#he cracked his wifes head with a rock in the show yet you all draw the line at him cheating on Rhaenyra 😂😂😂

[alicentsaegon]

Can I just say that had Nettles been canonically a pretty white woman no one, absolutely no one would question her and Daemon's relationship as anything other than romantic/sexual. There would be no theories on her being his bastard, there would be no erasing her character and what she represents to the story just to hype up their blood supremacist ship and make it look as healthy as possible or make it look as this grand love story (Daemon and Rhaenyra are are best when they are at their worst <3) just saying. When Nettles left and upon her departure Caraxes roared so loudly he broke all the windows of the castle. Almost as if dragons and riders have a soul bond and that scene was specifically meant to reflect how Daemon felt as if his soul was crying out for her. Hmmmmmm. Also idk guys do many men take baths with their daughters? Even Targaryen men?

[taeyohonic]

the trophy wife (m)

summary: the proposal doesn’t go as planned (established relationship, idol au, fluff and angst) pairing: min yoongi x fem!reader rating: explicit (18+) warnings (containing spoilers): swearing, robbery, pandemic, vomit, description of injuries and blood (very abstract), mentions of depression, insomina and periods, a hella lot ugly crying info: when i tell you that this is a super-duper fluffy piece, i’m not lying! it was 99% sweetness, so i added a little... angst (but like... only 10%) related work: the stalker | baby, what’s wrong? | favoritism (m) | the trophy wife words: 5.7k

“would you still love me if i became your trophy wife?”

yoongi snorts into his iphone, your grimace too adorable to be taken seriously.

“how bad are these papers?”, he asks. jungkook next to him is stealing curious glances at his hyung’s screen. to hear your voice so distressed makes him worry. you’re the best thing that ever happened to his member – your well-being comes right after his need for homemade kimchi.

“how… can they not know which products contain dairy? how yoongs?”, you vent eyeing the ungraded test in front of you.

“i ate… so much yogurt. the whole class did. we tested so much dairy products… like… so much. we drank all of the banana milk… how can they get this wrong?”, you continue. unbeknown to you, the maknae is now furrowing his brows at your words. wait a minute…

“noona, did you steal my banana milk last week?”, jungkook questions and moves closer to yoongi. before you can hide you see his big eyes joining your boyfriend on the screen.

“wow, jungkookie – your undercut looks so good. damn!”, you say. it’s not a total deflection; he does look extremely handsome after his haircut.

“noona, i thought i sleepwalked”, he whines, not caring for your compliment… right now.

“taehyung even made a meme out of it”, he complaints and you have the audacity to coo at him. yoongi tries to hide his smile, but he can see his reflection grinning on the screen.

“it was oppa’s idea!”

and now his smile freezes as jungkook moves his accusing glare to him. you don’t usually call yoongi by this name. and he’d be all too happy to shut you up in your shared bedroom. but now he and the boys are in the outskirts of seoul to film the newest music video, far away from you and your treacherous mouth.

“hyung?”, jungkook asks with the voice of a cheated wife ready to sign the divorce papers.

“it’s for the kids, maknae”, your boyfriend defends himself to which jungkook only huffs in irritation.

“there was a time when i was the kid – what happened? am i not cute enough anymore? noona? am i not the most adorable?”

his deer eyes stare at you – big, brown and full. you can’t help but to take a screenshot of these two – your rapper visibly done with his member and jungkook in the middle of a banana milk breakdown. you’ll have to frame this picture.

“you’re the most adorable thing there is, jungkookie”, you reassure him. yoongi just snorts when he sees the faintest flush on his bandmate’s face.

“that’s enough praise for him, baby. save it for your students.” there is no humor in the smile you send him. after a beat of silence in which you burry all your frustration deep inside the pits of your stomach, you try to change the subject.

“how is nature?” they’ve been in the woods for weeks, completely closed off from all the city drama. you’ve never seen jimin so excited to drive – while namjoon’s sour face reflected how much the latest failed drivers test bothered him.

“jin-hyung nearly died in the water today. it was epic”, your friend instead of your boyfriend answers and you have to shift a giggle at yoongi’s eyeroll.

“be gone, maknae”

rudely blunt – just how you liked your partner. jungkook just winks at you in a silent goodbye and gets up. he’s nearly out of the picture before his upper body shoves against the rapper. his nose is way too close to the screen and you’d be worried about his eyes – if you didn’t know how often the singer spends his nights in front of his computer.

“noona, you’ll replace the milk, right?”

“jungkook”, yoongi growls in responds. the boy is not acknowledging his colleague, so you give in and nod.

“of course, kookie. it’s already waiting in the fridge for you to come back”, you tell him. as soon as these words leave your mouth, the maknae is satisfied and gone.

“you don’t have to baby him that much, ____”, yoongi says while moving the phone closer to his face. you can see the dark circles under his eyes better now.

“what’s keeping you up at night, yoongs?”, you ask instead of answering his complaint. the rapper smiles faintly at the screen.

“you, baby, always you” yu snort and let yourself lie down on the couch – the papers can wait another day, or a lifetime.

“i wish”, you say truthfully. you’d sell one of your kidneys to relax with the boys far away from the pandemic madness. after having yoongi to yourself for two weeks non-stop, you are way too spoiled. even though your legs are deeply grateful for this recovery time, you miss the constant calm radiating off of your boyfriend.

“i’ll be back soon, baby”, he reassures you and draws lines across the screen. your cheeks look colorless and it worries him just as much as his lack of sleep bothers you.

“make it sooner”, you mutter and close your eyes when you hear his chuckle in responds.

“have you had dinner yet?”, yoongi asks but you don’t want to open your eyes, not ready to face his criticism.

“nah, i’ll wait till sungho gets here.” you don’t need your eyesight to feel his disapproval.

“that’s not very socially distance of you, ____.” yeah, no baby anymore. still, you remain shut off.

“he’s just a friend. one friend. one work friend. one work friend that needs help with the new school cloud. the online grading program is a pain in the ass.”

“and why do you have to do that at six on a friday night in our home?”, yoongi notices the tiniest of smiles on your lips as he mentions your shared home. he, too, loves your little flat with a pandora of memories.

“because i am a loner and don’t have anything better planed for the weekend and my boyfriend is camping in the woods and oh – there is a global pandemic”, you snort and open your eyes to watch your boyfriend’s tensed expression.

“if you’re a loner – what am i then? a stone?”, yoongi asks sarcastically.

“maybe a boulder”, you shoot back with a soft smile that melts his jealousy away… nearly.

“just… don’t let him touch my stuff”, yoongi orders. he’d trade his own maknae to be the one at the other side of your door when he hears a distant knocking sound.

“that’ll be him, yoongs”, you say and move off the couch with as much dignity as one can muster after a whole work week and no motivation left in the bones.

“promise to call me back when you’re in bed?”, your boyfriend pleads, reluctant to let you go. with him going on world tours this phone conversation isn’t your first and it won’t be the last. still, his small request fills you with yearning.

“of course”, you promise, eyes still on him as you open the door without a second thought.

a fist connects with your skull while your eyes widen at the sight of two ski-masked men. the pain is instantly blinding your senses and you start to scream with tears clouding your vision. you fall to the floor before they push their way inside your home. one of them, muscle clad with wide shoulders kicks you in the stomach just to move you out of their way. the other, smaller in statue, crushes your phone with his shoe, the cracked screen frozen with your boyfriend starring at you in horror.

**

namjoon will never forget the bone chilling scream waking him this evening from his nap. he’s never heard yoongi’s voice filled to the brim with pain. not even registering his movements, he tumbles into the living room where is friend is still yelling your name, his face a mask of panic.

“hyung, what’s wrong?”, namjoon asks as footsteps behind him signal the arrival of his bandmates.

yoongi’s hands shake as his eyes stay fixed on the screen of his form. the leader moves first, not able to watch his friend losing himself. when joon steps behind yoongi’s figure to calm him down, a cold shower travels through his body. the screen shows you lying on the floor with red dripping from your mouth. your eyes are closed, but namjoon notices the uneven rise and fall of your chest – you’re breathing.

“jin, call the police”, the leader orders without turning around. his hands try to pry the phone out of yoongi’s fingers, but they are white with pressure and unforgiving. his lungs are still screaming and namjoon’s heart breaks at the scene.

“hyung, - just… calm down”, he says, not quite believing in his own words. he wouldn’t calm down either in yoongi’s position.

“what am i reporting?”, seokjin asks, close enough that the question answers itself as soon as he peaks over yoongi’s shoulder.

“i’d like to report a break-in – there is a person, hurt. the address is-“

yoongi can’t hear his oldest colleague, the voice drowned by his worry for you. at first, he doesn’t register namjoon’s chest pressing behind his back, but then his body shudders when the fellow rapper hugs him from behind.

“hyung, we – sh – it’s gonna be okay. it’ll be okay, she’s okay… we… you have to calm down, yoongi”, namjoon sooths his friend of ten years and rocks them both from side to side.

“taehyung, call the building manager – there should be security in the foyer”, seokjin commands the young man who watches the scene in front of him passively. as soon as he hears his name though, the singer moves to grab his iphone with shaky fingers.

“look, hyung, she’s awake”, joon points out and yoongi shakes his head to move these stupid tears out of his vision. indeed, your eyes are open as you try to even your breathing. it looks like you are crying as well and yoongi has never felt this kind of searing pain before. to see the love of his life in tears and burglars destroying your home while he is in the middle of fucking nowhere, makes him sick. when he sees you trying to get up, only to drop back onto the floor, his stomach turns. yoongi vomits onto his lap and namjoon has to hold his friend upright as he loses consciousness.

**

you’ve never been this glad for the heavy painkillers your boyfriend has tugged away in the bathroom due to his immense shoulder problems. the icepack pressed to your forehead cools for body down; still, you are shaking with adrenaline as you watch the security guard pace in front of you.

“yes, sir, yes – no, of course sir, negative sir”, he looks at your shaking form and grimaces before answering. “minor injuries”, the guard holds his phone further away when his caller answers a few decibels too loud.

“the paramedics are on their way”, he responds, not daring to look you directly in the eye. after another game of “yes and no”, the security ends his call.

“how are you, ma’am?”, the man in uniform asks, but remains standing a few feet away. when he first got here after receiving a hectic message from his boss, you were crying on the floor – alone. his colleague is already checking the floors, while another is combing through the surveillance footage. it’s been five minutes and you still look like a ghost.

his instructions were crystal clear – don’t touch the subject. but his heart clenches when he sees your trembling form trying to calm yourself down.

before you can answer him, two paramedics arrive through the door. they zero in on the blood drying across your forehead. their hands press gently against your skin and ask you questions you try to answer. soon, they move you to a standing position, with your head wound dressed and your vitals checked.

“we’ll take you to the hospital, ma’am”, the older woman explains. with a few steps you are at the door – there, right on the threshold where your nightmare began half an hour ago, stands sungho, chinese take-out and laptop in hand. your fellow teacher looks at you with widened eyes.

“_____ - what the hell?”, he curses and nearly drops his food when you smile at him – your teeth unbeknown to you still tinted red.

“are you her partner?”, the paramedic asks.

“just a friend”, he answers, not letting you out of his sight.

“we have to get her to the hospital – will you accompany us?”, the medic questions and sungho nods. your little crowd moves to the elevator and the security guard closes your door with a soft click. the police will be here soon, he thinks as he watches your beaten figure step onto the elevator.

**

“this cannot be the way to do this, ___”, sungho exclaims while you are staring at the iv-drip connected to your arm in distress. you hate needles.

the hospital’s v.i.p room is normally reserved for celebrities, but they made an exception for you, the girlfriend of min yoongi. sejin’s hunched form outside the room might have played a role in that. bangtan’s manager arrived half an hour ago, worried and disheveled. his posture calmed when the doctors reassured him, you’d be okay. now, he’s waiting for seven idols in various stages of panic to arrive.

“it’s the way this works – just… do as i say, okay?”, you huff. there is a part of you not willing to let the last hours crash into you; not without your partner here. so, you’ve spent the last sixty minutes showing him how to use your new school cloud – the easy way, not the right one.

“but the course still doesn’t show in my settings”, he whines, and you roll your eyes while pushing cold pad thai in your mouth. the rich flavor appeases your hungry stomach and you swallow the take-out down in one breathe. songho is a godsend for bringing the ordered food with him to the hospital. it’s a much-needed distraction from the horror of your cracked rib and light concussion.

“you have to set the course to ‘official’ – it’s still private”, you explain with another mouthful of oily noodles slurring your speech.

sungho’s brows furrow in concentration when you hear heavy footsteps in the hall. the boys are there – and they are not slowing down.

before sejin can even try to greet the idols, yoongi pushes through the door – all six of them only a breath behind.

the second you see him, the tears start without your consent. yoongi looks crazy – his eyes gleam with insanity – as he sucks in the hospital air through his mask.

you’re here. you’re alive. you’re safe. you’re here. he’s here. you are both here. his thoughts are running in circles – not ready to slow down, not ready to expand.

your boyfriend resembles a statue; just standing in front of the hospital bed. his face screams for help and it breaks you as the first cry leaves your throat. in a flash yoongi is moving to you, bumping into a shocked sungho. his finger brush against your wet cheeks like you’d break under his touch, while your body collapses.

“baby”, he whispers – the first word his members have heard since he regained consciousness.

“yoongs”, you answer and throw your arms around his neck. the smell of vomit and sweat makes your nose crunch up, but your boyfriend hugs it all away. his forearms rest on each side of your head – supporting his weight – as he lets you hold on to him, the boyfriend who was playing idol life in the woods instead of being at home with his girlfriend. even through his mask he can breathe in your unique smell, clouded by disinfectant.

“noona”, the youngest whimpers from the doorway. jungkook is silently crying, his mask discolored from the tears. every member looks at you with sorrow, the younger ones visibly not as professional at keeping their emotions together. namjoon looks like he’s aged a decade, but there is a small smile pressing his eyes together behind his mask. you try to reciprocate his smile, but yoongi’s head his pressing against your cheeks with vigor.

“why don’t we give them some space?”, sejin says to which your coworker nods instantly. he’s your friend for sure – but this is a level of intimacy he’s not willing to share with you.

the members need more convincing as hoseok tries to gently pull jungkook back. the maknae vehemently shakes his head, not ready to leave you and yoongi alone.

“we’ll wait right outside, kookie”, seokjin coax him out of the room. he’s still reluctant so go, but jimin’s small body pushes against his back. soon, namjoon closes the door, leaving you alone.

your tears won’t stop and you try to move closer to your boyfriend – you want to feel him all around you. without words yoongi understands your need and presses his body down on yours. there is a sharp pain when his stomach meets your fractured rib.

“ah”, you breathe, hurting. yoongi extracts himself from you in a flash; every fiber of his being furious at your injury.

“baby”, he calls out as his fingers ghost across your ribcage.

“it’ll… it’ll heal soon”, you say timidly.

“how could this happen, baby?”, he asks, still more interested in your upper body than your eyes.

“i-i i should-d have che-checked the door before, ah before answering”, you whimper, ready to face the blame.

with yoongi’s lifestyle comes a certain level of danger. you’ve been trained to be more cautious with everyday things like grocery shopping, inviting new friends over, answering the door without checking the cam.

“no, no, no, no – baby – no…”, he hushes you. “they should have never been able to pass the foyer, nor should they have been able to move to the penthouse level.”

“i-i was so scared”, you admit, linking your fingers with his and pressing them close to your still beating heart.

“i know, baby, me too”, yoongi soothes you and flexes his fingertips against your warm skin.

“i’ve never felt this worthless… you got hurt… right in front of me… and i … i couldn’t do anything.” his voice shakes with emotions and slowly his stare moves to your bruised face. the madness has nearly died in his eyes – but there is still so much pain hidden behind his brown iris.

“i- i could have lost you”, he whispers darkly, speaking a truth into reality he is not ready to face. your crying has stopped now that the both of you are calmer and connected.

“nah, never, remember?”, you say with some form of humor behind your words. “i’m your trophy wife. trophy wives don’t die. first, they’d kill their rich husband”, you remind your boyfriend of your conversation half a lifetime ago.

“it’d be an honor getting murdered by you, baby.” his mask is gone in a flash and then you feel the warmth of his lips against your temple. “just let me finish my third mixtape first.”

**

“don’t move, noona”, jungkook pleads as the warm sunlight irritates your skin. the fresh air is caressing your body while the youngest tries to finish his painting. trees surround the both of you, resting on a soft picnic blanket. it’s the first time since your release from the hospital that yoongi has left you out of his sight. granted, you’re still not totally alone with the strongest bangtan member watching over you like a hawk. but it’s definitely a much-needed break from yoongi’s fretting.

after nearly throwing a tantrum in front of his manager und some staff members who wanted to continue the filming of their new “in the soop” show, all the members knew they’d have to handle their rapper with care. leaving you alone wasn’t an option, so taehyung and seokjin packed your suitcase with essentials and after your doctors determined you ready to rest at home, all eight of you moved back to the chill vacation home in the middle of nowhere.

the last few days have been difficult – the filming staff getting more and more irritated because the members flocked around you 24/7. sejin had to come up with a different schedule allowing every bandmate time to reconnect with you as well as time to do their work. only yoongi was allowed to not leave your side most of the day – him working on the new music being the cover for his absence.

but after days of your boyfriend breathing down your neck, you’ve had enough. so, now yoongi is out on the water with seokjin fishing, while you’re spending time with jungkook.

“when did the police say they are coming?”, you ask the painter. his nose is crunched in concentration as he tries to outline your hipbone.

“they should be here before lunch – if your boyfriend even manages to catch some lunch”, he answers. you snort, messing up his grasp of your proportions.

“i do have faith in seokjin’s ability.” jungkook chuckles but keeps his eyes on your drawing. you look so delicate, so soft, he can’t believe they nearly lost you.

“i got robbed – i didn’t die, kookie”, you read his mind as his eyes darken.

“you got hurt”, he responds through clenched teeth.

“and they’ll pay for that”, you vow. the police had called this morning with the news of your robbers being captured during another crime. you’re still not sure how the officers can be so sure they’re the same criminals, but you’re eager to close this chapter with your statement later that day.

your painting session gets interrupted by namjoon. “the detectives are already here, ____.”

jungkook is by your side in a flash and together with the leader the both of them help you up. the rib is healing and harsh movements still hurt. yoongi had a near meltdown when you tried to ride him yesterday morning only to topple over in pain.

“yoongi and jin don’t have a signal out in the water – but they won’t be long”, namjoon explains and guides you indoors to meet the two officers.

“ms. ______, a pleasure to meet you”, the older policeman says in greeting. the younger one only shifts uncomfortable when he sees you flanked by two famous idols.

“thanks for coming all this way”, you respond and bow slowly, not to put extra pressure on your rib.

“is there somewhere we could talk – uhm- privately?”, the old man asks and you show them to one of the office rooms in the back. jungkook reluctantly leaves your side and joon only squeezes your hand in passing.

“just holler when you need us, _____”, he says before ordering the maknae to clean the art supplies.

with both officers sitting across from you, you nervously fiddle in your chair.

“the two intruders were caught this morning while pawning off their haul”, the younger policeman states and shows you a surveillance picture of two familiar men. their figures alone invoke iced fear in your heart, and you push the picture out of your sight. after a moment of silence, you collect yourself enough to absorb the information.

“what did they steal? i – i didn’t report anything missing, sir”, you question. sure, they trashed the painting yoongi brought for you during your last vacation in italy. and some cloths were thrown across the bedroom – but there was nothing stolen. you even signed your statement last week before leaving for the woods.

the officers look at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“miss, you reported the item missing days ago. there is even a harsh voicemail left with your fiancé demanding a swift investigation.” you shake your head at their words – no, you didn’t.

“which item?”, you ask the men with narrowed eyes. you’d been off the pain meds for days now. but to call yoongi your fiancé? clearly, they’d switched up cases. the older officer opens his briefcase to retrieve a plastic bag with a… ring in it.

“in my days, my wife would have never forgotten about her engagement ring”, the man snickers as you watch the cold metal in front of you. it’s beautiful – it’s so yoongi, you wouldn’t be surprised if he himself crafted the asymmetric diamond set on roughened silver.

you’d dreamed of this moment for over a year – to lay eyes on the ring cementing your future in stone – or diamonds.

never would you have imagined it to be this tainted with two officers starring you down and the jewelry wrapped carelessly in plastic – a piece of evidence – while your boyfriend is fishing with kim seokjin.

“uhm”, you hesitate as emotions swirl around your brain. he was going to propose? to you?

“i had half a panic attack carrying it around with me the whole day – that thing could pay off all my debt, as well as my kid’s college fees”, the officer jokes, still not recognizing your surprise as genuine.

“uhm”, you try again to form words.

“we’ve all the papers here for you to sign; after that we’ll be ready to get out of your hair… for now”, the youngest states and moves different documents across the table. they lie next to yoongi’s engagement ring – your engagement ring.

“uhm”

giving up on forming a coherent sentence, you move along and sign your name on the different protocols. the paper from your insurance company makes your heart still – reading all the zeros on the price of your ring.

this… is by far the worst engagement set up you’ve ever heard of. your hands shack and your signature looks just terrible, but it’s enough for the two detectives. they still don’t seem to find your reaction odd as they collect their stuff and bid you fare well. like a zombie you get up and follow them to the front door, your ring clutched between your fingertips.

jungkook and jimin are waiting for you next to the foyer and jump at the sight of your pale face.

“everything alright?”, jimin asks and places a protective hand on your back. your slow nod does not convince them and their eyes sour at the policemen.

while the younger officer takes a step back, the oldest just chuckles at your idol friends.

“all is well, kids”, he sooths them. then both bow to you and you can only muster an awkward smile, the jewelry heavy in your hand.

“happy wedding planning, ms. ____”, he winks at you before they leave. the soft click of the closing door is the only sound in the hallway. you’re not even sure you’re breathing.

after a beat of silence you flinch at the sound of jimin’s high-pitched squeal.

“weeeedding”, he asks, way too loud and way too joyful. the mochi-cheeked idol excitedly jumps up and down, not really caring that you remain silent.

jungkook on the other hand looks … really upset. “you told the police but not me?”, he whispers betrayed.

you could cry as you feel the headache from your concussion clouding your mind. this is… too much.

“uhm”, you’ve decided to stick with your running-gag answer and push both idols out of your way.

your feet carry you out of the house, through the terrace door and before you know it, you’re running across the green gras. the smell of the lake invades your nose while you search for you boyfriend. yoongi’s boat is still on the water and you spot both men resting against each other with their rods, ready to catch your lunch. sunshine shimmers on the lake’s surface as you run onto the dock. your bare feet press against the wood while your hair rushes around you – the wind breezing through the unkempt strands.

**

“is… is that _____, yoongi?”, seokjin asks his fishing buddy who’s more focused watching the water for prey than his surroundings.

“huh?”, he hums, not really listening to his friend.

“i- i think your girlfriend wants to talk to you, yoongi”, the old singer says hesitantly as he sees you jumping up and down on the wooden dock. this can’t be good for your health.

swiftly, the rapper turns to the spot seokjin is pointing at. and there you stand – beautiful and barefoot, dressed in his t-shirt and some old leggings. your hair is a mess and the sun dances across your skin like the tiniest firework.

“MIN YOONGI”, you shout at the top of your lungs. your boyfriend flinches hearing your loud voice across the water.

“she sounds angry”, seokjin whispers.

“YOU FOOL”, you continue to yell and see seokjin’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“oh, i hope the crew gets this on tape”, he says with glee while yoongi really, truly tries to find a reason for your anger. he’s left you alone today, at your request. maybe you didn’t really want him to go? was it a test to see how much he wanted to stay with you? did he fail?

“I GOT YOUR RING!”, you shout and flash the evidence bag high in the air.

immediately, the rapper shoots up from his sitting position, rocking the boat dangerously form side to side.

“yah, yoongi, what the hell?”, seokjin swears but your boyfriend’s eyes rest on you, holding your engagement ring in a plastic bag. there is no air in his lungs – he’s been thinking about this moment for the last two years. he dreamed of your joyful tears, how soft your hands would feel while pushing the silver banner on your finger.

and now… he’s an ocean away from you holding on to the jewelry that got you hurt weeks ago.

“DO YOU WANT TO ASK ME SOMETHING, MIN YOONGI?”, you scream and your boyfriend’s eyes widen when they see the smile on your lips; do you – do you find this funny?

without thinking, he takes a step forward.

You can only watch seokjin’s helpless grimace as yoongi brings the boat out of balance. both idols topple over and splash into the cold sea.

the icy water doesn’t bother the rapper as he pushes to the surface. the sun shines high up while he speeds to the dock. you’ve never seen your boyfriend this determent – his laps forceful and quick, leaving a still shocked seokjin behind.

your fingers shake as you watch him come closer and closer to you. in mere moments he’s close enough for you to hear his heavy breathing.

yoongi heaves himself out of the cold, his shoulder screaming in pain, and then he is dripping in front of you. your boyfriend looks like a wet dog, the black hair plastered to his forehead as he steps forward. you can smell the sea salt across his drenched clothes.

the engagement ring screams from the bag to be acknowledged and yoongi is just… staring at you deeply.

“i had it all planned”, he whispers wringing his sweater. the gush of water drops on the deck, but the idol only looks at you. “weeks ago.” his fingers wrap around your writs, a silent plea to give the ring to its rightful owner – for now.

“i wanted to take you to the restaurant where we had our first date”, he admits and opens the bag. your first date had been a disaster – you’re still vividly remembering the food poisoning.

“then all the restaurants closed down; we were both so stressed… and… life went on”, yoongi continues as the ring dances between his fingertips. it looks like art without the plastic cheapening its presence.

“i... wanted it to be perfect.” his whispered words fall to the floor as he kneels in front of you. warmth is coloring your face, seeing your idol submitting to you.

“baby… you know how much i love you… how much you inspire me every day to become the best version of myself”, yoongi’s voice cracks against his words and you can’t help the softest coo from leaving your lips.

“i promise i’ll make you the best trophy wife of south korea.”

you snort as you hear boyish snicker from behind you at yoongi’s joke.

“will you spend the rest of my life with this ring on your hand?”, he asks and without waiting for an answer, he pushes the silver band on your finger. it fits perfectly.

“am i not supposed to agree first?”, you respond as your eyes stay on your future husband.

“oh baby, you agreed the moment you ate my burned pasta.” yoongi gets up and pushes a lose strand of hair behind your ears.

“you agreed the moment you moved in with me, a struggling insomniac.” his hands cradle your face, framing the expression of love between his palms.

“you agreed the moment you let me change your tampon because you were too drunk to move.” he gives you airy butterfly kisses.

“you agreed the moment you didn’t kill me for stealing your favorite ice cream from the freezer.”

“that actually was a close call”, you chime in, only to hear his soft chuckle.

“you agreed all those nights staying with holly in our shared bed while i traveled across the globe.”

a kiss is planted on the fresh scar across your temple. “you agreed all these moments where my depression was too much, where i was trapped in my own misery.”

a line of kisses travels to your mouth. mere millimeters from your lips he stills. “you do, right?”

under all the layers of love, confidence and familiarity, there is still a shy boy unsure of his worth. your smile is infused with giddiness as you close the gap, pressing your lips together in the softest kiss.

“i do”, you whisper in his mouth, only to meet his tongue with your own in a joyful dance. the boys around you are cheering, while the soft waves of the lake clash against the dock. you’re in pure bliss, kissing your wet fiancé fiercely.

and then you hear a loud thud, a wet slash on the wood. surprised, you both jump away a step – only to see a heaving seokjin lying flat on the deck, chest rising at a fast pace.

“i near- i nearly died for th-this engagement, ____. if – if i’m am not the be-best man, i’ll… will cast a spell on all- all yo-ur children.”

____

ah, this fic is crazy and totally not what i imagined it to become. i hope you enjoyed the read! there is only one chapter left (the stalker) – who’s excited for it? i hope you are doing well! to you, your family and/or loved ones i wish only the most festive time this week! love, dana

[thran-duils]

Total Eclipse (P.4)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part Four) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 3,068 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always

Part Three || Part Five || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Your wedding was fast approaching, a handful of days. Your engagement was rather short, the announcement Arthur, being older than Sherlock at 45, and widowed once already without children, he was eager to get you into his estate. He was able to pay enough to get everything set up on a faster track than other people and despite being less than excited about the prospect, you had to admit you were impressed.

The following day after the heartbreaking meeting with Sherlock, you had sent a note to his place. And did not receive a response.

Your notes sent to Baker Street remained unanswered in the following weeks.

Desperate, you addressed it to John this time.

That got a response.

He showed up at your place for the tea you extended an invitation for. To your servants that prepared the tea and lunch, you told them you were looking for his opinion on which doctor he believed would be best to oversee your care during pregnancy. You told them he was a great surgeon, so you respected him and valued his insider’s opinion on the matter. They accepted it without question; it was a perfectly reasonable reason to invite John here and it was not like you lied about him at all, so there was nothing to uncover.

“Well, the estate is magnificent,” John told you after you had exchanged pleasantries and you excused the maids from the drawing room. The door was left cracked for modesty’s sake.

You nodded, “It is. Expansive. I hardly can keep myself from getting lost. I daresay it’ll take years perhaps for me to explore all the corners. I have become fond of the willow tree in the back though. That is a point of relaxation for me.”

“That sounds lovely,” John commented, giving you a warm smile.

“Yes… would you like a ham and cheese sandwich?”

“Please.”

You served him up two and he smiled, thanking you as he took the plate. Giving yourself one as well as vegetables, you took a bite and said after you had swallowed, “I actually had a question for you. I… well, I’m looking for an opinion. On a doctor.” You noticed the look on his face and you gave a little laugh, “Not a surgeon. I know exactly where I would go for that. I’d trust you with my life. But a delivery doctor – or a midwife – that you would recommend would be greatly appreciated.”

John looked stunned for a moment, but he recovered quickly, swallowing his bite. “You… you need this?”

“Well… not immediately. We are trying though. Arthur is… quite desperate for children,” you admitted, keeping your eyes off of him, slightly embarrassed to be hinting at the fact you were sleeping with someone besides Sherlock. Even if the man being discussed was your husband. “I am just trying to get ahead because I do believe it will happen sooner rather than later. It does not hurt to be prepared.”

“No, it certainly does not,” John agreed. He cleared his throat and said, “Well, I do have some people I could recommend, certainly. I could give you their information and you could contact them?”

“That would be most helpful.”

John took another bite of his sandwich and looked in thought as he chewed. You followed suit, taking another bite.

“I thought perhaps you had called on me… for another reason.”

“Oh, I did,” you answered, smiling sheepishly. John took another bite, waiting for you to go on. He was giving you the floor to plead your case. You exhaled heavily and said in a quieter voice, “I appreciate you answering. He would not respond to me. I do not know how to get through to him.”

You shot a look at the door and John nodded, standing up. He walked towards the window near you, so he would be in plain sight from the crack in the door, removing any suspicion of what was transpiring. You could speak in hushed tones and still not be accused of engaging in unsavory acts.

“He’s… locked himself in his room.” John’s face fell at your upset sigh and he added, “If it makes you feel any better, he’s barely speaking to me either.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better. Worse actually.”

“I found him a case though. I am going to tell him about it when we get back. I hope that will draw him out and get him back on his feet.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him like I did, you know.”

“I know. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place.” He gave you a sympathetic look. “I am sure he knows that. He is just… absolutely dreadful at showing his emotions and even worse at processing them.”

Fighting back the tears that were starting to form, you took another bite of your sandwich, trying to focus on that to get yourself back under control. John was watching you closely, you saw that when you snuck a glance up at him.

“I didn’t want this. “I don’t want to lose… our relationship,” you said in a voice barely above a whisper, unable to stop the tears brimming. “He has to know that.”

“He will. He does.”

“Take him on the case, please, like you’re planning. That’ll clear his mind, give him something to occupy his time and lift his spirit.”

“I will.” John leaned in and told you sincerely, “And I will speak to him as well. I’ll get through to him.”

<><><>

Pouring a generous amount of spiked lemonade for yourself and the two servants you had brought with you, you sat on a bench in Hyde Park. Your servant girls were delighted to go out with you at these times. It was forbidden – illegal actually – to drink in public and the scandal if it were women.

It tasted well and you took a large drink. Your eyes ran around the park as the servants made small talk among themselves.

Your breath caught in your chest. He was gazing at you across the fountain. Hair windswept, his eyes bright. He looked better than the last time you saw him.

Shooting a glance at your escorts that were sitting beside you, Sherlock’s eyes glanced briefly to them before meeting your eyes again. His hands were in his pockets, looking calm. It had been a couple of weeks since you had spoken with John and two months since you had seen Sherlock.

“I am going to take a stroll,” you told your servants, putting your drink down. They stood with you, and you told them, “I… I would like to take a short walk alone. It’s becoming more common, is it not? Unescorted women? Plus, this is a park. How much trouble can I get into here?” The girls looked uncertain but sat back down. “Have some more of the lemonade.” You gave them a wink and they were all too pleased with that.

You stood, your umbrella over your shoulder still, protecting you from the sun. The gravel crunched underneath your feet as you made your way away from the fountain towards one of the flower gardens. Not quite in bloom yet but there were few people over here. You heard footsteps on the path behind you, and a smile came over your face. You tried to stifle it though; you did not want to seem too eager.

Coming to a stop before a statue, you pretended to be admiring it. The air shifted beside you and you turned your head, finding Sherlock, staring at it as well, a good three or four feet away.

“You look well,” he commented, breaking the silence.

“So do you.”

You hid another smile as best as you could, elated that he had come back to you.

<><><>

Present

Fingers intertwined with Arthur’s, the other on his shoulder, you let him lead you around the ballroom. He was a stiff dancer no matter how hard you tried to get him to loosen up. There was not love in his embrace, merely going through the motions. He was doing his diligence to keep up appearances. All his devotion had left with his first wife and what he had left for you was tradition. You had performed your role for him perfectly by providing him a son and you knew he had affection for you, but it was purely on a superficial level. You were not alone in this though; you had noticed it more with married couples the longer you paid attention to them. Many were in loveless marriages, hogtied by dowries and fortunes that landed them in their marriages in the first place. Business contracts is what the relationships were, not marriages or at least not what marriages should be, you believed.

The song ended and he bowed to you in unison with the other men around the dance floor to their partners. He held out his arm and you looped arms with him to allow him to walk you off the dance floor.

“I am in need of another refreshment. What about you, my dear?” Arthur asked, peering at you through his mask.

He had had matching masks crafted for the pair of you, mirrored after the fall season. It matched the shimmering, gold gown you were wearing. He wore the same fabric on his waist coat.

“That sounds lovely. That wine was delicious.”

“Yes, yes it was,” Arthur agreed.

Holding your wine, you took small sips, listening to Arthur make small talk with a group of men. The other women in the circle were doing the same as you, trying to bury their nose in their wine to make the conversation tolerable.

When you found your glass empty, you placed it on a tray passing by.

“Have the hors d’oeuvres come out yet?” you asked the waiter.

“Yes, ma’am, they’ve been put out on the east side of the room.”

The other woman, Alina, beside you looked excited by the news and the two of you locked eyes. Immediately, turning towards your spouses, you asked to be excused.

“Anything to get away from that boring conversation,” Alina muttered as the two of you made your way through the crowd. She was married to one of Arthur’s closest companions, so you had spent substantial time together.

You snorted and leaned in, “I don’t think the wine is working this time.”

“We just haven’t drunk enough. Thank god you have a wet nurse employed for situations such as this when you will be otherwise indisposed to do it yourself,” Alina told you, smiling.

Alina moved away from you at the table, her eye caught by something down the table that piqued her appetite. You stayed collecting your favorite and surrounding dishes.

“Old habits die hard,” Sherlock sounded from beside you, holding his own plate. He was wearing an elaborate black and gold mask.

“Did you even have to have that made or did you already have it on hand?” you jested.

“Had it for years. Never had a purpose for it until now.”

“Well, you can think me for getting you to dust it off and finally get some use out of it.”

“Is this your party?” he asked sarcastically. You resisted the urge to smack his hand. “Oh, here. These are delicious.”

He added his favorite appetizer to your plate.

“Don’t get too bold now,” you said under your breath.

“No, you’re right. That’s your area of expertise,” he responded just as quietly as the pair of you moved further down the table, opposite way from where Alina was.

“Where’s Watson?”

“Enjoying the gambling tables as per usual.”

“There are gambling tables? Here?” You were shocked. It was polite society.

“There are always gambling tables, darling,” Sherlock responded. You quickly stomped on his foot, and he grunted. “Right, ma’am. The gambling tables are just hidden in a back room.”

The two of you pulled away from the table and Sherlock took one of the appetizers in one bite. Your eyes went back to the table and saw Alina was engaged in a conversation with another wife who had also escaped to the food. Good, that gave you a few minutes. You took a quick couple of bites of different hors d’oeuvres before turning to him, leaning in.

“I am going to introduce you to Arthur.”

Sherlock choked on his bite, and you frowned. He gave a cough to clear his throat, hitting at his chest lightly.

“Are you alright?”

“Peachy,” he rasped. He swallowed and took a deep breath. When he was satisfied he could breath properly again, he leaned back in. “Have you gone mad? Do I need to send you to an asylum?”

“Don’t you see? If you are introduced, then I could invite both you and John to dinner.”

“I… I don’t see. You want me to come to your house and see you doting on him? Is this a sick game? Have I done something to offend you?”

Sighing impatiently, you pulled him even further away from the table, towards the wall. “No, it’s not a game. It’s a plan for us to see each other more often.” Even with the mask, you could see Sherlock’s eyes and he looked unmoved by the notion. “If you come to dinner, then you are a friend of the family. And if we see each other in public – or other’s see us in public, for that matter – it will not be suspicious. It won’t draw attention. We won’t have to always sneak around in the shadows. Now, do you see?”

Sherlock cleared his throat, staring back at you. After a few moments, he said, “Yes. Yes, I see.”

“You’ll have some people know your face but would that be so bad?”

His lip twitched before he answered, “No… it would not be if the end result is what you are describing.”

“So, escort me back to Arthur.”

He looked like he would rather swallow nails than hand you back over to Arthur, but he did it all the same. You told him to act natural – Sherlock quipping that he was a natural at acting natural – and you made small talk as you walked back towards the group of men and wives. Sherlock was being respectful with his distance between the two of you, like a gentlemen should with a woman. Arthur noticed the two of you coming back and his brow pinched.

“Oh, love, I brought you some of your favorites,” you told him, holding up the plate.

Arthur looked briefly down at the plate and he nodded, giving you a quick smile, taking the plate from him. But his eyes were back on Sherlock.

“And I ran into an acquaintance on my wander around the table. A friend through Dr. Watson, actually.” Arthur relaxed at that; he knew who John was and had respect for him. “Mr. Holmes.”

One of the other men in the group said, “Not the Sherlock Holmes we hear so much about in the newspapers?”

“One and the same,” Sherlock said before you could answer, giving the man a tight-lipped smile.

That broke the ice and the men’s conversation turned over to him. The plan was working out perfectly.

<><><>

“Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson have arrived,” your head servant announced to you and Arthur sitting in the drawing room with a handful of other couples that had been invited to the dinner.

Your heart was hammering, knowing that this would be the first time Sherlock had ever stepped foot in your home. You stood to greet your guests, your hands clasped in front of you. Your servant stepped out of the way and the pair entered. Sherlock’s eyes were running over the large drawing room, and you knew he was taking in every detail that he could. You wondered what was going through his head, but you had an idea.

They approached you and Arthur welcomed them, giving them both light handshakes. You stood beside him, nodding at them politely. Sherlock’s eyes only lingered on you for a moment before he busied himself with commenting on the painting above the mantel. Arthur was all too ready to gloat about how he had come to acquire it and Sherlock was doing his best impersonation that he cared at all. You could see through the façade, but you knew it would be lost on Arthur.

“I told him to behave,” John whispered to you.

“Let’s see how long that lasts,” you whispered back.

Another couple arrived and within fifteen minutes, your servant came back to announce dinner was ready. You and Arthur left the room first, going to seat yourselves at the table, and then the procession of the guests came after you.

For the ten-course meal, you had specifically ordered woodcock for the first main course, knowing that was Sherlock’s favorite. You felt him looking at you when it was announced and presented. You purposely ignored him. And ignored him again when the dessert came out and he found trifle in front of him.

After dinner, the ladies and you retired from the dining room, the men standing at attention to bid you farewell. Sherlock’s eyes were locked on you, and you noticed John elbow him discreetly in the side. You hide your smirk, leading the ladies from the room so the men could indulge in cigars and political talk.

You hated that you could not speak to him more with customs being the sexes were separated after dinner. And only upon his departure were you allowed to speak briefly with him again. He looked like he had controlled himself on the drink – although it was always hard to tell with him since he was able to hide his indulges with it so well.

At his absence, you felt a loss. It seemed the night had gone by so quickly and with so little interaction. But at least you had seen him and he had seen you.

When you entered your bed chamber later in the evening, you found a folded note on your vanity. Sneaking a glance over your shoulder to make sure Arthur had not entered the rooms yet, you picked it up.

Scribbled inside was an address and a date. Sherlock’s handwriting.

You smiled to yourself before you noticed your perfume was missing. Sighing to yourself, you said under your breath, “If he would have just asked…”

~~~

Fic tags: @undecidedsworld @mcnegan

[ariparri]

This drawing was inspired by a story my friend cursedautumn wrote for me as her part of our usual story for art trade.

It's been so long since I've drawn something in this style, I was scared I was going to give up half way through the entire thing. But nope, I was quite ambitious and pulled through 9 hours to finish this piece!

Look at that! It's absolutely beautiful 😭 I can stare at this and be so damn proud of it all day!

Speaking of the story, you can read it here under the cut. Flowers may be my absolute favorite from autumn's stories, but this was just too cute. I just adore the father/daughter dynamic Veruca and Elroy have.

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

His Princess

"Alrighty, I'm leaving." Wilhelmina kissed Elroy on the cheek and took the bag. “I'll be there in the evening, don't wait for me early. I left a list of products that Vera needs to be fed. Are you sure you can handle it?"

"You underestimate me," Elroy growled, jokingly offended. "Veruca will be fine, I'm a fully capable father, Wil. Go and have a good rest, you'll see when you come back, the house will shine, and the child will have the tenth dream." Wilhelmina smiled dryly and rolled her eyes. "You're the same as always. Well, I'm off."

With that, she opened the door and went out. Elroy watched her go for a while until she disappeared behind the fence, then closed the door and took a deep breath. Elroy McQuaid was a father of two children, but, frankly, he had already forgotten what it was like to stay all day with a small child. Coby had grown up a long time ago, now he was at Hogwarts (where, by the way, he recently received an indignant letter from Minerva McGonagall about his son's behavior), and little Veruca did not want to sit still and quickly came up with entertainment for herself: she rolled away from her father, turning over from her back to her stomach, then, on the contrary, crawled up to him and began pulling his hair or stubble. Elroy didn't mind, but he couldn't let his daughter roll around on the floor all day and pinch him! He had to think of something to do. So he picked up Veruca in his arms and spoke,  "What should we do? We're going to play with toys, aren't we, baby?"

"Yes!" Veruca said glibly. She didn't know how to speak yet, but she already knew words like "yes", "not", "ma", "pa" and "Co-i" (that is, Coby). Elroy was infinitely proud of his daughter; Wilhelmina took it much more calmly and even laughed at his constant delight. Elroy was slightly offended: "How can you, Wil? She talks great for her age!", but there were no big quarrels because of this, and he understood that his wife showed love for her daughter in a slightly different way.

As soon as she was in her room, Veruca clung tightly to a wooden box filled to the brim with toys. There were dolls, plush toys, a plastic tea set, with which the baby sometimes gently beat her older brother, several suits with bat wings and many other means of entertainment. Elroy watched in silence as she turned over the wooden box, and sighed to himself: later he would have to take a long and painstaking time to clean up the mess that his daughter had made. But he obediently waited until all the contents of the box were on the floor, and smiled, "Come on, Vera, choose what we will play."

Veruca thought for a while and a soft bat colored so bright it was slowly eating out Elroy's eyes. This bat was given to the McQuaid family by friends a few years ago, and at first Coby played with it, and then it was taken away from him by his younger sister. Veruca took it out at every opportunity and forced the first family member she met to entertain her, holding her in their hands and "butting" the girl with a toy. Elroy didn't have much choice right now. He asked, "Are we going to play this?"

"Yes!" Veruca nodded. She had the same light green eyes as Elroy, like clear, transparent water.

"All right," he agreed. "I'll butt you. Come on…" Suddenly, he quickly grabbed the toy and began to gently poke his daughter in the face. Veruca burst into a ringing childish laugh, trying to grab a bat, and randomly waved her plump hands in the air. Elroy poked the toy first on her cheek, then in her stomach, then in her shoulder, and she laughed and made futile attempts to outwit dad and catch her pet. At that moment, Veruca strangely reminded Elroy of a young Wilhelmina, just as cheerful, laughing happily, not yet so strict and upset by the behavior of her growing son. Actually, Veruca was much more like her father, but there was already something about her that made her obviously the daughter of Wilhelmina McQuaid.

After playing with the bat, Veruca lost interest in it and took up a book of fairy tales written by the bard Beadle. Of course, it was still too early for her to read them, but the bright pictures on the glossy paper attracted the eye, and the baby ran her finger along the pages with genuine interest, looking questioningly at Elroy, as if asking what was depicted here. Most of all, she was interested in pictures of beautiful queens, princesses and sorceresses, women with long hair, dressed in dresses, robes and heavy jewelry. The girl especially liked the drawing of Morgan Le Fay, a tall red-haired woman with light green eyes, in a white dress. Veruca poked at it with her finger and hooted. 

"This, baby, is Morgan Le Fay. She was a very outstanding sorceress, healer and fortune-teller. The sorcerers bewitched people, Vera, they are also wizards, it's just that their magic was different. And Morgan was both a sorceress and a witch. It's complicated, isn't it?" Elroy explained, to which Veruca frowned and turned away, indicating that she was not interested in this topic. She always did this when she did not understand what was being said to her, but she did not want to show her ignorance — it hurts her pride so much!

And even though Veruca was still a very little girl, she had pride. This pleased Elroy: if self-confidence and healthy pride are inherent in a person from childhood, nothing will knock them out of there. So let his daughter be proud. It was better to have pride than not to have it, his sister had once told him, and Elroy completely agreed with her.

Suddenly, his daughter turned over on her stomach and, starting to turn over slowly, rolled in the opposite direction from him. Elroy was so surprised that he didn't even understand what was happening, and he stared at Veruсa with his mouth open for a few seconds, and then he realized that the typical willfulness of the McQuaids had awakened in her, and she decided to try to move herself. Attempts to "escape" have occurred before, but Wilhelmina, with the air of a connoisseur, assured that this is normal and there is no need to interfere with the child's self-development.

"Veruca!" Elroy called out to his daughter.

"Ah!" she answered him and giggled, once again turning over on her stomach. "Vera," the man said more quietly. "Where are you going?" Veruca smiled with an almost toothless mouth and giggled louder. Elroy sighed loudly and got to his feet to put the mischievous girl back in her place.

Suddenly, Veruca reached out with a tiny hand and grabbed the leg of a chair. She tensed, slightly lifting the body and pulling her legs under her.

And then she began to get up — in the literal sense, to get to her feet, holding tightly to the leg of the chair, as if for a handrail, and finally straightened up and stood up, swaying slightly. Elroy froze in mute amazement, joy and disbelief, watching his little daughter, his princess, stand on her feet for the first time, and was afraid to even sigh and break the great moment. This feeling was even brighter than what he had experienced when Coby first got on his feet, much, much brighter, although Elroy did not want to admit it to himself.

It seems that Veruca was afraid of her own independence and the next second fell on the carpet and began to cry. Elroy was at his daughter's side in the blink of an eye and hastily picked her up in his arms, saying affectionately:

"Don't cry, Vera, don't cry, my princess, everything will be fine, you're a good girl. Look, you got up for the first time today, can you imagine?" and he kissed the top of her head, stroking her back. Veruca's crying wasn't caused by pain or anything worse, it's just that she hardly expected such sharp physical progress from herself.

So he patiently calmed her down until the girl stopped crying and wearily buried her face in her father's shirt.

"Do you want to sleep?" Elroy asked gently. "Let's go sit outside. It started raining there, we'll swing in the chair, listen to the weather…"

They did just that. Elroy went out onto the terrace. There he sat down in a wicker rocking chair with Veruca in his arms and was quiet; a summer downpour was really rustling on the green street and in the garden. The storm swelled over the McQuaid estate, rallying in the sky in a dense purple wall, ready to crack and burst into lightning. But while there were no loud noises, Elroy held the sleeping Veruca, wrapped in a plump purple blanket with a bat's face, in his arms and looked at the blooming garden. There was an unusual calmness in his soul, although, in general, there was no cause for alarm; nevertheless, such satisfaction in his soul had not been for a long time-maybe because he was the father of two children, the eldest of whom was now supplying his school with problems, and the youngest was still very small and helpless, like a porcelain doll. They had to look after both of them, and it was difficult for him and Wilhelmina. Very difficult.

Elroy kissed the top of Veruca's head as she dozed off. No, he was grateful to his wife, Providence, and himself a million times for his daughter, because since his youth his dream was to have a daughter, his little princess, just like from fairy tales. As a child, he saw how carefully his father treats his sister, and just dreamed of doing the same.

And now he had Veruca.

His little girl.

His princess.

Elroy wrapped his daughter more tightly in the blanket and began to doze a little himself. The storm did not break out with thunder and lightning, only the rain began to rustle more loudly, and somewhere on the horizon a rainbow began to appear, as if the sky was watching the father and daughter and letting a bright ray through the summer rainy haze.

The rainbow was flaring up. Elroy and Veruca were sleeping peacefully.

[hopelesslygazingthestars]

In Valentines Day spirit... a lil love... and a lil angst.

Fools And Love.

Since long before Ashara’s flower blossomed, she knew that love made fools of men. There were many that came and went, fell over themselves and professed love for her pretty eyes and tinkling laugh. Even a Dornish prince had played the fool for her and sworn off marriage, and instead pursued fleeting desires.

Elia broke her promises and chose Rhaegar. When she uttered the rejection, Ashara literally heard her ribcage crack from the explosion beneath her chest. She had finally conjured up the confidence to confess long-hidden feelings and Elia gave a response she never foresaw. Her sweet Elia, the one she trusted above all others, and the one that loved her like none. The irony was not lost in that, at the beginning, she had wanted to apologize in advance because she thought it would be her to accidently break Elia’s heart and run, just like she always had. Yet, in the end, it was Elia who ripped her heart out and abandoned her.

It was only in Elia’s abandonment that Ashara realised she never healed what was broken inside of her. Elia was the tourniquet to her being, and without her, she was left bleeding on the cold, hard ground.

First, came an agonising emptiness which left her powerless to rise from her bed. Then, a volatile rage she unleashed on anything in her proximity. Next, she chased an oblivion in endless goblets of wine. Lastly, came the venomous desperation, which had her acting out for Elia’s attention in the most foolish ways.

After a long confinement, when Elia had not come chasing as usual, Ashara returned to court like a hurricane, on the centre stage of the Realm’s biggest and most extravagant tourney.

Lord Whent’s tourney at Harrenhal attracted nobility from every hill, river and rock in Westeros. From the sour lords of winter to the prickly roses of the Reach; to the stags of Storm’s End, to the old keeper of the Mountains of the Moon. Even Mad King Aerys, looking haggard and unhinged, crawled out of the dragon’s den for the first time in years, much to Rhaegar’s dismay. However, noticeably, the lions of the Rock were nowhere to be seen, except the newly knighted golden cub, Ser Jaime.

The tourney was as much a political event as it was an athletic melee. Treason was in the air, and the Great Houses of Westeros had more in mind than jousting, archery, and merrymaking. Ashara knew of the great efforts Rhaegar and Elia underwent to secretly fund the tourney in guise of calling a Great Council and initiating Rhaegar’s ascension to the Iron Throne.

After the opening ceremonies, when the dancing walls were hung with magnificent tapestries, each emblazoned with the symbols of the Great Houses, the psychological games began. Aerys made his own power plays and officially named Ser Jaime the youngest knight in kingsguard history. A clear spite at his Hand, thereby claiming the heir to the Rock his own.

Nonetheless, Ashara had plots of her own in mind. Driven by foolish attempts of attention seeking and many a cup of heady Dornish Reds, Ashara dragged Prince Oberyn up after a long evening of introductions and tedious niceties.

“Now, come. Let us show these stiff Northerners how to dance properly, my prince!”

Always ready for mischief, Oberyn set aside his wine before Ashara swept him to the centre of the dance floor.

Ashara expected the many eyes which stalked them, the distrust for the Dornish and their strange ways was something she was long accustomed to. Yet, there was only one pair of dark orbs Ashara cared to attract.

She took one of Oberyn’s serpents and waved to the musicians, who picked up their instruments and began to liven up.

The technicoloured red and blue serpent slithered up her arm and down her exposed mid riff.

Ashara was a foolish maid in love, recklessly seeking the love she was deathly afraid of losing. When she gazed up at the princely couple, seemingly besotted with one another, she knew she would sooner withstand Elia’s blazing rage than her careful distance.

She brought the serpent’s head close to her face and stuck out her tongue as its forked one did the same. The music swelled and she began to mirror its movements seductively as Oberyn stalked around her gyrating form. She moved with a slow and sensuous purpose as the snake coiled around her and slithered into Oberyn’s grip. Her body wove itself lithely in tandem with the growing rhythm of the seductive beats.

To dance was her freedom, to dance was to become a shooting star, and in the crumbling ruins of Harrenhal, Ashara came alive for the first time in so long.

Her movements flowed with a dazzling grace that took away the breath of every person in her audience. She felt her soul become one with the music and she unleashed her emotions into the dance; heartbreak, jealousy, longing. In that moment, she needed to dance as badly as she needed to breath. She wanted to shine and be seen in the darkness.

When she noticed that Elia’s attention remained on her husband, despite the audience she drew, Ashara grew more desperate. She was determined to draw such spectacle that Elia had to do something. Anything. It was not a well thought out strategy, merely a frantic attempt to salvage what had been shattered between them.

When the song ended and the applause came, Ser Barristan the Bold, stepped out another fool in love.

“Lady Ashara, I must insist on the honour of dancing with you. I am no great dancer, but I am certain your talents will more than make up for my lack of skill.”

She nearly declined until she caught Elia curiously watching her. She took it as a small victory and laughed loudly, throwing her head back.

“Ser Barristan, the honour is all mine.”

She took his offered hand, and it was the first of many. She danced with an entire host of men; princes, knights, and lords alike. Ashara was in her element, gliding close to whichever man she held close in her long arms and dared hope to see vexation in Elia’s expression.

She chased Elia and they chased her.

The men would take and so would she, for it was clear love was not meant for Ashara. These men would flirt and dance, perhaps even take her to bed, or to wed, but she knew none of them meant to see her beyond the violet eyes and fair golden skin. The only eyes which had ever seen her were so dark she could scarcely breath sometimes, and now they were blinded by fire.

Despite the sparing glances, Elia made no movement towards her, and Ashara descended further.

She left behind willing partners looking forlorn as she bounced to her next conquests. She flirted outrageously and was vitalised by the scandalised looks.

She was entirely content to continue her path of self-destruction until she saw dark grey eyes watching her. She noticed them follow her as she danced with Barristan, Prince Lewyn, Ethan Glover and Jon Connington. Always watching yet without hungry lust as some, or barely disguised disgust as the others.

She knew he was a Northman from the rigid way he sat between the boisterous young storm lord Robert Baratheon and his patron, old Jon Arryn, the Lord of the Vale.

Her curiosity fell away when from the corner of her eye, she saw Elia gaze over at her before whispering something to Arthur, and when he walked over to her, she felt victorious in her rebellion.

Yet, those hopes were quickly dampened.

“Did she send you here?” She asked.

Arthur sighed and looked at her apologetically.

“No.”

Elia did not want her. Ashara feared that this new meek woman that was Rhaegar’s wife would never love her like Elia of Dorne had.

Were things the way they once were, Elia would have risen from her seat and joined in the merriment long ago, propriety be damned. Ashara yearned for Dornish nights and Rhoynar rhythms, of small soft hands and blood orange scented kisses.

Ashara was taken out of her reverie and reminded of exactly where she was. On the dancefloor of a crumbling castle with near enough every pair of eyes on her except the ones she wished for.

Arthur gently caught her hand.

“Sister, dance with me,” he prompted.

She knew Arthur’s intentions were to soothe her suffering as he always had. For the pleading in his expression, she accepted the request and rocked with him to the slowing tune.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you will learn to breathe again without her,” he explained interrupting the stillness between them.

“I don’t want anything without her.” She answered petulantly, cursing herself for sounding like a spoilt child.

She felt more childish when he leaned back slightly and peeped down at her seriously.

“Ashara, you have to learn to live for yourself, not for anyone else, not even for her. For so long you held love with an iron grip but at arm’s length. You could have had your sweet Elia long ago. Inevitably, it would still have ended the same way because duty was always going to call for the prized sun of Dorne…”

His words stirred something uncomfortable inside her. They were difficult truths to accept. She made many excuses for why she waited so long to reveal the depth of her feelings. It always came down to her own inadequacy and inability to feel deserving of love.

“…You deserve love, Asha. Just because it no longer resides where you believed it to, does not mean it is not out there for you,” he finished.

Deep down she still felt like the neglected child that begged for scraps of her mother’s attention – like the abused girl that was sullied long ago.

It was an arduous and complicated set of issues to settle, but for the first time, Ashara was confronted with the truth.

“I don’t know who I am without her,” she admitted.

“Then perhaps you ought to find out.”

She took a moment and considered Arthur’s suggestion.

She wondered if it truly was time to attempt to move on. It left her chest feeling tight because it was something she never even fathomed to consider before. It was in the unknown to exist anywhere that was not Elia’s side.

Before she could respond, she was swiftly whisked into the arms of another, the charming Brandon Stark. He had made himself as well known as the young storm lord that evening, and it would be a lie to say her eye had not wondered to him during the introductions.

“Lady Ashara,” he greeted with a mischievous smirk and mirth gleaming in his eyes.

She feigned disapproval but continued gliding along with him despite it.

“The Sword of the Morning will not take too kindly to that, lord Brandon. I fear you may have made yourself a formidable enemy in the lists tomorrow.”

Brandon was not typical of the stony-faced Northmen. He was bold and confident, which she found attractive, although she would never admit that aloud; there was a cockiness to him that raised her defences.

“It’s just harmless fun, why should he make an enemy out of me?” He countered.

He acknowledged Arthur and nodded in respect, although the twinkle in his eye remained.

“You have a sister do you not – how pleased would you be if a man took off with her?”

The smugness fell from his expression momentarily.

“I suppose for her honour, he would become my enemy,” he answered gazing towards a young dark-haired girl Ashara assumed to be his sister.

She was a pretty thing, with the same teasing glint in her eyes as Brandon.

“Then what makes you exempt from my brother’s wrath?”

His knowing smirk returned as he peered at her with his grey eyes, and she hated how it made her blush.

“For a start, you think me quite handsome, and you enjoy me.” He winked with a growing grin.

Ashara laughed despite herself.

“And that’s enough to warrant his forgiveness?” She countered.

He shrugged playfully before brushing her hair back from her shoulder, with just the right look of heat in his eyes and moving in so close she could feel his lean body pressed up against her.

“Then perhaps I ought to give him better reason to make me his enemy.”

She pretended to be indifferent to Brandon’s seduction. It would not do to allow someone with an ego like his know how much power he had. Thus, she refused to lean in or seem too keen.

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“As are you, Ashara.” He looked pointedly at the men that stood peeved in the wake of her abandonment.

“If you came over to insult me Brandon, you can surely return.” She scolded as she recoiled.

Ashara was not a stranger to rumours, men and women alike often set their tongues wagging over tall tales about her. Unlike Dorne, the rest of Westeros were prude little creatures when it came to pleasures, but she would be damned if the would-be Warden of the North, who had his own whispers of lovers and bastards, would question her integrity.

“My lady please forgive my impertinence. In fact, I truly came here to request a dance of you, with a man far more honourable than me.”

Confusion washed through her, but strangely, she was intrigued. Man after man had taken what they wanted from her this night, and it was odd that one remained reserved.

“That won’t take much… but go on, who is this poor fellow?”

A wide grin spread across his features.

“My young brother is too shy to approach you. Don’t be so hard him. Whilst I was blessed with all the charm in the family, he is good and honourable, a man worthy of your time.” He spoke with pride.

As audacious as Brandon had been, it was evident now that it was act to make his brother appear the better man.

“Very well, but I shall decide that for myself.”

Brandon returned to his table and Ashara was surprised to find that his shy brother was the stiff Northman that had been watching her all night.

Ashara could not help but chuckle endearingly when she saw the younger Stark’s back stiffen and panic wash across his features as Brandon whispered to him.

The young Stark was not as tall as his brother, just of a height with her; he kept his long hair tied back messily, and unlike Brandon, wore simple clothing unadorned with any marks of House Stark.

It would be difficult to guess they were brothers if their features were not so similar, and even then, where Brandon was always smiling, the young Stark already had frown lines across his brow.

“My lady, I thank you for the honour of a dance,” he greeted, inclining his head rigidly, and offering his hand.

She took his hand and led him to the dancefloor.

It was awkward at first, because even at their slow pace, it was clear Stark did not have the grace of a dancer. She rearranged his hands until they were in the correct position, and led the steps, anything to occupy herself from meeting his mystifyingly intense gaze.

“Do you happen to have a name?” She wondered, once they swayed in rhythm to the languid tune.

“I do.” He answered, adding nothing further even as Ashara tilted her head in curiosity.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?”

“If you might give me your name, I shall give you mine.” He said unsmiling.

When she finally met his expectant stare, she saw the beginnings of a smile pulling at his cheeks, and something akin to intrigue flared inside her.

In that moment, instead of seeking Elia, she found herself regarding Stark, questioning if he was not shy at all, but instead, reservedly confident.

“It appears you already know who I am.” She answered with a cock of her brow.

“I would rather get the name from the lady herself than the fame which precedes her.”

Ashara found herself pleasantly surprised by their exchange.

“I am Lady Ashara Dayne, lord Stark.”

“Thankfully, I shall never be lord Stark… I am Eddard Stark, although you may call Ned.”

A teeth-baring grin spread, and his face transformed. She found herself strangely attracted to the quiet wolf.

“Ned.” She said testing out the syllables on her tongue.

The song picked up pace, as did she.

Her feet struck the floor in perfect synchronisation with the building tempo and his pursued with every step. Ned’s grey eyes shone behind the shy expression as they advanced, retreated and pirouetted.

The rapidly enclosing space between them felt electric and burning. There was something she could not explain about this quiet Northman, who stared into her eyes as if he could see past all that she armoured herself with and saw the frightened girl inside. She felt admired, as one might the stars on a clear night.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” She finally asked, fascinated in his unravelling scrutiny of her.

His answer made the flirtatious grin fall from her face.

“You have danced and laughed quite a lot tonight… But I can’t help by notice, you don’t seem all that happy, my lady.”

Shaken, she abruptly halted her movements.

She remembered the pain in her chest and found Elia across the room, glaring at her with fire behind her eyes. She was confused because this was what she initially wanted, but now she had it, it felt nothing like victory. For with Ned, for just a moment, she put aside her heartache… and breathed.

“You’re very perceptive.” She answered, a slow panic filling her.

“I’ve said the wrong thing.” He commented apologetically, noticing the change in her.

She looked up at him wide-eyed, contemplating the stirring emotions inside her.

For reasons unclear to herself, she lurched to kiss him, but he pulled away just as quickly.

Embarrassment filled her and she exploded into blazing anger.

“Is this not what you wanted, Ned – to say you had an easy Dornish wench to your brother and friends?” She spat turning to walk away.

He chased her before she could escape, appearing ahead desperately.

“I meant no disrespect, lady Ashara. I would never dishonour you in such a way, only when I kiss you, I want it to be because you want it, not because you think that’s what I want.” He interrupted.

That he could read her so easily, and was not scared away by it, terrified her. Just like she always did, she crumbled under her fears and lashed out.

“What honour is there in getting your brother to do your courting? I pity you Ned, that’s why I danced with you.”

He flushed in embarrassment, and deep down, Ashara was ashamed for it.

“Then allow me to rectify my actions, may I do something no other has done today?”

Despite her urgent need to flee, she was intrigued.

“Go on.”

“Will you come sit with me, Ashara?”

“What?”

Again, she was surprised by this strange Northman.

“I want to get to know you, is that so hard to believe?”

She carefully maintained a neutral expression. Yet, even in that, he read her disbelief.

“Come on, Ashara, get to know me, take a chance on a fool in love.” He pleaded.

Love.

The word spun around in her head, and she realised, for the first time, it was something she truly yearned for.

Warmth began to spread through her blood and hammering seized her chest.

“I-I…”

Despite her epiphany, her tongue fumbled in her mouth. She did not know how to articulate such desires and succumbed to old behaviours.

“…I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Without a single glance back she fled, a maid made a fool by love.

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Doubts

Pairing: Dave York x Reader

Warnings: Smut

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble and here the fuck I am, giving you almost 4K words.

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  [please message me to be added or subtracted]

---***---

She laid awake long after Dave had fallen asleep, his light snores giving him away.  When she couldn’t stand it anymore, she quietly got out of bed and padded into the living room of their apartment.  The darkness of the space was broken by the streetlight outside the big picture window pouring in through a crack in the curtains.  She sat on the couch, hunched over as if suffering from a stomachache.

On the table sat a few brochures and a couple of flyers of homes in the area that the two of them had been looking at all day.  She picked up the flyer of a two-story home that kept drawing her in time and time again during the search.  Dave said he didn’t care what kind of house they moved into; he just wanted an easy commute to work.  Every time she tried to engage him on it, he wouldn’t talk about it, just huffed that whatever she wanted is what he wanted.�� 

But she was worried that he didn’t want any of this.  The ring on her finger lightly sparkled in the light and she felt as if the rock was mocking her.  They had been dating for three years when Dave proposed, and she eagerly accepted it.  She loved him with all her heart, but as the days passed, she began to wonder if maybe he just asked because that’s what you’re supposed to do after three years.

She knew what he did for a living and since the engagement, she knew what the DIA asked him to do and had accepted it, not needing all the gory details. Who he was at work wasn’t who he was at home with her and that was good enough.  But the cozy life she wanted felt at odds with the life the man she loved chose for himself.  How could a man who worked a high adrenaline job be content with a home and a yard and kids and all the trappings of suburban life?  She was a teacher for christsakes, could she be any more fucking cliché?

All the negative thoughts began to overwhelm her, though, and she grasped the flyer to her chest, hugging it close before drawing her knees up. Curling into herself, she cried the tears that had been at the back of her eyes all day, trying to be quiet.  The next chapter of her life was about to begin, so why did it feel like the world was coming to an end?

---***---

Dave laid in bed and stared at the door waiting for her to come back. He slept his best with her at his side and when she left suddenly, it woken him.  He figured she had gone for water, but he never heard the sink or the fridge open, so he waited a few more minutes and yet nothing.  He sat up, straining to hear something and suddenly he could hear crying.  He became alarmed and got out of bed, walking into the hallway, where he could see her curled up on the couch.

He walked over and sat down next to her, startling her enough to cause her head to jerk up.  It was just bright enough to see her, eyes red-rimmed and the tear streaks on her face.  He looked down to see something clutched to her chest before looking back up.  He eyebrows drew inward in concern as he brought his hands to her face.

“Babe, what’s the matter?”  His rumbling voice seemed to fill her chest.  And she found herself crying harder because she wanted to ask him why and yet she feared the answer.  She didn’t know what she would do if Dave didn’t love her.  He frowned harder and just drew her into his arms, holding her while she sobbed.

“Is this about the house?”  She nodded against him, still crying.  He wondered why she was upset about the house search. He didn’t care where they lived so long as she was there and happy.  He wanted to open the door to his home after work to see her there.  To see it filled with their life together, warm and cozy.    He needed something that kept him tethered to the real world.  His job was so dark and dangerous sometimes that he felt selfish wanting someone to come home to that took his mind off the blood that secretly stained his hands.

When she quieted down somewhat, he hugged her tighter and placed a kiss on top of her head.  She always smelled like peonies and he knew that she was fully embedded into his psyche when he was on a job and immediately thought of her when he passed a garden full of peonies.  He wondered if they could plant entire bushes of the damn things at their new place. He wanted to be surrounded by that scent always.

“Why did you propose to me?”  Her voice was small and trembled with unshed tears.  The question was so unexpected that Dave drew back to look down at her face, surprise the only emotion showing on his face.  She dared not look up at him because she was certain his pause meant her fears had been right.  She shrunk further into herself, shaking with sadness.

“Because I love you and I want you to be my wife.”  The incredulousness in his voice couldn’t be masked.  What kind of fool ass question was she asking?  He fucking loved her, and he knew that if he was killed on the job, his last thoughts would be of her.  Hell, his thoughts were always of her.  Even when they fought and were mad as hell, his brain was consumed by her.

She closed her eyes to try to stop the stream of tears cascading down her face.  She wanted to believe that he loved her and that he wanted to marry her.  But he couldn’t have wanted the boring suburban life she did. How could he handle days where nothing happened, where it was just chores and Honey Do lists and what about kids? Homework and doctor appointments and late nights chasing the nightmares away.  It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t exciting, it was just an everyday life.  How could he want that?

“But why?”  Her small voice felt like a knife in him because he couldn’t figure what had brought this on.  She had been so excited about the houses they were looking at and at one point, she seemed to be speed talking as she pointed out the local attractions like parks and schools and she got giddy when she talked about the farmer’s market and some weird festival held near the home she seemed to go back to time and time again. Dave was so stupidly in love with her that he just let her talk through it, not wanting to stop her excitement.

“Babe, why are you really asking these questions?”  His voice was quiet and comforting while his hands began to absently rub against her back and arm.  She was breaking his heart and if she didn’t want to marry him, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with himself.  She was his life.

She was quiet for a long moment, her tears still coming and soaking into his shirt.  The thoughts continued to swirl in her head and crowded out any logic that may have resided in her brain.  The dark of night is when the mental gremlins liked to come out and feast on our insecurities, while logic seems to take its leave.  She pulled away from him, hugging her legs to her chest, that stupid flyer still caught against her torso.

“You don’t want this.”

“Don’t want what?”

“THIS!”  She pulled out the flyer and shoved it towards him, those damn tears still falling from her eyes.  “How could you possibly want this life?!  Want me?! You’ll never be happy being in the fucking suburbs with a boring wife like me!”

He dropped his head as tears prickled at his own eyes.  When he lifted it, he noticed that she had pulled the flyer back towards her and she was looking at that house, the sadness making her eyes look luminous.

“This isn’t the life you want.  You don’t love me enough to want it.”  She spoke quietly and thought he didn’t hear her until he dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her.  He pulled the flyer out of her hands and took them into his own.  The grip was almost vice like and for a moment, she wondered how strong he really was.

“Babe, look at me.”  When she didn’t raise her eyes, Dave brought one hand up to grip her chin, forcing her to look him in the face.  She was surprised to see tears in his eyes and his face looked so sad, her heart clenched in her chest.

“I don’t know what started this whole thing, but I’m ending it.  Don’t you ever fucking think for one goddamn moment that I don’t love you or want a life with you.  I don’t care what house we live in because it only fucking matters is that you’re in it with me.  You’re the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I think of before sleeping and to be fucking honest, you haunt my fucking dreams, too.

“If you don’t love me, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.  You keep me sane and alive.  You’re my reason for coming home after a job.  And I know I shouldn’t do that to you, but it’s the goddamned truth.  I’m lost without you.”  His voice got louder with each sentence spoken, as if he had to convince her to stay, to love him.  She was crying again, the voice of doubt trying to tell her he was lying and just saying what she wanted to hear.

“But, the suburbs.”  She was grasping around for something, anything to prove herself right, which was stupid when she wanted to be so fucking wrong.

“What about them?”

“You’re not a suburban dad.”

“What the fuck is a suburban dad?”  He was thrown for a loop and the look on his face made her chuckle for the first time.

“I dunno, someone who drives a minivan and works in an office at a boring job and always comes home.”

“Okay, well you got me on the boring job part, but I do work in an office, may I remind you.  I always come home.”  Dave raised his hand.  “But I draw the line at a minivan.”

She giggled again, the mental gremlins cowering further and further away.

“You really want to marry me and live a boring suburban life?”  The tears had stopped by now, but she still worried her bottom lip.  He found himself distracted by them and paused a moment before answering.

“Babe, how could it be boring with us involved?”  He smiled at her and leaned in to kiss her lips, then rested his forehead on hers.

“You didn’t seem interested in the house hunt.”  She was quiet again.  “I kept thinking that you didn’t want this and really just didn’t want me.”

He touched the ring on her left finger as he berated himself for not speaking up.  God knows how long this had been brewing in her mind and now they were here.  He and took hold of her hands again.

“I’m sorry.  You were just so excited, and I didn’t want to stop you.”  His kissed her knuckles and rubbed at them lightly with his thumbs

“So, you do want to buy a house?”

“Well I’m not wild about a mortgage, but I want a home with you.”  Dave couldn’t help himself and brought her hands up to kiss them.  The gremlins were gone, and it seems logic had come home to roost.

“Is there anything you want in our future house?”  It had been the question she asked him all day.  She expected another grunt or non-committal answer. She was actually surprised when he answered her.

“A good commute to work so I’m not losing precious time with you.  A kitchen where we can dance.  Maybe a fireplace like that chalet we stayed in that first weekend we slept together?  And a big yard.”

“For kids?”

“For peonies.”  She hadn’t been expecting that and the look of shock on her face made him laugh.  He leaned forward again, but this time his kiss her throat.  “I want to smell you even when you aren’t home.”

She sighed from both his touch and his comment.  He kissed her throat again, going lower this time, to her collarbone. She went to move her hands, but he held his grip.  This was about her, about showing what she did to him and how much he loves her.

“I want kids with you.  I want little versions of you running around making this world good when I make it so bad.” Dave’s voice was rough as his lips dragged to her shoulder, exposed by her tank top.  She sighed again.

“I want little versions of you protecting the other kids on the playground from the bullies.”  Her breath hitched as he began to kiss down the slope of her breast and she could feel the heat of his breath close to her now aching nipple.  Dave stopped, hovering over her before looking up at her face.

“Babe.”  She looked down into his eyes, so full of love and adoration.  “I love you.  Don’t you ever forget that.  No matter what happens in our lives.”

She nodded and was rewarded with his mouth wrapping itself around her nipple, his tongue soaking the fabric of her tank top until it clung to her skin. He let go of her hands so he could bring them to her breasts, kneading them as he moved to the other nipple. She kissed the top of his head, letting the soft hairs there tickle her lips.

“I love you, Dave.”  She whispered into his hair, letting her finger grip lightly as her pleasure began to unfurl in her stomach.  When he pinched her nipple, she sighed against him.  He pulled back and whispered for her to lay down.  When she was prone, he crawled on top of her, letting his weight settle over her body like a comfortable blanket.

Their kissing was languid, almost like a dream and she could feel the stubble along his jaw.  He had always been clean shaven and briefly wondered what he would look like with a beard. Dave broke off the kiss to make his way down her body, stopping at her breasts again before moving down further. Her skin was soft, so soft, like the petal of a peony.

He scooted down and he laid a kiss at the edge of her shorts before pressing an open-mouthed kiss at the top of her mound over the fabric.  He could feel her heat through the fabric and all he wanted was to taste her on his tongue, to bring her pleasure and her how much he fucking loved everything about her.  He leaned back and grasped the shorts and her underwear.  She lifted her hips and he dragged them down her body and threw them on the floor.  She let her legs fall open, her slit glistening in the light.  He wrapped his hands around her thighs and dropped his face right where he wanted it.

Dave drug his tongue through her slit and she moaned loudly, the sound ending on a sigh.  Her hands wrapped around his wrists as he continued to lick her, pressing down on her clit with every pass through of his tongue.  Her hips began to shake, and he could feel the tremors in her thighs.  As she moved closer to her climax, Dave removed on one of his hands from her hips so he could embed a finger deep inside of her. His cock seemed to tighten more at the feel of her heat on his skin.

She arched her body away from the couch at the touch of his fingers and her hips began to move, trying to match the pace his hand had set.  Her groans seemed to grow louder and louder.  She gripped his hair tight and the fissures of pleasure it caused ricochet down his spine.  He released her other hip to lay his forearm across her to keep her still as he withdrew his hand and re-entered her with two fingers.  She moved against him, but Dave’s strength made itself known as he held her down.  She moved her hands to his forearm, her nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck!”  The word barely made it through the heaving pants of her breath.  She felt like she was floating as the pleasurable sensations swirled around her.  Dave was not a man that half assed anything and when he sensed she was close, he worked overtime to make her come until she saw stars.  When her orgasm hit, she screamed his name. He pulled back and through the haze of her pleasure she could feel him smiling against her.

“Well now we have to buy a house because I’m not going to be able to look the neighbors in the eye anymore.”  She was panting but laughing.  He smiled at her.

“Do you even know the neighbors?”  He sat up, taking off his shirt and shucking his boxers so that he could feel every inch of her skin on his.  He laid back down on her, settling between her thighs.

“I do.  I have to talk to someone when you’re on a long assignment.”  She pulled off her tank top and opened her arms to him, looping them under his arms and around his back.  She kissed his shoulder and then his neck before pulling back too look at him. His eyes were so dark, they seemed like endless portals and his hair was mussed from sleep and her hands.  Her normally put-together man was primal.

“If we get a house, you can scream as loud and as much as you want. Promise.”  He kissed her jaw before brushing his lips against hers. She could taste herself on his mouth as his tongue ran along hers.  He could feel her nails lightly dragging along his back and his breath hitched.  He pulled back to look down on her again.

“Then we better move to the country.”  She purred; hooded eyes filled with lust.  His grin was almost feral, and he reached between their bodies to drag his fingers through her slit, letting his fingers brush lightly over her clit before taking his fingers and grasping his cock.  He aligned himself with her and slowly, ever so slowly, entered her.

“Yeah, babe?”  His words came on the back of a moan as he could feel her stretching around him, her soft walls gripping him as if begging him to never leave her.  He couldn’t ever leave her; she had his heart gripped tight. He dropped his face closer to hers as he bottomed out in her.  “You gonna scream for me again?”

“Dave.”  Her voice faltered as pleasure began to spread through her torso and limbs.  She felt so full that she wondered where he ended and she began. When he pulled out, she gripped at him, causing him to hiss at the sensation.  She relaxed as he plunged back into her, a slow and agonizing pace that drew out her pleasure.  He wanted every thrust to shove away the thoughts that haunted her this evening. He wanted every brush of his lips to erase her tears.  Tears he caused because he was a damned idiot and never opened his mouth.  She asked him for honesty, and he wasn’t giving it to her when she needed it most.

But he could give her this, as in supplication for her forgiveness.  He rested his forehead against hers and as his pace began to pick up unconsciously, they looked into each other’s eyes.  Her hips rose to meet him, and they worked together to chase their highs.  Yes, this man was made for me, she thought.  His body pulling every possible sensation of pleasure from her body.  His skin, his cock, his mouth, that stubble. And then his hand when he reached between their bodies to brush her clit with his fingers.

He groaned when the very tips of them brushed against his cock as he withdrew before slamming into her again.  The feeling was overwhelming, and he could tell he was getting close.  She pulled her hand from his back and brought it to his wrist, letting herself fall into the swirling sensations that threatened to drown her.

“Come, babe, let me feel you.”  That deep voice of his that attract her to him in the first place brushed over her skin and she shivered.  He snapped his hips into her rapidly and kept up his assault on her clit until she began to whimper, her passion needing a vocal release.  Suddenly it all crested, and she came, hard.  She knew she was going to be loud, so she clamped her mouth on his shoulder.  Her screams were barely muffled by his skin and he realized that her teeth were going to leave a mark.  She bowed as every wave of pleasure doused her body until she felt nothing else.

As her orgasm continued, he thrust into her a handful of times before he went ridged and came.  He was never a vocal lover, but his loud moan seemed to ricochet in the quiet apartment. They both collapsed back onto the couch, panting heavily.  He withdrew his hand from between their bodies so he could wrap his arms around her to hold her closer.  He rolled slightly so they laid side by side, withdrawing from her body and the drying sweat cooling their bodies as their breathing returned to normal.

After some time, she shifted her head from under his chin to look at him, her hand coming up to brush lightly against his jaw.  He looked at her, drowsiness in his eyes telling her that the pull of sleep was coming.  It was for her, too, but she had to say it.

“I’m sorry.”  Her voice was barely above a whisper.  “I’m sorry I said those things and hurt you.  I know you love me, and I shouldn’t have doubted that.”

“Babe, it’s alright.  You can feel sad and upset because I don’t say anything or make you feel as if I don’t care.  I caused this and I can’t be mad at anyone but myself.  I love you.  I just don’t want you to ever forget that.  Ever.”  He brushed his lips against her forehead and the fell back into silence.  Their eyes were closed, and they were slowly drifting off when he spoke again.

“Babe?”

“Yeah, Dave?”

“Call the realtor about the house in the morning.”  His breaths became even and deep as he fell asleep. She smiled against him as she followed him into dreamland.

[rpausandwhatifs]

Is This What You Call...Safety?|| Hush Hush

A/N: This is for my friend Jayde for her belated birthday! Enjoy bb!

@ledabunnie-rp @nevergoodenoughforthetruth

Vincent had came to work, but he had gone through his load entirely too fast. He was mostly at the hands of one guy- and he was the host. However, it was too late to really think about it before the drugs had set in, causing the man to stumble and fumble as the pills he took before the party mixed with the lean in the cup he finished while making sales. He was a blurry mess and somehow guided his way to the closest bathroom he found in a part of this rented house where most of the goers in this area were having sex or chatting it up so they could hear. He pushed past them, going into the first open door and falling into it. “Oh..fuck..” he muttered as he almost collided with the wall, feeling the tile and touching the wall as the spinning continued and he found his way into the toilet, vomiting immediately before finding the flush lever.

Leda forgot that she didn’t lock the door, so the really cute boy in the skin tight chinos and boots with the long hair barged in it scared her half to death. She put her 3DS down and slid her headphones off, about to bang on the glass chamber that was the stand alone shower until something stopped her and it just made her watch the man try to recover as he lit a cigarette. 

The man propped himself up and crawled to the top of the toilet and threw the lid down as he took another drag, trying to see where the light switch was even though there was a hue of red and purple from the string lights. Quickly giving up on his adventure he threw up one more time into the bowl and sat up on the closed toilet, dragging his cigarette while he let the cool porcelain calm him down. He heard the distant movements in the shower and pryed one eye open to barely see a girl with turquoise hair in a rave outfit with a backpack or something staring at him in a clear box. "Who's in the shower?" He calls out, rocking his head back and forth fighting the nausea.

"I'm here in spirit..I don't exist," Leda said back, weary at how he was able to spot her.

"That's the most human thing I've ever heard from a spiritual entity," he laughs and scoffs, "That's a cute voice you got, you have a name oh spirit?"

"I'm... not telling you that.." she said, "And you die from a heart attack in here im not saving you."

"Are...you... you're in here.. you're human- fuck i can't see- are you in the shower? Is that why you sound like that?" He asked with a small joke, "Wanna cigarette?"

"Maybe.. if you can't see then how are you smoking and offering me one?" She challenged him.

"Muscle memory. You'd be surprised how many things you can do automatically.. Just with your arms and hands..." he trailed off, "Also you didnt drink out of the cup when you got here? You sound like... crazy sober."

"No..I didn't, Felix told me about it before the party and I just-"

"Wanted to keep your clout you came to this party even though you didn't want to, but you didn't wanna let your friends down, but you didnt wanna just sit at home on a Friday night again..I heard something close, did you bring a video game?" He said.

"Shut the fuck up, Vincen-"

"Ohhh you do know me... interesting. It must be because of Felix... speaking of, wonder who he's got down his throat...Ah, I'll worry about it later...I thought I knew his friends.." he muses, I would remember an ethereal voice like yours.."

"I...I..." she was stuck, she shouldn't have said his name, "Thanks for the compliment, can you go back to quietly being too fucked up on drugs to acknowledge me now?"

"Actually...I've overstayed my welcome at this place anyway.. there's a guy in here and he's... less than thrilled his house got rented out for the debauchery that is horny college students," he mentioned, slowly lowering himself on the floor and crawling to Leda, placing himself against the wall, facing straight ahead with the girl in what would be his peripheral.

Leda's ears perked up, he knows there's a spirit in here? Was he just pulling her leg or what? His eyes were still closed but his voice sounded way better up closer than across the large bathroom. The crackles and creaks of it made her nervous. "There isn't anyone in here," she claims supposedly.

"No... he's dead. The house was sold to a PM that rents houses out for events and vacations..he likes the renovation though...He showed me he carried you in here," Vincent said, "You woke up and immediately tried to protect yourself in the shower."

"Now you're making shit up," she called out wrapping on the glass box.

"If I'm making shit up then how'd you get in here?" He asked and was met with silence, "You don't remember... do you?..He told me you just kinda walked out your house with the lights on.. guess he didn't want you to get hurt- but seriously, how did you not drink the syrup at the door?"

"I poured it out when no one was looking and washed out the cup with vodka and hoped an appletini would calm me down.. cus I got really anxious being around everybody pushing everyone and the music is too loud..." she started, drawing her knees to her chest, "He scared the shit out of me."

Vincent laughed, "Yeah that's how i was when i saw him standing in the middle of the room... Did you want the cigarette? Also i have a valium if you want one.."

Leda smiled when he laughed, feeling way better that someone other than her could see spirits and understood possession. She knew what valium was, and just one couldn't hurt with a cigarette cutting it up, "He tell you how he died?"

"Wife poisoned him.. then shot him.. didn't take the divorce very well... sounds like a gold-digging bitch anyway," Vincent said as he used his to light another for her.

"Wow... you don't wanna share?" She gasped quietly as she slid her hand out of a crack in the door to take the cig.

"That.. would mean I get closer... didn't think you'd want that.. you know who I am..I'm the drug dealer on this campus... You don't know what I'm capable of.." he warns her, finally looking into the glass at the door, "I sold all the things I have so anything at this point is personal stock.. but..I couldn't keep a freebie from a cutie like you holy shit...If I could see you like he showed me, I dunno if I could contain myself.. What color is your hair?" He leans into the glass as his head starts spinning again almost muttering his words. He gets up and takes out a Tic-Tac, fumbling his way to the sink and crunching on it as he washed his mouth out on the faucet, wetting his face and wiping it on a towel before bringing the damp cloth to the floor. He stumbled back to the huge glass chamber on his hands and knees, opening the door and crawling over her and excusing himself before settling next to her.

Leda was shaken to her core at his words, and forgot that he was probably on a few different drugs and high on something else. She couldn't get her mouth to open to create the words. She quickly forgot the question and watched with wide eyes as she no longer was terrified of opening the door when Vincent pushed it back and crawled to her. She was almost shaking as he excused himself. "Purple a-and pink," she stammered, "I have to dye it again..I'm doing black with tips.."

"Hm..i see," Vincent said with a weak nod, pushing his wet hair back again as he exhaled, "I'm sorry I'm trying to come down and this shit is coming in like... waves and.. fuck~"

"What is it specifically?" She asked, taking him in, he looks so interesting yet her eyes darted back to the toilet across the room, "And don't worry I don't need the valium right away..”

"Ah shit right.. the valium.. doing what weed has done for years since the 70s," he chided as he fished a pill bottle out of his pocket, then handing her two pills of different shape and color.

"What's that?" She quickly asked.

"Muscle relaxant..that's for you too..helps the valuim, no psychoactive side effects to speak of...reduces lactic acid," he mentioned, relighting her cig, "I have friends in pharmaceutical chemistry.. they really hook me up and in return they get paid in weed.. down the hatch."

Leda's heart was racing at how he sounded so close to her, lighting her up like a gentleman even as a slumped mess. She smoked quietly as he had fallen into another unconscious stupor while the drugs were doing their job. They were working faster than she expected. "Vincent..." she called to the ceiling, "I'm tired.."

"I thought you would be..i forgot to tell you it acts fast.. but you're fine I promise," he mentioned.

"No I feel amazing, I just...I need something soft to lay on," she sighed.

"How about we go to one of the suites?" He offered, "I can see now if my legs will work."

They get up, getting out of the bathroom in search for unoccupied rooms. Settling on the empty pool house, where they found an open skylight in the bathroom since the doors were locked. They bust in and find the bedroom, resuming their conversation in this California simple and dainty king bed.

"Why'd you lock the bathroom door?" She asked as she lit her own cig even though she just begged him for it.

"You always do that at college parties if you create another entrance to the bathroom.." he said simply laying back on the end of the bed with his legs planted to the floor, bending his head up to see the girl snuggled in his jacket, twisting his body to lay on his stomach, "uhhmm yeah, you lock the door behind you at any party because frat boys with give you a swirly or worse..or someone who's eager to use the bathroom and they're too fucked up to be aware so they do it on you-"

"Ugh that's gross!" She exclaimed, laughing lightly, really allowing herself to enjoy this guy that she barely knew and at most should have hated. He just was so sweet and up her alley for her to ever admit but he undoubtedly made an effort to come to this party for her. She hadn't realized until she looked down and saw him looking up at her again from her feet. She could kill for his eyes and the way he collapsed on her legs to just touch them, it was sending electricity as dull needy aches through her body. "Vincent~... what are you doing?"

"Admiring your body... listening to you talk.. thinking about how i can get my jacket back," he croaks stretching a little, lightly throwing his head back on the bed, "What you thinking?"

"Have you come down yet?" She asked cutely, and instantly panicked at her casual feelings of interaction with him.

"Not all the way, I'd have to sleep it off mostly or something...sex also resets the clock, but...we're not doing that," he mentions while he rubs his eyes, checking his phone.

Her chest caved when he mentioned sex, and even though he wasn't offering it up, she just wondered what it would feel like to be that close with a guy like him. If this is all he usually did, outside of being a homewrecker as she's heard, then maybe he's not a creep. Girls do lie in college for any reason, but always putting themselves at an advantage. "Uhh.." seeped out of her mouth before she bit her lip and tried to disguise that.

"You know I'm looking right at you, right?" He says to her, giggling at her embarrassment, "Don't feel like you have to...I know you've got a problem with peer pressure-"

"I don't!...I don't have a problem with peer pressure..shut up!" She bit at him.

"Rawr...calm down kitty cat, put the claws away..Im just saying. Me mentioning sex kinda made you think," Vincent said, "When's the last time you got some..if you have gotten any- cus I have came across a few virgins..."

"Were they virgins when you were done with them?" She asked tongue in cheek.

"Mostly. I respeected that they didn't want sex...and they're firm in their beliefs that they're still a virgin if thou therein whereto receive or produce cunnilingus... they just want neverending head. It's heroine to them," he explains gesticulating to make it interesting and twisting his voice.

"Isn't that a good thing?" She asked, loosening her grip on the pillow she was holding.

"I don't mind it... but sometimes they're horrible at head and that's all they can do. Girls at this school count the ass too, so even face-fucking is a far cry."

"Oh..okay...Uhhh..I haven't thought about it, honestly.. been kinda dealing with my issues over having sex. The stories I hear about hooking up really have weirded me out.." she's admitted.

"Are you a virgin?" He asked, exaggerating his inflection.

"Unfortunately no.. well, I consider myself a born-again...I don't really remember a lot of the sex I used to have, and since it was... traumatic, to say the least, I'd rather act like it didn’t happen and get more memorable experiences, cus...I heard it's fun if done right," she explained.

"It is...I'll keep it in mind.." he nodded with a smirk, sighing as a weak wave passed thru him.

"Yeah.. but.. you've peaked my curiosity, honestly," she jumped up to say, causing Vincent to turn his head and raise an eyebrow.

"I hardly think that's fair," he said with a giggle, "You took a valium and a muscle relaxant..you'll never cum or cum too much. Im fucked up, and not exactly of consenting or open to communicating during sex like you might need me to..."

"That's... true.. then why touch my legs if you weren't going to?" She asked, a little frustrated, kicking her legs a little.

"See? That's what I'm talking about!... Acting like a brat when you haven't asked for anything," he said, giggling.

"But...I..." she started, realizing herself that he was right.

"You didn't straight up ask for sex.. you implied that it interests you..I can't start anything off implications," he explained, sitting up.

"I know how consent works, don't fucking patronize me!" She snapped shoving his chest with her foot. He falls back and rolls his eyes, which makes her more riled up, throwing his jacket on the floor.

"Leda.. what the fuck?" He asked sitting up on his knees to look at his jacket, "What the hell is your problem?"

"Don't act all fucking innocent! I know you.. you're a damn dog and you would've had me 5 ways to Sunday by now! Rosanna told me how creepy and controlling you are-"

"Thaaaaat's who it is... see i knew it sounded familiar.. You're her rogue drone! I just didn't realize... are you spying on me? Did she send you?" He jumped up once he realized why she knew him, her name would come up with he spoke to Rosanna, possibly whenever they were speaking again.

"Wh-No! She's not even at this party! She's with Mark!" She fussed, "It doesn't mean she's wrong..."

"Uh that's exactly what the fuck it means-"

"Why should I listen to you?" She prodded, folding her arms.

"You've got this fucking far! Wouldn't you want to at least understand my side? Ms. Confectionery Prodigy got some skeletons of her own," he was quick to explain how they had a fleeting relationship that was mostly roleplay meetings and oral and heavy petting. Leda wasn't entirely convinced and he made her promise not to tell anyone before he showed their messages leading up until the first 3 months she was dating Mark. It was Ro no doubt. Her fantastical language and promptness in response, pastry emojis as her signature. Cookie's toys in her explicit pictures.

"That's ridiculous..so she just left you for dead?" Leda asked, knowing she just swore never to speak of this, but she had some questions because he'd seen a side of her not even Mark has seen. And probably never will. "Why?" She asked simply.

"Said I reminded her of her ex. She was in deep with the guy.. he was older so she felt like her freedom in her youth had kinda been held back, so she went after me and Mark because she just... found herself in the middle of being young at heart but feeling grown and confident...I guess.. but she's always worried about her lies being found out and she loves a secret if she can help it," he said with a shrug, "They way she spoke about him, I'd love to drink with him, but, she's just happy where she is and who was I to stop her? If she hadn't made me a villain then she would have lost everything- from her confidence to her credibility."

"So you just... leave her alone? That's..that's," Leda was almost at a loss, but it was both the most mature and childish and high school thing she had ever heard. This felt like the heaviest thing she's encountered in a while.

"Not for you to think about," Vincent said, quickly and low as he had inched closer to brush her hair behind her ear, "Humans are complex creatures.. weaving these dangerous webs of lies and history.. you should always worry about your own but don't ever give anyone the benefit of the doubt.."

Leda couldn't handle his gentle touch or his words, she wanted to still be mad and hate him for it but she didn't know how. She wanted to be mad at Ro for being such a hypocrite but most of that was pushed back when she felt his lips on her jawline. It made her shudder and lean into him, submitting herself into the kiss that could replace her first kiss. She wanted more, she wanted him. Her mouth pushed out little sounds against him, whining quietly when he pulled back and breathed with a smile. "Vincent~" she breathed, her head in a tizzy.

"You want it don't you?" He asked, his lower voice sending shivers through her body.

"Can I have more, though, ..of what you gave me?" She asked, "I-"

"Later, okay?.. You'll be fine without it," he interrupted her with a soft smile and backing up to give her space to breathe and rubbing her back.

“Uhm...I feel like-”

“You’re overwhelmed...it’s okay. You seem confused, and it scares you a little...”

“I wouldn’t say it scares me..I just have never related to someone I now wish I hadn’t met..so much so..Because..Rosanna...Rosanna would-” the girl gasped and controlled her hollow breathing, definitely happy she had his hand on her back to focus on.

“You don’t know what Rosanna would do..and you really thought you’d known her..is that it?” he asked.

“Y-Yes!..N-No~! I-I mean...I don’t know how I feel~ I’m really into you, but...but why me?!” she asked looking at him with slight exasperation.

“You look like you deserve not to be living in someone’s shadow just because you don’t see yourself that way,” he answered.

“Is that what you said to Rosanna?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“No..what I said to Rosanna to start our whole fling is..vastly different from just us talking about a mutual friend-”

“What about my current state makes you think I’m gonna be friends with her-”

“You wouldn’t throw her away for me..”

Leda leered at the Vincent and clenched her jaw, knowing that this whole night was something she’d throw her whole life away just so she’d know where in the world he’d whisk her away to and for how long. “And what if I did?” she asked at a low whisper.

“What do you think you’d deserve for doing that? Because I definitely didn’t ask you to renounce your gods and join my great legion of the undead...”

“This would totally work if I was a Virgo or a Taurus, but I’m a Leo, so you must not understand-”

“I’m a Sagittarius, and I’m attempting to be very patient but since I know I don’t have to I’ll call you stupid to your face. That would be one of the dumbest decisions you could make but the fact that I make you feel like you’d rather make that decision than live with the ‘what-ifs’ or knowing that you could never look at Rosanna the same way again because I arouse you intellectually and emotionally-”

“Don’t forget sexually-”

“And sexual- Really?” Vincent looked over at her.

“You talk a lot, I see why she liked you...” 

“You hate talking about yourself-”

“I can talk about myself-”

“You can’t even tell me you want to have sex with me let alone that you like me..also, I feel like that should be thought about after tonight...given the circumstances,” Vincent sitting up, backing away from her more. It causes the girl to stare at him at the loss of touch completely, pushing out a frustrated sigh. The air was tight to her, but Vincent rolled his eyes and pulled the glass rod from his jacket pocket in front of her and smoked out of it.

“So...could you maybe stop being an aloof prick and explain to me how to get laid?” she said while pulling the ponytail out of her hair and taking the rod from his fingers and smoking out of it.

“You want to fuck me specifically or you want some faceless hookup?” he asked giggling.

“What exactly is a faceless hookup, Vincent?” she asked, her eyes meeting his again for the first time in a while and still couldn’t keep herself together. His hand was gently over hers and she deciding on playing with his fingers, biting her lip.

“Well, first off, you’d have to take off your clothes...then I’d suggest a brief makeout session before first or second base- given that my way of doing these things is slow mostly-”

“I dunno if I have the patience for slow,” Leda said quickly as she slid off the side of the bed and stood up, pulling her pants down and deciding to undo the knot that kept her shirt up, hiding her midriff. Then got back to Vincent as he tried to watch, but his mind flowed with ideas. He pushed himself forward, planting his feet on the floor and taking off his boots. He looked up at Leda, who was waiting for him patiently, which made him smirk as he stood up and gave way to his jeans.

“You don’t have the patience for slow?” he echoed.

“Nah, never did. Guys usually don’t take their time with me or they had made up their minds already and I hadn’t gotten a choice,” she explained, hoping her shirt hid her thighs rubbing together at the crooner in front of her. She could feel her anxiety rise in an interesting way as Vincent saw right through her. “Vincent-” she didn’t mean to breathe.

He raised his eyebrows as he heard the wind whisper his name, and he quickly moved around her to make the back of her more aligned to the back of the bed. She gasped a little as she heard his phone and wallet hit the nightstand and did a magician’s gesture to make a condom appear between his fingers, “Not yet, though.”

“Why?” she asked.

“You tell me,” he said, gently taking her waist into his hands and Leda could barely hold in her exhale and moan as it felt so slight as her body moved into it. All of the thoughts started flooding and so did the memories. She felt like he could be there at any second, but there was Vincent blocking him. Her body ached a bit at how he just froze. “Your lips look so soft and plush..and I like your hair down like this.”

The girl tried to hide, but it was met with another squeeze, “V-Vincent~” she sputtered as he kept yanking her out of her head, feeling the muscle relaxants and the weed mix. 

“You alright, babe?” he asked softly in her ear, being sure to not touch her elsewhere. Leda didn’t understand why she felt this way. 

“No..” her voice shook as she gulped, “My head’s going crazy but my body’s not..and I want to be terrified, but that’s..just..not what I’m feeling...What was in that tube thing?..” She finally asked.

“Weed obviously...not even the stuff I sold tonight. It’s a preview from the guy I buy off of-”

“I don’t really smoke grass-”

“Is it because THC can be a psychostimulant?”

“Ye-yes!..I feel like-” she cut herself off and took in his cologne instead. She couldn’t let him know what all she was thinking. It wouldn’t make sense. She would look more certifiably crazy then. Her mouth pushed out half of moan as she exhaled his scent where she tasted the cigarette and the fact they had been at a college house party. 

“I was gonna tell you to take a deep breath but you did it already-”

“Are you...Are you gonna fuck me or not?” she balled up her fists.

“If you would let me fucking finish and stop interrupting me solely to say something that would piss me off then yes!” Vincent said as he let her sides go and folded his arms.

“Not my fault you drugged me and are taking your time..” she folded hers and looked away from him, not wanted to meet his eyes.

“So what, I was supposed to brazenly assau- Ooooohhhhhh....You’re not mad at me..And...I just became mad at myself for realizing it-”

“What?” she asked, whipping her head towards his.

“You don’t know how to enjoy it, because you’ve never been given the option..nor the opportunity,” he mentioned, returning his hands to her sides quickly. 

“What?!” Leda asked, more surprised and now sent back through those thoughts of him touching her again, “You do-don’t know if I-”

“You told me you did..I dunno if it changed..did it?” putting slightly more pressure to allow her to embrace him.

“Ugh~..no..” she once again cursed herself on the inside from only getting a hug from being revved up by his hands lingering on her waist and lower back. Part of her just wanted to let go, or at least tell him to- since part of her completely trusted him. He passed the tests. He was so close to figuring her out and it angered her how clandestine he could carry himself through it all. Her body relaxed into the long hug and waited for this to not be real. For Vincent to pop a hard-on or something so that she knew he was doing all of this because he was still plastered and wanted to bed her. It was hard to expect him to do that when he would talk and his hands wouldn’t really move. And when he moved he tried to stay quiet. Leda’s arms started to move once again, snaking her arms up and crossed them behind his neck, “B-be...be gentle, alright?” she pulled back slightly to meet his eyes- gods those eyes- and his hair in his face before kissing him.

x

Leda was at Vincent’s again, no longer afraid of him or his touch, if anything, he’s the only one whom she trusted. Before she would be ready to fight if anyone tried to touch her, and obviously Vincent was given exclusive access. However, Vincent had to always do something to salvage their experiences, and there were times where he didn’t have it in him. 

The fresh couple lived through such a visceral honeymoon stage that Leda couldn’t think that a guy could have loved her more than the one who was after Cameron. She tried so hard not to think about it. One evening Leda was excitedly waiting for Vincent in the car while he made a sale. This is how they started dating and it just became something she found herself doing before she stopped staying in her dorm and sleeping at Vincent’s apartment. He came back and put everything in the trunk before getting in the car and only resting his head in his arms over the steering wheel with a huge sigh.

“Baby..you ok?” she asked as she sat up and rubbed his back. 

“No..” he said quietly, desperately trying to keep himself together. 

“Well..we..we gotta go..or..are we going somewhere?” Leda said, looking up and looking around.

“I have to go back in there...It’s not like..I mean you don’t care right?” he finally says when he sits up and pushes his hair back.

“How can you even ask me that question?” Leda looked at him, coming off louder than she expected, “What do you mean?”

“We’re not...This isn’t..Look it’s a party in there and...I wanna be single tonight. Like my boss, he’s- fucking treating me to the party in there and I can’t tell him you’re in here and you don’t do parties so-”

“I never said I don’t do parties. I don’t do party drugs and uncomfortable situations-”

“Your whole life is an uncomfortable situation, Leeds,” Vincent chuckles lightly, reaching in a pocket for his cig he started before he went in the first time, “It’s not gonna take me that long, babe..”

“Wait! You’re actually going back to the party?” she pushed her hand on his chest, then shook her head slowly, “What the fuck?”

“I’m going back in, yes. To enjoy the party? No...To probably get my dick sucked by a drunk Sean McLoughlin cus he’s been walled up and he said he would?..Yea-” he gave her some theatrics before turning away.

“NOO!” she snatched his shoulder, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“What? You’re not going to do anything about it. And it’s not gonna change anything with..us..per say...it’s just I’m having sex with Sean tonight,” he tried to explain.

“I’m not fucking stupid! That’s if I allowed you to! Who put you at the head of this relationship?” she looked at him, perplexed and angry.

“Who put you at the head of this relationship? Listen, half of this problem is the fact that I fuck other people. The other half would be the disrespect of dishonesty and I’m not giving you that!” he said trying to deescalate the situation.

Leda was so upset and couldn’t believe that he was just trying to brush off cheating in her face. He had brought up a few good points, so maybe he doesn’t understand how this hurts her, “Ok but you’re not respecting my additional choices, the fact that I may feel some type of way about it- You just came in here and told me you’re gonna fuck Sean!”

“Is it because it’s Sean specifically?” he asked, pulling back a little.

“Urgh! No! Well-..no, because...I should call Mark because he should be home right now,” Leda tried to say, feeling caught up by his question and now enraged that she felt anything because he was still in the wrong. 

“We can drop him off,” he shrugged and chuckled before looking over to her, “Oh come on! I wouldn’t not stop the car or anything like that. I’d make sure he’s sober or at least hydrated...but he looks like he could blow off some steam and he gets a safe ride home. You can bring him in his dorm, tuck him in, let Mark know he got back in one piece- fuck! Knowing Musclebound Buffpants he’s probably on his way because Sean probably called him accidentally on purpose.”

“He’s with Ro tonight..she told me he’s being held hostage for the night,” she interjected with not as much energy, “Why won’t you take him in? You’re the guy!”

“I’m in the running to apply for Alpha president..I don’t have good luck with being seen in a good light..You know that, you came from the factory,” Vincent  scoffed, before finishing the cig and flicking the butt out of the window and blowing the smoke with it, “And so because Ro is with her future husband, you have to play pretend with me?”

“No! Can’t we just...like hang out?! What the fuck is your problem?” Leda snapped at him, throwing her hands up.

“This! This moment right now and everything about it is my problem, Leda!” Vincent snapped back, “Answer me this, am I your boyfriend?”

“No, I-”

“Right. Not your boyfriend. And you’re not my girlfriend. You won’t let us call us an us...and why is that again?”

“Because you’re a fucking prick.”

“Ah no..sorry, we were looking for you care too much about Ro’s opinion and your social status with her friendship.”

“No I fucking don’t! I don’t need to be with her like that!” she defended weakly.

“Listen, if you don’t like what I’m doing then take my car and do whatever the fuck you want and I’ll call you in an hour. Go back to my place, go fuck someone else, go have a some weird lesbian fantasy about your best friends and deny it in an attempt to keep them because you know you don’t have a chance. Go hang with someone else, actually fucking take your meds and do your homework for once-”

“Shut up, Vincent!” she yelled as she shoved him, causing him to abruptly get up, slamming the door shut and wrangling his car key off his ring and tossing it in the car. Leda had screamed when he shut the door, holding her arms up defensively as she heard the keys fly into the car through the driver’s window and hit the dashboard.. the girl cried for several minutes and contemplated going into the party, but it was too dangerous. She realized she shouldn’t have come with him. She takes his car and has a night out of her own, knowing Charlie was probably aching for some human contact. 

X

Vincent couldn’t believe he actually was able to move in. He was already so excited to be the Alpha house president, even if not everyone agreed with him. Rosanna dutifully worked under him and kept herself busy, vowing to herself and to Mark that they almost never see one another unless it concerns the house. Vincent could still see every moment they had together. He doesn’t ignore her lingering looks and touches while they tried to quickly check and proof records and evaluations and documents for the house. She didn’t regret no looking back when she could still steal glances from the very corners of her eyelids and faintly think of Mark for a second. Allowing their imagery, their voices, their strength to overtake her for a fleeting moment before she was brought back and remembered the business at hand. 

Since Leda disappeared with his car a few weeks back, Vincent hadn’t a clue what came over her after one fight on one night. She hadn’t known where she’d gone, but didn’t know what Cyr had done with the things of hers that she left. She went up to the registry and seen that Cyr lived in Alpha now. She had remembered him very vaguely discussing running for Alpha president, but hadn’t really cared about it at the time- she thought he wouldn’t get it. Vincent was going over the printout of the proposal for an event that Rosanna had suggested to boost revenue and new pledge turnout when he got a shiver, and it made him play it off by rolling his neck. “You ok?” Ro cooed, rubbing his shoulders, Vincent sinking in.

The girl had found out that he had done away with his off-campus apartment for Greek Row, so she took the long walk going up from the office. Ro hadn’t been this sweet on him, and she didn’t know what came over her in this moment to try her luck- to see if it still pulled the same, to see if it was still like lighting a fuse, to see if he remembered her. She couldn’t help herself taking in his relaxation into her hands and watching him push his glasses off, “Ah..yeah uh...You’re just gonna have to come back for the second..revision...tomorrow- I..I don’t think I’m gonna get this done,” he said, rubbing his face and taking a few more breaths before taking both her hands in his swiftly and gently, bringing them on top of one another, and closing them in his as he directed her to come from behind him. He locked eyes with her as he slowly stood up, towering over her as he let her hands fall, hearing the light gasp as her hands fell. The lanky man turned back around, having already excusing himself past her to start gathering the papers on the table, at her noise, “You alright, doll?” he asked plainly and still killed her.

Leda knew somewhere that maybe if she could admit her side of the story, things would be smoother. She could definitely talk to Ro about Cyr than to Cyr about Ro, and since no one can know, it felt even more important. She admired all the people around and the new faces for a mundane weekday on campus as she strolled onto Greek Row, seeing the lights on and the Congratulations banner still up from his apparent celebration. Vincent felt the shiver again as he put his shirt back on and played it off by adjusting it. Ro was long gone, but it was another isolated moment of quick stimulation. All she ever wants is to be touched, and he knew all the right spots and loved the noises she made when he did get them just the right way. It didn’t worry Leda much that Ro wasn’t answering her phone at this time of day, she probably fell asleep after a brisk walk with Cookie. Joey sang her praises for her return and spoke of the boy who’s car she’d stolen and no longer had. “Leda~..wow...I wasn’t sure what happened, but you can come get all your stuff- uh...I dunno if you wanna talk or anything-”

“Who is she?” Leda asked, pushing past him and wiped her finger across his lips then showing him, “Whoever it is, it’s a cute color..”

“Leda, I think you owe me an explanation-” he said flatly, pulling off his shirt entirely and wiping his face.

“Is my room in here still good?” she asked as she immediately started picking out and finding clothes. She was safe here again, she didn’t need to hide. 

“I let them give it up for more room, we had an influx of- Stop that...Leda, talk to me-” he said, strolling over before getting a hand to the chest.

“Congrats on becoming President, baby~! How about..we celebrate?..Just you and me! Just like before! Hm? I wanna take a shower first, though, cus I’ve been...traveling all day,” she led him into the bathroom as she turned the shower on.

“Can we talk while you shower?” he asked, standing and filling the doorway, “You know this whole suite is mine. So it really is just us.”

“Nah..you, me, the spirits I brought with me and that are on these grounds, the gods and goddesses, and Rosanna’s lace dainties?” she said as she picked the light lace cheeky underwear on the bathroom floor, “Let me take my shower alone, please.”

~

Vincent sat out and cleaned up his room a little bit, chain-smoking as he wasn’t sure what was going to happen when the girl got out of the bathroom. Leda didn’t really understand how she felt the way she did, and why she wasn’t angry at Ro. Why was it a little more interesting to know she was still going to Cyr to get her rocks off? She opened the door to Vincent’s surprise, not wearing anything else but her t-shirt bra and a dainty lace thong. Her hair falling over her curves just right, and he couldn’t help but follow her with his eyes. She had grown up into her shape more, maybe not as much colour on her still plush soft skin, but there’s now tattoos and her hair is as vibrant a colour can be when he met her. She smiled at him, even though she wasn’t smiling on the inside, and she straddled his waist on his bed. She lured him into a kiss and an energy boost he’d missed from her- the world felt more at balance and it made sense with their lips pushed together. “I missed you..so much..” he breathed, unable to hold back his overwhelming comfort.

“Your car broke down and I left it on the side of the road in Oregon..I sold the drugs out the trunk and ran into some ex...problems,” Leda started, “Did some cat and mouse and travelling and yeah..I..I missed you, too Vincent~” 

“That’s fine...but..why’d you leave in the first place?” Vincent asked laying back as she worked on kissing his neck and grinding. The girl stopped and avoided his eyes, “Leda...Leda baby you can tell me..I’ve been waiting about a year to know...” he reassured her as he leaned up to embrace her and kiss her shoulder.

“I-....I..He said he was gonna find me, and the stick had a plus on it and I was gonna show you when we got home, but even I didn’t wanna go home so...” she stiffened as she explained, moving her fringe out of her face, shrugging.

“You were pregnant?” he asked, eyes immediately darting down, “Did you lose it?”

“I...I just didn’t want you to get upset and I didn’t want him to find me if I-”

“Ok Ok...I don’t care about that..What happened to the baby, Leda?” he asked her pulling her in and rubbing her back.

“I lost her...” her voice broke, “I can’t have kids...he’ll find me. He did this to me...”

“Hey, hey, hey...Hey, look at me, Leeds. Alright?..I’m not mad about the car..I’m not mad that you had to handle things with your ex..and I’m not mad about the baby...” Vincent said, “I just wanted to know if you were ok..And that I wasn’t holding your stuff and you didn’t need it anymore..”

Leda couldn’t help her tears and was so glad she had a fresh naked face to let herself cry in. “I-I-It’s not that I didn’t want her, I just..she didn- I dunno what happened...” she tried to say while she cried.

“It’s alright, babe..Don’t worry. She’ll come when she’s ready, okay? And when she does I have no doubt she’ll be as beautiful, smart, and creative as her wonderful mother,” Vincent said, rubbing her back some more, “Listen, next time you get knocked up, I’ll take care of you...I’ll make sure nothing happens to you...I’ll keep you safe.”

“Vincent~ you can’t..no one can..he’s always gonna find me,” Leda whined, shaking her head quickly, “He’ll kill you.”

“Not if I kill him first and even then, I’m giving all of this to you. You deserve not to worry. You deserve safety, babe,” he said, “Is that why you were at my apartment?’

“Yes, but you don’t live there anymore-”

“I’m subleasing until I graduate from here...or I get tired of these people finally,” he chided.

“And how long do you think that’s going to last?..Especially if it’s you and Ro..” she started chuckling lightly.

“I don’t think it’s gonna be me and Ro for much longer, anyway,” he sighs, letting the girl off his lap and onto his bed as he got up to start turning the lights down and closing off his room from his office, “Don’t get me wrong- it’s exciting! It really is, but she shouldn’t be doing that. She’s...gonna need that wakeup call.”

Leda sat and waited for him and lit one of his cigs from the box on the nightstand even though he opted for the little glass tube, “What do you mean?”

“She’s still careless, she’s playing with fire...She didn’t want everybody to know but she’s had-like- two scares...She’s gonna tell you when she finds out that you’re back,” he said, hushing his voice like she was in his office. Leda was shocked to say the least, but she liked Vincent for that: he held onto the only side of her she was never proud of.

“Like...pregnancy scares-”

“No STI- yes pregnancy scares! Told me that she didn’t want to get rid of the kid but didn’t want to think of losing the life she was building with Mark and wanted all of the kids she had to be in their happily ever after or whatever shit...you know Rosie..” Vincent snapped, clearly still emotional and indignant, smoking more frequently as he stress-cleaned his room. Leda was stunned. It wasn’t exactly something she expected from someone who craved so much stability and control- safety. 

“How...”

“She disappeared. Like three times, She told everyone she went to visit family. I saw her and she stayed with me for like..a few days..and we just hung out how she wanted us to. She never left because nobody could know that she was back yet. So when she did return it was like she picked up Cookie from the sitter on her way home from the airport...I liked it, but..when she told me all of that over those days and she told me about being President and how she would eventually hate me enough to overthrow me and then she’ll have her life with Mark and I’ll leave the Youni...”

“So then...when’s the last time you saw Ro?” Leda asked, frightened slightly by what she heard. And part of her wanted to fight her. It wasn’t much of her business but as a friend and as a human that’s not something she should get away with. 

“You didn’t see her going to the Vice President’s suite?..Or the girls’ side? Kitchen?...Cus she literally just left when you had knocked on my door,” Vincent paused and stared at her with a squint.

“Nope,” Leda admitted shaking her head and threw her hands up, “Honestly I didn’t really get here until I told you I lost the baby and by then I kinda knew that I could let it go I guess..because now I feel fine..”

“Weird...I had a weird feeling the whole time she was here that someone was coming..I didn’t think they were alive so I didn’t think anything of it...This is all..you know, Indigenous grounds, not necessarily burial, but sacred space tends to pop up when they’re talking...”

“That’s weird...but highly likely..Western U.S. does have some crazy energy pockets,” Leda said, blushing a little that he knew she was coming, “Are they leftover or residual? The panties, I mean..” She giggled.

“I couldn’t tell ya, but I’d have to guess that she left those in my bathroom because it was very apparent she wasn’t wearing any, but I thought she had come over commando..Didn’t think she committed to the idea while she was in the bathroom. I guess that’s what she’s gonna wait for me to say something about. Can’t lie, I’m gonna miss how smart she is,” he said with a smile and waves of realization of what he liked about the girl after not knowing for so long.

“Clearly not smart enough,” Leda scoffed, “If she’s pulling the ‘I had to go to my mother’s for a summer so I can have an abortion and therapy’ this early in the relationship and they’re still going strong, maybe it’s that you’re not gonna judge her and she can kinda reward herself with you and vice versa- definitely a karmic soulmate...” She smiled again as she realized that they might be a particular soulmate or at least spiritual partner. “Vincent, sit down, please,” she asked sweetly. He sat back down and she rubbed his shoulders, sighing, “I’m sorry, Vince...Like that’s really shitty and I’m..so..sorry, babe..but like that’s what happens when you gamble.”

“It would help if you’d taken responsibility for running out on me fucking months ago,” Vincent bit at her, “Maybe I wouldn’t have leaned on her so much...chasing fucking waterfalls,” he scoffed.

“Wow you’re really gonna sit here and blame me?” she backed up, raising her voice.

“No! I said take some fucking responsibility! Like do you understand how you’re no better sometimes?” he said.

“Oh my- FUCK YOU! Who the fuck are you?!” Leda snapped, shoving his shoulder and getting up.

“Will you keep your voice down?!” he whispered quickly standing up and taking her arm in his hand gently.

“Don’t fucking touch me!-”

“Or what?! You’ll scream? Ro’s gonna come rushing back in here to check on me to find what? Us fucking fighting about her and as far as she knows you dropped out of school,” Vincent breathed, “No one..and I mean no one..knows about any of that.-”

“WHy are you still trying to defend her?!” she growled as she fights him.

“Same reason I defend you, but not the same because you’re not about to marry some meathead to forget your slutty phase,” he mentioned and the girl released her grip, “Also again with the dick jealousy and arousal over your friend and you screwing me.”

“Stop saying that! It’s not fucking true!” she snapped at him.

“I’ve been talking to college girls for a long time. This is the most bisexual thing two straight girls can do is fuck the same guy and give the guy shit for getting off on the fact that at least one of you wants to fuck their lunchbox friend...and right now, you’re the mad at the Snowflake Queen, Needy.”

Leda stopped and looked at him, “Did you really just use that reference?” 

“It’s true. No matter the reference. I’ve told you that before-”

“You didn’t-”

“Yes I did, you just forgot because we were having fun...you know..dating,” Vincent lit his cig, handing it to her, “My whole thing is I wanted you to have fun without living in Rosie’s shadow.”

“Don’t do that,” she said, smoking quickly going back to the bed before he takes her hand and twirls her and dips her.

“What?” he said.

“Don’t call her Rosie,” she said, blushing hard.

“Why? Cus you’d call her Rosie?” he asked, shotgunning a hit with her.

“Stop saying I wanna fuck Ro, cus I don’t,” she giggled.

“You’d watch me fuck her though,” he inserted, putting the butt in the ashtray as he pulled her in, “Or vice versa.”

“She said she would?” she asked, furrowing her brows.

“Needy, when I say she’s never been worried about you when she’s with me, she’s not. I don’t push her, either. Like I think about you if she says or does something that reminds me of you but other than that she’s in her own little world with me,” Vincent said, caressing the girl, looking away to think. 

“Stop calling me Needy, I clearly look like Megan Fox,” she said, meaning to put herself down.

“No, you’re Needy at the end of the movie after she’s been affected by Jennifer,” he explained, “You were simping and running and screaming while getting teased the whole movie then at the end, even though you kinda lost your guy, you’ll get more..and it’s kinda because she took what was meant for you..even if it killed her..”

“Wow..Vincent..did you just say you loved me even if it kills Ro?” Leda asked, smirking wildly.

“Yeah I guess so.”

[nsheetee]

Physics Teacher!Doyoung x Art Teacher!Reader

Genre: High School Teacher AU, Enemies to Lovers AU || fluff, slightly crack-ish

Summary: Doyoung is ecstatic to start working at his first job in Neo City High School... until he runs into you, the eccentric new art teacher that quickly gets under his skin. When you and Doyoung are forced to chaperone the Valentine’s Day dance, you have to put all of your differences aside in the name of stopping high schoolers from grinding on each other and protecting the fruit punch from being spiked.

Word Count: 3k

a/n: happy birthday to the bunny prince! I hope your bday is filled with love, and cheers to the future! also, I hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

doyoung loves school

always did: as a child, in high school, and in college

he honestly loved to learn and was studious, his parents always bragged about his grades and long high school resume filled from top to bottom with achievements and scholarships

but doyoung was glad to finally hold his college diploma in his hand, marking the end of his student days and signaling the beginning of his professional career

as a high school teacher

many of his friends warned him that teaching in a high school would be draining, that it would kill doyoung’s spirit within the first school year 

doyoung didn’t listen, his friends have never been teachers so what could they know?

he walked into his very own classroom on teacher prep day, a few days before the actual first day of school

he breathed in the musty smell of old carpet and the sharp tang of dry erase markers 

ah, yes, perfect

doyoung neatly arranged his desk; his favorite fountain pen had to be exactly 10cm from his computer keyboard and the computer monitor had to be facing up at a 19 degree angle so doyoung wouldn’t have a double chin while looking at the screen

yes, he did use his trusty ruler and protractor to measure it all out, and then neatly placed them into the top drawer of his desk 

doyoung has always been tidy, very articulate and precise

what else would you expect from a man who studied math and physics for five years?

just before leaving his room to meet with his boss, the principal, he’s startled by a knock on his door

you stand at the entrance to his classroom, a bright smile on your face and your hands clasped in front of you as you bounce on your toes

your outfit consists of a long, dark orange skirt that nearly touched the floor and teased the sandals that are strapped to your feet

you wore a bright yellow shirt with a short blue scarf wrapped around your neck, some wooden jewelry laying on the scarf and also dangling from your ears

doyoung is sure his mouth is open in disbelief but he can’t seem to regain enough control over his face to hide his surprised and mortified expression

“hi! you’re kim doyoung, right? the new physics teacher? I’m Y/N.” your voice is chipper and bright

“are you in the correct place, ma’am? this is neo city high school.” doyoung asks 

you tilt your head slightly, wondering why he’s asking such a question

“oh!” you exclaim, moving your wooden necklace and blue scarf out of the way to show doyoung your teacher badge, “I’m a new teacher this year, just like you! I thought I would come say hi.” 

doyoung is sure his mouth is, once again, slacked open 

looking down at himself, he sees a very big contrast in what you look like and what he looks like

doyoung wears a crisp white shirt that’s buttoned all the way up, a blue tie around his collar and his own teacher badge perfectly centered in the middle of his chest

he ironed his slacks this morning and even shined his shoes

is this not the dress code for teachers at NCHS?

he’s sure he read the dress code section of the teacher’s manual, stating that professional attire is required

but as he watches you dance into his classroom from his desk chair, skirt swinging around your legs, curious eyes glancing all over his room... he’s not sure what to do

should he tell his superiors?

he doesn’t get to think much before you sigh and close your eyes, holding out your arms on either side of you as if you can feel some nonexistent wind pass by you

“wow, you have such a nice classroom. the windows and the view, I wish my classroom was open like this.”

“may I ask... what class you teach?”

“art” 

doyoung immediately does not like you

maybe he’s a bit biased (okay, very biased) but he has never liked art

the atmosphere of an art class is not his cup of tea

why are there no written rules for art?

why was he always instructed to “paint with your heart and soul, not your brain”?

why did his high school art teacher scold him for drawing the golden ratio for every single assignment if there are no rules!?

it’s the only C doyoung ever received and, yes, he’s still salty about it

“oh. my. goodness.” doyoung is pulled out of his path down memory lane by your exclamation 

you stride over to his desk, finding a seat next to his computer and accidentally moving it with your hip

doyoung gasps when his perfect 19 degree angle is ruined, and his hands come up to grip the hair at the back of his head when you pick up his favorite fountain pen, turning it over in your fingers

“uh...” doyoung trails off, not sure how to politely tell you to get away from his stuff

“I love this pen!” you exclaim, “this is a Monteverde, isn’t it? wow, I never expected anyone else to appreciate good quality pens, especially not physics teachers.” 

your comment flies over doyoung’s head, he can only focus on how you keep annoyingly clicking the pen and randomly drawing on his clean sticky notes that he placed exactly 17cm from the edge of his desk

in what feels like only seconds to doyoung, you draw an intricate lily on a sticky note and stick it to his computer monitor 

haphazardly dropping the pen back onto his desk, you hop off and wave at your fellow co-worker as you walk out of the room

doyoung can only stare at the mess you left behind; you were only in his classroom for a total of three minutes and yet, it looks like a litter of puppies were let loose 

doyoung’s distaste for you didn’t end there

once school started, he could see the increasing amount of students that absolutely loved you and your art classes

he heard about how you walk around in flip flops and sandals, even when the temperature started to drop outside

he heard about your habit of humming jazz while painting, tapping your foot and bobbing your head along to your own music

he over heard students talking about how you’ve never once worn the same set of jewelry, and betting on how many different sets you actually have

doyoung isn’t sure why he’s so intrigued by you; you have absolutely nothing in common and doyoung doesn’t understand your eccentric way of living

but the universe keeps pulling you to each other

for example, how you both come to school at the same time, punching in for work on the same minute, awkwardly giving your “good morning’s” to each other before you go to your respective classrooms

or how you both have your break during 3rd period, and go to the teacher’s work room in the office to grab a cup of coffee and whatever delicious pastries the office ladies brought in that day

even when you both run the after school clubs (doyoung helps run the robotics club, you help run the art club) you’d somehow bump into each other despite the club rooms being on opposite sides of the school

other than the first day you met, doyoung has no reason to be angry with you

but he is, for some reason he can’t get you off of his mind, and it’s infuriating

maybe doyoung is infuriated because you don’t seem to be affected by his presence in the same way that he’s affected by yours

he always pushes that thought out of his mind, but today, when you’re both called to the home economics room, it’s more apparent than usual

you’re already talking to mr. lee when doyoung walks in, your smiling face and comfortable posture with your co-worker makes that fire in his stomach ignite, and he just wants this to be over with as quickly as possible

“ah, doyoung you’re here, great! I have a favor to ask both of you” mr. lee, or ten as you both know him, rests his elbows on the desk and clasps his hands in front of him, “I need you two to chaperone the valentine’s day dance tonight”

“there’s a valentine’s day dance tonight?” doyoung asks and ten sends him a deadpanned look

“yes? it’s been on the morning announcements everyday this week”

doyoung crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks away, a bit embarrassed that he’s been caught not listening to the mandatory morning announcements

(doyoung always wears crisp dress shirts to work, and you about die when his arms bulge through the shirt with his actions, his chest seeming to stretch wider than the ocean and shoulders looking as solid as a rock)

(maybe you gulp a bit, and maybe you try not to pant at the sight, also)

“didn’t you tell me that you and principal moon usually chaperone the valentine’s day dance?” you ask, moving your attention away from doyoung’s chest and turning to ten

“yes, we do, but this year mr. moon’s wife surprised him with a dinner date and he says he can’t let her down”

“and why can’t you chaperone?”

“my cat went into labor”

you and doyoung look at ten with dead stares, trying to comprehend ten’s words

ten scoffs and rolls his eyes, slamming his palm down onto his desk

“well? is no one going to congratulate me? I’m going to be a grandpa by the end of tonight!”

“congrats...” you mumble out, “but I’m sorry, I can’t chaperone tonight.” you try to quickly think up of a valid excuse as to why, but nothing of value comes to mind

“yeah, neither can I” doyoung speaks up, turning around to walk out of the room

“wait” ten speaks up, making doyoung turn back to face both of you, “if I remember correctly, I covered for both of you when you couldn’t show up to the bi-yearly meeting last month. you both owe me, and this is how you’ll repay.”

you and doyoung visibly sulk in your spots

it’s true, ten did cover for you when you couldn’t go to that important meeting, and by the look on doyoung’s face, it looks like ten has him trapped, too

so that’s how you and doyoung end up at the gym after school, watching the student council committee set up all the decorations and the dj set up his equipment on stage

the theme is “love under the sea” 

doyoung cringes when he saw the banner reveal over the front of the gym, and you can’t help but wince at the overused theme

the decorations are lovely, though; different shades of blue lights glow from the the ceiling and cast a blue hue to everyone below, the stage is covered in blue tinsel and large balloon figures of seashells, crabs, and mermaids

even the drink and snack tables have underwater themed cookies and chips, with large bowls of blue fruit punch centered on every table

so far, chaperoning is easy; you and doyoung have to make sure no one gets hurt and that there’s enough helium for the hundreds of balloons that were blown up and are currently rolling around on the floor

but then, students start to arrive

ten assured you and doyoung earlier that no more than 100 students would show up the whole night; groups of people would come in and out for the three hours that the dance would be going on

but of course, tonight is the night that everyone decides to come to the dance

although the student council is having the time of their lives with the amount of money they’re receiving in ticket profits, yours and doyoung’s eyes bulge at how over 100 hundred students are already waiting in line to enter the gym

“wait, wait” you run towards a group of girls who just paid for their tickets, “you have to take your shoes off before going in”

“why?” they give you an almost disgusted look, and you entertain the fact that you have to look up at them to look them in the eyes

“your heels could scrap the gym floor, please take them off” you look down at the girls’ shoes, confused on how they can balance on such tiny leverages 

“but, it’s part of my outfit” you give the girls one long, hard, blank stare until they roll their eyes and step out of the heels, immediately shortening themselves by four inches and walking away

doyoung’s night also doesn’t start out smoothly....

he walks into the boy’s bathroom, hoping to relieve himself before the dance actually got underway, but instead is frightened by a pair of students playing tonsil hockey against the urinals 

“mr. kim!” they shout and doyoung covers his eyes and turns away, for some reason feeling like he’s in the wrong even though the public restroom is not supposed to be used for making out

“the dance started 10 minutes ago and you’re already doing that!” doyoung shouts and the students apologize, heads bowed as they scurry out the door

about an hour into the dance, you and doyoung finally find each other through the chaos of the school gym

“either ten lied to us or today is just an anomaly; there has to be at least 300 students here right now” doyoung tries to speak over the music, but you still have to lean in to hear him

“we need to call other teachers to come help, it can’t just be the two of us here.” you reply, but doyoung barely pays attention

you face is leaning into his, but your sporadic eyes and looking somewhere else 

the blue hues of the lights shine off of your cheekbones and permeate through your hair

doyoung thinks you look good in blue, and he could keep looking at you for a while longer

until something behind you catches his eye

“oh, no...” doyoung trails off, and you look turn around

in the middle of the dance floor, right in front of the dj’s speakers, a swarm of students gather around and you can faintly see through the dim lights of the gym that a grind circle ensues

“oh, no...” you mimic doyoung as the group of students “dance” to the music, almost gyrating and squirming against their partners

it’s almost too painful and awkward to watch

doyoung makes the first move to separate the circle, trying to push his way through, the swarm of students stick together like a group of flamingos; they’re so congested that it would be easier to move through a vat of molasses

the teens stick to each other in their dance moves and you feel sorry for doyoung who tries to yell “no hands on knees. I said DO NOT PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR KNEES” at the crowd, the music swallowing him up

as you watch on, your eyes latch onto a group of guys who surround one of the drink and snack tables

you would’ve overlooked them, but the way they’re suspiciously eyeing their surroundings makes you curious

you walk closer, only to see one of the guys carrying a shiny flask, holding it upside down over a punch bowl

“woah, woah, woah, what do you think you’re doing?” you call out as you march closer, frightening the group of students 

“nothing, we’re just getting a drink.” maybe if you didn’t see them pour alcohol into the punch bowl earlier, you would be fooled by their lies, but you give them a disappointed look

“really? that’s why you have a flask on you?” you ask the student with the alcohol, and all of their eyes widen into dinner plates

the night only erupts into more chaos after that

you and doyoung never have enough time to stop and call ten or any other teacher to come help you, too busy dealing with teenage antics

at one point in the night, “under the sea” plays, and you and doyoung are pulled into a conga line of students as they travel around the gym, and someone from the yearbook committee snaps a picture on a polaroid camera

as the night comes to a close, students leave to go home and the gym floor becomes visible once again

you sit against the wall, holding the polaroid in your hand and silently smiling at yours and doyoung’s surprised expressions, his hands on your shoulders and a bad, red flash in both of your eyes, only adding to the candidness of the whole scene

doyoung slides down next to you and hands you a cup of the spiked punch, which you had moved to a different room after you reprimanded the boys who spiked it

“for me?” you ask as you accept the cup

“yeah, I think we both deserve it for dealing with tonight” you and doyoung do a silent cheers and hit your plastic cups together before downing all the punch

“wow,” you cough a bit, placing a hand over your mouth “high schoolers don’t play around, huh” you look at the cup, wondering exactly how much alcohol was in it before setting it down on the floor, deciding not to think to much about it

the dj was hired from 7pm to 10pm, and although doyoung’s watch says it’s 9:57pm, the dj still plays songs even though only you and doyoung are here to listen to them

“this is for the chaperones tonight,” the dj suddenly speaks into his microphone, “you guys did a good job.” 

a slow song starts to play, you and doyoung don’t recognize it, but doyoung laughs awkwardly at how you’re both put on the spot, even if there’s no one here to witness it

“well, let’s dance, doie.” you stand up and hold out your hand to him

maybe it’s the energy and confidence from the alcohol, or maybe this is something doyoung has always wanted to do, but he takes your hand and guides you to the dance floor

your hands rest on his shoulders and you try not to feel giddy at the thought of finally getting to feel them after looking on from the distance for so long

you blush at your own thoughts, or maybe because of doyoung’s hands traveling around your hips and pulling you closer to him

for a minute, you and doyoung just sway a bit

the music is nice and the blue hue from the lights makes doyoung’s eyes and skin shine, you can’t pull yourself away from him

“you know, I’ve actually never been to a school dance before.” you don’t know what possesses you to say it out loud, but doyoung’s eyes widen at your words

“me, too.” 

at that moment, doyoung realizes that maybe you two do have something in common

and as you lean your head against his collarbone, humming the already familiar melody of your first song of your first school dance ever

doyoung knows he doesn’t mind getting to know the parts of you that aren’t that similar to him

it’ll be worth it

[justlookatthosesausages]

“Lift the Spirit” :: a fluff/angst post-Frozen 2 Elsamaren fanfic

Chapter 5: Cause I’m not alone anymore

Nokk was still waiting at the place Elsa had told them to wait. They turned their head to the call of the Snow Queen. It was remarkably stealthy; Elsa didn’t even have to whistle to get their attention, she simply used her mental bond, and the Water Spirit obeyed. 

The blonde ran along the trees, increasing her race even, and the magical horse galloped to join her side, catching up with her rhythm. They ran sideways in the Moon light for a few seconds, Elsa’s gaze still on the horizon to where the Northuldra camp was, and she didn’t even need to look at Nokk for the next step. She rose her left hand and jumped on their back from the flank, her legs hovering their barrel as she seemed to float during her twirl. Her hand still on their crest, she sat bareback as usual and sent a silent order to the Water Spirit, asking them to dash to the Sami village. 

Nokk nodded energetically, and ran to where the others had been waiting. When Elsa arrived in a barely perceptible trot in the camp, several people startled of surprise. 

Except for Anna, who had been expecting her venue and staring at where she had come from. The redhead came closer, holding a torch like several Northuldra. 

“He’s on the shore.” Informed Elsa, staying on Nokk. “I saw him plan how he’s going to cross the Dark Sea. He’s distracted. It’s now or never if we want to have the element of surprise.” 

Anna, Honeymaren, Eydis, Kristoff and Ryder nodded. The Snow Queen outstretched a hand for her sister to help her jump behind her, which she did in a swift motion. 

Kristoff went on Rask’s back, and helped Eydis to get behind her. Finally, Honeymaren and Ryder rode the fastest reindeer of the herd. 

“Everyone, get to your positions.” Ordered the Northuldra leader. “You know what you have to do. Stand guard and don’t let anyone or anything approach. I have confidence in you all.” 

“May Ahtohallan be with you.” Bowed Jongu. He was in charge of the camp while she was gone, and would not disappoint her. His eyes were fierce at the light of his torch. 

They all exchanged words of support, then galloped up North. 

Elsa was leading, with Anna holding her waist tight. The blonde couldn’t tell if she was doing that due to the surreal speed of Nokk and the possibility of falling, to the roughness of Anna’s armor, or to her undeniable mix of stress and excitement. 

The Snow Queen patted her hand. She wondered if she could feel it because she had reinforced leather gloves, but when she felt the redhead tilt on the side, she smiled in success. 

“Everything will be okay, Anna.” 

The Queen didn’t answer, for bad fortune, and simply cuddled closer to her elder. She couldn’t lose her. Not after all that their family had been through. 

Elsa passed a hand along Nokk’s neck while they were heading to the Dark Sea shore. She could feel how nervous the Water Spirit was as well. Even Gale and Bruni, who were protecting the camp, and the Giants, who were patrolling in the land, were exhaling stress, and she could feel it kilometers away. 

“It will be alright, dear friends.” She sent as a mental answer, and their mood calmed down a bit. 

Nevertheless, she was upset that the Spirits couldn’t participate to the fight. She had thought of begging Ahtohallan to use their magic against Victor, but she knew that the laws of Nature were immutable. Magical Spirits had been brought to the world to protect and help, not to attack opposite dark forces. However, as the Fifth Spirit, Elsa was allowed to intervene; just as, sadly, the previous Fifth Spirit could make his own choices concerning Niks’ penalty. The Bridge existed to forge a path between humans and magic, and Elsa’s role now was to stop Victor’s evil ends and prevent him from taking control of Ahtohallan. Her instinct of guardian of the magical source made her flare, ironically in an ice cold way. The glacier had helped her to fully accept and love herself, and she would never let anyone destroy it. 

On that thought, she slammed her heels on Nokk’s sides to go faster, and the Spirit complied with an excited neigh, sharing her feelings. 

=======

“What, you thought you could ambush me?” 

They all widened their eyes in surprise from the big shore rocks they had been hiding behind. 

“This whole shore is covered with pebbles. Only an idiot would not hear you arriving.” Sighed dramatically Victor Eiglatson. 

He turned his attention from the Dark Sea to them, his tangled and dirty hair floating in the wind. Elsa couldn’t help but think, after she saw his deep pain and sorrow at the death of his wife, that he never fully recovered from it, and it would explain his messy appearance and his simple outfit. 

In opposite to the armors or reinforced leather they were wearing, Victor looked weak, feeble. He only had a dark purple cape with a hood, and a vest and pants that looked like the Arendelle army uniform. It was worn-out, but not in the same way than the ones of the guards that had been trapped for years in the Forest like Mattias; he clearly didn’t take care of it, not minding that it had stains at some parts. 

Revulsed, she still answered his invitation when he lifted his chin in a provocative ‘quit your hiding spot if you dare’ gesture. 

Anna grabbed her elder’s arm when she saw her walk around the rock calmly. “What are you doing?!” 

“He wants a fight. I’ll give him a fight.” 

Honeymaren stared at her, but eventually agreed. She stood up from the low rock where she had been hiding with Eydis. 

“She’s right. You want to confront us, don’t you, Victor?” 

The man didn’t get affected by her threatening tone. He preferred to choose sarcasm against her gritted teeth. 

“Well, well, well. I am even blessed by the presence of the Northuldra leader, uhm? How ironic.” 

Elsa frowned and clenched her fists. 

“You know, it’s actually even better.” Admitted the man. “It makes this fight even more meaningful.” 

He cracked his fingers, a habit that Kristoff hated to see, so it’s what made him stand. As if they were mentally connected, Anna rose at the same time on Elsa’s side, like a protective shadow. When she saw her mother stand, Eydis copied the move. She even glanced at Victor with a fierce stare, gripping her mace, to show that even if she was the youngest opponent, it didn’t mean that she wouldn’t make him live hell. Ryder was the last one to stand, but that didn’t make the whole thing less impressive. All together, they walked around the rocks and formed a line, all drawing their weapons in synchronized moves. 

With the whistling wind and the bright Moon light, it made their stance even more epic than it already was. 

“Waow, the whole family is here. How touching.” Commented Victor on a flat tone, not impressed. 

Then, he realized that the shining armors and the magic pieces of Elsa’s outfit weren’t the only thing to gleam in the bright light. He saw, with eyes getting wider and wider, that everyone without exception had custom-made additions to their weapons. Elsa had been way faster at upgrading her assaults than he thought. He tried to hide a nervous gulp, but Honeymaren, with her acute huntress sight, smirked at his state. 

Elsa also saw that he wasn’t expecting that level of preparation. She blinked in realization that Victor had nothing of a great strategist. Only anger and sorrow fueled his actions. So she decided to lower her ice spear. 

She took a few steps forward, her crafted sandals screeching on the pebbles. Anna and Honeymaren exchanged a look, not wanting to lower their weapons like her and wondering what she was doing. 

“Victor, this is your last chance to surrender.” 

“Great, because I never intend to.” Replied the man with deep anger. 

Elsa perceived it, and calmed down the situation. 

“I know why you acted like that lately.” 

“You know nothing about me.” 

“I’ve seen memories of you and the Fifth Spirit in Ahtohallan. I know what happened. I’ve seen it all. Your past… Your pain...” 

She explained everything, and his face distorted when she finished her story. 

“Listen, Victor… I know that you hate me.” 

The man’s face turned into a terrible wince. “That’s a very simple way to phrase it. I despise you. I loathe you.” 

Anna intervened. “No, it’s not true! You hate the previous Fifth Spirit. My sister is different!” 

“I don’t care who’s the person with Ahtohallan’s magic, the Fifth Spirit is still an abomination!” Blurted Victor, yelling on the same tone than the redhead. “There should be no human allowed to have such powers!!”

“You have powers too.” Remarked Kristoff. 

“But I don’t use them to kill people.” 

Elsa gasped, outraged. “You killed two innocent Northuldra!” 

The man shrugged slightly. “That was collateral damage.” 

Honeymaren startled of rage and stepped forward. “IT WAS A FATHER AND HIS SON!!” 

Elsa restrained her by grabbing her arm. She also truly wanted to hurt Victor for his words, but they had to remain calm. The man noticed their anger.

“Nothing you will say will change my mind. Your powers will be mine, Ahtohallan will be mine, and The Fifth Spirit will pay for what it has done to me!” Blurted Victor. 

Anna gripped her sword hard with her two hands, pointing at him threateningly. 

“They’re not a ‘it’, they’re a person!” She blurted with even more verve. “And her name is ELSA!!” 

He looked scowled, yet it seemed like disgust. 

“I refuse to put a name on that being who’s nothing less than a murderer!” 

“For the last time, the previous Fifth Spirit was! Not Elsa!! You’ve got it all wrong!” Yelled Anna. 

Victor was done getting scolded. He flipped his hands, volutes of black goo appearing around his fingers and floating there, just like cold smoke around Elsa’s fingers when she loaded her magic. 

“I’m not coming back on my decision. I will rip the powers out of her body!” 

He had pointed at Elsa with an angry index finger, and it perspired with evil power. Honeymaren instinctively placed herself in front of her. The blonde internally sighed at the behavior of her sister and the reaction of her wife. This was going worse and worse and wouldn’t end well. She could feel the magic pulsating in the air at the man’s anger, so she stared into his eyes. 

“Victor, wait. If you do that, you’ll become the very thing you hated.” 

Elsa’s wise words crossed the night, and everyone looked at her. Even Victor got stunned and remained silent. She got a point, but he chose to ignore her. 

“I doubt of it. I will finally avenge my beloved wife!!” 

The blonde rose calming hands. “And I get it. Believe me, I really do. However, revenge isn’t the solution…” 

“ENOUGH!!” 

Anna was astonished by his persistence. 

“You will rip her powers, even if it means that she will probably die?” She winced. 

“I don’t care.” 

He had stated that in a cold, frigid voice. Eydis gasped at the tone. Kristoff widened his eyes. Anna and Honeymaren were outraged . Elsa… Remained silent. 

“You’re a cruel man with a heart of stone!” Shouted the Queen with a shocked wince, speaking from her guts. 

“I’m bringing justice!” Replied Victor on a strong tone. “I’m doing what needs to be done! She’s a monster!!” 

While they gasped, Elsa walked around Honeymaren and stepped forward, to everyone’s surprise. 

“I used to think I was.” She said. 

Her voice had been calm, deep, sincere. 

“There was a time when I would call myself a monster…” Muttered the Snow Queen. “But I have changed. And one thing is for sure, now… You’ll be way more of a monster that I’ll ever be if you continue to focus on vengeance.” 

“You changed?” Repeated Victor. “What makes you think you’re not still a monster, as you have the same powers than when you called yourself that?” 

Elsa sighed, a bit emotionally. “Because since, I have been guided to a new light. A new perspective. Since then, I have been helped by love. And learned that people actually loved me all along.” 

She paused her powerful speed to turn to Anna and Honeymaren, who were looking at her with touched smiles. “And they still love me every day.” 

“You think that love solves everything?” Frowned Victor. 

“Yes. I do.”

“BULLSHIT! Bring my wife back, then!” Bawled the man. 

Elsa did a move, but not the expected one. She melted her spear, and the two women behind them gasped in warning noises. 

The blonde rose her hand as a dismiss, assuring them that everything was alright. Kristoff remained rational; Elsa could craft a new spear any time she would want, and faster than it would take to say the word. So she wasn’t really putting herself in danger. She was being wise and showed Victor her true intentions. 

The man looked at her with a squint, surprised of her attitude. 

“Does loving yourself better make you lower your guard?” He snorted.

Elsa nodded softly. “Yes. Because I have changed, and you can too.” 

His facial features, which had calmed down a bit, returned to a twisted frown. 

“How dare you TALK about change when you took my WIFE!!” 

Dark energy emanated from him, making splashes of black slime spurt from his hands and all around his foot stomp. The dark pebbles of the shore got stained by it at the pale light of the Moon. 

“Once again, I didn’t.” Reminded Elsa with a calm voice, which was remarkable for the situation, because Victor’s sudden burst had brought everyone else to clench on their weapons and get ready to aim at him. 

“You seem really certain to be innocent.” He grunted. 

“That’s because I am.” 

She stared at him with intensity. “And I intend to be fair. This is the last fight we have. After that, you will face justice and pay for your crimes.” Warned Elsa. 

“Well, there’s at least one thing we agree on, Fifth Spirit.” He replied, his fists clenched. “This indeed will be our one and only face-to-face.” 

He looked around, now pensive. 

“I got to say, it’s a nice place to have it. If I had to pick, I would have hesitated between here and the entrance of the Forest.”

“The Elemental Stones?” Frowned Anna. 

“Yes. That. They would look great as battle ruins, wouldn’t they? Once they get destroyed with my vengeance.” 

“How dare you.” Muttered Honeymaren, who had chosen to stay silent until now, but couldn’t bear his arrogance any longer. “This is a sacred place. My ancestors built those stones.” 

“They have been made to honor Nature.” Specified Kristoff. “What do they have to do with your revenge over the Fifth Spirit?” 

“Well, this is a game-changing fight. You know my plan now, right? So you know that I want to destroy Ahtohallan and everything that the Fifth Spirit stands once and for all. What would be the point of worshipping the Nature Spirits when the person who’s supposed to bring the balance with the human world kill humans?” 

Anna clenched her jaw. “You know that your wife had it coming. She did crimes. The Fifth Spirit warned her, and yet she continued to do it.” 

Elsa turned to her with a deadly stare. The redhead understood that she had been a bit too far, and retracted a bit. However, she did not regret her words. 

The Snow Queen turned to the enemy again, focused and determined. “You will not touch a single inch of Ahtohallan as long as I stand.” 

Victor looked at her with a cruel smirk. “See, that can be arranged.” 

He flipped his arms up and two big spurts of pitch black goo jolted from it. 

Each one splitted in eight parts, and in a record time, a group of sixteen creatures emerged, forming from the slime. They all were taller than the humans, with muscular arms and solid blades as hands. As always, they had head shapes but no faces, which made the creepy atmosphere of the night even more scarier, added to the fact that they were more numerous than Elsa’s allies. 

“GO!” Shouted Victor as an order, and the monster ran to them unsteadily, their big feet splashing on the shore. 

Elsa hurried to go in front of her family and place herself first, as the first creature was jumping to slam its blade on them. With a yelping grunt, Elsa raised a giant ice stalagmite, as sharp as a razor, and it pierced right through the living thing. It tried to touch her despite being impaled, but with another yell, she pushed the stalagmite away in a new blue beam, and it jolted in the air, slamming two other monsters in one go. 

Honeymaren blinked as Elsa then crafted her ice spear back, and attacked a fourth monster that was making its way to them. She stabbed it right in the thigh, then grunted as she heavily twirled on herself with both hands on the shaft. She dragged the creature with her, and send it fly in the air with a powerful swing to slam another one. 

The Northuldra leader exchanged a stunned look with Anna, who was astonished as well. 

Did they… Even need to come to this fight? Was Elsa going to take care of everything on herself with her usual badassery? 

The blonde panted, twirling her spear, and turned to her loved ones with a huff. 

“No one harms my family.” 

Honeymaren smirked. 

“Leave some for the lowly people, my love.” 

Elsa smiled. 

A grunt on her right side took them out of their reverie. A monster was attacking Eydis and Kristoff, and they were trying to repel it. The Snow Queen frowned and was about to help them. 

Anna gave her a sign. “Wait, some are coming right at us. Let’s take care of them first.” 

The redhead ran to the monsters, her golden armor shining in the Moonlight, and slayed one in a swift move; she beheaded a second one with a brilliant twirl, her second hand on the pommel of her unique sword for faster actions. 

Honeymaren aimed at the ones on her side with quick and effective arrows. When one of them was threatening to charge at her, Elsa ran and slammed her foot on the ground, a wall of ice emerging and letting the monster splash on it with a dumb move. She rounded her creation, and while the dizzy thing tried to retrieve its form and balance, she planted it with her spear against the wall. It vanished like any the others once it got killed, and the blonde had a smirk, twirling the spear around happily. 

She saw at the corner of her eye - and almost instinctively - that a monster was about to attack Anna from behind. She focused in a frown, tossed her spear up in the air and lifted her arm to catch it with her fingers up, holding it javelin-style. She aimed, gathered momentum and threw her spear across the shore. It whistled in the air and hit the creature right in the head. With the force of the blow, it vanished before it would even fall on the pebbles. Anna finished slaying her own enemy with style, then turned around at the sound of the spear falling on the pebbles. 

She blinked in confusion, picked up the weapon, then looked at her sister in the distance. 

‘Did you just?’ She seemed to say with her amazed eyes. 

‘Saved your life? Yep.’ Seemed to answer Elsa with a grin and a shrug. 

‘Awesome’, replied Anna, and this time it was obvious because she really said that word out loud and it was easy to read it on her lips. 

Elsa outstretched her hand and the spear in Anna’s hand seemed to vibrate, like it was struggling to get out of her grasp. She unfolded her fingers, and the spear flew in the air to arrive in Elsa’s palm, then the Snow Queen made it twirl expertly, ready to attack new creatures. 

“Show-off.” Scoffed Anna. 

Elsa went to help Ryder and Eydis. They had a lot of talent and she admitted after a while that she only was there as mere support. She took that opportunity to observe the battlefield around her. 

Honeymaren and Kristoff now were taking care of Victor, the blond facing him with his axe blows while her wife aimed at him with her arrows. Only, he was crafting monsters faster than light, and they took all of the blows for him. With a smirk, he made every monster die and vanish instead of actually fighting back. 

Elsa found that utterly shameful. How could a person fitted with magic powers and able to create living beings sacrifice them like pawns, or meatshields? She frowned with disgust, not liking Victor’s ways at all. He was a disgrace to magic, and she felt the same emotion than when she had discovered her grandfather’s aversion for the Northuldra. 

Fueled by her anger, she melted her spear then threw an ice blow at him to freeze his legs, but he sensed her magic arriving so he dodged aside. Thankfully, it didn’t touch Honeymaren who was in the trajectory, because she had an excellent sight and saw the accidental blue glow arrive to her. She jumped aside to get away from it as it crashed on the shore and formed a giant snowflake trap, and meanwhile, didn’t lose time by drawing another arrow. 

Elsa was about to charge a second ice blow, and then was struck by a flashing image of the previous Fifth Spirit who had inflicted the same move to Victor when he was younger during the famous attack that haunted her. She clenched her fist, holding on her promise that she would never act like the old Northuldra leader. 

She crafted her spear again and chose to go to battle in her own style. 

She went to help Eydis with the remaining creatures that she somehow was taking care of by herself, Anna busy helping Ryder stand up after he fell during an attack. With a smile, Elsa admired her niece twirling her powerful and heavy mace around, exploding the monsters’ heads between two rolls. She was sparkling at the light of the Moon in her silver armor, and the Snow Queen was really proud of her. In a combined attack of sword and spear, Anna and her killed the last monster that Victor had created, and smiled at each other, panting. 

They finally got rid of his creatures, but everyone knew that he would create new ones without breaking a sweat. At least, Elsa was able to do so, and she was the only person they could compare him to. Might as well be careful and expect that he was as talented as her. Indeed, he had gotten rid of Kristoff and Honeymaren, and seemed ready to craft new monsters. He groaned as he lifted his palms again. 

“Block his hands!” Yelled Elsa, pointing at him. “If we block his arms, he won’t be able to make those monsters anymore!” 

Anna nodded. Her elder knew well what she was talking about. Hers and victor’s magic may be very different, it had one thing in common: their living creations were crafted with their hands.

Kristoff, who was the closest to Victor after he and Honeymaren had fallen down, frowned in determination as he jumped up, then lifted his arms to hit him. He flipped his axe in the air, aiming not with the blade side but with the hammer one, and slammed down to where his shoulder was. At such a speed and with Elsa’s unbreakable ice, he would at least dislocate it, thought Ryder, who had run to join the King’s side. However, Victor had army experience, and avoided his blow. 

“That wasn’t a really impressive attack.” Puffed the enemy with sarcasm. 

“But a really useful diversion.” Said a smiling voice behind him. 

He didn’t finish twirling around that a massive blunt weapon descended upon his arm. Victor groaned in pain when Eydis’ mace slammed him. He immediately wanted to lift his arm to push away the weapon, but Eydis’ move had been close to perfection and he couldn’t do much with the angle he now had after her blow. He tried to detached his arm from the blades and spikes, but it was impossible; first, because the fabric of his sleeve had been stuck in it, and second, because Eydis was really great at maintaining the mace in place. He tried to push her with the force of his arm, but she grinned as she easily kept him still to where he was, holding the mace with both hands. 

He blinked in astonishment. How could such a little girl have as much strength? He then realized that with the parents she had, it wasn’t surprising. He had made a grave mistake to undervalue her. Victor yelled in frustration, and was about to punch her with his other fist, but he got stuck. 

“What…?”

He turned to his other side, and came face to face with a grinning Ryder. 

“Surprise, monstermaker.” 

Victor gritted his teeth at the sight of Ryder’s staff effectively restraining her elbow and preventing him from making any move. 

He tried to get out of his trap, but it made things worse; the Northuldra had anticipated any possible parade and knew how to hold him still as well. Victor then realized that Ryder’s parade had in fact blocked his right hand. He muttered a line of insults. Seriously? The two younger opponents were the ones disabling him? Eydis smirked as she saw Victor’s despair in his eyes thanks to how close she was. With a grunt, she pushed even stronger on her mace. The Northuldra also pressed harder with his staff. Both him and Eydis couldn’t help smirking at Victor’s struggle. 

Elsa observed the scene and admitted that it was a funny situation too. She had joked earlier in the day how Ryder might be the one who would strike the final blow on Victor, because there was no way one would expect someone with the weakest weapon and the less protection to be a threat. Turned out that she was quite right. 

In fact, not even her could have predicted what was about to follow. 

Ryder changed his grip on his staff to hold the man in place, looking at the splashes of his magic on the ground. 

“You know, there’s something else that is black and that I’d love you to discover.” Grinned Ryder. 

Victor raised a surprised eyebrow at his sudden confidence. 

“Meet explosive powder.” 

The leather pouch he had at his waist, and that the old man thought was simply holding provisions, suddenly flipped upside down and opened when Ryder pulled on a string attached to it. 

Victor’s attention got brought to it and he looked down, giving exactly the intended time for the Northuldra to jump back. 

The mysterious dark powder had fell in a stack on Victor’s right boot, and he frowned as he tried to understand why Ryder had poured ground pepper on his feet. 

“EYDIS!! NOW!!” Yelled the Northuldra. 

Victor jolted his head up, and only then he noticed that the fiery princess had jumped back too. With a grin and a grunt, she lifted her mace to her vambrace covering her forearm. She turned it skillfully so that an iron blade and not an ice one would rasp against the metal part of the armor, and aimed at the stack of powder. With a scratch, a spark flew straight through the air, and Victor saw it fall with wide and terrorized eyes right in the stack of powder. 

The explosion blow was spectacular. In a deafening bang, it made Victor jolt in the air, and Ryder and Eydis got blown away for a few meters despite their safety distances. Thankfully, they fell on their backs like they had planned, loudly but without damage thanks to the pads they had placed on their outfits just for that purpose. 

One could not say the same for Victor, who got injured at the foot, and now grunted as he had trouble standing up without limping. 

Elsa blinked at what had just happened. 

“What the… Did you know they would do that?” She asked her wife, and she saw her happy smirk. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Honeymaren reached for a new arrow in her quiver, and gave her a sarcastic stare. “Well, you were busy being nerdy in Ahtohallan when we built our strategy.” 

The blonde was about to react, but she rose a hand. “Now is not the time to get teasy. Look, he’s about to blow again.” 

Indeed, Victor was clenching his fists and staring at the too-happy family of warriors facing him. 

“Okay, now I’m mad. You’ll face my wrath.” 

He was enraging. And just to make him even more angry, as he stepped forward to personally punch Ryder, an arrow planted right in front of him. 

“Make one more step and the next one goes in your knee.” Menaced Honeymaren with a cold voice. 

He looked up with a grumble and saw that she was aiming at him, her next ice arrow at the ready. During his years in the army, he had always despised archery. 

“A bow… The weapon of cowards.” 

Eydis huffed. “Says the one who uses magic from a distance!” 

“Also, with the skills that it requires to be efficient at hunting, I wouldn’t say that’s is a pathetic weapon.” Remarked Anna. 

“Yeah, my aim is quite good.” Said Honeymaren, still with her threatening eyes, but smiling internally at the words of her sister-in-law. 

She remembered a day some years ago when she had tried to teach the Queen how to use a bow. But the redhead lacked of patience and was more of the ‘attack first’ type of person. 

“Oooh, I’m so scared.” Eye-rolled Victor. 

Elsa was impressed by his assurance. This being said, he had no idea how scary a pissed-of Honeymaren could get. 

The man walked forward, and in a whistle, another arrow planted among the pebbles in front of his feet. He stopped with a grumble. 

“Yes, it will indeed start to get… Very annoying.” 

He stared at the Northuldra, and swiftly moved his right hand. A sharpened solid splurt of dark magic rose from the shore in less than a second and pierced right through Honeymaren’s hand, which she used to draw arrows. In a loud scream, she dropped her weapon and bent with a painful wince. She was bleeding abundantly. 

“MAREN!” Screamed Anna, rushing at her side. 

She grunted that she was fine, but it was an obvious lie. 

Ryder exploded of rage. “YOU BASTARD!” 

“Using big words now, ain’t we?” Puffed Victor. “Actually, you know what? This wasn’t big enough. That didn’t deserve a ‘bastard’ yet. I’m gonna hurt her more.” 

Elsa barged in between him and her wife and stared at him like her eyes came from the core of arctic glaciers itself. 

“Don’t even dare to move your hands at her one more time.” 

Ironically, she was raising glowing blue ones in his direction, and the air around them had fallen of many degrees. 

Honeymaren’s heart filled so much love that it was like all the pain and spilled blood didn’t exist anymore. She smiled at her wife’s intervention, adorable and badass at the same time. 

When Victor took a careful stop, Elsa looked behind her, still pointing at him. 

“Are you okay, Honey?” 

“Y-yeah, I think I can get over it. But you’re gonna have to do without me from now on.” 

Elsa gave a sad look to her lover’s twisted face. Ryder urged to rip a part of his tunic to craft a makeshift bandage. It stopped the bleeding for now, but would need closer inspection. 

To Victor’s ears, however, Honeymaren’s last sentence sounded like music. Yes. Incapacitate each and every ally of the Fifth Spirit so they couldn’t use their weapons. That was a clever follow-up. 

He barely flicked his wrist and a spurt of goo splashed away from his palm right towards Anna. Elsa’s eyes widened and she immediately rose a giant ice shield with a slam of the foot. 

The slime splashed on the surface, and she groaned as she turned to him again. 

“Stop that at once!!” 

Anna twirled her sword in a menacing ‘woosh’. “Oh, if he doesn’t stop it, I will make him stop. I hate surprise attacks. You’re the coward one!” 

“Coward?” Repeated Victor with a slight evil giggle. “You talked about skill earlier. Don’t you think it’s skilled that I can reach to spots… That I don’t even see?” 

He flicked his wrist again, and Anna tried to understand what he meant. Suddenly, the pebbles on her right moved in a creak sound, and dark slime gushed from the ground to splash at her arm, right at the interstice between the elbow and forearms parts of her armor. She let out a scream and a hiss at the burning pain that seized her suddenly, and dropped her sword. 

Elsa twirled around. What?? He had aimed at her even though she was standing behind her blurred ice shield? And so precisely that it went through the flaws of an armor? 

The Snow Queen started to panic as she admitted that Victor had the experience of battle, and knew exactly what to do from now on. 

“No...” She muttered, but it was too late. 

She twirled to Kristoff and Eydis, who had been standing side by side. The King had turned his head at Anna’s scream, wondering what just happened. 

“Kristoff! Watch out!!” Warned the blonde. 

It was a mistake to call him. He looked at her, wondering what the danger was, and Victor smirked. With a jolt of the wrist, he sent another spurt of dark magic to him, and it hit him at the head. 

“KRISTOFF!!” 

Anna, who had been inspecting her wound, caught up on the scene too late. Elsa, who thought until now that she had the advantage of speed, was frightened to discover that Victor was as talented as her; in a few seconds, he had harmed three persons. 

Elsa jumped over her ice shield, enlarged it without looking at it, and hurried to her brother-in-law. 

“I’m fine.” He assured, but then he grunted when he felt the pulsating pain on her skull. “I’ve got a… You know.” Maybe that a regular person would have died from such a magic blow, but he was fine. Only, he started to feel dizzy, and went on his knees, his hand preventing him from falling on the pebbles entirely. 

“Papa!” 

Elsa saw Eydis crouch next to him, but also felt at the same time magic flow through the air. Victor’s next target was her niece. Pitch black goo went to the spot between her shoulder and her neck, where she only wore a coat of mail. Elsa turned still in terror. So he had noticed every single flaw of their outfits. 

The young princess fell forward with a cry. 

“Her too?!” Yelled Ryder, like this was the last straw. “How dare you hurt a CHILD?!” 

He started to run to Victor, screaming a war shout, and the man just cackled. 

“Ryder!! NO!!” Panicked Elsa. 

Victor was faster at injuring Ryder than it would take her to raise a wall in front of him to prevent any step further. 

A slime dart splashed to his knee, and he fell with a moan to the ground. 

“NO!” Whined the blonde, seeing the worst happening, and continuing to happen. 

They were all wincing in pain and clenching their eyes shut at the horrible sensation that the dark magic made as it burnt their skin in a unique way. 

Victor laughed like a maniac. 

“You fools! You’re all like preys to me. Tiny, little, weak preys. This is just too easy when one has been practicing for years.” 

He wiggled his fingers in a ‘buh-bye’ gesture, and it both was sarcastic and meaningful. Elsa quickly understood that he was getting in the final part of his plan. Now it was only her facing him, and he knew very well that she would never dare to give him injuries like the one he struck. 

Elsa gulped. All of her allies on the battlefield were wounded, and she couldn’t even take the time to heal them; Victor now was getting all of her attention. 

“This is over, Fifth Spirit. You’ll face justice.” 

“No! This isn’t justice! This is pure and abominable cruelty!!” Blurted Honeymaren, still in pain, and accusing him through gritted teeth. 

“Shut up, Northuldra. Or I pierce your second hand. It won’t be hard.” 

Elsa frowned with rage. “Don’t talk to my wife like that.” 

She stepped forward, detaching from the others to come closer to him. Anna admired how brave and independent she was to step forward. Honeymaren didn’t like much how it made her go away from her. 

Victor raised an eyebrow as she walked for long seconds and now was away from her peers, halfway between them and him. 

“You think you can threaten me? I have weakened your family. I’m able to rip your magic out of you anytime. You’re not in a position of strength.” 

The blonde clenched her jaw. She indeed wasn’t, but had the tiny hope that he didn’t notice. Only, even if he didn’t have a strategist mind, Victor was far from dumb. He was determined, which made him a fearsome enemy. 

“That’s what makes it unfair!” Underlined Elsa. “You have this ability to rip magic out of others, and I don’t.” 

“Because you don’t want to find about this ability.” Scoffed the man. “While you were busy being lame and weak, I studied this art. But being in harmony with Nature is more important, I guess.” 

Elsa’s heart clench at that double judgement. He had demeaned both her magic skills and her job. 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve…” She hissed. 

He sighed. “Yes, a very little patience. Now I am done waiting. This delay has gone on too long.” 

He twirled his fingers, but instead of making dark slike appear there like the Snow Queen thought he would do, he seemed to gather his magic. 

Elsa quickly rose her hands in a dismissing gesture. “Victor, no. Hold on. Remember what I said: if you do that, you’ll become the very thing you hated.” 

“Don’t try to influence me!!” Yelled the man. 

“I’m only saying the truth!!” Swore Elsa. “I’ve done many mistakes in my life to advise you on that, trust me!!” 

“STOP IT!” He groaned, his fists now exuding strong energy. “I’m putting an end to the Fifth Spirit’s existence, right here and right now!” 

Elsa’s eyes widened at his brisk move, realizing he was genuinely about to do the magic pullout. She rose her arms even higher, in an imploring gesture. 

“This magic is who I am, Victor…” Confessed Elsa. 

Her sentence was so emotional that it placed them in the silence of the night for a moment. Honeymaren widened her eyes.  

“It’s part of her identity! If she loses her magic, she loses a part of herself!” She insisted. “You can’t do that!” 

“Oh, I assure you that I can.” 

He started to move his arms in a combination of moves that he had never done before, and Anna widened her eyes. She really didn’t want to see him try. 

“We have to kill him before he does it!” She yelled to her elder, desperate.

“No, no…” 

The Fifth Spirit refused to come to such an act. 

“We can’t do that!” She yelled back to Anna behind her. 

“Elsa!” Scolded Honeymaren, agreeing with her sister-in-law. “If we don’t do it now, it will be too late!!” 

The two women had been alternating their panicked gazes between the blonde and the enemy, who kept making those unique moves that really heightened the urgency. 

“ELSA!” Called their voices behind her. 

“Let me think!!” Shouted Elsa back, her closed fists trembling. 

Her breathing sped up. What to do? What to do? Victor was gathering his magic. Whatever he was preparing wasn’t bluff. The danger was genuine. 

Honeymaren didn’t like this at all. All of her instinct was screaming that this wouldn’t end well. Anna now understood why she got a bad feeling when they had come to the shore on Nokk. This was it. This was the end. 

They had lost. 

Victor retracted his fists back, his hands pouring with magic. The Snow Queen knew this posture way too well. He was about to blow a very powerful magic move. He locked his eyes with her.

“No, Victor, wait…” Begged Elsa. 

“Too late. I’ve been waiting for this moment longer than you’ve been alive.” 

He gave her a cruel look, and launched his arms forward, his palms open. Widening her eyes was the last thing Elsa could do. 

She suddenly spasmed, like she got seized by a giant invisible hand that just squeezed her whole body. Her eyes turned up and she revulsed, her breathing lost in a strangling noise, and she fainted, falling to the pebbles in a sinister sound. “ELSA!” Yelled Honeymaren. 

“NO!!” Screamed Anna. 

They both ran like hell to the unconscious body of their loved one, but Victor kept aiming and continued his process. 

A light suddenly emanated from every pore of Elsa’s skin, flashing suddenly, and the two women stopped running in a gasp, wincing as she suddenly became entirely bright white. In any other context, Honeymaren would have felt like she was blessed by the sight of an angel. But now, she screamed in anguish. 

“NOOOO!!” 

She ran to take her lover in her arms, when suddenly a shock wave blew from Elsa’s body, and she got blasted away, rejected in the pebbles violently in a backward roll. Kristoff stopped her and prevented her from a whiplash. Stunned, she tried to stand up as soon as possible to try again, determined and oblivious. Although, the wind started to rise, and became incredibly strong, making it even impossible to approach within a twenty-meter radius. 

It was like one of Gale’s tornados had been combined with the most powerful light Honeymaren had ever seen. Anna felt like she was staring directly into a lighthouse. Everyone experienced that moment differently, but all agree on one point: magic was exploding through the air, filling every possible spot. It even felt like it went everywhere and sneaked in every place; Eydis felt like it was going through her hair like rain, and Kristoff felt like it was going into his eyes like the heat of flames would do in a giant fire. 

It was intense and unstoppable. Soon they were projected even further from Elsa because the gust of magical energy started to fortify around her. Victor focused even more on the process, his arms outstretched, unreachable from where he was. The magic process started to lift the Spirit’s body from the shore, and it floated above the pebbles, soon reaching three meters high. 

“Elsa!!” Screamed Anna behind her arms, placed to avoid getting blinded by the magic beam. 

It was obvious that her sister couldn’t reply, completely unconscious. With the wind, she wouldn’t have been able to hear her anyway. 

The Snow Queen’s body flipped like a lifeless doll on a horizontal plan, and looked like she was suspended by an invisible thread that was attached to her navel. Perfectly balanced, her head, arms and legs were hanging in the air, with only her core raising to the sky. 

Then the light started to detach from her. It was no longer a figure of speech; everything that made Elsa magical was leaving her body. It elevated in swirls, packing in one spot and one sphere, and it slowly hovered to Victor. 

Elsa’s family members gasped as they guessed what it meant. The man laughed out loud in a sinister cackle, and suddenly widened his arms, his head up, like he was on top of the world. 

The bright white sphere jolted through the air and went right to his body in a second, like it had been pumped, or dragged with the force of the universe. It entered his navel, and he startled at the sensation, then laughed even more. His body shone the same way, but it faded as the magic sank into his core. 

Then, the second the light stopped emanating, Elsa’s body fell to the ground, and the magic gust disappeared. 

It was like time had suddenly stopped, and yet it hadn’t. In fact, it felt unfair that it hadn’t actually stopped. Elsa’s body had dropped to the ground, motionless, and yet the waves kept rolling, and yet the wind kept blowing, and yet the entire world didn’t come to a halt to watch the Snow Queen fall. 

A feeling of unfairness added itself to the mountain of emotions that piled in Anna’s heart. At the top, reigned terror. 

“ELSA!!” 

She ran to her elder’s still body, and kneeled heavily next to her. 

“No, gods, no…” 

She checked her state, shook her arms, yelled her name again and again… But nothing happened. Elsa didn’t respond, her face and muscles limp. 

Honeymaren dropped heavily next to her, her weapon also left behind. All that mattered now was Elsa, Elsa, Elsa. 

Their hearts squeezed with the same intensity, yet not the same reasons: Anna was terrorised, and Honeymaren devastated. 

‘No, not again… This can’t be happening… This can’t be real… This is one of those nightmares… Please, no, for the love of gods, please don’t make me go through this again. Please don’t make me live that once more. I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough. I lied each time I said I was when someone asked about that night. I’m not strong enough. I can’t face that again. Please, Elsa, wake up... ‘ Thought Anna, and tears fell heavily on her cheeks as she winced. 

‘Don’t go, Elsa, please, love of my life, please don’t leave me. I’m begging you. I’m begging the sky, I’m begging Ahtohallan, I’m begging all of Nature from the tiniest speck of dust to the tallest mountain of the world. Please, snømus, please… Open your eyes… Open your beautiful and mighty eyes… I can’t live without you. You’re my light, and I can already feel the colors of the world disappearing if you’re not here to shed light on them. Please, Elsa, wake up…’ Thought Honeymaren, her shoulders trembling, and she rubbed her eyes violently to see Elsa’s face clearly. 

But even if the blonde’s face was as graceful as usual, she did not respond. How could she be so stunning in that final moment? 

The Northuldra leader looked down at her left hand where she was holding the one of her wife. A shiver passed along her back as she looked at her ice ring. The object which held the highest importance in her life now made her feel a mix of disgust and anger. 

Her lover’s magic now was in possession of this horrible man. Everything that made Elsa who she is got stolen from her. The ring she had at her finger was now linked to the core of this monster. 

Honeymaren’s teeth gritted as she frowned, roamed with rage, and she dropped Elsa’s hand to search for her knife at her waist. She suddenly stood up, and all the calm and level-headed behavior that normally forged her personality got swept away, as powerfully as the wind in her hair. 

“YOU VILE AND SICKENING SON OF A--” 

“MAREN!” 

A strong hand held her by the crook of her elbow, and she got stopped in her run. 

“LET ME GO!” She yelled with all she could, tears falling on her face. She didn’t need to focus and erase them to know that Anna was the one who was stopping her. 

She could feel how strong yet trembling the hand was. She could feel how equally devastated the redhead was by a simple touch. Victor had harmed a wife, but he had also harmed a sister. 

When she turned to Anna, she was unable to see yet heard the sobs that agitated the Queen, who was reduced to a trembling younger sibling. 

“D-don’t become like h-him.” She begged, her voice hitched with sorrow. 

The Northuldra fell next to her, and the two women held their hands as they looked at Elsa again. The others had approached and were flabbergasted, unable to believe what was happening. 

Kristoff looked around frantically as he realized an odd detail. Nothing made out of magic ice had melted. Ice arrows were still scattered around, the ice blade of Anna’s sword was intact, and the raised shields that Elsa had made here and there were still present. More importantly, the blonde was inert on the pebbles, but her outfit hadn’t changed a bit. 

“Wait… I don’t get it… If her magic’s gone, then why are her clothes still in this state?” Muttered Kristoff. 

Eydis frowned as she thought fast. 

“The process rips her magic… So it transported it... Her magic went somewhere… But where?” 

Victor cackled evily from where he was standing. 

He flicked his right wrist, and wiggled his fingers. Snowflakes popped out of his palm. “Found it.” 

Eydis gasped. He had succeeded. 

The snowflakes twirled around his hand, and he looked at it with a satisfied expression.

“I gotta say, the sensation is quite interesting.” Commented Victor, wiggling his body as he felt the ice and snow course in his veins. 

The brunette was simply disgusted by his behavior. She couldn’t help imagining that it was like Elsa’s soul and essence was in him, and he was squirming in pleasure. It made her feel like she was watching him ravish her wife. She forced herself to focus on Elsa instead of him, holding her beloved in her arms even closer. 

“Say, is it me, or the air of the night warmed up a bit?” He asked in a playful tone. He then snapped as he understood - and his mastering of the magic wasn’t quite perfect yet, so it sparkled some snowflakes around - “Wait, I get it. It’s because of the ice and snow, right? The bender isn’t bothered by cold. That’s why I feel like there’s no more of that fresh sea breeze.” 

Honeymaren suddenly noticed something. She was too busy being heartbroken until now to see it. 

“That’s why Elsa’s body is shivering now…” She murmured, feeling the skin under her hands. 

Anna looked down at her sister’s body in alarm. Elsa was unconscious, but her body was still alive; and now it was struggling to stay so, trembling and spasming. 

“Oh my gods, because she’s wearing ice but isn’t immune to it anymore!” Gasped the redhead, suddenly struck by the horrible situation.

They all gasped. Honeymaren’s brain worked faster than light and she immediately took off a leather layer of her outfit to cover her trembling wife with it. Kristoff hurried to come closer and fell on his knees, making the pebbles creak. 

“No, no, that won’t be enough, we have to take her out of her clothes, now!” 

If Honeymaren didn’t know the King’s personality and his ice harvester experience, she would think that he was trying to bare her wife. Thankfully, it was obvious that he ordered to act urgently and do emergency procedures, just like when one of his harvesters peers had fallen through the ice of a frozen lake. 

They nodded and started to take off her crafted custom-made ice armor… And realized two seconds later that they couldn’t. All of them had tried to tug on a different part, but it was impossible to take it off Elsa’s skin. 

“I can’t detach her poleyn.” Complained Eydis with a weak and disappointed voice. “Doesn’t it have a fastening strap?”

“Where is the outline of it?” Frowned Ryder, confused. 

“There’s none.” Said Anna and Honeymaren in one low voice. 

Kristoff gulped. “She crafted it flawlessly. Each part of the armor has been tailor-made with her magic, so there’s no joint… And only her can melt them.”  

They all widened their eyes at the finding. 

“Wait… Maybe… That her ice against her ice…” Blabbered the blond man, searching for ideas as he panted in panic. He stumbled trying to get up to fetch his axe where he had dropped it, so Eydis went to it for him. She picked the axe with emotion, looking at the beautiful detailed blade. This creation probably was the last one that she will have seen her aunt make… With a sob, she gave it to his father, and he slid the blade of the axe along a piece of armor over Elsa’s chest, right above her heart, the spot they really needed to take care of first. But it didn’t do anything. Despite Kristoff’s long and strong efforts, neither the blade or the flexible plate of thick magic got scratched. His cheeks red, he was out of breath, and dropped the axe down. He gave Honeymaren the saddest eyes she had ever seen on the King’s face. 

Honeymaren gasped. “No. Nonono, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening…” 

She hovered her lover’s twitching body and rubbed as much skin as possible, at each and every spot that wasn’t covered with those ice armor parts that they all started to hate. 

“Please get warm, p-please get warm…” She mumbled, hiccups cutting her sentence because her throat tightened. Her heavy tears fell and splashed on Elsa’s pale and unconscious face. 

Ryder was devastated to observe that all colors had left the Snow Queen’s cheeks, and even her normally pink lips had turned white. But it wasn’t the beautiful snow white color that the tribe associated to the Fifth Spirit’s unique aura; it was the white of death. Elsa’s heart was slowing down and would soon stop. 

Anna clenched her teeth as her tears fell over and over. She held Elsa’s cold hand in hers and twirled to Victor. 

“PLEASE!” She implored, her voice distorted by terror. “Please do something!! Please melt it, melt the ice, or she’ll die of hypothermia!!” 

The man didn’t move an inch. 

“DO SOMETHING!!” Yelled the Queen with all the force in her lungs, or rather what remained, after she cried and screamed so much. 

She turned to clench Elsa’s arms as her elder’s body trembled from the cold and Honeymaren’s rubs, and she could feel that it didn’t change anything. Elsa’s skin was simply the coldest she had ever felt. Even during bad days when the blonde was feeling down, it hadn’t reached such a low temperature. 

“We need to try a cardiac massage.” Suggested Honeymaren, with a tone overfilled with the acknowledgement that it was useless, but she refused not to make an attempt. 

Anna gave her way so she could place herself above Elsa’s chest and along her arm, even though she knew that it was pointless as well. Indeed, when the brunette tried to start pumping up and down with her overlapped hands, she got blocked by the incredibly solid matter of the ice armor. She tried, tried and tried, with all the rage and despair she had in her soul, but it didn’t even shatter. 

She violently screamed and punched the pebbles on the shore next to her knees repeatedly. Ryder gave her a sad look and was about to put a hand on her shoulder, but Honeymaren tossed it away and bent to kiss her wife. She had meant to combine mouth-to-mouth with the cardiac massage, but the second her lips touch Elsa’s, she startled and cried at the sensation of how desperately cold they were. With trembling shoulders, she pulled back, and clenched the ice shoulder-pieces. 

She sobbed at the idea that Elsa was about to die in two minutes or so, and there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. Her heart would stop beating, her stunning energy that guided Honeymaren day and night would stop existing, her beautiful smile would never reappear on her face, and her deep azure blue eyes would never land on her again with her unique sly and quiet balance, her unique sarcastic and wise temperament. No, Elsa’s eyes would forever stay close like they were now, and her body would remain cold. And it wasn’t the gentle cold that made her who she were, that was her distinctive feature, her peculiarity that drove Honeymaren crazy in love everytime she would roam her hands along her face and body, or when they got even more intimate. This time, it was the end. It was the final cold. In a while, before the Moon even finished its course in the sky, Elsa’s last heartbeat would echo on the shore, and her soul abandon her on the dark pebbles. 

“No… Elsa… Please… Please, I’m begging you…” 

She had a wince and gritted her teeth as new tears fell abundantly from her face, falling on the cold matter of her outfit, that Elsa could no longer control. 

Anna was crying her eyes out as well, her shoulders trembling next to her, holding her sister’s arms and face as she could despite her shaking. 

Both could not see Elsa’s face anymore, because their sight was blur with tears. 

Behind Honeymaren, Ryder had crouched and was putting a hand on the brunette’s shoulder, trying to be a strong brother who would help her go through this, but he was unable to find the strength he was looking for. His hand turned into a clenching fist, holding the leather piece on Honeymaren’s shoulder and trembling as he cried as well. 

Kristoff was so shocked that tears couldn’t even come to his eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was living, his head feeling like in the worst nightmare. Instinctively, he lifted his eyes to his wife, searching in Anna’s face an indication that this was all a joke. But when he saw the absolute wreck that the redhead had become, her eyes and nose running a flood of tears, his heart got split in half just as powerfully as if a sword had sliced it. A physical shock to his chest suddenly took him out of his devastated reverie; he looked down and saw that Eydis had launched herself in his lap and was curling against him, her arms around his armor. He couldn’t see her face, but there was no need. Her tiny silver spaulders were shaking in sorrow and he could feel her gloved fingers dugged in his back. The top of her dutch braids was shivering as she had her forehead against him. With all the might he could assemble, he bent down and kissed his daughter’s head, passing a hand along her locks to calm her. 

However, he knew that no one in the family, no one among them five, would ever get over what had just happen, and what was about to happen. 

Victor stared at the scene with a mute expression. He was silent during all of his sobbing. He was intrigued. 

But what he didn’t understand wasn’t the behavior they had around Elsa’s body. What he didn’t understand was the feeling he was having. 

What was this sensation? Was it… Sadness? No, it couldn’t be. Why would he feel sad for the Fifth Spirit’s death? He had everything he needed! He got her powers, he now was unstoppable, she would soon die and he could even depart for Ahtohallan right now. His plan was complete. His revenge was triumphant. He was the victorious one. 

Then, how come he didn’t move? Why couldn’t he go? What was stopping him? 

Victor was paralysed by this sensation. He even wanted to grunt at this unknown thing stopping him, but he didn’t find the strength to do so. Then it hit him; he was compassionate. 

‘What the hell…’ He thought. ‘Why am I having pity for those losers? I am the victorious one. I won. I avenged Niks.’ 

He stared at the trembling family once again. 

‘Then why am I feeling sadness? Is it sadness? Or is it… Something else? Is it… Worse?’ 

He couldn’t move, still trying to pinpoint this sensation. 

He was in denial. He refused to admit that Elsa and the Fifth Spirit he had met were two different persons, with different lives, and who made different choices. They didn’t have the same personalities, they didn’t have the same intentions. Yet he rejected the idea that he couldn’t avenge Niks by hurting her. 

He was angry. Fueled by rage. Each of his attacks until now had been with the mental image of his wife in mind. She would pay for all his suffering. 

He was bargaining. A life for a life. That was the plan. Once the Fifth Spirit magic becomes his, this vendetta will be fair. That murderer will have what they deserved. 

He was depressed. Those last years had been horrible to him, and took him down mentally and physically. Every time he closed his eyes at night, he thought of his wife. There was no way to dismiss it. 

But he wasn’t accepting. He never accepted that Niks died. All he ever wanted for so many years since her death was to avenge her. It was what fueled his life, what dictated his acts, what made him go forward in life. 

Then why were they all kneeled on the shore around her still body? Why didn’t then want to kill him? Why didn’t they react the same way than he did? 

The Queen had stopped the Northuldra leader to prevent her from giving in to temptation. But this was long ago now. The Northuldra wasn’t held by the monarch anymore. She could totally stand up and run to him and grab her dagger to cut his throat. She could even simply run and punch him in the face. But she didn’t why. Why didn’t she? None of them was retained by the other. Why was none of them avenging her, for heaven’s sake? If he were them, he would already have taken advantage of the enemy’s presence at the scene-- Yet that was it. He wasn’t them. 

They weren’t murderers. They didn’t have crime in their list of solutions. They didn’t plan to kill him. In fact, he realized, they would never plan to kill him, even after the Fifth Spirit’s death. 

“Elsa.” Said the echo of the Queen’s voice in his mind. “Her name is Elsa.” 

Victor was struck by the vision of this family. They never considered murder. That simply wasn’t who they were. They were peaceful, they were pacifists. None of them even had their heads turned to him. He could even attack them by surprise and stab them all with ice impalements like his wife had been killed, and yet they wouldn’t even mind. ‘Let it be so’, they would surely say. 

His knees buckled. 

When he slammed the pebbles, the noise attracted Anna’s attention, and she turned weakly to him. She rubbed her eyes to stop seeing blur and watched Victor. Her eyes widened when she saw that he was seated on his heels, his shoulder slumped, his hands on the ground along his thighs like a disjointed puppet. 

His hands, of a power yet phenomenal, that could snap the whole Forest out of existence if he intended to. On the ground. 

She blinked in confusion. Was he… Was he devastated? What had happened? 

“Victor?” 

The redhead surprised herself at her own voice. Her subconscious seemed to have been the one calling for his name, because she didn’t even remember her brain forming the question. Her tone had been calm, soft, gentle even. She was about to ask ‘Are you okay?’, but forbid herself to pronounce those words, repelled by her own intentions. Was she feeling bad for him now? Wait, what?? 

Because he looked so sad. He looked like his wife had just died a second time in front of his eyes. It was like… 

Gears clipped together in Anna’s brain. 

He had realized that he was inflicting the same thing that the previous Fifth Spirit had inflicted on him. 

“She was right…” He muttered, so far and nearly imperceptibly that Anna almost didn’t hear. “I have become the very thing I hate…” 

They exchanged a gaze, Victor’s eyes now locking with her. 

“Wait… Are you about to…” 

He nodded, and stepped forward. The Northuldra leader’s protective instinct made her protect her lover’s body with an almost predatory snarl. 

Victor rose innocent hands, stepping slower. 

“STAY BACK!” Shrieked the brunette. 

“No, Honeymaren, wait!!” 

“What?!” She blurted, annoyed that Anna prevented her from doing what she wanted. 

“He’ll give her magic back.” 

The Northuldra leader blinked. The others did as well. 

“What did you just say?” 

“He’s bringing her back to life. He’s giving her magic back.” 

Kristoff looked at his wife sadly. “Anna, surely you’re delirious. He only wants to finish the job--” 

“Trust me.” 

“What, you have faith in him now?”

“I can tell that he has changed. I can feel it in my guts.” 

“...What?”

“Why is he gesturing us to move aside, then?” Groaned Ryder, watching his moves. 

“He needs space to do it, just like when he… Just like when he ripped it off her. We have to stand back.” 

Honeymaren’s chestnut eyes turned to fire. “I am not leaving her side.” 

“Maren, I swear that it’s the most difficult thing to do for me as well right now. But I’m begging you. I’m begging you all.” She said on a higher voice, addressing to her family. “Let’s get out of the way. Elsa will be fine. I know she will. I promise.” 

They all seemed suspicious, but slowly changed their minds. Her daughter lifted her small face to her, still covered with tears. 

“P… Pinky promise?” 

Anna looked down at Eydis, and smiled as widely as she could while she held her chin up. “Pinky promise.” 

It took a while, but they finally all stepped away from Elsa’s unconscious body. Victor respected the time it took them to take the distance he indicated, and they moved reluctantly because it was even larger than they thought. He stayed silent until they were all in good positions and he was certain that they wouldn’t get hurt. 

“That will be enough.” 

They turned to him. 

“You don’t need to go further. You’re out of the radius now, it’s fine.” 

Honeymaren blinked in astonishment. He truly cared? She could see it in his features, she could hear it in his voice. He wasn’t tricking them. He genuinely cared about their health. She was stunned by the change in his behavior. Did he come to his senses? 

“Cover your eyes.” He advised. 

They all obeyed, except for Honeymaren, who was staring right at him. He opened his mouth to repeat, but she struck her sentence faster. 

“I am not leaving my eyes out of you.” 

He had a sigh and a sad smile. “Alright.” 

She kept staring at him while he did the same moves with his arms than what he did earlier, only this time on reverse. He focused deeply on what he was doing, joining his hands just in front of his navel. Briskly, he parted them and even jolted his arms open, both outstretched on each side, forming a cross with his body. A bright light parted from him and went in a straight line right to Elsa’s body. It was dazzling and blinding, but Honeymaren didn’t care. She willingly accepted to lose her sight to make sure that Victor was bringing Elsa’s magic back to her. 

Somehow, the light of the transfer this time seemed even brighter than before. Eydis moaned in pain at the light and winced as she stepped back. Ryder placed a hand above her face to protect her as he was also looking away to avoid burning his eyes. 

The process was longer than when he ripped Elsa’s magic in the first place, and Anna interpreted from it that it was always more difficult to return what was stolen. Just like it was harder to fix a vase after breaking it than when one bumped it off the table. 

It took a long time, and the redhead eventually closed her eyes in impatience, clenching them shut. When suddenly, the light stopped. She blinked as she looked around them. The shore had been plunged in the dark of night again, the Moon calmly shedding light on them. 

As she tried to understand where everyone was standing because her eyes had trouble switching from the high brightness to the dark of night, she heard a loud gasp from the ground. 

Elsa gasped like she had been underwater for years and finally had reached the surface. She then breathed in pants as her heart picked up to its normal place and her blood rushed in her veins through her whole body. Her organs felt like they were on fire, and her limbs were both dizzy and buzzing with a sensation of pins and needles. Spasming, her palms slammed the pebbles and her fingers clenched on them. She continued to gasp and sat up in utter confusion of what had just happened. 

“ELSA!!” 

The familiar voice echoed in the night, and she blinked as she tried to find where her wife was possibly standing. Suddenly, fast noises of a run on the pebbles came closer and closer to her. She barely had the time to turn to where it was from when something very hard and very wet tackled her body and slid along her cheek. She recognized who it was by the way she cried, and the natural scent of her skin and hair combined with the familiar smell of the leather of her outfit.   

Elsa’s brain didn’t fully grasp why she was holding her so warmly, but she instinctively wrap her arms around her as she caught her breath. Honeymaren abruptly pulled back to hold Elsa’s face and look at her with a tearful grin. She lovingly sighed, then slammed her lips on hers. The Snow Queen widened her eyes at the deep and powerful kiss. It was full of emotion, and intense in every way. However, Elsa couldn’t enjoy it much. She already had troubles breathing, so a kiss wasn’t really the smartest move. Unwillingly, she pushed away Honeymaren’s shoulders to detach her from her face. After a big gasp, she gave her a regretful wince, then coughed as she tried to retrieve oxygen. 

“Sorry… Just... “ She gestured to her mouth, struggling to make words. “Need air...” 

Honeymaren had a wet chuckle and sniffed as she nodded. “Yeah. I understand. I’m the one who’s sorry for jumping on you like that. Take your time.” 

Elsa breathed as much as she could, when suddenly something else ripped out some of the air she had managed to put in her lungs; the brisk and powerful hug that held her from behind, with arms tightly crossing her chest, was unmistakable. 

“Anna?” She said in a croak voice, blinking. 

What happened? Was she okay? Victor had aimed at her, she got hurt, she fell, but it actually didn’t to anything? Were they this glad because it didn’t work? 

The redhead sobbed of happiness next to her ear. Elsa’s eyes widened at the familiar sound. Last time she had heard that kind of sobbing...

Hold on a minute, how long was she unconscious? 

“Hey, hey… I’m okay…” She muttered, assembling all her forces to reassure her little sister, and she stroked her hair as she felt her face on her shoulder. 

As a response, Anna clenched harder in her embrace, but thankfully her arms had gone higher, so Elsa was able to breathe normally. 

She stared in silence as Kristoff and Eydis ran to her and gave her blessed and incredibly relieved smiles, and Ryder fell to his knees next to her niece to sob loudly in happiness. 

What the heck had happened? How much time had passed? 

She looked around, a bit blocked by Honeymaren in her lap and Anna holding her still with her strong hug, to check the Moon and the tide and try to understand how long she had been taken away from them. 

When Elsa scanned the shore, her eyes landed on a man figure, and they widened when she saw that it was Victor. However, her expression changed when she saw his posture, and that’s why she didn’t recognize him immediately. He had one knee down and the other up, and he was struggling to stand up. That posture was familiar: Elsa was in the same state when she used a lot of her magic in one go and started to feel drowsy from it. What did Victor just do? Why was no one keeping an eye on him? 

“Guys… Look out…” Warned Elsa, nudging the people around her so they could turn towards the enemy. 

Anna crouched next to her and she could finally see her face. Her young sister looked at Victor, but to Elsa’s biggest surprise, she was neither frowning or worried; she was smiling? In… Gratitude? 

Surely she was delirious. The Snow Queen turned to her wife, and was stunned to see the same expression on Honeymaren’s face. 

The redhead turned and gave a squeeze to her shoulder. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Elsa blinked. “Uh… Good. Great.” 

Honeymaren smiled. “Can you feel your powers?” 

She frowned, clueless of what those questions were leading to. She looked down at her hands, folding then unfolding her fingers. She felt magic coursing through her veins, like usual. She pushed magic through her fingertips, and made some snowflakes fly around. 

“Yeah, I think so-- Wait a minute.” 

Her eyes widened, and Honeymaren grinned. 

Anna’s hand passed along her back. “He saved your life. He gave your magic back.” 

Quiet in disbelief, she joined them as they all looked over to where Victor was now standing, limping a bit because of his injured ankle. He didn’t dare to look at them, but finally did after a few seconds, noticing that all eyes were on him. His gaze met Elsa’s, and their eyes locked for a moment. She inspected him, dubious. Victor looked sorry, and sincere. The blonde blabbered in astonishment. 

“You… You did? You retrieved the magic, despite everything?”

“You were right.” He smiled sadly. “Killing you would have made me become the very thing I hate. And it wouldn’t have made me better than him. Revenge would never have. It doesn’t heal. Healing comes with love. So I reversed the transfert. You deserve it better than me.”

He stayed there, defeated and still, ready to receive his sentence. 

Anna slowly stood up, and smiled at him. 

“Thank you.” 

[words-in-the-wind]

Chapter 2 - The One in which Techno and Phil bond over murder

Word Count: 2,735

Previous: Chapter 1

The forest was peaceful, for the moment at least. No harmful beasts had crossed Phil’s path in at least a week, and he was growing steadily more suspicious. Typically he’d find a gathering of gnolls, a group of goblins, a cult of kobolds, something. And yet, his journey through this particular forest was completely calm. Kristen floated next to him, seemingly relaxed, but her eyes were ever watchful. The spirits of Phil’s lantern were bolstered by the quiet, darting in and out to play amongst the leaves and bushes. Suddenly. Sharply. A high pitched scream rent through the air, the sound of sheer terror startling the birds into the air. Phil’s eyes went wide and he darted through the underbrush, strangely graceful despite his large stature and wingspan. Crashing through the last bit of bush, he swings the lantern staff just in time to block the downward slash of a badly damaged sword, swung by a hooded figure, in a dark purple robe that just barely brushed the dirt. The person on the ground, a older human, in his late 70s, Phil would guess, backed away slowly, and Phil stepped forwards to face the cultist properly. So, this was probably why the forest was peaceful of beasts. Some cult had yoinked it for their own needs. Phil planted the lantern bearing staff upright in the ground, shifted his weight lower, and drew a long hunting knife from his belt, readying for combat. The figure attempted a slice with the sword, but Phil slid to the side easily before lunging forward and catching the figure by the throat. The sword dropped from their hand in shock and he pressed the advantage to take the figure to the ground. “Where’s the rest of your little cult, hmm?” He was practically on top of the cultist now, knife to their throat. “Just-just a little ways in. Please don’t kill me!”

“If you’re helpful, I’ll consider letting you go.” “I’m! I’m just one of the townsfolk! They kidnapped me, forced me to help them with their rituals and stuff!” The figure on the ground begins to tremble and he reluctantly lets them up. The cultist brushes off the robes and lowers the hood, revealing a young man, only 20 years old or so. “Jamie?” The old man on the ground croaks out, a hand reaching up. “Huh? Oh! I’m so sorry Mr. O’Clancy, they told me to find you specifically.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised, they’re a bunch of knowledge-hoarders, if I’m not mistaken.” The man gestures at the robes that Jamie is wearing?”
“Really now? Would you happen to know a bit about this cult?”
“I’ve read about it. Its the Cult of Hemora, a demon lord of knowledge. The lord craves it, and grants boons to those who gift him with books or other forms of it. That’s his symbol, there.” The man points to three eyes embroidered on the robe, each making up one side of a triangle. “Thank you, I’ll be going to clear them out. You’ll be fine then, you two?”
“Yes, yes. And thank you for going to take care of them. People’ve been going missing for a few weeks now.” Jamie leads the old man off, towards what Phil presumes to be the town. “I sure hope you don’t plan on going in there alone.” Kristen appears again once they’re safely out of earshot, settling back down next to Phil. “Who’m I supposed to call then?” Kristen gave him a side eyed deadpan, she was good at those. “Techno?” Phil groaned, realizing that yes, as usual, his wife was right. “Fine.” He drew out the last bit of the word in frustration, looking around in his pockets for a bit of paper and pen. He finds one. And the ink is a gem like emerald, like the real one Techno had given him before they’d parted again. One of his children -his spirits- darted up eagerly. He chuckled, “You were always fond of Techno, weren’t you.” And gives the paper, now folded into the shape of a swan, to the spirit. It settles in nicely, like they do most of the time, and the swan comes to life, floating away over the treetops. Phil decides to camp nearby, to keep an eye on the cave system the cultists had repurposed and to wait for the response.

-x-

TechnoBlade is, as usual, coated in the blood of his enemies at the moment when the bird-spirit arrives. He waves it off at first, believing it to be just a regular bird or something that had gotten brave. Phil Phil needs help Go to Phil The chorus in his head take a break from the constant chanting of blood, to bring his attention back to the bird. Techno grumbles, but retreats off the battlefield to let the small bit of paper perch on his hand, unfolding it smoothly. The blood covering him slowly disappears, apparently into thin air, as the constant crowd of previous contractors to his patron suck it away, taking power from the life-force within. “So Phil needs help, huh? Guess I know where I’m going now.” Without hesitation, he allows the spirit that had brought the message to perch in his crown, giving it a message to send back, through that weird link they all had with Phil’s spirit wife. “I’ll be there in a few days. Probably.” He goes off to find the general of whatever army he’s been commissioned to fight in this time, handing over a portion of the gold he’d been paid, and leaves. It doesn’t take him long to travel to the location Phil had specified in his letter, being a living map after all. He doesn’t listen to the voices that gently mock the thought Four days after the spirit arrived to Techno, he finds Phil, with his little shelter in the woods. “Techno! It’s good to see you again mate.” Phil’s voice shows the other man is clearly overjoyed to see him, an unfamiliar feeling for Techno. “Phil. Hallo.” “C’mon in. Its not much, but its shelter, I guess.” Phil gestures to the small lean-to that Techno’s just now noticing. 
He grunts, ducking into the space. The natural curve of the rock it’s against allows a nice smoke-hole, keeping the air inside the shelter clean. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Well, apparently what’s down there is some cult to a knowledge hoarding demon lord called Hemora. So we go down there, fuck shit up, and come out victorious.”
Techno cracked a grin, “Just like old times?”
“Exactly. We’ll go down in the morning.”
“Sounds good to me.” Techno nodded, he’d worked with less before.

-x-

The next morning, some god had decided to pour the entire ocean onto their heads, or so it appeared. Phil grumbled as he peered outside the shelter, the rain pelting down outside. “Fuckin’ hell it’s really coming down out there.” He eyed the raindrops, knowing that it was going to soak him to the bone. Techno grunted from where he was sat, sharpening the edge of a backup knife. “Yea, it doesn’t look fun out there.” “We gotta go though, shouldn’t leave the cultists there for long, who knows what shit they could get up to.” “Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’.” Techno levers himself up, one hand gripping his trident. The entrance of the mineshaft was a few hundred meters away, which felt like far longer in the pouring rain. The moment Techno and Phil ducked under the shelter of the mine, Phil flicked his wrist, casting prestidigitation to dry them off. “Thanks.” Techno still shook himself slightly, out of habit more than anything else. “No problem.” The mine was quite dark, but it took only a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. Techno took point, making sure to check for and disarm any traps along the way. There was one, a basic rope across the floor, which would send a log tumbling down at their heads. The rope was stepped over, undisturbed. Voices came from up ahead, distinctly human in nature, although the words were too quiet to make out. Techno lowers himself into a crouch, creeping along the walls until he was just next to the chamber. Phil followed him, wings tucked tight to his back. Techno held up four fingers and signaling that there were four people in the room, guarding another entrance. Phil plants his lantern at the entrance, not wanting the smaller spirits to get hurt in the fray. He nods and as one, the two enter the room, weapons at the ready. Techno is a whirl of motion as his trident slams into one of the left side guards, piercing through the thin leather armor under the cultist robes easily. The man dies with a gurgle, throat pierced by one of the prongs. The other three attempt to shout, but Phil is there with a Zone of Silence, prepared beforehand. The men can scream however loudly they like, but no sound exits the glimmering dome. Phil draws his sword, leaping forward to cut at the cultists on the right. The moment that the blood-red gem on Techno’s starts to glow, it shimmers and shifts into a short sword, much more suited to closer combat. In this time, the second of Phil’s cultists attempt to cast a spell, but is silenced by his sword before it can leave his hand. It’s over within moments, the advantage of surprise their ally. The two look at each other wordlessly, before going through the pockets of their foes. Coin and other trinkets are found, and tucked away into pouches to look at later. They dump the bodies in a corner, covering them with a tarp quickly. It wouldn’t keep someone from finding them for long, but it does hide them from a quick inspection of the room. Phil retrieves his lantern and they continue through the tunnels, which slope downward gently, until they come across a much larger cavern, hollowed out through clear use of magic. The walls are too smooth to be done by human hands, and the place is a perfect dome, the top obscured in shadow. Torches line the walls, casting the entire dome in flickering firelight, and in the center stands someone who appears to be the leader of the cult, dressed in black robes lined in golden thread, the hood pulled up over his head. “Tonight, dearest chosen, we summon the God himself!” Techno’s eyes widened, they had to interfere, and fast. Hemora wasn’t a generous god, not without plentiful sacrifice. The voices in his head rise to a crescendo, wanting a show grand enough to honor the Blood God. And a show the voices would get. He glances at Phil and sees the same steely determination in his eyes. This wouldn’t be an easy fight, not for a long shot, but his weapon’s almost good for another shift and the voices were on his side. Phil steps out first, sniping the leader down with an arrow to the shoulder, before stabbing the lantern deep into the earth and casting Pyrotechnics on the lantern nearest to the cultists. It explodes in a blast of flame, searing bright for a moment in time. The cultists scream, startled at the sudden flash of bright light, and at the sight of their leader fallen onto the altar. Techno sprung forward, stabbing one of the cultists before his blade flashes and changes, lengthening into a bastard sword quickly. His other hand lashes out, catching another with a blast of eldritch energy, sending the figure to the ground in a heap, he doesn’t get up. Phil draws his bow again, an arrow appearing on the string as soon as its drawn back. He stays to the back of the cavern, picking off cultists with quick shots instead of engaging in closer combat. When the cultists finally regather themselves, they attempt to launch a counter attack, focusing on the intimidating red-skinned figure in their midst. Spells shoot toward Techno, but a golden shield springs into a place, and Techno offers up a quick thanks to the voices for the help. They chime back cheerfully, and the fight continues. He loses track of time, the only thing he’s keeping track of is the blood spilled on dirt floor, turning it into mud, and the blood that coats his body, sucked up by the spirits almost as fast as he can spill it. In his haze, he doesn’t even realize the last of the cult has fallen until he’s stood in the middle of a field of bodies, breathing heavily. The leader is still alive, leaning against the altar for support. “Fool!” The man’s reedy voice pierces through the chamber and Techno’s head whips up, red eyes gleaming. “You Fool! The blood you’ve spilled here today gives rise to the all-knowing. Hemora, I beseech you!” The dagger in the leader’s hand comes down, piercing into an eye like gem sitting on the alter like butter. The gem splits straight down the middle with a loud crack and A wave of what can only be described as sheer power rolled over them. Techno grit his teeth, plunging the sword into the dirt in an attempt to stay grounded. The voices quieted, and roared right back when the wave passed, louder than they’d ever been. Suddenly, they went completely silent, as a sickly greenish light shone from the altar. “Who summoned me?” An oily voice emitted from the light, and a figure emerged. Although it was humanoid, it looked fuzzy around the edges, like it didn’t quite fit in the skin. All the hair on the back of Techno’s neck rose, and he was far more alert than before. Techno wasn’t sure what to make of this god or demon or whatever it was, but he’d never heard the voices go silent of their own volition, and that was worrying. “Fuck.” He heard Phil mutter from where the Aarakocra was pressed against the wall, as if the ranger could disappear through sheer will. Fully black eyes fixed themselves on the half-orc’s form, as the most prominent figure in the room. “What have we here, hmm?” The god, Hemora, clearly, saunters forward, and Techno freezes as two fingers are placed under his chin. He’s not too magically inclined, knowing only what his patron imparts, but even he could sense the sheer magic running through the god. The god’s physical form is shorter than Techno’s, but that didn’t make him any less intimidating. “How intriguing. I can tell, you are just full of esoteric knowledge, aren’t you.” The god drawls, tracing a thumb down Techno’s jaw. He bit down on a sarcastic reply, instead starting to think very very hard. Heeeh Anyone listening? Help? He prays, still frozen in place. “Cat got your tongue?” The god hums, a low threatening note that promises nothing good. A low rumble sounds through the chamber and a familiar heat rises behind Techno. He watches as Hemora’s eyes widen, feels the god let go of his chin. Techno shakes himself, just a little, and backs off to watch the confrontation play out. He doesn’t have a death wish, and standing between two gods is not great for his health. He pulls at Phil, gesturing for them both to leave before the two get into an actual fight. The escape couldn’t really be described as stealthy, but given how the air in the cavern was somehow getting hot and cold at the same time, how everything felt strangely heavy, and how a pool of dread was slowly growing behind Techno’s ribs, they were completely undetected. The moment they cleared the mine entrance, a loud crack sounded from inside, and the entrance to the place collapsed. “Well I’m glad we weren’t in there when that came down.” Phil glanced back at the pile of dirt, rock and lumber, before setting off in a direction, “C’mon Techno, we’ve got a town to inform that the cultists are gone.” Techno allowed himself a moment to try and communicate with the voices again, prodding at where that bond normally was active. At his disturbance, the voices roared back in full force, expressing concern and shock at the events.  He held back a chuckle, and patted them metaphorically on the head, everything was fine.

Next: Chapter 3

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter one of three(?) – Carnistir/Tuilindien

Chapter length: ~2,400 words; Story rating: Teenage audiences

Some keywords: Pregnancy, Babies, Romance, Family, Angst and fluff 

Summary: Caranthir and his wife expect and welcome an addition to their family. Tuilindien's joy is greater than her exhaustion, but Caranthir's happiness is shadowed by Míriel's fate.

A/N: This continues where This life that we've created ended. The first chapter is the angstiest: the fic gets progressively happier.

At the end of the chapter, there is discussion on how I incorporate Tolkien's writings on the effects of childbearing for elven women in this fic.

Warnings for the whole fic: Pregnancy, obviously; very few physical details, but there is some discussion of how bearing a child mentally feels to an elven woman. Childbirth happens in the fic, but there is no  description of it.

Fëa = spirit, soul; hröa = body

AO3 LINK

*

Chapter I //  The shadow behind his shoulder

After the first day when she cries of joy several times when she realises that she is expecting, Tuilindien does not cry during her pregnancy. She is ecstatically happy, so happy that even days of feeling exhausted and unwell do little to dampen her mood.

'Do not worry', she tells Carnistir when he looks almost scared when he comes home and finds her resting on a settee again, for the fourth day in a row. 'This is completely normal.'

He pulls a chair next to her. There is nervousness, still, in his eyes; Tuilindien knows it is there because of Míriel. Though Fëanáro and Nerdanel had seven children, and Nerdanel is hale and well, there is still a fear in the hearts of Fëanáro and his sons that other Eldar do not have to bear.

Tuilindien takes Carnistir's hand. 'All will be well', she assures him. 'For me, and for Netyarë. You and Curvo worry for naught.'

'It didn't occur to my grandfather to worry, and he should have', is all that Carnistir says, though the dark clouds in him seem to subside a little.

'Your worrying will not help me, not that I need help in anything but in the completely normal process of us both supporting our child as they grow', Tuilindien says, for she thinks that in this matter as in many others it is best not to indulge his dark mood overmuch. She sits up. 'Come sit by me, my love, and talk to me without words, and I will speak to our child's fëa on your behalf.'

He comes, and holds her close. As their hearts beat together and their spirits hold conference, he rumbles aloud, 'I wish I could feel them already.'

Tuilindien smiles against his shoulder. Her hasty Noldo; but this time, she completely understands the impatience.

'Soon', she comforts him. 'By all accounts you'll feel them soon.'

'Have you felt anything new today?'

He asks that every day. Tuilindien hides another smile in the fine linen of his tunic. 'Not really', she says. 'There is little of anything definite to feel yet, anyway. Only very general sensations of… growth, and a will to grow and live. And some confusion. Netyarë told me she feels the same things.'

(Netyarë realised she was pregnant only seven weeks before Tuilindien. It has already brought the two of them much closer than before, talking about the strangeness and wonder of being with child, and all their hopes and expectations.)

'It must be confusing, being a fëa inside another's hröa', Carnistir muses. 'It is for the best that we don't remember it when we grow older.'

'Yes.' Finding herself too tired to think of things to say aloud, Tuilindien leans against her beloved and sends images and thoughts of love to him and their child alike.

She does not worry that anything unusual or dangerous will happen to her; she is too happy to worry, and besides, most women get through their pregnancy perfectly fine.

But behind Carnistir's shoulder there looms a silver-haired shadow Tuilindien doesn't know how to banish.

*

Tuilindien tries to make things for her child. Even though she has now lived for years among the Noldor who all seem to be talented in several crafts, she does not usually mind that she doesn't know how to do many tangible things beoynd basic baking, needlework and gardening.

Now it bothers her. She wants to be able to have her child surrounded by things of her own making, like they will be by the work of Carnistir's hands.

He started making furniture for the baby as soon as she told her of her pregnancy.

'I didn't know that you knew how to make so many kinds of furniture, too', she says as she watches him sketch a cradle, a special chair for the baby, and a rocking chair.

'I don't really', he says, frowning in concentration as he writes down measurements and materials. 'I'm extrapolating from what I know, just like Curufinwë is. Uncle Carion taught us both carpentry. I made a chair and a cabinet with him but I never studied it, really.'

He knows enough of the making of various sorts of things with wood and metal and stone, and has the right kind of mind to indeed extrapolate more, that he soon has the baby's room filled with furniture that Tuilindien finds quite well-made even if he sees many imperfections in them.

'The finish is uneven', he mutters to himself as he runs his hand over the rocking chair.

'It is beautiful', Tuilindien says firmly, sitting in it. 'And comfortable. Do not be so strict on yourself and your creations, Carnistir, my love.'

But she does not need to be strict with herself to see that whatever she tries to make for her child is no good at all.

First she tries to sew a little shirt. But though she manages to make her stitches good enough that they'll certainly hold, she estimates the proportions of a baby all wrong and when she, desolate, shows the shirt to Carnistir, he turns crimson from the effort it takes for him not to laugh.

'Perhaps it will fit Snowdrop or Cinder', he says, his mouth twitching, and then kisses her gently when she drops the shirt and sighs.

'Do not fret, my dear', he comforts her with an arm around her shoulders. 'You do not need to make clothes for the baby for them to know that you love them with all your heart. I'm sure that they know it already.'

'I do tell them hourly.' Tuilindien sighs again and leans on him unashamedly. Carnistir never minds it when she does, and she has all the right now that their child grows inside her and draws their strength from her.

'I'm going to try crocheting next', she decides. 'Netyarë's mother taught her. I'm sure Netyarë will be glad to teach me how to make a blanket.'

'Or you could just go to a tailor and seamstress, and whatever shops sell baby things, and order everything that our baby will need', Carnistir says.

But Tuilindien has it in her to be a little stubborn in this matter. 'I will try crocheting', she repeats.

Netyarë is glad to teach her, and Tuilindien does manage all right as long as they sit side by side and she can follow what Netyarë's nimble fingers are doing. As soon as she goes home and tries to continue on her own, her creation turns into a tangled mess.

Tuilindien sighs deep again, and does give the mangled mess of a tiny blanket to their cats to play with or just destroy.

To Netyarë she says, 'I must give up on these pursuits before my in-laws who are skilled and talented in so many things get too much cause to make fun of me. But I enjoyed spending afternoons with you; could we continue it?'

Netyarë smiles her bright smile. 'By all means, let us continue', she says. 'I have enjoyed it, too, getting to know you better and spending time with you. It is silly that it took being with child at the same time for us to become friends.'

'It is', Tuilindien agrees. 'I am very glad that we have. I would be much more nervous if I did not have someone going through this at the same time as I am.'

Netyarë lays a hand on her stomach, visibly larger now. Tuilindien's is still almost hidden by her flowy dresses.

'It is very strange, isn't it?' Netyarë says. She smiles, twinkling, mischievous. 'You must not tell Curufinwë that I told you first, he would be very upset, but – I think I know now that I am going to have a boy.'

'Really?' Tuilindien's cheeks hurt with how wide she smiles. 'That is wonderful, Netyarë.' For her sister-in-law is obviously pleased.

'I am certain that Curvo is going to think it very wonderful, too', Netyarë says drily, but smiles still. 'I am going to tell him today, though I am not yet absolutely sure.'

'How could you be?' Tuilindien says. 'As you said, it is all so very strange to feel.'

'The strangest thing I have ever felt in my body', Netyarë agrees.

Tuilindien cannot wait to share the strange feelings with Carnistir; for him to feel their little one's fëa too.

*

The day he does, one morning when they are lying in bed late as usual, talking quietly, he goes pale and then red, and is silent for a long time. Tuilindien lays carefully still, her head on his bicep, his hand on her stomach.

This is stranger than anything before, she thinks as she lies there and tries to relax. She cannot directly feel, or hear, Carnistir listening to and reaching out to the baby's fëa.

But she can feel Carnistir's mood and the surface of his shifting, growing emotions in the connection of their spirits, as usual; he is not hiding it from her. He barely ever does.

And she can feel their child's fëa inside her reacting to something that isn't herself for the first time, pulsing with that small strength and bright light that Tuilindien can somehow see even though she of course cannot.

'Tuilindien', is all that Carnistir says, wonder in his low, cracked voice.

Tuilindien turns her head to his chest and kisses him there, telling him without words how much she loves her, and how glad she is that he can finally feel the little spirit, too, and talk to them and support them as they grow.

She lies there and feels the warmth of her husband and her child, the pale golden light of the morning from the large windows surrounding them all, and she thinks that she could never have asked for more happiness than this.

*

Unfortunately feeling the spirit of their child doesn't lessen Carnistir's worry about Tuilindien. His face and mood still darken whenever he finds her resting, not angry but so worried that the concern often turns to impotent anger at not being able to help – not being able to guarantee her safety. He is ferocious even in his worry.

When she does something a little bit strenuous and doesn't go to rest right after, he hovers around her like a stormy-browed mother hen until she does.

'You know that I never mind lying in your arms, my love, but you did not need to coax me to bed just because I went riding outside the city with the twins', she tells him one day, exasperated. 'We did not even go far.'

He holds onto her tighter, his forehead against hers in a gentle touch as they lie on their sides in bed, facing each other, breathing the same air, their thoughts mingling.

'Just until dinner', Carnistir says, voice quieter than his spirit.

She indulges him, resting there with him as long as he wants. It is good for all three of them to rest together like this, though lately Tuilindien feels like she does little else besides rest.

Carnistir's worrying gets tiresome on some days but there has not been an expecting mother better taken care of by her husband than she is, Tuilindien is certain. He plans their days around her comfort, fetches her things and makes sure she has the food she likes best and takes care of as many of her errands as he can; and he sends her constant love and comfort with such force that her spirit sings with it.

She does not worry about her strength running out, even though she is more tired than ever. She has him, and so much joy in their little one already. They sustain her.

Yet Carnistir seems unable to believe it, to trust in her strength, no matter how much she tries to reassure him.

'Do you think that I am weak?' she asks quietly as they lie there in the silvering light. 'You worry much more about me than Curufinwë appears to worry about Netyarë. Do you think that because I am gentle and… not so fire-hearted, not so passionate or opinionated as your family, or Netyarë, that bearing a child might take too much out of me?'

'Even if Curvo was deathly afraid, he would show little of it.' That is Carnistir's only reply.

Tuilindien feels tendrils of dark shame from him, either because he does think her weak or because he is refusing to answer her question for some other reason.

'It is not like you to avoid answering my questions', she tells him gently, though her patience is fraying.

He kisses her forehead in apology. Confusing thoughts flows from him to her as he thinks on his answer, attempting to tame the confusion.

'I do not think that you are weak, Tuilë', he begins, and thankfully it is easy for her to hear the truth in that. 'But you are like Míriel in some ways. My grandfather describes her as gentle, though also swift in her speech and her craft, and obstinate even against the exhortations of the Valar.'

'Of those I am only gentle', Tuilindien says.

'You can be obstinate', her beloved argues. 'In your own, quiet way. Míriel was like that too.'

It is strange, hearing someone spoken of in the past tense like that, knowing that they will not come back, that there is no future tense because they are refusing re-embodiment. Tuilindien's frustration melts at that reminder of the strange fate of Carnistir's grandmother – the strangeness, uniqueness of his family – and she sighs against his warm skin.

'I may be like Míriel, then, but I cannot imagine wanting to leave you', she whispers, something constricting painfully around her heart. 'Or our child whom I already love so much that it hurts. I cannot imagine it, however much I try. That is why I have no fear.'

Carnistir is quiet for a moment, a miasma of emotions swirling in him and to her. 'I doubt Míriel had either.'

'I promise, Carnistir, I promise, I will not leave you', and to her own ears she sounds desperate and not the least bit reassuring, and she clings to him with body and spirit. But he seems to breathe easier after that, and slips to a restful state before she does.

Apparently making a promise that she thought did not need to be spoken aloud because it is so obvious to her was exactly what he needed to find peace.

Tuilindien rests better, too, for having him calm in her arms, and the little fëa inside her rests too.

*

A/N: *apologetically mumbles something about being constitutionally unable of not writing something slightly ominous about Fëanorians and promises in every other fic*

Note on canon for this fic: For the most part, in this fic series, I am faithful to Tolkien's canon. However in this fic I deviate from some of the things Tolkien wrote down in his essay Laws and Customs among the Eldar (published in History of Middle-Earth X: Morgoth's Ring).

This is because I dislike the extent of how spiritually taxing Tolkien writes the bearing of a child being on elven mothers. Because of Míriel being such close kin to Carnistir and a spectre that haunts him during Tuilindien's pregnancy, I've incorporated some aspects of it in this fic – but not all.

What I dislike, and do not include in my 'fic-verse', is that the power of creation in elven women goes mainly into their children while men create more other things. I take the view that yes, having a child is more spiritually draining for elven mothers than it is for humans, but they recover from it and they can create just as much beautiful art and music and works of science and whatever as men, even after having many children. So the mother's fëa is not partially spent or exhausted on her children, except Míriel's who is an exception in this matter.

*

Thank you for reading! I would love hearing what you think of this fic.

[marvelousmatt]

The Accidental Comedy of Matt Berry

The star of IFC’s detective-series spoof ‘Year of the Rabbit,’ famed for his booming voice and over-the-top faces, never set out to be funny

Matt Berry as Detective Inspector Rabbit in 'Year of the Rabbit.'  Ben Meadows/IFC

If you know Matt Berry from his most famous roles — such as The IT Crowd’s idiot boss Douglas Reynholm, Toast of London’s pompous struggling actor Steven Toast, or the preening and lascivious vampire Laszlo on What We Do in the Shadows — talking to him over the phone is sort of like meeting his un-evil twin. Where his characters are outrageous and inappropriate, Berry is circumspect and gentlemanly. While they pronounce every word as if they’re doing Shakespeare in the Park, with a ponderous theatricality, his signature rich baritone comes over the line from London sounding muted by comparison. It’s as though he’s playing the straight man in a sketch of his own life.

Whatever absurd and profane notions he has rattling around in his head, Berry saves them for his work. His latest offering, IFC’s Year of the Rabbit (a collaboration among Berry, producer Ben Farrell, and writers Andy Riley and Kevin Cecil), is a send-up of the period detective shows that are a staple of British television. Set in Victorian times, it centers on his titular character, Rabbit, a cranky copper who bumbles through every episode but slyly solves the whodunit in the end — a kind of gruff, English Columbo in a waistcoat. In the “why not” fashion typical of Berry’s comedy, the character is missing an eyebrow (a trait the show repeatedly explains away with the intentionally unconvincing line that it was chewed off by a dog last Christmas). He’s named Rabbit — his actual first name, with no surname — not because of any correlation with, say, the Chinese calendar, but because… well, just because.

“His father couldn’t be bothered giving any of the kids any normal names, so he just named them after animals and then left them outside a church,” Berry says matter-of-factly, as if Rabbit and his father are real. Pressed on the matter, he adds, “We have a huge history over here of these shows, Agatha Christie and stuff, and they all have these names, Inspector This and That. I just wanted to do something stupid with that — give him an animal name and not anything else. So he really is as earthy as you can get in that way. There’s nothing fancy about him at all.”

Rabbit is an inveterate boozehound with a colorful vocabulary. He beats up a schoolteacher on career day to demonstrate interrogation techniques to the children. He tells his rookie partner that the way to keep warm during a wintertime stakeout is to piss himself. He describes the London of his day as “a rat eating its own babies. Babies made of shit. And once it’s eaten its own shit babies, it shits them out again.” He is paired, reluctantly, with two bright-eyed and bushy-tailed colleagues to form a crack investigative team, a juxtaposition which only underscores his baser qualities.

“He’s basically trying to hide the fact that he’s incredibly hungover and not firing on all cylinders,” Berry says. “Whereas his younger sidekicks won’t be, because when you’re that young, you know, you get over a hangover by like 10 o’clock in the morning. I wanted him to be dull, in terms of reactions to things, but effective.”

Robert Bathurst, Matt Berry, and Harry Peacock in Toast of London. Photo Credit: Kuba Wieczorek/IFC/CH4

Ineptitude and buffoonery are much more the calling cards of Steven Toast, whose massive ego blinds him to his own failings. He is an oblivious object of mockery at the hands of his voiceover producers, a pair of douchey hipsters named Clem Fandango and Danny Bear, and his mistress, Mrs. Purchase (wife of Toast’s acting nemesis Ray “Bloody” Purchase), looks eternally bored during their trysts. His long-suffering agent has to force him to become a laxative pitchman, yet he complains that she’s not scoring him Oscar-caliber roles.

If Toast is the character closest to Berry’s heart, it’s for good reason. Despite a brand of humor that seems firmly rooted in the British tradition — the surreality and silliness of Python, the cartoonish prurience of Benny Hill — Berry, 45, maintains that he wasn’t especially interested in comedy growing up. He cites as his primary influence not comedic greats such as Peter Sellers or contemporaries like Steve Coogan, but “straight actors, people that normally weren’t trying to be funny.” The more “mannered” and “self-important” the star, Berry says, the funnier he found them. The line to Toast is clear — especially in his puffed-up diction and bizarrely exaggerated pronunciation of ordinary words (such as his praise of guest-star Jon Hamm’s “charismaaaaaaaeeeeeee”). Imagine the famous outtakes of a drunk Orson Welles filming a Paul Masson wine commercial, and you’re on the right track.

Berry’s career in comedy came as a complete surprise to him. He grew up in the hamlet of Bromham in Bedfordshire, about two hours north of London, in a wholly unartistic family who had “normal, decent jobs,” he says. “My mom was a nurse, my sister went into law — nothing like what I ended up doing.” Still, his parents were totally supportive — worried, but supportive — as he stumbled through temp gigs and patches of unemployment as a young man.

He was far more interested in painting and music — and, in fact, today is an accomplished musician who’s recorded eight studio albums (prog rock-ish, inflected with funk) as well as the scores and themes to numerous TV series, including Toast. That show’s frequent musical interludes, gonzo song parodies a la Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, speak to Berry’s true comedic beginnings. In between stints at the London Dungeon — a haunted-house experience where actors play figures from gruesome corners of the city’s past, like Jack the Ripper — he managed to book solo gigs as a singer-songwriter. But he found that spiking his performances with humor won over a crowd.

Natasia Demetriou and Berry in What We Do In the Shadows.  Byron Cohen/FX

“I was playing before comedians, and the gigs just seemed to go quicker and better if I put some comedy into the songs or the bits in between the songs,” Berry says. “I only did it so I’d fit in with what was going on after. Then I really got to like it.”

Fellow performers Richard Ayoade and Matthew Holness noticed his act, and cast Berry in a horror/sci-fi spoof they created called Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace. From there, his television career exploded, with recurring roles in several series before his breakout in 2007 with The IT Crowd. Despite a nomination for “best newcomer” at that year’s British Comedy Awards and a 2015 BAFTA for Best Male Performance in a Comedy for Toast, Berry insists he doesn’t have any particular aptitude for the form, and draws a blank when it comes to defining his style. Mostly, he chalks it up to timing (“Whether it’s music or comedy, that’s the most important thing for me”) — as well as a lack of training.

“I’m not held back by any sort of rules and regulations in terms of performance,” he says. “I’ll just do what feels natural, and because nobody’s said in the past, ‘Well you can’t really do that, because of this,’ you just do it. If it works, it works, and if it doesn’t, you just try something else.”

He does acknowledge one foolproof stylistic flourish that may be deeply ingrained: a true relish for the scatological and sophomorically sexual. See: Laszlo’s vulva topiaries, or the preposterously elastic faces Toast makes while he’s shagging Mrs. P (“Hang on — my balls are about to fizzzz!”) or pleasuring himself to old-timey images of women in military uniforms. A key moment in Rabbit involves the inspector having a pocketful of dog poop.

“I suppose that’s the British toilet humorist in me,” Berry admits. “It doesn’t matter where you go in Europe, toilet humor is enjoyed by all. Being from the U.K., it’s in you, like, from birth. You know, if you’re little and people are laughing at something all around you, it kind of sticks. If it’s something that my granddad laughs at and my dad laughs at, there’s a good chance that I’ll laugh at it, too.”

[avengerscompound]

Ronin

Ronin: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x F!Reader

Rating:  E

Square:  @clintbartonbingo - Missing Scene

Word Count:  1954

Warnings:  smut (M|F, one-night stand, vaginal sex, oral sex)

Synopsis:  A strange keeps coming into your shop without an appointment to work on his Ronin tattoo.

Ronin

“He’s back again.”

Joey didn’t even need to say who he was talking about.  You knew right away.  He'd been in a couple of times.  Never gave a name.  Never booked a further appointment.  Yet he somehow managed to show up blind each time when you didn't have anyone booked in.

He was getting a sleeve done.  A skeletal samurai that turned into a snake at his elbow that then wrapped itself around his forearm.  It was in black and green and highly detailed.  You were only about a halfway done, if you were thinking optimistically about it.

The situation was odd but you strangely never felt worried with him.  He was quiet but non-threatening.  Always polite when he spoke and friendly enough.  You didn't mind the drop-ins.  He’d ask if you were free but clarify that he understood if you weren't.  It was fine.  Besides he had gorgeous arms.  It was fun working on them.

“Alright.  I'll get him.”  You said.

“You sure?  I gotta head out.  You gonna be okay alone with the guy?”

You shrugged.  “He seems harmless.  Just lost people.  And really, who hasn't?”

“True that,”  Joey said.  “I'll send him back and lock up.  Be careful though.”

You pulled the design from your file.  “Always am, Joey.”

The guy appeared in the doorway barely a moment later.  “You're sure this is okay?”

You gestured for him to sit.  “Yeah.  I mean if you'd book a time, it’d be better.  But business is a little quieter since… Well, you know.”

He nodded.  “Sorry.  I just travel a lot these days.  Never know when I'll be here.”

You felt he was playing with half-truths.  Maybe that was some of the reason, but it wasn't the whole reason.  It didn't matter though.  He could tell you straight up blatant lies if he wanted, as long as he sat still and paid at the end of the session.  Which he always did so there was no reason to question him.

He took off his coat and sat down in the chair.  You set up next to him and began to prep his arm, shaving it and washing it down.  He smiled and chuckled softly.  You’d never seen him crack a smile once since you first met him.

“Did I tickle you?”  You asked as you dipped the needles in the green ink.

“Yes, No.  Just thinking about how nice the prep feels and then its pain.”

“Metaphor for life.”  You said with a small shrug.

You began to do the shading on his lower bicep.  The muscles in his arm all tensed at once, the vein that ran down his forearm becoming more prominent.  He had gorgeous arms.  You wondered what he did that gave him that particular set of muscles.  They weren’t the bodybuilding kind of muscles, just swollen and worked so that each one is large but none are really meant for anything.  He was muscular in the way that people who used their arms were.  The mohawk he sported said it he wasn’t military.  Tradesperson maybe?  He had been sporting bruises and cuts each visit, so maybe he was an MMA fighter?

Slowly he relaxed as you worked, as usual not really talking.  The first time he had come in he’d asked if it was okay not to talk, so you hadn’t pushed it since.  It was fine with you.  It was much easier to focus when you weren’t making idle chit-chat.

“Did you lose anyone?”  He asked.

The question had pulled you out of a daydream you’d started having about what he could do with those arms and you startled a little.   It took a moment for the question to sink in.  When you realized what he was asking you frowned and focused a little harder on the art.  “Yeah.  Of course.  Who didn’t?”

“Right.”  He said, frowning and tensing a little.  You chewed on the inside of your cheek.  You weren’t a therapist, you were an artist.  It wasn’t your place to try and unpick whatever it was that was going through his head, but he’d never really said boo to you outside of the original tattoo design process.  Now he seemed to want to get something off his chest.

“Who did you lose?”  You asked.

“Everyone.”  He said.

“You lost everyone?”

He gave a curt nod.  “My parents died when I was a kid.  I had a guy take me on a  mentor, he’s gone.  My wife.  My kids.  Even the woman who I’d taken under my own wing.  I lost everyone.”

The way he spoke was that of a man who was trying to show no emotion.  Someone just wanted to be numb from the pain but couldn’t quite manage it.  “They said it was random.  Doesn’t always feel like it.”  You said.  “So you’re alone?”

He nodded and looked down at the artwork on his arm, not saying anything.  You went back to focusing on the tattoo, working methodically down his arm.

“What I don’t get is how can it have taken all those innocent people.  Kids even.  Yet there are still fucking monsters in the world.  You know?”  He said.

“Yeah.  I know.  Also, all those people who got taken out because they were in planes whose pilots turned to dust.  Or the people in fallout zones from power plants that overloaded because suddenly half the staff was gone.  Half of us turned to dust and then a whole bunch died right with them.”  You said.

He scowled and clenched his fists for a moment.  The rest of the time was spent in silence.  It was interesting.  Since half the world was turned to dust, a lot of the people who came in got tattoos commemorating people they’d lost.  Portraits of their wives.  The names of their kids inside hearts or teddy bears.  Symbolic things that meant something special just between them and their loved one.  You felt this samurai was like that too, but there was something darker.  He had no tattoos at all coming in.  Now he was getting this clear sign he was a different person than who he had been.

You supposed you got that.  Who was the same after what had happened?  People kept saying you had to move on.  But how could anyone really do that?

You finished up after about four hours.  It was late, well past when you normally went home for the day.  “What do you think?”  You asked as you washed it off.

He looked it over and nodded.  “Looks great.  Thank you.”

“What you wanted?”

He took a deep breath and let it out.  “Yeah.”  He said.  “Just how I pictured it.”

You covered the new parts with Vaseline and covered it in plastic.

The guy followed you to the register to pay.  “Guess I won’t see you again.”

You smiled.  “Guess not.  Unless you want some more art done.”

“Well, thank you for that.  I needed … something.”

You reached over and touched his arm.  It was familiar and you wouldn’t normally cross that line, but you had been touching him for four hours now.  “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

There was a moment where something seemed to pass through you.  You didn’t know what it was exactly, or what made you do it, but you leaned forward and kissed his cheek.  It was like you could tell he needed it.  That he needed some affection, even if it was brief.

He turned his head and leaned into you, like he was going to kiss you, but stopped and hovered there.  You could see the cogs turning as he began to overthink what was happening.  You took the initiative and brought your lips to his.

He reacted quickly, pushing you up against the wall and kissing you hungrily.  Desperately even.  Trying to grab this brief piece of human intimacy while he could.  This safe piece of connection that meant nothing, but he needed with every piece of him.

You ran your hands along his jaw and down his neck as he ground into you against the lockers.  His tongue danced with yours, circling it and running along your lips as you kissed.  You scrambled to open his belt.  The frantic, desperate nature of his movements affected you.  It made you want this just that little bit more.  As you opened his belt he broke the kiss and pulled your shirt off.  He ran his hands up your sides and cupped your breasts, then yanked your bra down so your breasts spilled out.  He squeezed your tits together end leaned down and began to suck and bite at your nipples.  You moaned and wrapped a leg around him, drawing him closer to you, rolling your hips against him.

You pushed his pants down enough to free his cock and you wrapped your hands around it.  He groaned and pushed into your hand.  “Fuck,”  He groaned.  “Fuck, I want you.”

“Then give it to me.”  You growled.

You unfastened your jeans and he pushed them down and barely gave you a moment to step out of them before he lifted you and slammed you against the wall again.  You wrapped your legs around his waist and he ground his dick against you.  You moaned loudly, your cunt wet and ready to take him.

His cock slid up and down your folds a few times before he thrust inside of you.  You moaned throwing your head back and dug your fingers into the corded muscles of his back.  He started to thrust, each one accompanied by the roll of his hips as he kept you pinned to the wall.  He kissed you passionately, making you light-headed as he fucked you hard.  The shelves rocked above you adding to the sounds of your moans and grunts.

 Your whole body began to tremble against him as you felt your orgasm approaching.  You moaned and threw your head back.   He slipped his hand between your legs and rubbed your clit hard and with a loud moan you came.

Clint groaned and bit down into your shoulder as he continued to fuck you through it.  You pulled off his cock and pushed him back.  “Let me.” You said.

He submitted to you quickly, letting you guide him back to the tattoo chair.  You pushed him down into it and crouched between his legs.  You licked up the length of his cock and dropped your head down, taking his full length down your throat.  He groaned and arched his back, his stomach muscles pulling tight as he gripped at the arms of the chair.  “Fuck.” He groaned.  “That’s it.”

You started bobbing your head up and down, sucking and hollowing your tongue.  He moaned loudly as his cock began to twitch and leak precum.  “Fuck.  Gonna come.”

You picked up your pace and teased his balls, letting him know it was okay to let go.  He mewled and with a sudden jerk of his hips, he came in hot, salty ropes, filling your mouth.

You swallowed it all down and licked your lips.  He lay back panting as you got up and pulled your pants back on.  When he finally seemed to come down from his orgasm high he tucked himself away and got up.  “I - Thanks.  I don’t know why that just happened.  But… it’s been a while.”

You came over and rubbed his shoulder.  “I enjoyed it too.”

He looked at you and the ghost of a smile passed over his features.  “I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

“Yeah.”  You said walking him out.  You knew that probably wasn’t true, but you did hope that whatever it was he was looking for he found it.

[ofillyria]

I have been toying around with A LOT of WIP ideas recently and I’m not really sure where I want to focus my energy or which ones I want to add to my WIP list or make intros for. So I figured I’d make a masterlist of all of my ideas that I have a rough plot and character list for so y’all can peruse! If there’s one that jumps our at you, a few you like, or any that you have questions on please please flood my inbox! There’s no better way to get me jazzed about a WIP than to send me asks! I’m putting them under the cut since there’s so many!

NIGHT TWELVE: Vi crashes into enemy territory and is taken in by the army. She's given an assignment: win the heart of the wealthiest woman on the planet to procure war funding. But she's already fallen in love with her superior officer.

DAVID’S PEAK: In the small, Oregon town of David’s Peak people are being mysteriously abducted, and blame is placed on possessed park ranger Diane Atwood. She has a choice: prove herself innocent by finding the real culprit, or say goodbye to the friendly voice in her head.

YOUNG DEMONS: After failing her first spell Cecily Young swore off magic. Her power is building, brewing. The repressed magic is manifesting as a hurricane set to destroy Louisiana in a month's time. She must find a way to expel the magic in time, without tearing herself apart in the process.

THE GODLING TRILOGY: Lea is the firstborn child of Morpheus, making her the most powerful godling in a millennium. Which means she’s the perfect scapegoat for Zeus to send to do his dirty work. Including murdering the ancient being known as Nyx, who’s determined to plunge the modern world into eternal night.

BERSERKERS: Gal pals turned fearsome warriors. When the clique dons their fur coats they gain the strength of the animals they wear. It’s time for revenge on selfish exs, bigoted teachers, and abusive parents,. That is, if the consequences don’t catch up to them first.

THE BLITZKRIEG BREAKER: When Teddy’s clock repair shop becomes both the epicenter of a magical war and the London blitz, he is tasked with keeping a strange device out of the wrong hands. In a world filled with demon dogs, falling bombs, and a mysterious shapeshifting witch it’s hard to know which threat to focus on.

HELL’S EMPTY: Sometimes, the dead get restless. There are a few who manage to slip through the cracks and back into the world of the living. On autopilot, the soul takes the first available body and become a zombie. Over time the body, incompatible with its new soul, will begin to decay. Desperate to live, but falling apart, these creatures seek new fresh bodies to enter, even it means killing to get them. Luckily, hell, like any good business, has a lost prevention specialist. And she’s ready to go hunting.

WASTELANDERS: In a post apocalyptic wasteland, a team of two girls band together to fight to survive. When crossing the desert from ration station to ration station they encounter a man on the side of the road, he claims that his car was stolen with his young daughter inside. The two girls venture to find the lost girl in a no holds barred rescue mission through deadly dive bars, life or death road races, and russian roulette tournaments.

TRAGEDY ANNE: Anne,  a bandit known for terrorizing the rich folks of Round Rock, caught wind of the local mine owner’s plan to blow out the dam. Even if it means washing out Round Rock in the process. Anne wants to save her hometown but no one will listen to a lying, cheating thief.

SOUL: SOLD: Six years ago Jac sold her soul to a demon so that she could say goodbye to her mother. But now her contract is up and she only has a week before she becomes a demon herself. The plan: find the family heirloom, use it to barter with the crossroads demon, and avoid damnation at all costs.

AMELIA BRIGHT PETSITTER TO THE ABSURDLY RICH: Amy loves her job: nice houses, free food, and cute puppies. But when she’s accused of stealing jewelry from a rich client everything falls apart and her reputation is destroyed. She has to prove her innocence. Hopefully, before the super hot CEO she’s dogsitting for returns from a business trip.

THE TEMPEST PROTOCOL: Mira’s mission is to study the defunct pleasure planet which orbits a black hole. But the mission is overturned when the owner of the planet returns and kidnaps Mira’s team. Mira has to rescue her crew before they are all swallowed by the looming void or murdered by the psychopathic resort owner.

THE ELECTRIC PIGHT - Winona is an archaeologist that studies the fallen society of the 21st century. When her brother returns home severely injured, she’s determined to use old world medicine to save his life even if she has to travel for days to find it. But the way to the city of old is guarded by militiamen, cannibals, and rabid dogs. Winona’s attempt to save her brother and prove her theories right might kill her first.

WELCOME TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD - Bee has been demon of the month over nineteen thousand times. She’s assigned a meager corruption mission and saddled with a newbie demon. Now, she’s determined to prove to Satan that she doesn’t need a partner. She has to find a way to kill her ‘husband’ without it looking suspicious. All while corrupting the perfect 1950s suburbia around her.

HELL FIRED - When one of the groundskeepers for the underworld goes on maternity leave her coworker has to find a suitable replacement. So they set up a reality show competition and the last person standing wins the role of right hand man to Hades’ right hand man. Which is sort of an honor.  

ARTEMIS AND APOLLO - Agent’s Artemis and Apollo have been working together for nearly twelve years. He’s the impulsive rogue and she’s the one who actually gets the job done. But now that she’s getting married he’s worried the agency will realize his incompetence. Instead of fighting it, he’s determined to make their final mission together the wildest ride possible.

FUN FUN AT THE BOARDWALK - Daniel works at the Santa Cruz boardwalk and knows for a fact it’s haunted. The giant stuffed animals have started to roam at night and recently, one tried to kill him. He has to round up a team to help him fight back but first, he has to make people believe him.

VIENNA - After being exposed to radiation from the sun an astronaut returns to earth to find that she is imbued with starlight. She’s recruited into an organization of mutants and tasked with rounding up others like her. But the more she uses her powers to render outside threats inert the more she risks burning out and turning herself into a black hole.

10 PERFECT DATES - Katherine Day’s website claims she can set up the most romantic date possible just for a small fee of $200. Rory, an investigative journalist, is determined to prove this offer a scam. So they buy 10 and ask Katherine to be the one to join them on these so-called ‘perfect’ dates. Rory thought this would be a disaster worth writing about, but the only problem is Katherine herself seems like the perfect person for Rory.

SOUL SEARCHING - A witch and her disembodied wife search for a body that can house the wife’s soul. The witch becomes a spiritual guide to people in comas, entering their minds and helping them through to the other side to open a space for the wife to have a body again.

CRITICALLY MISSED. After the death of David’s father he invites all of his childhood friends back to his childhood home for a reunion game of dungeons and dragons. When they start to fight they are interrupted as they are pulled into the game. The old friends are forced to fight off giant spiders, ogres, and long buried resentment. If they die in the game do they die in real life? And is an epic takedown worth risking your brother’s neck?

These ones don’t have titles yet so I’m just gonna give some comps so you get the vibe:

WES ANDERSON x THE HALF OF IT - Mindy’s life is going exactly how she wants. She has perfected her waffle recipe, a successful b&b, and no friends. But when her mom decides to get remarried Mindy is faced with the reality that the world goes on without her even when she constructs an eden for herself. So she enlists the help of a childhood friend to teach her how to deal with change.

STRANGER THINGS x PARANORMAN - Ryann drowned, and was resuscitated minutes after being declared dead. Now the kid sees ghosts: unmoving, unblinking figures staring at a singular location.  Ryann must discover why the spirits are back and what it is they want that’s in the Courthouse.

TOMB RAIDER x UNCHARTED - The Bloodright Chalice is the last unrecovered piece of known treasure, and Kel is determined to find it. With the help of a tagalong history nerd, she must fight off mercenaries, navigate perilous terrain, and withstand the draw of a magical artifact.

KICKASS x DAREDEVIL - Kimberly Price is trying to be the hero her powers deserve, but her moral ambiguity keeps leading her off track. Upon discovering an underground crime ring, Kim discovers her big break and that the mob boss, a mutant like her, can break any bone in her body with his mind.

INCEPTION x ARRIVAL - Dr. Parson has been having dreams recently of waking up next to a woman who he doesn’t know and she claims to be his wife. His new research partner on the particle accelerator is revealed to be the very same woman he’s been dreaming of since the beginning of the project.  He knows more about her than he should and it feels like an abuse of power, but he cannot help but fall in love, or rather stay in love. But how can he be honest when it would paint him as insane and ruin both his relationship with her and his plans for the project?

[killervibe]

Written in Your Heart

A Killervibe & Frost/Ronnie Princess and the Pauper AU!

Summary: Once upon a time, in a village high on the mountaintop, two identical baby girls were born. One, into royalty and was named Princess Caitlin. The other, to a poor family working under a harsh dressmaker. They named her Frosteline. With lives so different, it wasn’t surprising that the Princess and the Pauper never met. But fate decreed they would.

Chapter One

~.~ 

Long ago, and far away, in a central village high on a mountaintop, something amazing happened. At the very same moment, two identical baby girls were born. One, a baby Princess. The King and Queen were overjoyed, for they had been longing for a child all their lives. Princess Caitlin would have only the finest. The second baby girl was named Frosteline. Her parents loved her every bit as much as the King and Queen loved Princess Caitlin. But they worried, fighting to make ends meet under the employment of a compassionless dressmaker.

 Many years passed and the Princess learned her royal duties, while Frosteline worked long and hard as a seamstress for the spiteful Miss Amunet. Frosteline's parents were long gone, resting in the cemetery under the grass. They had died in the same accident that took the life of King Thomas when Princess Caitlin and Frosteline were only twelve.

 With lives so different, it wasn’t surprising that the Princess and the Pauper never met. But fate decreed they would.

It all started at the Royal Mine, when the miners informed the Queen the gold had run out. The widowed Queen was shocked. The Kingdom would now surely go bankrupt. People would starve, find no work and will perish under these conditions. How was she going to take care of them with no more resources? If only she could call on her trusted advisor Hunter Zolomon, but he was away on a long journey to Star Kingdom. She needed to do something quickly to save the kingdom before they’d turn against the monarchy, or worse, each other.

 But what?

 And then it struck her. Nearby lived a rich young King who was seeking a wife.

 ~.~

 “Damn it,” Frosteline groaned, nursing her bleeding thumb at her hundredth prick of the day. “I just want a day to myself!”

 “I hear you, sister,” Ralph, her only friend chimed in from his own stitching across the room. After hours upon hours of labour in the dreary basement of Miss Amunet’s Dress Emporium, it often felt as though Ralph were the only other person on the planet. “You think the woman would hire more help.”

 “Hire more help?” Frosteline repeated incredulously. “We’re only here because we’re indentured servants, Ralph. Nobody in their right minds would willingly work here.”

 “Yeah, well. Nobody but our dear old dead parents, right?” Ralph stood up, cracking his back from lack of exercise. He walked across the room to inspect Frosteline’s injury. “Let me look at it. You’re bleeding.”

 Frosteline waved him off. “I’ll be fine.” She closed her eyes and hummed her mother’s old nursery rhyme as the cut stitched itself back together.

 Ralph didn’t like how her eyes glowed when she used her power. He made a noise of consternation, returning to his pile of fabric. “You’re lucky that Miss Amunet hasn’t yet accused you of witchcraft.”

 Frosteline froze over the wedding gown she had just crocheted. “Don’t call it that. I told you—I was born like this.”

 “It’s where you got your name, right, yes, I heard the story before. I just worry about your safety, Frost. Don’t think I don’t know you do magic shows in the village at noon.”

 “I make some snow for extra change. So what? The people like it.”

 Footsteps went thundering down the stairs. The two ran back to their workstations.

 “It’s not the people I’m scared of,” Ralph muttered under his breath.

 “I’m hearing whispers. What is this? A gossip club?”

 “I would’ve said a debtor’s prison,” Frosteline replied automatically. Ralph gaped at her from across the room. She too realized her mistake. She tended to talk before she used her brain. It was something she needed to work on.

 “Keep laughing, my lovely!” Amunet surveyed their work. She beamed, at the finished gown on Frosteline’s desk, showing all her teeth. “You’ll be working for me for another thirty-seven years!”

 “But I already paid off more than half!”

 Amunet hummed, undisturbed. “Oh, but haven’t you heard? The kingdom is going into a recession. So I’ve decided to remember....What was it again?" She drummed her fingertips against her face, pretending to ponder, then clapped her hands suddenly. " oh yes! There’s an interest, isn’t there? Your parents should’ve thought of that before they borrowed so much.”

 “They did it to feed her!” Ralph snapped. Amunet glared as he shrunk back in his wooden seat.  

  “Their mistake.”  She took the finished wedding gown and stuffed it in a box without so much of another word.

 Ralph mimed sticking a finger down his throat. Frosteline’s mouth twisted in disgust. She hated her too.

 ~.~

 Cisco turned the page of his leather-bound book. “That concludes your lesson in chemistry. Not that you needed it.”  

 The princess gave a reluctant sigh, looking up at him through her long eyelashes. “Already?”

 “Afraid so, Your Highness. Any questions?”

 All too well he knew Princess Caitlin mastered the subject. Still, the question posed became his favourite part of their scheduled time together, when the role of tutor and student bled into two best friends enjoying each other’s company.

 “Yes,” she said, poking at his tunic. “Do you believe it possible to discover more elements that would expand the periodic table?”

 ”Absolutely!” He nodded enthusiastically. “But not more likely than reaching the heavens, Caitlin.”

 The princess scooted her chair closer, leaning into her best friend’s side. Her cat, Bart, scratched his head against her leg. “You mean...” she lowered her voice before glancing aside, wary of her maidservants’ eavesdropping. “Extrapolating from the theories of Galileo and travelling to space?”

 Cisco grinned at her. “Precisely.” He laughed at her scandalized gasp. “Calm down, I’m jesting—”

  “Cisco! That’s not funny!”   

 Ah, his heart stuttered in his chest. He’d never tire of hearing his name from her lips. She placed her hand over his arm and urged him to share his latest study.

 A knock on the door interrupted their moment, and Caitlin immediately removed her touch, leaning away.

 Harrison Wells, or Harry, as the royal family has grown accustomed to calling him, marched in with a long list and adjusted his spectacles. “We’re late! Late, late, late!”

 “Good morning Harry,” Caitlin greeted, hiding her dismay. Cisco rolled his eyes. It wasn’t that they disliked him. He was always to the point with his messages, and delivered them rather gruffly, but not unkind. Their annoyance had more to do with the fact every time Harry came to interrupt Caitlin’s lesson with Cisco, it meant the tutor had to go.  

 “Yes, yes. Good day, Your Highness,” he nodded at Cisco. “Greetings Ramon. Enough with the pleasantries. It is now time for your royal fitting, Princess. The gown just arrived this morning.”

 Princess Caitlin’s joy soured immediately, but she did not let her emotions show. “Yes, of course.”  

 “—It must last twenty, maximum twenty-two minutes, and then you have to rush, and I mean rush to your horticultural society tea. Then—”

 Caitlin tuned Harry out as Cisco shot her an apologetic smile.

 He packed his books hastily, “I best be on my leave.”

 “Oh no, Cisco. Please stay.”

 He hesitated, fiddling with the strap of his worn satchel, but could not ever deny the Princess anything. He nodded, watching as two maidservants ushered Caitlin behind the dresser to make alterations for her gown. “Maybe a few minutes more.”

 When she stepped out in silks and white tulle, his eyes lingered only on her face.

 She turned around on the step stool where the seamstresses fussed over the ribbons and bows when he called her name.

 “Yes?”

 “You’ll make a lovely bride.” His fingers twisted deep in the leather of the strap across his chest. Caitlin felt tears well up in her eyes, so many complicated words stuck in her throat. She could only manage to nod as Cisco suddenly left.

 She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to stay, she thought, as she watched him through her window. He was smelling the roses to record in his field journal in her palace gardens. As if he could sense her, he lifted his eyes from the flower he had to his nose up to her wing of the palace. The corners of his mouth tugged into a gentle smile as his hair blew in the breeze. Cisco waved at Caitlin. Her fingertips pressed against the glass as her heart sighed.

 Harry came back with a large box, clearing his throat. Her mother, the Queen, strolled behind. “Look, another engagement gift!”

 The Princess didn’t reply. The Queen bit her lip as she caught her daughter watch the tutor make his way out the royal gates and into the village. “You know it is vital you marry King Ronald. It’s the only way to take care of the kingdom.”

 Caitlin didn’t reply for some time, drawing strength from within and distanced herself from the window. She shot Harry and her mother a shaky grin and exhaled. “I know, and I will. It’s my duty.”

 ~.~

 In the deep dark caves of the Royal Mine, Hunter Zolomon celebrated his homecoming. 

 “It’s great to see you back boss,” Eddie Slick told him, wiping the grime off his forehead. “But you’re...early.” His accomplice, Sterling Brooks, popped out of their cart holding up a small black nugget. 

 Hunter snatched it out of Sterling’s hand. “What idiot put this here!?” 

 Sterling grinned as Eddie smacked his forehead from second-hand embarrassment. “Uh. Me?” 

 “We’re stealing gold. This is coal.” He knocked the worthless rock against Sterling’s skull as if in an attempt to knock some wit into it. He turned to Eddie. “Where’s the rest?” 

 Eddie pointed to a bag in the dirt. “That’s the last of ‘em.” He watched eagerly as his boss inspected the bag of gold. “So, what’s our cut?” 

 Hunter laughed. “You think you’re getting any of this?” 

 Eddie frowned. “While you were off frolicking in Star Kingdom, we were here doing all your dirty work. You told us we’d get paid.” 

 Hunter glared. It was not frolicking. For over ten years Hunter had to play lapdog to the King and Queen as the royal advisor. Forced to do this, demanded to do that. It was hard, tedious work that never went appreciated. Nor should it be. The work given to him was insulting. Hunter Zolomon was not born to serve people or follow orders like cattle. No. Every minute spent under the directives of the Queen made his blood curdle ever since his plan ten years ago went awry and he only managed to kill a third of the Royal Family he needed out of his way to ascend the throne.

 “And you will.” He leaned against the cart and rattled it along the tracks, urging Sterling to climb out and pay attention. “When I become King.” 

 “Right, right,” said Sterling, but he was clearly lost. “And how exactly is that related to us getting all this gold again?” 

  “Because,” Hunter said through gritted teeth, regretting his hasty choice of picking two desperate miners to do work for him. He’d fire Sterling if he could, but he knew too much now and was simply not worth the effort to kill. “Now I have all the wealth in the kingdom and the Queen will have no choice but to wed her only daughter to me. How could she refuse?”  

 “Easily! Princess Caitlin treats you so coldly!” Sterling blurted. “She’d never agree to that.” 

 “Who said the nitwit had any agency to make that decision?” he shot back. “She has to follow her mother’s orders. And who’s her mother’s advisor? Me.” 

 Eddie and Sterling shared a look. 

 Hunter narrowed his eyes. “What?” 

 Eddie looked anywhere but his boss’ steely gaze. “It’s just that….The Queen had decided to marry off Princess Caitlin to the King of Dulcinea.” 

 In a fit of rage, Hunter knocked the cart over with Sterling in it. “She what?!” 

 “Yeah…” Eddie said, wringing his hands. “You were gone a long time. She didn’t know what to do.” 

 “I guess the gig’s up, huh boss?” said Sterling, crawling from the rocks.

 “Hardly.” Hunter yanked the bag of gold from Eddie’s arms. He needed to visit the Queen immediately to fix this. “And if you ruin this for me neither of you will be making it out of this mine alive.” 

 ~.~

 “Cisco!” Caitlin lit up as her favourite person walked into her bedroom. “Perfect timing." She lifted up her latest discovery from her walk behind the palace kitchens. "I classified this as iron pyrite. Pretty, but not considered valuable. Commonly known as ‘fool’s gold, as you taught me last Spring, isn’t that correct?”

 Cisco smiled. “Very good, Your Highness.”

 Caitlin frowned, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “Your Highness?  Why the sudden formality.” He only ever called her that in the presence of other palace workers. She looked around to see if they had company, but they were all alone. “It’s just me.”

 “Your mother sent me. Apparently, the Ambassador has arrived with a gift for you.”

 Caitlin felt lightheaded. The iron pyrite fell to the floor. “The Ambassador? He’s here already?”

 Cisco nodded and went to grab her tiara from the pillow next to her bed. He placed it carefully upon her head, smoothing down the stray curls around it. “There,” he said. “No fool’s gold here.”

 “No,” the Princess agreed faintly, distracted by the warmth of her tutor’s brown eyes. He looped her hand around his arm and escorted her to the throne room.

 ~.~

 The Ambassador was a lot younger than the Queen, Harry or The Advisor thought. Tall, dark and handsome, with a dashing smile, he bent low at the waist upon the royals’ arrival and introduced himself with his gift. His travelling companion was an old fellow with crow’s feet and stood several steps away.

 “On behalf of King Ronald, I present to you this engagement gift.”

 The Queen took it graciously, promising the Princess would love it. She glanced at the grandfather clock mounted by the wall. Surely the tutor would’ve brought the Princess in already. 

 "Harry," she said. "Didn't I send the tutor to go tell the Princess about the Ambassador?"

 "You did, Your Highness," Harry confirmed. He adjusted his spectacles and looked down at his parchments. "I don't see them taking much more time, but the schedule of the Princess is already packed enough, we better not delay." 

 "No," said the Advisor, agreeing with the Messenger even though he couldn't stand him either. "We better not." 

 The travelling companion cleared his throat. “May I enquire, your Excellency, if you’ve set a date for the wedding?”

 The Queen paused to mull it over. “Will two weeks from today do?”

 Hunter nearly fell out of his chair but recovered quickly. “Two weeks! Fast and diligent, what a wonderful decision, Your Majesty.”

 “Excellent!” said the companion, sharing a glance with the Ambassador. He nudged his shoulder when the Ambassador didn't say anything. “Excellent, isn't it, Ambassador Stein?”

 The Ambassador’s eyes widened as if he had just remembered his position. “I will…uh. I’ll send for King Ronald right away so that he may meet his new bride.” His gaze drifted to the portrait of Caitlin mounted next to the windowpane.

 "I apologize for my daughter's absence," The Queen said. "If you stay for tea, I'm sure she'll be here shortly."

 The Queen gestured at Harry to escort them to the tea rooms. "Come, Hunter. There's much we have to discuss." 

  ~.~

 Like clockwork, Frosteline slipped out the front door at noon. It was when Miss Amunet took her lunch break in the tea shop across the village, which meant she had a whole hour to herself to sneak out. Ralph followed closely behind. 

 “What Ralph?” 

 “You forgot your cape,” he said, waving the old blue thing in the doorway. It was the nicest piece of clothing she owned. Probably because she barely ever got to leave the Dress Emporium, so it never had the chance to soil. 

 “Thank you, mother,” she grumbled under her breath but accepted it as Ralph put it over her shoulders. She snapped her fingers at Iridescence to get her to come, the cat Ralph had found in the street a few months ago. They’ve been hiding her from Miss Amunet for a while. 

 “Be safe out there,” he called out. “And don’t do that scary voice thing in front of any children!” 

 Frosteline rolled her eyes. 

~.~

“Cisco.” Caitlin's hand tightened on his elbow. “I can’t go in.” Her eyes darted down the long corridor and her heart pounded up in her ears. “I’m not ready,” she panicked. “I can’t go in.”

 Cisco was about to reassure the princess that it’ll be alright, but one look at her was all he needed to realize how Caitlin was spiralling. 

 “Okay,” he soothed, running his hands up and down the sleeves of her gown. “It’s okay, my sweet. You’re here. I’m with you. You’re— shaking?”

 “This is all too fast! Five days ago I was being told I’d get married and now the Ambassador is here? Cisco, I can’t—”

 ”Then we won’t. We won’t go.” Her breath hitched, and he could tell her tight corset could not possibly be helping. Three halls down was the old library with a balcony window. It used to belong to the King. They’d sometimes study there when they needed a peaceful moment alone. Perhaps, she needed some fresh air. 

 Cisco brought her to the balcony, sitting against the ledge as the Princess paced, pressing her palms over her eyes. 

 “I do everything!” she wailed. “Everything for my mother and the memory of my father. Everything for Hunter and Harry but this…” she let out a weak huff, sliding her hands into her hair and digging her fingers into the combs of her tiara. 

  “I know.”

  Cisco, I’m scared, she almost said. But somehow she felt he already knew. Instead, she sucked in a deep breath and wiped the stray tear from her flushed cheek. She kicked off her shoes, padding barefoot until she sank to the floor in her pink dress, looking out the balcony. She turned to Cisco, who had been watching her with careful concern. 

 “What do you think King Ronald will be like?” 

 It took a while for him to say anything. “I’m sure he’ll be…suitable.”

 “I know I have to marry him, but sometimes I wish…Well.” Caitlin clasped her hands together behind her back and sighed.

 She thought about her panic in the palace hall. My sweet, he’d called her. Did Cisco really mean that? Caitlin’s heart picked up speed. It wasn’t the first time he’d slipped and given her an affectionate name either. She’d always chalked it up to his joyous personality, or that maybe he considered her as a sister, but what with the way he’d been talking to her lately, she wondered if there was something...more. 

 Cisco’s brown riding boots swung leisurely as he waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, he continued to awkwardly carry on the conversation. “I heard he’s a lover of flatbread and cheese!”

 Caitlin wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”

 “A type of food, I’m sure.” Cisco looked out, following Caitlin’s wistful gaze out at the kids playing in the garden. 

 Reality settled back into Caitlin’s bones. The little treasure chest in her heart full of her love for Cisco would have to lock away. There was no use, wondering. Cisco’s pay for her tutoring barely covered his own expenses. The Princess had to look out for the entire kingdom. 

 “I know it’s selfish, but it feels like the beginning of the end of my life,” she admitted in a whisper.

 “Caitlin….” Cisco slid down from his seat on the ledge, kneeling in front of her. 

 “Hmm?” 

 He offered her his hand. She took it without hesitation. 

 “You’re going to need your cape.”

[theyearoftheking]

Book Fifty-One: Everything’s Eventual

“There comes a time in most lives when we must face the deaths of our loved ones as an actual reality... and, by proxy, the fact of our own approaching death. This is probably the single greatest subject of horror fiction: our need to cope with a mystery that can be understood only with the aid of a hopeful imagination.” 

I had dinner once with a guy who was trying to either relate to me, or impress me... the jury is still out. Once he found out I was from Milwaukee, he told me how he had once seen Ted Bundy’s apartment in downtown Milwaukee. 

Slow blink.

Ted Bundy was never in Milwaukee, dumb ass. You’re obviously talking about Jeffrey Dahmer, and comparing the two is like chalk and cheese. Completely different victim populations, MO’s... basically the only thing they have in common is both being white men. Oh, and Bundy is considered more conventionally attractive. If you were to listen to the Parcast Serial Killers podcast on Dahmer, they described him as, “good looking, by Milwaukee standards...” So, there’s that. 

This conversation still upsets me years later. It should have upset me more that the “Bundy in Milwaukee” guy went on to talk about his wife’s STD, but that’s a conversation for another time. 

I didn’t choose the Dahmer life, it chose me. When he was captured in 1991, I was my daughter’s age, and it was the most sensational piece of news to hit Milwaukee... well, maybe ever. The details about the half-eaten corpses, the body parts in the freezer... I couldn’t get enough of it. Had I not stumbled across my mom’s copy of Small Sacrifices years earlier, it’s possible Dahmer could have been the catalyst for my murderino obsession. Sadly, Diane Downs got to me first. I was obsessed with the pictures in the middle of the book... it was the first time I realized monsters are real, and human monsters are scarier than anything Stephen King or Dean Koontz could dream up. 

Sidebar: check out the Two Face podcast, told by the daughter Diane put up for adoption. I’m obsessed. 

But, Dahmer is my local serial killer, so my knowledge is complete and wildly inappropriate at dinner parties (remember when those were a thing?). There’s even a local neighborhood bar that does a Dahmer walking tour; where my sister talked me out of buying this especially cool t-shirt... she felt it was too on-the-nose. She might be right. I even dragged a friend with me to see My Friend Dahmer... because I was scared of looking like a creeper at the theater alone. Every time we drive past Columbia County Correctional, I make sure to remind my (very annoyed) daughter that Dahmer was killed there. 

My point is, I know a lot about Jeffrey Dahmer. What’s one of the key things I know? HE’S NOT BURIED. HE DOESN’T HAVE A GRAVE. HIS PARENTS HAD HIM CREMATED AND SPLIT HIS REMAINS. 

Once more for the cheap seats in the back: 

JEFFREY DAHMER DOESN’T HAVE A GRAVE. 

Why all the shouty caps? 

Because Steve doesn’t know this. Steve is blissfully unaware that he has a character bragging about sleeping on Jeffrey Dahmer’s non-existent grave. I can’t even give you a good review of Everything’s Eventual, because this bothers me so much. It’s like the fucking Starbuck’s cup someone forgot to remove from the Game of Throne’s scene. It bothers me that much. 

Here was my reading process on this short story collection...

Autopsy Room Four: Creepy! This is the shit that haunts my dreams. Good start to the collection!

The Man in the Black Suit: Fun! A Castle Rock mention

All That You Love Will Be Carried Away: Are we to the Little Sisters short story yet? I need a Dark Tower fix...

The Death of Jack Hamilton: I love a good mobster story. And this one mentions the Dillinger gang shoot-out at Little Bohemia, so yay for a Wisconsin reference! Great story. 

In the Deathroom: Escobar. Meh. If we’re going to do back-to-back mobster stories, the Dillinger one was better. 

Little Sisters of Eluria: Swoon. Double swoon. Steve uses the line, “tintinabulation of the bells.” Tintinabulation is a word Edgar Allen Poe completely made up, but it’s an excellent example of onomatopoeia. This is an example of what I have to show for all my student loan debt (thanks, Cares Act for the deferment!): the fact I can both recognize and give an obscure example of onomatopoeia. And spot Poe like a boss bitch. This story is set post Wizard and Glass, and ties back into The Talisman; and almost makes up for the Dahmer slippage. 

Everything’s Eventual: Thought provoking, but I’m really looking forward to finishing this collection and diving back into The Dark Tower universe. 

L.T.’s Theory of Pets: Trigger warning for violence towards animals. I once had Blood and Smoke- an audio book collection Steve did; and this story was included. I’ve never forgotten it. It’s a classic. 

The Road Virus Heads North: A Derry mention! Oh, and Dahmer too. That’s fun. 

Lunch at the Gotham Cafe: Weird. This is the second story that includes a Dear John letter, and a jilted husband. Wonder what was going on with Steve and Tabby... Oh gross, a Donald Trump and Ivana line. *Swallows vomit*

That Feeling, You Can Only Say What It Is in French: Oh good, 1408 is next! 

1408: DAHMER DOESN’T HAVE A GRAVE!!!!!! 

Riding the Bullet: Oh, a Castle Rock mention. But, um, DAHMER DOESN’T HAVE A GRAVE!

Luckey Quarter: Why is lucky spelled wrong? And also... DAHMER DOESN’T HAVE A GRAVE!!! 

So, yeah. Full disclosure. Re-living the Dahmer’s grave story just made me crack open a juice box full of sangria. Fun fact: the friend who made this sangria, is the same one I dragged along to My Friend Dahmer. She is a lovely, wonderful, generous human being; who is not the least bit fazed by my serial killer knowledge. And her sangria is delicious too. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 35

Total Dark Tower References: 51

Book Grade: B- (generous, considering the Dahmer gaffe) 

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Black House: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

From a Buick 8: B

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

Storm of the Century: B-

Everything’s Eventual: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers: D-

Next is Wolves of the Calla. I am so stupid excited to finish off The Dark Tower series. Only 18 years of Steve left to go, and a little over 3 months to get it done. Stay tuned.

Until next time, Long Days and Pleasant Nights, Rebecca