#i drew a little map for her and everything :( but she thought i was just being bitchy and I having really big feelings about this

[protectcosette]

the way that i am constantly hurt by people assuming i'm being mean and then judging me on that instead of actually seeing what i'm saying

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Lucky Break Chapter 5

Yandere Straw Hats x Fem!Reader

4.6k words

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A partial night of rest did little for you. Your head was still killing you, and the dreamless, fleeting sleep did nothing to aid in jogging your far away memories. 

Nami was kind enough to let you stay in her boat for the rest of night, and you were still on it this morning. You didn't feel confident in your ability to cross boats again now that the wind had picked up and the waters were slightly rougher. The last thing you wanted was to fall into the ocean again right after getting a change of clothes. 

You watched with mild amusement as Nami and Luffy bickered about the Grand Line. Well, Nami was bickering. Luffy was dismissing everything. 

“How do you expect to so much as make it into the Grand Line as you are? You have no supplies, no ship, and only two people. You're even more insane than I thought you were if you think that's a good idea.” Nami returned her attention to the map in her hands, muttering under her breath about pirates being a nuisance.

Luffy shoved the rest of the apple he was eating into his mouth, core and all. Cyanide poisoning be damned. He did appear to at least be taking her words into consideration, which was an improvement. “Yeah, we're going to have to get some meat before we go.” 

You snort at the exasperated look Nami shoots him. Of course that was what he was hung up on. Luffy cooked his head to the side, “And what do you mean I only have two people? There's four of us.”

“I am not a part of your crew, this is just a temporary alliance. I'm not about to sail into the Grand Line with anybody, much less someone as in over their head as you are.” Nami pointed at you, “And Lucky doesn't count. She doesn't even remember her name, what are you expecting her to do?”

“What's that got to do with anything? She doesn't need to remember her name to be my crewmate.”

“She's got a gaping head wound! She needs to see a doctor, not get dragged into the most dangerous place on the planet by a delusional captain!” Nami picked up and chucked an apple at his head. An extremely ineffective attack given that he just opened his mouth and ate it whole like some sort of snake-person.

“Maybe we'll find a doctor on the next island, and then she’ll be good to go.” Luffy perked up, “Are we getting close to one yet? I want to get some food.”

The navigator's eyes flitted back down to the map. She still looked annoyed but answered his question, “Yes, we should be at the Gecko Islands soon.”

Luffy cheered and whirled around on his perch to stare into the distance. You followed his gaze and saw a speck of an island in the distance. Being on solid ground again sounded lovely. The unsteadiness of being on a constantly rocking boat felt extremely unnatural to you. Based on that, you felt safe in assuming that you had never spent a prolonged period of time at sea before this. 

And of course, you were looking forward to the possibility of seeing a doctor and having your injury inspected and cared for by a professional. Zoro definitely needed to see a doctor, too, what with his stab wound. 

Though, as you glanced at him, he appeared to be entirely unbothered. The only thing that even hinted at what had happened was the hole and bloodstain in his shirt. Other than that, he seemed fine. Shit, maybe he can sleep off stab wounds. If only you could do the same for your injury.

Luffy kicked his legs in excitement as the island drew closer. “We can get supplies here, and maybe even a new ship! Oh! We might even get some new crewmates! We're going to need a cook before we get to the Grand Line. And a musician.”

Having a cook around made sense, though you were more than a little baffled at him prioritizing a musician over a doctor. Well, whatever. He’s the captain, not you. He can recruit whoever he wants, and you’re sure that he will. Especially considering how much he’s been brushing off Nami stating that she isn’t a part of the crew.

The two boats hit sand as you finally make it to the island. You’re at some empty beach far away from the docks. Nami insisted that this would be for the best considering that her ship has Buggy’s jolly roger plastered over the sail. You jump off the ship and help pull them further onto the beach to prevent them from drifting away.

Being on solid land feels just as good as you had expected. The sand has a give to it, of course, but it isn’t constantly rocking back and forth. You stretch as you scan your surroundings. The beach is boxed in by cliffs, with a manmade walkway leading into a lightly packed forest that helps to hide your ships further. Someone would have to go out of their way to find you guys here.

“The village isn’t far from here, right?” Luffy was looking around excitedly, no doubt eager for a chance to stretch his legs. You were, too. The island appears to be normal and peaceful. It’ll be nice to explore a town without a bunch of pirates in it… you guys notwithstanding, of course. 

“Yes, it shouldn’t take long to get there,” Nami answered passively while scrutinizing the map in her hands. “I wonder where we could find a ship.”

“We’ll worry about that later. Let’s find a place to eat first!” Luffy was actively drooling as he spoke. You’re not sure how anyone can be so hungry after eating what you’re pretty sure was in the ballpark of twenty apples, but you aren’t about to try and get between him and food.

Nami pushed him out of her face harshly, “Would you stop talking about food for five seconds?!”

Your attention was drawn away from them as you saw movement up on the cliffs. You squint and see several bushes rustling from what you’re assuming is some local wildlife. Zoro unsheaths a sword behind you and steps forward.

“Careful… I think we have company.”

That catches everyone’s attention. Nami tenses and steps back while scanning the forest herself, while Luffy is visibly excited about whoever could possibly be here. To you, Zoro seems to be over reacting. It’s more than likely just some animals running around, you’re not sure why he’s instantly jumping to this being an ambush or something.

Then someone starts shooting at Luffy’s feet. Perhaps Zoro was onto something. He scrambles to get out of the way while Zoro rushes forward to help. Before you even have a chance to react, Nami grabs you by the collar of your shirt and drags you back to the boat before shoving you into it and climbing in beside you to take cover. You cough and gasp as she releases your shirt.

The attack stops, so you and Nami peer over the side of the ship to see what’s going on. Luffy and Zoro appear to be fine, thankfully, but now a bunch of flags are popping out of the bushes. All of them have the same jolly roger on them. Ah. So much for you thinking that this island was pirate-free. You just hope none of them have any weird-ass super powers to contend with.

This display does nothing to intimidate Luffy, who by all accounts seems to be having a grand time watching this. A boy suddenly emerges from behind a tree, looking extremely pleased with himself. Some of the tension leaves your body as you are distracted by the fact that this kid has the longest damn nose you’ve ever seen. You didn’t think that was physically possible. You shake your head, reminding yourself that now is not the time to be getting distracted by appearances.

Long-nose crosses his arms and puffs out his chest proudly. “I am Captain Usopp! Leader of the pirates who reign over this village! I’ll have you know that everyone here fears me as much as they sing my praise! Which is a lot!” He gestures behind himself with a dramatic flare, “Go ahead and forget about attacking this village, it’s under my control! Me and my eighty million subordinates won’t let you get far!”

Eighty… Eighty million? You and Nami share a sideways glance at each other. That seems… a touch far fetched. The island doesn’t appear big enough to hold even one million people, much less eighty million plus the villagers. Now that you think about it, It’s odd that he didn’t name drop his crew. He just called them “the pirates”. You let out a sigh and slump against the boat, relieved that this appears to just be some display rather than a real threat. Nami pinches the bridge of her nose, looking annoyed more than anything, and Zoro puts his sword away with a huff.

Luffy, meanwhile, is star-struck. 

“If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable!” Nami calls out to him.

Usopp gasps, stumbling back in shock, “How did you know?!”

Nami rolls her eyes, “And now you’re admitting to it this easily? You’re terrible at this.” She climbs back out of the boat, and you’re quick to follow suit. You glance up the cliff to see Usopp beating himself up for failing miserably at his intimidation attempt. 

He whips back around to face all of you again, trying desperately to save face. “Well, maybe I was exaggerating a little bit, but I can assure you that I do have some very powerful men at my disposal!” He points at a cluster of bushes not far from him. Unlike the rest of the flags, the ones coming out of the bushes were moving, implying the presence of at least a few people. 

Still, those bushes weren’t particularly huge. You can’t imagine that there were that many people hiding in them. You squint, “What? Like three people?”

The literal second you say this, precisely three people spring out of the bushes looking aghast at your accurate prediction. These “powerful men” looked to be a bunch of kindergarteners, who screamed in terror and ran away immediately while Usopp yelled after them not to leave him here alone. Another impressive victory under your sword-belt, you suppose.

Luffy looks at you in awe, “How did you know?”

All you offer him is a simple shrug and say, “Lucky guess?”

Nami sifts through the sand and pulls out some tiny pellets. She examines them with absolutely no sense of urgency. “Huh. I’ve never seen a pirate captain use a slingshot before.”

Usopp gasps and clutches his chest in offense, “What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t insult me!” He pulls a slingshot from his bag and takes aim at her. Nami stares at him blankly. “I have a lot of pride in my weapon! So much so that people call me ‘Proud Usopp’!”

You’ll give him this much: he doesn’t abandon the bit easily. You call out to him, “By people, do you mean yourself?”

Now Nami’s comment didn’t seem all that bad to him. Usopp changed positions to aim at you instead, “Many people call me that! In fact, they call me ‘Proud Usopp’ more than ‘Captain Usopp’ because they’re that impressed by my pride!” He pulls the leather pad holding another pellet back further. “Behold! You’re about to see that my slingshot skills can put a pistol to shame!”

Given how many other things he’s lied about or exaggerated greatly, you aren’t scared. The pellets that he shot at Luffy had some oomph to them, sure, but comparing them to bullets fired from a gun seems excessive. Getting pelted by some pellets is hardly going to be the worst injury you’ve endured.

Before Usopp can decide if he really wants to fire at you or not, Luffy steps in front of you with the brim of his hat pulled down over his eyes. His voice drops to a surprisingly low tone as he addresses Usopp seriously for the first time, “Now that you’ve drawn your “pistol”, you’ve put your life on the line.”

Both you and Usopp gawk at Luffy. Usopp was clearly scared by the sudden mood shift, and even you felt a chill run down your spine. You’re so used to seeing Luffy be carefree and goofy that hearing him openly threaten someone in a genuinely intimidating fashion has completely thrown you for a loop. On top of that, you feel confused. Nothing about this scenario feels heavy enough to warrant this kind of a response.

“You don’t use those to threaten people.” Luffy makes a show of loudly cracking his knuckles while maintaining intense eye contact with Usopp, who is now looking like he’s really regretting his previous actions.

Zoro grinned and stepped forward, just barely unsheathing a sword, “You’re dealing with real pirates now… Are you prepared for that?”

This is escalating quickly. You lean over to Nami and whisper, “Should we stop them?” 

Nami did not share your concern. She examined her nails, barely even sparing you a glance, “No. He’ll lose his nerve before it gets to that.”

For a long, tense moment, there is silence as Usopp is stared down by Luffy and Zoro. Then, just as Nami predicted, he caved. The pellet slipped out of the slingshot and onto the ground. Usopp fell to his knees immediately after, looking thoroughly shaken up from the exchange. His hand clutched his chest as he muttered about how much scarier the words of real pirates are.

Mercifully, the tension dissipated instantly. Luffy dropped the disconcertingly serious look from his face and laughed loudly. “I stole that from Shanks! Your dad is Yassop, right?”

Usopp reels back at that question. “You know Shanks?! Wait- You know my dad?!” He clambers forward, but he isn’t paying attention and tumbles right over the side of the cliff. He rolls the whole way down, landing ass-first at the bottom. You wince, swearing that you felt some of that. The fall does little to deter Usopp, who quickly gets to his feet and stumbles closer to Luffy. “Yassop is my dad, but how did you know that?”

Luffy opens his mouth to answer, then stops abruptly. “I’ll tell you, but you have to take us to the nearest place to get food first.”

The deal was immediately accepted by Usopp, who nodded eagerly, “There’s a tavern not far from here, I’ll show you the way!”

Luffy followed close behind, cheering at the promise of food. How he intended to pay for it, you weren’t entirely sure, but who were you to ruin his excitement? No one else seemed concerned about the financials of this meal, so you suppose you shouldn’t be either.

Zoro casually trails behind Usopp and Luffy, while you and Nami were at the back. You two walked in silence while you mulled over something. This wasn’t the first time you’d heard the name Shanks. You can recall hearing the name thrown around while Luffy was duking it out with the clown-guy… Bucky? Boogie? You shake your head. That doesn’t matter.

Was Shanks someone important? Or was he coming up a lot purely through a series of coincidences? The name wasn’t ringing any bells for you, but given that you couldn’t remember your own name, that really wasn’t saying much. There’s only one way to find out the truth about him.

“Hey, Nami?” You wait for her to glance your way, acknowledging your inquiring tone. “Who’s Shanks?”

Her eyes widened, “You don’t know who Shanks is?”

You raise a hand and tap near your head wound, only to flinch at the pang of pain that shot through your head from that action. Oh, that was stupid. 

Nami sighs, “You really don’t remember anything if you don’t even recognize his name.” Her face turns to a sneer, “He’s some bigshot pirate that’s worked his way up to being an emperor.”

The answer only served to confuse you more. “Emperor? What does piracy have to do with being one of those?”

“It’s just a title, he isn’t a literal emperor.” She waves her hand dismissively, “Don’t think about it too much. The less you know about pirates, the better.”

Aren’t you kind of a pirate now? At least by association. Not to mention that you’re traveling with two of them. Something tells you that Nami wouldn’t care for you pointing that out, so you continue to walk beside her in silence.

A large wooden sign with the words “Syrup Village” is sticking out of the ground once you’ve walked through the small forest. The village itself was small and quaint, possessing a sort of rustic charm that made it feel homey even if you've never been here before. Unlike Orange Town, this place was clearly populated. The local villagers milled about, going about their daily routines. It was a pleasant change of pace. 

Usopp beckoned all of you into a small tavern. There weren't any customers inside, just an elderly man sitting behind a counter, and what sounds like a small staff in the kitchen. 

“I have a lot of influence here. Go on and take a seat, I can handle the rest.” Usopp hurried over to the old man and started giving him some spiel about how you guys were a part of his crew, and thus, deserved only the best. The old man didn't even look up from his newspaper, but was nodding along anyway.

Nami picked out a booth for you all to sit at. Zoro slid in next to her, while you sat at the bench across from them. You glanced over to see Luffy sticking his head into the kitchen, apparently having not listened when Usopp insisted on handling everything. He was demanding an obscene amount of food, more than you thought all of you could reasonably eat in a week, much less one sitting.

As soon as he was done ordering enough food to make it feel like its own lunch rush, he bounded over to your booth and plopped onto the bench next to you, visibly elated. Usopp joined a moment later, dragging over a chair so he could sit at the head of the table. 

“So, how do you know my dad?” Usopp was staring at Luffy expectantly. 

Luffy perked up, “Oh, right. He was a part of Shanks’ crew, I saw him a lot growing up.”

Usopp's jaw dropped. “He's a part of Shanks’ crew?!” He kicked his legs under the table, a dreamy look on his face, “So that's where he's been.”

You quirked a brow at that statement. He didn't know where his own dad was? Did they never see each other? Or at least talk once in a while? You're surprised he doesn't look more bitter about it. You think that you would be if you were him. 

There's a pang in your head, and your eyes go fuzzy for a moment. It's a sharp pain right behind your eyes. You put your face in your hands and massage your temples, trying to will away the pain and cloudy vision. 

You're startled slightly when you feel someone lightly kick you under the table. You pull your face from your hands only to find Zoro staring at you questioningly from across the table. 

“Everything alright?” His face was casual, so much so that it could be mistaken for disinterested, but it felt like his eyes were staring into you.

“I'm fine, I'm just… hungry.” Complaining about a headache felt childish, so you kept it to yourself. These people are being needlessly kind to you, you don't want to start annoying them and risk making them change their mind. 

Zoro stares at you hard, and you get the impression that he doesn't believe you. He sighs and brings a pint of beer up to his mouth, “Well you better eat something quickly before Luffy gets it all.”

Hang on. You look at the table and finally take notice of the drinks and plates of food on it. When did these get here? You thought you only had your head in your hands for a few seconds… how did you not even hear the dishes being set down?

You really need to see a doctor. 

A plate of food and some water are slid to you by Zoro, who apparently thought you were taking too long to make a move. You mutter a quiet thanks and gulp down some water before digging into the food. Hopefully having something of substance in your stomach would make you feel better. 

Something was tickling at the back of your mind, but not clearly enough for you to make anything of it. The faintest whisper of a voice and a bizarre feeling of empty loneliness hung over you despite being surrounded by people. The responsible thing to do would be to focus on the essence of a memory that was trapped beneath the surface of your mind, begging to come forth. You should be trying to bring it to the front and realize it for what it was. But… apparently the person you're supposed to be isn't one for responsibility. You shove more food into your mouth and push the thought down. That memory didn't feel very pleasant. You try to focus on what’s going on around you instead of that.

The table is lively, unlike your foggy mind. Luffy is happily recounting childhood memories of Yassop while Usopp hangs onto every word of it, completely rapt in the stories. Luffy is also choking down an obscene amount of food at a cornering rate. You're not sure he's even chewing any of it given how fast he keeps going back for more. No wonder Zoro was insistent on you eating sooner rather than later. Another minute of hesitation and you would have been shit out of luck.

Nami finishes the rest of her drink and levels Usopp with a stare, “Say, you wouldn't happen to know where we could get a ship around these parts, would you?”

“A ship?” Usopp hums in thought for a moment, then stiffens up. “I wouldn't know anything about where to get one of those. This is a small village. We don't even have many ships passing through, much less up for grabs.”

“What about the people living in that mansion up on the hill?” Zoro nodded his head in the direction of it. The large home was in clear view from where all of you were seated. “Surely someone in a house like that has at least a few caravels at their disposal. Maybe more.”

Dishes clatter on the table as Usopp abruptly stands up and slams his hands down. “You can't go there!” His shout and sudden mood change startles everyone. Just as quickly as he became upset, his face dropped into a more bashful look. “Oh, would you look at the time! I have very important business to tend to, bye!” And with that, he sprinted out of the building, only reappearing briefly as he sped past the window. 

What was that all about?

Nami sighed sharply. “What's got him so worked up? He ran out of here so fast that I just barely managed to grab this,” she held up a small, leather wallet. 

“Nami!” You attempted to scold her, but the smug look on her face told you that your words meant nothing. 

“What? He said he'd take care of everything, and that includes paying the bill. I'm just ensuring that he keeps his word, that's all.” Nami barely even glances at you before opening it up and counting the money. Based on the way her face contorts, you're guessing that it isn't as much as she was hoping for. 

Luffy didn't appear to be even slightly concerned about that. He was happily licking the plates clean. Including yours, which was a little weird, but whatever. Not gonna ruin your day. 

When you hear the door to the tavern open again, you don't think much of it. It's not until some little kids storm up to your table wielding wooden toy swords that you decide to pay attention. It dawns on you that these are the same kids you scared away earlier at the beach.

“W-What did you do with our captain?!” The boy with green hair asks the question as if he is already assuming the worst. All of the kids are shaking like chihuahuas while trying to act tough. 

“Man, I'm full! That was some really good meat!” Luffy flopped against your shoulder heavily, having apparently finally satiated his massive appetite. The boys stared at him in abject horror.

“Your captain?” Zoro's once neutral face curled up into a surprisingly sinister grin. He leaned forward, making the children almost trip over each other to back away. “We ate him.”

The children grew deathly pale, screamed, then promptly fainted into a heap on the floor. 

“Zoro!” You kept switching between looking at the incapacitated children and the swordsman. “Why would you say that?!” 

All that he does is chuckle, looking awfully proud of himself for terrorizing some little kids. Luffy is laughing loudly at the whole spectacle, and Nami is staring at both of them incredulously but also not doing anything about it. You huff and climb over Luffy to check on the boys. While they do look horrified, even in their unconscious state, they appear to be fine physically speaking. You glare at Zoro, “That was mean.”

Your attempt at scolding is once again entirely ineffective. He waves his hand dismissively and downs the rest of his pint, “It was just a joke. If they want to be pirates then they should be able to handle it.”

“They’re little kids. They probably want to be something different every week.” There will definitely be a change next week after having a run in with what they believe to be cannibalistic pirates. You crouch down beside them, shaking one of them gently in hopes of waking him up. He starts to stir and cracks open his eyes behind his glasses. He blinks a couple of times, then focuses on you. For a moment, he stares at you dully. Then his eyes snap open wide and he yelps as he scrambles backwards.

“Calm down! I’m not going to hurt you,” you hold up your hands like you’re dealing with a scared animal.

This does nothing to quell his fears. He tries to get to his feet quickly, and you don’t have a chance to warn him before he cracks his head on the table he clearly didn’t realize he was under. Once again, he falls to the floor unconscious.

“Oh, shit!” You curse and scramble over to him, wanting to check and make sure he isn’t now suffering the same kind of brain damage you’ve got. You lift him up to get a better look at his head, when you hear dramatic gasps.

“She’s got Tamanegi! They’re going to eat him next!” The other boys have woken up and are back to hysterics.

“NO! No one is getting eaten!” You glare at your crew that is doing nothing to help and is instead laughing at the absurdity of the situation. “Would one of you help me here?!”

Zoro laughs loudly at your demand, “No, it looks like you’ve got it covered.”

You can’t believe these are the people you’re stuck with.

[monstrifex-art]

Howls in the Heights

Art and story by me, for the TF anthology Shifts from the Shelves.

Story:

Smoke hung in the air like an unanswered question. Between the blotchy wallpaper and the liquor-stained floorboards, the poker room couldn’t accurately be described as “nice.” But Donovan owed me a favor, so for the time being this space in the back of his bar was mine. The faint music of a jazz combo leaked under the door, distant and a little sad. I stretched, twine running through my fingers as I looped it around the tack pinning a balding man’s mug-shot to the wall.

“That one’s kind of handsome,” Rita mused from behind me.

I scoffed and shot a glance over my shoulder. Rita stood close enough that I could smell her perfume. She was watching me map my thoughts on the wall with casual amusement, her dark eyes skimming lightly over the collection of newspaper clippings and photographs.

“Maybe he was. But he’s not looking so good anymore.” I uncapped a pen and drew a large red X over his face. “Handyman Wharton was a real piece of work. But no one deserves to die like that. These murders… in all my years of investigating, I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Mmm, sounds to me like he had it coming,” she breathed as she leaned her chin on my shoulder. Rita was beautiful in a way that made it hard to think straight. She had wavy hair that fell like a black curtain on one side of her face, eyelids and lips done up in a matching smoky coal. Tonight she wore a cocktail dress that poured smoothly down her curves. The thin fabric left very little to the imagination.

Rita and I had crossed paths in a couple chance encounters over the last couple weeks. She had a habit of turning up just as things were getting interesting, and making just about everything a little more complicated. For some reason she seemed to take a shine to me. We’d started spending nights together, and she proved as enthusiastic between the sheets as she was on the dance floor. Maybe more so.

“I’m getting close,” I murmured softly. “All these bodies—there’s a pattern here. Crime barons, crooked cops… someone is making a power play for this city’s underworld. Whoever they are, they can’t hide from the truth.”

Rita slid off my back and glided over to the card table where she’d left her lighter. She sat, one leg crossed over the other, and took a long drag from the mouthpiece of her cigarette holder.

“I like watching you think, Detective. It’s like watching an old car struggle up a steep road.”

“This car still has some miles left in it,” I chuckled. “See here—Wharton was a regular at the Glass Eye. You remember, where we met at the craps table. And here, if my sources are right, Wharton was smuggling ammo for the Pinstripe gang. They’re based out of Turnstile, where you took me to see that boxing match. Hell, if I didn’t know any better Rita I’d say…”

Something cold ran down my spine. Old instincts flared to life, telling me I’d just stumbled into something big. My eyes flitted from headline to headshot, arcs of twine adding up in an intricate equation. My thoughts clicked like a typewriter, checking hunch against evidence, step-by-step. It was impossible but… the data points aligned. How could…

“Ahhh… starting to put the pieces together, are we, darling?” Rita’s voice found me from far away, as if I was at the bottom of a well. I turned to face her, limbs numb.

“You…”

She smiled, white teeth flashing in the smoky gloom. “Of course it was me, dear. It was all me. All along.”

“But… the bodies. They were torn apart. How did you…”

She laughed in that pitying little way she did when she knew something I didn’t. The melodic sound of it almost made me want to laugh with her.

“Mhmhmm aww, you still look so confused! Don’t worry sweet thing, this one is above your pay grade.” She stood with a little flourish, like a magician’s assistant. “Here. Perhaps a demonstration will make you understand.”

A part of my mind, not sure which, suddenly sounded alarm bells. An instinct to run pumped through me, made my heart beat fast and my perception sharpen. Rita was just standing there, but some awareness deep in my hindbrain was screaming danger. Predator. Flee.

I gritted my teeth. Not yet. Not when I was so close to the answer.

A shiver ran across Rita’s pale skin, starting at her back and working out to her limbs. I could see her hair stand on end. She stretched, luxuriating in the movement. Her lips parted, and a long sigh streamed from her throat like a release of pressurized air. “Hahhhh… You’re about to see who I really am, dearest.”

A quiet snapping noise, then another. Dozens of meaty clicks inside her like the sound of dislocating joints. Rita pitched forward, bending double in a violent motion that knocked the card table behind her slamming to the floor. She gasped, lurching upright with an ecstatic grin on her face. Her eyes! They had changed, darker around the edges and brighter in the middle. Her pupils reflected light like burning headlights. I couldn’t look away.

“All the rest, it’s an… affectation. Like a favorite dress that I wear around town.”

Her elbow-length gloves were starting to tear. I could see dark fur through the rips, black claws cutting neatly through the satin fingertips. She groaned, and I could hear the timbre of her voice roughening. Something cracked in her legs. Her feet shifted, pushing her taller inch by inch as they extended into long sinewy paws.

Her dress clung tightly to her curves as her frame broadened. The cloth strained, her collar line deepening as the flesh of her shoulders and chest rippled with new bulk. I could see her nipples pressing through the black cloth, erect with sensation.

She gestured to the dress, to her glittering necklace and sheer stockings. “This, all these pretty things. It used to be me… Gruuhh.” Her voice faltered as an involuntary growl rattled through her. She smiled sweetly, regaining her composure. “But not anymore.”

The fabric gave with a loud tearing noise as a large tail, black and shaggy, thrust out behind her. She took a few balancing steps forward, then reached up to brush the hair out of her face with one clawed hand. Her breathing was coming deep and heavy now, hot fog mingling with smoke in curls around her smile.

“Don’t get me wrong, darling. I do love our little song-and-dances. Being the stunning vision on your arm is a treat! But the real me can’t dazzle a cocktail party in quite the same way.”

She grimaced, and I could see her teeth lengthening into interlocking fangs. Fur crept down her face, pressing in at the edges of her cheeks and trailing down her nose.

She blinked and stared deep into me with those burning eyes. “I clean up pretty nice, wouldn’t you say? I certainly had you fooled!” She cackled with a wild abandon that approached madness.

Her shaking laughter choked off into gasps as she convulsed with another surge of growth. The wet sounds of her bones rearranging were almost drowned out by the noise of her widening hips and shoulders finally tearing her dress to ribbons. I could just see her face masked in shadow, distorting and stretching as her mouth extended into a snout full of pointed lupine teeth. Rivulets of saliva dripped from her black lips.

I stumbled away instinctively, felt the pins of my map wall dig into my back. Stray clues drifted to the floor like leaves. I could feel my cheeks burning hot as I tried to look away, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from her nakedness as it was torn free before me.

Between gasping breaths, she laughed violently. “YOUR FACE!” she snarled, muzzle curling into a feral grin. “You weren’t this SHY when we MADE LOVE LAST NIGHT!”

She was right, of course. I had seen every inch of her in our evenings together. But there was something about seeing her this way—it was rawer, deeper, more intimate and carnal. I was enraptured with a fascination that had never possessed me during our previous dalliances. I couldn’t understand it. I was hopelessly lost in the rhythm of her shifting flesh. Why? The scene before me was horrific, so why was I feeling this way?

“You’re… I just… I…” I stammered, struggling to put words in order.

“You still WANT me, DON’T YOU?” She was shouting now. “I can smell your desire… What is it you always say? YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM THE TRUTH, DETECTIVE!”

That was it. I was more attracted to her now than I ever had been before. What was wrong with me? Why did my heart feel like it was about to pound its way out of my chest? I shut my eyes, turning away with a strangled cry.

“I don’t understand! Please… I can’t, I don’t…”

“LOOK AT ME, DARLING.”

I blinked toward her, seeing only blurred glimpses. I saw the fur bristling from muscle-laden thighs, the tattered sweat-soaked remnants of her dress stretched over her rippling abdominals. God, parts of her were still so human. She wasn’t an animal or a person - she was something monstrous in-between. She was a terrifying beast, but she was still recognizably… her.

“LOOK AT ME!” she roared, and the room shook. I cried out, and opened my eyes to behold her entirely.

She was beautiful.

She was so beautiful it hurt.

I stepped toward her, and fell into her arms as she embraced me. We fell together to a gasping heap on the floor. We began anew, pressing ourselves into one another with bestial fervor.

The case would have to go on a little while longer.

[bluishfrog]

HAPPY 1-YEAR OF DRAWING ANNIVERSARY TO ME!

(Warning: slightly longer post incoming cause sometimes I gotta be a sentimental bitch ok? So let's go on a little trip down memory lane.)

This day, a year ago, I made my very first fanart. It was dnf (if that surprises you, then welcome to being on my blog for the very first time). I drew a little frog face too so I could use it as a watermark (fun fact: I still use that very same first one).

I immediately put my drawing up on twt because I told myself that I wasn't gonna be afraid of having people see that I was at the very beginning of this journey and had no clue what I was doing. That instead of being bad at art, I was gonna be awesome at being a beginner who doesn't know shit.

I started with little doodles and silly comics and then I laughed way too long when the first drawing of mine that gained some attention was a dnf butt joke. At the time I was trying to balance shipping and non-shipping art so I didn't even draw dnf that much but in hindsight it's probably the only possible way this could have gone.

At the very end of August I woke up to @honelle56 caps-locking at me in my messages - I was very confused and tired (I am no morning person and I will never be, fuck off with your mornings) because Dranart liked my drawing of singing Dream. Dranart was my 17th follower on twt which is a useless yet extremely funny fact about my time on that hellsite.

I also drew human!patches because a) patches was and will always be my favorite dteam member and b) it was a really cute trend and while I do love drawing dream, george and sapnap, I was also quite happy to try drawing anything but a white man for once. And I really liked how the drawing turned out.

Much, much later, I tried to draw my first slightly more realistic looking drawing. I was extremely confused on how to draw anything like this. Especially their hair gave me tons of trouble but given my experience, I think it's not a bad attempt.

When hijacked smp started I obviously wanted to participate, and I drew c!blu who doesn't associate with any side in particular but instead serves soup to everyone who visits her tavern 'The Soup House'. She also wants to be paid in stories from all around the map.

One of the events I was most excited about was dnf week. I even collaborated with two talented writers and I drew the corresponding art for two fics.

(Fun or not so fun fact: when twt had like three hundred collaborative aneurysms about the situation at that moment, that was when I created this tumblr account. I didn't use it super actively (I guess I needed another situation to fully make the switch) but I at least started the account that now developed quite a bit since then.)

I didn't really draw at all through January and February and I actually kinda thought I would move on from that hobby and fandom (not because of negative feelings, just because I didn't really have the urge to create anything within this fandom) and then situations happened and now I am here; and for some reason that is beyond any logic and my understanding I am now even more insane about dteam.

Wild to me but we are rolling with it now, I guess.

Since I got here, I drew more than ever (I actually think I might have made more drawings in the month since I got here than I made the whole rest of the year). There's just such an active and funny community here that cares about fan works for the sake of creating and not just because a CC might see it.

Unfortunately, Tumblr won't let me add more than 10 images in one post (maybe fortunately for everyone who has this monstrosity of a post on their dash). So if you want to see all the progress I made since I got here, you can look at everything in my art tag. For now, I will close this post with one of the art works from the past month that I like the most:

Can't wait to see what the next year might bring :)

Love, blu

[velvetlilacsdaisies]

Flames & Weapons pt. i

OC!Fem!Reader x Garrick Tavis, OC!Fem!Reader x Bodhi Durran

Word count: 3.5k

Synopsis: What happens when you attend Basgiath war college as an infantry cadet with your lover, your ride or die best friend and your twin brother? Alot of fucking shit. Follow the story of our oc’s Allie Henrick and Katia Lalley as their bond of friendship remains strong as their dynamics of life change around them. What happens when they meet two fellow first year riders in their first year? Will their world change forever? Then again nothing can be as expected in war college. Stay tuned as our oc's become badass infantry cadets.

Warnings: swearingggg (a lot.), iron flame spoilers???, NO USE OF Y/N!!, mentions of cheating, let me know if we missed anything 🤭

Author’s Note: SURPRISE!! A month in the making thx to my procrastination hehe sorry allie. This is a self indulgent fever dream of a collab between @garricks4thwingqueen (president of the garrick tavis fan club fr) it’s first person original character fic. Primarily focusing on GarrickxOC but with side quests of BodhixOC as well. It’s an entirely new perspective for me to write bc i do y/n pov or third person so this was a treat. We hope you all enjoy!

Three years…three years I had spent in that toxic cesspool of a relationship. For what? For everything I had an intuition about to be true? Fucking incredible. Nothing like being right and a fool, maybe once RSC started Malek could put me out of my misery, and save me from the overwhelming amount of embarrassment I felt. The clock tower in the courtyard sounded alerting it was a quarter to 8, indicating it was almost time for Battle Brief as the chatter in the halls started to die down outside my door.

I sighed, finally rolling myself out of bed after lying there, staring at the ceiling replaying the events of last night since the alarm on my bedside table went off an hour ago, but I was numbly stuck in the warmth of my blankets. What a waste of time… I’ve repeated that to myself for what felt like the umpteenth time that morning.

I barely had enough time to get dressed in the navy blue uniform I grew accustomed to, and put my auburn hair into the slicked-back bun I had to wear, my hair was barely unkempt and uniform not as crisp as the codex required. I was sure to get yelled at by one of the executive lieutenants today, but I didn’t quite care, too numb to feel the usual anxiety I would feel about abiding by the stupid little handbook we were given in the beginning of the year. I dreaded every second of the thought of going to Battle Brief. Being forced into proximity with Zachariah made my stomach churned at the flashbacks of last night.

Minimal conversation was my goal for today, I thought, setting the agenda internally for myself as I walked to Battle Brief. Just make sure my battalion doesn’t do anything stupid and stay in line. I didn’t need to get reprimanded anymore than I probably already would be today. Plus after the night I had prior, I just couldn’t bother with much interaction with anyone. It’s bad enough I had to show up for classes. I put my bag on my shoulder and made sure that my door was locked as I made my way to the academic wing of the infantry quadrant. I was never more thankful for having my own room, one of the primary perks of being a Battalion leader.

I entered the somewhat crowded hall that was used for Battle Brief. A giant map in the middle of the room, showing all of Navarre. Keeping my head down as I made my way to my usual spot.

"Allie you missed breakfast." My best friend, Katia, said concerned. I slid into my seat between her and my twin brother, Drew. He offered a tight-lipped smile in greeting. “You’re going to be sluggish through morning lessons.” She added.

"Fuck off, I’m not gonna die if I miss breakfast." I whispered snappily.

"Eat this," Drew said with a roll of his eyes, ignoring my foul mood, tossing an orange to me.

It landed on my desk with a thud, as I wasn't paying him any mind, no, my sole attention at this point was on my ex and the girl that had her arm wrapped around his waist as they walked into the enormous classroom. "Fucking hells, Chiara Reid?” Drew hissed lowly to us as they walked by.

"Oh shit?" Left the girl besides me lips as they both realized the cause of my current mood. Katia’s eyes now set to a death glare at the pair that passed by.

“I saw them kissing in the library last night. Dumb ass tried denying it all.” I sneered, pushing the lump that had formed in my throat down.

It was the last straw of the tension that had been building between us in the last few weeks. We had been together since we were teenagers, but I guess that hadn’t accounted for anything when you attend war college together.

The last few months were filled with fighting and arguing over his lingering eyes and neglectful behavior. It had driven me mad to the point that I felt crazy for even accusing him of such thoughts of cheating, but last night had confirmed my intuition was right. Fighting the burn in my eyes as silver tears lined them, threatening to spill. I would not get upset over some loser. Katia grabbed my hand, rubbing small circles on the back of it.

“I’m gonna beat his fucking ass.” Drew glowered, gripping his notebook until his knuckles turned white.

"It's not worth it Drew, he's in our squad you know the penalty," I murmured, glancing his way. "I guess I'm out of a best friend now.” He mumbled, slouching in his seat. I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, feeling guilty that I got in the way of their friendship.

Katia scoffed, “You’re more worried about losing a best friend than the fact he treated your sister like shit? Unbelievable Drew…”

“Yeah, well he was my friend first, and I warned him—” My twin grumbled, leaning over me to glare at her.

“Warned him? I fucking told him I’d castrate him if he ever did something to Al. And unlike your pansy ass I fully intend on keeping my promise.” Her green eyes were darkened.

Drew continued to haughtily argue in a hushed whisper with her trying to prove whatever point. I kept opening my mouth to try to shut them up, but they just kept volleying back and forth retorts to one another before I could get a word in.

I rubbed my temples, trying to focus on what our professor was debriefing instead. I didn’t expect my breakup to cause a full argument between the two people closest to me. Any other topic? Yes. Not this though.

Their voices started to raise as they used meaningless insults as jabs towards one another, causing the attention of the cadets around us to look at us. Including Zachariah and Chiara. The girl only had a smug smirk on her face, which made the impreding frustration that had been rising since I woke up grow even more.

“Silence.” Our professor yelled across the room. I slid myself down into my seat, making myself as small as possible in the crowd of infantry cadets now looking our way.

"Henricks', Lalley I didn't realize this was a socializing hour." The professor shouted mockingly. Instantly, Katia and Drew shut up, muttering coy apologies, both embarrassed they were caught.

“Now can we turn our attention back to the map.” The professor continued the lesson. I had to pinch Katia’s arm as she reached behind me to flick Drew on the side of the head. An “ow” leaving her lips as she finally stopped and actually started to take notes for class.

These two would be the death of me…

"Look I know you guys dated for years, but you had a hunch. Think of this as a celebration of a new chapter?” Katia sighed, stopping mid-route in our evening run.

"I just don't feel like doing anything extra this weekend, especially socializing." I groaned, lifting my hands and resting them on top of my head.

"Which is exactly what you need, to socialize." A mischievous glint sparkled in Katia's hazel eyes. I didn't like that glint. She had always been the rebellious one since we became friends years ago. She always got into trouble, and then I had to bail her out or succumb to her ideas. “We should definitely go to Chantara tomorrow night.”

She used any excuse to find a way to party or sneak off campus. I’m surprised I’ve upheld my titles with her as my executive squad leader with the antics she always seemed to get us into.

"This is the one weekend I'd rather just stay in my room—" I started to protest going back into a jog.

"Just humor me, Henrick." She rolled her eyes. "Besides, I'm finding the infantry dating pool rather incestuous at this point." She pointed in her mouth, making a gagging noise as she kept up her pace with me. "Anddddd Garrick and Xaden will be there and you're finally a single woman." She wagged her eyebrows at me. I just rolled my eyes at the suggestive expression on her face knowing what she was thinking.

"Fine." I huffed in the refreshing air of a late summer evening.

"Yay!" She squealed excitedly. "We're gonna have so much fun! Not to mention Garrick looked like he wanted to beat Zach's guts out before Drew stopped him; after the little spat you two had last weekend."

Garrick and Xaden…Any mingling between Riders and Infantry was frowned upon. The codex even goes as far to state there will be no toleration of inter-quadrant dating during a student’s attendance at Basgiath. But that hadn’t stopped us from becoming friends with riders. The four of us hit it off the first night we met.

I thought to myself silently as I thought back to that first night out in town during first year.

"Damn, we both clean up nice." Katia whistled.

She wasn't wrong, despite wearing our infantry winter fur-lined jackets, we looked good. We didn't have to wear our typical uniformed sleek buns, and finally could let our hair down for once. Despite the anxiety that brewed in the pit of my stomach, I was excited that my best friend had convinced me to sneak out.

I shook my head, "You're crazy, you know that right?" She linked her arm with mine, grinning maniacally in response as we left the barracks.

She led me through tunnels and stairs I’ve never been in since we started infantry a few months ago. “How do you know about this?” I asked again. She’s been rather elusive and secretive on how she even learned about Chantara, the town older Basgiath students would frequent on the weekends to drink, party, and shop at.

She pushed her brunette hair over her shoulder, shooting a wink at me. “It’s amazing what intel you can gather with incredible charm, good looks…a few gold coins.”

We reached an ancient iron gate that a couple second years were standing at. The smell of churam filled the air, making my nose scrunch up. The codex said the herb was forbidden from school property?

One of the second years grinned seeing my best friend. “Lalley, you’ve got some guts. I didn’t think you and your friend would actually show up.”

She walked up to the man, her smile alluring radiating under the dim patterns that lined the stone walls. “My promises and threats are never empty.” Reaching into her pocket, she set two gold coins down into the guy’s hand.

He handed a coin back to her, “promise me a game of darts later at Féasta?”

“Yeah, sure.” She replied coolly, her tone sultry. Though I could tell by the look in her eye, that was one promise she wouldn’t be following up on. I was ready to lose my composure, biting my lip to stifle the laugh about to fall from my lips.

His grin grew even broader. “Sweet, just follow the path through the clearing and you’ll see a fork—take the left. We just let a group of riders through not too long ago. Just follow their obnoxiously loud yelling if you’re unsure.”

She linked her arm with mine, using her free hand to wiggle her fingers at the man in goodbye. “Thanks Trey.”

She discreetly dragged me outside a reasonable distance from the gate before I burst out in giggles. “Thanks Trey?” Mocking her flirty tone.

“Listen,” she giggled lightly herself. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. And I’m desperate for a drink and a dance.”

“It must be so hard to be single.” I said sarcastically.

“We all can’t be fortunate to have their hometown sweetheart attend War college with us now can we?” She used her linked elbow to nudge me, causing me to shy away from her. She just pulled me closer. “You owe me the favor of being a wing woman tonight, I’ve covered for you and Zach too many times this year… and we haven’t even made it to squad assignments yet.”

“Whatever you say Kati.” I just rolled my eyes, shaking my head at her.

The walk into Chantara was brisk, as we giggled about what we should expect for our first night out of Basgiath. The town was lively, citizens of the town and students all throughout the town square browsing the market stalls that lined the cobblestone. Strings of lights glimmered lining the stalls, while musicians played on the corners. Everything was so lively to what we were expecting. There were three different taverns in the town square: Féastas, Lúchás, and Doyle’s. We decided to try Lúchás first seeing the group of riders Trey was talking about wandering in there, along with some couple infantry and healers.

“I knew I should have ordered food when I was up there because I’m starving.” My best friend said as she came back to our table with Lavender Lemonades.

The bar wasn’t crazy packed due to the cold weather, but there was a sizable amount of patrons in here. It was cozy, we had a table right next to the hearth, and I could see why most of the patrons were Basgiath students. The music from the band wasn’t ancient sounding, and the barmaids weren’t either. It was very youthful and merry than the taverns we had back home. Scanning over the decent sized room, my eyes landed on the opposite side of the room. On two riders more specifically, the one looked to be Katia’s type. Tall, tanned skin, dark hair. Though a scar marred his eye, it didn’t take away from his handsomeness. He would be perfect for her.

I did promise an attempt at being her wing woman tonight. My eyes kept lingering on the man next to him. He had an inch or two on his friend, longer dark hair that was more styled than his friend's unruly short waves. The most built man I’ve ever seen, Amari had to have designed her herself, his relic a masterpiece expertly marking his bulky biceps. I have a boyfriend…

“Huh?” I said as she was trying to get my attention, my gaze not leaving the far left corner of the room.

“For once would you not be in a daydream!” She chuckled until her gaze followed mine. “Oh wow, they’re hot.” She blurted.

"Shh, don't be that obvious," I said, slapping her shoulder while we both took in two very tall and handsome riders in their black leathers.

“Oh please like they aren’t even looking our way.” She scoffed, taking a sip of her drink.

But they were, well at least the taller one was looking directly at me as his friend tried to get his attention. And I couldn’t help to unabashedly stare back.

Garrick’s POV

“Garrick!” Xaden half raised his voice snapping his fingers at me, drawing my attention back to our usual corner of the tavern.

“What?” I peered over to my best friend.

“Were you even listening to what I said?” He acted annoyed.

‘Don't lie, you weren't.’ Chradh chuckled.

‘Are all dragons as sarcastic and grumpy as you?’ I chidded back getting only a huff of hot air as my answer. "Yeah, something about… OK yeah no."

Xaden chuckled, finally noticing what had caught my attention across the tavern floor. "You're obviously looking at the shorter infantry cadet, aren't you?” He nudged my side. “Only you would be the one to be six-six, and have a thing for extremely short girls, dude. She can’t even be more than five foot nothing dude.” He rattled off.

Xaden had a thing to point out the obvious and be rather talkative once he had a couple drinks in his system. Reminding me of his younger cousin, Bodhi, every time I had drank with him. I paid no mind to his rambling as I walked to the table the two infantry girls sat at.

“Where are you going? You don't even know if she's single." Xaden started to say as I couldn't help myself. I heard my best friend mutter a curse and his footsteps behind me.

"Could I fancy you two ladies to a friendly game of pool?" I asked the two girls. The taller one looked like she was about to speak first, but the shorter cadet with auburn hair was the first to open her mouth.

“Not even a ‘hi what’s your name?’ Typical rider fashion.” She had a brow arched in my direction, causing her best friend to giggle as she teasingly scoffed in my direction. Holding out her hand she beamed up at me. “I’m Allie, and this is Katia.”

That evening was the first night of what started the friendship of two first-year infantry cadets and two first-year rider cadets. Our friendship only grew over the last year as Drew and Zachariah started joining us. Though Drew and Zach were wary of the riders at first due to silly rivalry between the quadrants.

The next night, Katia met me outside in the alcove of the infantry courtyard like we always had since that winter in first year. The only difference was we no longer had to cough up gold coins to pay our way into town, and could go freely.

Our walk into Chantara was enjoyable as today had been the coldest day in July after our new cadets had joined us just a few weeks ago. My heart rate was almost pounding in my chest as we neared the tavern. Why was I so nervous? Yes this was my first trip into the town as a newly single woman, but that didn’t change much? It already felt like I was single by the end of first year anyway, and we’ve been to Chantara plenty of times since then.

We made our way to our usual end of the tavern where our crew usually hung out which now consisted of Drew, Katia, Xaden, Garrick, and myself. I noticed three extra bodies, two I didn't recognize at all but one had a shorter but similar build to Xaden, the second a female abou Katia’s height with short pink hair that was half shaven. Of course, Drew was shamelessly trying to flirt with her. Then there was the familiar mop of curly-haired dirty blonde 20-year-old I'd recognize anywhere.

"Sawyer!" I said excitedly, wrapping my younger cousin into a tight hug.

"Missed you too, Big Al." He chuckled. I flicked his ear at the mocking nickname.

Sawyer was all that Drew and I had left for our family. Our parents were in infantry while Sawyer's were riders and we lost all of them in an ambush on an outpost several years ago, including Katia’s; her mom a rider and father an infantry cadet. The four of us easily had become a found family of our own.

We were introduced to the other new first-year riders; the man that looked like Xaden was his younger cousin, Bodhi, and the pink haired girl was Imogen. I remember Garrick and Xaden telling us stories about them, so it already felt like I somewhat knew them. Bodhi seemed more eager to talk to us than Imogen. She stood by Sawyer and Xaden’s younger cousin a majority of the time. Even as Katia tried to compliment her hair, she offered dry responses. But everyone fell into a familiar session of banter and catching up on what's been going on for the last couple of weeks.

Throughout the night, I got lost in my thoughts. The summertime had the bar packed to the point everything was so overstimulating. The music, the loud chatter, it was too much. Why did I even come here? It was stupid to listen to Katia, I should have just stayed back in my dorm. Everyone seemed to be having a great time, but I wasn’t.

Then I saw the familiar sandy brown hair at the entrance to the tavern. Zachariah. Chiara in tow with him, as I made eye contact with my ex. His face looked as if he saw a ghost, and quickly pulled her to the other side of the bar.

“Allie, what the fuck?” Sawyer was the first to speak up.

“Yeah isn’t that your boyfriend?” Xaden offered a glare towards the shorter man across the crowded room.

“Was her boyfriend,” Katia sneered. “Two timing piece of worthless—”

“Kati.” Drew gave her a look of warning.

“I still haven’t got to fulfill my promise.” She leaned back in the booth, crossing her arms. Xaden, who sat next to her, playfully shoved the side of her head.

“Pipe down, firecracker. You’re not going to do shit.” He smirked, as she swatted his hands away.

“Riorson, it was hair washing day.” She groaned. I rolled my eyes at her dramatics. At all my friend’s dramatics actually. I didn’t want to discuss the newly ended relationship tonight or have it made a big deal. But also I certainly wasn’t expecting Zach to show up with his new girlfriend to the tavern he knew my friends frequented at.

I felt a pair of eyes glance towards me from across the table, looking over I saw Garrick looking at me. His usual hardened look was replaced by a look of concern, his hazel orbs intently focusing on me. He cocked his head towards the back door, signaling me to join him outside. I followed him towards the door, once he got up, and into the cool evening air.

I didn't realize by now that I had tears threatening to escape until Garrick pulled me into his chest and wiped a tear from my cheek.

I had been so focused on lessons and training the past couple days, I hadn’t realized how much I bottled up trying to play it off. I was upset, frustrated, and beyond done.

“It’s okay,” he whispered as my shoulders began to shake from my quiet sobs.

Garrick had always been the one that I was closest to. He always somehow caught a glimpse of the ugly side of things in my relationship and was always conveniently there to pick up the pieces when Zach would storm off.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against my hair.

Feedback is always appreciated, likes, and reblogs as well!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[separatist-apologist]

Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3| Read on AO3

Elain knew she’d gotten Ayla into some trouble. For a month, her friend had been locked away in her family's chambers and when she returned, Elain noticed she winced every time she sat down. 

You’re making a mess of everything, she thought morosely when Ayla wouldn’t make eye contact with her at all. Arina had retreated back into the library, leaving Elain to return to her overrun garden. She’d begun sketching it out crudely in a journal, trying to map out where things would go so she wasn’t planting blind. 

Elain’s garden was the only place she felt true peace anymore. Spending time around Lucien was beginning to feel unbearable—something hot built in her throat if they were around each other too long, spilling into angry words that she couldn’t take back. Elain didn’t know why she couldn’t just be nicer or why the sight of him frustrated her the way it did.

Lucien had given her another gift just that morning—a pretty set of pearl combs she’d thanked him for before tossing them into a drawer that was increasingly becoming dedicated to the things he purchased for her. Lucien was trying, in his way. Everything he gave her was thoughtful and generous—Elain loved the simple elegance of pearls set into silver combs. 

They weren’t good for gardening, at any rate—that was what she told herself as she tied a scarf around her head and headed out, prepared for another long day of ripping out weeds until she couldn’t take the seeping cold. She wasn’t alone today. There, hanging around the gates, stood Tanwen.

“Come to help?” she asked, certain he wasn’t there for any particular reason. 

“Why not,” he replied, opening the iron for her before following just behind. “What do you need from me?”

“You could rip up that tree?” she suggested, pointing toward a sapling that was more weed than anything. “Or loosen up the soil with your magic?”

“Why not both?” he replied with a lopsided smile. For a while they worked in silence, digging up a pile of weeds they tossed in the center of the garden alongside all Elain’s ruined rocks. It was nice to have Tanwen there, if only to provide a little muscle when she didn’t want to exert herself so much. 

“So,” Tanwen began when the skies began to darken and a gloomy fog started to roll over the hillside from the cursed forest. “Have you seen Ayla?”

It took Elain a moment to absorb his words. “I see her, but I don’t speak to her. I think she’s angry with me.”

“Ah,” Tanwen said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should take these to the stables, if you’ll…excuse me.”

Elain watched him go, hair blowing in a vicious wind. Was he asking because he’d been the one to carry her in, or because he wanted to hear more about her? Elain couldn’t be sure. It was wrong to meddle when she’d already been the cause of Ayla’s suffering and yet…

“Lucien,” Elain breathed later that night, greeting her husband sitting in a chair in the bedroom, book in hand. His eyes found her nails, caked with dirt and cracked again. Lucien’s mouth drew into a deep frown, though he said nothing.

Smart, she praised silently.

“Wife,” he replied, as if reminding her of exactly what she was to him. Elain knew they were on borrowed time—at some point she was going to have to get over herself and have sex with him. How long, she wondered? Another month, perhaps? Two? Lucien didn’t want her unwilling, but Elain couldn’t imagine a scenario in which she went to him gladly, either. 

“We never had a celebration,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed once she was done with her hands.

“Why would we?” he replied, turning the page of his book without looking at her.

“Why wouldn’t we? Everyone else gets one.”

Lucien glanced up. “You want to celebrate wedded bliss?” he questioned. 

Truthfully, no. It would require the two of them to be together all night, touching and dancing and smiling. Elain took a breath. “Yes, I want that. Will you ask your mother to organize it?”

Lucien stared long and hard, as if he could read her thoughts simply by willing it. Elain was careful to leave herself casual, though it did no good.

“What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” she replied, heart picking up speed. “I just…think it’s strange we haven’t.”

Lucien took a breath. “Does this mean I can expect you to crawl into bed with me that night?”

“I get in bed with you every night,” she snapped, immediately annoyed. Elain didn’t bother mentioning that they were getting a little too accustomed to sleeping beside each other. She’d woken in the middle of the night to find Lucien’s arm flung over her stomach as he drooled into a pillow. 

“You keep your night clothes on.”

They were in dangerous territory. “What are you demanding of me?”

Lucien ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m demanding nothing. You’re the one who wants to celebrate our marriage and I…” And he was simply a male. He wanted the right to touch her and perhaps considered this a good negotiation point. 

“Don’t host it, then,” Elain said, turning back to the bathroom as a means to escape him. She slammed the door behind her, back against the wood as she listened for his response.

“Cauldron boil me,” he mumbled, but Lucien did nothing else. Even after Elain took a long bath, hoping he might find some other way to amuse himself, but when she came out, hair freshly braided and mostly dried, Lucien was already in bed. He seemed asleep, back facing her as it rose and fell in a steady, fluid motion. He’d pulled his hair out of the strap he’d been wearing, allowing it to cascade over his shoulders and Elain considered, not for the first time, what it might be like to let him touch her. To be curtained with the waterfall of auburn hair, to feel the muscles of his back shift as he moved…

Touch him, a little voice whispered. Elain panicked, drawing her fingers into a fist before sliding them under her body to keep her from doing so. What was wrong with her? The urge had come from nowhere, the instinct to run her finger down the length of his spine so overwhelming that Elain’s hands shook from the effort it took not to touch him.

It was his closeness, she decided as she settled into bed. His male presence and her instinctual response. Nothing more. Still, it took Elain a long time to sleep as a familiar vision crowded behind her vision.

Go away, she demanded. She didn’t want another image of Lucien’s naked form writhing atop her as her mind forced her to contend with what might be if she just gave in. He didn’t want her and Elain would be damned if she made the first move. Or second…or hundredth, actually. She woke a little before him, dressed herself, and made her way down to breakfast before Lucien could speak to her at all.

So she was surprised when the Lady of Autumn came to her, face beaming with joy. “I heard you wanted a celebration,” she said in that sweet voice of hers. The voices in the room fell to a near whisper as everyone listened in, the excitement in the room palpable. 

“I would,” Elain said, wanting so badly to be the daughter The Lady of Autumn—Amera—wanted her to be. She saw the way Amera fawned over Arina, who allowed it with glowing cheeks and shiny eyes. Elain bet Arina let Amera throw her a party the morning after, even if she spent the night torturing Eris with a knife.

Elain didn’t want to think about the implications there. 

Amera clapped pale, delicate hands together. “Oh, how lovely. It’ll take a bit of time to put together…would you like to help?”

“Yes,” Elain breathed, forgetting why she wanted to do this in the first place. Her own mother could be cold, calculated and careful. There had never been much warmth even for her favorites, and Elain often felt intimidated around her mother. Amera exuded the kind of warmth she’d often wished for as a child. If Amera had asked her to commit a murder, Elain was certain she would have picked up a sword and marched beneath the Lady of Autumn’s banner. 

Not that Elain knew how to use a weapon. Perhaps Tanwen could teach her.

Or your husband.

“Should we get started?” Amera asked.

Elain couldn’t suppress her grin. “Nothing would delight me more.”

LUCIEN:

“How do you stand it?” Lucien demanded, interrupting Eris and Cadmus in their private parlor. 

“Looking at you?” Eris replied dryly, eyes flicking up from his cards. “I manage.”

Lucien growled, earning a laugh from Conall across the room. He sat on a sofa, the picture of bored nobility while Tanwen tossed a knife up in the air. They were hiding from Beron, who had woken up in a foul mood. It was only a matter of time before he came looking for his sons.

Better to make themselves scarce and wait for the storm to pass. 

“You’re very funny,” Lucien said flatly, pulling up a chair to sit with his brothers. “I mean with mother. How do you stand her fawning over Arina?”

Eris’s brows knit together. “I rather like it.”

Of fucking course he did. 

“Gets her out of your hair, does it?” Tanwen taunted, clearly bored and looking for sport. 

“Her mother is dead,” Eris snarled, eyes flashing dangerously. It hadn’t been more than a year since the bond had snapped and Lucien didn’t think Eris would ever stop chafing beneath it. Even a whisper of insult toward Arina was enough to set his teeth to snapping. 

“Elain is planning a celebration,” Lucien informed his brothers, sinking further into his chair as he swiped a decanter of whiskey from the ornately carved table. “All mother speaks of is how sweet and lovely Elain is.”

“She is sweet,” Connall goaded. “If she were my—”

“That’s enough!” Eris barked, unwilling to mop up blood. “She would never be your wife because that would require you to be a male with honor…which you are decidedly not.”

Tanwen chuckled as Cadmus only nodded, eyes flicking from Eris to a scowling Connall. Would Cadmus break them up? That was his usual role in moments like these. 

“I don’t have a wife because Elain and Arina electrocuted the only good option left to us. How is little Ayla doing these days?”

Lucien looked up at the ceiling, wondering why he bothered to talk to his brothers at all.

“She’s well,” was all Eris said, laying his cards down with a triumphant smile. Lucien, having the benefit of standing behind Cadmus, cracked a half smile knowing that Eris was outmatched. A scowl darkened Eris’s face as Cadmus chuckled, pulling coins toward his already sizable pile.

No one could outsmart Cadmus in a game of cards.

“If you’re so bothered by your wife, why not remove her from court?” Cadmus finally said, glancing over his shoulder. “Send her to the Mountain Palace, or the Seaside Palace, if you must. Send some of the ladies from court to keep her company.”

The room had suddenly become frosty, the temperature dropping by several degrees. Lucien could feel all of his brothers glaring at him, their disapproval plain. She’d won them over just as surely as she’d stolen his mother and Lucien was jealous. Elain had simply come in and charmed everyone while he’d been trying to win the approval of his family presumably from the day he’d been born.

His brothers acted as if they knew something about him he did not—he was kept just out of reach, tolerated but not one of them. They shared some secret language Lucien did not speak. It didn’t help that Lucien was also a century younger than his next oldest brother, and Eris was nearly three centuries old by the time Lucien had been a baby. They’d watched him grow up, but in his memories, they were all grown.

Why was it so hard for him and so easy for Elain?

“Enjoy yourself, little Lucien,” Connall said in that easy, flippant way of his. “If mother likes Elain, it means you’ve found yourself a keeper. From Spring, no less.”

“It’s just…”

Not what he wanted. Every eye in the room fell back to their hands, refusing to look at him. They knew, though. Even after Eris had sent Jesminda away, even after she’d told him to leave her alone, he was still holding out some sliver of hope that he was going to wake up one morning and it would be Jesminda's dark hair splayed out on the pillow.

Even after everything, he still wanted her.

Lucien knew he was a fool.

“Go to bed, Lucien,” Eris said, rising from his chair. “Go fuck your wife until you can think of nothing and no one else. And if that doesn’t work, take a mistress to amuse yourself.”

“Leave Elain alone,” Tanwen added, a sharp edge to his voice. When Lucien looked around, he found his brothers all looking at him again, their eyes matching Tanwen’s tone. 

Right. 

She was one of them, but he was not. Lucien strode from the room, determined not to take Eris’s advice. Cadmus’ held promise, though. What if he sent her away after the celebration? Eris would never agree to let Arina join her, but Ayla would likely be allowed. Hells, Elain could hand pick the ladies she wanted to accompany her. And if she picked up with some sentry, well. Lucien didn’t care.

I’ll kill any male who touches her—

Lucien exhaled with frustration, making his way back to his bedchambers where he found Elain seated at a table staring at several different color swatches. She looked up when he walked into the room and without thinking, offered him a pretty half smile.

“Come help me,” she said as Lucien stood there agape. Was Elain willingly asking him to sit in her company? She typically darted off anytime he walked into a room. Lucien walked to her, waiting for the spell to shatter and her to realize it was him and not one of the brothers she preferred.

“What do you need help with?”

“These different shades of pink,” she said, a frown tugging the corners of her pretty mouth. “I hate them all.”

“So do I,” Lucien admitted, drinking in the rosy, spring shades. “What is your theme?”

Elain’s cheeks heated. “Old meets new.”

Spring meets Autumn, he supposed. Elain fidgeted with one of the squares of cloth, unable to meet his gaze.

“Perhaps something darker?” he offered. “More maroon than pink?”

“I thought the same thing,” Elain admitted, setting the little square back on the table. “But your mother has this vision of pink and silver and I don’t want to disappoint her.

“Trust me when I say you’ll disappoint her far more if you let her dress you in something you don’t like.”

“She’s been so nice,” Elain admitted, chewing on her bottom lip. “She’s like my mother if…”

Lucien held his breath, waiting for Elain to finish.

“Nevermind,” she said with a sigh, gathering up her swatches. “I—”

“No,” he breathed, strangely desperate. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, I promise,” she said, but Lucien wasn’t going to be deterred. He’d take anything, any little piece of information that would give him a more solid footing with the stranger he called a wife. They’d been married for nearly two weeks and Lucien knew practically nothing about her. Elain didn’t give up her secrets easily and in her defense, Lucien hadn’t tried to make conversation with her, either.

“Tell me anyway.”

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?” she said, bracing herself against the table. Lucien scooted closer as Elain lifted herself atop it, legs swinging sweetly. He wanted to get on his knees, wanted to slide his hand up her slim calves and—

“No. So you may as well just tell me,” he said, flashing her what he hoped was a charming grin. 

“Your mother is like my mother if she was warm,” Elain managed, eyes latching on a painting across the room. 

“Your mother is unkind?”

“No, not unkind, just…” Elain bit her bottom lip again. “Spring is a lot like a vipers nest, and you have to think like one if you want to survive. My mother is queen of the vipers, I suppose. She wasn’t cruel, but…we all had our parts to play, clearly.”

“Why did you go first?” Lucien asked, giving voice to the question that had plagued him since she’d first been sent to him. “Why not your older sister?”

Elain sighed. “The High Lord delays the match. He’s angling for Feyre, but the humiliation of spurning Nesta would ruin all of us. I think mother wanted to see me gone just in case he decided to spit in the face of tradition.”

“Tamlin loves tradition,” Lucien said softly. “If he promised to marry Nesta, he will.”

Elain nodded, though it was clear she didn’t agree. Whatever was going on over there, Elain certainly knew it better. Still, it was nice to have some context to the marriage. Elain had agreed, even though she didn’t want to, to ensure her sister's futures, too. There was something strangely lovely about it.

Or maybe it was just the insight that Lucien appreciated. He didn’t understand Elain at all, especially knowing her father likely would have intervened if she’d begged. Sometimes, Lucien imagined that Elain had come simply to torment him, even if deep down he knew that wasn’t true.

She’d come because she loved her family. That made it a little harder to dislike her. Would Lucien have done the same for his brothers? He genuinely couldn’t say, though he suspected he wouldn’t have. Not that it mattered—males weren’t held to the same standards as females. If Lucien had ruined his engagement, Elain would have been tainted in the process but he would have come out unscathed. 

“If you want, I can talk to mother,” Lucien offered, wanting to do something for Elain that wasn’t half apology. He felt earnest—hopeful, even. “Soften the blow.”

Elain offered him a half smile that made her even more beautiful than usual. Lucien was terrified of the day she gave him a full smile, wholly directed at him. Would he survive it? Lucien wasn’t sure he’d survive any of this because Elain was his mate, and he had the terrible feeling that if he got to know her, he’d like her.

It was a constant war between not wanting her at all and wanting her so badly it made his teeth ache. It was going to be like this for his entire life. Lucien understood why so many gave in to the bond. A not small part of him wanted to. Wanted to throw himself at her feet and demand to know why she hadn’t told him if she felt it, too. And another part wanted…well. Wanted to know if she’d like her if he didn’t have that thread tugging in his chest. His heart pounded out a steady, consistent beat: mine, mine, mine.

“I can do it,” she said, rising from her chair while stretching out her neck. “I don’t want her to think I don’t respect her.”

“She wouldn’t think that,” Lucien assured her, though he appreciated Elain was willing to have a personally uncomfortable conversation. 

“All the same,” Elain said blithely, eyes still dancing even when her mouth had flattened into a neutral expression. She was so fucking pretty. 

“Well. Tell me the colors so I don’t embarrass you,” he said, hoping, once again, he was coming off as charming and not demanding. Elain glanced over her shoulder, a curl ghosting over her cheek.

“Whatever you say.”

She turned for the bedroom, leaving Lucien to trail helplessly behind her. 

ELAIN:

If everything went according to plan, Tanwen would ask Ayla to dance. They’d look at each other. Maybe even speak, assuming Tanwen could move both his feet and lips at the same time. Maybe they’d kiss, if the night went well, and Tanwen would realize he was madly in love with Ayla and Elain could spend the rest of her time arranging their marriage to take her mind off her own. 

The Lady of Autumn had gone all out—the ballroom was packed with people from a myriad of courts, including her own. She’d seen Nesta floating around in a gown made of spun silver—a match for the blue of her sharp eyes. If Nesta was there, Feyre was, too, likely exploring some hidden area of the palace she shouldn’t be in. Elain had seen a few Day Court courtiers flock to Arina, their eyes lined with kohl, dressed in bright, breezy linens that seemed strangely out of place around Arina. 

Elain had taken Lucien’s advice, told his mother she didn’t like the rose color that had been chosen and ended up in a blood red gown that she never would have chosen for herself, once upon a time. When Amera presented it to Elain, setting the silk gown gently on the bed, Elain’s heart had thrummed.

Feyre would have worn it. Nesta, too. Her sisters were bolder, less afraid of making a statement. She wanted to be the kind of female who wore things like that, though. It was modest enough, with the off-shoulder sleeves that revealed freckled skin and delicate collarbones without even a hint of cleavage. The bodice was tight, the sides embroidered in gold flowers that made it seem as if her waist was pulled in smaller, creating the illusion of real curves.

She’d pulled her hair off her face with the pearl combs Lucien had given her as a show of good faith given how nice he’d been over the last few days. Not friendly, exactly, but nicer than he’d been since they’d met. He was looking at her when he spoke to her, which felt like a major improvement.

She hadn’t seen him yet, though the night was still early—plenty of time for Lucien to embarrass her yet. 

Floating through the throngs of people, the smell of sticky pastries and wine in the air, Elain tried to find Ayla. Her friend had sworn she’d be there, as had Tanwen after a lot of cajoling and pleading. 

Who will dance with me? she’d asked, making her eyes big and round. Tanwen, unused to being manipulated by a female, had folded almost immediately though he’d grumbled that he didn’t dance. Not with her, perhaps—but someone else? Elain didn’t believe he was above courting entirely given the rumors she’d heard floating around.

The Vanserra’s had a reputation and if Elain had to guess, she’d bet she was one of the few people left that had no idea what it was like to be underneath one.

“There you are,” Lucien’s warm voice murmured as his fingers brushed the tops of her shoulder. Elain turned and immediately wished she hadn’t. Lucien had asked what color she was wearing and Elain had said red and yet somehow, he’d managed to coordinate his jacket to the exact shade of her dress.

Fuck him, she thought privately as she took in the well-tailored fabric fitted to his broad, muscular chest. His boots gleamed beneath the faelights, cut up to his knees before giving way to black pants that showed off powerful thighs. He wore a gold band around his ring finger and he’d half braided his hair off his face much like Elain had done with the combs. He looked…he looked good.

Beautiful, even, in a roguish kind of way. 

“Were you looking for me?” Elain asked, noting that Lucien was looking at her much like she’d just done. His eyes darkened, scent sharpening and oh. This wasn’t a good time for him to realize he was sexually attracted to her. 

Lucien cleared his throat, eyes returning to her face. “It’s our celebration, I figured we ought to be seen together. Happy,” he added with a frown.

Elain couldn’t help her laugh. The whole thing was absurd. “Well, you’re truly selling it.”

Lucien blinked. “Are you going to tell me what this is in service of, now?”

“You don’t believe I’m so incandescently happy?” Elain teased, gaze snagging on the High Lord. She hadn’t expected Beron Vanserra to come, but there he was, arm linked with his wife and brown eyes bright as he listened to her speak. Elain was terrified of Beron and his shows of temper, his violence, and the bruises Elain often caught on Amera’s body when her sleeves slid up her wrists.

And yet here, he was the picture of adoration. Was it possible to love someone you hated? Elain turned, catching her husband also watching with a disdainful expression on his face. He didn’t bother hiding it, and Beron didn’t notice. Elain had heard Beron was preoccupied with Eris and Cadmus, but paid little attention to Connall and Tanwen and practically none at all to Lucien. To Elain, that seemed like a best case scenario, but maybe Lucien resented his fathers disinterest.

Or maybe he resented the way Beron terrorized his family.

She’d never asked, determined not to make it her business. 

Lucien rolled his eyes, returning to their conversation as his fingers skimmed down her spine. He’d been touching her more often—absent gestures she wasn’t certain he was even aware he did. Every time his skin met hers, Elain’s whole body ignited with interest, which prompted her to try, desperately, to avoid his touch. What would Lucien do if he ever caught a whiff of her changing scent?

Elain knew she was on borrowed time, that eventually there would be questions about what they did when they were alone. The expectation of children would begin to arise and Elain would have to bow to the pressure and at least try. It had taken her own parents nearly five decades to conceive Nesta and Elain expected it would take her just as long, even if she and Lucien put themselves on a strict schedule.

What was worse was the thought that she might enjoy it. The vision persisted, lingering in her mind as it taunted. 

You could be happy if you made different choices.

Lucien's fingers stilled at the small of her back, as though he realized how far he’d drifted and knew he was in danger. 

“Tell me the truth,” Lucien murmured, leading the two of them through the throngs of people dancing to soft music played by musicians seated in elegant chairs. Cool air blew in from the open windows and some brave souls donned cloaks before sneaking out toward the garden for a moment alone. 

Elain would bet that's where Feyre was. 

“We deserve a little celebration, Lucien,” she said, turning abruptly for the garden just to see what her sister was doing. The last thing she needed was for Eris to find Feyre poking through something and start an international incident like that one time Feyre had been permitted to join their father in Winter. 

“Elain—”

“Why does it bother you?” she asked without malice, letting him trail after her as they made their way into the dark. A pillar half hid a couple furiously kissing, the smell of salt and desire half choking Elain. Lucien coughed, for all the good it did—the pair broke apart to look at them before deciding they didn’t care if they had an audience. Elain scurried toward the grounds when the male dropped to his knees, head ducking beneath a skirt. Behind her, Lucien muttered something she couldn’t quite make out, though it sounded disapproving. 

“What if I wanted to help whatever scheme you’re currently working through?” he responded, jogging up beside her. “Did that occur to you?”

Elain’s steps slowed. It hadn’t. “I’m trying to set up your brother.”

Lucien’s brow furrowed. “Which one?”

“Tanwen.”

He laughed, which annoyed her. “What?”

“Tanwen? Elain, if you want to set him up, you need to hide her in the woods for him to find.”

“He said he’d dance,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest as she faced off with Lucien. The grass was damp, the wet bleeding through the soft fabric of her shoes. Unlike Lucien who had layers beneath his jacket, Elain merely had the thin fabric of her gown. Lucien looked warm, and some part of her wanted to close the distance between them and fold herself against his body.

“Did you use your feminine wiles on him? Poor Tanwen,” Lucien teased, poking her in the stomach. 

Elain scented something strange just as she was about to retort—sea salt and citrus, wholly out of place in the Autumn wood. Lucien, too, caught the scent of it, his eyes flicking up over Elain’s head as one hand came out to half pull her against his body. She’d been right—Lucien was warm. 

A moment later, Feyre Archeron appeared looking dazed and pale. Elain’s sister had merely stepped out of a rip in the world, trailing star-flecked shadows behind her as she went. There was no one with her—just Feyre, who could apparently winnow. Elain had never known that. 

“Are you okay?” Elain asked when Feyre passed. Her sister started, eyes bright like the moon.

“Of course,” she said, her tone strangely breathless. “I was…lost.”

“Lost.” Lucien repeated, his tone rich with disbelief. “Where were you going?”

“I…out,” Feyre finally said, practically floating away from them. Both Elain and Lucien watched and she suspected if she’d turned to look at him, they’d be wearing matching expressions of confusion.

“That…was strange,” Lucien finally said, releasing Elain from his grip. She took a step away on instinct, desperate for a breath of air not tainted by the soft, masculine scent of him. “Is she always like that?”

Elain wanted to assure him that Feyre wasn’t, but… “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. It was pretty par for the course for Feyre to slip off and keep secrets about her magic. If Feyre could winnow and hadn’t told anyone, it was for a reason. Elain certainly wasn’t going to divulge that information.

“Come on,” Lucien murmured, and she swore when she looked at him, a faint glow emanating off the edges of his skin. She blinked and it was gone, fading to a memory she couldn’t quite recall. Had she seen it? Or had she merely imagined it? 

“You’re shivering,” Lucien added when Elain didn’t move, reaching for her once again. He couldn’t keep touching her—he was wearing down her resolve. One of these days Lucien might put his hands on her and she’d thank him for it.

Something in her wanted to make him work harder, even if it was inevitable. She wanted to like him, at least, before he took her clothes off her. And more than that, Elain wanted Lucien to like her, too. She was certain he didn’t—not really. What she found gazing back at her when she looked at him was merely acceptance. He’d made his peace with this marriage, something he should have done the moment he found himself standing at the priestesses altar, and was ready to get on with things. 

Elain followed Lucien back into the bright, dizzying warmth, eyes scanning the room for both her sisters and Tanwen. She found Ayla, dressed in rich burgundy chatting with a male whose name escaped her. She saw Connall leaned against a pillar holding court while a semi-circle of females laughed at something undoubtedly stupid he’d said.

Cadmus and Eris patrolled the edges of the room, talking among themselves even as Eris’s eyes continued to slide to his mate, giggling with some of the females that routinely came to Ayla’s card games.

But no Tanwen. Lucien must have realized it, too, because his fingers brushed the back of her hand. “Told you.” It was the wrong thing to say to her right then. His touch, combined with her own confusing mix of emotions, caused a rush of anger to flood through her. Elain’s attraction to him, the closeness of his body, the way she swore she saw him looking at her at times—all of it was too much.

“That was uncalled for,” she hissed, grateful when he didn’t follow behind her. Elain didn’t turn to look at him, either.

She knew he was watching.

She could feel it.

LUCIEN:

“You’re an asshole,” Lucien began, snatching the weapon from his brothers hand before Tanwen could take a swing. Tanwen turned, brows raised. 

“For what?”

“You told Elain you’d dance with her,” Lucien reminded him, almost telling his brother the truth of the matter. Lucien very much doubted Elain would be forgiving if she learned he’d messed up her little plan—even if Lucien thought it was ridiculous. 

Tanwen blew out a breath. “I don’t dance.”

“It was one dance.”

“You dance with her,” Tanwen retorted, reaching for the axe but Lucien held it just out of reach. They were matched for height and likely matched in strength, though Lucien knew from experience that if Tanwen wanted to hurt him, it would be relatively easy for him to do so. In his youth, he’d tried to take on all his brothers to disastrous results. Besides, if he limped back into the house with a bruised eye and busted lip, Elain would know that he’d been meddling to help her.

It might make her like him a little better…and Lucien didn’t want her to know he was trying as hard as he was. He couldn’t explain it—call it petulance, call it his own inner angst, but Lucien wanted Elain to simply wake up one day desperate and needy from the bond and court him a little, too.

“You made a promise,” Lucien pressed, tossing the axe to the damp, leafy ground beside his brother. 

“I fucking hate that shit,” Tanwen snapped, running a hand over his messy hair. “The people, the noise, I—” he took a breath. “I tried, alright? But someone tried to talk to me and I couldn’t do it. If you want me to make it up to your wife, though—”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Lucien warned, temper flaring. Lucien was coming to the realization that he likely couldn’t spend another month sleeping in the same bed as his mate without touching her. He toyed with the idea of creating some kind of bargain between them in which he was allowed to have her in the evenings and she could do whatever she liked with the rest of her time. But Lucien’s treacherous mind betrayed him, conjuring images of her taking a lover and he became restless and angry all over again. In his mind, Lucien was allowed to have her however he wanted her, but ultimately bore no responsibility toward her as he figured out his own feelings.

To make matters worse, every time he pictured Elain, his guilty thoughts bled Jesminda into the image until Lucien was frustrated with himself—Jesminda had told him to move on. Move on. It was taking too long, the heartbreak making a fool out of him. How did people get over it? Did they ever? 

Or maybe you’re scared you’ll move on and be fine, a traitor's voice whispered in his mind. Maybe you’re afraid you’d be happy if you let yourself.

“Shut up,” he mumbled under his breath. 

Tawnen glanced at Lucien, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry if I upset Elain,” Tanwen conceded, though he didn’t look too shamed. “I’ll make it up to her.” Lucien doubted it, though, given his wife was very much trying to set Tanwen up. He trusted she’d find some new little scheme to put them back in the same room. Begrudgingly, he had to admit the thought of Elain trying to set Tanwen up amused him, if only because Tanwen was the most oblivious of the bunch. If he had his way, he’d abandon court entirely for some cottage in the woods and live entirely off the land. Tanwen would have thrived as governor of the rural counties of Autumn, though that post belonged to Connall, technically.

Beron sent Tanwen to their biggest port city and forced him to oversee the people there, knowing Tanwen hated the politics just as he knew counting crops bored Connall to tears. It wasn’t about learning anything, either. He simply liked making his sons suffer for his amusement. Lucien wasn’t allowed any leadership positions—Beron said he didn’t have enough cities, though Lucien knew that Beron simply didn’t like him and did not want to nurture any potential High Lord qualities in Lucien that might unseat Eris or Cadmus. 

Lucien left Tanwen to his weapons, meandering even when he knew where he was going. He wanted the pretense of stumbling upon her, of seeing her with her hair tied off her face with a pink bandana, hands buried in soil. Lucien found her dressed in a rich purple, hem pooled around her knees as she plunged a little trowel into the earth.

She wore his gloves. Lucien’s heart raced at the sight of them, once tossed carelessly in a drawer along with everything else. She’d worn his combs the night before, his gloves today…Lucien took a breath. Elain was softening. Maybe he could bend a little, too. Pushing open the gate, Lucien made his way toward her.

“Planting?” he asked, noting the bed of weeds had been cleared out of the space. It must have taken her hours to do it.

Elain glanced up, a bead of sweat sliding down her brow. He wanted to taste it. “Your brothers helped clear this place out,” she said sweetly, rising up to sit on her heels. “It’s made things go faster.”

“What are you planting?”

“Here? Aster,” she said, showing him the little trays of budding plants she’d clearly been growing herself. “I’ve mapped it all out. Would you like to see?”

“Yes,” he breathed, coming close enough their knees brushed when he lowered himself to the ground. Elain pulled out a little journal and a rolled up piece of paper that she spread out for him.

Lucien recognized Cadmus’ work, sketched out beside Elain’s looping, pretty handwriting. 

“Your brother painted it for me,” Elain admitted, running her fingers over the pretty watercolors that graced the page. I showed him my layout and he put it together.

“We should frame this when you’re finished,” Lucien murmured, thinking it really was lovely. 

Elain’s eyes were bright. “Really?”

He didn’t like that creeping hope in her voice—her belief that he wasn’t a kind male, and didn’t care about her at all. It wasn’t true, though Lucien knew he’d done very little to disabuse her of the notion.

“Of course,” he replied, trying to keep his voice light and nonchalant. “You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

Elain tucked a curl behind her ear. “It’s just a garden, it’s not as if—”

“It’s important,” Lucien interrupted, tone gentle but firm. “Beautiful, too.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed, eyes slipping back to the ground. “That’s…thank you, Lucien.”

“Can I help?” he asked, deciding to push his luck. What did it hurt, he reasoned, to try and get to know his wife? His mate? 

Biting her bottom lip, Elain nodded. “That would be nice.”

“I saw Tanwen this morning,” Lucien said, adopting a lighter, more gossipy tone. Elain’s eyes lit up.

“Did you tell him he ruined my night?” Elain demanded with a grin. “Winston occupied nearly all of Ayla’s time.”

“Winston,” Lucien grumbled, though in truth he had no issue with the lord. Winston was perfectly polite, in a bland kind of way. He was the kind of male Ayla could boss around and dominate, which wasn’t the worst position to be in given how Autumn viewed females. It was the closest thing to autonomy Ayla could hope for.

“Right?” Elain agreed, taking one of the little plants from him to nestle it gently in the dirt. “He’s so…”

“Agreed,” Lucien replied, heart thudding in his throat. “Could I offer you some advice?”

“Please,” she replied, eyes darting to him again. The urge to push her into the dirt and cover her mouth with his own reared through him with an intensity so hot that Lucien could feel his cock stir in his pants. 

Calm yourself, he ordered. 

“Consider an activity that Tanwen is interested in.”

“Like what?”

“What is the game you, Arina, and Ayla are always organizing on the lawn?”

“It’s a bit like tag, but less rough,” Elain admitted, cheeks flushing again.

“So why not a larger game?” Lucien suggested, mind racing with possibilities. “Or, perhaps something more akin to hide and seek. That could be romantic.”

Elain’s brows raised. “You’re quite clever.”

He grinned. “I’ll take the compliment.”

“How would we ensure we get them alone?”

“Easy enough. You and I will hide somewhere together—somewhere only I know,” Lucien added, his heart picking up again. He knew the exact tree he’d put her in, ancient and hollowed out by a High Lords son long since dead. Lucien had spent years hiding there as a child, reading and writing and otherwise daydreaming about more interesting adventures. With Elain, the space would feel smaller…perhaps he’d take the opportunity to truly touch her. Run his knuckles over her cheek, his nose along the curve of her neck.

“And Arina?”

Lucien snorted. “Eris won’t be able to help himself.”

Elain wrinkled her nose, scrunching the little freckles adorably. “Ew.”

“And Tanwen considers himself an expert tracker. Finding Ayla will be easiest, because she won’t be masked by another male's scent. And maybe, once they’re alone…”

Elain clapped her hands in front of her chest, giving him an excuse to look at the soft swell of her breasts. Elain was far too appealing, mate or not, and Lucien had the sinking suspicion he’d want her even without the cord currently wrapped around his throat. 

Squashing his guilt, Lucien took a breath. 

Unaware of his inner torment, Elain offered him a smile. “Okay. I like this plan—give me a few days to put it together so it seems natural and not too suspicious.”

“Naturally.”

“And you’ll join?”

“Nothing would amuse me more than to see Tanwen fall prey to the very court scheming he loathes.”

“You make it sound so sinister. I merely want him to find happiness,” she said, unaware that Ayla was the kind of female Tanwen had made a habit of ignoring. He could see her with Cadmus, perhaps, if Cadmus ever deigned to smile or have a moment of fun. Connall was too busy fucking his way through Prythian to ever consider a wife and truthfully, was likely to make someone very unhappy given how little he thought of commitment. 

“And you think Ayla is his happiness?” Lucien questioned.

Elain only shrugged. “Maybe. It doesn’t hurt to try, does it?”

Lucien began digging out Elain’s next chalk mark as she carefully replanted, not willing to look at her. “I suppose not,” he murmured, feeling as if she were speaking to him as well. You’re not trying at all, he swore her voice accused which wasn’t true. He’d given her gifts, hadn’t he? He was sitting outside despite the biting chill, hands without gloves, dirt gathering beneath his nails. 

Lucien wondered if she couldn’t sense his hesitation, his indecision. What did she feel? He was desperate to know. Experimentally, he pulled on the bond just to see what she’d do. Elain’s brow furrowed, hand flying to her chest to rub.

“Are you well?” he asked. Tell me you feel what I feel.

“I may have strained myself,” she admitted, hand falling to her lap. “Or perhaps I’m coming down with something.”

Lucien bit back his sigh. She felt it, but didn’t realize what was happening. Perhaps that was a blessing, then. He wondered if the snapping had felt different for her, or had been masked by her other emotions, lost to the swirl of fear and anxiety. How did he tell her without upsetting her? Could he? 

“You should take it easier,” he murmured, unsure how she’d even go about doing that. “Rest more.”

Elain bit her bottom lips, gaze far away. “I feel like all I do is rest. I garden, I go about with my friends, I eat, I sleep. Hardly exerting.” Interesting. “What would you like to be doing, then?”

She considered this, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Travel?”

Lucien’s whole body tightened. Was that it? His disbelief must have shown on his face because she quickly added, “I heard the continent had tulip fields as big as a sea.”

“I’ve never seen them,” he admitted, mind racing, “I’d like to, though.”

“Maybe we could go?” she suggested.

Lucien resisted the urge to crush her against him. “Whatever you like.”

It was a start.

[lemonluvgirl]

The Mockingjay Cries at Midnight

So, here I am again with another weird Everlark Christmas-themed story. This time I decided to go way-waaay out of the box and try a Christmas/mystery/thriller. Yeah. I know. Should be fun lol. Very festive. Hope you like the first 2 chapters.

Chapter One: The Journalist and Slippery Slope 

The winding roads were icy and seemingly endless. Not another car was in sight on the lonely stretch of highway he was traveling.  His legs had lost feeling from continuous driving, and his fingers were starting to feel a bit numb too, but not from lack of movement. It was the seeping cold that seemed to pervade everything, despite the heater being turned up to full blast in his old Jeep Cherokee. Bing Crosby’s velvety voice was “Pa-rum, Pum, Pum, Pum,”ing along on the radio, and Peeta Mellark was humming along off-key in a desperate effort to stay awake. 

He had been driving for too long, he knew that, but he was very near reaching his destination. He was used to going to uncomfortable lengths to get the story he was after. He had done this before many times. Wisconsin for instance, he drove 9 hours in the rain to make it to Steven’s Point, and it had been hell on his back but he got there, and he got his story. They had to run second and third prints to keep up with the demand. And in Villa Ridge Missouri, he had to stake out an abandoned stretch of road for two days, but he got the story on that one too. 

This one would be just like all the rest. A little discomfort, a little lost sleep, but ultimately worth it in the long run once he printed a full expose about the mysterious murders that rocked a little no-name town fifty years ago. 

“I am a poor boy too…” His voice warbled tiredly as his eyes searched for the mile marker that would tell him where to turn, but there was a steady sleet building outside and it was getting harder and harder to see in the worsening weather. 

He was looking for number 113 and going by the map he was forced to use after he lost GPS service, it was bound to be around here somewhere. 

“I have no gift to bring, Pa-rum, Pum, Pum, Pum” He had already passed exit 18 aways back. That meant 113 was coming up any minute now. 

“That’s fit to give a—shit!” He caught sight of the reflective marker with the numbers 113 and tried to turn, half a second too late and much too sharp, but the tires couldn’t find purchase on the slick road on such short notice. 

The car started to hydroplane. 

“Fuck, FUCK!” Thinking quickly, he did what all the experts said was best, which was to turn into the spin. 

But he was going too fast. The row of snow covered trees that lined the highway like silent guardians blurred and drew closer in his vision.  

Suddenly he couldn’t remember what was so important that he drove out to the middle of nowhere a few days before Chrsitmas to find. Surely it wasn’t this. A quick and violent end on an icy road with no one who even knew where he was this time of night. 

Only his editor knew where he was headed and she probably wouldn’t report him missing for days. 

All of these thoughts flew into his mind and flew out just as quickly, as fast as the old jeep spun out of control and headed for the treeline. 

The last thing he saw was what looked like a woman. 

A woman in a faded ruffle dress, with long dark hair, standing on the side of the road. Almost close enough to touch. Time seemed to slow-and stop altogether as she held his gaze. She had a sad, forlorn look in her large brown eyes, that were almost pleading with him.  It looked like she was trying to say something, but he couldn’t make it out. It seemed important if the desperate look she was giving him was anything to go by, and he thought that look would be impressed upon him forever should he live past this terrible night. 

Then the car made another revolution, and she was taken out of his sight. 

 Quicker than a blink everything was back to the breakneck speed of reality as the car careened completely out of control. Then there was the sound of breaking glass, the impact of wood on metal, and the sharp flash of pain that radiated through every inch of him. 

And then all was darkness. 

Chapter 2: The Angel with the Permanant Frown 

The beep-beep-beep-beeeep of her minitor almost caused her to knock over her peppermint tea. Almost, but Katniss Everdeen caught the tipping cup at the last second and righted it. She unclipped the mini-monitor on her belt loop, nicknamed ‘minitor’ for short by all the local EMT’s and held it up as the device beeped its special four note tone again. It was the tone reserved for immediately life-threatening situations and it meant she didn’t have a minute to lose. 

She grabbed her truck keys off the top of her desk, tossed on her coat, didn’t bother with her hat or gloves, and threw open the door to the office of the local quick-mart. 

“Sae! I got a call!” She hollered as she rushed past the woman ringing up customers at the counter. 

“This time of night?” The grey haired older woman asked in surprise as Katniss flew by. 

“Rules are whoever gets the call has to head to the garage! Call Darius to cover my shift if you need extra security! Or Rory if need someone to help close up!” She shouted over her shoulder as she ran out, the chime of the bell ringing loudly behind her as the door snicked shut. 

Panem county was one of the smallest counties in the continental United States. The small townships of the Seam, Hob, and Panem Town proper, or just Town, as the locals called it barely drumed up a population of 4,000 residents combined. The only EMTs the county could afford to keep were volunteer ones, and they didn’t have regular shifts or wait at the station like their big-city counter parts. When someone called 911, dispatch paged everyone within a certain radius of the emergency. Special pre-recorded tones caused their minitors to beep loudly, alerting them to the emergency. 

They had different tones for ‘urgent response’, ‘potentially life-threatening’, and ‘immediately life-threatening’ situations. The call she received was the former. Luckily everyone at dispatch knew where to find her on a Tuesday night. 

She usually picked up a couple shifts a week working security down at old Sae’s quick-mart. The nights were long and tedious and she spent the majority of them watching the security cameras in the office on the look out for shop-lifters or teens trying to buy beer with fake IDs. Nothing serious, at least, nothing she couldn’t handle with a stern look and few sharp words. 

But this—this was a not not nothing. She hadn’t had a call this serious…maybe ever. 

Working at Sae’s put her within a mile of the garage so that meant she was going to be one of the first responders to make it there. She needed one other person with her before they could leave, as per the rules. More licsenced EMTs could show up and could ride along but they would have to get there before the ambulance took off. 

Her train of thought refocused as she pulled up to the old garage that housed the only ambulance and two working fire trucks that serviced the entire county. She pulled into the closest spot and hopped out down from her truck, ice crunching beneath her boots as she hurried into the garage. 

She was indeed the first one to arrive and she busied herself with pulling on her EMT uniform, getting the ambulance ready to go, making sure the tires were inflated, and chained properly for ice and snow, and turning on the engine and checking that the tank was full-which it was, thankfully. 

Just as she had finished taking a quick inventory of the medical supplies in the backseat she heard a voice call out from the entrance. 

“Always first to answer the call huh, Catnip?” The voice of her oldest and best friend, Gale Hawthorne rang out clearly amidst the rumble of the ambulance’s engine. Of course he would be the second one to the garage. 

“Early bird, and all that yada yada,” She replied as she shut the back doors and strode out to the front. Gale was already shrugging off his old coat and pulling on his EMT coveralls. 

“Hurry up will ya? Any longer and the stragglers will start to show and then we’ll have to let them ride with.” She shouted as she tossed the keyes to the bus over to him before she pulled open the passenger side and slid in. She didn’t really dislike the other EMTs but her and Gale had been friends and partners for years. They had a system and they knew each other like the backs of their own hands. She preferred working with him if she couldn’t work alone, and adding other EMTs just complicated things. 

Gale caught the keyes smoothly, like she knew he would, and he sent her cocky grin before he followed suit and slid into the driver’s seat. 

“Didn’t think you’d be up for letting me drive.” He commented as he strapped in and adjusted the mirror to fit his above average height.

“I wanna be first out when we get on the scene.” She said quickly as she pulled on her seatbelt and then turned on the ambulance radio. It was programmed to tune into the local police frequency and there was already some chatter going on about an accident out on the highway. 

“‘Course you do.” Gale said with a shake of his head. She ignored him in favor of listening to the information the dispatcher was relaying. 

Katniss’ grey eyes narrowed as she heard more details come through.

Jeep Grand Cherokee 1998 crashed out on the highway—around mile marker 113—One driver spotted inside the vehicle—unconscious

“Hurry your ass up!” She hissed at her partner when she heard the last descriptor. Gale shot her a look, but she didn’t even glance at him. She was staring ahead at the road that waited outside the garage as if she could will herself onto it faster. Without further prodding Gale flipped the lights and the ambulance siren on with a flick of his fingers and then they were off, practically peeling out of the garage in the next second. Under different circumstances she might have chewed him out for reckless driving but the roads were practically abandoned tonight and they needed to get on the scene fast. 

Besides, she couldn’t shake the antsy feeling she had since she’d gotten the call. There was something inside of her that was telling her that she just needed to get there as soon as possible. 

The drive out to the highway usually took fifteen minutes. Gale got them there in nine. 

The ambulance finally came to a stop just a few yards past the mile 113 marker. 

Up ahead she could make out the mangled up shape of a jeep that had gone head to head with an old spruce and lost. Unfortunately they weren’t in an ideal position to get the injured party inside the ambulance unless Gale repositioned the vehicle. 

“Hey you said you wanted to be first on the scene.” Gale replied with a shrug as he moved to undo his seatbelt. Katniss shook her head at him. 

“Stay put and back this thing up properly. Doors first!” She bit out tersely as she undid her belt and cracked open her door. She hopped down and shut the door closed on Gale’s complaints, ignoring him completely as she pulled her EMT pack higher on her shoulder and started to march forward. 

Sleet was still coming down heavily, and the road was slippery under her boots but her feet pulled her forward as quickly and surely as a lodestone is drawn to a magnet. 

Before she knew it she was right outside the driver side door, looking in on the man who had been behind the wheel. His face was turned toward her and she could distinguish his featured clearly. 

He was young, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties, he had ashy blond hair that fell in waves over his forehead. She could tell one other thing about him immediately by just looking—he was damn lucky. 

The airbag in his car had properly deployed, from her vantage point she could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was knocked unconscious, but not dead. The airbag and the seatbelt he was wearing had most likely saved his life, even though he drove an older model jeep and that sometimes meant that air bags didn’t always work like they should. The only visible injury she could see on him was a gash on his forehead. 

She needed to get him out of the car though, so she could assess the rest of him, check his torso and legs, but he looked kind big. Not as tall as Gale, but broad and stocky, with wide shoulders that were going to be a bitch to manover out of the mashed up wreck of his car if she guessed correctly. 

She tried tapping on his window to get his attention. It would be easier to move him if he was conscious, also he could unlock the doors instead of them having to shatter the window or the windshield and pull him out. But the man in the car didn’t stir. She tapped louder, as she noticed the car’s radio was amazingly still going and it was still playing music. 

Very familiar music. 

Earth stood hard as iron

Water like a stone

Snow had fallen

Snow on snow on snow

In the bleak midwinter

Long, long ago

The version playing was a little known and even less played solo sung by a local artist. It brought back the sounds and stories of her childhood. It brought back the knife edge of pain and loss. That beautiful, effortless voice that sailed over the notes and floated down to mesh with the music was a sound so steeped in memory that for a moment she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, she was so caught off guard. 

Then there was a pop and a whoosh, the sound of the air bag deflating, and with it the radio sputtered out and died. The disturbance finally seemed to arouse the unconscious driver. 

The bluest eyes she’d ever seen blinked open and locked on her. She stood there staring right back at him, caught up in the bizareness of the situation. 

Then her training kicked in. 

She knocked on the window again and said in her most stern but calm voice, “Sir, you’ve been in an car accident. I need you to unlock your door and roll down the window so I can help you.” 

The man stared at her, in confusion for a second, but then his left hand reached out to do as she had asked. The first thing he said to her when the window came down was not what she was expecting. 

“Am I dead? Are you an angel? Do all angels frown like that?”

[csprslvt]

you and i, and her. pt 6

Chapter five

Summary: Seattle day two. Ellie and Abby have more similarities than reader had originally thought. As they fight off infected together, reader takes notes of the way Ellie's urge for vengeance made her unstoppable. Reader sneaks off at night looking for more clues and comes across a familiar group. Heartbreak ensues.

Warnings: Mentions of murder, mentions of violence, vague descriptions of violence, Ellie is down bad, but she doesn't know it, fluff, platonic affection, platonic love, reader is heartbroken, but Ellie is there, sharing a sleeping bag/bed trope, foul language (its tlou what did you expect)

It was only a matter of time until you'd both come across infected, after all it was an apocalypse. However, that didn't make you dread the confrontation any less.

It wasn't even the killing that grossed you out, it was the smell, the blood, the guts spilling and bone crushing sounds you heard every time you came up from behind and stealthily attacked.

Ellie was impressed by your skills, but she was just as strategic if not more than you, she had this look in her eyes when she killed. One of pure, raw, determination. She struck with zero hesitation, and it reminded you of Abby.

Though the fighting styles were so different. After observing Abby for years and Ellie for months, you noticed how their personalities impacted the way they fought. Abby was powerful, brutal,swift and efficient and though Ellie also got the job done, she snuck up on her victims rather than plainly attacking and drew as little attention to herself as possible. Ellie was a force to be reckoned with and watching her made you realize how power of an emotion vengeance is.

It frightened you. It made you fear for Abby, Ellie would put up a good fight. She didn't seem to ever change her mind, she was bold and stubborn and impulsive. 

The longer the trip went on, the less you slept. You would stay up all night studying the map you found but to no avail. Everything on the map, you already knew. After all, you were a member of the WLF.

Until one day, you snuck off into the woods and found a lookout. You climbed up its ladder. It was a struggle in the dark, but you managed and inside you were shocked.

A working radio, walkie’s, a wall of notes and sleeping bags.

Someone was here. 

Just as you started to look through everything, snatching the walkies into your pack you heard a voice.

“Your fucking asshole, I cant believe you made me come all the way out here for nothing.”

“Hey I thought I heard something!”

The voices immediately started arguing, it sounded like two men and vaguely familiar but you were still on guard, you were trapped inside the tower, you grabbed your gun and stood flat against the wall by the entrance readying yourself, a man stepped in not played attention until you pressed your gun to his forehead.

“Dont fucking move” you spoke

“What the fuck!” The man said, you were about to respond until you were promptly tackled to the ground. It was dark, hard to see, and your flashlight flew out of your reach.

“ Get off of me asshole!” You screamed

“The fuck is going on up there!”  A voice shouted from below. You were on the floor, stomach facing down as someone pulled you by the hair and tilted your face up.

“Fucking get off!” You flaided your body wildly trying to escape. The person on top of you stopped suddenly and was pulled off of you.

You sat up panting.

A flashlight’s beam hit your face, blinding you.

“Oh my god, y/n?”

You looked up at the oh so familiar voice, the smell of pine and forest and sweat hitting your senses.

You froze ,mouth gaping.

“Abby.”

She pulled you up by the arm, hands on your shoulders and stared at you.

“Its you” She spoke, holding your face.

“Its me” 

Another man entered the room, promptly ruining the moment. 

“y/n?” 

You turned

“Owen.”

“Owen fuck off for a second!” Abby said, clearly annoyed that he had fucked up the moment.

“What the fuck! No!”

“Owen, manny, everybody needs to get out. Now.”

At that, they all exited the tower.

“Where the fuck have you been?” You said with a shaking voice

“Where have you been? You disappeared! I thought you left me”

“You know me better than that Abby”

“Yea, yes I do” Abby spoke, her rough calloused hands stroking your cheeks as if she didn't believe you were actually here.

“Why didnt you come looking for me?” You said, million questions in your mind

“I had somethings to take care of”

“What?”

“I found him”

“Found who?”

“The son of a bitch that killed my father. I found him, I killed him”

You paused, in the joy of finding Abby again, you had forgotten the purpose of Ellie’s goal. 

You stared at Abby

Then you smacked her across the face.

“Babe! What the fuck!”

“Don't you ‘babe’ me” You were so pissed off, Abby didn't try and find you after you'd gotten kidnapped because she was too busy seeking revenge? Maybe you were being a little dramatic, slapping her and all but she forgot about you completely and moved on while you were hung up looking for her, betraying Ellie for her.

“You completely forgot about me!”

“I would never forget about you.”

“Then why didn't you come looking for me? I literally almost fucking died alone!”

“I wanted to look for you, trust me I did but Owen-”

You rolled your eyes

“Oh since when do you listen to Owen”

Abby gulped, with a knowing look in her eyes

You stepped back

“No fucking way”

“Baby, listen, I just-”

Angry tears welled up in your eyes

“Your with him again. Arent you.”

“Its just because-”

“Answer my fucking question Anderson”

Abby's face fell, you had only called her that when you were upset with her, it was always Abby, Abs, babe, but never her last name.

“Yea. I am.”

“I fucking hate you”

“You dont mean that”

“I have spent hours, days, weeks, months not able to think, to sleep, because I've been worried about you! I've been sitting here looking like an idiot stuck on someone who is now fucking around with Owen! Out of all fucking people, Owen? Are you serious? You clearly never gave a shit about me! If you had, you wouldn't be sleeping with your shitty ex-boyfriend!”

Abby looked at the floor, shame weighing on her. 

“I love you”

“Unbelievable! You expect me to just fall back into your arms after everything you put me through!” 

“No, no I don't.”

You put your head in your hands. You loved Abby so much, but being with her right now was overwhelming, and knowing she was with Owen again broke you.

You shoved her out of your way and went to leave.

“ You can't leave me, I've just found you”

Abby’s voice sounded so soft and so remorseful as if she was genuinely scared of losing you again. Her hand trembled, wanting to pull you into her arms and apologize over and over again, because she really was sorry, she really did love you. Owen could never be enough for her, not when she only wanted you, Owen was the shitty fuck she came too only to get you off her mind, but every breath she took, every beat of her selfish heart, it was only there for you.

You turned to face her. Resolve crumbling, you had only ever seen her so broken once before, when she lost her father.

“Meet me here tomorrow at dawn we can talk…Don't bring Owen.” You replied. 

She nodded, willing to do anything to win you back.

“I’ll see you then.”

You didn't look at her after that, you walked out and passed an annoyed Owen. What was once anger morphed into sadness as you made your way back to the makeshift camp Ellie had made.

 Ellie was kind, she was generous, she cared about you, every morning you woke up her floor the first thing she would say was, 

“How are you feeling?” with the most genuine expression. She was interested in your response and listened to you. Ellie was good for you, she was healthy for you. And you were betraying her. It made you second guess your original plan. Ellie was the one you needed, but Abby would always be the one you wanted.

When you made it back, you shuffled your sleeping bag closer to Ellie's. You wanted the comfort of your best friend even though you didn't deserve it after all you had done.

“Y/n?” Ellie stirred awake, looking at you, taking in your melancholy.

“Did you have a bad dream?” She was concerned, she was so good to you. You felt like you could cry

“Uhm yea”

“Come here”

Ellie opened up her sleeping bag, holding her arms out for you to crawl into.

Any other time, you would have said no, but you were so vulnerable and hurt you moved into her arms with no hesitation, burying your face into her neck.

Still you were tense. Holding in tears, that was until Ellie wrapped her arm around your waist. You let go of the tears and fell into her. Allowing her to comfort you.

“Shhh, shhh its okay” She mumbled 

The tears just kept coming, but Ellie knew you didn't want to be questioned at the moment, so she held you, showering you with affection.

It felt nice to feel wanted again. It felt nice to be comforted.

I'm so sorry Ellie, You thought, the guilt of your actions making you worse.

“‘’M sorry” you mumbled, between frantic breathes

“About what?

“Everything”

Ellie looked at you with a confused face.

“Never be sorry for telling me how you feel.” She assumed you felt embarrassed by your display, she didn't want you to feel that way

The truth would kill her.

Nothing felt more right than holding you in that moment, she had yearned for it, and savored the way it felt. She was happy to be the one comforting you.

“I'm here for you, okay?”

The tears eventually slowed to a stop,

“Okay.”

“Get some rest, you can stay with me tonight”

You nodded, feeling exhausted and fell into a deep slumber. That night, when you dreamt it no longer smelt as strongly of pine.

Ellie awoke first with a pleasurable pressure on her chest, the feeling of your head laying on her. You were curled into her side, fast asleep with a face puffy from crying.

Youd seen her cry plenty of times, but she never saw you reciprocate that vulnerability until now.

She was overjoyed that you trusted her enough.

She watched you rest until you woke. You looked like a  total mess, she smiled, she could get used to waking up next to her best friend.

It was then when she noticed your natural beauty, fresh in the morning, bathing in sunlight. How could she not see it before? Here you are, gorgeous as ever, was she blind to it the entire time? Or was it just now that she was learning to appreciate you?

“What are you staring at?” You grumbled, still curled up next to her

“You.” Ellie spoke breathlessly, in a trance like state, simply watching your every subtle movement.

You stared up at her wide eyed, feeling awkward and deciding to break up the tension.

“That was so not platonic” you thought.

“You creep” You laughed, trying to change the subject. Ellie snapped out of it at the sound of your nervous laughter.

“Oh whatever” Ellie rolled her eyes

The two of you finally separated, eating the rations of Chef Boyardee you had found.

“Mmm room temperature 20 year old raviolis. Yummy” Ellie exclaimed with clear sarcasm in her voice

“Better than what you had us eat yesterday, fucking canned artichokes? Disgusting”

“Yea, it was pretty gross”

“I know, tasted putrid”

“Putrid? Where do you come up with words like that?”

“Its a real word, maybe you would have better vocabulary if you paid attention in school”

“Bitch fuck you, you ran away when you were 14”

“Bitch so did you”

“Well…okay yea” Ellie said sheepishly.

You smiled at her, ravioli sauce on your lips

“Umm you got a little something.” She pointed to the corner of her mouth

You licked your lips, she stared.

“Thanks”

She didn't speak much after that, but when you both had gotten up on Shimmer, your chest against her back. She felt at peace.

For now, things were okay, but deep inside, it was the beginning of the end.

[rotworld]

7: Metamorphosis

(previous)

the girl goes home. you visit an old friend.

->sexually suggestive. contains mild gore, ear penetration, terato, mentions of drugging, mentions of child trafficking and child abuse.

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The last leg of the journey is always a thing of wonder. You unfold your crumpled, egg-stained map and marvel at the neatness of the reality, the momentary certainty of things. This is the understanding you carved out in a corner of the world. This is how far you’ve come. The Drift is mercurial. It won’t last. These cities will have scattered again, these roads you thought you knew winding in strange, new ways. But for now, for just a moment, you bask in a sense of wearied accomplishment. You are still here, despite everything. 

There were tears this morning. Albie drew a map of his own depicting his family’s corner of Verlinda, landmarks painstakingly rendered in colored pencils scribbles and labeled with shaky letters. A little cottage in the forest, surrounded by trees, bordered by a stream and many smiling animals, is labeled “MY HOUSE.” He wanted to make sure the girl would be able to find her way back someday. She has it on her lap, neatly folded, clutched in her small hands. 

“It’s close,” you tell her. 

She watches the scenery with rapt attention, memorizing every detail. “Close,” she agrees, glancing at you in surprise. “How know?” 

“See the dirt? It’s kind of a reddish color. And that spicy-sweet smell is from the mulberry gardens.” The sign is just over the hill, exactly as you remember it; a metal slab suspended between old wooden posts, bearing elegant lettering and a curling ribbon design. “Welcome to Compass Hill,” it says, and your heart beats faster in recognition, anticipation and dread. “I grew up here,” you add softly. 

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: HOW YOU REMEMBER BY AZURE RAY]

Roads into Compass Hill are long, decorated promenades of flattened cobblestone and stately scenery. Here is the visitor’s center, glass-paneled and flower-filled like a Victorian greenhouse. There is a lakeside sculpture garden with abstract figures and lanterns dotting the winding footpath. In the distance, the city’s crown jewel, a sprawling campus of red brick cathedrals—the head office and processing factory of Compass Hill Textiles.

“This used to be an awful place,” you say. “Someone might tell you the story later. Not to scare you, but because you should know. People would bring children of the road here because the company would pay them for it.”

You slow as you drive past the textiles building. They’ve kept it maintained, you notice, maybe to avoid suspicion. The lawn is trimmed, the hedges bordering the path up to the front steps neatly manicured. There’s a water fountain with an angel perched on top. The plaque set into the stone commemorates an ancient patriarch of the Dewitt family, a name emblazoned all over town. It was the Dewitts who built the mill, after all, a dynasty of textile magnates made wealthy by the harvest and refinement of exquisite silks. 

You point to the factory. “I used to live there. It looks nice from outside, but most of the space is for machinery. Rows and rows of rattling, whirring things that took up whole rooms. The kids who couldn’t weave slept in the cramped, overheated basement, right under all the noise. Eventually, we’d get our license and start delivering silk.” The girl studies the building with a small frown. “It’s different now,” you assure her. “The factory’s closed. Nobody has to sleep on a concrete floor anymore.”

There’s a gate just beyond the factory. Curling wrought iron arches form symmetrical shapes where they meet, an insectoid body with large, sweeping wings. You can hear something just faintly; a buzzing hum. A faraway melody. The gates pull apart with a loud metallic clattering, welcoming you inside. In your rearview mirror, you see a large shape on the roof of the old textile factory. It crouches, spreads its wings, and flits away. The girl sits up sharply, startled and curious. 

“Probably went to tell everyone we’re here,” you say.

“Everyone?” she asks. Something catches her eye and she turns back towards the window, her eyes widening.

“Everyone. You’re home.” 

Beyond the gate is the true, new Compass Hill, built on the bones of the old. Structures are soft and rounded rather than angular, wispy, cloud-like material woven across the city skyline. Gossamer threads sparkle in dazzling neon shades and subdued earth tones alike. The schoolhouse is a powdery blue dome with rocks and flowers woven around the entrance, while the open air marketplace is adorned with rippling canopy shades and decorative arches. Everything is silk as only Compass Hill knows it, exquisite color and unbelievably versatile texture. 

But the girl isn’t looking at the buildings. She’s looking at the people. Peering through honeycomb windows and ambling into the street, a crowd gathers, curiously chittering, all around your car. You stop in the middle of the road to let them see her, and for her to see them. Scaled skin and shimmering carapaces, wings and claws and softly clicking mandibles, bristle-thin hairs and thick, curly manes. The people of Compass Hill are as varied as the silk they spin. A child with slender vespid wings and gangly, striped arms comes right up to the window and the girl stares back at her with tears filling her four eyes. 

“Home!” she wails. “Home! Home!” You unlock the door and she tumbles into the waiting arms of family she has only dreamed of. A woman, pale pink and violet with a mantis’ tapered abdomen and sharp, hooked fingers, gently works the knots from the girl’s hair. The hum rises, louder now, a gentle, rolling melody of a thousand voices harmonizing. It’s the Song, welcoming you both. When you step out of the car, you’re swarmed with gentle touches and fond nuzzling. 

“You’re back.”  There’s a pleased purring beside your ear as four soft, lightly furred arms encircle you from behind. You recognize her quiet, higher-pitched notes before you see her. Chiffon is one of the oldest weavers in Compass Hill, her great wings as thick and heavy as a blanket. She slips in front of you, taking each of your hands in hers, the other two free to cup your face. Her four eyes arch in worry. “Where have you been? And where are you going?” 

“I’ll have to show you my map. It’s been a long trip,” you say. Chiffon chitters with laughter, a sound echoed all the way down the street as she passes the joke through the Song. “And I don’t know where I’m going yet. I was in a hurry to get here before the next shift.” 

“Your hand…” She’s gentle with it, fingers worrying the skin all around your bandages. “I’ll have a look at this later. You’ll stay the night. Rest. He’ll be so happy to see you.” Your smile wanes. Chiffon squeezes your hands, reassuring but also pleading. “Please,” she sings softer. “Please go see him.”

You hear a delighted warble, the melody rising. The girl looks startled, clutching a wad of fresh, glistening silk in her hand, small string still connected to her mouth. The color is like a sunrise, a blue ombre glinting with strands of gold. One of the old weavers bends down and shows her how to braid it, tying off the ends so it doesn’t fray. “That’s hopesilk,” he says, pausing his singing so she can understand him. “Very strong, and very pretty. Someone believes in you very much.” 

You wipe at your eyes and nod at Chiffon. The crowd parts for the two of you as a slow, undulating note enters the Song, a bittersweet melody. They’ve missed you. They wish you’d stay. 

The Dewitt estate is at the very edge of town. Similar grand manors and luxurious homes dot the hills but the others are old, fallen into disrepair. The fences have crumbled, the stately brickwork has eroded, and mulberry branches snake out of the broken windows. They are Verlinda’s by right but remain, dilapidated and unoccupied, out of respect for the children of Compass Hill and everything they have endured.

It is only the Dewitt estate, all the way at the top of the hill, that is still maintained. Someone cuts the grass and trims the hedges. Someone fixes the roof when it leaks. Someone leaves food at the door. As you get closer, you hear a piercing scream from somewhere inside. “How is he?” you ask. 

Chiffon feels your worry. She chirps a Song of one, fluttering and bird-like. “He’s…better, I think. He spends less and less time here.” She stops when you reach the front porch of the manor. Her wings are drooping, the larger ones folded around her like a shawl. “But he’s still…well. It’s rather shocking inside.” 

You march up the steps before you can lose your nerve. There’s another scream—fearful, but also furious. You thought it was just mindless shrieking before but now you can make out words, “wretched” and “ungrateful” and “horrible, abominable thing.” The door is cracked open. The foyer is a mess of broken glass and overturned furniture, old blood stains crusted into the carpet and stuck to the wallpaper. A silver platter has been flung against the wall, shattering a plate and splattering mashed potatoes and a chunk of cooked meat. 

There is a man standing in the middle of the foyer, chest heaving and red in the face, screaming at something in the corner. You recognize Mr. Dewitt. He looks more sickly than you recall, sweat shining on his gaunt face. You’ve caught him in the middle of a tirade not unlike the ones you remember from childhood. He was always short-tempered, liable to fly into a rage at the slightest inconvenience. “I want to see my son! You can’t keep him from me! Just you wait, just you wait until they hear about this down at the factory!”

He whirls around at the sound of your footsteps and his wide, bloodshot eyes brighten. “Oh! Oh, it’s you!” he calls, grinning deliriously. His eyes are hazy and he’s not quite looking at you. He wobbles forward, looking inebriated. “You’ve come at the perfect time! I need to get a message down to the factory. Good practice for a courier, hm? Some incompetent let one of the weavers cocoon itself and now we’re stuck with this.” He gestures to the corner, the thing looming there silently. “It’s making demands. Can you tell them to send someone?” 

You hesitate just a second too long and he’s screaming again, berating you, calling you a stupid, useless road-mongrel. The thing in the corner lunges forward then, faster than you can see it move. There’s a rush of air and a flash of movement. It lands heavily on top of the man, slamming his head into the floor. It’s your friend, the boy who grew up in this awful place with you. Older now, much bigger, casting a wide shadow with his wings outstretched. You see him tangle his claws in the man’s thinning hair, yanking his head higher. You see him lean in, proboscis unfurling. 

“Hello,” he sings. Four eyes peer at you beneath stark white fringe. In adulthood, the silver ones have also turned deep, inky black. “Hello again. I was just thinking of you.”

His proboscis plunges forward like a needle and there’s a sickening crunch and a spurt of blood as it pierces Dewitt’s ear. He shakes and flails uncontrollably, mouth stretched open in a horrified, silent scream, but your friend holds him still; one hand on his head, one on his shoulder, the others easily keeping him pinned beneath the weight of his enormous body. Your friend, the Singer of Compass Hill, vibrates with a welcoming melody, his wings flapping in contentment. His proboscis goes taut and there’s a sick, slurping sound, another gush of blood dribbling down Dewitt’s face and neck.

“Why…is he…?” You swallow your revulsion. The Singer tilts his head slightly, the change in angle churning and squishing wetly against something in Dewitt’s head. The vibration of the song drones just louder than the gurgling screams Dewitt makes.

“He’s drugged. Not certain where or when he is. It’s the same thing he used to give me and all the others.” The Singer’s primary eyes are focused on feeding, but the smaller secondary ones rotate, fixed on you. “You don’t feel bad for him, do you?”

“I’m worried about you.” 

The Singer drops Dewitt, proboscis yanking loose with a wet, ripping sound and slithering back into his mouth. He came out of his cocoon differently than all the others. No one else has emerged quite so large. His frilled antenna scrape the high ceiling, his legs bend strangely, and he has six long arms. A ring of thick, white fur circles his neck and drapes over his shoulders. There’s similar patches of fuzz all the way down his body, thinning out across his belly and limbs. His fingers are long and dexterous, warm when they reach out and graze your cheek. 

His eyes have changed the least. There are mandibles on either side of his jaw, pearl-white and flexible, a proboscis curled up inside his mouth, but you’ll always recognize his eyes, no matter the color. 

“Is he dead?” you say quietly, staring at the body lying limp and face-down on the carpet. 

“No. I won’t let him die yet.” The Singer takes your hand in three of his. He turns it over, letting out a low hum in concern at the sight of bandages, the missing finger. “I’ll keep him here, just like I was kept. Except he has the luxury of a house when all I had was that cramped cell in the mountage wing of the factory, a bedroom shaped like a coffin. I’ll use him as he used me, without remorse. He can die when I have nothing to gain from him anymore.” 

You tug on his arm, pulling him down to kneel in front of you, and embrace him. The Singer rests his chin and mandibles on your shoulders. His hands all knead the front of your shirt, just like when he was a boy. “I came here to complete a delivery,” you admit. “It’s a child. This is her home.” 

The Singer hums appreciatively, nuzzling against your neck. “Yes. Good. I heard the Song. She’ll be safe here. She’ll decide what to do with her own silk. No one will keep her from cocooning and growing up.” His proboscis darts out, tasting the sweat on your throat. “Hope…savory. She grazed on this. You fed her well. There’s more hope here, as much as she could ever want.”

You rub his mandibles and he purrs. “You can have some, if you want. Hope, and whatever else I have.” You feel the vibration of the Song gone slow and deep with interest. He flicks one of his mandibles against your lips, tempted. “You have to eat something other than grudges,” you say gently. 

“I can’t stomach much else. But…” He crouches further, pulling you into his lap. You’re settled on one of his thighs, half-turned away from him. He brushes your hair out of the way and caresses the shell of your ear, stroking the lobe with his thumb. “I’ll go very slow. Very gentle. It’s been a long time.” 

Now that you’re actually here, clutching the fur on his upper chest, your stomach is flipping nervously. He’s right, it has been a long time. You haven’t fed him since you were both younger, shortly after the change came—he, young and clumsy and still figuring out his new, enormous body, and you, just old enough to drive the Drift. One more time, you’d agreed, before you left town. He couldn’t make silk anymore but it didn’t matter. He just needed to remember how you tasted.

“Hold onto me,” he sings gently. “It’s alright. Hold on tight. You won’t hurt me.” You don’t want to pull on his fur but he pushes your hands more firmly against his chest, encouraging you to dig your fingers in. He clutches your shoulders, your waist, your hips—his grip firm but not bruising. He tries to relax you. He nuzzles against you, splays his mandibles and leaves little kisses along your chin and cheek. His proboscis darts out and flicks against your lips, teasing. He trails higher, following the curve of your jaw. 

Your breath hitches when he reaches your ear. He kisses it. His proboscis traces the shell, explores its shallow dips and grooves. Slowly, he lick his way closer to the hole and you let out an involuntary shiver. His hands squeeze all at once in reassurance and hold you still.

“Will you give me something sweet? Something light and airy?” One of the hands on your hip moves inward. Long, graceful fingers slip into your pants and settle on your heated sex. He traces one fingertip slowly up and down, faint and featherlight. Your hips chase the friction. That’s the moment he’s waiting for. You feel his proboscis, cold and smooth, slip easily into your ear canal. 

True to his word, he’s slow and gentle. The penetration is a gradual slide, navigating impossibly small spaces to lap at something not entirely physical, nestled at the intersection of thought, feeling and memory. You feel it like the wet slide of a tongue against some place sensitive and you stiffen, eyes rolling back in your head. It’s too much—too much something. Not quite pain or pleasure, not quite anything you can name. But it’s too much. Explosive heat and sandpaper on your nerves, an avalanche of overstimulation. 

The hand between your legs barely moves. It’s just two fingers, slender and nimble, rubbing so, so slowly. Up and down. Up and down. Your underwear is damp with your own want and he collects it on his fingertips, uses it to lubricate his steady rhythm. He strokes you right to the edge of madness, crooning softly. You feel the Song behind your eyes, in your brain. You feel all the love it carries.

Your hips jolt and your flinch violently in his grasp. You gasp, or maybe you scream. Your throat is raw when you drift back down into awareness, feeling his proboscis snaking back out and exit with a faint, wet pop. Soothing liquid dribbles out of your ear in his wake, something to numb soreness. You sag against him and catch your breath. He trills, smoothing his palms up and down your body. The hand between your legs comes out of your clothes glistening and sticky.

“What was it?” you asked. Your words are slurred, your tongue still clumsy. “Wh—what’d you taste?” 

He wipes the excess fluid from your chin, pressing one last kiss to your ear. It’s starting to tingle. “Nostalgia. Exhaustion. Hope. And…” He pauses, turning your face towards him. “You’ve been having nightmares.”

He lets you avoid the subject and bury your face in his fur. He Sings, swaying gently. You shut your eyes and left your mind drift. Tomorrow, you’ll be leaving. Maybe you can deliver silk, just like the old days—but this silk will be better than Dewitt’s ever was. Made by children who are happy, woven by adults who care about them. Tomorrow, you and the girl will have to say your goodbyes, and you know she’ll ask you about home because she’s kind. And you will smile and lie or maybe say nothing at all, happy for her but stinging with agonizing envy. 

“You could stay,” goes the Song, every time you hear it. “Make this home.”

You don’t answer. You never do. The Singer holds you while he still has the chance.

(next)

[smollangrycat]

Drown, Prt 9

Avatar: WOW Oc

Prt:1 Prt:2 Prt:3 Prt:4 Prt:5 Prt:6(I) Prt:6(II) Prt:7 Pt8(I) Pt8(II) Pt8(III) Prt:9 Prt:10

Quick Note - Hi Luvs! I’m sooo sorry this took ages to write. I know you’re all hungry for fluff, so I’m here to feed. 😊 I’m so sorry but my Links aren’t working so you can always go and look on my Master list if you can find a fic. 💕💕

Avatar: WOW spoilers. 

Summary

(During Avatar: WOW) Alue’k is terrified of water, so what happened when some Metkayina boys think it would be funny to drag her into the sea and leave her.

Warnings

Feelings of parental guilt

Language

Mentions of death

Mentions of injury/blood

Mentions of bullying

Mentions of Drowning

If you think anything else needs to be added leave a comment. 

——————————————-

Aluek was scared.

She shouldn’t have been, she knows that. Her dad was her rock, her protecter.

So why was she shaking?

Deep down she knows why, she knows why she’s scared. She’s terrified of his reaction, terrified of what he’ll say, think, do when he find out she almost drowned, that those boys had left her to die and that she, for a moment, was ok with that.

She gave up.

Jake kneeled infront of his eldest and scooped Alue’k from Neteyams arms holding her tight to his chest. He could finally breathe, he didn’t feel like he was drowning anymore because his little girl was safe. She was ok.

All of Alue’ks fear and pent up anxiety of how her father would react washed away as she was held tight in his arms. She cuddled close to his chest as her arms slowly moved to wrap around his neck.

After a few moments of just embracing each other Jake pulled away, looking into his daughters eyes. She was safe, in his arms. Now, she was in so much trouble.

Alue’k winced slightly at the change in Jakes face, he looked pissed.

Jake -  Do you know how worried we were? We thought the worst has happened! Dam near the entire village searching for you, what the hell were you thinking?

Alue’k suddenly found her hands very interesting as she played with them. Wringing her wrists and twisting her fingers.

Jake had to grab them because he was scared she’s dislocate her fingers.

 His eyes never left her and while Alue’k normally found this comforting, at the moment it was the most daunting thing to have ever happened to her. (And that’s saying something).

Alue’k pulled her head up so they were eye level and her eyes began to water as she took in the look of her fathers face.

His mouth was agape as he scanned over his baby girls face. A new feeling arose within the man as he bared his fangs, hissing at the sight before him.

His baby was all busted and bruised with blood speckles dried into her lips.  

His eyes lingered on the bruise that mapped around the side of her face, noticing the scratches and dry blood on her neck.  What the hell happened?

He cupped her face tears still bared, in a moment of fear Alue’k flinched … she flinched.

Jake immediately drew back his hand as guilt rose up inside of him. He scared her.

Jake - Hey, hey baby, baby girl it’s ok. It’s just me, it’s dad yeah? Comm’er baby girl.

With that he pulled her in closer cupping her face again as fat tear rolled down the young girls face.

Alue’k - Da.. Daddy.

Jake felt his heart brake in that very moment. He cupped her face again making sure to be gentle around the bruising.

Jake - Yeah baby girl it’s daddy, I’m right here.

Jake held her tight, a comforting rumble coming from his chest as he gently rocked back and forth.

His eyes lingered on the bruise that mapped around the side of her face, he then noticed the scratches and dry blood on her neck.  What the hell happened?

After a few minutes Jake finally asked.

Jake - Baby girl, what happened?

Alue’k looked away, she wanted to tell her father everything … but she felt like it would disappoint him. He had told her to keep her head down and now she had half the village up in the middle of the night searching for her.

Alue’k - I … I … I don’t want to tell you, I think you’ll be mad.

I took everything in her to confess but now that it had been said she could almost see the part of the weight being lift off of her.

Jake paused. 

Jake - Baby girl, why would I be mad? 

Alue’k shuffled deeper into her fathers chest, cuddling close to him as his arms wrapped around her.

Alue’k - I … I didn’t make friends. 

Tears leaked from her eyes, at this point she wasn’t even sure If the had ever stoped.

Jake - Baby, fuck friends. I don’t give a dam about this village, we can  always leave.

They all knew he was lying but right now it was what Alue’k needed.

Jake - All I care about us this family, that means you too. Baby girl, please tell me what happened.

And the dam broke.

Tears gushed from her eyes like a salty waterfall as she cling to the older man.

Alue’k - I was (hic) playing with (hic) with Tonôwa and they (hic) they dragged me into the (hic) water.

Jake pulled the young girl close. Not fully able to understand what she was saying but trying his best calm her.

Jake - Hey, hey, you’re ok. Daddy’s here, you’re ok.

Alue’k sniffled

Alue’k - They tried to drown me.

In that moment it felt like the entirety of Pandora had gone silent.

—————————

Tag List

@mxyz-nex

@inutheangeleangle

@abbersreads

@mashiromochi

@carolinemacher

@octavias-next-meat-bite

@sophiexoxo-loll

@ksata

[descendantofthesparrow]

POYW Rewrite V2 - Harry Hook x reader - P12

=

The days leading up to the coronation felt slow and yet they sped by all the same-the vks were getting anxious as the time drew close and while you already knew the ending of this story-you hoped the six of them would make the right choice.

Harry was losing focus in all his classes, his leg always bouncing with flashes of red dancing in his eyes. Gil sometimes skipped his meals, looking sick to the stomach as Friday came closer. Jay fumbled a few scores during tourney practice, and Carlos seemed to hold Dude even closer than usual-red rimmed eyes hidden behind golden fur.

You wanted to tell them everything would be okay, that they would be safe from their parents; but you couldn’t, they had no clue you knew their fates and you didn’t want to risk anything. So you simply offered your smiles and comfort, mostly to Harry; who would always smile weakly and take your hand, squeezing it gently.

Late Tuesday night, the vks were in the boy’s dorm room surrounding the desk as Mal set out several maps and blueprints of the cathedral, and then a map leading from the limo garage to the isle-where they would make their escape back to the isle with the wand in tow-where Maleficent would unleash hell on Auradon.

“Okay, so we all know what this looks like,” Mal muttered, pointing down at a drawing of the wand-the vks nodded, Harry looking down at his map-looking out for anyone that might try to enter the room unannounced-only half listening. “So it will be up on the dais, under the beasts spell jar, Ben will be coming in from here-“ Mal pointed down at the map, creating a path from the entrance of the cathedral to the middle platform where Ben would be crowned king. “-Harry and I will be in the very front, you will all be up in the balcony.”

The vks nodded again, Gil nearly falling asleep-he had hardly gotten any since his break up with Jane. She was fully ignoring him now.

“Carlos?” Mal said, and he nodded, explaining his part of the plan. “I’ll find our limo, so we can break the barrier-and get back on the isle with the wand.” Mal nodded again, now looking to Evie.

“And I’ll spray the guard with this,” she held up the perfume bottle holding the sleeping potion “Two sprays and he’ll be out like a light for an hour,” Evie mumbled, the one she had used on Chad only lasting for 10 seconds. Mal nodded again, ignoring the hesitancy in everyone's voice-once again-they were having doubts. But they had to push through, they didn’t have a choice anymore.

 Mal looked around and everyone nodded-they had a plan, all that was left to do was execute it. Mal sighed, sitting down and looking down at her spell book, flipping to the anti-love potion page. Evie caught a glance and frowned, tilting her head as Mal recited the indication to break the spell on Ben.

“M?” Evie said, confusion clear in her voice. Mal looked up, wondering what Evie wanted. “You want to break Ben’s love spell?” Evie asked, frowning down at Mal. Mal slowly nodded, shrugging as she did. “yeah,” Evie shook her head-she didn’t understand. “you know for, after.” Evie sat down and Harry’s eyes drew to Mal’s spell book-swallowing harshly when he thought of you.

“I’ve just been thinking, you know, when the villains finally do invade Auradon and being to loot, and kick everyone out of their castles…” Mal paused and Jay glanced up at her, holding his tourney stick loosely between his hands. Carlos stared down at Dude, feeling an ache in his heart for what his mother might do to his now beloved mutt. “-and impression their leaders, and destroy all that is good and beautiful.” Mal continued, glancing back down at her spell book-her eyes catching onto a small note Ben had left her that had been slipped between the pages. “Ben still being in love with me just seems a little extra…cruel,” Mal whispered, shrugging as she turned to Evie, who just stared.

Harry stood, Mal looking at him as he did. He closed his map and then tapped the spell book. “Make two,” he muttered, his eyes distant and glassy. Mal nodded, watching him walk out with Gil-not bothering to ask him what was wrong.

She knew very well what Harry was feeling, after all-she was going through the same thing with Ben. “M,” Evie whispered and Mal quickly stood as Evie tried to take her hand, taking her spell book with her as she headed off to the kitchens, she had to make the anti-love potion as soon as possible.

Evie stared after her, her gaze turning down to the piles of paper on the desk, Carlos and Jay behind her, both quiet and doubting their choices.

Later that night-after the lights had gone out and everyone was back in their dorms-not one of the vks could sleep. Jay tossed aside the tourney ball he was messing with and stood, pacing the room-his eye catching the tourney game trophy that was displayed on the shelf between his and Carlos’ bed-the gold shimmering in the moon-light.

Jay stared hard, glancing away and continuing to pace. He didn’t know if he could go back to being a simple thief who slaved away, day and night, for his father.

Carlos turned over at the sound of Jay’s footsteps-his eyes catching onto Dude and reaching out-tugging the mutt close and cuddling him. he didn’t know if he could go back to being a glorified servant for his insane mother. Evie sat up in her bed-seeing Mal was still in the kitchens and pulled out her chemistry test-the first test she had ever passed with just her brain. The B+ stared back at her and Evie sighed, biting her lip. She didn’t know if she could go back to being that ditsy princess her mother wanted her to be.

Gil stared up at the ceiling of his room-his father's words from the day he left echoing in his mind; ‘come back with that wand, and you might finally be worthy of my name’ Gaston had said. Gil clicked his jaw, turning over and seeing a picture of him and Jay-freshly soaked with Gatorade and holding the trophy together-both of them smiling. Harry was at his side, his hair damp after Gil had tackled him and squeezed the Gatorade out of his jersey onto Harry.

He didn’t know if he could go back to being Gaston the 4th-the youngest son, the failure of the three sons. He wanted to be Gil, to stay in Auradon, to hang out with you and Harry-to be safe. He wanted to Uma here with them-he just wanted to be safe.

Harry turned over in his bed-his eyes catching onto a Polaroid picture of you and him at the beach-one Gil had taken-pinned to the cork board on the wall across from his bed. You were both smiling, and in your hands was a pile of sand that contained sand crabs, holding them up to Harry for him to see-he was in the middle of a wild laugh, his hands hovering above your arms-not knowing if he wanted to touch the crabs or not.

He looked at his hook, and then his golden shell bracelet-closing his eyes and turning over in his bed-throwing his blanket over his face and stifling a sob. He didn’t know if he could go back to being nothing but his father’s payment, someone to be passed around with no 2nd thought. He didn’t want to leave you, but he also couldn’t leave his sisters or Uma on that damned rock.

What the fuck was he going to do?

Mal stared down at the cupcake mix, letting her emotions flow through her now that she was alone. She was scared-so scared, and confused; she didn’t know what she wanted. Did she want her mother's approval-the thing she had desired all her life? Or did she want to stay in Auradon, with Ben and her friends-safe and far away from the isle's polluted air.

With Ben, she felt like she was flying above the clouds-free as a bird and able to be just-Mal. She knew if she did go back to her mother-she would be shoved in that little silver cage again until her mother deemed her worthy. Mal knew she would never be worthy in her mother's eyes. None of the vks would be, to them they would always be 2nd best, trash, something to discard when they were done with.

Mal didn’t know if she could go back to that. Mal didn’t know if she could condemn her friends to that again. She didn’t know if she could watch Harry be scared of his father again. She didn’t know if she could watch Gil look small while his brothers and Gaston ridiculed him for being stupid again.

A million thoughts in my head, should I let my heart keep listening? I know, it’s time, to say, goodbye, so hard to let go.

Mal sobbed, a single tear dropping into the mix-the potion now fully enchanted and ready to bake. Mal sniffed, closing the book and turning away, letting herself cry for the first time since she was a baby.

Why was this so hard?

-

You pulled off your helmet, staring at Harry as he tossed his sword and helmet to the floor, along with his gloves as he plopped down on one of the blocks-the rest of the team shuffling out after a mostly successful practice. Harry had really lost focus these last few days, and now he was fumbling through Roar-something that he was always laser-focused on. Now he would stumble, a loose grip on his sword-get caught by the mats and blocks-land wrong and tumble to the floor.

He was frustrated, that was clear to see-and very confused. You knew why-so many thoughts and worries going through his mind-all about the coronation and what would possibly happen. “Harry?” you asked quietly, he had been-distant the last few days, as if he was scared to approach you-to be with you. He had even ditched your date the night before-saying something about not feeling good.

He just hummed, wiping his nose and the sweat from his forehead. “Are you okay? You seem…out of touch,” you muttered, walking over to him and pressing your glove-free hand to his neck-he flinched away and you pulled back, not wanting to overstep a boundary.

“m’fine, jus’ got a lot on me mind,” Harry grumbled, standing and collecting his things-pulling away from your hand as you tried to grab his. You felt your heart break a little, swallowing hard as Harry went to leave.

(y/n); you know I want you.

You whispered out and Harry paused, hand on the door frame with his head turned towards you slightly. He swallowed, a pit in his throat.

(y/n); it’s not a secret I try to hide, I know you want me.

You let your gloves drop to the floor, making your way towards Harry-resting your hand on his back as he tensed up, keeping his head down-hiding his eyes from you.

(y/n); so don’t keep saying our hands are tied.

Harry pulled away from you, coronation day didn’t need to hurt more than it already ways-he didn’t need this-he didn’t need to admit he felt so much more for you than he realized.

(y/n); you claim it's not in the cards, and fate is pulling you miles away-and out of reach from me; but you’re here in my heart so who can stop me if I decide that you’re my destiny?

You caught his wrist, pulling him back towards you softly, trying to look into his eyes.

(y/n); why don’t we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine? Nothing could keep us apart-you’d be the one I was meant to find.”

Harry shook his head, pulling away again and going to another exit-but you jumped in front of him-your hands in the air, pleading to him with glassy eyes.

(y/n); It’s up to you, and It's up to me-no one can say who we get to be. Why don’t we rewrite the stars, maybe the word could be ours…tonight.

You held out your hand and Harry stared down at you, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He shook his head again and pushed past you-leaving the amphitheater. After a few moments of feeling the ache in your chest-you ran after him, leaving your gear behind.

The halls were empty-making Harry easy to find. You caught up to him, about to speak when he beat you to it.

Harry; You think it’s easy, you think I don’t want to run to you? But there are mountains, and there are doors that we can’t walk through.

Harry palmed the pocket watch in his pocket-one from his father-as his golden shell bracelet pressed against his wrist. Harry bit his lip-shaking his head again, he did want to love you-he had long accepted that-but with everything that was about to happen-loving you would only bring you both pain.

Harry pushed open the doors leading out of the school, pushing through residual groups of students and heading out to the forest-hoping to get some fresh air. You followed.

Harry; I know you’re wondering why, because we’re able to be just you and me-within these walls

Harry gestured to the grounds around them, biting his inner bottom lip as he breathed in that fresh Auradon air-filled with the scent of a living forest, feeling the healthy roots beneath his feet.

Harry; But when we go outside, you’re going to wake up and see it was hopeless after all.

Harry disappeared within the trees and you looked around for him-listening for any sign of his footsteps, a flash of blue and yellow within the browns and greens. Finally, you saw him, still looking away from you-but standing still-holding a tree and hanging off of it slightly.

Harry; How can we rewrite the stars; how can you say you’ll be mine? Everything keeps us apart, and I’m not the one you’re meant to find.

Harry began to trek through the forest again, and once again you followed-nearly losing him within the foliage.

Harry; It’s not up to you, it’s not up to me, when everyone tells us what we can be-how can we rewrite the stars, say that the world could be ours-tonight.

You finally caught up to him, jumping down from a rock and landing in front of him-his arms catching you as you stumbled into them-looking into his eyes-that held the same ache as yours-an ache for love, a yearning for you.

Both; All I want is to fly with you, all I want is to fall with you-so just give me all of you!

Harry’s hands drew up to your neck-bringing you so close you thought you might kiss, his breath ghosting across your face as you held his arms, staring into his eyes.

Harry; It feels impossible (y/n); It’s not impossible! Harry; Is it impossible? both: Say that it’s possible!

You began to dance through the forest-pulling each other into your arms and twiring, falling deeper into that chasm Harry feared so much-but not right now-with you-anything felt possible, he could take on the world with you.

Both; How do we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine? Nothing can keep us apart! Cause you are the one I was meant to find! It’s up to you, and it’s up to me-no one can say what we're meant to be! And why don’t we rewrite the stars? Changing the world to be ours!

You came to a sudden stop, your faces so close you could kiss simply by breathing, your bodies pressed against each other like they were meant to be like this-like two puzzle pieces finally fitting together.

Harry stared down at you, feeling lighter than air, and then he caught the glint of his golden bracelet-and he stepped back, his jaw clicking as those tears came back to his eyes.

Harry; you know I want you,

Harry whispered-unable to speak above it, the ache in his heart too much to bear.

Harry; it’s not a secret I try to hide, but I can’t have you…we’re bound to break and my hands, are tied.

You didn’t let him leave-closing your eyes and pressing your forehead against his. Harry let out a sigh that almost sounded like a sob, holding your hands that were caressing his cheeks.

“I won’t assume what you’re going through or thinking,” you whispered-though you very much knew what was causing Harry’s turmoil. “but please, don’t shut me out.” Harry stared down at you, then glanced away; whispering under his breath.

“if somethin’ happened at tha’ coronation, and we had ta leave immediately…would ye leave with me?” you nodded, with zero hesitancy and Harry huffed, shaking his head sadly-he thought you only agreed due to the love potion still in affect-but he didn’t know it never took effect in the first place.

You were willing to follow him to the ends of the earth. He just needed to learn that.

“Okay,” Harry muttered, raising his hands to curl them around your cheeks, still not looking you in the eyes. “okay.”

You smiled sadly, leaning up to kiss his chin and then hugging him tightly; you knew how this story ended-you just hoped Harry and Gil picked the same ending.

Harry sighed deeply, wrapping his arms around you and letting himself fall into your embrace.

The coronation was just two days away.

-

“Listen Uma, I know ye think Harry fucked off with some other girl, and yer jealous.” Uma huffed at Harriet's words, crossing her arms and pouting.(she wasn’t pouting, she was glaring meanly while puffing her cheeks)

“I’m not jealous, I mean-it’s not like, I like him or anything, and we were never…together, or anything like that.” Uma made a vague gesture as she spoke-her cheeks warming up at the thought. Harriet just hummed, a knowing look; Harry looked at Uma like she put the stars in the sky and made the waves with a breath.

“uh-huh, either way, Harry wouldn’t just leave ye fer some new girl. Clearly-he’s usin her ta’ get tha’ wand. Like the imp is fer prince beasty,” Harriet raised her brow, tilting her head at Uma who slowly nodded. That…made a lot of sense.

The way he looked at that girl still made her uneasy though-she would never admit why it did, but it did.

“But what if he does like her?” Uma said quietly, and Harriet sighed. “if he does, he does. But I can guarantee he would never abandon ye fer anyone or anythin’, ye have been friends-” Harriet made a sour face at the word but Uma didn’t react. “-since ye were in diapers, nobody could make him abandon ye. Promise.” With this, Harriet stood, staring down at Uma who continued to fiddle with her matching golden bracelet. (that she usually hid below her sleeves or other leather bracelets)

Eventually, Harriet sighed, patting Uma’s head and walking off, leaving Uma in her thoughts.

She knew she was being stupid; Harry would never never leave her behind, he had promised. And he never broke his promises-even on an island filled with liars, thieves, and cheaters-Harry was not one of them. (though he was as much of a thief as she was; pirate n all)

She just had to trust him, and Gil. They knew what they were doing, and as much as Uma hated to admit it-she had to push through her jealousy and let Harry walk his path-even if it diverged from her and led him to another girl. If what she saw on the tv was real-and Harry found someone new to follow-that girl better hope she never hurt Harry or there would be hell to pay.

The same went for her boys if they did leave her behind.

-

Harry lifted his chin uncomfortably as Evie measured the length of his neck and then his shoulders and chest. “Ain't the coronation like-a day n a half away? Thought ye would’ve started on these a week ago at the least,” Harry muttered, letting his chin drop again as Evie stepped back, nodding to herself.

“Oh I did,” Evie said with a chirp in her voice, grabbing a scarlet red tail coat embellished with gold buttons and ropes; along with it a pair of dark pants, a dark burgundy vest, and a white high collar button-up, handing them to Harry to try on. “I just need to make sure I had your measurements right; now try it on, I need to see if I have to do any adjustments.” Harry sighed, but obeyed, going into the bathroom and changing.

When he stepped out Evie beamed, clapping her hands. “Aah~ you look so handsome, Harry!” Harry flushed, scratching his cheek as Evie made him turn with a wave of her finger. “Good, good, shorten the tail a little bit-and pull in the waist of the coat and vest-there's a slip on your pants for your hook just so you know,“ Harry nodded, freezing as Evie’s hands landed on his back, pulling and tugging at the vest and coat. “pants are perfect, I have a pair of boots for you to wear as well, undershirt fits well? Any tightness? Pinching?” Harry moved his arms and shook his head; he could breathe easily enough and move just fine. “Good good, just the tailcoat, and vest then, okay you can change back.”

Once again Harry did as asked and changed back into his day clothes, folding the suit over his arm and handing it back to Evie, slipping on his shoes as she muttered to herself. Harry stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets as he waited, unsure of what he was waiting for-but he waited.

Finally Evie turned back around, a smile on her face. “thank you!” she chirped, nodding back towards her door. “that’s all I needed,” Harry nodded, turning and about to walk out-stopping when he was about to open the door.

“Evie?” Harry asked quietly, turning back to the blue haired vk. She hummed, scribbling something on her sketch pad-a lavender marker cap in her mouth. “tha lass, the potion didn’t fully affect her, right?” Evie nodded. “so-If she were ta’ agree to run away with me in case something goes wrong at the coronation, would that be from the potion or would tha’ be her truth?”

Evie slowly looked up at him, blinking. She opened her mouth-letting the cap drop into her hand and she tilted her head. “did you ask her to run away with you Harry?” Harry shrugged, nodding his head back and forth as he did. “i-I was jus’ wonderin’” Harry muttered and Evie frowned, licking her lips.

“Well, I’m not really sure, but since she only had her feelings amplified instead of fully created by the potion; it’s a solid theory that her words and actions are based on her desires for you. So, I would assume that yes-she would be willing to run away with you when we take the wand.” Harry nodded again; his ears now pink. So you did mean it, you did mean you would follow him to the ends of the earth.

But he still was going to give you the antidote-and he hoped you would trust him long enough so he could get you far away from the villains destroying Auradon.

He hoped Uma would like you-Uma was his first love and best friend, he didn’t know what he would do if she hated you.

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, giving Evie a small smile and Evie smiled back, watching Harry walk out and then going back to work.

It was less than two days to the coronation.

-end of p12-

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[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Monday: Jak and Daxter

Meddling Mar au: In Which Jak's younger self had no intention of staying in the past

The Rift Rider disappeared through the gate, and already Jak felt a sense of loss. There was, he decided, something darkly ironic about the kid turning out to be his own former self. It meant that he really was the only person who unconditionally cared about him. Kind of pathetic sounding when he thought about it that way.

"I should've warned him about Errol," Jak realized after a moment, heart twisting in his chest. "I didn't warn him about Errol!"

"Errol?" Keira looked confused.

"You couldn't, Jak," Samos said sternly. "If he knew and remembered the past, it would jeopardize the future. Everything must play out as fate has designed it."

Something cold wormed through Jak's gut as he turned slowly to face the sage. "You knew what was going to happen to me," he realized, "You were just okay with what they did? You couldn't even try to warn me?!"

Samos leaned on his staff and gave Jak a disapproving look. "I told you "be ready for whatever happens". It's not my fault you never listen to me!"

The dark eco was rising in him, depleted and exhausted though it was. Jak struggled to keep his voice level, and even so it came out as a low growl.

"You let me get into that craft knowing Errol was going to kidnap me off the street and experiment on me for two years. You sent that innocent little kid back in time knowing he's gonna suffer the same thing."

He drew away from his old mentor in disgust. "What makes you different from Kor?"

"Now that's going too far!" Samos gasped.

Behind him, Keira stood frozen. Numbly, she whispered, "Errol did that to you?"

Daxter grimaced. "You never noticed how that pea-brained peacock talked to Jak?"

"Precursors..." Keira dropped to crouch on the ground, holding her head in her hands. "Jak, I-"

Whatever she had been about to say was cut off suddenly by the glow of the Rift Gate intensifying. All at once, something shot out of the portal and over their heads, landing with a spectacular crash. They all whirled to find what appeared to be the Fisherman's boat from Sandover, with some extra bits welded on. It was all thoroughly smashed now, but Jak could have sworn he saw a Time Map affixed to the prow.

"Ah-ha, oof, that smarts!" a voice groaned from the wreckage.

Jak blinked. "Uncle Erasmus?!" He sputtered.

"Eh? Whozzat, who said that?" Parts clattered and a skinny arm appeared. "Pah! So much dust! I say, Mar m'lad, do you see my monocle down there?"

It was the Explorer! But what in the name of all the Precursors was he doing here?

Jak waded through the rubble and began tossing debris aside. His adoptive uncle's dusty face appeared only a moment later, looking older than he remembered.

"Who? Who? What?" The man squinted at Jak for a moment, then let out a jovial laugh. "Bless my soul! Jak! You made it after all!"

Erasmus the Explorer hauled himself up to slap Jak heartily on the back. "Poor form, y'know, leaving your poor old uncle without a word like that -- and not telling me about the tyke, wot! Look at you, lad! Barely grown at all in five years? What sort of rubbish have you been eating?!

"What the...five- five years?" Jak stammered, "It's only been two!"

Erasmus jumped like he'd been electrocuted. "Sink me!" He exclaimed, "Elocution? Verbosity? Sink me, things have changed!"

The older man turned to call towards the rattling still coming from the wrecked boat. "See here, you young rip? Keep practicing and you'll get to it eventually like your brother, eh?"

His what.

Out from under what used to be a bench seat popped a head of tousled green curls. Before Jak had time to properly feel relief, a scrawny child no older than eight or nine hauled himself from the wood and metal, brushing off his arms in annoyance.

"Yeah yeah, Uncle E. Or maybe you keep up practicing and you'll learn to say more than "I want food", huh?" The child signed quickly and fluidly, but with more than a little sass in his gestures.

"What the-?!" Daxter tightened his grip on Jak’s shoulder to keep from falling off. "Jak! It's- It's-!"

"It's the Kid!" Jak whispered.

His younger self looked up upon hearing Daxter's voice. An instant of confusion crossed his face, followed by recognition. Then his eyes narrowed.

In an instant, he'd shot across the space between them to land a vicious kick to Jak’s shin. Jak yelped and grabbed the boy's arm.

"What was that for?!"

"That's for sending me away with Grandpa Green!" The little boy retorted before winding up for another kick. "You're the worst brother ever!"

"Hey!" Offended on Jak’s behalf, Daxter leaped down to land on the boy’s head. "Show some respect, Junior! We busted our tails to find somewhere without any Krimzon Guards or metalheads!"

"Metalheads?" Erasmus interrupted, "Oh! Those creatures that have been trying to eat Sandover? Hm. The name's a bit on the nose, isn't it?"

Keira blanched. "What do you mean "trying to eat Sandover?!"

Samos hurried forward. "That's impossible! The metalheads didn't enter Sandover until the day we left!"

The younger version of Jak eyed Samos suspiciously. "Yeah, and you dropped us off the same day, genius."

Samos blinked and turned to Jak. "What did he say?" he demanded.

"Uh..." Jak stared down at the boy. "Did you set the Time Map coordinates to the last used jump, or the one before that?"

The green sage paled. "Did that shrub pick the wrong coordinates?" he gasped, "That puts everything in danger! The past- the future!"

Daxter groaned. "Oh don't tell me we gotta do more time travel to fix this! If I gotta defeat the Acherons again, so help me-!"

The smaller Jak -- the one the Explorer had called "Mar" -- pried Daxter off his head and set him down gently.

"Those dark sages? Uncle E told me how you guys beat them up to free the Lurkers."

The Explorer surveyed the cavern around them as the Rift Gate shut down and collapsed. He leaned on his walking stick and nodded several times in satisfaction.

"Never been to this place," he mused, more to himself than to the others. "At last! Places in the world I haven't been!"

Erasmus hobbled over to Jak and squeezed his arm affectionately. "Awfully glad I found you, young chap! Look after that rascally brother of yours, eh? I'm off on a new expedition!"

"Wait-! You can't-!"

Erasmus wasn't listening. Whistling cheerfully, he dug around the shattered boat and came up with a wicked looking harpoon. He settled it on his shoulder and all but sashayed into the tunnels.

"He's gonna get himself killed!" Daxter squawked, "There's still metalheads in there!"

Little Jak -- Mar? -- scoffed. "He's okay. I told Uncle E and the Warrior how you used to kill those. If you harpoon the gem from a distance, they can't get to you."

Well. Jak supposed that was fair enough. If Uncle Erasmus really had been watching over his younger self for five years, he would've had to have learned how to defend them from metalheads.

Samos began to pace, on the verge of panic. "This isn't what was supposed to happen," he mumbled, "He isn't supposed to- and he knows his name-!"

He turned sharply. "Jak, bring the boy, quickly! We must consult with Onin!"

Jak and Daxter exchanged meaningful looks. "Why? You can't throw him back in again, it's too late for that."

"Time will be thrown out of order! The timeline will fracture!" Samos tugged at his ears in distress. "Jak, you must trust me!"

Jak stiffened. He took a step back, placing himself between the sage and his time twin.

"I did," he said quietly.

No more blind trust. Whatever was going on here, Jak would figure it out without meddling seers and sages. He'd already gone through hell for them once. He wasn't about to let it happen twice.

"Dax, Kid, let's go."

He had no idea what he was doing, what they would do next. But it had to be better than staying in the ruined nest with someone who had for all intents and purposes betrayed him. He would untangle it all later, when they were somewhere safe.

They had time. The worst was over now, right?

[hurtcomfortficstilltheend]

When a Counterspell Backfires, Part 1.

Nancy Drew x gn! Reader

Summary: After not taking it seriously for some time, breaking the curse Temperance casted on you and Nancy proves harder than expected.

Warnings: angst, deteriorated health mention, passing out.

Word Count: 1.3k

“Nancy! Guess what I found?” you called, in a singsong manner.

“My car keys?” The redhead turned around to look at you from her place at her desk. 

“Well, of course, but also something else…” You shook the keychain in your right hand, but kept the other behind your back. Nancy raised her eyebrows expectantly and a half smile appeared on her face. “The map of the forbidden catacombs! With the entrance spot and everything.”

“No, you didn’t!” Nancy jumped from her chair and, in mere milliseconds, stood in front of you to engulf you on a rib-breaking hug. She was beaming, just like every time something went well on an investigation.

You wrapped your arms around her as best as you could with the items on your hands, being extra careful to not tear the ancient piece of paper. “Yes I did! Don’t ask me how though, I don’t think you wanna know.”

“Ha, ha, you are soooo funny.” She rolled her eyes. “We both know you wouldn’t dare break middle school rules, nevermind the actual law.”

“What can I say? Maybe being around you so much is starting to rub off on me.” You sported a mischievous grin when she rolled her eyes once again and leaned in for a kiss, which you returned gladly. You gave her a last peck on her cheek and stood beside her, offering your arm to link with hers. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Sporting huge smiles, the both of you walked to the blue car outside her house and you tossed her the keys. She really was looking bright today, all happy and excited. You love to see her like this.

—

That was long ago. The ghost you were looking for ended up being part of a cluster case, something very new to the crew. Still, you managed, as always. After days of research, a messy and exhausting hand-to-ghostly-hand combat, and a bunch of salt bombs, it was all over. You had gotten an awful purplish slash on your back that wouldn’t quite heal, but it was fine, it acted as a normal scar anyway.

Thinking back to it now it felt silly, a fun little supernatural mystery to solve. Now everything is complicated, personal. Since Temperance casted the curse on you and Nancy nothing is the same. You haven’t seen your girlfriend’s smile in a while. 

“The universe will do everything in its power to prevent you from enjoying the time you are in each other’s presence. Accidents, missteps… death? But you will be in love forever, unable to move on, unable to be distant. Until death do you part.” Had been the sentence. 

When Nancy told you this, you didn’t believe it to be such a bad thing (except for the dying part, of course), you thought you could get through it. At that time, all that had happened was you kicking a table leg right on your pinkie toe at The Claw, and your girlfriend spitting coffee from her nose. It surely had been unfortunate, but you had laughed about it. Ace had even jokingly started calling you trouble couple. Also, the being in love part you were already counting on, so what was the issue?

Things had escalated though. First it was breaking glasses, pumping your knees on furniture, burning skin on the stove. “Accidents happen”, you had said. You were actually known for being a little clumsy, no biggie. Then came the misstep on the stairs that had ended in a concussion, the falling into the sea from the docks and almost drowning, the car crash… You had tried taking a break from each other, moving away for some time to see what happened, but it had made you both awfully ill. Nancy had ended up in the hospital.

Being together was dangerous, and so was being apart. So you took the offensive. You were a witch, and so was Bess, you’d figure something out.

It has been months now. Nancy’s health is deteriorating, her face paler each day, dark circles under her eyes, new scars and bruises adorning her body; you are in no better shape anyway. 

“Baby wake up please…” you whispered. Your girlfriend was curled up in your arms, her sleeping face so soft despite everything. “Today we are trying the counter-spell Bess found, remember?”

After a few seconds, she stirs awake. For a moment she looks at you like she used to, shimmering eyes glad to feel you with her. Then the heaviness takes over, she nods in agreement and gets up to use the bathroom. You worry she might cut herself with her shaving machine, or slip on the tiles and hit her head on the toilet. 

That’s all you do lately, worry. Maybe that's what will finally kill you.

She comes out of the bathroom safe and sound, and you feel like crying in relief. “So, are they all coming here?” She asks while looking for a clean shirt to put on. 

You swallow the knot on your throat. “Yeah, Bess said it was better if we didn’t move too much. They are bringing the supplies too.”

“Good.”

-

You hear three firm knocks on the old wooden door. You look at Nancy, place your hand on her knee reassuringly, and stand from the couch to greet your friends. A string of curses can be heard when the door handle gives you an electric shock, but everything is fine. Nick, George, Ace, and Bess have their hands packed with bags and boxes, and they all look ready for war. You are gonna end this, once and for all.

The pitying looks from everyone in the last few months annoyed the fuck out of Nancy, so she shut off almost everyone in her life. You had tried to talk some sense into her, only managing to get her to meet up with friends and family once a week in small gatherings or movie nights you organized. 

“Here goes nothing.” Nancy lets out a heavy sigh, you have a feeling she doesn’t believe this is going to work out. You squeeze her hands and conjure a calming smile on your face, as much to appease her nerves as yours.

Everything is set up, Nancy and you are standing face to face in a salt circle. The studio is flooding with lit candles, the flames waving with each breath you take. Your friends are standing in each of the four cardinals, a few feet away from you, holding a set of obscure antiques you know nothing about. You should get back to researching soon.

Bess starts chanting in latin, the others mimicking the phrase over, and over, and over again. Your body feels heavier, a buzzing sound in your ear. You look up to check on your girlfriend, and she looks weirdly brightened. Her eyes seem more attentive, her expression more alive, her cheeks are flushed as if she just came back from a short run. You are glad she’s already doing better, and would love to stay and enjoy the moment with her, but you feel yourself slipping away. 

She doesn’t notice, her eyes are too focused on the light smoke coming out from your chests, and you don’t blame her, it really is a show to see.

The second Ace, Bess, George, and Nick stop chanting, darkness engulfs the space. The candles release their iconic burnt-wick smell. The only noise is everybody’s quiet breathing. Nobody dares to speak, but the same question plagues their minds: Did it work?

Your body, that long ago stopped feeling yours, collapses. Nancy barely manages to soften your fall by getting a grip of your arm. The moment breaks, your girlfriend is screaming your name, but you can’t hear her. Nick is checking your pulse, George fishes her phone from her bag and is already dialing 911, Bess wonders what went wrong.

You see, from somewhere above your body, how Nancy holds you in her arms, gets a strand of hair out of your face, tells you that everything will be okay. She's crying, screaming to no one in particular to do something to help you. You are unresponsive, every single muscle limp, you wish you could just tell her how much you love her.

.

.

.

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A/N: There is not enough written about this show!! It's my guilty pleasure to be honest, The level of angst the show manages to put out is outstanding.

Tell me what you think! Feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

[eivor-thorne-ffxiv]

He was an amalgamation of rage. He always had been. There was nothing kind about Eivor when someone had incurred his wrath. While he and Cordelia would deny up and down that there were no feelings involved and his connection with the woman was one of an owed debt, he personally couldn’t deny the pang that had swelled in his chest upon learning that Damien Gray had laid his hands on Cordelia. While Eivor had been assured that Cordelia had done significant damage to the little lord, it didn’t placate the hulking Ala Mhigan who had been away from the estate to tend to Cordelia’s business. 

It had been several days on the return journey and Eivor had traded out a lighter selection of armor for the thick furs and leathers that he wore underneath protective layer of plate armor. Despite the abundance of chocobos in Ishgard, the large man had still favored a horse and his dappled gray steed led the pack that had swiftly made their way through the large iron gates and up the gravel pathway that led to the large doors of the estate. Eivor had not wasted any time in jumping down from the saddle and handling the leather reins off to another armor clad individual as he made his way through the large doors.

“Where?” He grunted in greeting to the female attendant that had rushed to the door to greet whomever it was. “Her room,” was all that was offered in response as the sound of his thick leather boots stomped against the stone walkway and he recounted the familiar path to her quarters. He hadn’t bothered to knock as he twisted the handle and allowed himself entry to the doorway. “Where is he?” Eivor asked as he drew in a large breath which had made an evident rise and fall to his muscular shoulders.

 “His estate.” Her voice was low, the tone holding little emotion as her attention kept to the reading.

“And you’ve no drive to wipe that pathetic estate off of the maps of Ishgard?” Eivor asked with an infuriated tone as he had stepped further into the room.

There was a pause in his demeanor as she had seemed so…plain regarding it. Where Eivor was bottled rage waiting to combust, Cordelia had found herself to be composed and idle. He would’ve brought the sky down upon Damien and not thought twice about it though the woman seemed to not be bothered by the situation.

It may have been a surprising sight to find Cordelia lounging comfortably within a large chair that was settled before the fireplace within her chambers. The loud echoing footsteps gave Eivor’s approach away and despite her knowing of his arrival, the woman remained focused on the book in hand. Ebony locks fell unruly over her shoulders compared to how she typically kept it up off her back. “Did you acquire the shipment? We are set to have everything manufactured and inventoried to be sent to Lady Cress’ ship to be sold and I want it all to be done smoothly.”

He had brought himself further into the room so that he could move to stand before the chair that she had comfortably in. “You have no need to question the status of the shipment and yet you do. Everything is moving ahead as planned and does not require your attention yet you give it weight when you should be dealing with other things.”

She allowed him to speak, her gaze still tracing the words on the parchment of the book, flipping the page once to allow for the time he needed to continue. Once it was clear he was done, Cordelia inhaled deeply with slow intentions and gently closed the book. Great care was given to this particular tome, having only recently received it from Vahalia during their visit and setting aside to the table next to her was done so just as carefully. The breath was released with a soft huff as she finally looked up to Eivor, the events of her altercation with Damien still evident on the blemishes of her skin that she hardly attempted to hide now. “My attention is exactly where it should be. My energy will not be wasted on Damien Gray. He is being handled in my own way.”

“Handled in your own way?” Eivor asked in disbelief. “You let the little lord and his staff just walk out of here with all of their belongings unharmed and now he’s in the safety and comfort of his estate. None of us know what he’s planning or who he means to rally.” Eivor had offered a flippant wave as he had huffed in annoyance. His ire for Cordelia would be misplaced but it was evident that her lack of emotion with the situation was a source of frustration for him. His ice colored hues had taken note of the marring to her facial features as his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth in frustration.

As he continued on, Cordelia’s own frustrations began to grow and upon his final word, she pushed forcefully from her chair. “Apologies, Eivor, when did you become lord of this house? Who made it so that the intricacies involved you and your opinion on what I should be doing?” Her voice had raised a bit now from her prior calm demeanor, but even still she was a far cry from the anger that had boiled over a few nights before.

It mattered little that she stood, though, their height difference still required her to crane her sore neck to keep his gaze. Eivor’s gaze had narrowed down at her. He was a hulking statue of a man and rigged in a full display of armor would only lead him to be more intimidating to the regular passerby. Cordelia was not a regular passerby and it was clear that he had forgotten his place of servitude within her circle.

“I have eyes watching him, the information will be fed back to me when it is learned, if you must know. And for the record-" she paused, pushing by him to cross the room to her bedside table where a carafe of water sat. Pouring the glass, she brought it to her lips, allowing it to linger there as she finished her thought. “- he hardly left unharmed.”

He’d not reply to her and simply turned to watch her traipse across the room as he folded his large arms across his chest. The metal scraped against one another in an obnoxious scratch. “The missive made me aware that Lord Gray had been harmed as well.” He’d note with a clenched jaw. “But it seems as though I’ve misplaced my need to care for your wellbeing and should only focus on the wellbeing of your wealth until my debt has been paid.”

“Your care can be placed where ever you wish for it to so long as it does not get in the way of my work.” Her words came out in ice as she set the now emptied glass back to the bedside table.

It was rare these days that Eivor wound up on this side of her ire though it was clear that no one was free of the blast radius that Damien had created. “Then I needn’t get in the way of your work.” He’d reply with a flat tone as his arms uncrossed.

“You were brought here to settle a debt, to aid me as repayment for the items you stole from us. Do what you will with your emotions or need for feeling protective but do not forget that your place here is not as Lord of this house, for I do not need one."

He’d eye her for a moment beneath knit brows before he would inhale sharply and make his way towards the door of her quarters. “I’ve no need to be a lord. Hell, this wealth like this means fuck all to me. I’ll see myself to the quarters with the rest of the servants.”

Cordelia sighed heavily, walking toward the door as he did so though with a bit quicker pace in attempts to beat him there. When she did so, despite only barely, a hand lifted to press on the door to deny Eivor the ability to open it. “I didn’t say you had to leave.” She dropped her hand, adjusting now so that her back leaned against the wood. A long silence fell between the two as she simply stared up at him, her calm exposure returning.

An exhaled huff of frustration would come from the man’s frame as she had moved to beat him to the door and block his exit. While Eivor was entirely capable of moving Cordelia out of his way should he choose to exit, he instead allowed her to place her body against the wooden door to prevent him from moving forward. He’d not respond to her comment about leaving and instead clenched his jaw as his nostrils flared in slight annoyance. The change from his usual life to one within the Gray Estate was one Eivor still was adjusting to. He was used to living his life on a ship. Air or sea mattered little and he’d spend his nights under the stars. He couldn’t fathom the idea of sleeping under the stars in this dreadfully cold landscape. He had no love for the frozen tundra of a city.

“What would you have me do? Expel unnecessary resources to get revenge on him? I’ve taken steps to have him watched so, if my connection does his job well, we won’t be taken by surprise. I have no interest in wasting more time dedicating my attention to Damien Gray.”

“Myself and another man or two could make quick work of Damien Gray and his lackeys,” Eivor gruffly offered. “You’re sitting on a hope that your connection does his job well. No guarantee that he will.”

“Do you not see the issues that could arise from taking this head on in such a way?” She asked him, her head tilting just slightly, gazing up with an expectant look on her features. Arms rose to cross over her abdomen as she released a heavy sigh.” Not everything needs to be handled with brute force, Eivor. Some instances require tact, and this is one such instance.”

“What issues?” He’d quip back in a hastened manner. “Damien Gray attempted to take your life. A very clear attempt was made by the marks on your neck and when you defended yourself with the means that were near you, he beat you. I don’t know many that would refute that truth.” Eivor had offered a gruff rumble in follow up as he afforded himself a step back to fold his arms over his chest once more.

“The issues of too many eyes looking at me when I need them to be looking elsewhere.” Cordelia took a deep breath, her chest rising slowly as she attempted to ease her frustration that he wasn’t understanding. Whispers swept through Ishgard in waves following Ambrose’s death and while they had quietened for the most part, Cordelia still received the occasional sideways glance when she ventured outside of the estate into the city. “The rumor mill can be vile and work well against our favors, which is something I am trying to avoid and doing more harm to Damien Gray by my hands or by my command would hurt me more than help.”

Eivor couldn’t entirely understand her fixation with the rumor mill. There was little need for such things on ships. Sure, sailors gossiped but they were also just as likely to send a fist across the side of your face as a means of hashing things out instead of creeping behind someone’s back to spew malice and discontent. His icy hues would remain on her as his eyes rolled slightly. “I don’t understand this society,” he’d admit with a slight scoff.

She lifted a hand to his cheek, patting gently with the flash of a smile that faded as quickly as it showed. “Respectfully, dear, you don’t need to.” Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn’t need to understand it and maybe he didn’t want to understand it but that didn’t mean he was free from frustration. His brows would relax as his gaze followed her from the door to her place on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t moved from his spot near the doorway but he also hadn’t reached for the handle. “You need anything then?” 

Her hand fell back to her side as she pushed from the door to return back to her bedside, finding herself perched on the edge of the bed. With a heavy sigh, Cordelia held his gaze plainly as she weighed her options. Slowly her steel hues moved along the height of him down his body before lifting to look back at him again. “Not with you in that armor.” She stated coolly before laying back on the bed, never breaking her connection to him.

collab writing with the lovely, @promethea-silk

[justanotherfanwriter]

a winter lover needs her jacket

a/n: one-shot, huntlow, unedited. I just wanted to write something. I feel it may be a bit ooc, so forgive me in advance

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“It’s not pretty to look at, is it?” Hunter asked Willow, surprising her. 

She fumbled, embarrassed she had been caught staring, “Uh?”

Hunter turned his attention away from the map he was scrutinizing to smile at her. His smile was smaller then it had been in the human realm, and she didn’t think it would ever reach his eyes again. 

“It’s okay, Willow,” He shrugged, “you can give it to me straight,” He gestured to his face, “ugly, right?” 

Her heart dropped down into her stomach. A few weeks had passed since they had first returned to the demon realm. It had been emotional, to say the least. Heartfelt and heartbreaking, but their home, in some ways, was still here. Their small world—smaller then the human realm—seemed even smaller, broken up by the Collector and his sick, childish games, but witches were the resilient kind. The band of rebellious survivors they had been lucky enough to reunite with weren’t going down without a fight.

Today, they had set up base camp in the ruins of some town she could no longer recognize. It was a disorienting feeling, but not unfamiliar. For the most part, she swallowed down her discomfort, like she had been since the Day of Unity. It was starting to wear on her though, acting like everything was fine or going to be fine, just as she and Gus had agreed to do back in the human realm for Luz and Hunter’s sake.

Maybe if Willow could gauge how useful her part in this fight was, she’d feel better, but it seemed that even Ms. Noceda, who was quite literally a fish out of water here, knew more then she did. She recognized that these doubts and worries were just a culmination of her anxiety, but the obvious lack of transparency and trust amongst the grown-ups was slowly clawing at her sanity.

In the human realm, when it had just been the five of them, it had all felt so simple. Getting home had been their only goal, and they had all been in the same clueless boat on how to go about doing that.

Here, back home, it was like she had forgotten how frustrating everything could be, how little the adults listened, how everyone seemed to have their own secrets, and how small she actually was. Even in her own friend group, everything that should have been said was not being said. To her, it seemed there was a lot of very crucial, very important stuff to talk about, and anytime she tried talking about anything, she was kept a safe arm-length distance away.

Like for example, Hunter was a Grimwalker. At this point, she knew Luz had been aware, and was sure Gus had been too. And yet, no one was talking about it. 

Or, better yet, tonight’s debriefing. No one had told her it was happening until she accidentally walked in on the tail end of it. A group of adults, including Ms. Noceda, had surrounded Luz and Hunter, talking in hushed tones and worried glances. They had disbanded when Hunter had noticed her, and Luz had tried dragging her back to Gus and Amity. 

“I just need my jacket,” She had explained, shaking the other girl off, “I’ll be right out.” 

And now, she had her jacket, but she wasn’t interested in leaving the tent. Instead, she stared at Hunter. Standing there, prior to being caught, she had thought about giving him a piece of her mind. It wasn’t fair, she knew why, but he hadn’t been the same after stepping through the portal. He was avoiding her, and he was making it obvious. Secrets aside, his avoidance stung. She had thought they were friends, but maybe, she had been wrong. Maybe everything in the human realm had been finite. Their relationship born out of convenience, not shared history. And maybe she could have dealt with his cold shoulder (she was unfortunately well acquainted with rejection), if he wasn’t also avoiding Gus. That was where she drew the line.

But then she thought about how lifeless and limp his body had felt across her lap, soaked to the bone with dirty graveyard pond-water, and the heart wrenching panic that had consumed her. She had thought about that moment more times then she could count. She thought about it every time Hunter left her and Gus behind, and she knew that maybe her friendship wasn’t important to him, but titan, his was important to her. 

And then, of course, because how could she not, she thought about Flapjack. It was a fleeting, painful, and guilty thought. Because it was her secret. The one thing she would never admit. The relief she had felt when it had been Flapjack and not Hunter. 

The thought made her sick. It killed the words sitting on her tongue, so she had stood there, and instead of saying anything at all, she had stared. What could she say to him, thinking something like that?

“Ugly?” She finally spoke after finding a handful of coherent words, “What do you mean?” 

He tilted his head, smirking, “the scars. Don’t worry, they’re—” He glanced into a broken mirror, “—I get it.” 

His eyebrows furrowed the same way they always did when he was mulling over anything from the insignificant ants on the sidewalk to Belos. Generally, she found it endearing. Hunter was bad at masking his emotions when he didn’t have a, well, actual mask. 

She found nothing endearing about it right now. Chewing on her words, she crossed the space between them until she could lean comfortably against the table next to him. She didn’t know if she had the words she needed to explain what she had been thinking about with all of her anger, hurt, and guilt swelling, then cresting. She did know, however, that she hadn’t been standing there thinking about his looks, or lack thereof, in his opinion. She wanted to be offended that he would ever think of her as so shallow, especially after all they had been through together, if it didn’t make her so sad. 

“I don’t think your scars are ugly,” She crinkled her nose, “don’t say that about yourself.” 

He snorted, glancing away from her and back to the map, “sure.” 

Willow frowned, trying her hardest to rationalize the way he shuffled a few inches away from her. 

“You should find Luz and Gus,” he turned his head at an angle so she couldn’t see his eyes.

“Are you not coming?” She crossed her arms, trying to nonchalantly take a peek at the map he seemed so invested in, but Hunter was too quick for her. He started to fold the end closest to her up, seemingly reorganizing the space. She knew him well enough by now to know that was his polite way of dismissing her. Hunter didn’t want her to read the map, just like he hadn’t wanted her to read the book on Gravesfield’s witch hunters. 

He fiddled with a stack of books, “I’ll catch up.” 

“I can—“

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“—wait.” She teetered off awkwardly, deflating.

She was barely able to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” That, or something like it, was all she heard from him nowadays.  

“Well, okay,” She sighed, now knowing she really had been dismissed, “but Hunter?”

He turned away from her to place a few items in a chest, but hummed in acknowledgement. 

She wet her lips. In truth, she still had nothing to say. They hadn’t had a chance to talk one-on-one in so long, she didn’t know where to start. She hadn’t even had the chance to personally say how sorry she was about Flapjack, but still, no words came to mind. She could find nothing to say. Or at least, nothing right to say. Things like I’m sorry, or I’m here for you, felt so...empty and impersonal. And not one hundred percent truthful. Because she wasn’t really sorry sorry. She wasn’t sorry Hunter wasn’t dead. She couldn’t decide if that was evil, or selfish, or cruel, but it was how she felt.

Instead, she blurted the next thing that came to mind. Anything was better then nothing at this point, anyway, if it meant staying in his presence just a few seconds longer. 

“I’m serious.” She reached out and tugged the back of his shirt, pulling him to her, “your scars? They’re not ugly. Do…do you really think that?” 

He turned slightly, putting his most prominent facial scar on display. “Well, they’re certainly not pretty. People stare; you were staring, so...” He trailed off, shrugging again. 

She quirked a brow at him, tilting his chin towards her so she could look at him in full. Despite the way his eyes widened with surprise, his body followed her direction.

“Now, I’m staring,” Willow chided. She looked at him for good long minute, pursing her lips in thought as he fidgeted under her gaze before continuing, “Is there something in particular I should be looking for? Because there’s definitely no way you’re talking about my friend like that.”

There was a beat, and then Hunter snorted and rolled his eyes, “okay, har har, I get it. I’ll be nicer to your friend.”

“Thank you,” She met his smile with a wider one of her own before relaxing.

“They’re going to call for dinner soon, and I’ve got to—” he started backing away from her, but she pulled him closer, positioning him between her knees as she hopped up onto the table, Then, gently, she cupped his face between her hands, “—um, h-hi?” He finished with a nervous laugh.

Willow was too focused to really notice the way Hunter’s whole face seemed to flush as she continued her assessment of him, turning his head this way and that.

“Do they hurt?” She hummed, gently rubbing the pad of her thumb over the scar tissue of his right cheek. While there were a few bumps, she was surprised to find the skin there was extraordinarily soft.

“U-uh, no,” Hunter’s voice cracked, which usually made her giggle, “not anymore really.”

She frowned at that, “so it had, though? It had hurt?”

He shrugged, his face warm to the touch, “I’m okay.”

Don’t worry. I’m okay. It’s fine. He was always playing the martyr, she was beginning to suspect he enjoyed it. She let out an exasperated huff, shaking her head fondly before meeting his eyes.

Eye contact with Hunter never lasted long, but at this proximity, it lasted mere milliseconds. She was able to hold his gaze for maybe .5 seconds before his eyes flitted down her face then quickly to the door.

“Well, I still don’t see anything ugly, Hunter,” she teased; now, carding her fingers through his hair, pushing the fringe up and off his forehead, “just nothing.”

“Thanks, um, you too,” he said after clearing his throat, and then cringed, lips twitching into a wince as he corrected himself, “like, I mean, I don’t see anything ugly either.”

“Oh!” She teased, peering at him from over the rims of her glasses, “Was there supposed to be?”

His eyes widened, and he stuttered through another sentence, “No! No! I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve never...there’s never been anything ugly about you. You’re, uh...”

“I’m...?” Willow slipped her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, urging him on.

She was now acutely aware of the red that scrawled across his face, and it would have made her just as flustered if she didn’t know who Hunter was, and how easy it was to embarrass him. It wasn’t like he was flustered because of her, but she still enjoyed it. It felt...normal, like nothing bad was beyond the tent they stood in, just her and Hunter talking again. She didn’t want it to end.

“Pretty.” He finally choked out, settling on the same socially appropriate adjective Willow would have used to save her feelings too.

And she had the good grace to be appropriately humbled, “Aw shucks, thanks, Hunter. You’re pretty too,” He opened his mouth, likely to argue, but she talked over him, “I mean, look at your hair! It’s the palest blonde I’ve ever seen!”

His hair was still long, or maybe, now, even longer from when they had first reentered the portal back into the demon realm. Though, she would admit, she was a bit biased towards his last haircut, she liked his hair long or short. He didn’t seem to have a preference either.

She pulled her fingers through the almost shoulder length strands, marveling at how impossibly soft the tresses were.

Her attention fell back to his eyes a moment later. The difference in color was still slightly jarring, and if there was anything that she would stare at, it was that. She had grown used to his previous eye color. Actually, she had been embarrassingly fond of it.

In some lights, his eyes had glowed a reddish-pink, in others a dark mauve, and no matter what, they seemed to twinkle like precious jewels.

Willow had thought his eyes had been so interesting, she caught herself staring at them often. It should have clicked earlier that he was a Grimwalker. In the abomination track, she had learned about the fabled “creature.” While Grimwalkers weren’t abominations, since Grimwalkers were sentient, the process in which they were created involved the same magical techniques, plus a significant amount of complicated wild magic involving the other magic tracks that Emperor Belos had banned long ago.

(The irony was not lost on her.)

The magic behind Grimwalkers was about the only thing she could confidently say she paid attention to during her time in the abomination track, and that was because it was the only time an abomination Professor mentioned plant magic, so of course, she had paid attention.

Now, his eye color was brown. A good brown. The color was a warm kind of brown that felt less exotic and more homey, and made her think of honey, and for whatever reason, hugs. Or at least, soft things, which she had come to associate with Hunter now as opposed to the sharp and jaded boy she had met all those months ago.

“Your eye color was so pretty before, but this color,” she paused, smiling at him as she again pushed his hair off his face, “I think it really suits you.”

It was her turn to break eye contact, hoping her tone hadn’t admitted too much.

She was in luck, he didn’t notice a thing. Instead, his face twisted and he looked away. Hunter from the human realm was gone in an instant, leaving behind Hunter from the demon realm.

“Caleb had brown eyes,” Hunter spat, pulling away from her, though not far enough that he had stepped away from her entirely.

Willow bit the inside of her cheek. Hunter had never mentioned Caleb before, at least, not to her, but she was semi-aware of who the man was thanks to a bunch of half-whispered gossip and context clues. It was obvious how much this admission tore him up, and she was, again, confronted with the horrifying fact that she had nothing to say to that.

Willow had her dad’s eyes. She was smart enough to know this wasn’t anything like that.

However, she could see the storm brewing behind his eyes, and every second that ticked by where she didn’t say something, his features only grew darker. This, she felt, was a crucial moment, and she had to say the right thing, so she decided to tell him her honest truth.

“Flapjack had brown eyes.”

“What?” He asked after a beat of the absolute heaviest silence she had ever had the displeasure of sitting through.

“Flapjack had brown eyes.” She repeated, “And I...I see who I know in you, and I knew Flapjack, and those are his eyes. Not Caleb’s. And they,” She tried again, taking a deep breath, “they suit you.”

“Flapjack’s?” He echoed, his voice very small and very far away.

“Mhm, and anyway, I may not know who this Caleb guy is, but,” Willow shrugged with what she hoped was a bashful smile, “still not bad looking.”

He didn’t respond to that right away either, but he no longer looked like he was ready to attack, and she counted that as a personal win. With a sigh that could have also been a laugh, he ran his fingers through his hair, and she watched the lock of hair that had never know any kind of rhyme or reason, pop out and fall back down across his face.

“Hunter?” She twisted a finger around the forlorn lock and gave it the slightest tug, watching as Hunter’s pupil’s dilated, “We’ll see you at dinner, right?” 

“Yep,” He breathed, swallowing, and then gestured to the mess around them, “I just, um,” His eyes fluttered closed and he shook his head, thinking something she wasn’t privy to, “gotta put this stuff away.”

Understanding this was his polite way of asking for a moment, Willow hopped off the table. Given how close Hunter was to her, their chests grazed against each other as she stood and she could feel her face tingle with a sudden, embarrassed warmth. Sometimes she forgot how much space she could take up, but he didn’t move away.

“Don’t take too long, okay?” She said, peering up at him over her glasses once again, “We miss you.” And then she realized, if she didn’t say what she really meant, she’d never find the courage to say it later on, so quickly, she corrected herself, “I miss you. A lot. So, stop avoiding me, okay?”

“I’m not av—”

She put a finger to his lips, shushing him, “You could be Boscha’s Grimwalker for all I cared, but you’re Hunter to me, so no more, okay?”

He nodded with an unwavering gaze, and didn’t so much as whisper, but moved his lips against her finger, “Okay.”

Willow let her finger fall away from his mouth, and winked, “see ya at dinner then.”

“Yeah,” He nodded again, “see you then.”

She smiled, giving his lock of hair one more playful tug before saying her final airy goodbye.

“Byeee,” He copied, waving as she walked out of the tent.

It wasn’t until later that night, while in the dinner line with Gus, mulling over her conversation with Hunter, that she realized she had forgotten something crucial.

”Willow!” Gus cried out in surprise as she smacked her forehead, “What the heck!”

“I forgot my jacket!”

———————————————

Hunter watched Willow leave with his heart lodged hard and fast in his throat. When the tent flap fell down behind her, he allowed himself to suck in a gulp of much needed air, melting into a random chair like a puddle.

“Whoa,” he breathed, still sinking with relief as the areas Willow—Willow Park—had touched and caressed, tingled, and he licked his lips.

Then, he pinched the top of his hand, hard, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He registered the pain, heard himself hiss, but still couldn’t believe it. Good things didn’t just happen to him like that?

Without thinking, he glanced at the broken mirror hanging to his side. Its once smooth surface now had a million fissures shooting off in different directions, likely damaged when the Collector had first attacked, and a cracked reflection stared back at him. This time he didn’t see the face of a man he didn’t know, but himself. A deep red flush that traveled from the tips of his ears down to the base of his neck was just beginning to fade as his heartbeat evened out. He forced himself to take another deep breath, gaze falling to his mouth, only for him to blush again as he thought of the measly few inches Willow’s mouth had been from his own. 

Again, he looked at the whole of his face. His. Not Caleb’s. And breathed, enjoying the pink of his cheeks, why it was there, and the excited gleam in his eye. He hadn’t looked so alive in a good few weeks. The last time he had enjoyed what he had seen in the mirror, he had been in the broken down “club house” back in the human realm with Flapjack.

His gladerstone-heart-thing let out a hard pang at the thought of his palisman. He felt guilty all of the sudden, that he could even fathom enjoying anything at all without his very first loved one right by his side. Tears gathered quickly in the corner of his eyes—

No.

Flapjack’s eyes.

Willow’s words echoed in his head, making him smile all over again as he stared a little deeper into his irises. After awhile, he let out a little whistle, like the one Flapjack did when he said hello, and just the sound of it forced a laugh—thick with tears—from his mouth.

“Hey buddy,” he sniffled at his reflection, wiping snot away with the back of his hand. “I miss you.”

He knew from personal experience how nice that was to hear.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

For the list drabble ask, leddie + pen & paper (I forgot the number)?

Unrelated life update, I graduate with a bachelor's in psychology in two days! I am scared!

Lucy was staring. She didn't mean to. She really didn't, but she couldn't get over the sight of Eddie Munson hunched over graph paper, tongue poking out from his lips as he drew out a new battle map in the afternoon sun.

He was just so...cute!

There were honestly a lot of things about Eddie that were cute. There was of course his hair. His excited mannerisms. The way his large eyes somehow grew wider when he smiled. Oh God she could go on for days about his smile. How she ever thought of him as intimidating seemed laughable now.

He took a pause, his eyes narrowing as he spun a pencil between his deft fingers.

It took everything in her to keep a dreamy sigh from escaping her lips. This little crush of hers was getting out of hand.

"No peaking Henderson," he warned, not even glancing up from his work.

She turned her gaze away, making a show of covering her eyes hoping to distract him from the blush on her cheeks.

Evidently it worked as he gave a light chuckle followed by the scratching on graphite on paper.

Maybe these study sessions were less advisable than she thought.

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A/N: Hey that's awesome! Congratulations! I know graduation is scary, but don't feel like you're in a rush to do anything. Take sometime and let yourself breath. You earned a break after all that schooling.