#i am gripping my desk and reminding myself that art takes time

[grinchwrapsupreme]

printing out this first draft was a great idea because i get to physically see how much progress i've made and how much is left and feel really bad about it on a material level 🥰

[harryspet]

off to the races | s.rogers

[Warnings] dark!steve rogers x reader, stripper!reader, ddlg, daddy!steve, abduction/kidnapping, mafia boss steve, murder/violence, a hint of peter x reader, hint of forced regression, sexy stuff, unprotected sex (wear condoms kiddos), hella angst 

A/N: I do not stan lana del rey but I do stan off to the races :)

In which you call the kingpin your Daddy. 

word count: 4.9k

main masterlist

taglist: @cherienymphe @peterztinglez @lovelynerdytraveler @buckysbunny @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @lovemassivelybeautifulbouquet @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes​ 

God, do they have to play this song every night? 

You tried to tune out the annoying pop song, continuing to grind your hips against the man you were giving a small lap dance. You wondered how long you could grind against his beer belly before he finally requested a private dance. Lucky for you, you felt some cash being slipped between the lace of your turquoise, panty set. You turned around, a mischievous smile on your face, as you reached out to grab his tie. 

He was mesmerized by you as you expected, and you imagined that he was dying to see more of your scantily clothed body. A hundred dollars for fifteen minutes in a private room. If you could manage to get a few more private dances tonight, you’d consider yourself successful. 

You brought him to one of the back rooms and got to work. You let him run his hands over your bottom but once they started to reach between your legs, you knew what to do, “Ah, ah, ah, you know the rules,” You hid your frustration behind your sultry voice. You climbed on his lap, straddling him, as you reached around to undo your top. Beneath the lacy top were your breast but decorated in shiny gemstones. 

A lot of the other girls hated glitter and spending time doing stuff like applying tiny gems but you knew that it was another shiny thing for men to look at. You needed their attention. Besides, you didn’t mind the way it looked either. His eyes were wide and he gripped your bottom as you moved your breast, an inch away from his face. 

When the fifteen minutes were over, you quickly collected your top and fastened it back on, “Come and see me soon, baby,” You said something of that nature, all your words blurred together by the end of the night. 

You managed to get about four more private dances and as one a.m. approached, you were ready to be anywhere else but here. You headed underneath the neon exit sign, heading for the locker rooms, where it seemed a lot of girls were on their way out. You passed naked, sweaty bodies, and clouds of spray deodorant as you made your way to your locker, already slipping out of your tall heels. 

The first thing you pulled out was your money bag and you were careful when you were counting each dollar bill, tucking it away nicely. You felt a tap on your shoulder, turning around to see Wanda, red lollipop in one hand, and a white check in the other. Your eyes widened as soon as you read the number, “I’m missing fifty bucks,” You told her. 

She gave you a knowing look, “Late fee, Y/N.”

“I was a minute late! I even called and told him my train was late,” Angrily, you stuffed your money bag into your duffle bag.

“He’s not in a good mood, some suit was talking with him earlier,” Wanda shrugged, sensing she had bigger things to worry about. Like you, she made her money dancing and was trying to get by supporting herself, “I wouldn’t argue with him today.” 

“Screw that, fifty dollars is the difference between me making rent. He can’t do this,” You slammed your locker closed and you were about to storm off when Wanda grabbed your arm. 

“C’mon, we should go. Clint is gonna walk us to the station and he won’t wait for you.”

“I won’t be long,” You shrugged her off, making your way out of the dressing room, and toward Loki’s office. He controlled every part of the Mischief club, set the prices, chose the dancers, and even had a strict list of clientele. It wasn’t the nicest club you’d worked at but it was the closest thing to a consistent paycheck. 

You didn’t bother knocking, knowing that you had a point to make and only a certain amount of time to say it, ��Fifty dollars! Are you serious-” You stopped in your tracks, realizing that your boss was not alone. Not only was he not alone, but you were also in deep shit. Steve Rogers sat across from the playboy club owner and, looking at the handsome silver-fox, you thought your heart might explode out of your chest. 

He’d found you. 

He smiled as soon as he saw you, “Babydoll,” A name you’d usually swoon at, made you cringe inside. There he was, clad in an expensive suit and dark overcoat. 

Your eyes met with those of Sam and Bucky who had made themselves comfortable by one of the tall bookcases, waiting for their boss to command them to do something. As Steve’s eyes raked over your body, you realized they’d never seen you like this. 

“You know her?” Loki leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, an eyebrow raised, “... sir.” He added quickly. You don’t know why you were so surprised by this, knowing that Steve was feared everywhere, and Loki, no matter how evil, wouldn’t be the one to challenge him.

“I saw you perform tonight,” Steve spoke to you and, in his mind, you imagined that you were the only one he was seeing right now, “You looked beautiful.”

You hadn’t realized that you probably looked like you’d just seen a ghost. You tried to let go of some of the tension in your body, “What are you doing here?” You tried to keep your voice from faltering and, considering that you were half-dressed, you tried not to let your insecurities overwhelm you. 

“As of a few minutes ago, I am the sole owner of the Mischief Club,” Your heart had stopped its pounding and now it was sinking into your stomach, “If you have any grievances with your employer, you can speak to me-”

“This isn’t your side of the city,” Your lip trembled, anger bubbling within you, “Why … y-you . . . Steve, you can’t do this.”

“Every part of this city is mine, Babydoll,” He sighed, standing up from his chair, reminding you of his large, intimidating frame. Reminding you that you were nothing compared to him. You didn’t move as he crossed the room, moving until he was only standing an inch from you, slowly reaching out his hand until he was touching your cheek, “Chasing you made me realize that I should expand my influence. A club like this is a shit hole now but, in a few months, I’d make it a cash cow.”

“Once you run drugs through the place, you mean,” He tensed up for a moment and you realized you’d struck a chord. His hand was on your throat, his thumb brushing over your cheek, and a piercing gaze burning holes into your skin. 

“I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head over it,” For a moment, you closed your eyes, and imagined wrapping your arms around him. He’d become your haven so quickly and you’d almost forgotten how it felt for someone to care so much for you. Love you even when you didn’t want to love yourself. When you opened them again, you realized what he meant by his words. 

He wasn’t giving you a choice. 

You stepped back, letting his hand fall back to his side, before you crossed your arms, “Things aren’t going back to the way they were.”

Much to your surprise, Steve nodded, “No, I made some mistakes. Letting you go being the biggest one.”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re dangerous, Steve, and I want nothing to do with it.”

“And this is safer, Y/N?” He raised his voice, “Men having their grimy hands all over you . . . I’m taking you home.”

“I can take care of myself!” 

“Really?” He smirked condescendingly, and you imagined he was seeing you as a bratty child throwing a tantrum, “He-” He stepped to the side, and pointed a finger at Loki, “-was going to lay you off a week from now. The club went under a long time ago and he was going to take your hard-earned money and run, leaving you with nothing. What would you do then?”

Loki stood up, interrupting, a nervous smile on his face, “Not with nothing. I-I pay all the ladies very well and I would like to continue to do that . . . that’s why I’m so grateful for your generosity, Mr. Rogers-” He cleared his throat awkwardly. He was lying through his teeth. 

“You won’t be paying them anymore, Mr. Laufeyson,” Steve spoke calmly, too calmly, and as his hands reached up to his waist belt, you suspected the worse. 

“Steve-” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Loki rushed out his words as Steve pointed his favorite silver handgun in his direction, “We had a deal!”

“Steve, don’t!” Panicked, you grabbed a hold of his strong arm. As soon as you saw him, you knew the night wouldn’t end good but death was not something you predicted. Before, he’d never show you the violent side of his world. Now, something had changed, “Steve, please don’t!”

“Come with me,” He spoke sternly, “Come home and I won’t.”

“Okay,” You said immediately, looking up at his unchanging expression. He didn’t move which only panicked you further, “I will! Steve, please don’t.”

“He’s not a good man. He’s been using you this whole time,” Steve said, finally turning to look at you. Your body was shaking, the idea of being so close to the gun was frightening you further, “You’d give yourself up for this scumbag?”

Though it made you more anxious, you moved closer to him, grabbing a hold of his free hand. With your other arm, you hugged his torso, and as he stared down at him, “I-I don’t want you to hurt anyone, Daddy,” You spoke softly, “ . . . please, Daddy?” Something softened in his features as you called him by his favorite nickname. He squeezed your smaller hand and, for a moment, you thought things might be okay. 

The sound was deafening when Steve pulled the trigger. Although you couldn’t hear anything, you knew you were screaming, and that you weren’t sure if you ever wanted to open your eyes ever again. He tried to wrap his arms around you and you remembered fighting it, hitting his chest, and screaming even louder. Somewhere along the line, you gave in, he was too strong, letting him wrap his long coat over your scantily clothed figure. 

You were breathing heavily and when you decided to open your eyes again, everything was blurry, “Daddy had to . . . I’m sorry . . . Babydoll,” You heard in your ear. You were moving, he was holding you . . . when had he picked you up? When did the car start driving? You wished badly that you’d listened to Wanda. 

You remembered holding onto him tighter, crying into his shoulder, “Why?” He heard the pain in your voice, felt the realization that your life would never be the same. 

“Because you’re mine,” He rubbed circled into your back, leaving soft kisses on your cheek, “And I needed to remind you of what your Daddy is capable of. Anyone who hurts you, anyone who even lays a hand on you, is going to meet the same fate.”

“I don’t want this,” You hiccuped. Steve didn’t believe you, not with the way you were holding him. “This . . . it’s so scary, S-Steve.”

“I’m sorry I had to scare you, baby,” It reminded him of last year when things were good between you two, and you comfortably moved in and out of little space. He could sense you were dying to go to that safe space and, selfishly, he was hoping the trauma of tonight would push you into that mindset, “Daddy’s going to take better care of you. You’ll live with me now, where you’ll be safe.” 

You only closed your eyes, no fight left in you. In the world of Steve Rogers, you didn’t think safety existed. 

+

You awoke in a pink cloud. The sheets were so soft, heavenly even, and it almost made you forget your situation. You felt something crawling on top of the sheets and you sat up quickly, almost giving yourself whiplash. Realizing it was a furry, white creature, you relaxed, “Alpine, you scared me,” The cat crawled into your embrace and you pet it gently, wondering where exactly it’s owner was.

As you looked around what you assumed was your new room, you couldn’t help but be a bit impressed. You almost forgot how well Steve knew you. Elegant white furniture, a canopy bed with white fabric falling from the sides, a huge wardrobe, a bookcase, a mountain of stuffed animals - frogs, elephants, dolphins, practically the entire animal kingdom - and the fairy lights were a nice touch. 

Maybe you were more than impressed. Astounded, actually. 

“Oh my . . . stars,” You climbed out of the queen-sized bed, cat in your arms, and quickly realized that your lingerie was gone and your glitter had been washed away. Did he give you a bath? While you were sleeping? You dressed in a large t-shirt and as you brought the fabric up to your nose, you realized it was his, “Why didn’t you warn me that he was this off his rocker, Alpine?”

The cat only responded with a quiet meow. 

You moved over to the window and, expectedly, it didn’t budge when you tried to push it open. You looked out onto the vast landscape, perfectly manicured rolling hills of green, a garden, Olympic sized pool, beautiful white statues, and armed guards to match.

It was like you remembered though Steve didn’t bring you to his “private home” often. The two of you always met in the city and, what started as an interesting sugar arrangement, quickly blossomed into a new dynamic. 

You wandered around the room, examining every detail that he had put into it. You imagined the military man had placed a lot of the objects himself, making sure everything was perfect when you saw it. 

The room is also gigantic, you could do at least ten cartwheels from one wall to the other. You’d never imagined living somewhere like this, the room itself was bigger than any place you’d ever lived. 

As the door creaked open, Alpine leaped from your arms, taking the opportunity to escape. You watched the creature crawl between Steve’s legs before slipping out, probably going to look for Bucky. As your eyes traveled up his figure, you assumed he’d be dressed down in his home but the businessman was clad in another suit. 

You were glad not to be crying anymore but seeing him now was reminding you of the horror show that was last night, “My things, I had money in my bag,” Was the first thing you thought to say, “I want it.”

“You don’t need it,” He said what you assumed he would. 

“But-” You stopped yourself, “Can you give it to Wanda, please?”

“Please and thank you?” Steve cocked his eyebrow, smirking, “I wasn’t expecting that from you today.”

You didn’t respond, only crossed your arms defiantly, “I want Wanda to have it.”

“Done,” Steve raised his hands in surrender, “Is that all you want? Can I interest you in breakfast, little one?”

He didn’t know how deeply his words cut into you. How you wanted nothing more than to forget your worries and be his little girl. How you’d probably get on your knees and kindly do anything he asked . . . if this was a perfect world. You tried to shake that feeling because this world was anything but perfect. 

“I guess,” Your hunger suddenly crossing your mind. 

He nodded, a smile threatening to form on his lips, “Do you want help getting ready?” You quickly shook your head and you assumed he knew that it would be your response, “Well, I picked something out for you. I left it in the bathroom.”

“So what, I’m supposed to  . . . wear whatever you want and be your little trophy?”

“And if you sit still and look pretty, Daddy will buy you anything you want,” Your eyes narrowed at him and you looked away, knowing you’d probably burst into flames if you looked at the annoying smirk any longer, “I’ll come to get you in ten minutes.”

You were already walking towards the bathroom, feeling his eyes on you the entire way. The bathroom was even more immaculate than the bedroom, a big chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling, with sleek marble fixtures. You avoided the mirror when the thick makeup came off at the end of the day, so you were shocked seeing your bare face. It made you look . . . innocent. It was the opposite image the club wanted to present. 

You found a new toothbrush in one of the drawers and proceeded to brush your teeth, before washing your face. 

The dress he’d picked out was frilly and white, a stark but beautiful contrast to your skin. It puffed at the sleeves but grabbed your waist and then flounced out when reaching down to your knees. You did a small twirl, letting the ends of the dress softly caress the tips of your fingers. Realizing you liked it quite a lot made you frown in the mirror.

Most likely, there was no racy lingerie and tassels in that wardrobe. He said you looked beautiful last night but there was no chance he’d let you ever look like that again, especially in front of his men. 

When you left the bathroom and realized Steve had not returned, you decided to slip out of the room. You wandered down the big hallway, your bare feet padding against the carpet, as you examined each piece of artwork and decoration. Steve’s taste was expensive but his style was old-fashioned, choosing elegance over flashy things. 

You admired it for a second and then remembered the blood spilled, the money stolen, and the dirty things that funded it. 

 “I thought I said I’d come and get you.”

You turned around, noticing how his breath caught in his throat as he took you in. He was deadly, he killed a man right in front of you, yet he was like a teenager in love when he saw you. 

You mentally cursed. 

+

“Are you full?” He asked, looking at your plate of a half-eaten pancake. There was still a feast laid out in front of you which was tempting but you couldn’t help but see it as consuming more of his forbidden fruit. 

You only nodded and his lips pressed into a thin line. 

He was holding back, you could tell. He wanted to make sure you were fully nourished and he’d probably prefer to feed you himself. 

“Eat more,” He added, “Please-”

You stood up abruptly, “I want to look for Alpine,” You made a move to leave the dining room but, as you passed his chair, he grabbed a hold of your wrist. He gripped you stronger as you tried to pull away. 

“After you eat more,” He commanded. 

“I’m not hungry,” Your eyes didn’t meet his eyes. 

“Babydoll, can’t you see I’m trying to play nice?” He tried to hide the venom in his tone, “I could’ve bent you over my knee already for not addressing me properly. Do you want that?”

You shook your head. 

“Use your words, please.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No, I don’t want that . . . Daddy.” 

When you made a move to go back to your seat, he grabbed your arm tighter, “Sit with me,” He said but his tone was softer than before. You sat down on his knee and, instinctively, his arm wrapped around your torso, holding you in place, “Relax.” 

You turned your head closer to him, the familiar feeling of being in his arms led your muscles to relax. He brought pieces of fruit to your mouth and, as you opened your mouth for him, you heard, “Good girl.” 

When he first wanted to do things like this with you, he told you to imagine the things you liked when you were younger. You told him that you never had a lot of toys, never got a lot of praise, and that you were always the one taking care of others, not the other way around. What he made you feel was foreign but it satisfied a need you never knew you had. 

“You haven’t been eating enough,” He commented. You shrugged and he frowned a bit, “Three meals a day from now on. And snacks. And lots of water.”

“And what if I don’t, Daddy?” You challenged, more playful than you intended. 

Steve gave you a look that was much too loving for you to hold his gaze, “How about, if you do, then I’ll give you a reward . . .” His voice trailed off as he thought for a moment, “What would you like?”

“I wanna go back to the city-”

Steve smirked, “Something realistic, preferably,” It took everything in you not to roll your eyes, “A new outfit? . . . A new toy? . . . I know what you want.”

“No, you don’t,” You pouted. 

“Stickers,” He answered, proud when he saw you perk up, “Sparkly, butterfly ones probably.”

“I don’t-”

He interrupted your lie, tickling your side, and you tried not to smile, “You love those little things! You’d probably prefer it over a designer bag or a trip to europe.” 

“They’re not expensive and I like collecting them,” You tried to explain, your voice low. 

“Then that’ll be it. A week of not skipping meals will get you a special sticker for your chart, we’ll even hang it on the fridge.” 

You didn’t mind the idea . . . you could have so many stickers after a long while. 

“A week,” You repeated, “How long do you expect for me to stay here?”

“There’s lots to do, you won’t get bored,” He spoke dismissively, probably frustrated by your question. You opened your mouth to respond but was interrupted when the table started shaking, Steve’s phone vibrating on top of it. 

“Rogers,” Steve answered, pressing the phone to his ear, “Yes, I’m aware . . you told me that you took care of him . . . I don’t need to tell you how to do your job, you’re just supposed to do it  . . .  he’ll listen if it comes from me . . . i’ll handle it, okay? . . . Babydoll,” He softly patted your knee, “Why don’t you go look for Alpine?”

You took that as your cue that he was about to start cursing and didn’t want you around to hear it. 

+

An hour later, you were wandering around the garden and Steve still hadn’t tried to find you. You guessed that he was busy with his work now but you were more focused on finding Alpine. You’d search every inch of the inside of the house and now there was only one place left. You realized that you could also start thinking about a way out of this place. 

“Here kitty, kitty,” Your eyebrows raised as you heard an unfamiliar voice. You wandered further along the path, trying to look through the greenery, before stumbling upon an opening with a large fountain in the middle. Alpine was walking around the top of it, frustrating the man trying to get him down from such a tall height. 

He was one of Steve’s men, you could tell by the dark clothing, though you didn’t recognize him. He was much younger, and honestly, more attractive than a lot of them. You could tell the light had gone out in a lot of the people that Steve kept around. You could already tell he wasn’t like that, “Come on, dude, now you’re just messing with me!”

The cat seemed to brush him off, continuing to walk along the edge. 

“You have to be more gentle than that,” You said, knowing you would startle him. It amused you a little how he seemed to jump out of his skin. His hand held over his heart, you could tell he was a bit taken aback by your appearance. You moved toward the fountain, holding your arms out for it, “C’mere, Alpine, the scary man won’t hurt you.”

His eyes were wide as the cat easily jumped into your arms, “He obviously doesn’t like me,” He said, watching as you brushed Alpine’s ears with your fingers, “And yet Bucky always puts me on cat duty.”

“Maybe Bucky is the one that doesn’t like you,” You responded. 

He frowned, “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” You walked towards you, encouraging Alpine to climb into his arms. Alpine seemed to listen, welcoming his touch, “He’s never been this nice to me. Are you some kind of animal whisperer?”

You giggled a bit, “I’m Y/N.”

Peter’s mouth formed an “o” shape like he was connecting the dots in his mind, “I-I’m Peter . . . aren’t you like . . . not supposed to be out here?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. Am I?” He seemed to panic for a moment, “I mean, I didn’t get the brief that Steve probably gave you all.”

“Right,” He nodded nervously, “Do you . . . should I walk you back to the house?”

“Actually, can you walk me to my room? I don’t think I remember where it was,” You played dumb. 

“Yeah, sure,” He agreed.

Perfect. He was perfect. If there was a way out of here, he was it. 

+

You didn’t see Steve until later that night. He was right in the fact that you didn’t get bored, there were a million things to do even in your own room. You’d floated away, your mind now completely occupied by the coloring page you were scribbling on. 

As Steve sat on the side of your bed, you felt the weight of his day come down with him. Another reason he kept your arrangement before was because you provided stress relief after a long day. He touched your hair, patting your head, and you turned your head to look at him. 

“Did you have lunch?” He asked and you nodded sheepishly, “Dinner?” You nodded again. 

“Maria made sure I ate.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to the side of your head, “Good girl. Wanna show me what you’re working on?”

You sat up from your position, moving the picture book into his lap, “It’s me and you,” Steve couldn’t help but chuckle as he looked down at the picture of Belle and the Beast. 

“You’re funny,” Steve smiled, his eyes getting those little crinkles at the side.

“Did you end up handling your business?” You asked curiously. 

“I did, actually,” He responded, failing to elaborate, “And that’s all you need to know.”

You closed your book, tossing it to the side, and standing up on the bed. You walked over to the pillows and plopped down, “Don’t you think it's a little unfair to hide things? I want to hear a story before bed. Or are your stories too scary?”

You were only teasing him but as he turned over, crawling towards you, your heart began to race, “Did I ever tell you the story about the little girl who always ran her mouth?” 

You shook your head, and Steve let you stew a moment longer before he pounced. He grabbed your ankle, pulling you down onto you back, as he climbed on top of you, “Well, she was always mad at her Daddy because he was . . . very protective. Her Daddy had to fix this, of course, he couldn’t have such a naughty little girl trying to boss him around. He didn’t punish her though, he just fucked her until she couldn’t speak.”

“I don’t like this one-” You were interrupted when his lips crashed down on yours. 

You felt suffocated by him, trapped beneath his love, until you started to move your lips against his. You must’ve been just as crazy as he was for wanting this. 

You gasped for air when he finally pulled away. You watched him hurriedly take off his already unbuttoned,  button down, and undo his belt. You were sliding your dress sleeves off, trying to get your panties down your leg. When they were around your ankles, he tore them away, throwing them to the side. 

Your lips were on his again, “Steve-” He grabbed your wrist roughly, pinning them above your head with one hand, and he grabbed your face with the other.

“Call me Daddy,” He demanded, sinking between your hips. 

“Steve-” You felt a quick sting across your cheek and Steve watched a fire build in your eyes. 

“Bad girl,” He sunk his hard member into you, causing your head to tilt back. He was anything but gentle, moving in and out of you with long and hard strokes, “You’re such a bad girl.”

“Tell me you want my cum,” He grunted, breathing hard against your skin, “Tell me.”

“I want your cum,” You rushed out, an orgasm already building as he maintained his pace. You missed this so much. If there was one thing, you missed. He was the first person to ever make you cum without oral sex. Before him, you didn’t even know your body could do this. 

“Say it,” He continued, “Say it, little girl.”

He was going to slow down if you didn’t and that was the last thing you wanted, “I want your cum, Daddy,” You gasped out, your body convulsing beneath him, “I want it so bad, Daddy.” 

He finished deep inside you, your body tightly wrapping around him, and sweat covering your bodies. You were coming down from the high when the panic set in. Why did you let him do that? And why did you want it?

He was holding you and, as your tears began to fall, he pulled you into him, “It’s okay,” He cooed, “I’ve got ya’. You’re going to be just fine, Babydoll.”

+

part two

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Heart of Steel - Part I

DBH Connor x Male Reader

Word Count: 2.5K+

Content warning: Minor injury detail, PTSD, language

Original game dialogue I got from this video:

https://youtu.be/32Np9LKI1Vg

We were attacked in the night.

After returning from a mission back to an outpost several miles from the red zone, we removed our gear save for a few pouches on our belts we could bother with later. Our team leader set up a fire while the SQ800s, CyberLife commissioned combat androids, began loading up the trucks with extra artillery and resources. A job that could have waited until morning, but Alpha always gave the androids something to do. He said that they creeped him out when they would just stand there in a dormant state, waiting for their next mission to be given to them.

"You know what I'm going to do when I get home?"

"Here we go again."

"I'm going to get me a WR400," Foxtrot; not everyone's favourite but he certainly kept us entertained when there was nothing to do.

"Uh-huh and with what money are you going to be using to pay for this WR400? A military salary definitely ain't gonna cut it." Echo always called out Foxtrot's bullshit, he was the only one that had the patience to deal with him.

"Fine, my birthday is comin' up, if you put towards two-thirds of what it costs we can share. How does that sound?"

"I am not sharing anything with you, I don't know what diseases you carry." Their constant back forth sent chuckles through the group.

"Alright, that's enough you two. It's getting late and past everyone's bedtime, I want you all awake by O-five-hundred at the latest," Alpha would often stop them before Foxtrot would take it too far, but he could never hide the twitching smile on his face.

"Yes sir," Foxtrot mock saluted as he stood from his seat around the campfire. "Hey Echo, that offer is still-"

One moment Foxtrot had a wide grin on his face, the next there was a hole in his head between his eyes, the sound of gunshot ringing in everyone's ears.

"SHOTS FIRED! GET TO COVER NOW!"

"FOXTROT IS DOWN! I REPEAT, FOXTROT IS DOWN!"

It was dark, we couldn't see where they were firing from. The android was the only one still standing, firing off in random directions as they were gunned down. The next was Delta, shot in the left shoulder, then the throat. My gun was back in my tent and there was no chance of me getting it. Stupid.

"MEDIC! GET TO DELTA! NOW!"

"GRENADE!"

I heard the thump by my feet before I saw it. You would think it would be terrifying, to know you're staring death in the face, but for a second it was peaceful. My body was cold and I already felt like a corpse, the Rigour Mortis freezing me in place, just softly gazing at what would kill me.

Something grabbed me before the grenade exploded, saving my life but destroying the android.

The bedsheets were crumpled and soaked in sweat again when my eyes shot open. It was hard to breathe, the panic was still running through me and closing up my throat at the memory.

In; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four. Out; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four.

It took a few minutes for me to remember where I was. That I was home and that I was safe. Out of nervous habit, I gripped my dog tags, they were wet from the sweat that had soaked through my shirt in the night.

"Shit." It was four in the morning, there was no chance of getting any more sleep and the station wouldn't be open for another two more hours at the least. Saying that; Fowler wanted to speak to me first thing, which never meant anything good for anyone.

It was aching again at the joint. The biomechanical component always felt itchy where it joined at the elbow. Anytime I would have that dream I would scratch at it in my sleep, it was like my subconscious knew it didn't belong. It knew my rotting left arm was still in the desert somewhere being picked apart by vultures.

It's almost ironic; to be saved by an android and then to have part of one attached to me. I hated it.

*****

"Morning Cyborg, you look like shit." Gavin was forever pleasant to talk to.

"Fuck off, Reed." He constantly hovered around the coffee machine, hogging it like it was his newborn baby. "Is Fowler in yet?"

"Not yet, you in trouble?" He took his time making his coffee, exceeding in being the department's resident asshat. "Did he catch you looking at porn on your work terminal again?"

"I'm pretty sure that's only ever happened to you." Not wanting to be reminded of his previous escapades I got no response. Gavin let out a small huff before moving to the side with his fresh cup of coffee, freeing up the machine.

"Officer (L/N)." Oh for fuck's sake.

"Sir?" Captain Fowler stood outside his office, his coat half soaked from the rain.

"My office, I need to speak to you." He didn't give a second glance to me before turning and letting the glass door shut behind him.

"Ha, good luck cyborg." Shooting Gavin the middle finger, I followed Captian Fowler into his office.

"What was it you wished to talk about, sir?" Feet shoulder-width apart, back straight and hands behind my back; habits from the army were destined to die hard. Often I would find myself moving my hand up to salute before leaving the presence of a superior, something else for Gavin to make fun of.

"You're aware of the deviant cases I've assigned to Lieutenant Anderson, correct?" Fowler sat at his desk, wet coat now hung on its rack, but there was slight dampness to his suit blazer where his coat had been left open.

"Yes sir. I believe he's being accompanied by a prototype RK800 from Cyberlife."

"That's correct. I'm sure you're aware that these deviancy cases are on the more..."

"Dangerous?"

"...Unpredictable side. Now, I can't exactly issue a gun to a prototype android if it's going to be in the field and, while I value Hank as a police officer, his record is on the rougher side."

"Captain Fowler, with all due respect, I don't believe-"

"Office (L/N), with all due respect, you don't have an opinion in this matter. I want you to accompany Lieutenant Anderson in these assignments just in case a deviant becomes too much for him or this android to handle. You've certainly got the skillset for it and you're not unfamiliar with working alongside androids, unlike quite a few officers in this department."

"I understand that, but-"

"Whatever you're gonna say I don't want to hear it." Captain Fowler didn't give me a chance to argue as he stood and walked to his office door, the annoyed look on his face worsening. "Hank, in my office!"

I let out a sigh before Captain Fowler turned back to his desk. Through the office wall made of glass Hank reluctantly made his way towards us grumbling something under his breath at the request, the RK800 model obediently following behind him like a little, lost puppy. Hank sat in the chair opposite Fowler while the android stood next to me, giving a small smile as a greeting.

Captain Fowler was the first to talk, "I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day. We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap... But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night. This isn't just cyberlife's problem anymore, it's now a criminal investigation and we've gotta deal with it before the shit hits the fan. I want you to investigate these cases, alongside officer (L/N) and see if there's any link."

"Why me? And why do I need a god damned partner? A stupid android is already too much. Why do I gotta be the one to deal with this shit?" Props to Hank for trying, but arguing with Fowler was like talking to a brick wall. "I am the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case! I know jack shit about androids, Jeffery. I can barely change the settings on my own phone."

"Everybody's overloaded. I think you're perfectly qualified for this type of investigation," They were already starting to blow up at each other.

"Bullshit! The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin' androids and you left me holdin' the bag!"

"CyberLife sent over this android to help with this investigation and I've given you (L/N) as well. You've got a state of the art prototype and a leading police officer to act as your partners."

"No fuckin' way! I don't need partners, and certainly not this plastic prick and some action hero fucker."

"Nice working with you too, Lieutenant Anderson," I said under my breath, not intending for the others to hear. Connor turned his head slightly in my direction, I could see his LED blink yellow for a moment before going back to its bright blue.

"Hank, you are seriously starting to piss me off! You are a police lieutenant, you are supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth!"

"You know what my goddamn mouth has to say to you, huh?"

"I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, so I don't have to add any more pages to your disciplinary folder 'cause it already looks like a fuckin' novel! This conversation is over."

"Jeffrey, Jesus Christ! Why are you doin' this to me? You know how much I hate these fuckin' things. Why are you doin' this to me?" Most of the department knew why he had such a distaste towards androids, no one could necessarily blame him. Ever since losing his son Hank had become completely different as both a person and an officer. Admittedly, Fowler was harsh on him, but if he wasn't then Hank would drift.

"I've had just enough of your bitching. Either you do your job or you hand in your badge. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." Hank left in a strop, letting out his frustration on Fowler's office door.

"Well then..." Connor was quick to break the tense silence. His voice caught me off guard, it was smoother, more human than any android's I had heard before. The SQ800's voices had always been more robotic than other models so it had been a shock when the androids back home had sounded so normal, it felt like that all over again. It was jarring. "I won't keep you any longer. Have a nice day captain."

Connor left and I followed behind, giving a small nod of dismissal to Fowler despite him still looking at his terminal screen.

The android went straight to Hank either oblivious or ignoring the lieutenant's current bad mood, granted there was never a time the bastard was in a good mood. Heaven itself could rain down on Detroit and he'd huff at it like a hair in his food.

"I got the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant. I'd like you to know I'm very sorry about that. In any case, I'd like you to know I'm very to be working with you." Ever the enthusiast.

"I'd give in now. You're talking to a toddler in a fifty-year old's body and the toddler is having a hissy fit." I half sat and half leant against Hank's desk, using my arms to support my weight.

"Apologies, I don't believe I've introduced myself. My name is Connor, I am the android sent by CyberLife." He turned to me, a gentle and manufactured smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to be working with you too, officer (L/N). I'm sure we'll make a great team."

"Er... (Y/N) is just fine."

"Is there a desk anywhere I could use?"

"No one's using that one." Hank points to the desk opposite him, while still sulking like a child.

"Gasp, it speaks," I said in a sarcastic tone while turning to Hank.

"Fuck off. I've already got an android on my ass, I don't need you on it too."

I grabbed a terminal pad before perching myself back at the edge of Hank's desk while Connor got comfortable at the empty one. The light at the side of his head flashing yellow for a moment like he was hesitant to speak."You have a dog, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"The dog hairs on your chair. I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"

"What's it to you?" Hank shifted in his seat, "...Sumo... I call him Sumo."

"Under all those shitty shirts and questionable stains there's a warm, beating heart," I say more to myself than the other two, skimming over the recent case files sent in by Fowler.

"Officer (L/N)... (Y/N), knowing that we'd be working together I read your academy and field records. You have quite an interesting background."

"Oh yeah, then you understand that I may be a little driven to get these cases over with. I can't say I'm a fan of you terminators."

"I understand you have a... warped view of androids due to what you've experienced, but I hope you understand that I am your partner and not your enemy."

"Connor, you're not my partner, you're cyberlife's latest gizmo for us kick around." I sigh, turning to sit at my desk adjacent to hanks, taking the terminal pad with me. "Just look through the deviant case files. Terminals on your desk, knock yourself out."

They're nothing but machines. They are not your friends.

"Two-hundred and forty-three files, the first date back nine months. It all started in Detroit... And quickly spread across the country." Connor had only connected the terminal moments before.

"Don't work your CPU too hard," I mutter under my breath, catching a quick huff of amusement from Hank.

"An AX400 is reported to have murdered a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation." Hank was doing his best to pretend Connor didn't exist, but the android was persistent. Connor stood from his chair and made his way into Hank's personal space.

"Uh, Jesus..." Hank turned his chair away.

"I understand you're facing personal issues, Lieutenant, but you need to move past them and-" For an android, Connor has some balls on him.

"Hey! Don't talk to me like you know me. I'm not your friend and I don't need your advice, okay?" Hank's mood had soured like milk, it wouldn't be long until Fowler was adding another page to Hank's disciplinary folder.

"I've been assigned this mission Lieutenant, I didn't come here to wait until you feel like working."

"Connor, you're just gonna-" I had wasted my breath, Hank had already stood and was grabbing onto Connor by the collar of his Cyberlife jacket and slamming against the screen next to his desk. "Hank!"

"Listen asshole. If it were up to me, I'd rather throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it. So, stop pissing me off... or things are gonna get nasty."

"Hank," I placed a hand on his shoulder to try and lightly pull him away from Connor but only earned a nasty side-eye. "Leave off him, you don't get paid enough to replace him."

"Lieutenant... Officer (L/N), uh... sorry to disturb you," Looks like the tin can was saved before Hank could knock the light out of him, "I have some information on the AX400 that killed that guy last night. It's been sighted in the Ravendale district."

"I'm on it." Hank didn't glance back when he dropped Connor's collar. The puppy dog look on his face almost made me feel bad for him... almost.

"Come on, WALL-E. Don't want to keep the old man waiting."

[mrsmaybank]

My Little Sun - Spencer Reid x Reader

 It could not be heaven because her actions, her sounds and her intentions were the opposite of sanctity and purity: they were sinful. So bad and so good that you could get the two confused.

CW: MENTIONS OF KIDNAPPING, IMPLIED SMUT, AGE GAP, LANGUAGE, DADDY KINK. (LMK IF I MISSED ANY PLEASE)

PART ONE

PART TWO

A/N: Shiiit!!! Sorry this mediocrity took so long!!! Anyway, let me know if you want me to clear anything up and please let me know if you like it. Kisses <3

I had the right to be upset, but I knew I shouldn’t be. Hotch was right, I could not work the case nor was I in the state to. It was for my own good and maybe the sanity of the rest of the team. I was a mess. He “ordered” me to go get some sleep in the breakroom, knowing I would never agree to go home. But like always, I couldn’t sleep. That wasn’t unusual and my brain began me to torture me with a movie of my most recent memories. 

9 Days Ago 

Friday - 8:49 PM

“I waannt Thaiiii foooood!” Only she could make my heart melt while simultaneously whining and disagreeing with me. She tightened her grip on my hand, “Pretty, pretty please?”

“We had Thai last week.” I looked down at her as we continued walking down the streets. “And plus, you love the Greek place.” She pouted and continued to ramble about why Thai was so much better. Even complaining, her company was so comforting and calming that I was genuinely relaxed, despite the roars of taxi cabs and the indistinct chatter of drunk city goers. 

“Oh my god! Don’t look! Do not look left!” She skipped to my right, “Look-look at me!” I watched her skip around me and cling to my right arm before her little hands grabbed my face and pressed her mouth to mine. 

“Sweetheart,” I tried to get out of her grip but she cut me off by pressing her body to mine and continuing the frenzied kiss. As soon as she needed a breath, I spun in the other direction. “You’re a monster.” I grabbed her hand and we ran to it immediately. A life-size and functioning chess board under an array of colorful lanterns and vines. It was probably a contemporary art piece and I silently thanked whoever created it. I wrapped my arms around her as I excitedly admired it. “Why didn’t you want me to see this?” I whispered into the small of her neck. “Is it because I always beat you at chess?” 

She backed up from me offended, “You don’t always beat me!” 

I grabbed her once more, not liking the space between us. “If you took all of our games, looked at my wins and your losses, I’ve won 98% of the time.” 

“Yeah well…” she tiptoed and grazed her lips against mine, “I win 100% of the time.” I was confused, “At this.” She pressed her entire body to mine and finally kissed me.

“You,”

Kiss.  

“Don’t know,” 

Kiss. 

“What you’re,”

Kiss.

“Starting little,”

Kiss.

“Girl.” 

She grabbed my hand and twirled herself around just to fall back onto me. I caught her, just like she knew I would. I trusted her and she trusted me, and that was the best feeling in the world. “I love you.” I said, still supporting all her weight. 

She stood upright and gave me a light kiss. “I love you so much Spencer.” 

I couldn’t see anything in the world but her. “I would do anything for you.” 

She perked up with a sneaky glint in her eye, “Would you eat Thai two weeks in a row?” She grinned. 

I sighed. She won. “Yeah,” I pushed the hair out of her face, “I would. Let’s go get some.” 

“If..” she rolled her eyes, “We play on the walk back.” I motioned to the board. “I’ll go easy on you.” 

“You’re on Dr. Reid.” she snarked back. 

8 Days Ago

Saturday - 2:31 PM

Saturday was one of those stereotypical rainy days where the world seemed slowed. The pitter patter of the raindrops and the light music of her favorite record created a symphony of other-worldly peace for me. I left our room, and there she was, my perfect girl sitting criss crossed at my desk. I perched over her, laying a sweet kiss on her cheek. 

“So..I was thinking macaroons…” she scrolled through different catering sites, “But cupcakes are a must too.” I watched her plan in adoration. Never in my life had I been so sure of anything. But I wanted to marry this girl and spend every last day of my life like this one and there was no question about it. It was that simple. 

“Spence?” she broke me out of my lovelorn daydreams of growing old together.

“Yeah?” I answered. 

“Chocolate or red velvet? There is one right answer.” her eyes narrowed. 

“Oh,” I knew exactly what she wanted me to say, “Red velvet. All the way.” 

“You really are a genius.” She teased and began to scribble ‘Red Velvet’ on the small notebook next to her. I looked at the list of random little things she’d written down in preparation for the day. It assured me she was just as infatuated with the idea of a future together as I was. I sighed, “Even your handwriting is cute.” 

“Duh..” she retorted and I rolled my eyes, “Can I read you the food list?” I gently lifted her off the desk seat, “You can read it to me on the couch maybe?” 

She nodded and grabbed her notebook. I sat first, and she took the opportunity to crawl in my lap. It’s like our bodies were made for each other because she just fit so perfectly there. 

“For the dessert table, hazelnut, pistachio and vanilla macaroons. From the French bakery in downtown. Obviously.  Red velvet cupcakes from that bakery JJ told me about. Remember the ones she ordered for her baby shower?” I nodded. “Those.”

“White chocolate macadamia nut cookies, and if I get my way..”

“You always do.” I teased. “Yeah, and don’t forget it.” she smiled, “Tiny little cheesecake squares.” 

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” I said. “Of course! A lot of tiny desserts are waaay better than one big cake.” 

“And more sanitary.” It was her turn to sigh.

“Yes yes, and more sanitary.” She laid her head in my chest and closed her eyes.

 “I told Penelope we’d meet her at the restaurant at 3.” 

“But it’s raining!” I complained. Truthfully, I just didn’t want this moment to end. She gave me a look and I stopped my protests. “Y’know if we order an Uber instead of taking the metro, we might have time to take a nice…” her words purposely trailed, “Long...hot shower.” She didn’t really have to say much else, batting her eyelashes to give this heart wrenching illusion of innocence. I wasn't buying it. Then, being way too coy for her age, she ran her hands up my chest and flashed me a coquettish grin. It was textbook but, goddd. Her smile alone turned me on to an extent it shouldn’t. 

I let her off my lap and stood up instantly, grabbing her hand and leading her to our bathroom. “Now.”

7 Days Ago 

Sunday - 9:22 AM 

The view convinced me I had died and arrived in heaven. I had to be. Where else but heaven does an angel perch themselves on your lap? No, though. It wasn’t heaven. It could not be heaven because her actions, her sounds and her intentions were the opposite of sanctity and purity: they were sinful. So bad and so good that you could get the two confused. 

She kissed down my neck and I swore my heart would burst out of my chest. She paused and sat up to say “When was the last time we got a whole weekend together like this?” 

I rubbed her arms up and down, “I can’t even remember.” 

“Me neither.” She kind of sounded like she wanted to say something else, but I didn’t really care, kissing her open mouth and rocking my hips up to hers. She was panting by the time my hands met her chest. “Please,” she whined, “Daddy, please.” 

She had no idea what she was asking for but I did. So I gave it to her. 

I would give her anything. 

6 Days Ago 

Monday 7:02 AM 

“Bye baby.” I kissed her still bed-headed hair. 

“NOooo!” she tried to pull my satchel back into her mess of sheets. 

“I’m sorry.” I sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. She curled her head into my lap and I caressed her forehead. 

“You have class today.” I felt her twitch, “An important one. You should eat a good breakfast.” 

“I know.” she said sadly. I registered that the sadness was less about class, and more about the fact we both knew this was goodbye for at least a couple days. Time spent together was bliss and days apart were agonizing, regardless of how important both of our responsibilities were. 

“Hey, think about what a good weekend we had.” I gently reminded her. 

“I know but now you’re gonna be gone.” The pain in her voice brought me the kind of sorrow that you didn’t wish upon your worst enemy. 

“Not for too long, little girl.” I kissed her forehead again, “I promise.” 

She got up and sighed, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

I wish she wouldn’t do that, but I couldn’t blame her either. 

“I’m sorry.” She just shook her head. 

“Don’t be. Go save some lives Dr. Reid.” there was a gentle smile on her face as she said the words, “I’ll be right here when you get back.” I enveloped her in a hug with nothing but love, and she still couldn't resist teasing me, “Or maybe drunk at a Frat house, I don’t know.” 

My eyes went wide and the thought immediately gave me anxiety, “Please, do not. Do you know-” She shut me up with a kiss and I silently thanked her for it. “I love you Spencer. I’ll see you soon.” “I love you more.” I got up and headed for the door, “Sooner than later, okay?” 

She nodded, “Okay.” 

3 Days Ago 

Wednesday 2:10 AM 

I silently stepped through the apartment, relishing in the stillness that meant just maybe, my begging Y/N not to waste sleep over me had worked, but I still doubted it. Her listening to my instructions was like a solar eclipse: disappointingly rare. 

As soon as I made it to the bedroom though, I was pleasantly surprised. She was asleep, but not yet under the covers. Poor thing had tried to stay up, but couldn’t. As much as I wanted to instantly smother her in affection, I restrained myself only to admire the sight of her in nothing but underwear and a grey cardigan of mine. She’d only done a single button too, obscuring the direct view so her figure was just barely covered. It was incredibly attractive and she knew it.

I began to undress, trying to remain silent as I exchanged my tie and vest for pajama pants and the Caltech sweater on the dresser. I didn’t wear it much before she did. In fact, I’d only started wearing it because despite it being 5 sizes too big for her, she adored it. For the first couple months of knowing her, it was the only thing she slept in. And because of that, it smelled like her perfume. Nestling myself into bed next to her, I wrapped my hands around her waist and pulled her close, while trying to gently pull the sheets out from under her. 

“Get under the covers.” Her eyes fluttered open, “Spence...Spencer?” She smiled, “Spencer!” 

She buried herself impossibly closer to my chest, arms and legs wrapping around me like a…

“You’re like a panda.” I laughed. She giggled, “You’re bamboo.”

“Are you calling me a stick-skinny? That’s hurtful, y/n.” We laughed harder until I couldn’t stop myself from kissing her. The kisses were long and sweet as we both savored the reunion. She tugged on the sweater I wore, “Why are you wearing my sweatshirt?” I brushed some hair out of her face. “It was mine first.” She rolled her eyes, “Pff...did you even go to Caltech?” She was trying so hard to control laughter, “Poser.” 

She laughed as I’m sure despite silence from me she could hear my internal screaming. 

Her laughter finally ceased when my grip on her got looser and my eyes hung a little lower. “Sleepy?” she asked. 

I nodded and so did she, “Me too.” We got under the covers together. 

“Hold me.” she hummed. “Hotch give you guys the day off tomorrow?”

“Yeah, recuperation. The case was...rough.” 

“You guys catch the guy?” she asked. 

I nodded, “Yeah.” “That’s amazing Spence. You’re so amazing.” I held her tighter. 

“I love you.” I said. 

“I love you too. Now go to sleep.” And so I did. 

2 Days Ago 

Thursday 6:30 PM

“It did indeed. You’ve become my solnyshko moyo.”

“Tell me that’s Russian dirty talk.” She said with a grin.

“It’s better. It’s a term of endearment you’ve become the epitome of.”

“And what’s that Dr. Reid?” she giggled.

“My little sun. You’ve become my little sun. Following me around and bringing light and warmth.” She snuggled herself impossibly closer into my chest, wrapping one of her legs over mine.

“Except for your feet!” I shrieked at her freezing toes meeting mine.

“They’re not that cold you big baby!” she shouted.

I laughed and kissed her sweetly, “I am not the baby here.” I said.  

“Please,” she started until I interrupted her with a kiss, “If you’re not the baby,” I kissed her again, “That implies I’M the baby,” Kiss, “And I’m not a” Kiss.

“Shush baby.” I told her, but like always, she didn’t listen, instead sitting up to straddle me. My appreciation for her beauty was like how a prisoner appreciates freedom, and yet it was miniscule into what I found in her character. It blew my mind that a girl so perfect existed.

“Rarely do great virtue and beauty dwell together. Francesco Petrarch.” I started, my hands making their way onto her hips, “That makes you a rarity.”

“You’re spoiling me with nice words today Spencer.” “You’ve spoiled me. My frontal lobe is spoiled milk.” She laughed, wondering how I was going to manage to make this one romantic.

“That’s the part of the brain responsible for sensibility and logical thinking, and you, little girl, have positively ruined it. You make me stupid.”

“I ruined the genius Dr. Reid with the 187 IQ? Makes sense. I’m like, way smarter.”

“You are. So, so much smarter.”

“I want that in writing.” she poked my chest.

I pulled her down and kissed her forehead to whisper in her ear. “Not a chance.”

She pushed herself away and rolled her eyes at me like a bratty child does her nanny, and I continued, “ You’re smarter, but I’m more educated. I have more doctorates than you have years in university.”

“Whatever…”

I brushed the hair away from her perfect face, “You tired baby?”

She sighed and laid down, splaying herself on my chest, laying on me like I was the duvet. “Very.”

I held her impossibly close, breathing in her scent and counting every time her heart thumped, her bpm said she was relaxed. Oh god, I wanted her like this forever. Relaxed in my arms, where nothing could touch us but each other.

Present Day 

Sunday 11:45 PM

How did it all seem so incredibly long ago? The BAU break room couch was definitely not made for sleeping, and yet Hotch had insisted I come try to get some rest. What was the use? How was I supposed to rest knowing that Y/N was out there in so much danger? I couldn’t rest until we found her, everybody knew that. 

Morgan came rushing into the tiny room, “Garcia’s got a hit. Her father left her 3 of his commercial properties, one of which is an abandoned mall.” 

I wasn’t allowed to work on the profile, but this was, for lack of a better word, a clear trap. “Morgan, it can’t be that easy. We both know that.” 

“Kid, she’s having a psychotic break. Everything about this is disorganized. It wasn’t planned at all. It’s not that much of a stretch to say she’d go to a secluded place she figured we’d never find.”

“Was there a second stressor? JJ and I thought it might’ve been the proposal but…” 

“Reid, I’ll brief you in the car. Get your shit together and let’s go get Y/N.” 

----

Taglist: @slaterskaterslaterboi @frickin-bats @bxtchboy69​  @reidsbbg

@sassy-hades @jackiehollanderr @k-k0129 @spenceoffense​

(Comment to be added)

[hermannsthumb]

I know you don't usually write PRU stuff, but if you ever feel inclined, here's a ficlet idea! so: Newt is trying to fight off the Precursors by constantly reminding himself that He Is Human. but whenever newt thinks about what makes him Feel Human, the answer is always hermann. so newt starts conjuring up vivid mental images of hermann (doing mundane, hermann-y things) to ward off the Precursors. bonus point if, like, newt fondly remembering smth innocuous (like the scent of Hermann's chalk dust?) is enough to actually sever the alien mind control.

Anonymous asked: Maria!!! Would you ever write an angsty post uprising prompt? Or even a pre uprising? Anything with Newt fucking around with Kaiju and being sad i am HERE FOR 👏

in honor of the sequel’s 3 year anniversary, let’s try something a little different 👀 THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME RE: LENGTH....I'll leave it up to interpretation whether or not the bonus is wholly fulfilled.... also on proofing this I realized it might need content warnings? so vague refs to disordered eating and alcohol drinking (ie, newt’s body is inhabited by aliens who forget how human stuff works)

-----------

Honestly, Newt’s life has been kind of a shitshow lately. He’s too, like, high strung. Too many responsibilities. Not enough hours in the day to get that shit done. He’s even higher strung than he was during the war, which is nuts, because certain doom was lurking around every corner. Maybe that’s why it’s not that nuts, though. The war was chaotic—and Newt’s fueled (or, used to be fueled?) by chaos. The kaiju were unpredictable. The kaiju didn’t run on a 9-5 schedule. The kaiju didn’t expect Newt to have three new jaeger prototypes on their desk by noon on a fucking Saturday, which is usually the day Newt spends two hours in his expensive bath tub and drinks a nice bottle of wine, and definitely not a day he wants to spend giving himself a stress migraine and shouting at underlings to make themselves useful. On top of that, his usual cafe got his coffee order wrong—when Newt had to run in to get it, himself, on a Saturday morning—and it only had half the espresso shots he really needs for the day. No wonder he’s going grey at forty. Fucking nightmare. Stable employment is exactly the kind of chaos that’s bad for Newt—give him the kaiju any day, thanks.

“Dr. Geiszler?”

Newt pushes his sunglasses up, and scowls at whichever one of his employees has dared to interrupt his catnap. The fluorescent overheads are brutal on his poor eyes right now. The lab needs more natural lighting. Maybe if he complains, they’ll knock out some walls in put in a few more windows. “Did you find any Aspirin?” he says.

Wordlessly, Newt’s assistant passes him a bottle. Newt pops the cap off and takes at least four. The coffee he washes it down with is cold. “How are the last simulations coming along?” he says, flicking his sunglasses back down. He seems to have so many migraines these days. It’s the contact lenses, he thinks—making the switch over from frames so late in the game. Screwing with his perceptions. Newt went thirty years with frames, after all. “We only have two hours before—”

“We’re almost done,” his assistant cuts in. “We’re working as fast as we can, Dr. Geiszler.”

“But are we gonna make the deadline?” Newt says.

She fidgets, and moves her clipboard to her other arm. “Well—we’ve had some—issues.”

Newt stands up with a long sigh. Double overtime, probably. Sunday lost to this shit too. That new bottle of wine waiting for him on his kitchen counter bought for nothing. “Gotta do everything myself, huh? Unbelievable.”

He follows his assistant over to the main lab down the hall, where his team of j-techs are hurrying around. Hardly anyone in proper lab attire—no labcoats—someone in sweatpants—Newt wasn’t the only one who had his Saturday ruined, probably. No one else is going grey, though. “What’s this shit?” he says, stopping in his tracks with one foot through the doorway. The high-tech holo-smartboards have been pushed aside, and instead, someone’s wheeled in a huge…chalkboard.

“Technical issues,” his assistant says. “The other floors are having the same problem—something in the new interface update that downloaded last night, we think. They’re all out of commission. Technology is working on it, but for now, we had to pull that out of deep storage.”

Two of his scientists are scrawling across the board quickly—one with white chalk, the other with pink. They’re debating something in hushed tones. Newt hasn’t seen a chalkboard in years. It doesn’t fit with Shao Industry’s whole chic, sleek, futuristic aesthetic. So—bulky. And messy. “Of course it would happen today of all days,” Newt sighs. The sight of it makes him feel odd, and he can’t seem to drag himself any further into the lab and any closer towards it.

His assistant says something. Newt doesn’t hear—he’s listening, instead, to the squeaking of chalk across the blackboard. So noisy and obnoxious. It reminds him of years and years ago, of working in a grimy little basement, of…

“—look it over. Dr. Geiszler?”

“Hm?” Newt says. It was like a layer of fog had begun to lift from his thoughts, but the interruption sends it rolling right back in.

“I said we’re ready for you to look it over. Only if you want too, of course,” she adds, nervously.

“Uh-huh,” Newt says.

Newt’s never had anyone fear him before, not like his employees seem to fear him—he’s not sure he likes it. His scientists shut up the second he looms over (well—under, Newt’s never loomed over anyone in his life) their shoulders to inspect their work so far. The squeaking stops. One of them lowers their piece of chalk. “Wait,” Newt says, too-loudly, surprising them and himself. They both look at him with the same nervousness as his assistant, like he’s about to start shouting or something. “Keep doing that.”

“Keep…?”

“Writing,” Newt says. “On the chalkboard.”

The scientist frowns at him. “Um, okay,” she says. “What am I supposed to write?”

“Anything,” Newt says. “Seriously. Anything.”

She hesitates.

“Anything,” Newt repeats.

She picks up the white chalk, and writes out her name, then doodles a few random pictures—a DNA helix, a flower, a cat face, a star. Newt shuts his eyes, and breathes in deeply. That smell. He snags the forgotten piece of pink chalk from the ledge. “Can I have this?” he says. He doesn’t wait for them to respond—though they both nod yes frantically, and bewilderedly—before writing out his own name on the board. Dr. Geiszler. It looks wrong, so he writes Newt beneath it. He shuts his eyes, and writes Newt again. Why does he feel like he’s done this sort of thing before? This thing is ancient—before his time at Shao—he wouldn’t have used it before they carted off to the basement. Newt, Newt, Newt Was Here,he writes, Newt +, and then he stops.

He opens his eyes. “Who’s Hermann?” his assistant says.

Newt + Hermann. Newt didn’t realize he wrote it. “Someone I knew,” he says, faintly. “Years ago. He was my—” He swallows. He feels strange. “My colleague?”

Strange. Dizzy. The Aspirin isn’t working. Definitely the contact lenses. He could afford laser eye surgery now, if he wanted, maybe he should look into it. He grips the ledge of the chalkboard, swaying, and grits his teeth; his two scientists back away from him slowly, no doubt worried he’s about to hurl all over their shoes. He might, to be honest. Newt + Hermann. Hermann was his colleague. Hermann was his— “Are you feeling okay, Dr. Geiszler?” his assistant asks. “You look…”

“Tell Shao I’m taking the rest of the day off,” Newt says.

“What?”

“You guys got this shit handled without me,” Newt says. He pockets the chalk. “I’m not—I’m not feeling myself. I think I need to go home and lie down. Seriously, you’ve got it under control—all these numbers look, uh, good, I trust you. If you guys don’t get it finished you can just tell Shao it’s my fault, okay?”

She gapes at him. “Uh,” she says. “Okay?”

Newt doesn’t go home. He goes to the nearest shop he can find instead, and makes a beeline for the art supplies aisle. Only a few boxes of chalk in stock. Four multicolored, two all-white, one yellow. He drops them all into his basket but the yellow, which he rips opens and immediately smells. Newt + Hermann. Hermann always smelled like chalk dust—he always had a fine layer of it on his clothing, patches of it on his blazer, his sweatervest, even on his undershirt. Newt used to tease him for that. He closes his eyes, and breathes in again. Funny—all those baths, all those bottles of wine, and this stupid little box of chalk is what’s finally making him feel calm for once. Quieting down his brain. He didn’t realize how loud it’d gotten in there. When Hermann would kiss Newt, he would sometimes stain Newt’s clothing with chalk, too, and Newt would pretend to be annoyed, but he never really was.

Someone is speaking to him. An employee. They’re staring at him, a cautious distance away, and Newt’s not sure what they’re saying.

His vision’s gone blurry—he didn’t realize he’d started crying, either. He wipes his eyes on the cuff of his blazer and sniffles. “Sorry,” he says. The box of yellow chalk is wet. “Um. Do you have any more of these in the back?”

He takes the bus home for the first time in years, one hand stuffed in his little brown shopping bag the whole time, wrapped around a box of chalk. When he gets back to his apartment (his big, lonely, apartment), he pulls out the only food in his fridge—some leftovers from a Shao Industries event three nights ago—and settles down on his big, lonely couch. He can’t stop thinking about Hermann. Five or so years, maybe more, not thinking about Hermann, and now suddenly—it’s like the floodgates have opened. He thinks about Hermann’s haircut. (Bad.) He thinks about Hermann’s smile. (Silly, and sweet.) He thinks about Hermann’s dumb accent, and the clack of Hermann’s cane on the floor, and Hermann’s chalk squeaking over his chalkboard, and how it felt when Hermann would wrap him in his arms and kiss him and whisper things to him. Hermann’s sweaters always smelled like mothballs and stale cigarette smoke. Terrible combination.

Newt’s stomach growls. He’s finished the small bit of leftovers without realizing, and is apparently still hungry. He would kill for some sushi takeout right now. Or pizza, God. Yeah, it’d be screwing with his new diet and fitness plan—he casts a guilty glance over at his brand new exercise bike, which is gathering dust in the corner by his TV—but he’s tired of doing stupid kale and juice cleanses or whatever, just to please—well. He’s only human.

He is?

He walks up the stairs to his bathroom, and stares at himself in the mirror. Stupid vest. Stupid tie. Neat hair, clean-shaven cheeks, contact lenses. Newt’s only human. “I’m human,” he tells his reflection. Is he human? He felt human standing by that old chalkboard back in the lab, and holding that box of yellow chalk in the aisle of that little shop. He felt human when he was remembering things. Because of—Newt blinks at himself. Because of whom?

“Hermann,” he says, and smiles at the way the name makes him feel. He should text him, maybe.

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

“I must say,” Hermann says, “I was quite surprised when I received your dinner invitation. You’ve done a rather fine job of ignoring my calls as of late. I’d thought— Ah, thank you,” he adds, as Newt holds the door open for him. He steps into Newt’s apartment and cranes his neck around, squinting curiously, and then shoves a bottle of red wine at Newt’s chest. Hermann is much more personable than Newt remembers—what little Newt remembers—and he wonders if it’s age or something else. “I’ve been holding onto this one for a while. It’s the one you gave me as a part of a gift for my thirty-seventh birthday—you remember? Oh, but isn’t it so terrifically, er, modern in here.”

“Is it?” Newt says. He’s never given much thought to his apartment before, but he stares around at it now in mild interest. It is very chic, isn’t it? Monochrome. Impersonal. Not something Newt would’ve picked for himself. “Yeah, I had some interior decorators come in and do it for me.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “How…”

“Modern,” Newt offers. He puts the bottle of wine on his marble kitchen island. “Thanks for this, by the way, but I’ve actually been trying to cut back on the—” He bites back drinking. No need to alarm Hermann. “—Calories, so if it’s cool with you I’d rather not open it. I’m doing a, um, a new fitness program.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. “I suppose that explains that, then, doesn’t it?” He points at the dusty exercise bike. Newt watches his gaze move from that, to the barren leather couch, to the short staircase which leads to Newt’s shut bedroom door. Newt can practically see the gears working in his head. “Will—ah, what was their name, that little flight of fancy of yours—a dalliance, one might say—will they be, ah, joining the two of us?” He looks at Newt out of the corner of his eye. “Alice, was it?”

“Who?” Newt says, blankly.

Hermann breaks out in a broad grin, which he quickly tries, very badly, to turn into a sympathetic frown. He pats Newt’s arm. “There’s the spirit, then, Newton! All in the past, I presume? Hardly any use in dwelling on a broken heart. Then again—it’s not as if you were together long enough to warrant those sorts of dramatics, were you?” he says, cheerily. “What I mean is—certainly it wasn’t as if you had any sort of deep or emotional connection with—?—oh, I’ve forgotten the name again.”

“Uh,” Newt says. He’s not really sure who Hermann’s talking about, but just based on that fact alone, he would assume Hermann is right. “I guess not?”

“Precisely as I expected,” Hermann says, with a satisfied nod. “Rotten grounds for a relati—for a fling. You deserve far better, Newton.” Hermann touches Newt’s arm again, and this time, he doesn’t move his hand. It makes Newt’s skin prickle pleasantly. “You look well these days, though I admit it’s a bit of a shock to see you without your glasses,” Hermann continues, flicking his eyes up and down Newt twice. He lingers on Newt’s left hand, over the bare spot where—until this morning, when he suddenly realized how stupid it looked and yanked it off—he was wearing that Elvis ring. “Ending things must be treating you kindly. I don’t suppose I could dash to your loo?”

“Loo?” Newt says. “Oh, right. Yeah, it’s that door there, right off the living room.” He drops down onto the leather couch. “Knock yourself out. I’ll be right here.”

Hermann disappears into Newt’s bathroom, and comes back out three minutes later with combed hair, a straightened collar, and the vague smell of cologne. He’s tucking a small bottle into his top pocket. “I found a box of hair dye in your medicine cabinet,” he declares, smugly. “I knew there was no bloody way that was natural. Though I’m not surprised it fooled Alice.” He rests his cane against the glass coffee table and sits down next to Newt. Right next to Newt. The whole sofa to pick from, and he’d rather their thighs touch. Newt doesn’t mind—actually, the contact is strangely grounding, like Hermann’s hand on his arm had been earlier. He’s here, in his living room, with Hermann, his friend Hermann, his colleague Hermann, his—well, question mark—Hermann.

“Hermann, can I ask you something?” he says. “Something important?”

“By all means,” Hermann says, leaning in and fluttering his eyelashes. Even over the cologne, Newt can still make out that mothball-chalk-smoke smell.

“Do you take your coffee with sugar?” he says.

Hermann laughs. “Do I—what?”

Newt repeats the question. The smile slips off Hermann’s face, and he draws away, furrowing his eyebrows. “Well,” he says, “yes, usually, only I’m not sure what—”

“Sugar, and some milk,” Newt says. “It was the same with your tea. And you had a mug that you would use—you wouldn’t use any other. It was blue, and it said—” He exhales through his nose. “It said TU Berlin. That’s where you got your PhD.”

After Newt sent Hermann a text about dinner last night, he sat down with a pen and pad of paper and made a list of everything he could remember about Hermann. He started with what Hermann looks like, and who Hermann is, and then moved into the harder stuff like what Hermann likes and the sort of things Hermann used to do. He stayed up all night doing it, until his hand cramped and his head hurt even more than it had that morning, and then recited it over and over to himself in a whisper as he fell asleep. Hermann has brown eyes. Hermann likes blackberry jam on his toast. Hermann wears little glasses on a chain. Hermann uses a cane with a tiny little nick in the brass of the handle. The list is in his pocket now; it makes Newt feel calm, and even calmer when he reaches into his pocket and touches it. He exhales again, hard, and then inhales. “We were together,” he says. “When we closed the Breach, you told me you loved me.”

“I did,” Hermann says, quietly.

“I said it back,” Newt says.

Hermann nods.

Slowly, Newt reaches out and puts his hand over Hermann’s. Hermann makes a strange noise in the back of his throat—like a sigh, or maybe a groan. His pulse twitches erratically under Newt’s fingertips. “I bought chalk,” Newt says.

“You—” Hermann echoes, his voice choked. “You bought chalk?”

“It reminded me of you,” Newt says.

He’s not surprised when Hermann kisses him, but he is surprised at his knee-jerk reaction: to pull away, or push Hermann away, and to order him to get out of his apartment. He’s surprised, because those aren’t his thoughts. He doesn’t want Hermann to leave—he wants Hermann to stay longer, and kiss him more, and help him remember more. “Oh, Newton,” Hermann says. “Newton, Newton—” He moves his mouth to Newt’s neck, kissing, breathing, and whispering his name, and Newt shuts his eyes and forces himself to remember his list.

“Tell me things about you,” Newt begs. “I want to remember you.”

Hermann’s laughter, hesitant and confused, comes out in a puff of hot air against his skin. “Remember me?” he says. “I’m not sure— Are we not a bit—?”

“Hermann,” Newt says.

He grips the back of Hermann’s sweater, digging his nails in Hermann’s skin through the layers of fabric. Hermann must hear the urgency in his voice, because he shakes his head with another laugh, kisses Newt’s jaw, and says, “Well, alright. What am I even meant to tell you?”

“Your favorite color,” Newt says. Hermann kisses his chin. “Your favorite song. No, wait—” He nudges Hermann away from him, just enough so that Hermann can see him smile. “Tell me what you like about me.”

“Feeling rather egotistical tonight, aren’t we?” Hermann teases. He reaches out and brushes his fingers through the side of Newt’s hair. One of the spots Newt dyed—it was too grey. He catches Hermann’s hand by the wrist and pulls it away gently, but only to press himself up against Hermann’s chest instead. He can feel Hermann’s heartbeat. “I like—hm,” Hermann says. “I like your stubbornness. I like your passion. I like…”

His voice vibrates in his throat—Newt can feel that, too. He listens.

[lunewell]

The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Chapter 1

Finally, finally I can show you guys a preview of the horror book I’m publishing in October (:. You can find chapter 1 below, and if you’d prefer, you can read it on ao3 by clicking here!

Chapter 2 is now out and can be found here (:

Enjoy!

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery.

Chapter 1:

Thorn’s Antiques and Restoration, tucked away in the tall trees that encircled the small town of Lunewell, wasn’t the place where one would expect a woman like Zarifa to work. The building was merely a converted two-story brick house, though even then the antique shop itself only operated on half of the ground floor and the basement, and the employees could consider themselves lucky if even so much as a single soul wandered in.

  From an outsider’s perspective, it made no sense. Zarifa did not originate from Lunewell, had little to no interest in antiques, and had a Bachelor’s in English of all things, whose only tie with antiques was the pompous, ivory tower assholes pestering both fields. However, if said outsider were to ask Zarifa herself, or any other of the two working in the building, why she had this job, she would have said that it was the only path she could have ever imagined herself working.

  Though even she had to admit, for as much as she loved her job, it could sometimes be… tedious. 

  Very tedious.

“How many crates of… art did we receive again?” Zarifa asked, white patched ebony fingers holding one of the many, many paintings of eerily realistic human eyes shoved haphazardly in a box. The crates had arrived this morning, heavy and worn, and were sitting in the off-white ‘employees lounge’, that only equated to a singular desk, a sofa, a microwave that never heated all the way through, and two uncomfortable plastic chairs.

 “Only two,” Bruin responded, not bothering to look up from the wooden desk, where he had his nose buried deep in a black title-less book. Zarifa would have asked what he was reading, but stares through dark thin eyes and sighs had long taught her not to. “Bought in by an Anthony Bell earlier this morning.”

  “Thank you,” Zarifa said, giving Bruin a warm smile that didn’t go noticed. She then turned to her other coworker, who had been sitting sheepishly on one of the back-destroying white chairs. “Why do we have two crates of creepy eye-paintings, again?”

  “Okay there’s actually a good reason this time boss,” Grant said hastily, chestnut brown hair messy and glasses half sliding off his face, “I was taking a walk to that cosy little bakery- you know, the one owned by that very sweet elderly couple on the other side of town, which by the way makes cakes straight from the heavens-”

  “So you were walking to the bakery, and then?” Zarifa interrupted.

  “Oh right. I had walked a little ways from the house, when I saw a white van stopped up by the road with a man looking quite pissed off outside. I went up to have a chat with him and found out he was an absolutely fascinating art major named Anthony who had run out of petrol. To make a long story short, I invited him in for a cuppa whilst he waited on the towing truck, found out he was getting rid of these absolute gems, and bought them off him.”

  Zarifa and Bruin, who had finally looked up from the pages, both stared at him. Bruin was the first to break the silence; “you bought antiques from an unverified source, in a van out of petrol, who you also invited inside my home for tea?”

  “Hey! I pay the rent too!” Grant defended, “and besides, I got, you know, the feeling off him. There was already a description of the antiques inside the box, meaning they’ve been passed around a little. If you two don’t want them here, I can take them.”

  “We can keep them,” Zarifa decided, looking at the realistic paintings once more. They were all extremely similar, each one having a blue iris and white pupils. As she moved around the box, it almost felt as though they were all following her movements. She shivered and put the lids back on; “I’ll carry this down. Grant, go open shop, and Bruin, go register these in the system, please.”

  Grant gave her a mock salute, before trudging out of the door and into the shop room, whilst Bruin nodded and turned to the big, archaic box of a computer sitting on the desk. Zarifa stacked and grabbed the two worn crates, surprisingly light in her arms, and made her way to the spiral staircase. They were narrow, seemingly ever looping steps falling into darkness that made walking down them almost impossible. She had once tried to convince Valour to install some lights over the stairs, to reveal the actual length of them and to make sure Grant would stop tumbling down into the abyss, but she had only received a stern no and an icy glare that could kill. 

  So her only options were to walk down carefully, whilst gripping onto the wall for dear life, like she was currently doing. The stairs went on for what seemed like minutes, nothing in her sight as she was swallowed in complete darkness, with no way to judge her surroundings except her shoes hitting the steps. Finally, a flickering light made its way up the stairs, and she saw the start of grey concrete.

  To say the archival basement was lit, was perhaps a bit of an overstatement. There was precisely one dim and occasionally flickering lamp in the room, slightly illuminating cobwebs glued to the walls and dusted shelves of antiquities, but not much else. However, the room was like a scorching desert sun compared to the void Zarifa had previously descended. 

  Making her way between the shelves, past the bag of hand-sewn doll-heads, slightly cracked vases, and mirrors so ladened in dust that one couldn’t see the distorted reflection anymore, she found a small group of paintings. Paintings were one of the rarer antiques for them to receive, so there was plenty of space for the two crates.

  Before slotting them in, she opened them, quickly counting the amount. There were fourteen in total, seven in each box, all in a roughly similar condition and all painted in the same way. Oddly enough, there was no signature nor name, but there was a little slip of paper at the bottom. She picked it out of the crate, and stuffed it in the pocket of her blazer, before closing the lids again.

  Zarifa slid the boxes between a painting of a single red rose titled ‘Chaos’, and a two-hundred-year-old painting titled ‘A Girl in Field’ containing a suspiciously girl-less field. There had been a debate on whether they were all just missing her, whether it was a mislabelled piece, or if it was supposed to be some kind of metaphor, but seeing as it was hardly the weirdest thing in the basement, they had all just grown to accept it. She shivered once again, the basement giving the feeling of being watched, and grabbed the golden butterfly that hung around her neck. She fiddled with the wings, every touch calming her slightly as she began making her way up the stairs. 

  The ascent up the spirals always seemed to take a considerably shorter time, perhaps because the imminent danger of falling had disappeared. Zarifa was up at the top in the blink of an eye, walking into the lounge to see both Bruin and Grant inside. Bruin turned to her from the computer; “‘Antique Eye-Painting x14’ has been written on the document,” he informed. “Did we have any other information?” 

  “I couldn’t find any signature or date on the painting itself,” Zarifa said, reaching into her blue blazer pocket and pulling the paper with a heavy brown tint out, “but there was a note accompanying it. The paper looks old enough to consider it an antique, at least.” 

  “Well, go ahead,” Grant piped up from the couch, “tell us about dear Anthony’s creepy eye pairings.” Zarifa nodded, unfolding the paper as carefully as she could, and began reading.

  ‘The Grey Man’ by Elizabeth B.- 1885

  He is watching from the water. Watching with the trees.

  Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  The Grey Man is knocking 

“Grey Man?” questioned Zarifa, “that’s not a reference to anything, is it?”

  “Not as far as I know,” Grant said, sitting up from where he had flopped on the couch, “help us out Bruiny?” She heard a sigh from the corner, and a slight grumble, but he did eventually speak.

  “The Grey Man isn’t a reference to any historical event, no,” Bruin began, “but it isn’t something we haven’t heard before. I believe it’s referenced somewhere in Valour’s notes”

  A heavy silence fell over them at the mention. “Oh no,” Grant began, “no, no, no. The weirdly detailed cult worshipping cows with inverting eyes was enough, and the murderous glare Valour gave me afterwards almost made me piss myself. I am not going through those notes again, I don’t want to be skinned alive by our own version of Leatherface.”

  “That’s a bit far, isn’t it?” Zarifa said, “We shouldn’t go around accusing her of being a murderer, just because she’s a bit…”

  “Mental?” Bruin quipped from the back.

  “...peculiar,” she settled on, “she’s a bit peculiar.” Zarifa knew, of course, that calling Valour peculiar was a massive understatement- and even calling it a massive understatement was a massive understatement, but she would not be the one to speak ill about her boss with a potential murder streak thank-you-very-much.

  “Need I remind you of that day Valour came covered head to toe in ‘red paint ’ that smelled suspiciously like copper?” Grant said, “she obviously did some serial-killering-“

  “Killering?” Bruin asked with a cocked brow, turning Grant a salmon shade of pink and bringing a bright smile on Zarifa’s face that reached her dark brown eyes. 

  Grant made sounds akin to a drowning man. “It doesn’t matter,” he finally sputtered out, “what matters is that our dear creepy landlord was covered in what was clearly blood, passed it off as paint, and we just acted like it was normal!”

  “I don’t like it either, but I’m not going to be the one to call her out. Besides, maybe it’s a good thing. At least the days here are... interesting.” Zarifa said with a smile. “If we stopped the weirder stuff from happening, these days would pass slower. Especially since we don’t have any custom-“

  The sound of the bell that hung above the door, a loud and horrid thing, rang through the building.  

  “You were saying?” Bruin said, looking as amused as Bruin could be. Meanwhile, Grant shot up like a puppy, sprinting in an unprofessional manner towards the counter. Zarifa joined him, though her walk was much more slow and graceful. 

  She crossed through the shop door, which always stood wide open nowadays, and turned the corner. However, she stopped before she could reach Grant, who was staring at the stranger as much as she was. 

  Now, what needs to be said and understood about Thorn Antiques Shop, and the town of Lunewell in general, was that strangers were one of the rarest sights. Sure, occasionally one could find one of the neighbours’ relatives, or a gang of cyclists and hikers, and even tourists that had gotten hopelessly lost, which was impressive considering landing in Lunewell was a skill within itself, though these were few and far in between.

  The customer, who was scanning through the shop with what Zarifa could almost call interest, didn’t look remotely like a relative, a hiker, a cyclist, or even a lost tourist.

  She was short, with strawberry blonde hair tied into pigtails by two baby pink ribbons, pale but warm skin that made the light freckles on her cheek pop, and a stark black leather jacket which was visibly well-loved. There was something incredibly familiar about her, though Zarifa couldn’t pin down exactly what it was. 

  The customer’s fingers trailed over one of the antique chairs, before she sprawled over the priceless thing like a rag-doll. The violation snapped Zarifa out of her trance; “Excuse me, miss, but you can’t sit in those chairs!” she informed the customer, her voice raising a pitch higher when the blonde started fiddling with a lighter suspiciously close to the fabric.

  The customer’s head snapped up like a predator hearing prey, and for the first time, Zarifa noticed the woman’s eyes. The irises were a bombastic explosion made of hues of bright green, though it was almost impossible to tell from a first glance, as the pupils were blown so wide as to make the colour but a ring around a black hole.

  There was both something incredibly dangerous about the way she stalked over, sizing her up with those void eyes, but simultaneously, something incredibly intriguing- dare she say attractive- about the girl that made Zarifa want to keep her eyes on her forever.

  “Waste of a good chair, really,” the customer began, leaning over the counter, “what the fuck kind of shop doesn’t allow you to test the chair before you get it?”

  “I know!” Grant exclaimed, turning to the dark-skinned woman. “That’s what I keep saying! How can I know if the chair is good if I’ve never tried it!”

  Zarifa shot a disapproving look at him, irritated that he would encourage this girl. “What can we help you with, miss?”

  “Oooh, miss.” the woman drawled, “I’m looking for a collection of very… special papers that I left in the hands of one Valour Thorn a few years back.”

  “Special?” Grant asked, a look of confusion passing over his face. Zarifa was sure she mirrored the same puzzlement, but the woman merely grinned- an expression that yet again invoked that familiar feeling.

  After a few seconds had passed, and it had been made clear that she would not elaborate, Zarifa grabbed the notepad and pen on the counter and asked for her name. Maybe she was registered somewhere in the frankly ancient system. Assuming they even had a sort of registering system. She had never been the one to handle the technical aspects.

  “Lottie. Lottie Rose,” she said, and Zarifa’s hand froze on the paper. She glanced back up at the blonde, eyes wide and mouth dry. Of course, how hadn’t she seen it earlier? The clothes, the eyes, the lighter everything suddenly made more sense as her memory flooded back.

  “Lottie?” she whispered, faint as the whispers of a breeze, and there must have been something in her tone, because the striking green eyes widened comically, before the blonde suddenly burst out into a tension filled laugh.

  “Should’ve guessed it,” Lottie said after calming down, “can’t be that many Southern old-book nerds with vitiligo around. You should get name tags, I would have recognised Zarifa anywhere.”

  Her name was said in a smaller tone, filled with… with something that melted Zarifa’s insides like molten lava. They stood there in silent pressure, eyes on each other but gazes not quite meeting. It was for the better, as Zarifa’s heart was hammering hard enough that she was worried her ribcage might break. Whether it was from fear or something much scarier, she couldn’t quite tell.

  Grant snapped his fingers, both of them practically sighing in relief as the tension lifted; “Oh”, he began, smiling widely, "exes or childhood friends?” And just like that, the tension was back to crushing. 

  While Zarifa wasn’t quite sure of the state of her own face, Lottie had gone a complete shade of tomato red. “We’re neither,” Zarifa squeaked out curtly, Lottie nodding frantically along. “Can you give me a description of the papers?”

  Lottie straightened out at the request. “Can’t miss them. They’re in an ornate wooden and gold box, with a leaf engraved in the front,” she said, “it’s locked, as far as I know. Don’t know where the key is, but that’s hardly a problem.” She made yet another predatory smirk. 

  “I-I’ll go look for the papers, uh, in the back... miss,” she pushed herself from the counter at an almost inhuman speed and paced into the lounge. On her way, she bumped into one of the chairs, toppling both herself and the object. The sound alerted Bruin, who looked at her quizzically.

  “Was she your ex?”

  “No!” Zarifa exclaimed exasperatedly, “Not every woman I know is an ex!”  

  “No need to get defensive,” Bruin said, flipping a page, “I was just wondering if Grant’s observations were correct.” 

  Zarifa took a deep breath. “Sorry about that. I suppose her visit just… surprised me.” she straightened the chair, and looked at Bruin, “You haven’t seen a wooden and gold box engraved with leaves around here, have you? I can’t recall it, but you’re usually the one sorting the items, so I figured you might have seen it.”

  Bruin hummed, putting down his book and looking pensively at her. “I might have,” he said, after a quiet moment, “though if we do- or did, at any point, it’s not anywhere in the basement.” He glanced up at the ceiling, before returning to the book.

  “I suppose it’ll be upstairs, then,” Zarifa said, with a heavy sigh, “I’ll make Grant call Valour, see if she can bother to show up from… wherever she’s gone.” And try to explain to Lottie that those papers might be inaccessible, she thought, but didn’t add. Lottie was a lot of things, but patient and calm, she was not. 

  As she made her way back to the counter, gripping the golden butterfly hung on her neck tightly, she tried to calm her heart and thoughts. A part of her still refused to believe Lottie was here, after all these years, in an antique shop of all places. It almost felt taunting, in an odd way. The life Zarifa had tried so hard to run from and avoid sneaking through the door, looking more dangerous and simultaneously more intriguing than ever.

  What life had Lottie led? What had happened since that last night? How did she know Valour? What did she want with the papers? All the questions buried themselves into Zarifa’s head, burning and begging for answers. And as Lottie, drumming her fingers on the counter as Grant rambled off about something, came into view, she realised what Eve must have felt like looking at the apple.

  Lottie perked up as Zarifa entered the room, though as her eyes drifted to the empty hands, her smile fell. “Thought I asked for a box,” she said, a raised eyebrow and mean glare that would have been intimidating, had Zarifa not had to deal with years of Valour, and not known that for her, Lottie was all growl.

  “We do, most likely, have the box,” Zarifa began in her most soothing voice, placing her hands on the counter, “but, it’s currently upstairs, in Valour Thorn’s flat, to which none of us has the keys.”

  Lottie sighed, in an exasperated and slightly overdramatic way; “‘Course you fucking don’t. Guess she hasn’t changed at all, still closed off, disappearing, and secretive.” 

  Pot meet kettle, thought Zarifa, though kept her cranberry painted lips sealed. “Grant will give her a call in the morning,” Zarifa said, pushing over a blank slip of paper which had Lottie R- half-written on it in quite nice penmanship. “Just write down your number, and we’ll call you when she arrives.”

  Lottie pulled the paper closer to herself, though made no move to write. “Think she’ll even show up?” she asked, turning to Grant, who smiled at that.

  “Valour actually seems to like me,” he said, proudly, “or, tolerate, at least.”

  “Huh. Didn’t know people still practised witchcraft around this part.”

  “It’s all in my muffins, cakes, and pitiable nature,” Grant said, only half-joking, “I’ll give you a taste one time if you decide to stick around.”

  Lottie nodded, before scribbling onto the paper, and sliding it back. It contained no number, but the name had been completed, albeit with a much sloppier if artistic handwriting. “I’ll know when she returns,” Lottie said, bouncing from foot to foot. There was a firmness in her voice, and she said it with such confidence that Zarifa almost believed her. Almost. “How’s the nightlife here? Worth sticking around for?”

  “Horrid, simply dreadful,” Grant butted in, before Zarifa had the chance to give a quick answer and an even quicker goodbye, “but we do have a lot of pretty places to take a midnight stroll. Trees are lovely here, especially now in the autumn.” He paused, a contemplative look over his face, “Come to think of it, I do know quite a lot of dealers around here that can hook you up, if you’re up for it.”

  “Grant!”

  Lottie chuckled, amusement painted in neon on her face. Seeing some of that flame inside her come to light filled Zarifa with a sense of joy, that she pushed down with a strength bodybuilders would be jealous of. 

  “Oh, I like him,” Lottie declared to Zarifs, jabbing a finger in Grant’s general direction. Her green eyes- which Zarifa had to stop looking at, traced down from Zarifa’s own eyes before landing on her neck. Lottie’s posture, previously energetic and bouncy, froze. “You kept the necklace,” she whispered, though the sound felt louder than all the explosions of the universe.

  Zarifa’s hand was instantaneously on the golden butterfly hanging around her neck, shielding it from the world. The metal felt cool against her skin, even if she could feel her racing heart where her hand rested. “Felt it was a shame to let it go to waste,” Zarifa murmured, technically true, “so I just kept it.” She shifted in the silence for a while, doing her best to ignore Lottie’s eyes glued to the necklace, before clearing her throat and putting on her best ‘professional’ tone; “Was there anything else you needed?”

  Lottie shook her head, leaning back from the counter and adjusting her leather jacket. “No, I’ll be back soon,” she said, before speeding towards the door. She knocked into the vases, making them wobble like jelly, before pushing the door open like she was assaulting it, and leaving nothing but the sound of a bell and the distant thrum of a motorbike. 

  “Lottie, huh,” Grant said, his tone dazed as though he was lost in a daydream, “she was certainly interesting. I’m a fan. Think we’ll see her around more?”

  “Hopefully not,” Zarifa said, running fingers over the butterfly, “hopefully not.” 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Diary of the Writing Raven; Birds of a Feather

For the 1100+ follower milestone, here is the next part of the cursed raven’s story!

This time, we revisit entries in Miss Raven’s diary. A familiar face assumes prominence on the stage--what role will he play in this story of ours?

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4

Day 47

I feel like I am being watched.

Uncle says I am just nervous and excited from the ceremony yesterday.

I am not so sure.

Day 48

I ran into that weirdo again today.

The weirdo is named Rook Hunt. He also calls himself the Hunter of Love...? I do not understand what that means.

He said that he will not be fooled again by Mon-sure Mastermind’s tricks again. He said he knows I am a bird, and he will chase me to the ends of Twisted Wonderland to see me in flight.

...Scary.

He shouts many strange words and chases me around. I managed to narrowly miss him by diving into the bushes. He was distracted by some students with animal ears--and I was able to run all the way home safely.

I suppose it is good to be curious, but...Mister Rook is too curious...!!

Why couldn’t I have run into Mister Jade instead?

Day 51

Uwaaah, I saw a very pretty upperclassman today! He had golden hair, violet at the ends.

The pretty upperclassman snapped at Mister Rook and told him to stop scaring me.

I am thankful, but...it seems like that upperclassman was scanning me all over. Judging me silently. I wanted to disappear into my clothes.

Before we part, he tells me that my ponytails are not symmetrical. He adjusts it for me and sends me off.

Mister Rook’s friends are strange people, too.

Day 56

Another run-in with Mister Rook. They seem to happen every day now, though they are not always...eventful.

He says I am too formal, and that I can just call him “Rook”.

He would not stop pestering me until I agreed.

He gave me a toothy grin when I, at last, relented.

What a troublesome man.

Day 57

Ever since I tried Flounder’s Blue, I have been sampling new foods and drinks.

Today, I got a cup of caw-fee.

Silly me, though...I tripped and spilled it all over a Savanaclaw student. He was so angry. He threatened to gobble me up.

I was trembling and sobbing when the Savanaclaw student yelped. Rook had a tight grip on his trail and kept tugging it, saying weird things until he scurried off.

I thank him.

Day 60

It feels like I see Rook around every corner. He does not always approach--sometimes, he is just content with watching from a distance, or he gives a small wave.

Jade has noticed too.

He asks if Rook makes me feel unsafe..

Rather than feel unsafe, I am a little curious as to why Rook is...well, Rook. He is certainly an odd fellow, but when I think back to a few days ago, I can’t help but think he has a good heart.

I do not think he means any harm.

So I tell Jade I am fine.

Day 66

Rook smelled funny today.

He says there was an accident in the Science Club, so he will reek of tomato and basil for a few days. That hunting trip he was planning is cancelled; the smell will alert too many animals of his presence.

I tell him that he reminds me of the pasta served at the Mostro Lounge, and he laughs.

How he is able to stay so cheery is a wonder to me--but it is not a bad thing, I suppose.

Day 72

Rook tells me of a carny-vale in the nearby town, and says I must experience it for myself. I was curious, so I followed.

There are so many bright sounds and sights. It smells like something fried and sweet.

We ride the spinning tea cups and the carousel. They make me feel like I’m flying once more.

I’m no good at any of the game booths, but Rook is. He has impeccable aim and strength. The game booth runners cry and beg him to not run them out of business.

Rook just smiles and asks them for their best prizes. He has no use for most of them, so he dumps his prizes onto me with a part on the head.

My arms are too full to hold any food, so Rook helps feed me. He stuffs funnel cake, cotton candy, and candied apple into my mouth.

The last thing we do for the day is the ferris wheel. We go up and up against the sunset.

In the dying light of day, I realize something.

Rook has very pretty eyes, too.

Day 80

The pretty upperclassman came up and introduced himself.

Vil Schoenheit, Pomefiore’s dorm leader.

The queen.

He remarks that my pigtails are not asymmetrical today, and that I am a fast learner.

“You must be, little Shetland potato,” Vil comments, “if you are to deal with my huntsman.”

Day 84

...Rook was carrying a Pomefiore boy over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes.

He says that it’s his job to capture runaways, in service of his queen.

...I wonder how much he gets paid to do this?

Day 85

I told Rook about my hiking trip with Jade!

He seemed very interested, listening intently and nodding while I spoke.

Rook says that he, too, is a fan of the great outdoors, and that we should go on a camping trip together sometime.

I look forward to it.

Day 90

Today is the promised camping trip with Rook.

The weather is getting chillier, so he reminds me to dress warm. He will take care of the rest of the preparations. After all, he has had much more experience with these sorts of things.

I’m still cold, even when I show up in three layers. Rook tuts and throws his jacket over me, despite my protests.

He guides me through the forest, pointing out tiny things I would not have noticed on my own. That bunny’s burrow, those squirrels storing nuts for the upcoming winter, the rustle of the leaves, the trickle of water, how the sunlight filters through the trees...

Rook has such a poetic way of speaking.

He reminds me of a prince in a fairy tale.

Day 94

Rook told me that he has noticed that my speech has improved. He is proud, puffing up like a proud father. He spouts some nonsense about how “mon petit oiseau” (he helped me with the spelling) is becoming such a refined young lady.

I told him that his own manner of speech is far prettier than mine.

Rook just laughed and offered to help me improve more and more, if I wish.

I should pay a visit to Pomefiore, he said, and the queen will welcome me with open arms.

Day 95

Pomefiore is...beautiful. Violet tapestries, crimson curtains, and gold decorations dripping from every available crevice. And everyone is just as beautiful as their surroundings, skin like glass and eyes set in jewel-colored shadows.

I expected nothing less of the oldest dormitory at Night Raven College. The castle is steeped in years of history.

I was offered tea and a three tiered stand of snacks. Vil introduced me to a boy named Epel, who squirmed in his seat with discomfort.

He made us hold our tea cups all funny and barked at us to exchange words. Rook stands at his queen’s side and just...smiles at us as we suffer.

After that, Vil shepherded us to a large table, where two sets of cutlery were laid out.

I’m drilled for hours on end, until I can differentiate the several different variants of spoons, forks, and knives. Epel, too.

I am told to return every few days, to join Epel for his lessons. “It would do him some good to have someone to go through the motions with,” Vil insists. “It gives him some much needed...’encouragement’.”

More lessons for me.

...Somehow, I feel like Rook has me caught in a snare.

Day 100

Vil quips that we are learning ballroom dancing today.

I do not see the practical use of such a skill, but he will not take no for an answer.

Epel and I mutter apologies as we link hands and step on each other’s feet. Then the queen has us take turns spinning around with Rook.

He is very graceful on his feet--far more than myself or Epel. I’m nervous when my turn comes up, but Rook reassures me that it will be fine.

His arms form a cage to keep me from stumbling.

He clicks his tongue and says I need more practice.

Day 102

We focused on the arts today. Vil was busy with modeling (?) and told us that Rook would be our instructor. He says that the arts are his best subject, so please leave everything to him.

Rook shows us fruit bowls and pictures of scenery (he says he took the photographs himself)! Then he sets out canvases and paint sets and tells us to follow his lead.

His voice is a soft murmur as he beats his paintbrush against a blank canvas, breathing color into an otherwise lifeless world.

I do my best to do as he says.

Rook glances over--and he tells me, through a blinding smile, that my painting needs some work.

I have to agree.

Day 110

Epel is with friends today.

Rook takes this opportunity to grant me a language and writing lesson. He knows that I like writing, so now is as good of a time as any.

Rook hovers over me at a desk and suggests ways to make my writing sound...fancier.

I practice writing sentences like...

You are the light of my life, the lark’s birdsong in the still morning.

You are as lovely as the petals of a rose, lush and delicate and breathtakingly beautiful.

You are the moon and the starlight, twinkling in the depths of the darkness and guiding me to salvation.

I ask him what the point of these phrases were--and Rook answers, “For when you wish to woo whomever has captured your heart!” He makes it sound so easy.

He teaches me a few basic phrases of his flowery language, too.

I tell him merci.

Day 117

The queen puts books on my head and tells me to walk without dropping any of them.

Rook holds my hand and helps me keep balance.

It is warm, and comforting and supportive, just like Jade’s.

Then Vil whips out a pair of odd shoes, with stick-like things instead of a flat sole. He calls them heels and urges me to put them on.

I fall on my face, and Rook has to help me up.

On my second attempt, he catches me. He tells me I have the grace of a newborn fawn--that is to say, none at all.

Still, I feel safe in his arms.

Day 133

It is cold, and snowy.

Rook drags me outside anyway. He says exercise will do my frail little body some good.

But...no matter what I activity I do, I am miserable at it. Snowshoeing, ice skating, sledding. I am horrible at all of them, and more.

We settle for building a snowman.

I try to make it look cute.

Day 140

The cruise ship is boring. The beach is boring. It’s mostly older folks like Uncle sipping on tropical drinks and sunbathing.

I wish I had someone to talk to.

Of course, Jade would be nice and set my heart at ease...but Rook would be able to make even something as mundane as this fun.

I can already hear him shouting in my head about the clear blue waters, and the amber sunlight, and the snow white sand.

Look at me, I’m beginning to speak nonsense.

Well, nonsense it may be, but it is interesting nevertheless.

Rook is...interesting.

Day 149

There are lots of seagulls here.

...They remind me of Rook.

I am not quite sure why.

Maybe it is the incessant cawing.

Though...that is charming, in its own unique way.

Day 155

Rook brought back a souvenir from his home land--a bright blue feather on a beaded necklace. He says it is similar to the one the young prince of his country wears.

It turns out, he is from the Afterglow Savannah! What a surprise; I thought he would be from the Land of Pyroxene.

He regales me with stories of his adventures, of the many hunts he embarked on and his trophies.

His eyes are like emeralds, shining with excitement.

Day 167

I saw a play with Rook.

It told the story of two lovers whose families detested one another. The actors all speak quite frivolously, just like Rook. I can see why he would like this kind of thing.

My favorite part...it was the balcony scene.

The male lead cannot stand to be apart from the female lead, and so he sneaks into her garden at night. He summons her to the balcony and makes a vow that he will, no matter what, find a way to be with her.

...The play ends with death.

I cried a little, and Rook let me lean against his shoulder until I stopped.

Day 170

I penned a little story based on the play.

This one has a happy ending.

I want to put some hope into the world.

Day 185 (Continued)

I asked Rook if he was excited for Valentine’s Day, if he was expecting any gifts.

He gave me a mysterious smile in response and said, “Ah, that is for me to know and for you to find out, mon petit oiseau.”

I wonder what he means by that.

Day 186 (Continued)

I will give Rook some chocolate, too!

As thanks for being my friend.

Day 197 (Continued)

I made little heart-shaped bon-bons for Rook.

Perfect for the Hunter of Love.

Day 198 (Continued)

I want to curl up and die, diary.

Rook saw me crying today, under the shade of the great apple tree that towers in the school courtyard.

He asked me what was wrong, a concerned look on his face.

I snapped at him, told him to leave me be.

...But rather than bombard me with questions or annoy me with overly embellished words...

...Rook sat next to me silently. He held my hand until I stopped crying.

Then I spilled everything. I don’t know why I did. I...I guess I wanted someone to know of my story.

Starting with my arrival at Night Raven College. Ending with Jade’s betrayal.

I told Rook the tale through my tears and disgusting sobbing. It was absolutely pathetic, but...he listened patiently.

When I finished, he told me something.

“Mon petit oiseau, I would never lie to you.”

And I believe him.

Day 200

I cried again.

Stupid Leeches.

Day 202

I am scared of Jade.

I say as much to Rook.

He makes a joke about sharpening a harpoon and going eel hunting.

...At least, I think it is a joke.

Day 215

Rook now greets me as soon as my classes let out. His smile and laugh are reassuring to see.

He makes sure I get home safely, and without being accosted.

I cannot say merci enough.

Day 227

...It is ironic.

The man I once ran from is now the one I willingly go to for shelter, and the man I once went to for shelter is now the one I run from.

What a strange reversal of fortune.

Day 228

I feel eyes on me again.

...Leeches, most likely.

Day 230

Tomorrow is another day.

I will stay at Rook’s side.

It is the only place I feel safe beyond Uncle’s attic.

Day 231

I can trust him.

I can trust Rook.

He will tell an ugly truth right off the bat.

He values honesty, integrity--like me.

And birds of a feather must flock together.

[candied-peach]

ao3: “how bad can i be?” rating: T warnings: food, remus typical stuff, age regression, sympathetic remus, sympathetic deceit, creativitwins genre: fluff description: Roman ends up with babysitting duty.

A knock on the door drags Roman from his work and he frowns, looking up from the impassioned scribbled ideas for Thomas's next video.

"Yes?" He calls, willing the irritation out of his voice. He did forget to say he'd be working all day at breakfast, after all.

"Roman, are you busy?" Deceit's strained voice comes through the door. Roman's eyes widen in surprise. Deceit never seeks him out. Never seeks anyone out, really. They've accepted him, but it's still tentative, especially from Patton's side. He tends to stay in his room or hang out with Remus.

Speaking of Remus...

When he opens the door, Deceit stands there, flustered, one gloved hand raised to knock again. Remus clings to Deceit's side, a stuffed octopus slung under one arm and kraken-printed pacifier stuck firmly in his mouth.

Oh.

"Thomas needs me," Deceit explains breathlessly. "One of his friends is having a hard time with their parents, and Thomas, as you know, has a hard time with-" He gestures to himself. "But Remus is regressing, and he can't be left alone. Can you watch him for me? It shouldn't take more than an hour."

"Of course," Roman answers, belated. How hard could watching his brother be? He might even be able to get his work done. "Would you like that, Remus?" He asks, addressing his brother. Remus shyly nods, before looking up at Deceit with distress.

"Leaving?" Remus asks, popping out his pacifier. Deceit brushes some of the hair out of Remus's eyes.

"I have to help Thomas, little kraken," he says. "Just for a little while, and then I'll be back. Okay?" Remus looks like he's pondering for a moment, before he nods.

"Okay," he says. "Come back fast."

"I will," Deceit promises. "As fast as I can." He turns back toward Roman. "He isn't allowed to watch the movies he normally likes when he's regressed, but he asks for them anyway. He's an unholy terror if he's bored. He likes coloring and it usually turns out a little gory, but praise it anyway. He can have snacks, but only edible ones. No deodorant sticks." Deceit's nose wrinkles. He looks past Roman into his room, furnished with pristine red, white, and gold, then frowns. "Maybe you should watch him in his room. Or mine."

"It'll be fine!" Roman dismisses with a wave of his hand. "I've watched Virgil before when he regressed. How bad could he be?"

A funny look passes over Deceit's face, but it's gone before Roman can properly examine it.

"Sure," he says. He passes Remus's hand over to Roman's. "Remember, I'll be back soon," he says. "Behave for your brother, Remus. Okay?"

"Okay," Remus says, around his pacifier. Spit slides down his chin and Roman has to hide a wince of disgust. "I'll be good."

As soon as Roman shuts the door behind them, an enormous grin comes across Remus's face, the kind that bodes no good for any of the parties involved.

Roman's heart sinks down to his toes. What have I gotten myself into? He thinks.

"Revolution!" Remus shouts, and charges toward Roman's bed, stuffed octopus flapping madly in one hand.

"Whoa there!" Roman exclaims, reaching a hand and snagging Remus's sleeve, jolting him to a stop. "Where do you think you're going?" Remus cocks his head to one side, looking at Roman like he's an idiot.

"The bed," he says, as if he's talking to a baby. His pacifier dangles by its clip.

"Why?" Roman asks. Remus grins and Roman discovers that he has a gap in his teeth when he's regressed.

"Jump," Remus says, cackling. Before Roman can process what he's just said, he tugs free of Roman's grip and scrambles on the bed, bouncing on his knees.

"Get off the bed!" Roman demands, all too cognizant of Remus's dirty boots now making their way over each and every inch of his perfectly pristine prince-sized bed. Remus sticks out his tongue.

"No," he says. No longer content with bouncing on his knees, Remus clambers to his feet and begins to jump, nearly hitting his head on Roman's oversized canopy. Roman wracks his brain, desperate. Think, Roman, think, he chastises himself. Aha! He conjures up an enormous Disney coloring book, one with princesses and villains, and waves it enticingly in the air.

"I have a coloring book for you," he cajoles. Remus pauses, glancing his way, interest brightening his eyes.

"Coloring?" Remus repeats in a hopeful tone. Roman nods, trying not to seem too desperate.

"And a jumbo pack of crayons," he says, pulling a fifty-count box out of thin air. Remus's eyes really light up at that, and Roman has to smile, even if his bedspread is now covered in Remus's boot prints.

"Color!" Remus cheers, hopping carelessly off the bed in a way that scares ten years off Roman's nonexistent life span. He barely stumbles, though, and makes his way toward Roman, his stuffed octopus now perched on one shoulder, plush limbs looped around his neck.

"Here," Roman says, conjuring up a desk and chair. "You color. I work on stuff for Thomas." Remus's face droops a little at his last remark, but he accepts the coloring book and crayons willingly enough, clambering up in his new seat.

"Hey, Ro Ro," Remus interrupts him a few minutes later. Roman looks up from his idea pad, biting back his frustration. This was supposed to be the perfect distraction for Remus. How could it work if Remus kept interrupting? "Which red is good for blood?" He holds up a handful of red crayons.

"Uh, that one," Roman says, picking one at random and hiding his shudder of revulsion. It's not Remus's fault he is the way he is, he reminds himself.

"I like to color," Remus chatters. "I like to draw too. One time I drew everyone, you and Dee Dee and Lo and Virgey and even Pat! On a big paper-" He stretches his arms out comically wide to demonstrate. "And at the bottom I drew lots of skulls. Like a big pile of skulls." He beams.

"That sounds...delightful," Roman manages to say, narrowly avoiding an inadvertent Deceit summons. Wouldn't that be awkward. Unbothered, Remus nods happily, coloring away. The tip of his tongue sticks out between his teeth.

"I'm coloring Ariel," he says. "And a kraken comes and eats her up." He shows Roman his progress. Even regressed to a child, his art skills are nothing to sneeze at, Roman thinks. If only they weren't quite so...gory.

"Well done!" He praises. Remus practically glows, and Roman feels a pang of guilt stab him. Remus really is doing his best after all. It's not his fault that his imagination runs to- well, that, even when a child.

"Would you like a snack?" Roman asks. Remus nods eagerly.

"Deodorant!" He chirps. Roman shakes his head, alarm bells ringing in his head at the sight of the pout forming on Remus's mouth.

"Dee said you couldn't have deodorant," he says, cheerfully passing the blame to Remus's primary caregiver. "Edible snacks, kiddo. Do you have any favorites?"

"Goldfish!" He says, excited. The brewing squall seems to have passed, much to Roman's relief. "I like biting off their heads!" Of course you do, Roman thinks as he conjures up a sippy cup full of strawberry juice and a plastic bowl full of goldfish. Remus accepts both, cramming a handful of goldfish into his mouth as he colors. A few droplets of juice stain his coloring page and Roman expects him to tear up over it, but instead, he incorporates them into his artwork.

"More blood," Remus announces brightly. With an indulgent smile, Roman gets back to his own work. See? He tells the Deceit in his mind. He's not so bad. Sure, there has been a minor hiccup or two. I have to wash my covers, for instance. But really, he's not at all like you portrayed him to-

"Look, Ro Ro, I can fly!" Remus announces from the top of the wardrobe and Roman's heart stops.

"Remus!" He shouts, diving toward the wardrobe just as Remus bends his knees and jumps. With heart-stopping slowness, Roman makes it just in time for his brother to land on his back, driving him to the floor with a painful whoosh of breath.

"You got in the way," Remus accuses, disappointed.

"Get off me," Roman says. Reluctantly, Remus rolls off him, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Roman tries to still his frenetically beating heart as he glares at his brother.

"That was very dangerous," he says, breathless. "Don't do that. You could have been seriously hurt." Remus shrugs, unconcerned.

"Not really," he says, popping his pacifier in and out of his mouth. "Dee Dee says I'm like a bouncy ball."

"Be that as it may," Roman says. "Dee is not here right now. I am. Please don't jump off the furniture. Why don't you finish coloring?"

"I did finish," Remus says. "You didn't see 'cause you were too busy with your dumb work." He crosses his arms over his chest and looks away, scowling.

Another splinter of guilt wedges itself in Roman's heart.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, Remus. You're right. I'm supposed to be watching you and I'm not doing a very good job, am I."

"Better than Pat," Remus says. Roman wonders at the story there, but decides to ignore it for the time being.

"Would you like to watch something?" He tries. "Just me and you, no work involved?" He expects Remus to ask for one of his favorites when he's older, like Repo! or perhaps a true crime documentary. Remus looks up shyly.

"Finding Nemo?" He requests. Roman smiles.

"Sounds good to me," he says. "Come on, let's make a blanket fort and watch it that way."

"And then I have more snack?" Remus asks hopefully. Roman laughs.

"Sure," he says. "Then you can have another snack."

tag list: @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @croftergamer @airiervessel @bexxbeauty @ambersky0319 @yalltookmyurlideas @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @matthindavick @killjoy-3000 @littlestliu

[jtrbluv]

shutterbug | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, unbearable but relatable tiger parents

request: Jungkook,, one shot,, 38 + 40 please 😊😊 @asiivnc 

“you leave whenever you feel like it.” & “don’t apologize if you don’t mean it.”

A/N: sheesh, i have not posted in a hot minute! i’ve been trying to work on this single request throughout quarantine and it really only came down to these last few days where i literally had a spike of inspo and drive and well,, ideas LOL. i considered an alternate angstier ending but i am a self-indulgent mofo who doesn’t like to make myself cry even though i’m sure i cried while writing this at least once (maybe twice). there is so much jk content on my blog i wanna set aside more time to write for other members from now on until i’m satisfied! regardless, thank you @asiivnc for requesting this and sorry for the wait luv, hopefully this can make up for it !!

Jungkook was known to be heavily passionate and fully invested in whatever his life had revolved around at that moment. As a film/photography major, as well as a man that just had a strange knack for being naturally adept at whatever was thrown at him, he incessantly poured his utmost efforts into his works. You weren’t any different, as you held just as much significance in his life as the way his serotonin levels would skyrocket as soon as his fingertips touched his precious camera.

Not to be self-absorbed, but you always thought of yourself as his muse. Or befittingly for his sake, the subject of the photo that you would give the title ‘his lover’.

You were so indisputably sure that you loved the boy and even moreso that he felt the same. While being so accustomed to his own nurturing ways and devotion to you and the reciprocated energy on your part, the bone-crushing weight of college hindered all and didn’t give a single fuck about anyone or anything.

Carrying the begrudging burden of having to succeed because he didn’t take the traditional lawyer/doctor career route, was always at the forefront of his mind. Likewise, for fuck’s sake, he nearly got disowned by his own parents and it took him what seemed to be a lifetime’s worth of energy to convince him to just give him a chance. Jungkook was not planning on taking that chance for granted.

Jungkook, being the person he is, was excelling, and his name was beginning to become known in the community of photographers and videographers, and he was finally starting to feel at ease. His parents were even acknowledging his successes to the extent that they were helping him financially with school, which was a huge burden off of his shoulders. And then you suddenly crash-landed into his life and just made his life even more fulfilling and by all means, worth living in.  

He knew it was a bad idea. Distancing himself from you was the last thing he wanted to do. All his parents were concerned about was the fact that you were the only thing hindering him from making it “big”, when turns out, you became the sole inspiration and muse for most of his recent works. So they gave him an ultimatum to either be cut off financially or break up with you. He didn’t understand, because his parents liked you so much and they loved the influence you had on his work. He didn’t understand. He hated it—the fact that he was basically hanging by puppet strings and didn’t have a say in what he did considering the age he was in now.

He also hated the fact that he knew they had good intentions, and were only doing this because they wanted him to be successful. Their idea of true success for his career could only be seen as the financial benefits of being a director or producer rather than being able to just pursue and learn more about the art form that he loves. There was no use of trying to persuade them, so likewise, he did not. But why get her involved into this mess too?

Jungkook tended to stray away from confrontation and hated immediate and unexpected change as much as he acted like it didn’t phase him. He figured the sooner he can gain benefit from his passion, the less dreadful this dilemma would be. Less mess. Less stress. More time to be with you. That was the intended plan.

His next course of action was to score a film internship and potential job at the rather famous, Fox Studios. By doing so, would have to win the statewide film contest— a much larger scale than he had ever involved himself in. The mere thought of him having to showcase his own self-produced work to critically acclaimed film critics made the bile in his system threaten to upchuck onto the lemon-pledge scented floors of his dorm room. Then he remembered and was reminded— by the help of you of course, that he was Jeon Jungkook, and everyone knows that Jeon Jungkook does not like to lose.

-

He presumed that keeping up his grades would give him more credibility to getting the internship as well, so he put more focus onto his schoolwork. The remainder of his time was dedicated to exploring his potential ideas and storyboarding out his options and what would be most effective and most consequently— worthy of winning first place.

During this very strenuous time for the poor man, you would most likely see him trudging down the halls, hair in a complete disarray or simply hidden by the fabric of his hood, his eyelids threatening to close shut almost as if it’s taking all his willpower to keep them open, chugging down another red bull with one hand while he grips the strap of his backpack with practically no energy.

I mean you thought it was kinda cute at first, but his apparent deteriorating state mostly caused you to be more concerned than anything else.

In hopes to not hinder his creative flow but still keep his health at par, you would stop by every so often to give him food and give him reassurance—he never needed it so much until now.

Jungkook never told you about the irrational ultimatum his parents had given him. He came to the conclusion that it’d be unnecessary as long as he was able to carry out his plans. Nonetheless, the pressure of the whole situation was getting to him. The love of his life, passion for working with a camera, his parents’ disapproval, and just the own personal dream to be able to tell everyone that “Fuck you, I told you I could do it, and I did,” enveloped his whole mind these days.

Time had proved to not work in Jungkook’s favor. Two weeks passed in a mere blink of an eye leaving him with only two more weeks to finish his film in time for the film contest. This time around, he decided to choose a topic that resonated more with his own personal life. The film revolves around the struggle to be able to conform to the standards and expectations that society implements onto young people, whether it’d be from mainstream media or direct connections, like family. Typically, he stuck a title onto his projects after fully completing it, but for some reason, this time, it had worked in reverse. The title itself suddenly popped into his mind one day and from there he was able to garner ideas from it. And so the title was ‘Moulded’.

A very risky step on Jungkook’s part was what you initially thought when he first told you the idea. He knew that too, which is why he did it. You knew him long enough to be aware of the influence his parents had on his life and their outdated beliefs. You also knew the potential the boy’s zeal could take him, and because of that, all traces of worry left you shortly afterward.

-

Two days. The film contest was in two days. Jungkook was just about finished at this point, constantly playing back frames and adding final touches, rewatching the same parts over and over again until he became satisfied. He leaned back in his chair and let out a heavy sigh, eyes finally averting from the screen of his desktop to the clock on his bedside table.

“Only 9:15?” he muses, realizing these past four weeks had completely fucked over his sense of time, “At least I’m down, color correcting can be such a bit—”

A small jolt reverberates through his desk, interrupting his verbally spoken train of thought. His eyes beeline back to his phone, the contact picture of his mom flashing on his screen. Why would she be calling me at this time?

His brows knit together as he picks up his phone and swipes his thumb across the screen in uncertainty.

“Um, hi mom?” he greets, with the obvious tone of confusion in his voice.

He can practically hear her scoff over the line, “Jungkook-ah, how’s the film coming along?”

“It’s almost done-”

“Are you still with that girl?” she forcibly asks out of nowhere, leaving him dumbfounded to the point his mouth was hanging open in return.

A few seconds pass by as he processes what’s going on. He tightens his grip on the phone at the mention of you as he confesses through gritted teeth, “Yes mom.”

“We had a deal didn’t we?”

He retorted without waver in his voice, “Mom, I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Then give it back. The tuition money,” she affirms without hesitation, “Jungkook, me and your father have done our part. It’s about time you do yours.”

“I’ve done practically everything you’ve asked. I’m doing just fine,” he monotonously states, trying so hard not to implode on his own mother at this point, “Y/N has nothing to do with this.”

There was a short pause, leaving Jungkook in the same state of dejection per usual when he had to talk to his parents, “We just want you to be successful,” her voice softens, using the same line that somehow magically guilt-trips Jungkook every time the words travel to his ears.

He shakes his head in disbelief over hearing the stupid line that seemed to control every aspect of his life, “You say that every time.”

“And we mean it every time,” she interjects, a sigh audibly present over the line, “this discussion is over.”

She ends the call as Jungkook lets out a raspy and guttural groan, slamming his phone onto his desk in frustration with such strength it’d be surprising if the cheap glass screen protector he’s had on it didn’t suffer any damage.

“Kook,” a voice utters softly from the other side of his door, “is everything okay?”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, considering you were just the subject of the conversation he just had with his mom that left him fuming with rage more than anything.

“Can you please leave Y/N, this isn’t a good time,” he objected, adjusting himself in his seat so he’d face away from the door. Even though you couldn’t see him you could still hear the small indication of irritation in his response.

It was more than apparent something was wrong with him, with only two days left until the film contest, you knew he couldn’t manage to keep his guard down, regardless of the stress and turmoil he’d been putting himself through for the past 4 weeks, “Just because you leave whenever you feel like it…” you enunciate, raising your voice loud enough for him to hear your intentions, “doesn’t mean I will.” Both of you knew the last 4 weeks had taken a toll on the relationship, it was only then that he realized how much he’d been putting it off.

The door began to emit tiny clicking noises as he slowly turned the doorknob. He slowly widens the area as he meekly steps to the side, letting you come in as you make your way toward his bed and plop down onto his sheets.

The tension had never been this thick between the two of you, to the extent where it felt absolutely suffocating and unbearable. You had never seen him in such a state of dejection as he simply sat there, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he nibbled on his lower lip, eyes diverting away from yours at all costs. The knit between his brows that would usually derive from confusion or frustration, seemed entirely different this time around. It was as if his mind was full of nothing but everything all at the same time.

You heave out a deep sigh as you finally break the ice, “Jungkook,” you begin, looking up to see him looking back at you to your surprise, “you know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry for making it seem that way.”

“Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it,” he mutters only to see the flash of hurt in your eyes that makes him divert his gaze back to the floor, “I know I’ve been acting so selfish lately. I’d understand if you felt that way.”

“I hate seeing you like this you know,” you confess quietly, “I know there’s something up.”

His eyes meet yours once again, mouth slightly parted as if he was about to say something, but the silences ensues and he closes the gap once again, resorting back to nibbling the skin off of his bottom lip until it starts to bleed. Your eyes soften as you observe the boy once more. The span of your relationship had naturally led to the two of you being able to open up to one another so easily. You were both able to tell when the other was feeling a certain way and why. It just came with time and getting to know the other person more throughout the relationship. And alongside that was the ability to know when the other was purposely keeping something under wraps—this was one of those times.

“Jungkook”, you whisper just loud enough to catch his attention, which works as he gazes back up at you with all doe-eyed glory, the knit between his brows gone surprisingly out of sight for the first time since you came over. You glance at his bed—emphasizing the void of space next to you on his bed by patting the fabric and peering at the cryptic man, hoping he would get the sign to sit next to you.

Fortunately, he does. He places his hands on the armrests as he timidly pushes himself up from his chair. The chair produces an obnoxiously loud squeaking noise almost emulating the sound of your dog’s dog shaped squeaky toy (counterintuitive I know, but it was a gift from Jungkook himself, the prick). The sound causes you to involuntarily snort as you look away in hopes to hide the smile creeping onto your lips. Too bad you missed the smug grin on his face at your lackluster attempt.

He carefully approaches you as he warily lowers himself onto his bed, making sure he doesn’t make the same mistake twice. He shifts his body to turn towards you, propping his hands at his side. His eyes avoid yours once more, sparing glances at every inch of his own room as if he wasn’t already familiar with the enclosed space.

You pause and calculate your next move, eyes studying the boy’s body language. You outstretch your arm, gently grasping his wrist as you slide your fingers through his calloused palms and twine your fingers with his own, allowing your hands to rest on your knee. His eyes glaze over your connected hands, trailing back to finally meeting your own once again—they had this all too unfamiliar gloss to them, not the usual star-like specks you had been accustomed to looking at. As a few seconds had passed, you spotted the pool of tears starting to brim in the corner of his eyes. Taken aback, you retract your focus to his whole face and how his bottom lip started to tremble, hopeless. Hopelessness was what he was denoting, an emotion you had rarely if never seen coming from the man sitting in front of you.

Before you could formulate any words of comfort, he speaks up, voice brittle and wobbly, “Am I just a failure Y/N?”

“Wha— what? No, how could you ask that? Of course I don’t think you are,” you assert, unknowingly tightening the grip on his hand.

“It’s just,” he drawls out, pausing to think of a coherent way to voice his concerns, “maybe it just would’ve been easier if I complied with my parents in the first place y’know. I’ve been spending all my time and energy fighting it, maybe I’ve just been putting my energy into the wrong-”

“I don’t believe that,” you calmly interject, “I believe that whenever you put your energy into something, you have a reason behind it. You thought about it for a while, it obviously wasn’t something that just sprouted overnight,” you countered, staring off as your eyes land on his workspace, the flashing screen of his computer that reveal his last minute editing as well as the camera you seldom see the man without, “Working with a camera, creating art,” you say while clasping your free hand over the one that you were already holding, rubbing miscellaneous shapes into the back of his hand, “that is what you love to do.”

“I love a lot of things Y/N,” he simply states.

“Hm?” you let out under your breath as you notice the single tear that falls onto his cheek, contradictory to the straightforward tone of his voice you had just heard seconds before. Your body stiffened at the sight of the fallen drop.

“Did you hear me on the phone before you came?” he questions, swiping away the tears that threatened to fall with his free hand.

You take a moment to recollect the moments that preceded until knocking on his door, “No, I just heard a loud bang. It sounded like you broke something.”

“Oh, that was my phone,” he shyly admits while scratching the back of his ear, “there is something I need to tell you.”

You perk up at his sudden willingness to tell you what was wrong. Your body language conveys the signal for him to continue, and he does.

“I got a call from my mom before you came,” he starts, “she was checking up on me, knowing the deadline is coming soon and what not.”

You nod slowly in understanding, “I see, what did she say?”

“You have the right to know,” he mutters under his breath while diverting his gaze back to your interlocked hands. He intentionally grazes your other hand before taking it into his own before flashing you a small grin of reassurance, “The farther I’m advancing, my parents just constantly feel the need to strip me of everything else. You probably knew that already. You also know that I tend to just rebel and find a loophole out of things most of the time. I don’t know, lately, it just seems like they solely care about success and money these days more than my own happiness and wellbeing, and it’s been like that for so long. Anyways, I’ve been prolonging and putting it aside for awhile now, but they threatened to cut me off financially if I didn’t break up with you Y/N.”

A single tear slides down your cheek. You’re at a loss for words and coherent thought. The only thing you muster to say is whatever decidedly popped up into your head first, “W-why haven’t you then?”

The brimming tears began to fall more frequently for you as well as from the eyes of the man in front of you. He releases both of his hands and slides his calloused palms up to your forearms pulling you closer in proximity, “I said it before, I love a lot of things Y/N,” he gingerly reiterates as he swipes away the tears from your eyes with the pad of his thumb before trailing his fingers to your fallen strands of hair, tucking them behind your ear.

“I love my parents, I love working with a camera, but I undoubtedly also am in love with you,” he tenderly professes while sliding down his hand to the crook of your neck, “I know my parents never meant harm, but they have to realize I don’t either. I owe it to myself and I realize that I am capable of obtaining and having everything I want in life,” he wholeheartedly declares despite the tears that continue to run down his face, “ And it wouldn’t be everything I want if you weren’t here with me.”

He renders you speechless, tears streaming freely as he continues to wipe them away. He was much more composed now, wiping away his own remaining tears with the back of his wrist. You, on the other hand, were practically sobbing into his palm, tears spilling all over his forearm.

“There’s a reason why I chose that particular subject for the film, “ he describes, hands sliding down to intertwine with yours once again, “It serves as a testament to my parents, to my peers, to you, but also to myself,” he beams, releasing the hold on your hands as he stands up from his bed, extending a hand out to you.

You unhurriedly grab his hand, as he tugs you to stand up from his bed, leading you to sit in his own seat. He swivels the chair for it to face his computer, stepping aside so you could sit down.

“I wasn’t planning on giving any sneak peeks, but it just seems right to show you this now,” he explains, clicking through the frames until he arrives at his destination and clicks play.

It starts off with the emulation of a glitching tv screen, the audio sounds as if someone was inserting a tape into a DVR. The ‘no signal’ screen fades into the familiar setting of the beach in his hometown. Hues of blue fading into muted shades of oranges and yellows flash across the screen, accompanied by the soft crashing of the waves washing ashore on the fine sand. The camera quickly shifts his focus to what seems to appear as Jungkook being fully enveloped and underneath the sand, his head being the only thing that isn’t submerged. Flashing his signature grin, his arm emerges from the sand as he gives a thumbs-up to the camera, making the person behind it erupt into a fit of giggles. That person was you.

The scene transitions into the city streets of the suburb that was close to the college. You were walking down the sidewalk, enamored by the bustle of the people who lived there as well as the twinkling lights that were draped from building to building. Clips ranging from his family, his friends, him working, and more are compiled and presented as he talks over it. His voice begins to say, “As individuals living in a society where opportunities seem to just be knocking left and right, we all have dreams and desires. Whether they are attainable or not, that’s what makes them all the more worthwhile and exhilarating to find out for ourselves. Society, whether we like it or not, is filled with certain conjectures that they believe can assure us of these dreams and desires, what they’ve made us believe as the path to success. They mould us from the beginning. As kids, we are told to behave well, listen to our elders, go to school, get good grades, and get into a good college. As adults, we deem success as having a stable job that pays the bills, buying a house and settling down, finding the love of your life, having kids, and working tirelessly until we become worn out and old. We have these presumptions about what’s better and what’s not, what is easier and what isn’t. Regardless of how much we get told that we can achieve anything we want to in life, we grow older and life unexpectedly throws more curveballs at you to make you think that it’s not actually the case. Well, as cliche as it may sound, I’m here to tell you that it’s just not true. Do what you want. Do what you love. Be with the ones you love. Cherish these moments. Film them as keepsakes to look back on. So… what’s your story? What are your dreams and desires? What sparks pure joy within you and keeps you on your feet? Break those moulds that have been holding you down. Reach for the moon and the stars. And maybe someday with the right amount of determination, and a little bit of luck, you can get there.”

The video ends right then and there, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was his best work to date albeit only seeing a snippet of it. A smile graces your lips as you turn your head to look at the creator of it all. He looks back at you with the familiar star-like specks in his eyes, making you feel rest assured that within all the chaos, you would both get through it all.

-

-

MASTERLIST

[crimziedrawings]

A Last Chance, Part 2

Alastair started to introduce himself, even though the maid had already done so, but was interrupted by Thomas.

“What are you doing here?” he seethed.

“Thomas!” Sophie gasped.

“It’s alright, Miss,” Alastair reassured her. “He has every right to be upset,”

Thomas let out sort of choked up laugh. “Upset?”

Before he could continue, Gideon spoke up. “I have to say, I am surprised to see you. I am even more so to see that you two are somewhat of acquaintances. Which makes all this hostility quite a curious thing, as I have not heard of Thomas being - upset, you say? - with anyone. Not even with the boys,”

“It’s nothing,” Thomas said to his father.

Alastair looked at Thomas closely. His hazel eyes were bright and his hair fell down over his forehead, suited for a time spent at home. His face was neutral, and one would almost think he was rather relaxed if it weren’t for his tense shoulders and the strain of his grip on the chair. His sleeves were pushed up and Alastair could see the faint black lines of his tattoo, along with runes. Thomas caught Alastair’s gaze and pulled his sleeves down.

“It is not nothing,” Alastair announced. “Thomas and I were indeed acquaintances as we went to the Academy together. My arrival in town only restored our… friendship, as it was comforting to see a familiar face. Recently though, we have grown apart, as a part of my past came to light.”

“What do you mean?” Eugenia asked, her focus now on Alastair instead of her embroidering.

“Is this some cruel joke? To come to my family and remind them of a time where these sayings put us through hell?” Thomas cut in.

“No, of course not,” Alastair spoke in a rush. “I am here to apologize,”

Thomas’s grip eased a bit, but the tension was still evident.

“Apologize? For what?” Sophie asked.

Alastair took another deep breath, bracing himself for the confession he was dreading to make. So, this is how it’s going to be, Alastair thought. I can do this. I will do this.

Alastair began, “My time spent at the Academy was not entirely pleasant, nor were my manners. You have raised a good man, Mr. and Mrs. Lightwood, as Thomas was only ever kind to me, even when I did not deserve it. His kindness did not falter when I arrived in town, and still I did not deserve it. You see, while I was at the Academy, I participated in the wrong sort of activities. I worshipped the wrong sort of people. I was only a kid, easily influential, and these people were my idols. What they did, I did. What they believed, I believed,” Alastair released a stuttering breath. “And what they said, I said. That includes rumors. Rumors that, I am ashamed to admit, involve your family.”

Alastair took his time observing each of the Lightwoods. They didn’t react. Rather, they bore a neutral face, except Sophie Lightwood, who merely lowered her gaze, as if she knew of what Alastair spoke. It caused him great shame remembering his words, all that he had said about Sophie Lightwood, about Thomas’s mother. Alastair directed his next words at her, speaking softly, “I mocked your previous status, and I maligned your upbringing, the fact that you were once a mundane. I blamed Thomas’s illness on it. I insinuated that you were-“ Alastair broke off, the surrealness of the situation hitting him with the force of tornado. He closed his eyes, taking a couple of seconds before opening them and continuing, “I insinuated that you were a whore.”

Gideon stood up at this, so fast that his chair knocked over. “That’s enough,” he cautioned. His face did not look neutral anymore. No, he looked furious. He had the right mind to be, hearing all these awful things about his wife, seeing that it was being said to her. But before he had the chance to give Alastair a piece of his mind, his wife’s soft voice broke in.

“Gideon, let him finish,”

Alastair stared at her in disbelief. Here he stood, speaking of such terrible insults in her presence, and yet this woman had the will to let him do so, to let him finish what he had to say. He couldn’t tell whether there was a motive behind this or if she was simply just a patient woman.

“Mama, you don’t need to hear this,” Thomas interjected. “It isn’t true.”

“I said let him finish,” Sophie ordered, her eyes slicing to Thomas before resting on Alastair. “Surely, there is more?”

Alastair was nearly speechless. “Yes…”

Sophie placed her art supplies on the coffee table in front of her. She sat back delicately and straightened, setting her chin higher. Even though Alastair was standing, he still had the feeling that this woman was looking down at him. “Then continue,”

“I spoke of your husband, as well,” Alastair coughed. He had started this confession by speaking to the whole family, but now he felt that he was only professing to Sophie, as if she had some power like the Mortal Sword, drawing his words out no matter how dreadful and brash they were. “I implied that he had an affair. W-with Charlotte Fairchild.”

At this, Gideon pushed off his desk, rattling the objects that rested on it.

“And I said that Matthew Fairchild was his bastard,” Fear pulsed through Alastair’s veins, yet he kept going. “I’ve said all these appalling things and spread them to others. It was not right, but at the time I did not know any better. It doesn’t excuse my behavior; I am not asking for your forgiveness. I am telling you this because I want you to know, I need you to know, how sorry I am. Please know that I am trying to make amends and become a better man, to fix myself.”

The Lightwoods were quiet, each of them looking as if they were in thought. Probably contemplating how to ruin me, Alastair thought. This silence was driving Alastair mad, but he said nothing. A few minutes went by before someone spoke up.

“Gideon, Thomas, Eugenia, please leave,” Sophie commanded. “I wish to speak to him alone.”

°°°

Alastair Carstairs is dedicated to becoming a better man. This means owning up to his actions in the past. He starts with the family that he hurt the most, the Lightwoods. But he leaves the family’s home filled with a mixture of emotions, after the reactions he received from them.

This is part two of a story about Alastair Carstairs facing the Lightwoods, because before I can accept Thomastairs, I need Alastair to own up to his actions.

Tags: @thatdemonicchild @fairchild-squad @daisyherxndale @lizlightwood-herondale @vampire-mojo-strikes-again

Let me know if you would like to be tagged as well!

[always-andshewrites]

In chapter 2 Katniss has a talk with Madge and inadvertently learns some new information, pushing her to have a talk with her dad. Peeta initiates a talk with Mr. Everdeen, thinking he is going to get scolded for his and Katniss' "late night visits" only to have Mr. Everdeen thank him for helping his family out all those years ago. Dylan takes Katniss to the secret place in the woods where she hopes to get some answers, only to have more questions. Haymitch (with inspiration from Hazelle) does a nice thing for Madge; Poppy chats with her dad with a fancy coin that disrupts the Capitol's "bugs" with an idea to share it with K & P.; Madge and Katniss have "girl talk" and we even get a little bit of Madge/Prim. Katniss wakes up blindfolded, as Peeta whisks her away to the woods for some "alone time" before the tour. Katniss and Peeta wake Haymitch up and on their way home they see a car in his driveway... It can only be one person, right?In Chapter 3 Katniss and Peeta come face to face with the devil himself . . . And let the games begin . . .

Summary:

Katniss and Peeta made it out of the arena together, but little do they know the games are only beginning. Who can they trust as secrets are exposed and identities are revealed? This is the sequel to "Changing the Game"; a Hunger Games - Catching Fire rewrite. Told in several different character POV's.

Chapter 3 - Deal with the Devil

| Peeta |

Using my free hand to open the door because my other hand is being held hostage by the death grip from Katniss’ hand, I slowly push the door open.  I tense up when I feel my heart begin to accelerate from the thought of some Capitolite laying their filthy hands on any of my things.  It’s true that this is my home, but technically, it is the property of the Capitol, and thus, belongs to President Snow.  However, the thought of him or any of his goons in my home sends a murderous rage festering inside me.

The moment my foot passes the threshold my head snaps to the left, meeting Katniss' stare.  Both of us immediately recognize the all too familiar rancid aroma of blood and roses filling the air, informing us, without a doubt, who our intruder is.

‘Snow.’ Katniss conveys, casting me a worried glance and gripping even tighter onto my hand.

No one appears to be on the main level of the house, so we tiptoe, quietly making our way up the steps and to the second floor.  Stealthily, we creep down the hallway, eager to face our intruder, yet anxious at the same time.  I instantly take notice of the door to my art studio, which is always, without fail kept shut and locked up tight; is slightly ajar.  It is what grabs my attention, confirming that something is amiss.  All of our friends and family; or really anyone who visits us knows to steer clear of that room, aware of what lies beyond the threshold.

Curiosity overpowers our fear, and together we make our way into that room.  This is the one and only room I ask Katniss to stay out of, not because I have anything to hide but because I know the sight of my paintings will most likely trigger her gag reflex, in addition to causing her now dormant nightmares to return.  They are not so much paintings, but a visual timeline of each of my nightmares, a vivid recollection of our time in the arena.  

When I glance down the row of paintings, for the first time I see them as an onlooker would and cannot help but notice how each one is more vibrant than its neighbor.  Most likely because the nightmares become more lucid and lifelike the closer the Victory Tour gets.

Katniss doesn’t want or need a visual to remind her of the horrors we faced in the arena. But for me, it’s like . . . like a form of therapy.  It’s like if I have the ability to remove the images from my mind and transfer them onto a canvas; by turning them into a still life portrait, something tangible, it grants me control; the power to lock them away forever, or even burn them if that’s what I wanted to do.

As much as I want to forget the horrors we faced and as much as I want to expunge the memories from my mind, at the same time I don’t want to forget.  If I forget, then who would remember Thresh and Rue?  And what about the other tributes?  No, I need to remember, it’s what gives me the motivation to continue living my life.  The drive to fight our battle.

Once the door is open, we see the backside of a man with fluffy snow-white hair.  He is dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, slowly pacing the length of the room.  His hands are clasped behind his back, giving a slight nod here and there, as if offering his approval at the paintings lining the wall.

“Dammit— Lucy . . . Kill . . . Mock—jay . . .” I think I hear him mumble to himself just as his body tenses for a moment.  I am instantly intrigued and wonder who this “Lucy” is.

‘Did you—’ I meet Katniss’ eyes, curious as to if I’m hearing things.  She nods, confirming my sanity.

'Peeta, I'm scared.'  She shudders, squeezing my hand a little tighter, if that is even possible.  I reciprocate, entwining our fingers, assuring her that I am not going anywhere.

'It's going to be okay; he's not going to hurt us.' I tell her, though not quite certain myself.  It is moments such as these that I am grateful for whatever forces have bestowed us with our telepathic link.  The ability to communicate silently while in the presence of others has proven to be more than . . . useful.

“Aghhem . . . Excuse me, can I help you?”  I announce our presence, clearing my throat to grab his attention.  I would recognize that snowy white hair anywhere, I do not need to see his face to know his identity, but I still need him to turn around and face us.

“These are quite remarkable.”  President Snow takes his time turning around as he compliments the painting behind him, presenting his face with an approving smirk.  This particular painting details one of his ferocious mutts from the arena; a squirrel foaming at its mouth fills the page, while Katniss and I are drawn as miniscule beings in the far bottom left corner of the canvas.  I am leaning over the side of the cornucopia gripping firmly onto Katniss’ calves while she aims the golden arrow at the Queen.  Why am I not surprised that this painting brings him pleasure?

On the other hand, I do not miss the way he sneers disapprovingly at the canvas portraying me and Katniss with our allies from District Eleven.  I have captured us high up in a tree with our friends, seeking refuge from those who mean us harm.  Katniss and I are settled in our sleeping bag on a branch; just below us are Thresh and Rue in an almost mirroring position.  I remember that night so clearly as we swapped stories from our district’s.

“President Snow, what an honor, what—” Katniss begins to offer pleasantries, but the deleterious man in front of us cuts her off before she brings it to completion.

“I think we’ll make this whole situation a lot simpler by agreeing not to lie to each other.  What do you think?”  Snow says with his affected Capitol accent and a hint of arrogancy. His lips are plump and full, the skin appearing painfully tight as he speaks, causing me to believe they must be surgically altered.  Lips that full just aren’t natural.

‘I think it’s meant to highlight his features.’ Katniss quips and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to mask my amusement.

“Yes, I think that would save time.”  Katniss affirms, her voice confident and steady as she stands tall.  She has one hell of a poker face but she can’t fool me.  She is utterly terrified, as am I.

Snow continues to marvel over the neighboring paintings for a moment before a sly grin appears on his face.  He follows it up with a nod of approval and then his eyes are back on me.  “I heard you were talented Mr. Mellark, but I just had to see it for myself.  I would never believe that someone from as lowly a district as Twelve could produce such . . . works of art.”  He begins, slithering to the far corner of the room and taking a seat in a chair behind a desk.  Wait a minute, where did that desk come from?  Before today, this room contained only my artwork, an easel, a handful of blank canvases, various containers of paint, my brushes, and a few other random art supplies.  Either I’m losing it or, or— did he bring this furniture with him?  Is it meant to . . . intimidate us?

'What do you think he wants?' Katniss presses, never removing President Snow from her line of sight.

“Please, why don’t you have a seat?”  Snow affirms, motioning for us to take a seat in the sophisticated looking high back chairs in front of him.  However, I get the distinct impression the “please” was not merely a request.  Katniss and I take a seat, refusing to release our grip on the other’s hand and scoot our chairs closer to the other so that our knees are brushing.

'I have no idea, but I have a feeling we are about to find out.  And . . . where did the desk and chairs come from?'

‘No clue.’ She answers without missing a beat.

Unsure as to how I should respond to President Snow’s remark, I say the first thing that pops into my head.  “President Snow, my paintings will be on display in the Capitol in just a few weeks, so I know you didn’t come all the way out here just to see them.  Why don’t we forgo the pleasantries, and you can tell us why you have chosen to grace us with your presence.”  I assert, holding my head up high, recalling my lessons on proper etiquette with Effie as I come off as unperturbed.  I really hope he can’t see how utterly terrified I truly am.

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

All Is Fair Ch. 4

Stardust

Lia throws caution to the wind.

Tommy Shelby was used to getting what he wanted, and on that particular Wednesday night, he wanted Lia Montrose to spend the night on a narrow boat with him. It was a novel idea, one he hoped she would find irresistible. Was it wrong for him to assume that after a night of champagne and soft music he would be able to seduce her? It would seem so.

 At first, everything seemed to be going to plan. Tommy could tell that Lia was impressed by his efforts as they approached the canal. The light from the electric bulbs (rigged up at some expense) made her eyes shine in wonderment. When they boarded the boat, she seemed enchanted by his hands around her waist and the way their lips very nearly brushed as he helped her get her footing. He could read the signs; between the grand gesture of a decorated narrow boat and his natural Shelby charm, he should have had no trouble steering her to the cozy sleeping quarters by the end of the evening. But as they sat down to dinner, he realized that he had misjudged the situation.

 At the fundraiser, Lia seemed to have no qualms about drinking to the point of being tipsy in the loveliest way. On the boat with Tommy, however, she kept a close watch on the amount of champagne she drank. It was obvious to him that she was keen on remaining sober and keeping her guard up. She still batted her eyelashes at him while she answered his questions about her life in the country and the opportunities that awaited her in the city, but she seemed a little apprehensive to ask him about his life. She kept a bit of distance in her conversation.

 Honestly, Tommy couldn’t blame her. If anything, it made him like her that much more. She was new in town and younger than him by a decade at least. Those circumstances alone would have a smart girl on her guard, and Lia seemed to be a smart girl. Add in the fact that she was alone in a secluded area with the head of the local crime family, well…he couldn’t fault her for being a bit more reserved than when they first met. Still, he had hoped to enjoy a little more of the easy banter they had engaged in at her party. He had found her attitude toward him very sexy. He seemed to be on a date with the watered-down version of Lia.

 After a while, in an effort to loosen her up, he asked her to dance to the phonograph player that Curly had so thoughtfully provided.

 “Lia,” he thought he saw her shiver as he spoke her name, “will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

 As she stood, the shawl she’d worn all night slipped from her shoulders and slid into the chair that she had risen from. The night air was cool, but her skin had flushed from excitement and she didn’t seem to feel the chill. What he didn’t know was that she’d been dying for Tommy to touch her since his hands had left her waist an hour earlier. He took her hands and drew her near, and his lips curved into a half-smile when she lay her head on his shoulder. It was the closest they’d ever been, and he could feel her start to relax.

 Tommy’s strong arms held her close as they swayed along with the tune. Sometimes I wonder why I spend the lonely nights dreaming of a song. The melody haunts my reverie and I am once again with you. When our love was new, and each kiss an inspiration. But that was long ago, and now my consolation is in the stardust of a song.

 His breath was soft on her forehead as she melted into his embrace. Through the thick wool of his waistcoat, he could feel the rapid beating of Lia’s heart. He tightened his grip on her waist and nuzzled her hair, “Lia, do you know why I asked you here?”

 He felt her tense up, and she whispered, “I have an idea.”

 Tommy leaned back and looked into her face. Her eyes were downcast, so he lifted her chin. “Lia. Lia, look at me. I know that you’ve heard things about me. That I am a bad man. That I do bad things.”

 She winced, “Tommy, you don’t have to say…”

 He licked his lips and sighed. “The night we met, you spoke your mind. You weren’t intimidated by me. What has changed now, eh?”

 He needed to know the reason for her hesitancy. Why one minute she seemed to be lost in the abyss of his gaze and the next she was rowing for shore. He wanted the gorgeous, smart, opinionated woman that he met at the fundraiser. Was that night just a fluke? If she was not who he thought, then he was just wasting his time.

  She thought for a moment, then answered, “Tommy, I have heard whispers about the Peaky Blinders since I was a bairn. Then I met you, and you were so clever and funny, and handsome…the person I met didn’t fit with all the nightmare tales I’ve been told. Yes, I’ve been warned to keep my distance so that I won’t get hurt. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what we are doing.”

 Tommy exhaled through his nose and shook his head. He shifted his eyes away from Lia, and she could see that the charming, soft way he had looked at her all night was fading away. Something hard and distant was taking him over. She couldn’t lose this chance to know him.

 “Tommy,” she breathed. She had to see where this could go, so she pressed her lips to his. Just for a moment. Just long enough to stop him from closing that door on her.

 “The thing is,” she brought her hand up to his face and traced from his temple to his jawline, “I have always thought for myself, so why should I stop now?”

 “Are you sure? Because the things that you have heard are true.”

 Tommy could see a flicker of uncertainty cross her face, but she held his stare. The music had stopped and the bumping static at the end of the record filled the cabin with a noisy tension to which they continued to sway along. He shifted his hips into hers, determined to drive any apprehension from her mind. She softly gasped and lifted her mouth to his. He more devoured her than kissed her. Every warning, every fear, every common sense thought that she ever had about Tommy Shelby had fallen through her weak knees and was oozing out of the tips of her toes.

  When he finally pulled away to see her blissed-out reaction, she cocked an eyebrow and smiled up at him. “I’m sure I want to see more of you even though you’re a bad, bad man. But let’s take it slow.”

  ***

  Ada sat across from Tommy and slid a file across his desk. “The proceeds from the auction. As predicted, it was a resounding success.”

 Tommy reached for his glasses and hummed as he quickly assessed the report. He was in the process of setting the papers aside when a detail caught his attention.

 “One of the Muchas didn’t sell?”

 “Right.” Ada raised her eyebrows and devilishly grinned at her brother, “The one of the lady and the stars. The one Miss Montrose was so fond of.”

 Tommy kept a straight face in light of his sister’s teasing. Word of his spectacular gesture had obviously reached Ada. Charlie Strong was a hard man, but he gossiped like a housewife. When he saw Tommy escorting Miss Montrose back to his Bugatti just after midnight he was surprised. Proud of the little lady, but surprised.

 “I’ve had it wrapped for storage, but I haven’t sent it back to London yet.”

 Ada watched Tommy with a sort of wistful affection as he avoided her insinuation by lighting a cigarette. She loved her brother, even though he could be selfish and exacting. She knew the Tommy underneath it all, and she, perhaps more than anyone but Polly, knew that he did what he did to keep them safe. By his reckoning, money and power could place them above harm’s reach. Unfortunately, all of his hard work came at the cost of his happiness. She wanted more than anything to see him happy. Just one of Tommy’s smiles could light up the whole city. Not a snarling grin, not an ironic laugh, but a real heartfelt smile. They were so rare. She almost saw one on the night of the auction.

 Tommy stared at Ada through rising wisps of smoke. The thought occurred to him that Lia, in many ways, reminded him of Ada. She was book smart like Ada, she had an appreciation for the arts, hell, she worked in a bloody library like Ada had. She even looked a bit like Ada.

 “Right, then.” Tommy cleared his throat and reached for a pen. “Send the Mucha to this address. No card.” He slid the paper across to Ada.

 The slick red nails at the tips of her fingers stood in stark contrast to the ecru paper in her hand. The stunned disbelief on her face stood in stark contrast to the smirk behind Tommy’s whiskey glass.

 “Tom. Sweetheart, it’s worth more than their flat.”

[snelbz]

Lovely, Chapter 2 {ACOTAR}

A/N: Chaptet 2 is finally here! Once again, this a joint project between myself and @tacmc. It’s similar to our last joint project, Tending to the Fire, but while we swapped off on chapters, these chapters are written by us both. We hope you enjoy it and you can look for Chapter 3 to be posted on @tacmc’s page soon! (Both of us have Chapter Indexes for this story, so no matter which one of us posts a chapter, you can find the entirety of the story on both of our blogs!)

By the time the headmistress arrived at the Velaris Institute of the Arts, Nesta had already been waiting outside the front doors for over 20 minutes.

“Miss Archeron,” she said, giving her a polite smile. “It’s not even 7:30. You’re quite early.”

She returned the gesture as well as she could. She’d actually been here since 7:00, but wasn’t going to tell her that. “Yes, ma’am. Just excited to get my studio set up.”

She unlocked the door and held it open for her. “Well, be my guest. You know well where your studio is. I’ll have a set of keys for you this afternoon. Oh and Nesta?” She said, as she walked by. “Welcome back to VIA.”

The smile that graced her features wasn’t forced for once. “Thank you, Mrs. Birch.”

The older woman gripped her hand and smiled at her warmly. “I’m not your instructor anymore, Nesta. It’s Alis.”

Nesta nodded at her and squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Alis.”

As Nesta walked through that halls of her alma mater, she couldn’t believe that her dreams were beginning to come true. All she’d ever wanted to do as a girl was dance. When her mother had died, the only way she managed to her through it was by throwing herself into her art. Feyre had her painting and Elain leaned on their father, useless as he was, but Nesta found the only way she could lose herself was in the music.

Not much had changed in the years since.

Except now she was hoping to have the same effect on her students that her instructor had on her.

As she rounded the corner to her studio, the memories flooded her.

She had spent many mornings, afternoons, and nights in this very room.

She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the air conditioner running in the hall. She could hear a piano being played down the hall and it was almost as if she was transported back in time. If she focused hard enough, she was sure that she’d be able to hear the song she used for her Senior Showcase, the song that reverberated through this studio for months on end.

Instead, she was ripped from her memories by the sound of a drum kit from somewhere down the hall.

Her eyes flew open and she set her purse and supplies on the desk - her desk, she reminded herself and made her way down the hall towards the music wing.

She found the double doors, which were designed to be sound proof when closed, wide open, allowing the crash of the symbols to carry down the hallway towards her studio. And there, sitting behind the drum set, was the man who had ruined her suede shoes the night before.

As a greeting, she said, “You have got to be kidding me.”

The drumming quickly, and awkwardly, faded away as he looked up, meeting her dumbfounded stare with a sly grin.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, with a wink. “Fancy meeting you here. Following me?”

She did not have strong enough words for the anger brewing inside of her.

“Please tell me you broke in and are about to make a highly illegal escape with these instruments?”

He glanced around the room before meeting her gaze again and standing up from the drum set. “Seeing as most of these instruments belong to me, I don’t think I need to do anything highly illegal to take them anywhere. But I must say I’m partial to how they’re set up, wouldn’t you agree?” He stopped in front of her and gazed around the room. “The acoustics in here are wonderful.” Nesta tried to keep her lip from curling, she really did. “You must be our new madam.”

Nesta blinked. “Madam?”

He turned away from her and stepped across the room, leaning against his desk. Mr. Nazari was spray painted across the front. “You know, the new ballet instructor? Or, I guess, all forms of dancing?”

Nesta blinked, again, unable to help the humorless laughter that fell from her lips. “I…”

“Take your time,” he grinned, sitting on his desk. “I’ll wait. I’m Cassian, by the way.”

“Nesta. I’m Nesta Archeron. And yes, I’m the new instructor of dance.”

Cassian chuckled and pulled his hair back into a messy bun at the back of his head. “Well in case no one has told you, Nesta Archeron, welcome to the Velaris Institute of the Arts. They call me the ‘Master of Music’.”

Nesta bit off the retort she wanted to spit at him that this was her home first, not his, and instead asked. “Master? That’s a pretty prestigious title to give yourself.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he said, crossing the room and sitting at the piano. “I didn’t give it to myself.” His fingers danced lightly over the keys, playing out a soft melody. “You can close the doors on your way out. I wouldn’t want to disturb your routine.”

He winked at her and Nesta tried ignore the butterflies in her stomach when he looked at her.

She turned and left his studio, the sound of the piano following her back into the dance wing. She pulled the double doors shut behind her and leaned back on them, closing her eyes.

Silence filled her senses.

She had been dreaming of returning to VIA for years and finally, she was here. She was going to focus on those dreams and help her students’ dreams become a reality, too.

And she was going to do it all, while pretending the handsome man down the hall didn’t exist.

Feyre woke up the next morning with a slight headache. She didn’t think she had drunk that much, but it had been a few years since she had stumbled into a bar for a drink. She couldn’t help it. She kept asking for another because she was enjoying herself.

Thanks to the bartender.

Rhysand.

He was kind, surprisingly.

She didn’t think that men who looked so sexy and seductive could actually be decent human beings. Typically, such men were assholes. Speaking of dickwads, she checked her phone and saw that she had countless missed calls and texts from Tam.

With a curse, she crawled out of bed, unable to stop her mind from wandering to a man that was not her boyfriend.

Even though she wasn’t even sure where they stood after she stormed out of the restaurant the night before.

She was still pissed. She didn’t want to call him back, didn’t want to text him. She wanted to take her hand and slap his face like they did in old, cheesy soap operas.

He deserved a good slap.

Or a push down the stairs.

Neither of those facts stopped him from knocking on her door as she walked into the kitchen for an Advil.

She left him hanging for a moment, though. She may not have had the nerve for a slap, but she could leave him knocking for a minute or two.

“Feyre!” he called, knocking as she took a couple of pain killers. “It’s me, baby. Open up!”

She did.

“Let me in,” he pleaded.

She did that, too.

He looked handsome, she’d give him that. He wore his sweatpants, his sweatshirt, his beanie. Feyre preferred him this way as opposed to his business attire. When he put on the suit, he changed.

At first, their relationship was amazing. She had thought he was the one. Lately, though, he was a different person. Controlling. Demeaning. It was usually worse around his colleagues. When he was in his suit and tie.

“You never called me back,” he said, tossing his keys on her kitchen counter.

“I was busy,” she shrugged.

His eyes narrowed. “Doing what?”

“Does it matter?” she snapped. “You already have a thought in your mind about what happened. You always do that. Accuse me. I have been nothing but loyal to your greedy ass for the last year and a half and what do I get in return? Called fat while being treated like your bitch in front of all your friends.”

Tamlin closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he walked to Feyre. He stopped in front of her and brushed her cheek with his fingers. “I’m sorry, baby. Forgive me, please.”

“Yeah, well,” she began, but the bite in her voice had vanished with his touch. “You’ve been saying that you’re sorry a lot lately.”

“I know, I know,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I’ll be better. I promise.”

“I want to believe you…” she trailed off because their eyes had connected and his lips were on hers within seconds.

She didn’t fight it. She didn’t push him away. She let him kiss her, let him touch her. She hated how natural kissing Tamlin was, even when she was pissed at him.

She wanted to blow up.

Wanted to throw things, break things.

But, instead, she found herself melting into his touch.

“I love you,” he said, against her lips.

“I’m still mad at you,” she mumbled.

“I know,” he said. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“You're promising a lot.”

“I know. And I mean it.”

When Feyre pulled back, he popped into her mind again. His violet eyes, his tanned skin, his black hair that matched the inky swirls that covered his arms, his neck.

“What are you thinking about?” Tamlin asked, pulling her closer.

“You,” she lied. “How glad I am that you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too,” he said. “Wanna get into bed for a while?”

Feyre hesitated, but then she could see his oncoming anger and confrontation so she nodded.

Tamlin’s wrath was one thing Feyre hated, one thing she couldn’t face.

“I was hoping we could go out,” she said, quickly, hoping he wouldn’t know it was an excuse. “Just me and you.”

“I don’t wanna go out,” he said. “I wanna stay in.”

Feyre raised a brow. “Since when don’t you wanna go out? You hate staying in.”

“Well, tonight I do want to stay in,” he smiled, lazily, as he tossed his phone and wallet on the kitchen table. “Be right back. When I come out, I’ll make it all up to you. I promise.”

Feyre sighed as he shut the bathroom door behind him.

She’d barely made it two steps before his phone started vibrating against the thin wooden table.

One message.

Then two.

Feyre glanced at the name that came across the banner: Brannagh.

She groaned inwardly as she opened Tamlin’s phone and read the messages.

Last night was fun.

Wanna come over again tonight?

Feyre couldn’t breathe.

She felt sick.

How could he come into her apartment and demand answers as to why she hadn’t answered her phone, after he’d been an ass, when he was with Branagh?

Last night was fun.

What a prick.

The moment he came out of the bathroom, Feyre was pissed. Her hands were shaking as she held up his phone. “Branagh texted.”

Tamlin raised a brow as he slowed himself to a stop. “You looked at my phone?”

Feyre scoffed. “Yes! It was ringing and, as your girlfriend, I didn’t think that it would be an issue.”

Tamlin calmy reached over and took his phone, reading the messages for himself. His eyelids fluttered shut. “Feyre-”

“Did you sleep with her?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Feyre…”

“Answer me!”

Tamlin stayed quiet for a minute, shoving his hands into his sweatpants. “You were pissed at me. I thought we were through.”

Feyre laughed, humorlessly. “You slept with Branagh because you thought we were through? Wow, Tam.” She was speechless, completely unsure of what to say. But when he tried to take a step toward her, Feyre took a big step back. “Don’t come near me. Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me. And get out of my house.”

“Feyre, baby-”

“Get out!” she yelled, taking it upon herself to throw the door open. “Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Leave me alone. We’re done.”

Tamlin looked at her for a long while, but she didn’t budge.

Despite her order, he kissed her cheek as he stepped toward the door. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

When she didn’t answer, he left.

Elain hurried to Main Street an hour before her shop was to open.

She was forced to ride the bus, thanks to her car’s mishap the day before. Elain had never known much about cars. Both Azriel and the mechanic at the shop attempted to help her understand, and she nodded along as if she knew what they were talking about, but she had still gone home and gone to bed knowing absolutely nothing.

So, with her purse slung over her shoulder and her notebook clung tightly against the chest of her bright yellow sundress, Elain waved and smiled at the street vendors as she went to work.

Elain loved Velaris.

She loved the friendly people.

She loved that she had found her purpose in such a wonderful city.

As she strode upon her shop and fiddled around in her bag for her key, Elain froze, catching the reflection of the shop across from hers in the window.

Or, the truck sitting in front of it.

Azriel got out of the driver’s side and opened up the door behind his. Elain, forgetting about her key, watched curiously as Azriel wrestled a car seat out of the back.

As if he noticed her eyes on him, he glanced up.

At first, he was surprised, but a slow smile crept across his lips, lighting up his face.

He gave her a little wave as she looked both ways, and hurried across the middle of Main Street.

They were the complete opposite of one another. Him, dressed completely in black, in jeans and an old hoodie; and, her, in a bright yellow that made her brown eyes look like they were tinted with gold.

“This is your shop?” she asked, in way of greeting.

He laughed, quietly. “Yeah. Small world, isn’t it?”

Elain agreed. She had been at her spot on Main Street for nearly a year and never gave the tattoo parlor across the street a second glance.

“And who is this?” Elain asked, bending down to get a better look in the car seat.

A chubby, baby boy looked up at her with fuzzy, black hair and bright, hazel eyes.

“Oh my goodness,” Elain beamed, hand over her heart. “He looks just like you. Is he yours?”

“Yeah,” Azriel smiled, rubbing the back of his neck.

As the sudden realization hit Elain of what has to happen to make an infant, she blushed. Not that she had expected anything to happen between her and Azriel - she hadn’t even expected to see him again - but after their lunch the other day, she thought they had really connected. She had never thought that there would be another woman in his life.

“How old is he?” she asked. “What’s his name?”

“Asher,” Azriel said, smiling down at his son. “Six months. We only have a few hours together before I have to bring him back to his...mother’s, but I just had to run into the shop to grab my deposits before we went to the park for a while.”

She noted the way he cringed when he said mother’s, but didn’t ask. No matter how much she wanted to.

“Well, you two have a fun time together,” she smiled and leaned down again to see Asher. “It was nice to meet you, cutie. Yes it was.”

Asher giggled and kicked his feet, making Azriel laugh. “He likes you.”

“Is he the only one?”

The question flew out of her mouth in the excitement, but once she began to stutter a follow up retort, Azriel’s smile softened. “No. No, he’s not.”

Elain’s cheeks were burning so hotly that she glanced down at her vintage mary-janes to hide them.

“Would you like to join us?” Azriel asked. “At the park? I know it’s not that exciting, but it’s a nice day.”

It was a perfect day. The sun was high, not a cloud in sight.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Elain shook her head.

Azriel’s eyes dimmed, but his smile remained. It couldn’t have been easy being a single father, and when Elain realized he thought he was being rejected, she caught herself. “Oh, no! I just...I open the boutique in a few minutes,” she said, gesturing to her shop behind her. “But, I mean, if you don’t have plans….tonight?”

Azriel looked away from Asher, who was still smiling and kicking his feet. “I’m working late tonight. Tomorrow? Around seven?”

Elain nibbled on her lip as she nodded. “Tomorrow sounds lovely.”

[nad-zeta]

Hi! I'd like to request for a match up if you are available ❤️ I really don't talk to much at the start and I find it difficult to start a conversation most of the time. But when we become close friends, I won't stop pestering you until you get annoyed that you want to throw me out of your window. (1/3)

I think of myself as an average person. I have lots of interests but I don't believe I have any expertise. I am more of a general knowldge person : I am interested in medicine, science, art, history and eating. I can tolerate light to medium spice; I like sweets but not too sweet. (2/3) get interested in people that acts aloof but I also fear rejection. When I feel it's just too much, It makes me want to stop. I love to laugh, I am talkative but a bit insecure and unsure of myself, but I don't want to show it to anyone. I just want to make people around me happy, and I know that when I radiate positive vibes around me, it will just spread to my friends. I hope you'll pair me with Ieyasu hahahha but If you think I am more compatible with the others, I am very glad to know,  Thank you very much! :)

Hey there love I hope you didn’t have to wait too long for this ^0^ Thanx so much for the request, and I hope you enjoy it! Hehe, this definitely wasn’t on purpose. I went through the list of warlords, and to me, you just fit perfectly with this boy!

I match you with.................. Ieyasu

The first time everyone meets you, its like dead silence. You can’t help if you are a bit awkward and shy. It’s not until the one-eyed dragon starts poking your cheek while saying:” you really don’t talk much do you lass, don’t be scared of these guys they won’t bite, although I might’. Your eyes went wide at that statement, and you backed away slowly. The next to speak was Mitsunari, he beamed his bright smile at you, “Let all be friends.” You loved the positive vibe it made you feel a little more at ease. “well this is boring if this council is done then I’m leaving,”. It was now Ieyasu’s turn to talk. He then turned his emerald green eyes on you, your breath caught in your throat. You had never seen such beautiful eyes. He rolled his eyes without saying anything and walked away. What a strange man. The rest of the oda forces continued to tease you for the rest of the day. You made quick friends with everyone due to your positive good vibes. The maids especially liked working with you because you somehow would make even the most horrendous task light and enjoyable

You hadn’t even been there a week, and the warlords were all off to war. Upon their arrivals back you had heard that Ieyasu had taken a considerable beating and was now super injured. Everyone was worried about the aloof porcupine. He had a bad habit of pushing himself too far and not taking his own injuries seriously. You sat in war council listening to the worried warlord’s gossip, that is when you finally spoke up to state your own opinion. “I used to practice medicine back home, perhaps I could go and check up on him.” You were met with smiling faces all round. “Very well fireball, Ieyasu shall be placed in your care until he is healed.” And that my friend is how you landed up bag in hand outside of Ieyasu’s palace. Part of Nobunagas official orders was that you were to stay in his palace and monitor his health. The head maid happily let you in and showed you to your room while conversing in some light conversation with you. Once you were settled, you went to see how Ieyasu was doing. He looked terrible, He looked like a porcelain doll, he was so pale and thin. You walked up to his bedside and placed your hand on his forehead. Shit, he has a fever, you looked around in hopes of finding something that would help you bring it down when you realized that, Ieyasu to must be into medicine cause his whole room was fully packed and stocked with every medical supply imaginable. You thanked the Lord at that moment for being a jack of all trades, as you had recently watched a youtube video about how to make medicine using only plants. You Carefully ground up a herb mix and made Ieyasu both something of the pain and something for his fever.

Ieyasu woke up to feel the presence of someone invading his space. His blurry eyes stared at a form near his workstation, grinding up herbs. He wanted to say something, but his throat was so dry, and he was feeling so cold. You came to sit beside him, placing beside you a bucket with cold water. Finally, his emerald eyes focused on you and widened. He managed to choke out, “What are you doing here.” You simply shushed him and offered him a tablespoon of the fever medicine. “here drink, it with help with the fever.” He narrowed his eyes, “And how do I know that is not some kind of poison.” Ieyasu could feel himself losing conciseness, you noticed this and put your arm around his head and neck to support it while bringing the spoon to his mouth. Ieyasu woke up to feeling a soothing cloth on his forehead, he absentmindedly relaxed into your fingers, caressing his face and hair. Once he fully woke up, his eyes shot open to see you staring at him with a slight smile and warm look in your eyes. “OOOh, your awake; I’m so glad.” You helped the grumpy boy sit up and brought a spoon of spicey soup to his lips “I can feed myself, I’m not some child, and as you can see my fever has broken and I’m as healthy as a horse so you can go home now.” You just glared at him, he relented by rolling his eyes and opening his mouth to drink some soup. You didn’t miss the cute blush that spread over his face as you fed him. And this was the start of your beautiful relationship

You would care for Ieyasu, changing his bandages, making him pain meds, and forcing him to get back into the futon to rest. You would also cook for Ieyasu. He would never admit it bad darn your food was good, it has just the right amount of spiciness. And boy did you live for the small slither of a smile on this boy’s lips when he would eat your food. The two of you really got to know each other while you were caring for him. You realized his aloofness was just a front to hide his insecurities. And you would talk Ieyasu’s ear off. You were overjoyed when you found out softi boy had a crazy good sense of humor. Once you found this out you would crack all the jokes

You lived to see Ieyasu’s laugh, this boy laughed with his whole body. “Haha, Stop Haha Making jokes, haha, you will be my death” He would just laugh and grip his stomach. You were the only one in the world privileged enough to see this sweet boy’s laugh. Some days you would talk so much that Ieyasu would threaten to throw you out the window so he could have some peace and quiet. You would just give him the biggest brightest smile, “I would love to see you try.”

Everyday Ieyasu would heal and get a bit more energy back. Until one day, he was fully recovered. It seems like it was time for you to leave and move back in with Nobunaga. You had walked into Ieyasu’s room and gave him his last dose of medicine, then he looked you dead in the eyes and said: “You know you can just stay right, it’s not like I was going to kick you out or anything.” You were ecstatic, at the statement, honestly between all the conversations and time spent with porcupine boy, you had fallen in love with him. You ran straight up to him and gave him the biggest hug. To the outside world, it may look like the two of you were rushing into a relationship, but honestly, if you know, you know.

You would often spend your afternoons with Ieyasu in his study, working on your newest skill. You were a jack of all trades but a master of none, and as of late, you had come to enjoy drawing. You would sit by the window and spend hours sketching wasabi out in the garden. Ieyasu would bring the two of you some spicy rice balls for lunch. The two of you would sit together while munching on the food, chatting about medicine and science. Yasu enjoyed the fact that he could have an intellectual conversation with you. It seemed like you knew a bit about every topic. 

When his back would get sore from leaning over the documents all afternoon, he would drift to where you were sitting and sketching. He would take a sneaky glance to try and see what you were doing. You would just look up covering your work, a little shy to show him your work. This would usually end in him tickling until you would let go of the sketchbook to let him see the drawing. He was in awe; it was so good.  

Ieyasu really loves everything about you. You are such a pure warm person, and he can’t help but smile when he is around you. He loves how you just bring him and his whole palace positive vibes. Somedays, he can low key tell you are feeling a bit down or insecure, and he will just walk up to you and pull you into a warm embrace. “Silly girl, it’s just us now so you can drop the mask and tell me what you are feeling insecure about.” You would hide your face in the crook of his neck and mutter what had caused you to feel a bit sad. Ieyasu would pull you down to sit on his lap at his desk. He lets you rest your head on his chest while he draws soothing circles on your back. You will fall asleep in his arms. He is so soft and sweet, hugging him is like hugging a big fluffy marshmallow. When you wake up, he will present you with a little doodle of you, him, and wasabi. You can’t help but laugh at the clumsily drawn picture. He would pout while being as red as a tomato. You would just thank him for cheering you up and give him a sweet kiss on the cheek

The two of you love spending time together. Both of you can often be found relaxing in each other arms reading. You would read up about your latest topic, and he would read the newest medical journal. Ieyasu will definitely drop a few Eskimo and butterfly kisses on your beautiful face to remind you of his love and affection for you

Other potential matches.................... Yukimura 

I hope you enjoyed dear! 

[shirorozutriea]

White Rose Nightshot #2

Scars

“Weiss?”

Weiss heard Ruby called out at her. She looked at the door of her office to see her wife leaning on the door, smiling. The latter approached the white haired girl and sat on the desk.

“How’s work?” Asked Ruby, looking down at the papers on her wife's hands. The sigh her wife let out didn’t go unnoticed by Ruby.

“What's wrong?” Asked Ruby caressing the latter’s shoulder.

“There’s a lot of troubles in my line of work.” Grumbled Weiss. “The other investors are anti-Faunus activist. You know what I’m trying to do for the comfort of the Faunus workers here.”

“And that’s why Blake's here as your right hand. Have you approached her with the problem?” Ruby brushed the locks of her wife’s hair to ease her a bit.

Weiss shook her head. “I haven’t. I’m trying to solve this on my own as it is my personal problem within the company.”

Ruby frowned a bit and leaned in to put a kiss on the latter’s forehead. “Tell her. She needs to know and if possible, ask her for her opinions.”

Weiss relaxed at the motion and leaned in on Ruby’s torso. Weiss sighed in contentment. Ruby stared at her. She take in the features of her wife and saw how tired she looked. Ruby took action as she went down from her position in the desk and encircled her arms on the latter’s torso, and carried her like a sack of potato earning a shriek from the alabaster girl.

“Put me down this instant, Ruby!” Weiss a shrilled at action. Ruby shook her head.

“Nope.” Said Ruby popping the ‘p’. “I won’t let you down and just let you do work when you’re already this tired and stressed.

“I am not tired.” Harrumphed Weiss. Ruby rolled her eyes.

“Oh yeah. I bet you 50 lien you’ll be asleep when we got on the bed.” Argued Ruby.

The two got on their room and Ruby toss Weiss to the bed earning a yelp from the woman. Weiss glared at the woman grinning on the door.

“Must you?” Grumbled Weiss, while Ruby chuckle at her expression.

“Yes. Now, scooch over I’m going to lay down.” Said Ruby, her shoulders dropping. Weiss noticed the action and smiled mischievously. Weiss moved and Ruby slowly crawl beside Weiss, unprepared for the surprise attack the latter is planning.

Weiss leaped.

“Aaahh—!! Weiss—mmph!!”

Weiss kissed the red clad woman, deep and passionate. Ruby, quite shock at the action, melted as she too kiss the latter back with the same ferocity, a grumble was heard from the back of her throat. Weiss let her hands roam around her wife’s body, gripping and sliding along the fabrics of Ruby’s clothes. Weiss broke the kiss, but only for an inch and gripped on the tailor made clothing that obscure her image of her wife’s voluptuous body.

Ruby, sensing the hidden message from her wife’s hands. Gently, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and took it off in a manner of seconds with Weiss in tow, taking hers. Ruby’s eyes roam on the white porcelain skin of her beloved and swallowed a lump in her throat as she stare at those toned abs. Although Ruby have abs too, which Weiss is currently relishing the sight of. Ruby had a very toned muscular body that may have rivaled Yang in the slightest. Weiss let her hand trail at the skin, feeling each bump and curve as she goes.

Ruby’s breath hitched at the sensation, letting out an animalistic growl and launch on Weiss, pinning the woman on the bed. Weiss blinked at the motion, yet she eased at the sight of her loving wife gazing to her like she was some sort of art. And only Ruby could make her feel like that.

Ruby kissed the tip of her noses making her giggle a bit. Ruby kissed and then nipped her neck, eliciting a moan from the latter. Weiss groped around and she suddenly felt a zigzag pattern of scar on her wife’s back.

“Ruby..” Her voice oh so low.

Ruby hummed on her neck. “Don’t be guilty about it. I’ll do it again and again if I have to.”

The scar reminded her the time Ruby almost nearly died from saving her from her bastard of a father. Leaping on a two story building, just enough to catch her and cushion her fall on the pristine white snow. She also remember how the latter’s bones crack at the impact, making her whimper.

“Shh.. it’s okay. I’m alright.” Ruby cooed, her lips trailing kisses on Weiss’s neck up to her collarbone. “I gotcha.”

Weiss gasped and groaned at the feeling of burning lips trailing feverishly on her skin, reaching to a certain scar she got from the fight at Mistral.

“You know, I was scared. I thought you’re going to die. Good thing Jaune activated her semblance, if not I may have already lost you.” Ruby held a breathe. “I may not have been able to forgive myself if that happened.”

Weiss grabbed the latter’s face and kissed her tenderly. Weiss’s hands found their way to the ends of her wife’s hair and gently tugged on it. Weiss broke at kiss and straddle Ruby who was now sitting. Her legs wrapped on the redhead’s torso.

Ruby encircled her arms on Weiss and let it roam on her slender back, feeling the skin without any mark or blemish. Secretly she envied the latter's skin over her scarred once, but finding out that Weiss loved her scars and imperfections she had grown to accept her scar clad body, showing it off to Weiss when there’s a chance(which there is a lot).

“I love your skin, Weiss. There’s no traces of scar anywhere, except on your left eyes which I think is rather a turn on.” Ruby purred. Weiss blushed at the compliment and rolled her eyes playfully.

“I know you know this, but I’ll repeat just in case you forgot it. Ruby, I love your scars. It’s just so… you. And I, painstakingly admitting so that, it is a massive turn on for me also.” Weiss hummed.

“You're scars have a lot of stories behind it. And I love hearing those stories.” Said Weiss, kissing her forehead.

Ruby sighed in contentment. She then kissed the latter’s upper chest. Her breath tickling the older woman. “What’s your favorite scar of mine.”

Weiss blinked at the question and smiled fondly. Weiss cupped her wife’s cheeks and kissed her right eyes which sported a long jagged scar that matches her own.

“This.” Weiss smiled.

Ruby also smiled at choice. Her mind wandering to where she got the scar.

“It was rather silly and ridiculous, but I find this one to be my favorite.” Chuckled Weiss whilst sighing. “Although you didn’t have to do that.”

Ruby giggled and rest her head in the latter’s neck. “Oh I don’t, but I want to.”

Weiss rolled her eyes. “Scarring yourself for the sake of couple matches was not a good choice, Ruby.”

“Aww, Weiss. Lighten up will you. It’s already in the past. And I know it’s fun to go in a trip down memory lane, but for now you need to rest.” Yawned Ruby. Weiss silently laughed and kissed the scar again.

“I love it because you choose to stand beside me, even though you got hurt in the process because of it.” She said in a hushed voice. “I love it because it reminds me of how much you love me and as I do to you.”

Ruby smiled and grabbed Weiss, kissing her and dragging her down to cuddle under the blankets. She broke the kiss and kissed her wife's forehead.

“I love you, Weiss.”

“I love you too, Ruby.”

[starfaring-princelotor]

Second Sight

Summary: Voltron has returned.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

Warnings: n/a

A/N: Doctor Sherri belongs to @shanonigans-dewm

Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Taste Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Sight Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four

At this point in your life, death was a very close friend of yours. A close friend that reminded you of how precious time was, how precious being alive was, and that it should never be taken for granted. You’ve had guns in your face before. You’ve had several deadly weapons aimed between your eyes before. Yet, every single damn time, death was always creeping on your shoulder saying, “Don’t be afraid.”

Even now, with the Altean broadsword’s lethal tip hovering barely an inch over the bridge of your nose, that voice whispered, “Hello again, good doctor.”

You lost. It would’ve only been a matter of time, anyways. By human standards, you had formidable endurance. By Altean? Not so much. The captain of the trio was physically stronger than you, better trained than you in the Altean battle arts, so you knew you wouldn't last as long as him. Then again, this wasn't about victory or defeat. This was just to prove you weren't a spy, someone who could potential betray them.

His comrades stood off to the side, watching the entire fight without so much as a flinch. Acxa was at the other end of the field, opting to keep her distance should you die from a fatal blow. If that were to happen, she would need a quick escape. Except, the Altean...he did not strike you down. You were panting, clearly out of breath and stamina, but he only kept his weapon pointed threateningly at your defeated form laying on the ground.

He lowered his sword, signifying the end of the fight, then held a hand out for you to take, “You defend well for a human. I didn’t know Lotor was one to share Altean culture with others.”

“He isn’t. He saw how...inefficient I was on the field and we decided I needed proper training,” you gripped his hand and he hauled you up to your feet effortlessly, “In the end, he was right to do so.”

“Consider yourself lucky. Yet, I still find myself wondering...how did you come to know our esteemed leader? And, pray tell, where is he?”

You glanced at Acxa, “That is a long story. Who is second in charge of this facility?”

“I will introduce you to Medical Chief Officer Kylan shortly. But first,” the man sheathed his sword, yet kept his hand locked with your forearm, “Allow me to fix your wounds.”

Before you could pull away, he had closed his eyes in concentration as his entire hand began glowing a faint white color. You initially tried to pull out of his grip, but you felt the ache in your fingertips begin tingling into something more...pleasant. Then, it spread to your forearm, your shoulder, until your entire body lost all the tension that was created from the battle. Wide eyes stared in wonder at the magic before you, but you had to ask: was it truly magic? Or science? Or both?

“How did you do that?” you asked while examining your hand, noticing all the scratches were already gone. Sealed, like they weren't ever there in the first place.

“I transferred some of my quintessence to replenish your fatigue,“ he then motioned you to follow him, “...This...this is new to you?”

Now, that caught Acxa’s attention. The Altean removed his shield to reveal a bracelet of sorts, attached skin tight and made of a dull silver alloy. The white etchings began to fade, signifying the magic powering down at the wearer’s command. Then, that is when you noticed runes etched in the metal, runes very similar to Altean writing. There was so much you didn’t know, so many questions you had, and very little time to answer them all.

He led you through a maze of halls, passing many other Alteans who donned similar wear like his crew. To your surprise, you even saw Galra personnel mixed among them, conversing with the others rather...normally. It was a work environment that you did not imagine you would ever get a chance to witness, especially with the history between both species.

When he halted in front of a door, the Altean warrior scanned his hand on the pad, “Captain Ewan here. I have the two visitors from the Galra ship. They have news concerning Lotor.”

The door slid open and a tall, lithe Galra man stood before the group, eyes wide and fully surprised. Square chin, long appendages on his head tied back in a ponytail, and pupiless eyes. You noticed he held the same mouth as Zarkon, but lacked the darker hue of purple like others of his kind. His attention immediately zoned in on you and Acxa, the ex-general’s cautious gaze much more intense than yours.

She was conflicted. She was not blind to the tension between both races. She knew even her ancestors blamed King Alfor for the destruction of their home planet. There was not one side that knew the whole story and, perhaps, even that prejudice itself is what made her wary of the almost too peaceful environment she found herself in. Acxa didn’t know that Lotor not only saved Alteans from extinction, but also found a way to have Galra coexist with them, too.

They all acted like buddies. Like...a community. Acxa felt out of place, like she didn’t belong here after all the damage she grew up with about her own half-blooded self. Shouldn’t the Alteans be sneering at her mere existence? Shouldn’t the Galra be questioning which side of the Empire she was loyal to? Lotor may have taught her and the other generals to embrace their diversity, embrace their unique selves wholeheartedly, but this?

That inkling of doubt was still ingrained in her after all these years. That paranoia was never truly silenced.

“Come in, please. Take a seat, there is much to be discussed.” He walked around his desk, pouring three glasses of water then offering it you two, “I am Kylan, head medical officer of this hospital facility. I wish we could meet under better circumstances, and I apologize for my hastiness, but do understand that Lotor’s absence has left many of us here uneasy. It is not like him to cut communication for over a year.”

Has it really been a year? It felt so much longer than that.

You glanced at Acxa from the corner of your eye, “I will tell you everything, but first we have a patient in critical condition. Her leg has been amputated and the supplies on the ship are limited - ”

“Consider it done. Captain? Take Doctor Sherri with you.”

“I will accompany you,” Acxa spoke up, already following the group out of the room and leaving you alone with the Galra doctor.

She sent you a look of understanding, one that told you to remember the deal. Once her team was healed, was stable enough to run, they would leave you here by yourself. Alone without protection from Haggar’s reach or anyone else who would come searching for you. These were Lotor’s generals, not yours. When the door closed behind them, you gave your full attention back to Kylan.

His fingers were laced over his face, elbows perched on the table and eyes regarding you carefully, “This hospital is a private facility that Lotor himself ensured to be kept secret at all times. The only ones who knew about it are those who he would entrust on a deeply personal level. How you found us tells me that you knew Lotor...or you know someone who worked with him.”

“Hospital?” you repeated, “Did you say...hospital?”

“Yes. Were you informed of the work we do here?”

You shook your head no, “I - no. Doctor Kylan, are you aware of the partnership between Voltron and the Galra Empire?”

“Of course. Many Alteans here were unsure about the union, but ultimately, they agreed and saw this as a hopeful spark for the future. Everyone knows of the history of Voltron, the Defenders of the Universe. Hearing good news that the war has ended was...well, to put it bluntly, a huge damn relief.”

It was supposed to be a relief. A reminder of a more peaceful time to come. Your head tilted down slightly, eyes boring into the metal desk in uncertainty. This did not go by Kylan.

“Has...has something happened?” he inquired with a grave tone, “Last we heard, Lotor had successfully created the Sincline ships along with Allura.”

“What do you know of Allura?”

“The Princess? The entire Colony is eagerly awaiting to meet her once the war is over, once it’s safe enough to come out of hiding. An ancient Altean, still alive to this day. I can't even begin to tell you how thrilled they are to speak to such a historic figure - “

“Allura betrayed Lotor.”

That one sentence stopped Kylan in the middle of his speech.

“Voltron betrayed Lotor,” you continued, voice dripping with barely concealed hatred, “They attacked him and he - “

Taking a deep breath, you tried your damnedest to keep yourself level headed. What you saw and what you say will never hold up to defend Lotor. You needed more than that. You needed proof. Solid evidence. You needed Lotor and only Lotor.

Kylan observed you, observed the conflict that was still fresh in your mind, then asked something even he was hesitant to say, “Is Lotor...dead?”

“I don’t know.” You wished you could give him a better answer, “All I do know is that both Voltron and Lotor disappeared into the Rift and haven’t returned. One of the witnesses who last saw him was Acxa, the one who accompanied me here.”

A pregnant paused filled the room with only one question hanging in the air: What now?

“This is ill news,” he ran a clawed hand over his head, “Shit...Shit! This does not bode well.”

No, it certainly does not. The situation was stirring for a year now. Kylan was in charge of the facility until Lotor’s return. They discussed precautions should such a situation happen, but this was much more complicated than he imagined. Hearing that Allura, the Princess of Old Altea, had betrayed Lotor? Princess Allura, a piece of lost history many of the Alteans revered and wished to learn from, attacked their leader? Their savior? It will cause a shift among the masses. It will cause doubt. Shame. It will...it will cause anger.

Anger at her actions and disappointment in her ways. Peace first. That has always been the Altean way. Always.

“How did this happen?” Kylan pinched the bridge of his nose, “Tell me everything.”

“Everything...everything started with an Altean named Romelle.”

“Romelle, sister of Bandor?”

“Yes, how did you know?” you questioned with a tilt of your head, “Two members of the Blades of Marmora discovered Romelle on...her home planet?”

“The first colony. Where all the citizens have lived for thousands of years. If they were able to find it, then the people there are in critical danger.”

“It’s more than that, Doctor Kylan.” You sighed heavily, trying to get your thoughts organized in a way that would make sense to him, “There is...missing information. Something didn’t make sense and Voltron - Allura, she...“

Your mind was already deteriorating from running and planning your survival day by day. You were losing focus and you knew it. You were fraying at the seams, trying to recall what happened, but the details were blurring together. You brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to temper that headache from forming.

Kylan was aware of the reason why Lotor kept the colony hidden. He was also aware why he did not immediately introduce the Princess to the Alteans. It all fell upon trust. Upon risk that he could not take. Not yet, Lotor had told him. It isn’t safe. Judging by the turn of events, he was right.

Kylan narrowed his eyes in thought before leaning against the desk, “Forgive me for being forward, but do you mind if I tap into your mind?”

“Tap into...you plan on interrogating me?”

“No, no, good doctor, no. Through our research, we have learned to harness the quintessence in our bodies to achieve many various goals. Healing the wounded, enhancing the lifespan of plants, and even share connections with those who are willing. Under no circumstance would we use this magic against the other’s choice,” he explained thoroughly, seeing the hesitance behind your eyes, “Tapping into people’s mind can show me memories, feelings, everything you wish to show. I swear to you, upon my honor as a doctor, I would not go any further than you feel comfortable to share.”

You were still unsure why they would even need this ability if not to take information without consent. Were they all...like Haggar, then? Able to manipulate minds and steal memories? You thought about Shiro and his frequent headaches. You thought...if Kylan was a doctor taught under Lotor’s lessons, what would he do? Would he wipe out your memories the second he got what he was searching for? Or would he trust you to stay by his side?

“Okay…” you agreed, leaning forward and putting your head up first, “Okay...make it quick.”

Kylan’s large hands rose and his index fingers touched the side of your temples. You trusted Lotor and, to an extent, he placed his trust in you. The Galra doctor will find out why, will find out how you worked with the Altean’s leader. And from what he sees, what he witnesses in your mind, then he will judge you as a character. An ally or a foe?

“This is not a drill. Operation Purge is a go.”

Your eyes widened at Kylan’s words announcing a command over the microphone. There wasn’t panic in his voice, no, more like determination. Foreboding determination at words he didn’t think he would ever have to say in his lifetime. He stood up quickly, chair sliding against the floor, then spoke once more.

“I repeat, this is not a drill.”

Your footsteps rushed to keep in pace with the doctor, but he was hurried and frantic. All around it was a madhouse, personnel rushing about and gathering as much material from their offices as they could. Even patients were being pushed on floating gurneys down to what you could only assume was the facility hangar.

  “Doctor, what’s going on?” you asked, narrowly dodging another medical officer.

“I will explain when we get to the main computer system,” he answered before grabbing a nearby Galra, “Anapa, take the blueprints for the pods. We leave no trace of the technology we have here. Split the documents into five parts, one for each ship commander.”

“Right away, sir.”

“And destroy all evidence. Absolutely no pods are to be salvageable, do I make myself clear?”

You suddenly gripped the doctor’s elbow and turned him around forcefully, “No, I need that evidence to save Lotor!”

“This isn’t about Lotor,” Kylan shrugged his arm back, breaking your hold, “This is about his work. We can not risk anyone using the inventions we created here for evil.”

You didn’t like this. Everything you needed to prove Lotor’s innocence was right here, right at your fingertips, but Kylan was correct. This place, the people here, whatever they DID here, was Lotor’s work. He would’ve wanted it to be safely secured and away from evil’s clutches. Still, you had to remember this was a necessary precaution. This is why he always had a Plan B, even when he was no longer -

“We can not take the risk, doctor. If Lotor is alive, then he knows how to unite us again. He knows how to find us once more. But if he isn’t...Alteans must be protected and preserved. Our location has been compromised.”

Their first priority wasn’t finding Lotor. It was ensuring his work would continue. Ensuring his discoveries would be used for good, even if it had to be buried for now.

Kylan placed his hand on the scanner and, within a few seconds, the door slid open. Inside, there was a large holographic map of what looked to be of the facility itself. Little red dots indicated officers while white must be...patients? Regardless, the evacuation was happening at a faster rate than you expected.

The Galra doctor tapped the control monitor too fast for your eyes to read, “I didn’t expect Bandor’s death to lead such a horrible domino effect. And now with Romelle and the Blades of Marmora knowing our location? It not only put the hospital in danger, but the first colony, too.”

A giant red warning sign popped up on the screen reading only one question: Are you sure you wish to erase all data?

“That is where Captain Ewan will go. We have a small army trained for battle, but first the citizens must be relocated to a safer environment. Even...even if their identities have to be deleted.”

Kylan pressed “Yes” and instantly, a loading bar began indicating the purge. Thousands of faces, thousands of Altean’s information was being erased. Wiped out. Gone from the database and any who would potentially hack into it. Family, friends, now only a blip in the sands of time. History being destroyed. It left your soul uneasy to witness this necessary precaution.

The doctor glanced at you momentarily, “I realize this...this operation does very little to help you with Lotor. I apologize. I know your intentions are true, and I will aid you to the best of my ability once we leave, but the responsibility of reviving Altea’s culture and it’s people now falls upon my shoulders.”

And what a weight it would be, he thought. You watched the video surveillance, watched Galra ship after ship lift off. Acxa was no doubt gone already, taking her credibility as a witness to the crime with her. It felt like as soon you had a smidgen of evidence to finding Lotor, to proving him right or wrong, it was unfairly ripped from your grasp. Always pushed back to square one.

No. Not square one. You found the colony, the hospital. That was proof already to yourself about Lotor’s intentions.

“Come with me, doctor,” Kylan watched with a forlorn expression as all the lights and monitors began blinking off one by one, “We must leave quickly. To Yu’ruvat.”

You slumped into the sofa, exhausted and ready to collapse from the overwhelming turn of events. A thousand thoughts were going through your mind. Within the span of a day, the colony existed then disappeared from the universe in a blink. Eyes slowly closed as all the sounds around you began quieting down in your head. That is, until the clink of a cup drew your attention.

Drearily, you looked at Kylan just as he took a seat besides you. On the table was a cup of something warm, indicative by the steam rising from the drink. You slowly took it within your hands, simply holding it and soaking in the heat. When was the last time you had a drink? Or a meal? Shit.

“Thank you, doctor,” you peered into your drink, some sort of orange tonic.

He waved a hand, silently saying it was no hassle. “No, I should be thanking you for arriving as you did. Had you not, who knows what would have happened in due time. It’s still troubling that...two strangers were able to find the colony and the hospital. I only hope that Captain Ewan was able to evacuate them safely.”

You fell silent.

“Your...presence has also made us aware of Haggar’s intentions. She’s looking for the Emperor, yes. Desperately so, but I can’t help feel suspicious of her actions. With Lotor gone and the throne prime for taking, why did she not crown herself?” he took a small sip from his cup. “All the Galra who were under Zarkon’s rule know she was controlling him. Even so, there are commanders who respected her to an extent. The only reason she wouldn’t take it is because our customs would not allow it. No full-blooded Altean has ever ruled a Galra Empire before.”

Yes. Yes, you do recall Allura mentioning that the witch Haggar was an Altean. Ironic, that. 

“Which leaves me to believe she is after Lotor to reign control again. But if he isn’t found, then she will reach out to another viable candidate. Until five years pass, the Empire is in limbo,” Kylan turned to face you, “Why did she let you go?”

“I told her what she wanted to hear. Whatever I needed to say for me to survive,” you paused, “My only goal is to find Emperor Lotor. You saw the accusations. You saw the mayhem that transpired afterwards. Bringing him back is pivotal to the future.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason?”

“Yes,” you answered in a heartbeat, but it felt...like you were only telling half the truth.

The other half? You didn't want to expose to yourself quite yet. There was so much more to do, much more important things to solve, that you put your own self as a last priority. Kylan tapped into your mind. Surely he understood, the universe before discovering oneself. Responsibilities to peace among everything else. 

“You’re not returning to Haggar if you don’t find him.”

“No. If he is dead, then I will be, too. It just depends on when I want to die,” you thumbed the lip of the cup, “And where. If it’s inevitable, I should at least have some control over my fate by running until the road ends.”

“And if he is alive? What will you do then?”

Now, you flicked your gaze at him from the corner of your eyes, “I...I would follow his lead.”

Kylan silently observed you as you spoke those words. Part of him believed you were suffering from something more than survivor’s guilt. That man he saw, Shiro? Was clearly someone close to you. And now he was gone. When he peered into your memories, he felt the painful isolation you experienced the past year. He felt the crumbling control over yourself when Lotor walked away down that hallway.

“Using quintessence to look into people’s minds was one of the first discoveries Lotor made. He had the help of a special species that could sense the emotions of a troubled individual, using this ability to soothe one’s feelings. Now, we harness this power to figure out exactly what haunts each person. Galra, Alteans, much of the older generation suffer from some form of trauma since the destruction of Daibazaal and Altea,” he informed with an almost pitiful look on his face.

The pity was aimed at you. You didn't like it. You were...ashamed by it, so you turned away from him. Shiro never looked at you with pity. Lotor never looked at you with pity. Maybe you felt uncomfortable about it because Kylan saw your private thoughts so vividly where no one else did. Where no one else could. The mind is an intimate place, but you gave it up to benefit yourself.

“It was the first step to healing the scars left behind by the history between the two races. Lotor always believed that a strong alliance started with the people. He united us and proved that we are better together.” Kylan watched you cup the drink closer, as if trying to keep yourself warmer in the chilly ship, “In olden days, royal Alteans were known as life givers. Not in our society. We are called life sharers. We share our troubles, our woes, our happiness, our grief, and even our souls.”

You fleetingly wondered why he was telling you this. Why he mentions the history that started the entire universe’s war. Or maybe...maybe he wasn’t talking about the universe. You were no therapist. You didn't train for repairing mental wounds. You thought you had a grasp on yourself, could take care of yourself when those dark days felt looming over you.

Bags under your eyes. The shine was dulled from your face. When was the last time you felt normal? Not happy, but just...at peace? Content? You felt cold, as if you were hibernating in a winter that has been staying for far too long.

“Our way of understanding science and magic as one are not limited to just Alteans and Galras. Every living being in the universe has quintessence in their bodies. They have the potential to unlock those abilities. All they need is the will power to learn it.”

He stood up as you kept your silence surrounding him. You were listening. You listened to Lotor. You would listen to Kylan. You know the offer he was extending to you, but the real question was whether or not this would help you in the long run. That’s how your mind worked. How could this not only help others, but also help you?

“Can you teach it to me, Kylan?”

If Lotor was dead, if you were to go into hiding, if Haggar were to find you, then you would go down fighting.

“Yes.”

Kylan was a good teacher. He understood that no two bodies were the same, no two species were completely similar, and he used that knowledge to train you. Whereas most of the Alteans had little difficulty harnessing the use of touch with their lessons, that sense of touch was strangely unusual for you. The doctor took this in account when he healed your wounds after each training session.

It was odd. A doctor who disliked touching. He was willing to bet Lotor thought the same thing when he first came across you.

The view of empty space and destroyed planets greeted you and the crew stationed at the helm. Months had passed now and, although you wore the same bracelet Kylan had, your progress with harnessing its powers was barely halfway complete. It was definitely draining on the soul, testing and pushing your limits on how much of your energy you could truly share as a human. To any doctor, this was the dream ability. The ability to heal responsibly. The ability to know your limits.

“There have been spikes of quintessence pockets popping up in this sector, captain. However, no physical sign of any life yet.”

“Good work, general. Keep searching. If my theory is correct, the wall is weak here. The Rift will open soon, so we need to get that gate ready,” Kylan explained, hope tinging in his voice.

“Are you sure about this?”

The man turned to you, also keeping your eyes on the horizon, “Yes. The Rift...it is like a river. Flowing with endless quintessence, teeming with life force itself. It isn't all that different than the natural environment of many planets. Give it time and a dam will burst through.”

That was what you and the team was relying on now. The river will push someone out. Voltron, Lotor. The pocket could only hold for so long. Would it overflow and leave a gaping hole in the universe? Yes. But right now, with no trans-reality comet and no miraculous mech at the galaxy’s aid, what could you do besides wait?

“The Ruvatians will create the sealant we need. Patience, doctor,” he saw the doubt flit over your eyes, “Whoever comes through that hole has to help us. If not, then our Plan B will succeed.”

“How? The Alteans who went to Oriande could not pass the test. They were not even able to breech past the White Lion,” you argued, “You need the secret knowledge of Ancient Altea to create something, anything, strong enough to pierce the Rift.”

“We don’t need it. We have all the knowledge here already.” Kylan crossed his arms, calculating in his words, “The magic we learned from quintessence is important. The science we use will help. We’re not trying to get into the Rift. We’re trying to close it. That’s what the cannon is for. To burn the raw quintessence long enough to close the rip.”

Close it until another way was found to harvest it safely. Now that the old gate was destroyed, it made sense. Never let a wound fester untreated. It was better to seal it for now. There were engineers working on a new gate, using the destroyed pieces to fix the puzzle backwards. The parts were scarce and resources? Even harder to come by. But this had to work.

Lotor’s plan to harvest quintessence safely failed. Voltron destroyed the only gate keeping the realities closed off from whatever monsters laid in the Rift. And now...now, original plans have changed.

“I respect Lotor’s wishes. I know of the vision he had in mind for the future and, as much as I would’ve celebrated such a path, we can’t have two problems on our hands. The Empire’s rogues reign free to wreck havoc. Imagine how much more death would come if this Rift stayed open.”

“Kylan,” you began, “What will happen to the Alteans? The Galra?”

He placed a thumb on his chin, deep in thought, “The Galra Empire relies on quintessence. In the natural state of life, everything will eventually die. My guess, doctor, is that the Empire will exhaust their reserves and move on to the next viable energy source. As for whether that is a better solution, only time will tell.”

“And the Alteans?”

You saw the way his jaw set firmly.

“They are already in hiding. I don’t think it would be safe for them anywhere else right now.”

So now, what were you to do? Where exactly did your loyalty lie? In the Galra Empire that Lotor worked so hard to control? Or to the Alteans that he desperately tried to save? And you thought to yourself then, how long would it take for you to remain dedicated to a crumbling Empire? Or a slowly extinct species?

“The gate is ready to launch,” he announced to pull you out of your thoughts, “Power up the main generator. Cetra, use the refined quintessence reserves to enhance the process.”

“Yes, sir.”

Someone, anyone, had to come out of that gate. You hope it would be Lotor. Even you knew that he has more command to save the universe. But Voltron? Voltron was nothing but a weapon. A weapon that gave people false hope for a safer future. Perhaps in a different reality, it would have worked. Perhaps in a different reality, you wouldn’t be stuck repeating history. Perhaps in a different reality, for once, someone else would clean up this mess.

In the distance, you could see the Rift gate begin to glow a vibrant ring of blue and white. You don’t know if you would consider it a blessing or stupid dumb luck that Lotor’s work with Allura actually paved a way for the engineers to rebuild the gate better than before. At the cost of what was sacrificed, you would think otherwise. You could feel the thick tension fill the air around the main deck as everyone, Kylan included, stared on with abated breath.

The door was open. A blinding light, shimmering specks of quintessence powdered the gate and there, floating completely unscathed, was Voltron.

Your stomach sank. The almighty Voltron was not everyone’s hero.

Despite your warning to Kylan, he reassured you that the defenses would hold should Voltron attack. Much to your surprise, no confrontation of any sort happened. It left you uneasy, to say the least, but the captain of the ship was not a fool. The warriors flanked the both of you, weapons set to stun if Kylan’s initial judgement was wrong about the Paladins. The hangar door opened and each of the towering lions stood proudly before the crew.

Outwardly, you looked tense, wired and ready to attack or flee. But inwardly, too many emotions collided in your chest. You had no idea where Shiro went. You had no idea if Keith captured him or not. And the rest of the Paladins? Your “allies?” Where were they? After a year, why did they turn their back on the universe? And more importantly, where was Lotor? Only one mech came through that gate.

It wasn't the one you desperately hoped for.

“Paladins!” Kylan bellowed, loud enough that his strong voice echoed the hangar walls, “Show yourselves!”

Yes, cowards, show yourselves. Each lion lowered their head and out came five figures, five figures significantly taller than the Paladins you remembered. Not a single one of them raised their bayards. It made you suspicious. These...there was something wrong. Off about them. Warning signs began ringing in your mind. That is, until the Black Paladin took a step forward ahead of the rest and slowly removed the helmet. 

You glared vehemently at the figure, but that anger fizzled out into nothing when you spotted a drapery of silver hair.

Deep lavender skin.

Nebulous eyes staring widely at you.

And a familiar voice calling out your name in confusion.

To which you could only respond with a whisper of the man you were searching for all this time.

“...Lotor?”