#even if the world is burning down around us i can still try to confront my problems!!!

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 5. the dinner

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Everything seems perfect until it all unravels. Emotions come to a head and the big lie is revealed.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, alcohol use, eating, flirting, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, minor infidelity, one use of 'daddy', big ol' emotional argument (lots of mean and hurtful things get said)

WC: 9.5K

Series Masterlist

By some miracle, you didn't end up getting sick, although it took most people in town a full week to recover from the flu. The infirmary was packed every day and Nick regularly expressed his endless gratitude that you chose to work for him. Maria and Tommy isolated as best they could in their home out of fear their daughter would get sick. When the townspeople slowly began to recover, they were itching to do something, so they decided to host a dinner.

One thing you hadn't done in ages was bake. You used to do it often, something you found rather soothing and rewarding long before the world went to shit, so you decided to make something to bring to dinner. After exploring your pantry, you discovered you had the right ingredients to make a simple pie crust, so you got to work mixing and rolling out the dough, getting so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even hear Joel walk through the front door.

When he heard you working away in the kitchen, he walked softly towards the entryway and leaned against the frame to admire you. He crossed his arms and smiled to himself when he saw the bits of flour smeared across your cheeks and your hair a little disheveled, your appearance not a concern to you as you worked.

It was the sweetest thing he had seen in a long time. He almost felt bad when you suddenly sensed his presence and looked up, disrupting your flow.

"Don't mind me," he said with a smirk before strolling over to the table to sit. "Whatcha up to?"

"Making a pie," you told him as you pinched some flour between your fingers and scattered it over the counter. You picked up the sticky ball of dough and sprinkled that with a bit of flour, as well, before grabbing the rolling pin. "Thought it would be nice to bring something with us tonight."

Joel nodded and picked up an apple from the bowl on the table. "That's nice of you," he said before taking a bite, "I'm sure they don't expect us to bring anythin'. They're just bored outta their minds and lookin' for someone to play with their kid for a while."

"Hey! I need those!" you scolded when you heard the crunch. He paused his chewing and looked down at the apple in his hand before stretching his arm out to you with a grin.

"Here you go," he said, mouth full. You laughed and shook your head before focusing on the dough once again.

"Keep it," you said, "I'll still have enough."

He leaned back in his chair and watched you diligently roll the dough out until you achieved the level of thickness you desired and then laid it gently in a buttered pie pan.

"Can you help me peel?" you asked when you came over to grab the bowl from the table, and he couldn't resist reaching out to dust away the flour from your cheek. You looked at him in surprise and he gave you a small smile.

"'Course I'll help," he said, standing up to grab two knives from the drawer. After giving yourself a moment to recover from his unexpected touch, you joined him at the counter, placing the bowl between you both as you began to peel in a comfortable silence. It had been almost two weeks since you saw Ben outside the tailor, and although you always looked for him whenever you walked to and from work, you never crossed paths with him again. You had been hoping to corner him to try to get more information before confronting Joel, but you had no such luck. So, with a deep breath, you cleared your throat and focused on your apple before speaking.

"Joel?"

"Hm?" he replied, his brows pinching together as he carefully worked his knife around the apple in the palm of his hand.

"Can I ask you a question?" you asked as your pulse began to thrum faster in your throat.

"Sure," he said, still laser focused on his task.

"Who are the Fireflies?"

His hand slipped and he dropped the apple and knife, pulling the pad of his thumb into his mouth with a hiss. You gasped when you saw a few drops of dark red blood on the cutting board and put your knife down before grabbing a somewhat clean towel and handing it to him.

"Is it bad?" you asked, taking a step forward to try and see his injury before he wrapped it in the towel. He shook his head.

"Nah, I'll live," he said, studying the cut for a second before applying pressure again.

Still, you rushed to the linen closet to grab the first aid kit and brought it downstairs. "Rinse it under the water," you instructed him before opening the bag and rifling around. He did as he was told and watched you pluck out a bandage and a small bottle of antiseptic. "Show me," you said, and he held his hand out to you so you could examine the cut. He studied you up close while your attention was focused on his thumb, taking in every feature on your perfect face and inhaling your familiar, comforting scent while you bandaged him up. If this was what it took to get you close to him, then he was ready to injure himself every damn day.

"You're good at that," he murmured, flexing his thumb when you were all done. "Learnin' a lot from Nick?"

You packed up the first aid kit, avoiding his heated gaze. "Yeah, I guess so," you said, turning back to your apples. Ever since Joel caught the flu and you helped nurse him back to health, it felt like there was a shift in the air between you. He was more brazen with his touch, like when he wiped the flour from your cheek, and while you never asked him not to touch you, your feelings for him were complicated. Until you could figure it out, you had been trying your best to not allow yourself to get caught in his orbit.

It was proving to be more difficult than you expected.

"Why don't you go sit down, I can finish these up," you said, your eyes cast down on the apples. You felt him regard you silently for a moment before he pushed off the counter and went back to his spot at the kitchen table. It was obvious what he was doing. It was the exact opposite of what you were doing. He was trying to create a charged moment, and you were trying to avoid them.

"You didn't answer my question," you said, and his energy immediately shifted.

"Where'd you hear 'bout the Fireflies? From Ellie?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. You looked up at him, confused.

"Ellie? No," you replied, shaking your head. "I ran into Ben a few days after our visit. He thought you had already told me about them and seemed a little skittish when I didn't know who they were."

You watched him closely, refusing to look away as he tried to mask his anger, but you could still see it. His jaw tensed and his uninjured hand clenched into a fist in his lap while you waited for an answer.

"So?" you prodded, cocking your head to the side. His nostrils flared for a second before he took a deep breath and turned his head away.

"The Fireflies were the group the three of you had joined before comin' to Jackson," he began. You tried to focus on peeling your apples but you were working incredibly slow, not wanting to miss a single word. "You were with 'em for a couple years. They had a decent setup, kept you all safe. Better than the QZ."

"Okay," you said slowly, picking up another apple. "So it was a community like this one?"

He huffed and shook his head, "Not exactly. More like an army. They're a revolutionary group. They rose up against the military and took over QZs with the promise of givin' control back to the people, but..." he trailed off and scratched his beard. "Wasn't all that simple. They killed alotta people in the process, and in the end, civilians still suffered. Didn't end up matterin' who was in control when both sides were just as violent."

"Oh," you said softly, setting your knife down, "so I joined because of what happened to my family? Because the military killed them? And then I ended up killing innocent people, anyway?"

Joel shrugged and stood up. "Like I said, we all made decisions the best we could with what we knew at the time. You didn't know any better. Nobody did."

"Did you join them, too?" you asked.

"No," he said, pressing both palms flat against the counter as he looked at you.

"So why did Ben seem to think telling me about the Fireflies would cause a problem with us?"

His mouth pressed into a thin line and you saw the suppressed rage flicker across his eyes again. "Fireflies ain't exactly well received by most people," he said, "lotta people here had family that was hurt or killed. Innocent bystanders caught in the middle of a war they didn't start."

You swallowed nervously, apples long forgotten as you braced yourself for your next question. "Did the Fireflies hurt someone you loved?"

Joel's gaze dropped to his hands and he clenched his jaw. He wanted to tell you. He should have just fucking spit it out and told you everything, but at the last second, he chickened out.

"No."

And you may not have known him as well as you did before the accident, but you knew him well enough now to be able to tell when he was lying. You tried to hide your disappointment by picking your knife back up and getting to work.

"Are there others?" you asked him, and he lifted his head up, "other former Fireflies who live here?"

"Aside from you three? Just Tommy."

Your jaw dropped in surprise and your eyes snapped up to him once again. "Tommy?"

"Mhmm, just for a little while. You didn't know each other before Jackson," he said, anticipating your next question. "Fireflies are a big group. Spread out all over the country."

"Oh," you said softly, looking back down at your half peeled apples which were slowly becoming brown on the edges. You began peeling again, faster now, as you thought about everything he just said while he watched you carefully from the other side of the counter. You weren't sure what else to say. It felt like he was telling you the truth, but you still had a hunch he was leaving something out.

"Y'know, it's a miracle I didn't eat half that damn pie before we got here," Joel said teasingly as you walked up the porch steps to Tommy and Maria's house. "Whole house smells like Christmas now. Drove me crazy all afternoon."

You smiled and smoothed down the blue blouse you found tucked away in your closet. It wasn't a top you could envision yourself working in, it looked a bit too nice for that, so you thought dinner would be a perfect time to wear it, combined with a dark pair of jeans that were relatively clean and only slightly frayed on the bottom. At the time, you thought it was cute when Joel came downstairs with his hair slicked back and his flannel tucked into his jeans for once, but when you walked into Tommy and Maria's and found the house to be filled with four married couples from around town, you suddenly felt uncomfortable.

"I didn't realize anyone else would be here," you murmured quietly next to Joel as you slid off your coats.

"He mentioned they may invite a few others but I didn't think this many," he told you, taking your coat and hanging it up before looking around. They had two tables covered in linen pushed together in their dining room which was alight with candles and sprigs of pine and holly spread around the middle, giving the room with a warm and romantic atmosphere. You swallowed nervously and all of the sudden, the evening felt too much like a date.

"Hey, you two!" Tommy's voice rang out from the kitchen, startling you out of your reverie. "Glad you could make it," he said, tugging Joel into a hug before giving you a chaste peck on the cheek.

"Um, here," you said, holding out the pie, "didn't want to come empty handed," you explained with a little smile. Tommy's eyes lit up when he took the pan from you and gave the pie a quick sniff.

"Damn, smells good, Sugar," he told you, his cheeks already rosy from the liquor he had been working on before you arrived. He shot Joel a playful look as he headed into the kitchen, handing Maria the dessert. "Your girl can bake, Joel. Lucky man."

The tips of your ears went hot and you looked away uncomfortably before Joel could catch your eye.

"I'll get us a couple drinks," Joel said, ignoring Tommy's comment, much to your relief. "What'dya want?"

You glanced around the room and what the other women were drinking before shrugging and suggesting wine. He followed Tommy over to the living room where they kept their liquor locked up and away from their toddler, who was gleefully playing with another woman you didn't recognize. Popping your head into the kitchen, you spotted Maria all by herself working on dinner.

"Maria," you said with a smile, and she turned around with a sigh of relief.

"Hey, I'm dying here, can you help me?"

"Of course," you said, rolling up your sleeves. "What do you need?"

She put you to work right away, chopping up vegetables and dumping them into boiling water before helping her thicken a sauce she was making for some pasta. You were just about to taste test the product when Joel and Tommy joined you in the kitchen with the drink that he promised.

"Smells so fuckin' good in here," Tommy said loudly before taking a generous sip of whiskey and giving Maria a quick peck on the lips. Joel put your wine glass near you on the counter and you shot him a thankful smile before bringing a spoon up to your lips to taste the sauce. You winced and scrunched up your nose and Joel chuckled.

"It's missing something," you explained, putting the spoon back down as you examined the spices available to you while Maria was instructing Tommy on doling out the appetizers.

"Lemme try," he said, rounding the corner to stand next to you. You handed him the spoon and he held up his whiskey. "Hands are full," he told you teasingly, and you rolled your eyes with a grin before dipping the spoon back into the sauce and lifting it to his mouth. He leaned in and wrapped his lips around the spoon, closing his eyes and making a soft noise at the taste. Your knees suddenly felt weak and your face felt hot as you struggled to compose yourself before he caught you.

He opened his eyes slowly and ran his tongue over his upper lip to capture the remnants of the sauce and you had to resist the urge to swipe your thumb over his mustache to gather the rest. It made your breath hitch in your throat and you forced yourself to look away, mentally cursing your body's reaction to him.

"Lemon," he said huskily, then took a sip from his glass while still staring down at you. Your eyes drifted up to his and you saw that look again. The one that made you feel too many things at once: nervousness, excitement, pressure, confusion. So you took a deep breath and squeezed past him, having no choice but to brush up against his chest.

"You're right. It needs lemon," you said, finding one in the mess on Maria's counter and slicing it in half before squeezing it generously over the sauce. Joel leaned against the counter, one arm caging you in from behind as you worked. You tried to ignore how close he was but you could feel his breath on your skin and it was causing your pulse to race. Fortunately, Maria came to your rescue.

"How's it going?" she asked, and Joel pushed off the counter, stepping back to give you both some room.

"Good, I think the sauce is done," you told her, and after she gave it a little taste, her eyes lit up.

"So good!" she said, clearly pleased. You felt your cheeks heat up before gesturing towards Joel.

"Thank Joel. He thought of the lemon."

Maria shot Joel a smile and thanked him as he tipped his glass in her direction before taking another sip. "Happy to help, ladies," he said.

"Go enjoy the party, I got it from here," Maria told you, shooing you away.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind-"

"Yes, I'm sure! I'm just going to plate everything and we're good to go. Help yourself to some appetizers before they're all gone," she said, turning her back on you as she started pulling down serving platters.

You picked up your wine and took a sip, hoping to quell some of your nerves as you let Joel lead you into the living room where the party was in full swing. Tommy had his daughter balancing on his shoulders as he talked to a couple men, their wives at the other end of the room in the middle of a lively conversation. You chewed your lip, glancing back and forth before you took another sip and looked up at Joel.

"Guess I'll go see what's got them all worked up," you told him, nodding your head in the direction of the other women.

"You sure?" he asked with a frown. "Don't want you feelin' uncomfortable. We can stick together if y'want."

You shook your head and stepped away. "I'm fine," you told him before forcing yourself to join the other women. As you approached, you gave the women a friendly wave to catch their attention and they beckoned you towards them with open arms. They all seemed to be around your age range, give or take, and very friendly as they took the time to re-introduce themselves to you. You politely listened to them talk about their kids or jobs while you sipped your wine and nodded along. When three of the women became engrossed in a story about their children and school, you felt yourself begin to zone out. The girl standing next to you, Hannah, caught your eye and smiled.

"Do you have any kids?" you asked her, and she shook her head.

"Not yet. I don't think we're ready, you know?" she said, glancing over your shoulder at her husband. "But one day I think we will. How about you and Joel? What are your plans?" she asked, then her eyes went wide with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry. That was a dumb question, you probably don't... ah, I'm such an idiot," she said, and you laughed.

"No, you're not, it's fine," you assured her as her cheeks began to flush.

"I guess I just keep forgetting about your accident. That was so rude of me," she said, "I see you guys together all the time and it seems so normal."

You glanced over your shoulder at Joel, watching for a moment as he laughed heartily at something one of the other men said. "Yeah," you told her, turning back around, "I can see why you'd think that."

Her gaze drifted between you and Joel for a moment before she lowered her voice and took a step further away from the other women. "So you still don't remember anything, huh?"

You shook your head sadly. "Nothing. At this point, I'm not expecting anything to come back. I'm just trying to start over."

She nodded solemnly and took a sip from her wine. "How's it going with you two?" she asked, tilting her chin in Joel's direction. You sighed and rubbed your eyes. Same old questions, different person.

"Okay, I guess. He's been incredibly patient," you said, "but I think he is still holding out hope that my memory might come back and we'll just pick up right where we left off."

Hannah gave you a sympathetic look right as Maria approached with a big smile stretched across her face. "Dinner is served!" she announced to the room before bending down and stretching her arms out for her daughter.

Everyone began to scatter as couples rejoined and headed towards the dimly lit dining room. Joel appeared by your side, his hand hovering over your lower back as you waited for the other couples to take their seats.

"Havin' a good time?" he murmured, and you gave him a tight smile before nodding. Joel pulled out one of the two remaining chairs for you and you whispered your thanks when you sat down, then he pushed it back in before taking his own seat. He relaxed and stretched his arm across the back of your chair while he listened with amusement to Tommy drunkenly telling a story that had carried over from the living room.

"The table is beautiful, Maria," you told her, leaning away from Joel a bit. "It's so cozy and warm, you really outdid yourself."

She smiled as she bounced her little girl on her knee. "Thanks. We were just itching to do something, you know? We got a little cabin fever, I think."

You felt Joel's thumb brush lightly against your spine, making you shiver. But when you glanced over at him, he was still caught up in listening to Tommy and you wondered if those little gestures were intentional or if it was muscle memory.

Once everyone began to eat, Joel dropped his arm from your chair and you found yourself missing the warmth that radiated from him, confusing yourself even more. Sometimes you just wanted to hit your head against the wall and rattle your memories loose so you could stop feeling so conflicted. If you were this confused, you couldn't imagine what Joel was feeling. Although, at that moment, he seemed to be perfectly content as he stood up with Tommy to get another drink.

"Y'want any more?" Joel asked, nodding to your glass but you shook your head.

"Maybe later," you said, and when he caught your eye he gave you a quick wink before following Tommy back into the living room.

"So, how's it going at the infirmary? Still like it?" Maria asked, drawing your attention back to her.

"Yeah, I do, actually. That was a good idea, I've been meaning to thank you," you said, wiping the corners of your mouth with a napkin. "It feels good to stay busy and I'm learning a lot."

"Well, Nick always speaks so highly of you. Especially after that nasty flu worked its way through town. He said you were a godsend," Maria told you while simultaneously handing her daughter a steamed carrot.

"She was. Worked her tail off all week then had to deal with me when she got home," Joel said as he sat back down with a soft grunt. You smiled at him, grateful for the compliment.

"If he's anything like his brother when he's sick then I'm sure you've earned sainthood status," Maria said to you, making everyone laugh.

"Hey, what're you sayin' 'bout me down there?" Tommy slurred with a grin from the other end of the table. You were fairly certain Maria answered him with some sharp remark which made the table laugh again, but you couldn't exactly remember because Joel dropped his hand to rest on your knee and you suddenly couldn't think straight. Your skin felt hot under his touch, even through your jeans, and you could have sworn the whole room could hear how loudly your heart was pounding in your chest, so you anxiously grabbed your wine glass and finished the rest in one gulp, hoping it would steady your nerves.

You could have asked him to move his hand. You could have made an excuse, gotten up and used the bathroom, but you didn't. You remained perfectly still, allowing his hand to rest on your leg as you tried to focus on the conversation at the table. Because although your mind was saying one thing, your body was always reacting differently.

If you had known what would have ended up happening that night, you would have done something in that moment. Maybe if you had, it would have changed everything.

Instead, you sat there and didn't say a word. You just politely listened to everyone talk with Joel's hand still on your leg while your body and mind waged a war nobody could see.

When Maria stood to hand off her daughter to Tommy and clear the table, you joined her, finally ending Joel's grip on you. The other women stood while the men attempted to help but got shooed into the living room. When all the ladies were alone in the kitchen, Maria pulled out a jar of apple flavored moonshine that she told you all quietly she was hiding from Tommy because it was her favorite before passing it around for everyone to have a taste.

It was strong. Each of you had to stifle your coughs into your hands, which erupted into giggles and eventually caught the attention of the men, so you all did your best to distract them after they curiously poked their heads into the kitchen so Maria could hide the jar once again.

In retrospect, the alcohol didn't do you any favors. Your head was swimming a little by the time dessert was served and you found yourself inadvertently leaning into Joel's shoulder as everyone complimented your pie and he watched you adoringly while you waved off the praise.

The food was amazing, but combined with the drinks, you found your eyelids growing heavy as the party moved back into the living room and Maria took her daughter to bed.

"I think I'm going to get some air," you told Joel while everyone else got comfortable.

"You alright?" he asked, examining your face closely. You nodded.

"Just getting tired," you explained as you took a step towards the door, but he immediately put his glass down.

"Why didn't you say so? We can go home."

"No, it's okay-"

"You've been workin' so hard lately. You need your rest. Go get your things and I'll tell Tommy we're headin' out," he said, refusing to hear another word. And as much as you didn't want to tear him away from the party, you had to agree with him. The past couple weeks were physically draining and it definitely seemed like the exhaustion was catching up with you.

Once Joel announced your departure and everybody bid you good night, you each grabbed your coats and slid on your boots before heading outside. The brisk night air was a shock to the system and it helped wake you up a bit on the walk home. Joel wrapped his arm around your waist as you walked, holding you close to him, enveloping you with his warmth and when you inevitably reflected on that night, you would remember that moment as one on a long list of ways you were sending him mixed signals because you didn't pull away. Because as confused as you were about your feelings for him, you couldn't deny the attraction you harbored. And maybe it was partially your fault for not being stronger because you knew, you fucking knew Joel's feelings for you were far deeper than yours that night, and yet you still didn't step away.

When you arrived home and Joel fumbled clumsily with the door, you giggled, making him grin and his eyes light up at the sound before finally shoving the door open and flicking on a light. You shrugged off your coat and kicked off your boots with a sigh, the faint smell of apple pie still lingering in the air. You were happy to be in the comfort of your own home and eager to throw on your pajamas, but Joel led you into the kitchen first and poured you some water. You couldn't help but smile at how reminiscent it was from when he was sick and you did the same thing for him, so you took it and made sure to drink the whole thing while he watched with a pleased expression on his face.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you looked tonight?"

The glass was still pressed against your mouth, the last drops of water just swallowed, and you froze. Slowly, you lowered the glass to the counter and shook your head, unable to look away from his heated stare.

"Well, you did. Lit up the whole place. Prettier than all the other women," he said, fighting to remain still and not pull you into his arms. But he was losing that battle.

"Thank you," you said softly, forcing yourself to look away. It didn't deter him.

"I mean it. Couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout you. Talkin' 'bout you," he said, watching your face heat up as he blinked slowly. "Lookin' at you," he added after a quiet moment, and you laughed softly while you crossed your arms protectively over your chest.

"Joel..." you began, not even sure what you planned to say so you opted for staring blankly out the window just so you wouldn't have to look him in the eye.

"What, baby?" he murmured, taking a bold step forward and pinching your chin with his fingers. You dragged your gaze back up to him just to find his dark brown eyes all wide and filled with hope and tenderness as he stared down at you, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, clearly displaying his intention but you still didn't step away. Your body wouldn't let you move.

"We're both drunk," you told him, trying to remain rational. Trying to stay clear-headed.

"Not that drunk," he quickly countered, his eyes still roaming your face, his fingers still pressing into your chin and you could feel your heart flutter wildly. Why on earth couldn't your mind catch up with your body?

You sighed, partially from the exhaustion, partially from the inability to properly express yourself but he took it to mean something else. He heard your sigh and thought you were finally giving in. That you were finally going to let him kiss you. Because why else wouldn't you have pulled away?

He leaned forward, his eyes slid shut, and although you should have known it was coming, it still surprised you. Your eyes stayed open wide as he inched towards you and finally at the very last second, you tilted your face to the side, causing him to press his lips against your cheek instead.

You felt his reaction before you could see it. His lips immediately tensed against your skin and his breathing stalled. Then his hand dropped from your chin and he leaned back, eyes no longer warm and inviting.

You tightly pressed your lips together in shame. "Joel, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," he said quickly, cutting you off and backing away.

The hurt was evident across his face, although he tried to hide it by averting his gaze.

"I just don't think I'm there yet," you said after a long, tense moment. "I'm trying-"

"Yeah, I know," he replied harshly, turning on his heel and marching out of the kitchen. "I know you're tryin' to force yourself to love me. It's gotta be real hard, I get it," he spat, his voice so cold it made you shudder as he shoved his boots back on.

You choked back a sob as you watched him grab his coat.

"Where are you going?"

"Don't know," was all he said before flinging the door open and storming out, leaving you all alone in the entryway with tears slowly streaking down your cheeks.

What an absolute fucking idiot he was.

What was he thinking? That you would magically find him attractive again? Love him again? That he was worthy of your time and care and attention? After everything he did?

You didn't know, of course, but what else could it be, other than fate? Or karma? Or whatever it was, coming back and erasing all your memories of him to set things right? Because did he ever really deserve you in the first place?

No, definitely not. Not after everything he did.

His legs carried him blindly to the Tipsy Bison. It was a quiet night, and maybe had he been in the right frame of mind, he would have been surprised. Most of the town was cooped up the past couple weeks, under normal circumstances he would have thought it would be busier, but at that moment in time, he didn't care. He only cared about one thing: he needed to forget.

He motioned for Seth and he nodded in acknowledgment before pouring him his usual whiskey and setting it down. Joel snatched it up and immediately downed it with a wince before pushing the empty glass towards Seth.

"Another, please," he muttered before burying his face in his hands with a groan. Seth eyed him suspiciously before pouring his second drink and setting it back down on the bar.

Joel let the glass sit there a few minutes while he stewed in his anger. He wanted to blame you, but he couldn't. Not really. He knew it wasn't your fault but, fuck, he just wanted you back. He was so goddamn lonely that it made his chest hurt. He rubbed it absentmindedly before picking up his glass and forcing himself to take a slow sip. He had already drank too much at Tommy's and if he didn't want to wake up with a massive hangover, he had to slow down.

"Hey, cowboy," a familiar, flirty voice suddenly said from beside him. He tilted his head to the side and had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

"Angie."

She smirked and pulled up a tall barstool, scooting her way up with a little grunt that made his stomach clench as he watched her maneuver in her tight jeans.

"What's got you so blue?" she purred as she took a sip from her drink and crossed her legs, her foot coming dangerously close to touching his calf.

"Who said I was blue?" he asked gruffly before taking another swig of whiskey.

She laughed softly and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Kind of hard to miss," she said, resting her chin in her palm as she looked at him expectantly.

His eyebrows furrowed at her but she noticed the way the corner of his mouth twitched and she bit her lip playfully.

"C'mon, what's the matter? You can tell me, baby," she cooed, and he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

"Don't call me that."

Angie pouted and leaned closer, her breath tickling his ear when she whispered, "Oh, that's right. How could I forget? You prefer daddy."

"Knock it off," he growled, turning away from her and ignoring the stirring below his waist, but it wouldn't be that easy. It never was.

She rested her delicate hand on his forearm and his muscles twitched, but he didn't move. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed being touched. And in that moment, any touch would do. She smiled and slid her hand up his arm slowly, and he let her, his eyes fixed somewhere in the opposite direction as he tried with all his might to ignore it, to fight it, to stand up and fucking leave, but he couldn't do it.

"So tense," she murmured in his ear, and his eyes fluttered shut. "I can help with that, y'know." Her hand dropped from his shoulder to his lap and had Joel's eyes been open, he would have seen Seth's eyes widen in surprise before looking away. "We're real good at it, remember?" she continued, her fingers inching towards the seam of his jeans. But before she could reach between his legs, his hand grabbed her wrist.

"Stop it," he said weakly, forcing his eyes open to glare at her, but she just smiled sweetly at him and pulled her hand back.

"I need to use the restroom," she said, her voice sultry. "You remember where the ladies' room is, right?" she asked with a wink before sliding off the stool and swinging her hips as she strolled down the hall towards the bathroom. He groaned and rubbed his face roughly.

He wasn't sure how it happened. He wanted to blame the whiskey, he wanted to blame you, but at the end of the day it was all on him when he found himself shoving open the door to the women's room and crowding Angie against the sink, his mouth crashing down on hers hungrily.

It was only one tiny minute of weakness. When he realized his mistake, when he remembered her lips weren't anything compared to yours, when her noises were not the noises he wanted to hear, her touch not the touch he craved, he immediately stopped kissing her, pulling back and cursing under his breath.

Angie looked at him, her eyes dark and her cheeks flushed, then took a step forward but he held up his hand.

"No," he said a bit too loudly, the whiskey making his head swim as he stumbled backwards towards the door. She rolled her eyes and grinned.

"C'mon, Joel. When are you going to realize she's not coming back? You need to move on," Angie said sweetly. Too sweetly. "You deserve to be happy," she added, and he frowned when the enormity of what he had done dawned on him through his drunken haze.

"Stay away from me," he warned her, reaching for the door and yanking it open.

"Fine. But just remember: you followed me in here!" she shouted after him as he disappeared down the hall. He snatched his coat from his barstool and jogged towards the exit.

He had to get home.

The carpet should have been worn to the floorboards by the time Joel finally came back. You had been pacing around the living room, chewing on your fingernails nervously as you replayed the entire evening in your head. The guilt was fucking suffocating you. You couldn't help but feel like you were partially to blame, but you would have broken his heart if you let him kiss you without fully understanding how you felt first, and he didn't deserve that. Maybe once he cooled down, he would understand.

When you heard his slow, heavy footsteps walking up the porch stairs, your heart leapt into your throat. The door creaked open slowly, as if he expected you to be asleep and he was trying to be quiet, but when he closed the door and saw you standing in the middle of the living room, your arms wrapped around yourself, his face contorted into a grimace.

"You're still up," he said, voice a little raspy as he hung up his coat.

"Joel, I'm so sorry," you began, "I'm just so confused. I'm still trying to work out my feelings but I don't want to rush into something and risk hurting you."

He swallowed and hung his head in shame, unable to look at you.

"Please don't apologize," he whispered, but you kept going.

"Of course I'm going to apologize. I sent you mixed signals and I ended up hurting you anyway."

"I did somethin'," he blurted out, and you froze mid-sentence, waiting for him to elaborate. Silence filled the room, your eyes drifted around aimlessly before you sunk down onto the edge of the couch and tucked your hands under your thighs.

"What did you do?" you asked, your voice wavering when you realized he still hadn't looked you in the eye.

He took a steadying breath and propped his hands on his hips, his face still angled shamefully towards the floor. "I kissed someone else."

His words hung heavy in the air, your deep, ragged breaths the only sound filling the room as your tired mind tried to make sense of what he just said.

"What?" you finally asked, voice deathly quiet. He forced himself to look at you now, his dark eyes brimming with tears.

"It was a mistake-" he began, voice thick with emotion, tongue heavy and clumsy between his teeth, but you stopped him.

"Just now?" you asked incredulously, your stomach turning sour. Fighting the nausea back down with a harsh swallow, you spoke again. "You tried to kiss me, I shot you down and you just... went out and found someone else?"

"That's not what I left to do, it just happened-"

"Who?" you asked, your gaze stony as you continued to stare at him, anguish and regret flickering across his face.

"Does it matter?" he tried weakly, softly, but it just pissed you off even more.

"Yes," you hissed, slowly standing back up on now shaky legs. "Who, Joel?"

His throat bobbed and he shifted his weight and when he mumbled Angie's name, you saw red.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you whispered, quickly closing the gap between you and shoving him hard against the chest, causing him to stumble back in shock. When he looked you in the eyes, all glassy and cold and distraught, his blood felt like ice in his veins.

He was losing you.

"Please, lemme just explain-"

"What could you possibly have to say?!" you exclaimed, your body growing hot with rage. Hands shaking so badly you had to cross your arms to hide the tremor. "I was taking too long to fuck you so you went out and found a sure thing?"

"I didn't fuck her, but I could've!" he yelled back, an angry vein popping out of his neck at his sudden outburst. Your eyes went wide and you took a step back in surprise. He didn't know why he was yelling. He knew it wouldn't help, but he just snapped. "I never once pressured you to sleep with me! I gave you your space an-and respected your boundaries," he was flailing now, his thoughts scattered as he desperately tried to make sense. "But I'm a human fuckin' being and I got drunk and I was lonely and I made a fuckin' mistake! And I'm sorry, alright?!"

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "You're lonely," you repeated, the words like poison on your tongue, and he frowned. "What about me? I'm lonely, too! You know what the first question is out of everyone's mouth ever since my accident?" you asked, glaring up at him, anger rolling off both your bodies. "They ask me how you're doing. You! Like this was some tragedy that only happened to you! But I lost fucking everything in the blink of an eye!" Tears began to burn the backs of your eyes now but you pushed on. "My world literally turned upside down in an instant and everyone just kept waiting for me to get with the program, including you!"

"That's not true," he said, shaking his head angrily, "I never pressured you to do anythin'!"

"It's the way you look at me!" you cried, wiping the tears from your cheeks. "You don't even realize you're doing it but you keep looking at me, expecting to find the woman you fell in love with but she's gone, Joel!"

You both fell silent, staring at one another, shoulders heaving as you each sat with the weight of your words.

"I don't care," he finally said, lowering his voice. "I still love you. I told you that first day. What we got is rare and special and I'm not givin' up on us."

"Then how could you go kiss someone else the first time there's a bump in the road?" you asked, tone hurt and dejected, then you turned and headed up the stairs.

"I told you, it was a mistake," he pleaded, following you. "I'm so sorry... wait, what're you doin'?" he asked when he realized he had followed you into your room. You were snatching clothes from the drawers and tossing them onto your bed, and that's when he really began to panic.

"I can't stay here," you said, disappearing into the bathroom. His vision narrowed and his legs became weak as fear flooded his veins.

"No," he whispered, but you didn't hear him. You were busy gathering a few toiletries from the bathroom and tossing them on the bed along with your clothes, but when you walked past him to get a bag, he grabbed your arm.

"Don't do this," he begged. You yanked your arm out of his grip and stepped back, glaring at him and he realized in that moment he would rather have you there screaming at him for the rest of the night than not have you there at all, so he kept talking. He kept pushing.

"Y'know, for someone who says she doesn't have feelin's for me, you sure seem to be pretty pissed off," he glowered, and your eyes widened. That's it, he thought, let me have it. "If you don't want me, if you don't give a shit 'bout me, then what the hell does it matter if someone else does?"

You gasped, his words like a punch to the gut. Like a blade to your heart. Without thinking, your arm swung back and your palm cracked loudly against his cheek, stunning you both into silence.

He wanted to rub the spot, to help soothe the pain with the tips of his fingers, but he resisted. Instead, he let his cheek redden so you were forced to see what you did.

"You think I don't give a shit about you?" you seethed once you found your voice, palm stinging at your side, eyes flickering between his eyes and his cheek.

"Sure seems that way," he countered, and your jaw clenched angrily as the next round of tears began to well up.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you yelled, your hands balling into fists at your sides. "How dare you. You made me give a shit about you, you asshole!"

You shoved past him and headed down the hall to the spare room in search of a duffel bag, but Joel was hot on your trail. If he let you leave, he would never get you back.

"The hell does that even mean?"

You whipped around, making him stumble backwards, your eyes wild and bloodshot. "You told me you would make me fall in love with you again! This whole time we've been getting to know each other, building up our relationship and you think after all that, after everything we've shared, that I don't give a shit about you?"

"Well-" he began, but you cut him off.

"I took care of you when you were sick. I sat next to your bed for a full week, waiting for you to fall asleep, making sure you had everything you needed," you said, your voice growing quiet as hot tears spilled down your cheeks. "You told me about your daughter. I told you about my brother," you whimpered, your voice cracking on the last word. Joel's face fell when he finally realized how broken you were, the full weight of his actions realized. "How could you say that to me?" you sobbed, burying your face in your hands, your cheeks hot and wet in your palms. Your head ached. Your heart ached. You needed this to end.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it," he told you, stepping forward and pulling you into his arms. You only let yourself melt against his broad chest for a moment before you sniffled and pushed him away. Turning around, you snatched the bag from the ground and stormed past him.

"Tell me how to fix it," he pleaded as he followed you back into your room.

"You can't."

His head was pounding, throat scratchy and dry as he watched you pack from the doorway, his chest tightening with each article of clothing that passed through your hands.

"Please. Stay. I-I-I won't even talk to you if that's what you want, just please stay."

You paused, your eyes squeezing shut as you silently cried over your bag. "You want me to stay, Joel?" you asked, voice trembling, and even though weren't looking, he nodded.

"I'll do anythin'," he said earnestly, and you opened your eyes. Reaching for your journal, you flipped it open to a well worn page and tossed it on the bed. He frowned at it, confused, but stepped forward and picked it up.

"Then tell me what you lied about."

His eyes scanned the page, reading the four words over and over. Joel lied to me. No context, but he didn't need any. He knew.

You could see the conflict in his face as he tried to figure out a way around it.

"The truth. Or I'm gone," you said firmly, and when his eyes flicked up to yours, you saw fear.

He slowly turned around, the journal held delicately in his massive hands, as he sat down onto the edge of your mattress.

"Okay."

The shock made your tears slow to a stop.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," he repeated, his tone somber as he stared down at your journal in his lap. "What's the difference now, anyway? You already hate me."

I don't hate you, you thought, but you remained silent.

"If I tell you, you promise not to leave?" he clarified, and you thought about it for a moment. What if it was something really bad? But you knew you wouldn't get the truth out of him any other way, so you nodded. You figured if you still left and ended up becoming a liar, then at least you would be even.

"I told you 'bout the Fireflies," he began, and you got the feeling the story was going to be long so you sat down on the bed.

"Yes."

"You, Ben 'n Lisa were all part of a group out in Salt Lake City," he said, his gaze pinned on the journal. "In a hospital. Doin' research."

"Research? I don't know anything about-"

"You weren't doin' the research. The three of you were just guards. Patrolmen. There were doctors there, and they were lookin' for a cure," he continued, then took a deep breath before lifting his chin and staring at a fixed point on your wall.

"Did they find one?" you asked, remembering that first day when Joel told you about the outbreak. You had asked him at the time if there was cure and he said no. That couldn't be the lie, could it?

"Well, they were close," he said, his brow pinching together. "This next part is somethin' that's gotta stay in this house, y'hear me?" he asked, finally turning to look at you. "Y'gotta promise me that no matter what you end up thinkin' of me, you can't tell anyone 'bout this part."

You didn't want to make that promise. Why would you, after everything he had put you through? But, still, you found yourself nodding slowly, then his next sentence knocked all the air from your lungs.

"Ellie's immune."

Your lips slowly parted as the shock coursed through you, your eyes slowly drifting down to the comforter. Your mind was blank except for Ellie's immune, Ellie's immune playing on a constant loop.

"It's why you didn't write anythin' else, I reckon," he explained, holding up your journal. "Didn't want anyone to find it."

You slowly began to put the pieces together. A research hospital. Ellie's immunity. They were close to a cure.

"The Fireflies thought they could use Ellie to create a vaccine," he said after a long pause. "And I took her to 'em. Took her right into the lion's den," he said with a dry chuckle. "Didn't realize til after they took her that they would've had to... kill her to get what they needed."

Your eyes darted up to meet his again as you listened, entranced.

"Nobody knows, okay?" he said, his voice wavering a bit. "Only Tommy. No one else can know. Her life depends on it, d'you understand?"

You nodded, still unable to find your voice, so he continued.

"When I realized what they were doin', that they would have to kill her, I just..." he trailed off and scratched his chin, looking away, eyes distant. "I lost it. It's the only way to describe it."

"W-what do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"I killed alotta people," he said, voice cold and detatched, "alotta fuckin' people. Whoever got in my way, I just... didn't think twice. 'Til you."

You inhaled sharply, almost forgetting you were somewhere in that hospital.

"Me?" you squeaked.

"You didn't see my face," he said, his voice beginning to shake. "None of you did. The three of you were together. You surrendered. Had you face down on the ground with your hands behind your head. Told me you were plannin' on ditchin' the Fireflies anyway. That you wouldn't come after me." His hand trembled in his lap and he made a fist.

"You weren't the first ones to say that to me, but you were the first ones I let live."

You pressed your palms into your face, trying to quell the ache behind your eyes as you rocked gently back and forth on the bed, heart thundering in your chest, blooding pumping too fast. The exhaustion was too much. You could hardly make sense of what he was saying.

"You almost killed me," you said, more of a statement than a question, your voice muffled through your hands.

"Yeah." He watched you carefully, trying to read you, desperately searching for some small glimmer of hope underneath all your rage and confusion.

"Then what?" you forced yourself to ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He ticked his jaw to the side and looked away.

"Then... Ellie 'n me came here. Started over. Tried to forget," he sniffed, pulling at a loose string on his shirt. "Then the three of you showed up couple months later. Scared the fuckin' shit outta me, but none of you seemed to recognize me."

"Because we never saw you," you said, and he nodded.

"I didn't speak to you for over a month. I was so scared you'd recognize my voice or somethin', but I just couldn't stay away from you," he said, his eyes softening now. "Then that night at the bar happened. When you came up to me and-"

"Yeah, I remember what you told me," you replied, not eager to relive that story at the moment.

"Then the rest is history. We started messin' around. You didn't know who I was for a few months, then I finally told you."

"After you were already fucking me," you said coldly, and he winced.

"After I fell in love with you."

You sat back and rubbed your eyes. You had so many questions. What was your reaction when you first learned who he was? If you stuck around, you must have seen something in Joel that made you feel safe. Why did he spare you? Was it only because you couldn't identify him? And how much did Ellie know?

"Please say somethin'," he begged after a few tense, quiet minutes.

"What do you want me to say?" you asked him, your shoulders sagging forward, limbs too heavy. "You want me to forgive you? You want me to say I understand?" He shook his head but you kept talking.

"You spared my life just to break my heart."

He turned away from you as his face crumpled. "I'm gonna fix it," he said, his throat tight and voice thick as he fought off the tears that were threatening to spill down his face. "I'm gonna make it right, if you just-"

"Can you go, please?" you asked quietly, "I have nothing else to say and I'm fucking tired."

He looked over at you but you refused to look up, your puffy eyes fixed blankly on the floor. His gaze drifted to the bag and clothes littering your bed and he asked, "Are you stayin'?"

You didn't answer. You just slowly stood up and flung your comforter back, some of your clothes falling into a heap on the floor but you didn't care as you crawled into bed and turned your back to him.

Begrudgingly, he stood. His eyes flicked around your room nervously, his fingers fidgeting at his sides while he chewed on the inside of his cheek, struggling to come up with the right words to say.

"Go!" you sobbed from underneath your blankets, hiding from him the tears that were soaking your sheets.

So, he left. Not because he wanted to, but because he caused you enough agony for one night, and as much as he wanted to stay and beg on his knees for forgiveness, it would be the selfish thing to do. Instead, he went to his bed and stared at the ceiling, barely sleeping the entire night because his body jerked awake at every little creak the old house made, wondering when he woke up, if you would be gone for good.

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A/N: Yes, there will be a happy ending 😘

[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories | Fourteen| Azriel X Rhys' Little Sister! Reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Talks of death.

A/N: SO a lot of feelings in this one. I hope you guys like it, I'm really getting excited about where this story is about to go.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen

When you wake up hours later, the sun is high in the sky. The first thing you notice is that you aren’t in Az’s room anymore. But instead you’re in the room that you grew up in. You haven't been in this room since you came back. In fact, you’d been too afraid to come up here. Too afraid of the memories it would bring. 

“Az?” You question, looking around the room to find it empty. 

He was gone. No trace of his shadows, even your own that floated about the room seemed to want nothing to do with you. You screwed it all up this time. You used him, Gods, you should never have taken him to bed. That shouldn’t have been your first time with him. That wasn’t how that was meant to go. 

Tears blur your vision as you bury your head back into your pillow and begin to sob. You can’t help the tears, can’t do anything to try to stop them. You don’t want to. You need to feel the pain, because you can only imagine how Azriel felt. How used he must’ve felt, knowing you were only there for a distraction. 

You loved him, so much. But all you could think of last night was not feeling everything else. Then you were so consumed by the feeling of him, that you forgot to feel about him. You felt dirty, so fucking dirty that you wanted to scrub every inch of your skin raw. But you couldn’t bring  yourself to get out of the bed. So you didn’t.

You stayed in bed for the eternity of the day. You didn’t move, opting to stare at the wall instead, feeling everything and at the same time feeling nothing. 

The following day, when you finally dragged yourself from your rooms, you were confronted by Rhys, who had nothing but worry in his eyes. You nearly broke down into tears again at  the sight. For so many years, you never thought you’d see him again. You never thought you’d have him hold you, and comfort you, even if you didn’t deserve his comfort. 

“Take me back to the townhouse,” You cry into his shoulder, “I can’t stay here.” 

“Okay,” He whispers into your dark hair, followed by the sound of his wings unfurling. 

You hold your breath as he shoots to the sky, being as gentle as possible. Azirel must have told him that you had some sort of reaction from flying. So when you land on the rooftop of the Townhouse, you can’t help but vomit into a nearby plant. You heave and heave until there’s nothing left in your stomach. 

“Are you alright?” Rhys asks as he holds your hair back. 

You can only shake your head, feeling the scars on your back burn again. You fall to the ground, Rhys’ arms still holding you as you begin to cry. You sob again, feeling the weight of the world that you now live in. The world without your mother, and even your father. The world in which you were the reason your mother died, because you didn't fight hard enough to save her. 

“I didn’t fight,” You sob uncontrollably, twisting to bury your head in his shoulder once more. 

He smelled like her, and like your father at the same time. Jasmine, like her, and pure night like him. It made you cry even harder. Made you miss them even more. Made your heart break just a little further. 

“Shh,” He whispers, “You did your best.” 

How he knew what you were talking about, you don’t know. Maybe your mind was wide open for him to read. But you couldn't feel him there. Maybe he just knew you better than you thought, even after all of these years. 

“You were a mere child, Y/N, I’m not sure I could’ve done anything differently at your age,” He admits, “No one blames you for what happened. You were a victim, not a cause.” 

Your head shakes without permission. You hear what he’s saying, but you can’t believe it. You won’t allow yourself to believe it. So instead you cry and cry, without the energy to fight with him it’s all you can do. 

Eventually you make your way to the room that’s now been designated as yours, and hide in the bed once more. It’s all you can do. All you have the energy for. Rhys pokes his head in and checks on you before dinner. The twin wraiths leave a plate at the foot of your bed, but you can’t bring yourself to eat. 

All you want is Azriel, but you don’t deserve him. Not after how you used him. Not after what you took from him. Even carrying the weight of your mother’s death, you’ve never felt as guilty as you do thinking about what you did to Az. 

You aren’t sure how much time passed before Mor is barging into your room and clinging your curtains open, “Enough is enough.” 

“Go away,” You moan, turning away from the windows. 

“You aren’t allowed to sulk here any longer. Rhys might be content to let you wither away, but I will not.”

“Leave me alone, Mor.” 

“I won’t pretend to know what the devil happened between you and Az, because you seemed to be coming back to all of us before whatever it was ... but it’s time to move on.” 

“I’m happy staying here.” 

“Don’t make me get Cassian.” 

Her warning made you gingerly sit up, muscles screaming in protest due to not being used in so long. You were allowing yourself to become even weaker, something you swore you wouldn’t do. 

“Talk to me,” Mor begged, “Let me in…let someone in. Don’t keep locking yourself away, both physically and metaphorically.” 

“I don’t know how anymore,” You admit to her, “I don’t know how to be anymore.” 

“What happened between you and Az?” She asked softly, “I won’t tell anyone.” 

You shake your head, unable to put it into words.Cassian was probably the only other one who knew, unless Az shared with Rhys, so he could understand why you were the way that you were.

“I slept with him,” You whisper, “I used him for sex. And it felt so good. But then when I woke up and realized what I had done...I couldn’t face him.” 

There’s silence for a moment, before Mor wraps you in her strong arms. She smooths your hair down, and strokes you back, like a mother comforting her child. It brings tears to your eyes once more. 

“Az wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t want to,” She confirms, “You did nothing.” 

“Our first time shouldn’t have been because I was looking for a distraction,” You cry out. 

She continues to hold you, trying her best to soothe you as you work through everything in your head. You tell her about how flying made you feel, and how you needed a distraction and the only thing you could think of was Azriel. You told her about how you and Lucien used to use one another in that way, back when you were being held in Spring. How you were the first person he’d been with since his brothers held him down as they killed his love in front of him. 

You told her everything. The words flowing out before you could stop them. What you couldn’t put into words you showed her in her mind, so she could understand. She sat in silence and let you talk until you had no words left, and then she did something you hadn’t expected. 

“It’s time to forgive yourself,” She says carefully, “None of that was your fault. You’ve heard us say it before, but really hear me now, Y/N, you know what my power is. So you know I speak the truth, it was not your fault. You did what you had to do in order to survive, the same thing Rhys did under the mountain. You are blameless.” 

“But I-” 

“Your mother wouldn’t want you to live like this,” She states, “So if you’re going to do anything, live. Live for her, because you and Rhys are all that is left of her.” 

You feel something in your chest as you notice a shadow dancing in the corner of the room. It wasn’t one of yours, you realized with a pang in your chest. He was checking on you…even after what you did. He was making sure you were okay. 

“Have you talked to him?” You question, nodding over to the shadow. 

“He wanted to give you the space you needed to figure things out,” She nods, “Not because he doesn’t want to be around you, but because he thought you didn’t want him near.” 

“I always want him near,” You sniff, wiping away your tears. 

“I’ll be sure to tell him that when I see him,” She smiles brightly at you, “Now, let’s get you dressed. The twins made quite the spread downstairs and Feyre and I cannot eat it all alone.” 

“Where’s Rhys?” 

“With Amren, trying to help decode the book.”

You nod and force yourself to stand, the shadow now curling around your ankle in an attempt to get closer to you. Like it knew you wanted Azriel near, but his shadows were the next best thing. You wanted to ask where he was, but didn’t want to know at the same time. You knew he was working his network of spies hard. 

So you eat with Feyre and Mor, laughing about the random stories Mor seemed to come up with over the course of the meal. And once it was over? You didn’t retreat to your rooms. Instead you found yourself on the terrace soaking up the last few rays of sunlight left of the day. Your head was tilted up towards the sky as your eyes were closed. 

You can feel a presence behind you, but you can also feel shadows lapping at your feet. You hesitantly smile and open your eyes, “Are you going to sit?” 

“I didn’t know if you’d want me to.” 

“I figured your shadows would’ve told you differently by now,” You try to make your tone light and teasing, even as you feel nothing but anxiety bubbling in your chest. 

“They did,” He confirms, “But still.” 

You motion to the seat next to you, scooting over slightly to make room for his wings. Those big beautiful wings that even you didn’t touch that night. Truthfully you weren’t sure if he would’ve let you touch them. 

“Do you regret it?” He asks you suddenly. 

You turn to look at him, golden skin glowing in the late day sun. He looked beautiful. He always did. How could you even think about regretting him? Azriel was like your heart walking outside of your body. The missing piece of your soul. You could never ever regret being anything with him. 

“No,” You say quickly, “No Az. I could never regret you.” 

“I just thought-” 

“I regret how it happened,” You admit, “I regret that I used you as a distraction, but I could never regret you.”

His head is bowed low as he nods. You know him well enough to know that his own need to prove himself, to be wanted, is showing through. You’re both broken, in more ways than one. He spent twelve years in captivity, not being shown an ounce of love. You now know what that's like. You know what it can do to a person. 

So, you get up and slide into his lap, gently tilting his chin up so he’ll look at you, “Azriel, I will never regret anything with you. You’re my heart.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. It makes you smile as you lean down to kiss him. Really kiss him, softly and slowly. His hands hold onto your hips, holding you in place as he kisses you back. You can feel pieces of your heart slowly coming back together, like he’s the glue you needed. 

“I don’t want space,” You whisper against his lips, “Not from you. Never from you.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, princess.” 

You stayed with him up on the terrace until the sun was long gone and the stars shone in the sky. You kissed him until your lips were swollen and bruised, but you didn’t care. Being in his arms felt better than any drug ever could. Mor was right, it was time to forgive yourself for everything that happened. 

“I’m sorry,” You finally speak, “For making you feel like I regretted you. For making you feel alone.” 

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone,” He sighs, “Can you forgive me?” 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” You shake your head, “Now come, I’m hungry and smell dinner downstairs.” 

He barks out a laugh and stands once you’re off of his lap, leaning down to peck your lips once more. The simple action leaves you feeling warm all over. Leaves you wanting more from him. But you also know now is not the time. So instead you lead him downstairs and into the dining room where the rest of your family is gathered. 

“There they are,” Cassian all but shouts, “We were wondering if you were going to join us!” 

“Leave them be, Cas,” Mor scolds him before turning and winking at you. 

Rhys is nearly beaming, and Feyre is smiling sweetly at you. You take a deep breath and find your place at the table, next to Azriel, like it’s always been. The conversation flows easily as you all eat. You find yourself laughing alongside Cassian, who’s more or less howling at one point. You feel normal again, your chest doesn’t feel empty. 

“We leave in the morning,” Rhys finally says, stopping the laughter. 

“For what?” You ask, feeling very much out of the loop. 

“The Mortal Queens have agreed to meet with us,” He explains, “You’re more than welcome to join us.”

You find yourself shaking your head before you speak, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Are you sure?” Az asked you, “You won’t be an imposition.” 

“No,” You say again, a little stronger this time, “I think the best thing for me to do is to stay here in Velaris.” 

“Okay,” Rhys relented, “We should be back tomorrow night, at the latest. Hopefully the Queens don’t keep us waiting.” 

So you see them off in the morning and then pace around the house whilst you wait for them to return. Amren, being the only one who can possibly translate the book, is busy trying to do just that. So you pace, and pace, and pace. No doubt wearing down the luxurious carpet in the townhouse. But you can’t find it in yourself to care. You know, more than likely, that no harm will come to them. But you still can’t help but worry. 

You finally settle on the couch after an hour or so, and must drift off because you don’t hear them when they come back. You don’t hear the hushed conversation, recounting everything that happened. No, you only stir when Azriel gently brushes your cheek and whispers your name. 

Instantly your eyes fly open and you surge forward to hold him. He lets out a little laugh, holding you back, tucking his face into your dark hair. 

“I was only gone a few hours,” He says softly, arms tightening around you. 

“She was worried,” Rhys fills in for him, “Which she shouldn’t have been, it was just a meeting.” 

You shake your head, and place a kiss on Azriel’s neck before pulling back and giving your brother a crude gesture. He barks out a laugh before motioning for you to follow him outside. You look to Az who just nods, and moves to help you stand from the floor that you’d ended up on. 

“We need to talk,” Rhys said calmly. 

You nod and follow him outside, feeling panic well up in your gut. Something happened, something that would change the course of the war. You could feel it. 

“We have to go to the Court of Nightmares,” He says once you’re in the courtyard, “I told you that I wouldn’t leave you out of this. And as much as I wish she wouldn’t, Feyre is coming, so you have a decision to make. You may come, and play the part, or you can stay here and they’ll know nothing different.” 

“Why are you going?” 

So he explains, putting an emphasis on needing a distraction. And as much as it makes you sick to your stomach to think about going back there, after so many years, and playing the part of the cruel princess that you played all of those years in spring…you knew you needed to go. 

“If you need a distraction, then you really will need me,” You admit to him, “I’m unwed and unmated, from the most powerful line in our history. If Mor was the top of the market, imagine what I’ll be. No male will be paying attention to what anyone else is doing.” 

“I don’t want to put you in that position,” He shakes his head. 

“You aren’t putting me in any position,” You argued, “I’m offering. I won’t sit idly by and let others fight this war for me. If this is what I can do to help, then so be it.” 

“Azriel won’t like it.” 

“I won’t like it either, but I’ll do it. For our family, I’d do anything.”  

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[theonottsbxtch]

CHICAGO PT.4 | OP81

an: OKAY SO FINAL PART IM DONE NOW AND IM SO SORRY TO EVERYONE FOR WHAT IVE DONE I HOPE YOU CAN FORGIVE ME PLEASE. if you feel like the writing quality has decreased im sorry lol im tired and haven't proof read it.

wc: 2.1k

part one | part two | part three |

On Monday, Oscar stood outside her hotel door, heart pounding in his chest. He had rehearsed this confrontation over and over in his mind, but now that he was here, the weight of it felt unbearable. Every instinct told him to walk away, to leave this mess behind, but he couldn’t—not yet. He needed to see her, to hear it from her lips. He needed answers. Closure.

With a shaky breath, he knocked.

There was a long pause, and then the door creaked open. She stood there, looking as effortlessly composed as ever. Her dark eyes gleamed in the low light of the hallway, her lips curling into that soft, practised smile he knew too well. She was dressed casually, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders, but even now, even after everything, she looked like she had stepped out of a dream.

“Oscar?” Her voice was soft, almost surprised, though something flickered behind her gaze—a quick flash of recognition, of something calculating. “What are you doing here?”

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. "We need to talk."

She hesitated, but then she stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. The hotel room was immaculate, a polished, sterile space that felt more like a set than a home. Oscar walked in, the air heavy between them, his pulse racing as the door clicked shut behind him.

"What's going on?" SHe asked, her voice gentle, almost soothing, as she moved closer to him. She tilted her head, that familiar gesture that had once made him feel like he was the centre of her world. "You seem upset. Is everything okay?"

Oscar's jaw tightened. He had to focus. He couldn't let her pull him back into her orbit, not again. He turned to face her, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I know everything."

Her expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker in her eyes—a brief shift, barely noticeable, but Oscar saw it. She took a step back, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Lando," Oscar said, the name like a rock in his throat. "I know you're with him. I know you’ve been with him this whole time."

For a moment, there was silence. Oscar could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heart hammering in his chest as he waited for her response.

She blinked, and then, to his astonishment, she let out a soft, almost amused laugh. "Oh, Oscar... is that what this is about?"

His stomach twisted. The way she dismissed it, the way she said his name—it sent a chill down his spine. He clenched his jaw, trying to hold on to his anger, to the clarity he had felt just minutes ago. "Don't play games with me. You’ve been lying to me. To both of us."

Her expression softened, her eyes widening as she reached out to touch his arm. Her fingers were warm, familiar, and he hated how much his body responded to her touch, how a part of him still craved that connection. "Oscar," she whispered, her voice like honey, "I never lied to you. I care about you, I really do. But things... things are complicated."

He pulled away from her, his skin burning where her hand had been. "Complicated?" he repeated, his voice harsher than he intended. "You made me believe you were a single mum. You made me think you were raising Lea on your own while you were playing both of us!"

Her expression faltered, and for the first time, she looked genuinely uncomfortable. But it was fleeting. She quickly replaced it with a look of soft concern, stepping closer to him again. "Oscar, you're misunderstanding this. Yes, I’m with Lando, but you and I... what we have is different. I never intended for this to get so messy."

"Messy?" Oscar felt his pulse quicken with a new surge of anger. "You manipulated both of us! You used us! This wasn’t some accident—this was calculated!"

Her face hardened, her eyes sharpening as she took a step back. "Calculated?" she echoed, her voice cool now, losing that tender edge. "You think I planned this? That I sat there and schemed to ruin your lives? You’re overreacting, Oscar."

The shift in her tone was like a slap in the face, but Oscar refused to let her twist this around. He took a step forward, closing the space between them. "Don't try to gaslight me," he said, his voice low, trembling with the effort to stay in control. "You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew who I was before you even sat down next to me in that bar in Chicago. You knew everything about me because Lando told you about me. And you used that."

Her eyes flashed, but then, just as quickly, she softened again, her lips curling into that same seductive smile that had once unravelled him. She stepped closer, so close he could feel her breath against his skin. "Oscar," she whispered, her hand brushing against his chest. "I didn’t plan this. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You and I… we have something special, don't we? You felt it, didn’t you?"

His breath hitched. The closeness of her, the way her voice wove around him, made it hard to think. For a moment, the anger inside him wavered, like a candle flickering in a gust of wind. He could feel the pull of her, the way she knew exactly how to make him weak, how to make him question everything.

But this time—this time he couldn’t let her win.

Oscar clenched his fists, stepping back from her, putting distance between them. His voice trembled, but he forced the words out, each one like tearing away a piece of himself. "No. We don’t have anything. You don’t care about me. You never did."

Her eyes narrowed, the smile fading. There was a flash of frustration in her expression, a quick flicker of anger, but she quickly masked it. "Oscar, you're being dramatic. I never lied about my feelings for you."

"Then why didn’t you tell me about Lando?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Why didn’t you tell him about me?"

She hesitated, her gaze shifting just slightly, and for the first time, Oscar saw something—guilt—flicker across her face. But it was gone as quickly as it came. She straightened, her chin lifting defiantly. "You don’t understand what it’s like, Oscar. It wasn’t as simple as choosing between the two of you. I have responsibilities—Leo, my career. I couldn’t just… I couldn’t just drop everything for you."

Oscar felt his heart drop at the mention of Leo, the boy she had lied about so easily. "Don’t bring your son into this to justify your lies."

Her eyes darkened, and for the first time, her voice hardened. "You don’t get it, do you? You never really did. You think this is black and white, that I was just stringing you along for fun. But life isn’t that simple."

Oscar shook his head, stepping back even farther. "You’re right. Life isn’t simple. But you made the choice to lie. And you made the choice to hurt the people who cared about you."

For the first time, She properly faltered. Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she let out a long, shaky breath. But Oscar didn’t let it sway him. He knew better now.

“I’m done,” Oscar said, his voice firm, final. “I’m done letting you twist everything around, making me doubt myself. You can’t have it both ways. You can’t keep playing with people like this.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face for any sign of weakness, any opening she could exploit. But this time, Oscar didn’t waver. He stood his ground.

Finally, she let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. She crossed her arms, her expression hardening into something cold, distant. "Fine," she said, her voice clipped, devoid of the warmth she had used to manipulate him for so long. "If that’s how you want it."

Oscar nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him. "That’s how it has to be."

For a moment, they stood in silence, the air between them thick with tension. Then, without another word, Oscar turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

And for the first time in months, he felt free.

A few weeks passed, and the bruises she had left on Oscar’s soul slowly began to fade. The races rolled on, and life at the paddock resumed its relentless pace. After everything, Oscar had managed to distance himself from the chaos she'd stirred within him. Lando, too, had cut her out. They’d had one more awkward conversation, full of unspoken regrets, but in the end, it was clear—they had both been played. She had woven her lies so intricately that they'd been trapped before they even knew there was a game.

She had vanished from their lives as swiftly as she had entered, severing ties as though they had never mattered. No apologies, no lingering farewells. Just a cold, calculated exit.

At first, Oscar couldn't shake the remnants of her presence. The memories would sneak up on him, whispering doubts and ghosts of feelings he wished would disappear. But as the weeks went by, he felt a shift, the grip of her seduction loosening its hold. He worked. He drove. He focused. Lando did the same, both of them rebuilding in their own way.

There were moments when they crossed paths at the paddock, moments when an awkward silence hung in the air, a quiet understanding between two men who had fallen into the same trap. But they never spoke of her again. The chapter was closed, the storm that was her had passed.

Or so they thought.

It was just another race weekend. The paddock buzzed with the usual excitement, the hum of engines and anticipation swirling through the air. Oscar walked toward the garages, the sun casting sharp shadows on the tarmac. He felt lighter now, the weight of the past weeks slowly lifting, the sting of her betrayal a fading memory.

He glanced toward the familiar motorhomes, watching the familiar faces of drivers, engineers, and media moving like clockwork. Just another race day.

Logan strolled up beside him, looking far more relaxed than usual. “You ready for this weekend?” he asked casually, but there was an edge to his tone, something that made Oscar glance sideways.

“What’s up?” Oscar asked, slowing his pace. Logan’s nonchalance always had a purpose.

Logan hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “Look, I wasn’t going to say anything, but... have you seen the news?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “News?”

“About the grid,” Logan continued. “New couple spotted. Not that it’s really our business, but I figured… after everything… you should know.”

Oscar’s stomach sank. He hadn’t been paying attention to gossip, deliberately keeping his head down, but now a flicker of dread curled in his chest.

“Who?” Oscar asked, his voice tighter than he intended.

Logan pulled out his phone, scrolling before handing it to Oscar. “You’re not going to like this.”

The headline flashed across the screen: New F1 Couple Alert—Charles Leclerc Caught in Steamy Romance With Mysterious Brunette.

Oscar’s heart pounded in his ears as he scrolled through the article. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the photos. They were grainy, taken from a distance, but unmistakable. A man—one of the newer drivers, Charles—with his arm around a woman. A woman with long, dark hair and sharp, seductive features.

It was her.

Oscar’s grip tightened on the phone, the image burning itself into his mind. There she was, smiling that same smile, her lips curled in the same way that had once left him breathless. The same way she had smiled at him, at Lando, before turning their worlds upside down.

“I can’t believe it,” he muttered, handing the phone back to Logan. “She’s doing it again.”

Logan exhaled sharply. “Yeah, looks like it. It’s like she’s got a thing for drivers, mate. I didn’t want to bring it up, but... you needed to know.”

Oscar’s mind raced. She had moved on, effortlessly sliding into another life, another story, as though the chaos she’d caused had never even happened. And Charles—he had no idea. Oscar could see it in the photos, the way Charles was looking at her, the way his hand rested protectively on her waist. It was the same way Oscar had once looked at her. The same way Lando had.

She was doing it again. The same seduction, the same lies, the same calculated dance.

“She knew exactly what she was doing all along,” Oscar said, more to himself than to Logan. The realisation hit him hard. She hadn’t just stumbled into his life. She had planned it. She’d known exactly who he was. Lando had mentioned him, and talked about his teammate from time to time. She had heard his name, known his world, and positioned herself perfectly to take advantage of it.

The night at the bar in Chicago wasn’t a coincidence. She hadn’t randomly chosen the seat next to him. She had orchestrated it all.

Logan sighed. “She’s good at what she does, I’ll give her that. But Charles… he’s got no clue what’s coming.”

For a moment, Oscar felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. He thought he had escaped her, thought they had finally closed the book on her manipulations. But here she was, sinking her claws into someone new, dragging another man into her web.

“What do I do?” Oscar asked quietly, feeling the weight of it all.

Logan shrugged, giving him a sympathetic look. “There’s nothing you can do. Not really. It’s his choice, his life. You can’t save him if he doesn’t know he needs saving.”

Oscar nodded, though the pit in his stomach twisted tighter. He watched as the world around him carried on, oblivious to the storm brewing in the distance.

The image of her with her lips on Charles, just like she had done to him.

And as Oscar turned away, walking toward the garage, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the storm wasn’t over. Not yet.

the end.

tag list: @iimplicitt @hearts4acemyluv @a-beaverhausen

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Six

TW: choking, noncon, dark shit, Julian

You’d be a liar, if you said you weren’t floating on a little cloud, as you go about your duties at the hospital. You’re smiling stupidly to yourself for no reason at all–and it’s all Tom Ludlow’s fault, of course. 

Later, when you’re sort of able to think clearly, you marvel at the way that man let you have your way without actually getting mad about it. You weren’t really sure what you were getting into, as you snapped the cuff into place. And maybe you’re still not sure who actually manipulated who. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter. 

All’s well that ends well…and that ended very fucking well, if you don’t say so yourself. 

You’d actually almost managed to forget about Doctor Julian for a little while. That is, until you hear a crisp click click outside the door when you’re getting something out of a supply closet and you jump three vertical feet in the air.

Ok, maybe not that high, but your soul certainly attempts to leave your fucking body. 

When you whirl to confront him–he’s gone. 

Bastard. 

Then several cases come in one after the other. Two gunshot wounds, a stabbing, a car accident, a gnarly burn. You are too busy to think about anything else but saving lives. 

Looking back, Julian undoubtedly banked on that, near the end of your shift. You are exhausted, and covered in grime, and hungry too because you missed out on your sandwich. It turns out that man can move stealthily as a cat, sneaking up without a sound behind you, until it’s too late and he’s bundled you into the lab, which sadly is rarely if ever occupied. 

You struggle, of course, to little avail. The way he bares his teeth as he pins your arms behind you betrays his enjoyment of this little ambush–too fucking much. His mouth crashes over yours, a punishing kiss that clashes teeth and bruises lips. He draws away just as you try to bite down on his wicked tongue. 

“Get off of me,” you snarl, though even now you're conscious of drawing attention, keeping your voice down. 

“Just wanted a little preview of our weekend festivities. Are you looking forward to it as much as I am?”

“No.”

Too late, you realize that’s exactly the answer he wanted. You can tell by his pleased smirk. He doesn’t want you to enjoy this at all. It would absolutely take the fun out of it for him. He makes it seem easy, to hold both of your wrists together in one of his large hands, his other lifting to brush away a stray lock of hair from your face. In any other circumstance the touch could have almost seemed tender–but you are a lamb in the jaws of a wolf, and you begin to tremble in his grasp. 

They do this–abusers. They lull you with some nugget of sweetness, put you off guard so that the violence is even more satisfying when they strike. It’s strange in a way, to compare this outwardly dignified man to the handsome redneck who used to knock you around back in Kansas. But really they are just two sides of the same fucking coin. 

You should fight back. Knee him in the groin, or maybe try out a headbutt. But your limbs seem to have forgotten how to function–and Julian has that little piece of damning lead in a baggie that could completely upend Tom Ludlow’s world. 

He feels it, as you remember that, the fight leaking from your bones.  “I’m proud of you, y/n. Someday, you won’t fight me at all.” 

You’re smart enough not to tell him this will not be an ongoing thing. Once you have that piece of evidence in your hands…you are gone. Maybe you’ll have to switch to a different hospital. Anything, not to have to deal with this asshole on a daily basis. 

Or, you could tell Tom, and this motherfucker will be unalived faster than you can say workplace harassment. Ok, maybe that’s not a good option, but it feels good to think about at this moment, when you are helpless in this monster’s clutches.

His touch migrates to your jaw, squeezing just this side of too hard. “I’m feeling…peckish, y/n. I think I’d like a little amuse bouche to tide me over until Saturday.”

Your heart drops to your feet.

“Amuse bouche? Who do you think you are, the Marquis de Sade?”

“Funny you should mention him. I think he had some very interesting ideas.”

“Julian…we’re at work.”

He just smirks, that cold glint in his eyes like a bared blade. 

“I think you mean to say, ‘Yes, Doctor.’”

You glare at him, and he waits, squeezing your wrists in his vice of a grip uncomfortably. 

“If you break my hands you will be in so much fucking trouble.”

He only finds your threat amusing at best. “Useful thing about being a doctor. I am well versed in the limits of the human body.” He squeezes harder, and you gasp. It makes his eyes shine like a kid outside the gates of Disneyland.

“How’s this for a limit? If you mark me up, Tom will come after you. He sees me naked every day.” You’re not sure if it's a good thing you mention this, but in the heat of the moment your protector’s name spills from your lips, invoked like your household saint. And you will admit, it feels good, to see Julian’s eyes darken at the mention of your intimacy with Tom.

“I think you're forgetting who holds the cards here to your boyfriend’s future. You had better come up with some good lies for Saturday, because I intend to leave my marks all over this beautiful skin.” He lets go of your wrists, but only to run his hands over your forearms, raising gooseflesh as he goes.

“How’s it feel to be a fucking creep?” You ask, genuinely, actually curious about the answer, trying not to give any reaction to his fingers teasing higher up your arms, putting every single nerve on high alert. 

His hand envelops your throat, fingers pressing against the sides and closing just enough to make it hard to breathe. “Please, go on,” he nods, looking down at you with a snarling grin. 

You don’t give him the satisfaction. You let him choke you in varying degrees and intensities and angles, saying nothing while he works at your throat like a he’s learning an instrument; what makes you cry, what makes your eyes roll back in your head, what makes you sputter and cough and gasp for the sweet air he’s depriving you of. 

Maybe you wish he would just strangle you to completion, instead of torturing you like this. Every time he lets you breathe it just makes the next instance of his huge hand around your throat that much worse. 

“Beg me to stop,” he hums against your ear, snaking tongue flicking at your soft dangling skin. 

You do. You beg, sweetly even. You beg for breath, which is something you never thought you’d have to do again after the freeing age of 18…and then after the horribly abusive first ex. 

But here you are. 

[7brownsuga7]

The God who answers after dark ☆

One - Remember:

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Summary: Time has slipped through your fingers since that last encounter with him—the one where he showed you a side of intimacy you hadn’t known before. His touch lingered long after he left, a haunting reminder of what it felt like to be close to someone in ways you couldn’t fully comprehend. You’ve tried to push it all aside, to erase the memory, but the ache of his absence runs deeper than you expected. Forgetting, you realize, only sharpens the memory, bringing it back with an intensity that leaves you torn between longing and pain. Every attempt to move on is met with flashes of that night, where your body remembered even when your mind resisted. The confusion wraps itself around you, a constant reminder of the vulnerability he exposed in you. You want to let it go, to find peace in his departure, but the harder you try to forget, the more vividly it returns. Remembering, it seems, is a cruel paradox—you cannot forget without confronting everything that you wish you could erase.

Tags&warnings: Jungkookxfemreader, fluff and a bit of smut if you would call it that?!?? Jungkook is obsessed with reader, a bit delusional. Flashbacks, descriptions of penetration. MDNI!!!

Word count: 2k+

Note: took me forever to post this, my bad lol I was procrastinating. Doesn’t have that much smut because idk I’m genuinely tired LOOL? I’m more for fluff nowadays.

Comment to be added to tag list

Tag list: @rutukn

The God who answers after dark ☆ series master list: Here ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

You found yourself waiting for the darkness.

Unsure of which one.

The one that lulls you towards a dreamfell night. Where you feel the most comfortable as the stars and moon shine through your window. Where you feel as if it’s just you, the world so still, so silent.

Or the one that races through your mind like water down/through a stream. That reminds you of the night itself. Everywhere you went he was there. You could feel him all around you just like the night you shared together.

He was in the air embracing you

He was the moon constantly changing, revealing different phases of himself with every passing day. He was the odd comfort you felt when you were out amongst the dark sky.

He was the darkness

You missed both.

Falling asleep before the night even came. And too stubborn to call out his name.

A name that you gave him once when you were younger, that he held onto years past that.

The night was as warm as his touch on you that night. The wind gentle like his hold on you. The breeze caressing your skin like how he did, so effortlessly, it felt right.

You’d never admit you was waiting for a particular presence, as much as you loved the night itself , you’ve grown accustomed to something more greater than that.

And even though you could still talk to the wind and the trees like you used to when you were young, it’s not the same as hearing his alluring voice sink into you.

You waited for him to come. Even though you were avoiding him, you hoped he wasn’t avoiding you.

You wonder if he never came because you never called for him. Or maybe because you’re just another human in his little game.

So you laid there reminiscing. Other times trying to forget. And even trying to keep those memories forever, as you wrote them in your diary.

And when day came you missed his presence, even though he still lingered around. The sun kissing your skin like how his soft lips once did.

You were angry because everything reminded you of him. You couldn’t escape him even if you tried.

So you tried to forget about that night. About him. You decided to forget it and only remember what life was like before.

But what was life like before?

He’s been around for most of it.

You aimed to distract yourself with any possible thing.

But how could you when you can still feel his touch lingering on your skin. Like a stubborn burn that stings and leaves a faint scar.

Before how he made you feel. Before you knew what a man’s touch felt like, what his touch felt like. Having him on you, all around you, inside you.

But he’s not a man…

He’s a thing, something so much greater than what you’ve imagined him to be. And that’s what you try to remind yourself, despite you trying to forget him as a whole.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

It was day again.

You’ve forgotten what night feels like. What it looks like. You miss watching the stars decorate the dark sky. You miss hearing the creatures of the night come out. You miss him… and you miss the quietness the night brought.

The quietness you wish you heard right now as you walk across the busy campus.

Your thoughts run wild, familiar and unfamiliar faces cross your path as you try to reach your destination.

You’re sure you’re loosing it when you feel a familiar presence walk beside you, and feel the familiar chill run down your spine when he says, “Out of all the humans I’ve come across, I always manage to find myself drawn back to you”

You look beside you, once a space of nothing but air now filled with none other than himself.

You’ve been avoiding him as much as you can since the last time you both saw each other. Since you last let him see you in a more vulnerable light.

You didn’t know how to deal with the situation, so you did what you did best and that was avoid.

“You’re not drawn back to me, you simply chose to be here. You can be anywhere in the world and you choose to be on a campus with me” you mutter bitterly.

“Your tone is distasteful y/n. Nothing like how sweet you sounded when you were calling for me”

You pause, stopping in your tracks when you catch the smirk on his face.

“We said we won’t speak about it”

“You said my love. I only make deals, not promises”

Not wanting to feed in to whatever he’s doing, you continue to walk. Not caring if he follows you or not. Still, you ignore the way you feel when you notice him swiftly make his way back beside you.

Time passes.

Just the sound of endless chatter between the people making their daily route, and the faint sound of cars passing by lingers between you two.

It’s nice. It’s not awkward like you had imagined. Tense yes, but when was there ever not tension between you two? It was just right. Like it had been before you both crossed that deadly line. The line you both saw but had never spoke about. The line you had always been curious about, whether you should cross it or not, or let it be just a mere thought you had that you tried to shove to the back of your mind, but would always make itself known whenever you laid in bed thinking of how it must feel to be touched.

“Do you know you’re the only person that’s ever given me a name?”

You peer at him, waiting for him to continue. Your eyes curious as you study the side of his face, wondering why he decided to say that.

His face carved and structured by none other than yourself, yet you always seem so surprised whenever you see him. So in awe at how one’s mind can create such a beautiful thing.

He continues, “I told you before that we don’t get given names, our only identity is the thing we are, the thing we own. For me it’s darkness. I used to love it, it held so much power. It made me feel like I was worth something. Not until you decided to call me-“

“Kook” you say. The name you gave him as a child feeling foreign on your lips. You hadn’t called him that in a long time, deciding to leave that name in the past.

“Kookie” he corrects.

“Hm, well I think you’ve grown out of that now” your tone holds the same bitterness as you continue walking the route to your class.

“I was waiting for you to call on me” his words linger in the air like the aroma of a freshly cooked dinner - warm, inviting, and comforting, making you feel instantly at home .

You’re not sure if you sense a hint of vulnerability hidden within his words. His words seeming more cautious as he continues, “I dont see you staying up anymore. You used to be perched by your bedroom window watching the sky, diary in your hand. Why not now?”

You ignore him choosing not to give him the satisfaction of hearing the truth.

You’ll ever admit that your favourite time of the day is night. That you feel less lonely during that time, less worried and less afraid. You’ll never admit that you look forward to a certain presence that accompanies you during that time.

You’ll never.

Even if he may already know, he’s a god after all.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” His hand catches yours, pulling you to a stop. His eyes are dark, waiting for you to answer him. They mimic the stars. It’s like you’re looking into a galaxy, his eyes holding so many unanswered questions, so many wishes and dreams. You feel yourself falling, falling in everything that is him.

Everything around you turns into night. You feel like you’re stepping on clouds as you get caught up in this little world. Just you and him.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” He asks again and you know it kills him to do that. Pride being one of his main traits.

There’s no escaping this. He’s trapped you.

There was only one other time he’s done this, created a space just for you and him, it’s when you were younger, he took your hand and brought you to this same place, the darkness. It was a way for you to escape your life for a while. He did it without a thought after seeing you cry to him, the hurt in you voice doing something to him that he’s never experienced before. That he’s sure only humans feel.

And now you’re here again, his whole presence surrounding you as his question lingers in the dark.

“Why did you leave?” You retort.

The corner of his mouth twitches, it’s typical of you to brush off his questions.

“That’s who I am. That’s what I do. I come and go. I’m not a constant, I obscure”.

You let his words sit with you, suffocate you, until they seep into your thoughts, twisting your perception, weighing you down with a heaviness you can’t shake.

You don’t blink when you say, “I didn’t call for you because just like you said, You come and go, you obscure. I needed clarity, not shadows” your voice comes out fainter than you had hoped.

You force yourself to look him in the eyes, the deep abyss of what you found yourself always looking forward to see. You didn’t think it was possible for them to darken, but they do, as well as everything around you.

“And yet you still seek those shadows. I know you look for me whenever you see them” his hand delicately brushes against your cheekbone, slowly making its way to caress your jaw. “My dear y/n, you fail to realise sometimes clarity isn’t always what you need. It’s the shadows that show you what’s truly there, hidden beneath the light.”

With his touch still on you, he leans in and whispers, “you seem to have forgotten, let me remind you”

And just like that memories of any intimate moment you both shared flashes around you, flooding your mind, surrounding you in a whirlwind of forgotten warmth. But was it really forgotten?

As the memories flood in, suddenly you're enveloped in the darkness of your room. The air between you crackles with unspoken longing. The world outside ceasing to exist as your eyes meet for a moment.

You blink as another memory hits. You reaching out fingers trailing lightly along the curve of his jaw, feeling the coolness of his skin under your touch. The darkness around you stills as his breath catches while he gently cups your face, his thumb brushes against your cheek with a tenderness that speaks volumes. The space between you two tightens, your breaths mingling as his lips brush yours, forming into a kiss that is soft and reassuring, filled with a promise of deeper want, need.

“Do you remember my love?”

How could you forget? The way your kisses deepened as you pulled him closer to you with your fingers threaded through his hair. The way your pussy would throb just from his mere presence alone. The way his fingers worked on your body, playing you like one of his instruments you know he loves.

He knew your body so well, even when you were still trying to figure it out yourself.

A flashback runs through your mind every few seconds. Filled with images and feelings of what was and what could have been.

His cock slowly fills you, stretching you, every inch making you feel how tightly your body grips him. He's the only one who's ever had you like this, the only one to feel your warmth, to claim every inch of you. You were so wet and ready. Your moans mix with his, rising together in a rhythm, a breathless symphony that fills the space between you. Each thrust draws out another note, a melody of shared pleasure, building in intensity as your bodies move in perfect harmony.

His scent surrounds you, rich and earthy, intoxicating in its rawness. He's everywhere— inside you, around you, filling every inch of your senses. His touch is light, almost ghostly, yet it leaves a trail of heat in its wake, making your skin tingle with anticipation. It's as if even the air between you hums with his presence, leaving you craving more.

You shiver, not from the cold but from the intensity of his gaze as his eyes roamed over you, drinking you in. His fingers brushing along your exposed skin. You remember the way your breath hitched when his mouth followed, hot and wet against your skin, his tongue flicking over your nipple in a way that made your back arch, pushing you closer to him.

His other hand, still on your waist, gripped you tighter, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you.

The feel of his cool, bare skin against yours was intoxicating, sending a wave of chills coursing through your body. Each slow, agonizing stroke made your breath hitch, your pulse quicken. Every touch, every movement, was a reminder of how deeply he held you captive-body, mind, and soul. His hands explored with deliberate slowness, as if he had all the time in the world, drawing out every sensation, every shiver. You could feel the weight of each moment, the way it lingered between you, an unspoken intensity building with each soft caress, until nothing else existed but the raw, electric connection.

Everything comes to a stop and you find your self short of breath, just like you were that night.

Your mind is a whirlwind, unable to distinguish between what's real and what's imagined. Between what you’ve lived and what you ache to relive. He’s left you tangled in confusion, unraveling every certainty you once had. He hasn’t just unsettled you—he’s undone you entirely. He’s confused you, he’s ruined you.

When you escape the chaos of your mind, seeking the comfort of his familiar eyes, you're pulled back to that night you shared—only to be left alone once more.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The God who answers after dark ☆

- mimi ☆

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

For me, the award for character growth has to go to Jin Xiaobao. 🥇

I know Huai’en has developed so much with regard to emotions—it’s like night and day going back to the first episodes—but overall he’s still mostly the same person. He was always smart, and his moral code was always questionable at best because of his upbringing. The biggest difference there now is that he cares about Xiaobao and makes decisions based on what will hurt him. He’s still okay with watching things burn or sacrificing himself if it will help Xiaobao, though. Not a criticism, just an observation. It’s not entirely fundamentally different from the early Huai’en who said that the world beyond his father’s plans wasn’t his concern and fought like he had a death wish.

Xiaobao, on the other hand, is fundamentally different. He has changed at all levels of development. Hear me out.

At the start, he would throw his affections at anybody who caught his eye in the moment and was extremely fickle. Now, he has been told people will set him up with lovely ladies so he can start a family at least twice, but he doesn’t entertain the notion because he knows there are bigger priorities, like his illness and taking care of his family and friends. Given that one of those offers came at the height of his disdain for Huai’en, it’s unlikely that it boils down to simply being lovesick, though that’s surely part of it. He’s been burned badly by that fickle attraction of his this time, so he’s far more discerning about his priorities. He doesn’t leap back into a relationship with Huai’en; even finding out about him giving up his title and getting the emperor to pardon them sent Xiaobao running to warn him about the trap, not running into his arms. His forgiveness isn’t so easily won anymore because instead of acting on a whim, he’s setting aside emotions and willfulness to emphasize prior experience. He knows his emotions and how he acts on them don’t just impact him anymore, so now his willfulness is tempered by his sense of responsibility.

On the subject of emotions, they were also far less stable and more manipulative before. If he didn’t get the responses he wanted, he’d toss a small fit, and his emotions could be like a rollercoaster at times. (“Pour me some water,” anyone?) He even planned to use that tendency to convince his mother their relationship was all right by turning on the waterworks. Now, he’s far more stable even with everything happening to him. By all accounts, this guy should be an absolute mess. He should have flipped his lid when Que Siming insinuated that he wanted to take Jinbao away—permanently. Instead, he doesn’t fly off the handle at things and takes a moment to think rather than base his responses on assumptions, especially self-centered ones.

Speaking of, he’s not at all self-centered anymore. He has repeatedly made mention of the fact that he can’t be a spoiled young master forever and that there is no going back for him. When confronting his feelings about Huai’en, he mentions his parents now being impoverished and homeless before his own struggles; he even talks about Xiaoyu being taken away and glosses over any sense of betrayal in their relationship in favor of focusing on the general betrayal of taking the account book. Even in moments when he could be justifiably angry with Su Yin for trying to keep him from doing whatever he wants with regard to Huai’en, he takes a step back and seems to consider why Su Yin is doing all this. He doesn’t expect Su Yin’s approach to change with his emotions or whims, given how unreliable he knows those have been before, and tailors his arguments to make it about logic and reason instead.

Another segue! Intellectually, Xiaobao has grown so much. On two occasions, he’s had to ask people to basically use smaller words; he passed the brain cell around with Jinbao and Zhaocai and was quite happy to take custody of it as seldom as possible. He still has moments where he doesn’t pick up on things, like not knowing his idioms or Su Yin’s sarcasm about selling Jinbao going right over his head, but he thinks now. He’s so insulated and protected that sometimes he needs a hint to spark his suspicions, but he thinks. All Que Siming had to say was “dahlia” and “Yuxia,” and Xiaobao was able to put together that something in Su Yin’s story didn’t add up. For someone who was teased about not understanding when he asked what Prince Li wanted Su Yin to return to Annan for, he’s repeatedly put together the intricacies of court politics in light of Huai’en’s identity and Su Yin’s plan with Shaoyu. His reaction is a culmination of all the aforementioned changes: not self-centered enough to make it about him even when he knows it really is, not overly emotional enough to be angry about it when he has plenty of reason, and smart enough to know how to address it in conversation. (Does it stop Su Yin from knocking him the hell out because he didn’t come this far for his little brother to hop back into what he perceives to be an abusive relationship? Nope, but you can see that it still means something to Su Yin to hear him speak that way all the same.)

I’m excited to read the book because a story like this really can’t be fully told in twelve episodes, but as far as his portrayal in the series goes, Xiaobao gets the gold medal in development for me. All of the characters have grown immensely from the start, but for me, Xiaobao is the one who has become the most well-rounded as a person through his experiences—including those unrelated to his relationship with Huai’en. He’s still the sunshine boy, but he knows when to rise and set now rather than burning himself and everyone around him out.

[daechwitatamic]

Of Ruin: Chapter 9 || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

//

Section Warnings: magical near-death experience, language, confrontation wc: 4.3k

Back in your rooms, you and Namjoon stand, each processing quietly and a bit lost in thought.

“You should try to get a little more sleep,” he finally suggests. “You need to be at your sharpest.”

You nod absently, but your mind is flying through everything you’d uncovered in the ritual.

“I need to write down what I found,” you say, but your eyes are closed and you feel yourself swaying a little. “Before I forget.”

“Sit down,” Namjoon instructs, moving to the table to find paper and a pen in the mess you’d left strewn there. “Tell me what you found and I’ll write it.”

You do as you’re told and then head to your room for a few hours to sleep, making sure to keep the lamp - which has been replaced already since your mishap this morning - lit as you do.

Not that light does anything to keep an Infracti away. But it helps your mind to not create monsters out of shadows.

You emerge hours later, a bit groggy but certainly steadier on your feet. Namjoon isn’t in the main rooms and his door is closed, so you leave him be.

You check the time - it’s late afternoon, the seconds ticking you closer to early evening - and settle onto a cushion near the papers you and Namjoon had been writing on.

You’re almost through writing a more organized document of what you’ve discerned since the beginning - the threads you’re absolutely certain of, the counters you think most likely to be fruitful - when Namjoon emerges from his room, eyes squinting against the light and one hand raking through messy bedhead.

“What time is it?” he mutters, making his way towards one of the couches.

You glance at the clock and realize that dinnertime has come and gone. “Late,” you say. “I forgot to eat. Are you hungry?”

You send for dinner and start to go over what you were working on while Namjoon slept.

“With the ritual done, I’m more confident that we’ve identified every thread,” you muse, eyes scanning the pages spread out before you. “So now it’s really a matter of finding the correct counters.”

“That’s a relief,” Namjoon says.

You run a finger down the page, looking for a note you’d made. “I was thinking about the end of life thing,” you tell him. “Weren’t you saying, back when we got here, that life and death magic can be used to weave other threads? Do you think the person who cast the curse used the end of life thread to… make it cleaner - simpler to cast?”

Namjoon doesn’t answer this right away, but keeps tapping his finger on the table, a sign that he’s thinking hard about this. 

“I don’t know,” he says finally, eyes still on the paper. “Definitely a possibility. So then, would they not have meant that they wanted him to die? Was that choice simply for casting purposes?”

It’s clear that Namjoon is simply thinking out loud, but you answer, “You’re the death magic expert. You tell me.”

He shakes his head. “There are dozens of other ways. It had to be deliberate.”

“Does it matter? In terms of the countercurse?”

He grimaces. “If they intended the end of life, we have to directly counter that. If it was chosen for casting only, we could work around it.”

He slides to the floor to sit opposite you, and you look together at the papers, and for a while you work like this - pointing at certain lines of text, jotting notes, crossing others out, drawing arrows connecting ideas - until the paper looks like a complete disaster. But it makes sense to the two of you, and that’s what matters.

You’re just about to wrap it up for the night when there’s a knock at the main door. Before you can rise, Satuel opens it and tells you, “The Prince would like a word.”

Prince Taehyung steps around her, and she retreats into the corridor, closing the door behind her. He looks drawn, troubled, but you’re struck - as usual - by his otherworldly beauty.

“I wanted to speak to the two of you,” he says quietly. He perches on the arm of the closest couch, long legs stretched out before him. “About what happened today.”

You and Namjoon exchange an uneasy look.

“My father sent a diplomatic team to the Scores,” he reports. “Their directive was to express that there was some sort of magical attack on the royal family, and to gauge the reaction. But it is not a direct accusation.”

You nod slowly, listening.

Prince Taehyung takes a deep breath and continues. “He also sent a team of spies,” he says carefully. “To see what they can uncover. The diplomats… their information may be useful, it may not. But if we are knocking on their front door to make inquiries, it will hopefully distract them from who is climbing through the window. So to speak.”

“Do you really think it was them?” you ask, hushed.

Prince Taehyung twists his mouth. “They do seem to be the most likely,” he admits. “But my personal feelings are more complicated. At any rate, I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on. An accusation was not made… but it would appear that they read it as one anyway. None of the families from the Scores attended our dinner tonight.”

You and Namjoon look at him in silence. You’re not sure you’re understanding - is it such a big deal that a few families didn’t show up for dinner?

“Invited guests haven’t just not shown without at least communicating in… my entire life, so over six hundred years,” Prince Taehyung clarifies.

“Oh,” you utter, feeling your stomach sink a little. “That’s… pretty bad, right?”

Suddenly the prince’s grim demeanor makes sense.

“It’s certainly a sign of trouble brewing,” the prince admits. “I wanted to let you know just… I don’t want you to be more frightened, and I promise you’re safe in these rooms… but you should know what’s going on.”

You take this in silently, glancing sideways at Namjoon. He looks just how you feel - nervous, on edge, but trying to keep a blank face in front of the prince.

“I’m sorry,” Prince Taehyung says emphatically, and you turn back to him. “I know you were already uneasy here. I don’t want to make it worse. But I felt very strongly that you should be kept informed.”

“No, I appreciate it,” you assure him. "We’ll be… even more careful. I guess this means no more trips to visit Potato?”

He smiles at this, a bit wryly. “I’m afraid not. At least for a few days. Let’s see how this shakes out. Maybe they’ll let tonight’s insult speak for itself, and we can all move on.”

“You don’t sound very optimistic about that possibility,” Namjoon remarks.

Prince Taehyung shrugs. “I wasn’t alive for any of the wars for power,” he admits. “But my parents, and those older than them - they remember. Thousands of years of bitter fighting, all for the throne.”

He sighs. “It was foolish of us, I’m sure, to think this peace would last - that one little pebble wouldn’t send the whole pile toppling. But it isn’t your problem. Where do we stand with the curse, after this morning’s ritual?”

You hurry to fill him in - that you’re feeling more confident that everything has been identified, and that your task now is to determine all the proper counters.

“How soon do you think you could make a reasonable attempt?” he asks, seeming to grasp without being told that the countercurses will come through trial and error.

You look down at your papers, as if they might provide an answer to this. It stings a little, that he’s hurrying you along. But you know how ridiculous it is for you to feel that way - of course he wants you to hurry. He wants the curse to end, he wants his life back, he wants to send you home to safety as tensions rise between the Infracti families.

“A day or two?” you guess finally.

Prince Taehyung nods. “Very well. I’ll be quite busy tomorrow, but I’ll make sure to check in.”

He wishes you both goodnight and departs through the main door, leaving you and Namjoon in tense silence.

“We do need to hurry,” he says quietly after a minute or two. “I have a feeling things are only going to get worse, here.”

“We can’t rush the process,” you argue, though at the heart of the issue you know you agree. “Sloppy magic equals death.”

“I’m not suggesting we do it sloppily,” Namjoon clarifies slowly, as if he is speaking a second language to you and needs to mentally translate each word first. And, in a way, that might be exactly what’s happening. “I’m not saying we have to be ready to go tomorrow. But things are becoming less safe, and that’s me saying that - not the team member who currently can’t sleep with the lights off.”

You feel your face heat. He’s right - of course he’s right. Things weren’t safe to begin with.

“I’m just saying that we need to keep trying to make forward progress,” he says seriously. “We can’t just spin our wheels.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, still embarrassed. “So… come on. Let’s figure out what we’ll try first.”

You settle back at the table, grabbing a pen, refusing to look up at Namjoon, who still watches you from where he’s standing. Eventually he joins you, and you work until near midnight, not stopping until you have three potential countercurses to try.

And then, when Namjoon disappears into his rooms, you slink into your own and practice defensive spells until you’re tired enough to curl up and try for sleep.

—

When you wake, late morning, you ask Satuel to inform the prince that you have countercurses you’re willing to try.

She comes back with your breakfast and news.

“The royal family will allow you to conduct an attempt at a countercurse in about an hour,” she tells you. “I’ll escort you when it’s time. They’re a bit wrapped up right now.”

You latch onto this, looking at her sharply. You don’t expect her to divulge anything, and you’re surprised when she glances over her shoulder and then lowers her voice as she sets down your breakfast tray.

“The Scores’ diplomatic team returned early this morning with a message,” she whispers. “Essentially, publicly objecting to any implication that they would, or did, orchestrate any kind of attack against the Runes.”

“Of course they object,” you say, reaching for the pot of coffee before she’s even placed the tray down. “Why would they admit it, even if it was them? They aren’t that stupid.”

“Maybe they are,” she mutters, voice even quieter. You strain to hear her. “They also made a public statement against the King.”

You sit back, coffee pot forgotten, looking at her with wide eyes. “They what?”

She nods, her own black eyes wide like yours. It seems this news has rattled her - something that’s shocking to see.

“What kind of statement?” you ask.

She glances towards the door again, and then smiles sheepishly when she notices you clocking this. “It isn’t a secret,” she explains. “I just don’t want to be misunderstood as gossiping. You are living here, for now. This affects you, too.”

She takes a deep breath and tells you, “The Scores, backed by the Cleaves and two other powerful families, have sent a joint statement accusing the crown of conspiracy, corruption, and the unlawful murder of humans.”

Your blood runs cold, and you press your palms to the tabletop to ground yourself. “Could… Do you think there’s truth to it?”

Satuel presses her lips together. “I am loyal to the crown,” she says, which is not an answer at all.

Or maybe it is.

You’re thinking, suddenly, of those videos your students had been watching back home, how they had been explaining a newsroom theory that there were orchestrated attacks happening.

You’re thinking of Prince Taehyung telling you his family had covered up his murders, wiped memories and erased entire lives from the world’s history.

You’re thinking that such accusations could not possibly be lightly made.

You’re thinking of Namjoon, back in Dr. Kim’s office on campus, saying the words Infracti Civil War.

Your skin crawls.

Satuel seems to understand.

“You’re safe as long as you’re in your rooms,” she promises. “As long as you’re with me, or Dansoo, or the prince - you’re safe.”

You note that she doesn’t list the King or Queen.

An hour later, you and Namjoon follow her through the palace, with Dansoo bringing up the rear. They take you back to the room where you’d tried the first cure, less than a week ago, when Prince Taehyung had been very nearly knocked out.

It feels different this time. You feel the weight of expectation as the King and Queen watch you impassively. You’re sure they’re remembering the last attempt - their son’s legs giving out, your own meager attempts to explain why it hadn’t been a complete failure.

That’s fine - you don’t care if they trust you. You don’t trust them - you barely did to begin with, and that sliver has only gotten smaller and smaller in the time you’ve been here.

The last time you’d tried a countercurse, you’d known that the chances were very slim that it would work - the best you’d been hoping for had been more information.

This time, it could work. It could.

Prince Taehyung faces you, frowning slightly.

“It won’t hurt you this time,” you promise him quietly, and a corner of his mouth quirks, amused at being read correctly.

Do you trust him? The question pops into your head unbidden.

You flatten your hands over the paper in front of you, scanning the list of incantations meant to call forth his magic, his healing, his life and twist them into a weapon. You double-check that each thread is accounted for. You repeat the trickier phrases, letting your tongue get accustomed to them.

You watch the prince shift nervously, still frowning slightly, his hands defensively shoved into his pockets. When he notices you still watching him, he gives a tiny, sheepish smile, something almost shy in it.

Yeah, you think. Maybe it will be your undoing, maybe it will be your downfall. But you do.

You wish you could talk to him before this - alone, without the audience of his parents and Namjoon. You want to ask him about the Scores, you want to reassure him that he’s going to be okay.

“Are you ready, Maiesti?” you ask gently, doing your best to pretend it’s only you and him.

He licks his lips nervously and nods, stepping closer.

You glance at Namjoon, suddenly nervous, and he gives you a reassuring nod. You ignore the King and Queen, wishing they weren’t there at all.

“Okay,” you whisper, holding up a hand. Taehyung presses his palm to yours, cool and solid. “Okay, let’s go.”

You begin the series of spells a bit unsteadily, your voice small and nervous. But it takes less than two minutes for your magic to rise up, filling you with warmth and purpose and confidence. You continue, emboldened.

You feel your magic touch Taehyung’s, a bit hesitantly at first, and then entwining itself easily and happily, as if they fit perfectly together and only needed to settle in.

You continue chanting, eyes scanning the words slowly so you don’t mess up. You can feel it working, can feel the curse resisting - but your choices seem to be correct, and you can feel the curse unraveling, weakening, thread by thread as the countercurse peels them away.

You feel a thrill within you as you recognize success, and you struggle to remain calm, lest you slip on a word and let it all go to waste. Taehyung’s hand twitches against yours, and you wonder if he can feel it too - the curse loosening its grip, bit by bit. You want to watch his face, want to watch him realize it, want to see him the second he’s set free.

You want to smile at him, victorious, proud, so happy to give him what he needs.

You cannot take your eyes off the paper. You cannot miss a syllable.

Something tugs low in your stomach, and the thrill vanishes faster than light. You continue speaking, following the words on the page, but you feel your eyes widen.

The tug comes again.

The curse is fighting back. The unraveling you could feel suddenly feels stuck, snagged. Something isn’t right. Something isn’t right.

You’ve made a mistake, you’ve missed something.

You hear your voice catch and freeze as your limbs go rigid. The curse crawls into your magic, digs its claws in. You cry out in pain, eyes squeezing shut.

You think you hear someone call your name - you can’t tell. You’re trying to unravel your magic from Taehyung’s, to get distance between yourself and the curse, to wiggle free from those claws of ill-intent.

You can’t seem to. You can feel it taking over and you try to force your eyes open, to ask for help, but you can’t see anymore - the room is black, and all you hear now is the roar of static in your ears.

You feel the room shift, a pain in your shoulder. You may have fallen - you can’t see so you can’t be sure. You gasp for breath, but you’re finding it harder. You’re not sure it’s working, you can’t tell if you’re inhaling, you can’t feel the exhale.

Then, the pain stops, the panic stops, the static goes quiet.

You can’t feel anything anymore, good nor bad.

All you can hear is crashing ocean waves, the wild whinnies of amarisca as they gallop into the sea.

—

Taehyung sits at your bedside - the side of his bed, technically - your fragile, mortal hand in his.

Mostly, you seem to be sleeping peacefully, and Taehyung tries to have faith in his own healing abilities, in Namjoon’s promises that he’d severed the magical connection in time. But every now and then your body shudders, as if working hard to expel a poison, and it makes Taehyung’s chest clench every time. He hunches over, smoothing back your hair, listening to your heart thump faster and then quiet again as your body stills.

All he can do is listen to your heart.

–

It was a year ago, when he’d found everything out. He’d been nauseous, damn near dizzy from the knowledge: his own father, orchestrating attacks on the human world. Covering the tracks. Framing other families.

How many innocent lives had he allowed to be lost? Knowingly - purposely?

The better question was why. And Taehyung hated unanswered questions.

He’d found his father in his wing, luckily alone.

King Sunjae had raised his brows, surprised to see his son, unannounced.

“What brings you here?” he’d asked.

Taehyung had felt hollow, heavy. This truth was too terrible to bear. He didn’t want to lay this accusation at his father’s feet. He didn’t want to argue against denials. He didn’t want to demand answers, reasons.

He wanted to be able to turn back time, to never let this happen at all. He wanted to sleep comfortably at night knowing his own negligence wasn’t to blame, that his inattention hadn’t let this come to pass without his knowledge, for who knows how long.

He couldn’t make himself speak, couldn’t force the words off of his tongue. In the time he was silent, the King seemed to piece it together, his expression darkening.

“Don’t make trouble, Taehyung,” he’d warned.

Taehyung had closed his eyes, shook his head. He’d wondered if ghosts were real, if his father could be haunted by the humans he had lowered into prey.

“I want to know the reason,” he’d finally said, his voice effectless.

His father had seemed thrown off that Taehyung had bygone any actual accusation. It wasn’t necessary, Taehyung thought. They both knew what they knew.

The King laughed once, sardonically. “You’ve always been innocent,” he’d scoffed. “That’s why I never involved you in this. Go back to your rooms, Taehyung, go back to playing piano and riding amarisca and whatever else it is you concern yourself with. I’ll handle the matters of state, as I always have.”

Taehyung swallowed against the assaulting words, the weight of their truth. He shook his head. “I need to know the reason.”

The King was silent for a long time. Then, finally, he turned away from his son, pacing closer to the window, which overlooked much of the valley below.

“For us,” he’d answered, and Taehyung had stared at his back, trying desperately to understand. “For the throne.”

“That’s bullshit,” Taehyung had said, nearly gagging over the word, stomach twisting with disgust and regret and horror and devastation. “Our power is not in danger. Our throne is not in danger.”

“You’re naive. It’s not your fault - you’re young. You weren’t alive for the wars - thousands of years of war, Taehyung, the crown bouncing from Cleave, to Score, to Rune, around and around - but I was. They were bloody, they were unending. Humans died for our wars as much as Infracti. The throne is always in danger, my son. It will always be in danger.”

“How can you think that?” Taehyung demanded hotly. “The law is written entirely in our favor - the crown stays in our bloodline. There’s no wiggle room, there’s no loophole. And our bloodline is fine.”

“Is it?” the King retorted. “After me, the crown is yours. Then, what? You’re over six hundred years old, Taehyung, and you’ve never brought forth a serious consideration for your queen.”

“Is that what this is about?” Taehyung had cried, even more aghast than he’d started. “I’ll marry - is that what you want? I’ll marry tomorrow if it means you’ll stop.”

The King had scoffed again, finally turning to face him, his expression radiating disappointment. Well, Taehyung was no stranger to that - not after six hundred years. “You aren’t serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” Taehyung had said, and meant every word. He’d beg if he had to beg, he’d cheat if he had to cheat, he’d marry if he had to marry - anything to stop his father. “It has to stop. This can’t be what we stand for. You can end it, or I will end it - and I don’t care how that happens.”

“Quit talking nonsense,” the King had snapped, eyes narrowed.

“I mean every word,” Taehyung had said, his undead heart galloping in his chest. “Our people were once only animals. Time and time again through history we have wavered, flirting with becoming simply the animal again. You want to secure the Runes’ hold on the throne? I want to secure the Runes’ humanity. If you need me to marry, I’ll marry. You have to stop this. Swear it.”

The King had looked at him for a long time, appraising, evaluating. Finally, very seriously he said, “If you’ll start looking for a wife - seriously looking - then I’ll put a stop to it today. But I have to see you trying.”

Taehyung had spent the next year courting the girls his father picked out. He’d meant his promise, but none of them touched him, none of them spoke to his soul.

Then you had shown up - braver than anyone he’d ever meant, so powerful it was scary, humble, and mouthy, and foolish, and alive - and when his father had suggested he keep you around… he hadn’t hated the idea.

He could see you as queen. He could see you by his side.

He just had to keep you alive long enough to see how you’d feel about the idea.

It was proving to be harder than he’d thought.

—

You come back bit by bit.

You can feel again first. Your shoulder throbs, and your head is splitting. You feel unbearable thirst, like you haven’t had water in days.

You feel someone’s hand clutching yours, feel their grasp tighten when you wiggle your fingers in theirs.

Then, you can hear again - the ocean waves are still breaking, distantly. The murmur of low, familiar voices. You hear someone say your name, deep and sweet, like your own little song.

Then, not much later, your sight returns - blurry, coming into focus as you blink against the sudden brightness.

At first, all you can see is purple sky. You turn your head to see your hand resting on top of the heavy comforter.

It occurs to you that this is not your bed. It is large, comfortable, facing a wall of windows - this is how you could see so much sky.

The hand holding yours retreats, and you follow the movement as you flex your now-empty fingers.

Prince Taehyung peers at you, face drawn. There is no one else in the room with you.

For a moment, just for a second, you feel like you are looking at each other simply person to person - your roles, your duties, your prejudices, your wants and needs, your fears… all the things that you each carry every time you spend time together, they seem to be held at bay. Just for now.

“Is it true?” you ask him. You’re not sure why this is the question you ask. “Is any of it true?”

His eyes - humanlike, as always, although it is a lie - stay on yours as he slowly nods. “Yes,” he whispers. “But don’t worry. I’ve been trying to fix it since before you came. I’m going to make it better.”

You’d said almost the same words to him, about his curse.

He takes your hand again, and you inhale sharply.

He lets out a huff of a quiet laugh. “I really thought we’d lost you,” he murmurs. Then, he brings your hand to his mouth and presses his lips gently to the back of your hand.

For one terrifying, lightning-quick second, you thought he was going to bite you.

This is your last thought before things go dark once again.

<;- Prev | Next ->

thanks so much for reading!!! the next few chapters are among my faves :') looking forward to posting!

[lowkeyrobin]

Mike wheeler with a trans bf? It would be weird at first for him, not because the reader is trans or something, maybe because the reader is a man (Mike would consider him a man, btw) and then Mike with his internalized homophobia and that would stop a little bit until he finally accepts himself having a nice relationship with the reader

oooo yesss!! ; thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy!!! ; also sorry that this is so like not great, I tried it's just like idk LMAO I didn't have many ideas where to take it ig?

MIKE WHEELER ; transgender

summary ; Mike's internalized homophobia almost ruins your relationship

warnings ; language, internalized homophobia

disclaimers ; reader uses he/him

word count ; 700

masterlist

Mike loved you, more than anything in the world even. He'd go to Hell and back to protect you, to honor you, he'd let the world burn for you.

But he'd been having some issues after you'd come out to him.

It didn't involve you or your new identity in any way, he still loved you whether you were a boy or a girl, he didn't care.

It was more of issues involving him instead.

He wasn't homophobic, so to say, he didn't have a problem with Will being gay, or you, for that matter. It was more so he had a problem with himself being gay.

He didn't know why he felt so disgusted when he thought of it now, that he was dating a boy. He was making out with a boy. He loved a boy and he was a boy.

After a while, he'd grown distant. He'd make up excuses not to hang out with you, just to avoid the fact that his internalized homophobia for himself was eating him inside out.

"Oh, me and Dustin have D&D tonight"

"I can tag along?"

"It's fine, bye"

"Lucas and I have plans"

"What plans?"

"Plans that were scheduled"

"Max and I have to study for a geometry test"

"Can I come?"

"No"

You'd had enough after he tried canceling on your movie night. You already rented the VHS, you had the snacks ready, you had your whole bedroom set up and then he had to call with some excuse that he was sick. You couldn't even remember the last time you'd seen his face, weeks, maybe a month by now.

"Micheal Wheeler, you get to this fucking house before I find you playing Atari at home with a bunch of chip bags around you."

"Yes, sir"

Safe to say he was biking over to your house ASAP. When Karen saw him walking down the stairs, she asked why he wasn't already at your movie night, which he replied with, "Just running late." Mhm.

You instantly sat him down, his head tilted down, a look of shame on his face. You sit on the bed next to him, reassuring him that there was no anger behind your words, just worry and concern.

"Dude, what's wrong? You've been making excuses for weeks to not hang out with me. Do you wanna break up because I transitioned? You don't have to stay with me if you don't want to, or if you're not gay," you speak, trying to find any thought behind his eyes.

He quickly looks up, an almost hurt look in his eyes. "No, no, I still wanna be with you. It's just, like, it's hard"

"Hard?" You question. "I haven't seen your face in a month, like, literally, you were fine for one then didn't wanna see me for another, Mike"

He looks down at his fidgeting fingers resting in his lap. He looks nearly scared of you, yet more scared of confronting his feelings.

"I don't care that you're a boy, in a sense, I care that I'm a boy. I care that we are boys doing this, and..." He pauses. "I don't know how to accept myself, I think"

Your eyes soften as you pull him into a hug. "I'm sorry"

"Sorry for what?" He asks, a little confused as he shakily rests his hands on your back, having not expected the hug.

"Making you feel like you couldn't come to me to talk-"

"No, no, I promise I would've talked to you! It's just a little hard when you aren't actually the third party, and I didn't really know how to... yknow?"

You nod. "Can we still be together?"

He nods. "I just... need to get used to being gay, I guess" He shrugs, "It's not like, I ever really realized it before now. Like, I promise I see you as a dude, cause you are, it's just-"

"Yeah." You cut off his rambling with an understanding smile and nod. "It's okay, I'm sorry"

"Cool"

"Cool..."

"Wanna watch that movie now?"

"Yeah, why not, you're already here"

"I'm gay," He mutters in a tone of realization and acceptance.

"Welcome to the club, Queerler"

[zapreportsblog]

Reader is a vampire who got her heart broken and went to the Volturi to try and get herself killed because of it, but she was so upset she failed to realize the spark she felt with the kings.

❝the flame that burns for you❞

✭ pairing : volturi kings x reader

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : (y/n) has her heart broken by a male who she thought out to be her mate turns out that was simply a mind trick he played on her to think, thinking she was to go without a true mate she seeks out the volturi to end her misery but blinded by sadness she doesn’t see the bond in the makings 

✭ twilight masterlist 2

The night was cool, and the moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows through the dense forest. (Y/N) moved silently through the trees, her senses sharp and keen. As a vampire, hunting was a necessity, and she had grown skilled at it over the centuries. Her crimson eyes scanned the darkness, searching for the telltale signs of prey.

But tonight, her thoughts were not solely focused on the hunt. She couldn't shake the unease that had settled in her chest since earlier in the evening. Leo, her vampire lover, had been acting strangely lately, distant and secretive. She couldn't pinpoint the source of his change in behavior, but it gnawed at her.

Eventually, (Y/N)'s hunt proved successful, and she returned to the secluded cabin she shared with Leo. She pushed through the creaky wooden door, her senses still on high alert. The scent of another woman hung heavily in the air, a scent she recognized all too well.

As she stepped further into the dimly lit cabin, her heart pounded in her chest. There, in their shared bedroom, she found Leo entangled with another woman, their bodies pressed together in an intimate embrace. (Y/N)'s voice trembled as she whispered his name, her world crumbling around her.

"Leo..."

Leo pulled away from the other woman, his eyes widening in shock as he turned to face (Y/N). Guilt etched across his features, but there was something else there, something sinister.

"(Y/N), I can explain," he stammered, but she couldn't bear to hear his excuses.

Tears welled up in her crimson eyes as she confronted him. "I trusted you, Leo. I thought we were mates, bound for eternity."

Leo's gaze shifted away from hers, and a cruel smile played at his lips. "Ah, yes, about that," he said, his voice dripping with deceit. "You see, I used my ability to force those thoughts into your mind. We were never true mates, (Y/N)."

Her heart shattered as Leo's confession hung in the air. All this time, she had believed in their love, in their eternal bond, and it had all been a lie. The tears spilled down her pale cheeks as she realized the depth of his betrayal.

"You're lying," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why, Leo? Why would you do this to me?"

Leo's smile widened, his true nature revealed. "Because, my dear (Y/N), I grew tired of you. It was time for a change, a new companion."

Her world collapsed around her, and she turned away from him, unable to bear the sight of the vampire she had thought was her mate. In that moment, she felt utterly alone, her heartache too much to bear.

Without another word, she fled the cabin, her mind consumed by despair and a newfound determination. She had lost everything, even the belief in her true mate. With nothing left to live for, she made a fateful decision.

She would seek out the Volturi, the ancient vampire council, and ask for the ultimate release from her immortal existence. For (Y/N) believed that without a true mate, her eternity was meaningless, and she would rather face the cold embrace of death than live with the agony of betrayal.

The grand halls of the Volturi castle were as imposing as the legends suggested. (Y/N) stood before the towering doors, her heart heavy with despair, as she awaited her audience with the three vampire kings. She had traveled a long, lonely journey to reach this point, and now she could only hope that they would grant her request for death.

Finally, the massive doors creaked open, revealing the regal figures of Aro, Caius, and Marcus, the rulers of the Volturi. (Y/N) stepped inside, her eyes locking onto Aro's penetrating gaze. She felt vulnerable and exposed under his scrutiny, but there was no turning back now.

"I have come to seek an audience," she said, her voice steady but laced with desperation.

Aro, his eyes gleaming with curiosity, gestured for her to approach. "Of course, my dear. What brings you to our doorstep?"

(Y/N) took a deep breath, her resolve firm, as she spoke her darkest desire. "I seek death, my lords. Please, end my immortal existence."

The three kings exchanged glances, and Caius, with a trace of disdain, remarked, "And why should we grant such a request? You have committed no crimes worthy of death."

Desperation clawed at her, and (Y/N) explained, "I have exposed our kind to humans. I led them to our presence before hunting them. I have brought shame upon our kind."

Aro's eyes lit up with intrigue as he leaned in closer. "Tell us more, my dear. How did you expose us?"

With a heavy heart, (Y/N) recounted the events that had transpired with Leo, the man she had believed to be her mate. She told of how they had shown themselves to humans before feeding on them, their reckless actions endangering the secrecy of the vampire world.

Aro listened intently, and when she finished, he spoke, "Indeed, this is a grave transgression. However, my dear, it is not you who killed those humans, but your mate. By our laws, you are not directly responsible."

(Y/N)'s hope dwindled as Aro continued, "And as for your request for death, we cannot grant it. Your actions, while reckless, do not warrant such a punishment."

Tears welled up in her crimson eyes, and she looked down, defeated. "Then what am I to do? I cannot bear the weight of my existence any longer."

It was Marcus who had remained silent throughout the exchange, his thoughtful gaze fixed on (Y/N). Suddenly, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper, "Aro, there is something I see."

Aro turned to Marcus, his interest piqued. "What do you see, my brother?"

Marcus gestured towards (Y/N), and his eyes met Aro's with a knowing look. "I see a bond forming, a connection between her and us, Aro."

Aro's eyes widened with realization, and he nodded slowly. "You are right, Marcus. There is an unseen bond, a unique connection between us."

(Y/N) was bewildered, unable to comprehend what they were discussing. "What are you talking about?"

Aro smiled, though it held a hint of mystery. "My dear, we have decided not to grant your request for death, but we will not tell you why. There is something about you, a connection that has intrigued us. You may stay with us, and we shall monitor this bond closely."

Confusion and uncertainty swirled within (Y/N), but she had little choice but to accept their decision. She had come seeking an end to her existence, and now she was tethered to the enigmatic Volturi kings, with a destiny she could not fathom.

As (Y/N) resigned herself to her fate, the bond between herself, Aro, Caius, and Marcus continued to strengthen, its purpose shrouded in secrecy and uncertainty, a mystery that would reshape her eternity in ways she could never have imagined.

Days turned into weeks within the chambers the Volturi had granted (Y/N). She had become a ghost of her former self, plagued by the weight of her existence and the enigmatic bond she shared with Aro, Caius, and Marcus. She couldn't understand why they kept her around, why they refused to grant her the death she so desperately craved.

Depression had settled in her heart like a never-ending storm, chaining her to the dark solitude of her chambers. She had little reason to venture beyond those walls, for her existence had become a relentless torment.

One gloomy evening, (Y/N) made a decision that would shatter the fragile status quo. She slipped out of her chambers and into the dimly lit corridors of the Volturi castle. Her crimson eyes, devoid of hope, glistened with tears as she walked towards the imposing front gates. She intended to reveal herself to the world, to expose her vampire nature, and force the Volturi's hand to end her suffering.

As she stepped into the moonlight just beyond the castle's entrance, a cold, iron grip seized her by the arm. Before she could react, Caius had her pinned to the castle wall with inhuman strength. Marcus and Aro appeared swiftly, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.

Aro's voice carried a tone of confusion as he asked, "My dear (Y/N), why would you do such a thing?"

Tears streamed down her face as she choked out the painful truth. "I wished for you to have a crime to kill me for. To end this misery."

Marcus, usually serene and detached, grew serious. "You must not endanger yourself like that again."

"Why?" (Y/N) cried out in despair. "What is the point of keeping me here, torturing me with this existence?"

Caius, his voice harsh and unforgiving, finally spoke, "Because we are mates."

(Y/N) froze, her mind struggling to process the words. "What...what do you mean?"

Aro, always the one to explain, took a step forward. "When you first came to us seeking death, Marcus saw a bond forming between the four of us. A connection that defies explanation. That is why we keep you here."

Tears welled up in her crimson eyes once more, but this time it was disbelief that washed over her. "It's another mind trick, isn't it? A way to keep me here, to torment me further."

Marcus's voice held an uncharacteristic warmth as he assured her, "No, (Y/N), it is not a trick. We may not fully understand it ourselves, but this bond is real. We are connected, and that is why we cannot let you go."

Aro continued, "We believe that this bond serves a purpose, one that we are meant to discover together."

Overwhelmed by conflicting emotions, (Y/N) struggled to accept this revelation. She had come seeking an end to her existence, only to discover that her destiny was inexplicably tied to the enigmatic Volturi kings. As they surrounded her, their faces filled with a strange mixture of determination and compassion, she couldn't help but wonder what awaited them all in this unforeseen journey of their immortal lives.

Centuries had passed since (Y/N) had discovered her inexplicable bond with the Volturi kings, Aro, Caius, and Marcus. Their unique connection had grown stronger with time, forging a sense of unity that transcended the boundaries of conventional vampire relationships. Yet, one desire continued to linger in (Y/N)'s immortal heart—a longing for a family of their own.

However, the cruel irony of their existence was that vampires could not procreate, and so (Y/N) had resigned herself to the reality that they would never have children. It was a source of sorrow that cast a shadow over their otherwise harmonious existence.

But the Volturi kings were not ones to accept defeat easily. Their power and influence extended far and wide, and they were well aware of the extraordinary circumstances that had allowed Edward and Bella Cullen to conceive a child. It was a vampire-human hybrid, a rarity that defied nature itself.

One moonless night, the three kings convened in their chambers, their minds focused on a daring plan that could grant (Y/N)'s deepest wish. They had watched humans for months, identifying three women who lived on the fringes of society, with no family or loved ones to speak of.

Aro, his eyes gleaming with ambition, explained their audacious plan. "We shall offer these women unimaginable riches and comfort in exchange for their cooperation in carrying our children."

Caius, ever the pragmatist, added, "They mustn’t know that this childbirth will claim their lives. They will bear vampire-human hybrid children, a feat that defies nature and carries a heavy price."

Marcus, the most reserved of the trio, nodded in agreement. "As long as we must ensure that (Y/N)'s dream of a family is fulfilled."

With their plan firmly in place, the Volturi kings set out to find the three chosen women. They were drawn from the darkness of the streets with promises of wealth and luxury, but with full disclosure of the mortal peril that awaited them.

The women, each facing their own desperate circumstances, agreed to the pact. For them, the lure of riches and a comfortable life was too tempting to resist, even if the circumstances were unnatural.

As the months passed, (Y/N) watched over the three women, their bellies growing with the unnatural life they carried within them. The bond between her and the Volturi kings deepened, as they shared the anticipation of their unconventional family's arrival.

The day of the births arrived, and the Volturi kings were present, their power ensuring a safe and painless delivery for the women. Yet, as the first cry of a hybrid infant echoed through the room, a solemn truth hung in the air—the women had fulfilled their part of the bargain, but their mortal lives had come to an end.

As the women's life forces faded, their final breaths marked the beginning of a new chapter for (Y/N) and the Volturi kings. They had achieved the impossible, a family that defied the laws of nature itself.

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a soft glow over the chambers where (Y/N) and her three children, Hades, Rosemary, and Juliet, were gathered. It was a nightly ritual, a moment of connection and comfort as they settled in for a bedtime story.

Hades, with his ebony hair and piercing red eyes like his father Caius, nestled close to his mother. Rosemary, her dark hair cascading in waves like Marcus, and Juliet, with Aro's striking features, eagerly awaited their mother's story. They had always wondered why they looked different from their beloved mother.

(Y/N) smiled down at her inquisitive children and began her tale. "Once upon a time, my dear children, your fathers and I longed for a family, just like this one. But, you see, I am a vampire, and vampires cannot have children."

Hades, Rosemary, and Juliet exchanged curious glances, their young minds eager for the story to unfold.

"We knew we needed help from something greater than ourselves," (Y/N) continued, "so we asked the gods above for a miracle. The gods listened to our plea and decided to create you, my precious triplets."

The children's eyes widened with wonder, and Hades asked, "How did the gods make us, Mother?"

"They sculpted you from clay, molding each of you with care," (Y/N) explained. "They gave you looks that matched your fathers, so you would carry their essence within you."

Rosemary, her gift resembling Marcus's but with a unique twist, interjected, "Does that mean that our other sibling will look like you then someday, Mother?"

(Y/N) blinked in confusion, not aware of any such plans. "Another sibling? I'm not sure what you mean, my dear."

Hades, with his unusual ability to grant wishes, smiled warmly. "I wished for a sibling, Mother. I know I am not suppose to use my abilities but I couldn’t help it mama.”

Understanding dawned on (Y/N)'s face as she placed her hand over her stomach, a mixture of surprise and joy washing over her. "You wished for a sibling?"

The children nodded enthusiastically, and Rosemary added, "And the gods listened, just like they did for us."

A wave of emotion overcame (Y/N) as she realized the profound love and unity that bound her unique family together. She had longed for a family, and now, through a combination of divine intervention and her children's wishes, she was about to experience the joy of motherhood once more.

With a radiant smile, she whispered, "Yes, my darlings, it seems you will have another sibling soon, and this time, it will be a gift from your brother Hades and the gods who watch over us."

As (Y/N) tucked her three children into their beds, their hearts filled with excitement and anticipation for the arrival of a new member of their extraordinary family. The gods had indeed smiled upon them, bestowing them with a love that transcended the boundaries of existence.

(Y/N) gathered her three mates after three days of avoiding them. Aro, Caius, and Marcus, in their private chambers to share the astonishing news. The air was heavy with tension and curiosity as she began to speak.

"I have something incredible to tell you all," she began, her voice filled with awe. "Hades, our dear son, used his unique ability to make a wish."

The three Volturi kings exchanged puzzled glances. "A wish?" Aro inquired, intrigued.

(Y/N) nodded, her eyes shining with pride. "Yes, he wished for a sibling, a brother or sister to join our family."

Caius raised an eyebrow, skepticism in his gaze. "But, my love, we are vampires. We cannot conceive children."

A mischievous smile played on (Y/N)'s lips. "That's the remarkable part. Unlike a regular pregnancy, I have come to find out that I had only been pregnant for three days."

Aro's eyes widened with astonishment, and Marcus, usually the most reserved of the trio, leaned forward in anticipation. "Three days? How is that even possible?"

(Y/N) explained, "Just as our transformation into vampires takes three days, this pregnancy was swift, almost like a supernatural event. And now, I have given birth to our newest addition."

With that, she unveiled a small bundle in her arms, revealing a beautiful baby boy with the softest, snow-white hair any of them had ever seen. His pure appearance was a stark contrast to the vampiric features of his siblings.

Caius, Marcus, and Aro stared in awe at the newborn, their initial skepticism giving way to profound wonder and love. The bond that connected them all was as strong as ever, and they welcomed the newest member of their unique family with open hearts.

Hades, who had been waiting anxiously outside the chambers, entered and joined his mothers, his eyes filled with pride. "I wished for his existence, so I get to pick his name right?”

His three fathers exchanged amused glances and nodded in agreement. "Very well, Hades," Aro said, "What shall we name him?"

Hades grinned and announced proudly, "I name him 'Sunny,' because he brings light to our lives, and he's different from all of us, like a ray of sunshine."

The name 'Sunny' was met with smiles and nods of approval, and they all took turns cradling the precious newborn in their arms. Sunny's arrival had defied all expectations, but he was a cherished addition to their family, a symbol of the love and unity that bound them together.

In the days that followed, Hades proudly introduced his new baby brother to Rosemary and Juliet, who showered Sunny with affection and adoration. The Volturi castle echoed with the laughter and joy of their growing family, as they reveled in the miracle of Sunny's existence.

For (Y/N) and her mates, their family was like no other in the vampire world—a testament to the extraordinary bonds of love, sacrifice, and the unexpected miracles that could unfold even in their immortal lives.

[itspotatocatto]

100 epitaphs analysis rambles

mostly centered around symbolism of sanya's outfit changes but also touching on the baseball bat, the convergence cables, and a few strike 3 line retrospectives. (had to put it under the cut because it accidentally got really long, whoopsies!)

the two main outfits we see sanya in are her short yellow and black outfit with her hair down (which i will be referring to as "gymkid outfit") and her longer black and white outfit with her hair tied up (which i will refer to as "punk outfit").

in sanya's gymkid outfit we see her helplessness and youth, from the first time yura took her out to party [false disposition] to how she lays down seemingly caught in a grieving immobility. in her punk outfit however we see her defiance and her attempts to be "mature", raising the bat to protect KT when they first meet [parties are for losers] to her irreverent laughter while "a candle burns another photograph".

in convergence we see how yura views the cables binding the characters central to his plan of saving KT, sanya is here in her gymkid outfit, as much as he cares for her she's still a helpless kid getting tied up and held back by all that's going on. but in 100 epitaphs we see how sanya views this situation, seemingly accepting the cables and embracing them. she welcomes them, they don't restrict her, they comfort her, enabling her to get stronger, to be better at fighting the world.

also take note of the baseball bat, in convergence she isn't touching it but still tied up with her, out of reach but inescapable. whereas, in 100 epitaphs we see and hear how yura taking the bat in his hand kicks up the music, that audible ignition of firey rebel spirit, and when the cables enwrap her she wraps herself around the bat, holding it tight to her, refusing to let it go, that symbol of anything and everything she might be able to do to change things, to use what little power she has and release the frustration she's built up against the cruelty of the world.

this outfit symbolism is also shown in how sanya was wearing her gymkid outfit while she was on call with yura during the "negotiations" in convergence. she had very little actionable power in that situation, her presence was concealed and then almost immediately forcibly removed as soon as it was revealed. even down to the tiniest detail of yura's contact photo of her being her wearing the punk outfit and how that's the outfit she wears when she confronts dmitry in 100 epitaphs, these little attempts at displaying strength.

these outfit specifics even go back to young!sanya tying her hair up in preparation for the funeral, probably her first real experience of having to be mature. the facial expression change between young!sanya and present!sanya there is also very telling, young!sanya's frown is so sad, so unsure. this is contrasted by what we can see of present!sanya's frown, it's a lot sharper, a lot more sure of itself, somewhere between determined and disgruntled, she's gotten used to trying to be mature but that doesn't make it easier, she's just pushing through it harder.

but of course, yura and sanya's views of her aren't the only ones we see in 100 epitaphs, we also see sergei's perception of her as they stand back to back. here she's in her punk outfit, but it's incomplete, her hair is down, she can't fully commit herself to this, it's not who she is (or maybe she shouldn't commit herself to it and it's not who she should be).

on the topic of sergei it is SO COOL how strike 3's presence is all over 100 epitaphs. from the tepid autumn day to the motif while sanya and sergei are back to back, even how they both start with a phone (olga calling vs yura disconnecting). and they way strike 3 foreshadowed that final scene in 100 epitaphs in a way to make the exact way those lines would turn out ambiguous is damn near masterful.

"everything will pass, the edge will dull, i know what's best for you, and after all a day will come, warm and bright when i, tear down this dismal shelter wall." hearing this we're lead to believe a few key things: that sanya's edge will dull, and that this tearing down of the dismal shelter wall will be a strong and resilient action.

and yet in 100 epitaphs, it is not sanya's rebellious edge that dulls, but sergei's protective one. he realises that trying to protect sanya like this is just pushing her further away from him, he knows what's best but he's given up on trying to make her see that, the shelter wall is torn down not in triumph, but in resignation, collapsing under it's own weight.

"just hide behind this back of mine and save your helpless spite" this is framed like sergei asking sanya to let him protect her and to save that spite she feels for times where it might be of more use than as the weapon of an angry teen. in 100 epitaphs we see how sanya grabs onto sergei's back, to prevent him from punching yura, saving the embodiment of helpless spite.

can you tell i FUCKING LOVE THIS SERIES

[according2thelore]

so like... what do y'all think john winchester assumed had happened when he woke up one night on a dark road in his crying girlfriend's arms with her dead dad right next to them with a stab wound in his belly? d'you think he wondered if he'd had some kind of blackout and killed samuel 'cause john thought he was a threat and reacted the way he was trained to deal with threats in the marines? 'cause I think that's more than plausible. and I think it's deliciously fucked up of mary if she let him go on the rest of their lives thinking he'd killed her daddy. and doubly so if john had to hold his brand new baby boy and ask his wife what she thought they oughta name him and have her fling the name of a man he'd killed back in his face. anyways.. many thoughts on ''in the beginning'' tonight 🥰👍

💜 cilla/mdbp 😈🎉

hello, cilla!!!

GAHHHHHH

because mr. campbell was always kind of an unnerving guy. he'd hated john as long as he and mary were together, and--mary doesn't know this--john went over to her house one time to straighten it out with the old man for mary's sake.

just a friendly conversation about how much he loved mary and would do right by her, probably a precursor to asking for her hand like a good nice boy would do, and john's mother raised him right.

but he answered the door with a knife tucked into his belt and one hand hidden behind the door. john knows the look in his eye. he knows that knife--he has one in the box of his army things under the mattress, one he hasn't opened in years because he can still taste the metal tang of blood when he looks at it. it's wicked and sharp and ridged, made for gutting things.

he didn't get mr. campbell's permission, and he left with his heartbeat in his ears, dazed. i don't want some washed-up, war-fucked civilian mechanic marrying my mary. you're no good for her, kid.

john wakes up in a backwater country lane two months later, mr. campbell gutted on the side of the road next to him. the knife is on the ground. the knife. the knife john has been trained to use in his sleep.

he has episodes, sometimes. he was at work in his first few months back, and a lift had slipped out from a car. it hit the ground with a grind of gears and screech of metal, and the next thing john remembers, it's two hours later and he's holding his friend jack down beneath a table, like he's trying to shield him from enemy fire. he has a wrench in his hand that he holds like a pistol. his buddies are all standing around him and talking to him like he's a spooked horse.

he broke jack's arm. he knows he's capable of committing violence and not remembering a fucking thing. he becomes almost an animal, when he feels threatened.

and here mary is, crying into his hair, and john doesn't remember a thing. he doesn't remember getting up that morning.

did he try to confront mr. campbell again? did mr. campbell find them out here, together, and try to defend mary's honour? did john...did john--

when he asks mary, tremulous, mary's eyes do something strange. resolve settles in the set of her jaw.

"we can't tell anyone, do you hear me? we've got to burn him before my family finds out."

when john wavers, she snaps.

"i'm doing this for you, john." as she starts dragging her father's corpse, still pumping blood, off into the woods.

it's a confirmation about every horrific thing john has ever thought about himself.

john thinks he's the luckiest man in the world, that his now-wife loves him this much. she chose him over her own father, and will hide his sins. she still wants to marry him, still trusts him. she stares at john the entire time the pyre burns, like she can't stand to look at her father.

"i'm so sorry," john says, numbly. he can't believe he was capable of this. killed an innocent man. he prays it was in self-defense, but mary still won't talk about it--she won't, not even when dean and sammy are born. but now, in the moment, he says, "i don't know what happened. i'll do anything to make this up to you, mary. i love you more than anything in the world. i swear on my life i'll do anything to protect you. anything to make you trust me again."

and you just can't buy that kind of devotion. not that mary doesn't love john--she does. but if she's going to get out, all the way out, she needs a man willing to cut all ties and not question any of it.

when his second son is born, john looks down at the face of his little boy, and is in love all over again, dean tugging at his pant leg so he can get a look at "dean's baby." he wants to name him michael, after a friend in the marines that saved his life in 'nam. but mary's face is impassive as she says, "we should name him samuel. after my daddy."

john winchester knows he'll never escape his sins.

he'll never be clean.

he killed his wife's father. he's unclean in the biblical sense.

~~~

@majordemonblockparty this ask made me throw up blood like a consumptive victorian waif <3 thank you so much <3

-lizzy

[lucifers-little-light]

Candy, Husk does feel really regretful. You don't have to love him, but maybe play nice?

As Candy stormed out of the hotel entrance, the weight of her emotions tugged at her heels. Angel Dust, determined and impulsive, rushed after her, trying to bridge the gap between anger and understanding that hung thick in the air.

Angel: *catching up, breathless* Candy, wait! Can we talk about what just happened in there? Husk is really trying to—

Candy spun around, her expression sharp enough to cut.

Candy: *eyes narrowing* Husk?! That's the name he goes by now? God, no wonder I couldn’t find him down here. He changed his name, changed his whole life, and forgot he had a family!

Angel shrugged, knowing that her anger was justified but fervently hoping that her fury wouldn’t cause her to shut down completely.

Angel: Listen, I get it. You have every right to be mad. I know Husk messed up big time—more than most people can even imagine—but he’s trying. Isn’t that worth something?

Candy: *sarcastic laugh* Worth something? For God’s sake, Angel, he’s bringing a child into the world when he didn’t even bother to be a father to the three he had on Earth! What happened to those kids? Did he even think about them once while he was busy ruining his life down here?

The anger coursing through her felt like a storm, and she could barely contain it. Each word shot from her lips like arrows, aimed directly at the heart of the emotional terrain. Angel, however, stood firm.

Angel: You’re right! He messed up! But he’s also trying to make amends! Do you think it’s easy for him? He’s feeling everything—regret, shame—you name it. And whether you want to admit it or not, you’re feeling it too.

Candy: *sharp intake of breath* You don’t get to tell me how I feel. You’re nobody to me, 'Angel Dust.' You’re just another ghost in his past—another distraction he’s chosen over the people who actually matter. I’m not here to play nice or pretend like everything’s okay just because he’s decided to turn over a new leaf. Why should I?

Angel took a step closer, his voice softening.

Angel: Because it’s not just about him, Candy. It’s about you. Holding on to that anger and pain isn’t going to fix anything. It only hurts you. Maybe if you could find a way to talk through it, even just a little… you wouldn’t feel so alone in this mess.

There was a pause, the noise of the hotel fading into the background as Candy processed his words.

Candy: *voice trembling* You think I haven’t tried? You think this is easy for me? I’ve spent years learning to deal with what he did to me, to us. I built my life around that pain, and you want me to toss it aside to be ‘understanding’? I can’t just let that go. I can’t.

Angel: I’m not asking you to let anything go, just to consider talking to him. Maybe there’s a way to confront the past without burning every bridge. You don’t have to love him, but what if you tried to understand him? It could give you both some peace.

Candy shook her head, her frustration boiling over once more.

Candy: Peace? Is that what this is all about? Finding peace while he just gets to start fresh and be a dad again? What about us? What about how we suffered? That’s not right!

Angel: It’s not fair…none of this is fair. But holding on to that anger will just keep hurting you. Giving him another chance doesn’t mean you have to forget what he did. It just means you won’t be carrying that weight on your own anymore.

Candy hesitated at that, caught in the web of emotions she had built. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, but the anger still burned hot.

Candy: I hate him, Angel.

Angel: I know. But maybe hate doesn’t have to be all-consuming. You could set boundaries. You could talk to him on your terms. Isn't it worth giving him a shot to face the consequences of his past?

Candy crossed her arms, conflicted, the embers of her rage still flickering.

Candy: I don't want to make this easier for him.

Angel: You’re not. You’re doing it for yourself. You get to feel whatever you want about him, but being a prisoner of that fury won’t help you or anyone. Trust me, I know more than anyone what it means to let anger consume you.

There was a long beat before Candy spoke again, words wrapped in cold vulnerability:

Candy: You’re asking me to let this go… to find a way to heal. But I’m scared, Angel. What if he just ends up hurting me more?

Angel: Then you deal with it when it happens. But you can’t let the fear of what he might do stop you from trying to understand what he’s done. If nothing else, you deserve answers. Just… think about it.

Candy stood there, rooted in place as Angel’s words lingered in the air like a haunting echo. She felt her anger begin to waver, replaced by the seeping ache of memories long buried. Finally, she spoke again, her voice quieter, almost thoughtful.

Candy: If Aislynn can forgive him… maybe I’d consider it too.

Angel: Aislynn? Who is that?

Candy: Aislynn was my baby sister. All she ever wanted before she passed was to see our father one last time—to make peace with him. She believed that if she could, it might heal some of the wounds we all carried. But he never showed up. Not once. And when she died, I felt like a part of me died with her. She wanted so badly to believe in him, to think that he could change… but he never came. I’ll never forget how hard she fought to hang on. In those last moments, all I could think about was how sorry she must have felt. How could I ever forgive someone who caused her so much pain?

Angel, listening intently, felt a pit forming in his stomach. He thought about Molly…and he knew Candy’s pain all too well.

Candy: Now Aislynn’s been in Hell since 1958. She’s a news producer for 666 News. Can you believe that? My pure-hearted sister, stuck in this place because she wanted to bring the truth to the surface.

Angel's heart sank as he heard the depth of Candy's sorrow. It was a familiar weight, echoing his own losses and regrets. He could hardly fathom the grief she must carry, knowing that her sister had yearned for a connection, one that could never be fulfilled.

Angel: *taking a deep breath* Candy, I’m so sorry. That’s… that’s heartbreaking. But what if I could help you get that moment with her? What if I could bring Aislynn here? Maybe Husk should apologize to her too. Maybe he needs to face the reality of his actions directly.

Candy's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and skepticism washing over her.

Candy: You… you want to find Aislynn? In this place? That's not even possible! She’s a news producer; she probably has dozens of stories to cover every day. What would make her want to talk to him? To me?

Angel: Leave that to me. I know how to track her down; the connections I have in Hell can help. And as for wanting to talk to him? It doesn’t have to start with wanting to—she might just feel an obligation to face the past. The truth is always worth confronting.

Candy felt a flicker of hope ignite in her chest, but it battled fiercely against her bitter skepticism.

Finally, Candy sighed, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Candy: "Alright. You can go look for her, but if this falls apart—if Aislynn doesn’t want to talk to me or Husk—I don’t know how I’ll handle it, Angel.

Angel: *offering a gentle smile* And that’s perfectly okay. I’ll go look for Aislynn and bring her here. Trust me. I won’t let you down. Just stay strong; we’ll navigate through this together.

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Family Affair

Chapter 3

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don't bite! Thank you

Summary: Harlan's money ruled the world of your husband and in-laws. When Harlan cuts his family off the rift between siblings grows larger and you are somehow caught in the middle.

Warning: Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead. Slow Burn

Dark Ari x Reader, Dark Ransom x Reader (Pregnant reader)

🍼

The paper gown crinkles beneath you as you shift, its sterile chill pressing into your skin. The fluorescent lights buzz softly overhead, casting a stark, clinical glow that makes every edge and shadow feel sharper, magnifying the emptiness of the room. You rest a hand on the edge of the paper sheet, fingers tracing its texture, trying to steady the nerves pooling in your stomach.

Ari had promised to be here. But here you are, and he isn’t. It’s like he’s still overseas. Nothing has changed.

The door clicks open, and you turn, feeling a flicker of hope before it dies. It’s not him.

Ransom steps in, filling the space with his usual careless confidence. He casts an idle glance over the instruments lined up on the tray, ignoring your look of shock and frustration.

“What are you doing here?” you murmur, your voice low, hoping the simple act of curling inward might shield you from him.

“Where's the doc?" he asks, voice dripping with boredom.

“He’s coming.” You sit up a little straighter. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you shouldn’t be. Just go,” you hiss.

“And leave my sweet sister-in-law all alone? Nah.” He smirks.

“Ari… he should be—”

Ransom scoffs and starts rummaging through the cabinets, noisily. “Don’t be stupid. You know as well as I do he’s not coming.” His voice is curt, and you feel your hope slipping. Deep down, you know he’s probably right. But part of you still wants to believe he’ll show up, even if you know the truth.

Your eyes start to sting, a familiar ache in your chest. You blink back the tears, turning away before they can fall.

"And how exactly are you getting home, hm?” He snorts. “I heard that piece-of-junk Civic of yours is broken down, so you must’ve taken the bus. There’s three inches of snow outside. That’s not happening.”

“I’ll call Linda.”

“So, not my brother then?” he quips, quick and cutting. “Guess he’s too busy to be here for his pregnant wife. Probably has his nose so far up the old man’s ass that you’re the last thing on his mind.”

He moves to another cabinet, rummaging around with a casual disregard. You try to ignore him, you still have a sliver of hope. Ari was probably running late,maybe due to the snow. You’d made this appointment especially for him to share in this moment.

A gentle knock breaks through, and you exhale. You press a hand to your stomach, as if to soothe both the tension and the tiny life inside you.

“Sorry I’m late; another appointment ran a little over,” Dr. Rogers says as he enters, clipboard in hand, his smile a welcome reprieve.

Ransom doesn’t miss a beat. “You always this late?” he mutters, shooting the doctor a sideways glance. But Dr. Rogers keeps his calm, focusing on you, his expression softening.

“My apologies,” Dr. Rogers says. “An emergency ran over.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” you say quickly, trying to defuse the tension.

Dr. Rogers glances at Ransom, brow slightly raised. "I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disturb the equipment. Thank you," he says smoothly before turning back to you, his professional demeanor firmly intact.

“Nice to see you again,” he says to you warmly. “And may I ask who we have joining us today?”

“Her husband,” Ransom lies smoothly moving closer to your side.

You glare at him, holding back the urge to confront him right here. Why he’s doing this, you have no idea.

“Well, nice to finally meet you,” Dr. Rogers replies, a thin veneer of professionalism barely masking his judgment. “I’ve heard so much about you. Glad you could finally make time. She’s been quite brave without you.” He gives you a gentle smile. “I heard you were overseas for charity work?”

“Uh, yeah, I just think it’s important to make a difference in the world. I’ve done some volunteer work abroad… hands-on stuff, really rewarding,” Ransom says, voice oozing self-importance. You arch a brow at him. The only person he’s ever cared for is himself.

Dr. Rogers nods. “I hope she’s kept you up to date on her progress. Though I haven’t seen her in quite some time.” His comment is directed at you, and you bristle uncomfortably.

“Sorry… I’ve just been so busy with work.”

“It’s quite alright, as long as you make time now,” Dr. Rogers says. “Now, enough with the small talk. How about we get started?”

🍼

The gel that hits your belly is colder than ice. You try not to squirm, but the added pressure from the ultrasound wand makes it hard to stay still.

Normally, you’d feel embarrassed by the stretch marks that decorate your belly, but that’s the last thing on your mind now. Your gaze is locked on the grainy image on the screen. The figure is hard to make out, but you’re sure it’s your baby. The sight makes your heart flutter, your breath hitch. Ransom leans in, watching closely. You wish it were Ari instead. But you push that thought aside; this moment is too precious. The tiny, pure creature growing inside you doesn’t need your negative feelings toward its father.

“Oh,” the doctor murmurs, pausing with the scanner. Your heart drops, and your mind races with bad thoughts.

“What? Is something wrong?” you ask, voice tight.

“Calm down, everything’s fine,” he assures you, though his tone doesn’t quite ease your worry. You search the monitor, trying to spot whatever he noticed.

“Your initial scan was so early that we didn’t catch it,” he explains. “But if you look here…”

He points at the screen, and Ransom leans in further. “This little one was hiding in the back.”

“Twins,” Ransom says, realization dawning before it fully sinks in for you. The word hits you, and you feel lightheaded. One baby was going to be a challenge—but now two.

🍼

Getting into Ransom’s car feels like willingly stepping into a trap, the cramped interior of his Porsche a cruel reminder that this choice, though far from ideal, beats standing in the biting cold. But at least the creamy leather seats are soft, molding around you with a warmth that eases some of the strain, even as the seat-belt presses a bit too snugly against your belly, already stretched and sensitive.

As he slips into the driver’s seat, you can’t help but wonder why he’s even here. Maybe it has to do with Harlan and his money. You wouldn’t be surprised if the old man offered him a deal—to be nicer to the family in exchange for not being cut off. After all, Harlan’s money was the only reason your husband was back in the country so you wouldn’t be surprised.

Ransom starts the engine, the low hum of the Porsche vibrating beneath you. He glances over with that familiar smirk of his, the one that never quite reaches his eyes.

"Hungry?" he asks, his gaze flicking over your stomach with that casual, insipid interest. "Guessing that baby bump means you’re always hungry, huh?"

You press your lips together. Swallowing the bite of irritation that wants to rise. “Can you please just drop me home?”

"Don’t be a brat," he shoots back, his voice laced with mock sweetness. "You're eating for two… or three now, right?"

You can’t tell if he’s pretending to care or just seizing the chance to slip in as many fat jokes as possible.

“I have food at the house,” you mutter, turning away from him, eyes on the snow drifting outside, unable to block out his presence completely.

"Stop acting like you're so eager to go back to that shit hole." His voice like a quiet knife, cutting through whatever calm you manage to hold on to.

"Ari—"

He scoffs, cutting you off, his tone dripping with something you didn’t care to dissect. "You know as well as I do, you're the last thing on his mind."

You flinch. Pregnancy had a way of making you feel everything too sharply, and his words were no different. The vulnerability that had been building for months threatens to break free. You try to hold it back, but it wasn’t enough. A sniffle escapes. Then another.

“Oh, god.” His voice was low, almost gleeful. "You’re still in love with that asshole. Really?"

You don’t respond. Instead turning more toward the window, holding back another sniffle, hiding your puffy eyes from his judgmental eyes.

You hear him sigh as the Porsche surges forward, the engine purring in protest. Outside, the world blurs into white, snow piling on the road slick with ice. Ransom cuts through it all like he doesn’t have a care in the world. And knowing him, he probably doesn’t.

"Can you slow down, please?" you ask, your voice brittle in the tense silence.

He ignores you. The landscape streaks past, your heart pounding faster with every lurch of the car. Every bump feels like it might send you airborne, your fingers digging into the cold leather as you brace yourself.

“Come on," Ransom says finally, the words almost a sneer. “We need to celebrate the twins. I know this nice little Italian spot downtown. Fettuccine to die for.”

“Ransom!” you squeal, panic bubbling up as the Porsche swerves dangerously. He cut off an eighteen-wheeler, and the truck’s horn bellows through the air like a warning.

He glances over, but there was no trace of concern in his face, just a little amusement. “Now you know better than to call me that.”

The speed and the chaos makes your chest tighten. You stare at him, wide-eyed, unable to speak through the lump in your throat.

“Come on," Ransom presses, ignoring the mounting fear. "What are you in the mood for? Huh?"

“I’m fine. Just… please, just take me home," you whisper, trying to control the sob that was threatening to escape.

“Don’t be stupid,” he spits. You scream his name, and his only response was to rattle off more options.

“There's this great little Greek place on Oak.”

“Rans—” You cut yourself off, choking back a sob. "Hughe! Please!”

“Fine. Takeout it is.”

Ransom jerks the car off the highway without warning, red lights zooming closer in a blur. The screech of the tires sends your heart up into your throat. But as he slows, your stomach sinks. The torment isn’t over.

[duhragonball]

Phantom Blood Liveblog JJBA ch.18-22

Awwwwwwwwww yeaaaaaahhhh!

So after the mansion burned down, Dio was buried under the rubble, but he survived, and so did the Stone Mask. Wang Chung, the Chinese poison-dealer came back to the mansion to try to find the mask, but he wound up releasing Dio in the process.

Dio's still alive, but he sustained heavy damage from the fire, so he needs servants to do his bidding while he recuperates. His first henchman is Wang Chung, since he's literally right there. The second is Jack the Ripper, whom Dio discovers in the middle of a killing spree on the streets of London. He praises the guy's devotion to pure evil, then offers him incredible power in exchange for his service.

I'm not sure if Jack is just really intrigued by what Dio is saying, or if Dio is using some kind of vampiric influence over him. This scene is kind of similar to the way Dio would pacify Kakyoin, Polnareff, and (almost) Avdol in Stardust Crusaders, so maybe he's using similar mojo here.

Meanwhile, Jonathan Joestar has nearly recovered from his own injuries, and he's looking to move on with his life. There's no sign of Dio or the Mask, so he assumes they were both destroyed in the fire, but then he and Erina are confronted by a mysterious man in a top hat, who informs him that Dio lives, and he has the Stone Mask as well. But this guy's a drama queen, so instead of just telling Jonathan, he vaults over him a few times while eating his sandwich. Then he knocks the wind out of him with a single blow, and this somehow heals Jonathan's arm.

The man's name is Will A. Zeppeli, and he's still not finished demonstrating his powers. He stands in a pond and causes ripples to appear around him in the water. Then he punches a frog on a rock, and the frog is unharmed, even as the rock is destroyed.

How can Zeppeli do this? With the power of Hamon, aka "The Ripple", aka "Sendo". I'm gonna stick to "Hamon", although from what I understand, all three terms are just the same word in different languages.

Zeppeli learned this power during his quest to destroy the Stone Mask. He traced it to the Joestar estate, learned of the fire, and found out about Wang Chung, so I guess he put the rest together for himself. Zeppeli believes Dio will menace the whole world with the power he got from the Stone Mask, but his first move will be to destroy Jonathan Joestar, which is why Zeppeli has approached him.

But Erina doesn't know anything about all this, and Jonathan would prefer to keep it that way. As he contemplates this new development, he puts his hand on a tree branch, and the wilted flowers on the branch suddenly bloom again. Zeppeli is amazed by his natural talent, and suspects that this was what helped him survive the fight with Dio.

I'm not sure if it means anything, but this moment kind of reminds me of Holly Kujo's Stand from Part 3, as well as the effects of Gold Experience in Part 5. Indeed, we briefly see Dio with a second Stand in Part 3, which is said to be "Jonathan Joestar's Stand," so maybe this is the early signs of that.

So why is Zeppeli hunting the Stone Mask in the first place? Well he tells Jonathan his origin story, which involves him serving with an archaeological expedition led by his father. One of their trips took them to the Aztec ruins in Mexico, and three guesses what they found...

That's right, they discovered the Stone Mask, and during the return trip, someone on board put it on and got turned into a vampire. Everyone on board was slaughtered, and Zeppeli dove into the ocean in a desperate attempt to escape, but the vampire followed him, and just when it seemed he was doomed, the dawn came and the vampire was destroyed. But in that moment, Zeppeli recognized the vampire as the leader of the expedition, his own father!

Zeppeli was eventually rescued, but the ship was never found, so he feared the Stone Mask might eventually fall into the wrong hands someday, and he's been searching for it ever since.

Jonathan sees in Zeppeli a kindred spirit, and asks him to train him in the Hamon arts. Zeppeli agrees, though he would have forced Jonathan even if he didn't want to do it, because there's no time to waste, and far too much at stake.

One of the tricks Zeppeli teachs Jonathan is a way to extend your reach by dislocating your elbow as you punch. The Hamon power keeps you from feeling the pain of this manuever.

During Jonathan's training, Wang Chung tries to attack them, but Jonathan defeats him with ease.

Aw man, this title image looks so bad ass. I think the general consensus is that Araki's artwork has steadily improved over the decades, but damn, he was cooking even in the 80's. I guess I shouldn't be so surprised, since Part 2 is my favorite.

Oh, and Dio's set up shop in some spooky hideout in a small town called Windknights' Lot. He's been drinking the blood of young maidens and he's ready to show off his Revenge Body for Hot Vampire Summer.

Actually, this shot here might be the first indication that Dio uses his mouth to drink blood. Most of the time, vampires in this series always poke a victim with their hands, but here we clearly see blood on the corner of his mouth, and he's kind of licking it off. I do recall a vampire in Part 2 who tried to bite Santana during Stroheim's experiments, so it's not like we never see vampires use their fangs, but it's kind of a rarity.

Anyway, he gives Jack the Ripper his leftovers, and Dio waxes poetic about evil and how he wants to take over the world and such. It's pretty standard villain stuff, but I guess it was worth going over to establish that he's advanced beyond murder-for-inheritance schemes. Then Wang Chung returns and tells Dio of his defeat.

Now you might be wondering how Wang Chung could have possibly escaped from Jonathan and Zeppeli, but the answer is that they let him go, in order to track down Dio's hideout. This is a calculated risk, since it means letting Dio find out that they're hunting him, and that they have the power to defeat him. But Speedwagon's contacts in the underworld confirm that Wang Chung has been hanging out in Windknights' Lot, so that's where they go.

In a tunnel, the carriage stops, and Speedwagon tries to ask the driver what's wrong, only to discover that the horses have all been decapitated, and one of the horses' heads is on the driver. They're under attack, and the enemy must be pretty quick to pull this off inside this tunnel.

Oh, also the enemy hid inside one of the horses, though I'm not sure what for. It's Jack the Ripper, so maybe this was one of those "far greater pleasures" that Dio promised him during his recruitment speech. "Hey, listen, cutting up women is great and all, but have you ever wanted to cut open a horse and hide inside it?"

At first, Jonathan wonders if this guy has also worn the Stone Mask, but Zeppeli explains that he's merely a zombie, a corpse reanimated by Dio after he drained his blood. It's safe to say Wang Chung is the same thing, and if Dio has any interest in using the Stone Mask on anyone else, we never see it happen.

Zeppeli tells the others to stand back while he fights Jack the Ripper, but Jack seems pretty dangerous. He throws the entire stagecoach at the other end of the tunnel to cut off any possible escape. Then he flexes his muscles to reveal a bunch of knives hidden inside his flesh. Another flex shoots them out in all directions.

But Zeppeli spits some Hamon-charged wine at the knives to deflect them, and he's not even slightly worried about this dude.

Even while he fights, Zeppeli casually holds a wine glass and lectures Jonathan on the proper mindset for battle. He speaks of mastering fear as a way to control one's breathing for better use of Hamon. Courage is a human quality, while undead creatures like Jack are little more than fleas, incapable of bravery for they attack and feed on brute instinct more than anything else.

He deals a big blow to Jack's face, but orders Jonathan to finish him off, then casually sips his wine. Will A. Zeppeli fucking rules. I don't know how else to tell you this. I liked this guy in the anime, but he looks even more awesome in the manga.

[prototypesteve]

The Vanguard of Assholes: first, fast, and loud. Also, not worth your worry.

What it feels like: “As aspec identities rise in visibility, the world is pushing back with organized aphobia and closed-mindedness, and we’re surrounded.”

What it’s more like: “Most of the world has no idea you even exist yet, because they’ve been busy with their own shit. But a few people hate everything new¹, and they’ve noticed that you’re showing up more and more, and they don’t like new things, so they’ve decided to turn into whatever your natural enemy is. This week, they’ll be aphobes, and next week, they’ll be concerned parents against bicycle lanes. They just pick new stuff, and hate on it. They are The Vanguard of Assholes.”

There’s always a Vanguard of Assholes who show up first, fast, and loud, as the “dissenting opinion” to anything new¹.

Study the history of every “new” thing that emerged into public consciousness, and you will see examples of the Vanguard of Assholes showing up first, fast, and loud, claiming to be “everyone”, as they try to push the new idea back out of public consciousness.

They come disguised as moral panics, reactionary causes, NIMBY protests, book-burnings, trucks covered in upside down flags, traditional values voters, disingenuous debate-me bros, and “this is just too much too soon” editorials… it’s the Vanguard, losing their shit because they’re terrified of something new.

But not far behind the Vanguard of Assholes are the more than 90% of people who don’t have an opinion about you, good or bad, and won’t have an opinion about you until they get to know you. Find a way to sidestep the Vanguard, and get to know people from the big majority, be your own representation, and often be the first real live aspec person they know.

Appendix A: “So we should just let them?”

Now, a fair question is, “Shouldn’t we confront the Vanguard, because don’t they also talk to the majority?” Nope. The Vanguard prefer to engage a small, friendly audience in their immediate orbit, or with the groups they’re trying to chase away, because they know the Vanguard is small. They’re hoping they’re a little bit bigger than the group they’re chasing². They know that whenever they try to talk to the majority, they’re dealt with in seconds, because they’re very obviously filled with hate-fear.

If a Vanguard aphobe went on network TV tonight, and talked about why Loveless needs to be pulled from Amazon and Audible, to protect kids from asexuality, the majority would rightly ask them, “What the Kentucky fried hell are you even talking about? Asex. Is that like… abstinence or something?” And when the majority did look up what Loveless was about, they’d be more likely³ to respond, “I don’t see a problem here, there were three asexual characters in a book that mentioned multitudes of people, and none of them made anyone else asexual,” or “Oh, I have a friend/coworker/classmate/relative who’s like that. Xey didn’t date…” and so on.

Footnotes:

¹ No, asexuality itself isn’t “new”—I’ve been asexual for all of my 53 years—but asexuality’s presence on cultural radar, as a thing of note, is relatively new. You can still fit all of the asexual characters in commercially available fiction or media into a single tour bus. Season 2 of Sex Education (the season with that clip), Angela Chen’s Ace, and Alice Oseman’s Loveless were all released or published in 2020. The Sunset aroace flag only dates back to 2018. The purple asexual flag only dates back to 2010, which makes it younger than the iPhone.

² Low estimates put us at around 1 to 2% of the population. Even if aphobes were 4% of the population—which they aren’t, but pretend they were—they might seem to outnumber us two to one, but that would still leave 94-95% of the world outside of the discourse, and not currently on anybody’s side, but not likely to be swayed to the irrational aphobe side. Not in 2024.

³ This is based on observation. I’ve come out to roughly a thousand people. Most are like, “Hey, glad you’re happy.” None were openly hostile (including people from a very diverse queer community, or my extremely religious and/or conservative friends). Fewer than five have asked me more about it because either they or someone close was possibly aspec.

[colderdrafts]

18: Blast from the past

The Great Assembly, gender neutral reader x monster (male naga). Sfw. First Previous Next

“Everything's alright. Take a deep breath,” they mumble.

You’re trapped up against the wall. People around you are screaming, Irwin lies motionless on the floor and everything around you is collapsing.

You stare at the monster that has been chasing you for so long, rough hands grappling you, keeping you in place, something cold curls around your shoulders and starts gently shaking you, you stare into the burning red eyes -

“Tiny, wake up!”

- and awaken with a start to find them replaced by golden ones in the real world.

It would seem your certain serpent someone noticed your stirring.

Reality gradually returns, and you feel clammy with cold sweat, completely tangled in your sheets. Amren is gently holding you by the shoulders, leaning over you and staring at you in concern. His frown vanishes once he sees you're awake.

“Nightmares?” he asks simply.

You sigh in relief, looking back at him and letting the familiar color of his eyes wash it away. “Yeah. Been having them for some time now.”

“Because of what’s happened?”

“I think that may have set them off again.”

Amren tilts his head at you, silently asking for an elaboration.

"They’re not.. only nightmares,” you admit, a bit reluctantly. “They’re also sort of memories.”

He hums in thought. “What kind of memories?”

“Bad ones.”

“There’s a reason you moved here a few years ago, I take it?”

“Yes.”

Silence. Amren is scanning your face like he’s trying to decipher the most efficient way to reach into your brain, and forcibly remove whatever caused this situation.

With this proximity his usual scrutinizing is a little intimidating.

“You uh. You comfortable up there?” you ask, awkwardly patting his hands when he still hasn’t moved from the spot.

“No?” he says. His eyes widen as it seemingly dawns on him he’s been up in your face and holding you down for minute. He releases you, leans back and settles at the side of the bed instead. “Didn’t mean to impose.”

You sit up, finally untangling yourself and wincing from the clammy texture. You ignore the slightly embarrassing thought that Amren can probably smell it. “You didn’t. Thank you for waking me.”

He nods. “What is it about?”

“The nightmare?”

“Yes. This isn’t the first time you’ve had one.”

It isn't, it's a fair question. You’ve been running from your perpetrator at night for a while now, perhaps it’s about time you confronted them. Maybe actually talking about it would help, even if digging up the past can be unpleasant.

You lean back and look ahead, finding the best place to start. Amren watches you patiently.

“A while back I used to know this mon,” you begin, recalling the unpleasant events. “We were very close, it was good for a while. But some odd things started happening around them. People around them started getting hurt. They started demanding I participate in almost everything they did, wanted to know where I was at all times. It was turning toxic, and I was lucky to get out of there before I became dependent on them.”

“Your job at the company made sure of that, I’m presuming,” Amren says.

You nod. “Yeah. They found out I was leaving though. They didn’t.. take it well.”

Amren stays eerily silent, but keeps his full attention on you. His jaw is set, his brows furrowed and hands clenched around the frame of the bed.

You reach over and poke his shoulder to distract him from whatever negativity is coursing through him. “Hey, I got out of there unscathed. They don’t know where I am, and I haven’t seen them in years. That’s a finished chapter.”

“They obviously still left a mark,” he grumbles, though his posture visibly looses tension. “Those sorts of things don’t fade easily. Did they ever pay for whatever they did?”

“I don’t know. I can hope whatever shady business they had going dealt with them. But I haven’t heard from them since,” you reassure.

“Good.”

He lingers for a moment in quiet contemplation, subtly tasting the air and glancing around the room as if searching for threats. You wonder if this is deliberate, or if it’s just force of habit at this point, as the movement seemed rather automatic.

Satisfied, Amren uncoils himself, and slithers toward the living room. “I should let you sleep. Do you need anything?”

Probably you do. But the cheery guy who usually helps you whenever something like this happens is missing. And heaven knows how to ask the gloomy guy currently in front of you for the same. “No, I just need to calm down a bit. I’ll sleep soon enough. Sorry for waking you.”

"It's alright," Amren says. He stays briefly in the doorway, looking you over one last time. He then silently closes the door behind him.

You lie back down and hide in the dark, reminiscing the feeling of Amren's cold hands on your shoulders. Perhaps this time your sleep will remain quiet.

A few hours later you're still not very well rested, though your brain decides that sleep is for the healthy, and shoots you to awareness regardless.

You groan and glance at your phone. 6am. The world is quiet this time of day, and you should really take advantage of that. You stubbornly turn back to the warmth of your covers for some more rest.

A fruitless endeavor. An army of thoughts are already running a marathon in your head. The puzzle pieces in the mystery of Irwin’s whereabouts had just been waiting for a chance to shine in your minds eye.

You blearily sit up and go to fetch a cup of water to drown them.

You silently crack open you bedroom door, and cringe at its creaking hinges. After all, you're not alone in here, and you've already disturbed your sleepover guest once. Curled up where you left him is Amren, still out cold.

He’s helped himself to even more of your blankets, using them as some sort of makeshift nest, his torso completely buried with only his face sticking out. For once, he actually looks peaceful. No frowns, squints or alertness, his face is calm, the edge of his sharp teeth poking out of his open mouth, breathing slowly.

You’ll have to do some careful stunts to get to your destination if you want to keep it that way, however. A large part of his tail is sprawled out and blocking the entrance to your room.

So much for not leaving it out in the open.

“Watch where you’re going, Tiny!” you mock-whisper with a chuckle, carefully placing your foot at the other side of the thick appendage.

And immediately Amren's hand shoots out and locks around your wrist, eyes snapping open as he rises up in alarm, almost sweeping your feet and knocking you off balance.

You yelp at the display, startled, and stare at him. There’s something nastily familiar in the way he’s towering over you like this, making your heart-rate pick up at uncomfortable levels.

Amren’s intimidating expression evaporates the second his still sleep-fogged brain recognizes it’s you. He quickly releases you, and backs away from your space.

“Tiny,” he breathes. “I – I’m a light sleeper.”

“That’s putting it mildly, fucking hell, dude,” you grunt. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“I'm sorry,” he says. He rubs his eyes. “Did you need something?”

“Just trying to get some water. It’s still early,” you nod at his tail. “Making my mission a lil’ difficult for me, though.”

He looks down to where his tail is lying, and quietly retracts it, curling himself up again as you pass him by.

You feel his eyes on you as you stalk across the apartment, and pull out a glass from the kitchen cabinet. “You can go back to sleep, you know,” you call over your shoulder at him.

“I intend to," he yawns.

Water acquired, you venture back, though the little outburst has made sure your survival instincts most likely will not let your mind rest. So you opt for plopping down next to Amren on the floor, leaning back against the door frame of your bedroom.

“I don’t think I can, though," you say.

Amren cogs an eyebrow at your sitting next to him. “So you’ll keep me up instead?”

“You’re very free to go back to dream land, I'm just sitting here. It’s not my fault if you’re staying up," you tease, taking a sip.

“It most certainly is,” he sneers, and turns back into his coils, promptly closing his eyes.

You chuckle at him. “You’re really not a morning person. It’s just a little bit entertaining.”

He lightly hisses at you, annoyed, though it’s obvious his heart’s not in it. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to scare you again.

You stare up at the ceiling, listening to Amren’s breathing and your thoughts that start to run again.

Magic, they return to, clovers, dancing lights and the smile of a gnome. It works differently for hums. Is that why the clover didn’t work for you?

Why would it be different for you, Irwin and your kind, than it would anyone else? Mira mentioned it, so it must be important. It could be a clue.

“Do you think Marcus would have some insights on the whole magic business?” you ask out loud.

Amren groans, obviously not pleased with the continued disturbance. “Can this wait until noon?”

“No,” you say flatly, pulling up your phone.

"Why did you ask, if you were going to act regardless of my response?"

You ignore him, and send Marcus a text, keeping it as vague as possible.

"Got some new input from the meet. Wanna discuss. Let's meet up?"

It's early, but to your surprise you get a message back only a few seconds later.

"When and where?"

Amren stirs at the sound of your phone beeping, reluctantly giving up his mission for sleeping in. He leans in to read over your shoulder, a strand of his hair ghosting across your cheek.

"I think we should meet and discuss what we learned from Mira,” you clue him in, absentmindedly brushing it away.

Amren flicks his tongue, thinking on it. "I thought you might. Let's go to the park again. I don't want the slime snooping around your home."

"You really don't like him, do you?" you ask.

"No,” he says bluntly. “He's the reason all this mess started. You shouldn't trust him either.”

"Oh believe me, I don't,” you assure him. “But there's a reason he's in Irwin's contacts. If I know anything of my best friend, it's that he's good at getting people to like him. I don't trust Marcus, but I can at least trust he wants Irwin to be well."

Amren considers your words, and eventually sighs, relenting. "Fine. He's still a lead. But we're going to the park."

"Meet you halfway, then," you chuckle, and send Marcus an update.

"Let's call Elise as well," Amren adds. He stretches and yawns again, slithering toward the kitchen island to grab his own phone. "She'll want to be kept in the loop."

He gives her a ring, and the dull pick-up tone rings through the early morning air. It goes on a little longer than usually, though, and eventually it goes to voicemail.

"Maybe she's still sleeping?" you offer at his confused face.

Amren shakes his head. "Elise usually wakes up early."

"She's probably not near her phone, then," you reply.

"Probably," he repeats slowly.

You leave her a message saying you're going to the park, and hope she'll call you back soon.

"You said you found out something from the meeting?" Marcus says.

You're seated next to the fountain in the middle of the park, doing your best to look like a trio of friends hanging out. Thankfully not many people are about yet, so you don't have to perform that much to cover for this incredibly awkward exchange.

Amren sits close enough that his tail just barely grazes your leg. It's a little distracting.

"Not much," you admit. "But she mentioned something about humans responding differently to magic. It didn't make much sense to me, so was kinda hoping it would mean something to you."

"Magic?" Marcus frowns. "Not many people I know of work with that."

"But you do know of someone who does?"

"Well. Yes and no," he says. "Certain mons have a better inkling for it, sure. Fae, driders, gnomes, harpies, slimes, for example. But doesn't mean all of us can do it. I sure can't do magic for shit, I can only use it to keep track of my body."

"We all know basic magic facts. That wasn't the question," Amren growls.

Marcus' goopy face molds into a scowl. "I'm getting there. Most upper class mons have better access to it. 'It is power' and all that jazz. But I have heard rumors of a certain group who distributes enchanted items. Most legal. Some - well. You know."

"Enchanted? Like clovers?" you ask.

Marcus focuses on you and nods slowly. "For example. That's oddly specific."

"The price for winning a race in the conference was a golden clover," you elaborate.

"Huh," Marcus says. "Quite a coincidence. Actually, I may know about someone who deals in those things as well."

It might not mean anything. Certainly legal distributions of items like golden clovers wouldn't really have an impact here. Mrs. Hansen wouldn't be able to utilize them as a price if there was anything shady going on with them. But if it is indeed a clue, perhaps it's worth pursuing. If only to be able to rule it out.

Marcus dwells on it for a bit, long enough to test your patience.

"Well? Spill!" you urge.

"I'm thinking!" Marcus grunts. "Look, this might get me in trouble as well, we gotta be careful here. So, I gotta ask. How far will you go to get Irwin back?"

"You must have very good reason for asking that question in that way," Amren buts in, irritably watchful.

Marcus glowers at him. "Do you want my help or not?"

You put a hand on Amren's arm before he can retort and scare Marcus off. "Let's just hear him out, alright?"

Amren huffs. "Fine."

You look back to Marcus. "Irwin's my best friend. I'll go as far as I need to."

Marcus considers you for a second. "I'll hold you to that."

He molds his legs into a more comfortable position. You can almost see how the thoughts are swarming around in his head, as if his thinking process is visibly shifting as much as his body is.

"First of all, you can't just go knocking on their door. Mainly because I don't know where the fuck they're operating from, I just know they exist," he explains. "But I may have an idea to work around that. Instead of you going to them - "

"We'll have them coming to us?" you finish, a little reluctant. This might be going somewhere dangerous.

"Bingo. Listen. I'll operate in my little circle. Let something slip, so the right people will pick up on it. They'll come to you. But you'll have to be somewhere that isn't supervised by police, otherwise they won't show up," Marcus says. "Rumor'll spread you're laying low somewhere. I'll warn you beforehand, once I hear they're coming for you."

"It's oddly convenient you want us to go somewhere not protected, isn't it?" Amren narrows his eyes. "And how do we know you'll actually be able to warn us in time?"

Marcus look at him unimpressed. His teal face visibly flattens itself, as if having a hard time keeping shape due to exasperation. "I don't particularly like working with you either, scaly. But right now, you two are my current best bet at getting Irwin out of where ever the hell he is. If you want my help, you'll have to fucking work with me here."

"I would prefer if we could work in a way that didn't involve you setting an obvious trap, and using Tiny as bait," Amren counters angrily.

Marcus cogs a goopy eyebrow, and looks to you. "Tiny?"

"Where are you going with this?" you ask, halting the argument and moving on before the obnoxious nickname settles with Marcus as well. No need to let it spread through the underground of society of all places.

Marcus graciously allows it. "If I let slip where the hum they're hunting is hiding, standard operations would probably be to send someone over to scout it out first. And that's where you come in," he nods at Amren. "When they're there, you get the jump on them, and do your little wrangly thing to get them talking. Anyone will spill to keep out of that. Shit's scary."

Amren bares his teeth. He actually looks slightly offended. "Do you even know what you're asking?"

"For you to act a part of the plan?" Macus deadpans.

"Can it for a sec, Marcus," you assert. "Amren, are you alright with this?" you ask him. "We can find other ways."

"I don't care about getting my hands dirty. But I don't appreciate the quipping about my abilities," he hisses.

You give Marcus a pointed look, to which he sighs dramatically.

"Fine," he gives. "Sorry. I should have known you guys are sensitive about that."

There's a deep rumbling coming from Amren, and you automatically put a hand on his arm again. The rumbling stops.

Marcus shifts, like he's throwing off some tension, molding into a standing position as if preparing to leave. Perhaps he's not keen on testing Amren's patience further. "I'll let it drop with the right people, and something will come up soon. You tell me where you're going, and I'll text you when I know they're gonna hit so you can be prepared. Deal?"

It may be a goose chase, but so far it's the only plan you've got. Unless you want to literally serve yourself up on a silver platter, and call the number Mira provided you.

In truth, eating glass sounds more pleasant.

"Deal," you affirm. "But I don't know where we're going yet. The police are still watching my home."

Amren gets up, equally eager to leave the conversation, and motions for you to do the same. He glares at Marcus. "We're going to my house."

After a brief bus tour through the city and a walk across the harbor (avoiding the feeling of being stared at that's still nagging you at every turn), you walk into a small side street that's slightly isolated from the busier parts of the city.

Amren leads you into the garden belonging to his home, a small brick house. It looks fairly well-kept, the garden out front adorned with decorative rocks in different sizes, and a small patch of plants and flowers growing.

You don't know what you imagined Amren's home would look like, but the little idyllic brick house seems to contrast his rather gloomy disposition to life in general.

He goes toward the house, but stops dead in his tracks, gently gripping your shoulder to stop you from going further as well.

He tastes the air, and curses under his breath. "Not. Now."

"What's wrong?" you ask, but you take a surprised step back when the front door opens from the inside.

"Breaking and entering now?" Amren deadpans at the person who exits the house, folding his arms over his chest. You note he stands a little taller than usually.

A fair woman with long golden hair and flawless complexion, wearing an expensive looking blouse exits the house. Her bottom half is a long and slender tail covered in green scales. She's a naga.

"Your father gave me a spare key," she replies, unbothered by the accusation. "You haven't been home in a while."

"Whether I'm home or not is none of your business," Amren snaps. "I'm not part of the family anymore, remember? Leave me alone."

The stranger squints and slithers past him. She eyes you for a second, flickering her tongue, but otherwise promptly ignores your presence, shifting her focus back on Amren.

"Not until you come back and fix the mess you made," she says. "Or at least take some responsibility so the rest of us can move forward, instead of hanging around with hums."

Oh.

Amren's eyes narrow to slits as he squares his shoulders. "You leave those mangy opinions somewhere with the other trash of this world who cares," he growls defensively. "Who I'm with and what I'm doing is, also, NONE of your business. And what happened was your own fault. Stop trying to pin it on me because you can't handle being in the wrong."

"Here we go again!" she laughs coolly, and you catch a glimpse of two long elegant fangs curled into the back of her mouth. A viper. "Good to see some things don't change."

"Give me the spare key," Amren demands, holding his hand out. "You know very well it's MY home, and I have not allowed you or anyone else access. I'll defend it as I see fit."

Never thought you'd see the day where a mon would call on the right to protect territory. This could get ugly. They stare at each other, like they're sizing one another up. The stranger stubbornly ignores his demand.

"Who's this?" you ask Amren, and he huffs at the stranger.

"This is Mavis," he sneers, baring his teeth at her. "My ex-betrothed."

You balk at him. His what?

"And currently, apparently, a stalker," he adds.

Mavis waves him off. "You know I don't want to be here any more than you, but you put yourself in this situation. I'm the one who doesn't have a choice!"

"Sure you do," Amren grunts, casually turning to the side and gesturing at the garden gates. "You can choose to go away."

Mavis hisses and jabs a finger at him. "If you had just gone through with the arrangement instead of acting like a stubborn child-"

Amren cuts her off. "You know exactly why that didn't happen."

There's silence again, tension running in the air.

"Well, what happened?" you ask cautiously.

Amren looks at you for a beat. "It's pretty simple, actually," he says, and then he locks eyes with Mavis whilst holding a deadpan expression. "I don't like her."

"You know just as well as I that it isn't about liking each other," Mavis spits. "Not that you ever even tried, you insensitive bastard."

"Oh I tried," Amren growls. "I tried so hard to meet the family expectations, and fit in with their values. But it was pretty clear we weren't a good fit when you threatened my exile and consequent death, should I do the horrible act of refusing the arrangement."

Mavis throws her arms out in frustration. "You ruined everything! Our collaboration would have solved so much - spared us so many hardships-"

"Are you really so naive that you believe all of our family problems will just go away? Because of a superficial arrangement, that no one will derive joy from?" Amren counters.

Mavis stares at him. "I can't believe how selfish you are. We should have ripped you to shreds when we had the chance - the fact that you wouldn't even consider giving it a try - that you would rather willingly exile yourself-"

"Yes," Amren interrupts her again, seething.

You can sense the tension under his skin, bubbling with anger. There's something running through him that subtly sends your own adrenaline in gear. Something vicious you can sort of recognize.

"And if you ever want to find happiness, you should do the same," Amren continues, eerily calm despite the inward turmoil. "But really, I should thank you. Your puny threats made me realize how much time I've wasted, living in the shadow of other people's expectations. And, in the end, how much I just. Don't. Care."

Mavis takes a breath to argue, though Amren leans forward and over her, invading her space and cutting her off.

"I don't care about my family history. I don't care about my parents' wants for my life. I don't care about their ridiculous little formal prancing around this ridiculous feud." He's completely in her face now, voice dripping with contempt. "And I don't care about you."

Mavis looks at him stunned, balling her fists. Her jaw is set in anticipation at Amren's intimidating pose, though she stubbornly refuses to back down. You have to mentally take a step back as her glare suddenly settles on you.

"And this little creature here? Do you care about them?" she asks, brandishing her fangs at you.

You're getting tired of her attitude and talking about you like you're not there. You fold your arms, meeting her stare. "It's not your business either, is it?" you say flatly.

"As they said," Amren agrees. He tries to sound neutral, but you pick up on a defensive curl in his voice and the subtle way his tail shifts to your side. As if subconsciously trying to block you from Mavis' view.

Mavis huffs and barks a laugh. It sounds cold. "It might be."

Amren doesn't move out of her space, and bares his teeth. "Leave."

Mavis looks unaffected, her attention still on you. "Has he told you he's feral?" she asks casually, looking past him. "It's probably better if you're aware of that, hum. Wouldn't want any more accidents."

Amren stiffens at her words, face faltering. You have no idea what that means, but Mavis looks sort of smug, like she just casually dropped a grenade and expects you to scramble for your life. You don't like it, and you don’t like the way it’s affecting Amren.

"I'm aware," you lie with an unperturbed expression, taking a bit of satisfaction on the slightly surprised look on Mavis' face. "Any other unnecessary bull you wanna try with me?"

Amren glances back at you, but quickly returns his attention to Mavis before you can get a read on him.

"Leave," he repeats harshly. "I want nothing to do with you, or any of the others. Don't make me say it a third time."

You feel scrutinized under Mavis' continued stare, like she's trying to measure your weak points. She's also, clearly, not happy with your snark.

But hey, she started it.

Mavis unceremoniously drops the spare key in the grass, and slithers off without a word.

You stare after her for a bit, wondering what the hell that was all about.

The second she's out of view, Amren lets out a deep, shaky breath, like he's been holding it in for a while.

You look him over, and realize he's shaking, slit pupils so thin they're barely a line in his eye. Whatever he's working through, he's doing his utmost to suppress it.

You carefully, gently, put a hand on his scaled arm, trying not to flinch when his sharp eye darts to focus on you. "Easy, bud. Deep breaths," you mutter. "She's gone."

Amren nods, and breathes deeply for a moment. "I know. Just -" he rubs his face, gathering himself. He leans down a picks up the key, giving himself a few seconds to adjust. When he looks at you again, any trace of emotion is hidden and buried. "I'm okay. Let's get inside."