#hes the ghost of a real person as imagine by the granddaughter he will one day have. he canonically fucks

[getsemantic]

Opinion updated Zebulon MUCKLEWAIN is the sexiest character in Midnight Burger. Zebulon the man that you are

[prettyinpwn]

Hi! I don't remember if anyone asked this, but do you have any headcanons about Shermie Pines?

Ah, see, this is the part where I totally self-promote share this wonderful, totally not owned by me ask blog reply: https://askthestans.tumblr.com/post/756343677567336448/hey-stan-can-you-tell-us-stories-about-your

But here's a full summary of my headcanons on the guy:

Older brother to Ford and Stan. I know the timeline's screwy with that baby in the background of ATOTS, but I personally just headcanon that that's some other baby and Shermie's not around in the house because he's off in the military.

I definitely picture him being in the Navy. I picture he's got sailor's tattoos. And actual cool ones, no offense to Ford.

I can't find the reference for the life of me, but I swear to God I once read from Hirsch (I think it was a tweet?) that Stan learned the "you cuddle up to a girl, knock her up, suddenly your life's fallin' apart" oddly specific joke in Little Gift Shop of Horrors from Filbrick. Going with my headcanon that Shermie's the older brother, that means he's the oops baby.

Because of that, and Filbrick's general suckage, Shermie struggled a lot with his dad like the Stans did. I think like Stan, he wasn't especially exceptional - or at least in a way that could make them money like Ford's brains - and Filbrick might have projected a whole "my life fell apart after I had Shermie" thing on the poor guy. So... I don't imagine Shermie got along real well with Filbrick. I also headcanon the large gap in years between Shermie and the Stans as Filbrick's hesitation to have more kids. I think Caryn would have wanted more, and eventually convinced him to have another (and whaddaya know, two for the price of one!), but Filbrick all over just gives me the vibe of a guy that never wanted to be a father, and Shermie knew that even as a kid, so he felt rather unwanted.

In terms of personality, I see Shermie as like... a straight laced golden retriever. Like a pure heart of gold "sees an old lady struggling to walk across the street and gets out and helps her" type guy. Being Mabel and Dipper's grandfather, I think he shares Mabel's optimism but Dipper's sense of right and wrong, which is what makes him a bit of a square (see the Ask the Stans post linked above). Even so, he's not outgoing like Mabel, he's introverted like Ford and Dipper. Like... people picture introverts as moody and quiet with dark thoughts, but when Shermie's quiet he just has happy fantasies like his granddaughter, Mabel (except replace hamster balls and hot boys with, idk... probably baseball or a movie he saw one time and loved).

I see him as a family pillar of support type guy, too. As the older brother in a poor family, I think a lot of responsibility was put on his shoulders. He definitely helped run the pawn shop (though Filbrick got irritated whenever he gave too generous of a discount), and made extra money on the side for his family with a side job. Going into the military was not his choice - given the era, it was probably a draft - and he sent his money home. Caryn probably did Tarot readings on him every night between his letters home hoping they always turned up positive.

He sent little letters home to Stan and Ford, too. He'd make Stan promise to protect Ford for him since he couldn't while he was out at sea, which is what inspired Stan to be such a protector. Then, he made Ford promise to help Stan with his homework like he used to, but once again, couldn't while in the Navy. And he'd tell them about his "epic ocean adventures" to gloss over the horrors of what he was actually going through, which I like to headcanon partially inspired their obsession with fixing up the Stan-O-War so they could have epic ocean adventures someday like their big brother. It wasn't until they were older that they realized, oh... yeah, he wasn't swashbuckling with pirate ghosts in the US Navy. :(

Physically, I think he's the one who looks the most like Caryn. Stan and Ford are like Filbrick short king copy+pastes, but I picture Shermie more tall and lanky like their mother, and has her aquiline nose. Coloring-wise, he's a Pines: brown hair and brown eyes. And sailor tattoos, can't forget those.

I feel like he had to be a pseudo father-figure to the Stans because of Filbrick. Filbrick wasn't the type to teach them how to ride a bike or play a sport, scare "monsters" out of their closet, bring them home for dinner from the beach, etc. Like he fulfilled more of the emotional role of a father to them that Filbrick couldn't.

With Stan, I think he played defense for the kid against Filbrick. I don't think Shermie would have directly gotten angry with Filbrick, especially given his golden retriever-ness and the era, but he defended Stan in little ways. Say Stan broke something, Shermie might have stepped in and tried to smooth things over before Filbrick could get angry. But boy oh boy, if he saw anyone else picking on Stan (or Ford, for that matter), better watch out. He might be a golden retriever, but he's still a Pines, so he's got that whole, "Mess with my family and I'll send you to the hospital." thing going on.

With Ford, I think Shermie was like Stan to him, protecting him and generally trying to make him not feel weird for his polydactyly and nerdiness. While on the surface I think Shermie and Stan might have bonded more because they had more shared surface level interests, I think Ford really looked up to Shermie, especially since Shermie was - as an introvert - the closest to Ford in personality in their family. Shermie wholly supported his love of weirdness, even if he didn't understand what the hell he was talking about half the time, and often would go along with him and Stan on monster hunts as kids just to make sure they got home safe, even if he had no interest in the paranormal himself.

As far as flaws, I can see him having inherited Filbrick's temper and absolutely hating himself for it. Like normally he's a sweet, happy-go-lucky guy, but when he blows up he feels like such an ass afterwards because it reminds himself of his father. His golden retriever personality might have been a way of him trying his best to form an identity far, FAR away from Filbrick, so when parts of Filbrick come out, he feels gross. The Stans look the most like Filbrick, but Shermie - for as nice and sweet as he is - inherited more of Filbrick's bad personality traits than they did.

When Stan got kicked out, Shermie was out at sea and their mother hadn't told him about it, feeling awful she'd let Filbrick just kick Stan out. So when he got home, he was like, "Where the hell is Stan?", and Caryn had to tell him. Shermie always blamed himself for not being there to play defense for Stan like he always had in the past, but at the same time, he was P I S S E D that Stan broke Ford's science fair project. And given that Caryn felt guilty and didn't want to speak against Filbrick and Ford's opinions, and Filbrick is a dick, and Ford was still freshly wounded from the whole fight and disappointment... well, he got a biased view of Stan. He felt so betrayed by Stan for decades for having "hurt" Ford and the family. I think this would explain why he wouldn't have gone to Stan's "funeral" later on. Cue him feeling like an asshole after the events of Gravity Falls and Stan and Ford and/or the niblings tell their grandfather what went down the last three decades.

Even so, I think he tried to find Stan afterwards in his drifter grifter years, but to no avail. Stan didn't want Shermie to find him and disappoint him, and all the evidence Shermie did find seemed to prove what Ford and Filbrick said about Stan, so... :(

He worked in the IRS for his career after the Navy. It made Stan barf when he found out. But Shermie just wanted a good old normal family life and a boring job after what he went through in the war.

As for the way he interacts with Dipper and Mabel, just... pure cuteness. Picture the most stereotypical sweethearted grandfather. Stan and Ford are like the cool old relatives, but Shermie is the big softie old relative. He buys Mabel craptons of arts and crafts and knitting supplies for birthdays and holidays, and he buys Dipper whatever paranormal stuff or video games he wants. He fully sees Dipper as like a little Ford and a lot like his own son (D&M's dad), but he loves Mabel too, of course.

If I think of any more, I'll be sure to add them to this post. :D

[latibvles]

like a movie i've seen before.

once again i dont know how this happened but i am left... very fragile. the one in which ron is a ghost from the 40s haunting daisy's grandmother's house, and at one point was believed to be an imaginary friend known affectionately as Sparky. this is sad. i am administering so many apologies. there will also likely be multiple parts to this because I am not normal. also we got the title from this so have fun with that. its part soulmate au, part ghost au, and 100% left me laid out on my bed in shambles.

Either this is a real thing, or she needs to talk to her doctor about switching her anxiety meds. She has half a mind to check to see if she’s taken the wrong amount and that this is the start of a very bad trip.

Nana’s house was… special, in its own way. A small thing built in 18-thirty-something for a batch of Clarkes fresh off a ship Daisy couldn’t remember the name of. As ancient as the engagement ring that sat untouched on her dresser at home in her apartment.

From mother to daughter as most things went, or in this case, grandmother to granddaughter.

It was more pragmatic to sell the old house anyway, once they were done packing the boxes of personal relics — the photo albums and the one-of-a-kind cutlery, salvaging the hand sewn blankets before the moths could get to them.

It’s what she came here to do, it’s what she’s been doing all of yesterday, before the chill creeped in that night and she found herself sleeping in her old bedroom — because sleeping in Nana’s bed didn’t feel right.

She reaches up to touch her head, and the shimmering apparition across from her smiles.

“You got big,” He observes, looking her up and down. “Taller.”

She shifts in her spot. He’s still the same, Sparky, in that same well-pressed dress uniform, his hair neatly combed, stern brows but kind eyes, pins up to the collar signifying a bunch of achievements she didn’t understand at the time.

“You…” Daisy feels like she’s scrambling for words, questions, but coming up empty. “Sparky, right? Is that still…”

“That’s what you picked, yeah,” He nods, taking a step forward, and it’s like his body seems to shimmer from the light streaming in from the windows. “Ron works too. Ronald.”

“…Ron…” Daisy tests out, slowly. Her heart still pounds in her chest, and part of her thinks this is still a part of a bad trip or a concussion suffered without her knowledge. “I thought you were imaginary.”

The sun makes him more… transparent. But she can make out the way his lip curls in amusement and her cheeks burn with newfound embarrassment.

“It was a little funny.”

She’d burst into tears once, when she was five, because her dad sat in Sparky’s seat at breakfast one Easter Sunday. And she remembers his hand on her shoulder, as real as the stack of waffles in front of her. He couldn’t wipe her tears back then, though.

And there’d been the times where he’d flick James’ ears when they were kids — when her brother would tease her to the point of distress. Or he’d move her toys around, the dolls and the plastic tea cups. She’d talk her mother’s ear off about all the things she and “Sparky” got up to during her weekends at Nana’s.

And then she told him to go away, one summer, and she never saw him again.

“I think you scarred James for life.” He chuckles, rolls his eyes.

“Kids have active imaginations.”

“Not me, apparently,” Daisy wants to reach out, to try and run her hand down his jacket, but the thought of her hand going through is too much for her to take. “I see dead people.”

“Still pretty active, Princess Cordelia.” Daisy laughs, partially out of surprise — most of her childhood games are a blur of colors and sound now.

She figures for someone who's lived as long as him — the whole thing must be a 4K movie. What else is there to do, but remember?

She takes her lip between her teeth for a moment.

“So… when I told you to leave, did you leave leave or just…” She’s pretty sure he’s frowning, the strange shadows on his face indicating as much, how the light bends as it shines through him.

“I was still there. You just couldn’t see me anymore.” He explains, and Daisy begins to pick at her nails.

She didn’t have a good grasp of breakups or lost friends when she was that young, but it had to feel something like that. You gotta go away, Sparky. I’m too big for you now. He’d smiled, fond, a chilled hand caressing her hair. There was no goodbye. No proper one.

She watched him fizzle away in her bedroom and was upset over the whole thing for three days. Her school counselor said that was normal, apparently — that weird imaginary friend grief.

“Christ, don’t beat yourself up over something you said when you were nine.” Snapped from her thoughts, she notices that he’s stepped closer, out of the sunlight, the chill’s gotten a bit more prominent. She can make out some actual lines of his face beyond the mouth and the eyes and hints of a nose.

“Don’t tell me ghosts can read minds now too.” She states with a huff. He arches a brow, then shakes his head.

“No, not that. You two just make the same faces. It’s not hard to put two-and-two together.” He keeps it blunt, accompanied with a look over her face that makes her feel especially exposed. Which is a little ironic since she can see through him in the most literal sense, but that’s neither here nor there in the grand scheme of things.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that,” She watches, as he makes a motion with his hand and one of the cardboard boxes slides forward, the flaps popping open. She narrows her eyes. “Okay, no mind reading powers but you can move shit around? Where were you when I was packing all that up?”

His lips press into a line, brows furrowing — like he’s having some sort of internal debate, before coming to some kind of agreement with himself.

“Deciding whether or not to show up again,” he states, and as she opens her mouth to press forward, he quickly goes “Blue album, gold piping. Fifth page.” He jerks his head towards the box again. Something in her tells her that this isn’t the time to press, so she gets on her knees, rummaging through the box, until she finds the aforementioned album.

Opening it up, it’s a lot of old, grainy photos. Not nearly as old as the house itself, but definitely up there — seeing as it’s all grayscale with no dates in the corners to indicate when they were taken. Boys with hairstyles similar to the one Ron wears now, girls in skirts and Mary-Janes with those short bouncy curls. His hand comes into sight, pointing to one photo.

The woman, she vaguely recognizes, from time spent skimming the old albums as a kid. Nana’s aunt, in a lacy white gown and a veil with a big bouquet in her hands. She’s smiling up at the man next to her — the groom, Nana’s uncle.

It takes her a moment, but she recognizes that man on her opposing side. Looking at her, rather than at the camera. Ron’s smile is… wider than hers, eyes crinkling at the corners. Daisy looks up at him and although his face is impassive, the room feels a little more dreary, like the air around them shifts with his disposition.

“You’re a lot alike. Same name too,” That she knew about. It was cute at the time, naming the kids after her great grandfather and greataunt — but she’s pretty sure that after the divorce it’s one of her mother’s biggest regrets (one of many, it isn’t hard to imagine Irene spitting the words out like venom). He reaches out, as though he can touch the photo. “Walked her down the aisle. Gave her away. We sort of… fell out of contact after that.” He doesn’t smile, necessarily, but she watches as he almost zoned out — like he’s in a different time.

“I didn’t know you knew her.” Is all she can surmise. Then, he cracks a bit, with a sort of distant smile she watched her Nana get in her old age, as she reminisced on the past. It ages his face in a way — no longer a twenty-something year old, more like the hundred year old apparition that he is.

“She was my best friend,” There’s an almost uncharacteristic softness to the way he says it. She looks down at the woman in the photograph, how the smile isn’t exactly reaching her eyes, but Ron’s is. “She loved this house. I was right across the street.”

“Then how’d you fall out?” She watches as he sits opposite her, criss-cross they used to sit in her room during tea parties.

“I was career military. I moved around a lot for work. Makes it hard to stay in contact with anyone, really.” He says it simply, like he’s resigned himself to that fact, but it leaves a foul taste in her mouth. She bites the inside of her cheek for a moment.

“You must’ve missed her a lot then. If you’re… here and not there.” She doesn’t know who lives there, she’s never met them. She’s got no clue how they would take to ghosts hanging around, either.

“That’s probably it,” his gaze lingers on the photo a moment longer, before clearing his throat, and were it not for the solemn resignation that flashed on his face she would’ve laughed at the thought of ghosts actually having phlegm. “Anyway you’re… a lot like her. You wear things on your face. That’s how I knew. No mind reading.” Ron rises to his feet again, averting his gaze.

Whatever wall that started to crumble as they stared at this old photo is being promptly rebuilt. Scrambling, she lets the album drop to the floor with less care than she should’ve given it.

“Wait, Ron, did you…” He looks at her, the last part of the sentence caught in her throat. Deep in her gut, she knows the answer to the question, because people don’t look at people like that without something behind it. And if anyone should be hanging around this place, missing her, it should’ve logically been her husband.

But her husband isn’t here, and Ron is, and has been for as long as Daisy could remember.

“You have lunch with Ginny today, right? Have fun with that.” She doesn’t know if pushing further will send him away. And Daisy doesn’t want him to go away, so she lets the question fizzle out before she can finish it, nodding as she packs the album away.

“Yeah just… be here when I get back.” Is what she settles on, and that gets the smallest of smiles out of him.

“Always am.”

[rickytickychow]

in defense of Unity (my favorite hive mind not the shitty game engine company)

so a lot of people are a little bothered by how pushy Unity was, and that's absolutely valid. However I saw it a bit differently. I think it takes a LOT for someone to be concerned for Rick's very life, given that he is in the business of putting it in danger regularly.

Unity knows Rick. Like *knows* knows him. Thus, she knows he "almost dies" as a hobby. So what's different about him going after Prime Rick? Why was it so urgent?

Now this is pure speculation on my part, but I'm guessing that Prime didn't almost kill him. Given how badly broken up he was over the mere breakup with Unity itself, I can imagine the quest to find Prime drove him mad enough to do some crazy shit; be it by hopelessness or recklessness. In any case, Unity knows that since he isn't picking up, this guy it has a lot of history with may very well be dead. What better way to get a response than create a situation where he's guaranteed to show up? Especially considering he "almost died" right after their previous meeting and all Unity seems to have heard since is hearsay, it kinda has reason to be afraid. It likely went months without news (or however long in spacetime they waited).

If Unity, the flame of a man whose whole schtick is cheating death, is concerned that he might be dead, it's real concern. I don't judge any other interpretation but personally I can forgive Unity for this one. If a close friend of mine was like "stay TF away from my house" I'd also respect that until he was rumoured to be doing historically self-destructive shit.

Yes Unity broke a boundary, but the episode showed us that that Rick was learning to enforce those in a healthy way. It's a realistic plot point for them; people break boundaries a lot in real life sadly and it's important that mending them is shown even if there's not complete forgiveness on either side right away. Rick is right when he says "I NEED BOUNDARIES," but screaming at his granddaughter and stonewalling someone with genuine intentions aren't gonna help him feel confident those.

Wong shouldn't have been invalidating about it but her assertiveness is the way she gets to Rick; it's comedic even though obviously IRL therapists who play devil's advocate are the actual devil. Rick is, with all my love and care and respect to the blorbo, Actually the Devil as well, so Strip Mall Therapist clicks. Wong seems to understand Rick.

Rick had his reasons but still, a singular response and Unity would not have gone to Virginia at all. Unity's action was not justified yeah but it was proportional to the situation from its pov. Rick is reckless, he doesn't give a *fuck*, or so he'd have everyone believe. Wong is poignant enough to make him see that the act isn't worth it, and in turn helps Rick reconsider his avoidant behavior.

The "huge problem" was less Rick's ghosting (spite is not healthy in large amounts but like I Get It) and more the president's fault imo but Rick maybe should have let Unity know he wasn't dead. Had he calmed down and talked it out immediately when he got to Virginia it would have been a much easier release for them both, which is what I think Wong meant.

I am really happy with the last couple episodes tbh they've brought a lotta levity to the show while keeping the dark undertones and setting up themes for the rest of the season. So glad to have Unity back in the show, their relationship with C-137 is so interesting to me.

[kinsurou]

Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned

Pairings: Dabi x Reader

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: Smut, Incubus!Dabi, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, slight hypnosis, horror elements, sex in a church.

Ever since you were a child, something about that church always got under your skin. Being inside that old building always left a fallacious sentiment. No matter the days, months, or years that were spent performing church service with your whole family.

Every time your younger self would attempt saying something about it to an adult, they would always brush off the child pulling on the ends of their shirt with trembling hands and wobbly pouts.

In the eyes of the adults, you were just a child with plenty of imagination.

And your nana's words never helped either.

For "Nothing bad can ever linger in the house of God." 

That was back when you were 18. It was the last time you mentioned anything about that eerie feeling. As well as the last time you stepped inside that church, much to your parent's disappointment.

Now...Five years later, you faced the same house where you grew up, while carrying a suitcase in hand. And a huge, resentful scowl twisting your sceptical face. 

Your parents had begged you to come home for the holidays. The same parents who didn't hesitate when they turned their backs on their daughter, after she tore the rosary off her neck.

Had it not been for your nana's decaying health, you would have never come back in the first place. But the elder woman could leave this world any moment now, and she begged to see her granddaughter one more time.

Having dinner with a bunch of people who did nothing but judge your every move was detestable. From your clothes, to your hair, to your studies, everything seemed wrong in their judgemental, hypocrite eyes. It became downright awkward, when you did not keep your thoughts to yourself.

No longer were you the little girl they could carelessly brush off. But that didn't mean you were the golden child either. And frankly, you wouldn't have it any other way.

The only thing you wish could actually change, were the everlasting tremors you felt each time you passed by that old church. Three blocks away from your parent's home. The same church you could watch every single night, through the window of your childhood room.

Just gazing at that building was enough to feel those tremors all over again. You thought the feeling would disappear as you grew older. That maybe, just maybe, your family's words were true.

If only they knew how wrong they truly were...

That night, as you laid in bed, something bizarre happened. You were used to fall asleep at midnight, allowing the soothing melody of the crickets to lure you into a peaceful slumber.But this specific night, something was off. You had fallen asleep at the same time as always, but not to the regular, dreamless night.

But to someone calling out for you. A deep, raspy voice, kept calling your name, and although unable to comprehend the language, somehow, you could understand what it wanted.

Come to me...

The instant your eyes stirred open, a thick and heavy fog made its way deep inside your head, clouding each and every of your thoughts. Except for that urge to follow the voice.

With stupor glazed eyes and a mindless stare, you peeled the blankets off your body and rose up from the bed. No one noticed you walking to the front door, for they were all resting deeply. 

Hurry...

The front door was easily opened. This neighborhood was one of the quietest and safest places around, so the need to lock the house at night was unnecessary.

Each step led you down a certain path. You were uncertain where, but that voice most certainly did, as it guided you through the dark and empty streets without much of a struggle.

Had anyone seen you outside this late at night, with an empty look in those usually bright eyes, they would have thought you were just sleepwalking and ended up outside.

Not even the aching in your feet, from stepping over sticks and stones was enough to wake you up. Whatever hold that voice had in your mind was stronger than the feeling of stone digging under your bare feet.

You couldn't even tell how much time had passed, but eventually you reached the place where this voice kept dragging you to. Away from the comfort of you plush, albeit small bed.

An old door with elegant, yet subtle carvings all over its surface, currently blocked the path that lead towards the alluring hum, demanding your presence. 

With the strength of your whole body, the door opened effortlessly, allowing you to step inside. 

Come.

The moment you stumbled inside, the voice calling out, had a drastic change. The most prominent of them all, was the clarity behind each and every word. 

This time, you were able to understand it all.

Come closer, little one...

Once again, your legs moved on their own. Following after the strong, magnetic like feeling that kept on pulling you forwards, like a moth entranced by a radiant flame. 

Something changed through your surroundings in an instant. The door slammed itself closed with a tremendous force, rattling the whole building with overwhelming magnitude. 

You didn't know what did it, but that chain of events created an uproar, startling you out of that trance, and immediately dissipated the foggy sensation deeply fixated inside your head. 

And once your head became clear, nothing but worry began swirling inside your head, accompanied by that very same quivers that went down your spine ever since you turned 18.

Because, you were standing right in front of an all too familiar altar, one inside the very same church that you've come to despise over the years.

Worry began brewing inside you at an exorbitant rate. That horrible sensation of something dark and hostile lurking around the corridors began increasing by the second. Bile threatening to crawl its way up your throat the more you stayed in place. 

You had to leave this place, now.

Or at least that was the idea, but no matter how much you tried to open those vast doors trapping you inside, neither of them budged in the slightest. How in the world did they get locked in the first place? The priest had always made it clear that the church's doors should always remain open.

This wasn't normal, at all.

Neither this, or the sudden heath drapped over your back that sent chills down your body, could be considered normal.

"Took you long enough."

The same deep, raspy voice from before, was coming from behind, Sending chill through your body. There was no doubt in your head, that whoever kept calling out for you, and the person standing behind you, were one and the same individual.

"Why don't you turn around, so I can finally see that pretty face of yours?"

A slim hand made its way up your shoulder. Long, sharp claws toyed around with the thin strap of your tank top, making their way under the thin fabric to drag themselves over the soft skin of your shoulder. 

Even if you wanted to follow said command, it was nearly impossible to do so when your whole body was frozen in fright. 

Carefully, your head turned to the side, just enough to take a small glimpse of this...man? Slowly, your body turned around, and you finally saw the one responsible of bringing you here.

A man stood before you, or at least, you thought he was a human male at first. Had it not been for the long pair of horns on his head, slightly angled down before circling all the way to the back of his skull.

That was just one of the few things about him that caught your eye. 

The second thing, was that despite the cold, harsh breeze inside the building, his chest was bare from any clothing, and the only thing that covered this man's psyche was a pair of black, leather pants. 

Even his feet were bare, which by the way, also presented the same sharp, black claws as the ones on his hands.

But if that wasn't enough, the last thing you noticed was his scars.

Nearly his whole body was covered with charred skin, holding on to his body by the metallic stitches that retained everything together. A knot could be felt in your stomach when you saw his face. 

Those very same scars and stitches, were also over the lower half of his face, and right under his eyes as well. That mesmerizing pair of teal colored eyes of his, that you could almost swear glowed in the dark, calling out for your soul.

He slowly advanced towards you with a long stride, but for every step he took forward, you took one backwards, trying to maintain as much distance between you and him as possible. 

Or at least, that was the idea. 

Which came crashing down when you felt that cursed door stopping you from going anywhere. He just smirked lazily when he saw the fear inside your eyes, as you turned to glare nervously at the dreaded piece of wood.

"Going somewhere, little one?" One of his hands came up to play with a lock of your hair. When his knuckles brushed against your cheek, some kind of energy racked your head momentarily. It was like an electric shock that sent your brain into a haze. Almost like an instinct, your head tried leaning towards his hand, yearning for more that feeling.

He took a sharp breath and closed his eyes. Judging by his behaviour, he felt something similar. And when he opened them again, you could have sworn his pupils had turned into slits. 

"Who would have thought, that after all this time," His eyes wandered all over your body. "You would be coming back? Must be my lucky day." 

The same fog that dragged you all the way here came back with force, slowly clouding all of your thoughts like it did before.

It wasn't until he leaned towards your much smaller frame, that you were able to snap out of it. Especially when you felt his breathing ghost over your neck. Blissfully inhaling your scent.

His hum of approval was all the answer you received. But his words were what made you feel real panic.

"You smell so good, so much different from other humans." One of his hands rested on your hip, just above the fabric covering your body. "You'll be a perfect vessel." 

...Vessel...? 

He pushed himself closer, trapping you against the door. And started kissing softly at the skin all over the side of your neck, before leaving a trail down your collarbone, causing another surge of electricity to rattle your body from head to toe.

The feeling of sharp fangs grazing your skin startled you. Frantically, your eyes went all over the place, eventually landing back on the man...no, on the creature in front of you, purring, nipping and peppering your chest with his lips.

That same feeling of dread triggered your fight or flight instincts. And with shaky arms you mustered as much of your strength, pushing the demon away with a shriek. And before he had a chance to lay his hands on you one more time, you had already escaped from him. 

Even he was caught off guard by the push, staggering back with surprised eyes, that slowly became darker. Like those of a starved animal, ready to pounce on his next meal.

In the meantime, you had escaped towards the back of the church. Running away and hoping to find another way out of this damned place.

"I always knew there was something wrong about this place! But did anyone ever listen?! Noooo!" Even as a mere whisper, your voice echoed through the halls. You had to cover your mouth in order to hold back a yelp, when something was violently slammed against the walls. 

Tears began filling your eyes as soon as you heard an approaching pair of footsteps. His voice kept getting louder the closer he got.

"Thought I scared you off for good. But you're a big girl now, aren't you?!"

He shouted bitterly, footsteps becoming erratic.  

Somehow you managed to avoid him, and ran all the way back to one of the utility closets at the back of the halls. Carefully, you opened the first door that came into view and hid inside the small space. 

Hiding between cleaning supplies was never a good idea, but you had no other choice, unless allowing this thing to slaughter you was one of them.

Teardrops became dangerously close to spill when you heard his voice getting closer. The louder his footsteps became, the longer you tried to hold in your breath from the absolute terror you felt.

"I've been watching you for a long time, y'know?" His voice was different this time, calmer, confident, but his frustration was still evident. "Ever since you turned into a grown woman. I could tell there was something different about you!" 

Something was once again thrown into a wall, a loud crack could be heard from the wood of whatever he had thrown this time.

"And when you took off that fucking rosary?! I could feel it, I just knew you had something special!" 

His footsteps became louder, a warning of just how close he came to your hiding spot. You've never felt this terrified in your life, watching his shadow become bigger the closer he got...But then, he just walked past the door, without even bothering to look back.

When he walked around the corner, you opened the door with care, afraid that the slightest of creaks could alert him of your presence.

And then, you dashed back towards the main entrance.

The fear rushing through your veins kept pushing you, telling you to hurry up and get out of this place. And as soon as you were out of this building you would go to your parent's house to take your stuff and never come back again. All those years you were right, but nobody bothered to listen. 

Much to your dismay, the main doors didn't budge in the slightest. Out of frustration, your fist slammed against the wood, the sound echoed loudly all around the place. And your blood went cold when you heard him approaching. 

Hiding in the same place as before was not an option, and in a desperate measure, you ran toward the altar at the front, pulling the cloth and crouching down to hide underneath. 

It was such a small spot, that you had to pull your knees close to your chest in order to fit in. Your whole body trembled with fear. More so when his presence could be felt as soon as he came into the main halls.

"Where are you, little one? I promise you won't get hurt." The tone of his voice was not reassuring.

You may have turned your back on the church all those years ago. But in that moment, you couldn't help praying to God for your safety. So with your eyes closed and hands intertwined together. You began chanting the very same prayer, strictly inculcated in your family for generations.

Our Father, 

Who art in heavan,

Hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come, 

Thy will be done on earth 

as it is in Heavan

Give us this day our daily bread,

And forgive our trespasses

as we forgive those 

Who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from evil.

"Amen/Amen."

Your whole body broke into a cold swear. And when you felt a cold breeze brush against your trembling body, the thought of opening your eyes made your heart pound harshly against your ribcage, so harshly, it could be heard resonating through the small space you were currently hiding in.

Slowly, slowly turning sideways. The sight in front of you drew out a blood curling scream. The pristine cloth of the altar had been pulled to the side.

And he was crouching down in front of you, with a deep, desperate hunger in those feral eyes of his, completely engulfed into nothing but pitch-black. The feral grin on his face sealing your fate in an instant.

"God can't help you now."

You were dragged out from under the altar by the ankle. Struggling, kicking, and begging for him to release you, but each and every word fell on deaf, pointed ears as his body hovered above yours, trapping you between the carpeted floor and his lean body.

Upon closer inspection, it was clear something was wrong with him. The patches of non-burned skin looked sickly pale, like he hadn't been able to eat, or sleep for a long time...Were demons able of sleep in the first place?

"Please...Don't hurt me..." He ignored your pleading whimpers, observing with half-closed eyes as you became closer to burst into tears. The moment the small, salty droplets ran down the corners of your eyes, he leaned down, and kissed them away with a softness that left you paralyzed.

No longer was he behaving as the same creature slamming pews against the walls in a fit of rage. It was almost like a switch had been flipped, and somebody completely different had taken his place.

"You really think, that I'd do something to hurt my precious vessel?" His palm caressed the side of your face. The touch of his skin was electrifying against your own, sending goosebumps through your whole body.

"I'm not going to hurt you, so just relax your pretty little body, and allow your master to take care of you."

He leaned down once again, this time whispering in your ear with that mesmerizing voice of his.

"The name's Dabi, you better remember that name when it's time to worship you master's cock." He growled eagerly into your ear. 

All those year he could only watch from afar. Now that you were back, Dabi finally had you right where he wanted you. 

He would not let this chance go to waste.

Once again, Dabi started out by kissing your neck, and he had to admit, those gasps were like heavenly music to his ears, as ironic as it sounded.

His black claws started to become longer, and sharper. They made quick work of your shirt, dragging themselves all over the fabric and tearing the thin cotton tank top to nothing but shreds, causing the cold air inside the church to hit your nipples with full force. Even during the hottest time of the year, the inside of the building always felt cold.  

Dabi ignored your shivering. Kissing and nipping all the way down from your neck, to the skin of your chest, leaving a small trail of bites on his path. His lips reached down the plush skin of your belly. The cold inside the building could barely be felt from the warmth he made you feel.

Panic overtook your senses when his hands went to the hem of your shorts, finger hooking into the fabric as he attempted to pull them down. 

"W-Wait!" You yelled out with hesitation, afraid that your words could end up with a raging demon bringing your demise. But it would probably be worse if he found out on his own, right?

"I'm not...I'm not a virgin!" He stopped immediately, and for a minute you saw your life pass before your eyes. 

A low, sarcastic laughter was the only thing he answered with. When you looked at him, Dabi's shoulders were shaking, and he couldn't stop laughing.

"You think that's the only thing demons care about?" You gasped once again, when the remains of your clothes were suddenly torn to shred for the second time, leaving you completely bare to the creature kneeling before you, who took in the sight of your every curve with a famished glint in his eyes.

"Virgins are overrated. Innocence? Purity? Tch." He scoffed in mockery. "Wanna know a secret, little one? Sometimes, the people who claim to be the purest, are actually the worst of them all."

He pulled your legs apart, chest grumbling in satisfaction at the sight of your bare sex present before him. And when your hands went down to attempt covering you body, he just growled, trapping them both by the wrist. Claws digging slightly into the skin, just enough to leave small traces of pain.

"Don't you ever, hide yourself from your master." He growled, slowly releasing your hands, and when you made no other attempts to hide yourself, he retook his proper place in between those exquisite legs.

"And don't think acting all shy will let you off so easily. I can tell just by your scent, just how many people you've laid under the sheets with. I must say, you have experience." 

Dabi had to say, that watching your face flushing that harshly, was a sight he'd treasure for all of his eternal life. 

Dabi spent centuries trapped inside this damn church, without a single chance to satiate his hunger. Watching people come and go inside the building to confess their sins, hoping the act would save them from the hellfire awaiting for them. 

He could say, this was a nice change of scenario.

"Do you need a sin for your next confessional?" The warmth of his breath fanned over your core, and the high pitched squeak coming out through parted lips did nothing but increase his appetite. "'Cause I've got a few in mind I'd like to try with you."

As ironic as it sounded, Dabi almost wanted to thank the heavens. Given that your scent was already addicting, but the moment he dived down, finally getting a taste of your body? He became addicted it.

Addicted enough, to begin devouring you with nothing but pure desperation. Drawing out a breathless moan from you. Nothing but overwhelming pleasure shot through your body from every stroke of that forked tongue against your soaked folds. 

"You taste so good." He pulled away for a second, watching your eyes closed shut, the dark flush across your cheeks and the way your breathing came out in heavy puffs of air. "Even better than the finest of wines."  

Your arms wouldn't stop roaming, looking for something, anything to cling on of dear life as Dabi continued lapping your glistening core, with nothing but pure vigor in those long, sensual strokes. 

And you only hoped it wouldn't anger the demon when you pulled on his hair. As terrified -and aroused- as you felt, the desperation to grab on to something for dear life was stronger than self restrain.

Dabi's reaction was far from expected. His strokes became fiercer, the soft muscle pushing its way inside. Savoring the taste of those velvet walls that coated his jaw with their sweet essence.

Centuries had passed since the last time he fed, and now that he had the chance, Dabi would not let such an exquisite meal go to waste.

You couldn't understand, why did it felt so different from other times? something about the way he devoured you, was too different from your previous partners. It was so good, so addicting, and you couldn't get enough of it.

Your hips buckled against him, a warm feeling began crawling all over your body the more he kept his head in between your legs. And when his thumb went to caress your clit, that feeling began getting stronger.

"Ah!...Dabi, please...!" Your hips buckled against his face, and were quickly brought down by his hands, and a snarl that froze you in place.

"You're interrupting my meal, little one. Stay still, and maybe your master will be generous enough to let you cum."  

As soon as you went quiet, Dabi continued where he left off. Each slurp just kept making even warmer on the inside. And when he pulled away to suckle on your swollen clit. It felt like an explosion, nothing but one of the sharpest bursts of pleasure ran through your lower regions, shortly followed by a loud scream and your back arching from the sweet release. 

"You're such a filthy little thing." Dabi wiped his chin with the back of his hand. A satisfied grin on his face as he waited for you to regain your breath. "But this was just an appetizer. Now, get ready for the main course."

Everything around was like a blurr, the only thing you recognized was the silhouette of the demon before you. Something felt different around him. That feeling that brought terror upon you disappeared, and when you finally looked at him with clarity, something was different.

That sick complexion of his was gone. Pale skin regaining a healthy looking color, and his eyes became clear from that feral like state.

You didn't have time to ask, as he took you by the wrists, tugging you slightly without much of an effort. And positioned you both in a way, that he was laying down on the floor, while your sat down on his lap. 

Looking down between your bodies -When did he take his pants off?!-, the sight of his erect member was definitely a sight to remember...

For starters, his head was modestly pointed, followed by a trail of ridges all the way to the base, and not just that...It was huge. 

You may not be a virgin. But how the hell was that going to fit in?

"Like what you see?" Even his attitude had changed, now he wouldn't stop teasing, at the same time he took a hold of your hips. His hands dragged your body back and forth, grinding your lower lips against him with leisurely gestures. The friction, along with how sensitive you were from your previous orgasm, turned you into a whiny mess for the second time that night.

"I'm going to ruin you so bad. Nobody, and i mean NOBODY, will ever be able to satisfy you. Not like your master."

Slowly, he lifted up your hips, before pulling you back down, slamming his girth deep inside your throbbing cunt until the base of his length was pressing against your clit. 

You screamed in bewilderment. Amazed by the way Dabi made you feel as he buried himself deeply inside of you. The way your insides stretched, adjusting themselves to his size, and the friction from every ridge of his girth was absolutely marvelous. It was like a fire consuming you from the inside. It was hot, so hot that it could burn, and you wanted more.

"What's wrong, little one?" Dabi grunted in satisfaction, loving the dazed look in your eyes from the slightest of movements. His hands guiding your hips back and forth with a quick pace. "Enjoying your master's cock?" 

"Ah!...Y-Yes!...I love my master's c-cock!" You yelled out, leaning forward to rest your hands on his chest, head tilted back with pure euphoria on your face as Dabi had his way with your body.

He had to admit it, you really were perfect. And there'd be no way he'd let you walk away once he was done with you. 

"Then prove it, show me how much you love to be fucked by your master! Worship his cock like your life depended on it!" 

Obeying his every command, you began moving on top of him. When Dabi said he'd ruin you, he was serious. Nothing you've ever done before came remotely close to what he made you feel in that moment. 

Each and every of his thrusts was powerful enough to make you see stars. With every thrust, his head brushed against the deepest corners of your sloppy insides, easily kissing your womb.

A part of you felt ashamed of your actions. You were riding a demon's cock in the very same place where your parents got married. The very same place where they baptized you.

Many sins were committed during your life, but this? This was definitely a sentence to hell.

"Oh...Oh God!" Your eyes widened in bliss, wandering all around the walls of the church. In the midst of it all, you realized Dabi had positioned you both, in a way that you sat right in front of the statue of the lord. It almost made it seem as if the lord himself, was judging your actions with nothing but a disgraceful eye.

Dabi let out one of the darkest chuckles you've ever heard. Dark enough to make every hair in your body stand. 

"God won't hear you now, little one. But the devil will"

In the blink of an eye, he was sitting up. Embracing your waist with a deathly grip. His already rough pace became downright barbaric, so much that it started hurting, but it hurt so fucking good.

The feeling of another climax rattled your thoughts. Everything around you became a blur from the upcoming high. Dabi felt it, and knew he had to get it done fast, it was the perfect chance, and there was no way he would let it go to waste.

"You're getting close, little one. Aren't you?" He pulled your body closer to him, into the suffocating waves of heat. Your wrapped your own arms around his heck, and held him closer to yourself, running your nails along his scalp in the process, which made him purr in enjoyment. 

For a minute, you could have sworn you saw something akin to a blue flame coming to life around him. "Do it my pet, come for your master. And lend your soul to me."

His mouth latched on your neck, tongue running circles around the soft skin, looking for a certain spot. And when he found just the right place, his fangs bit down harshly. Right at the same time your climax overtook your senses. 

All you could do was scream as you felt him tear on the skin with those sharp fangs of his. A warm, sticky sensation ran down your shoulder all the way to your chest. Followed by a scorching pain.

The smell of copper and smoke became intoxicating as Dabi's body trembled, and then he let out an earth shaking roar as he came. Filling your womb with rope after rope of scalding, hot cum.

Exhaustion took over your limp, shaking body. As much as you tried to move, even attempting to lift a finger was considered impossible.

Dabi planted a small, tender kiss on the spot where he sunk his fangs less than a minute ago. During that time, your sweat covered bodies clung to eachother's, still yearning for much craved contact, all while trying to catch your breath. 

When he pulled away, Dabi admired his work as the bite he left on your neck glowed brightly, before dying down and leaving behind a beautiful, burgundy mark. 

Finally, after so many years trapped in this goddamn place, he finally had a vessel. Now, he could leave once and for all.

Dabi carefully pulled away, watching his seed run down your shaky legs with every little throb of that delicious, little hole of yours. If claiming a vessel wasn't that draining to begin with, he'd definitely fuck you again. 

"You, are perfect."  He carried your passed out self in his arms. Taking you all the way to one of the pews, where he laid you down softly on the wooden surface. One of his hands brushed a loose strand of hair back into its proper place. "I'll see you soon, little one."

Taking one last look at his sleeping vessel, Dabi turned on his feet and walked to the church's entrance. As soon as he got closer, the door opened gracefully on its own. 

For the first time in centuries, he was finally able to leave his prison. And with a deep breath of relief and a serene smile, Dabi walked away from the church, disappearing into the dark depths of the night.

......

"...W...up....Wa...ke...Wake up.." Someone kept calling out your name.

Slowly, your eyelids stirred open, and the first thing you saw was a black cassock coming into view, accompanied by the worried face of a middle-aged man you've known since childhood.

What was father August doing in your room?

"Thank god, you're finally awake. What are you doing sleeping in the church?"

Wait...Church?

Your eyes widened in an instant. Father August's words made the memories from last night come back abruptly. The voice, being locked inside the church....And Dabi.

You got up from the pew where you had fallen asleep, and looked around frantically before looking down at your body. All of your clothes were unscathed. But you could have sworn they were torn to nothing but rags after Dabi tore them apart with those big, black claws of his.

Dabi...Where was he?

Thinking about him made you realize something. For the first time, the church no longer felt cold. It had a warm, welcoming feeling to it. Had this sensation been here all those years ago, you'd probably still be on good terms with your family.

"Are you feeling unwell? You seem pale."   

"Y-Yeah..." You looked all around the church. The pews that had been slammed into the wall, broken into pieces, were good as new. And the altar at the front, where its cloth had been carelessly thrown to the side when Dabi found you hiding, was also untouched.

"Was it just a dream?" You asked to yourself. Remembering everything the demon did to you, yet not a single part of your body felt sore. In fact, you felt better than ever. So full of energy.

"What are you talking about? Are you having night terrors again?" 

Oh shit, Father August was still here. 

"N-No! Everything's fine, father!" You reassured the older man that stood straight in front of you. "I must have sleep walked all the way here! Remember I used to do that when I was a kid? ahahaha..." 

No way you would tell him about what happened last night....If it ever happened in the first place.

He was kind enough to walk you home. To say your parents were worried was putting it lightly. They were terrified when your mother went to wake you up and found the bed empty. It was strange, watching how worried they were about you, when they never bothered to call you for a long time.

A tired sigh left your lips once you finally went inside your bedroom. It was barely morning and the whole house was already in chaos.

"Right, today we're going to see Grandma." The suitcase was pulled on top of the mattress with ease. Good thing you preferred to travel lightly. "Better get changed now."

From the small arrangement of clothes, you picked out a white sundress. Then you pulled out the hair dryer as well and turned back to the mirror so you could fix the bird nest in your head, also called hair.

When you saw th reflection in the mirror, your whole body became stiff.

There was a strange mark on your neck. A deep shade of burgundy adorned your skin in the shape of a small flame, running down all the way to the collarbone...Right in the spot where he bit you last night.

The dryer fell out of your hands with a loud clank as you stood in front of the mirror, watching this...thing on your neck with pure horror.Why didn't anyone say anything when you came in with this mark covering a good portion of your skin?!

Your thoughts were interrupted when your mother barged inside the room with a worried look on her face. And you were quick to cover the mark before she could see it.

"What happened? I heard something falling?" She looked at you in worry.

"N-Nothing! The dryer just slipped from my hands!" But she wasn't satisfied by that answer, and squinted in disdain when she saw the way you hid from her prying eyes.

"What are you hiding? Don't tell me you actually got that tattoo?!" She approached with an angry pace to take a closer look at your neck.

"I told you, it's nothing!" But she didn't listen, pulling your hand away from your neck by force. Your eyes closed shut, expecting her to start yelling just like that time you got your ears pierced again.

"Why are you grabbing your neck? Does it hurt?" 

"You can't see it?" You asked quietly. But she just gave you a look.

"See what?" 

So...they couldn't see the mark on your neck?

..........

Three weeks later, you finally came back to your precious apartment, away from your family, and that cursed church. But also away from an answer.

What happened that night? Did something even happen at all? Or was it just your brain playing tricks on you? 

Groaning in frustration, you decided to forget about everything and kept walking back home, carrying a bunch of groceries to restock the fridge. Besides, tonight was Taco Tuesday, and you were eager to start preparing your meal.

When you got inside the building's main hall, you could see the landlord talking with someone at the lobby, but their back was facing you, so at the moment, it was impossible to see their face.

The moment the old lady saw you walk inside, her face lit up with joy as she waved at you, and made a gesture to come closer.

"Good afternoon dear! How did your little visit go?" She was always a curious woman, but never meant it in a bad way. There was nobody in the apartment complex who didn't love Miss Yuki.

"Good afternoon Yuki! And well, you already know how it went. It's always the same after all..." You grumbled, not really feeling like going into detail about what happened.

Then you turned sideways to see her guest. A dark haired male just stood there, watching the interaction between the older woman and you with a lazy smile. 

He was wearing a pair of ripped, dark jeans. Black military boots, and a white T-shirt underneath a leather jacket. One of his most prominent features was those teal eyes of his.

Somehow....He seemed familiar.

"Oh how rude of me! My memory's not what it used to be!" Yuki clapped her hands together, embarrassed that she just ignored her guest in favor of talking to you. 

"This is Touya! He just moved into the apartment right next to yours! I was just about to take him to his new home, but I need to take Mochi to the vet. Would you please be a darling and show him the way for me?"  

"Ah, that naughty cat? again?" You laughed sarcastically. That cat of hers always seemed to get into trouble for something. "Don't worry Yuki, I'll take him off your hands!"

"You're such a sweetie! Now, here are your keys, Touya. Please let us know if there's anything you need help with!" She handed Touya the set of keys, and swiftly walked inside her home.

Turning back to Touya, you greeted him with a sheepish smile, ignoring the burning sensation at the side of your neck.

"So, I guess we're neighbors. Welcome to out little community. Just let me put this in my fridge and I'll give you a tour!"

"Ah, yeah. Thank you for the help." ...Even his voice was familiar.

You walked together to the second floor. On the way there, Touya mentioned how her was starting anew. Away from everything, and everyone. In a way, he was just like you.

"Well, this is my place!" You beamed, juggling with the set of keys and the bags in had. Touya had offered to help, but you refused. After you finally unlocked the door with a victorious hum, you pushed it open with your hips, walked inside and turned back to face your new neighbor.

Who's face, for some reason, became dead serious the moment you looked him in the eye.

"Please come in. I'll prepare some coffe!" As cheerful as you were. The smile slowly, slowly disappeared when you saw the way Touya was staring at you. 

There was a dangerous smirk on his face, and an all to familiar glint in his eyes...

He quickly stepped forward, and stood in front of you with a proximity, that allowed you to feel the heat of his whole body. He trapped your chin in between his fingers, and licked his lips with an evident hunger in those blue orbs.

"W-What are you doing?" The nerves were such, that you didn't notice when the bags of groceries fell from your hands, and the carton of milk spilling all over the floor, creating a puddle besides your feet.

"Remember what I told you last time?" From the corner of your eye, you could see those same horns from that night, slowly starting to come out. Your heart pounded against your chest. And the burning sensation in your neck became unbearable the moment his eyes became engulfed in black.

"I told you I'd see you again...Little one."

With those last words, your door was quickly slammed shut.

@hawks-senseis @honeytama @savagetrickster @unbreakableeiji @wakaoujisenhime @fanfic-me-up @natsuosfairy @shoutogepi @gr0vndz3ro

[lostintherealmsofthefandoms]

I feel that one of the biggest mistake of the sequels were that they tried to retold a story that took 6 movies to be told, in only 3 movies. The whole good guy turning evil and than redeeming himself in the sequels it was so shallow, we don't see Kylo going dark slowly but it feels all suddenly. And we all know how poorly developed was Rey's power and arc. And their romance/kiss it felt so out of place to me, like from nowhere, all suddenly too. And all this is a recall from the original story. Kylo is Anakin. Rey is Luke. Kylo and Rey are Padmé and Anakin. Except that Anakin's story was told in 6 movies and his relationship with Padmé was explored in 2 movies, and Luke by TROTJ is not all powerful, cause ya know he just started his training. Now in the sequels, Kylo story is told with the aid of flashbacks, in 3 movies only, he and Rey only had a more romantic relationship literally in the final scene and she is all powerful in the end, so what? Palpatine was more powerful than the chosen one, once Rey his granddaughter was able to do what Luke son of the chosen one was not, which is be powerful without no training, powerful enough to destroy him?

Imagine if we had seen Kylo turning to the dark and had nothing to do with Luke trying kill him cause Luke would never do this let's be honest, and Palpatine is still dead, and Rey is his granddaughter, and this is the personal drama, about the heir of the sith lord and the heir of the chosen one. How heavy this is to both of them. Snoke is the real villain, he had found a way to manipulate the force in a way that disturb the balance, he is not a sith though, and he is a well explored villain. And Kylo and Rey demonstrate have romantic feelings for each other through the whole 3 movies and this is well developed and in the end Rey and Kylo join force, the perfect balance, him, heir of the light side power, she, heir of the dark side power, and together being power up by Anakin, Luke and Leia ghosts force, with all the other jedis ghost forces creating a circle around them and sending them energy through the force, they defeat Snoke. By doing this Kylo had redeemed himself, he's dying after had sacrificied for Rey, bringing her back to life, but the ghosts force jedi united sending power through the force to Anakin, who heal him, cause the story is not gonna repeat and finally, not through the dark side but through the light side, Anakin was able to save those that he loved from dying. All the jedi ghost force had agree in give a chance to Kylo to live. And so he and Rey can live the life that Anakin and Padmé wasn't able to live. And the Skywalkers lived through them and their bloodline continued through many years, cause and the last Skywalker survived and lived.

[kisskissbanggang]

Prowl pt. 5

[1Hr. Read/17.4K Words – Human!Jisung x Female Reader, Werewolf!Bang Chan x Female Reader – Monsters!AU, Mostly Plot, NSFW/Smut – Vampires & Werewolves, Mysteries, Suspense, Love Triangles, Jealousy, Developing Feelings, Questionable Coping, Feeding, Blood, Violence, Driven by Instinct, Confessions, Death, Wall Sex, Car Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Public Sex]

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“My little fox,” Chan grinned, “I thought I smelled trouble.”

Your blood ran cold despite the meager clothing you were wearing on the landing, and apparently the others sensed yours and Jisung’s sudden alert at the ghost currently haunting the doorway. However, when you looked behind you, Jisung was nowhere to be seen. There was no time for waiting, though; you stalked down the stairs and tried to shove Chan and Felix back out the door. 

“I do not know what the fuck you think you’re doing here,” you hissed, “but it would be in your best interest to get the hell out.”

“It would be in your best interest if we stayed,” Chan shook his head defiantly, “even if you did try to kill me.”

He had the audacity to scoff out a harsh laugh as you grabbed for Lia’s shotgun by the door, but this was quickly pulled right out of your hands. You wheeled around to see Lia holding the gun down by her side. 

“Sweetheart,” Lia interjected, her words injected with saccharine propriety. She would’ve tried to shake hands with death before going anywhere, you were sure of it. Judy and Yuna were holding hands where they hid behind the shorter woman, standing tall even as her voice wavered. “Who is this?” 

“Remember how I’ve been in some trouble lately?” You glowered. That was all that needed to be said, apparently. Lia was instantly on your side, shooting a glare in Chan’s direction as she raised the head of the gun a couple inches but kept her finger off the trigger. 

“I agree, then,” she announced, “I think you’d do well to leave now.”

“Julia, I need to explain something,” Chan tried, hands up in innocence, “I promise I’m not here with any ill-intent against you.”

Lia backed up a step, her eyes darting back to meet yours as you both silently wondered where he learned her name. Before you could follow this line of questioning, though, Jisung made his presence known as he marched down the stairs. Felix’s startled gasp surprised you, and you turned to see what he was reacting to. Your stomach lurched again, threatening to repeat its betrayal from earlier. Jisung held his own gun aloft, the ornate pearl handle clutched in his hand with the barrel pointed squarely at Chan. “We made ourselves pretty fucking clear,” Jisung spat, “and you’ve done more than enough damage already. Get the hell out.”

“I’ve done more than enough damage?” Chan sneered as he snatched Jisung’s wrist, effortlessly twisting it until Jisung let go of the revolver with a hissed curse. Chan handed it to Felix to free up his hand. Thinking quickly, you lunged forward, shoving the younger man back and grabbing the gun yourself out of Felix’s presented palm before stepping back next to Lia. 

Chan raised his hands again, but not without reaching into his jacket pocket first. You kept the gun aimed at the floor, finger off the trigger as you eyed him warily. He withdrew the other journal, apparently having found it in the boiler room after all the fuss when you left him to bleed. “I’m in deep shit with the department,” he explained to you, but he still cautiously eyed all the occupants in the room, “I’ve been extending this investigation so long that I’ve lost almost everyone. All my contacts are dropping off the map, all my resources are getting cut off, all of this to try and freeze me out and make me close the case. So this,” he gestured with the journal, “was a blessing. I was able to cross-reference every name and place in here with Shepherd’s record, your record, and even his.” Chan stared daggers at Jisung, who quickly stepped behind you now that he was defenseless again, before Chan looked to Lia now. “You’ve only gone by your real name again in the past ten years, haven’t you? You attended the university as your own granddaughter.”

Lia cautiously eyed Chan before she looked back to you. You were just as stuck. Lia sighed. “What are you asking for exactly?”

“I’ve been with the latest pack trying to get Shepherd’s help. They’ve done everything he’s asked, which means they’ve left quite a bit of damage behind them that hasn’t been accounted for. I want to get to them before they try to finish what they started. I’m here because if they’re as smart as I’m afraid they are, they shouldn’t be far behind me.”

“Is Lia even mentioned in the other journal at all?” You countered. 

“The journals are mixed,” Jisung sighed behind you, “literally. When Shepherd completed both volumes, it looked like he unbound the two and mixed the sections into two new bindings.”

“Fine,” Lia decided. All of you stopped to look at her. “If it’ll help stop this once and for all, you can stay. We’ll put you in the guest room by the study… But stay away from my girls.”

“Had no intention of getting close,” Chan reassured her before he tugged at the hood of Felix’s jacket, “and thank you.” Felix gave Judy another grateful smile before Chan pulled him outside. 

You wheeled on the poor girl as the front door clicked shut. She cowered by Lia’s arm. “Why did you let them in?!”

“I didn’t know—” she squeaked. 

“You didn’t know?! They reek of wolves and—”

“Sweetheart,” Lia scolded you with a deep frown as she stepped in front of Judy. She gently set the shotgun back down by the door. “It’s raining outside. You can hardly smell anything out there. I’ve protected Judy and her sister as long as they’ve been here, so they’ve still never even had to meet a wolf before. They wouldn’t know what one smells like.”

“I’m sorry,” Judy meekly apologized from behind Lia’s shoulder. You heaved out a sigh. 

“It’s alright,” you lamented, “you didn’t know. I’m sorry, too.”

“We’re all sorry,” Lia placated, “now let’s deal with this. Take that—” she said as she pointed to the gun still in your hand, “and put it the hell away. Jisung, I hope I never have to see it again.”

“Yes, Lia,” Jisung weakly agreed. He grabbed your sleeve and pulled you upstairs before ducking into his room to grab his things. You helped gather up his belongings, bundling up the clothes and books he’d left out before trotting back down the hall to your own room. Lia could be heard directing Chan and Felix to their room as you shut your door behind you. Jisung jumped as you finally turned on him. 

“A fucking gun, Jisung?!” You instantly started. 

“I know, I know,” Jisung moaned, “it was reckless and stupid. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Where did you even get this?!”

“I think it was Shepherd’s,” Jisung said quietly, “I found it the night he was killed before the cops came. I have no clue why I took it. It made me feel safe to have it.”

“Do not let me ever see you with this thing again unless you suddenly learn how to use it,” you berated him. You took the gun sitting heavy in your hands and opened the drawer of the bedside table, before setting it inside and slamming it shut. Your hand paused on top of the hardwood surface as you got your thoughts back in order. “How are you feeling?”

“Freaking out a little,” Jisung admitted. “I know it’s stupid.”

“That’s not stupid,” you sighed. You turned to face Jisung, stepping into his space. “Is it him and me?”

Jisung nodded thoroughly.

“I was all yours last night and I’m all yours tonight,” you reminded Jisung before you kissed his cheek in hopes of moving on, before you heard Lia giving Chan a cursory tour of the house outside in the hall. Jisung visibly prickled at the sound. 

“I loved you last night and I love you tonight,” Jisung finally returned with a sigh. “Just… promise me. Promise me you won’t talk to that bastard. We don’t talk to him, and we stay the hell away from him.”

“Had no intention of doing otherwise,” you nodded, brushing your thumb along Jisung’s cheek as you cupped his face. He pulled you close, and your gut finally calmed down enough to feel safe for a moment. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : 🌗 ⭒ 🌑 ⭒ 🌓 : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

That first night and the next were utterly disconcerting, having apparently been plucked straight from your own personal purgatory. You could only imagine how Lia and the girls felt. They had been living this quiet and secluded life, only having to worry about the occasional boyfriend or blood donor, and now you’d paraded in an entire heap of trouble. Maybe Chan had a point, an idea you fiercely despised. The whole giant house suddenly felt cramped. Your stomach was in more knots than that first night, and each time you woke up you had to sneak away to the en suite to empty your guts. Nothing felt better. 

Not to mention Jisung was a mess. As Chan seemed to finally get back up to speed, walking and working just fine, Jisung was a nervous wreck. He was finally starting to look more put together, his black eye finally faded and a mostly normal glow returning to his skin in the time since Chan worked him over a couple weeks prior. His busted knuckles had faded to simple callouses, and the stitches in his brow weren’t going to scar so badly once you got him to stop picking at them. But that wasn’t the problem. Jisung was hardly leaving your side. The moment you’d found him after waking up, guzzling more coffee than usual in Lia’s kitchen, he would follow you from room to room to room, or join you while you tried to read or get your mind off things. It was night three that you needed to do something about it. 

“Jisung,” you finally started, having led him all the way from your room to the laundry room to grab your dry clothes, and back.

“What?”

“You can not keep following me.”

“I’m not following you,” Jisung forced out with a fake laugh. 

“Jay, please,” you pleaded, dropping the laundry basket onto the bed and cupping Jisung’s face. “Work with me here. You have to tell me what’s wrong. No secrets.”

“It’s nothing!” Jisung tittered, trying to keep it light as he leaned his soft cheek into your palm. “It’s nothing, I’m just hanging out with you! What else would I be doing?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned, “what about the car? You said it needed work, something about the — what was it — the, er—”

“Timing belt?” He flatly answered. 

“Yes!” You replied enthusiastically. “You could be working on the car, or hiking, or—”

“I understand that,” Jisung sighed tiredly, “it’s just, you know—”

“Just what, Jay?”

“Ugh,” Jisung groaned sharply, “it’s you fucking him! I can’t believe I’m admitting it. It was one thing when he was dead and all I could do was get over it but—”

Jisung paused as Chan could be heard berating Felix in the hallway as they walked past. “—I don’t really care, Felix. I’m not doing this to hurt you, I’m telling you because I care and—” Where were they walking come from? They were going towards their room, not coming from it. You looked back to Jisung. He was fuming. 

“If I have to think of that idiot’s hands on you one more time I think I’ll try killing him again myself,” Jisung muttered before he turned away from you, hands roughly shoved in his pockets. You quickly stepped forward as the two men could still be heard quietly arguing down the hall. Trouble had apparently been cropping up everywhere once Chan was back to his old self again. 

“Jisung? Jay? What did I tell you,” you attempted to reason with him as you grabbed his hand. 

“I know, you’re all mine,” he sighed, “but having him be here is god awful and—”

“And nothing, Jisung,” you soothed him. “You’re not going to magically lose me if I’m not in your sight every waking minute. We’re getting past it together. It was the hunger, even though I know that barely matters. I’m all yours.”

Jisung finally softened for a moment, his hand gratefully squeezing yours — that is, until the two wolves could be heard coming back down the hallway. Felix was apparently coming in hot to get his word in. “—don’t understand, Chan. You’re not my dad, you’re not really my brother, and it sounds like the only wrong thing that fucking girl in that fucking room ever did was try to kill you, and I think I’m starting to understand why. Otherwise, all I know about her and her kind is apparently she’s the most perfect fuck you’ve ever had in your life—”

The commotion finally died down when the door to Chan and Felix’s room slammed shut down the hall. Jisung’s face was cryptic as you searched him. “Jisung, I—”

You were cut off into a muffled gasp as Jisung yanked on your hand in his, pulling you into him hard enough that he fell back against the dresser as he desperately kissed you.

“Jisung, talk to me—” you urged him.

“I will, I promise,” Jisung groaned into your mouth as he clutched onto your hips, “I just need you right now, okay?”

He backed up, just a breath away, and his gaze was clouded with whatever maelstrom was taking place inside of him. The mere thought of Jisung being so conflicted over this made your heart crumple in on itself, something you knew you were only coddling as you let him kiss you again. And, really, it was so easy once you realized how much you needed Jisung, too. A shadow lurked in you that you thought was just hunger, whispering to you with that same low voice as before when you had mauled Chan, but what was even louder was the longing that suddenly ripped through you. All you could do was give in to both, kissing Jisung hard in return as he pushed your leggings down and off and grappled you into his arms. 

You couldn’t hear Chan and Felix arguing down the hall anymore, but you probably couldn’t anyway between your shared gasps and sighs while Jisung pinned you up against the wall by your bedroom door, fumbling with his zipper before he could sink into you. He keened at the squeeze of your walls around him with what almost sounded like a sigh of relief, his hands clutching your thigh wrapped around him as you gasped in pleasure against him and let the extending tips of your canines graze his throat. Jisung moaned deep while his hands roamed over you, even leaning his head over to let you gently nip into him while he fucked you into the wall. Just that simple action of you piercing him made him stiffen up, his whole body seemingly holding back from tearing into you once you moaned at the taste of him. As much as you craved the sensation, it was easy to forget how much this apparently felt heavenly to Jisung. Your head swam, a cacophony of wanting Jisung, and wanting to feed on Jisung, and wanting to talk to Jisung all yelling over each other until the first wash of blood ran down your throat. Everything in you turned to static. Jisung sighed out an airy whine of pure satisfaction the moment you came up for air, his hand gently cupping your face again.

“I wish I could tell you just how beautiful you are,” Jisung murmured, his voice soft even as he thrust hard into you, “especially like this. I swear your eyes get darker when you feed. It’s—”

The door down the hall swung back open as Chan apparently followed Felix into the hallway. This was actually torture. “—and that’s fine, Chan, whatever, I’m going to get some fucking fresh air, but if you’d like I could remind you of how I fucking held you while you were trying not to die and all you could do was joke that at least she finished you off before she finished you off—”

“Felix, I—” Chan didn’t finish his thought, apparently deciding that he needed to give Felix his space, but not without punching the bannister out of frustration first. However, his bedroom door didn’t close again, and you didn’t hear him go down the stairs. Jisung apparently couldn’t be bothered to wonder the same, or maybe it was in spite of that which led him to thrust more roughly into you, that unresolved jealousy clearly eating through him as you whined and whimpered once you resumed feeding on him again. 

The way Jisung fit inside you — or even fit inside your life — seemed almost too well meshed when his breaths began to grow ragged the second you felt your peak coming. You finally felt fed, and Jisung looked so beautiful but so conflicted as you finally winced and sighed through your easy orgasm. Jisung held you steady, still pinning you to the wall and not letting up until he got his. 

“Say it again,” he sweetly begged while he dragged his lips along your jaw and throat. You didn’t think twice about it. 

“I’m all yours,” you gasped, and held tight onto him as he clutched tighter onto you in return. Jisung sloppily kissed you again before he spilled into you, his hushed groans almost sounding like laments. Chan could finally be heard stalking down the stairs. 

Jisung was still a mess, obviously, but the impromptu sex seemed to take the edge off, at least physically. You finally got him to give you a little space. The next night you awoke and didn’t find him drinking his fourth cup of coffee in the kitchen. He wasn’t reading in the study or flipping through channels in the den. When you poked your head outside, you could see light coming from the garage. It was nice, sneaking outside and peeking around the corner, catching Jisung rummaging around under the hood of his car, the sleeves of his worn flannel rolled up to his elbows while he listened to the radio. 

Even the next night, again, you found Jisung right back in the garage. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him at all the previous night, you’d had a fun time playing board games for the first time in years with Lia’s girls, but you wondered if perhaps you overcorrected and now Jisung wouldn’t feel the desire to come see you when you woke up anymore. You silently peered into the garage, catching sight of him as he wiped some sweat off his brow and was careful to avoid his healing stitches with the grease on his arm. Jisung looked almost like he was concentrating, and on more than just the car. You couldn’t blame him. With how relaxed Jisung had seemed just the previous week, back when things were starting to look a little brighter, you could imagine he’d finally felt like this whole nightmare was starting to slow down to a manageable pace. 

You decided to let Jisung have his space for a little bit, at least if he was seeking it out himself now. Out of sheer curiosity, you decided to check out the edge of the lake while the moon was still high up, the bright crescent more than likely lighting up the water in a gorgeous way. You had a sinking feeling that quiet nights like this should be counted as a blessing. Twigs snapped underfoot, and you carefully walked along the path only somewhat lit by dim lanterns, but froze when you noticed someone out by the water’s edge, lounging in one of the worn lawn chairs by the fire pit. 

Chan. 

He was seemingly at ease, or at least attempting to be. Apparently Lia had some beer stowed away in the house that you hadn’t bothered to find yet, but Chan had, unless he had his own secret stash. However he’d conjured the bottle in his hand, he nursed the brew as he brooded. You were brought back to that first night, Chan laughing and hanging out with the pack at the bar. He looked so different in such a short amount of time. 

Since he’d arrived, Chan had been able to clean up considerably, despite the showing roots in his ashy blonde hair. His style seemed to relax since he no longer needed to blend in with the pack or camp out for extended periods of time to keep out of trouble. Even with only a shave and a shower, he was just as handsome as that boy at the bar ages ago. Who could’ve guessed that he nearly died only recently? For that matter, who knew what he had needed to do to become good as new? You shivered at the thought. 

It was sort of calming, watching Chan seemingly not sense that you were observing him as he sat by the lake. You didn’t need to imagine that this wasn’t terribly different from the rest of the day. When you’d asked Jisung in passing, he said the daylight was mostly spent ardently avoiding each other at all costs, minimizing shared space as much as possible and not exchanging any words if necessary, though Felix did seem approachable and friendly in contrast. This was almost humorous, considering Chan didn’t seem to care one bit about you two hanging out with each other now, or even that you existed. No matter how much Jisung was or wasn’t attached to your hip, he barely glanced in your direction. On the rare occasion you did run into Chan in the house, perhaps catching him around a corner, he almost looked mortified to see you. That one puzzled you. 

At most, Jisung caught Chan keeping to himself and finally studying his investigation materials or even tinkering around with the van they’d nabbed. This was understandable, you supposed, even on Chan’s part. You could still hear him barking vitriol about Jisung — the worm, according to him — back in the boiler room. You could still hear how desperately he’d insisted you belonged to each other. He could feel it in his skin, he’d said. He’d sounded possessed, something you were scared to consider if you empathized with. 

And you’d tried to kill him. Maybe he was just as scared and confused as you were. According to Jisung, Felix was even harder to keep track of, that first squabble apparently setting a standard between the two wolves. So, perhaps, now on top of everything else already sitting on his broad shoulders, now Chan was stuck in a house full of people who hated him.

You left Chan to quietly consider the lake by himself before you headed back up to the house, maybe see what the girls were up to or if Jisung was done working on the car for the night. The back door just off the kitchen softly clicked shut behind you when you suddenly heard the harsh whispers of the girls in the entryway. You hung back in the kitchen, listening to the disembodied voices talk. 

“Chae—Judy, you can’t be this selfish over—” Joanne?

“Selfish?!”

“Think rationally, Jude.” Lucy? “Lia almost never has problems like this but this time she does. Think about what she said.” 

“Oh my god, you both are being ridiculous, just like her. Neither of you understand.”

“Neither do you, Judy. Lia said this is dangerous—”

“What about your sister? Think of Yuna—”

“Do not talk about Yuna like that. We’ve looked out for each other ever since she could walk. I would never do anything to put her in danger.”

“We know, Judy, but what if this is putting her in danger and you just don’t know it yet?”

“Stop it, both of you! I love you both, but I don’t have patience for this, from either of you. I’ll be glad to hear whatever Lia has to say if she actually tells me why I should be so concerned.”

Judy and Lucy were apparently left alone as Judy stormed off upstairs, and you peeked around the corner to see if the coast was clear. You could’ve easily ducked in and looked like you hadn’t been eavesdropping, but you shied away as you saw Jisung hopping down the stairs, still toweling his hair off from a shower. You must’ve been watching Chan at the lake longer than you’d thought if he had time to finish his work and get cleaned up. 

“Joanne? Lucy?” Jisung asked curiously as he reached the foyer. The girls turned to face him. You could see them attempt to relax from down the corridor. “Are you two alright? Judy looked… pissed.”

“It’s fine, she’s fine,” Lucy sighed with a nod, her arms folded as if to give herself a reassuring hug.

“We’re fine,” Joanne insisted. “I appreciate you checking on us though.”

“No, come on,” Jisung tutted, “don’t lie. Come talk to me.” He nudged Joanne’s shoulder with his own as he walked with the two girls down the hall towards you. You quickly tensed up and rushed to make it look as if you just happened to already be in the kitchen and weren’t actually listening in. The three appeared glad to see you, and you forced yourself to let your mind relax and enjoy this. You sat in the kitchen, sipping on coffee and catching Jisung up on old stories between you and Lia, even as she herself came down herself to join you with Yuna in tow. It was wonderful, getting to take a moment and enjoy the company of these people you cared for. You just wished it didn’t feel like a blessing. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : 🌑 ⭒ 🌓 ⭒ 🌕 : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Jisung was still a mess, only a little less on edge about it. Regularly now, he was dragging you into the nearest secluded area once or sometimes even twice a night to feverishly kiss you or — when it was really bad — fuck you until you both were gasping for air. Last night it was after Chan walked in on you both reading on the couch in the study when he was looking for a book, and now you had the shadow of a sizable love bite next to the scar of your real bite to show for it. Jisung said Chan had given you a look, but you didn’t recall ever seeing such a thing. Tonight, where he had pulled you into the den and told you yet again that he needed you, was because of something he hadn’t explained yet. 

It was almost as if Jisung was burying something in you, almost staking his claim if you insisted you were his. Admittedly, it was relieving and good, or else you hopefully wouldn’t let Jisung keep getting away with doing this instead of talking to you. The way Jisung loved you was like nothing you ever got to experience before, and keeping it and maintaining it was sort of becoming precious to you, even though you still weren’t sure if you entirely felt the same. It wasn’t that you felt you didn’t love Jisung — it’s just that you were simply and utterly terrified of that possibility. You already pulled him in this far. Regardless, you occasionally tried to cajole Jisung into opening up more. 

Even now, you slowed your hips as you rode him on one of Lia’s plush easy chairs. “Jay, we can’t keep not talking about this,” you lightly chided, partly from trying not to tire out too quickly, partly from wanting to remain gentle with him.

“What’s to talk about?” He breathlessly asked, now thrusting against his grip on your hips to make up for your dropped pace. “I’m still jealous, he’s still here, and that’s still making it difficult to work it out.”

“Jisung,” you said, more firmly now, and his glazed eyes sparkled a bit when he looked up into yours as you stilled on his lap. “Come on. You came in from outside and were so fired up that you’re still covered in grime.”

It was true. Jisung was in such a hurry that there were now smudges of oily fingerprints on your thighs from the car. You would have to come back and surreptitiously clean the leather upholstery of the easy chair.

“Oh my god, fine,” Jisung groaned. “I’m warning you: it’s stupid.”

“Jay.”

“Alright, alright, jeez,” he laughed tepidly under his breath in a vain attempt to keep things light. Even still, the facade dropped right away as Jisung’s eyes were quickly downcast in embarrassment. “The idiot snuck up on me in the garage.”

“He what?” Your blood boiled. Jisung’s eyes lit up in alarm.

“No! Not like that. He didn’t really sneak up on me—I mean, he did, but he didn’t do it on purpose, and—”

“Oh my god—” a deeper voice gasped into a laugh in the doorway. You both froze now with Jisung’s fingers digging into your waist. Mortified, you peeked over the back of the chair to see Felix let out a surprised guffaw and turn to someone beside him, out of view behind the doorway. It was interesting to hear him be so light, considering you’d barely spoken five words to each other since he arrived. “Okay, so that’s out of the question—” You couldn’t hear much else as Felix and whoever it was promptly scampered back down the hallway.

Jisung let out an amused sigh once you were alone again. “Well, that sucked.”

“Jisung,” you prodded, your patience starting to run thin as you got him back on track. He looked somewhat hurt that you didn’t forget in those 10 seconds.

“I’m getting there,” he whined. “The mutt asked me to help him check out the cylinders in the van.”

“And?”

Jisung chewed on his lip. He looked almost nervous. “And… it was nice. He was nice. I sort of understood the appeal for two seconds. We had a beer, looked at the van… and he suddenly asked how you’re doing, and I made an awful excuse to get away. I couldn’t handle it all of a sudden.”

“Jay,” you sighed, maybe a touch too condescendingly, “is that everything? That almost sounds like a good time.” The excruciating embarrassment in Jisung’s eyes made you soften up a bit. He was clearly struggling with this. Maybe, you mused, he couldn’t get a grip on his instincts. Maybe he was getting a sense of his own monster for once. 

You smoothed your fingers back through his hair and kissed his temple as you resumed riding him again. It felt selfish to admit that it was gorgeous, the way Jisung was so attentive that even these desperate rendezvous never left you longing for your own climax, that he was so good to you that always got yours, and it was that sense of commitment that made you so beholden to him. Even now, as your core squeezed and climbed its peak, you were still just as lost in the moment as ever. 

“I loved you last night and I love you tonight,” Jisung murmured into your shoulder, his breath hitching beautifully and his eyebrows knitting together as he tried to feel out the climax he needed so badly.

“I was all yours last night and I’m all yours tonight,” you soothed. Jisung groaned and tensed at your reassurance, a phrase he seemed to lean on and lean into with each utterance, and soon he held you down against him as you came to a languid yet satisfying finish, your orgasm almost lazy and deep but still flooding heavily through your senses until Jisung followed right behind. 

As you caught your breath, Jisung actually looked more relaxed. This was not as satisfying as you would have liked. Jisung needed to keep trying to push past his neuroticisms, no matter how valid. He leaned softly into your hand as you stroked his hair and brushed your thumb against his cheek. 

“Hey,” you murmured softly to him. “If you think he was being decent, let him be decent. That’s the least we can do, right? Be decent while we’re stuck together?”

“I know,” he sighed. “He even offered to show me how to handle the gun I found—”

“Jisung,” you jokingly scolded him, “don’t you dare consider that for even a second.”

“I know, I know, I know,” he placated, but his smile seemed to relax.

“Do you feel a bit better now?”

Jisung’s mind had seemed to wander for a moment, but he nonetheless looked up at you gratefully when he nodded. 

When you awoke the next night, the first thing you did was check for Jisung in the garage. He wasn’t there. Thankfully, your stomach was feeling cooperative this evening, so you had been able to simply shrug on a jacket over your nightgown after you freshened up. Your fingers absently glided over the scar Rand had left you. It was a minor miracle to not have to deal with nightmares anymore, or else you suspected the pack leader would’ve been populating them. However, that still didn’t stop passing thoughts from invading. It was becoming routine — think about it, wish Jisung didn’t baby you about it with his well-intentioned caress of it each time he got you undressed, and funnel that into your need to destroy Rand if you ever saw him again. You didn’t need a gold star for dealing with it so well, you needed someone to help you sort out that monster. Right now, however, you needed to go find Jisung and see if he wanted to hang out. 

But, as you realized, he wasn’t in the garage. The radio was off, the tools he’d been using were stored away. You considered checking the study before you recalled Jisung saying he found a nice clearing in the woods to read in during the day when the weather was dry. The lanterns mostly lit the way, but the path ran out before you could recount Jisung’s directions as he’d described them to you. A flashlight bobbing in the distance caught your eye, hopefully leading you in the right direction. 

Only it wasn’t Jisung. 

You were careful to mind the moderate ground cover underfoot, cautious of vines and twigs your boots stepped over, but even then you hissed out a curse as you tripped into some brambles and snagged your exposed calf. A fern appeared to have concealed the pointy brush underneath. You considered cutting your little outing short when you finally were able to make out the conversation taking place. You untangled yourself and crept closer. 

“— I can’t believe you’re still going on about this. Tell me why it’s any of your goddamn business!”

“It’s my business because we’re here together, Felix,” Chan sighed. “If you get in trouble then I’ll get in trouble.”

“It’s always fucking trouble with you, isn’t it—”

“Don’t fucking start, Felix. I’m glad Judy is nice, I’m glad you’re in love with her, but this is not good for either of you.”

“Why isn’t it? You still won’t tell me! Whatever you read in that fucking journal was good enough to warn me about but not actually tell me anything.”

“I’m just trying to protect you—”

“There’s nothing to protect me from if you won’t tell me what it is! You don’t understand, Chan. I’ve never felt this way before in my life. I don’t just love her, I belong with her. I’m meant to be with her. I can feel it in my—”

“Skin, right?” Chan stared Felix down, who had stopped his frenzied pacing. “You can feel it in your skin, can’t you. It feels almost like you’ve been in the sun too long and sometimes all you can smell is her, even if she’s not around.”

“If you get it then tell me what I need to be so goddamned scared about.”

Chan was markedly silent. In the meager moonlight and his flashlight bouncing off the trees, you could see Chan shift his weight from foot to foot, his hands going from his hips to folded across his chest. You were so engrossed in their squabble you could almost ignore the trickle of blood falling down into your boot from where the damned brambles had gotten you. 

“That’s what I thought,” Felix scoffed. You ducked back, mindful of the underbrush while turning to watch Felix storm past you and back up to the house. As you turned back to find Chan, though, there was no flashlight beam. There was only darkness. 

You paused in the disquieting night and stared at the spot Chan was just occupying before your eyes quickly surveyed the rest of the clearing, trying hard to not panic and figure out what must have happened in the time between you watching and listening to the younger wolf leave and losing sight of Chan. He wasn’t gone; his scent was still here, his bouquet of mahogany and beach fire haunting you in real time. His scent in the cool night air distracted you from the prickling sting on your leg. Thinking cautiously, you turned to press your back against the tree you had been hiding behind and eliminate a blind spot. 

Only to be faced with Chan. It was surreal, almost occurring as if time was slowing down just for him, just so he could stand himself before you and confront you. This was the closest you’d been to him since you tore him open in the boiler room. Standing together like this, your chest squeezed as you suddenly remembered that first night, both of you breathless and excited as Chan kissed you behind the bar. 

“Your heart’s beating out of control,” Chan observed, his hushed voice joining the gentle breeze in the exposing night air. His tone was gentle, husky, but difficult to figure out. He wasn’t happy to see you, that much was sure. And he was right. You’d backed up, apparently trying so hard to pass through the tree behind you that you could feel the bark press into your shoulders through your jacket. Sure enough, you could feel your heart beating like mad and rattling your breath. 

“Are you scared?”

You defiantly kept your mouth shut. The last thing you wanted to do was give away more than you already had. Instead, you tried to edge past Chan, until he effortlessly pushed the head of his flashlight into your sternum — hardly pinning you to the tree, but you were stuck nonetheless. Even in the dark, you could see his eyes. For the first time with Chan, you felt like prey. You thought of Jisung — his kind eyes, his golden skin soft as deer velvet. All you wanted in that moment was to cling to him and feel safe again. Then again, with Chan being here, by just existing in your space — you felt that incredible gravitation towards him that drove you into Jisung’s path in the first place. Somewhere in you, that small voice emanated an anxious hum. 

“You have no reason to be scared right now,” Chan reassured you with stinging saccharine in his continued murmur, “considering how things went between us last time.” You were frozen by the sensation of his hand on yours and you wished so desperately that you could pull away when his fingers wrapped around your wrist, but you were frozen in place— by fear, by desire, by something. The cold head of the flashlight left your chest as Chan reached up and pulled open the first few buttons of his flannel shirt. Wisps of moonlight streaked across Chan’s pale chest as he gently tugged up on your hand and led you to touch him. His calloused fingertips were soft on your palm as he made you reach out and press your hand to his chest. Your breath had stilled in your tight lungs. Just under his cold skin in the night air he was radiating warmth. A coarse breath became lodged in your throat as your fingertips brushed the gnarled skin comprising the scar you’d left him. 

“See? We match now.”

“Why are you doing this?” You were whispering to each other like that night under the table in the library and the only thing you wanted in the world was to will your feet to move and leave. Chan’s thumb almost affectionately brushed over your hand. 

“I’m just reassuring you that you have no reason to be afraid right now,” he replied. “You’re apparently perfectly capable of killing me. I don’t think I would’ve made it if you weren’t so courteous to leave me for Felix to find.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t trying,” you retorted. “And I’m not afraid of you.”

“Good. I’m grateful nonetheless,” Chan shrugged as he let you wrench your hand away. “Besides, the only reason you would have to be afraid right now would be if you knew how amazing you smell. You really should be more mindful of your surroundings; you never know what’s hiding. I watched you from the trees for three days back at your aunt’s house without you knowing. It was just a scratch this time, sure, but who knows about next time. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Chan,” you said as you attempted to stand your ground. “Just let me go back to the house.”

“If you’re lurking in the woods looking for secrets, I’m letting you in on one now,” Chan murmured, letting himself fall closer into you so he could breathe you in. It felt so incredible but so unnerving to have him this close. “You don’t know how lucky you are. You were alone with the wolf just a few weeks ago and still came out on top.”

“You’re not implying that you would’ve—”

“Eaten you? Why not? The wolf sure as hell wanted to— which is sick, considering how much it likes you. Just staring at you bleeding under me almost like you are right now, with that moon haunting me outside the motel��� every little nag of the wolf telling me how easy it would’ve been to tear into you while I still had to reconcile with Rand trying to claim you, praying none of his blood got in that bite to accidentally complete the claim.”

Chan’s wolf sounded too much like the little whisper in the back of your mind for your comfort. In fact, you were never aware that the wolf was apparently its own mind. You knew the actual wolf form was extremely painful to assume and was really only used in dire situations. It was reasonably handled with medication or meditation, but to think that the wolf still made its own decisions and the human was just a passenger along for the ride… you didn’t like it.

Then again, Chan was the only wolf you knew intimately. Who knew what else would be news to you. Your fingertips pressed hard into the rough wood of the tree trunk to try and keep from trembling. Chan looked breathtaking like this, his eyes darkening as the predator tried to take hold inside him. “Why not give in, then, if it’s so easy,” you challenged him. 

“Because you gave in first,” he softly replied, the lilt in his dark tone hypnotic. “You gave into your hunger before I could give in to mine. You were lucky to make it out at the last full moon. I’d be more careful of the one coming up. You don’t deserve your luck running out.”

You felt sick. Despite the ravenous way his eyes bore into you, his warning sounded genuine, and as Chan clearly struggled with every demon on his back, including his wolf, you grappled with yours. You thought of Jisung, sleeping peacefully beside you as he couldn’t stay awake anymore at the end of his night. You thought of Chan, and the way he tried so hard to keep Rand away from you that night in the store, the way he’d truly seemed afraid of you when you gave into your own monster. 

As you noticed Chan heavily considering his proximity to you, his weighted hesitance and his own bated breath exposing him apparently caught between pulling you close and running away, you finally saw it: Chan hated this. The way he nervously licked his lips, the worry knotted up in his brow, his jaw set stern — he loathed how good you smelled. Even as he leaned in to your timid trepidation, his lips tempting closer to yours, you could feel a desperate restraint in him. You held your breath as you felt his own on your skin. Nervous excitement played with your heartbeat and you let your eyes close. 

Chan paused, one moment away. “Please stop me.”

Your eyes snapped open at his quiet plea. You could do that. For both of you. 

Chan grunted and cursed when you pressed both your hands to his chest and shoved him off, but he let you run. You ran all the way back to the house, until you saw the light actually on in the garage. 

Jisung barely had a moment to smile hello as you threw yourself into his arms, let alone have any time to figure out what was going on with you when you feverishly kissed him. He tried to caress and pet you down off of him. “Hey, hey, baby…” Jisung soothed. He wiped his grease-stained hands on his jeans before he worriedly cupped your face to get a look at you. “What’s wrong?”

“I really need you right now,” you breathlessly pleaded, and you kissed him again where you stood by the open passenger side door. Jisung nodded gravely in your embrace, knowing damn well what that felt like. His fingers caressed your hair, down to your shoulders as he turned and pressed you against the car, ultimately reaching down to tilt the front seat forward so he could gently herd you inside to lay across the backseat. 

“How much—”

“Everything, Jay,” you desperately whined, “I need you so much right now.”

The torrid firefight of conflicting emotions taking place inside you was overwhelming to say the least, as Jisung nodded dutifully. He was ready for you in minutes and was already pulling at the hem of your nightgown under your jacket, his mindful fingertips lighting you up instantly. If you could be there for him at the drop of a hat, so could he, and you were grateful once he prodded up against you between your legs. When had you gotten so wet? You barely had time to wonder past your gasp as Jisung gently stretched you open around him. As your mind was awash, you grounded yourself, coming home to his scent of deer and buttercups. His impassioned groans in your ear brought you back to earth, back to this moment between only you and him. However, even then you couldn’t shake this feeling that you weren’t alone as Jisung fucked the worry out of you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was Chan. Either mentally or literally outside the garage, Chan was there and invading your moment. 

Apparently Jisung noticed you elsewhere underneath him. “Hey,” he softly called to you, wanting to bring you back, “I loved you last night and I love you tonight.”

“Jisung,” you gasped and whined, “I love you, too.”

Jisung slowed to a halt, hips stilled between your legs as you realized what you just said. His eyes bore deep into you, wondering if he heard you right. And when you thought about it, you knew he heard right. You loved Jisung.

Something about sharing that moment in the backseat of Jisung’s car seemed to make time slow and pull you two into sync with each other. The second he finally moved, he really was making love to you. Jisung kissed your face as he moved together with you, and that closeness felt thick, an invisible tether making you clutch tightly onto him. 

“Say it again,” Jisung breathed against you, and you could hear the precipice approaching from the stilted confidence in his voice. 

“I love you, Jisung—” you whimpered, his hushed intensity only adding to the peak he was pushing you towards, right up to when you toppled over the edge. Your legs squeezed around Jisung’s hips, your breathy cries reverberating in the quiet car in the silent garage as you came, and he wasn’t far behind. Jisung’s hips faltered against yours as he rolled into you once, twice more, and climaxed with an emphatic sigh, his voice husky and thick from working you over. 

You reached for him immediately, finding his lips in the dark as he did with you that first time in the bookstore, and glided your fingers back through his hair as he looked into your eyes; the dark brown rimming his enlarged pupils seemed to have a sparkle within them, like a set of stars only you had the privilege of knowing. His chest pushed into yours as you both caught your breath. You could feel the buttons of his jacket through the thin material of your nightgown. 

“I love you, too,” Jisung quietly panted, as if the walls outside would crumble if he proclaimed it too loudly. “I loved you last night, I love you tonight — and I’m going to love you tomorrow.”

The world felt cozier when you awoke the next night. After your tryst in Jisung’s car, you had spent the rest of the evening together, the most time you’d spent alone and relaxing so far. You dragged Jisung into a hot bath with you, where he found the already healed scratches from the bramble bush. He did ask what happened. You simply told him Chan had snuck up on you in the woods by accident and frightened you, and as much as you told him not to, Jisung was still hard-pressed to go talk to him. You could only relax once you calmed him down enough and pushed him into bed. 

Everything was fine, really. With Chan set on his path and you set on yours, you would hopefully never have to see him again after Rand and the journals were dealt with. You would never have to tell Jisung that the way Chan looked at you made you breathless, that being so close to him made you want to run, but it also equally made you want to grab onto him and never let go. 

After Jisung had finally drifted off to sleep that night, however, that familiar churn in your stomach returned, this time after suddenly being hit with the memory of Rand’s teeth in you. You couldn’t stay in the room and use your private bathroom, surely — you still hadn’t told Jisung about the puzzling occasional sickness. Instead, you slipped out from under his arm to throw on a robe and trot downstairs, just in time to use a bathroom down there until your stomach was satisfied. Admittedly, that soreness in your gut only exacerbated the hunger slowly forming over the past few days. 

You jumped as you returned upstairs, the first hints of daybreak starting to show outside and revealing Felix quietly slipping out of Judy’s bedroom. He froze as he caught you watching him at the top of the stairs. The hall had been silent as you regarded each other. 

“Hi,” Felix whispered awkwardly in greeting. He didn’t seem sure of how best to approach you.

“Hello.” You had to admit you felt the same if that were the case.

The younger wolf was bundled up in a cozy sweater, but when you neared to get closer to your room, you still noticed the telltale scars on Felix’s neck. Aside from freshly drawn blood and veal, he smelled sweetly of peaches, even daisies. His faint spray of freckles dotting his golden cheeks and dainty nose were incredibly becoming on him now that you could really take a second and see him up close. He had looked wary, ready to bolt. You remembered what Chan had said, about his family throwing him out after he turned, and your chest swelled. Whatever this was he was going through, it was clearly making him the happiest he’d been in a long time. 

“Are you being safe?” This felt like a neutral enough question, you’d hoped. Felix seemed to think so, a muted sigh falling from his chest once he had flashed a relieved smile and nodded. 

“Yeah. I was just hanging out because Judy says it helps her feel more safe.”

“Does she not usually?”

“Not lately,” Felix shrugged. “She said she’s been hearing noises in the garden and out in the trees, but I’ve tried looking, both during the day and night. Nothing out there, but if she feels better with me staying with her while she falls asleep, I can do that.”

“I’m sure she appreciates the gesture. That’s really thoughtful of you.” You weren’t even being facetious or playing nice; it was true. Whatever Felix seemed to feel for Judy, it was more than just lust. He’d given you a soft grin before he seemed to remember something. He rummaged through his pockets before he reached out, and offered you whatever it was he had found. Felix had placed a photo in your hand, and you tended back up. Beaming back at you was a remarkably cleaner Chan, in his uniform with his natural hair color and without the heavy circles presently rimming his dark eyes. That pang in your chest echoed deep. 

“I found it while helping Chan with his records,” Felix had explained. “It was in the bottom of his rucksack, in what he affectionately calls his Dead Box. Looked like his whole past life was in there. No known parents, no known siblings, just a juvenile record, a half empty pack of cigarettes, and this academy picture. He said the box is the first thing to go if things get bad. Thought you’d be curious to see.”

Your eyes pored over this exponentially happier Chan. He still had that shadow hanging over his smile, like there was still a lot behind him, but he seemed almost unaware that this much trouble was out in the world. “Felix,” you carefully wondered, “what’s he like with you?”

Felix’s look had been puzzling, like he had to remember you may have differing opinions or him. He decided on a simple shrug. “He’s the truest guy I’ve met. No lies, no secrets… except for now and the whole business with Judy. That’s why it hurts so much. But he saved me, and I’m thankful for him. He’s like a brother to me. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. But I have to know... that night that you and he… did you mean to?”

A weighted silence staked down between you both. 

“What did he say?”

“He says you didn’t.”

“I’m glad,” you decided, “because I didn’t. Goodnight, Felix. Thank you.”

You had handed Felix back the photo. Holding onto it made your gut twist again for some reason.

Tonight, however, after you woke up to an empty bed, you knew the coziness wouldn’t last. You had to find Jisung and make sure he wasn’t caught up in another bout of wanting to do the right thing. You pulled on some jeans and a sweater before stepping into your boots and making your way downstairs, first hoping to catch Jisung in the kitchen. Instead, you were faced with an impromptu meeting of sorts. Felix sat on one end of the kitchen table, Judy sat at the other, and Joanne and Lucy were sitting between them. Yuna was mysteriously missing from this conversation. You had to wonder how her sister’s lovestruck rebellion was affecting the youngest. It seemed loneliness may have become a disease in the large house, jumping from person to person as these relationships were forming and changing. The girls instantly clammed up when you entered the room, but Felix gave you a reassuring smile. You quickly apologized and made your way out the back door.

The garage was dark again when you checked it. That wasn’t a great sign, but you weren’t going to let yourself become nervous yet. Instead, you headed out on the trail between the lanterns, being extra careful of the brambles and anything hiding at the fringes of the trail. Until you heard a gunshot. 

You could only hear the breeze rushing past your ears and your own panicked breathing as you tore through the woods, even though you knew plain and simply that Lia’s property bordered private as well as public property. A hunter could simply be out too late, or a homeowner could be dealing with pesky vermin, but the only thing you knew in this moment was that Jisung was nowhere to be found yet and you had heard a gunshot. You only slowed once you reached the edge of the clearing Jisung must’ve meant in the first place, but it was more like you skidded to a halt. 

Jisung was further down the tree line, aiming towards a target staked about 50 meters away… with Chan behind him. The two men paused for a moment to scan their surroundings as they heard the rustle of your feet in the brush, and you dropped down below a fern, breathing slow and steady through your pursed lips to calm your heart. What in the hell was Jisung doing out here? How could he go against your simple wish? There was no way Chan didn’t put him up to this, convince him that it would be better to be safe than sorry or some bullshit like that. 

You bristled as the two of them seemed to be getting along just fine. Chan corrected Jisung’s form and posture a little, guiding him to make sure his arm was stable but not stiff when he aimed. He fired again, and you could see the paper target tear as it was hit. You seethed. You were set on your path. Chan was set on his. You had suggested decency, but this was way too much. The boys shared a high five and celebrated by cracking open a beer, and you couldn’t take anymore. You turned and marched right back to the house. 

However, you were now too full of energy and had nowhere to take it. You considered waiting up for Jisung, but you knew that would only rile you up even more. It was as you were ascending the stairs that you noticed a light on in the study. You peered inside, and were grateful to find Lia, bundled up in her usual cozy layers, all cotton and wool. Perpetually freezing, as Lia appeared to be, you’d never seen her dressed down in less than a long-sleeved shirt. She seemed grateful to see you, too. You walked inside, and she gladly pulled up her feet where they’d been stretched across the couch.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Lia asked as she set her book down. She looked so tired. 

“How do you always know when I’m not?” You laughed solemnly. 

“I just know these things. Is it about Jisung? I like him with you, you know.”

“Right again. I guess I sometimes hate when things become certain.”

“Because that’s when things can become disappointing. You can't truly be upset unless you know where you stand.”

You smirked, your mind almost too foggy to really humor her. “How do you do that?”

“I just know how you are, sweetheart.”

“I mean, I know it’s…” You folded your arms, trying to consider what it really was that was bothering you, or even what all you could tell Lia in this moment. “It hurts when you know what’s best for someone, and they think they know more.”

“I know what you mean,” Lia laughed out loud. You could almost feel how worn down both of  you were. “It reminds me of a story.”

“Oh?” You did always love Lia’s stories. When she got into it, you could just rest beside her and listen to her talk for hours.

“Sure does,” she nodded, and she was already ready for you to nestle in closer to her on the couch as you watched the fire roar in the study. “It’s an easy one, since that’s all I have the energy for. But once, ages ago, I was madly in love with a young man—”

“You?” You giggled. Lia pushed at your shoulder.

“Indeed, me,” she lightheartedly rolled her eyes. “This was back when I was with Shepherd. He told me I had to be careful, over and over again, but I was in love and I knew how to take care of myself. I thought he was just being selfish, maybe overprotective.”

You sat up. This was the first Lia had ever mentioned his name to you. The revelation wasn’t lost on her either, as her quick inhale and sigh seemed to be giving her the energy to continue.

“Everything was glorious, it was perfect… until I woke up with a fever one night.”

“Lia…” You were chilled. As far as you knew, your immune system was impenetrable once you turned. It was one of the bigger benefits of the lifestyle, truth be told.

“I kept my secret for a whole week. I couldn’t tell my beau, I thought he might have given me whatever it was. I had to admit that I didn’t know everything. I had to talk to Shepherd. At the end of it all, he was the only one telling me he knew what was best, and he could be right.”

“And? What did he say?”

“Shepherd sat me down in the back of the bookstore, and he held my hand and shook his head. He never treated me like that before. He told me, ‘You silly young thing. If you’d told me sooner, you would know by now that there’s two things you can’t do anymore: you can’t get sick by any human means, and you can’t bear a child—’”

“We can’t?” 

Lia looked at you suddenly. You figured that must’ve been similar to Shepherd’s look, the look she was giving you now. “No, sweetheart,” she shook her head. “We can’t. Only purebreds can. Anything else will shrivel up and die in us, if it even has a chance to get that far.”

“Then what was making you sick?” You pushed before you could stop yourself. Lia grinned as you forced yourself to relax into the couch.

“First, Shepherd deduced that my beau was a Non-Viable Donor. This was before databases were a thing. Then — and this was the first time I hated him — he decided that I was only exacerbating it by knowing I was defying him.”

“What the hell—?”

“The weird thing was,” Lia continued, “that I couldn’t shake the feeling he was right, at least partly. Every time Shepherd told me to believe him, a small part of me wanted to. I was actively defying him, and you know your mind is more powerful than you like to admit.”

What Lia was referring to was still embarrassing to recall. When she had found you, you were running yourself ragged from dusk till dawn, stressing yourself sick over this new life you didn’t know how to navigate yet. So, sure, she may have had a point, but there was still something nagging at you.

“What if…” You carefully mulled over. “What if you didn’t feel like you were doing anything wrong by anyone?”

Lia took a second to meditate on this. “Then I would consider if I’m doing wrong by myself.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : 🌓 ⭒ 🌕 ⭒ 🌗 : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

You had sat up in bed that night after talking with Lia, half reading a book and half listening to Jisung when he casually told you that he was out working in the garage longer than he expected. First, you had been considering if you really were doing any wrong by yourself. Then, with Jisung’s casual lie, you wondered if maybe he was doing anything wrong. It felt like, perhaps, the right thing to do was hold back, to not jump the gun, to be more careful about all this than you had been. It did feel like you were looking at this with refreshed eyes.

Then again, maybe there was a new hair trigger presenting itself now that you knew Jisung and Chan were apparently hanging out and didn’t find it pertinent to tell you. You had found Jisung out in his makeshift firing range the next two nights, but even that didn’t steam you. Inside you, you knew there was nothing objectively wrong with the two men being on good terms, or even becoming friends. It was when Jisung walked out from the shower to find you reading in bed again, however, and he said something that made your hair stand on end. That changed things.

“You know,” he laughed as he toweled off his hair, “I’m starting to think I had Chan pegged wrong. Like I know I said I was beginning to see the appeal, but I actually get it now. He’s a nice guy and— hey, are you alright?”

You straightened up, having apparently silently outed yourself again before you nodded into your book. 

“Oh, come on now,” Jisung grinned, “no secrets, remember?” There it was. Jisung was thoroughly perplexed as you snapped your book shut,  got out of bed, and threw on a jacket over your long-sleeved shirt. “Baby? Where are you going?”

“I think I left something outside,” you grumbled. Jisung didn’t follow you out.

Instead, you marched out by yourself to his little improvised hideout. Chan was there, relaxing in the moonlight, the silver light growing fuller with each passing night, and he was pensively reclining in one of the lawn chairs he and Jisung had apparently dragged out there. He barely looked at you, but his cocked eyebrow hinted that he was aware of your presence.

“Yes?” He was fiddling with Shepherd’s gun before he set it down beside his chair.

“We need to talk.”

“We do?” Chan reclined his head back, preemptively washing his hands of this situation.

“We need to talk about why you two are keeping secrets from me.”

Chan did look at you now. “Who’s keeping secrets? You and I don’t talk.”

“Then Jisung, you asshole.”

He raised his hands defensively. “I told Jisung he shouldn’t be keeping things from you. He said it’ll be easier if you don’t know.”

“What’s not to know?! I told him to never touch that goddamn gun again, and you’re laughing and whooping it up like pals and you’re showing him how to use the fucking thing!”

“Look,” Chan shot back impatiently. He rose to his feet. Something about the lines of his face seemed more severe, but you thought perhaps it was the moonlight playing tricks on you. “Jisung came to me and asked if I snuck up on you in the woods. I told him it was an accident, just like you weren’t meaning to spy on me. Jisung apologized for coming in hot — because he did — and said he just wanted to protect you. He told me the least we could do if we’re stuck like this is be decent to each other, and I liked that, but he lamented the whole thing about not even being able to use the gun if it ever came to that, so I figured I could provide that for him, but only if he told you. He told me he told you. I’m sorry if he lied. He just wants to protect you, just like I do.”

You were so tense you felt like your knuckles would tear through your skin. Instead, you leaned forward, scooping Shepherd’s gun off the ground and checked the chamber. Chan backed up a few steps, hands up again before you aimed for the paper target, still stood up in the clearing and fired straight at it. You were out of practice, having only bought and trained with a gun for a short period after that wolf mugged you back in college. Nonetheless, the target rocked as you hit close enough to the center to make a point. Your grimace felt pronounced while you opened the chamber again and emptied the rounds into your hand. Chan was silent as you tossed the gun at his feet and stormed off.

With that settled, you were on a warpath the next night. You had no patience to get properly dressed again, this and your steadily growing hunger making you feel a bit on edge. You yanked on a jacket over your nightgown and huffed downstairs before you found Jisung working in the garage on — of all things — the van Chan and Felix had lifted. He was apparently taking a break, sitting on the workbench and peering through the manual when you stepped right up to him. Jisung seemed to have sensed your anger as he quickly set the manual down, and flinched as you tossed the bullets in his lap.

“Baby,” he flustered, “I can explain—”

“No excuses, Jay.”

Jisung sighed hard as he stared at the ammo in his lap. “No excuses,” he repeated. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“You’re quite the hypocrite,” you sneered, fighting through your hurt. “If you’re buddies now what’re you doing playing with silver bullets?”

“Hey,” Jisung defensively bit back. “I told him I wanted to be careful—”

“Careful?” You laughed meanly. 

“Yes,” he groaned harshly, “I wanted to be careful. I showed it to him, and it was still half full, just the way I found it by Shepherd: full of wood-tipped rounds. Chan emptied it and used what he had on hand that would work.”

“This sucks, Jisung,” you sighed, and fought hard to not get too heightened over this. “This sucks, because I love you and I expect us to trust each other.”

“I love you, too! I trust you, too!” Jisung was up on his feet now as well, the ammo pinging onto the concrete floor where it cascaded off his lap. “I just want to be able to protect us and the girls and—”

“Will everyone stop trying to protect me?!” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but here it was. Jisung folded his arms, momentarily stunned, waiting to see if you got that out of your system.

But you didn’t have a chance. A piercing scream rang out from the top floor of the house.

You and Jisung exchanged a terrified look before he followed after you, bounding out of the garage and into the house to sprint up the stairs. That sight wasn’t any better, the empty hall foreboding as you reached the landing. Your heart crawled into your throat. A door down the hall slammed open. 

Judy’s room.

She spilled into the hallway, the girl only recognizable because it just happened to be her room. She was a wreck, streaked in blood, her clothes hanging off her in tatters, her hair a mess — and the monster leaping out of the room and landing on top of her. Felix. 

If Judy barely resembled herself, Felix was long gone, the roars and growls coming from deep within him only belonging to the wolf as he tried to get her to sit still long enough to tear into her again. “Felix, please—!” She screeched, her words cut off into a gurgle as he pinned her roughly back down onto the floor. You could see him more clearly now as he sensed onlookers — a whimper behind you let you know the girls had made their way to the landing now — and he was gone. Felix’s eyes had done dark, almost completely black as he breathed hard through his hunger.

Jisung was the first to finally move, barreling forward and tumbling Felix off the poor girl, and you were quick to join, attempting to wrench his clawing hands out of the way so either of you could get a hold on him. Felix seethed and snarled, his lips curled back over his bared teeth that had presented themselves in his hunger, fighting hard to get either of you off of him. If any of the noises he made were words, you couldn’t tell. With the two of you attempting to hold him back, the girls finally rushed forward to Judy’s aid. It took a moment for you to figure out just where the blood all over you came from, before it became readily apparent that it was Judy’s. Felix yanked his arm from Jisung’s grip, about to swipe you both off until a gunshot rang through the hallway.

Lia lowered the gun in her hand, but you could still see a pearl handle matching the gun you’d thrown at Chan the previous night. Felix reeled from the new wound burning in his arm, a shocked cry seeming to rouse him from the wolf’s reign. The hallway seemed to freeze as Lia approached the whimpering boy with cold fury before she simply shoved her finger into the newly pierced hole and dragged him back down the corridor. The dark shadow had drained from Felix’s eyes, who suddenly seemed to be dealing with what the wolf had done in his absence. Lia looked at you, Jisung, and the girls as she pulled him along.

“Get Chaeryoung out of the goddamn hallway,” she huskily ordered. “And someone needs to control the whelp while we wait.”

“Lia, I didn’t—” Felix choked out, already overcome by the realization of what he did. “I didn’t— oh fucking christ, I didn’t mean — what do I—”

“We wait, dear. Just like I said. We’re going to see if there’s any chance to help Chaeryoung while we wait for you to calm down enough to tell us what the hell you did.” Lia silenced him harshly, with a twist of her finger still thrust in his arm. She pushed him into the study as the girls and Jisung helped usher Judy along inside right behind them. You attempted to process everything that just happened in the past few minutes. All you could hear was Lia commanding that someone needs to control the whelp. And all you could think of was Chan.

The rage carried your feet faster than you had originally thought possible, twigs and leaves snapping beneath your boots as you sprinted out to the clearing. You weren’t sure what you would do when you found Chan, but you knew he was the cause of all of this.

What you found, upon reaching the clearing, was the ghost of a flashlight beam leading you out to the field beyond, closer to the edge of the property line. You slowed down to a careful walk as you approached. Chan sat on the grass in the bright moonlight, arms folded on his knees as he considered a deer heaving for breath with its hooves caught in a hunter’s trap. He was dressed comfortably in a flannel and sweats, like he just rolled out of bed, and you hated that like this, if this moment resided in a vacuum, you could find him just as handsome as that first night. But out here, you could only hear the breeze whisper reserved judgements through the foliage as the both of you waited, as silent as the deer.

“Tell me something,” he finally said, still not looking up at you. “Say you’re me. What would you do?”

“I didn’t realize there were choices,” you replied curtly.

“Sure there are,” he nodded. “You could do what’s right for you, or right for the deer.”

“What about you,” you retorted. How silly of you, to assume that both options were one in the same. “What would you do?”

“Honestly?” Chan shivered as he rocked up onto his feet. He placed a calming hand on the deer before he stepped on both latches on either side of the trap and pried it open. The deer got up on shaky legs, but quickly sprinted off. “I sort of really wanted to eat it.”

You scoffed. “Of course you would—”

“Can you fucking blame me?!” Chan snapped at you. You backed up a step. “I’m starving, but can I afford to leave and hunt as I’d like? What’re you even doing out here?!”

It wasn’t lost on you, that Chan was eyeing the blood smeared on you. “Ever the goddamn martyr, aren’t you,” you glowered. “You need to get back to the house,” you said with an attempt to be calm, “Felix—”

“Do not get me started on Felix,” Chan laughed harshly. “Don’t even mention him to me. I don’t care what he does now. I have stuck my neck out for him so many times, I have wasted so much patience on him, I’ve accepted and loved him and helped him—”

“Chan!” You barked. “Will you shut the hell up?! I’m trying to tell you Felix and Judy—”

“Oh, it finally happened, huh?!” Chan reeled, feigning surprise. “What, he just thought he could ignore me and nothing would happen?! I can’t say I fucking blame him, if she smells half as good as she smells on you.”

Chan stepped closer. You stepped back, but only to dig your heels in as you swiped your hand through Judy’s blood on your chest to slap him across the face, if it smelled so goddamned good. However, Chan caught your hand, his grip menacing as you tried to pull free. You wriggled in his hold. “You are such a goddamn monster,” you hissed.

“I asked if you can fucking blame me,” Chan shot back, his voice cold and thick, and you recognized that dark shadow clouding his piercing gaze. He torqued your wrist in his hand with surprising ease, clearly giving in to his temptation to smell the mauled girl’s blood on you before you tried to kick him off. Chan easily tipped you back, yanking you close and falling on top of you in the clearing by the opened trap. “Let’s try that one more time,” he grimly chuckled through a sharp shiver. “Can you blame me?”

“For what, you fucking animal,” you spat. The crazed look in Chan’s eye only seemed to be goaded on.

“For being a fucking animal,” he sneered as he held you down. “I’m alone, I’m starving enough to want to eat a fucking trapped deer, and I’ve been listening to you fuck that dipshit for the past month. Do you know what actual torture that is? If I have to think about that prick’s hands on you one more time I think I’ll actually go mad. Every goddamn time I stumble across him fucking you I want to tear my hair out, that’s why I’m never in the fucking house when you’re awake. And you know what makes it worse? I like Jisung.”

“Don’t you dare say his name right now,” you struggled out as you tried to knee Chan off of you. He seemed blatantly unaffected. You could see the hair on his neck stand up in alert against the light of the full moon. 

“Why? Aren’t you happy? You were right,” Chan miserably lamented. “I’m a monster and a stupid animal, enough to get jealous over a rotten bitch who tried to kill me just because she knows what it’s like to eat and not feel satisfied.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you gritted out, even though that was a stone faced lie. You knew exactly what it was like, eating and never feeling satiated until you gave into that nagging feeling so deep in your mind it felt like it sat in your throat. 

“Sure you do, don’t lie,” Chan spat, “I bet every time you feed on Jisung you—”

“I said do not talk about Jisung as if you have any right.”

“Why? What’s wrong, princess,” Chan taunted. “Do you feel guilty? Whatever happened to never talking to me? Never interacting with me? You’re not even trying to avoid me now. Whatever Felix did in that house wasn’t more important than whatever bullshit you keep insisting on dredging up. Admit it—”

“Admit what, you fucking mongrel?!

“What I said really bothered you, or else you wouldn’t be hanging around while I’m telling off Felix. You hate that I said you belong to me, but you keep fucking wondering why it doesn’t feel wrong.”

You thrashed uselessly underneath Chan, but he didn’t look like he was enjoying this. 

“You have this little voice in the back of your head that dictates your whole life now, and it’s not questioning why you’re mine, it’s just mad about it,” Chan insisted. The surety with which he said it rocked into your chest and made your heart slow. “I know, because I have it, too, and it’s not the goddamn wolf. I’m just as lost—”

“I hate you!” You cried out, your voice hoarse, and you finally got him to shut up. “I hate you, you son of a bitch, Chan. I fucking hate you. Pretend you’re me, alright? Let’s play your game, so pretend you’re me. And you meet someone who makes you excited to be alive for the first time since you died, which is entirely rare, but he drags you down an entire rabbit hole just because he asks you to trust him and doesn’t even have the decency to kill you when he’s done with you.”

Chan was frozen above you, shocked into silence from the enraged tears brimming at the corners of your eyes as you beat your fists against his chest. 

“And pretend you convince yourself that this person is actually great, he’s noble and saved you, and you just want to find and know this person because you’re a goddamn idiot and a slave to that voice in your head that decided now was a good time to show up and affect everything you do. And even when you find someone else in that process, someone who you love and loves you back, you can’t even enjoy it, because you know you’re a rotten bitch who can’t stop thinking about that night you asked me to trust you.”

The tears streaming down your face and into the grass stung in the cold night air, but not nearly as much as catching the heartbreak and devastation in Chan’s eyes as he laid against you in the grass. He stubbornly shook his head. “You don’t get to throw yourself at the feet of this situation,” he scolded. “I searched for you, I tried to protect you, I saved you from Rand, and you still tried to kill me! I’m stupid enough to love you and pine over you and you still tried to kill me—”

“You do not love me,” you snapped. It was gross, noticing how good Chan’s pulse smelled in his wrist. His darkening eyes seemed to glow in the night. 

“You don’t get to decide that!” He barked indignantly. “I don’t even want to! I wish I didn’t love you, I wish I didn’t want you, I wish I wasn’t fucking haunted by you when you’re right in front of me—”

“Then get rid of me, Chan!” You cried out, and Chan stared you down again in an attempt to not get distracted by your distress. “Get rid of me,” you repeated, trying to push him to do anything, and you finally willed yourself to move. You slapped him, hard, once across the face, and you could feel your nails scrape against his cheek. “Dig me up from the garden and throw me out to the damn tree line if I’m so much trouble.”

Chan was eerily still as he was shaken by your strike, the last of the color in his eyes was overtaken by darkness. The shine was still there, only outlined in black like tar as his weight felt more definitive against you. “I asked you to stop me last time,” he finally spoke through a full body shiver. 

“Fuck you,” you spat as you attempted to wriggle out from under him. “Stop yourself.”

“Come on,” he pleaded, “the wolf actually knows you. Stop me, please.”

“Fuck you and the wolf,” you snapped, and you attempted to smack him again, if only to surprise him into giving you enough space to kick him off. Instead, Chan leaned harder into you, your slap seeming to lure him in instead of push him away. His hand on your cheek pushed back behind your ear to grab into your hair, and you fought off a whimper before you turned towards his arm and reflexively bit into him. 

The blood rushing over your tongue was a mistake, first evidenced by your desperate moan from finally being fed, and Chan’s garbled curse that sounded more like a growl. His response was instant, his hand spread on your shoulder to slam you down onto the ground and dig his bared teeth into your shoulder. This was apparently the last push his wolf needed to stop being civil, but the worst part was how incredible it felt, only adding to the constellations swirling around your head with his blood on your tongue. Blood begat blood, and you were of two minds as you snaked your fingers into his hair to yank him off long enough for you to pull him back down and sink your teeth into his throat. Chan’s groan still sounded a bit like him, but his clawing hands were that of the wolf spurred on by the smell of your exposed blood making him starve, and his own exposed blood making him want to break you down until you were no longer a threat. You cried out as Chan pinned you to the ground, his snarling teeth finding unmarked skin on your neck to gnaw into as you tried to rip him off. His growls reverberated through your throat and your dizziness almost made you feel faint. Even as you were able to crane his head to the side and scrape your teeth into his shoulder, you were hyper aware enough in your hunger and adrenaline to recognize that Chan was noticeably hard against you between your legs, his hips even rutting against you under your thin nightgown as you both were giving in to your monsters in an attempt to survive each other. 

The thick haze marring your judgement was killing you, making it difficult to tell the difference between what he wanted, what you wanted, and what both your little voices wanted. All you knew was Chan’s hands and teeth on you made you burn, with pleasure and disgust, and the more you fed on him the more you rutted your hips down against him like you were possessed, just like that night in the library or back in the boiler room. And, it seemed, the wolf was keen on such attention, no matter how much Chan tried to shake his head and pull away from your clawing hands. He was always right back on top of you, sinking his teeth into you wherever he could fit around you doing the same. 

You couldn’t tell, in the midst of either of your frenzies, exactly how Chan’s bared member ended up thrust up against your heat that was thoroughly betraying you, but you knew neither of you did anything to stop it as he grinded past your scant layers of clothing. In fact, there was even a moment, a brief second of hesitation, and you could see him past the wolf as you could recognize in your haze that he was laying right in your entrance. Your nails dug into Chan’s biceps, the muscles there tensing under your clutches as you gasped and arched your back at the sensation of him falling into you. 

If Chan had wanted to eat you, he would’ve done it by now, but it became apparent as he fucked you, with his teeth gripping into your shoulder, that it wasn’t that simple. The wolf wanted you in a similar way Chan wanted you, minus any of the superfluous human feelings attached. Even then, he was in there, despite the beast driving him. Each time his lips dragged across your skin, every time his bruising grip softened into a gentle caress, any time you thought you heard him curse under his breath, it was Chan, and if you could sift out any of those extraneous sensations, the sick waves of ecstasy that were overwhelming you could almost be misconstrued for affection. 

Everything was simultaneously rushed and slowed between you, and you weren’t sure precisely when Chan’s opened shirt revealed that you had clawed him back open where you had originally mauled him, but it took for him dripping all over you for you to notice, the dark crimson pooling and sticking to the front of your nightgown hiked up around your hips. Incredibly, this transfusion of sorts was driving you mad, raking you through visceral bliss until you could see a peak on the horizon. By this point, a faint breeze could probably eviscerate you, let alone an orgasm from the wolf currently thrusting roughly against you. Still, you whimpered, you whined, worn down and exhausted from trying to stop wanting this like he was, and you grabbed at his chin, tilting him towards you as that precipice crept closer.

“Chan—” you weakly begged, and he was the one who looked back at you, and not the wolf. The darkness faded for a moment, the whites of his eyes becoming just a bit more opaque as he found you. “I fucking hate you, but at least tell me you want me.” It was a ridiculous request, you knew. You couldn’t tell if it was better or worse to hear it.

He ardently nodded as that darkness crept back over his vision. “I love you, you bitch, we belong to each other,” he grunted in a moment of clarity, “but fucking hell you make me wish I was dead.”

You loathed the fact that his affirmation fired you up in just the way you needed, and Chan groaned in surprise as you pulled him close for a brutal kiss, the wolf seemingly not used to such affections. He lingered until you pulled him back off and sank your teeth into him once more, that burst of blood on your tongue sending you just the stars you needed to be pushed over the edge once and for all. You cried out against him, your fingers tangled in his hair as you held him down against you and savored the way your core constricted and squeezed around him. The pleasure drained you, but it thankfully seemed that this was the goal that the wolf had been searching for all along. Chan’s slim fingers clawed into your hair to crane you back flat on the grass as he pinned you down and thrust hard against your sore hips, your numb thighs still cold in the night air before he hit his peak. His growled sigh seemed thick with satisfaction as you felt his warmth flood you, and his hips slowed their frenetic rock against you.

There was still a breeze on the night air as you slowly fell back into your senses.

But it was a rude awakening, that freezing riptide of realizing the gravity of what you’d just done.

You kicked Chan off of you now that he appeared to be coming back, too, and equally as hungover it seemed. He groaned in the grass before he reached for you. You looked down in horror in the blood streaked down you, and as Chan laid an assumedly comforting hand on your thigh — whether for his sake or yours you weren’t sure — you shoved him back onto the opened animal trap as you scrambled up onto your quivering legs. He barked out a curse as he landed on the teeth of the trap before he tried to get up and follow after you, but you’d already taken off in a frantic hurry back to the house, chased as you were by shame and embarrassment that you could let this happen in the middle of a crisis. 

The blood and dirt caking the bottom of your boots made you slip on the cold tile of the house once you rushed inside, and bounded up the stairs, Chan hot on your trail as he suddenly remembered why he was supposedly needed back here. 

You stopped short as you stumbled into the study when everyone turned to look at you, a vision in red with your jacket hanging slack off one shoulder. Jisung looked terrified, his wide eyes darting between you and Chan running in behind you, looking no better and equally as haggard. Nonetheless, he caught you as you fell into his arms, his safe scent enveloping you again as he tried to steady you enough to take a look at you. 

“Felix—” Chan panted from where he stood in the doorway. 

“Chan,” Felix brokenly called back. 

Joanne and Lucy held Judy in their arms where she lay on the hearth on the fireplace. The lighter blood swathed across her lips matched the healing wounds on Felix and Jisung and painted quite the picture: everyone frantically working to get Judy the blood she needed — but it looked as though it may be too late still. Lia sat beside Felix on the floor in front of the couch, with Yuna sitting atop it behind them, knees drawn up to her chest and nervously watching in tortured wait. 

Chan knelt beside the younger wolf, pressing his forehead sympathetically to Felix’s as Lia got up to her feet now. 

“Jisung,” you feebly murmured into his shoulder, “is Judy—”

“We did everything we could so far,” he quietly replied, his gentle voice cracking a bit under the emotional weight. “An emergency room won’t have the resources for her. Lia tried to call a trusted doctor, but they wouldn’t be able to come before tomorrow night.”

“Felix,” Chan lamented, “what did you do?”

“I — fuck — it was so fast, I just…” Felix choked up hard. 

“Tell him, dear,” Lia prodded as she walked over to the fireplace. “This shouldn’t be so hard. You already told us. Just tell it again.”

“I… she…” Felix fought for words, swallowing down his rising emotions again so he could say what happened. “We were in bed. She was reading to me. The pages were stuck, and when she finally got them apart, she nicked herself… just the smallest drop of blood, but Chan, I’ve been so hungry, you know — and I just, she must’ve seen how I looked and how I smelled it, and she offered to let me taste if it would help, and—”

“Felix,” Chan gasped, and it still came out like an admonishment. 

“I know,” Felix sobbed, weighty tears falling down his face as Chan put an arm around him. 

“Now we all know,” Lia interjected coolly from where she stood at the fireplace. She used the poker in her hand to stoke the flames, to keep the room warm for Judy whose breathing was ragged and shallow where she lay with the girls. Lia looked back over her shoulder at you. “And now that we all know, maybe we should all know what is especially concerning about this.”

Jisung and Chan steeled themselves as Lia turned. She stepped once, twice, closer to Felix, giving him time to look up at her before Chan butted in. 

“Lia, we don’t have to do it like this—” 

“Enough, mutt,” she ordered, before she drove the iron poker into Felix’s chest and shoved until the barbed end pushed through. Everyone jolted at Felix’s stunned yell, even Judy stirring for a moment in concern. Yuna screamed, but stayed put, almost frozen in place. “I asked you both to stay away from my girls for a reason,” Lia scolded. “I afforded too many people in this house the benefit of the doubt, and now the blood that has wrought is on all of our hands.”

Lia took a moment to breathe. You all did, only the crackling fire offering any observations for a minute. Finally, as you all settled in your tension, Lia stooped down to resume her seat next to Felix, almost maternally scooping him into her arms and laying him in her lap as she stroked his hair. 

“Where was I?” Lia asked quietly, her eyes tiredly cast down at Felix. His muted sniffles and silent tears cut into your heart. You could swear Judy was sleepily watching him from the fireplace. “Tell them why this is bad, Lia,” Jisung softly prompted. His arms squeezed protectively around you, but his fingers still trembled.

“I suppose we’ll need context,” Lia sighed, settling into this and gathering the energy. “I met Adam Shepherd a lifetime ago. My parents were affluent, and we could afford to travel often. I was young, just started college, on holiday with my parents when I stumbled across his shop one evening. I was charmed by the old man. He always had an anecdote or a recommendation or something to show me. He said I shined so bright he didn’t need the sun, when I asked why he wasn’t open during the day. I adored him. I visited him every day, and when I convinced my parents to return that winter, I visited him every day then, too. It was shortly before I was supposed to leave that he told me. He told me about his life, what it meant, and I was dazzled. He asked if I would stay, and I did. 

“He waited three months to turn me, and when he was done we held each other and cried, we were so happy. I loved him as if he were my own grandfather, a kind of relationship I’d never known before since I never met either of my own. But, about a year later, we grew weary bringing in donors. That’s when Shepherd suggested hiring some help. This was Minho, who was the most beautiful boy I’d ever met in my life, up to and including any I had met while under Shepherd’s tutelage. I was infatuated, but I was nervous, and I wasn’t sure why, but I found out a month later when I caught Minho hunting late last night. He was a wolf, and I’d never met one before. I asked him if Shepherd knew, and Minho told me that he had known right away, and hired him anyhow. Sometimes, he told me, he wondered if he hired him because of that.

“It was easy to love Minho after I knew. He told me that when he looked at me, it felt like he was laying in a field on a sunny day, basking in the warmth. He claimed me on a humid summer night. It burned, when his blood touched the wound he opened in me, but it was the happiest I’d ever been.”

Lia slipped open the buttons of her blouse and let it fall open. A light scar of a bite, faded to a blushing pink, sat on her breast over her heart. However, a massive scar also webbed across her stomach, one you’d never been allowed to see before.

“That same summer was also when trouble began,” Lia continued. “What Minho hadn’t told me yet was that he had run away from his pack when he found Shepherd. What Shepherd hadn’t told him was that he knew. Minho ran from the store and up to the house one night and told me that Shepherd was a madman, that he was trying to develop a cure for lycanthropy and it was dangerous at the very least, and that we should run. I couldn’t. I trusted Shepherd, I loved him. I wouldn’t abandon him, even if it was Minho telling me to.

“I regret that choice every day of my life. I should’ve left with him. It was two days later that the pack arrived. They got me right as I was waking up, and when I finally understood what was happening, I was surrounded by wolves in a motel room by the beach. Shepherd arrived, and I begged him to tell me what was happening, and he simply kissed my forehead and told me I had been the best. He was saying goodbye, and I was so terrified. The others brought Minho in, and that’s when Shepherd stabbed me, once, in the belly. I remembered that Minho hadn’t been hunting, he said he was scared of running into the pack, and once he smelled me…”

You watched, broken as Lia’s breath wavered for a moment until she composed herself.

“I don’t remember much, other than Minho cried as he tore me apart, even inside the wolf. I remember that and the moon outside the window. It was the first night of the full moon. I felt empty when they dragged Minho off of me, and they left me for dead. I woke up in a coroner’s office a week later, having had to rest through it without any blood to help me. Shepherd never came looking for me.” 

“Why did they leave you?” Felix weakly asked.

“I’m getting there, dear,” Lia assured him, gently patting his arm as she nudged him off her lap and rose to her feet. Felix groaned as he leaned back on Chan for support. Lia turned to face him again before she grabbed onto the iron poker and swiftly yanked it out. The younger wolf let out a hoarse cry as the wound erupted, and Chan cursed before he tried to clap a hand over it. He froze as Lia pressed the tip against his hand. “No one touch him. We’re still waiting.”

“Waiting for what, Lia?” You pleaded, holding tight onto Jisung’s hand where he held you.

“I went to find the pack,” Lia continued regardless of your request. “They were in the woods on the edge of Shepherd’s property line where they were apparently hiding out, and they each took a turn interrogating Minho for more information while they tried to figure out how to prove if he was cured or not. When Shepherd finally came, he said there was only one way to know for sure. He drew out his pistol, and he shot the man I loved. He reeled, but he was fine, and I was hopeful for one cursed moment. I watched him unload the pistol, load it with silver, and shoot him again. The pack was disgusted. They called Shepherd a crazy old man and ran. What they didn’t know was that this was just another trial run for Shepherd. He figured it out eventually.”

Lia caught her breath to finish her story when the girls gasped by the fireplace. Lucy was first, erupting into bitter tears. She gently shook Judy’s shoulders, but all the color she had left had drained. Yuna finally moved, leaping over and grabbing her sister and shaking her harder.

“Chae!” Yuna screamed. “Chae, come on! Chae! This isn’t fair!”

Amidst this, a pained cough caught your attention. Felix doubled over, gasping and clutching his chest as if he were just feeling his wound for the first time. Chan sat up straighter, trying to get a better look at him. When you looked to Lia, your eyes growing wider in realization, her hard gaze silently implored you to watch. This was what you were waiting for. Felix wheezed through his pain, but you noticed a new warmth in his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. 

“Alright dear,” Lia sighed at Felix as she went to set the poker down, “let's get you fixed up and then we’ll take care—”

“NO!” Yuna roared. 

Everything moved at once.

Lia hardly had a chance to stop her once Yuna lunged forward, snatching the poker from her hand and driving it back into Felix’s chest.

[To be continued.]

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[stvpidinlove]

[ JESSICA VU, SHE/HER, CIS WOMAN ]  —  [ PRIMROSE “PRIM” TRAN ]  is a child of  [ MELINOE ]  with the power of  [ MEDIUMSHIP ] .  they were born in  [ 2000 ]  and have been in nemean lion since  [ 2015 ] .  with the change, they  [ ARE TRAINING IN ]  the  [ HERO ]  role which makes sense since they’re usually  [ DRAWING PORTRAITS & MAKING CANDLES ] .  if you’d like to meet them try the  [ SUN ]  building .

yes...here i am again...!

BASICS

hometown: evanston, il

eye color: hazel

hair color: brown

height: 5′5

sexuality: bisexual

birthday: september 5, 2000 ( virgo )

BIO

prim’s parents met in college, at georgetown university. it was a long and arduous journey for both of them, though in very different ways. her father came from money in vietnam, but he moved to the states for college and didn’t speak much english, he only read it well enough to meet the requirements for foreign admittance (plus, he was exceptionally intelligent). meanwhile, prim’s mother was the daughter of immigrants who had always wanted more for their daughter. they were thrilled when she managed to get all the grants and scholarships necessary to attend, since they never could have afforded to send her to such a prestigious school otherwise.

naturally, prim’s mother was granted work study and she got a job in the main office, which is how the two met. they first bonded over a shared language and she was often tasked with helping him, and eventually she offered to help him with his college transition outside of the office.

and when i say prim’s parents...i mean the people who raised her. these two would fall in love in college, but neither admitted it aloud, out of fear of ruining the close friendship they’d forged.

after graduation, they both stayed in the dc area, but they didn’t talk as regularly. at some point, prim’s father met a darkly enchanting woman at the opera, of all places. in the grand theater of the kennedy center, their eyes met from across the expansive room, and prim’s father would go on to explain it to his daughter as “spellbound at first sight.” because it wasn’t love, it never became love, something he knew even before she became pregnant with his firstborn child. it felt nothing like the safety and warmth he’d felt with his college love who he’d never properly dated.

once melinoe was gone, prim’s father became a single parent in his late-twenties, a responsibility which he took on with care and composure. after his own experiences in the united states, he wanted to give his daughter a name that would be unique and beautiful but familiar to americans, so he chose primrose after the plant common to the dc area. his own parents back home were horrified by their single son fathering a child, though when they finally met their granddaughter face to face, they couldn’t help falling in love with her innocent face.

he reconnected with prim’s eventual stepmother when his daughter was five years old, and they got the second chance that few people ever do. they were married less than a year later, which was still a long time coming.

soon thereafter, prim’s stepmother got pregnant, and prim became a big sister to three rambunctious triplet boys. she remembers when it was just her and her father, but she can’t imagine life without her mom and brothers, who she’s particularly close to.

the only thing that stood in the way was the fact that she’s always felt different, and her father was somewhat secretive when she was a child, but by the time her powers manifested at the age of twelve, she knew why she was seeing people that others weren’t. it’s impossible to describe the feeling of playing alone in her room with polly pockets and suddenly having another girl join in. in this way, prim was rarely alone, but often felt isolated. it was like having imaginary friends with real stories and families and a whole history.

it was difficult and scary at first, but prim learned to take it in stride. she really liked hearing their stories, looking at obituaries that featured black and white photos of ghosts she knew from when they were bearing much younger faces she hardly recognized. she tried not to think too hard about the ghosts her own age, she just did her best to be there for them, because if she was seeing them, it must be for a reason, right?

her power was never something she wanted to control better, she liked acting as a conduit for those who happen to pass through her life, but she wasn’t much good at fighting off monsters and needed to come to nl for her own safety. despite her lack of fighting skills, she so deeply wanted to help people, so when the time came she decided to pursue the hero track.

RANDOM FACTS

prim totally can summon ghosts of her own volition...mostly. it takes a lot of effort and full on seance vibes right now, but she’s still learning! she prefers it when the spirits reach out to her, because that’s a whole lot easier and more exciting.

she actually kind of loves her powers, even when it gets heavy. most of the time ghosts just want the company or they don’t even know they’re dead, so she tries to be their friend and listen to their stories.

she often draws portraits of the ghosts she meets, particularly the ones she can’t get out of her head, who linger for days or weeks or months on end.

because ghosts are temporary, she tries not to get too attached, and it’s also a good thing because not all ghosts are that pleasant to be around and she doesn’t have a lot of luck with getting them to go away.

prim does have a decent collection of crystals and some tarot cards (and a crystal ball that is purely decorative). one of the only ways she’s learned to summon spirits is by using crystals to set her intentions, though it’s still pretty hit or miss.

super open and honest, esp about her powers! def doesn’t believe in using them for ~evil (like pranks or similar things lolol)

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS

someone desperately longing to speak to a dead loved one (or a not-so-loved one?) 

someone who feels guilty about the death of another and the deceased reaches out to prim to help them convince the living person that the death wasn’t their fault???!

a flirtationship that prim doesn’t take too seriously because she’s friendly and can never tell when someone actually likes her. whether your char is on the same page or not is up to you!

someone Intrigued by her because she’s so upbeat and cheerful even though she’s constantly seeing dead people

ur char is convinced a ghost is haunting them and prim is like i promise u are not being haunted <3

someone who IS being haunted and doesn’t know it hehe

[sailingintothenight]

“WANNABE.” T.H. Imagine.

And what if after years of chasing each other like a cat and mouse, you and Tom started to wonder if you wanna be something else in each other's life?

A/N: I am posting a one shot after weeks of writer's block. I hope you like it. It's 9:30 pm in Peru and it's still April 28, so it's still my birthday! Give it a try. Pleaseeeeee! And yes, I borrowed a scene from Mean Girls (Because I loveeee that movie)

“Hello God, it's me again, (y/n). What's up? I know we haven't talked much lately, but, hey, listen, I have a favor to ask you- I have behaved well, I haven’t gotten drunk at any crazy party of any Hollywood star and I haven't accepted drugs, ever: I'm afraid my grandmother will appear in my room as a ghost and pull my blankets in the middle of the night, plus, I haven't make out with any Stone-cold Hollywood hottie, and trust me, I've had more than one chance. Anyway, about the favor–”

"Yes, but (y/n)'s grandfather invited us to his birthday party..."

Tom's voice startles you and cuts off your internal dialogue, turning you back to the reality.

It’s 6 am. The sun shines in the clear sky, and you are on a flight back to England in a luxury privet jet that is about to arrive at the airport, while Haz, Harry, Tom and you are sitting in comfortable velvety seats, with the view of morning sky on your left side. 

The exciting memory of your last recording still seemed to run through your veins, too exciting to let you sleep. Because that was the end, the goodbye after incredible months. All your efforts from the past months were hidden behind that last performance that looked like a fantasy, except for the kiss, ugh, you had to erase it from your mind. But now, you're going back home, ready to take a break away from the set-up bridge and blue and green backgrounds, away from the makeup artists who gave your face the final touches of the magic of Hollywood, far from the suit of a superhero who had just won her last battle and who got the cute boy, Peter Parker.

But not far away from Tom Holland.

Because evil takes a human form in Tom Holland, your lifelong neighbor.

How do you even begin to explain Tom Ho– Stop, people say that if you pronounce his name 3 times a curse falls on you.

But fans say Tom Holland is flawless, you heard his curly hair is insured for 10,000 dollars, his favorite movie is “Spider-man Homecoming”, duh, and very soon, “far from home”. One time he met Robert Downey Jr. in his own village and he started hyperventilating, and once he threw a fan's phone on the floor and she said it was awesome.

"Please don't tell me you're going to his birthday party." You complain, because you can't help it.

"Would that bother you that much, darling?" Tom smiles, tilting his head back so that his tender smile fits perfectly with his tender face. “Then of course I will go. Also, your grandfather still has the hope his granddaughter would get a man like me.”

"Ew. Why would my dear grandfather want me to be with someone who enjoys keeping a frog in his mouth?" You ask, earning yourself an Oscar for best actress with the innocence you exude and the seriousness you manage to put on your face, even when Tom's eyes narrow from the attack you just launched, while, enjoying the show, his friend and his younger brother laughs, shaking heads with a familiar expression on their faces because of the familiar discussion between you and him that happens, every two or three days. "Seriously, Tom, give the poor Henry a break."

"Henry?" Tom asks with real confusion, his accent thick, while the other male voices ask it in a collective whisper too.

"I named your frog Henry, hope it doesn't bother you." And you laugh, victorious to feel how Tom exhales the air through his nose.

“Seriously, (y/n), when will you confess that you are in love with me? You don't have to be so shy, darling.” Tom laughs too, using his finger to tap your nose, because he knows perfectly well that you don't like that, just as you don't like being called darling anymore. “Ray is a wise man, you should listen to your grandfather."

"Yes, if you like skinny ones."

"I'm not skinny. I have the perfect body.” Tom defends himself.

"For now, but in a couple of years you will named your big belly as your dad does after drinking with mine." You laugh like a little girl because you love Dom, because he's warm and funny, because he loves his wife and children, and because of how funny he is when he and your dad have had too much alcohol, like the time they started a cartwheel contest in the middle of the street. "Who's there? It's Dom Junior.”

"Shut up! My dad is still sexy!” A heavy silence falls over the small place as everyone looks at Tom with furrowed brows and true confusion, but that's when he realizes the choice of words he used to refer to his dad. "That's not what I meant!"

You raise your hands in a sign of peace, your gaze avoiding his as you stop yourself from laughing and mocking him.

"That's so wrong, Tom." Harry says, with a certain bittersweet taste on the tip of his tongue. "Now because of you I won't be able to see dad's belly the same way."

Harry and Haz chuckle at Dom's expense.

But when the jet landed smoothly on the headlight-lit runway in the early hours of the morning, the heavy hours from the past months feels now as if they weighed the same as a feather, pain and exhausting sleepless nights disappeared in the blink of an eye, and now, there is no oceans that could make you feel far away, because in the end, you always came back home.

"Besides..." You say to finish that conversation, your backpack on your shoulder before making the victory path towards the stairs to get off the plane. "I would like a boyfriend who can grow a mustache, not like the failed attempt on your face. Thank you very much."

"Hey!" Tom frowns as you pass him by, and his voice rises even higher than it already is. "My doctor says it's just a hormone problem."

"Damn, bro..." Harry laughs as he puts an arm around Tom's shoulder, giving him a brotherly hug before walking out to the car waiting outside. “(Y/n) will be hard to catch, you know? But try it, maybe you will make it in this century."

Harry laughs, and then, walks out of the plane.

"What does that mean?" Tom asks Harrison, who is still waiting by his side.

"I think he meant that you are in love with (y/n), but you haven't noticed it yet."

Harrison chuckles, but after patting Tom on the back, he rushes to place a hand on his best friend's shoulder to stop him.

“Hey, mate… you, uh…” Tom's eyes soften, almost to the point where his brown eyes resembled the gaze of a little 5-year-old boy, sad, and lost. “You haven't told anyone why we came back, right?”

“Of course not.” Harrison says, and his gaze smiles just like his lips. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? We are home, you are home. You can take the time you need to rest.”

Tom nods, unsure, but tries to be strong as they both get off the plane. 

The gray autumn clouds hang with invisible strings in the sky as Tom Holland, actor, handsome, wealthy, and the loneliest person in the world, releases a deep breath that is lost among the sounds of the world, because his world is no longer sparkling or velvety thanks to the cameras or a red carpet, and while his new movie is a box office hit that never in his best dreams he would have imagined, something wasn't right for him.

That’s why he is back home.

The car ride is silent as some sleep, except you and Tom, because your eyes seem to recognize the streets you grew up in, because your hearts recognize your home. But for Tom, he recalls tilting his body to the left and a camera captured his best actor pose a week ago, but since then, his body has felt null, as if floating in the air and no longer responding to his orders. He was crystal clear, but a few people seemed to see clearly through him. Tom tries to convince himself that the tickling in his hands is his body's response to tiredness and not his anxiety, because he suffers it too, but he feels that something is eating his soul.

"Are you okay, Tom?"

Among a sea of ​​people, Tom Holland has always pretended to be an interesting person, but now, he takes a deep breath and looks at you, nervous, lost in the middle of that huge world, but you, looking back at him gives him peace, because he doesn’t feel alone anymore. 

What did you think? That someone is interested in knowing if you are really okay? Of course they care, right?

“Of course, darling.” Tom smiles, as if in a snap of fingers, everything is fine.

But there, he catches a movement of yours.

You tilt your head to the side, like his beloved Tessa when she is curious about something, but he doesn't say it out loud because you would take it the wrong way, but the movement in slow motion worthy of a Hollywood scene and the serenity of your gaze makes Tom hold his breath, that breath that previously didn't fit his chest with so many problems that he carried inside.

But suddenly he can breathe again, finally.

“Okay.”

The minutes pass until the car stops on a street that you two recognize perfectly. When everyone is out, the car leaves, but because your favorite boys are about to leave, too, you hug everyone as the promise to celebrate Harrison's birthday next week hangs in the air. You love them so much, because they are beautiful people who helped you to save yourself from the storms of doubts and fears, each of them in their own charming way, and for that, you were grateful.

"My friend Danielle is coming so I would like you to meet her, Haz." You chuckle adorably before leaving, noting that Harrison's smile is as real as his desire to meet her.

"I'm looking forward to it, darling."

"Wait, why he can call you darling?" Tom says, and for a second, you see a sparkle in the brightness of his eyes, but as the door of his house opens and his beloved Tessa runs to receive him, the confusion disperses like the morning haze.

"There she is the only darling you will ever get, Thomas."

And the moment you turn around, because the door of your house opens too, you lose sight of Tom's honest smile and the question that he hides behind his sweet eyes. Was he in love with you all this time without realizing it? And what if he wanna be your boyfriend? 

Oh, right. The favor that you were going to ask God for? To get you a boyfriend, a cute one, a hot one... maybe like Tom. Weird, isn't it?

Tag list: @galaxies-of-the-heart​

[axwalker]

The Trade 7

Synopsis:  Liam is running for Cordonia’s presidency. To assure his victory, Constantine makes an arraignment behind his back for him to marry the rich ambassador’s daughter: Alexis O’Brien. Due to her father’s threats, she has no other option that seduce Liam and make him fall in love with her. But what does she really feel? (AU)

Pairings: LiamxMC DrakexMC

Warnings: I love drama and chaos so this will probably get a bit dark. In this chapter there is mention of rape, if you get triggered by this issue, don’t hesitate to send me a message and I’ll be glad to explain what happens without reading it.

Please note that this is my first series and English is not my first language. I really love ALL kinds of feedback.  Don’t hesitate to comment!

Disclaimer: Some of the dialogues and settings as well as most of the characters belong to Pixelberry (except for Alexis O’Brien and her evil father George O’Brien). I also used a line from Grey’s Anatomy that really made me think about Drake.

To catch up: Masterlist

Thanks to @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld​ for being my incredible beta reader and always being there to answer my questions and her support,  to  @burnsoslow​ for helping with the first part of this episode, it was very difficult to write. and to  @mskaneko​  for the beautiful edit of Drake and Alexis in the mood-board  (I can’t stop looking at it) ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

I'm only tagging those who asked if you want to be tagged, I will be happy to add you to the list

@mskaneko​ @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld​ @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore​ @burnsoslow​ @pug-bitch​ @pedudley​ @msjr0119​ @lauzales​ @yukinagato2012​ @kingliam2019​ @texaskitten30​ @desiree-0816​

The debutant’s ball was all Sienna O’Brien could think about. She adored her granddaughter and was absolutely proud to present her to her high society friends. Alexis was a smart, poised and beautiful young woman; Sienna couldn’t understand why her son had been adamant to send her to that French boarding school. The old woman admired how the sunny fifteen-year-old girl managed to make everyone around her happy. It was a miracle considering her father’s coldness and her mother’s inattention. Sienna knew that deep down, Elena loved her daughter but after years of living with George, she had become a ghost of herself, always drunk or heavily medicated. It all broke her heart, so when George took some interest in Alexis’ date to the ball, the old woman felt almost happy thinking that her son might love his daughter after all. They had finally agreed that she was going to be escorted by Bradford Davenport III, the son of a wealthy and renowned businessman. Alexis couldn’t believe her luck, Brad was extremely handsome and, even if she didn’t go to his school, she knew he was the most popular boy there; that all the girls at the cotillion wanted to be escorted by him. According to her grandmother, he was a true gentleman; the heir of a very good family. Even her father was pleased with the choice. The young girl had learned a long time ago not to seek his approval, but she was thrilled to get it when she could. As the date of the ball approached, Alexis was so excited about it that she had tried her white gown a hundred times and rehearsed more different hairstyles that she would ever admit. She felt like a princess.

Finally, the day had arrived. It had started as a dream. Brad was certainly good-looking and could dance perfectly, spinning her all over the dancefloor while he made her laugh. He took care of her, making sure she always had something to drink and he didn’t leave her side for a second. The adults left the ball early so he promised her father that he would drive her before 1 o’clock. Alexis was feeling too drunk, so she asked him to take her home at midnight. They hopped in the backseat of the car, so she could recover a little before getting back. Brad gave her a soft kiss that made Alexis feel like she was floating. Emboldened by her response he kissed her again, harder this time. Then he went further and grabbed her by her waist knowing that she was almost out of it after all the alcohol he had given her. Brad was convinced that she desired it as much as he did. After a few seconds of kissing her she started to resist him, she didn’t want this, her first time had to be special, not in the backseat of a car. Alexis could smell the alcohol in his breath, feel his sweat, and his hands everywhere. She tried to fight against him, but she wasn’t a match for him. He didn’t want to listen to her cries or see her tears. He ripped her dress and after he took what he wanted, he drove her home."

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Alexis had woken up happy and excited. The moment she had spent with Drake gazing the stars had been incredible. He was all she had imagined, behind that brooding and strong façade hid a sensitive man and she couldn’t deny any longer the indescribable power he had over her. She shivered remembering his touch when he held her hand and the warmth emanating from his body when he had hugged her after she had almost fallen.

It had been the first time in her life that she had felt completely safe.

Suddenly, she thought about Liam, and a pang of overwhelming guilt replaced the excitement. Alexis knew what a good man he was, but now she was sure she would never love him back. Maybe Liam’s interest in her was simple infatuation, but she didn’t want to make him suffer. The seed of a solution started to grow in her mind, it was a long shot but maybe if she asked him for help, he would do it. She would have to arrange a meeting and make him understand that it was in his own son’s best interest.

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Constantine decided to wait for George’s daughter in the breakfast room.

“Good Morning, Alexis.” He smiled politely pointing to the seat across the table so she’d sit. “How can I help you?”

“I need to ask you for something” She didn’t have the energy to be polite anymore. “It’s not for me, it’s for your own son, but maybe this is not the best place to talk.” She paused looking around her

“Don’t worry, the staff won’t bother us. I ordered them to leave us alone when you called.”

“I wanted to talk about Liam, about what you and my father are trying to make me do to him.” She sighed trying to compose herself. “Please Constantine, think about your son. He’s an amazing man, he deserves a woman who loves him. I’m not, or never will be, that woman.” She stopped talking to gauge his reaction. “I know you made a deal with my father but I’m sure you can continue without me. If you tell him you don’t need me, he will let me go-”

He interrupted her smirking “Oh, but I do need you, Alexis. First, because as you can see the press is already starting to associate the two of you as a couple.” He showed her the paper he was reading with pictures of her and Liam at the Masquerade ball and paparazzi’s photos of their date at the Mexican restaurant. “That was brilliant by the way, taking him to such a poor place, they’re presenting him as the people’s candidate.” She rolled her eyes as he continued, “but I’m digressing. I also need you as a guarantee that your father will complete his part of the bargain.”

She couldn’t help but snicker at him. “If you are thinking to use me as leverage, you’re sorely mistaken, Constantine. You can be sure, that if my father thinks is in his best interest to throw me under a bus, he would be driving that bus himself. Having me does not give you any advantage.”

“I’m not going to discuss this any further with you. If you’re having doubts about my son because is too soon just give it time” He stood behind Alexis putting his hands on her bare shoulders. She shuddered at the contact. “However, if it’s because there’s someone else, that could be dangerous for everyone involved. I hope you fully understand me.”

She realized how stupid she had been to believe Constantine would help her. “Yes, I do. Perfectly.” After that, she left the room, leaving the ex-president alone. He picked up the phone and called his associate number.

“George, we have a problem. I need you to control your daughter”

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Since he had met Alexis O’Brien, Liam had been feeling like a 15-year-old teenager again. He couldn’t stop thinking about her day and night, and he was really excited to start working with her on the campaign. He had read all the articles she had wrote and they had fascinated him even more.

With his heart threatening to go out of his chest, he heard the soft knock on the door and opened it.

“Hi Alexis, please, come on in.”

“Thanks, Liam.” She sat in the chair across from him. “Are you ready for me to pick your brain?”

He smiled gently “Of course. What do you need?”

She ran her hand through her hair “Well, I’d like to know more about your motivations as a candidate, about what drives you. A good speech has to reflect your personality above everything else. If it feels fake, you’ll lose the public’s trust immediately.”

“Yes, of course. Let’s see, when we met, I told you that it wasn’t until I became senator that I truly understood the value of politics” She nodded “For the campaign, I had to visit all these neighborhoods that I didn’t even know existed before. I had the chance to see real people facing problems that were completely alien to me” He sighed “There was this school we visited. There were 45 children in a class with only one teacher, and the conditions weren’t the best either: no computers, the state of the desks and chairs were deplorable, the teachers seemed completely overwhelmed by the whole situation. They were teaching, but they didn’t believe they could actually help these kids anymore” He paused again thinking “Here I was, this privileged man thinking he was living in a great country, one that gave everyone the same opportunities to go far in life, but actually ignoring everything about the people he wanted to rule. That day was the day I knew I wanted to make a change. Starting with the reform of the education’s program of Cordonia”

Alexis looked at him impressed. His passion was contagious, he had a real desire to make things better, to help others, and to improve his country. He would be an outstanding president.

“Let’s start with the anecdote and then we will move forward to explaining your education reform.” She smiled.

After a few hours exchanging ideas, they had finally written a speech draft they were equally satisfied with. They were both tired, but Liam didn’t want their time together to end so fast.

“How about we take a break before the ball?” He stood up and walk around the desk to sit on it, in front of Alexis’ chair.

Remembering the earlier conversation with Constantine, she answered trying to seem joyful “Sure! What do you have in mind?”

“There’s this amazing terrace in my room, maybe we can have a few drinks there, the view is incredible.”

Alexis' eyebrows almost touched her scalp. “Your room?”

“Hey, I’m a gentleman” He winked. “If you want me to be one of course.”

She let out a hearty laugh that almost made his heart stop. “Aren’t you smooth?” She sighed amused “Let’s go have that drink.”

Liam smiled relieved “Just give me five minutes, I have to make a call.”

Fifteen minutes later, they entered the room to access the terrace. It was magnificent. The beautiful panoramic was breathtaking, they could see the huge snowy Lythiko’s mountains, the shimmering lake that surrounded Olivia’s property, the hundreds of pines that seemed to have been planted in the snow, the wooden cabins all around the place. It felt like a Christmas fairytale. And the terrace was incredible too. Awfully sunny even in the wintery day, spacious, and luxuriously decorated. It had an outdoor couch full of beautiful cushions, and the small table in front of it was set with a rose’s bouquet, some candles, and a bucket containing a freezing bottle of champagne.

Alexis was in awe at the view. “Wow, Li. It is amazing”

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Now you see why I wanted to share it with someone.” He stood close to her, brushing her hand with his thumb

“And all of this?” She pointed at the table “You were with me the whole time”

“I have my ways,” he said grinning “and I wanted this to be magical for us”

They sat on the couch.

“You didn’t tell me if you liked it” He was looking softly at her

“Liam…” Touched by the gesture, she wasn’t sure how to answer “It’s very nice. I love red roses”

“I have to be honest with you Alexis. I’ve never really had someone I wanted so badly to please. I feel like I would do anything to make you smile and know that I am the cause”

Another pang of guilt in Alexis’ chest almost made her jump “Liam…”

He blushed “Ahem, anyway, what if we open this bottle of champagne”

After uncorking it and pouring two glasses, they toasted.

“To a great life” He clinked her glass without taking his eyes off her.

“To a great life” She repeated smiling and drank “This is so good Liam; I love it”

“There are few things better in life than a good bottle of champagne shared in good company” He took one of Alexis’ hands and kissed her palm “Alexis, I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment the entire trip”

She smiled at him, unsure of how to behave, torn between her task of making him love her and her reluctance to hurt him.

Liam put his drink at the table and turned to watch her “You make me want so many things, things I never wanted before. I want to be careful with you, I’d hate to hurt you in any way”

“Don’t worry about me, Liam. I will be fine. I know what I’m getting myself into. Besides, you’re the model of a good person” Even if she was certain that her heart wasn’t hers to give anymore, she sincerely liked him and knew that if she hadn’t met Drake before, she would have fallen for Liam.

He caressed her cheek “If I’m not, I hope I will be, for you. You inspire me to be a better man”

He leaned to kiss her when the room’s phone rang.

“Well, if that’s not bad timing” He smiled taking her chin between his fingers “I do not know what is. “Wait here, love”

She waited a while but when it became evident that the call was going to last more than a few minutes, Alexis went into the room and waved her hand to say good-bye. They would see each other at the ball.

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Kiara left her lover’s room as quietly as she could. Even if she was perfectly aware that Rashad couldn’t care less who she was sleeping with, and if It had been months since the last time he had touched her, she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, face the scandal. She had too much to lose.

Rashad was also very careful when he left the room at the end of the hall that afternoon, if Kiara or her family knew who he had been sleeping with, he will lose everything.

They almost crashed into each other in the hall.

“Darling, what are you doing here?” And with last night’s clothes.

Kiara looked angrily at him “I… I don’t want to lie anymore Rashad. If you’re so interested in my life you should come to my bed more often. If you can’t do that, we’ll continue our relationship because that’s what’s best for us, but we will lead separate lives. I’ll go prepare for the ball, we have to arrive together. See you at 7 at my door”

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Olivia was more than content with the result of Max’s and Penelope’s work. With a bit of luck, they would be able to attract the most prominent men in Lythikos and make them contribute to Liam’s campaign. She sighed when she saw Drake arriving without a bow tie.

“God Walker! Couldn’t you make a fucking effort and dress properly for this?” She rolled her eyes, giving him his accustomed glass of whiskey “If he wins, you’re going to be the new Chief of staff”

Drake chuckled “Ha! If Liam chose me for my fashion sense, he’s gonna be in a lot of trouble”

“I think it will always be a mystery for all of us why he chose you,” she answered teasingly. “By the way, as you can’t behave like an adult around that toad Neville, and Kiara bores you to death, I seated you with Hana Lee and the new ‘speechwriter’” She almost spits the last word

“I can tell you really like her, Livvie” He smirked at her and then added more seriously “Be careful with her though” he looked pointedly at her “she’s…not bad”

Her eyes narrowed to slits “Why are you protecting her? And what have I told you about calling me that?” She arched her brows “Do you want everyone to know your nickname? Little marsh-“

“Shut up, Olivia. I’ll go find my seat” He watched her knowingly and pointed his index at her “And you better behave”

Drake was nervous to see Alexis again but with Hana acting as an unknowing buffer, the diner had gone smoothly. After it, the girls had stood up to dance, so he moved to his favorite spot at the bar and watched the dancefloor, his eyes irremediably going to her. He wasn’t disappointed at the sight; she was dancing like a goddess in Maxwell’s arms. Iit made his heart swell to see her smiling and laughing freely. Sometimes he got the feeling that there was something haunting her; some dark secret that prevented her from being truly happy.

He saw his best friend take a stool next to him, then look around the dance floor until he found her too. The goofy smile on his face while he watched her move let no doubt about Liam’s feelings. The waiter gave Liam a glass of scotch that he downed in one gulp.

“I’m falling hard for that woman,” he told Drake, nodding in Alexis' direction.

Drake’s heart literally stopped at Liam’s words, in almost 23 years of friendship, it was the first time Drake wanted the same thing that Liam did.

He sighed before answering “I know”

“Do you think she feels the same?” Liam smiled sheepishly

Drake knew that any other woman in Cordonia would have fallen instantly in love with the rich and promising candidate but he wasn’t so sure about O’Brien.  In all the moments they had shared together, even the one where she had rejected him, he had felt something strong brewing between them, something he couldn’t quite define.

He exhaled. “I have no idea, Liam. I think she’s very closed-off.” Then remembering that morning’s newspaper, he added unhappily, “but she seemed to be having fun with you in those pictures.”

“Yes, my father had us followed. I was very angry at first but as he pointed out, it all turned out well.”

Drake growled. “What do you mean it turned out well? They followed you, took pictures of you… of her, of a private moment. Doesn’t it drive you crazy that your father is trying to use Alexis like that? Like she’s a pretty object that he can use for your advantage?” Drake knew he had sounded angrier than he had intended.

Liam stared at his best friend coolly. “I don’t understand why are you angry Drake; you know perfectly how a campaign works. You know I was trying to find someone to help me boost my image. I would’ve thought you were happy that I found someone that I actually like,” he paused, “that I’m starting to love.”

Drake knew Liam was right, his biggest fear since he had entered the campaign had been to live trapped in a loveless marriage, it looked like he was going to be able to avoid it, and as his best friend, he should be happy about it.

Before answering, Drake allowed himself to look at her one last time “I apologize Li. I’m actually happy for you.” Trying to hide the pain he was inexplicably feeling he stood up patting his friend in the back, “you deserve the best and she seems… incredible.”

“Thanks, Drake, I know you only want what’s best for me.” Liam was grinning again

“Of course, Liam.” Drake felt a sudden urge to breathe fresh air. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Without waiting for Liam’s answer, Drake left the ballroom.  

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

Alexis was dancing with Maxwell again, but despite the fact that he was trying to be as joking and chatty as usual she could see that something was tormenting him. It killed Alexis how hard he was trying to hide his misery, so she finally grabbed him by his hand, stole a bottle of champagne from the bar, and took him out of the ballroom into the library.

“Ok Max, you’re gonna tell me exactly what is going on,” She said passing him the bottle after drinking from it.

“What do you mean Lexie? I’m fine, just a little tired. I’m sorry if I’m not a lot of fun tonight, though.”

“Maxwell! You’re under no obligation to be fun and sparkly all the time. And you certainly don’t need to apologize for having a night off. I only brought you here because I thought that you might want to talk to someone.”

Max sighed sadly “Remember when I told you yesterday that I was sort of in a relationship?”

She nodded

“Well... I’m not anymore”

“Aw Max I’m so sorry,” she said hugging him “I remember how happy you were. Are you sure it is final?”

“Actually, is not. I can even bet that he will be calling me tonight to patch things over but,” He took a large sip of champagne, “I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

“What do you mean Max?”

“People see me like this immature boy, but the truth is that I’m proud of myself. I came out when I was sixteen, and I’ve never looked back, but now here I am 12 years later struggling in a relationship with a man that can’t accept himself” he sounded almost angry “I love him but I just can’t do this any longer”

“If you love him and he loves you back, and I can’t imagine him not to” she smiled at him “Maybe you should give him some time. Not all of us are as comfortable with ourselves as you are, Max. If he comes from a more traditional family than yours, then he needs love and support to take that step. I know it’s not fair. How long have you been together?”

“Uh, almost a year” He drank again.

She put her arms around him “Maybe you can give him a deadline, like six more months, a little time to think. If he doesn’t do it, then you’ll probably have to move on; But at least you’ll know that you did everything that you could”

Max nodded pensively “Yes, I’ll talk to him tonight. Thank you, blossom, you’re the best” He hugged her, then offered her his arm “Want to be my lady for the rest of the evening?”

“Go on without me and find him. I’ll take a tour through Lythikos mansion, it seems fascinating”

“Ok, but don’t get lost” He shuddered a little scared “The Nevrakis love secret passages”

She winked at him “Don’t worry. I will”

She started walking, lost in her thoughts until she saw a light at the end of the corridor. She approached it to discover a spiraling staircase. Without thinking it twice, she climbed it down and found a cellar at the end of it. Her heart missed a beat when she saw Drake sitting there, looking at an empty glass.

He looked up when she entered, his heart missing a beat as well. “First the snow and now here, I’m starting to think that you’re stalking me, O’Brien”

“You wish Walker.” She arched her brow smirking “Drinking alone?”

“I needed to get out of that ballroom for a second”

“Yeah, I know the feeling. Can I sit?” She asked, smiling.

-God that smile is going to be the death of me- He moved to let her seat next to him on the floor, immediately drunk with her scent.

“What are you having?”

“Nothing yet. Olivia has a very extensive collection of fine Cordonian wines, nothing here is under a thousand dollars”

“You want to drink Olivia’s wine?” She added playfully “I thought you were more of a whiskey guy, Drake.”

They both looked at each other thinking about the night they had met, an electric tension starting to grow.

Drake broke the stare clearing his throat “Ahem, I brought this bottle of Dalwhinnie, here, taste it” he poured her a glass.

She licked her lips before taking the glass to her mouth savoring the sour smell of the beverage. It took all of Drake’s willpower not to throw the glass away and kiss those full lips until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

“So?” He asked arching a brow, trying to hide his thoughts.

“Delicious.” She gazed at him thoroughly “Care to tell me why did you want to get out? “

There was no way in hell that Drake was going to tell her the real reason “I wanted to be alone in a place where I don’t have to bow and kiss ass for five minutes. It’s fucking exhausting trying to get all those rich bastards to donate to Liam’s campaign.”

“Please Drake, tell me what you really think,” She said playfully.

He snickered and the wrinkles around his eyes made him look so handsome when he smiled that she couldn’t stop herself from carefully putting her hand in his arm, savoring the electricity that immediately passed between them. “Seriously though, if you hate politics so much, why do you stick around?”

He looked at her cautiously, her opinion mattered to him much more than anyone else’s “It must seem ridiculous to you.”

She stared at him. “No, it’s not ridiculous, Drake. I’m just trying to understand why a brilliant man as yourself is wasting his life doing something he so clearly hates.”

“It’s for Liam, it has always been for him. I would’ve left a long time ago, but Liam needs me. Growing with Constantine was especially hard for me and Olivia. My sister was so obedient that he never had to complain about her, and Leo and Liam were his sons. But the old man was very hard on them too. Eventually, Li, Liv and I became very close and we swore we would always protect each other”

Alexis looked at him with piercing eyes, biting her bottom lip, clearly wanting to say something.

He stared at her amused. “I know you’re dying to say something O’Briens. Spill it”

“Well, it seems to me that you and Olivia do all the protecting” When she saw he was about to protest, she added “Don’t get me wrong, Li is a very good and caring man. It’s just that I have the feeling that you were raised to move around him like he was the sun. And now, you’re stuck in that role. But you’re an extraordinary man, handsome, brilliant and funny. He’s not the sun Drake. You are” She blushed to realize she had said much more than she had intended.

Her words melted all of Drake’s resolutions to keep her at arm’s length, he reached her face with his thumb stroking first her cheek, then her nose and mouth, his heart threatening to go out of his chest as he looked her bright eyes and that smile he had learned to adore.

He approached her gently, pulling her to him with his left arm. Suddenly Drake felt her hands around his neck; he heard her breathing accelerate and he smelled her cherry fragrance. He stopped to inhale it and savor every single second. His eyes fixed the mouth that was driving him slowly crazy and kissed a corner of it, making Alexis softly moan, he smiled to himself and kissed the other corner, producing another tender moan. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer and crashed his mouth with hers, trying to convey everything with a single kiss. He kissed her with all the passion, the desperation, and the pain he was feeling, he kissed her knowing that it would be the last time. After a while, the need for air made them break the kiss, and the spell was broken.

“I’m sorry Drake.” She struggled to breathe normally again. “I don’t know what we were thinking, we can’t do this anymore. “I- I should go.”

He stood up first, giving her his hand to pull her up.

“I know Lexie,” he said softly. “I know we can’t. I just needed one more time” He caressed her face with the back of his hand “Come on, we have to go back to the ball, everyone must be looking for you.”

“You go first, my father is waiting for me at the office Olivia lend him.”

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

George knew that her daughter’s secret was the only means he had to control her. He had lost all of her respect after that debutant’s ball ten years ago and the truth was, he didn’t care. His daughter only existed to remind him about the worst mistake of his life. As he poured brandy into his old associate’s son glass, he congratulated himself. Calling him had been the right move. After seeing him, Alexis wouldn’t have any other choice, but to do what she was told. 

At 9 pm sharp, his daughter knocked on the door. Alexis entered the office where his father was talking to another man turning his back at her.

“Good evening, Alexis. I called you because there is an old friend of yours visiting Cordonia, and I thought you would enjoy reminiscing; he’ll be staying here with us.”

The man turned and Alexis couldn’t believe her eyes. Even if she was aware that her father didn’t have any limits and that he would do anything to assure her cooperation, she didn’t want to believe he would go that far.

However, there was no denying it. Bradford Davenport, her abuser,  was standing in front of her, his obnoxious hand reaching hers. She jerked away stupefied. The hatred was consuming her entirely. She looked at one then the other contemptuously.

“I will never, hear me, well father. Never sleep under the same roof that this excuse of a human being”

“Always so dramatic. Bradford is an associate and a friend; I couldn’t care less of your little teenage romance”  

Maybe it was the fact that her father has referred to the second most horrible experience of her life as a “teenage romance” but Alexis was so filled with rage that the next thing she knew she was slapping Brad.

His father was furious. “Alexis, apologize, now!”

She turned around slamming the door after her and ran to the garden.

When she was sure that they couldn’t see her any longer, she fell into the grass and the tears started to come. All the old feelings resurfaced: the shame of the next day, the acute pain, nausea, the deep sadness that would become depression, the sensation of being dirty all the time. In a few minutes, the tears had muted into gut-wrenching sobs, until suddenly she felt his presence standing a few inches of her.

“O’Brien?” in two steps he was on his knees next to her caressing her hair  “God! What’s going on?”

As she continued to cry Drake took her in his arms and rocked her. “Oh, Lexie, baby, please tell me what happened”

Suddenly she knew there was only one thing that would make her feel safe again.

“Please, Drake, take me far away from all of this. I just can’t take it. I know I can’t”

Drake looked at the damaged woman before him and his heart broke. He stood up determined.

“Come on, I know where we can go”

[hadestownmodern]

Persephone is everyone’s mom thats it thats the fic

This fic may be my favorite one I’ve personally written for this au??? It means SO fucking much to me and I think we agree that this is one of our favorite relationships to play with!

“Hey mama, you ready to go home?” Persephone peaks into the room, smiling brightly at Eurydice. The young girl was sitting on the edge of the bed, in her boyfriends oversized sweatshirt and pajama pants. She was free now of the IV and various health tracking devices, and how seemed no different than before save for the most important part- being, of course, the baby she held so near and dear to her. 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. I think so.” Eurydice looks up at her and smiles. She’s already clearly tired but glowing is an understatement on how she radiates joy in this moment. “Have you seen-”

“Orpheus? He’s been cleaning the house all morning. He called me at four am to ask how to wash baby sheets. I thought he’d be here though…” Persephone entered the room and nearly stuck her arms out in anticipation. She’d refrained in the past two days of visits from asking to hold her, not wanting to take Eurydice’s daughter from her. She recalled her own refusal to let anyone hold Junie for days, so she understood. Eurydice worked hard for her, she deserved to never let go of her. 

“Oh he’s been around, he just left. I said I wanted fries and he went running.” Eurydice giggled, leaning down to brush her nose with Melody’s. “He’s gonna do anything we need, isn’t he baby girl?”

“I could have told you that months ago. He’s whipped for you. Thinks you hung the stars in the sky.” Persephone teases as she comes closer and sits next to Eurydice, her head coming to run over the baby’s dark hair. Persephone remembers it vividly- she’ll never forget it actually- the way she was enamored with her tiny daughter. The weight of her in her arms, the way she spent hours intoxicated with the smell of her hair. Eurydice deserved that kind of irrevocable love, too.

 “Does she have a name yet? Or is she gonna be baby girl for a few more days?” Junie had been easy to name- her name was decided for her before Persephone even knew she existed. 

“Oh! We picked one the other night..do you want to hold her?” It was abrupt, but Eurydice needed Persephone to be holding her when she told her. So she could take a picture of her reaction and save it forever, at least in her heart. 

Euydice didn’t want for a response before shoving the baby, tiny as she was in all her six pound glory, into the arms of her pseduo-mother and real best friend. 

“I- of course.” Persephone grins, laughing as soon as the infant is in her arms. “She’s so small! I forgot how little they are. Then again I haven’t seen a baby since Junie, and I never put her down long enough to register that she was an extra weight. She really was just part of me…” She’s cooing at the baby when Eurydice stands and takes the time to get her things together. Save for Orpheus and a few brief nurses visits this is the first time the little girl is out of her arms. 

“So what’s her name? Curly fry? Waffle fry?” Persephone teases, recalling the endless stops they had made together so Eurydice could satisfy a craving one way or another. 

“Cajun fry, thank you.” Eurydice rolls her eyes, but reaches out to hold the baby’s hand. “no..Her name is Melody. ‘Cause she’s like Orpheus singing to her for months now. He’s the only thing that could calm her down...it seemed fitting, you know? To name her after music...after his music. My Melody. Melody Stephanie.” She raises an eyebrow at Persephone, to see if she caught on what she did yet, but the content smile gave nothing away. 

“Melody. It’s a beautiful name. Very Fitting. Melody Stephanie..it’s nice.” Melody, she understood. And looking at the little girl in her arms she could agree- yes, this baby was Melody. Stephanie didn’t flow- she expected maybe an homage to Eurydice’s mother but not Stephanie. “Nice name...I have to admit i’m surprised you didn’t pick something for your mother. I know you don’t talk about her much but you’ve told me before you wish she were here and-”

“It is a nice name.” Eurydice agrees, squinting her eyes at Persephone as she continues to talk about the content of her daughter’s name. She really didn’t get it. “But I did name her after my mother, Perstephanie.” It’s teasing and light, but she looks up just in time for her brown eyes to meet Persephone’s. “You are Orpheus’ mother… and you’re as close as i’ve ever had.”

It was true. She respected her mother and the few memories she had of Lydia were happy ones. But in the terms of parenthood and being a mother- Persephone filled that role for Orpheus his entire life. She went to parent teacher conferences, she went to recitals. She was his mother. And in the short eleven months since she met Persephone- even before she met Orpheus- the woman had filled that role for her too. Persephone was the first person who saw her- not the broken child shuffled home to home, not the girl with the hard shell to protect herself from the world- as herself. Just a girl putting herself through school to make a better life for herself. Just Eurydice. 

Persephone was the person who found out this brilliant girl- who never missed class, turned assignments in early, came to office hours, who offered commentary every discussion- had noone. That she was a force to be reckoned with but she was alone. Persephone was the one who insisted she not spend a holiday alone, not spend one more day in that shady part of town she lived in. Persephone was by and large the reason they were sitting in a hospital room today, a two day old baby being passed between them. 

“She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. You’re the reason I formally met the boy who I watched sing across from me at the coffee shop for weeks. You’re the reason I had a place to go, and you’re the one who gave me the wine that said going home with him was a good idea-” Eurydice is laughing and smiling, a juxtaposition to the solid stream of tears falling down her cheeks. Persephone was the only other person besides her Orpheus that could see her like this. 

“You gave me my family.” Eurydice takes Persephone’s hand, and squeezes it, drawing them to look eye to eye. She’s crying and she realizes so is Persephone, though Persephone’s border sobs far more than her own. Eurydice, at least, is trying to stay composed through the rest of her dedication. 

“You gave me my family. Melody wouldn’t exist if you didn’t insist I come over that night. Orpheus is Orpheus because of you. Not because of Calliope. And in the times I needed someone most..when I needed a mom. You were the one who was there. When I was so sick I couldn’t make it to class and you let me eat crackers in your office. Or when I was so tired I couldn’t stand and you let me sleep in your office. You kept shoes for me knowing I was going to be so damn stubborn i’d be crying by noon if it weren’t for you saving my life with flip flops.” Eurydice laughs, wiping her tears away, before she runs that hand over her daughter’s cheek, eyes looking at only Melody now.

“I don’t want her to carry the ghosts and demons of a dead woman in her name. I loved my mother when I was little. But she isn’t my mom like you are, Seph. And if she ends up anything at all like you then she’ll be a damn good woman one day.”  

Persephone is speechless, tears falling over her face and landing on the baby she held. Her heart felt tight in her chest, as pieces from a conversation with her mother eight short months ago fell into place. 

“I’m just scared he’ll get his heart broken,” Persephone is sitting at the island in her kitchen, across from her mother, picking at broken bits of Christmas Cookies. “And if he does it’ll be my fault. I introduced them. And if he gets his heart broken-”

“I know you love the boy, Persephone. We all do. You raised him. Yet you also know they love each other. And that is deep and inseverable love. Do not worry. This is meant to happen in this way. They are two souls created for each other. The universe works the way it was supposed to. They were made to be together, this is just a fact of life. They are meant to have this baby just as I was meant to have you, Honey Bee.” Demeter is stitching something intently, across from Persephone, but watched her daughter intently. “The love they have for each other was put there by the universe..but so was the love you have for her.”

Persephone raises an eyebrow at her, reaching out to grab her wine glass, swirling the deep wine within it rather than bringing it to her lips. “She’s a great girl and I love her, yeah-”

“No. She was meant to be in our lives as much as she was his. She was born to another woman but her soul is tied to yours. You could not have been her mother by birth, no. That privilege was reserved for Juniper and the things she will bring you. But, Eurydice needs you in the same way you need her. Whatever that may be is up to you.” Demeter muses, glancing at her granddaughter who was sitting on the floor, playing with a baby doll. “Yes, Eurydice is part of your heart for a reason. Don’t underestimate the power of the love you will share.”

“Look, i’m “Rydice!” Junie interjects, waving the baby around enthusiastically, before holding her arms up to Demeter to be held. 

Persephone snorts before drinking the remnants of the wine, shaking her head at her toddler. “June Bug, you can’t say that yet.”

“Why not? She’s right. This one, she’s got the gift for sure.” Demeter kisses her angelic curls, wrapping both arms around her grand daughter. 

“Mmhmm. Gift.”

“Eurydice I-” She doesn’t know what to say, she doesn’t know how to elaborate on the deep feelings of love and protection she feels for the young girl infront of her. 

“Is that okay with you?” Eurydice asks, so soft Persephone isn’t sure she’s actually speaking or if she’s imagining it. “We can change it-”

“What? No, No. I’m honored, Eurydice. Truly- i’m so honored.” Persephone breaks their linked hands so that she can run her finger under her eyes to catch her tears. “I-thank you, Eurydice.”

“Thank you, for everything you’ve given us.” Eurydice wraps her arms around Persephone’s shoulders, careful not to crush her daughter between them. “Thank you for seeing more than the broken girl with the sad story.”

Persephone wraps her free arm around Eurydice’s back, hiding her crying face in the dark, cropped hair of the new mother in her arm. 

They stay like this for minutes, at least, until Orpheus returns to the room and finds them crying in each other’s arms. He wants to ask, but knows what has transpired is personal and intimate to the two of them and that if he’s meant to know he will. That’s just the way the universe would have it.

[rosmarinys]

breathe in, breathe out, let the human in

read on ao3 / dedicated to @ashpanesars bc ellie wrote a dotty fic and it is EXCELLENT pls read it

Dotty values grief the same way she values anything else, taken with a bitter smile and a sharp comment. (This is a lie.)

Dotty hates her father and never spares him a sentimental thought. (This is a lie.)

Dotty grieves her father the same way she grieves for herself, a hole in her chest filled with lost opportunities and dead love. (This is true.)

//

Dotty curls up in her bed (It’s not her bed, not really. Sonia told her that Nick used to sleep in here and now she lies awake at night wondering if she’s lying in the exact position he used to lay in, if he was just a man in those little hours of the night or if he schemed even then, more monster than ever. She runs through her concealer trying to cover up the dark shadows under her eyes these days.) and imagines other versions of herself.

One version of herself grew up in this house with Nick and Dot but Nick was kind and Dot loved them both dearly and they had tea everyday together and laughed and all the walls had Dot’s old wallpaper on it and it was nice. (Nick’s face is blurry in these fantasies, like a phantom, a ghost of someone who never existed. Dotty doesn’t linger on these dreams too much, she’s not one for dreaming of impossibilities.)

Another version of her is one where everything happens the way it did – Nick, pills, Dot, Wales – but Dotty comes back different. Dotty comes back with soft smiles and flowery dresses and apologies and everyone loves her, and she gives her own love out freely. (Platitudes have always tasted like falsities on her tongue; this fantasy isn’t her, it’s another phantom, one of a girl who died the moment she met her father.)

Most nights she just turns over and tries to sleep. No time to dream about things that will never happen.

//

Bex is nice in a way she doesn’t expect. Dotty expects judgemental looks and self-righteous frowns, for Bex to think she’s a better person and to let Dotty know whenever she could. But Bex is just tired, the bags under her eyes are bigger than Dotty’s and she smiles at Dotty, soft, like she’s actually her friend. (She is, Dotty thinks, she is. Nick’s voice is especially sharp whenever someone is kind and it feels like twisting a limb whenever she ignores him.)

They both stay up late some nights, hunched over cooling cups of tea with the only light being a few candles they found beneath the sink, Dot’s probably, and Bex tells her all sorts of things. Usually what drama had gone on while she was in Wales – Did you really not know that Callum was engaged to Whitney? – but sometimes it’s quiet confessions with dramatic shadows waving across their faces – Sometimes I just feel…empty, y’know?

There are never any confessions from Dotty, though she does consider it. She imagines opening her mouth, feel the words press against her teeth – There are times where I’m not sure if it was all Nick or I was responsible for everything I did, I’m not sure if I can be good because my blood is bad, it’s sour in my veins, I hear Nick’s voice in my head sometimes and it shouldn’t be so hard to ignore him but it is, does that mean I am a bad person, am I a bad person, am I - ?

Instead she swallows them down with cold tea and smiles at Bex, all teeth, and asks if she wants another cup.

(And now Sonia’s stolen money from Dot and Bex is gone, moved out and Dotty sits up, alone, with an empty mug and whispers her secrets into it, just for her and the candles)

//

Walford is different now but she’s not sure what she expected. Everything still looks the same on the surface but then the bustle starts, and the people come out, most of them on school runs, the chatter loud and insistent, and Dotty doesn’t recognises most of them.

In some ways it’s comforting, the feeling must be a two-way street, and so these people must look at her and think she’s just Dot’s granddaughter, easy on the eyes with a penchant for mesh tops and boots. (Other times it makes her want to scream, scream that she’s awful and evil and she tried to kill Dot and she tried to kill Nick and her blood is festering beneath her skin, look, look at the rot, look at the filth. But – but, most of the time, she’s just grateful)

The ones who do know make her spine stiffen, ready for a barbed comment about her father, the name Nick Cotton thrown like a bomb with shrapnel that digs into her flesh. They think she’s just as bad, she can tell. They’re waiting for someone to turn up dead so they can nod their heads, self-satisfied, all I knew it, I told you, didn’t I? Bad to the bone, just like her father. (Dotty usually jumps in before them, poison dripping from her tongue, she can’t feel their barbs if she cuts them first, right?)

So, yes. Walford is different. But nothing’s changed, not really. Affairs, mysterious disappearances and Dotty, taller with boobs now but still Nick Cotton’s daughter.

//

Bobby is sweet in a way she thinks she could have been. He looks haunted at times and when he doesn’t, his face is soft and childlike, big eyes peering at Dotty as though he is wondering who she is. He must like what he sees because he smiles at her a lot, no teeth, and when he speaks to her, his voice is quiet, his face soft with a blush.

He invites her around for dinner sometimes and she never goes but he doesn’t seem to hold it against her, just blinks and invites her around again. One time, she feels bad enough that she stands outside his back door for an hour, frozen, listening to the sound of his family eating and laughing together. There’s an ache in her chest, a cavern that wants to be filled but her father’s voice tells her to cut it bigger, to let it engulf her until she’s a blackhole, a whirlpool that destroys everything in her path.

Bobby opens the door just as she’s about to leave, face wide with surprise, a bag filled with rubbish clutched in his hand. She opens her mouth to – what? Apologise? She’s not sure if she can, and feels bile rise in her throat – but Bobby just shuts the door behind him and steps around her, shoves the bag in the bin – fails for a second, there’s so much rubbish piled into it, and he smiles at her sheepishly, like they’re friends, like they’ve never not been friends – and then sits on his backstep and looks up at her, face illuminated by the moonlight.

(She sits next to him and she doesn’t say anything, acid is at the back of her tongue and she doesn’t want to be mean to Bobby, so many people are and she, selfishly, wants to be someone he likes, someone he turns to when others cruel and he needs someone to be kind. Kindness isn’t exactly Dotty’s forte but she can do this, she can sit and listen to him murmur about things that don’t really matter – how his dinner was, what Ian has done to annoy everyone this week, a joke Habiba told him yesterday – and when he reaches over and wraps his fingers around her wrist and presses to feel her pulse thrum, she doesn’t flinch away so he can smile.)

Bobby looks at her like he gets what it feels like to be less person and more story and so she sits on his backstep and bares her teeth when people stare too long at him. (It feels nice, looking out for someone, makes her feel big, like someone to be proud of. And Bobby and Bex both grin at her when she visits so she must be doing something right.)

//

Dot is how she remembers her – sharp-tongued and kind in the way that only hard-assed old women can be – but now she’s frailer, her fingers are all sharp now and she seems tired in a way that someone is when they’ve lived a hard life for so long. (Dotty wonders if there’s a pattern in the people she surrounds herself with, if she’s drawn to those with extra weight attached to their limbs.)

She calls her Kirsty sometimes and it feels like a wall between them. Dotty knows it’s her name, her real name not a scheme, but when Dot says it, it feels like an acknowledge of the history between them, of the ghost of a man who stands in the corner of every room she’s in. But mostly Dot calls her Dotty and it makes them both smile and Dotty hands her a cup of tea and there’s no hesitation when she takes a sip and it makes her heart warm.

Dot is starting to forget things, though. Small things like where she left her purse and what day of the week it is, and Dotty feels every thing forgotten like a needle in her side, tiny pricks that bring her back to reality, a reality in which Dot is old and frail and not the Gran who once threw her over her lap and smacked her bum.

Dotty looks at her grandmother and wants to apologise for everything Nick did, for the lies she told when she was younger, for all the trouble they both caused. She says none of it, but Dot seems to know anyway, and presses a kiss to her forehead when she says goodnight, her lips cool and Dotty thinks the crick she gets in her neck is worth it.

//

There are so many things that Dotty won’t say, because she’s not sure how much of it is true and how much of it is what she just feels like she should be feeling.

Some things are better kept quiet because they’re too awful to be heard. (Like how Dotty hates her father for killing any version of them both that could’ve been nice and soft, but she also misses him like a limb at times. He was the monster who used to hide under her bed but now hides inside her head and gives her sleepless nights, but she used to hold his hand and it was just a firm grip with worn callouses. How evil could he have been? She had held his hand.)

She pricked her finger the other day and looked at how red the blood was. Am I a bad person? She’d asked. The blood hadn’t answered but it had stained the carpet. That was answer enough she supposed and felt Nick Cotton smile as she thinks about how Sonia had stolen money, and how much better Dotty could have done it.

[gadgetgirl71]

Amazon First Reads September 2020

It’s that time yet again! For me and other Amazon Prime Members to take our pick of this months Amazon First Reads. So if your an Amazon Prime member don’t forget to get your free First Reads Book.

This months choices are:

Thriller

Every Missing Thing by Martyn Ford, Pages: 367, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: One family. Two missing children. A lifetime of secrets.

Ten-year-old Ethan Clarke’s disappearance gripped the nation. Just as his parents are starting to piece together a life ‘after Ethan’, their world is ripped apart once more when their daughter, Robin, disappears in almost identical circumstances. They’ve lost two children within a decade … and now doubts about their innocence are setting in.

Detective Sam Maguire’s obsession with the first case cost him his own family, but he has unfinished business with the Clarkes. He is convinced that discovering what happened to Ethan holds the key to finding Robin. But what if the Clarkes know more than they’re letting on?

With the world watching eagerly, the clock is ticking for Sam as he embarks on an investigation that forces him to confront his own demons. To uncover the truth, he must follow a trail of devastating deception—but the truth always comes at a cost …

Book Club Fiction

Millicent Glenn’s Last Wish by Tori Whitaker, Pages: 340, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: Three generations of women—and the love, loss, sacrifice, and secrets that can bind them forever or tear them apart.

Millicent Glenn is self-sufficient and contentedly alone in the Cincinnati suburbs. As she nears her ninety-first birthday, her daughter Jane, with whom she’s weathered a shaky relationship, suddenly moves back home. Then Millie’s granddaughter shares the thrilling surprise that she’s pregnant. But for Millie, the news stirs heart-breaking memories of a past she’s kept hidden for too long. Maybe it’s time she shared something, too. Millie’s last wish? For Jane to forgive her.

Sixty years ago Millie was living a dream. She had a husband she adored, a job of her own, a precious baby girl, and another child on the way. They were the perfect family. All it took was one irreversible moment to shatter everything, reshaping Millie’s life and the lives of generations to come.

As Millie’s old wounds are exposed, so are the secrets she’s kept for so long. Finally revealing them to her daughter might be the greatest risk a mother could take in the name of love.

Police Procedural

The Unspoken by Ian K Smith, Pages: 295, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: In this new series from #1 New York Times bestselling author Ian K. Smith, an ex-cop turned private investigator seeks justice on the vibrant, dangerous streets of Chicago.

Former Chicago detective Ashe Cayne is desperate for redemption. After refusing to participate in a police department cover-up involving the death of a young black man, Cayne is pushed out of the force. But he won’t sit quietly on the sidelines: he’s compelled to fight for justice as a private investigator…even if it means putting himself in jeopardy.

When a young woman, Tinsley Gerrigan, goes missing, her wealthy parents from the North Shore hire Cayne to find her. As Cayne looks into her life and past, he uncovers secrets Tinsley’s been hiding from her family. Cayne fears he may never find Tinsley alive.

His worries spike when Tinsley’s boyfriend is found dead—another black man murdered on the tough Chicago streets. Cayne must navigate his complicated relationships within the Chicago PD, leveraging his contacts and police skills to find the missing young woman, see justice done, and earn his redemption.

Contemporary Romance

Roommaids by Sariah Wilson, Pages: 301, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: From bestselling author Sariah Wilson comes a charming romance about living your life one dream at a time.

Madison Huntington is determined to live her dreams. That means getting out from under her family’s wealth and influence by saying no to the family business, her allowance, and her home. But on a teacher’s salary, the real world comes as a rude awakening—especially when she wakes up every morning on a colleague’s couch. To get a place of her own (without cockroaches, mould, or crime scene tape), Madison accepts a position as a roommaid. In exchange for free room and board, all she needs to do is keep her busy roommate’s penthouse clean and his dog company. So what if she’s never washed a dish in her life. She can figure this out, right?

Madison is pretty confident she can fake it well enough that Tyler Roth will never know the difference. The finance whiz is rich and privileged and navigates the same social circles as her parents—but to him she’s just a teacher in need of an apartment. He’s everything Madison has run from, but his kind hearted nature, stomach-fluttering smile, and unexpected insecurities only make her want to get closer. And Tyler is warming to the move.

Rewarding job. Perfect guy. Great future. With everything so right, what could go wrong? Madison is about to find out.

Literary Fiction

A Single Swallow by Zhang Ling, Pages: 299, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: The eagerly awaited English translation of award-winning author Zhang Ling’s epic and intimate novel about the devastation of war, forgiveness, redemption, and the enduring power of love.

On the day of the historic 1945 Jewel Voice Broadcast—in which Emperor Hirohito announced Japan’s surrender to the Allied forces, bringing an end to World War II—three men, flush with jubilation, made a pact. After their deaths, each year on the anniversary of the broadcast, their souls would return to the Chinese village of their younger days. It’s where they had fought—and survived—a war that shook the world and changed their own lives in unimaginable ways. Now, seventy years later, the pledge is being fulfilled by American missionary Pastor Billy, brash gunner’s mate Ian Ferguson, and local soldier Liu Zhaohu.

All that’s missing is Ah Yan—also known as Swallow—the girl each man loved, each in his own profound way.

As they unravel their personal stories of the war, and of the woman who touched them so deeply during that unforgiving time, the story of Ah Yan’s life begins to take shape, woven into view by their memories. A woman who had suffered unspeakable atrocities, and yet found the grace and dignity to survive, she’d been the one to bring them together. And it is her spark of humanity, still burning brightly, that gives these ghosts of the past the courage to look back on everything they endured and remember the woman they lost.

Supernatural Thriller

The Haunting of H G Wells by Robert Masello, Pages: 393, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: A plot against England that even the genius of H. G. Wells could not have imagined.

It’s 1914. The Great War grips the world—and from the Western Front a strange story emerges…a story of St. George and a brigade of angels descending from heaven to fight beside the beleaguered British troops. But can there be any truth to it?

H. G. Wells, the most celebrated writer of his day—author of The Time Machine, The War of the Worlds, The Invisible Man—is dispatched to find out. There, he finds an eerie wasteland inhabited by the living, the dead, and those forever stranded somewhere in between…a no-man’s-land whose unhappy souls trail him home to London, where a deadly plot, one that could turn the tide of war, is rapidly unfolding.

In league with his young love, the reporter and suffragette Rebecca West, Wells must do battle with diabolical forces—secret agents and depraved occultists—to save his sanity, his country, and ultimately the world.

Nonfiction

Welcome to The United States of Anxiety by Jen Lancaster, Pages: 288, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: New York Times bestselling author Jen Lancaster is here to help you chill the hell out.

When did USA become shorthand for the United States of Anxiety? From the moment Americans wake up, we’re bombarded with all-new terrifying news about crime, the environment, politics, and stroke-inducing foods we’ve been enjoying for years. We’re judged by social media’s faceless masses, pressured into maintaining a Pinterest-perfect home, and expected to base our self-worth on retweets, faves, likes, and followers. Our collective FOMO, and the disparity between the ideal and reality, is leading us to spend more and feel worse. No wonder we’re getting twitchy. Save for an Independence Day–style alien invasion, how do we begin to escape from the stressors that make up our days?

Jen Lancaster is here to take a hard look at our elevating anxieties, and with self-deprecating wit and level-headed wisdom, she charts a path out of the quagmire that keeps us frightened of the future and ashamed of our imperfectly perfect human lives. Take a deep breath, and her advice, and you just might get through a holiday dinner without wanting to disown your uncle.

Children’s Picture Book

The Monster on the Block by Sue Ganz-Schmitt, Illustrator: Luke Flowers, Pages: 32 Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: Monster is excited to see what kind of creature will move into Vampire’s old house on the block. He even starts practicing his welcome growl for the new neighbour. But when the moving truck pulls up, it’s not a greedy goblin, an ogre, or a dastardly dragon that steps out. Instead, it’s something even more terrifying than Monster could have imagined! Monster quickly rallies the other neighbours to unite against the new guy on the block. But what if the new neighbour isn’t exactly as bad as Monster thinks? Join Monster as he confronts his fears in this charming and light-hearted look at what it means to accept others who are different from us.

*** Which book will you choose? I have no idea which book I’ll choose as there a couple of books that interest me this month. ***

#AmazonFirstReads, #Amazonkindle, #AmazonPrimeMembers, #BookClubFiction, #Books, #ChildrensPictureBook, #ContemporaryFiction, #Kindle, #KindleBooks, #LiteraryFiction, #NonFiction, #PoliceProcedural, #SupernatuarlThriller, #Thriller

[themattress]

Look, I like The Last Jedi. I think it's a good movie, and far from the worst Star Wars movie or the utter ruination of the whole franchise. In fact, I think it did several things that were very necessary in moving the franchise forward in a good direction. And I will always stand by that.

BUT with that said, this guy makes a lot of valid points about the inherit wrongness of what Rian Johnson pulled with it, which harms how well it ages. As the middle chapter of the trilogy, so much of what it did in "subverting expectations" repeatedly ran the overarching story into brick walls. While The Empire Strikes Back being divisive back in its day just like TLJ is now is certainly true, I have to admit that even back then Empire set up these plot threads to be wrapped up in the concluding entry:

* Luke needed to complete his Jedi training, his maturation process, and his Hero's Journey. * Luke needed to finally face and defeat Darth Vader once and for all. * Luke needed to emotionally struggle with the fact that Darth Vader was his father. * Han needed to be rescued from Jabba the Hutt. * Leia being able to hear Luke through the Force needed to be explained. * The Luke/Leia/Han "love triangle" needed to be resolved. * Yoda's comment about there being another hope needed to be addressed. * Obi-Wan had to be taken to task for lying to Luke about his father. * Lando needed to further progress in redeeming himself. * The Rebellion needed to fully regroup and strike back against the Empire. * The Emperor himself needed to finally show up in person and try to bring Luke to his side. * Everything about Darth Vader needed closure, really.

And on the whole, many people were emotionally invested in the story and wanted to see how it ended.

Regardless of one's thoughts on Return of the Jedi, it did pick up all of those hanging threads and wrapped them up.  Now, let's look at what The Last Jedi left up in the air in comparison:

* Rey has the Sacred Jedi Texts to learn from, but she's so OP that it doesn't seem she needs much training to pick up skills from them. * Rey has no personal conflict to deal with, as learning the truth of her parentage has actually liberated her from such things. * Rey and Kylo Ren's connection doesn't even need to progress, since Rey literally slammed the door on him at the end! * Finn is firmly committed to the Resistance and...that's it, he's got nothing left. * Poe has matured into a real leader and...yeah, his arc could possibly end right there. * Luke dies, and there's no urgent in-story requirement for him to reappear as a Force Ghost. * Leia has no clear path forward, and Carrie Fisher is dead. * Kylo Ren is the new Supreme Leader and...yeah, he's going down. He lost in TFA's finale, he lost in this film's finale, he'll lose again. * Hux wants to betray Kylo Ren, but he's portrayed as such a buffoon that does anyone feel any suspense from this? * Phasma is dead, nothing more can be done with her. * Snoke is dead, nothing more can be done with him...we never even got any backstory that could’ve given some more material! * In regards to the new characters, Holdo is dead, DJ is gone for good, and Rose had a completed arc that doesn't leave her any clear path forward. * The Resistance has to regain strength and destroy the First Order, but that's a foregone conclusion at this point. * I guess Broom Boy and other Force-sensitive children could rise up to be heroes many, many years later?

And the emotional investment that many people had in the story and its resolution was destroyed, as the set-ups from the first movie were all discarded, the direction of the trilogy's story was left in an unclear fog, and so many of the characters ended up looking bad and not worth following anymore.

And yeah, it's great that Rian Johnson's vision spared us from Colin Trevorrow spearheading the final installment of the trilogy, that still could have happened while adhering to a basic trilogy outline that pushed more elements from the first movie forward and left some elements to be resolved in the last movie. Y'know, like the one J.J Abrams apparently wrote and Kathleen Kennedy foolishly allowed Rian to discard altogether?

Imagine if there was the usual time skip between movies with TLJ.  Rey could be back with the Resistance and go on a mission with Finn, Poe, Rose and the rest that incorporated a lot of the whole Oochi / Sith Dagger / Rey's parents stuff that ended up in TROS, with flashbacks showing her time with Luke on Ach-To and how she eventually learned about the origins of that mission from Luke himself. Along the way we get her Force Skypes with Kylo Ren until ultimately she returns to Ach-To to confront Luke on what really happened in the past with him and Ben Solo, and then we get most of the same stuff that happens afterward in TLJ but with the addition of Rey being revealed as Palpatine's granddaughter by Kylo rather than revealed as coming from nothing, Kylo Ren defeating Rey and claiming the Sith Dagger for himself (which would guide him to the Wayfinder at the start of TROS), and the final scene being the Palpatine broadcast being heard by the peasant kids playing with their toys rather than just a big thematic moment that is cool but doesn't actually mean anything for this saga. Imagine how much better the movie and trilogy would have been if it had gone that route!

Rian, my man, you did some good, but you also really fucked up.

[harveywritings92]

The Path to Isolation: Genji Shimada x OC

Summary:  It all started when she arrived at the Shimada Castle... an arranged marriage, A fake relation ship...And did that hussy seriously just call him Genjikins?! Anri was only was only eight when her grandfather left her in the care the Shimadas so that one day she'll marry Genji, Too bad pompous carrot ninja has his head shoved so far up his own ass he's having a hard time seeing her.

____________________________________________________

The following is a non profit fan based story,  Overwatch belongs to Blizzard Entertainment .

please support the official release.

_

I gain no profit from this nor do I own anything other then OCs  and whatever sprouts from my imagination. Thanks for reading!

[Note not related to Bed Fellows!]

                                         -Prologue/Timeline chapter.- 

(It all started when she arrived at the Shimada house a little girl no older then eight was wandering around the garden, this place was huge! the little raven haired girl stared in awe at the tall buildings and dragon statues around the place when she bumped into someone.

she fell to the ground and look up and saw an boy around the same age looking a her confused, "Hm? who are you?" he asked pulling her up in one tug "I'm Anri, Anri Townsend." the older boy blinked before bursting out laugh, as she watched him befuddled "what's so funny?" she huffed.

"Your last name is weird!~"

"Is not!"

"is too~ Towzendo it's weird."

"well what's your name?"

Anri pouted crossing her arms before the boy could answer: an enrage voice yelled "GENJI!!! Where the hell are you?!?!" both kids jumped at the angry shout as Genji grabbed Anri hand and hid the two of them in the bushes.

They watched an older boy with pink hair came stomping out of the main house, looking around frantically "Whose that?" Anri asked watching the enraged tween rush around the garden checking anywhere a small kid could hide. "My big brother Hanzo." he said holding back a giggle Anri looked between to two curiously "Oh...why's his hair pink?"

Genji went to explain how he snuck into his brother's bathroom and switched his shampoo with hair dye. only, for his brother to find them "There you little brat!" Hanzo screeched then froze when he saw Anri who was hiding behind Genji."who the hell are you?" he snarled before the honey eyed girl could answer, the older boy grabbed her wrist and dragged her and Genji to his father.

"Father Genji turned my hair pink and brought some urchin inside!" he yelled as his father gawked at his eldest appearance, his lips twitched like he wanted to laugh but, covered it up by clearing his throat. We'll discuss this later, right now I'd like to introduce you to Kurenai-san." Anri perked up at the mention of her grandfather the girl wiggled out of Hanzo's hold and ran up to the frail man hugging his leg, the old man patted her head as he looked down at his granddaughter sadly.

the Shimada brothers stared at them curiously as their father spoke up "We were discussing some personal matters." Hanzo and Genji shifted uncomfortably before bowing "R-right then we'll leave the you two... uh three alone." before either of them could step outside Their father stopped them.

"No, stay these matters involve Genji as much as it involves you."

"What, sort of matters?" Hanzo asked brow creasing as he tried to make sense of the situation, while Genji seemed distracted by Anri playing with some thread her grandpa gave her.

"Well Kurenai and I have been talking since the unfortunate deaths of his daughter and son -in law, how his health has been declining the last couple months...and we've come to an agreement."

"What agreement?"Hanzo asked looking at the older man sitting next to his father watching his granddaughter play cat's cradle Genji seemed to want to play with her too. but, was scared his dad would yell at him, then his father said something that would changed the brother's life forever

..."Anri is Going to be living here from now on, and when she and Genji are older they going to get married." Genji blanched as did Anri "What do you mean I gotta marry this weirdo!?" the younger Shimada yelled pointing at Anri who looked at her grandfather with shock and betrayal. "What is that uncle talking about?"

She looked up at her grandfather who just silently stood up, and started walking out of the main house with Anri following. only, for one of the maids to stop her and hold her back as she tried reaching for her grandpa who didn't even look back.

Later that night Genji woke up to use the toilet when he went back to his room he heard soft sound of someone weeping, he followed the sound found himself in front of Anri's room; cautiously he peeked inside and saw a small mass shaking under a blanket,frowning the ten year old walked over to the bed shook the younger girl who looked out from under the her blanket.

"What do you want?" she sniffled as Genji grimaced at her broken tone."I'm Sick of hearing you crying...move over." he ordered Anri looked at him apprehensively before doing what she was told as Genji got into bed with her and pulled her close to him, "You don't need to cry as long as I'm around." he said tiredly as Anri sniffled.

"So just calm down and get some sleep, Okay?"  the younger girl wiped her eyes nodded "Thanks Genji..." From that day Anri and Genji were inseparable, often seen playing together or pranking Hanzo or hanging out at school. Considering a lot of kids were wary of approaching Genji due to his family's status, the honey eyed girl a was godsend for the young Shimada his first real friend and crush.

But, then middle school started things just sort of changed; girls started noticing Genji. but not for his kindness and good heart. but for his money and good looks he grew arrogant and so spoiled, that soon he was barely home during the night, Anri only ever saw him at school and the times he was home, She and Hanzo had to listen to him lie through his teeth at what flavor of the week he was two timing on. that was his only girl, completely ignoring the fact that he had a fiancee.

A girl who looked way too plain to be one of Genji's girl apparently. See Anri had grown into good looking and confident young lady. But instead of showing it off? She chose to lay low be an ugly duckling, she grew out her hair and tied in braids wore large framed glasses that hides most of her face, and wore plain and modest clothes, She was often labeled as creepy otaku, mother goose or a nerd girl. there was no way someone like her would be Genji's fiancee.

A fiancee that his ex girlfriends or their other girl's boyfriends would torment because they were angry at him for cheating and or stealing their girlfriends, and what really dug the knife in deep in Anri's chest  is when Genji started joining them in the bullying as well, half joined if it got too violent he'd step in immediately tell them she's not worth it.

It went too far once when a girl who Genji was seeing at the back in fist year, pushed Anri into oncoming traffic much to her groupies horror; they just thought their leader wanted to scare Anri not kill her, luckily Genji pulled her out the road seconds before truck ran her over and that incident was just because his friends saw them walking together.

Afterward Genji just stop interacting Anri completely, he stayed in his lane and she stayed in hers. A least she would be if Genji hadn't been sitting next to her this semester she had to deal random glitter being blown on to her desk, the smell of cheap perfumes and hushed giggling of his Ho squad.

 Anri also had to endure Trash and balls of paper being thrown at her and has been sat on at least twice today; because they weren't paying attention or were just so oblivious to her presence, The second she asked them to get off, the person would jump from shock then she'd get laughed at for being a ghost.

Anri would just grumble something and leave to be with her friends which consisted of Takumi, Mikoto and Mayuki...

Takumi and Anri have been friends since elementary after she beat up a bunch of older boys for bullying him, Genji was reluctant at first of letting the bushy haired boy hang out with them, but allowed it because "hey someone who not afraid of my family wants to be my friend!" that was until the second year of middle-School,

 when she and Takumi announced they were dating, Genji treated the timid boy coldly and avoided them like the plague at school, Only Hanzo knew of Anri's reasons for dating Takumi and was appalled at his younger brother's behavior; he had no right to be upset! considering he's actively cheating on Anri almost every other week!

See, to outsiders Anri and Takumi looked like the awkward high school couple you pass by and not spare a second glance at, But in reality Takumi was dating Mikoto the popular good looking captain of the boys basketball team, He was in Genji's group of friends before dating Takumi and befriending Anri, They've been dating for two years and Takumi's family didn't know that he was gay.

Takumi's parents are a very bias sort and were starting to get suspicious,paranoid and accusatory toward his lack of attraction towards women, So in spur of anger he stole Anri's first kiss by kissing her right then and there! in front of his parents; much the poor girl's shock!

 then awkwardly apologized while walking her home and told her about his crush on Mikoto and how his family will throw him out if they found out. "Not if you're dating me they won't." The honey eyed girl said pulling the bushy haired boy into a hug and so began their fake romance.

Not long after Mikoto came around; told Takumi he liked him and the two started dating in secret that's how he became Anri's second friend. Then there was Mayuki she's bottle blond and a bit of an airhead, she use to have a crush on Mikoto, and when she saw him hanging around with the nerd girl, she got jealous and started fooling around with Genji in an attempt to make the handsome basketball captain jealous.

He never spared her a glance, finally she decided to confront him only to walk in on Mikoto making out with Takumi in one of the club rooms much to her shock, the fake blond fainted, and later woke up in the nurse's office; where the couple awkwardly explained their situation to her and Anri threatened to mail Mayuki to Antarcti.ca if she told anyone.

Mayuki soon became fast friends with the trio. she is Anri's only female friend who isn't using her to get Genji, seeing as Mayuki knows how the carrot boy lives his life and wants nothing more to do with that train wreck, But during their brief relationship.

She couldn't help but noticed how the young Shimada's eyes would always seem to wander and linger on a short raven haired girl's direction, when he thought no one else was watching,...Which tipped Mayuki off that there was something going behind the scenes with Anri and Genji...But clearly neither wanted address it.

[anthropwashere]

i’m still, still dreaming magnificent things (part 3)

part 1 | part 2

(AO3/FFN links to come)

=

Winry's call the evening before Ed's release is a far more cheerful one. "We're going to Rush Valley!"

Alphonse pulls away from Granny and the phone in her hand, wincing even though he can't feel pain. That was shrill.

Granny though, she just beams. "Ha! It's about time you made your way down there. But don't tell me Ed of all people picked up an interest in automail."

"Of course not. That'd mean he finally figured out what good taste is. He's going farther south than that, but I convinced him to pay for my ticket there and back. I'm so excited, Granny! I'm going to see the holy land of automail with my own eyes!"

"Oh yeah," Alphonse mutters. He'd forgotten the name of the city, but he's spent too many years around the Rockbells not to know about this far-off biomechanical boomtown. He leans back in once it seems Winry's finished gleeing at a pitch fit to shatter glass.

"I'm going to try to get Ed to spent some time there with me before he heads down to—oh, what was it again? Dublith?"

Alphonse immediately recoils again. "Oh no."

"What's in Dublith?" Granny asks.

"I guess that's where his old alchemy teacher lives?"

"Don't call her old!" Alphonse hisses.

"Oh, that's right, I remember now. Missus Curtis."

"Who?"

"You remember the year the boys left for their training, don't you?" Granny hesitates, mouth thinning, making a visible decision to avoid any mention of that being the same year Winry's parents were killed. "She passed through here during the spring thaw with her husband. She shored up the river with that same funny alchemy Ed can do."

"Oh yeah. I'd forgotten about her."

How on Earth could anybody forget Teacher? Alphonse shakes his head in disbelief. God. On the one hand, he's hoped Ed would eventually brave the trip to Dublith. But on the other? He does not envy him.

Winry and Granny turn the conversation back to Rush Valley, to models Winry wants to see in person and old shops Granny suggests she visit, and so on. Alphonse leaves them to it, more interested in puzzling out why Ed's chosen to seek Teacher out. What could have spurned this make-or-break decision? Some revelation in his research? His near-losses to Scar and those armor-bound souls in the last couple months? Ed's always been a bit of a sore loser. It's likely to be training that he's after—and hopefully that's all he's after. Hopefully he doesn't intend to mention anything regarding soul alchemy or human transmutation. Teacher would throw him out of a window for that kind of talk and she wouldn't bother to open it first.

He's worried for Ed. He's worried what Teacher will say, what she'll do. For years she was the stick by which they measured alchemy and all other practitioners, the one and only other alchemist they've ever known. Alphonse hasn't seen her in years, knows that it's impossible for her to browbeat him over what they tried and failed to do, and still he shivers under the imagined weight of her glower.

Brr.

Hopefully Teacher will at least give Ed time to say his piece before she breaks him in half.

=

He goes back to Rockbell Automail every evening after Ed's released, just in case. Winry's proven to be reliable about calling, something he's long since given up on Ed ever bothering with, so he's hoping for news sooner than later. But it's not just news he's after that drives him to spend frustratingly quiet hours watching Granny. It's just....

Well. It doesn't feel right to leave Granny all on her own.

Rockbell Automail is so much bigger without Winry clattering about it too. Her workroom is dim and still, her bed neatly made. There's no game of cards after dinner, no dry commentary shared about the morning news, no shopping lists made, no experimental dinners barely salvaged. It's just Granny and her meals for one, Granny sorting through a shipment of new parts in the basement, Granny watching the sun rise and set with pipe smoke curling around her head, Granny on unhurried walks with Den into town. Without customers or her granddaughter to fill the house with chatter, Granny... shrinks. She shows her age. She uncovers her griefs in empty rooms, sandpapered to smooth edges yet still bearing the odd splinter to startle.

Alphonse remembers when Auntie Sara and Uncle Yurie still lived here. He remembers Auntie Sara hugging him close as he cried not long after Mom died, Uncle Yurie teaching him how to tie his shoelaces. They were never formally adopted by the Rockbells, no, but it was never a question of who in town would look after them when it became clear Dad wasn't coming back.

He looks over Granny's shoulder at the old pictures, smiling to himself as Den's tail thumps against a table leg. The first baby pictures of Uncle Yurie, a swaddled pink lump with a tuft of blond hair in a much younger Pinako's arms, pride apparent in her exhausted grin. Others, with and without her late husband, Grandpa Rockbell who passed away before Ed was born. Yurie growing up and up, a toddler then a boy then a teenager then a young man. Then Auntie Sara joins the photographs, her blonde curls cut in a flyaway bob, growing out as she grows up. She's not from Resembool, the same as Mom. Alphonse has dim memories—memories that are more likely to have been etched out of stories he's heard and reheard from Granny and Auntie Sara—of the two women being close friends. There'd only been a year's difference in their ages. Auntie Sara had been only three years older than when Mom died when she was killed in Ishval.

"I miss them too," he tells Granny.

But Granny's smiling to herself rather than dabbing at her eyes. True, it isn't a happy smile. She misses them all terribly; her husband, her son, her daughter-in-law, Mom. She lingers over pictures of Dad too, her old drinking buddy. It's strange, Alphonse thinks. If the dates written on those sepia-toned photographs are right Granny's known Dad almost fifty years. Strange, because Dad looks the same in the oldest picture Granny has of him as he does in the family picture taken only a year before he left. He should be in his nineties, but he doesn't look any older than forty in every single picture Granny has.

Strange. It's a peculiarity Alphonse picks at from time to time, but it's a moot point. Dad is gone, dead or run off, and either way Alphonse will never see him again. Why should he waste any time wondering after the man who left his family behind when Granny's right here, slow to shake herself out of bittersweet memories?

It's not right for her to sit here all alone like this, waiting for someone living to make the trip out of town. When he catches her looking too melancholy he riles Den up or sets his cold hands against her shoulders until she shakes herself off and puts away the photo album. He's glad he's still real enough to help her like this; chasing away cobwebs and making her laugh when Den yelps at nothing.

=

Winry will call again soon, either during her trip to Rush Valley or when she's on her way home again, but there's no telling when that call might come. It's likely she'll succeed in bullying Ed into staying in Rush Valley a day or two. Once Ed gets too irritated, he'll take a train bound for an early grave in Dublith and Winry will come back home with at least two bags overflowing with trinkets she'd coaxed Ed into buying for her. Sure, they might fight like cats and dogs more often than not, but she's got him wrapped around her little finger.

(Alphonse saw right through that guilt trip she'd pulled with the earrings Ed had brought back as "gifts" the first few times he showed up with his leg in shambles, not that Ed didn't deserve it. Winry's ears weren't even pierced back then. Dumbass.)

All in all, the radio silence is a return to routine. He checks in with Granny once or twice a day. The rest of the time he wanders where he wills, picking people at random to follow for the day, spending the night talking with other ghosts. Anything, to chase away the hours.

Granny's next appointment is with Mrs. Perrault, a woman some years younger than her who'd been injured in a carriage accident as a girl. Her left arm is below-the-elbow automail, a slim-fingered design done by some other mechanic in the West. She had to move across the country for work about the same time as when the Eastern Conflict really picked up, and word of mouth brought her to Rockbell Automail about a year before Alphonse died. She and Granny have been close friends ever since.

"—can't let her out of my sight five minutes before she's up to her neck in trouble," Granny complains as he passes through the front door. She's trying not to grin though, so whatever phone call he missed had shared more good news than bad.

"Damn," he mutters as he sits down on the floor near Den. "What'd I miss, boy?"

Den's tail flops a little as he grins lazily, not bothering to lift his head up. Good dog.

"Oh, don't go blaming her for all that," Mrs. Perrault says, swatting Granny's hand playfully. "You raised her right. She's such a sweet thing. It's that boy who dragged her into the whole mess."

"Hey," Alphonse says, but it's a token protest. Whatever happened, it probably was Ed's fault. He's pretty sure Ed just has one of those faces people like to punch.

"Will I didn't say it wasn't his fault, now did I?" Granny sighs. "He's a feral little brat, no question. There's a good heart buried in there somewhere, mind, but he was born itching to raise hell and that's only gotten worse since his brother passed—"

"Hey," Alphonse says with more feeling. "Don't pin this on me."

Granny slips the external plating back into place on Mrs. Perrault's forearm. "It's not that I don't want her to apprentice. She's got a real gift for biomedical engineering—"

"And so young!" Mrs. Perrault interjects warmly.

Granny doesn't return her smile, tapping her screwdriver against the other woman's metal wrist. "That's the trouble. She's too young to go off on her own. I didn't apprentice until I was nineteen. I know things are different these days, and Mister Garfiel certainly sounds like a fine young man, but I'm still worried for here. Rush Valley is a rough city."

Alphonse blinks. "Wait, Winry's apprenticing? Since when?"

"You raised her right," Mrs. Perrault repeats, resting her other hand on Granny's briefly to stop her tapping. "She'll handle herself fine, and she's smart besides. She knows to be careful."

"She's fifteen, Sally. There's no such thing as being smart or careful enough at that age."

"Ha, isn't that just so? Still, here I thought you'd be proud of her. Delivering a baby and earning an apprenticeship all on her own like that!"

"She delivered a what?" Damn, it's only been a few days! Apparently he can't ever leave this house again if he wants to keep up with any and all insanity.

"Well," Granny says, looking sly, "I think her surname might have given her a leg up getting that apprenticeship."

"Oh?"

"She was recommended to Mister Garfiel by the babe's grandfather, none other than Dominic LeCoulte himself."

Mrs. Perrault lights up like the mid-winter lights festival has come early. "You don't mean—the same Dominic you know back when you were...?"

"The very same!"

They throw their heads back, all but cackling. Alphonse huffs. "You two could actually share some of these stories you're always laughing over one of these days, you know."

Of course, they pay his suggestion no heed. Soon their conversation turns to other, less interesting things. He leaves them to it, going down the hall to Winry's workroom.

The door's cracked enough to let a narrow streak of sunlight in, filling the room with soft shadows and gleaming spots of light off the unfinished pieces she'd left without their oil cloths in her hurry to make the train. He stands in the narrow square of clear floor space behind the pushed-in chair, eyes falling to the coffee tins and mason jars lining the shelves. One jar of bolts catches the light a little differently than its neighbors; the rough edges of hasty alchemy etch strange angles across the glass. Ed had broken it by accident years ago while Winry had been in town. Winry, of course, had noticed it right off, but she's let Ed go on thinking he'd gotten away with it.

Alphonse considers the empty chair, the silence, the stillness, the motes of dust spinning in the space his shadow should stretch. Minutes pass, in the soft, difficult-to-notice way they do when there's no one else around. He finds himself unexpectedly... sad? Is that the right word for it? Sad is a heavy word, better appended to cataclysmic emotions like grief and loneliness. He doesn't know what word would better describe this feeling, this almost disappointed surprise, like someone pulled the rug out from under him for a laugh at his expense. He can't settle on a word, but he's still left feeling something over the fact that Winry isn't coming back after all. He's whiled away a lot of hours here in this little room, watching her work. He'd sit out of the way, perched up where he could see her hands work magic, shaping so much scrap into carefully shaped puzzle pieces he couldn't begin to parse, and with absolute ease she'd put all those pieces together into new limbs for people who'd had their own taken from them.

People always compare alchemy to magic and miracles, but those people have never seen an automail engineer in total, unapologetic love with their craft. Winry gets this look on her face as she works, this all-encompassing serenity despite the shriek of heavy machinery. It's like she'd rather be here in this little room than anywhere else in the world.

But that's not true, because she isn't coming back. She's moving forward, growing up. Oh, she'll visit. He knows her too well to expect anything else. She cares for Granny too much to leave her up on this hill alone for too long. She'll visit, perhaps not as frequently as Ed but for longer stretches when she does. But then she'll leave again, just like Ed. She'll go back to the life she's carving out for herself in far-off Rush Valley, the rough-and-tumble city of her dreams. She'll commit herself wholly to the craft she's lived and breathed for as long as Ed has lived and breathed alchemy. She'll be happy there.

Rush Valley, as he's pieced together from Granny's stories, is some wondrous city in the South, a desert valley hemmed in by spires of weathered red stone and deep canyons, hot and bright and chaotic, teeming over with people from all walks of life and a dozen different models of automail in every shop. When Granny apprenticed there she stayed for years, and afterward went traveling around the country for even longer. She only came back to Resembool for good when her dad fell ill, husband in tow and Uncle Yurie born shortly thereafter..

Resembool is a place to settle, a place to build a home, a place to forge a shared happiness that will last a lifetime. It's a place to raise families, to grow old, to laugh on the porch on sticky summer evenings as fireflies wink erratic patterns in the waving grass. It's a place for children, not for young people trying to grow up and figure out what kind of person they want to be.

He doesn't mind that Winry's moving forward. He's happy for her, really. He just thought... he thought there'd be a little more time before she left too. That's all.

=

So.

Winry's apprenticing in Rush Valley, which—according to the train station's detailed map—is only one stop north of Dublith. From a purely practical standpoint, it'll be good to have Winry that much closer to Ed. You know. In case of... mechanical failure.

Oh, who is he kidding? Teacher's going to break every bone in Ed's body for what they did, and it's not like she'll leave his left leg alone just because it's made of steel. Ed won't have the foresight—nor the hindsight, for that matter—to appreciate it, but at least he won't have to haul his broken carcass halfway across the country so Winry can finish him off for destroying her beautiful work.

(Again.)

That's how he rationalizes it when he's feeling optimistic, anyhow. He wouldn't be at all surprised to see FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST FOUND DEAD, BRUTALIZED emblazoned on the front page of the Times one day.

...He really, really doesn't envy Ed facing Teacher all on his own. Brr.

=

CENTRAL INVESTIGATIONS OFFICER FOUND DEAD, MURDERED, screams the front page of the Times.

In smaller print—with far too many exclamation points to be tasteful—the article goes on to detail that Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes was found dead in a phone booth in Central Park, the apparent cause of death a single gunshot wound to the heart. He had no known enemies and there are currently no suspects. For his ultimate sacrifice in service to Amestris he has been posthumously promoted two ranks to that of Brigadier General. It goes on to list the commendations he earned in Ishval, bland details of the years he served in distinction, and the fact that he is survived by a wife, Gracia, and one daughter, Elicia. They have asked for privacy in their time of grief.

Alphonse steps back from reading over Granny's shoulder, dismayed. "Hughes? Wasn't that the family Winry stayed with in Central? Brother's friend?"

Granny has one hand pressed to her mouth, the paper shaking in the other. After a moment she sets it down, folds it so she needn't see the top article. She finishes her morning coffee in silence.

=

Days pass, then weeks. A whole month of days passes by without so much as a whisper of Ed. Winry calls every few days, always bubbling over with excitement and technical jargon and absurd stories. She doesn't mention Ed apart from saying she hasn't heard from him either. "Like that's anything new." Which is true, and sort of comforting for it? If he hasn't been found chopped up into neat little pieces yet then maybe Teacher took pity on him. Enough that she hasn't chased Ed out of town yet, at least, and really, that's more than Alphonse dared to hope for.

He can't help but worry anyway, as he always does in the uneasy interim. The time they spent in Dublith as kids was—amazing, honestly amazing. They learned more in six months than they did in all the preceding years of teaching themselves out of Dad's old books. Teacher had been—terrifying, yes, absolutely, no question. But she'd been fascinating too. The most skilled and knowledgeable alchemist they'd ever met—still, in his case, and more than likely the same for Ed too—and she barely ever used alchemy. All her neighbors had stories of times past when she had, and it had always been for big, important events. Lives on the line events. Halting chaos and destruction in its tracks, just like how she'd saved Resembool with a single clap of her hands. Everything else, from wobbly chairs to leaky roofs to broken plates, she insisted be fixed by hand.

Fascinating too, if a bit overbearing at times, had been how smitten she and Sig were. Overbearing, yes, but it was honest—at least, as far as he could tell then as an eight year old boy who'd not yet really taken much notice of girls. Since then he's had ample opportunity to compare their marriage to that of other couples, in public and behind closed doors. Sig and Teacher remind him a little of Auntie Sara and Uncle Yurie. Wholehearted devotion, love their foundation rather than a coat of paint. True love like out of a story. Love each person worked hard to keep fast. Love that soared on the good days and dug its heels in and persisted on the bad. Love that was so, so worth the time and energy put into it. The kind of love—the kind of bond—that anyone would admire, and perhaps even envy.

He's wondered on more than one occasion if Mom and Dad had been at all like that. If they'd shown their love for each other in the small gestures as much as the grand ones. If Mom had brought Dad a fresh cup of coffee without being asked to when he lost track of time in his study. If Dad chased her out of the kitchen so he could make dinner while she took a well-deserved break. If they folded laundry together, washed and dried dishes together, picked weeds on blisteringly hot days together, stayed up late worrying about the latest  trouble their precocious sons had gotten into. Did Mom know why Dad left? Had Dad really intended to come back like she said he would?

He wishes he knew. He can't remember. His memories of their parents are even shakier than Ed's, and it's not as if he can ask anyone for details.

Teacher was—and still is, more than likely—less the sickly housewife she insisted she was and more a force of nature. It hadn't mattered that she'd been gray and shaking and wiping blood from her mouth more days than not. It hadn't mattered because nothing in this world could possibly have the audacity to really hurt her. Teacher was—is—an undeniable, impossible, wonderful fact of a human being. She survives her illness by sheer stubbornness and the love she has for Sig. She demands that every moment of pain be worth it, in the end. Teacher was—and will always be—a font of inspiration for them both.

He wonders what she and Ed are doing in this interim. Surely Ed told her what had happened that night. What they tried to do, what it cost. Ed might try to avoid that conversation, but there's no question that they'll spar together. She'll notice his leg and she'll pry the whole ugly story out of him, with meat hooks and brandished cleavers if she has to. What will she have to say about Alphonse's death? What will she think of Ed's insane plan to commit the taboo again?

He hopes she can talk Ed out of it. If anyone can, it would be her.

Picture Ed in Dublith. Sleeping alone in the room they'd shared when they were kids. Sparring with Teacher every day, even on the days she shouldn't have gotten out of bed. Spending hours in the kitchen talking together, bruised and sore and laughing, nursing cups of that spicy coffee Sig likes so much. Picture the sunlight breaking into a million million squares of white brilliance off of Kauroy Lake, the summer sun baking heat into the narrow cobblestone streets late into the evening. Picture the tangled labyrinth of abandoned ruins they'd played in, Ed's expression bittersweet over the memories rather than thunderous and brittle. Picture Ed smiling and meaning it.

Maybe the next time Ed comes back to Resembool he'll have accepted the empty space next to Mom's grave for what it ought to be. Maybe Ed won't ever be able to stomach buying a headstone for an empty grave, but maybe he'll start leaving two wreaths at Mom's. Maybe Ed will throw his pocket watch in Colonel Mustang's face and wash his hands of the military. Maybe Ed will find some other hook to hang his dreams on.

He hopes. He has to hope Ed can move past his madness. It's all he can do.

=

Of course, the quiet can't last forever. Six weeks and two days after Ed left Rush Valley the front page news screams about no one less than the Fuhrer himself leading a sting operation in Dublith, and of course the Fullmetal Alchemist was right in the thick of things.

"For Heaven's sake," Granny sighs.

Apparently a bar called The Devil's Nest was a hideout for yet another paramilitary group with a storied history of aggressive acts against the military and civilians both. The members of this group were taken down with extreme yet necessary force, as they had made it clear they'd had no intention of surrendering quietly. There’s a brief statement from Fuhrer Bradley relaying his relief that this threat had been handled without any loss of life of the men operating under him, that he's glad to have been able to lead such a brilliant team before this nefarious group could go through with their more violent threats, and what a pleasure it had been to see young Fullmetal in action. It all sounds very....

Well.

Alphonse isn't sure what to make of it, to be honest.

It just seems a little... odd that the Fuhrer would risk life and limb like this. Aren't sting operations better suited to younger soldiers? Then again, this paramilitary group can't have been that much of a threat, at least compared to the one Ed took down solo earlier this year. Alphonse hasn't even heard of this Devil's Nest gang before, and the news is a constant stream of reports about violent groups demanding radical, dangerous changes.

(The fact that Ed has regular dealings with terrorists leaves Alphonse weak-kneed and hating that he can't be there fighting alongside him, but that is an old wound he's sick of salting.)

This group in Dublith sounds like a criminal bunch, at least from what's briefly reported on them, but nothing that warranted the attention of a State Alchemist—let alone whatever force Fuhrer Bradley mustered. On the other hand, it was Bradley who put an end to that former State Alchemist's plot in Central a few months previous. Who's to say this group down South didn't have similarly lofty goals? The news can only report so much after all; there's no telling what intel the military had on them they'd chosen not to release to the public. Who is Alphonse to say that Bradley wasn't doing his duty by cutting these people down before they could make a direct threat against the brass?

Still.

Still, something about this doesn't sit right with him, and Alphonse is relieved to find that he's not the only one thinking the same. A lot of people right here in Resembool seem to feel the same way. They wonder after this group; their motives, their convictions, the families they left behind. They wonder after this group none of them have ever heard of before now, never mind the news repeatedly stresses that they were a well-known group of armed extremists. They wonder why the Fuhrer keeps ending up knee-deep in bloody affairs like this when he would be better off serving the country from behind a desk, wielding a pen rather than a saber. These are dark and uncertain times, and Amestris' citizens look to him for guidance. There have been nothing but wars and insurrections and unrest for—God, who even knows anymore? Just look at Liore, the latest in a long line of regional upsets.

Strange too, how Liore's gone to pieces. All these terrible riots the news reports, so many deaths, no resolution in sight. Everyone in Resembool had been so proud of Ed for dismantling that shady religious order, but now no one knows what to think of that either. The reports claim that the "true" leader of the order had been away, and that Ed and the citizens had been duped by a cruel imposter. Liore is divided now; half its people willing to trust this returned leader, half wanting nothing at all to do with Letoism. Alphonse wonders if Ed knows what's happening in Liore. He must, right? He's a State Alchemist. He must be privy to far more information than what gets divvied out in easily digestible snippets to the public. Right?

Propaganda is less an uncertain worry here in Amestris than it is a simple, unavoidable part of life. Many adults in Resembool can recall a time before the current regime, when the news made a little more sense, when people weren't quite so wary of what their neighbors might overhear. Nowadays everybody is a little more cautious, a touch more restrained, just in case. But Alphonse is privy to all sorts of things people say and do away from prying eyes and wagging tongues. In a rural town like this it doesn't ever amount to much in the greater scheme of things, but that's a concept Alphonse doesn't find himself needing to be concerned with much anyhow. If it doesn't involve Ed, what does the greater scheme matter?

He wonders though, sometimes, what it would have been like if he'd died in a bigger town. A proper city, even. Sometimes he wishes he could have known beforehand what the cost of their transmutation would be. He would have picked somewhere else to die, even though it would have meant never seeing Winry or Granny again. Dublith would have been nice. If he could have known, too, that Ed would end up in East City he would have picked there in a metaphorical heartbeat. What he'd give to be closer to his brother....

Oh, but that's a pointless wish. He died in Resembool and he'll remain here until the last stubborn wisp of his ghost fades away. There's nothing to be done for it.

Still, the townsfolk can gossip and wonder and whisper behind their hands all they please. None of what they think or what they're told is what really happened, that much Alphonse is sure of. The Fuhrer and a whole team needed to step in to take down a ragtag bunch of thugs in the same town Teacher and Ed were in? Ed's an old pro at this kind of insanity now and Teacher is twice as terrifying as Ed on her worst days. No matter the situation, if things came to a head they would have handled it themselves with aplomb. So why did Bradley feel the need to step in and kill The Devil's Nest down to the last man?

It doesn't sit right with Alphonse. It just doesn't make any sense at all.

=

Winry calls again and this time Alphonse manages to listen in. It's mostly exasperated ranting about Ed, because three guesses who showed up out of the blue yesterday? Ed tried to weasel his way into her good graces despite being beat half to hell with his leg wrecked, feeding her some bullshit story that managed to avoid answering even one of her questions. Then, somehow in the short span of time she'd left Garfiel Atelier to fetch a few parts, Ed managed to destroy three city blocks fighting a bunch of Xingese tourists! His leg went from wrecked to scrap metal in about twenty minutes. Bombs were involved somehow? Winry's friend Paninya has a short-barreled cannon in one of her automail legs, apparently?

(Alphonse decides he's happier not knowing the details for once.)

The Xingese tourists stuck around Atelier Garfiel after all was said and done. Mr. Garfiel is letting them stay in a spare room, as it seems they haven't got much money and are really quite nice. Ling Yao does most of the talking, as the other two—an old man, Fu, and a young woman, Lan Fan—are his retainers. They're in Amestris looking for—of all things—information on the Philosopher's Stone. That was the conversation that derailed into wide-scale property damage that Ed's still out hobbling around on a spare leg repairing. Winry's washed her hands of the whole thing, since Ed's staying mum as usual and Ling has a funny habit of pretending his Amestrian isn't half as good as it actually is.

"I'm pretty sure Ed's quit fighting them because he's too wore out after all the alchemy he's done," Winry says. "He barely ate dinner yesterday and he still looked pretty rough when he left this morning. You should see the state Fifth Avenue is in though, Granny! It's unrecognizable!"

"I can believe it," Granny replies dryly.

It's going to take Winry about a week to build a new leg from scratch—"And I'm charging him a rush order fee anyway. He's being such a jerk, Granny!"—then she and the three Xingese tourists will be following Ed up to Central. She wants to visit the Hughes family again, they want to track information down on the Stone, and Ed's being as vague as ever about his own plans.

Curiously, Granny doesn't say a word about Brigadier General Hughes.

Alphonse looks at her once she's hung up the phone. She looks like she does when she visits the cemetery; weary down to her marrow as she prunes weeds from the graves of her family and Mom. "Why didn't you tell her?"

Granny, of course, doesn't answer.

=

Alphonse misses Winry's last call before they leave Rush Valley and he could kick himself for that. She'd called every day after Atelier Garfiel closed for at least a few minutes, and under her voice he'd been able to hear Ed snarking in the background with someone with a cheerfully accented voice. Those phone calls are likely going to be the last time he hears Ed's voice for who-knows how long. Winry and Ed will spend a day or two together in Central, then Ed will likely head back to East City to report in to Colonel Mustang and Winry will go South again. It will be at least another month—hopefully, though at the rate he's going it's hard to say—before Ed needs maintenance. But Granny's not his mechanic. Winry is. He'll go to Rush Valley, not Resembool. Sure, Fullmetal might make the paper now and then, but it's not the same.

He has no idea when he might see Ed next.

At least he can be sure Winry will call while she's in Central. Too, she'll do her best to wheedle something out of Ed to pass along to Granny, some little snippet Alphonse can overhear so he has a better idea of where Ed might go next. There's going to be a rough patch while they're there, thanks to Granny's silence regarding Brigadier General Hughes. Winry will be sad, but it's not as if she'd had a chance to get to know the man well. Ed, on the other hand?

Well, that's more difficult to determine with what little data Alphonse has to go on. Winry had called the man Ed's friend, but what did that mean, really? Ed keeps people at arm's length, bottling up all the ugly, jagged hurts he's earned until he's left breathless, staring fixedly at nothing with wide, dry eyes. He doesn't let anyone in; it's too easy to be pitied that way, and Ed can't stand to be pitied. He and Hughes might have worked together on occasion, but they were stationed halfway across the country from each other. How close could they have been? How sad might Ed be that this man from Investigations has been murdered?

Alphonse shakes his head. Ed might be sad when he hears the news too, but it won't hurt him. Ed will swallow down whatever small grief he'll feel and move on, just like he always does.

=

He's in the Corcoran household when he unexpectedly comes across the Brigadier's name again in the paper. A suspect has been taken into custody, and there's an official picture of her accompanying the front page article. Second Lieutenant Maria Ross is a woman in her late twenties with boyishly short hair and a beauty mark under one eye. She isn't smiling in her picture. She looks severe. She looks like someone who wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger if it came down to it.

"But she was one of Ed's bodyguards," he says. Back when Ed had been hospitalized in Central, Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Brosch had looked after Ed for weeks. They'd saved his life. She worked for Hughes. Why would she kill her superior officer?

He looks at her picture again, trying to feel something more than abstract curiosity. Ed's friend, the same man who had insisted Winry stay free of charge with his family, is dead because of the same woman who had guarded Ed when he'd been gravely injured. She's going to face the firing squad for this. She's going to die, and in turn someone else Ed had known will die.

This is the closest Alphonse will ever get to knowing this woman, this officer who worked and lived and murdered a good man in far-off Central. A front page article that amounts to a few small paragraphs. He can't summon more than a flicker of disappointment, and even that feels forced. She's just one more name in the paper, one more murderer caught red-handed. The paper might make another mention or two of her after her execution, but this is all she amounts to for Alphonse: the impact her misdeeds and her death might have on Ed.

It isn't much. It's something novel to talk over with Mrs. Morgenstern when he visits her next, at least.

=

CULPRIT IN INVESTIGATIONS MURDER ESCAPES, the Times screams the very next day. KILLED IN STRUGGLE WITH FLAME ALCHEMIST.

"Oh," Alphonse remarks, reading over Mr. Cartwright's shoulder at the newsstand.

It turns out Colonel Mustang had been transferred to Central earlier this year, and he'd taken to the order to capture the escaped Lieutenant dead or alive rather... pragmatically. Alphonse can almost picture the reporter who typed up this article, giddy over the intrigue and excitement, counting all the cenz they'll earn for the headline alone. The article, while certainly exclamatory, doesn't provide much in the way of detail. Ross escaped with the aid of a large suit of armor but didn't get far before Colonel Mustang cut her down. The suit of armor managed to escape into the night; there's a rough sketch of its fearsome visage included in the article. It's a toothsome, grinning thing, one of its eye holes torn wide by a shotgun blast.

(Alphonse thinks of the fight that cost Ed two fingers. He thinks of the iron slag that used to be two suits of armor puddled in the ruins of their basement. He wonders, he suspects, but he doubts he'll ever know for sure either way.)

Colonel Mustang, the dark-eyed man who earned his  infamy in the Eastern Conflict and later dragged Ed out of his wheelchair by force and olive branch both, burned Ross to death in some alleyway. He could have just arrested her, made her face neat justice for her crimes. He could have just shot her. Instead he chose to kill her the same he killed who-knows how many Ishvalans.

Alphonse considers the pink burn on his wrist, a minor cooking injury that had left him in tears when it happened. It had been a raw and stinging hurt for what had felt like forever. He thinks of the terrible display of burns Steffie and Owen Sauter wear on their low days, blackened skin crackling, a halo of fire overtaking their faces. He tries to imagine what it must have felt like to die that way; every inch of her skin bubbling, her lungs scorched breathless, her bones cracking in the heat. Lieutenant Ross probably died screaming.

This is the work of the same man who conscripted Ed at twelve years old—who held out that olive branch when Ed was eleven and only just beginning to recover from the loss of his leg and the failure of his younger brother. Colonel Mustang could have—should have—killed Ed the same way he killed Lieutenant Ross and all those Ishvalans. Burning people alive seems to be the only method the man knows.

Alphonse has had years now to consider whether or not he should hate this man. Ed's made his own opinion perfectly clear with every scathing anecdote he's shared. But Mustang—by the law of the same military they both serve—should have killed Ed for committing the taboo. Should have, yet didn't. Ed seems to have forgotten that, but Alphonse never will. He wishes, far from the first time, that he could see Colonel Mustang again. He'd been shell-shocked back then, so lost, so afraid, that he didn't pay as close attention as he should have. He only has second-hand accounts to form an opinion of the man now, and those are few and far between.

In the long run, of course, it doesn't matter what he thinks. He knows this. He knows there's no sense in holding a grudge against the man for what Ed has had to endure in his time as a State Alchemist. He can't blame the man for Ed's own choices, though at times he wishes the world were so simple. There's no logic in spending the long, long years he has trying to make sense of the Flame Alchemist. Colonel Mustang, if nothing else, is a man who knows how to kill dangerous people the only way he's good for.

(Alphonse wonders if one day Ed will be ordered to do the same thing. To kill someone the only way he's good for. He wonders if Ed already has.)

There's no mention of Fullmetal in the article. No news of Ed at all, nor a phone call from Winry. He hopes Ed didn't get dragged into that mess, hopes that Ed didn't have to watch his superior burn a woman alive.

He spends that night with Steffie and Owen, biting his tongue so as not to ask them what it had felt like to die burning.

=

He's there when Winry calls.

She's quiet, her voice damp with tears already shed. She spent the day with Mrs. Hughes and her daughter, Elicia. They baked an apple pie. She'd been practicing, see, ever since the Hughes family let her stay with them, and she'd been looking forward to Mr. Hughes trying it. But now he never will.

"Oh, Winry," Granny murmurs.

She and Ed have taken rooms at an inn not far from Central Command. Ed didn't go with her to visit the Hughes family; he found out from Colonel Mustang. Turns out the two men had been friends since their days at the Academy, which might explain—though not justify—the vehemence with which he had burned Lieutenant Ross. Winry knows Ed had gone out the night Ross escaped and was killed, knows too that Ed came back late, brittle as cracked glass, sure to break if she pressed too hard. She suspects, but she'd asked him for nothing more than he offered.

But it doesn't matter, because Ed's gone now.

"Gone where?" Granny and Alphonse both ask.

Winry doesn't know. Major Armstrong appeared in the inn about an hour ago, attacked Ed before dragging him off under the pretense of getting his automail repaired, never mind that Winry had been standing right there. So maybe Ed's going to turn up in Resembool soon? Or maybe there's something covert that Winry can't be privy to? Some mission Colonel Mustang has tasked Ed with, something that will take him far away from Central as well as any further opportunity to research the Philosopher's Stone.

Hopefully. Hopefully Colonel Mustang will keep him busy for a while, putting Ed to task hither and yon, remind the people of Amestris that a State Alchemist can amount to more than a butcher. Hopefully Ed can busy himself aiding some suffering town, remind its people that they've got at least one alchemist in their corner who keeps to the credo so few others do: be thou for the people.

Ed does. He tries to, anyway, and maybe that's the best anybody can expect from one lonely kid doing a job even adults flinch from.

=

Winry remains in Central. She doesn't have much choice, considering she didn't bring nearly enough money to cover their rooms at the inn. All she can do is wait for Ed to come back. Granny assures her she'll keep an eye out for Ed and Major Armstrong, and promises too that she'll whack them both upside the head for stranding here there.

Mr. McCahan, the station master, always keeps an accurate schedule of the trains moving through the East. He's got to, with Resembool the largest supplier of wool to the military. Second Lieutenant Bartlett comes a-hollering if anything's ever delayed without due warning signed and stamped in triplicate. Mr. McCahan prefers to keep things orderly anyway, so that's rarely an issue. He and the sergeants all get on well, a group of old friends rolling their eyes behind the officer's back.

Alphonse checks and rechecks the posted schedule, then checks it once more to be sure. The absolute earliest Ed can arrive is in two days. He could go back up to Rockbell Automail to wait there and keep Granny company. Or he could wander through the farm houses spaced out in neat squares, tiptoe through tilled fields, make a game of hopping along the fleecy backs of sheep until the herding dogs chase him off. He could go door to door here in town proper, watch the hourly intricacies of a hundred households unfold.

He defaults to worrying, pacing the station, nervous in a way that's impossible to relieve. Owen Sauter and Walt Teller watch him bemusedly from their usual haunts; Owen sat on the station's lone bench and Walt down on the tracks with his arms hooked over the platform ledge. Owen had died by unhappy circumstance, a civilian casualty of a politically strategic attack. Walt had fallen on hard times, and fell again, and once more for good measure, and with no one left to pick him up he threw himself in front of a train in hopes that death would free him. He's still here, certainly, but for as long as Alphonse has known he's seemed to be... not the happiest of all the ghosts, no. Happy is a bad word to ascribe to the unquiet dead. But he smiles more, cracks wry jokes, lays back in the grass and laughs at the flight of birds in a clear blue sky. He was not a happy man, but he is a ghost relieved of all cares.

"You know," Walt says with a grin only partially stifled, "there's this saying about watched pots, lad. You familiar with it?"

He throws his hands up irritably. "Can you blame me? It's been months!"

"It's been months before," Owen points out reasonably. Alphonse hates his reasonable voice. He's always right.

"He hadn't lost two fingers before," he snaps. "I can't believe Granny still hasn't asked which ones. I swear, it's her job to care about that kind of thing! I mean, Ed's going to want replacements eventually. It'd be sensible of him to want ten fingers again, right?"

The two men share a meaningful look, all raised eyebrows and pursed smiles. Walt's the first to break, chuckling into the crook of one elbow. Owen does his best to hide his amusement in a coughing fit, clearing his throat before asking, "Now when has your brother ever been sensible?"

Alphonse opens his mouth, thinks about it, and closes it again. See? Always right. It's insufferable, is what it is.

Owen pats the bench beside him companionably. "Come on, Al. Relax. There's no sense worrying over what you can't change."

He huffs as he sits down, crossing his arms in a petulant slump. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

=

A train arrives that afternoon. He knows there's no possibility of Ed being on it. He's disappointed anyway.

There's the usual flurry of activity, workers unloading and loading heavy crates, the sergeants pitching in with their uniform jackets thrown off and their sleeves rolled up. There's only one unfamiliar passenger that gets out, rolling his shoulders like he's glad to stretch his legs. He's a stocky, red-haired man, dressed in nondescript traveling clothes and carrying a small suitcase. For lack of anything else to do, Alphonse opts to follow the stranger into town.

The stranger finds the inn with ease, giving his name as Navidson when he pays Mrs. Forney for one night's stay. He drops his suitcase off upstairs, freshens up in the shared bathroom, then makes his way to the Pelletiers' café up the street. It's after lunch so there're only a few of the older folk enjoying coffee over a game of checkers by the window where the sunlight's still pouring in, Ms. Thorn scribbling away in her usual corner, and a Xingese stranger who must have come into town while Alphonse has been hovering in Granny's shadow.

"Mister Han?" Navidson asks by way of greeting as he walks up to the other stranger's table.

The Xingese man stands to clasp their hands together, smiling amicably. "Ah, yes. You must be the gentleman Fu spoke of. Though I regret to say he did not provide your name...?"

"That would be because the decision of who was coming out to meet you was rather last minute." They sit. Esther comes by to take their orders, both men ordering fresh coffee and hearty sandwiches. It's only once she's back behind the counter that Navidson leans in to introduce himself out of the corner of his mouth. "Breda."

Alphonse blinks. In his experience with following shifty-eyed strangers who use fake names at inns—which happens more than one would think here in Resembool—they've yet to use more than one at a time. And Breda? That's not a common name so far as he knows; in fact, the only Breda he knows of is the one Ed knows. Is this the same Second Lieutenant Heymans Breda? Ed had described him once as, "kind of a big guy, a lot smarter than he looks," which was about as vague and insulting as he ever got. Alphonse feels a second-hand guilt for comparing this stranger to that charming description, but... maybe?

Mr. Han hums good-naturedly. "A pleasure. Now, I've heard there will be two others joining us?"

"That's right. They should arrive tomorrow afternoon, providing there aren't any delays."

Well, that clinches it.

Mr. Han smiles over his cup. "Then that leaves tonight for the two of us to acquaint ourselves and tomorrow to prepare. It's a difficult journey. Have you ever traversed the Great Desert before?"

Lieutenant Breda shrugs. "Did some cleanup in Ishval after the worst of it was over, if you've got the stomach to call it that. Never been any further east than that though."

"Ah, yes." Mr. Han's cheerful expression dims. He finishes his coffee, knits his fingers together and rests his chin against them thoughtfully. "You understand what's at risk here."

Lieutenant Breda's eyes narrow. "I do."

"And does your employer?"

A snort. "God, I hope not."

Mr. Han chuckles. "No, no. I mean the man with whom the young lord struck this deal."

"He does. Whether or not the 'young lord' does, however...." Lieutenant Breda leaves the sentence unfinished, one eyebrow quirked pointedly. If Mr. Han takes any offense at the scathing tone the other man used, it's hidden by his sunglasses.

"As Fu explained to me, it seems as if the young lord and your, ah, direct employer are cut from the same cloth."

"That so?" Another snort. "Then they're a matched set of dreamers."

Mr. Han smiles, nodding as Esther arrives with their fresh coffees. He waits until she's gone to ask, "And what does it say of those that follow them?"

Lieutenant Breda grins. "That we deserve what's coming to us, no matter how it all turns out."

Curious.

The two men talk until the café closes, drawing up lists of enough supplies for four people to survive a trek into the Great Desert to last a month. Apart from their introduction they don't use names, never mentioning a detail about the other two they're waiting for. Lieutenant Breda offers no specifics about himself; nor, for that matter, does Mr. Han say why he's helping three Amestrians cross the border. It certainly doesn't sound legal. Then again, while the eastern mountain range makes travel difficult it's not unheard of for people to pass through them to avoid unwanted attention. The other ghosts and many older folk all recall how trade with Xing—on and off the table—used to be far more common, back before Ishval.

It keeps circling back to Ishval. The reasons for, the consequences of. Maybe it's just a matter of perspective, or simply geography. Maybe the West is a much quieter place than the East.

Alphonse snorts. Sure, and maybe pigs fly out West too. Maybe there are no orphans, no grieving families, no one begging for scraps, no one afraid of what their neighbors might repeat.

Amestris is many things, but very few of them are good.

He watches these two men make their unhurried way back to the inn, speaking in low voices with the odd glance over their shoulders. Cautious, even here in sleepy Resembool. He frowns at their backs, deciding to leave them be for the night to turn over what he's heard. It's too suspicious, too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence. One of Colonel Mustang's men is named Breda; one of Ling Yao's retainers is named Fu. Both have ties to Ed, who's going to be here tomorrow. But why the hell would Ed need to go on an illegal trek into the Great Desert on such short notice?

=

In the morning the two men split the chore of collecting various supplies between them, including five horses borrowed from Mr. Mandelbaum—practically bought outright, with the amount of money Lieutenant Breda handed over with a knowing look. The man quickly proves to be more personable than his gruff demeanor initially suggests; once or twice his sense of humor whiffs, but otherwise he ingratiates himself well with everyone he meets. A real salt of the earth kind of guy, the only thing giving him away as military the haircut. In Ed's words, definitely smarter than he looks. In Alphonse's, he'd bet good money—"It's a figure of speech, Mister Beckenbauer, lighten up,"— that Lieutenant Breda's made plenty of wisecracks at Ed's expense. He seems the type to give as good as he gets.

They reconvene for a late lunch back at the café once everything's been taken care of, speaking in low tones over their meals. At ten to three Lieutenant Breda leaves, walking leisurely—not to the station, but to the road leading south out of town. He sits on the low stone wall, suitcase at his feet and coat folded beside him. Alphonse remains standing, watching the man get comfortable. Lieutenant Breda looks out across the checkered hills, the greening mountains, the town nestled and folded up on itself like a quilted blanket. Amusement tugs faintly at his mouth. "Who woulda thought that brat came from a place as nice as this?"

Alphonse knows Resembool like the back of his hands; its outer beauty and hidden turmoils, its bright summers buzzing with insects and its winters gray with the false promise of snow. He knows its every nook and cranny, its old and its young, its gossip and its ghosts. It's home, inside and out. There are worse places he could have died. "It is nice, isn't it?"

Together they watch the train come into the station, coal smoke streaking in a stiff westerly breeze. The shriek of its wheels and its whistle are calm, reassuring sounds. The train's arrival means that Ed is back. Even if he isn't here to stay, even if Lieutenant Breda and Mr. Han intend to drag him out of town this same evening—still. He finally, finally gets to see his brother again.

It's both a mere ten minutes and three thousand some odd years before Ed and Major Armstrong crest the hill. Ed’s customary red coat is missing. He would cut an almost intimidating figure in all that black if he weren’t standing next to a literal giant.

Lieutenant Breda stands to greet them both with a glib salute. "Hello, Major Armstrong. You too, big guy."

Ed gawks. Major Armstrong’s eyes twinkle with mischief.

The three of them catch up on the way back to the café, but Alphonse doesn't hear a word of it. He's too busy turning circles around Ed, drinking in every last detail and ignoring the way he makes the men shiver when he passes through them.

First and foremost: Ed's grown again, the brat. He's a bit taller, noticeably broader, filled out like he's gotten good meals on the regular. He's even gotten a trim to take care of his split ends. Teacher's doing on all accounts. In this regard, at least, Ed looks good. He looks stronger, sturdier, more at ease in his own skin. But detracting from the good is whatever happened in Central. Months after the fact, Alphonse finally gets to see the damage those armor-bound souls did to Ed.

Winry had told Granny that Ed's face had gotten messed up, but she'd never said how. There are two scars across the right half of his face; two deep stripes from hairline to ear and inner eye to jaw. They're still a raw pink color, puckered by half-healed stitch marks. When he sneers at a joke Lieutenant Breda makes his expression turns downright ghoulish. There are smaller cuts and scratches on his face and neck, more recently earned, and a nasty bruise over the biggest one on his forehead. He didn't get out of the Devil's Nest unscathed.

When Ed makes a sweeping gesture with his right hand Alphonse drops out of the air, an echo of dismay twisting the space where his stomach once sat. Months after it happened, he finally has an answer to the question Granny never asked. Ed's ring and pinky fingers are gone, as stark an absence as his leg, an empty space where flesh and bone and blood should curl. It's difficult to make out details; Ed's riled up, so once he's finished grumbling he sullenly hunches with his hands in his pockets. But Alphonse does get a good enough look to see that the entire fingers aren't gone, not as he'd been imagining in different configurations on nights without any other distractions. Whatever it was that had taken his fingers had done so at an angle. He's still got a whole joint of his ring finger and a small nub left of his pinky. Not gone-gone, but not enough left to be useful.

Alphonse covers his mouth, pressing hard and wishing he could feel the bite of his teeth against his lips as he swallows all the words Ed can't hear him say. Wasted efforts. He follows after the three of them more meekly back into town, into the otherwise empty café where Mr. Han is waiting with a beatific smile.

"This is Mister Han, the departure coordinator," Lieutenant Breda says.

"Nice to meet you." Mr. Han's face is carefully neutral when he shakes Ed's hand. "Fu told me all about you."

"Fu? Oh. That old guy."

(Alphonse watches the care Ed uses—has to use—to avoid jarring his knuckles, and covers his mouth again.)

Lieutenant Breda gestures to the table. "Let's get down to business about the border crossing."

"Border crossing, huh?" Ed sneers, ghoulishly. "Shame I didn't think to grab my passport while I was getting abducted."

Lieutenant Breda and Major Armstrong exchange a weary look. Clearly they're used to Ed's sense of humor and wish they weren't. "Don't be so naive. If you use your passport, they can track you down."

Ed gawks again. "But that's illega—!"

Turns out, Major Armstrong is a lot faster than his size would suggest. He clamps one huge hand over Ed's face to shut him up and all three men practically leer at Ed as they wait for him to catch on. Is it always like this for him? All the grown ups playing their grown up games, waiting for the kid that's forced his way in to learn the rules? These men haven't lost any pieces of themselves. They've got all their fingers, both their legs, no ugly scars twisting their faces, and they've got the gall to look at Ed like he's second rate. Like he's slow, like he's stupid, like he couldn't think circles around them and kick their asses for good measure. Alphonse leans against the wall, watching with a scowl.

Ed tears Major Armstrong's hand away, shoves past him to thump solidly at the table opposite Mr. Han. "I don't believe it! Abduction, scheming, illegal border crossings. I don't know what you're getting me into, but it better not be something stupid. So—" Ed's grin is wide, showing off that ghoulish twist of his face like he's proud of it. "Where are we going?"

The three men smirk, conspiratorial to the point of glee. "To the east!"

=

Alphonse had hoped that with Ed and Major Armstrong's arrival they would talk more openly about where—and more importantly, why—they were going. But they're paranoid to an almost ludicrous degree, drawing more attention to themselves for all that they don't say. Everybody in Resembool knows Ed, after all. Small towns are all the same; you can't keep secrets from your neighbors half as well as you think you do.

Ed's been tasked with filling up large canteen-things—Mr. Han called them dromedary bags—at Mr. Mandelbaum's hand pump while the others finish up one or two other last-minute tasks elsewhere. Alphonse pays them no mind. Ed, as always, takes priority. He sits on the edge of a water trough, watching Ed work. He's taken his jacket off, wearing only a fitted black t-shirt that serves to emphasize the muscle he's put on as he hitches a filled bag to one of the horse's saddle. There are more half-healed cuts and bruises on his bare arms. Alphonse mouth twists when he sees them, but he's not surprised. Ed never does watch his back.

Spencer, Mr. Mandelbaum's son, is younger than Alphonse was when he died, still shy of ten by a good margin. He, like most of the younger kids, knows Ed better alone rather than as one-half of the too clever for their own good brothers everyone else recalls with bittersweet exasperation. Nobody really talks about Alphonse anymore, not really. Parents are perhaps more leery of thunderstorms, firmer in their warnings not to go wandering in bad weather so they don't end up like that Elric boy's poor brother.

(He's becoming a ghost story in his own right. It should be so funny.)

Alphonse watches Spencer watch Ed from the safety of the stables for a few minutes. It's kind of hilarious how many kids Ed's age and younger are scared of him. They tell stories to one another, some true things they heard on the radio the other kids didn't, some made up on the spot to impress their peers. Ed's famous and strong and smart and an alchemist, which practically makes him magic in the eyes of little kids. He's a folk hero sprung right out of Resembool's own fields. When Ed's in town kids flock after him like ducklings, shrieking laughter and scattering when he barks at them to buzz off. Ed doesn't notice Spencer, the boy too far off and Ed’s distracted with the fastens of another bag. He swears under his breath when his right hand slips. Alphonse fidgets, wishing he could help, knowing Ed would seethe if he really could.

Eventually Spencer musters up the courage to leave the safety of the stables, slinking across the dusty yard on tiptoe. He hesitates about two meters back, chewing on his lower lip. Ed finally notices; his shoulders stiffen, then relax. He puts up with being gawked at for all of five seconds before snapping out, "What."

Poor kid just about jumps out of his skin, actually yelping and looking horrified with himself for it. "I wasn't doin' nothin'!"

Ed scoffs, heaving another filled bag over one shoulder with an ease he wouldn't have had the last time he'd been in Resembool. Teacher's hellish handiwork. He doesn't so much as glance Spencer's way as he walks to the horses. "Yeah? Sure seems to me like you're skulkin' around for a reason. Spit it out."

Spencer swallows. "Y-you were on the news again."

"So?"

"Did you really fight a bunch of terrorists?" He sort of slurs terrorists, like he isn't sure how to pronounce it, but maybe if he says it very quickly no one will notice.

"What? I mean, yeah? That was ages ago. Months. They're still talkin' about that?"

Spencer goes from scared to starstruck in the blink of an eye. It's honestly kind of adorable. "It's true?! What were they doing? Were they murderers? Were they huge and covered in tattoos? Did they have guns and knives and stuff?"

Ed rolls his eyes as he finishes hitching the bag up, patting the horse absently when it twitches. "Wasn't looking for tattoos. Guns and knives and stuff though, yeah. Bossman had an automail arm that had both. Cheap piece of shit though. Broke easy."

Eesh, but those scars don't do Ed's scary faces any favors. Or maybe they do. It's definitely not a face anybody would want to see pop up in a dark alleyway.

Automail can have both?"

"If you're compensating for something, sure."

Alphonse sighs. "Don't be crass, Brother. He's nine."

(The irony isn't lost on him. In his defense, he would be fourteen if he hadn't died and there is a world of difference between nine and fourteen, thanks very much.)

Spencer hops out of Ed's way as he goes back to the hand pump, staying out of arm's reach. All the kids know Ed won't hesitate to smack them upside the head if they get in his way. "So why'd you hafta go take them out?"

"They hijacked a train to get at some bigwig officer. Wanted to do a hostage swap, the bigwig for some of their guys that got arrested previously. Not like that woulda worked out for 'em even if I hadn't stepped in."

"Wait, train?" Ed's right; that was months ago. Why's he talking about that instead of Dublith?

"Train?" Spencer's nose wrinkles. "I thought they were in a bar."

"Like you even know what a bar is, squirt. The hell are you talkin' about?"

"I do too!" Spencer does not go on to describe a bar, briefly looking panicked as he seems to realize that he doesn't, in fact, know what a bar is. "It's what they said on the radio! You got in a big fight in a bar and the Fuhrer was there and you killed all those terror-guys!"

Ed—

—stills.

He closes off, eyes finding something ugly in the middle distance between the water trough and the Mandelbaum house. His jaw works, his grip tightens on the hand pump's handle so much the metal squeaks. "Wasn't me," he croaks. "I didn't kill anybody there. That was all—them. I was just... I was in the neighborhood. Got caught up in it, that’s all."

"Was it those guys who messed up your face?" Spencer asks, oblivious. Stupid kid. Stupid, sheltered, normal kid.

Ed's eyes are flat bronze coins. "...No. Some other guys kicked my ass before that. Had it comin', I guess. Got in over my head."

"Did it hurt?"

"What?" Ed blinks, shakes his head, whips around to put his ghoulish sneer on full display. "Course it fuckin' hurt. What kinda question is that? Go bug somebody else already, I'm busy."

Ed turns back to the hand pump and starts filling the bag. Spencer however, stays put. He looks like he'd about shriek if Ed so much as went boo at him, but he stays. Some of the other kids probably goaded him into this. Poor kid.  "Wh—" He freezes when Ed tenses, dares to keep going when Ed doesn't do anything else. "Where are you going?"

"Not your business, squirt. Fuck off."

Spencer's well of courage finally runs dry; he makes a beeline for the stables at top speed. There's the faint sound of hidden kids giggling. Alphonse shakes his head, smiling at his brother. "You could try to be a little nicer to them, you know. God know why, but they think you’re cool."

Ed mutters to himself, too low to be heard over the spilling water.

=

It's evening by the time Ed and the others head northeast out of town, the sky turning brilliant shades of orange and pink in the west, their shadows growing long before them. Alphonse follows as far as he can. When he reaches the invisible wall he presses against it, straining his ears until the last faint sound of the horses fades away. He stays long after dusk has fallen, long after their shapes have been swallowed up by the growing night.

Ed will come back. He'll come back safe. Whatever's going on, Ed will come back. He has to.

=

The first week after Ed leaves is notable only for one evening. Alphonse, wanting a little raucousness after too many quiet nights at Rockbell Automail, goes down to the tavern for a few hours. He claims a corner of the bar nobody's sitting at, looks attentively at the familiar faces playing card games and throwing darts, laughing at dirty jokes and sharing gripes over the day's work. Tim and Nancy, the owners, share quiet looks as they work that speak volumes; they've been married so long they rarely need to speak to have a conversation. Alphonse loves coming by after closing time to watch them quibble over who's taking out the trash or wiping down the tables with a single waggle of an eyebrow and a fond kiss on the cheek.

"Hey," Emma Adams barks out suddenly over the general hubbub. "Hey Tim, turn that up."

Tim obliges, reaching over near where Alphonse is perched to turn up the battered radio.

Turns out there's been an attack on one of the military labs in Central. Two men—one wearing a white mask over his face, the other in a full suit of armor—were pursued into the Third Laboratory by none other than the Flame Alchemist and a small team. It's not clear what these men wanted but none of the scientists suffered more than some rough handling.  There's vague mention of Flame and one of his men being injured, but no details are provided and none of the MPs on scene were willing to answer any of the reporter's questions. There is, curiously enough, one comment given. None other than Fuhrer Bradley himself says, "The good Colonel Mustang and his men had things well in hand before I happened by. Rest assured that these intruders have been dealt with."

Well. Dealt with doesn't leave much to the imagination, now does it?

Alphonse spends that night up on the roof of the bell tower, the highest point in town. He watches a thin cloud cover scud across the star-dusted sky, fantastic shapes there and gone at the whim of a wind he can't feel. It's probably warm out, with the frog song rising up from the riverbank as loud as it is. It's a good night for stargazing, but he's distracted. There are too many questions buzzing like mosquitoes in his head.

A suit of armor. Not exactly a common thing to see. Was it one of the same empty suits that Ed had fought in some other military facility? Who was the man it was working with? Why had they gone into one of the labs? Why had Colonel Mustang been after them? Why had the Colonel sent Ed and Lieutenant Breda into the Great Desert? If they'd been in Central would the Colonel and the other subordinate been hurt? How badly hurt are they? What would happen to Ed if Colonel Mustang died?

Alphonse sighs. He ought to know better by now not to have all the answers.

=

Another week passes. There's nothing else unusual in the news, no interesting gossip, no sign of Ed. It all returns to routine. There are brief, dull reports on all the latest political upsets. The body count in Liore ticks higher and higher. There's been another bloody skirmish on the Cretan border. Terse discussions with Aerugo that resolve nothing. The ongoing tensions with Drachma despite the non-aggression pact. Old news. Amestris has always had a bite as bad as its bark.

He checks in with Granny a few hours each day, listening in on phone calls from Winry when he catches them, relieved that she hasn't gotten into any trouble. She visits the Hughes family each day, babysitting Elicia when Mrs. Hughes' shifts at the hospital run long. She had lunch with Miss Hawkeye a few days after the incident at the Third Lab. There are more MPs running around Central than the last time Winry was there, but if Hawkeye knew why she didn't say. Winry sounds bored and frustrated, but at least she's not in danger. That seems to appease Granny, but they both fret over Ed's continued absence.

Alphonse spends the days as he always does; people watching, bothering the odd pet, gossiping with the odd ghost. There's nothing else to do but wait.

"I'm sick of waiting," he complains to Mrs. Morgenstern one afternoon. He's sat on the edge of the river, curled up with his knees in his chest. Mrs. Morgenstern is out on the water, twirling slow circles in a waltz for one. Her heavy skirts—the reason she drowned that day so long ago, for she insists she was an excellent swimmer despite her age—spin to and fro as she changes directions. She leaves no ripples in her wake across the water's surface.

There's dry amusement in the sidelong glance she shoots him. Weariness too. "Chin up, dear. It's a fine day out."

She doesn't tell him it will get better. She doesn't tell him not to worry. She doesn't tell him to quit whining. She died 41 years ago, far from town on an empty stretch of river between two farms. She knows better than he does how long a day can last.

When she holds out one hand in invitation he joins her, and they while away a few hours dancing. It's much better than sitting there feeling sorry for himself.

=

Fifteen days and fourteen hours after Ed left, the nine a.m. train pulls into the station five minutes later than expected. Alphonse is in a field not far from the road south of town watching a few near-spherical little birds hop about in the dirt, pecking hopefully here and there for a wayward bug to eat. One of them flaps furiously, giving itself a dust bath and making the others all chatter. Idle curiosity makes him glance at the dissipating streak of coal smoke, but he stays put. Bird watching is more interesting than watching tired adults haul crates back and forth.

But fifteen minutes or so later he hears footsteps, unhurried and unencumbered. Granny's next out-of-towner isn't due until Saturday, she's not expecting another shipment until Monday, and the townsfolk don't normally make the trek all the way out this far. An unexpected visitor? He springs up out of the tall grass to see who it is.

There's a man walking up the road, tall and broad and blond. A man wearing dusty traveling clothes and a pair of glasses that flash in the bright sun. A man with a neatly trimmed beard and long hair gathered back in a long ponytail. A man Alphonse had assumed he would never see again.

"...Dad?"

====

(It’s at this point I feel I ought to mention Ed’s characterization—and injuries—is heavily influenced by the ‘03-verse as well as metisket’s demon alchemist series.)