#i apologize for any emotional distress brought on by that last statement

[sonicboomseason3]

Sorry if this has been covered before but is blaze in your s3 ideas? Don't know if she'd be like this over confident girly or they highly focus on the fact she doesn't show upfront emotions n make her this emo princess

no i haven't covered her at all but i'd love to have her as part of the story at some point! i know i've talked about silver a few times, and it'd feel like a crime if i included him but not her tbh - those two are like a package deal to me. and don't take this as me committing to anything but i will say that second one sounds a lot more like how she would hypothetically be in the boom universe than the first one

[imaginativeamateur]

can you do 30 with kakashi and a fem reader pls 🥺🤲 I love your work and am so happy for you regarding your follower milestone, congrats !!

[Kakashi Hatake X Reader] The Power of Love

|200 Followers Event|

Prompt: 30 — "I mean it."

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x fem!Reader

Note: Aloha, I'm back!!! Thanks for the request and the cheers😝 Okay, this one is AHHH, the title :DD This one is very sentimental but playful at the same time. There's like some serious talk but also entertaining moments, too. Without further ado, please enjoy!

Constant requests that you get married were sent in your way for the past several months. Your parents were tired of having to wait to see you bring a man home, but you had no intention to comply. The topic would come up to the table during dinner every now and then, with your mother furrowing in her brows and your father sighing in distress. On your part, you played cool, soothing them that you just found a guy and dismissing the matter with a feigned grin.

Everything would be ordinary, much to your own liking until your parents secretly signed you up for a match-matching service. You had a big argument that night but they smugly smiled and ensured that you would fall in love with him immediately. It was ridiculous.

“You’d be head over heels in no time, Y/N,” your mother said.

“Like she knows who he is,” you mumbled, scoffing on your way back to your apartment.

Though you completely shut the door to the new romance—the guy that you presumably knew nothing about—you woke up earlier than usual, earlier than you should. You blamed it on your neighbor’s child crying but you discerned that you were being irrational. The whole situation was aberrant. You purposefully threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt that was too worn out for a first date. Still, you could not be any more careless, the last thing you wanted was to get the man to generate some form of adoration for you. You checked yourself in the mirror and made sure that you looked representable nonetheless.

The sun was already high up in the sky when you locked your door and tiredly dropped the keys into your handbag, storming to the destination with angry steps. It was your day off and you could have spent your time on something much more meaningful, training, for example. Kakashi-senpai said you still needed to hone your close combat skills. You pursed your lips at the thought of the Hatake, feeling even more enraged and annoyed. The said Shinobi was a nice guy, he was gentle and mannered with everyone but you. He treated you like his kid, bossing you around, requesting you to dig through the shelves of bookstores to find the limited edition of Icha Icha that was recently published. But you did not quit being his subordinate. Kakashi had everything that you needed to harness, from his skills to knowledge, and you would never let such a golden opportunity go wasted.

Being with him for two long years brought you many benefits and visible improvements, one of them being your patience. You were short-tempered and Kakashi was just the perfect tame to your boiling climate. The silver-haired veteran knew you were cantankerous on some days, like today, when you were having an involuntary sunbathing session, and would always be later than he usually would. Over the drenching months, you grew indifferent to his tardiness, adapted to his peculiar conscience of time, and no longer rambled when he arrived. He would come up with the most bizarre excuses to get away with it, and at first, you were furious about it, but you found them somewhat adorable now.

You smiled, wondering why you were recalling your moments with Kakashi when you were waiting for your date to come. You bit the inner side of your cheek when you realized your patience was running thin—it reminded you of your silver-haired senpai. Releasing a shaky breath, you calmed yourself down, assuring that you would apologize to the man that it was merely a misunderstanding with your parents that they signed you up for today. You rubbed the surface of the table with your fingers and let your thoughts carried you away at the moment, unconsciously drumming the rhythm of your favorite song—his favorite song that you grew accustomed to after years of the very special silver-haired occupying your day.

“You seem nervous.”

Your head perked at the unexpectedly familiar voice, “Kakashi-senpai?”

The silver-haired settled himself in the opposite seat with ease, “Good morning, Y/N.”

“What are you doing here?” You did not bother to greet him back properly due to the tremendous shock being registered into your system.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to… to,” you came to a halt, fumbling with the hem of your shirt when you found it impossible to continue. It was embarrassing.

“Blind date?” He questioned, quirking a brow.

Your cheeks heated up in modesty, unable to answer his beseech.

“That seems like a yes,” Kakashi leaned back, enjoying your flustered state, “I’m here for a blind date, too.”

“A what?”

“A blind date,” he repeated without failing to lose his composure.

It took you several seconds to comprehend the whole situation, then you shifted in your chair, propping your elbows onto the table to hide your blush, “This is such an… interesting encounter. But I won’t change my mind.”

You were fairly absolute with the plan to turn the whole thing down, despite whoever was your date, despite it being Kakashi Hatake. You did not want to risk the bond that took you so long to form with him and the trust that he enlisted you upon. You could not.

“I also came resolute,” he made a simple, yet down-to-earth statement. Kakashi caught your eyes and challenged, “What do you want to do after a coffee date?”

“No,” you jerked away, “what are you saying? Are you okay, senpai?”

“We’re on a date and you still call me senpai?”

“Look, we’re not going to do this, we can’t, Kakashi,” you tried to explain but to no avail.

The silver-haired smugly smiled, “Good, Kakashi sounds much nicer.”

“I’m not joking,” you cleared your throat and glared at him.

“Neither am I, Y/N. I mean it.”

Your lips fell apart as the coherence in your mind shattered into bits and pieces. Kakashi silently observed the fleeting expressions that you made, waiting for your response.

“I don’t know,” you stuttered. You knew who Kakashi was and the tragedy of your occupation. The two of you did not deserve anyone’s love, for once that you held the chance of breaking their heart. You looked away from his eyes to conceal the wavering of your emotions, “I never thought about life in that way. I don’t need a man in my life, that’s what I’d like to believe. I don’t want anyone to feel battered when I’m gone.”

“I hate it to see those I love cry and mourn, too,” he mumbled. You listened attentively as though it was yourself confessing to the dark. Kakashi continued, “I only live for a certain amount of time but I have been constantly filling it with despair and loneliness. There were things that I want to do and people that I want to love, but because of my fear of hurting them, I didn’t. But after the massive loss that I’ve experienced, everything was different, I understood how painful regret actually is.”

Tears began to well in your eyes the more his words dropped. You balled your fists, blinking profusely to prevent the warm droplets from escaping. Kakashi noticed your quiet sobs, running his fingers over your trembling hands, loosening your grip, and interlacing your fingers with his. You released a heavy sigh and pulled both your hands back, wiping away your tears as quickly as when they fell and dampened the fabric of your jeans.

“You’re not at the bottom of agony when you lose someone important,” Kakashi breathed, “it’s when you feel empty after they’ve left and mourning on what you could’ve done when they were still with you.”

Your sobs eventually assuaged as you chewed on his words. The silver-haired distracted himself by stirring the liquid of his drink, but he was in no state to enjoy its taste. He already said everything he wanted to say, and the decision was now fully on your shoulders. But by your lack of response, he was sure that you did not see your relationship taking another form—the way that he wished. He abruptly stood up from his seat, fleeting on his feet, “Let’s forget about what’s happened. I mean I still respect you as my teammate, Y/N. Don’t forget our meeting tomorrow.”

“No-no, Kakashi-senpai, wait,” you moved, hastily shoving your hands in his direction, gripping his wrist like a vice. You hung your head low to avoid his investigating gaze as you spoke, “I do.”

His gears in his head turned, and Kakashi smiled with satisfaction, “You do what?”

Your heart was beating frantically in your chest, so fast that you felt its rapid pumps in your throat. You stuttered out, voice growing quieter the more you expressed, “I-I want to go out with you, senpai—”

“Drop the ‘senpai’ already,” he playfully hissed and you grinned, certain that you just made the best choice of your life. Kakashi leaned down and rested his chin on your shoulder blade, snuggling his face into your neck, “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for letting me love you.”

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

Taglist: @dai-tsukki-desu @thenightfallingstar @iam-gaaras-loveintrest @animepickle7 @tirzamisu @rinnegankakashi

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Lasting Rivalries.

Word Count: 4.1k

Written for an anonymous commissioner. 

Synopsis: Izuku loves you, but he doesn’t like Katsuki very much. It’s just a shame he can’t separate one feeling from the other. 

TW: Kidnapping, Captivity, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Death, Delusional Mindsets, and Emotional Manipulation. 

[Part One] / [Part Three]

If you thought about it, you could still feel his hands on your skin.

It’d been hours since you were strapped to that bed, hours since he tormented Katsuki and made you suffer and mistook his delusional, crazed jealousy as love, or something close to it, at least. It’s been hours, and yet, if you closed your eyes, you could still feel his heatless touch, the way his skin seemed to leech the warmth from yours and how no amount of time and shivering could bring back what you’d lost. You’d done what you could to rid yourself of the feeling. After he… finished, you’d been too weak to try to run, and he’d been too love-struck to care if you did. As much as you’d wanted to, you hadn’t resisted as he undid your restraints, as he wrapped you in his suit jacket and dragged you - stumbling and reluctant - through the halls of his bunker.

When he brought you to a bedroom, dark and dim but only half as dirty as the room you’d come from, you hadn’t tried to push your way past him as he locked the door and explained that some of his men were untrustworthy, that ‘Kacchan’ might get loose and try to hunt you down, that the locks were for your own good. You’d flinched as he slid the slick, black keycard into the tiny slit, the one that’d keep you trapped here, the one you should be scrambling to find a way to pick, to break, or smash into such an unrepairable state, you and Izuku would both starve in here together. But, you hadn’t, and you’d lost the opportunity to.

There was a cramped, militaristic bathroom attached to the suite, and you’d stood under the rusted shower-head until the boiling water blistered your skin, then went cold, then went freezing, and you had to get out or face the repercussions of hypothermia. It’d been uncomfortable, it’d been painful, but it’d been a cleansing pain, the kind that cleared your head and made it a little easier to process the world around you, to differentiate what was happening now to what was already over, what you couldn’t change. What had left you sore and bruised and aching, but what you’d survived, and what you would get past, eventually. You’d get back to Katsuki, and then--

Oh, god. 

Katsuki.

You’d been moved to another bedroom, but if Izuku had any intention of doing anything his less-favored captive, you hadn’t been able to tell. No, he’d been left bound and muzzled to rot in his own affliction, and if Izuku’s aggressive apathy was sincere, you doubted he’d be treated with much kindness, going forward. It felt wrong thinking about your boyfriend like that, a victim who needed to be saved, someone who needed to be helped rather than the guiding hand you’d always known him as. He was a hero, and you weren’t. He was strong, and in so, so many ways, you couldn’t be. But, he couldn’t do anything heroic while he was restrained from wrist to ankle, so it was beginning to seem like you might have to be--

“Darling, are you alright?”

You stiffed as soon as you heard his voice, going rigid and scrambling for a weapon, a shield, something to defend yourself, but Izuku was already opening the bathroom door, stepping in before you had a chance to make a move. You could only be glad you’d already pulled on the clothes he was generous enough to provide, even if one of his white button-down shirts did little to separate you from his prying gaze. But, you doubted he’d be able to give you anything sturdy enough to block that out.

His expression softened when he saw you, his eyes lighting up with the faint, flickering glow he hadn’t bothered to hide when you first woke up, in his captivity. You tried to scowl, attempting to glare at the barren floor as imposingly as you could manage, but it couldn’t have been very effective. Izuku didn’t hesitate to approach you, to come too close, to think too little, only stopping when he was directly in front of you, one hand cupping your cheek and the other coming to rest on your arm, drawing circles in your bicep as if you were a scared animal that needed to be soothed. You supposed you were. Despite your budding plans, you couldn’t help but shiver so violently whenever he was near enough to meet your eyes, let alone put his hands on you.

He didn’t try to deny it. “Poor baby… You’re still scared, aren’t you?” A small, patronizing smile painted itself across his face, just barely pulling at the corners of his lips. You didn’t nod, didn’t try to answer, but he didn’t seem to need you to, either. With a quiet hum, he continued, speaking more to his paranoia than to yours. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re with me, now, and Kacchan’s going to be taken care of.” There was a pause, a playful wink. As if you should be proud you’d been important enough to earn a few hours of his time. “I’m won’t let anything bad happen to you. Certainly not by his hand, not again.”

You flinched at the mention of Katsuki, and this time, you were thankful that Izuku wasn’t paying attention to you. Not enough to care about such a small show of displeasure, at least. “You’ll take care of him?” You asked, hesitantly, still unsure how far you wanted to push his boundaries. “What do you mean? How long are you going to keep us here?”

“How long am I going to keep you here,” He corrected, softly, just beginning to tilt your head back. He let out a soft chuckle, as if the statement was a joke he’d been telling himself far too long for it to be truly, genuinely funny. “Just you. He’ll be lucky to make it through the night.”

You should’ve expected that. You knew it was going to happen. You knew Izuku had to be planning something for Katsuki, something violent and something inpermanent.

You should’ve expected that, but it still felt so awful to hear.

Now more than ever, you should’ve tried to stay calm. You should’ve been composed, and you should’ve accepted the development with a purse of your lips and strategic silence, the kind that’d mean anything Izuku wanted it to mean. But, he’d just threaten someone’s life, he’d just threatened your boyfriend’s life, and he should’ve counted him lucky you only got mad. It took every ounce of your self-restraint not to lunge at him, consequences be damned. “You can’t do that. You went through the effort of getting both of us, you can’t just--”

“I can do anything I want to.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it the kind of arrogant declaration made by someone with too much power for it not to go to his head. It was a truth, a fact. Or, Izuku thought it was, at least. “He’s been a thorn in my side for decades, and I’ve been much too sentimental when it comes to removing him. He’s a disgrace to the world of Heroes. He’s a disgrace to the world. I can’t justify giving him another chance to root himself under my skin.” A sigh, a languid shake of his head. He let go of your cheek, but having him take up your wrists and press your hands against his chest was only a minor improvement. “If he gets free, he won’t stop until I’m dead and you’re locked away somewhere so deep and somewhere so dark, you’ll be lucky to ever see sunlight again. I love you too much to risk losing you, but I promise, I’ll never be half as mean as Kacchan. If someone ever tried to take you away from me, I wouldn’t stop until their head was mounted in my office.”

“If you lay a finger on him,” You spat, fighting the urge not to pull away from him. “I’ll never think of you as anything but a monster--”

You didn’t get a chance to finish. This time, he didn’t let your little show of rebellion slide. Still, you heard the blow before you felt it - a sharp, sterile crack of skin against skin, and then the burning, the flare of heat, a spark that ignited everything from your jaw to the bridge of your nose. It took you a moment to process what he’d done. A moment too long, for such a simplistic offense.

He’d slapped you.

He’d slapped you.

It was so straight-forward, so impulsive, you weren’t sure whether to be angry or afraid or something between, something darker than either emotion could fully cover. He hadn’t hurt you yet, not in a way that’d be so difficult to hide behind a half-hearted justification and an excuse about love or protection or something lovely and rotten. You weren’t sure whether that made it better or worse. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

Izuku didn’t seem sure either, if you were being honest. As soon as you moved to nurse your bruising cheek, he was on top of you, one of his arms draped around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest, leaving his free hand to card through your hair and flit around the edges of your minor injury, a worried scowl pulling at the edges of his lips. But, Izuku didn’t move to apologize, only attempting to open his mouth before whatever he was going to stay was muted by a grimace - obviously horrified, but far from regretful. When he finally broke the silence, his stance didn’t seem to change. Disappointed, but not shocked. Distressed, but resolute, at the same time.

“I.. I shouldn’t have done that,” He admitted, his posture straightening defensively. He pulled away, slightly, scanning over your face. As if he hadn’t already done so much more to harm you. “You just… you have to understand that this is for your own good, (Y/n). You’re going to be happy with me, I want you to be happy, but you’re going to have to let go of that stain, first. This is what he does to people.” There was a pause, a shake of his head, and slowly, he fell away from you, taking a step back when you failed to react. “He drives them apart. He makes people hate each other. You can’t trust anything he says. Bringing him back to my hideout was a mistake, I should’ve killed him in his sleep - clearly, he’s already worked himself into your brain.” Izuku bowed his head. It was the closest he’d come to showing his remorse, and you had a feeling it was the closest he would come. “I should’ve taken care of this sooner. I shouldn’t have drawn it out. I’m going to take care of it, I will take care of it. I’m not going to let him do anymore damage, not when you’re at stake.”

He turned, starting towards the bathroom door without another word. You didn’t think, you didn’t give yourself time to. You weren’t sure you’d be able to stop yourself from faltering, if you did.

Frantically, you stumbled forward, grabbing Izuku’s forearm and taking him by the sleeve, dragging him back towards you. Acidic bile rose in your throat at the thought of giving him what he wanted, but that didn’t stop you from clenching your eyes shut and forcing out the words, regardless of how much they burnt at your tongue. “Midoriya,” You mumbled, fighting not to stutter over such a simple sentiment. “I don’t think I can… I might not be able to… Could you---Could you stay?” Your grip tightened around his wrist, your nails digging into cloth and the thin, pale skin underneath. If Izuku cared, though he didn’t pull away, and you took that as a cue to keep going. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep, alone.”

The declaration was too hasty, too sudden, too flat and too desperate, but Izuku’s eyes still lit up, whatever skepticism he might’ve felt fading into a broad, careless smile. As enamoured as it was entrapping.

“Of course, sweetheart. All you had to do was ask.”

~

Izuku slept. You didn’t.

You doubted you’d be able to. Even when you tried to relax, when you tried to close your eyes and put on a convincing act, you could never get further than curling into yourself and willing Izuku not to notice the way you trembled despite the humid air, how easy it was to make you shy away despite his touch being relatively innocent, considering what he’d proved himself to be capable of. He’d rambled on about he’d always be there for you, rambling off threats and the mutilations he’d be willing to commit in your name like bedtime stories, but for all his vows of protection and security, he’d been quick to fall silent as soon as he realized you weren’t contradicting him, anymore, his body limp and still half-slouched against your side. His weight was oppressive, and you doubted any amount of rest would aid the dark-bags dyed into the skin under his eyes, but it was fine, it was perfect. If anything, you should be glad he was so exhausted.

It would be easier to pick his pockets, when he was asleep.

It wasn’t a difficult task, something you’d done a dozen different times with drunk friends you thought you could trust with your keys, but you still froze in place every time he made a sound, even as your fingers slipped into his left pocket, the one you’d been staring down since he first showed you this shiny new cage. You went still as he let out a groan, stiffening as he burrowed himself deeper into your shoulder, but you knew you’d get what you want as soon as your fingers brushed against that warm, metallic shape. The key to the rest of his bunker, the key to getting out of here.

The keycard.

Your keycard, now.

Repositioning Izuku to lay against the headboard as gently as you could, you slipped off the cot, your bare feet hitting the pavement floor silently as you found the exit and pushed your prize into its designated slot, your hands steady for the first time that night. There was a small, high-pitched ping, but Izuku didn’t stir, didn’t wake up. You could only hope you’d be out of his reach, by the time he did.

The halls of his bunker were surprisingly empty, considering how expansive Izuku’s organization was supposed to be, but that didn’t stop you from pausing at every turn, holding your breath whenever you heard the sound of another voice, doing your best to imitate the way trained Heroes were supposed to move, when they didn’t get caught. You couldn’t be sure where Katsuki was being kept, hell, you barely knew which direction you should be going in, but there wasn’t much you could do, not beyond picking a hall and hoping it didn’t lead you into the stronghold of Izuku’s labyrinth. You had to be quiet, but fast. You had to be stealthy, but effective. You had to be so, so many things, but…

Apparently you couldn’t be any of those things.

As you moved to round another corner, your back pressed against the wall and heart struggling not to beat any louder than it had to, something latched onto your shoulder, jerking you backward as a hand shot out, sealing itself over your mouth as you haulted, caught between the reflex to scream and the awareness that you shouldn’t attract more attention than you absolutely had to. As a compromise, you didn’t make noise, but you struggled, thrashing and kicking and throwing your elbow into your assailant’s chest, but all your efforts earned were a tightened grip and a soft grunt, throaty but muffled, not meant to be heard.

“Really, babe?” He asked, his voice just as quiet as his sounds of discomfort. “I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

It took you a second too long to recognize that voice, much lower and much drier than the endearing arrogance you’d grown fond of. The voice you only heard while you were sitting in uncomfortable, plastic chairs beside hospital beds, on the scenes of attacks where the dust had already settled and the medics has long-since finished doing what they could. It meant exhaustion, it meant injury, it meant dehydration and desolation and suffering, but god, were you glad to hear it.

You didn’t even try to hold yourself up, not after you realized how many times you’d fallen into the pair of arms wrapped around you. No, you just went slack, letting a grimy, blood, glorious Katsuki support you as you went slack. It might’ve been the relief. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since the last time you’d seen him, but you'd been so, so worried, and just knowing he was still alive seemed to make all the difference in the world. It might’ve been the stress, the adrenaline, you didn’t think you really cared, not as long as you could twist around and wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his chest as he pulled you closer, entangling his fingers in your hair and pushing a soft, lingering kiss into the top of your head, his touch so much less preformative than Izuku’s, so much more loving. You wanted to melt into it. You wanted to attach yourself to him and never, ever leave his side again. You wanted him to hold you, and you didn’t want anyone to rip him away again.

But, he was already moving back, taking you by the waist and scanning over you, looking for signs of further abuse. “What happened? Did he hurt you--”

“What happened to you?” It was all you could do not to yell, not to scream. You’d been assaulted, but he’d been cornered, he’d almost been killed. “Midoriya was going to… He made it sound like you were already half-way dead. I thought he was going to get to you before I did.”

“With the weak-ass lackeys he sent to do it? Those motherfuckers couldn’t put a scratch on me, not once the kiddie-gloves came off,” He scoffed, smirking confidently, if only to calm you down. You doubted there hadn’t been a fight, there was always a fight with Katsuki, but if he could brag about it, he could pretend things were fine for a few more minutes, long enough to run and make you think everything would be alright, too. “If Deku could kill me, he would’ve done it by now. You’ve got nothing to worry about, not when it comes to me.”

For the first time since you’d escaped from Izuku’s hold, you let yourself exhale, rigid tension melting off in waves. “Promise?

His grip loosened, but any hope you might’ve lost was quickly restored as his hands fell, taking up yours and squeezing lightly. “I promise.”

There might’ve been another hug, another kiss. There might’ve been one, or their might’ve been many, if you had another minute, another second, another moment. But, all too suddenly, all too realistically, Izuku or some force under his control was determined to separate you, this time in the form of flashing blue lights and sirens so loud, you could hardly hear Katsuki curse as he took up your wrist and started running.

You hadn’t known where to go, but Katsuki seemed to. Whether it was through luck, overheard information, or blind inhibition, he found his way to the exit, or, rather, what you had to assume was supposed to be the exit. You must’ve been underground, because the only way out seemed to be a thin, utilitisic staircase, wide enough for one person and so steep, a ladder might’ve been a more practical choice. The climb wasn’t what concerned you, though, you’d scale a mountain if it meant getting a little further from Izuku, but it didn’t seem like that was a choice you’d get to make.

You should’ve expected it. You should’ve seen it coming as soon as the bunker went into lock down, as soon as you’d been naive enough to leave Izuku alone without slitting his throat, first. It made sense. You hated it, but it made sense.

You wouldn’t make it through, because faster than you could run, a thick metal sheet was sprouting from either side of the doorway, nearly blocking your only way out.

You wouldn’t make it.

But, Katsuki could.

He moved the same time you did, scrambling to get a grip on your forearm as you pulled yourself free of his hold, barely bothering to work your way behind him before you shoved Katsuki through the narrow exit, forcing him through the small gap before he could process what you were doing. He might’ve yelled, might’ve tried to clamber his way back to you, but any sound was cut off by the make-shift door sliding into place. Even if any of his curses or rants or screams made it through the barrier, you wouldn’t have been able to hear them. Before you could think to run, before you could think to do anything, something sleek and smooth and strong wrapped around your neck, slamming your back into the nearest wall. A leather glove, as familiar as it was fatal.

You didn’t have to look to know it was Izuku.

You didn't have to, but it wasn’t like he was ever going to give you a choice.

“Congratulations,” He growled, the back of his hand pushing into the bottom of your chin, forcing your head back and keeping your eyes level with his, frozen terror forced to stand on the same ground as swirling, spiraling rage, a lightless flame that burnt at the edges of your vision and made your entire body feel cold. “You saved your boyfriend for a whole three seconds. What makes you think I can’t just send someone after him while I break every single one of your kleptomanic little fingers.”

You swallowed, but you didn’t hesitate. You knew what you were going to say. “You won’t.”

He grit his teeth. “And why’s that, angel?”

“Because if you do,” You started, letting your focus drop to the scuffed cement at your feet. “I’ll never stop hating you.”

There was a disgruntled frown, a move to pull away, but you were the one to cling to him, this time, to throw yourself into his chest and pray he didn’t notice how badly your shoulders were shaking, how much you didn’t want to go on. But, you had to. He’d kill Katsuki, if you didn’t. He might’ve killed you, if you didn’t. “Please, please, just let him go! Do this for me, and I swear, I’ll stay with you.” Izuku stopped, but he didn’t pry you off of him. You took that as a silent cue to continue, to grovel for all your life was worth. “I won’t try to run. I won’t try to fight. I won’t even talk back. You can have me, but you need to let Katsuki go.”

Despite your desperation, Izuku didn’t seem convinced. His fist balled around the collar of your shirt as he tossed a glance over his shoulder, signaling to one of his associates out of the group forming behind him -  a brunette on the shorter side, one who looked like she’d just rolled out of bed to run to Izuku’s aid. “Uraraka, get me their file. There could be a quirk--”

“There isn’t.” It was an instinctive correction, albeit one that burnt at the tip of your tongue as you choked it out. “I mean, you shouldn’t bother. I’m… I’m quirkless.”

There was a pause, a recalculation, and for the second time that day, you saw Izuku’s mind work to twist around a piece of new information, his expression softening as he rearranged formless parts into a more suitable, more agreeable whole. One he could accept, one that let him be angry with Katsuki rather than you. It was revolting. It was sickening. It was pathetic, but you didn’t try to push him away as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and burying his face in your hair, insecurities boiling the surface in tandem with the jagged, ugly shapes his delusions were so eager to take on. “Poor baby,” He sighed, the words almost lost to the airiness of his voice. “No wonder you needed to get Kacchan as far as possible, I wouldn’t be able to rest if I was in your position, either. You should’ve said something sooner, I would’ve been able to help.”

He continued to fuss, continued to lament your shared limitations as he pulled you through the forming crowd, but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything but how his skin burnt where it touched yours. You wanted to pull away. You didn’t want to let him touch you, you didn’t want to let him pretend he cared about you, but you didn’t. You wouldn’t.

All you could do was bite your tongue and hope Izuku loved you more than he hated Katsuki.

[cakesunflower]

Reach For You [Dad!Calum AU] Ch. 18

A/N: so sorry for the......6 month wait omg. hope y’all missed Aspen, Calum, and Luna as much as i did. yeeeee happy reading!

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

Chapter 18

“IT’S LIKE PULLING teeth, trying to get them to talk,” Mali whispered, leaning towards Aspen as she spoke, eyes on the scene in front of her rather than on the wine glass she was cleaning with a dish towel. “It’s painful to watch.”

Aspen’s throat worked. She could only see Calum’s profile from where she was standing, his dark eyes set on the television as it played Home Alone. He sat on the single lounge chair, while his mom sat on the smaller couch opposite of him and his dad and Luna occupied the other couch opposite of the TV. The two of them seemed to be in their own world, Luna having gotten along with her grandpa exceedingly well, talking amongst themselves about the movie. Calum was pretending to pay attention to the movie, while Joy was pretending not to be staring over at him occasionally.

That’s how dinner had gone. It was awkward and seemed to drag on forever, but at least Aspen had Mali on her side, the two of them making up for Calum’s silence at the table. It wasn’t like he didn’t speak at all, dropped a sentence or two here and there, but he didn’t directly speak to his parents. Well, at least not to his mom, anyway. He was still upset with his dad by association, but the true object of his anger was Joy, and he wasn’t too subtle about it either.

Not even the pretty Christmas lights they’d decorated the apartment with could bring a sense of tranquility and joy. Not to this group, anyway.

Aspen would be exasperated by his lack of trying if all of this wasn’t her doing to begin with. She called his parents behind his back. She’s the one who invited them for Christmas dinner and ambushed Calum with it. Shit, what had she been thinking?

The sound of Luna’s giggles broke through Aspen’s thoughts, and she felt herself relax a little bit. At least she could count on her daughter to lighten the mood.

“I don’t know what to do,” Aspen responded to Mali quietly, gripping the bottle of wine. She was ready to down the whole thing by herself. With a disgruntled hand running through her hair, Aspen added, “This was a terrible idea.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Mali disagreed, wiping the last glass. “You’re just trying to save Cal’s relationship with our parents, like any caring partner would want to do. It’s not your fault they’re being stubborn about this.”

Aspen wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, but—” She sighed, eyebrows drawing together in distress, looking towards the living room before her gaze met Mali’s again. In a quiet voice, she added, “I knew he wasn’t ready to move forward and I pushed him anyway. I didn’t—” Aspen paused, frowning as her gaze dropped to the counter, twisting her lips as the guilt started creeping through her veins. “I didn’t give him enough time to be angry—”

“He needs to let that anger out before it becomes too much,” Mali told her. “He needs to say his piece and try to move on. What’s done is done and no one can change the past, no matter how much we all want to, and the sooner Calum accepts it, the sooner he’ll feel that burden lift from his shoulders.”

Aspen took a breath, processing Mali’s words. She was still afraid of pushing Calum, not wanting to push him too far and have him be upset with her again—truthfully, she wasn’t even sure if they were okay from the last time they argued about the very situation. Ever since the arrival of his parents, he’s been in an off mood, which Aspen had expected, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed with his lack of trying after he said he would try. She knew she was at fault for springing all of this on him, knew that if he didn’t hold up his end of the promise then she couldn’t entirely blame him. Still, the dismay was present when all throughout dinner Calum didn’t really make conversation, didn’t engage if it wasn’t with her or his sister or Luna.

Before Aspen could say anything to Mali, Joy’s voice sounded from the living room. “I think it’s time we get going; it’s getting late.”

“No.” Aspen didn’t realize it was she who had protested Joy’s statement until all eyes were on her. Though, all Aspen could feel were Joy’s surprised ones and Calum’s irritated ones as he looked at her over his shoulder. Taking a breath, Aspen offered an encouraging smile. “We haven’t had dessert yet and I was just about to open the wine. Please stay, at least for a little bit.”

She figured, in that moment, she didn’t really want Calum’s parents to leave until at least there was some kind of step forward made. Was she pushing it? Maybe.

“We can’t force ’em if they wanna go, Aspen.” Her eyes met Calum’s dark ones, noted the silent way he told her to just let it go. To let them leave. There was a hint of edge present in the undertones of his casual voice, and Aspen fought from rolling her eyes because she knew he could’ve pretended harder if he wanted to.

“Noooo, I want Grandma and Grandpa to stay!” Luna whined, sitting up on the couch with a frown and pout on her face. Looking at Joy with a puppy dog look the five year old had terrifyingly mastered already, Luna begged, “Please stay! There’s cake and cookies.” Looking at David, she added, “Home Alone isn’t done yet.”

“Lunes,” Calum started, tone genuinely becoming soft as he addressed his daughter. “It might start snowing soon and they can’t be on the road when it does.”

Mali and Aspen both exchanged flat expressions at the lie. It wasn’t going to snow, Aspen knew for a fact, and Calum lying to Luna about it just so she’d possibly drop the subject was ridiculous. So with a lick of her lips and trying to keep her tone even, Aspen said, “Hey, Cal, can I talk to you for a second?”

His gaze met hers once again, the tension in the room returning as she nodded towards the hallway. She noted the way his throat worked in annoyance before pushing himself to his feet, and Aspen shot everyone else a quick reassuring grin as she walked out of the kitchen. They went to Calum’s bedroom and Aspen felt his presence behind her looming as they reached the room, and she shut the door behind her before turning to face him.

Together, both of them demanded simultaneously, “What the hell are you doing?”

Calum exhaled forcefully as Aspen’s eyebrows shot up. “Me? I’m trying to salvage your relationship with your parents.”

He shook his head, jaw tight before retorting, “That’s not your concern, Aspen.”

“We’re partners, Calum, so yeah, it is.”

She saw the anger flash across his face, accompanied by a sense of hurt she hadn’t expected as Calum returned, the edge back in his voice, “If we’re partners then you should be on my fuckin’ side!”

Aspen blinked on an expression of incredulity, lips parting as she inhaled a surprised breath at Calum’s accusation. There was a brief numb silence in the space of the room before Aspen’s brain caught up with her. “I am on your side, Calum,” she exclaimed, fighting to keep her voice low enough so it didn’t travel to the living room where everyone else was. But it was hard to keep her voice from raising with the surprise Calum’s accusation brought. For him to think she wasn’t with him was upsetting and insulting. “I just—I want you to say what you need to say to them and try to move past this.”

Calum gave a shake of his head, slow and defeated. “There’s nothing left to say, Aspen,” he said, voice lower yet still carrying that same level of intensity. He licked his lips as his dark eyes flickered past her and towards the door, thinking of who was currently in his living room, and he expelled a breath. Looking back at Aspen, he continued, “I’ve already said how pissed and upset I am. I’ve told her how she’s fucked up and she’s apologized and I don’t know where we go from here.”

Her heart bled for Calum and the pain he still so obviously was in, attempting to hide it behind anger and stubbornness. But she knew Calum, and as much as it hurt to see him hurt, to see how difficult it was for him to have his parents here, Aspen knew for a fact that he wouldn’t truly feel better until all of this was done with. Calum had always been so close with his parents, was a family oriented man that could be seen in his relationship with Luna, and to see his relationship with his parents crumbled into dust was heartbreaking.

Forgiving Joy wasn’t something Aspen ever thought she was capable of. For the longest time, she hated the woman for everything that happened. But holding onto those kind of strong, negative emotions wasn’t doing her any good. It was only weighing Aspen down, sometimes suffocating her, and it wasn’t until things with Calum had been mended and she finally decided to forgive his mom that Aspen could feel completely okay again. And it was no secret her accident played a big part in Aspen wanting things for Calum to be alright, too. Life was too short to remain under a dark cloud of anger.

“You move forward, bub,” Aspen told him, her own tone growing soft as she took a step towards him, green eyes never leaving his brown. “We can’t change what happened, but we can change how we go from here. I know how much it hurts you to not have your parents, your mom, in your life like you used to. I—”

“I have you and Luna,” Calum cut in, eyebrows drawing together in a subtle frown.

Aspen pressed her lips together into a kind, genuine smile. “You do,” she agreed with a nod. Calum’s throat worked as Aspen looked at him, and she felt herself take a breath. Her shoulders sank in acceptance, her hand finding his. A warmth spread through Aspen as he looked down at their joined hands, maneuvering his fingers to interlock with hers, the sensation of his cool rings one she never tired of. “And if you genuinely feel. . . Complete. . . with us—which is totally and utterly fine—then I will go back into the living room and tell your parents goodnight.”

Calum blinked a couple of times at her words, taking a breath as he lifted his chin, eyes never leaving Aspen’s. She didn’t look away, either, wanting him to know that she genuinely meant it. Sure, Aspen wanted Calum to make amends with his parents, and maybe it was a little too late to realize, but she shouldn’t have pushed him on the matter. She understood why he’d been so pissed off when she told him she’d invited his parents, understood that she’d crossed a line. If Calum genuinely did not want to engage with his parents, if he was content with not restoring a relationship, then Aspen would support him. She couldn’t force him more than she already had, not if she wanted to fuck up their relationship.

Supporting Calum was all that mattered.

“You would?”

Aspen’s smile softened, squeezing his hand, taking yet another step towards him. Her heart thudded within her chest at the look he gave her, uncharacteristically shy and looking so small, and it only reminded Aspen of how difficult this was for him. She nodded. “If that’s what you want, then yeah.”

He was silent as he considered her words, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as he chewed at it thoughtfully. She let him have his time, let him carefully think about what he wanted their next move to be. It concerned all of them, but this was Calum’s decision to ultimately make. Aspen felt badly about taking the choice away from him in the first place, and the least she could do was be by his side and support whatever he chose.

She watched the muscles in his jaw tighten, her eyebrows drawing together worriedly as he squeezed his eyes shut, head lowered as he shook it. Through gritted teeth, Calum confessed, “I want to move on but I just. . . I don’t know how.”

Aspen’s free hand lifted to cup his cheek, lifting his head to connect their gazes once again after he opened his eyes. She offered him a sweet smile. “We can figure it out together.”

They entered the living room, the credits for the movie on TV now rolling, everyone’s eyes on Calum and Aspen as they walked back in. Expectant expressions were painted across all of their faces, and Aspen took a breath before smiling at her daughter. “Hey, Lunes, why don’t you go show Aunt Mali all the presents you got, huh?”

The five year old grinned, jumping off from the couch with Duke hot on her heels as she ran over to where Mali stood, grabbing her aunt’s hand as she tugged. “Come on, Aunt Mali!”

The blonde grinned happily, letting her niece pull her along as her dark eyes met Calum and Aspen’s briefly. She understood the need to get Luna out of the room, happy to comply as she silently agreed to keep the little girl occupied.

An anticipating silence fell upon the room as Luna’s giggles soon silenced behind the closed door of her bedroom. Joy and David watched them patiently, and Aspen glanced at Calum in time to watch him take a breath before gesturing to the couches. “We should, uh, sit down, I guess.”

His parents shuffled around the coffee table, settling on the smaller couch against the wall as Aspen followed Calum to the one diagonal of them. It was silent in the room save for the ever so subtle thick clinking of the chains Calum wore, disappearing under the neckline of his full sleeved dark red sweater. He ran his fingers through his curls, ruffling the shaggy dark locks before he interlaced his fingers together. Calum bowed his head, lips parting as he ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip, running the words through his head before he finally spoke.

“I’ve told you how I feel. . . And I know how sorry you are.” His words were slow, careful, not meeting anyone’s eyes as he uttered them. Aspen watched him, knowing he was thinking while he spoke, making sure whatever was running through his mind, whatever he was feeling in his heart, was properly articulated. “I just don’t know where we go from here—how we find. . . A sense of normalcy in all this.”

“We find it slowly, son,” David spoke up, his voice a wave of smooth calmness as he looked at Calum. He glanced at Joy before looking back at his son, adding, “This won’t be an overnight thing, we understand that. Still, we would. . .” David let out a soft sigh, his hand finding Joy’s before nodding at Calum. “We would like to try and earn back your trust.” His eyes met Aspen’s. “Both of yours.”

“That’s—” Calum breathed out with a shake of his head, wringing his fingers together as he let out a forced chuckle. Aspen pressed her teeth together as she watched him, wanting to jump in with something. Anything. But Calum needed to do this. So she resorted to resting a hand on his knee, a comforting act of encouragement. “That’s not goin’ to be easy.” Calum looked up, looked at his parents, expression a mixture of the conflict he was fighting and tiredness from it all. “You gave me everything I could’ve asked for, but took away the family I never knew I had.” Twisting his lips, Calum added, “Trust and forgiveness, that’s gonna take some time.”

Joy nodded, looking desperate for some kind of relief, some kind of step forward they all were in search for. “There’s no rush,” she assured with a somewhat nervous smile. She looked between both Calum and Aspen, and even though this was about her boyfriend getting back on the right path with his parents, Aspen was appreciative of Joy and David making her feel included in this. Her and Calum were partners; she was glad his parents saw it, too. “Take all of the time you need. Whatever you think is best for your family, it’s how we’ll deal with this, okay?”

Aspen watched as Calum rolled his lips into his mouth, considering their words. She knew that Calum, just like her, was taking note of how Joy and David were giving them the power, a vast difference from the part they’d played in when it came to the situation that led to all of this in the first place. They were in total control over what was to happen, how they were going to move from here, and the importance of that wasn’t lost on Aspen or Calum. They had basically been kids when they’d unknowingly gotten into this mess with his parents; now they were adults, with a daughter to think about and a family they had no intention of ever losing. They were finally in control, just like they should’ve been since the beginning.

Calum nodded, biting the inside of his lower lip as he sat up, shoulders straight. He sniffed, rubbing under his nose with a finger as he looked at his parents once more. Then his gaze shifted over to Aspen, his expression softening once his brown eyes met her encouraging green. A small smile tilted at his lips, hand coming to rest on top of hers that was on his knee. He took a breath, decided and sure. “Baby steps.”

She nodded along, mirroring his smile, turning her hand under his to properly hold his hand. “Yeah,” she agreed, returning the meaningful look he cast her way before shifting her gaze to his parents. “I’m sure we’ll figure this out.”

For the next hour or so, they brought Luna and Mali back out before they divulged into the wine and desserts Aspen had promised. The shift in the air was noticeable, the tension from before having dissipated significantly. Aspen sipped her wine, watching Calum finally be at ease for the first time since his parents’ arrival, Luna sitting on his lap as he held a plate with a slice of chocolate cake, feeding both himself and her. Mali had decided on playing some music, finding a Christmas playlist on Spotify, to keep the light mood in the air. Aspen figured she was maybe worried that lack of it would bring back the tension from before. Aspen found the gesture cute—and probably needed.

Joy and David didn’t leave until everything was cleared out, both Joy and Mali insisting on helping out in the kitchen to put away the dirty dishes and put the leftovers in the fridge. When it was time for Calum’s parents and sister to head out to their hotel, they all gathered by the door, Luna insisting on hugging her grandparents and aunt goodbye. As Mali pulled Aspen in for a hug, she rubbed her back before whispering, “Good job.”

Aspen let out a quiet, breathless chuckle at that, Mali grinning as they pulled away, the two of them sharing a pointed look. And then Joy stepped up in front of Aspen, bringing her a step away from everyone else, and Aspen still felt a prickle of surprise when Joy took her hand in hers and squeezed. “Thank you,” the older woman whispered, the sincerity crystal clear in her eyes. “It means a lot that you invited us. And it shows just how much you care about Calum.” A sadness swept over Joy’s face as she gave a regretful shake of her head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it before.”

Throat working, Aspen felt her heart stop for a brief moment at Joy’s apology, taking a breath. The sense of relief was only growing at this point. “I know you are,” Aspen nodded, offering a kind smile. “Thank you for coming.”

Luna ended up in her arms after hugging her grandfather goodbye, and Aspen rubbed at the little girl’s back as Luna rested her head in the crook of her neck, tired after the day’s festivities. She gently swayed her, the movement subtle yet still soothing Luna, as she watched Calum bid his mom goodnight.

“Our flight isn’t until seven tomorrow night,” Joy was saying to Calum. Aspen watched them, trying and failing not to do so, noting how small Calum’s mother looked in front of him. Not just because of their physical height difference; she took in the way Joy, a woman she’d always known to be assertive and bold in her own right, seemed to fold into herself. She hugged herself, as if she was protecting herself from any oncoming rejection, totally uncharacteristic and Aspen understood why as Joy added, “Would it be alright to see you before we go?”

She spoke with trepidation, not wanting to push her luck after only just beginning the process of making amends. Aspen watched on as Calum looked at his mother for what seemed like minutes that stretched on forever, until he finally answered with a single nod, “Yeah.”

Joy smiled in return, shoulders sinking in relief, as the goodbyes and goodnights came to a close, Calum’s parents and sister leaving with smiles and waves as they closed the door behind them. Calum let out a sigh as he locked it, the night coming to an end, turning around just in time for Aspen to whisper, “Hey, you wanna put her to bed? I’m gonna clean up the living room.”

Calum nodded, gaze shifting to a near slumbering Luna, as he stepped forward and reached for his daughter. Luna easily shifted from her mother to her father, arms lazily going around Calum’s neck as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. He felt and heard her take a breath before snuggling closer to him, and it easily brought a gentle smile to his face as he walked down the apartment and towards her bedroom.

He settled her down on the bed, switching on the bedside lamp that provided for a dull glow as opposed to the harsh brightness of the ceiling light. Calum brushed some dark curls out of Luna’s face as she sleepily smacked her lips together, and he suppressed a fond chuckle as he made his way over to the dresser to get her pajamas out. He sat down on the edge of the bed, murmuring quiet encouragements to the little girl who was seconds away from completely falling asleep as he changed her into her pajamas.

But just as Calum laid her upper half back down after putting on her shirt, thinking she was already mostly asleep, Luna spoke up. “I had fun today.” She spoke in a slow, tired drawl, a bit of a wistful hum in her voice as Calum settled her blankets over her.

He sat right next to her on the edge of the bed, hands on either side of her as he looked down to see her dark eyes blinking open. Calum smiled at the sight of her; for her to be this tired, he knew she did have fun. Despite his own issues, Calum had seen, much at the expense of his tightening jaw, that Luna had been enjoying her time with Mali and their parents. Calum hadn’t made for a much pleasant host to his parents, but Luna made up for it with a newfound excitement towards them. A childlike thrill that had, for the most part, put everyone at ease. “Yeah?” Calum mused, smiling down at her teasingly. “You liked all your presents?” They may or may not have spoiled her—Calum more so than anyone else; his first Christmas with his daughter had proven to be his favorite despite the initially unwanted presence of his parents.

“Mhm,” Luna responded, pulling the blanket up to her chin as her brown eyes met Calum’s. “I like Grandma and Grandpa, too.”

Something tightened in Calum’s chest at that, not entirely sure if it was a good or bad feeling as he heard Luna’s words. He’d been struggling with his emotions ever since his parents had arrived, knowing he hadn’t done a good job in keeping his promise to Aspen in trying to be civil. To actually try. But it hadn’t been too bad towards the end. They had made some progress, as much as they could tonight, and Calum had even agreed to see them again tomorrow before they left. That was more than he’d expected to do. And even though he’d been upset with Aspen over inviting his parents without even telling him, Calum knew his anger had dissipated at this point. Not entirely gone, of course, but slowly crumbling away. Slowly.

Calum took a breath before smiling, finger brushing away a stray curl from her face, brushing along her cute, soft little cheek. “They like you, too,” he told her truthfully. Because they did. He could tell. He wouldn’t agree to seeing them tomorrow if they didn’t. “Come on, bug, get some sleep.”

Luna hummed, giggling ever so softly as Calum leaned down and gave her a sweet kiss. He bid her goodnight after switching off the lamp and turning on her nightlight, leaving the door just slightly aja before stepping out into the hallway. He glanced in the direction of the living room, realizing all of the lights were off and that Aspen was probably back in the bedroom.

He walked in, shutting the door behind him just as Aspen emerged from the bathroom. Her makeup was already off, changed into her pajamas, which only consisted of sleep shorts and one of his shirts, and she offered a small smile as he took in the sight of her. “Hey,” she greeted softly. She nodded towards the door. “She’s down?”

Calum nodded, pushing himself off the door. “Out like a light,” he confirmed.

Aspen smiled, running her fingers through her hair. “Good, that’s good.” Licking her lips, her smile turned a bit shy, and she added, “I, uh, have something for you. One more gift.”

Calum blinked, fighting the urge to laugh because of how similar they were. He watched as she walked towards her bedside before his gaze shifted towards his own bedside, more specifically, under the bed where he’d hidden his last gift for Aspen. They’d exchanged presents in the morning, of course. Gifts they’d bought one another by knowing the other’s likes, gifts they’d both loved. He was gonna give her the last gift before bed, but looked like she had beat him to the punch.

Calum approached the bed as Aspen climbed onto it on her knees, him doing the same on his side, eyes going to the very familiar book he’d seen in her apartment. It was Luna’s baby book, and Calum’s eyebrows furrowed together as she held it out to him, slowly taking it from her but not before shooting her a confused look.

Aspen let out a breathless chuckle, rubbing her hands down her sides as she said, “Just look inside. I, uh, added some more pages.”

His eyebrows raised at that, settling back on his legs as he opened the book. He’d seen the familiar pages, all of Luna’s firsts and the pictures that went along with those moments, until he got to the pages that were definitely new. Calum could feel Aspen watching along in anticipation, in nervousness, except all he could focus on was the pages he was looking at and the tightness of his throat.

There were pictures added in there that Calum knew about, and some he didn’t know anyone—Aspen—had taken. Pictures with the labels of “First Spaghetti Sunday w/ Dad”, or “Dad’s First Gift”, or “First Birthday w/ Dad”. Aspen had added all of these pictures of Calum with Luna, or of the three of them together, of moments that had become some of his favorites. A warmth spread through Calum as he took in every picture, every word, heart picking up its pace. He could hear his own breathing, heavy with the emotion that suddenly washed over him, fingers brushing against the photographs of him with his two favorite girls. Aspen had made sure to make him as much a part of the baby book as he was in their lives, and while Calum was not much of a crier, she did a good job in springing the tears in his eyes with this thoughtful gift.

“Aspen,” he breathed out, voice thick and throaty with appreciation and adoration. “This—” Calum let out a short, disbelieving chuckle as he looked at her. He saw the hopeful expression on her face, eyes wide and small smile, and Calum shook his head. “Thank you so much, sweetheart. I don’t—I love this.” He put the book down on the mattress before reaching for her, pulling her into a hug and keeping her close as he said, “I love you.”

He heard her let out a relieved laugh, returning his hug, and Calum shut his eyes as she squeezed him, the smile on his face hurting his cheeks as she returned, “I love you, too. We’re in this together, right? You and me.”

He pressed a kiss to the skin of her shoulder where his shirt fell off. “You and me.” Calum sniffed as they pulled away, and Aspen let out a soft, adoring laugh at the flush in his cheeks, cupping his face as she shot him a grin. “I’ve got somethin’ for you, too,” he told her, prompting Aspen to blink in surprise.

He shifted backwards, one foot touching the ground so he could bend down and pull out the gift bag from under the bed. Aspen raised her eyebrows as he handed it to her. She took it with an anticipating smile of her own, and right as she reached into it, Calum said with a nervous chuckle, “It’s really cheesy, okay? So don’t laugh.”

Aspen rolled her eyes at him, dismissing his thought. “I’m not gonna laugh,” she said, hand reaching past the decorative red tissue paper to grab onto the gift.

Calum pressed his lips together, watching as Aspen pulled out the medium sized decorative jar with a gold lid on top. He watched as Aspen observed it, took in the custom made label on it that read a simple and cheesy message of My Love For You. He felt the heat spread across his cheeks at that, mentally chastising himself for writing something so utterly cliche on the label. Then again, the entire idea of the gift was utterly sentimental and cheesy.

“It’s, uh,” he began explaining, chuckling shortly. “There’s a message on every slip of paper inside for you. Like, uh, reasons why I love you and stuff. There’s, um, one thousand six hundred and forty three little slips in there. . .  One for each day we, uh, weren’t in each other’s lives.”

He watched the way her lips parted at his words, eyes widening as she returned her gaze to the jar she held in her hands. He wasn’t sure why he felt so shy about giving her the gift, the vulnerability not something he was entirely fond of, though when it came to Aspen, Calum was quick to realize facing these types of things was a lot better than running away from them. His throat worked, waiting for her to say something, heart jumping when her glassy green eyes met his dark brown ones.

“Calum, it’s—this is so sweet,” she breathed out, her voice thick with awe as she let out a gentle laugh. Her voice took a teasing tilt, wanting to lighten the emotional mood as she playfully asked, “You have over a thousand reasons why you love me?”

Calum cracked a small smirk, quirking an eyebrow despite his racing heart. “It’s funny that you think I can run out of reasons.”

Her expression softened, a soft chuckle escaping at his words as she gave a shake of her head. Before she let the tears escape, Aspen put the jar down before one had found his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss. Calum returned it eagerly, softly, arms winding around her waist as he kissed her, settling back on his legs once more before using his hands on her thighs to lock her legs around his hips. She tasted like mint toothpaste and he reveled in the familiar softness of her lips, in the touch of her hands on his face as they kept each other close.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he found himself whispering against her lips, wanting nothing more than to melt into her.

Aspen sighed against him, utterly content. “Merry Christmas, Cal.”

--

tags: @irwinkitten​ @sweetcherrymike​ @meetashthere​ @valentinelrh​ @softforcal​ @astroashtonio​ @hereforlukescruff​ @novacanecalum​ @captain-what-is-going-on​ @angelbbycal​ @singt0mecalum​ @hopelessxcynic​ @lfwallscouldtalk​ @bodhi-black​ @findingliam-o​ @softlrh​ @calntynes​ @calumsmermaid​ @erikamarie41​ @quintodosuniversos​ @longlastingdaydream​ @babylon-corgis​ @lukehemmingsunflower​ @imfuckin10plybud​ @pastelpapermoons​ @conquerwhatliesahead92​ @rotten-kandy​ @metangi​ @neigcthood​ @ohhmuke​ @old-zeppelin-shirt​ @5sos-and-hessa​ @trustmeimawhalebiologist​ @vxlentinecal​ @pettybassists​ @vaporshawn​ @lu-my-golden-boi​ @visualm3nte​ @isabella-mae13​ @dontjinx-it​ @lifeakaharry​ @neonweeknds​ @antisocialbandmate​ @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​ @calpalbby​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @sunnysidesblog​ @gorgeouslygrace​ @cocktail-calum​ @miahelizaaabeth​ @madelynerin​ @dramallamawithsparkles​ @theagenderwhocriedwolf​ @kaytiebug14​ @hoodskillerqueen​ @bitchinbabylon​ @empathycth​ @xhaileyreneex​ @inlovehoodx​ @aestheticrelated​ @bloodlinecal​ @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac​ @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @fluffsshawn​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @tea4sykes @lukeinblue​ @mysteriouslycali​ @hoodcentral​ @rosecoloredash​ @hearts-to-the-sky​ 

[outerbonks]

selfish - rafe cameron

 i posted this yesterday but it formatted all weird and annoyed me so i took it down but here it is again. please enjoy and lemme know what you think!

based on selfish by madison beer 

summary; your relationship with Rafe isn’t healthy, you both know it, but you don’t know how to let the boy go.

word count: 1.8k

warning(s): swearing, mentions of drugs, toxic relationship

masterlist ♡

Boy, you're such a lost cause, now your name is crossed off

How you gonna fix this? You can't even fix yourself

Each day it got harder and harder to give yourself reasons to stand by your boyfriend, Rafe.

He was out of control, if he wasn't coked up and out of his mind he was blowing his top on pogues who did nothing to deserve his rage.

You loved him so much, you truly did but you couldn't watch as he destroyed himself and took you down with him any longer.

He'd been warned by you months ago that you just couldn't do it anymore. You were sick of the constant arguing, sick of his absolute lack of regard for anyone other than himself but more than anything you were sick of the disregard he showed towards you.

Rafe always begged you to stay, claiming that he needed you, that he'd get clean and fix himself up for you.

Months went by and nothing changed, yet the boy still promised you time and time again that he'd fix the mess he'd made of himself and the love that you shared.

It was almost two years, that I chose to spend here

All alone on New Years, thinking what the hell?

Your relationship with Rafe began when you were seventeen and he was eighteen and it was absolutely wonderful, it had been at first at least.

Now you were nearing your nineteenth birthday and the man who called himself your boyfriend hadn't returned any of your calls or texts in almost three days.

On a massive coke bender with his impressionable friends, you imagined, not that it was anything new.

He always did this, disappeared for days without a word and then reappeared when he overdid himself in a mess of tears and weightless apologies.

Sobs filled with "baby, I love you."s and "I'm so sorry"s and "please don't leave me. I need you."s

And they got you every time.

He'd miss dates, events that were important to you and you'd get mad and shout a: "What the hell is the point anymore?" He would break down and hold you like you were the most important thing to him in the whole world and you'd believe him when he told you just that, despite how he'd proved on more than one occasion that you weren't even more important than a bump of coke with Topper or Kelce.

I don't wanna break your thread and needle tryna stitch you, but I can't, I refuse

Every time he came to you undone you tried with everything you had to put him back together again, even if that meant tearing yourself apart to do so.

As it began happening more and more often you couldn't even remember the last time he'd kissed you just because he thought you looked pretty and not because he wanted to make sure you were still real and beside him. 

You weren't his girlfriend anymore, you were his therapist.

Enough was enough, you had to put yourself first, if you didn't soon enough you'd have no more of yourself to give. Everything would be gone. He'd have wrung you dry.

Shouldn't love you but I couldn't help it

Had a feeling that you never felt it

I always knew that you were too damn selfish

It wasn't healthy and you both knew it. You shouldn't have stayed for as long as you have, he was bad for you but you were hooked. He was your drug and the damage he was causing proved that he was just as bad for your health. Yet you ignored it time and time again.

It's not to say that Rafe didn't love you because he did, he does. But he loved you in his own twisted way. He wouldn't move mountains for you and he wouldn't drop anything to help you but he'd just about die without you.

His love for you was selfish. It benefits him but never you. He could see the effect it had on you but how could he let you go when he needed you? Letting you go wasn't in the cards, you made him feel love and if you got hurt in the process then that was all the more reason why he couldn't give you up.

The knowledge that you loved him so much that you were willing to endure so much pain to make him happy fueled him. 

Don't know why I looked the other way, I wanted you to change

Shouldn't love you but I couldn't help it, I always knew that you were too damn selfish

It was partially your fault. You saw right from the moment he first kissed you that he was doing it for the wrong reasons. Ignoring red flags had become a daily occurrence for you.

Giving up on him was something you didn't want to do, not in the slightest. You figured that he'd change, that he'd get better, that he'd treat you better.

He never did, never even tried. 

But still, how could you just ignore all the good in favour of highlighting all of the bad?

His smile, the gentle touches he gives you when he thinks nobody else is looking, the way he kisses you like his life depends on it- you couldn't abandon all of it, you didn't want to.

And maybe that made you the selfish one, but you couldn't fool yourself anymore.

I bet you thought you gave me real love, but we spent it all in nightclubs

All you ever wanna do is lie, why you always such a Gemini?

Rafe's idea of a romantic date was dragging you to a kook party on figure eight, leaving you alone to deal Barry's content and then finding you hours later high as balls and begging to you fuck him in some random bedroom. 

He genuinely believed he was some kind of king when it came to the way he treated you. He brought you to parties, made you popular, heightened your social status among the other kooks, but that was all he thought mattered. Getting everyone else's approval.

You allowed him to reflect his warped sense of love onto you, he gave you what he thought was real love when really it was just the approval of your peers.

He thought real love equaled approval. It was as simple as that.

That wasn't what you wanted though, you wanted trust and tender moments, things Rafe didn't give to you unless it played in his favor.

Trust was an issue, he didn't trust you to know where he was going and to keep your mouth shut about it so he'd lie, lie, lie and lie some more.

Calling him out on it never helped either.

"Y/n why can't you just trust me for once?" He'd ask, throwing his arms around angrily.

"Because all you do is fucking lie to me Rafe! How can you expect me to trust you?" You'd scream back, tears threatening to spill from your eyes out of frustration from having the same fight over and over again.

He'd see your tears and he'd ease up, "Baby, don't cry." He’d say softly and then he'd pull you into him, "I don't ever want to make you cry." Then he'd look at you with those pretty eyes and kiss you softly and just like that you were back in his trap, as if nothing was wrong to begin with.

Baby, who you tryna run from? Me or all your problems?

You know you will never solve 'em, you don't even know yourself

Every now and then he'd push you away, tell you that he didn't need you anymore, that he'd be perfectly fine on his own.

And so you'd leave and he'd go MIA for a while but ultimately end you right back where he started, at your doorstep begging you to take him back. You always did, he knew you'd never turn him away. 

"Why do you do that?" You'd ask quietly, your head resting on his chest as he twirled a strand of your hair with his fingers.

He'd look at you confused, "Why do I do what, baby?"

You'd furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head up to look at him with a saddened expression, before you'd answer him pathetically, "Run away from me."

And then he'd sigh but wrap his arms around you tightly, "I just needed to figure myself out. You know I always come back." He'd try to reassure you but the statement only caused your blood to run cold at the thought of reliving the situation again and again.

"And did you? Figure yourself out, I mean." You'd question as softly as possible, always hoping the answer would be yes.

But he'd only shrug and pull you up to be face to face with him, he'd bring his hand to your cheek so tenderly and stare at you with an affection neither of you knew he was capable and he'd whisper out, "I don't know. But I just know that my head doesn't spin so much when I'm with you."

But it's not possible

Plus I'm not responsible for your self-made obstacles

Put my heart in the hospital

"I can't do this with you anymore, ok Rafe? I've had enough." You told him, swallowing the lump in your throat as he shook his head in refusal.

"What do you mean? What did I do?" He asked, tone demanding an answer as he took a step towards you.

Letting out a sigh of distress at his oblivious nature you frantically motioned between the two of you with your shaking hand, "This! This isn't healthy! All we do is fight and make up! I can't do it anymore."

Your voice was weak but absolute, he wasn't going to charm his way out of this one, you wouldn't let him.

"Baby, I-" he said softer, attempting to pull you in, but you took a step back and shook your head.

"Don't. I don't want to be your emotional support dog anymore, Rafe." His eyes widened and his jaw clenched, this wasn't happening.

"I'm trying to fix it! We've been over this!" He was shouting now and it brought up an anger in you, that excuse was old and you were sick of it.

"It's been two fucking years, Rafe! You haven't even tried! I can't possibly give any more of myself to you and yet you give me nothing." You yelled at first, but your voice lowered in volume at the end as you looked into his tear filled eyes.

"But I need you." Rafe choked out, voice cracking along with your heart, you couldn't stand this.

"I love you. But you're selfish and it hurts too much being used by you, so I can't let you anymore." Tears were falling down your face rapidly and you had to bite your lip to contain a sob.

"I'm sorry." Was all he could say, he couldn't deny what you said, it was true and you were right but he couldn't let you go. You were all he knew.

"We can figure this out, baby. We always do." He added, attempting to grab a hold of you again, nerves taking over.

But you shook your head, "Not this time."

Shouldn't love you but I couldn't help it.

[adacarisi]

Anon: Currently sitting in a room with my cat who is passing away. Would you mind writing about Barba who's GF has lost her longtime pet and finally breaks down to Barba about it. I have trouble showing emotion specifically grief so it often gets misread as not caring enough. But I'm handling this with difficulty. If you dont want to dont worry. Appreciate it thanks for writing so many requests I enjoy reading them.

I’m so sorry you’re going through this, it’s horrible to go through loss and not know how to process it physically or emotionally. Whatever feelings you have and however you need to express them is valid as long as you’re not self destructing or hurting others. I hope this helps a little, sorry it took so long.  

The story of how you met your cat was nearly as random as how you’d met Rafael Barba. You’d been much younger and much more lonely when you’d seen that thin little kitten darting in and out of blades of tall grass as you drove down the highway. Without a thought you’d swerved off the side of the road and jumped out of your car into the pouring rain. 

    You ran towards where you’d seen the little animal last and managed to catch a glimpse of its shape as it began moving towards the road. You reached the cat just in time, swooping its little frail and soaking wet body into your arms. You wrapped the kitten in the hoodie you had sitting on the passengers seat and turned up the heat that earlier had been at a low hum. 

    The vets office wasn’t far and luckily nothing was wrong with the little kitten. The vet seemed to think that someone had thrown the young kitten from a car but somehow it was unharmed. As those watery eyes stared up at you it became clear the two of you were bound together now. It seemed only natural what followed, you took her home, went out and bought a liter box, bags of dry food and cans of wet food, even a few toys you thought she’d enjoy. The months went by and became years. Your little kitten grew and the two of you got to know each other so well. When you were sick she’d curl up next to wherever it hurt the most, sometimes next to your head and other times resting her little head on your belly. 

    You found that you preferred the company of your cat to people when before you’d preferred no company at all. As the years went on there were many changes but she was with you through it all, those large eyes gazing up at you in solidarity whenever you’d lost hope or faith. A few of your darkest moments were only turned by the thought of leaving her behind. Who would care for her if not you? Who would give her what she deserved and needed if not you? Would she ever forgive you for leaving her? Anyone else would say that she could easily get on without you and that someone else would care for her. But you knew better than to give into that. There were times you’d sense ailments in her before she even sensed them in herself. You knew each other so well and were perfectly content and at ease when alone with one another as the years went by. 

   You’d met Rafael by chance in the same weather conditions that you’d met your cat. You’d met on a rainy day in the city with the sound of squeaking breaks and the scent of exhaust permeating through the windows of the courthouse. You’d been managing to do your work just fine when he rushed up to the attorney window. You were a legal assistant for circuit criminal but rarely did you have the misfortune of having to attend to the attorney window. You’d seen him before and had written him off as another pompous attorney but on that day you’d witnessed someone far more human than you’d previously observed. He was kind and patient, even humorous. And for the first time in years you found yourself smiling and maybe even hopeful. 

   The two of you dated off and on for a year or so and then things became more serious. Rafael Barba seemed like he could be it, he could be the person you shared your life with. The truest test was when he met your cat. You knew she could detect any trace of evil or bullshit, she’d been right when you’d introduced her to your now ex-best friend. 

“I’m not really a cat person, or dog person.” Rafael had begun to make excuses on the way up to your apartment. 

“Neither was I.” You smiled, still nervous but hoping for the best. 

When you opened the door to your apartment there she sat, poised and concentrated. You pulled Rafael to the couch in your living room and took a seat beside him. He seemed nervous, and he was right to be. Paw by paw she slunk around the edges of the room before leaping onto Rafael’s lap. She stretched her long body towards his face and took rapid sniffs, her whiskers trembling with her effort. Your cat took a few steps forward on his lap and stretched upwards even further before ceremoniously licking Rafael’s nose not once but twice before meowing loudly and hopping off of him to nuzzle your leg. 

“She licked me.” Rafael had smiled and reached down to pet your cat who accepted the affection very willingly. 

“It seems she likes you just as much as I do.” You had leaned towards him for a kiss when he’d turned towards you with a strange look on his face. 

“What?” You’d asked only to be met with a look that told you you should already know what he was about to say. 

“I would hope that you’d feel a little more than that for me by now.” Rafael pushed up his sleeves and you tensed. 

Had you ruined this already? Emotion wasn’t easy for you, it wasn’t how you chose to express yourself. So much of your reality happened internally, a place that was safe for you to process things without bombardment or harassment. You had done your best to covey your admiration and enjoyment of Rafael through words and actions but as usual it was misread. Allowing him to meet your cat had been a massive step for you. Allowing him into your home was monumental. And yet it appeared that he couldn’t understand that. 

The two of you fought that night for longer than you cared to admit. It was a fight unlike what you imagined typical couples would have. It was slow and measured, calculated statements received and returned for hours. Your cat had seemed amused at first, her eyes darting intelligently back and forth between the you and your boyfriend, but eventually she grew bored and fell asleep at Rafael’s feet. The two of you talked and talked until the conversation became more warm and smiles returned to both of your faces. 

   That night was the first time you finally felt understood. It was also the night that Rafael Barba understood not only that you loved him but how you loved him. There was a learning curve for a few months but things proceeded smoothly and happily for the years that followed. The two of you eventually moved in to a mutual apartment and forged a new life together. It was a quiet and peaceful life, one that Rafael Barba had never expected for himself but quite enjoyed. After all, he would have lived any life for you. 

   The night you told Rafael something was wrong with your cat he was heartbroken. Once again you’d sensed something was wrong with her before she even knew it herself. Your little kitten had gotten old and her body was failing her. The two of you took her to the vet the next day and after the labs were processed your intuition was confirmed. Your most loyal friend was dying, feline cancer, and there was little that could be done. Despite the minute options for treatment you tried them all. Diet, medication, everything. And nothing worked. Though you didn’t appear distressed to anyone else Rafael could see how frantic you were, how desperate you were not to lose your dear friend. He could see it in your eyes and sense it in your diction. 

    Two weeks later the time came. You held her close as she passed, laying on the ground with her soft body pulled into your chest. You watched as her wide eyes fell semi shut and her body tensed then slacked. You felt many things in that moment, abandonment, anger, pain and grief. You felt them all weighing you down like slabs of concrete. Rafael had gone to work that day but you had stayed home. You had known she wouldn’t be there when you got home. So you held her until she grew stiff and cold, smoothing her coat over and over before finally getting up to call the vet. 

   When the vet’s assistant arrived at your apartment she created a paw imprint as a keepsake for you out of some quick hardening clay. The tech explained that many people found the keepsake comforting especially when they couldn’t bury their pet. You watched as the vet tech carefully placed your companion in a plastic bag, hardly hearing the words that left her mouth as she apologized and offered her condolences. You smiled and nodded and before you knew it you were alone. For the first time in so many years you were totally alone. You waited for the familiar brush of your kitten against your leg but it never came. 

  Hours later you heard Rafael’s key in the door and the pregnant pause as he waited for your cat to make her way to the front door to greet him. Though she’d been getting slower day by day she still had been able to make her way to the foyer every day when Rafael got home. But not today. You heard the front door shut with a loud slam and your boyfriend came rushing down the hall dropping his brief case and a bag of to go Chinese food in one harsh motion. 

“Where is she?” Rafael asked, every word coated in anger.

“She died this morning, the vet’s nurse took her around eleven.” You got up and picked up the bag of food he had carelessly dropped. 

“You didn’t call me?” He asked bitterly following you into the kitchen where you began to unpack the meal he’d brought home. 

“Why would I, she wasn’t yours.” You spoke plainly, only turning around when you felt his eyes bore into your back. 

“I loved her as much as you did. I know this is hard for you but it’s hard for me too.” Tears had filled Rafael’s eyes and as he finished speaking they fell. 

“Why?” You couldn’t understand why he would feel the way he said he did. She’d been yours long before you’d met him. 

  “Because I love you, I can see how hurt you are and how helpless you’ve felt the last few weeks. It’s not your fault and I know you’re grieving in your own way but I would have liked to be there for you and for her.” Rafael reached for your hand but you pulled it away. 

“It’s not my responsibility to be upset in a way that you understand. She’s...she was my friend. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” You started angrily but finished so softly your voice was barely audible. 

You took a container of egg drop soup and a crab rangoon back to the living room and sat down to eat. After a beat Rafael joined you and the two of you ate in silence. You didn’t speak when you took the trash to the kitchen to throw out, and you didn’t speak when you climbed into bed. You laid there feeling angry and sad, but mostly sad as you mulled over your exchange with Rafael. 

   Rafael stayed up for a while, holding the little imprint of your cats paw in his hands. He just wanted you to feel better, to open up and let some of the pain out but he knew he had to be patient. After all, he was frighteningly similar to you when it came to things like this. Rafael had stifled his emotions so many times throughout his life and career that they rarely showed, but god they burned away inside his chest and turned his stomach. It was then that Rafael Barba began to cry, not only for you and the pain you were enduring but for his sweet little girl, your cat, who he had come to love so much. Rafael had never really bought into the whole idea of having a pet but your cat had taken to him so quickly and he’d fallen in love. She became his little girl despite her already being quite old when they’d met. Rafael sobbed as silently as he could where he sat on the couch, tracing over the imprint her paw had made in the white clay. 

   You assumed Rafael was in his office so when you got up to get a glass of water from the kitchen it surprised you to find him on the couch, his shoulders heaving up and down with the weight of his sobs. When you moved closer you saw what was in his hands, the paw imprint. Seeing the man you loved mourning the loss of your treasured companion you too began to cry as you fell to your knees in front of him. The two of you stayed there for a while, both grieving together yet separately. Eventually Rafael pulled you up into his lap and his arms, letting you cry into his neck as the release of anger, grief and helplessness flooded from you. When you found you could speak again you did, telling your boyfriend just how you felt, how hard it was for you and why. The most amazing thing was that he understood, not just you emotions but your expression of them. Rafael spoke next, revealing the depth of his grief as well. Though you’d been together for years it shocked you just how similarly you dealt with things like grief and pain. 

   That night you realized there was nothing wrong with the way you expressed your emotions and there was nothing wrong with you. All it took was finding the right person who could accept you and be there for you while you processed them. You discovered that it was more than okay to feel things your own way, after all, your feelings belonged to you, but you also found that when a bond between souls exists, animals and humans alike, you no longer had to experience them alone. And after all those years of loneliness and pain, you finally found peace in that. 

[enchanted-prose]

#11 Playing a Game, Solving a Puzzle

 I am publishing a chapter featuring thE BIRTHDAY QUEEN, PRINCESS AMARINDA OF BULTAIN!!!!

Word Count: 4,203

Characters: Amarinda, Tobias, Queen Danika’s Inquisitors (Original characters), Ayvar (Original character), Lord Feall (Original character)

Notes: Edited! I hope you really enjoy this one because I HAD TOO MUCH FUN WRITING IT!

ENJOY!

“That’s Falstan Stead, Cornwick, and Riverfront,” Amarinda sighed, crossing three town names off her list. She stretched out her gloved hands. “That’s everything, aside from Drylliad.”

Tobias tipped his canteen towards his hand, and wiped water across his forehead, “I’d be willing to go with you to Tithio if that’s what you wanted.”

A tempting offer, but Amarinda shook her head.

A gusty breeze whisked through her horse’s mane, the trees and their rustling leaves seemed to agree with her thoughts.

The scent of horse and her own unwashed body added to her frustration.

Come to think of it, her frustration was a large, decorative cake. The kind of cake with lines and lines of spun sugar, and tiers and tiers of cake itself. With each inconvenience, Amarinda was quietly adding a decoration to her frustration creation.

Oh how she longed to be rid of it; the cake had become extremely distasteful early on.

Fatigue was threatening to overtake her.

It was time.

It was time to return to Drylliad. Time for a hot bath, something with cream, and a few minutes of frustrated emotional release. She’d be prepared to handle all other situations after that.

Time to throw away her gaudy frustration cake.

Her riding boots became a little too tight the moment she thought about being able to take them off and walk through the castle lawns.

She’d ridden out with Queen Danika’s seven investigators two days before, and Tobias went with her without hesitation.

Together, they’d combed through every village within a reasonable radius of Drylliad, asking if they’d seen anyone fitting the predicted description of any surviving Thay member.

They heard a wide variety of rumors, but only one of them had enough credibility to almost be true.

Supposedly, Graer Thay had gathered an army, and he was somewhere in Carthya looking for his daughter too.

Too many theories cluttered Amarinda’s head. She prided herself on being perfectly organized, but without a clear path, she’d fallen into disarray. Tobias made her write everything down at one point. It helped, in a way. Having everything out in the open made thinking much easier.

Amarinda spent hours pouring over her decision. Though she’d come to Carthya at a tender age, she still had memories of Bymar. Still remembered learning how to fence with her cousin, Princess Eline, and Eline’s ladies-in-waiting.

Mireldis Thay was one of them.

Too much time had passed since Amarinda last saw Mireldis, she doubted she would recognize her.

The Thays were ghosts.

Rumors people clung to, a scapegoat the sixteen other noble houses dragged around to put their faults on.

A pin was coming loose from Amarinda’s hair. She shoved it back in, but to no avail; the pin only shifted.

Everything was much more enticing than admitting that they’d gone on a wild goose chase. Amarinda studied the patterns on her riding skirts. Studied the creases in her tan gloves. Studied the well kept road that would take her and her party back to the castle.

She’d stepped out on the stage, sang her magnificent aria, and took her final bow. The final encore was playing, it was time to face the music.

“I think it’s time to admit that we’re just chasing ghosts,” murmured Amarinda.

“Sounds like you’re saying Thay are ghosts,” Tobias grinned, eventually breaking into a stifled chuckle.

She couldn’t prevent her own smile. “That was clever.”

“I don’t like seeing you defeated, figured you needed a pick-me-up.”

His ability to notice her distress was comforting in a way. He was too good at making her understand that she was safe with him. “And what about you, Tobias? Are you in need of a pick-me-up?”

“You’re my pick-me-up, darling.”

“If you’re not careful, my blush will match my skirts.”

“I do like seeing you in that color.”

Amarinda shook her head, a laugh falling from her lips. She welcomed the play on words. She appreciated Tobias’s attempts to keep her happy.

But she was wasting time.

Even if the Thays were alive, they didn’t want to be found.

Who was she to take that from them?

The investigators, a little too slouched in their Bymarian uniforms, were waiting farther up the road. Their horses pawed the ground. Not one person called out a greeting.

Amarinda couldn’t blame them.

They were supposed to be scouring the countryside with Feall, not her.

However, she knew her value, and she still deserved to be treated with respect. The hairs on the back of her neck began to rise despite the sun shining on her back.

“Was anything found?” Amarinda asked, guiding her horse to the front of the group.

One of the investigators, a tall woman with pitch black hair, shook her head. “Thay must have known we were coming for her. I’m afraid she might have fled the area.”

“I would’ve fled the country,” muttered Tobias.

Which was probably what Mireldis Thay did, if she was alive. Amarinda was learning that she was ready to let the dead remain at peace. It wasn’t fair to drag memories through the mud.

“I would like a combined report from all of you that I can look over,” ordered Amarinda as she motioned for the investigators to follow her lead. “It seems our quest has failed.”

“We did make really good friendships,” Tobias argued, gesturing to the scowling investigators behind him.

His quiet humor really did manage to bring a lightness to any situation.

“You know, I think it would do good if you spoke to that young woman, Ayvar,” he mused.

“I know, I know. I wanted to participate in the investigation myself before I spoke to anyone. I was hoping we’d find Thay. Too many people are all too willing to impersonate royalty when given the chance.”

Tobias shrugged, “I can’t correct you there, and I’ve been in a similar situation.”

“That was insensitive, I’m-”

“Oh, don’t apologize, it was completely out of your control. Your statement is correct, and I wanted to attest to that. There was an opportunity to impersonate a missing person of power, Jaron, and many people seized that chance.”

“Conner’s gamble played out in Jaron’s favor,” Amarinda wrinkled her nose.

She hated admitting that her mind moved too quickly, hated admitting that sometimes she brought up old memories completely by accident.

Hated that she still said foolish things despite her training.

Hated that she inadvertently made connections.

Patterns were easy to her. She recognized patterns in history, and did her best to incorporate them into the present. Sometimes, Amarinda felt her head split into two sides.

One side was completely dedicated to her friends and family.

The other side was bent on finding every correlation imaginable.

It had taken years of practice to avoid bringing up Darius in a roundabout way in front of Jaron.

And she was still practicing the art of tenderly respecting the horrible game Bevin Conner forced her husband and two dear friends into.

“Now that you bring that up,” Tobias tilted his head. “I can see your concern. Why you would avoid bringing it up around Ayvar.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Oberson was involved somehow.”

“How so?”

How?

So many, many, many ways to usurp a kingdom-state, especially when there was already a family name taking all of the blame.

Bloody ways, stealthy ways, peaceful ways.

Too many ideas. Amarinda had to pick one. “Maybe he’s trying to put a puppet princess on the throne of Idunn Craich, marry her, kill her, and take the land. He’d be king over two kingdom states, it would be easy for him to lead an uprising against Queen Danika and King Norman.”

“Do you think Oberson is really capable of that?”

A direct reference to Oberson’s obvious disdain for physical activity.

People were both predictable and unpredictable all at once. Watching a grown adult behave in a position of power was almost the same as watching a toddler be left in a room with sweets.

“Not exactly, but it is a start. It’s also a coincidence that he’s here in Carthya, don’t you think?” Amarinda rolled her shoulders. “I’m excited to sleep in a real bed again.”

“Ah, I see where you’re coming from, spreading rumors about how much he fears the bloodthirsty Mireldis Thay and then lift her up to become his bride. It would make quite the romantic ballad. A disgusting one at that.”

“Hardly romantic to force a young woman to marry a man the same age as her grandfather.”

“Which makes Oberson’s theoretical plan all the more despicable.”

Amarinda’s skin was crawling. “We’ll put that on the extreme end. I shouldn’t even be judging him.”

“True,” Tobias nodded. “But you also know Bymarian politics better than anyone I’ve ever met, including King Oberson and Lord Feall.”

Warmth spread through her ribs. Spread through the entirety of her body, and burst out through a smile. "You're getting quite good at the game too, you know."

"I do try," Tobias chuckled. His dark hair was flopping across his eyes. "I still think you should speak with Ayvar. I know I will, but it won't be anything about politics. Or at least state politics, more along the lines of, and I can't believe I'm saying this, criminal politics. This is much more Roden's expertise than mine."

"Roden's got a lot on his plate at the moment, you're a good friend to help him out."

"Anything to keep him out of the alehouse. I haven't had to prescribe any tonics for him in almost four weeks!"

"That has to be a lie," teased Amarinda, but deep within her heart of hearts, she was happy to hear the news.

It wasn't her place to instruct a person's life.

But it was her place as a friend to be concerned.

A pair of pink roses bloomed on Tobias's pale face. "No, no, I'm being completely serious. And same with Jaron, as well, he's been doing much better now that he has multiple puzzles to play with. Although I suspect that he may have an allergy pertaining to, ah, Imogen's new feline friend."

"And what can we do about that?"

"Not much, except get rid of the cat," Tobias steepled his fingers, and tapped them against his nose.

The little gesture was all too recognizable. Amarinda pointed to her head, "Have you got a brilliant idea for me, love?"

"I do, actually. Oberson is the cat, and you are Jaron-"

"Hopefully I don't look like Jaron."

"-you're absolutely stunning, and if Jaron were a woman, he'd wish he looked like you, but I have a different point. Oberson is the cat, you are Jaron, who is quite possibly allergic to cats. You're allergic to Oberson.

"Think about it, Ami, we didn't have the Faola to worry about before Oberson arrived. Mireldis Thay was resting in an unmarked grave. Oberson is the one we should be worried about. Nobody ever suspects the older man with a-," Tobias arched backwards, and rounded his hand over his stomach. "I think there's more than what we see. A lot more."

"You're right, you're very right," Amarinda shoved her loose hair pin back into place. "I pride myself on locating similarities but I can't do it right now."

"In your defense, you're a part of the puzzle, not the person putting the puzzle together."

"Thank you, I think?"

As odd as his words were, Tobias's analogy made sense.

If Amarinda was a part of the puzzle, it would be much harder to see the grand picture. Even then, there would still be parts of the puzzle missing, as she doubted the puzzle was put together. The whole ordeal was making her head spin.

Making her head spin with no apparent direction.

Plans were essential. Jaron would argue that point at every turn, despite having plans already twirling around in his head. Things rarely ever worked out in the way people hoped, but plans provided stability.

There was typically an outcome various parties hoped for.

Not anymore. There was no grand ending to plan for.

No end goal.

There was no end goal to even think about.

Was it even there?

Was the end goal not something Amarinda could grasp?

That made her stomach tilt. It was dangerous, keeping harmful secrets. She was beginning to realize that maybe she was being stared in the face by an enemy she’d talked with before.

Perhaps they knew what the end goal was.

Aware of her scowl, Amarinda forced her face to relax. The birds were singing despite the rising heat. Everything was bursting with life, with the promise for a bright, wonderful day.

She clung to that promise.

“Tobias?” Amarinda asked, urging her horse to go just a little bit faster.

He followed suit. “Yes?”

Large stones marked the road, pointing the way to Drylliad for weary travellers. Dozens and dozens of people walked in lines towards the city.

At their head was a large man riding an even larger golden horse. He waved a greeting, and soon turned his attention back to the lines of people.

“I just want you to know that I love you.”

“Have you done something wrong?”

“Why is that the question you ask me?”

“Jaron tells me that he loves me each time he does something he knows I’d get mad about.”

Amarinda’s polite giggle soon turned into a struggle to keep herself from snorting. It made sense, as she’d seen Jaron walk up to Tobias covered in chicken feathers with a declaration of love on his lips. Her battle to contain her ungraceful laugh failed.

“No, no!” Laughed Amarinda, her eyes welling up. She was painfully aware of how her giggles were gaining pitch with each escaped sound. “I just- I just wanted to tell you!”

“I love you too, darling, and I haven’t done anything wrong either,” Tobias’s chuckles were far more contained.

It wasn’t quite fair, Tobias’s perfect laugh.

He was her best friend above everyone else.

Which was why it was so painful to know how close he’d come to harm because of that girl who’d attacked Feall.

So painful to know that no matter how hard Amarinda tried, there would always be something she couldn’t control. Something that would come hurtling toward her, and only damage Tobias in the process.

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

Her skin had been scrubbed of dirt, sweat, and its own top layer. Made her skin smart, of course, but it was better than walking around in a disgusting travel gown with sticky hair.

And it was definitely better than being trapped in a large meeting room, flanked by virtual strangers.

Amarinda tucked her hair behind her ears. Lines and lines and lines of words were beginning to blur into the same excuse.

Tobias sat to her right, holding eerily still. The investigators sent from Bymar to find any living member of House Thay were seated at the same table. Each one of them bore the same black hair and the same royal uniform of blue and white. Not one person said a word as Amarinda read through their report.

“You didn’t find anyone,” Amarinda sat as tall as she could. “In all of your findings, you found no trace of Mireldis Thay or her father.”

“I’m sorry, Ambassador, we searched as well as we could,” said one of the investigators, a tall man with his hair tied back. The pins on his shoulder distinguished him from the others. He was of higher rank.

“I understand, it’s difficult searching for people who’ve grown used to keeping their names hidden. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mireldis wasn’t even here.”

A clatter of opinions burst from the investigators, all of whom were trying to argue that Lady Thay was most definitely in Carthya.

“Did you take a chance to visit the girl who allegedly attacked Feall?” Tobias murmured, he’d reached for Amarinda’s hand beneath the table.

They’d only just gotten back from their travels. Or at least that was the excuse Amarinda had drafted up during her long break before the meeting.

His grip helped her stay firmly planted. Amarinda sighed, “I-, no. I haven’t, I’m afraid of going. . .”

“And seeing the wrong girl there?”

“I’m more afraid of finding the right girl, Tobias. The Thays were good friends to Danika, they were there when I left Bymar for the first and last time.”

“Queen Danika is pushing for their pardon. Or at least that’s what I’ve been able to gather,” Tobias muttered, his eyes glued on Amarinda’s face.

“That’s what’s been said, but there’s no telling how true that is. King Oberson, he, ah, he’s terrified of Mireldis Thay, and it’s very likely that everyone else shares that view. I’ve sent a letter to Queen Danika to prove that she sanctioned this, but haven’t received anything in return.”

The arguing grew louder and louder, much unlike what Amarinda expected from Danika’s representatives. Her aunt ran a strict court, and had no time for gossiping in her presence.

Perhaps the investigators who’d been sent weren’t even members of Danika’s court.

It wouldn’t be shocking if that was true.

In silence, Amarinda and Tobias watched the men and women rise to their feet as they began to yell at each other.

“I know Thay is here! She’s going to slit our throats in our sleep!”

“And how do we know you’re not Mireldis Thay?”

“Because you were with me on that-!”

“You’re fools! All of you!”

Dots were appearing. Dots that needed to be connected. Amarinda shut her eyes for a moment, remembering the days of her childhood when she’d visit Drylliad. When she and Darius were calmly discussing the matters of whether or not fruit teas were legitimate, and he’d begin to fidget.

Just like his brother.

Darius would flick ink all over a piece of parchment, and then begin to connect dots until he’d made a picture.

He could do that no matter how dispersed the dots were.

Saints, Amarinda needed that ability.

She needed to connect these seemingly unrelated dots.

Oberson’s arrival, the rise of the Faola, the rude investigators Danika had sent, the sudden rise of interest in a young woman who’d vanished four years ago.

But how?

“I want to go. I want to go see her right now,” Amarinda decided.

She was choosing to pursue the more likely lead.

Choosing to connect the dots.

Besides, she’d been riding with the investigators all day, she knew what they’d seen.

Amarinda stood tall, Tobias standing ever so slightly behind her. She clasped her hands, “Noble lords, ladies, I appreciate what we’ve done and your efforts. I do believe that our search was thorough despite not finding what we wanted. Please leave your reports here so I can read them. As of now, you are free to return to Bymar.”

“With all due respect, Ambassador-.”

“There will be absolutely no arguing on my decision. My word is final, good sir.”

The silence that followed as she left the room had the power to choke a horse.

Think, Amarinda!     Think!

Dots, dots, dots. Put them into boxes. She needed to put them into boxes, organize them by size, frequency, and their first appearance.

Tobias padded along beside her, his hands clasped behind his back as the pair of them began the long descent to Drylliad's dungeon. No words needed to be said.

Amarinda was facing her fears, and deep down, she knew that she would find at least one piece of information before the afternoon was through.

King Oberson, a lesser king from Bymar. Amarinda had met him before while she was a child. She remembered him as being large, kind, and a little afraid. He brought presents to certain children in the court, but always kept his gift giving a secret. Pleasing others was always his priority.

Now Feall.

Feall was unpredictable, Amarinda had barely known him, as he'd risen to power just as she was fully embracing her role as Carthya's future queen. But she'd written to Danika and Danika's daughter, Eline, all about him.

He was a kind man with a strict outline for order.

He was one of the brave cavalry members who'd come to Carthya's aid during the Avenian war.

His presence with Oberson wasn't unexpected. Feall was a noble, yes, but not a king. He provided safety to those who sought it.

However, Feall and Oberson's involvement with Danika's investigators was enough to raise alarms. Amarinda didn't want to confess out loud how much she'd disliked their company.

She was supposed to be kind.

If it weren't for Tobias's steady hand, Amarinda would've walked into a stone wall. He continued his silence as he guided her down the grand staircase.

Then came the matter of Mireldis Thay.

Mireldis, daughter of Graer Thay, a man who'd earned the title of vagabond with his frequent travels. The Thays had been dear friends of the crown for generations following a marriage of two people from years and years ago. Their loyalties ran deep enough that the Thays frequently provided their children to pose as decoys for the crown's heirs.

Amarinda had known Mireldis.

They'd played together with imported dolls, fabricating elaborate stories that rivaled the dramas of court.

It had taken much on Amarinda's part to finally figure out what happened.

She could still remember the night that she read Eline's letter, explaining that the Thays knew about Avenia's plan to ravage Carthya, but didn't say a single word to Danika.

The Thay's kingdom-state was pillaged while Danika's soldiers were in Carthya.

The entire castle had been gutted, members of the family butchered, save for Graer's wife. She managed to rebuild as much as she could.

Rumors spoke that she'd kept Mireldis alive, but when Danika came to find out the truth for herself, she'd been informed that Mireldis died; murdered by those who hated her family.

Grief didn't pick and choose the people it affected.

Amarinda hadn't seen Mireldis in more than a decade, but her heart still broke.

Her heart broke that night knowing that there was no proof of what had actually taken place that merited the slaughter of a family.

The torches guiding the way down to the dungeon flickered. A shiver ran down her spine, and she gladly took Tobias’s hand when he offered it.

Four guards had been posted at the outmost door. Only one spoke, asking minimal questions before letting both Amarinda and Tobias in.

Sunlight poured into the dungeons in patched gaps. Several of the prisoners inside only moved their heads as Amarinda and Tobias reached the bottom step.

A figure was already standing outside of the last prison cell.

The cell belonging to the supposed Mireldis Thay.

Heart in her throat, Amarinda forced herself to step forward. What would she say if it was Mireldis?

How could she apologize for the atrocities of the past?

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Feall said. “Not that I don’t welcome your company.”

“We’ve just returned from searching for Mireldis Thay,” Amarinda stood tall. “There was no sign of her.”

“I can imagine it was surprising when word got out that Mireldis was here in Drylliad.”

“Is it true?”

Feall stepped aside, “See for yourself.”

Amarinda inhaled, clasping her hands behind her back as she looked over the girl in the cell.

Long red hair, bright green eyes, freckles that rivaled the stars. Her face was perfectly devoid of scars and blemishes. She wore trousers and a long black shirt. There was something fiercely confident in her stance.

This girl knew her value.

“It’s-,” Amarinda began, releasing the breath she’d been holding.

Feall was nodding. “I know.”

Was it wrong how relieved her heart was?

Was it wrong that she was happy for the answer she’d been given?

“Is it what you wanted?” asked Tobias.

Amarinda squeezed his hand. “That’s. . . That’s not Mireldis Thay, love.”

“Somebody recognizes it,” the red haired girl wrinkled her nose. “I keep telling everyone my name is Ayvar, and they don’t believe me.”

“People thrive on gossip, I’m sorry for the mixup.”

“I don’t mind, I’d be a fool to get angry about being mistaken for a princess. . . And I’d be a fool for not being angry about being locked in here.”

“Banditry and attempting murder is-,” Amarinda began, but Feall shook his head, stopping her argument.

“Ayvar knows the man behind the attack.”

“And?”

“And she was innocent,” Feall gestured to Ayvar. “She is the Faola who fought with me against my attacker.”

Tobias nodded in agreement. “He’s telling the truth, there was one who broke away from the group to help him.”

She nodded, “And what do you propose?”

“I haven’t run this by Captain Harlowe yet, but I think it’s unfair to Ayvar to be trapped here despite being innocent of what she was arrested for,” explained Feall as he crossed his arms. “I’d like to promise freedom to Ayvar if she helps us capture the bandit who came after not only me, but your husband, a noble regent, might I add.”

A noble proposition indeed.

And yet, Amarinda was still unsure of how she felt about relying on a criminal for information.

People would do anything to get what they wanted.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “John Wick” Part 1

Y/N left The Organization 3 years ago for the one reason strong enough to make her settle down: love. But after tragedy crushed her to pieces, she decided to leave The Joker and seek refuge with an old friend and mentor - John Wick. Needless to say The King of Gotham can’t accept his wife running away without a word, especially since he didn’t have a chance to tell her things she might want to hear.

Part 2     Part 3

Your high heels click on the marble floor, numerous conversations stopping in the hotel’s lobby since you haven’t been seen around in the past 3 years. The concierge can’t hide a smile and you take your sunglasses off, finally making it to the front desk after driving for hours.

“Welcome to the Continental, Miss Y/N. Such a pleasure to see you.”

“Thank you Charon,” you remove 7 gold coins out of your purse and slide them on the counter towards him. “It’s good to see you too.”

“For how long will we have the pleasure of your company?” the man inquires, taking a peek at the computer’s screen to make sure he can shuffle things if needed.

“One night.”

“That will only be 4 coins,” Charon informs and you point out at the tiny pile:

“The rest is for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Y/N,” he smiles again, typing on the keyboard. “Your old room is available; it will be a couple of minutes for us to add a few finishing touches.”

“Sure. Is the manager here?” you ask because you texted him this morning to announce your arrival.

“He’s waiting at the bar,” Charon gestures towards the elevator and you take a deep breath, excited and a bit nervous about the upcoming encounter. “Also, if I may… Allow me to express my deepest condolences.”

You bite on your lip and can’t utter a sound besides nodding your head instead of a reply: although it’s a genuine declaration, it caught you off-guard.

You slowly walk towards the elevator and once inside you press the B button when a hand halts the doors from closing; you know whom those tattooed knuckles belong to. Ares squeezes inside looking like she wants to kill everyone. What else is new?

“I thought that was you,” the woman uses the sign language and you silently gaze at her.

“Which floor?” you sign back.

“10th,” her thumb indicates the number.

The elevator’s doors shut and she analyzes Y/N, deciding to continue the conversation:

“Remember I told you next time we bump into each other I’m going to kill you?” the mute assassin’s threat brings a faint smirk on your lips.

“Shut up,” you elbow her and the smartass response doesn’t fail:

“I’m always as quiet as a mouse.”

You chuckle and Ares grins at her own cleverness, having a nice suggestion for the evening.

“I have the night off; wanna meet later for dinner?”

You are tired as hell but a distraction doesn’t hurt.

“Will 7pm work?” you accept the invitation.

“Awesome!” she signs, delighted you two can catch up. “They have new items on the menu you would enjoy,” Ares winks then her enthusiasm gradually dies out. “I’m sorry about…,” the discussion takes a serious tone and you sniffle, trying hard not to cry.

“Thank you,” you touch your chin and the ding sound reveals its first destination. “I have to bail; I’ll see you soon,” you step out of the elevator and she remains inside.

“It’s a date!” she signs, concerned you’ll burst out in tears as soon as she’s gone.

Yet after the elevator’s door close, Y/N manages to pull herself together; God knows it’s not easy to pretend she’s fine following the tragedy of losing someone she loved with all her heart.

The individual waiting for her at one of the tables at the bar can definitely notice the struggle behind the tired eyes; Winston sipps from his martini and gets up, opening his arms in anticipation.

“There you are,” he gives you a hug, then invites you to sit down.

“Hello Winston,” you place your purse on the floor and Continental’s owner is attempting to small talk:

“Please make an old man happy and confirm your return.”

“You’re anything but old,” you emphasize while he snorts, amused. “I’m not sure; I have to figure out some personal stuff…”

“Of course,” Winston agrees right away given the situation. “Mmmm… I’m terribly sorry for your loss,“ he addresses the heartbroken Y/N.

“Thank you…” you mumble, avoiding eye contact since the painful subject hurts more than any physical wound you ever sustained.

“I wanted to come attend the funeral yet I was out of the country,” the man underlines.

“No worries. I appreciate the flowers you sent… …”

Moments of complete stillness before Winston changes the topic; he knows better than to prolong your agony. A manager with his flair can at least guess the extenuating circumstances that led to your presence on the premises.

“Any plans for the near future?”

“I’m going to stay with Jonathan until I decide.”

Winston wishes to suggest a couple of options but he’s interrupted by your warning:

“Someone might come searching for me.”

He taps his fingernails against the martini glass, the weak echo dissipating in the background noise.

“Is that someone…somebody’s husband?” his furrowed eyebrows prompt an answer not difficult to estimate:

“More like… ex-husband…”

The manager inhales, debating on your confession.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” he reassures without any hesitation; heaven knows a domestic dispute is the last kind of mess Continental needs but it will probably pass undetected. “Would you care for a drink?”

Suddenly, Winston’s cell goes off and he retrieves it out of his suit’s pocket, apologizing for the delay.

“I’m sorry, I really have to get this,” he slides the screen, attentively listening to the person speaking. “Are you kidding me?!” the man raises his voice with contempt. “Damn…,” he rubs his forehead, annoyed. "Well, he brought it upon himself! Transfer me,” the manager passes the sentence without hesitation after his call reaches the correct department. ”Accounts payable: 11111. Effective immediately: Magnus Stonnenberg, excommunicado. Open contract: 2 million dollars. Distribution: international,” and he hangs up. “Work never ends,” Winston adds even if it’s not necessary; you are perfectly aware how the company works and what it means to run it.

“What happened?” you curiously investigate.

“Trouble on the 15th floor: Magnus murdered Anuscka Volovdya on the hotel grounds, thus I have to implement punitive measures. This is neutral environment and the rules are clear: no killing. Cocktail?” he lifts his glass up and you politely decline.

“No, thank you.  If it’s all the same, I will retreat to my quarters. It was a very long drive and I can’t wait to freshen up. I will come see you in the morning before I leave; would that be ok?”

“Of course,” Winston stands up in the same time with you, a faint smile lingering on his face as he watches you distancing yourself from the bar. He didn’t see you in a long time and he can tell that although you look pretty much the same, something has certainly changed.

Everyone’s cells start chiming and ringing, including yours: the text messages keep on popping up with the manager’s most recent order regarding Stonnenberg.

You wander along the small corridor leading the stairs when at the corner Magnus almost crashes into you; he seems distressed and no big surprise due to his present predicament.

“Are you back?” he hisses while quickening the pace in the opposite direction because he wants to get the hell out of there.

“No,” the short acknowledgement triggers his cockiness mixed with relief.

“Great! One less to worry about!”

You frown at the unnecessary statement: pursuing a bounty is not financial gain you are momentarily interested in; you have more important problems on your plate and chasing a persona non grata isn’t on your list.

************

Next evening, 7:13pm

“There you are!” John exclaims as soon as he sees you. “Come on in,” he grabs the two suitcases out of your hands, leading the way around the house. “Did you get stuck in traffic?”

“Yes,” you close the door and follow him into one of the bedrooms downstairs already prepared for your visit. “Traffic was terrible, took me one hour to pass Lincoln Avenue.”

“Well…” he places the luggage by the bed, “I’m glad you made it.”

“Me too… Thank you so much for letting me stay here, Jonathan.”

Despite having his hair in a ponytail, the shorter strands slide out and John blows them off his cheeks, irritated.

“Yeah, absolutely. Plenty of space.”

“What’s that smell?” you sniff the air, intrigued.

“I cooked chicken Alfredo.”

“Oh no,” you crinkle your nose and he laughs at your despair. “Are your skills as bad as I remember?”

“Worse,” he admits. “Helen is not here to guide… me…”, John swallows the last word and you feel compelled to soothe his grief.

“I’m sorry she’s gone… You had a terrific partner…”, you sadly smile and continue . “We pay such a heavy price for leaving the organization… I must say you got a better deal than I did.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds and you could swear there’s no trace of Baba Yaga inside him; I suppose this is John Wick’s greatness: his ability to switch from an apparent normal guy to the deadliest assassin in a blink of an eye.

“Umm… do you want me to help you unpack?” he breaks the silence and you lift the first suitcase on the bed, opening the metal clasps.

“I don’t have a lot; just some basic necessities,” you explain and gulp when you take out the device you use on a regular basis. “I… I still pump the milk and… and throw it away since I don’t have my baby to feed anymore…”

Jonathan exhales, sensitive to the mother’s sorrow: he knows a thing or two about losing a loved one and Y/N uncontrollably sobbing triggers emotions he kept bottled up for weeks. He pulls you in his arms and you hug him back, hopelessly crying on his shoulder after displaying such restraint in the past days.  

“Why didn’t he drive the car? Why?” you keep on repeating the question and John understands what you’re referring to:

Two months ago The Joker was supposed to bring his three weeks old son from the beach house to The Penthouse and didn’t; he had a meeting and instead he sent one of his henchmen to drive Kase back to you and they never made it. There was a horrible accident on Glissan Street: the car was smashed to pieces by a huge truck, both driver and the baby dying on impact. You couldn’t stop blaming your husband for his indifference regarding the safety of his own child. I supposed the meeting and making money was infinitely more critical than driving his son home.

Maybe if J navigated the vehicle, he would have taken another route and you would still have your tiny treasure right now. 

You’re calming down a bit and John wipes your tears, upset to see you broken beyond anything he could ever fix.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“No,” you whimper and fight to regain your composure. “I’m a little bit hungry…”

“Well,” your friend puckers his lips, “depending on how bad it is we might have to order something. Shall I…call anybody for you?” he hints and surely didn’t predict the reply:

“My anybody is probably too busy with his mistress or planning a heist, can’t be bothered with any type of insignificant matters.”

Your friend seems shocked and you enlighten the mystery for him:

“I followed J so I know… That’s why I decided enough is enough. I packed minimum necessary in a hurry and left… … …I should have killed him… …” your voice dies out and your attitude proves Jonathan that you most than likely tried to. “Can we eat now please?”

“Should I actually order Italian?” he plays along for your sake.

“I’ll try the chicken Alfredo first.”

“Shit! You’re brave,” his brutal honesty makes you giggle and whimper in the same time. “C’mon then, food’s on the stove.  Hopefully we’ll survive,” he smirks and you nod in agreement, grateful to have a soul to talk to since your husband’s lack of empathy made it so much harder to cope with your son’s demise.

***************

Same evening, 7:30pm – Continental Hotel

“Mister Joker,” Winston greets The King of Gotham. “Welcome to New York!”

The gush of wind sweeping the terrace on top of the building messes J’s locks and for once he couldn’t care less.

“Hello Winston,” your spouse growls, barely able to concentrate after he slept a couple of hours the previous night.

“Grape juice on ice?” the manager’s hospitality emerges out of necessity because The Clown isn’t exactly the easiest character to accommodate.

“Is my wife here?” J quizzes, ignoring Winston’s cordiality.

“Walk with me,” the hotel owner persuades your husband; they move alongside the concrete path bordered by decorative shrubs as information is shared. “Y/N was here.”

“She’s gone?”

“Yes.”

“Where did she go?” The Joker sneers.

Winston fails to spill the beans and J is aware he can’t push for a disclosure, not with a high ranking member of the organization. So he attempts a different strategy.

“Imagine my surprise when I returned home after a meeting just to find out my wife abandoned the nest,” he shows management a post-it with your handwritten note:

Do what you want with the rest.

“She just took a few things, thus I have to personally discuss with her a very crucial dilemma: what am I supposed to do with the baby’s items? I have a room full of them. So I’m asking: WHERE.IS.MY.WIFE?”

“Mister Joker, you forget that in my line of business I am good at reading people and I can tell when they lie,” Winston elegantly throws it out there for the heck of it.

The King of Gotham halts and cracks his neck, displeased with the comment.

“Then tell me, am I lying?!”

The manager sighs, carefully analyzing J’s features: although he looks pretty much the same, something has certainly changed.

“Maybe she’s staying with a friend,” he insinuates and your husband articulates a sentence rarely spoken aloud:

“Thank you,” J stomps away, already having a few ideas about your whereabouts.

Winston huffs, intrigued to have discerned a crazy detail while reading The Clown’s reactions: besides the fact he wasn’t lying, something else stood out. 

“He loves her…” management mumbles to himself. “I bet he doesn’t even know it.”

*************

10:34 pm

John softly knocks at the cracked bedroom’s door, unsure if you’re awake or not.

“Y/N, do you need anything before I go to sleep?”

There’s no answer and he creeps inside only to see you passed out with your hand hanging over the side of the bed. Jonathan tucks you in, feeling awkward about your unresponsiveness.

“Hey, are you ok?” he gently shakes you and freezes when he realizes there’s an empty pill bottle on the nightstand.

“Oh God!” he panics and reads the label. “Trazodone 300 mg: Take 1 tablet by mouth nightly for depression/insomnia.” That’s the highest dose for the medication and he taps on your cheeks, concerned you took a bunch of them at once. “Y/N, Y/N! Can you hear me?!”

You moan and open your eyes, unhappy to be woken up in such a hasty fashion.

“Jesus, lemme sleep... would you?!...” you grumble and turn on the other side, groggy from the drug.

“How many sleeping pills did you take?” John doesn’t give up and you yawn:

“One…my last one…” you adjust your body on the comfortable mattress, not comprehending why your host is agitated. “I’m exhausted…” you close your eyes and he lingers next to your bed, relieved the situation was a misinterpretation from his part.

**************

11:32am, New York

“Oh my…”The Bowery King deciphers a missive a dove flew in 10 minutes ago; he got a whiff of some valuable data yesterday and the new documentation is by far the best conspiracy and revenge scheme he stumbled upon this year. “Would you look at that,” the man grins, caressing the bird’s feathers. “What do you think?” he addresses the winged companion. “Should we be nice and tell Y/N and Mister Joker their son is not dead?”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[nctwd127]

Arranged Marriage.

Chapter Eight.

Warnings: Mentions of miscarriage. Slight smut. Talk of depression.   

Word Count: 2853

“Yuta, don’t. Please, I’m sorry.”

He maliciously laughed and whispered in my ear, “You think I care that you’re sorry now? You should have thought about that when you decided that hitting me was a good idea.” His grip tightened a little more, cutting my air off.

My grip tightened around his wrist and grabbed a fistful of his shirt in the other.

“Yuta please.” I pleaded in breathes. Things were starting to get a little hazy.

“Hmm, I like the way you beg.” He bite my earlobe before he left kisses down my cheek, to my jaw and then shadowed my lips. “Tell me you want more.” His lips brushed against mine but didn’t fully come into contact. His hand caressing my bare upper thigh.  

“Tell me you want more princess.” Yuta pleaded into my neck as his fingers were holding onto my waist tight, trying to keep himself from thrusting into me, knowing I needed more time to adjust. It was our first time and the stretch hurt a little more than I could handle right now.

“I want more.” I moaned. He started to move slow, letting the feeling of my walls wrap around him consuming him in full lust. “Fuck. You-you’re so tight, you feel so good.”

The pain subsided and I was ready for more, “Fuck, more baby, please.”

The animal in Yuta was released at the hearing of those words. He sat on his knees and pulled himself almost completely out before he slammed back into me without warning. A loud moan left my lips as my hands grabbed onto the silky sheets below me.

Yuta took hold of my waist and pounded into me. Watching the way my boobs bounced in rhythm with his thrust, the way my face twisted in pleasure, pleasure he was giving me.

It was in this moment we both knew that this was more than just a like, more than best friends losing it to each other for the sake of losing it.

It was in this moment, as he was pounding into me, making his for the first time that we both knew that we were in love. The way our eyes sparkled said it all.

“Stop. Please stop.” Is all that could manage to say, I couldn’t take it anymore, the memories, the feelings, everything was too much.

“Yuta, don’t do this to me. I can’t.” I closed my eyes and felt his lips press into mine. Not hard or forced, just pressed against mine.

His hand left my neck and went to hold my waist and pulled me into him. He pulled away from my lips enough to ghost over them again and I opened my eyes to look at his. His eyes were much softer now, still dark but not as much anymore. He moved my hair away from my shoulder and then held my cheek.

“Your life is completely in my hands, so don’t try and test my boundaries again.”

He gave me a kiss before he fully pulled away from my body. Leaving me cold and exposed again. He looked over on my covered body once more before he turned to walk out. He stopped with his hand on the door handle but didn’t turn to face me.

“I mean it (Y/N), let this be the last time something like this happens. Next time I won’t stop.”

Once the door closed, I felt my body shake violently as the sobs left me uncontrollably. How am I supposed to make a life like this? My world was collapsing around me and there nothing I could do about it.

Yuta had my life in the palm of his hands. He could control everything and anything he wanted about me.

I spent the rest of the day locked away in my room, thrown on my bed, covered in the heavy blanket. Crying and crying, till it hurt and even then, I still cried. I didn’t bother turning on my phone again after I had turned it off when I ran away earlier. I didn’t care for the real world, just like it didn’t care about me, making me suffer in agony like this.

With my thick black curtains closed and my phone off, time didn’t exist for me. My mind was being weighed down by the memories. My body was exhausted of everything it was going through. Everything was too much and I just wanted this to end.  

I had been discharged the same day of the accident, when my parents came for me. The doctor informed them that I was ‘fine’ just a few cuts and bruises, nothing a day or two of rest wouldn’t fix.

Before he stepped out, he gave me a sad smile and nod, I returned it knowing what it meant. As promised, he kept the pregnancy that was no longer present out of the information of my well-being. I didn’t know how to process this alone, I needed Yuta.

After I changed into the clothes my parents brought me, I stepped into the hallway to find our parents. Once I did, Yuta’s mom brought me into a tight hug, “Oh thank god you’re okay.” She cheered hugging me a little tighter. I hugged her back.

“May I see Yuta?” I asked her when we pulled away from the hug. “Of course honey, go ahead. The doctor said he has a concussion so just be weary.” She informed me, pointing me to the direction of his room. I thanked her with a nod and walked to Yuta’s room.

I knocked on the door to see if he was awake, which he was as I heard a faint “come in”. I pushed open the door and felt a little stunned seeing him like that. Small cuts adorned his face and bruises were starting to settle on his beautiful silky sun kissed skin.

Yuta looked at me and nodded, giving me a wide smile, “You came to see me.” He cheered like he hasn’t seen me in a while. I stopped for a moment not expecting that reaction.

“Of course baby, how are you feeling?” I questioned as I walked over to him, taking his hand in mine. He gave me a puzzled look and laughed. “Baby? When did you start calling me that?” I returned the puzzled look he gave me.

“Yuta that’s not funny, you shouldn’t joke like that.” I scolded, trying to push the ugly feelings that were starting to come up at his reaction. “Joke like what? I’m being serious, I don’t remember when you started to call me that (Y/N).”

(Y/N)... He hasn’t called me by my name in months now…

“What’s the last thing you remember then?” I fretted. He looked at me like he was ready to burst out laughing at the way I was acting, like if I was joking.

“What’s the matter with you? You’re being weird.” Yuta chuckled as he pushed my hand away like it was nothing.

Just then the doctor came in, he looked at me for a moment and carried on.

“Mr. Nakamoto, how are you feeling?” he quizzed as he looked over his chart. “I’m feeling fine, my head hurts a little though.” Yuta complained as he brought his hand to his head.

“Ah yes, you took quite a hard blow to the head during the accident.” The doctor informed him.

“Yeah about the accident, what happened?”

The doctor looked up at him with worried eyes for a moment, “You mean, you don’t remember?” He walked over to him. “Not really, it’s a little hazy.” Yuta answered, he turned to look at me. “Were you there?”

“Mr. Nakamoto, what month or day is it?” the doctor interrupted before I could answer.

I tried to hold in my tears at the scene unfolding before me. Yuta knew the month and day. He remembered most of the day prior to the accident. He remembered the last two months as well.

The only thing he didn’t remember from those two months was me, just me. He thought I had been away for the summer since he couldn’t recall spending time with me. I don’t know what he remembered from those two months then because most, if not all the time was spent with me.

When the doctor stepped out, I told Yuta I’d be right back and went outside to speak with the doctor.

“Doctor, what’s happening? Why doesn’t remember me?” my voice cracked when I finished asking my question. “Memory is a tricky thing Ms. (L/N). It’s complicated. Sometimes, severe trauma or stress can cause the brain to reject emotions or thoughts that are too overwhelming for it to handle.”

I couldn’t understand. I didn’t understand. None of this was making any kind of fucking sense to me.  

“Is there some way to make them come back to him? He has to remember.” I insisted.

“Ms. (L/N), its best you let those memories come back to him on their own. If you push too much, it could cause him emotional distress that can cause him to block out even more.” The doctor explained.

“But he will remember, right? His memories will come back to him, right?”

The doctor gave me a sympathetic look that was enough for me to understand that the possibilities were up in the air. I ran the risk that he could never remember what we had.

This was the start of the downfall my life took that changed everything forever.

I felt myself yell out Yuta’s name as if it was being ripped out of my throat as my body jolted awake. I sat up panting with a thin layer of sweat covering my forehead. There was shuffling outside my door before it was thrown open by a well-toned shirtless Yuta, holding a bat.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry, I mean… I’m okay. I think I was having a nightmare. I’m sorry.” I stuttered trying to gather my thoughts, trying to push everything down that was coming up right now. Seeing him wasn’t helping me.

He looked at me from the door putting down the bat from the swinging position he was holding it in, “You’re having nightmares again?”

My body tensed as I looked at him wide eyed. “How did-“

“Your parents told me you were having them, a month after they started. They asked if I knew of any reason for you to be having them.” He informed me leaning against the door.

“Oh, um I didn’t know they had asked you.” I whispered avoiding his gaze. “Well you cut off like I was nothing, like I didn’t even matter to you so I can’t imagine why you would know.” His voice hiding an undertone of hurt and bitterness.

Our eyes met at his statement, hurt washing over me. I never gave him a reason for cutting him off the way I did. But it’s not like I could just tell him that we were together, I couldn’t tell him in detail all the memories he forgot.

“I…I’m sorry for disturbing you like this.” I apologized.    

Yuta scoffed, thinking I would give him a reason for what I did, after all this time. He gave me a meaningless nod and closed the door as he left.

After sitting on my bed for thirty minutes just absorbing in the memories that creeped up on me, I decided to turn on my phone. The time read 1:14am.

Overwhelmed at the missed calls and text messages I had gotten. Most of them were Hendery and Ten, texting me, our group chat and the one with Doyoung in it. Doyoung had also sent me a few messages.

[Bunny]: I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I was wrong for it, I just, this is a lot for me too. I lost you and I can’t stand it. I’m falling apart without you.

[Bunny]: That’s no excuse for what I did today or Saturday, I know that. But I don’t know what else to do. I damn near lost my mind when the guys told me they were going to help you move in with him. I had one too many drinks and I just wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t want you to find out the way that you did.

[Bunny]: I had overheard Jaehyun and Taeyong talk about how you were going to make your relationship with him public today and I just broke. I know you’re hurting and I just made it worse.

[Bunny]: When I saw that you slapped him (like he rightfully deserved by the way) I was ready to rush over to you in case he tried anything but then you ran away. I ran after you but I lost you in the crowd of people.  

[Bunny]: What I’m trying to get as is! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to pick you up anywhere?

[Bunny]: Please answer me, I’m so sorry, I really am. I love you so much and I never wanted to hurt you like this. Please, I’m sorry.

Reading his messages crushed me because he is going through so much too and I just can’t do anything about it. I can’t make it better, not for him and not for me, not for anyone. There is nothing I can do, everything is in the hands of the black haired devil across the hall.

[Me to My home skillet biscuits]: Hi guys, I’m sorry for worrying you so much, I am fine. I just needed a break, it’s been really rough, for all of us. I’m sorry this has to be such a burden for everyone. I’m sorry but I’m okay.

There was nothing else I could do besides apologize.

Despite it being the late hour that it was, they all texted back, telling me that I shouldn’t apologize because none of this was my fault, I did nothing to cause it and there was nothing I could have done for it to not happen. Yuta’s parents and mine are to blame for this.  

Doyoung also apologized, not just to me again but to the boys as well because he’s been taking out all of his anger and every other emotion he can feel right now on them, on us. We all forgave him because much like this wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t his fault either that he was lashing out like this.

We all agreed that we should have lunch tomorrow, to just talk and find some kind of way of making this easier, for any of us. But the chances of that being possible are slim as the only way to make this easier is if I didn’t have to marry Yuta.

Shortly after that, we all said goodnight and called it a night. Well they did, I couldn’t sleep anymore. The dream kept replaying in my head over and over again. All the hurt that I first felt came rushing back to me.

Mourning the loss of a baby I didn’t know I was carrying, pushed me into an unbearable depression, where I lost all sense of sanity. Getting me out of the house wasn’t an option because getting me to even pass the four walls of my room was impossible.

I wanted nothing to do with anyone or anything. The world didn’t matter to me. I lost my baby, our baby. And I lost the version of Yuta, I loved and wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Nothing mattered.

I was devastated after Yuta didn’t remember the time we spent together. I hoped that over time the memories would come to him on their own but when the first year passed and nothing had come back, I had to give up, on him, on us. On everything I had known between us.  

It’s been eight years now and he still doesn’t remember what we had. But I am being forced to endure the fresh wave of flashbacks that took me years to burry and forget. I am being forced to endure my miscarriage again. This is torture to my heart and my mental health.

The summer we spent together, where we told each other time and time again, that it was the happiest we had ever been, is best forgotten. I don’t want him to remember it, none of it. Maybe it makes me selfish but I don’t want to have to relive it all over again. The first time alone was more than enough.

Yuta has the right to know, of course. But not now, not like this. Not at the expense of me, of my health and sanity.

~While I sat in my room, hoping that those memories never came back to him. Yuta was twisting and turning in his sleep, sweat covering his overheated body as a very vague memory played itself in the form of a dream. A memory of us. But it was too unclear for him to fully understand that it was a memory and not a dream.  

Soon enough he’ll know. ~  

Masterlist                                                      

[chcndlcrs]

garrett-shepherd                    

                  Her capered response in return left him feeling winded, no words present. Only settling dust, left after his train of thought had seemingly taken off without him: an unpronounced feeling. He hadn’t been joking, but he kind-of had been, but now she was joking, completely and unadulterated, and he felt the sting of wishing regretfully that he could’ve been completely trivial. That his feelings could’ve been completely trivial on the matter, but the matter of fact was that he’d been thinking so adamantly about asking her to be his the past few days, it had slipped out in a lapse. He was left stranded. Stuck between a clause and a phrase, and he suddenly felt a little gawky, which he never felt. He was, for a few seconds, minimized and reversed back to the fourteen-year-old boy asking out the junior he became, and along with the brief and suppressed feeling came ornaments of distress that he’d ruined it all. It showed on his face, the minor self-disappointment, as he looked down and as his brows knotted. His lips moved as if he were about to say something but nothing came. Lamely, the connotation of her words left him feeling like he was balancing along a tightrope, one side rejection, the other praise. The flowers in his hands lightly limped as he thought of a response that didn’t deepen the fumbling any more than it needed to.

                   Her hand on his arm spoke in large measures, and he looked up as she touched him to see that her normally light cheeks at turned pink; her top row of teeth, straight and ivory had found a resting place in her bottom lip. She looked like she was about to apologize, and he tilted his head to the side, still close enough to her to easily and readily count the lashes on her eyes. He expected to have her tell him it was too soon, and he was ready to agree, and though he’d never exactly been faced with this level of rebuff he was more than willing to wait for her. But that wasn’t what happened. She grew earnest, perhaps even solemn, but closer, her hues lifted, her rounded eyes accentuated with the seventy-degree tilt of her head. If he weren’t so hung up on what she was about to say about the ineptness of the past forty-five seconds he would’ve inspected her lips with care only an artist had while composing his craft. Her smile. ‘Your girlfriend’. She meant it but she didn’t seem appeased, but he was. Enough so to sigh and glance away complacently, a smirk forming on his lips, “Sorry.” He apologized, half-lamely, and it would be the last pitiful move he’d make, “I really wanted this to be more special,” He admitted, finding her eyes again, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight, “I mean, this sounds kinda sappy but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. How I was gonna ask you tonight, but now, I guess–…” He glanced around to see no one in sight, his plans obviously foiled but he wasn’t deterred, “… Will you,” The male’s head slightly cocked to the side, and he paused, inspecting her face, realizing the groundwork he felt was laying didn’t feel quite in tune. He began to grin, slow and comfortable, “––do you wanna be my girlfriend, Chandler?”

                   He felt punch-drunk and alive and he realized then he was nervous. A first for him, or at least since he’d turned eighteen and moved away and become a new person–– a better person. A grown person. A man. And he felt no shame at discovering a woman could make him weak at the knees, as long as it was the right one, and she felt just right. Garrett got closer, his eyes falling over her body, languidly before they scraped back up. Her eyes, a sweet demise, she had his attention. And he watched, just as her expression began to change and brighten and he wanted to kiss her now, again. Deeply and profoundly and he could not wait to see what the late evening would have in store; what she would have in store for him.

She watched his expression change in concourse as she spoke, at first it seemed to be unclear how he was taking her words and then she saw the disappointment settle in, but only briefly. In the time she knew the brunette she learned his eyes were a window to his emotions and when the feelings were unpleasant they showed solely through his azure hues, but you had to catch the evocative display quick because as soon as he realized it was showing it was gone. She redeemed herself, though, with her touch and her statement that followed. Girlfriend. The word left her lips burning as if it was something she was keeping a secret and shouldn’t had said out loud. His countenance softened to silk and she had the urge to move her hand up to it, she wanted to watch him melt more from her touch, her fingers wanted to touch his lips as if to remember exactly how they felt in this exact moment, but then he started to apologized and she pushed the impulse back. Her brows furrowed in confusion, she wasn’t sure why he was apologizing, she didn’t want him to. As he continued her face relaxed into more of an understanding, into a realization; He was nervous. He had been thinking about how to ask her. She found it endearing. He was continuing to make her feel special in a way that she had never felt before, in a way that no one had ever even got close to doing. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling but she knew it had to be close to pure and utter bliss, something you’d only feel when you were at complete peace and in heaven.

‘  —do you wanna be my girlfriend, Chandler?  ’  It was almost like she hadn’t just called herself his girlfriend because now her stomach was in knots and a toothy grin found her face, one that made her feel silly for showing. Words couldn’t find her voice so she started nodding briskly, her hand squeezing his arm,  “  Yeah...  ”  She trailed fleetingly as her eyes found his,  “  Yes, of course. I mean obviously.  ”  Almost as soon as the words left her mouth her hands slid up around his neck and she pushed up on the ball of her feet to initiate a hug. She squeezed tightly bringing her chest to press against his and the feeling of his arms around her torso brought an instant sensation of warmth and safeness. She released herself, her arms hanging limply around his neck, and her gaze still on him.  “  I’m so happy.  ”  It was a phrase she was saying a lot lately, more than she was used to and it was merited to her, now, boyfriend. Her hands broke their cusp and lightly trailed to the corners of his jaw, right below his ear. Her thumbs rubbed gently against his cheek and even though there were dozens of their pupils pushing through crowds around them all she could hear was silence. A comfortable silence. She pushed back on her toes again, her lips resting on his only for a second before her eyes closed and they interlocked. 

[starrystarrybabe]

Oh, How the Mighty Fall [In Love] CHAPTER ONE (Ben Hardy x OC)

Lily Anne Mercury is brought in to help with Bohemian Rhapsody at the request of her Uncle Bri and Uncle Rog, and along the way, she might meet someone to share her life with. The only problem with this is that while their friends and the world can see that they’re perfect for each other, they’re going to be fully blind to this for a while.

DISCLAIMER: I’m fully aware that it would’ve been physically impossible for Jim and Freddie to have a child even with this method during the time they were alive, but the idea of Freddie as a dad and the idea of how his child would turn out to be was just too sweet for me to not write. I’m also aware that I have 2 more fics in progress and I must make a masterlist, but as I’ve previously stated in other fic disclaimers, I am technologically challenged and quite overwhelmed at the moment. I apologize for this, because you all deserve the best from me, and it may take me a while to get to a place where I feel comfortable enough with the quality of everything to produce it. I do have a problem with being a perfectionist when it comes to my work, but I’m working on making that better.

April 15th, 1989

Freddie couldn’t help but smile as he saw the bundle he and Jim had been waiting for so long finally heading towards his arms. Finally, their little girl was here.

Finally, they had the child they always wanted.

Finally, they could hold a tiny person that was as close to a truly representative biological combination of the two of them.

The little girl is placed in Freddie’s arms and the tears start flowing when she opens her eyes and squirms her little arms out of her swaddle. She’s absolutely gorgeous, with Freddie’s eyes and nose, and dimples similar to Jim’s.

“Hello, darling. Welcome to the world,” Freddie tearfully coos to the girl. “Your father and I have been waiting for you for so long.”

The little girl reaches up with one hand to tug on her father’s mustache, and he lets her, smiling despite the pain. Jim watches and smiles, wrapping an arm around his partner.

They’ll send a lovely gift to Annie, the woman who carried their daughter. She was absolutely perfect, because not only was she a wonderful person, but also because her genetic makeup is nearly identical to Jim’s. Lily Anne is by all means, an accurate representation of what a child with Jim and Freddie’s genetics would look like.

“Don’t hog her, Fred. Pass her here,” Jim jokes, and cradles the little girl as she’s passed to him. “Hello, Lily. You don’t know it yet, but your papa and I love you so much already. We will always be here for you. Always. Even in death, you can bet that we’ll be keeping a close eye on you, love.”

That last sentence hits Freddie in a very sore spot, and he chokes back mournful tears. He’s not sure how much time he has left. It’s probably not even a year, based on what the doctors have told him, and that hurts badly, because all he wants now is to be there to see his daughter turn a year old.

Annie watches this and smiles sadly, squeezing Freddie’s hand. “It was an honor carrying her for you, Fred. I’m glad I could give you the best gift anyone could ever receive.”

He sniffs and looks at Annie. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. She’s wonderful, and you’re just... darling, you’re the closest thing to an angel I’ll ever get to meet.”

Annie squeezes his hand, and Lily cries out in Jim’s arms at her papa’s distress. Freddie leans in and coos to her, tears rolling down his cheeks as he does.

“Don’t cry, darling. Please, don’t. I’m alright, love. Just getting into my emotions, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”

Lily sniffles and reaches for Freddie, and he takes her, holding her to his chest.

Jim watches and smiles. “She’s going to be amazing, Fred.”

Freddie looks at him seriously, taking a deep breath. “Promise me one thing, darling.”

“Of course, Fred.”

“You’ll make sure she knows how much I love her, even after I’m gone,” he says, rubbing the baby’s back as she falls asleep.

“I would do that no matter what, you know that.”

“Also fix her teeth and get her singing lessons,” he continues, “And if you see a good statement piece that screams my name, get that too.”

Jim laughs and sits back, and the two of them fall into a comfortable silence as they watch their newborn sleep.

May, 2018

Lily Anne curses as she drives over a particularly sharp rock and the front left tire of her vintage Rolls Royce squeals. “Stay intact, please! I don’t want you to get scratched, my love.”

She pulls down her round Dior sunglasses, and looks around the parking lot in the middle of nowhere for a spot. “Damn, why’d they choose to film in the middle of bloody nowhere?”

She finally parks, and steps out of her car, fixing up her hair and outfit, and clutching her bag. Beginning to walk over to the replica Wembley Stadium stage, she sees a head of white curls next to a man with a white beard and dark Ray Bans ahead of her. She knows that if she yells to Roger, he won’t hear her. He’s deaf as hell and blind as a bat. That leaves only one option.

“Uncle Bri! Wait up!” She yells and begins to run to catch up to the men. “I’m wearing heels, so you need to slow down!”

Brian stops and lets Roger know to stall, and when he turns around, he smiles at the girl.

She finally gets to them and huffs. “Why’d you choose this bloody field in the middle of nowhere to film? Christine can’t handle that and you know it!”

Roger frowns. “Why the hell would you drive your Rolls Royce so far? It’s vintage! If you don’t treat that car better, I’m taking it!”

Lily gasps. “How dare you! I would never let a blind old bat take my car.”

Roger playfully hits her shoulder, and Brian opens his arms for a hug. Lily gladly presses herself against the taller man, her head coming up to his chest.

“Thanks for coming to help us on this project, Lily. It’s very appreciated,” he says, ruffling her hair.

When she pulls away and continues walking with them, she shrugs. “I had to. It’s about my papa’s legacy. I can’t miss out on that. I may not have known him for long, but he has to be done justice, and I can help with that.”

Roger smiles and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “You’re already doing that by writing amazing music, love. How’s the band doing?”

She smiles back up at her uncle. “Amazing! The reviews of our new album call it our best since 2012, and we might just get an award for it.”

Lily Anne and Room 301’s latest album was all about the struggles of living in London when one is raised with the band members’ cultural and social backgrounds. With a guitarist being the child of Nigerian immigrants, two lesbians from conservative Welsh Methodist and Irish-Catholic households respectively, and a frontwoman who was raised by a gay Irish man but also a Zoroastrian extended family, it made for an interesting set of problems faced by them collectively.

The band was formed when they were all roommates in college, during their freshman year. Jim went to all the concerts and gigs he possibly could, and the four girls always loved going to Garden Lodge afterward for tea and cake.

Roger grins and looks down at his goddaughter. “Wonderful! We’re so proud of you.”

Brian nods and smiles at the girl. “Your fathers would be so happy to hear that.”

She nods, smiling at the men. “Jim had a folder of clippings from the uni paper articles about us. I just wish he was there to see our first award ceremony.”

Brian squeezes her shoulder. “I’m sure they were both there, watching. They loved you more than anything, Lily.”

Roger smiles fondly. “Remember when Freddie brought her into rehearsal in that fur coat and held her the whole time?”

Brian nods and laughs. “It was so funny to see her try to pry the microphone from his hands the whole time. We couldn’t use any of the audio from that day.”

Lily looks up at the men and smiles. “I clearly still wear fur.” She twirls in her new mint colored fur coat.

Roger nods. “You’re dressing more like Freddie every day.”

“Thank you, darling.” She flips her hair dramatically and continues walking, and her uncles just smile, watching her go along.

—

Lily is impressed by the accuracy of the set, and so are Brian and Roger. Now all that’s left to see is the actors. A meeting is called on stage, and Lily Anne sits with Brian and Roger, nursing a cup of coffee in her manicured hands.

She sees the boys come out in their costumes, and is awestruck by Rami’s look. The makeup and hair department really did well on the accuracy. All that’s missing is the teeth. Joe looks pretty much like John Deacon, but it’s scary how accurate Gwil looks when it comes to resembling Brian.

Then, Ben comes out. The look is farthest from the original, but damn. The boy looks good. If he looked more like Roger, he would simply have too much power. Ovaries would explode.

Brian begins, greeting the boys. “Hello, everyone! You all look great. We just wanted to make sure that you all meet the newest member of the Bohemian Rhapsody family. You probably recognize her, since she’s in the public eye, but we also wanted to give her a moment to introduce herself.”

Roger gestures to Lily and she smiles. “Alright, then. I’m Lily Anne, and I’m Freddie and Jim’s daughter. I’m very excited to work with you all, and I’d love to help in any way I can. I can give most of you pointers on how to navigate the characters you play, but even if I can’t, I probably know people who can.” Lily shrugs. “That’s about all I have to say. Kick ass and do my papa and the rest of the band justice. I trust that you all can do your jobs well.”

The cast is still pretty tired, but they gratefully smile and nod.

Brian smiles. “Great! You can all go back to hair and makeup.”

The cast disperses with quiet thank you’s and waves, and Brian smiles.

Lily looks up at him. “The Bohemian Rhapsody family?”

He nods. “This is something that I think will create a close bond between those boys. They already mesh so well together. You should go meet some of them one on one, Lil. The trailers are behind the stage. They’re all in a big one, getting ready together.”

Lily Anne nods. “Sure. I’ll go do that now.”

—

She knocks on the door of the trailer and a makeup artist opens it, smiling.

“You must be Lily Anne. Come on in!” The artist greets her, smiling.

“Thank you, darling. What’s your name?” She walks inside.

“Katie. Nice to meet you.” She holds out her hand for a shake, and Lily shakes it, smiling.

“The pleasure is all mine, love. Now, Brian said that I should go back here to get to know you all better since we’ll be together for a while.”

Rami waves, unable to speak since the teeth are being put in his mouth. Lily waves back at him, smiling.

Joe smiles. “Hi! I’m a huge fan of your music.”

Lily smiles and puts a hand over her heart. “Thank you so much, darling! I appreciate that very much.” She pauses and looks at him more closely. “You look awfully familiar. Have I seen you in something before?”

He shrugs. “I was in Jurassic Park. I was the little kid.”

Lily gasps. “That’s what it is! Wow! You seem very well adjusted for a child actor.”

Joe grins. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

She turns her attention to Gwil, who now has the wig fully on.

“I must say, Gwilym, has anyone told you that you look exactly like Brian? It’s terrifying,” she comments, still in awe. “I feel like you’re actually Brian in this wig.”

Gwil smiles. “Yeah, it’s pretty insane. I think that I probably look the closest to the real thing.”

Lily nods. “I agree. I mean, you all look absolutely lovely, but for you, the accuracy is downright frightening.”

Ben speaks up, looking into the mirror. “I know I look furthest from the real thing. I hope fans don’t nitpick that too much.”

Lily scoffs. “I’m willing to bet that part of the reason why you were cast was that you’re similar enough, but also prettier than Roger ever was. He’s an egotistical wanker. He’d do something like that.”

Ben laughs, turning partially red, and Lily feels herself trying not to visibly show her arousal. What a beautiful man. She’s already in love.

“I certainly hope my acting abilities have something to do with my casting,” he says, trying to become less red.

Lily rolls her eyes. “Of course they do, darling! You were amazing in Eastenders. Why’d you quit that? I loved it.”

He sighs. “I want to be seen as more than just a pretty blonde. I became uncomfortable with being shirtless so often and wanted to be used as more than just something that’s good to look at. Now, I try to take more jobs that don’t require me to be shirtless.”

Lily nods. Damn, he has substance and he’s gorgeous. She needs to hop on that once filming is over. “I understand. I promise you, you will be amazing in this, and I’m sure it will open up more opportunities that you want afterward.”

He smiles at her and she has to keep herself from physically melting. Fuck, he’s so pretty and nice and wonderful.

“I really appreciate that, Lil. Can I call you that? Lil?” He asks her.

‘You can call me whatever you want, you beautiful man.’

“Of course! That’s fine.”

Rami finally gets the teeth in and looks to Lily. “Finally, I can speak. I just wanted to say that it’s an absolute honor to play your father, and I would love nothing more than to make him and you proud.” Rami’s sentences are slow, calculated, and incredibly heartfelt.

Lily walks over and smiles, giving him a hug. “That means so much to me, Rami. Really, it does. You look amazing, and I can’t wait to see you perform. You’ll all do amazing.”

The cast thanks her, and she can’t help but melt at Ben’s smile.

“After today is finished, would you all like to go to Garden Lodge with me instead of sleeping in these trailers? I have so many spare rooms and we can order food and get to know each other.” She offers.

“Can Lucy, Allen, and Aaron come as well? They’re part of this as well.” Rami asks.

She nods. “Of course. My Rolls Royce won’t fit that many people, but I’m sure at least one of you has a car here.”

Gwilym nods. “I have my car here. I can help bring people.”

Joe smiles and looks up at Lily. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ride in the Rolls Royce. I’ve never done that before and it sounds fun.”

Lily grins. “What if I told you that it’s a vintage Rolls Royce?”

Joe and Ben’s eyes light up.

Ben looks up at her. “Please let me in that car.”

‘I’d let you in more places than my car.’

“Of course, love. You’re all welcome to ride in my car.” Lily grins at the boys, who look at each other excitedly. “I’ll ask the director if I can bring you all home with me tonight,” She teasingly says before she leaves the trailer with a flourish.

Katie smiles and moves to adjust Ben’s wig, trying to get it to be perfect. “She seems to be very nice.”

Joe nods. “I like her. What do you think, Ben?”

Ben turns to face him. “Why are you asking me in particular?”

Rami turns to look at him. “Because you seem very interested in her, and her in you.”

Ben scoffs. “I was being nice. We just met her. It’s too soon to make that judgment.”

The rest of the boys look at each other skeptically.

Joe smiles at Gwil. “I give it four months before one of them makes a move.”

Gwil raises a brow. “Who do you think will make the first move, though?”

Rami thinks, and shrugs. “Too soon to tell.”

By this point, Ben is bright red. “Can you all just stop? I’d like that.”

Katie sighs. “I’ll need to put on a lot more foundation if he stays this red. I’d love to continue this later, but now it needs to stop.”

The boys relent but still smile to themselves. They’ll just sit back and watch the two discover their attraction on their own.

Lily Anne gets permission to take home the boys and Lucy, Allen, and Aaron. She will spend some time with Aaron, especially since he plays Jim, and for her, it must be accurate. Her father is by all means, the most important man who has been and will ever be in her life, and she will defend him until the day she dies.

January 1, 2010

Lily frowns as she picks up her flip phone from her purse and steps outside of the frat party she’s at. “Hello? Who is this?”

“Hi, Lily. It’s Laura, your father’s nurse,” a stressed out voice from the other end responds to Lily’s inquiry. “I was concerned you wouldn’t pick up since you’re probably busy and don’t recognize my new number.”

“I always respond, Laura. What is it? Is my dad alright?” Lily becomes concerned. She knows that her father is getting increasingly worse from his cancer and AIDS, and he doesn’t have much longer to live.

“He’s... he wants you to come. Immediately. To be completely honest, I don’t fully know why he’s asking for you, but he sounds distressed,” Laura explains.

Lily’s eyes widen and she blinks back tears. Dear god, please don’t let this be what she thinks it is. Please, if there’s something out there that loves her, she will pray to it to keep her father alive.

“Say no more. I’ll be right over,” she responds, hanging up and calling over a cab.

-

Garden Lodge is only ten minutes away from her university, since she wants to make sure to always be there for her sick father, and it is the longest ten minutes she’s ever experienced in her life. When the ride is over, she throws money at the cabbie and tells him to keep the change before running inside the gate and banging on the door.

Laura opens it and she continues to run in her stilettos and short party dress. When she gets up the stairs she hears the gentle sounds of her papa’s voice singing Love of My Life, and enters her dad’s room.

Jim turns to see his daughter practically throw herself on the bed and hold his hand.

“I came as soon as Laura called. What is it, Dad?” Lily’s voice shakes.

“Love... I think you know what’s happening. We both know what’s happening,” he tells his daughter, brushing a stray hair from her face.

“Dad, you’ve had scares before. Maybe it’s just another one of those,” she tries to say, attempting to convince herself more than him while tears threaten to fall from her eyes.

He wipes away a single tear from her face and smiles gently at her. “No. This is different, Lily. I know it.”

She begins sobbing, moving to hug her father around the waist and rest her head on his chest like she did when she was little. “I don’t want you to go, Dad. Please, try to hold on a little longer.”

He strokes her hair and smiles. “Your Papa is waiting for me, darling. I’ve held on for as long as I can, my love. If I could stay with you forever I would.”

She can’t speak clearly, but squeezes her father and listens as his heartbeat begins to slow down. “I love you so much, Dad. Thank you so much for raising me and being so wonderful—“ She’s cut off by a sob. “I’ll miss you so much, Dad.”

Jim sniffles and tilts her head up to look at him. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, Lily Anne. I’m so proud of you. I love you and the band so much, and I know you’ll succeed in whatever you choose to do. I’ll always be close by, and you know that. Your Papa will finally have me to watch you by his side.”

She blinks away tears and tries to make a joke. “What about the cats, Dad?”

Jim laughs, ruffling her hair. “I’m sure Delilah is there in his lap, watching us in judgment because we’re not petting her.”

The two of them laugh sadly and hold each other close, quieting down as Brian’s guitar wails.

“I’ve got to go, Lily. He’s becoming insistent,” Jim whispers, and she nods.

“Give him a hug for me, please.” She responds, hugging him.

“Will do, love. Your Papa and I will be watching.”

“Even when I get married?” Lily sniffles and looks up at her father.

“I’ll knock over your Papa’s ashes when we find the man for you,” Jim responds, kissing her forehead before closing his eyes and finally, drifting off into the afterlife.

When Lily Anne places her ear to his chest, she hears nothing.

Laura walks inside the room and looks at the scene in front of her, and sighs, taking the needle off of the record as Good Company starts playing.

Lily Anne simply holds her father tightly before sitting up, kissing his forehead, and moving to leave the room.

-

Brian is sleeping when Lily calls, and picks up the phone groggily, sitting up in bed. “Who’s calling at this hour?”

Sniffles.

“Can I help you?” He’s beginning to get annoyed, and now Anita has woken up, resting one hand on his shoulder.

“U-Uncle Bri, can I come over?” Lily Anne is practically crying over the phone.

“Lily, what’s wrong?” He frowns, and Anita sits next to him, trying to listen in on the call.

“I-It’s my Dad... h-he’s...” She begins sobbing again, and Brian brings a hand up to his lips.

“Oh no. Lily Anne, I’m so sorry. Come on over, love. I’ll call Roger and tell him the news,” Brian offers, trying to console the girl.

“Th-Thank you. I’ll be right over,” she says before hanging up.

When he puts down the phone, he breathes heavily, blinking back tears. “At least he’s with Freddie.”

Anita looks down. “Poor Lily. I’ll start up a pot of tea for her, you call Roger.” She kisses his cheek and moves to go to the kitchen.

-

Roger picks up on the third ring, and he’s angry at being woken up at this hour. “Brian, what the hell are you doing calling me this late—“

“Jim’s gone. Lily is coming over to my place, and I’m sure she’d appreciate you joining us.”

Roger is silent for a moment before sighing. “I’ll be right there. Should I tell the kids?”

“Once they’re awake. Right now, Lily needs us.”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

-

Lily Anne rings the doorbell, still sniffling. Laura had driven her over before calling the funeral company and beginning to make arrangements.

Brian opens the door and sighs, hugging the girl tightly. She sobs into his chest, shaking like a leaf. The oversized sweater of Jim’s that she’s wearing now only accentuates how small she is, and right now she doesn’t look like a 20-year-old woman, but a little girl.

That night is full of tears, tea, and ends with Lily Anne falling asleep in a guest bedroom, mascara staining her eyes and running down her cheeks in rivulets.

Lily Anne smiles as Ben and Joe gape at her car, clearly impressed by the beautiful vintage. She’s very proud of Christine. She moves to open up the trunk and help the boys put their overnight bags inside, and moves a box of sage out of the way.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you have a huge box of sage in your car?” Gwilym asks her.

“I don’t mind at all. Actually, I sage my entire house, so the ghosts don’t cause too much trouble.”

Ben turns and frowns when he hears the word ‘ghosts.’ “Pardon me? Ghosts?”

She nods. “Garden Lodge is very haunted. None of the spirits are bad, though. Just bothersome.”

Joe raises a brow. “What do they do?”

She sighs and closes the trunk. “Well, six of the eight of them are cats, so they knock things off of shelves and meow at random times. Sometimes you can actually see them running across the hall.”

Rami purses his lips. “I can only guess that the other two ghosts are your fathers.”

She nods and smiles. “Yeah. They are. Sometimes they can be a bit overbearing, but they’ll leave me be when I ask them to.”

The boys look nervous. Lily Anne scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Don’t worry. We can sage the entire place and nothing will bother you. And if something does, tell them to go away and they will.”

They still look scared.

“If I order Nando’s will it calm you all down?” She tries to calm them with basically a bribe in the name of keeping possible friends.

Ben and Gwil nod and Joe and Rami look confused.

“I’ve never had Nando’s,” Rami comments.

“Yeah, me neither,” Joe adds.

“Mate,” Ben says in disbelief before shaking his head. “No. We’re going to order for you then because Nando’s is the best and there’s only one correct order,” Ben explains.

“Of course! The chicken burger,” Lily Anne adds on, expecting Ben to agree with her.

“What? No, it’s the chicken wrap, hands down,” Ben retorts, insulted at the notion that she thinks the chicken burger is better than the chicken wrap.

“Are you insane, mate? It’s the bloody chicken burger. The chicken wrap is good, but it isn’t the best. Gwil, you like Nando’s as well. What do you think?” Lily turns to Gwilym, who backs up slightly under both their stares.

“You know me better,” Ben argues.

“I’m correct, he’s wrong,” Lily retorts. “Gwilym Lee, in the pursuit of truth, I demand that you agree with me.”

“I’ve been working with you for six weeks, mate.” Ben looks up at Gwilym, basically pleading him at this point. “We’re practically brothers at this point.”

Gwil sighs and raises his hands in surrender, sympathetically looking at Ben. “I’m so sorry, Ben. I really am. I love you, but it’s got to be the chicken burger. Lily Anne is right.”

Ben turns away from Gwil, shaking his head as Lily Anne grins.

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” Lily Anne jumps up to high five Gwil’s hand before looking over at Ben. “I’m sure you’re correct about many other things, but the best food at Nando’s is not one of them. Now let’s go before I starve.”

Everyone heads towards their respective cars, Gwil moving to his own with Lucy, Rami, Aaron, and Allen. The Rolls Royce is only big enough for three people when the overnight bags are added in, since the trunk is too small for four duffel bags. Thus, she can only take two other people: Ben and Joe.

Lily Anne is about to get into her car when she sees that Ben still hasn’t moved. She sighs and walks over, crossing her arms.

“We don’t have all day, darling. Let’s get to the car, okay?” She tries to reason with him, placing a hand on his arm.

“I’m still insulted. All this time, I’ve always thought the chicken wrap was better,” he says, looking down at her with genuine confusion. “What else am I wrong about?”

She takes his hand and holds it, looking up at him. “You’re very cute when you’re upset, but we can’t go down that path, Ben. It only leads to more questions, and we don’t need those right now.”

He’s so cute. Oh lord, he’s the most adorable and simultaneously the hottest man she’s ever met. A true specimen. A one of a kind combination of a great personality, a rocking body, and the cutest puppy dog eyes she ever did see. She must have him.

He nods and makes the poutiest face in the world. “Can I be shotgun and play the music?”

She nods, squeezing his hand. “Of course, darling. Come along, now.”

Joe moves from shotgun to the backseat, and Ben plugs his phone into the AUX cord as Lily Anne starts up the car and begins to exit the parking lot, followed by Gwil.

“What music are we listening to, Ben?” Joe asks, taking a video on his phone.

Ben turns around, shrugging. He’s clearly still upset. “All Dead, All Dead is a good one.”

Lily Anne turns to face him in disgust, shaking her head. “Dear god, no! Just because your taste in Nando’s is trash doesn’t mean that you get to play one of the most depressing Queen songs in the world!”

Ben looks back at her and snaps, pointing a finger at her. “Don’t you dare say that! I have an exceptional taste in Nando’s!”

“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite side to go with your chicken wrap, Ben?” Lily Anne pulls out of the parking lot and onto the gravel road.

“The potato mash!” Ben shoots back, causing Lily Anne to lean her head back and groan.

“Bruv, no! We all know the correct answer is the Portuguese rice!” She wrings her hands in agitation.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Ben looks out the window, shaking his head and dismissively stating, “I’m just going to put on March of the Black Queen.”

Lily softens as suddenly as Ben snapped, resting a hand over her heart. “I love that song! One of my favorites is White Queen, though.”

Ben smiles back at her, the whole Nando’s exchange forgotten for now. “That’s my favorite one! I could listen to it forever.”

Joe posts the video of the exchange to Instagram, with the caption, “How long until @lilyannemercury steals my man?”

TAGLIST: @andtheytoldustotellyouhello @plethora-of-things @borhap-socials @everybodyplaythegame @i-the-fangirl @deakydeakydeaky @shishterfackisback  @samanthadegaro @lv7867 @fatbottomedcurls @hystericallyqueen @haisimsim 

[etaeternum]

Fathers and Sons

If you are enjoying this story, please let me know! I have not been posting often because I worry about spamming newsfeeds with content no one is interested in. This entire fic is already written and I can post more often if people are interested. Bond of the Grey Chapter 8 The Inquisitor and Queen reflect on their meeting. Morrigan finds Alistair and Caoilainn to share her discoveries. Alistair remembers the first time meeting Maric.

“I told you we shouldn’t have trusted her from the beginning. She wasn’t here for the Inquisition; she was here for herself.” Arms in the air, Alanna walked to the other end of the War Table across from Josephine. The Inquisitor kept the ambassador after dismissing the War Council to discuss tying loose ends before their former allies departed.

Josephine’s quill tapped against her chin as she watched the Inquisitor’s rant. Small sounds of agreement and understanding accented Alanna’s upset. Though Josephine had a different opinion, her lips remained sealed.

The Inquisitor stopped, chest heaving, she tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, face red, nostrils flaring. Alanna released a snide huff. “At least her and her husband seem to be better.”

Caoilainn had arrived at Skyhold days before the troops she provided. The Wardens and Highever soldiers arrived together, followed by the Ferelden Army the next day. With the utmost strategic manipulation and sheer tenacity, Caoilainn had orchestrated the Ferelden Army to arrive without its King. When Alistair received word, he changed his plans to follow, unable to communicate with Caoilainn for close to five years. The palpable tension between the couple had been easy to detect upon Alistair’s arrival to the stronghold.

“I’d like to take the opportunity to remind you, Inquisitor.” The low level and gentle cadence of Josephine’s voice contrasted Alanna’s. “You are referring to the King and Queen of Ferelden.”

“And?” Alanna responded without taking a breath. “We are not allied with any country. We owe them nothing.”

“This is true. Yet, if you do not wish to obtain another enemy, it is best to maintain diplomacy. Forgive my forwardness, Inquisitor, but having Ferelden against us may be problematic in the future.”

A sigh of defeat released from Alanna. Acknowledgment of her chief diplomat’s wisdom expressed through the exhale. Alanna’s shoulders slouched. “What do you recommend?”

“Another meeting,” Josephine’s eyes lit up; wheels turning, determining the most effective strategy, she leaned a hip against the table. “You will need to apologize. The Queen of Ferelden is a difficult woman and remedying the situation will be a delicate matter. But her absence from the throne gives her less influence. Your concordance with the King is my concern.”

Arms crossed, the Inquisitor shook her head. “I’m not apologizing. She was using us; I know it.” She looked at the anchor on her hand, relating it to the tasks ahead. “We’ll just have to get this over with before they have a chance to make things difficult. For now, I need to talk to my cousin. Could you make arrangments for tomorrow?”

“As you wish, Inquisitor. I will arrange for a meeting with the young Warden in the morning.” Josephine bowed and departed from the War Room.

“She dismissed us!” Caoilainn turned to face Alistair as they walked into their room near the tavern. Alistair secured the door shut behind him and leaned against it, observing his wife in distress. “Can you believe that? She just,” Caoilainn nodded to the door, mimicking Alanna’s motion for them to leave, “and expected us to leave.”

“I know.” Failed attempts to refrain from grinning displayed in his amusement. His head turned side to side, showing his humored agreement with Caoilainn’s offense. “How dare she.”

The spectacle of Caoilainn’s outrage made for a livened divergence from the last image he had of the room. The bucket and cloth he washed her with sat the center of the room, her robe amidst the sheets on their bed, but this time she was here. Mournful days spent wallowing in grief and self-pity when he thought he lost her now contradicted by her zealous presence. Ablaze with anger, Caoilainn’s bright and fiery temper illuminated the energy in the room. He beheld her with charmed gratitude, tickled by her conviction.

Lost in her rage, Caoilainn overlooked Alistair’s joviality. “Exactly! Doesn’t she know who I am? Doesn’t she know I’m the fucking Queen of Ferelden?” Rushed speech stopped when she took a deep breath. “For the love of Andraste, Alistair what is so funny?”

“Oh, nothing.” Alistair pushed off the door to be near her. Caoilainn’s rumpled brows expressed dislike of his entertainment with her displeasure. “I don’t think the Inquisitor handled her decision in the savviest way possible. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like hearing you claim your place on the throne.”

In the years spent avoiding Alistair, Caoilainn separated herself from her title as Queen. She often reserved her use of the position as a last resort when all other means of influence were unsuccessful.

Alistair reached out. Loving hands found her hips, joining at the small of her back. Caoilainn’s forearms applied passive pressure against his chest. Resistance to his affection indulged her anger. Cheeks flushed, face scrunched, she struggled to endure her foul attitude longer. “She accused me of endangering their mission. I nearly doubled her army! A quarter losses,” Caoilainn rolled her eyes, “that’s good for a battle that size! And who is she to insult my mages? Accusing me of abandoning my post.”

“There, there, my Queen.” The playful rocking of her frame tried to soothe. Caoilainn glared up, her scrunched expression replaced with a dead stare. He smiled down at her. “This might be hard to hear. Brace yourself,” he hugged her tighter. An annoyed huff joined the extension of Caoilainn’s arms around his neck, finally relaxing into his embrace. “The Inquisitor told the truth,” he concluded.

“But-” Caoilainn attempted to defend her dishonesty.

“No,” his tone teased as he shook his head. “No buts. Your mages failed to perform in that battle and you abandoned your post. Remember that part where you scared everyone and almost died?”

A defeated sigh released, and Caoilainn rested her face against his chest. Leather armor and fur brushed her cheek. “My mages did the best they could.” Her voice neared a whine, attempting to prolong her defensive anger. “I went to save you. You're the fucking King.”

He shushed her, calming through his light-hearted condescension. “I am. Try to have patience, my dear. The Inquisition's mission is important- even if they don't want our help. I'm sure we'll find a way to make things inconvenient for them at some point after this Corypheus thing is taken down.”

Caoilainn leaned back, creating some space. Her hands clasped his arms. Lines of heartfelt worry crossed her face. Fair skin, strong and elegant features, decorated by fear. The rush of anger from the meeting with the Inquisitor drifted away. The helpless emotions underneath drained as exhaustion settled in. Weeks of traveling had impact. Caoilainn’s tired body relaxed as she sighed.

“But the cure, Alistair. I'm not ready to leave yet,” she murmured, her eyes glazing as she stared at him. “Morrigan-”

A knock at the door interrupted her statement. The couple’s heads turned to look the direction the knock came. Firm hands steadied her hips as Alistair broke from their hug to open the door. Before he reached it, the visitor knocked again and announced her presence.

“I know you two are in there. I heard your voices just a moment ago. Let me in, I need to speak with you.”

Stopping mid-step, Alistair glanced over his shoulder to his wife. An annoyed grin stretched across his face. He spoke loud enough for their visitor to hear.  “Maker, Caoilainn. You've summoned the witch.”

“I heard that, Alistair!” Morrigan called again from the other side of the door. “Stop making us wait out here in this blasted hall.”

Holding eye contact with Caoilainn, Alistair's brows wrinkled in question. He mouthed ‘us?’ to Caoilainn who shrugged in response. She had a small suspicion who Morrigan may have brought, but couldn't be certain.

Alistair took a breath and opened the door. Morrigan stood, brows raised, annoyed with the delay. Beside her stood a boy. Alistair and Caoilainn’s exhaustion vanished.

“Oh.” The only response Alistair could muster, he stared at the mother and son in the doorway. “Morrigan-”

She interrupted with motion. Bending to meet the boy’s height, Morrigan spoke to him. “All right, little man. Say hello to the King and Queen.”

“Hello,” the boy gave a polite bow. Eyes wide, Caoilainn and Alistair froze as they stared at the young man. “Again,” he murmured to Caoilainn. Their previous meeting when Caoilainn arrived at Skyhold had been brief.

Alistair glanced at Morrigan, stumbling over words. “Now’s not the-”

“It’s polite to introduce yourself to one such as the King,” Morrigan gave the boy another direction before Alistair could finish his sentence. The irony of Morrigan being an enforcer of manners did not have a chance to resonate for Alistair. He remained dumbfounded.

“I'm Kieran,” he followed his mother’s order. His hands touched behind him as he glanced up to Alistair and gave another small bow.

Breath held, Caoilainn witnessed Alistair and his son facing one another on opposite sides of the threshold. Something she could not offer- a child- Morrigan had conceived with one try. Despite certainty of Morrigan’s use of magic, Caoilainn suffered a tinge of jealousy. But the envy did not interrupt their harmony; negative emotions cooled and swathed in the unique love she had for her friend. Deep friendship, formed more from understanding and action than spoken affirmation, found camaraderie in unusual circumstances. Morrigan and Caoilainn exchanged a curious glance, standing on either side of the father and son.

Far different from the prior image he had of this meeting, and equally unprepared, Alistair found gratitude. The mood, brighter, absent of the daunting despair of losing his wife, Alistair noticed details of this interaction. Even with his faculties unhampered by grief, he had difficulty finding adequate words.

Certain of the boy’s identity from the moment Alistair laid eyes on him, the taint in his blood activated. Strange, the sensation felt different from the bond with other Wardens, and not threatening as with darkspawn. Mature for the age of 10, the boy stood well-dressed with the Warden insignia on his chest. Kieran resembled his mother, dark hair and fair skin, but Alistair recognized his eyes staring back; unsettled peering into a hazel gaze so similar to his own. Alistair thought the boy might have inherited his nose. He scanned the little man’s appearance in the few seconds he had before replying.

“I’m Alistair,” the King replied, dipping his head to reciprocate the greeting.

“I know.” Kieran’s brows came to a subtle crease. “Mother told me about you.”

“Oh,” Alistair’s eyes darted to Morrigan. She smirked in reply and tipped her head forward, agreeing with Kieran’s statement without divulging detail. “And what did she tell you, exactly?”

Often one with a list of humorous ways to lighten uncomfortable conversations, Alistair found himself lacking. He bent forward at the waist, hands resting on his knees, better meeting the boy’s eye level.

“Mother said you are a good King and a kind man.” Kieran started, his face calm despite what most boys might find an exciting encounter.

Alistair’s glance wandered to Morrigan, though he stayed at Kieran’s level. A raised brow and a slight grin crept through Alistair’s neutral expression. “Did she now?” The news of Morrigan giving compliments for Alistair required him to double check. His look intended to tease.

Head tilting to the side, Kieran’s curious gaze searched for answers. “Yes, but she didn’t tell me your blood would be so loud. The song it sings is familiar.” His head swayed to the side.

Alistair, unprepared for the unique similarity of this moment to the one from his waking dream, stared at the boy, curious about what connections he might detect. “About that,” Alistair mumbled.

Before he could answer, Kieran changed the subject, glancing at Caoilainn and back to Alistair. He grinned, rocking on his feet, an arm gesturing toward the Queen. “Your wife is very pretty.”

Unable to withhold a laugh, wrinkles forming at the corners of eyes, Alistair’s smile resumed and widened. “Really?” He shrugged, “I think she looks well enough. I certainly didn't pick her for her looks.” A glance over his shoulder to Caoilainn found her grinning back, brow arched.

“All right, little man. Time to go play. Say goodbye to Alistair and Caoilainn.” Morrigan called to Kieran. He huffed, slumping his shoulders as he glared at his mother. Morrigan’s brows lifted, her head tipping to the side and her eyes traveling out the doorway, ushering him to leave.

Kieran released another begrudging sigh as he turned back to Alistair. Once again, such a familiar pair of eyes stared right back at him. A pit sunk in Alistair’s belly, tugging his attention to this somber emotion hindering what would have otherwise been a pleasant meeting.

Kieran inclined his weight to be closer to Alistair; the boy lowered his voice. “You’re funnier than Mother said you would be. Goodbye, King Alistair.” Speechless, Alistair could only nod. Kieran’s eyes traveled to the floor in front of him, his cheeks flushed. “Goodbye, Queen Caoilainn.”

“Goodbye Kieran,” she answered, giving an unnecessary wave Kieran didn’t see.

“Run along now, Kieran,” Morrigan ordered with a soft tone. Kieran shuffled from the room and down the hallway.

Dumbstruck, Alistair stared out the way the boy left. The moment flashed by, over before he realized what happened. It made for an odd alliance with his memory of Maric the first time Alistair met Cailan.

9:19 Dragon- Denerim Palace

Snow piled in the corners of the exterior hallway. The outfit they made him wear itched; clothes much nicer than those he wore at home. Alistair couldn’t feel his gloved fingers from the cold, let alone the hand he was holding. He noticed the splitting wood of the frost covered doors he counted as he walked down the hallway. Denerim Palace, a place he had heard of, seen in passing the few times he visited the city, wasn't as nice as Alistair expected.

Unsure why Duncan brought him here, he followed the order to hold the man’s hand. Inconsistent but caring, Duncan had visited Alistair at Redcliffe at least once a year Alistair’s entire life. But this was the first time Duncan took Alistair from Redcliffe. Eamon had approved, and Alistair trusted Duncan.

A boy older than Alistair waited by a bench in the courtyard. The boy’s clothes, pressed and layered with ornate detail, looked even fancier than Alistair's itchy outfit. Uncertain, Alistair’s lingering glance wandered up to Duncan. With a silent nod, Duncan’s eyes urged Alistair to walk to the other boy.

Taking tentative steps, Alistair released Duncan’s hand and walked to the bench, noticing another man sitting across the courtyard. He was large, donned in royal regalia and spoke with someone Alistair assumed was his assistant. The large man’s eyes flickered to Alistair even while he was talking. Alistair knew who the man must be. But why is the King looking at me?

“I’m Prince Cailan Theirin.” The older boy announced, his right hand extending in a professional manner Alistair had seen grown-ups use to introduce themselves. Alistair’s eyebrows bunched, his gaze following the movement of Cailan’s hand before glancing to Duncan again. Why is he doing that?

Cailan glanced at his unreciprocated handshake and brought his hand back to his side. He attempted another greeting. “Your name’s Alistair, right?”

How does he know my name? “Yeah,” Alistair answered and met Cailan’s gaze. Blond hair and blue eyes, something about the older boy looked familiar. “Do I know you?”

“Nope,” Cailan answered with a weak smile. “But I’ve heard about you. Do you want to play?”

Having long since been taught his insignificance, the idea of an older boy, let alone the Prince of Ferelden wanting to play with him seemed laughable. He couldn’t hide his humor. Alistair snorted, not noticing Duncan sitting next to the King. A bashful smirk preceded Alistair’s question for the Prince. “Why would you want to play with me?”

Bold and brazen, Cailan grinned before he held up his hand. The motion suggested Alistair allow Cailan to whisper something in his ear; Alistair nodded and leaned in. “Don’t tell anyone. But you and me, we’re brothers. Forever.”

While Cailan whispered, Alistair’s eyes landed on King Maric. Undistracted, he appeared interested in the meeting of Alistair and Cailan. Leaning forward, King Maric’s arms rested on his knees as he watched.

Alistair would never forget King Maric’s pensive smile.

The recollection encouraged the differences Alistair made from his father. Something akin to anger spurred within. Shouldn't we tell him? Morrigan wouldn’t allow it. Part of their agreement from the night of the ritual, Kieran wasn’t to know Alistair as his father. It served Alistair too. As King, having a bastard son with the Witch of the Wilds would be frowned upon. The fact he cared sparked more discontent. Even without a mirror, Alistair recognized the heavy-hearted smile he wore from the one he saw on Maric in his memory.

Acknowledging the similarities between Alistair's childhood and Kieran’s roused regret. Not given a choice, the option of having a father absent, Alistair spent his life pondering what could have been. He didn't wish the same for Kieran. But without a plausible alternative, Alistair evaded emotional discomfort with humor.

“I think he likes you, Caoilainn.” Alistair stepped to her, standing by her side with a hand resting on her hip. He gave a sideways glance. “He was definitely flirting with you. Quite awkwardly, I might add.”

Caoilainn hummed, her head tilted back, eyebrows creased,  mocking surprise and intrigue with Alistair’s assessment. “Ah… so he’s a flirt. Like his father.” She watched his reaction from the corner of her eye.

Alistair squinted, mocking displeasure with the connection she made. His free hand adjusted the position of the cord of his spaulders. He watched his hand with rapt and aimless attention. “Yes, well.... I suppose it runs in the family. I hope he uses that ability with care as he gets older. Right then.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes and sauntered into the room from where she stood in the doorway. Unamused by their banter, her low and impatient voice interrupted.  “If you two are done, I have news.”

Caoilainn's heart jumped. Cautious excitement teased by potential fulfillment of her initial goal. The solution to her strife and what felt a deep-seated inadequacy relied on a cure to the Calling. Caoilainn held her breath, unable to speak.

Aware of his wife’s sudden tension, her body freezing, muscles flexing into rigidity, Alistair spoke for them both. "The good kind, I hope?”

“‘Tis good as it can be,” Morrigan stood across from the couple. The slight angle of her hips, joined with her lifted arm reflected her nonchalant attitude. She explained more detail about the information she learned from her journey into the Temple of Mythal. “I gained knowledge from the elven temple, ages of wisdom whisper a new understanding of the world. I can hear the taint in your blood, and I know why it keeps you barren.”

“Well that’s great,” Alistair broke his gaze to look at Caoilainn. He joked in a loud whisper. “At first I thought she was kidding, but she really is hearing voices."

Morrigan scowled at him, but Caoilainn’s movement interrupted her reply. Eyes wide with intrigue, Caoilainn stepped from Alistair’s side to stand across from Morrigan. “Why? Morrigan, what do we need to know? What do we do?”

“The Old Gods are not concerned with your reproduction. Soldering with your blood, charring your insides, the taint grows and strengthens.” Morrigan’s matter-of-fact explanation provoked blank stares from the couple. “You have borrowed power from the Old Gods and alas, they will call you to the Deep Roads to reclaim it.”

“Well, that sounds hopeful,” Alistair laughed as his hand met his brow. “Don't be too blunt, Morrigan.”

“So what do we do?” Caoilainn's voice eager, eyes sparkling with the excitement she failed to maintain.

Whispers of rituals and blood magic, Morrigan spoke of absolution of the taint for the King and Queen. A cleansing of their bodies, freeing them the disease and its hold. Morrigan provided a hazy description of her plan. The process would require an altar for their purification and a drop of Kieran’s blood. Even with the vague report, Alistair refused. He resisted yet another ceremony to follow what Caoilainn already required to purge the red lyrium. The condition of blood magic set his dissent; his opinion strengthened by the need to use his illegitimate son’s blood.

Concerned brows furrowed, Morrigan asked about the other ceremony and Caoilainn described. Philippa and Aiden’s details, unclear and confusing to Caoilainn and Alistair, incited worry in Morrigan.

“Don't be a fool, Alistair. As I am sure you are both aware, the taint is accelerated for those who complete the Joining during a Blight such as yourselves,” Morrigan reported, her critical stare passing between both Alistair and Caoilainn. A new comprehension of the world and its function included a new understanding of the taint. “The red lyrium will expedite it.”

Caoilainn nodded, her brows creased with intent. A deep breath in and a purposeful sigh, she turned to Alistair. “I want to try the ritual.”

“Caoilainn,” Alistair sighed. His hands lifted, palms up, an indirect plea for her to rethink her decision. "We don't even know all it entails."

“I don’t have time to wait, Alistair.” Her head shaking, she took his hands into hers. “We might have a few years left as it is. If what she says is true, I’ll have even less.”

“Make this decision with care, Caoilainn.” With her warning, Morrigan’s expression changed. No longer cool and detached, now she showed empathy. Displeased with the news she must deliver, Morrigan frowned, her brows relaxed. “You may not heal enough from the damage the taint has done to have a child. The cure may be for naught.”

Heart sinking into the pit of her stomach, Caoilainn gazed at the floor. The answer seemed simple. An attempt at the cure could save years of her life. But without guarantee for recovery, the latent risks of blood magic may be in vain.

Standing between Alistair and Morrigan, Caoilainn looked at neither. “I’ll do it.” Her gaze traveled up to Alistair, imploring his willingness. “Please, my love. Consider joining me.”

The meeting adjourned after. Morrigan gave a time in two days, justified by a need to collect supplies, secure a location, and speak with the other sorceresses. The explanation made Alistair cringe.

[shystoryrebel]

Saat Phere and Radha

A strange sense of thrill infused Diya and Rishaan on their visit to Goa that day. There had been an agreement between them at dinner time when Diya had announced her decision to ring her marriage bells in front of the God in the ISKCON (Krishna) temple, Goa at the time of deep-aradhana.

“If Kate can solemnize her marriage in ISKCON (Krishna) temple, Goa, so can I,” she had argued passionately.

Rishaan was griped in upset voices, “Kate is the daughter of an IAS officer. She can have that luxury and resources.”

Kate was the best friend of Diya and used to come every day and both used to bolt themselves in the room of Diya for hours.

“Besides,” she added, provoking him deliberately, “In the eyes of God, we all are equal, IAS or no IAS.” She was not rather sure whether he had listened to this bit, for he had already turned away in antipathy. But after dinner she caught him again.

“That horrid Mission school she attended to” which meant he had heard….”She was a spoilt child,” she caught him murmuring.

She was convinced that he had not taken her seriously. That was the trouble with men: they always presumed that women are not sharp enough in such matters and if they would accept their intelligence and ability unquestionably, their manliness will be dimmed.

But women have to endure such inadequacy without complaint. Even back home she had to come back before the evening flurry of lamp-lighting started. But boys at home were free of this burden.

Diya cried a lot. She did not know how time passed by. She was not emotionally strong.

Rishaan approached her and touched her shoulder. She shrugged and started crying inconsolably.

“Why are you crying?” He asked.

“Sit down and listen me carefully.” She said.

She then showed him an old photograph of her and Rishaan sitting in a temple.

That photograph took him to their past days spent together. A past full of sweet memories.

She was his sweet love; his angel. His everything. Everything of her’s will be his’.

His heart was melted. Love became victorious.

She wept as she held his hand.

She bolted the door so that he might not leave the room.

“Don’t say no to ISKCON (Krishna) temple, Goa. I love you,” were her passionate words.

She kept on repeating her wish but Rishaan was hesitant to go to ISKCON (Krishna) temple, Goa, to solemnize their marriage.

Not everything in life had a reason, to say yes. He lost out to her emotions. He ultimately surrendered and said ‘Yes.’

She inspired him in every possible way. She became a motivational force. He started dreaming. She gave his life a motto. A dream. A dream to be lived and conquered.

They booked tickets to Goa by Tata Airlines.

The great day came. They were very excited. At the right time they reached the airport and boarded the plane. They were very happy. But all hell broke.

In the same flight Rishaan met his old friend Kiarra and her seat was also with them. After initial introductory formalities, Kiara became very informal with Rishaan. They had drinks together too but Diya did not like all this at all. After dinner, all slept.

In the middle of the flight, Kiara woke up to go the washroom. When she returned, she was too lazy to push her way into the middle seat. And with Rishaan readily offering to shift seats, the seating arrangement changed. With 20 minutes still remaining for the flight to land, a sleep starved Kiara took another power nap, this time holding Rishaan's right hand more firmly. Rishaan's other hand, though, nervously moved to touch Diya's. Her heart skipped a beat. Diya pulled her hand away. But a defiant Rishaan held her wrist again, this time firmly and more reassuringly. The changing behavioral dynamics between the three perhaps gave out a foreboding of what was to come in Goa. When the flight landed at the Dabolim Airport, Rishaan felt uncanny..his excitement seemed replaced by an unknown fear that he found very difficult to decipher.

They reached the hotel Sea View.

Rishaan was in a dilemma, for the storm brewing in the hearts of all. He was trying to recollect the past of his life but was shocked that he couldn’t recollect even a thing. His mind was not working. Initially he thought, he was yet to awake from his deep slumber. But that was not the case. He realized that he did not know who he was. His mind became blank. In the brightness of the day in Goa, he was feeling darkness of night.

The clock struck four and Kiara could see the sun rise. Bringing with it the pink rays of the dawn and pushing the dark night and stars out. She had spent hours introspecting about herself and was still hovering in dark about hers and Rishaan relationship.

Her mind went numb and cold. During the tense hours of night only Scotch gave her much needed solace. She quickly gulped the alcohol, from the bottle directly. She could feel the Scotch running through her veins to the brain. The alcohol opened her mental faculties and it dawned upon her she was going to break a relationship and two hearts.

“But who am I?” Wondered Kiara. Her brain was flooded with millions of questions about her relationships with Rishaan. “Was I simple friend, or ‘X’, or an ordinary acquaintance…..Who was I?” She knew, even Rishaan or Diya in the hotel room would not be able to answer her puzzle. She was in a muddle. There was no one else, except those three. That reality added to her distress as her question was to remain unanswered. She felt claustrophobic in the room and rushed out of the room in the dark night.

The fresh morning breeze brought about some peace and comfort to her mind. She felt silly that it did not strike to her to ask Rishaan and Diys about their relationship and future plan. They would have ridiculed her for asking such a ridiculous question. She was broken, but she was not the one to give up so easily.

Kiara gathered courage to ask this question to Rishaan. He was her only hope and that was to be a clue about her future. Suddenly Rishaan also can out of the room. When Kiara saw Rishaan, her eyes filled with tears and she hugged him saying, “Rishaan, I know, you have got Diya in your life!” Her statement came as a shock, yet she gave comfort to Rishaan that she had admitted the reality.

She asked him, “How am I related to you?”

He replied very coldly, “You are my ex-girlfriend.”

Out came another question from her, “Since when were you dating Diya?”

He answered, “Since more than a year.”

Then she probed him about their future.

That was the stupidest mistake Rishaan made since he revealed his relationship with Diya, because, after that she started blabbering.

Rishaan had no option, but to listen her. It was crucial to listen to his ex-girlfriend. Her voice was very sad. Rishaan got lost in his past days spent with Kiarra.

She almost shouted, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, dear,” Rishaan muttered.

In a high voice, she posed like a school teacher, “OK, now tell me, what you heard?”

Initially, he faltered, but regaining his confidence, he started talking.

She became very emotional and said, “You don’t have to be worried Rishaan. You enjoy. Calm down please.

Then she opened her mouth full of pain, “You have cheated me.” She said.

Gathering courage, Rishaan said, “No one was at fault. It was destiny.”

“Yes for men, it was easy to blame destiny and go away.” She replied.

“Please enlighten me, how did I cheat you?” Asked Rishaan.

Rishaan was shattered when he heard her say that he enjoyed physical relations with her.

Again he was stunned and scared. His hands started shaking. She said how she gave you blowjob and he removed all her clothes.

“What non-sense! It was your consent too.” He said in utter astonishment and bewilderment.

“Yes,’yes, but now you are dating a new girl,” she retorted.

“What next? Please tell me? How I cheated you and played with your body?” He shouted angrily.

“Wasn’t this enough?” She asked angrily.

He said,” Please tell me everything; I have forgotten everything my dear?”

She sniggered and said, “Ok, listen, but calm down, you need to mentally prepare yourself for this. Again I will repeat my love making to remind you, how you cheated me and played with me?”

Rishaan was shocked and stunned. He could not speak nor could stay there. Rishaan tried to run inside the room.

Suddenly she said, “Listen, all that was a joke.”

Rishaan heaved a sigh of relief.

She said, “You were always very nice and decent with me.”

That gave her a sense of pleasure. “I told her you were exceptionally mischievous in love making.”

She gave him a naughty smile and said, “You were generic.”

He felt that his mind was blocked because of that ‘Scotch’ he had last night with her.\

Rishaan felt heavy. She came close to him, petted on his cheek and said, “Listen carefully, I always thwarted the idea of falling for you, but my heart always pulled me towards you. I could not resist your charm.”

Shocked on these revelations, he sat on the bench and listened more carefully to her.

“I was mesmerized by your charm. Sometimes you became cranky. But I made you happy by my foreplay. But I always saw a gap in you.” She told.

“You never talked about your love for Diya whenever I asked you about your any affair. You always looked at my breast cleave,” saying this she revealed her breast cleave.

Rishaan was puzzled by her behavior, he asked, “What is this?”

She shouted at Rishaan, “Get out of your stupidity. It is time to come out of your innocence and understand things.”

He felt that she would cry or shout on him. So Rishaan prepared for her outburst.

“You never told me that you have another one in your life.”

I asked, “What? Where is your frustration heading?”

“Do you think that I am stupid or a whore to quench your lust?” she retorted.

“No, no. We were both drunk and both young, so all the wrong thing done.” He replied very coolly.

This was followed by a volley of abuses for me. Her word started hitting his heart like a sharp javelin.

He gathered courage and apologized to her, “I’m sorry Kiara,”

“Only sorry? Man has got the license to plunder a woman and leave her. God bless you and Diya and protect you.” She said in a loud voice and left him spellbound.

Kiara, silently left the hotel room. She reached the ISKCON (Krishna) temple. She arrived at the abode of Lord Krishna. She saw the majestic door of the temple. She knew about the temple. The idol inside was infinitely more beautiful than the ones in other temples.

She circled the majestic temple slowly and slowly. Her mind was full of new and different ideas. Some were good and some were bad. Then she almost ran along the long, bright wall, inviting the curious attention of passers-by, but who could not keep up with her. The river of tears ran through her eyes.

The eastern frontage of the temple enchanted Kiaara. She reached the holy water tank which has the collection of waters from different holy rivers. The jade green-clean water attracted her. In the enclosed area, reserved for women bathing, women were taking holy dips without any hesitation and shame, chanting holy hymns. They were thumping each other on body and back.

Pigeons whirled and cooed on the roof top, the walls. The dawn and early, pink sunlight, their incredible mix of spiritualism and mysticism, inside the conical hall and inner sanctuary, clutched to her heart making her forget her past and her attachment to Rishaan. Quickly she moved through the temple. Standing in front of the majestic idol of Lord Krishna, she almost felt like lost in Him. She felt fabulously isolated there, floating breathtakingly between earth and sky. The bathers in the tank were just floating souls, the pigeons flying white-black-red in the sky, she felt like one with them.

But her feet were turning cool and heavy. The muhurt of deep-aradhana was near. She stood up in front of the idol, hand folded, eyes closed. She touched the deep-pole three times for good-luck, moved swiftly, bowing her head in obeisance. She bowed a dutiful greeting to the majestic Lord Krishna, folded her hands and touched her eyes before the white, visible Krishna and swiftly moved towards the crowded main sanctuary. A memorable fragrance of deep oil and flowers welcomed her. All the devotees stood in front, their eyes closed, their lips moving in an ecstasy of mesmerizing hymns.

She saw big bell above. She leaped up, pushed the bell with one echoing sound and was down the steps before anybody understood what was happening. She sat on the steps of the temple. Love or relationship with Rishaan became inextricably mixed up with serious bonding for her own newly acquired spiritual salvation. She was unaware of the surroundings. She was feeling amazingly light-hearted, wonderfully contented. She decided to stay back in the temple.

She was in dire disgrace. She contacted the head priest Pundit Krishna Das. She took diksha.Her tight-lipped silence was infinitely more expressively than speech. For the silence seemed filled with thousand voices singing within her. And she was quite and quite sure that the all merciful Lord Krishna within the temple will protect her and bless her, in whose eyes all are equal, and He has accepted her with love. Now she was a sadhvi. Ma Radha to the world.

Kiara was singing and dancing with devotees. She reached near the main idol of Lord for darshan.In the main hall, in front of the idol head priest Pundit Krishna Das was reciting;

“Om Sarva Mangala Mangalye, Shive Sarvartha Sadhike,

Sharanye Trayambake Gauri Narayani Namo-stute”.

And a young pair was taking pheresaround agni (Fire). Groom was in white dhoti-kurta and bride was in red sari. Both were knotted by a pink chunri. Pundit ji further recited in loud voice;

Vakratunda Mahakaya Suryakoti Samaprabha –

Nirvighnam Kuru Me Deva Sarva-Kaaryessu Sarvadaa

At the completion of seven auspicious phres all threw flower petals and auspicious yellow rice over the newlywed couple. Kiara, now sadhvi Ma Radha, in saffron attire also threw flower petals and yellow rice, with eyes closed. When Kiara opened her eyes, she found in front of her, Rishaan and Diya as groom and bride.

[hailey-halstead]

Note

Hi guys!! TWO WEEKS LEFT UNTIL CHICAGO FIRE IS BACK! Of course this means brettonio!!!! anyways, here is a fic i have been working on! i had antonio be the more vulnerable one here....also of course there are situations where one person could be to blame for a marriage ending, but with Antonio and Laura, I felt it was not just his fault, you know? Hope you all enjoy and as always I don’t own anything!

———

Molly’s was not having one of its busiest nights, but Sylvie was glad her favorite bar wasn’t packed. Of course, she always wants her friends to have a good business, but it’s always a perk to not have to shove through a large crowd to get a refill or have to yell to the person sitting across from you because it’s way too loud. Gabby and Stella weren’t told this information though, Sylvie wouldn’t dare.

“....He drives me insane!” Sylvie checked back into the conversation, catching the end of Stella’s rant. Without even listening to her, she knew she was complaining about Severide. Personally, Sylvie thought it was insane that she was living with the guy that she has been in love with for forever, but she has continued to bite her tongue. And with Gabby around, she never really had to voice her inner thoughts aloud. Fortunately her friend seemed to have the same thoughts about Stella living with Severide.

Gabby dove right in, refusing to sugarcoat her words. “Then move out.” She said, pausing to take a sip of her bourbon. “You haven’t exactly been looking for apartments though....” She put her finger on her chin purely for theatrics, adding a raised eyebrow too. “Thought this was temporary.”

The tightening of Stella’s lips was the only indication of Gabby’s words getting to her. Other than that, she kept a poker face. Sylvie was impressed, as someone who was never able to keep her feelings hidden. “It is temporary!”

To Sylvie’s horror, Stella decided to bring her into the conversation. “Gabby, you’re speaking from a married woman’s perspective. Sylvie, you have to understand where I’m at, right?”

Sylvie didn’t know what to say. No, she didn’t understand. Both what Stella was saying and the situation she was in. But since Gabby was being tossed aside and not listened to, Sylvie didn’t have the excuse of not voicing her option anymore. She wouldn’t be a good friend if she didn’t say the truth.

“You should look for other apartments,” She admitted, clutching her drink tighter in anticipation of Stella’s reaction. “You like Severide. Don’t deny it!” Sylvie quickly added as Stella opened her mouth to deny it. “It’s just super messy. And since you two work together, that makes everything more complicated.”

Thankfully, Stella didn’t fight against Sylvie’s words. “I’ll look for an apartment.” She conceded. Sylvie wondered if Stella would keep her word, considering how her and Severide’s relationship was though, she was sure the drama would be drawn out longer than it should be. “Now, can we talk about something else?”

“You’re the one who brought the subject up.” Gabby said, a small smile of amusement on her face. The words themselves were snarky, but the tone was light.

The conversation smoothly transitioned to work, sans any mention of one Kelly Severide. At one point of the conversation, Sylvie thought she felt her phone buzz. When she took it out of her pocket, she realized she was right, seeing Antonio’s name on the screen. She was too late though, as less than a second later, her phone was back to its main screen.

Curious, she looked at her recent calls. Not only was Antonio’s name on top, with the call he made just seconds prior, he had made the past four calls as well. All in the span of 20 minutes. Concerned, Sylvie hit Antonio’s number to call him back.

“I’m going to make a phone call,” She told Gabby and Stella, who were still engrossed in their conversation. “I’ll be back in a second.”

They both gave a hand wave of acknowledgement. Sylvie then stepped away, finding a quiet corner. She held her phone up to her ear, hoping Antonio would answer right away. Seeing that she had five missed calls from him made her feel worried.

He picked up. “Where are you?” He questioned, skipping the usual hello. His voice sounded anxious and panicked, unusual for Antonio.

This had her more concerned than before. Did she not tell him? “I’m at Molly’s.” She responded. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—“

“No, no, no, I’m sorry.” He was stumbling over his words. “I probably forget or something, I don’t know.” A shaky sigh. “I just....needed to hear your voice.”

Whatever it was, she didn’t have a good feeling about it. This wasn’t nothing, something had to going on. “I’ll be over in 10, okay?”

At that, he seemed to come back to Earth. “You don’t have to do that.” He almost sounded convincing, and she may have believed it if he was acting so weird prior. “It was a hard day at work, that’s all.”

There was no use in staying at Molly’s, she would be worrying about Antonio until she got the opportunity to see him. “More of a reason for me to come over.”

“But—“

“No buts. I’ll see you soon.” Before ending the call, she adds “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” He said. He was sounding better than when he first answered the phone, which was some relief.

Sylvie slipped her phone back into her pocket, and walked back to where she was previously sitting with Gabby and Stella. “I have to go guys, sorry to cut girl’s night short.” She apologized, giving Stella money to cover her two drinks.

She hesitated, wondering if she should be truthful about Antonio or not. “I’ll tell you guys later.” She decided, ignoring their questioning looks. “Everything’s fine, I promise.” She tried to reassure them without giving too much detail.

They both looked like they wanted to push for more information, but thankfully they didn’t. “We’ll see you later then.” Stella said, giving Sylvie’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Hope everything is good.”

Gabby gave her a similar goodbye, but added a teasing statement before Sylvie began walking away. “Tell my brother I said hello.”

“I will.” She was able to get out despite being flustered. She still heard Gabby’s laugh as she walked out of the bar.

***

When Sylvie got to Antonio’s door, she put in the key that Antonio had gifted her weeks prior, and turned the doorknob. She stepped inside and looked around for her boyfriend.

She didn’t have to look far. Although he was in the other room, she was at the right angle to be able to see him sitting on the couch.

Not wanting to startle him, she called out to him as she was shutting the door behind her. “Hey, I’m here.”

She heard him sigh. “I told you that you didn’t have to.” He said, turning towards her, but remaining on the couch.

Sylvie walked over towards him, taking in his appearance. He was slightly hunched over, something she might have not noticed if they were still the acquaintances they once were. But now, after getting to know him so well, as both her boyfriend and a person, the little things like the tension he was holding in his shoulders was something she could not ignore.

“But I wanted to.” She reminded him, sitting down on the open cushion next to him. Now that she was closer, she noticed how his hands were clenched into tight fists. She reached out and grabbed them, opening them up as an attempt to relieve some of his tension.

But his hands weren’t empty. There was a crumpled up piece of paper inside one of his hands. Sylvie gingerly removed it, assuming that since he wasn’t making any movements suggesting that he didn’t want her to have the paper, she could read it.

‘At Molly’s, will be back later’ the note read, with a heart doodle at the end instead of a period. She did let him know where she was going. Normally she would have texted him, but she misplaced her phone and didn’t know where it was. Luckily, she ended up finding in her car, but assumed that the note she left would be enough.

“Why did you call me then?” She questioned, looking up from the note. Antonio was not looking at her, though. He was staring at the note still in Sylvie’s hands.

When he looked up, he still couldn’t meet her eyes. Instead, his were darting around, looking everywhere but at her. “I couldn’t open it.” He admitted, finally making eye contact after a minute of awkward silence.

What was this about, she wondered, trying to think of any possible reason. The anniversary of the day his grandmother died was last month, which they visited her grave. With that, she scratched off the possibility of any other death anniversary.

And any extreme situation, like Eva or Diego being hurt or in danger. If this was the case, he wouldn’t be secretive with his emotions.

Speculating wouldn’t get her answers. “Why not?” She finally asked, stroking the inside of Antonio’s left wrist, hoping it was calming him down. At least it was for her.

“Today, five years ago, was when I came home to a note,” He started to explain.

Oh. Now Sylvie knew where this was going. “Antonio....” She murmured, putting her feelings of sadness, sympathy, and guilt into a single word.

“And no wife and kids.” He finished. With the truth revealed, he seemed slightly embarrassed, detaching one of his hands from Sylvie’s and running it through his hair a couple of times.

She immediately began wishing that she could change her past actions. “I should have texted you when I found my phone in my car.” She berated herself, feeling partly responsible for the pain Antonio was feeling. Of course she wasn’t the one who ultimately caused it, but made everything worse.

Her guilt seemed to make him more distressed. “No, no, don’t blame yourself.” He is silent for a few minutes, but Sylvie knew that he had more to say, so she remained quiet. “It’s not that I’m still hung up over Laura. I want you to know that.”

“I know.”

“What I mostly get hung up over is the fact I tore my family apart, and Eva and Diego have to deal with the consequences. They are the ones who were the most affected, and still are.” He said.

How long has he been keeping these beliefs, these demons, inside of him? It was surprising to her that she has not heard anything about this before, not even a mention. This was a huge burden Antonio was putting on his shoulders.

“Antonio,” Sylvie said gently, wanting her boyfriend to understand that he wasn’t solely at fault. “There are two people in a marriage.” She reminded him.

“Hm.” He made a noise of acknowledgement. He was at least taking her words into consideration. An impressive feat for him due to his stubbornness. Above all, it encouraged her to continue.

“One of first things I noticed about you was your love and dedication for your job. I’m sure that’s what other people see too, and Laura can’t be an exception to that.”

“You leaving Chicago was never an option,” Sylvie reached forward to cup her hand around Antonio’s cheek. “She had to know that when she married you.”

He nodded, beginning to realize the truth of Sylvie’s words. “She did.” He admitted.

She could have stopped there, but she kept going. “You tried to fight for your marriage, you didn’t want it to end.”

At that, Antonio’s face, that had been lightening up throughout their conversation, twisted into a grimace. “I love where I am right now.” He took her hand off of his cheek, and squeezed it.

“I know!” She assured him, not wanting him to worry about her because they were talking about his past marriage. “I just want you to know that the end of your relationship with Laura was not only on your shoulders.” He nodded again, but gave him another look, not wanting him to agree with her just cause.

He sighed, exasperated. He didn’t seem frustrated with her, but with himself. “Everything you’re telling me is true, but it’s hard for me to stop blaming myself.”

Perfectly understandable, even though it pained her that he still felt he was to blame. “Time will help.” She said, leaning forward to press her lips against his for a moment. ���I love you.”

He repeated the words back to her, a mumble as their lips were still attached. Sylvie had lost count on how many times I love you’s have been exchanged, but each time the declaration never failed to bring a smile onto her face.

She crawled onto his lap, wanting to get closer to him. For the next few moments, she wrapped up in Antonio, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his hands moving up and down her back. But the note she left came back into her mind, along with how lost Antonio had looked when she arrived at the apartment. At this memory, she separated herself from him, despite his complaints. “And I’m not going anywhere.” She swore, never wanting Antonio to feel any doubt with their relationship ever again.

Antonio answered with a blinding smile. “Good.” And brought her back to his lips, resuming their prior activity.

[maskedzofian-blog]

nightmares | conrad & eliwood

Eli-mun and I were talking on Discord about Eliwood’s nightmares, and how what would happen should Conrad find him suffering so. Unseen context: Conrad lit several candles and brought an overstuffed plushie to Eliwood before waking him to help ease his nerves upon waking. Thread was trimmed to fit size limit.

E: "I've always relied on taking walks during the night to calm myself," Eliwood admitted, "my retainers do not like it when I wander off at night though. I am beginning to believe that talking is helpful as well. I appreciate your care Conrad, truly."

C: “If it helps, then I’m very glad to do it. There’s no need for thanks.” He sat the bear he’d brought down on Eliwood’s pillow. “Would you like me to stay, or are you alright? I have no issue remaining.”

E: "Pray forgive me, for startling you with such a display," Eliwood replied, running his left fingers over his right knuckles with unease, "it seems no matter how often I have them, I am unable to remain composed when I dream."

C: “Apologies aren’t necessary, my lord. You can’t control how you act when you dream. I’m only sorry there’s no way to ease them.”

E: "I suppose it isn't unfathomable for one to be unable to forget their regrets," Eliwood stated, taking in a shaky breath, "ah, I digress...I mustn't overwhelm you with such details."

C: “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t willing to listen.” He placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “You are my friend, Lord Eliwood. Or at least I pray I am not wrong in that. I should like to help as I can.”

E: "Do you remember...when I mentioned my father?" Eliwood asked, averting his gaze.

C: He gave the other a small squeeze before taking his hand back. “I recall you mentioning his death,” he spoke gently.

E: "My goal was to save him. I had journeyed for months in search of him. When I finally found him, I was so happy," Eliwood began, "but I was powerless to save him. I could only hold him as he died." He closed his eyes, his hands trembling as he tilted his head downward. "I...I s-still can't forgive myself." His voice faltered.

C: “Eliwood,” he spoke, softly as possible, not even noticing he’d dropped the title from the other’s name. “You did not strike a blow against him. You are not at fault for something you didn’t do.”

E: Eliwood found himself unable to meet Conrad's eyes as his breathing grew ragged from emotion, "He died because I wasn't strong enough to save him...I couldn't keep my promise to my mother. Had I been stronger, I could have done more..."

C: “No.” Conrad spoke with a strange authority. His hand hovered in the air, considering making the other look at his eyes, but decided against it. “Sometimes, your best will never be enough.” His own voice began to waver. “It is not because you are at fault. It is because as painful as it is, what happens was destined to come to pass.”

E: "Destiny is cruel," Eliwood muttered, for a moment his emotions dampering his idealism, "I was too weak to save my father, but strong enough to..." His words drop off and he places his hands onto his knees, his knuckles white from grip.

C: Conrad could see just how distressed his friend was, and it pained him in turn. What had occurred to make him hurt so? “You needn’t hold back with me, but you should not push yourself too far, either,” he spoke. “Be gentle with yourself.”

E: "Before my wife and I were married," Eliwood paused, feeling hesitation to admit the horrific deed he had done, "...I killed h-her." He gripped his knees tightly. "By mercy of the Gods she was given back to me...only to lose her again." He shifted a hand to his face, willing the tears away.

C: Conrad’s eyes widened, and he bit his lip in nerves as he decided what to say. “I cannot imagine the pain of losing someone twice,” he began, hands fidgeting. “But I know you to be a good enough man where it was never your intention. Mistakes... mistakes happen. But who you are is not what you did, Eliwood.”

E: "I...I cannot forget the sound of her last breaths. Almost every night, I relive those moments...helpless to change the outcome." Eliwood explained, his voice resonating with defeat. He paused for a few moments, brushing a hand over his eyes. He chuckled weakly, almost sensing Conrad's anxiety. "Pray, forgive me. It was never my intention for you to see me in such a state."

C: “Apologies are unnecessary.” He tucked some of his hair behind his ears, looking for anything to do with his hands. “You needed someone, and I am more than happy to do my part. I’m just... so sorry that this haunts you so.”

E: Speaking the words that had been buried in his throat provided him a sense of relief, even if it did not change what he had done in the past. He took in a deep breath, feeling composed once more. His eyes moved to study Conrad and he smiled gently, "You have my thanks. After admitting the details of my dreams, I feel a bit relieved," He paused, "but look at you, your hands are trembling...I did not mean to frighten you."

C: “Frightened is the wrong word.” He smiled, doing his best to look at ease. “I’m just happy to hear I’ve eased your hurt, even if only some.”

E: Eliwood reached forward, placing a hand on Conrad's shoulder, "Thank you, truly. I apologize if I brought you any discomfort." He gave him a friendly pat, before he drew his hand back. "Will you be returning to sleep as well?"

C: “In time.” In truth, probably not. But that was of no importance. “If it’s all the same, I’d like to stay for a time. I would prefer you sleeping soundly when I leave than to go and worry.”

E: A playful glint shone in Eliwood's eyes, "Oh? Are you fond of watching others sleep?" He teased light-heartedly.

C: He laughed quietly. “Certain others, perhaps. You should be proud to have caught my attention.” The teasing was certainly quite a sudden shift in mood, but Conrad was happy to see it.

E: The lord was unable to resist the chortle that escaped him, which quickly transitioned into poorly stifled laughter, dimples forming upon his cheeks. "I hadn't expected you to be witty, Conrad! I must admit I'm pleasantly surprised."

C: “Not always, I’m afraid. Typically I can’t tell when someone is teasing or not.” Eliwood was genuine in his actions - it was easy to know when he meant what he said. Others... well, Conrad mourned for his aloof reputation.

E: "Is that so?" Eliwood asked, a few residual chuckles escaping him. He smiled, "Then I'm happy to know my intentions come across clearly. After worrying you so, I wanted to ease the tension. It seems I may have been successful, given you laughed."

C: “It is only natural to worry. You are my friend, and you appeared terrified. I’m simply relieved I could help, and that you’re feeling better.” He reached to the side, picking up the plush bear. “Why don’t you keep him for a while? Mr. Snuggles is a terrific listener, should I not be around.”

E: "My apologies. Speaking honestly, I was quite distressed," Eliwood relaxed, his shoulders far more loose than they had been just minutes before, "you have my thanks again." He paused, taking the bear that had already been offered to him once before. He rested it in his lap, almost naturally, "Do you perchance sleep with this bear?"

C: Conrad flushed. “Not... always. I am perfectly capable of sleeping on my own.” The bear was only for the times he awoke from bad dreams - it was some semblance of comfort when he needed it most. But it seemed he’d serve Eliwood better.

E: Upon hearing Conrad's reaction, it was Eliwood's turn to become a bit flustered, "Pray, forgive me! It wasn't my intention to tease you," He sputtered, attempting to alleviate Conrad's embarrassment, "my question was rooted in the fact that the bear faintly smells of you." He paused, realizing the oddity of his statement. "A-ah...my, those words registered far less strange in my mind...pray, pay me no mind!" He said sheepishly, a slight pink hue burning in his cheeks.

C: Conrad’s cheeks darkened further. “W-well, I pray it’s at least a pleasant scent and not bothersome! If so, I... probably have another that is less used...”

E: *Oh dear, I am certain I have just made him even more uncomfortable.* Eliwood thought to himself before shaking his head, "Ah, yes! It is quite pleasant, not appalling in the slightest. Peace Conrad, I...Sweet Elimine my words are jumbled," He took a moment to collect his thoughts, still a bit pink from embarrassment, "I intended to ask you if you perhaps used any essential oils. I do myself and the scent reminds me of such."

C: “Ah. That’s not so bad, then.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, nerves easing some. “Sometimes, yes. Burning them helps me to relax.”

E: "That is certainly wise. I am fond of patchouli and vanilla. I often dab a bit along my neck," Eliwood replied, tracing his fingers along his collarbone to describe the location, "right here. In doing so, it remains fragrant for a significant portion of the day."

C: Conrad’s immediate reaction was to trace where Eliwood mentioned, or for his hand to follow his friends’ - but he recognized the oddity of it, and pulled his hand back before making contact, flushing. “Vanilla is nice, yes. I prefer rose the most.”

E: "Rose? My mother is very fond of rose," Eliwood smiled warmly, "for her birthday I have always sought out exotic rose oils for her use. Perhaps I shall have to keep you in mind as well."

C: He laughed. “I like it because of my mother, as well. She used to spend hours in the gardens, and every time she’d bring me back a rose or some petals. It reminds me of her.”

E: "She sounds wonderful. I'm glad you can find comfort in a familar scent," Eliwood replied with sincerity, "my mother wasn't much of a garderner, but she loved to dance. We like to dance in the garden together." He recalled, the memory fond in his heart. "Do you like to dance Conrad?"

C: He shook his head, though clearly amused by the memory the question recalled. “Goodness, no. I tried once, and it didn’t end well. Halcyon almost killed me when he realized how many pieces I managed to break a glass into.”

E: Eliwood couldn't help but to laugh, "Ah, so you have two left feet?" He teased lightly, "worry not! I shall take you under my wing and you'll learn to dance in no time." He encouraged, his eyes full of determination.

C: Conrad gave a small, nervous smile. “I don’t think you understand what a task you’re taking under,” he warned. ”Two left feet is the nice term for it.”

E: Eliwood smiled, "Regardless of the outcome, I think it will be fun. We shall plan it for another day." He replied, before releasing a soft yawn into his hand. He had nearly forgotten how late it was.

C: “You should sleep,” he replied. “If you do not object, I shall come to see you before we go to breakfast. Just to ensure you’re alright.”

E: "Very well. Then I shall see you in the morning," Eliwood replied, looking to the bear in his lap, "I'll take good care of Mr. Snuggles I assure you. Though he may not smell like roses upon his return to you."

C: “So long as he is safe, his smell is quite trivial.” He was hesitant as he began to stand, unsure if his friend was truly alright. “I just wish to be sure you are alright.” He looked Eliwood over, thinking, before finishing standing. “Are you?”

E: "I am certain I will manage," Eliwood replied, running a hand through his hair, brushing the bangs off of his face, "I truly appreciate what you've done for me tonight. Pray, be at peace. Sleep well, Conrad." Eliwood replied, smiling lightly. I am certain I've grown closer to Conrad tonight. May our friendship grow...He thought to himself, patting the bear absent-mindedly.

[chronosmith-blog]

The Wheel of Havoc Pt. 3

((Part 1 | Part 2))

25th Chord, 14th Cycle More than once as of late I have feared that this place might be driving me mad, and I would be convinced now, more than ever, were it not for the impossibility that I hold in my free hand, even as I write: that pocket chronometer, ticking softly in the pre-dawn darkness, defying every known natural law. I dreamed of the voice and the roaring darkness again for the first time in four days, and the voice spoke to me with greater clarity and calm than it ever has before. It did not wait for me to address it, but simply launched into its own speech the moment I became aware of its presence.

“Harmos’s responsibility was to make sure that each of us performed as we ought to, that we fulfilled our functions as the muses of our respective arts. I...” Here it faltered, uncertain. “I don’t know who turned him against us, but some entity outside of the Chorus convinced him that the coming struggle would render us, one and all, obsolete. He told us, before the end, that there was no place for art in war, and we would either sleep, or be reborn in the conflict that lay ahead. And then he had us all destroyed.”

“The war is over, now,” I replied. Something in the quality of the voice had changed. It seemed vulnerable, now, less commanding, less imperious.

“I know.” There was a moment of long silence. “Harmos didn’t survive, either. None of them did. Not even me.”

“And you are—“

“I was Metron. Who I am now, I don’t know.” There was no sense of great distress accompanying this statement. Rather, there was a lack of any sort of emotion that felt horrible in its own way. “There is no leader here. No leader, and nothing to lead.”

For the rest of the dream, I simply stayed in that space, listening as he spoke, repeating the words like a mantra. Even now, the echoes of them ring in my head, as vivid as any word ever spoken to me: “No leader. No leader. No leader.”

26th Chord, 14th Cycle Last night, upon entering the roaring darkness, there was only silence. It stretched on until I could bear it no longer, so I began to speak. I could feel the presence of the dead god—no. Not dead. The sleeping god, whatever remained of Metron. I could feel it was there, and for a long, long time it simply existed in silence as I spoke. It listened. I told the voice about what we, as scholars, knew about the city of Chorus, what sorts of theories had been made about what life was like, how beautiful it must have been, what sorts of things we believed led to its collapse. It neither confirmed not contradicted anything I said, even when I presented it with theories that could not have existed together. It merely listened, until I began to speak of the possibility that one of its companions might yet live on in some form, changed or reincarnated in some way: Lyrica.

“If Lyrica survived, then perhaps the others did, too.” There was again that sense of resignation, that sad acceptance. “You said the war is over. If they weren’t reborn then, maybe they will be soon.”

“And you?” I asked. It did not answer, and did not speak again.

27th Chord, 14th Cycle I am afraid. I do not think I can sleep tonight. I have packed the watch away because I cannot bear to listen to it ticking, for each soft sound brings me dangerously close to the memory of my last dream. I am loathe to revisit it long enough to commit it to this paper, but I feel that it is important now to stave off the feelings of deep dread that have risen within me, lest they consume me from within. I dreamed again, last night, and in the dream, what remained of Metron spoke to me again. It was angry. I knew it was angry the moment I entered the roaring darkness. “If Lyrica yet lives,” it said, “then some fragment of Harmos might persist.” I could not bring myself to speak in the face of that anger.

And then I felt a black hatred—such seething malevolence, the likes of which I have never felt before and hope never to again—I do not know how to describe it aside from a fury that was so savage that, even though I knew it was not directed at me, shook me to my very core. The emotion was so strong that it didn’t need to speak for me to understand it: there was a violent rejection of Harmos, of any echo of Harmos, of anything resembling the order that Harmos had once represented. 

That rage—that terrible feeling—underneath it I could sense a pulse, like the beating of a spark, a constant cadence, a phrase that rang in the back of my mind, again and again. It was this being’s will never again to be subdued, and the words that had once been its sad and steady lament had been changed into a chant of war. No leader. No leader, ever again. An-arkhos, in the Protal vernacular.

Anarkhos.

28th Chord, 14th Cycle I’ve seen him, by the Gods. I’ve seen him. I’ve seen him. I dare not speak that name, ever again. I regret writing it to paper. I fear that I have given him form by committing that bodiless voice to a name. I’ve tried to bring myself to destroy this journal, but I can’t. I physically cannot. What have I done? What have I done?

29th Chord, 14th Cycle An eye. A single, terrible, unblinking eye in the center of a wheel, but a horrible perversion of the toothed wheel that was the symbol of Metron: a mass of whirling blades, claws orbiting that pitiless eye; a wheel of havoc turns endlessly at the back of my mind. I’ve seen him. The wheel writhes in a way no machine, or god of machines, should move. It is as if, in rejecting the order Hamos brought to the Chorus, he has rejected the order within himself, and sought to invert it in every way in an act of crazed defiance.

This being, changed though he was, still considered himself, in some form, a muse. He made something. He tried to show it to me, that first creation, but I could not parse it. It is some demoniac inversion of what was once the order and structure that he brought to art, nonsensical geometries that clashed with one another in an endless, roiling chaos. Even now the shape of the memory doesn’t want to stay in my mind, and I fear that it will rattle my thoughts from their moorings and leave me adrift. 

I cannot bear to look upon that being or its creation again; I do not want to think of what sorts of things its twisted will with birth in the future. When I woke this morning I was full of such terror that I destroyed the chronometer. I do not know what awaits me tonight, when I sleep, but I fear it.

5th Chord, 15th Cycle In the past week I have had no dreams that were in any way out of the ordinary, for which I am grateful. We will be leaving this site near the end of the month. My colleagues’ spirits have been rising steadily over the past few weeks, and despite the lack of solid information we have gathered on the lives of the mecha who lived here or the particulars of the Chorus, everyone is buoyed by the knowledge that they were right, and that the discovery of this place alone has made their careers. It has made mine, but I take no joy in this. Instead, I find myself perched on the edge of anxiety, always waiting for each evening to plunge me back into that horrible terror. I cannot banish the wheel from my mind; it turns and turns somewhere behind my eyes. If I am forced to look upon it again I fear I will lose my mind.

17th Chord, 15th Cycle Tomorrow we are going home. I will be returning to the university as an academic hero, which is something we have precious few of in these years so recently after the terrible war. My story—that of a dauntless, determined scholar who convinced his superiors to take a chance, and who uncovered what might have been the greatest archaeological find of this millennium—will be told again and again by generations of students and instructors alike. The wheel is turning.

I wish we had never come here.

19th Chord, 15th Cycle Whatever has become of what was once Metron, I do not think he is dead. He sleeps, though, and sometimes, when I sleep, I can feel his dreams. He is too lost in his own slumber to leave the tomb of Chorus. I sense in those dreams a terrible hunger for vengeance, and though I pity him as much as I fear him, I must not allow him to wake—or, at the very least, I will not allow myself to be the one that wakes him. I do not fear that he would directly harm me in any way. I feel that I have earned his loyalty, such as it is, as the first and only being to leave his favored offering in that bleak and abandoned shrine, the first and only supplicant of this new god. They say the devil takes care of his own. In this case, I believe it. Only his slumber keeps him there, though, and I feel that the only thing that would come of his waking would be destruction.

 ---

My dearest,

I want you to know, more than anything, that I love you, and, if I am able, I will come back to you. I have experienced things in lost Chorus that have changed me, and not for the better. I cannot live with those memories. Fear not, for I do not seek my own destruction. I apologize if I have seemed distant since returning to Polyhex, but I have been dragged, again and again, back into a fearful place in my mind that I know I will never escape on my own. 

It is not the recent disaster that befell lost Chorus that has troubled me so—though it is regrettable that a second cataclysm has swallowed the city forever, making further excavation impossible, I feel only relief knowing that no mortal or immortal will ever tread those forsaken streets again. I am not reacting in some powerfully contrary way to the success of my career, nor am I being bribed or pressured by any of my colleagues or rivals. I wish I could tell you what troubles me so, but I fear that if I share this knowledge, then I will somehow bring this terror down upon you.

For I have been living, these past few weeks, in terror.

I have sought treatment from doctors, therapists, and processor-surgeons alike, to no avail. I have left to seek the temple of Memnos, the god of memory, to plead for relief from this burden, in hopes that the memory of what has followed me from Chorus will be destroyed. If I am successful, I will come back to you, hopefully lighter of spark, and able to bear whatever hardships the echo of that knowledge might leave with me. If Memnos cannot help me… I do not know what I will do. Seek deals with other deities, if I must. The trickster gods are unreliable, but even their capriciousness is preferable to what I presently endure. The god of the crossroads rarely comes when called, but I will try, if I must. I will never stop trying. 

It is not only fear that has brought me to this point, but also guilt, because I feel that if I had never brought this expedition to fruition, none of this would have happened. I have spent my entire career unearthing ancient knowledge, bringing the oldest secrets to light, and I do not regret a large part of it. 

I feel, however, that there are some things that are best left forgotten, and I hope to the Gods that I still possess within me the capacity to forget that which I have seen.

I will come back to you some day. I promise, my love.

-Articulator