menace, go to sleep. You can tell me on Sunday if you’d seen him turn.” He shook his head through all the begging, bargaining and trickery, until Teddy finally relented and closed his eyes. Harry chewed on his grin, pressed a kiss to Teddy’s forehead, murmured in his ear and left, silently closing the door behind him.

And then heading out with his usual gracefulness – accidentally knocking into the dresser with a big yelp, stepping over every creaking floorboard, smacking against the door because he wasn’t really looking ahead, he was looking for – ah. Malfoy heard him, it would seem. Standing at the kitchen doorway, leaning against it like some sort of model in a Muggle magazine, rolling his eyes. Harry noticed he was holding his breath.

“Care to join me for a drink, Potter?”

He didn’t know why he was nervous. This happened every night.

The thing is, Harry loved Teddy so much. So, so much, he even considered adopting him himself after Andromeda and all. But Harry’s stupid job was too stupid to allow it, and Malfoy was technically ‘family’. And so Harry came by every day – well, night, stupid job and all – to see how Teddy was doing. And then, every night, he’d run into Malfoy, who had no choice but to invite him for a drink. It would be wine, sometimes, or flavored butterbeer, or – and only once – straight up Ogden’s whisky. But mostly it’d be hot chocolate, which apparently was something Malfoy enjoyed, and something Harry seemed to find quite irresistible.  

Of all the new things he’d learned about Malfoy, this was perhaps one of the most surprising. He made the best hot chocolate. It was the perfect temperature, the perfect sweetness, the perfect texture. Perfection in a cup. Harry followed him into the kitchen, sat in his favorite chair (somewhat dangerously with the way Malfoy’s books were stacked so high behind his back), and turned his gaze to the fridge. Teddy’s newest masterpiece was magicked to the door, and even squinting Harry couldn’t tell what it was meant to be.

“A wolf,” Malfoy muttered as he laid a cup of hot cocoa before Harry. “Your godson is very talented, you know.”

Harry hummed into his cup, probably smearing his nose full of whipped cream. “Bet you I could draw a better one.”

He waited. Some nights Malfoy wasn’t in the mood. He’d be tired, or closed off, and they’d just sit there in silence and stare. Some nights he was restless, far too giddy to stay still, and they’d go for a walk in the forest. But tonight –

Tonight Malfoy was game. He scoffed and summoned two quills and some parchment. “Let’s see – five minutes, best drawing wins?”

Harry grinned privately to himself. There must have been something in that hot chocolate, because he couldn’t stop thinking about how he just loved spending nights at Wiltshire.  

*

“Uncle Harry,” Teddy asked one Sunday, sliding into his wellies. “Did you know that Uncle Draco had a pet a stag?”

“What?” Harry was busy arranging a beanie on his orange hair with his tongue between his teeth. “A pet stag?”

“Yeah, when he was a kid. I asked him why he likes them so much, and he told me. His name was Arold and he was very stupid, Uncle Draco said.”

“Arold?” Harry laughed, tilting his head. “Ted, you know Uncle Draco is messing with you, yeah? He never had a pet stag. You can’t have stags as pets.” Malfoy had peacocks, which he hated, and the eagle owl, which he loved, and that was that. No stags. Harry knew that. He picked up every single piece of information about Malfoy slowly, carefully, and catalogued it all in his head. Malfoy was afraid of hippogriffs (still) and very enthusiastic about nifflers. He wanted a kneazle really badly as a kid, but his mother was allergic to the fur. Harry knew these things, now. He even had this insane idea to get a kneazle for him and Teddy, a fantasy he liked to entertain from time to time. Teddy’s words brought him back to reality with his cheeks oddly flushed and his ears ringing.

“That’s what he said.”

Harry wondered why Teddy thought Malfoy liked stags to begin with, but he’d already ran outside and jumped into the nearest puddle, so the question had to wait.

Malfoy was in the kitchen when they returned, and Harry plopped down next to a steaming mug of hot cocoa. The clutter all around practically screamed we actually live here, and Harry felt the warmth of it in his bones. His eyes kept zooming from Malfoy, to Teddy, happily blabbering about the squirrel they’d seen on their walk, and something in him thrummed. We actually live here. The flavor of want was sweet and sadly familiar.

*

“Uncle Harry,” Teddy asked one night in November, a tired little bundle of curiosity that ached in Harry’s chest with affection, “What’s emveeos?”

“Huh?” Harry stopped at the doorway, eyebrows drawn.

“Emveeos. Like if I was emveeos of someone.” Teddy gave him an exasperated little look, a come on you should know this one when Harry simply shook his head. “Uncle Draco said he’s emveeos of me.”

“What? When?” Harry’s heart did a funny little leap. He still didn’t really understand the question, but apparently the mere mention of ‘Uncle Draco’ was enough to ignite this heat inside him.

“Because you always kiss me good night.”

Harry could only shrug, but the heat intensified into something near intolerable. “I dunno, Ted. Best to ask him tomorrow, yeah? You know Uncle Draco is better at these things.” Better at most things, really. Cooking, drawing, writing, teaching. He was just good at everything. Even dancing – Harry had seen photographs of a very sulky boy beautifully performing the tango, no joke. And he could make the best hot chocolate. And –

“Okay. Good night, Uncle Harry.”

“Good night, Menace. I love you.” Harry made sure to tell him that every night, even if Teddy was already asleep. It was good for him too, he thought, to get the practice.

That night there were mini marshmallows in the mug. Harry couldn’t help it anymore; he was so enamored with the – drink – it felt a little like an explosive device in his chest. He found a way to distract Malfoy for a couple of seconds while he covertly drew a vial of the cocoa, stashing it in his pocket. There had to be something wrong with it, a potion or something. There had to, or Harry was losing his mind. He’d lost enough things for a lifetime, he thought.

*

“No, Uncle Harry! Cookies first.”

It was the week before Christmas, and Malfoy was out on a last minute gift shopping trip. Harry and Teddy were in the kitchen together, in charge of lunch, though Teddy was more interested in sampling the Christmas cookies Malfoy had made. To distract him Harry suggested they try to prepare Malfoy’s cocoa – well, also so he’d have something hot to drink when he comes back, because Malfoy always suffered from the cold.

“Oh, Uncle Draco doesn’t like hot chocolate,” Teddy shook his head.

“But,” Harry didn’t know what to do with this information, which stood in stark contrast with everything he knew in this life. “He drinks it all the time with me.”

“No, no, he says it’s too sweet. He never drinks it.”

Harry felt utterly lost. The knowledge he’d collected of Malfoy was the foundation with which he was trying to build this – it was what he stupidly thought he could use to make a home. Hell, he’s been practicing – getting ready for – and all this time, Malfoy was lying?

When Malfoy returned Harry pretty much threw himself at him, boxing Malfoy at the door with all his shopping bags.

“You don’t like hot chocolate,” he said accusingly, and Malfoy’s eyes went big.

“What?”

“You don’t. And you told Ted you had a pet stag and that you’ve embossed him or something like that. But you don’t like hot chocolate.”

“I – “ Harry’s never seen Malfoy so flushed in his life, and was furious with how adorable that was. “All right. I don’t.”

“But you make it almost every night,” Harry contested. He felt a little woozy.

“Yes.” When Harry gave an odd grunt, he closed his eyes. “You like it.”

“So?”

“So…” Malfoy’s shrug was so painfully sad. “I thought you’d… come here if you…”

Harry didn’t wait for the sentence to finally come to a stop, it was taking forever. “So you just lied?” 

“No!” two grey eyes opened, sort of panicked. “I just – I’ve been trying, all right? all this time, to learn to… to get to know you. All these things about you, and then I saw how much you liked it when I made hot cocoa for Teddy and – I just. Want you to. Have. Things that you like.”

Harry couldn’t feel his tongue. His head was spinning. He didn’t know what to do about this, didn’t know what to think, didn’t know – he just didn’t know. Sadness was familiar, and losing, and being lied to, but – but this –

“Kiss him, Uncle Harry!” a little voice carried from behind him, and startled he caught a glimpse of blue hair. Hell. A quarter of his age, and Teddy was at least twice as clever. Harry leaned forward and did the only thing that made sense, and the kiss was solid enough to build on. Malfoy’s lips were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Hot chocolate, no matter how good, could never compare.

Wow, I really ran away with this one... Today was day 6 of my Seven Sins of Drarry one-shot collection, and was all about - Teddy almost had it: envy! Hope you’re ready to be good, because there’s only one sin left!

Day 1: wrath   | Day 2: lust  | Day 3: sloth  | Day 4: greed  | Day 5: gluttony | Day 7: pride

[therealjammy]

The Lady of Half-Death

Hi, hello, posting this here for the Tumblr crowd, in case you don’t feel like venturing to Ao3. 

This work’s alternate title: “Lucky One” 

Content Warnings: Very NSFW, a brief but graphic depiction of violence. (This work is meant for 18+ only!) 

It’s also told in first person POV, the Forbidden Perspective, so sorry if that’s not your jam.... Thank you for reading xx

--

I.

November, 1937

On a bitter November day, early in the morning, I was roused by the tinkling of the bell hanging beside my bed. Being Mother Miranda’s most competent servant, I was long used to a summons during the small hours of the dark. She was night’s creature, bent over her studies and her subjects until a bitter sun lit the sky, almost unaware of time’s passage, while her servants kept in perfect time with every striking hour. I splashed sleep from my features with bitterly cold water from the basin on my dresser and wrapped myself in my warmest robe. I lit a candelabra, savoring its small warmth as I donned my silver mask. It had frightened me at first, how the servants wore these metal things elongated into an elegantly startling bird’s beak, but when serving the Lady of Ravens, one had to know to whom they pledged their loyalty, both inside and outside the house’s grounds. Though the metal was light, it still made one’s head ache after only a few minutes of wear, and was a constant irritation after many hours. But like a pain that was more a nuisance than anything, it was easily set aside.

           I walked quickly through dark hallways and creaking staircases, passing through rooms whose furniture was covered in sheets and rooms whose contents were not. Each was quiet as the long-dead.

           The doors to the laboratory opened on soundless hinges. Inside, there was only a spotlight on the latest occupied table and the stoic figure of Mother Miranda leaning over it, her hands coated in deep crimson, her subject unmoving. Her face was drawn into a deep, displeasured frown.

           “What may I bring you, ma’am?” I asked carefully.

           “Tea, Trudy,” replied Mother Miranda. By the ancient tiredness in her voice, I knew the kind I ought to fetch.

           Staying true to her grief, Mother Miranda had a fondness for black tea, steeped for five minutes to be strong, made stronger with a dollop of Sanguis Virginis, a sweet but robust red wine made by Lady Dimitrescu. She kept the largest bottle for herself, but sent a smaller one to Mother Miranda every winter. The bottle was red and adorned with golden flowers crawling up its sides.

           By the time I brought the fresh tea to her, Mother Miranda’s hands were washed of blood, and the subject on the table was covered with a white sheet, slowly turning scarlet. I set the teacup and candelabra beside her and gave a professional distance.

           “The nature of science,” Mother Miranda said, picking up the teacup, “is to fail again and again.” She held it delicately. There was rage underneath that delicacy. “Every vessel thus far has been unfit, even if it’s accepted the Cadou, and with each unfit one I feel as if I am losing her more.”

           “You might feel like Tantalus, ma’am,” I said after a pause, “with your goals evading your grasp, but I rather think you must be like Orpheus.”

           “Attempt until death,” she murmured. “Yes, child, I believe you’re right.” A long sip of tea. Underneath her golden mask, her pink lips turned a deep red. She set the cup gently in its saucer and rose from her chair, black robes shuffling quietly. “Come. Let us begin anew.”

           I lifted the mutilated subject from the table, wrapping the sheet about her carefully, and carried her fresh limpness to the courtyard with the others. Her cooling blood seeped from the sheet and onto my robes, and it dripped onto the bricks and my feet, leaving a sticky trail. It was cloying, but it was a sweet perfume compared to the rich decay that wafted from the courtyard’s cold soil. In the dark, I saw there was already a space made for her. I lay her carefully in it. A good sacrifice deserved gentleness once the deed was done, after all. In that sense, I was more merciful than Mother Miranda. Once a body was no longer of use, she would carry it out herself and toss them hastily aside, for only one body mattered above the rest.

           “In life and in death,” I said over the grave, “we give glory to Mother Miranda.”

           I sprinkled a handful of dirt over the covered girl and left her to the bitter, near-winter air.

           Inside again, I scrubbed the table twice with soapy water and dried it thoroughly. I lit more candles, placing them around the table’s edges, away from the notes that Mother Miranda spread across the surface. While she organized them, I brewed another pot of tea, bringing it and the gifted bottle of Sanguis Virginis with me. When I had poured my own cup, Mother Miranda gestured to the wine. Pour that in, too. I obeyed without question. Grey eyes watched me drink, unchanging even when I made no face at the taste of wine and blood mixing with strong black tea. I’d learned long ago that reactions caused reactions. I remained impassive, though my stomach still curdled and rebelled at the taste of the sinful wine. To the others—Mother Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu— the wine was a sweet and prized possession. If ever it was sold, it would be incredibly expensive.

           I brought a chair and perched myself next to Mother Miranda. It was always a thrill to be at her side, to study her volumes of notes and drawings and glimpse the way her mind worked. But more than that, I cherished the nights like this, when it was only the two of us. I enjoyed her company. I desired more of it, because I desired her. At times I believed she knew this, but then she would dismiss me so easily, brush by without a care, and I’d question if she knew at all.

           Attraction, I reminded myself, was a science, too, and like an experiment gone horribly wrong, it was best if one didn’t share the results.

           I cleared my throat and straightened in my chair. “We should begin where this one failed,” I said. “Pinpoint a reason, compare it to the rest.”

           We pored over notes for hours, comparing observations, Mother Miranda writing furiously in her looping scrawl underneath a page titled Quinn. The candles burned low, and the sky lightened outside the laboratory’s several windows, revealing a cold, white-filled dawn.

           “The conclusion is painfully obvious,” Mother Miranda sighed at last, pushing her nearly empty teacup aside. It’d turned cold hours ago. “I must find a truly unique vessel. The village is rotting with diluted blood and therefore cannot be used again. Three of the Lords—those children!—were ones I found outside. Diluted in other ways, perhaps, but strong enough.”

           “Yet you declared them all unfit,” I remarked.

           “Because they were too much,” Mother Miranda said stiffly, “and the rest have been too little. They served their miserable purpose and now I must find yet another clean slate! And to think I’d chosen so carefully…” A hand curled into a fist, clenched improperly due to taloned fingertips.

           “Send me to the field, Mother Miranda,” I said. “I will search for you.” But it was the wrong thing to say, for her other hand darted quickly out and knocked her teacup and saucer from the table. They shattered on the floor, black-red tea pooling around their remains.

           “Do not be dim, child; it cannot be done by you. It must be me.” She paused for a long moment, coming back to herself with a single, sharp shake of her head. “Please,” Mother Miranda said around a breath, “forgive my outburst.” She moved smoothly to the shattered teacup just as I did. We knelt out of time but reached for the same piece, her gold-plated fingers brushing my bare ones, sending a brief, hot shock through my being that ended in my chest.

           “You need never ask my forgiveness, Mother Miranda,” I said, slowly withdrawing my hand and reaching for a different piece. “A woman in grief doesn’t know her own actions.” And it was her grief, I thought then, that made my heart ache for her. That made everyone’s hearts ache for her. Mother lost a child, they’d say. No greater tragedy exists. We must be kind.

           “Grief is some people’s undoing,” Mother Miranda said. She had stopped picking up shards of teacup, a few pieces cradled in a hand. Her gaze was on the puddle of bloody, wine-soaked tea. “It festers like a splinter left in too long, or a piece of metal unable to be dislodged, and it consumes, until its host perishes with it. I’ve known it for many stretches, but rather than give myself to despair, I have chosen determination; for the parasite cannot fully live while its host fights it. So fight I must.”

           Her face was a pale reflection on the tea’s surface.

 II.

The next morning, a snowy one, Mother Miranda went for a walk. In her absence, her rule passed to me, and then to the Head Housemaid Vera, a stout older woman who kept the other servants in strict line. I was, however, only consulted for advice or for orders. Other than that, I was blessedly alone, a spectre haunting the laboratory while I organized Mother Miranda’s notes and gave into my own musings, letting my mind take up the cluttered space. Many things ran through it: thoughts of my former life, of the people I’d once seen and never would again, and if I followed that line, I knew exactly how I’d come to be here. Sitting alone in a tepid laboratory, surrounded by paper, rotting with attraction.

           It’d been there from the beginning, for there was always attraction to a leader, and many reasons behind it. People were attracted to safety and to comfort, to promises and protection, but highest of all, a deity that preached all the above. People backed off their words more often than they gave in to them, but a deity never would; their word was given and kept. It was learned, it was ingrained, and so like everyone else, I held that same attraction. I gazed upon the same likenesses of Mother Miranda and prayed for protection, for strength. I prayed to one day work for her—the highest blessing of all!—and that prayer was answered. She came to my door in all her godly glory and the paintings held no candle to her real beauty.

           The attraction molted once I’d begun to work for her properly. She was aloof and cruel and methodical, but there was talent and beauty, too, and soon enough I began to realize there was a person underneath the deity. And it was the person whom I thought of, now, wondering where her walk was taking her, who she was talking to, what she was thinking. I imagined her underneath a cold white sky, ashy flakes of snow sticking to her black robes and veil, the harsh, mountainous landscape reflecting her own desolation back at her.

           I thought, as I filed the last of the notes away, that I would make her return easier. Oftentimes her walks changed her mood; one never knew the sort she’d bear when she walked through the doors. It could be the silent sort of rage, during which she’d seal the doors of her laboratory shut and refuse to emerge for days, or the one where she’d return with a deadly ice in her eyes and drag the nearest servant by the wrist to her chambers. Sometimes they’d be alive and shuffle from the room with their clothes barely on; other times there was an unfortunate mess to clear away.

           During my luncheon, I called Vera to me and ordered the most frequented rooms be given a thorough cleaning, excluding the laboratory and Mother Miranda’s bathroom.

           “And her dinner?” asked Vera, once she’d given the orders to four maids. “Something comforting, I assume, as the latest loss is still ripe in the courtyard.”

           “Yes,” I agreed. “A shepherd’s pie with marmite in the gravy, and the bottle of Sanguis Virginis.”  

           “Very good, Miss Bevan.” Vera bowed her head and left.

           I went over the bathroom myself, being careful to put every object in its proper place. I drew a bath, the water unbearably hot, but by the time Mother Miranda returned, it would be perfect.

           I loitered for a long while in the bathroom’s silence, sat on the chessboard floor, gazing out the window to the snow-covered hills, the occasional drip, drip of the tub’s taps serenading me into a trance, filled with visions of blonde hair and grey-blue eyes and impeccable hands.

           I wasn’t the first to think of her in this light. Far from it. Worship came in many forms, after all, and many people fell to this one. Except mine was to the woman I knew, not to the idol emblazoned on a shrine dangling from a peeling wall.

           Unable to think of nothing but the bathroom’s suddenly stifling heat and the absent Mother Miranda, I left, unaware of where I was going until I collapsed on the chair I’d occupied earlier, everything about me aching for someone who saw me only as a servant in high regard—but a servant nonetheless. The fact, I thought, unbuttoning my uniform enough to feel cool air caress my chest, made me desire her all the more.

           I propped a shoed foot on the seat’s corner to give myself better access and began my pleasure gently, my head falling against the back of the chair once the rhythm was established, my free hand indecisive on where it wanted to stay—a breast, the chair’s edge, the table; at least until my mind offered me a vision of Mother Miranda ordering me, from between my thighs, to keep it planted firmly on the chair’s edge. There it stayed while my other moved, and behind my closed eyes I saw a skilled tongue working me up, teasing, licking slowly as if to claim ownership to even that part of me; I saw intense eyes meeting my own, telling me to give myself over; in my mind I whispered my glory to her. I twitched erratically, my movements almost clumsy; a few moments more and I’d be tumbling into the blissful void—or would have, had I not heard the door open and the familiar, near-silent movement of the woman living in my head.

           The silence that beat between us lasted only a moment and yet it felt like centuries. Mother Miranda’s eyes narrowed to deadly slits, and before I could manage to stumble out an explanation, she strode to me in five heavy steps.

           “You dare defile this space with your musings?” Mother Miranda hissed, her grip on my wrist vicelike. “Do you not know how ill I find this gesture? How ill it makes me to think you care naught for the meaning of this room?” Claws slashed at my cheek, the first sting of it only surprise at first; it burned when I realized she’d cut flesh. I felt blood welling, but I could not bring a hand up to staunch its flow. Nor could I staunch the fresh wave of heat that pooled in my core at Mother Miranda’s fury. Cold eyes darted from my still-wet hand to my face. Mother Miranda scoffed, roughly releasing my wrist. “Attraction is a damned wicked creature,” she said. “It morphs perspective and thought. It makes one act rashly, makes one believe they’re subtle. You think I’ve not seen your lingering gazes, child? How you bask in my company the way you would underneath the sun? How you are afraid of my rage but it arouses you all the same?” She chuckled lightly, dragging gold-tipped fingers over my cheek, the metal blessedly cool against my heated skin. Having spent so much time in close quarters with this woman, I was no longer terrified by the talons. Their scraping made the coil in my belly curl tighter, and if she were to slip bare fingers against me, she would find me all too ready for her. I met her eyes with a steely look of my own, hoping she wouldn’t see shame, but Mother Miranda was wise in ways I couldn’t fathom. She saw through people as if they were cheesecloth.

           She hummed, fingers roving lower, tracing my pulse hammering in my throat. “Is there any shame about you, Trudy? I should think so, as you are not my equal.” Moving lower still, to the buttons I hadn’t undone, hovering like she wished to tear them—and perhaps she did, for her hand gave a small twitch. “I am higher than you will ever be, yet you stand here, gazing at me so defiantly, trembling with your want of me… Do you think it will make you rise to my level?”

           Her words were fog clouding the forests of my brain. I could think of nothing but how I wanted to serve her, to fall to my knees and pledge fealty, even if it was sworn with her hand guiding my mouth between her thighs. I said, “No, Mother Miranda.”

           “No, indeed. But,” a taloned thumb slid over my lower lip, “it’ll bring me pleasure to see you try.”

           When she kissed me, it was with a slowness that one could believe was care, but I sensed the possession. I opened my mouth to it, leaned into it, every nerve alight at the thrill of kissing someone I had once dreamed of serving under. Her hands drew me close to her, splaying across my back, bunching up my uniform, and her kisses became rougher, filled with need. I met every one with a need of my own, my shaking fingers undoing the rest of the buttons down my front. The movement caught Mother Miranda’s eye; she pulled back, her gaze intense, the color high in her cheeks, watching intently as the top half of my uniform parted and revealed bare skin. She reached out, two fingers gliding smoothly over my collarbones, my sternum, tracing the swell of a breast; gooseflesh rose in the touches’ wake, and my breathing trembled.

           “You are practically untouched,” Mother Miranda said quietly. There was, to her, no greater sin than a specimen that remained unstudied and uncatalogued.

           “Only practically, Mother Miranda,” I returned.

           She leaned down, burying her face against my bloodied neck. Lips pressed softly, tongue lapping slowly— tasting me. “Have you not known love?” she said. “Or devotion?”

           “Fleetingly.” There was the blacksmith, Cristian, in whose strong arms I felt safe. There was Tatiana, who made me feel at peace even after our desperate acts. But with this life, they were fleeting. To serve one of the Lords or Mother Miranda herself, it was until death. “The only devotion I know,” I continued, my voice growing thinner the lower her mouth travelled, “is to you.”

           Mother Miranda hummed against my chest. “You worshipped well, then, Trudy,” she said, rising, taking my chin between two fingers and tilting my face up to hers, “but what of now? How shall you prove your worth to me?”

           I grasped her unoccupied hand and pressed it against my breast, holding it there. I wanted her to feel it, to feel my heart underneath it, to know she could reach in and take it because I offered it to her. “Take what you will,” I said.

           What was left of her resolve crumbled. Mother Miranda swept me into her arms with a low growl, lifting me as easily as she would a child and setting me hastily onto the table we’d cleaned the night before. Impatient fingers worked the rest of my clothes away. She tossed them aside and pressed me into the cold wood, impossibly dark eyes drinking me in, lingering on my neck, my breasts, my thighs. Places I hoped she would kiss. Places she did, in that order, her mouth untamed, leaving harsh love-marks behind. Throughout that act, she didn’t once touch me; I was strung so tightly that even one finger tracing me would’ve been my undoing. It was a sort of torturous study, I realized, clamping my tongue between my teeth when it nearly made me beg for release; she was seeing me as a case, testing my own resolve. How long could she make me wait before I begged forgiveness? Time ceased to exist. I could not tell how long she made me hang.

           When she finally did touch me, I was relieved. Instead of a sigh, a long whimper escaped my mouth. Mother Miranda groaned in response, her fingers twitching and pausing against me, surprised at the slick want they found. Her second touch was heavier, more confident. My hands couldn’t help but cling to the back of her neck, which was covered by a thick cotton veil. I realized I’d touched her without her consent, but when I made to pull away, her free hand came to rest over both of mine, and together we slid the veil from her head.

           Blonde hair, a darker gold in the dim light of the laboratory, fanned around her face, gracing my bare forearms, soft as silk. Without the veil, it was tantamount to seeing her naked.

           “Cling to me,” Mother Miranda breathed.

           It was as much permission as I was going to receive.

           I buried my hands in her hair and leaned up to kiss her. I accepted her tongue when it slipped between my teeth. I opened for her when, at last, she slid fingers inside me.

           And when she truly took me, she devoured me, sprinkling evidence of her use across any expanse of skin she could reach, uncaring if teeth dug in too much, if my back was rubbed raw from the wooden table, if her golden talons left angry scratches. I clung harshly to her during my crisis, my cries only winding her further, for when I was barely limp, she withdrew entirely and carried me to her own chamber. Deposited on her bed, I watched through bliss-filled eyes as she undressed.

           Black robes pooled at her feet. In the blue-white moonlight, she was harshly ethereal. Everything about her seemed to glow, including her eyes. And sprouting from her back were five pairs of midnight wings. I wanted to catalogue it as a dream, a delusion caused by a mind still recovering from an intense crisis, but the wings, like Mother Miranda’s arms and legs, were very much a part of her.

           “Look while you can,” she said. “Commit it to memory, for true revelations are rarely given so freely.”

           She stood for study, allowing me to take in every inch. My eyes lingered where hers had lingered on me.

           “Do you reject me, Trudy?” she questioned softly.

           “No, Mother Miranda,” I replied. I offered her my hand. “I’d fall to my knees in prayer if I were not otherwise occupied.”

           She accepted my hand and leaned over me on her bed, naked and otherworldly, and in my long, exquisite worship of her, I met death eye to eye and thought there would never be another equal.

[imaginedisish]

Devil’s Advocate (Tenet) Neil x Reader

Chapter 1: Paper Planes

A/N: Hey guys!! Here is the first chapter of the fic, “Devil’s Advocate”!!! I’m excited about this, and writing it is getting me through a lot right now, so I hope you all enjoy it too! Here ya go :)

Summary: After a traumatic experience, you are forced back into the field with Neil, but the mission is personal and possibly too close for home for you to handle. Neil helps you through it, but you’re not sure if you can get the job done.

Warnings: Violence, guns, death, drowning, injuries, angst, cursing, and yes, luckily some fluff :)

Word Count: 4,405

The weight of your cold, dark black glock settles heavily into your right hand as you pick it up off the table to your left. You secure a pair of noise cancelling headphones around the top of your head. You load the gun and cock it. 

The headphones blast with music, helping you to concentrate on the man-shaped target in front of you.

Everyone’s a winner, we’re making our fame.

Bonafide hustler making my name.

 You extend your gun out in front of you as you shut your left eye tightly to aim. 

All I wanna do is…

BANG BANG BANG BANG 

And uh, and take your money. 

You lower the gun as the target pushes forward towards you. You can’t help but smile confidently as you look at the deep hole you made in center of the paper man. You reach to take it down, but a warm hand grabs onto your shoulder, squeezing you tightly, freezing you in place.

The hand twists your body slightly, just enough to make you turn around. You reach up to the top of your head and slip your off headphones, letting them rest around your neck. 

A charming, wild grin pulls at Neil’s lips as his gaze meets yours. “That was bloody incredible!” He shouts. There’s a bright flash of excitement in his eyes. His hands gesture towards the hole you made in the wall. You had aimed perfectly, shooting in the exact same spot each time you pulled the trigger. 

“Thanks,” You say back as your cheeks flush with heat despite the boost of confidence rushing through your veins from Neil’s praise. A compliment from Neil means a lot to you, even though you’ve known him for years. He was your closest friend and made sure to tell you the truth, even when it hurt. That honesty grounded you in the chaos of your life. He was a constant, a steadfast star in your sky. 

Neil chuckles a bit as his eyes look down to the headphones hanging around your neck. You don’t hear how loud your music still is. Your mind is too focused on the sound of Neil’s laugh. 

M.I.A Third World Democracy

Yeah I got more records than the KGB

So uh, no funny business!

“A bit loud, isn’t it?” Neil laughs again as he steps closer to you. He brings his hands to the back of your neck, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he grabs the headphones and slips them off of you. 

That smile, You think before mentally slapping yourself across the face. Snap the fuck out of it. 

Your feelings for him were always at the back of your throat, clawing for supremacy, climbing up to the tip of your tongue, threatening to force your mouth open to spill your guts. Somehow, even after all these years, you were able to hold back. Maybe it was because you didn’t need more than what you had with him. That was an absolute lie. Maybe it was because he never belonged to anyone else. There was no need to be jealous. Maybe it was because there was a certain, silent promise of belonging to each other despite the lack of an official relationship.

That was more like it. 

Neil puts the headphones back on the table as the next song plays. The absurdly loud riff of the guitar pulls you back into reality. 

Fell in love with a girl,

I fell in love once and I almost completely.

She’s in love with the world

But sometimes these feelings can be so misleading. 

Blushing again, you reach into your pocket and pull out your phone to press the pause button. The music stops and you smile shyly. A creeping sense of embarrassment crawls into your stomach. You were beyond happy that Neil was able to see you in your element, and usually his presence made you feel good, but his attention was overwhelming at times. Now, the confidence that settled in before had been sucked from your soul and replaced with a racing heart and a cluttered mind. 

You push thoughts of Neil to the back of your head. “So what’s up?” You ask, setting the gun on the table next to your headphones. You casually slip your hands into the pockets of your baggy jeans. You mentally acknowledge that you may be overdoing the whole ‘playing it cool’ thing in front of Neil, possibly even to the point that he might be able to see straight through your act. 

“Well,” Neil pauses. His hand moves to the back of his neck. “I’ve got some news,” Neil says finally, his smirk falling from his lips. Your heart skips a beat. He looks unbelievably nervous. His brows furrow cautiously, knowing his next words are going to achieve some sort of poor reaction from you. 

You gulp anxiously and nod. “W-what is it?” You stutter as you predict the words Neil is about to say. 

I can’t fucking do this, not yet. 

Neil steps closer to you and grabs your hand in his. The touch was familiar but still shocked you to your very core, your nerves tingly frantically under his fingers. 

Please don’t say it, please don’t fucking say it. 

Neil’s voice is quiet in anticipation of your panic. “The boss, he wants you back in the field…” Neil trails off, continuing on about something in London, something about him going with you. You feel your chest tightening. You’re not listening anymore. You’re too focused on what happened last time, too focused on the trauma, too focused on the tears, the shouts, the deaths. 

“NO!” You scream, your long, HDM hung heavily in your hand. The lifeless body of a new recruit crashes to the floor. 

You raise up your arm and cock the gun. You’re ready to aim and shoot, but two large men grab your hands. Your gun falls to the ground with a clatter. 

The man with the dark hair cackles cacophonously. He shakes his head, his piercing emerald eyes dissolving your soul as he picks a new body to hold roughly in his arms. A revolver presses tightly against the person’s head. You can’t tell exactly who it is, as there’s a burlap sack covering their face. There are 8 other people in a semi circle, each appearing the same as the last, tied up in a chair with a burlap sack hiding their identity. 

“What?” He shouted barbarically, his voice echoing against the silver, metal walls of the chamber. “You think your fucking screams can get you out of this?” He grinned maliciously, licking his lips as he cocked the gun. Tears roll down your cheeks. 

You are helpless. 

You are useless.

“(Y/N),” The voice of the person cries out, knowing that their fate is already sealed. It was a woman’s voice, and you felt a bit guilty as you prayed to God that it wasn’t Wheeler.

BANG! 

The lifeless body slumps into the chair. You whimper, stifling a sob in the back of your throat. 

The man with the dark hair moves onto his next victim. You struggle, trying to shake off the two men holding you back. You look around the room, searching for something, anything to get you out of this. 

The man’s face lights up with malignant excitement, sensing that his next kill would hurt you the most. 

Fuck, no no no no no, You think to yourself. You could recognize those stupid, posh little black dress shoes anywhere. You knew the curves of his body, the shape of his hands. Blood dripped down his neck from the cut on his forehead he had gotten earlier. 

Neil.

“Please,” You beg. “Don’t touch him. Just kill me instead.” 

The man with the dark hair only grins more widely now. “Darling,” He snarls. You cringe at his use of the nickname. Neil usually was the one to call you that. “Your begging only makes this more fun for me. In fact, it makes me want to kill you even less, just so you have to live with the image of everyone you care for dying in front of your very eyes for the rest of your life.” His cold words send shivers down your spine. 

He maneuvers differently around Neil, as he grabs the bottom of the burlap sack and removes it from his face. 

Neil’s blue gaze meets yours. You heart feels like it’s being stepped on as it sinks deeply to the bottom of your chest. You can barely breathe now. You huff, trying to keep your sanity, trying to find a way out of this fucking mess. 

“I figured you would want to watch the life drain from his pretty little face, (Y/N),” The man retorts. You shake your head violently. You look left to right, searching for some sort of weakness in the two large men that were keeping you in place. You notice a brace around the knee of the man on your right. 

Thank God for shorts, You think to yourself. 

The man with the dark hair raises the revolver to Neil’s right temple. 

“(Y/N),” Neil mutters. “I l-,”

Before Neil can get his last words out, you raise your right leg, bending it in and snapping it out at the back of the man’s knees, launching him forward. With your right hand now free, you sucker punch the man to your left square in the nose. You round house him in the stomach, sending him backwards. You grab your gun off the floor and aim it back to the man with the dark hair. 

The man chuckles evilly. “You shoot me, and I shoot him. It’s really as simple as that.” Your heart pounds in your chest. 

An idea suddenly dawns upon you. You shift subtly enough so that the man doesn’t catch on to your train of thought. The gun is already cocked, all you need to do is pull the trigger.

BANG! 

“Fuck!” The man cries out, stumbling forwards into the center of the semi circle as he releases Neil from his grasp. His gun falls to the floor. You turn away sharply at the realization that you blew his hand off. 

You run over to Neil first, quickly untying his hands and setting him free. He starts untying everyone else and you walk over the the man with the dark hair. You catch a quick glimpse of Wheeler, and sigh in relief that she’s safe. 

You breathe in hard and part your lips. “Don’t you dare ever fuck with me or my team again,” You pause, kicking the man in your ribs. There’s something extremely personal about your tone.  He grunts in response. “Now tell me where Edgar is keeping the weapons. And tell me where the fuck the lab is, you prick.” 

He chuckles, breathing shallowly. “Prick?” He pronounces the word articulately. “That’s no way to address your uncle.”

“Fucking answer my question ass hat!” You shout, aiming your gun at his head. With another swift kick to the stomach, he curls up in a ball, clutching at his core. You cock your gun again, ready to shoot. Neil rushes to your side, giving you a look that implored you to let him finish before you blew his brains out. 

“F-fine,” He stutters. “It’s in London.” He gives you a set of coordinates, and Neil takes them down. “I suppose I should tell your father that you’re calling him by his first name now, hm?” 

“No, you won’t be getting the chance to,” You say. 

You pull the trigger. 

BANG!

You hear someone in the distance calling your name. 

Two slender, toned arms wrap around your back, resting on your waist as they pull you into an embrace. The smell of Neil’s musky, cinnamon and citrus cologne heightens your senses and brings you back down to Earth. 

Your breathing slows down a good deal as you press your face into Neil’s chest. His right hand comes up to the nape of your neck, and he begins to rake his long fingers through your hair. 

“Are you alright, (Y/N)?” Neil whispers in your ear. 

You swallow roughly. “No,” You say without even needing to think. “I’m not ready yet. I can’t leave Headquarters yet. I’m just not ready.” You feel tears begin to swell in your eyes and you bite down on your lip, hoping to keep them at bay. It had only been a month since you had killed your own uncle. He was a piece of shit, but that didn’t make the situation much easier to deal with. 

It had only been a week since you watched two of your friends die. That part may have been the hardest for you to swallow. 

Neil shakes his head and breaks away from you bit, just enough to get a good look at you. “You’re ready, (Y/N).” His voice is calm and reassuring. “And unfortunately, you don’t have a choice. We have to leave for the airport in,” Neil pauses, checking his silver watch, “45 minutes.” 

“W-what?” You gasp. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“I just found out a few minutes ago,” Neil admits. “If I knew earlier, I would’ve told you.”

You nod, believing him entirely. “So we’re going to London? To the coordinates?” You ask, looking up into Neil’s ocean eyes. You could feel yourself beginning to drown in them, just as you always were. 

Neil simply nods back. He rests a hand on the center of your chest, feeling your heartbeat quicken with anxiety. “It’s just going to be you and I for a few days, and then everyone else will join when we confront…” He doesn’t same his name. He doesn’t want to make you panic again. But you know exactly who he means. 

Your father. Your heart hammers in your chest at the thought of him. 

“It’ll be okay,” Neil’s comforting tone relaxes you a bit. “I won’t leave your side for a second,” He adds. You sigh audibly in relief. 

You let a single tear slide down your cheek. “Thank you,” You whisper. 

Neil pulls you into his chest again. “Anything for you,” Neil responds. You shudder at his words. Sometimes you could swear that he didn’t only see you as his best friend, but something more. 

You let the ideas ruminate and run freely in your mind for a few seconds before shooing them away like pesky little children. 

You take a step back, allowing a small space to fill between the two of you. “I guess I should go pack now.” 

Neil instinctively closes the gap again. You can tell  that he’s worried you’ll break down, and you hate it, but his support feels nice. “Do you want me to go with you? I’ve been told I’m good company.” He grins and sends a wink in your direction.

The corner of your mouth turns up a bit into a half smile, and you let out a small giggle. He always had a way of making you smile, of making you feel good. 

“Nah,” You say, smiling fully now. “I’ll be alright by myself.”

Neil nods and smiles back. “Alright. I’ll meet you in the lobby at two o’clock,” Neil says. His smile turns into a smug smirk, and he turns his back to you. His dress shoes tap against the floor as he walks away. 

“Make sure to bring that silk pajama set you wore that time we went undercover in Monte Carlo,” He calls finally, wagging his pointer finger in the air. “I liked it.” 

You felt heat rising in your cheeks at his words. You almost tripped over the completely flat ground as Neil’s chuckle echoed down the hallway. 

————

You clutched the handle of your suitcase in your hands. You let it dangle in front of your legs, nervously bouncing it with your knees every few seconds. Your eyes searched the lobby for a head of fluffy blonde hair, but it was nowhere to be seen. You glance up to the analog clock above the front door. 

1:59. You were early. You were always early, for everything. Being late made you too anxious. You never wanted to miss a beat. 

The clock ticked 45 more times, and you counted each second. Finally, the sound of dress shoes echoed from down the hall. You looked past the reception desk to see Neil carrying a leather duffle bag in his right hand, and a bottle of water in his left. 

He smiled, releasing your butterflies from their cage inside your stomach as he finally reached your side. You open your mouth to say something, but Neil cuts you off.

“Don’t try to tell me I’m late,” Neil remarks sardonically, his eyes drifting off of you and onto the analog clock. “You’re just always early.” His smirk tugs at your heart, and you can’t help but smirk back. 

“I wasn’t going to say you were late!” You playfully smack his arm with your hand. “I was just going to tell you to be earlier next time.” 

Neil grins and shakes his head. He brings his hand up to the small of your back and brushes lightly. Outside the front doors, underneath the awning, a sleek, jet black town car pulls up. You feel your breath hitch in your throat at the realization that it was time.

This was it. 

Neil looks to you. “Are you ready?” His voice is reserved, almost as if he was scared to ask the question in the first place. 

You nod once. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” You swallow your fear and let Neil guide you out the doors. He grabs your duffle bag out of your hand, and opens the already popped trunk, carefully placing the luggage inside. You go to open the door, but Neil beats you to it. 

“I can open doors you know,” You say sarcastically, glaring disapprovingly in his direction. 

Neil doesn’t seem to care. “A thank you would be nice, love,” Neil says, shooting a charming smile in your direction. His hand is still holding the door open for you. You step inside the car and look up at Neil. 

“Thank you Neil,” You say mockingly. Neil smiles slyly and closes the door. 

The car ride to the airport is relatively uneventful. Neil gave you the run down. He told you your cover, where you were staying, and the overall gist of the mission. 

“So we’re married?” You ask, making sure you had heard that part of the plan right and hadn’t dreamt it up from a fantasy.

Neil smiles and nods. “We’re newlyweds, traveling the world together one city at a time.”  There’s a whimsy in his voice, almost as if he’s telling a fairytale. You can’t help but chuckle a bit, despite the anxiety growing in your stomach. 

The car turns onto an exit ramp, and suddenly the airport is in plain sight. You shiver a bit, feeling the air around you growing colder and colder. You check the temperature gauge at the front of the car, and notice that he hasn’t changed at all. You wrap your arms around your chest, rubbing up and down along your body, hoping to warm up. 

Neil’s smile fades away as he furrows his brows in concern. He wraps his right arm around your shoulders. You jump at the sudden warmth. 

“Are you alright?” He asks as he brings his other arm up to wrap around you completely. 

Your anxiety is begging you to tell him no. “Yeah, I’ll be okay,” You lie. Neil doesn’t buy it, and rightfully so. 

Neil squeezes you tightly. “I know you’re not okay, you don’t need to lie to me,” He whispers. “I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Your eyes begin to well up, and a single tear rolls down your cheek. “Alright,” You sigh, wiping the tear away. You sniffle a bit, trying to clear your head in the process. The car rolls to a stop. “I’m ready whenever you are,” You say, trying to seem more confident than you actually were. 

You open the door and slip out. The chaos of the outside of the airport takes you aback, despite the fact you had been in an airport millions of times before. Neil steps out behind you, and goes over to the trunk. He takes the luggage out and steps towards to you. You stare up at the massive building, petrified to enter. 

Neil ticks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “There’s not much time, (Y/N). We have to go inside now,” He says, his gaze staring into the side of your head. You refuse to meet his eyes, you’re too focused on the building, the mission, the future. 

After a few seconds, you nod to Neil and walk into the airport. You and Neil only have one duffle bag each, and thus you could skip checking in any bags. He guides you over to security, which happened to be a breeze. 

A short walk later, you approach the gate. There was a line of people waiting to enter, and you and Neil shuffled to the back of it. A few minutes later, a nice steward scanned your ticket. 

“Alright Mr. and Mrs. Ryan, you’ll be in row 2, seats A and B. Have a nice flight,” He smiles, and gestures for you to enter the bridge to the plane. 

Your heartbeat quickens as you take small steps. “N-Neil,” You stutter as you reach to center of the bridge. “I can’t do this. I really can’t do this. I mean it. I-I’m sorry I just can’t.” Panic is heavy in your voice. It feels as though the walls are closing in on you. 

Neil puts the luggage down and brings you to the side of the bridge. He pushes strands of your hair out of your eyes. “It’s going to be okay,” Neil reassures. “You can do this. I’m said I’m not going anywhere, and I meant that.” 

Neil picks the luggage back up, and guides you through the entrance of the plane and to your seat. You hesitantly sit down, quickly placing your hand on the armrest, wondering if there’s still time for you to run out of the door and back to headquarters. To your dismay, you watch the doors of the plane begin to shut. Neil wasn’t kidding before when he said there wasn’t much time. 

He stores the luggage in the overhead compartment, and takes his place next to you. He notices that you’re still shaking, and he places his hand on top of yours and brushes your skin lightly with his thumb. 

A comfortable silence rests gently between you and Neil as his hand remains on top of yours. Sometimes words aren’t necessary. You can get the idea of what someone means by their actions alone.

A few moments later, the captain makes an announcement, followed by a series of other voices sharing information. You're too wrapped up in your thoughts to pay attention to anything they have to say. Before you know it, the plane begins to move down the tarmac. It gains speed, and suddenly, you feel yourself being lifted in the air.

You shiver again, the anxiety becoming too much to handle. You try to ease into your seat in an attempt to calm down, but to no avail. You’re petrified and uncomfortable, a terrible duo of emotions to be faced with simultaneously.

Suddenly, you feel Neil’s warm hand leave yours. You watch in confusion as he lifts the armrest up, tucking it in between the seats. He lifts his arm, and wraps it around your shoulder, just like he had done in the car, and so many countless times before. You accept the invitation willingly, and snuggle into his side. 

Minutes later, you’re fast asleep in Neil’s arms. 

———

An evil chuckle echoes against the concrete and spreads down to the grassy beach below. “There’s no saving him now, (Y/N)!” A man shouts from the top of an overpass. 

You look down and watch as a familiar figure waves their arms frantically underwater, trying to swim up to the surface, but they can’t. There’s a brick tied around each of their angles. Their dirty blonde hair floats freely in the water as they continue to sink to the bottom.

“N-Neil!” You shout, trying to step forward to dive in after him. But your stuck, tied against a chair, guarded by two large men. “Please, please stop this!”

The man laughs, ignoring your pleas. “This is what you get, (Y/N). You’re worthless, and you fucking know it. Don’t you ever forget it, darling.” 

You shake side to side. The chair tumbles over and you fall into the dark, black, cold water. Your nerves are shot by the shock of the frigidness, and you can’t move. 

“Neil!” You gargle, left to watch as he sinks to the bottom of the lake. “Neil!”

“(Y/N)?”

“Neil!”

“(Y/N)?” 

Your eyes shoot open and you practically jump out of your seat. Your seatbelt pushes you down, keeping held tightly. You’re trembling. You can’t breathe at all. 

“(Y/N),” Neil repeats. “It was just a nightmare, you’re okay.” He wraps his arms around you, bringing you tightly into his chest. 

You bury your face into his white shirt, sobbing softly. His right hand reaches up to the nape of your neck, his fingers gently combing through your hair. 

“I’m so sorry,” Neil whispers, his voice filled with kindness. “I’m so, so sorry, love.” 

You whimper into his chest as pain explodes in your heart. “What am I going to do?” You mutter. 

“Don’t worry about that,” Neil says, his kind tone persisting in each word he utters. “I’ve got you, it’ll be okay.”

It needed to be okay. You needed to be okay. You couldn’t risk any fuck ups, not this time. This was real. This was life or death. 

This was the end of the world. 

Or at least it could be. 

“I’m going to fucking kill him for what he’s done to you,” Neil states, the kindness in his voice is replaced with anger and frustration. “I’m going to kill Edgar, I swear.” 

You shake your head against his chest. “No…

“Leave that part up to me.”

>>> Chapter 2

[a-detraque-barista]

Bridges

Disclaimer: I actually made this myself ~ (///0//0///)

Naga Izuku x Reader

Genre: Fluff, suggestive, yandere-ish (not really, like just barely)

Word Count: 1600+

A/N: So...I didn’t work on this as much as I could have cause now I feel like it’s not done so there’s most likely going to be a part 2 or ill just add onto it XD but anywho! Here is the ninth day of Izumonth!!!

Announcement post/calendar here

@birds-have-teeth​ 

Enjoy~ 

You had just moved to your new home with a close friend of yours here in this small town. Your lovely neighbor had told you about the walking path here in the woods. However, she warned you not to cross the bridge that hung over the rapids down below with the doorway at the end. She claimed the doorway would take you to another realm, where humans weren’t welcome. Thinking it was only a legend, you brushed it off.

That was until it crossed your mind again once you stumbled upon the bridge she had mentioned. Nothing about this place felt safe. It sent shivers up your spine and bumps to rise across your arms. Cautiously looking down, there seemed to be a blanket of fog with a tint of green hovering over the water. 

What a strange colored fog.

Looking back up, you saw the smallest glimpse of something move on the other side. You squinted your eyes but nothing else moved so you shrugged and turned back the way you came so you could get home for dinner. Your mom was cooking at her house and you weren’t about to pass up a free meal. It was actually her idea for you to move to this town, to get away from the city for a while. She wanted you to get away from the polluted air and clutter of society. And you agreed.

So now here you were in a quaint little town full of nosy people. As long as your mother and your dear friend were there, living there shouldn’t be too bad. 

The next day was filled with the unpacking of boxes and redecoration of the rooms. It was a cute house that wasn’t very big but it was enough for you and your friend, Tsuyu, to live in. You loved Tsuyu with all your heart. She was kind and supportive even as people called you “quirkless” and “useless”. Tsuyu’s quirk was called Frog, which allowed her to do anything a frog could. She usually made funny faces to cheer you up when you were down. Because you, well, you didn’t have a quirk. That was the main reason why your mother wanted you to move here, so you wouldn’t get picked on constantly. Even in your current early adult years people still looked down on you for not having a quirk.

“Hey, you okay, Y/n?” you felt Tsuyu’s hand on your shoulder before you flinched away at her touch. Blinking a few times you realized it was only her and you relaxed.

“Yeah, just thinking,” you set down the last of the throw pillows for the furniture before opening another box that read living room.  

“How about you go take a walk on that one path again, ribbit,” she slowly took the picture frames from your hands before going to hang them up herself. “I’ll finish unpacking these.”

You smiled before slipping your shoes on to head back into the woods like the day before. 

This time you had brought your earbuds so it wouldn’t be so painfully quiet while you walked along the dirt path. Then without realizing, you had made your back to the beginning of the bridge that hung over the rapids down below. When you came to your senses you looked up to see someone, no something, staring right at you. Even with how far it was from you, its eyes still glowed brightly in the dim lighting of the shadows. Its scales glimmered in the little dots and streaks of light poking through the trees. The whole other side of the bridge was dark and dim compared to the side you were on. The only noticeable things about it were its eyes, scales, and long tail. You couldn’t see anything else from where you were. 

Was that what you had caught a glimpse of yesterday? It couldn’t be. Could it?

It slithered forward so a little more of it was in the light. He held out his hand and waved you, telling you to come closer. And oh were you tempted to. His face was an adorable round shape with freckles. His hair was curly and thick, it just made you want to run your fingers through the strands. Then your eyes trailed down to his chest covered in scars and muscle. Leading your eyes down to his torso where it almost faded into a jade-scaled snake tail.

He was beautiful in every sense of the word. He made the “come here” gesture with his hand again but this time he added an adorable, innocent smile. 

With a light pink hue on your cheeks now, you began to walk over the old and creaky bridge. Holding onto the rough rope that acted as a railing, you slowly made your way across the bridge. And he sat there waiting for you patiently and hopefully. 

Once you set one foot onto the solid ground, you were wrapped up in his coils. He held you tightly as he spoke, “I never thought I would be able to see you again, Y/n-chan.”

Confusion crossed your face but he only giggled at it before slithering deeper into the dark forest with you still tightly in his tails grasp. On the way to wherever you were headed, skeletons and clothes lied on the ground and in trees. The clothes made sense given that snakes ate their prey whole, but skeletons? Was there something else living here that didn’t eat bones? You shuddered at your own question which the snake holding you felt no doubt.

He slightly smirked at feeling your the chill run down your spine. But he quickly got rid of it as he focused on where he was going and the heat your body exerted into his. He could feel it seeping through his scaly armor. He couldn’t help but wind his tail tighter around you. 

Suddenly, he heard you whimper which caused you to look back at you. He realized what he did wrong quickly and slackened his hold on you, but only a little. It could have only been a few minutes before the snake man stopped outside of a large hole in the ground. He glanced back to you before continuing into the hole. He had to lower the top part of his body so his stomach was almost touching the ground and he tilted you back so you were looking directly up into the sky before darkness clouded your vision.

A dull glow of light came from the end of the makeshift tunnel and your eyes adjusted easily the further you went. He straightened both your body and his as he reached the large relatively empty area. The only things that were in the “room” were the torches spread out on the walls and furs that laid on top of a bed of roughly carved tree trunks.

Curling up on the furs his body still held you but not as tightly. His long-nailed hands came to hold your face and inspect you. Tilting your head side to side. Looking for what he knew to be there, he just didn’t know where. 

After practically pressing your face into his chest he found the mark he had left behind your ear. He smiled, “I knew it was you! I’ve been waiting for you ever since we were kids. I’m just sad it took this long for you to come back to me.”

Wait...w a i t

What?

Your confused expression made him giggle again before removing your earbuds gently, “How can you not remember me? It’s Izuku, remember?”

Izuku? You mean...he’s the-

He’s the boy you always went into the forest to play with as a child. He was the first person to not mind the fact that you were quirkless. You couldn’t believe he had stayed here all this time. Back then he slept in a large old tree and he would always carry you up to where the two of you talked and messed around. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you!” you almost shrieked as your wrapped your now free arms around his neck to hold him close. 

His face turned red as he acted like it was no big deal. Just as he was the first person to treat you with kindness, you were the first to not be terrified of what he was. Izuku has been hunted and sought out for being a danger to humans. He was only a danger when they attacked him. Too many times he’s been ambushed and injured by humans who refuse to believe he wouldn’t harm them without good reason.

All he could do was use tail and long fangs that utilize his deadly venom because he too was quirkless. It was hard to fight against these people that had quirks like ice and fire or that has a shadow coming from their body.

Izuku wrapped his arms around your torso and buried his head into your shoulder. He missed you like no other. His life was lonely without you brightening his days. But now you were back, and you were going to stay for good.

He sniffed a bit causing him to lick his lips and get a whiff of your scent. He hadn’t been able to take the time to smell it. His tongue poked out again to smell it again. His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head and he held you tighter. Izuku had to use all of his strength to not shudder from your delectable scent. Just to make sure he wasn’t mistaken he turned his head to your neck and stuck his tongue out again to smell from your scent gland. He was so close to biting your neck right then and there.

You were fertile. There was no doubt in his mind. It was time for you to bear children and he wanted nothing more than to fill you with his eggs and cum alike. 

“Y/n-chan...have you ever...done it before?”

[shannygoatgruff]

Engendered

Genre: Pain and grief

Story Type: One-shot

Rating: M+18

Summary: Lagertha’s grief causes her to make a decision that may change things forever.

A/N:  I know it’s been a minute since I’ve posted anything. Truth is, I’ve hated everything I’ve done lately. But, I had a dream about this and just decided to write it. For some reason, I find writing internal conflict to be so much easier than fluff. 

As always thanks to @xbellaxcarolinax​ for being my beta reader. 

Engendered 

en·gen·dered / ənˈjendər·ed /  - verb; (of a father) beget (offspring).

“Be careful, Shieldmaiden Lagertha, Once Queen of Kattegat. Wishes granted by the gods are not always what we, in Midgard, seek.”

When the Seer had spoken those words all those many years ago, she had thought the old man crazy. Truth be told, the entire village thought him crazy, but none would admit it. He, with his blackened lips, fleshed-out eyes, and collection of potions and poultices that cluttered the small hut in the side of the hill that could scarcely be called a home. This hovel, with its animal bones hanging from the scaffolding like ornaments was hardly a dwelling fit for a pig, yet they had always flocked there to see him. 

She was no different from the rest of those who sought his visions. She needed him to tell her what the gods had in store, no matter the cost. The Seer’s readings were often so cryptic, they hardly could pass as law. Other than pondering the true meaning behind his words the price to pay for his company was relatively small.

What harm could come from licking his palm? Possibly the same harm that could come from enacting a ritual for the goddess many years past? 

Lagertha should have known better than to be so trusting, especially when galdr was involved. Nothing good had ever come from witchcraft, even if it was blessed by Freya, herself. She hadn’t been in her right mind. She was hurting and she needed him to hurt just as much.

When the new Queen of Kattegat had her first child, a son called Ubbe, Ragnar was overjoyed, and it crushed her even more.

She remembered seeing that sparkle in his eyes when their children were born. At Bjorn’s birth, the women of Frigga who had assisted with his delivery commented how beautiful he was and was destined to be a great warrior. When Gyda arrived, Ragnar announced that the goddess, herself, would be jealous of their daughter’s beauty. 

How proud both she and Ragnar had been.

Both times Lagertha had seen Ragnar’s eyes shine like the stars in Asgard. How she had looked forward to seeing that twinkle in those crystal blue eyes again with the birth of their third child. 

Their son, the boy that she would call Eluf, though he would never live to hear himself be called that name, looked so much like Bjorn. 

Eluf came too early. 

He proved to be the one thing their union could not overcome. His death would not make Ragnar stay. 

That is why she called him Eluf, if only in the confines of her heart. For he would always be her eternal heir, even if his father had forgotten the promises he  made to his family.

She tried to keep their family together. Oh, how she tried. The queen of Kattegat tried to save her marriage, much like she tried to save her stillborn son. She prayed to Freya and Frigga for strength and protection. She held onto everything she loved as tightly as she possibly could, suffocating Ragnar with her love with the same strength she used to clench her thighs together to ensure her precious Eluf stayed inside of her. 

But her grasp weakened and as he drew closer to Midgard, he tore her apart from the inside out. 

How much like his father the boy had been. 

Just as her precious son had pulled away from her, so had his father. Ragnar’s growing obsession with England made the promises of returning to the simple farm life they once shared a fantasy. How could a homestead with children ever again be enough for a man with such ambitions? 

Lagertha would swear that she could feel pieces of him tearing away from her every day. It was that tenacity that forbade him from being by her side when she needed him most. 

Secretly, she hated him for it.

Ragnar’s prophecy was told to him at their marriage that he would have many great sons. It was the idea of building such a home that kept them so in love and happy in their lives past. Lagertha had always assumed that she would be the bearer of those sons; the gods already blessing them with Bjorn. 

Never once did she imagine that she would have to endure the heartache of seeing Ragnar’s eyes dance with such pride over his sons born to another woman.  

Witnessing the birth of his first son born to a new wife was devastating, but then came another and another. With every healthy birth of Queen Aslaug, more of her died inside.

Why should this interloper take everything that was rightfully hers? 

This woman, this völva, had traveled to the former queen’s home and prospered from her pain. Lagertha had loved Ragnar from the very beginning, when they had nothing, were nothing. She had encouraged him, fought with him through his rise to power - buried two of his children, all to be replaced by this ... despot?

What right did they have to be happy? What right did Aslaug’s sons have to live when her beloved Eluf did not? The gods could not possibly be this cruel. 

It was her grief that made her do it - always going to the mound of earth in which her beloved Gyda and Eluf lay, desperately trying to make soft flowers grow in the frozen earth that covered their bones. No matter the strength of the frozen wind that whipped through the valley in the winter, or the smell of rotting wood from docked ships that rose from the lake in the spring, she was there, knelt at their marker whispering to her children. 

Lagertha just wanted a sign - some signal that the Valkyrie had taken their souls to Odin and been permitted to enter Valhalla on the merits of their ancestors. 

That’s how she knew that Freya had answered her prayers when the sedir had come to her at dusk that day. The rain had finally slowed, producing only a light drizzle and the smell of the earth was fresh. The soil that she had been running her hands over for hours, weeping and speaking to her children was soft in her hands. 

The hand on her shoulder was gentle and the voice in her ear was almost a whisper. She sounded like Freya, herself. The woman told her that Gyda was safe and was now enlisted as a Valkyrie. 

The witch with the voice of a goddess also told Lagertha of a way to see her son again and get revenge on those who scorned her. For so many years she had prayed for this. She had asked, no begged the gods for help in mending her broken heart and here Freya was answering her prayers. 

All she had to do was open the earth and remove the blood-stained rag of Eluf’s.

She also needed to retrieve a strand of hair of Aslaug, who was again with a child, sure to be Ragnar’s fourth son with this trespasser. Once she had those items, she was to burn them in an open flame and the goddess would do the rest. 

It could not have been more simple. The ground was already soft enough for digging and though it would break her heart to disturb the resting places of her babies, she would do it. If it would make the pain stop, she would do anything. Including being cordial with the queen and wishing her well on her fourth child. Sitting at the table with her and enjoying a meal, getting close enough to her to hug her and take a hair, would be easy. It would please Ragnar to see his two loves befriending each other. Lagertha could play that part.

And as the open flames grew hotter and the items were dropped inside, Lagertha closed her eyes and begged Freya to heed her prayers. 

That is when Queen Aslaug doubled over in pain, knowing that this pregnancy was unlike any other she had experienced.

********

“I understand everything perfectly. I want revenge.”

She had thought she saw glimpses of familiarity in his eyes before, but it was so fleeting that she dismissed it. Since the ritual in the woods, Lagertha hardly ever thought about Ragnar and his queen or his tribe of boys. Her son, Bjorn Ironside, had proven himself a mighty warrior, and she too had grown in reputation. She had taken over Hedeby. With so much to celebrate, she hardly had time to ponder on the absent Ragnar or his drunkard wife. 

Admittedly, there was a tiny bit of guilt when the youngest boy, Ivar, was born with twisted limbs. Lagertha knew how disappointed Ragnar had been knowing that he could never truly be Viking. The shame that must have put on his head. The same type of shame he should have felt for abandoning his first family. 

And the pain the queen had to deal with having a child that needed so much. Lagertha was sure it hardly matched the pain that she felt at losing not one but two children by the same man that she now called husband. Let alone not having that same husband not be there for the death of either of them.

The goddess had fulfilled her promise, no matter what the Seer warned.

Yet, there was something not quite right about the fourth boy. He had a dark presence - a brooding about him. Always sheltered, but always in pain. Not just physical pain, there was a pain behind his eyes. Lagertha saw it in the few interactions she’d had with him. 

It was not until that day that he slid across the floor of the Great Hall with all in attendance, while Queen Lagertha addressed her subjects, did she fully understand. 

Each time his knives stabbed into the wooden floor and he slid closer to her, his eyes became clearer. She had seen those eyes before. Not Ivar’s eyes, or even Ragnar’s, but someone else’s - an acquaintanceship with something behind them.

The boy, Ivar, perched himself on a stool and glared at her with such hatred. 

Eluf?

She stepped down.

Eluf?

She stepped down from her throne.

Eluf?

She stepped down from her throne and tried to speak calmly. 

Eluf?

She stepped down from her throne and tried to speak calmly, placing her hand on Ivar’s shoulder as if to touch her son through him. 

How was it that her son inhabited this boy’s body? Why was he speaking to her in such hateful tones? The words seeking revenge for the death of Aslaug were not Ivar’s, they were Eluf’s. She could tell by the cold, dead tone behind his eyes. 

She had seen it before. The quick flashes she thought she recognized between the vibrant deep blue of Ivar’s, to the murky pools buried deep within. Had those been the eyes of Eluf staring at her all that time? 

Surely, her baby boy wasn’t telling her that he wanted to kill her?

But he was. He did all the time. 

Eluf, her sweet baby, who never drew his own breath, breathed deeply through Ivar Ragnarsson. He wreaked havoc wherever he went. He was masterful and spiteful. He was brilliant and cruel. He was beautiful and destructive. 

Eluf brought about pain and death. 

This was not what the goddess promised. This was not what was supposed to happen. Ragnar was supposed to suffer the way that she suffered, she had not meant to suffer the whole world. Never did Lagertha mean to raise her boy from his peaceful death and reanimate him into the destroyer of Kattegat. 

Watching the flames lick the rooftops of the home just outside of the center of Kattegat, Lagertha could smell the rotting stench of the dead lying in the street, mixed with the burning tar and charred remains of her fellow countrymen. She thought back to how the Seer had warned her. 

Was that truly Freya that had spoken to her years ago, or Loki? What right did she have to ask the gods for revenge? She should have not interfered; just let them do their work with Ragnar’s fate.

All of this was her fault. All of this death was her fault. 

And to know that she would meet her death at the hands of one of his sons. But which one: Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Ivar or Eluf? 

Oh Odin, what had she done?

******

“You are a god.” 

Legs dangling off of the back of the cart, Ivar watched as Kattegat grew smaller in the distance. 

The inexplicable anger in him had been sated for now. That inner voice, the one that made his heart pump faster and his jaw clench seemed to be at peace. He could rest; if only for a moment, he could rest. 

He knew this would not be the last time he saw his home, just like he knew no one would ever doubt him again.

Maybe this time, with the voice silenced he could find happiness. He thought he had found it with Freydis, but the voice grew louder than her most days. In the end, the voice was right. She was just like the rest, an obstacle in his way to greatness. She needed to be quieted. 

She had been right about one thing, he was a god. Not in the traditional sense, he now understood that. He had been engendered by the gods. Created by the seed of his father, in the womb of his mother and fused with Hel’s knowledge provided by his brother. 

He would go on to do many great things. Kattegat was just the beginning. 

The world would never forget Ivar the Boneless. 

His brother would always ensure that he would be ruthless. 

Fin.

@xbellaxcarolinax @youbloodymadgenius @zuxiezendler @peaceisadirtyword @peachyboneless @ivarthebloodyking @a-mess-of-fandoms @didiintheblog @we-are-only-halfway-home93 @conaionaru @flowers-in-your-hayr  @geekandbooknerd @inforapound @nukyster-blog​

[theladyofdeath]

City of Starlight {1}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses & Throne of Glass Crossover, Modern AU fanfiction.

Based on a prompt sent in for the 5k follower contest {winner}, from Anonymous: “Competitive arts school tog x acotar crossover”

Summary:  Velaris School of the Arts is the most prestigious school of talent on the continent. Whoever wants to be someone wants to get in. As her senior year of high school is coming to an end, all Aelin Galathynius wants is to go to the city of starlight and play music. Feyre Archeron, however, longs to paint for the rich and famous. Painters, singers, dancers, actors, and filmmakers come together in friendship, love, and lust, and find that they have a lot more in common than they thought.

A/N: Shoutout to @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty​ for writing chapter one with me! Ugh, I’m so excited to write this story, y’all don’t even know. Read, enjoy, & let me know what you think!

Warnings: language

Links:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me ANYTHING!

City of Starlight {ACOTAR/TOG crossover}

> Characters Detail Sheet <

Aelin and Aedion stepped out into the late afternoon sun. The drive had taken a little bit longer than intended, but that was only because they stopped to sight-see anything that sounded interesting, including the world’s largest pumpkin. Although ginormous, it was rotted and horrible, but there had been a sign just before the exit and they couldn’t resist. It was also at that exit that they stopped by a little hole-in-the-wall bakery and Aelin got two dozen chocolate donuts.

She’d eaten nearly half of them between there and the entrance of the city.

Velaris was beautiful, just as Aelin suspected it would be, but she really couldn’t wait until nightfall to see the famous starlight. They had a few hours before that, though, which meant that they had to find their apartments. Instead of traditional dorms, since Velaris was a smaller school, they had a huddle of apartments and townhouses. They were all cluttered close together, though, and it was a bit overwhelming trying to decipher which building was which.

“Fuck,” Aedion muttered, looking around the square. They were standing in the middle of four different apartment buildings, all of which looked exactly the same. “What’s your building?”

Aelin dug through her bag to find the envelope with all of her information in it, which took a solid two minutes, and once she opened it up, it took another two to find the right piece of paper.

Aedion just watched her, shaking his head. “How have you made it this far in life being so disorganized?”

She gave him a vulgar gesture as she read, “I’m in building B.” She blinked. “They’re alphabetized?” 

Aedion looked around to find the nearest sign, then groaned. “Well, this is building Q, so if that’s the case, we’re pretty far off. I’m in B, too.”

With a dramatic sigh, Aelin said, “And here I was hoping to finally get some distance from you.”

Aedion nudged her in the ribs before climbing back up behind the wheel of his truck. They rode around for nearly forty-five minutes, slowly, reading every sign they passed with frustration. At one point, they thought they were close, because they came upon building C, only to be met at the next building with a sign that said “Apartment Building L”. Aelin swore it was a test of will - one she definitely didn’t care for.

But, alas, when they finally found Apartment Building B, it was a glorious feeling, and once Aedion pulled into a parking spot, Aelin jumped out of the car and yelled, “Finally!”

She expected Aedion to make a profound exclamation, too, but when she looked over the hood of the car at him, he was looking elsewhere.

On the other side of the courtyard was a girl with long, brown hair, a black tank top, and a pair of ripped skinny jeans. Aedion was staring at her, his lips parted. 

“Aed,” Aelin snapped, voice loud, and he jerked around to meet her gaze. 

After clearing his throat, he muttered an apology and went around back to open the truck bed. He kept glancing across the courtyard every few seconds, though. Aelin wanted to pick on him, but he seemed to be quite smitten and she actually thought it was sweet.

“You should go talk to her,” Aelin said, at last, helping him carry their bags and shit to the sidewalk. 

Aedion shook his head. “I’m too busy helping my cousin move in.”

Aelin rolled her eyes at the excuse as she grabbed a box of pillows and began walking backwards toward the sidewalk, keeping her eyes on Aedion, who was looking over his shoulder, once again. “I’m just saying. I’ve seen that look before, and I- shit!”

Aelin nearly dropped the box as her back ran into a tall, hard body. She quickly turned around to meet the narrowed, green eyes of her acquaintance. 

“Watch where you’re going, freshman,” he warned, his voice low.

Aelin opened her mouth to tell him off, but Aedion must have seen her shift in body language because he was instantly at her back, saying, “It was an accident, calm down.” 

“I’m just saying,” he began, repeating what Aelin had just said, still looking down at her, “that she needs to watch where she’s going. There’s a lot of people around here, and if she’s walking backwards, I won’t be the only person she runs into. The next one may not be so pleasant.” 

Aelin snorted. “This is you being pleasant? Gods.” 

The newcomer’s lips tightened into a straight line as he went to take a step around Aelin, at last. She let him go, but Aedion wasn’t as forgiving. He blocked the silvery-haired stranger’s path and met his hard gaze with one of his own. Aedion was maybe half an inch shorter than he was, a little less broad, but other than that, they were close in stature. In a fight, they would be fairly evenly matched. 

“You owe my cousin an apology,” Aedion said, head cocked slightly to the left.

A light danced in the stranger’s green eyes as he met Aedion with a cocky grin. “You’ve only been here for five minutes and you’re already trying to get your ass kicked?”

“This is ridiculous,” Aelin muttered, stepping in between the two, even though they both stood a head taller than she. “We have shit to get done, knock it off. Unless you want to help us move our shit into 21 and 32, move on with your day.”

The newcomer tensed as he breathed a curse. Then, he looked to Aedion. “You’re in 21? Ashryver?”

Aedion’s hard eyes slid from his cousin’s to the man. “Depends who’s asking.”

“Rowan Whitethorn.” His arms were crossed, clearly not offering a handshake. “I won’t be helping you move, but looks like we’ll be spending a lot of quality time together.”

“Shit,” Aedion breathed.

Rowan turned, his pine green eyes pinning her in place. “And you are?”

Big brother mode kicked in and Aedion grabbed her arm. “None of your concern. Come on, Ace.”

The two began to walk towards the lobby, but Aelin glanced back over her shoulder at Aedion’s surly new roommate. Rowan’s eyes narrowed, as if he were studying her.

With her back straight and her chin held high, Aelin met his stare with one of her own. His shoulders tensed before turning his back to her and walking away. 

“Considering you have way more shit than me,” Aedion began, snapping Aelin back to the present, “why don’t you go see where your room is? I’ll come find you after I find my room and bring my bags in, and I’ll start bringing your stuff up.”

Aelin held a hand over her heart. “What would I ever do without you?”

Aedion blinked. “Everything? Stuff for yourself, for once?” He suggested.

With pursed lips, Aelin shoved him in the shoulder, then he laughed as they took to the stairs. She left him on the second floor before trailing up to the third.

Students were hurrying in and out of every room, the excitement of move in day as strong for the older students as it was for the freshman. As she passed each room, it was like a glimpse into a different world. She could hear instruments being tuned and found people sharing designs on tablets and laptops. She heard clear voices and bass driven beats. She felt like she was home.

She finally found the door marked 32 and took a deep breath. She had been an only child her entire life, Aedion the closest thing to a sibling she’d had, so the idea of having roommates was completely foreign to her. She took a deep breath and sighed, twisting the door knob.

To find that it was...locked.

Aelin glanced down the hall again, on both sides. There wasn’t a single door shut on her floor, save for hers. She assumed she must have been the first of her roommates to arrive.

She dug through her bag until she found the key they’d given her, on a VSOTA lanyard and slid the key into the lock.

She had assumed wrong.

Sprawled out on the couch, tangled in each other’s arms, were two women lost in an intimate embrace, and Aelin was most definitely interrupting.

“Shit, sorry!” She yelled, quickly turning away, attempting to give them privacy while also feeling horribly embarrassed. “I should’ve knocked!”

There was a shuffling on the leather couch then soft laughter flooded into the room.

“Knock?” A light voice said. “It’s your house, if you’re Aelin, which I hope you are, because if you’re not this is a very strange situation.”

Aelin hesitated before slowly turning back around, where she was met with a grin from the young woman with long, blonde hair. She was brushing through it with her fingers when Aelin said, “I suppose that’s one way to break the ice in front of your new roommates, right?”

The blonde’s grin widened. “I’m Mor. This is my girlfriend, Nehemia. I live here, she doesn’t. Our other roommate should be here soon, but I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow!”

Nehemia gave Aelin a gentle smile before pulling her hoodie on over her tank top. Her long braids were pulled back into a low ponytail. “I’m glad you came, actually, brought me back to reality. Elide was expecting me ten minutes ago to help put up flyers for the block party tomorrow night.”

Mor clicked her tongue. “How dare you let me distract you? Elide will have my ass.”

Nehemia chuckled as she kissed Mor on the cheek, then smiled once again at Aelin. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” she smiled.

The door clicked shut behind her and Mor said, “And how is Velaris treating you so far?”

Aelin chuckled and said, “Velaris is kicking my ass. It took us over forty-five minutes to find our building.”

Mor laughed. “Yeah, it can be a bit of a maze sometimes. But you said us? You brought someone?”

Aelin caught the glint in Mor’s rich, brown eyes. “No, no, not like that. I mean, I didn’t bring him. He's studying film, but he’s my cousin. Practically my older brother.”

Mor nodded. “My cousin is here, too, right beneath us.” She stomped a few times for good measure. “Over-protective prick.”

Aelin laughed. “Is it your first year?

“Technically, yes, but I’m from Velaris.” Mor made her way into the kitchen and grabbed a bottled water out of the fridge. “Rhys and Az have been here for two years, so I basically have, too.”

Aelin hesitated.

“Oh, right,” Mor said, after taking a sip from her bottle. “You have no idea who they are. Rhys is the prick, my cousin, and Azriel is the only good one in our group.” She winked as Aelin chuckled. “It’ll all be a lot to take in, but you’ll get used to it. Starting with the party tomorrow night, and the party that follows the party.”

Aelin just nodded, but she wasn’t following at all. Instead of asking more questions, Mor showed Aelin to the two unoccupied bedrooms and Aelin chose the one that looked out at a massive oak tree, the branches within arms reach out the window. Her and Mor made “get-to-know-you” small talk as she waited for Aedion to bring up her belongings.

Aelin wasn’t sure what she was expecting from her roommates, but Mor seemed nice and funny and Aelin assumed they wouldn’t have any problems.

She couldn’t say the same for Aedion, though.

Rowan Whitethorn seemed like a serious piece of work.

~~

Feyre sat in Rhysand’s lap with her arms around his neck in the middle of the quad, Cassian and Azriel sprawled out on the grass beside them. 

“This is it, then?” Cassian asked. “And here I thought we’d actually have to work our asses off at this beautiful institution.”

Azriel opened his eyes just to roll them. “Classes haven’t started yet, idiot.”

“Call me idiot one more time,” Cassian muttered, but he was grinning.

Feyre just shook her head before turning her face back to Rhysand’s, planting her mouth on his. 

Cassian said, “Must you? Get a fucking room, gods.” Rhys lifted his foot where it laid near Cassian’s head and kicked him. He mumbled, “Prick”.

Feyre laughed. “Speaking of rooms, I do have one of my own now.”

“Should we go test out the bed, darling?” Rhysand’s violet eyes were brilliant  in the August sun as he smirked.

“That’s not what I was suggesting, but maybe, later,” she said, with a wink.

Cassian and Azriel groaned. Az had never been so happier than the day that Feyre received her acceptance letter to VSOTA. It meant she’d have her own place, and he wouldn't have to hear she and Rhys until all hours of the night. No wonder their roommate hated them.

“I should go check on my sisters though,” she sighed. “Nesta is all the way across campus now.”

Cassian muttered, “Good.”

Feyre shot him a look, but she didn’t blame him. He and Nesta had a drunken one night stand at a party in high school, when he was a sophomore and she was a senior, and after that every time the two ran into one another it was...tense, to say the least. 

“It’s been years,” Azriel said, his eyes still closed. “You two should get the fuck over it.”

Cassian's brow lifted as he looked sideways at Azriel. “Damn. What's up your ass?”

“He’s just pissed because Whitethorn drank one of his beers this morning,” Rhysand chimed.

Feyre scrunched her nose. “I never understood how people can drink beer when they’re not already drunk. The taste is awful.”

But Azriel was throwing his hands in the air. “They’re hard to find and I specifically told everyone to keep their hands off!”

“If you’d drink regular beer like the rest of us, you wouldn’t have this problem,” Cassian said. “And if you two would have requested me as your roommate like you were supposed to, you’d have one less person tell not to drink your Cafe Coco Coffee stout or whatever the fuck.”

“You didn’t turn in your registration until after the semester ended! It’s hard to request someone who isn’t a student.” Azriel laid back down and closed his eyes again. “And it's an IPA called Coffee Del. If you’re gonna make fun of me, at least do it right.”

“Sounds gross either way,” Cassian mumbled.

Feyre was laughing uncontrollably. “My gods, I never knew you were so boujee, Az.”

The side of Azriel’s lips quirked upward. “I’m heading to Elain’s in a little bit to help put together her bookshelf, if you wanna go with me.”

“I can do that,” Feyre said, “as long as Nesta’s not there, we haven’t spoken in a year and I don’t plan to start today. To do that, I will need beer in me, and not Azriel’s fancy shit, but the crap kind that tastes like junk but gets you real drunk, real fast.”

Rhysand just shook his head, slowly. “You’re so sexy.”

Feyre’s grin widened as she took his face into her hands and pulled his mouth back against hers. Cassian groaned as Azriel took off his beanie and threw it at them.

“Fuck off,” Rhysand muttered, against Feyre’s lips. “And I’m keeping your hat, so thank you.” 

Azriel chuckled quietly as he closed his eyes, once again. Cassian stood up and announced his departure. “I have to go meet my roommates.”

He was in the building across from the others, which he had made sure they all knew he was pissed about. After pulling the sheet of wadded up paper out of his pocket, he read, “Fenrys, Lorcan, and Dorian.” He stared at the paper for another minute before sighing, dramatically. “You two assholes have fun with your new roommates while I go make new friends.”

“Your dramatic ass should have gone into acting, Cass,” Rhysand said, his arm around Feyre’s waist tightening. 

Cassian just grinned as he shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking backwards, away from the center of the quad. “I would have, but I was gifted with the voice of an angel.”

“You’re no angel,” Feyre muttered, and he held his middle finger up high as he turned his back to them and walked away.

“Fuck,” Azriel breathed. “Now I have to watch you two suck each other’s faces alone.”

And that’s exactly what they did.

———

Nesta Archeron fell onto the couch, having finally carried her last bag up from the car. She deserved the chilled glass of wine she was going to pour herself, just as soon as she could breathe again.

The door opened and Amren groaned as she carried a tub towards her bedroom. “Why exactly do we have to move during the hottest season of the year?”

“I say you and I just buy a little house in the city so that we can stay there year round,” Nesta said, slowly making her way toward the fridge. “And then we wouldn’t have to have any other roommates, either.”

Their previous roommate had graduated the year before, so a new one had been appointed to them, one that Nesta was dreading to be in the same room as, much less living alongside her. She didn’t know Manon Blackbeak all that well, but the dancer certainly had a reputation. 

Amren knew her a little bit. They’d had a few classes together, both being dancers at the same school for a few years now, but the two had never really talked.

When Nesta and Amren found out that Manon would be their new roommate, they debated on leaving VSOTA altogether and moving to the other side of the country, but no, they had worked too hard to get where they were, and they wouldn’t let Manon ruin their ongoing success. 

“You know, you could help me,” Amren scowled.

Nesta shrugged as she popped the cork from her wine bottle and filled a glass. “That’s your last tub, you’ve got it.”

Leaving the door open, Amren rolled her eyes as she pushed the tote into her room before going back to the living room and falling down on the couch. “Just pour me a glass and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal.” Nesta poured a second glass before re-corking the bottle, returning it to the fridge and carrying the glasses to the other room. She handed Amren a glass and sat in the oversized chair in the corner.

“It’s the least you could do after you took the good room, you bitch,” Amren muttered, the glass to her lips.

Nesta scoffed and threw her a vulgar gesture. “I wasn’t up all night at Varian’s.”

“I’d hope not,” Amren smirked. “Since we were up all night fucking.”

A throat was cleared from the open doorway and Nesta and Amren turned to find Manon standing there with a leather messenger back over her shoulder. “Hey.”

Nesta’s oncoming good mood was instantly fading. “Blackbeak.”

Neither Nesta or Amren moved to welcome their new roommate, but Manon didn’t seem to mind. She walked through the open door, her chin held high. “Which room is mine? I assume you’ve already chosen, given how comfortable and smug you look.”

Amren nodded to the door in the corner. 

“Thanks,” Manon muttered, and began to walk that direction.

“Wait,” Nesta said, taking a long sip from her glass before setting it on the side table and rising to her feet. “Since you’re being forced to live with us, there’s a few ground rules.” 

Manon snorted, but faced Nesta, nonetheless. “Fine.”

“First of all,” Nesta began, slowly walking to where Manon stood in the middle of the room. “If you decide to have a late night booty call, let us know. We have no interest in sharing the breakfast table with whatever fuckboy warms your bed that night.”

Manon lifted a perfectly sculpted brow. “Fair. And second?”

“Keep your space clean,” Nesta went on, stopping a good foot away from where Manon stood. “I don’t do well with messes.”

Manon sighed, looking at her long, black-painted nails, seemingly bored. “I’m not a fucking slob, shouldn’t be an issue. Anything else?”

Nesta looked over her shoulder at Amren, who was watching them both with a deadly, feline smile.

“We hear you got kicked out of your last apartment for being a bitch,” Nesta went on, at last. “So, keep to yourself as much as possible and realize that the school assigned you to live here, we didn’t ask for it.”

Nesta wasn’t sure what kind of reaction she was going to get, but it certainly wasn’t the grin that spread across Manon’s lips. She surely wasn’t expecting Manon to close the distance between them and get up in her face. Her voice was low, amused, when she said, “I don’t mind keeping to myself, because I came here to dance, not to make friends with bitches like you.” 

———

Setting her phone down on top of the stack of flyers, Elide flipped her head upside down and gathered her hair into a messy bun. Being a member of the student council, she’d been on campus for over a week. While everyone else was moving in, she’d been mingling, giving tours, helping new students and, currently, putting up and handing out flyers for the block party she’d been planning for two months.

And, gods, it was so hot.

She picked her flyers up, tucking them against her chest. She’d already hit the East and South sides of campus. Nehemia, though she was late and Elide had given her a look which she blushed at, was heading to the North side. She decided to get to West campus through the Quad, where most students today were gathering.

As she crossed campus, many people she knew called out to Elide. She was waving to one of the girls she’d taken Geology with the year before when she ran into a wall.

Which turned out to be a rock solid chest of muscles.

Her flyers flew from her arms and Elide swore under her breath.

She was  immediately down on her hands and knees, trying to gather the flyers before the breeze took them away. When it was clear the wall she’d run into wasn’t going to help, her eyes snapped up to meet the one and only Lorcan Salvaterre’s.

She didn’t know Lorcan, at least not well, only by reputation. He was a loner, kept mostly to himself. Some say he did jail time before he began at VSOTA, in high school, and looking at him now, Elide didn’t doubt it.

He was just staring at her when she scoffed, “Mind giving me a hand?” 

“Here, I’ll help.” Elide looked over her shoulder to find Cassian, a freshman who she had met a few days before and had instantly clicked with, hurrying to where she knelt in the grass. Cassian leaned down to help, but not before giving Lorcan a distasteful look. “Fuck, you knock her down and don’t help her out? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I didn’t knock her down, she ran into me.” Elide could have sworn a snarl left Lorcan’s lips, but he did squat down and begin helping the two of them scoop the papers up. Once they had gathered what hadn’t blown away, he stood and held the stack out. “Maybe she should look where she’s going.”

Elide snatched the stack back and narrowed her eyes at him.

Lorcan’s expression didn’t change as he reached and took the flyer from the top to read it. “The block party? As if that’s the party people will be at that night.”

She took it back from him. “It’s before the other party even starts. It’s a way for new students to make friends, not get trashed.”

“Fuck that,” Lorcan mumbled. “It’s a waste of time.”

“How about you keep your negativity to yourself, huh?” Cassian asked, taking a step forward in Lorcan’s direction.

Lorcan blinked, as if just remembering that Cassian was there, too. “Who the hell are you? Is this your little boyfriend?”

The question was directed at Elide, but she didn’t answer. Instead, Cassian said, “I’m the only guy here that knows how to act in front of a woman, apparently.”

Lorcan laughed, loudly and humorlessly. “You may want to watch how you speak in front of me. Haven’t you heard? I’m a criminal.”

Cassian snorted. “Is that your idea of a threat? Pretty weak ass threat to me. I don’t know who the fuck you are, and I don’t care, but Elide doesn’t need your shit, so go do whatever it is criminals do, and leave her alone.”

Lorcan’s shoulders tensed as he asked, “Excuse me?”

Elide was suddenly there, in between the two men. “Let it go, Lorcan. Cassian,” she turned and handed him a flyer. “I’ll see you there?”

He grinned. “I’ll be there.”

Lorcan scoffed, but Elide ignored him. “Anything I can help you with? You’re good?”

“Nope, just headed to D.” He picked up the duffle he’d dropped when he rushed over to help Elide gather her flyers. “Time to meet my roommates.”

Lorcan snorted and said, “Good luck to them.”

Cassian stilled, and looked over to where Lorcan was standing. “Sorry?”

“I’m just saying,” Lorcan mumbled. “I’d hate to be stuck living in an apartment with your ego.”

“You’re a dick,” Cassian said, voice low. 

“Do you really think that’s the worst insult I’ve ever gotten?” Lorcan asked, then took a look at Elide. “You going to let your little boyfriend insult me like that?”

Cassian was anything but little. In fact, he and Lorcan were pretty evenly matched. 

“Leave Elide alone,” Cassian warned. “Seriously, stop talking to her like that-.”

“Or what?” Lorcan interrupted, humored. “I’m sure her little interaction with me has been the most excitement she’s had this week in her perfect little world.”

Elide wanted to tell them both to just walk away, but Cassian was pissed now, could see it in the way he clenched his fists at his side, could see it in the way the vein in his neck popped. 

“How the hell did you get into this school?” Cassian asked, his voice low. “You fuck your way to the top?”

“I don’t think you want to do this,” Lorcan breathed. “My face doesn’t have to be pretty. I’m sure yours does.”

Cassian’s jaw ticked and he tilted his head to the side. “That’s sweet. You think I’m pretty.”

Elide froze and she swallowed. Everyone had heard stories about Lorcan. Everyone but Cassian, it seemed.

“What’s your name?” He breathed.

Cassian very casually tied his hair back in a short knot at the back of his head. “Why? You wanna follow my instagram? It’s pretty impressive, I’ve got about nine-hundred followers.”

“I won’t beat the ass of someone who’s name I don’t know.”

Cassian’s lips pursed. Elide watched the wheels in Cassian's head turning. Lorcan’s pride may not have let him kick the ass of someone who’s name he didn’t know, but apparently Cassian held no such reservations.

Elide wanted to scream at him, to call Cassian Nazari the world's biggest idiot, because he crossed the space between he and Lorcan, swinging his fist and knocking Lorcan Salvaterre square in the jaw.

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

Tag list (comment or send an ask to be added):

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[obeymeaskme]

Obey Me!: Human and Demon hearts!

A/N: I've been working on a Fanfic for Obey me with a close friend of mine. It takes place after the game, and possibly in a AU. Each of my chapters are about 10 pages long, so I have split them up into sections for everyone! Please enjoy!

Chapter one: The Arrivals (1/2)

Word Count: 1,530

Rating: 18+

The world is an ever changing place. Some make a fair living, and others struggle with the flex and flow of life. Yet there were still opportunities left for two young girls looking for respite from their previous lives. Noelle, a short pudgy, artistic type who was the one to suggest moving to the countryside. Bella, Noelle’s long term friend who was searching for work, had agreed due to the open jobs in the town they had settled into. Even with their seemingly bright future, the skies above their trailer grew darker by the minute. It seemed almost unnatural to them. Noelle had paused outside while helping unpack boxes into the house. She looked up at the sky to stare at the shifting clouds, and shuddered when she caught a glimpse of lightning whip through the clouds.

“I know we're nowhere close to tornado alley out here, but I swear if these creepy clouds mean there's a storm coming, I'm not going to be happy...”

Bella laughed and stole the boxes from her hands, taking what was left of the packages.

“If you're that scared don't stand outside, silly!”

Soon enough the air was thick with humidity, and the girls made their way inside. Noelle began stretching as Bella took a seat on a stray bean bag chair and began to complain.

“I don't know what's gonna suck more. Unpacking, or trying to find our beds. I'm so tired...”

“I'm tired too. We did bring a blow up mattress. I can get that going, and one of us can hoard the bean bags...” Noelle responded with a flat tone.

“You want to sleep on the bean bags don't you?” Bella playfully accused.

Noelle gave no verbal response, and opted for just nodding as she rummaged through the boxes for the air pump and mattress.

Later on in the evening they unpacked most of the Tupperware, ate their dinner, and unfolded their bedding; Creating a small space for temporary living. In the corner of boxes they had placed a kindle that was playing a news station. Noelle had given a second shudder as the Anchor explained that the dark purple clouds was just a rare occurrence, only lasting a few days. Even when pronounced that the possible storm wasn't deadly, the atmosphere felt like it was about to crack. Furthering the girl's concerns.

Bella had crawled out of her makeshift bed, and found a box labeled “Bella's Stuffed Animalz”. The 'Z' was scrawled over the 'S' in an attempt of a joke done by her current roommate. Dumping out the contents, an armful of cow plushies, and a realistic seal squishy covered her bed. Tossing the seal towards Noelle's way she stroke up conversation about their new life. The longer they chatted, the more they yawned until finally both girls had fallen asleep. Unaware of what the next few days will bring.

Morning came, and so did the sun, but instead of golden rays, the previous forecast had turned the world around then into a filter of purples and blues. The same news station played in the background as the girls continued their adventure in unpacking boxes. After the morning had dragged on, a break was in order. It was a new day, and most of the boxes had dispersed. A sign of their hard work. Hard work that Noelle decided was to be rewarded with a trip to the nearby town. Begrudgingly Bella had agreed, and the two made their way down the road. The Town itself was nothing special. A straight way of small stores, and a handful of side roads that probably lead to other houses. Two Stomachs growled at the sight of a Pizza shop where they chose to spend lunch before they had gone window shopping.

Both the girls were fairly happy with the lack of social introductions, and the short walks to the stores were even better. It was a slow pace that they both ached for after years of past hardships and day to day life. A final destination came about, but only by the sheer magnetic allure the oddity shop had given them. The Purple banner had matched the sky above them, though the clouds seemed as if they were soon about to part. A bell jingled against the door as they walked in. Both in awe that such a store would exist in this kind of town.

The shop was a mix of herbs, Wicca and witch tools, and various other hand crafted items that seemed to sparkle on their own. The further the girls went in, the more drawn to the corner of the store they became. Very quickly they had walked up to a bland bulletin board that was littered in 'Help Wanted' and theater ads. Yet among all the paper clutter, they had both reached out to a paper advertising for a transfer program. The touching of their hands had broken them out of their trace, and they looked at each other, then back to the paper to examine it more.

The ad seemed like it was hung up a millennium ago. Stains and aged finger oils had caused the paper to look ill compared to the others. Yet the black ink border and description seemed fresh, and also most modern.

“Where does one's soul inlay in the human body? The Heart? The Mind? Or the Nature of a human's will and desire for knowledge. Come forth to the Royal Academy of Diavolo! Help Create A Peaceful Change with the Human Soul!

No School-Age-Or Degree Necessary”

Noelle chuckled as she shook her head.

“This sounds more like a cult than an Academy. ‘Cause Diavolo sounds like a cult god...”

As if on cue a creaky old voice spoke from behind them.

“So close, but no dice!”

Chills ran down the girls spine as a hunched over, yet tall elderly woman had seemingly mocked them. A blush ran across Noelle's face, and Bella had shifted from discomfort.

“Oh please, don't get so nervous. I'm only playing around. That ad you read is for a very well and respected school, that not many people get in. Well... half because not many people are interested.”

Noelle had shaken off her nerves and read the ad again, taking an application form from the packet. She considered it, and then took a second one.

“there's no number to call...”

“The RAD is a bit old fashioned, but that's precisely why they're good at what they do. Yet they somehow manage to barely hit the mark for modern day technology. I know the headmaster personally, and I tell you, if you want the experience of a lifetime, I'd risk filling one of those out.”

The Woman didn't leave. She seemed to be waiting for an answer. Only when the girls told her they'd think about it, did they get to exit the shop, and walk away from the old ladies tracking eyes. To say they got back to their small home as quickly as possible was an understatement.

After they made a beeline to the door, Bella had turned around and locked it. Giving the girls a feeling of satisfactory safety. The house was calm for once, and though the sky above had finally started clearing up Noelle's hand seemed to twitch and itch towards the papers in her bag.

“I... I kind of want to fill one out... Do you?”

“No, not really. You said it yourself, it sounds like a cult...”

“I just looked it up, and the only thing I'm finding out is that Diavolo means Devil...”

It was a false, calm, silence and both of their tangled up nerves returned as they laughed. Only to try and relieve stress. Bella shook her head and took one of the applications, and scoffed.

“I'll fill it out, but it's not like we're going to actually send them. There's not even a return address on these.”

Noelle read her paper over and over again. Bella was right. It was a basic form with Name, Number, past Achievements, and a whole other list of personality questions. The Academy symbol wasn't even on it. It came down as a simple prank to them. That woman might just be trying to scare them off. Maybe the town had a hallmark type of thing against newcomers? It didn't matter. No, now they had begun filling out the papers as a joke. They took the questions seriously. Noelle wanted to mock “Diavolo” since he'd never receive those papers. And he'd never get to read them. Soon after finishing the applications, they had thrown them out after tearing them up, and reminisced about the achievements written on the papers. Poking fun of their personality assessments telling them both that they were likely candidates.

Dusk had taken over the day, and the clouds had finally cleared. Signaling another day has gone by, and sleep once again took over the household. Leaving behind a finished home, and two cautious sleepers.

[al3x1ss]

Santa, Tell Me

Sakusa Kiyoomi

First one of the Christmas oneshots ✨

THIS IS WRITTEN WITH A GENDER NEUTRAL READER!

Based off of the song “Santa Tell Me” by Ariana Grande

Angst(?) to fluff!

Authors note: Hopefully this is the first of multiple oneshots, the plan is to hopefully get out 3-5 before Christmas, but it will really depend on school and “Just a Friend to You”. Other than that, enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: None!

“I don’t understand why you don’t want to commit, Sakusa.”

“Y/N I do want to be with you, I’m just not ready-“ Sakusa sighs, running his hands through his hair as he looked at you once again. Your arms were crossed, still following him with your eyes in his apartment.

“Sakusa, I have so many feelings for you, it’s unbelievable. I want to hold your hand, kiss you, wake up next to you, but I also want to be able to introduce you to my family as my boyfriend, NOT that we’re dating so that I have to explain the situation just so that my father can say that I’m wasting my time.”

You had Sakusa had been in the “talking/exclusive” stage for about 5 months, with liking each other for about 9. Now, you understood Sakusa wanting to take his time. His past relationship wasn’t the best, and especially with his habits, he warned you immediately when you asked him out, giving you a chance to back out.

But, you never did. And you never thought of backing out, despite how much is hurt to say that the boy you possibly love could possibly not love you back.

“If I’m not ready, I’m not ready, Y/N. When I’m ready, I’ll be ready, but please just be patient with me.” Sakusa said, walking up to you to grab your hand, but you retract your hand before he can even touch you, clasping your hands together.

“I’ve been patient for a while, Saku. Just, figure it out before the holidays. If not, then I don’t really know.” You say, and turned to make your way out the door, without him stopping you.

Santa tell me, if you’re really there

Don’t make me fall in love again

if he won’t be here next year

Turning the corner, you walk 3 more blocks, your apartment building slowly coming into view. Despite your, “thing”, being a germaphobe himself, you and your own roommate as well, living in New York City was a dream of yours. Now, you weren’t as extreme as Sakusa, it more was just avoiding getting sick. However, seeing someone sneeze near you? Take out the hand sanitizer please and thank you.

Santa tell me if he really cares

Cuz I can’t give it all away

if he won’t be here next year

Unlocking the door, you stepped into your apartment, coming in to see your roommate, Lex, on the couch with her laptop.

Did I just add this because I didn’t feel like putting in an OC? Yes.

“Woah.” Lex says, and you face her.

“What?”

“Tell me why you got that look on your face like someone just made you drop your $4 bagel in the middle of a crosswalk.”

“Ugh,” you groan, throwing your head back as you throw down your bag, plopping face first into the couch next to her as she types away.

“Sakusa again.” You mumble, turning your head to the side so that it’s actually audible. Lex sighs, putting her glasses on top of her head, closing her laptop.

“I think- ya know what I think, I think, you just gotta go on a walk. Get that Christmas tourist in you ya know. Just go to the Macy’s-“

“Too many people-“

“AS I WAS SAYING, go do the basic tourist stuff around the city. I know you hate it, I do too, but even if it’s gross, it makes you happy. I’ll give you money to go ice skating later if you want.” You sit up, staring her in the eyes.

“You’d do that for me?” Lex nods at you, giving you a small smile as tears start to form in your eyes.”

“EY- WHY ARE YOU CRYING-“

“YOURE NEVER THIS NICE-“

“OH SHUT UP!” Lex tosses a pillow at you, hitting you in your chest. You run and change, grabbing your bag and waving at her as you head out the door.

Walking into the large Macy’s, you stroll around the store, seeing things that you like or you’d want to get for someone as a gift.

A shiny glimmer catches your eye, coming up on a sleek black and silver watch.

Sakusa would like that, you think, about to turn to the employee to ask for the price, however you stop yourself, looking back at it.

Don't make me fall in love again

if he won't be here next year

You walk past the watch, going up the escalator as you stare back down at the section, thinking of Sakusa once more.

I've been down this road before

Fell in love on Christmas night

But on New Year's Day I woke up

You shake your head, turning forward to make your way towards the kitchen section to hopefully find something for your mother.

and he wasn't by my side

You don’t end up finding anything, instead grabbing a jacket for your mother, and purchasing it. After shopping around for another hour, you decide to leave. Walking the streets, you pass by the large nut crackers, taking a picture of them to send to Lex as you know her sister loves them.

Stopping at Baked By Melissa, you pick up a pack of small cupcakes, looking behind you as you wait for the cashier to pack them. You see small flurries of white start to fall, smiling softly at the sight of snow.

“Apparently we’re supposed to get a storm soon, maybe it’ll be a white Christmas.” The cashier says as you turn back to him, nodding slightly as you take the bag out of his hand, giving him a wave as you open the door to leave.

You check your phone, deciding to actually go ice skating with the money Lex gave you. After putting your belongings in a locker and buying your skates, you make your way towards the ice, skating along the icy floor.

While you busy yourself, staring at the families around, Lex opens the door to reveal Sakusa at the door, letting himself in.

“Alright come in I guess-“

“Where’s Y/N?”

“Wow not even a hello the tREATMENT I GET”

Lex shakes her head, faking disappointment as Sakusa sighs, flicking ear forehead, her hand immediately shooting up to mask the pain.

“RUDE I SWEAR!”

Sakusa smiles at Lex, taking her dramatics light heartedly as she shakes her head.

“I sent Y/N to clear their head. You really got up there today, Saku.”

“I know, that’s why I’m wondering where they are.” Lex sighs, slightly shaking her head.

“An apology isn’t just gonna fix this again Sak-“

“No Lex, I want them to be mine. I don’t care anymore I just want to tell Y/N I’m in love with them.”

Lex’s eyes immediately soften, a small “aww” falling from her lips. She then throws her head back, slightly groaning in frustration.

“Can’t you do it tomorrow? It’s freezing outside and I don’t wanna change-“

“No it has to be now, Y/N has to know I love them.”

“But Sakusaaaaa,” Lex whines, slightly stomping her feet, “I was gonna shower-“

“LEX!”

“UGH FINE!”

After a while, Lex grabs her coat and the two head down the stairs and onto the streets of the city, flooded with people trying to get home and avoid the cold. Calling for a taxi to head to Rockefeller rink. The two sit in the taxi as the traffic told on, finally getting there after 30 minutes. Getting out of the taxi, the two speed walk their way into the center. Trying to spot the passing people coming off the rink, neither can spot you.

A glimpse of light blue passes Sakusa’s eyes, seeing your familiar bag as you walk away.

“Y/N!” He tells, trying to go towards you, but you couldn’t hear him over the load chatter of passing New Yorkers. Leaving Lex to follow him, he starts randomly saying excuse me as he pushes his way through the walking people.

You walk up the stairs, hearing the screaming people around you, seeing the classic clutter around the tree. You stare at it from a distance, then decide to walk towards it.

“Y/N!”

At this point Sakusa couldn’t care who he was touching. Lex had tripped over her shoe, leading her to sprint back to Sakusa as he finally got a clearing, seeing you walking towards the tree.

“Y/N!”

You hear a yell of your name, you lifting your head and quickly looking around.

“Y/N”

Your eyes finally fall towards the voice, facing Sakusa with a heaving Lex behind him.

“God damnit asthma-“

He walks closer to you, coming within a few feet of you.

“I love you.”

Santa tell me

If he really cares

Time feels as if it stops, you hearing those 3 little words that you’ve wanted to here for the longing months. Your body moves to its own accord, beginning to sprint towards him.

Cuz I can’t give it all away

You grab him by his collar, pulling Sakusa down to lock lips with him, your eyelashes fluttering closed as he holds you tight by your waist. You hear a faint cheering, but your ears block it out, only focusing on your love right in front of you, continuing to kiss him until you’re breathless.

If he won’t be here

Next year

~ Lex 🎲

if you do enjoy, remember to reblog! It helps a ton 🖤

[valarinde]

tagged by the lovely @jingyismom​ to say 10 things about myself -- and what came out is a weird mix of fandom-adjacent facts about me + some truly random details about my actual life, so! welcome to this brief glimpse inside my brain 

1. I’ve only become active online in the past few years but I’ve been lurking at the edges of fandom in some capacity since forever — and definitely been writing fic since before I knew what to even call it or that there was a name for what i was doing in the first place. My oldest digitally-stored fic (unsurprisingly, a Tolkien fic) dates back to when I was 9ish and floppy disks were still a thing.

2. I have a truly astronomical amount of WIPs stored in my computer & various notebooks, 90% of which will doubtlessly go unpublished forever. Not really because I don’t think they’re good, but because the majority of my writing has always been just... a natural extension of my daydreaming, and for my own enjoyment first and foremost — I’ll often come back to the daydream to fiddle with lines and flesh out my favourite scenes, but I won’t feel particularly compelled to arrange it in a way that’s fit for public consumption.  

3. Fact number 2 on this list is the reason I do exchanges! Otherwise nothing would ever end up posted and instead be forever stuck in limbo at a stage anywhere between “unfinished draft” and “brain-storage room, drawer #374”.

4. I really really love animals! Kid-me wanted to become a vet. Slightly older me wanted to study zoology.

5. Mythology is my truest & oldest love and the fil rouge tying most of my other major interests together.

6. I enjoy cleaning and find it relaxing but I also believe that there’s something very... comforting? pleasing? about a bit of clutter, especially wrt books and assorted personal belongings. It makes places feel lived-in. Miss me with this new minimalist apartment fad.

7. I sing/hum to myself when I’m nervous and bite my lips a lot.

8. Hiking and gardening are two of my favourite outdoor activities - both are a balm for the soul. We should all spend more time touching wet soil & sitting on mossy rocks, imho. Including and especially myself.

9. I have a big family, and I’m the oldest of a somewhat impressive number of cousins.

10. I asked the gc to pitch in because I was running out of random & sufficiently anonymous things to say for a public meme and this was the result:

tagging a few mutuals that I’d like to get to know better but honestly, no pressure to them and to whoever else who might be reading this, consider yourself tagged if you feel like doing it! @nelyafinwe​ @naryamirie​ @classical-dyke​ @elvesofnoldor​ @moviebee​

[d4rk3stn1ght]

Haunted Playmate

Happy Holidays @houser-of-stories ! I was also your gift giver for @sanderssidesgiftxchange and I hope you enjoy your gift

Ships: Platonic Prinxiety, mentioned Analogical and Royality

Warnings: Past character death, cursing, mentioned murder, not meant to be unsympathetic Remus but it kind of comes off that way, if there’s anything else needed to be tagged please tell me

There was a creak on the floor that hadn’t been there before. Was someone invading his home? Well, what was his home. He looked over the banister of the stairs to see a man unpacking his things in the house.“

“Well hello there.” Roman smiled and gently greeted the stranger. Logically, he knew that the man couldn’t hear him, but it was still polite. He had manners! He was a gentleman, thank you very much! Roman watched him from a bit afar. This man tended to talk to himself. Virgil? Was that his name? He mumbled it under his breath fairly often. Virgil flopped onto the couch with his phone, probably to order pizza. He would too if he were the one moving into be moving instead. He missed being able to eat and do things. Well, he could push things over but he couldn’t leave the house. Roman sighed softly before looking through the house to see what his new housemate had done with it. So far, he hadn’t gone up to the attic. If Roman had his way, he wouldn’t be able to. 

Roman hums a gentle song as he peered into Virgil’s room. Oh! He had a Nightmare Before Christmas poster! Too bad Roman couldn’t borrow it or give him his own posters. His were taken as evidence or removed. It sucked but he understood why. He couldn’t exactly stop them anyway, not that he didn’t try. He shook his head at the memories the thought brought. He didn’t need to accidentally cause an inside storm again. It accidentally hurt a small child and he felt so bad for it even though he couldn’t help it. The room itself wasn’t that bad. Yeah, it was a bit dark and dreary, but there was some normalcy from his time. A string of lights to illuminate the room during the night (purple rather than a soft yellow), a corkboard for pictures or necklaces... The desk was cluttered with art supplies. Was he an artist? Did he have any sketches out? A glance over the desk confirmed that that’d be a no. Of course. Why would an emo have anything out in view that could hint at their past? They wouldn’t unless they trusted you. He knew that a bit too well. But ohoho, what’s this? There was a picture carefully placed on the desk with a number with hearts around it. Now that was interesting. Stormy knight had a crush? On this... Logan Omair? The teach? Too bad he couldn’t call that guy at the moment or he so would. He noticed a cup of pens a little too close to the edge and grinned. New game time. How long can he knock things over before the new guy noticed or left? He knocked over the pen cup and laughed at the sound of his new guest jumping up to look.

Roman left the room quickly and headed to the kitchen instead before Virgil could get there. He chuckles at him cursing at the mess but quickly pouts at there being nothing close enough for him to easily knock anything over. Well, he could always knock over the chairs. He froze though at the doorbell. That was really quick or he was losing time again. That tended to happen more recently but it doesn’t bother him as much anymore.

Virgil ran down the stairs and looked out the window before opening the door with an apology. Was he paranoid? Was he running from something? Was he a criminal?! He’d rather side with the law! Maybe he was just anxious. Who knew? Definitely not Roman. He probably never would. The dark and paranormal walked into the kitchen without looking in Roman’s direction. He grabbed two cups, one he set on the counter while he held the other to get ice and soda. Why did he need another cup? Virgil left the cup on the counter while taking his soda one to the couch. When he got comfortable he immediately swiped the cup off the counter before bolting again. 

Virgil smirked at catching a glimpse of Roman’s retreating form, “Gotcha.” He was so glad he didn’t take out his glass cups. A after setting the pizza and the cup of soda down a safe distance from the edge, he got up to pick up the discarded cup and set it down on the edge of the end side table. “Try that one you overgrown cat.” He snarks but unpauses the show to finish it as he ate. 

The ghost thought he was slick, didn’t he? Virgil knew about the haunted house rumors and was ready for anything. Well, as much as Supernatural taught and the limited research he had. While he hadn’t been there long, Virgil had already attempted salting the doorways and windows. He’d noticed a few things, too. The ghost could both float above and walk straight through it, so salt was a bust.The ghost seemed to only do anything when he wasn’t looking or not even in the room. He doesn’t know anything about him aside from him acting like a cat. It was kind of amusing but the pens were annoying. Empty Solo cup? No problem. A full cup and he’s just being a pain in the ass. Virgil took a deep breath before getting up and put the pizza box in the trash. He froze at the clatter of the cup but sighed in relief when there wasn’t a splash accompanied. Virgil mocked him slightly when he laughed. He was just thankful the ghost wasn’t hostile and was just being a bit playful. He settled into the couch again and sipped at his drink while spacing out in thought.

Meanwhile, Roman was snickering in what used to be his room. This was great! He was playing along. It was kinda disappointing that he wouldn’t put anything full against the edge anymore, but he understood anyway. Roman would feel the same way if roles were reversed, at least. He gently ran his hand across the wall. He knew feeling the paint was impossible, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to try. Roman missed his tangibility, but… nothing could undo what he did. Roman closed his eyes to get his bubbling anger under control. It’s not that Roman  hated him, but he was still angry and understandably so. As justified as his anger was, the man downstairs didn’t deserve the backlash it would produce. When he had calmed some, he headed to the stairway to see the poor kid was passed out on the couch with his show running. It was kinda interesting but he couldn’t risk it yet. Maybe the next day but not right now. He nodded in the sleeping form’s direction before heading up to the attic. When he got up there he headed to check on his object. He knew where his body was, but that wasn’t what he was tied to. Instead, he was tied to his class ring from his senior class. He tended to wear it everywhere and it held most of his best memories. That’s why he never let anyone up in the attic. If they were to find it and destroy it, well... that would be it. He would be toast and no one would be able to know the truth. No one had tried to talk to him before but hopefully, Virgil would be the first if he so chose or if he could even hear and/or see him.

A few days later the game was still on. Random cups would fall and Virgil had yet to see anything more than a glimpse of the ghost and the sounds of laughter, followed quickly by a cup hitting the floor. That said, the ghost was getting a bit bolder. He would linger especially when Supernatural was on. Virgil could feel the drop in temperature but if he tried to look, the ghost wouldn’t be there. Virgil had done more research on the property and found a few different murders but he didn’t know which one this ghost was from. Tired of the cat and mouse, Virgil hatched a plan. He needed a job for money and, since this was his second rewatch of Supernatural, he could miss a few episodes of the show and be fine. , Virgil decided that was going to announce he was leaving and leave the show on for the ghost to watch. Then, hopefully, he’d come back from applications and finally see the ghost.

Virgil set his trap the next day, leaving and returning a few hours later. When he got back, he made sure to be quiet as he crept in. His eyes widened. Sitting cross-legged in front of the screen was none other than his ghostly roommate. Dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, he looked a bit younger than Virgil. Unable to see much else from behind, Virgil slowly crept towards the ghost’s side to see any other features so he could compare them to the other murders on the property. Unfortunately, the episode started the credits and the ghost turned, making a shout of surprise and scrambling back, 

The ghost almost looked panicked, “Um, hey! You’re back!” 

Now that he was facing Virgil, he could see everything. The gold crown on the breast pocket, the line on his throat from where it had been slit, dull green eyes and tanned skin muted by death. 

“You’re Roman!” Virgil exclaimed

“You can see me?!”

“Yes?!”

“That’s awesome!”

“No! Not awesome! I knew you!”

“You did?”

“Yes! Roman Kingston and Remus Kingston!”

“Highschool?”

“Yes. You kept making doll eyes at Patton Amato!”

“I did not! But, uh, uh how is he?”

“Frankly, weI haven’t talked much.”

“Who have you talked to?”

“Logan Omair, Remus, Janus,Remy... But I’ve only  Remy and Logan recently.”

“Cool…” Roman slowly unfreezes and shifts to a more casual posture. “So, I saw your little love letter.”

“What?!” Virgil, who had been doing the same, tenses right back up.

“The number? You-!”

“No! Why you?!”

“No idea. You should ask Remus,” he spat bitterly.

“Right… The article said…” Virgil trailed off, rubbing his neck.

“Yeah.” Discomfort is plain as day on Roman’s face. “Let’s not… Anyway, why’d you move here out of anywhere.”

Virgil is glad to change the subject, “You know, settling down and-”

“It’s because Logan lives here, isn’t it.”

“Shut!” Virgil snaps as his face tints pink.

“So it is Logan! Hah!”

“I will kill you again, you ass!” Virgil lunges towards Roman.

“You caaaaan’t,” Roman sing- songs and laughs as he dodges Virgil’s fist

“Get back here!” Virgil chases Roman through the room, thoroughly annoyed by the fact Roman has more mobility. 

“Nope! When’s your date?”

“Shut! Up!” He catches up and swings again, hitting nothing.

Roman just laughs at him, “Come oooon!”

“We aren’t dating!” Virgil flops down onto the couch in defeat.

“Not yet!” Roman teases.

“Not anytime soon!”

“Who says?”

“Both of us.”

“Why? You both liked each other in high school.” Roman also calms down a bit, sitting on the other end of the couch.

“Yeah, it’s been a little while.”

“Oh right.”

“Yeah. We said someday but for now, we’re just talking as friends and meeting up with anyone still in town.”

“Like?”

“Patton, Emile, Remus, each other.Remy will pop in someday soon.”

“What about Janus?”

Virgil shrugs, “I haven’t heard from him.”

“Ah.” Roman pauses a moment before speaking again. “When will you talk to Remus?”

“I’m going Wednesday.”

“Can you… can you ask him why for me?”

Virgil looks to Roman out of the corner of his eyes, “I can’t promise he’ll answer.”

Roman nods “...Right.”

“Yeah...” Virgil rubs the back of his neck, sensing Roman’s discomfort.

“Sooo... how’d job hunt go?”

“I’ve applied. They’ll call me to set up interviews.”

“Nice. By the way, what’s up with the emo aesthetic?”

“I told everyone it wasn’t a phase,” he jokes slightly.

“We didn’t think you were serious.”

“Dead serious,” Virgil grinned.

“You did not.”

He just burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe you did this to me! Me of all people! How dare you, sir!”

Virgil put an arm around his stomach as he kept laughing.

“You can’t be serious! No! Don’t answer that you dark fiend! I trusted you!”

He only seemed to laugh harder at his dramatics. Roman only pouted as Virgil slowly calmed down.

“You’re an ass.”

“You still love me platonically anyway,” Virgil teases.

“Sadly.”

He chuckles breathlessly,shakinghis head.

“Hey, did they ever find out why that band split up?”

“The one you listened to religiously in high school? No.”

“Damn. I enjoyed their music.”

Virgil shrugs, “I can play some for you.”

“You look like you know something.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“You tease! I can’t tell anyone!”

���I know,” *Virgil grins, “But this is more fun.”

“Asshole.”

“Nice to talk to you, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“Ahhh, there he is.”

“What?”

“The prick of a prince.”

“Hey!”

“Hello.”

“Why must you be so rude to me?” Roman swoons back, the back of his hand against his forehead.

“No one else can.”

“Rude!”

“I’m not that rude.” Virgil rolls his eyes.

“Yes, you are!”

“Nope.”

“Yes.”

“Not arguing.”

“You’re boring.”

“To you.”

“Exactly.”

“Ah, there’s the brat.”

“So good to be back,” Roman said sarcastically but it soon just turned into them giggling.

“By the way...”

“Hm?”

“Don’t tip over anything full ever again.”

“No promises.”

Virgil looks pointedly at Roman, “Roman.”

With a mischevious grin, Roman turned and ran, phasing away through a wall.

“Roman get back here!” Virgil scrambled to chase after him.

This seemed like a great beginning to a new chapter of both of their lives. And what a wondrous start it was.

[dol--blathanna]

Mixtapes and interiors for Ameer and Lynn? I want to ask more, but I also don't want to detract too much from your studies

Ahhh thank you so much!!! Omg no don’t worry you’re not detracting me from my studies at all!!! Actually I really enjoy answering questions like these, they really help me relieve my stress after writing essays all day, so feel free to send any more!!!

Interiors:

Right now, Ameer doesn’t really have a home due to his situation, but I’ll talk about some of his previous homes. In the mountains, they didn’t have a house made of bricks, wood or other traditional building materials. While in fox form, Ameer and his family would sleep in a den, just as fennec foxes do! These dens (or I guess burrows you could call them?) are pretty spacious with several chambers, as fennec foxes are actually very sociable and have large units (more than any other fox). In terms of content, there’s not much in it since it’s just a den ahaha but Ameer never needed that many possessions out in the wilds because he had his family, which was the most important thing! While in elf form, they’d live in tents as these were the easiest to repair in harsh environmental conditions. Again they didn’t have many belongings aside from clothes and tools they needed to live (needles, thread, cooking utensils etc) but as a child Ameer would occasionally find “treasures” to bring home – pretty rocks, an interesting feather, an interesting skull – which his mother would loyally take care of until he was tired of them haha! Ameer only actually owned a house when he worked as a doctor in Ofier’s capital city for roughly 40 years. In Part 2 Chapter 2 Geralt actually saw a glimpse of it via a memory:

“The room is warmly lit, but not with candles. A hunk of crystal, imperfect and uncut, emits a gentle orange light. The work of magic, maybe bought from a mage. A vanity, the wood intricately decorated, holds the illuminating crystal. The surface is cluttered: a coin purse; some blue beaded bracelets; dried white flowers that Geralt doesn’t recognise and dried orange slices next to some distillery equipment; an open book with anatomical drawings and notes written in a language Geralt cannot read. A bottle of Ofieri spirits is on the table – the logo shows a roaring leopard, though Geralt can’t read the text underneath. By the vanity, a chair has the blue scarf draped across the back.”

Having lived in the desert mountains for such a long time, Ameer never really felt the pressing need for belongings, and initially he wasn’t even bothered about having a home - he only purchased one at the insistence of his colleagues in the hospital who explained he couldn’t live off the land in the city the way he had done previously in the mountains aha. When he did formally buy a home to live in, he ended up enjoying making it his own space as he settled into his identity as a city doctor. It wasn’t particularly large due to its city location, but it did have a garden, which was particularly important to him. This is where he grew the mountain jasmine that reminded him of his home in the mountains, and that he used in his perfume.

Lynn is also in a situation where she currently has no home. When she was young and still living in Brokilon, she had a small house just outside of the forests. It was very simple with few possessions, and Lynn never really cared much for it as a child – she preferred to play outside with Medwyn or venture into the forest. When she grew older, joined the Scoia’tael, and eventually lost her home due to conflicts, she sorely regretted ever taking her home for granted. She’s more than used to living in forests, so it’s not that she isn’t comfortable with living outside, but rather she misses the lack of security and stability that homes can bring, particularly for her younger companions. She wants to have a house for them in Dol Blathanna, where they’ll be safe from mindless violence at the hands of humans. She tries not to think about it too much (so as not to raise her hopes should the entire plan fall through), but at times she’s imagined having a little farmstead with her unit – having a pen of chickens, growing vegetables, having a proper kitchen table and a hearth, even the idea of everyone being able to have their own beds and belongings are simple pleasures that feel more like grand dreams to her that she sometimes catches herself fantasising about.

Mixtapes:

Questions like these are fun! I decided to go with songs that describe Ameer and Lynn, these are songs that I’ve often listened to when either writing or thinking about them (sometimes when thinking about scenes that haven’t been uploaded yet!) Here they are in no particular order.

Ameer:

Gethsemane by Dry the River

Daydreaming by Dark Dark Dark

Aquatic by Son Lux

Howl by Florence and the Machine

On Brulera by Pomme

 Lynn:

New Discovery by The Crane Wives

Your Protector by Fleet Foxes

Stone by Agnes Obel

Into the Woods Somewhere by Hozier

Wolf by First Aid Kit

Thanks so much for sending in the ask, I really love doing these!!! 

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, bloodspeckledraphael!

For @bloodspeckledraphael. Hi! You mentioned coffee shop AUs, lots of Malec firsts, and tattooed!alec, so hopefully you'll like this :) Happy holidays!

Read On AO3 

*****

Tattooed Romance

“Make sure you keep that dry for the next week,” Alec said. “It’s going to be fifty dollars.” 

The woman passed her credit card across the counter, and Alec slid it into the machine. The woman’s upped arm was covered in a clear layer of plastic, and Alec could just see the heart design underneath it. 

“Thanks,” the woman said, taking her card and receipt. 

“Have a nice day.” Alec smiled and followed the woman to the door. He switched the light-up sign in the window to Closed, and locked up after her. 

“Last one?” Izzy poked her head out of the tattoo parlor’s back room. Her long black hair was up in a high ponytail, and her tank top showed off the sleeves of tattoos that covered both of her arms. 

“Yeah.” Alec followed his sister into the back of the shop, separated from the main area by a curtain. The back was a cluttered mess of boxes of supplies surrounding a rickety wooden table with four chairs around it, and a single tattoo station shoved off to the side. Max was perched on one of the chairs, watching Jace put the finishing touches on a heron tattoo on his right arm. Max was counting the days until he was old enough for his first tattoo. 

“Alright,” Alec said. “Max, it’s past your bedtime.” 

Alec’s youngest brother tipped his head back and pouted. “Please? I want to watch Jace finish!” 

“Already done, buddy.” Jace held up his arm, showing off the design. “Let me wrap this up,” he added. “I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks.” Alec took Max’s hand and led him up the stairs at the back of the room, Izzy close behind. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Izzy said. “We should get a break.”

Alec didn’t respond. If he took a break, they wouldn’t be able to pay rent next month.

“Alec,” Izzy said. “We can close early for one night. There’s a band playing at that coffee shop where Simon works—”

“Jace likes that coffee place because he has a crush on Simon’s friend,” Alec said. “He doesn’t go for the coffee.”

“I know. But it’s not like we’d have to pay for tickets.” 

“And what about Max?” Alec asked. “Who’s taking care of him?”

“Max can stay on his own for a few hours,” Izzy said. Alec frowned, and she backtracked. “I mean, I can ask Aline.”  

Alec considered, then nodded.

“Yes!” Izzy pumped her fist in the air. “I’ll text her now.” She jogged past Alec to the door at the top of the stairs, already fishing her old phone from the back pocket of her jeans. Alec followed her into the apartment. 

The Lightwood siblings lived in the rooms above their tattoo parlor, to avoid having to pay rent on two buildings. The front room was taken up by the kitchenette, another wooden table with four more mismatched chairs, and the single dark green sofa pushed up against the back wall. There was a tiny bathroom that they all had to share, and two bedrooms, each with a twin bed against each wall and a dresser in the middle. 

Izzy had already disappeared into the bathroom. Alec crossed the main room to the bedroom he shared with Jace, closed the door behind himself, and sat down on his cheap mattress. The springs groaned under his weight. 

Alec stared at himself in the cracked mirror over the dresser. He could see the shadows under his eyes from across the room.

Maybe Isabelle was right. Maybe he could use a break. 

o-o-o-o-o

“What can I get for you?” Magnus leaned across the counter and smiled at the next customer.

They didn’t look up from their phone. “Um, iced coffee, please. And a slice of pumpkin bread.”

“That will be…” Magnus glanced down at the till. “Eight dollars, fifty-seven cents. Can I get a name for your order?”

The customer paid in cash. Magnus put the money away and scribbled the order on the side of an empty cup. 

“Hurry up,” Clary called. “Let’s get these people out of here so we can close.” 

Magnus handed her the cup. “Calm down, biscuit. This is the last one.”

Clary wrinkled her nose at him and turned to make the drink. On Magnus’s other side, Simon finished wiping down the last blender and yanked his apron off over his head. Magnus caught a glimpse of the logo on the front, the howling wolf’s head over the words The Gray Wolf, before Simon tossed it onto the counter. 

“Done,” he announced. “No thanks to either of you.”

Clary shoved a few loose strands of hair away from her face. “I helped.” 

“No, you didn’t,” Simon said. “Come on. Let’s close up. I’ve got D&D in an hour.”

“Why do you play at half past ten?” Magnus asked. Simon shrugged. 

“Why not? I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Simon ducked into the back room to grab his stuff. A moment later, Magnus heard the back door slam shut. 

“You’ll be here tomorrow, right?” Clary asked. “I know it’s normally your day off, but—”

“I already told Simon I’d cover for him while he plays,” Magnus said. “Besides, I want to hear this band.”

“No,” Clary said. “You really don’t. The only person who wants to hear this band is Simon’s girlfriend, and I think even she’s going to be disappointed. Don’t tell him I said that.”

o-o-o-o-o

Alec stood outside the door, waiting for his brother to finish in the bathroom. The front door swung open, and Isabelle stepped into the apartment. She wore a red top with black leggings and combat boots, and her hair was tied back in a high ponytail. 

“Is he still in there?” she demanded. “We’re going to be late!”

“I’m done!” Jace stepped out of the bathroom. “Does my hair look okay?”

“You look fine.” Izzy glanced at Alec’s outfit—plain jeans and a sweater with only one hole in it. “You’re not wearing that, are you?”

“What’s wrong with this sweater?”

“Everything, brother dear,” Izzy said. “We’re going to be late.”

“Max is at Aline’s?” Alec asked. Izzy rolled her eyes. 

“No. I left him alone in a back alley to get kidnapped. Yeah, Aline and Helen are watching him.”

“Okay, then.” Alec grabbed his wallet off the kitchen table and tucked it into his back pocket. “Let’s go.”

o-o-o-o-o

Magnus handed a carboard tray with six iced coffees across the counter to the next customer in line. “Enjoy,” he said, and they smiled and dropped a five in the tip jar.

“Hey, Magnus,” Clary said, poking her head out of the back room. “You’ve got this, right? I want to watch.”

“Have fun,” Magnus said. Clary smiled and disappeared. 

The Gray Wolf was packed. Simon’s band was setting up on the small stage, helped by Clary’s mom and stepfather. Magnus moved back to the till, ready to take the next customer’s order.

The front door to the shop swung open, setting the small bell ringing. Magnus looked up.

Three people stepped into the shop. The black-haired girl, who Magnus vaguely recognized as Simon’s girlfriend Isabelle, and the blond boy peeled off immediately to find seats, while their friend crossed the shop to the counter. 

“Hi,” he said. “Um. Can I get a dragon fruit refresher and two small coffees?”

Magnus forced himself to look away from the other man long enough to type in the order. “That’s going to be twelve dollars and forty-nine cents.” Magnus leaned across the counter slightly, smiling. “Could I get your name?”

“Um. Yeah. I’m Alec.” 

“Alec.” Magnus handed Alec his receipt. When Alec reached out to take it, Magnus noticed the tattoos on the inside of his wrist, a complex swirling pattern that extended up under the sleeve of his sweater. “I’m Magnus.”

“Nice to meet you.” Alec was definitely blushing. 

“I’ll have these drinks ready in just a minute,” Magnus said. He turned and grabbed two coffee cups from the stack. He had no idea which drink was for Alec, so he scribbled his phone number on the side of the nearest one. 

o-o-o-o-o

“Here.” Alec handed Izzy her dragon fruit drink and Jace one of the coffees. 

“That barista was flirting with you,” Izzy said casually, taking a sip of her drink. 

“What?” Alec had been about to take a sip of his coffee. He set the cup back down on the table. “He was not.” 

Jace smiled. “Then explain this.” He turned his own cup around. There were seven numbers written on the side. “I think this one’s for you, bro.” 

“Oh.” Alec reached out and took the cup from Jace. “Huh.”

He looked over at the counter. The barista—Magnus—was handing another group of customers their drinks.

“You think he’s hot,” Izzy said. It was an observation, not a question. “Ask him out.”

“I just met him!” Alec said. “Once! For five minutes. Who asks someone out after five minutes?” 

“Oh my God,” Izzy said. “You’re hopeless.”

On stage, one of the microphones squealed. Everyone clapped their hands over their ears. 

“Hello everyone!” A boy with messy brown hair was standing behind the mic. “We’re the Mortal Instruments. Thanks for coming out tonight.” 

The crowd cheered. 

Jace elbowed Izzy in the side. “I didn’t think you were into lead guitarists.”

“I didn’t think you were into redheads, but you’ve been shooting heart eyes at Clary the whole night,” Izzy said. “I notice you’re also too chicken to ask her out.”

“I’ll talk to Clary if Alec talks to the barista,” Jace said.

The band had started to play, and the music was loud enough that no one heard when Alec said, “I’ll think about it.”

o-o-o-o-o

“So,” Clary said. “Simon’s off with Izzy and her brothers, and we have to clean up.”

“Why can’t Luke take care of it?” Magnus asked. “He owns the place.” 

“He and my mom are having date night,” Clary said. “It’s on us.” 

Magnus tossed the rag he’d been using to wipe down the tables into the sink. “Speaking of Isabelle’s brothers,” he said. “I saw you talking to Trace.”

“His name is Jace,” Clary said. “And we were just talking. You were staring at Alec.”

“Maybe I was,” Magnus said. “So what? I don’t even know if he likes guys. Or if he’ll call.”

“I mean,” Clary said. “He was staring at you, too. Here.” She handed him a beat-up old wallet. “It was on the floor by his seat.”

“This feels like stalking,” Magnus said, taking the wallet from her. 

“It is not,” Clary said. “It’s not like you’re Googling him. You just happened to have a friend who knows his sister’s boyfriend, and she told you that the Lightwood siblings run a tattoo parlor called Light Art, and that it’s just down the street from Taki’s.”

o-o-o-o-o

Alec stood behind the counter of the parlor with an empty coffee cup in one hand and the parlor’s phone in the other.

He had fifteen minutes until he had to open for the day. His siblings were still asleep. Normally, Alec would have woken them by now, but if he was going to do this, he wanted to be uninterrupted. 

Alec had never done something like this before. He didn’t have much dating experience. There had been a few guys in high school that his parents had found out about and disowned him for, and there had been a casual fling or two since then that had ended quickly. 

Still, there was something about Magnus. Something about the sound of his voice and the light in his eyes, and Alec knew he sounded ridiculous, but he really did want to call. 

But he didn’t. He stared at the phone until the clock on the wall shifted to nine, and then he opened the parlor and got to work. 

o-o-o-o-o

Magnus stopped outside the glass door, studying the writing on the outside. Light Art Tattoo Parlor, printed above a design of swirling flames. 

It was definitely the right place. Magnus pushed the door open. 

The walls were covered in art. Magnus spotted a knot of thorns, a golden sword, a series of spirals formed by a silver whip, a demon with dark bat wings—and fire. Fire covered the walls, sketched into swirling loops, exhaled from the mouths of dragons, burning across the walls and pages. It was breathtaking. Magnus wondered who had drawn the flames. Was it Alec?

A few feet away from him, a customer was lying face down on a table. Their shirt was draped over a nearby chair, and Isabelle stood over them, needle in hand. Magnus could hear the whir of the needle from the doorway. 

Without looking up, she said, “Could you wait by the counter? Someone should be out in just a second—Jace! Alec! Customer!” The last three words were a shout. 

“Oh, I’m not here for a tattoo,” Magnus said. “I think I have something of your brother’s?” 

Izzy glanced up. Magnus dangled the wallet between his fingers. 

“Oh,” she said. “Oh. You know what? How about you take that to him. Alec’s in the back.” She nodded toward a curtain hanging across the back of the parlor. 

“Thank you.” Magnus crossed the shop and ducked behind the curtain. 

Alec was sitting at a table in the back, head bowed over a piece of paper. Magnus could hear the faint scratching sound of Alec’s pencil. He was drawing, so engrossed in his work that he hadn’t heard Magnus enter, or Izzy’s shout from earlier. 

Alec’s hair flopped forward, hiding his expression. Even without being able to see his face, Magnus could tell that Alec was completely lost in his art. Every line of his body leaned toward the page. It would have been a crime to interrupt. 

Alec looked up. “Oh!” he said. “Magnus. Um. Hi.”

“Hello, Alec,” Magnus said. “You left this at the Gray Wolf.” Magnus set Alec’s wallet down on the table. Alec sighed in relief. 

“I was looking for that. Thanks so much.” He reached out and pocketed the wallet. 

“And since I’m here,” Magnus said. “How would you feel about getting dinner with me?”

“What?” Alec set his pencil down and twisted to face Magnus. For the first time, Magnus caught a glimpse of the paper. A single cat’s eye stared up from the page, lined in thick black pencil smudges like eyeliner. 

Alec saw Magnus looking and flipped the sheet over. 

“I…,” Alec said. “If it’s cheap.” 

“I know a place,” Magnus said. “If you’re interested.”

Alec blushed, and Magnus smiled. This was going better than he’d expected. 

“Sure,” Alec said. 

“I’ll mee you at the Gray Wolf,” Magnus said. “Eight o’clock tonight?”

“Yeah,” Alec said. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful. I’ll see you tonight.” Magnus winked and turned around, pushing his way past the curtain and out of the shop.

o-o-o-o-o

Alec paced back and forth outside of the Gray Wolf, wondering if he was supposed to go in. 

He couldn’t see Magnus through the windows; only Clary was behind the counter. It was 7:45. 

“You’re early.” 

Alec turned around. Magnus stood behind him, wearing a long black coat, a blue scarf, and eyeliner. Alec had never stopped to consider how attractive eyeliner could be on a guy, but he was thinking about it now. 

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Alec fell into step beside Magnus as he led the way down the block. It was early December, and Alec’s fingers were freezing. He stuffed them into the pockets of his jeans. 

“You’re cold,” Magnus said. He unwrapped his scarf and draped it around Alec’s neck. “That suits you, actually. It brings out your eyes.”

“Oh,” Alec said. “Thanks.” 

“And…here we are,” Magnus said. He stopped them in front of a small diner that Alec must have walked past a hundred times, but had never entered. “Taki’s. Best food in the city.”

“I’ve never eaten here,” Alec confessed, and Magnus smiled.

“Well then. Prepare to have your eyes opened.” Magnus reached for the door handle. “After you.” 

Alec stepped into the diner. 

o-o-o-o-o

“So,” Magnus said. “Why a tattoo parlor?”

“What?” Alec looked up from his hamburger. Magnus was right—it was one of the best he’d ever had. 

“Clearly, you wanted to be an artist,” Magnus said. “So why did you pick tattooing?” 

“Because… the starving artist thing doesn’t pay the bills, and I have three siblings I’m responsible for,” Alec said. “And you can charge a decent amount for tattoos.”

“You have some, right?” Magnus nodded to Alec’s sleeves, which didn’t quite cover the patterns extending down his wrists. 

“Yeah. They go up my arms and down my back. I, uh, could show you. Later.” 

Alec realized what he’d just said and blushed. Magnus arched an eyebrow. 

“Oh? I might take you up on that.” 

Alec’s blush deepened. 

“So,” he said. “So…what about you? Why the Gray Wolf?”

Magnus shrugged. “I’m kind of between full-time jobs at the moment. My friend’s parents own the shop, and she offered me a job.”

For a moment, Alec wondered what that would be like, to have friends supporting you, instead of always being the one supporting others. Alec’s only friends were Helen and Aline, and they were busy taking care of Helen’s siblings. 

“Can I ask you something?” Magnus asked. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. Alec told himself not to get distracted by Magnus’s eyes, and failed. 

“What? Sure.”

“How did you end up taking care of three younger siblings?”

Alec blinked. “Oh. Well. I don’t really take care of Izzy and Jace. They’re adults.” It wasn’t true, and Magnus clearly saw that, but Alec kept going. “And Max isn’t so bad. Our father is dead, and Mom… she left for a better job. A long time ago.”

“And she couldn’t help you at all? Even with Max?” Magnus asked. Alec shrugged. 

“She wouldn’t help me if I asked, anyway. Neither of them was exactly thrilled when I came out.” 

“I’m sorry,” Magnus said. He looked down at the table. “You never should have had to deal with that.”

Alec cleared his throat, slightly awkward. He knew his situation wasn’t ideal. No one had ever told him it shouldn’t have happened. No one had ever implied that Alec should have been able to live his life for himself, instead of for his siblings. 

“Thanks,” Alec said. He didn’t know how to say everything he’d been thinking, but from the shine in Magnus’s eyes, Alec thought maybe he understood.

o-o-o-o-o

Alec took Magnus back to the tattoo parlor after the date. 

“Do you want to go back to the parlor?” Alec had asked. “I can show you around. Or is it too soon to bring you home? Is that weird?”

“You live there?” Magnus had asked. 

“Above the shop.”

Magnus had taken Alec’s hand. “We’ll stay downstairs.” 

Now they were standing in the center of the main room. Magnus was spinning around slowly, taking it all in—the art covering the walls, the chairs and padded tables where customers sat, the carts of equipment, and the colorful metallic swirls Izzy had painted all over the floor when they’d first started renting the place. 

“Do you draw all of these?” Magnus asked. A lot of the art was painted right onto the wall, but most of it was framed sketches and paintings. Magnus trailed his finger along the bottom of one of the frames. Alec knew which drawing Magnus was looking at without having to ask. 

Alec had drawn that himself, ten years ago. He’d been eleven years old, doodling on the back of his math homework. He’d seen that simple swirl of flames and known what he wanted to do. Now, it was the logo of Light Art. Alec didn’t even care that it was weird to have a math worksheet framed. 

“I drew that one,” Alec said. “I was eleven. It’s what inspired… this.” Alec gestured to the entire parlor. “Jace and Izzy do a lot of the art, though. Even Max has drawn a few”

“Artistic family,” Magnus commented. He turned and met Alec’s eyes. “It’s all amazing.” 

Alec’s breath caught. He was so used to people coming in and out, telling Alec what they wanted and expecting it to be prefect—no room for mistakes or creative freedom. And here was Magnus, who just appreciated the art on the walls.

“Which one’s your favorite?” Magnus asked. 

Alec laughed. His favorite wasn’t on the wall.

“I did say I’d show you my tattoos,” Alec said. “It’s one I drew. Izzy and Jace did all the actual tattooing, obviously. It’s not on the wall because I didn’t want someone else to get it.” 

Alec shrugged off his old gray sweater and, feeling acutely self-conscious, his tee shirt. He pretended not to notice Magnus’s gaze and turned around.

Alec had tattoos climbing from his wrists up both arms, spilling over his shoulders and down his back. He’d known, starting a tattoo parlor, that he’d need tattoos; he’d put a lot more thought into his than Izzy and Jace had put into theirs. 

Alec’s tattoo was one he’d spent hours working on, night after night. It showed four hands, all emerging from the abstract border of strange symbols and flames surrounding them. That border was the same design that extended down to Alec’s wrists. The hands themselves all curved inward in a spiral, each hand cupped so that the fingers formed a circle of clear, unmarked skin at the center of Alec’s back. One hand was larger, with black marks on the back of it. One’s skin was more golden than the others. One wore a silver bracelet. One was far smaller than the rest.  

“Alec,” Magnus said. “It’s beautiful.” 

Alec didn’t have to ask if Magnus knew what his tattoo was for. It was obvious to anyone who knew Alec. 

Alec still had his back to Magnus, but he heard footsteps, and then Magnus was only a few inches away from him. Alec felt the ghost of Magnus’s fingertips on his back, tracing the hand that was modeled after Alec’s own. 

Magnus’s fingers moved across Alec’s back, to the space in the center of the hands, where there was no ink, and up Alec’s spine to the back of his neck. Alec wasn’t sure he remembered how to breathe. 

“Alec,” Magnus said. 

“Yeah?”

“Could you do something for me?” 

“Um, yeah. Sure.” 

“Could you turn around?” 

Alec did. Magnus was so close, Alec almost bumped into him. And then Magnus leaned even closer. 

“Is this okay?” Magnus asked. Alec knew that if he said no, Magnus would back off. Alec could send Magnus away and go back to work. He could draft a dozen new tattoos for tomorrow and work without the distraction of a boy in his life, and never see Magnus again. 

Magnus, the first person in a long time who had looked at Alec as a whole person on his own. Not just as a member of the Lightwood family. Not just as his sibling’s caretaker. Just as Alec.

It wasn’t a very difficult decision. 

“This is more than okay,” Alec said. 

“Just wanted to clarify,” Magnus said. “Because I really want to kiss you right now.” 

Alec leaned forward and kissed Magnus, instead. 

o-o-o-o-o

They kissed for a few minutes in the parlor, and Alec thought about inviting Magnus upstairs, but he shared a room with his brother, and Alec did not want to have to explain any of this to Jace.

Magnus and Alec ended up leaving the parlor. Alec locked the door behind them and sent a message to the group chat he shared with his siblings, telling them he’d be back later that night, or early the next morning. Magnus reached over to take Alec’s hand. Alec let him. 

“Where should we go?” Alec asked. Magnus shrugged and tugged Alec after him in a random direction. 

They ended up taking the subway into Brooklyn, and Magnus led the way through the streets to his loft. They stopped and kissed on the doorstep, and again in Magnus’s living room. Then Magnus went into his kitchen and made hot chocolate. 

Alec smiled when he realized what was in the mugs. “Thanks. It’s freezing out there.” 

Magnus sat down next to Alec on his cream-colored sofa. He didn’t even care if he spilled his drink on it. 

Alec took a sip of his cocoa. “Wow. This is really good.”

Magnus laughed. “I can’t take credit. It’s the Starbucks stuff.” 

“Oh. Do they have good hot chocolate, or something?”

“Alexander.” Magnus shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve never had Starbucks hot chocolate?” 

“No.”

“Next date. We’re going to Starbucks.” 

Alec set his mug down on the coffee table. “Did you… you want to go out with me again?”

“Of course.” Magnus set his drink down next to Alec’s and reached for his hands. “I made out with you in a tattoo parlor and then brought you to my apartment, Alec, what do you think?” 

“I mean, when you say it like that…” 

Magnus laughed and leaned in. Alec closed his eyes.

o-o-o-o-o

When Magnus woke up the next morning, Alec was still asleep. His black hair was a tangled mess on the pillow, and he was curled on his side, one arm extended in Magnus’s direction. Magnus vaguely remembered them falling asleep holding hands.

Magnus ran his fingers through Alec’s hair. Alec didn’t wake up, but he mumbled something in his sleep and turned his head in Magnus’s direction. 

Magnus thought Alexander Lightwood might be a very easy person to fall in love with.

He got up and made them both cups of coffee.

o-o-o-o-o

One Year Later

“Hey, biscuit. I need to ask you for a favor,” Magnus said.

Clary didn’t look away from the whipped cream bottle in her hand and the drink in front of her. “No guarantees. I have a date tonight.” 

“I need someone to clean up for me,” Magnus said. “I’m supposed to be over at Light Art by eight.”

“Can’t, sorry. Jace is picking me up at seven. Can Simon do it?” 

“I already asked. He’s at some nerdy gaming convention with Isabelle. I didn’t even know Isabelle liked video games.”

“Oh, she does,” Clary said. “The really violent ones where your character is a complete badass. Didn’t you hear what happened after Simon introduced her to Tomb Raider?”

“Alexander did mention that,” Magnus said. 

Clary looked at Magnus and sighed. “I’ll call my parents. It’s their shop, they can put some extra effort in just this once.”

Magnus grinned at Clary. “Thank you, biscuit.” 

o-o-o-o-o

Luke and Jocelyn were both behind the counter when Jace walked into the shop. He wasn’t alone. 

“Alexander.” Magnus abandoned his apron next to the espresso machine and went to kiss his boyfriend. “I was going to meet you in an hour.” 

“Jace mentioned he was coming over. I thought I’d say hi. We’ve got our new artist holding down the fort.”

“How’s Mark doing?” Magnus asked. 

“You know, he’s a little strange,” Jace said. “But I like him. I especially like when his little brother makes those pancakes for us. That kid has a future in culinary arts.” 

“Come on, Jace,” Alec said. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” 

“Yes,” Clary said. She’d appeared from behind the counter, apron off, her red hair tied back. 

“I’ll see you later,” Alec said. Jace clapped his brother on the shoulder and followed Clary out the front door. 

Alec reached for Magnus’s hand. “Ready?”

“Absolutely.” 

o-o-o-o-o

Mark Blackthorn was just closing up the tattoo parlor when Magnus and Alec got there. 

“Everything’s put away,” he said. “And Julien came by with more pancakes. I left them on the table in the back.” 

“Thank him for us,” Alec said. “And tell Aline to text me back, will you?”

“Yeah,” Mark said. “I’ve got to go, I’m actually late for something. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

“Bye, Mark,” Alec said. Magnus waved. 

“Okay.” Alec went over to one of the tattoo stations and pulled out a needle. “You’re sure about this?” 

“I already said I was,” Magnus said. He sat down in one of the chairs and rolled up his sleeve. “Go ahead.”

o-o-o-o-o

When Alec was done, he wrapped Magnus’s arm in plastic and gave him the same instructions he’d give to anyone. “I’ll give you a sheet with tips for taking care of it. It’s going to itch, fair warning. Keep it dry for the next week.”

“Got it,” Magnus said.

“Do you want a pancake?” 

“I would love a pancake.”

Alec and Magnus went into the back room, where, sure enough, there was a plate of pancakes sitting on the table under a layer of plastic wrap. Alec grabbed them and led the way upstairs. He stuck the plate in the microwave and made hot chocolate to go with them.

“I love this,” Alec said, sitting down next to Magnus on his old, shitty sofa. 

“What?” Magnus asked, balancing his plate of pancakes on his knees. 

“All of this. Getting this place to ourselves for once. The fact that you just got a tattoo. Hot chocolate in the middle of the night. You.” 

Magnus smiled and set his food on the end table so he could tug Alec closer to him. “I love you, too.” 

[daydreamingfics]

When We Collide - Chapter One

Word Count:  2,535 

Chapters Released: 1 - Masterlist

Warnings: Slow Burn (this story won’t be going from 0-100. Hopefully, ya’ll won’t find it to be a complete snooze-fest. Other than that, this chapter really just introduces characters. There may be a swear word or two, but that’s it. 

Authors Note: This is the first piece that I’ve written in a very long time, and though I’m nervous about releasing it into the world... I’m also very excited to share this little story that I’ve concocted in my head. I have so many stories that I think up and never post out of fear, and I decided that it ends now. I’m also slowly getting back into second-person style writing as it’s not my favorite, so any feedback on how I can improve is much appreciated! I hope that ya’ll enjoy this story!

*This story is inspired by the song ‘When We Collide’ by Jon Foreman. I would definitely recommend giving the song a listen. Thank you so much for checking out this story! 

Ten-minutes into the trek back to Downtown Los Angeles you started seeing signs for Paradise Cove. You had never ventured out to this particular beach mainly because you never really had a reason to be in Malibu, to begin with. But after seeing numerous signs for the location, you decided that a quick pit-stop was worth making time for. Plus, after the shit show morning that you had- the last thing you were in the mood for was the hours of editing that awaited you back in the office. With the exit rapidly approaching, you looked over at your videographer, Reggie, who was operating the wheel.

“Hey Reg, do you mind dropping me off up here at Paradise Cove? I just need a minute to breathe before we attempt to salvage any useful material out of the interview footage.’

Taking a quick glance from the road over to you, Reggie let out a chuckle in understanding. Reggie was an older gentleman, most-likely early fifties, but he’d holler out that he didn’t feel a day over thirty if you were to ask him. The topic of Reggie’s age was often a running joke throughout the office, as no one but the man in question knew of his real age. He had a heart of gold and years of experience in the business. You were thrilled when the two of you had been paired-up for assignments. If there was anything that you didn’t entirely understand or if an interviewee got a little cross with you, Reggie, always had your back. Over time, the two of you had developed a sort of father-daughter type of relationship. Having grown up in a single-mother household, Reggie indeed was the closest thing you’d ever had to a father.

“Sure thing, Y/N. Need me to stick around the area to pick you back up after a while?” Reggie questioned, knocking you out of the momentary daydream that you had fallen into.

Shaking your head, you sent Reggie a small smile. “No, you can go ahead back to the office. I don’t want to keep you. I won’t be long, though, wouldn’t want to miss out on all the fun editing ahead of us. I’ll just get an Uber back.” Once the shoreline came into view, you knew that you had made the right decision. It's as if the day's stress was already melting away.

”Here, take this for your ride back. And call me if you need anything.” Reggie voiced as he held out a twenty.

”Reg, I appreciate it, but I'm fine. I may not get any worthwhile assignments, but I do still get a paycheck.” you laughed.

”You know that I won't take no for an answer, Y/N, so just take it.” Reggie replied while placing the crumpled bill into your hand. ”Now go, enjoy yourself! Be safe. Don't talk to strangers! And be home before the street lights come on. It's all types of crazies out in Malibu!”

”Yes, dad. I got it. I got it! Don't worry.” you snickered dramatically as you sent Reggie a wave while exiting the vehicle.

Paradise Cove was precisely that, a picturesque beach situated just off of the Pacific Coast Highway with towering sandstone cliffs that made it feel as if you were in a whole other world. Given that it was a Tuesday afternoon, the beach was virtually vacant, which was precisely what you had desired. You needed a few moments to decompress and rid some of the clutter that had taken up residence inside of your head. Slipping out of your patent leather pumps, you relished in the warmth that surrounded your toes as you took your first steps onto the golden sand. Your hometown was a small coastal community so, naturally, you were a sea lover by heart. It saddened you that in the year and a half since moving out to California, you could count on one hand how many times you got to have a beach day. Making a mental note to work on actually having a life outside of the office, you gathered your shoes in one hand and followed the sound of the waves crashing against the shore until you were right where the land and sea meet. Tilting your head towards the infinite blue sky, you inhaled the salty air and allowed the warm breeze to cascade all around you. Nothing but the sound of the waves and the seagulls screeching as you shut your eyes and lived in the moment.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as you walked along the pristine shoreline. Nearly an hour had passed since Reggie dropped you off, yet you couldn't get enough. Every way you veered, your eyes discovered something new. A few more people had wandered out by this point, yet the calmness remained. You watched as children created sandcastles, and splashed to their heart's content in the majestic blue waters. Not wanting to wander too deep into the unknown, you decided to turn around and go back the way you came. It was then that your eyes landed on him. You didn't recall seeing him previously, so you figured that he couldn't have been sat there long. He looked to be about your age with grey, almost silver-hued hair that was fashioned in an odd cut. In all honesty, the style would likely look hideous on anyone else, but he pulled it off. From your view, you also happened to notice that he had a multitude of piercings adorning his ears, and some type of slit going through one eyebrow it appeared. Again, you thought of just how unflattering that would look on anyone else. Yet, here, this guy was making it work. Really making it work. You contemplated getting closer to where he sat, maybe even striking up a conversation, but what would you even say. ’Nice weather we’re having?’

Aside from that, the fact that he was alone was a good indication that he had come out here with intentions similar to your own. For peace or quite, perhaps, both. He appeared to be rooted in thought and clearly focused on what he was doing. A notebook was his primary focal point, and you watched as he scribbled word after word inside of the book. He seemed to be on a roll, and the last thing you wanted was to be some random chick disturbing his focus. So, you decided that you’d just continue to admire from afar until you passed him. No harm in just looking, right? As long as you kept it discrete and didn't give off any grade-A creeper vibes, it’d be fine. You just couldn’t shake the feeling that, for some reason, this complete stranger felt familiar to you. He had this aura about him, and you racked your brain trying to place his face but kept coming up blank. As your feet drew you closer to where he sat, you struggled to fix your eyes on something else. Anything else. But, nothing quite caught your attention like him. Deciding that you had about one more quick look left before you would appear completely stalker-ish, you glimpsed back at the boy one final time, only this time he was gazing right back with a knowing smile.

You completely stopped moving at the sight as if somehow standing still would make you invisible, but no. Red leaked into your cheeks as you nervously mirrored his captivating smile, and even braved casting a small wave in this direction, to which he thankfully returned. How embarrassing would it have been if he were looking at someone else? You mused as your mind became momentarily distracted, thinking up all types of worse case scenarios. Peering over at the boy once more, you were shocked to see that he had shifted his positioning slightly and made just enough space on the beach towel for one more. For the second time in mere minutes,  the two of you locked eyes as he motioned for you to come and join him. Were you really going to just waltz on over and sit near a man that you knew absolutely nothing about? Yes, that was precisely what you were going to do. The image of Reggie giving you his ‘don’t talk to strangers’ lecture replayed in your head on a loop as you made your way over to the boy. You cautiously sat down beside the stranger, attempting to keep as much distance in-between the two of you as possible, which proved to be no small feat considering that the beach towel was intended for one. You could feel the awkward level rising as neither of you spoke a word, just sat there staring at each other with matching smiles and curious features.

“I’m Hongjoong.” he finally voiced after a few more seconds of silence. The sound of his voice was even better than you had thought it would be. You could sense that English wasn’t his native tongue, but at that moment, you could have sworn that the boy had invented the entire English language all by himself. 

“I’m Y/N. It’s really nice to meet you, Hongjoong,” you uttered nervously. Being this close to him was making you feel all mushy inside, and it was taking every fiber in your being to keep your shit together. The last thing you wanted was to create a complete fool of yourself.

After the initial awkwardness had worn off, the conversation between the two of you flowed seamlessly. Hongjoong was so animated and passionate with his words, and you quickly found yourself hanging onto every single one. Though you hadn’t known the man for long, you had already reached one conclusion, he was magnificent. You opened up and shared parts of yourself that had been locked away for years with Hongjoong because, for some reason, you felt as if you’d known him your entire life. He assured you that the feeling was mutual as you both revealed more than you probably should have considering you’d just met. Hongjoong had even let you in on why he had chosen to spend his day off at the beach, stating that he was in search of inspiration. Though the two of you never discussed your careers, you did discover that the notebook you’d seen him writing in were lyrics that he had composed. He briefly mentioned that his reasoning for being in the US was for business, so you just assumed that he was a songwriter or something along those lines. The sound of your phone ringing interrupted your conversation with Hongjoong, and you cast an apologetic look his way as you searched your purse for the device. 

[ 1 Missed Call - Reg (Papa Bear) ]

“Wow, the time. Have we really been talking for over two hours? My co-worker probably thinks that I got swept away at sea by now.” you giggled.

The comment elicited a chorus of cackles from Hongjoong, and it was at that moment you realized just how much you adored his laugh.

“I can’t believe it either. Time goes fast when you’re in the best company!” Hongjoong proclaimed while pulling out his own device and checking the time.

“I was wondering if-” he started but then stopped just as quickly with his eyebrows furrowing slightly. You could sense that he was perhaps anxious about something, but you weren’t sure what it could be. He laughed somewhat and subtly scratched the back of his neck with one hand while outstretching his other that contained his cell phone to you. Oh, that explains the sudden rush of nervousness. You knew that you wanted to see Hongjoong again, but you didn’t want to be the one who initiated the whole number exchange, so you were more than thrilled that he went for it. With an even more full grin, you grabbed the device and handed over yours so that he could do the same. The minute your device was back in your hands, it started ringing again. You were seriously going to blast Reggie later on for cockblocking you not once, but twice. Not wanting your time with Hongjoong to come to an end you ignored the call and slipped your phone back into your purse, Reggie was going to have to wait for a little longer. When you looked back up, Hongjoong’s eyes were already fixed on you. A few moments of silence passed, but unlike the beginning of your conversation, this silence was comfortable. When your phone began blaring once again, you knew that, unfortunately, you would have to leave and rejoin the real world. Sitting along the shore with the wind in your hair conversing with the most attractive man you’d ever encountered, felt like a dream. One that you never wanted to wake up from. The look in his eyes mimicked your own, and you prayed to all the gods that this wouldn’t be the end of your story with Hongjoong. 

“That’s work that keeps calling... I was meant to be back awhile ago, but I- I honestly didn’t want this moment to end. Thank you for this Hongjoong, it’s just what I needed. I’ve enjoyed getting to know snippets about you.” you expressed. The vibrant smile that etched its way upon his features let you know that your words were well received and reciprocated.

“No, thank you. Y/N. I came here hoping for inspiration, and now I have more than I could imagine. All because of you. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to sit and talk with someone about all different things. Things that I don’t usually share.” Hongjoong cooed as he cautiously reached for your hand and lifted it up to his lips. He then proceeded to place a feather-light kiss upon the back of your hand, all while never breaking eye contact. This man was going to ruin you, and you were completely okay with that.  

“I have a hectic schedule coming up, but I will call, okay? I’ll find the time.” Hongjoong expressed while pulling you in for an embrace. You weren’t expecting the hug but welcomed it gladly as you wrapped your arms around his frame and simply just took pleasure in the final moments that you two would share until the next time. God, you hoped for the next time to come sooner rather than later. You simply nodded along as he spoke the words directly into your ear and squeezed you a little tighter as his tongue rolled over each syllable. You knew from past experiences how daft it was to put so much faith in a man, especially one that you had just met, but the words didn’t seem contrived or untrue coming from Hongjoong. He said he’d call, and you believed him. 

Even if all you and Hongjoong were meant to have was this moment, the memory of being in his arms and the incredibly unexpected yet unusual time that the two of you had shared would never leave you. 

[softlyblues]

The music wraps around the trees, hanging off the branches, playing with the dangling leaves and teasing the sky. It pours down to meet me, hanging off my fingertips, dancing along my shoulders, and the cold heat of it makes me shiver, makes me yelp in fear and discomfort. Something is running to find me, and I am out of breath - I can no longer outrun it.

I don’t know what it is. All I know is that I need to escape it, them, him, her, or I won’t leave the woods alive. 

***

The first impression I get of Ireland is the first impression most people get of Ireland. It is raining and it is cold, and the sun is hidden behind thick grey clouds, and the wet is seeping into my boots and through the strip of fabric between my hood and my neck. My knuckles are blue around the handle of my suitcase, and my thumbs have turned white without circulation. 

“This is the house,” says the man driving the car we’re in, the window-wipers scraping tunefully across the windscreen every half-second to combat the downpour.

He is called Joshua Raleigh, and he’s who I’ve been in contact with over the last year to finalise the purchase of the aforementioned house. Today is the first time I’ve met him, and I’m surprised - my head had conjured a greasy estate agent, red-cheeked and wet-haired, hair dye and cheap suits, and Raleigh is none of those things. He’s young and sandy blonde and he’s wearing an unbranded red polo neck with bleached blue jeans, muddy at the cuffs. A wedding ring on his finger, and a hole in his left ear where a piercing must normally sit. 

Part of our agreement had been that he pick me up at Dublin Airport and drive me the rest of the way to the house, and I’d been dreading small talk with the real estate agent of my nightmares, but the drive has been quite pleasant - weather chat, talk about families, about Ireland, about how much Raleigh enjoys working around the little village I’m moving to. About his wife, his newborn baby. 

“Where?” I ask. All I see outside are trees, turning golden. Toast in the mornings.

Trees, and rain. 

“Through there - the drive is pretty long, but you’ll see it in two seconds,” Raleigh leans forward over the steering wheel and smiles, top teeth sticking out over his bottom lip. “There!”

I copy his pose, peering around the trunk of a peeling tree, curiosity itching out at me. I’ve only seen the house in pictures, and Raleigh’s been more than accommodating with a digital camera and the services of gmail, but seeing it in person is different. The house, the whole reason I’ve uprooted and left without much of a word to anyone. 

He says house, but in truth it’s more of a cottage. Nestled in the woods near the village of Kilnaloe, it stands a little rough and ready, surrounded by hedge plants gone wild, birch trees far taller than the house itself, ivy wrapping around the doorframe like a green embrace. It’s grey stone, and would look a bit forbidding if not for the shiny yellow door, the cheerful square windows, the red bricks squaring off the corners. The leaded roof; the squat chimney. It peers from between the trees like a curious animal, not particularly frightened of us, like it knows it’s stronger than us.

“Is it what you thought?” Raleigh has pulled up on the leafy patch by the door, a place I can imagine parking. He’s smiling across the car at me. 

“Absolutely,” I breathe, my hands fisted in the material of my shirt so as not to do something really stupid, like flail and whack Raleigh in the face. “It looks just like the pictures!”

He laughs softly. “I can give you your key now, if you’d like. You can ring me if you want a lift into town proper - I know you didn’t get that much notice, and if you want to sort something out at the car dealership -”

“I’ll ring you,” I promise. I’ve google-mapped it, and the walk from the cottage into Kilnaloe is just less than an hour, doable if I fancy killing time. Raleigh has already done so much for me, from the pickup at the airport to the endless emails and negotiating on my behalf, and I fancy the idea of a walk through the place I intend to stay in, and finally make home. 

“So you want the keys now?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Raleigh gets out of the car and slams the door, and I follow suit, my brown boots crunching the brown leaves into the brown mud, different shades convalescing into one. “Miss Delilah Hale,” he says, jokingly sincere, “It is my utmost pleasure that I, Joshua Raleigh, should present to you the keys of your new estate. My deepest wish is for you to enjoy it as the occupants of the mists of time did before you-”

I hold my hand out, palm up, smiling. “Thanks for the speech.”

When he drops the keys into my hand, already keyringed with a little Raleigh & Simpson Estates fob, I shake them to hear the jingle. “Call me Lilah,” I add, as I’ve already had to remind him once at the airport. “Please.”

“Lilah, then,” he says. “Do you want me to show you around? Check everything is in order? The movers came a bit earlier than we thought, but we got the boxes in all right and there’s no damp in the house.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I assure him, and although he seems eager to help me I can’t help but notice the way he shifts from foot to foot. It’s been a three hour drive from Dublin, and he must have been up ridiculously early to make the drive on time and collect me. “I can show myself around just fine if you want to go home-”

“But ring me-”

“And I’ll ring you if I need anything,” I finish. “Thank you.”

“You have my number?”

“I have your number,” I wave my phone at him. Joshua Raleigh New House is how he’s saved in my contacts, although there isn’t anyone else I could confuse him with, what with the embarrassingly short length of the list of numbers. “Can I grab my-?”

“Oh, yeah!”

He lifts out my travelling case from his boot, setting it gently in the frosted mud, the airport stickers already peeling and fraying from the curled handle. “Grand?”

“I’ll ring you,” I say again, and he laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his short-shorn hair. In the three hours we’ve spoken in person, he’s come across as friendly to the extreme, careful and wary, and pleased to have finally met me. 

The sound of his car is quick to fade through the woods when he’s finally reassured enough to leave, the trees swallowing the noise whole with their rustling, smoothing it over like disturbed dirt after a funeral. Back to silence. Not quite - back to the noise of the woods, and the trees, growing and whispering and settling in their own pace, taking no notice of me or my case or the cottage or the keys, a world so removed they couldn’t care less. It’s peaceful. 

It’s exactly what I asked for. 

Inside the cottage is just like the pictures I made Raleigh take for me, countless angles and times of day and positions of furniture and so on, from the first time I saw the cottage on his website until just a few weeks before my plane landed in Dublin. Part of the charm was - is - that it comes furnished, and I don’t have to mess around with visits to Ikea and DFS and Argos and the Salvation Army looking for discarded chairs and ugly tables and stupid novelty light fixtures to turn something bare into a home, something I know I don’t have the energy for. 

So. The cottage. Inside the door I kick off my boots, setting them under the little hall table, a place where a landline phone sits off its hook, a little sticky notepad rests dust-covered and half-used, and a mirror hangs over, framed in silver wiring and hardly spotting at all. It’s too dusty to properly see through, though, and I wipe my finger on the surface: Lilah, I write, like a child breathing on a bus window to draw pictures on a cold morning. Through the lettering I see only glimpses of myself; the orange scarf I’m wearing, the red cold of the tip of my nose, the wisps of reddish-brown escaping from the ponytail I tied my hair in this morning.

I move further in. 

Raleigh is right, my moving boxes have arrived before me; they’re strewn halfway up the carpeted stairs, all across the hall, and spill into the two doors on the bottom floor as well. I never thought I had that many things until I had to pack them all away, silly useless collections that come from having been alive for a decade or three, things I couldn’t get rid of. Books and toys and clothes and clutter. 

I pop my head into the dark kitchen, cast my eyes over the oak table, the few chairs scattered around the flagstone floor, the oil cooker nestled in the hearth, ash turned to rock there from years of abandonment. Familiar to me from Raleigh - 

As is the other room on the ground floor, a large wooden-floored living room with seventies sofas spread out in front of the empty fireplace, paintings of muddy cows hanging on the wall, embroidered home samplers framed in their messy hoops, hung on withering strings. Now I’m excited to explore, and now I know I’m properly alone - 

Up the stairs. They creak comfortingly under my socks. Bedroom, bathroom, tiny study, a little storage space for the clutter. Spiders move away from my invasion, my rude disturbance into their home, and I do my best not to knock them from their spaces. There’s a bed, a heavy queen nestled in the crook of the far wall, where the roof slopes most severely, and I’ll need to get sheets and a proper duvet before I can sleep there tonight. Chest of drawers, wardrobe, mirror, carpeted floor, another fireplace with the grate hooked high against the empty space. A bookshelf mostly empty. 

The study is much the same, a sturdy oak desk under a window that gives me a view of the trees outside. Branches tap at the glass, seeking entry. A bookshelf, a few paintings, dark wooden floorboards. It’s pretty and airy all the same, the wallpaper yellow with a pattern of faded pink roses, delightfully seventies. 

Although none of it is really new to me, what with Raleigh’s pictures, it’s enough to make me smile happily, spread my hands over the windowsill burdened with bluebottle corpses. At last I’m here - here to stay. 

__________

so that’s the intro! i’m doing something completely new to me, which is original fiction in first person with a female main character... so i have to keep on brand in the big things. ireland, celtic gods, the woods, you know the drill. i had a lot of fun writing delilah and though she’s a little stiff in these first few parts, she comes into her own! joshua raleigh is also a cool dude. i hope you enjoyed this little excerpt! 

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