#i have decided saint always has the lighting as if shes being hit by the sun in the face

[myrir-draws]

A BUNCH OF DOODLES OF THEY! I HAVENT EVER DRAWN THIS MUCH BEFORE WHILE IT STILL HAVING IT ALL LOOK GOOD! also thank u @a-honking-great-idea for the honking great idea, youre livng up to ur name for sure!

[definitelynotanalien]

Since when was Tokyo Debunker a historical romance novel!

Novels were always fun to read. You could get absorbed into the world and over analyse every single detail.

You wouldn’t have to deal with the outside world, and worrying about what other people thought of you. Novel characters wouldn’t judge you. They wouldn’t insult you or gossip about you. They didn’t care about you.

You reflected as you walked down the path, heading to something that you didn't even remember. With people that you probably didn't care about. And you hoped it would end quickly.

I mean, that was why you loved reading so much, as it was an escape from the outside world. A world that you wanted nothing to do with, for the time being. Because as much as you loved other people, you were tired. You weren't ready to address the outside world at that moment, you just wanted to be left alone.

You stopped at a stop light, waiting for it to turn green.

Your fingers fidgeted with your phone. Opening up a novel app, and starting to read your oldest favourite.

The light in front of you turned green. And you began to walk across the street, reading your novel on your phone.

It was a stereotypical fantasy novel, with a MC who was a saintess and an unfeeling duke of the north. As well as a world filled with men who adored the MC. It even had a typical villainess who was the daughter of an earl, and shared your exact same name.

The plot was fairly simple, the MC is discovered as the saint during a ball. She’s sought after by the tyrant duke, who was cursed by an evil vampire (who’s never mentioned again like wtf!?). The tyrant king has a villain fiancée who hates the saintess, and adores the duke. And then the villain tries to assassinate the saintess, then she ends up getting executed. And at the end of the story, the ball is held again and the saintess and duke marry.

Of course the story was well loved, and you yourself had read it a large number of times. It was your comfort novel, as the familiar tropes were rather relaxing.

But how did you end up there?

As you crossed the street, you were hit by a truck.

You had just woken up in a plush large bed, surrounded by pillows. You shifted around a bit, feeling silky fabric. You sat up, and blood began to rush to your head. Ouch, you felt rather disoriented. But while your vision was blurry, you could tell something was… off. You looked around the room, searching for something that would tell you what was wrong. And you found a rather telling object.

Your heart raced as you saw your reflection in the mirror. You were you, but you weren’t you? As you carefully observed your reflection, your hands began to feel numb. You looked like yourself but at the same time you didn’t. Your face looked askew, your eyes a bit too big, your nose a bit too small. Your mouth felt drier and drier, then you put a hand on your cheek. Squishing it around as if to check that you were real. You could feel your cheek, and you could feel the pain. Yet everything just looked different, you weren't you. Your hands began to get clammy. Were you really you? Was this just an odd dream, perhaps it was a lucid dream. Your stomachs churning began to slow. Perhaps it was just a lucid dream, and you were just a bit crazy.

So you decided to will your room to change.

Your room didn’t change.

So it probably wasn’t a lucid dream.

No. It definitely wasn't a lucid dream.

You began to link the dots together. You were crossing the road, and reading a novel. Whimpering a bit when you remembered a strong pain. One that must have come from a car or more likely a truck. Your chest ached lightly, perhaps from the memory of your former body. So you were most likely hit by a truck. Then you were isekai’d into another world. And that world was most likely the one from the novel you had just read.

That's the conclusion you drew, which was further supported by the maids around you asking if you were alright. And referring to you as your real name. Your real name. So you must have been that infamous villainess. Your legs began to have pins and needles, annoying.

You were transported to another world. Another universe. And you took the body of a villainess. A villainess who shared your name, and who was hated by everyone in that universe. You didn't even know what year it was. You didn't know how close you were to the ending. You theorised that you had at least a year's worth of time, because from what you knew the villainess was never sick in the original timeline. But this wasn't the original timeline, you had disrupted it.

For all you knew, you were going to die in a week. Your breaths became faster and faster, occasionally choking on your own breath. You were the villainess, who was practically destined to die. Holy hell, you were going to die. In at least a year's time. And your head was going to be chopped off. The room began to spin around you, or perhaps you began to spin. A maid attempting to talk to you, and you responding by muttering nonsensically.

The maids around you started to panic, but you ignored them. Your lips quivered. And your cheeks began to feel warmer and warmer, and you felt a sense of doom, looming over you. You didn't ask to die, you didn't ask to be taken into another world. You didn't want to leave your family, or your friends.

You were going to die, without even saying goodbye to your family or your friends.

You were going to die.

You were going to die.

Your vision went black, and you fell onto your back.. Then the feeling of dread began to grow.

-

For the past week you were stuck in the far too comfortable bed, and you were hand fed by maids. You were mostly fed soups, and an occasional bowl of congee. But you were visited by your family and doctors, the latter of which diagnosed you with trauma induced memory loss about a day ago. Although, you knew that you simply didn’t have any memories from that life. Rather than losing all of them.

“After being pushed into the lake by the duke, she seems to have lost her memories.” The doctor proclaimed, talking to who you assumed to be your parents. He continued to ramble about how your memory loss could have occurred, and what to do about it.

From what you had gathered, around a fortnight ago, you were pushed into a lake during a ball. You were probably clinging onto the duke, and he was annoyed. So he probably pushed you in with no regard to your relationship, or your title. The tyrant duke was your fiancé. The tyrant duke was the ruler of Frostheim, the province that you currently lived in. And you were the daughter of one of the kingdom's earls.

It made some sense how you were engaged, in fact you were probably the only lady who would have wanted him.

When he was first announced as the man who would inherit the dukedom, many princesses flocked towards him. Trying to earn his favour. At first he welcomed them with open arms, but without an open heart.

You fidgeted with your hands.

“Pardon me, how long is it until my engagement is announced?” You asked randomly, sipping the tea that was just brought in. The doctor stopped his chatter.

You received your answer fairly quickly, apparently you had 2 years until your engagement was announced. Which means you had 1 year until the start of the novel. Which began a year before you and the Duke’s engagement was meant to be announced.

So, after your ‘parents’ left with the doctor. You decided to devise a plan. After a night's worth of sleep.

So, you left your bed in the morning. Walking around the room to devise a scheme, so you made one.

So you started to collect your information.

From what you knew, you were engaged to your fiancé ‘Jin Kamurai’ the duke of the richest province in the world. He was the ruler of Frostheim and was the tyrant duke. He was cursed by an evil vampire to never be able to fall in love, as well as to have his family's power to die with him.

The evil vampire was never mentioned in the story again after Jin Kamurai’s backstory, so you probably didn't have to worry about him.

But Jin Kamurai’s power on the other hand… It was way too overpowered, to the point where he could control the most powerful creatures' actions with a single word. Which was why you had to break off your engagement, and leave as soon as possible. Ugh, why didn't the author nerf him?

You could probably leave to another province, like Hotarubi, and you could lay low for around a year or two. At least you could wait until the saintess showed up, and will cure his heart from the evil curse placed upon him.

So, after you’re fully healed, you should head to his estate! And then you can head off to hotarubi and chillax for the rest of your life!

-

“No.” The duke sighed, shaking his far too majestic head.

You stiffened your jaw, and rolled your eyes. Of course, your fiance had to disagree. Now you'd probably get into the trope of him falling in love with you, and continuing to stall the cancellation of your engagement. With a stupider, and stupider excuse each time. The only thing is, how'd he fall in love with you with the whole ‘no love curse’. Unless, because you were isekai’d, you now had secret protagonist powers. And you wouldn't mind Jin Kamurai falling in love with you of all people. As he talked about something else, you began to admire him. And damn, was he a sight to behold. He had perfectly messy white hair, blue sapphire eyes, and a face looked like it was chiselled by the gods. Of course his mouth wasn’t any less beautiful, with soft pink lips, and-

“(Y/n)? (Y/N)!” The duke practically screamed your name at you, as he glanced at you with a sense of urgency and worry. Of course, he would care about you, as he was already falling in love.

“Yes?” You answered, batting your eyelashes with a sly smile on his face.

“As I was saying, I'll break off the engagement if you beg.” The duke stated, a sadistic smile on his face and with a pair of far too furrowed eyebrows. He kinda looked like a stupid chinchilla, if you were honest.

Your jaw dropped to the ground. What kind of sadist was he? Someone knocked on the door, but the two of you ignored it.

“Okay! You stupid sadist…” You replied, quickly getting on your knees, at his feet, and preparing to beg.

“Pardon?” He noticed your little murmur, luckily not fully comprehending it.

“Sir Jin, I’ve prepared the documents youve asked me to.” Someone entered the room, with both eyes closed. When his eyes opened, one behind a monocle, he gasped. “Oh, I didn’t know you and your fiancee were doing something… I’ll leave now!” The man stated, with a slight smile in his voice.

Both you and Jin noticed your position. You were on your knees, sitting at his feet, adorning a rather desperate expression, and he was smirking. So, you could understand why they interpreted this like that…

Neither of you changed your position. Him out of carelessness, you out of laziness.

You decide to break the silence.

“Please, I beg of you to break off the engagement!” You beg, with a pitiful sadness on your face.

Your hands were placed together, both were far too sweaty for your taste. And your heart thumped lightly in your chest, you hoped he wouldn't notice it.

“Grovel more.” He states in response.

“Please duke, please! I need you to break the engagement, I’ll do anything!” You hastily add the last part, as you really hoped he didn't want anything else.

“That's enough now. You will leave.” The duke motions you to go.

So you quickly leave his residence, and go to take your carriage back home. Hoping that whichever servant that came in, would not notice you.

Of course you realised that that servant was Tohma Ishibashi. A conniving man who would end up manipulating the original villainess, and then helping kill you.

Tohma would befriend the villainess, and give her hints on how to make the duke fall in love with her. Of course he didn’t fall in love with her, instead he grew to hate her even more. Which made the villainess grow angry, and decide to take it out on the MC. She told Tohma about this plan, and Tohma decided to give the villainess fake poison to attempt to kill the saintess with. Anyhow the saintess lived, the villainess died.

Not gonna lie, everyone except you (and the second male lead of course) ended up having a happy ending. Which pissed you off, cause like, the villainess wasn’t actually a bad person. Encouragement from Tohma made her go closer and closer to the deep end, until she finally went in. So really, it was all Tohmas fault! Also like the second male lead was such an icon, and he was fine as hell.

Aside from that lore dump, your plan was going pretty well! You finally broke off your engagement, and you could probably convince your parents to let you go to Hotarubi on a mental health break. And then you could live happily ever after with no problems at all.

-

Your parents ended up approving the trip! Which you were pretty happy about, especially since they had a nice piece of property in Hotarubi.

The only problem was to get into Hotarubi quick you’d have to pass through the province of Obscuary. Which was never fully mentioned in the book. It was still under the control of the kingdom of Darkwick, but it was really mysterious. Or obscure!

From what you knew, Obscuary was the fastest path to Hotarubi. So you decided to take it! After all if the MC didn’t have to take her pilgrimage through there, then it would be absolutely fine.

Of course the saintess didn’t go from Frostheim to Obscuary because she didn’t go to Hotarubi even though the finest man in the history of man invited her there.

You’d hopefully meet that beautiful man in your stay at Hotarubi, perhaps even develop a nice romance. Perhaps even make out in the back of a carriage. But those were mere fever dreams, and you were but a young naive girl.

WHO WAS STUCK IN SOME STUPID CARRIAGE TRAFFIC. You get it, there would be jams. But there shouldn’t be any in Obscuary, where you were currently stranded in! You could be stuck on the road for an hour. But not like 3! And it was already the dead of night, the sun had set 4 hours ago! You had expected to get to your destination 2 hours ago! But instead you were stuck in the middle of the road.

If you didn’t start moving right that instance you were going to put on your best villainess act and start screaming. Of course you would have to scream pretty damn loud with all the bats outside.

So you wait five minutes. Then you scream out a demand to keep on moving. Then you wait ten minutes. Then you check it out, putting on your best bossy manipulative villain face.

“What’s wrong with the carriage? Why aren’t we moving?” You ask loudly, stepping outside your carriage and walking towards the driver. Who seems suspiciously still in his seat.

Was he dozing off? How delightful, but you had to applaud his sleeping skills. As you don’t think anyone could’ve slept through your demands to move the carriage, which you feel bad for. You really shouldn’t have screamed at the poor guy, who was probably really sleep deprived and all. Especially if he was able to fall asleep while driving a carriage. Although you notice something.

The horses are long gone, perhaps having run away a few minutes ago. And that pisses you off. You can get falling asleep, but how could you lose the horses. So you look around to ask that some of the other carriages can give you a ride. Although instead your blood boils. What makes you angry is the lack of your entourage carriages surrounding you! What kind of lady doesn’t have an entourage carriage?

Ah. You were very peeved. What made it worse is that the carriage driver ignored you. You walked forward and tapped on his shoulder, hoping that he would wake up.

He didn't wake up. So you tapped again, and again, and again. And on what must have been the fifteenth time you decided to shake him awake. And you noticed something odd.

Your heart started to thump rather loudly in your chest as you touched the carriage driver's neck, feeling around for something. You were meant with cold unmoving skin with some light scarring, and a sudden answer to your long forgotten question.

“Who am I? I’m Edward Hart, the world's strongest vampire.”

(Somewhere in another universe)

“Holy shit is that Gojo?”

Shohei glares at you.

“That’s my brother. Hyde.” He looks very disappointed with you, like an angry mother.

“You’re related to Gojo!” You state, ignoring his stare.

“Who tf is Gojo.”

[webnovel-deluxe]

Isn't Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? Side Story Chapter 16

i also upload this chapter in my YT, read there to support my effort, click here👉 Link

***

After that, the demon's resistance was quite intense, and there was an incident where the entire outer wall was damaged instead, but this side's power was so overwhelming that it was quickly subdued.

The demon was pierced by the spear of Orix, my exclusive escort knight, who had grown dramatically in the past, and was annihilated.

But I didn't feel the cool feeling inside.

It was because of the words the devil left before he died.

“Even if I disappear, the darkness does not disappear. No matter how many times you catch and kill black magicians, revenge only breeds revenge.”

Priest Maurice, who surrendered himself to an intermediate demon, turns out to be a priest who saved his life once thanks to Miya Binoshu in the past.

Denying the fact that his best friend, Miya, was the vessel for the Great Devil's Descent, he turned to black magic to prove that she was right and misunderstood.

'It's the blood of a high priest, so maybe an intermediate demon was summoned.'

Maybe it was because when Miya displayed the power of a demon disguised as healing power, that power was transferred to the priest.

‘The latter is more conjecture.'

“… The divine power returned before the thought body disappeared, didn't it?”

He watched from the side as I poured out my divine power to catch the thought-form that was about to disappear.

“yes.”

“What exactly was the cause of the divine power leak?”

“Rather than a leak, I think it’s more accurate to say that my subconscious was reluctant to use divine power and interfered with it.”

“.....”

“To be honest, I’m tired of being a saint.”

When the thought body was reminded of the existence of darkness, he realized the need for divine power and was soon able to use it.

However… It was not always easy to confront the evil and vicious demons.

“Deborah.”

“yes.”

“In the past, Princess-sama has lit a lot of candles.”

“.....”

“So, you don't have to burn yourself to light the darkness. Because there are so many people around Princess-sama like that.”

oh I see.

After putting off all my busy schedules for me and looking back at my people who followed me all the way to Hellia, suddenly something hot hit my heart.

No one was forcing me to be a hero, but I was carrying the burden on my own. That is why the divine power did not return.

When I decided not to think of a blue elephant, something similar to thinking about a blue elephant came up.

“I am stupid.”

“The real fool is over there.”

Isidor chuckled at Pope Rega and smiled like a party.

Isidor replaced all the healing stones I received from the Pope with healing stones that were empty of divine power. It will probably look like it's been used up for a purification ritual.

‘Advanced healing stone, eat well.'

A feeling of emptiness in the stomach, as if suddenly taking a digestive aid.

When he was feeling the feeling of fullness given by unearned income, his eyes met the Pope.

“Oh my gosh, saint!”

He approached me with a fuss, and the eyes of the priests and people around me were focused.

“How did you find and destroy a special evil that even holy water does not know to! My faith in St. Mary has grown stronger and deeper!”

"....."

he said fervently.

“At the upcoming monthly event, everyone will be informed about the saint’s activities, and the shrine will provide all support to the saint in addition to the finest healing stones!”

I quickly waved my hand and said what he wanted.

“You don't need to be rush. Since the Pope has given me the Healing Stone out of pure good will, I have only returned it with good intentions.”

“...yes.”

The pope responded with a little patience in his anger.

Still, it was good to try. It would have been right for Susie Goya to show her condolences in front of everyone who had already been robbed, and who had given her saint a healing stone.

“I am very grateful to the Pope.”

From expensive healing stones to relics made from dragon bones. There was no donation angel.

“… Thank you too. It is natural for the temple to spare no effort to support the saint. ”

“Really, I didn’t know you would support me so generously.”

I continued speaking with a smile as benevolent as possible.

“Thanks to the Pope personally visiting the capital and sharing the news about the relics, we are able to recover them before they are further damaged!”

“Huh?...”

At the word recall, he seemed to be at a loss for a moment, and I pressed once more.

“The holy relics will be purified with all my might in the future! Fortunately, the contamination didn't go away if I had it, the incarnation of the saint was in trouble, so no more worries!”

“It’s been a while since I’ve shown such a great divinity, until I dealt with the remnants of the temple and purify the holy things....”

“You are amazing! Saint!”

Isidor incited me by clearly listing my actions, and Oryx, the simplest, responded to the instigation and clapped with a huge hand.

clap clap!

In applause, I gazed intently at the priests next to the Pope.

“President Henri, High Priest Louis, and Priest Jacques. I will remember your generous help even when I return to the capital.”

The names of the high-ranking priests who participated in the mid-level demon investigation were known in advance through Isidor. There is no need to carry the entire temple and pretend.

“Sister remembers my name… !”

“Huh, hey, it’s an honor!”

“I, we will never forget the visit of Saint ”

When I personally called out their name, even the high-ranking priests of Hellia, who had been in a hurry, seemed to be visibly happy and shaken.

So, with the applause pop, my itinerary in Hellia came to an end.

***

“These white marbles were dragon fangs.”

I tinkered with the rosary and admired it.

The invincible material that can contain all kinds of power, including divine power, mana, and magic, is the dragon's bone.

'It even contained a strong thought-form.'

“Princess, where are you going to use that thing? Are you going to keep it like that?”

“yes. I plan to keep it.”

In the past, Isidor was displeased with me, who loved the rosary, even though it was an object he had carved himself.

'It's just that he treated himself as a black history in his previous life.'

“You can sell it to other countries at a very, very high price. I will process it properly so that no one notices that it is a holy relic brought from the temple.”

He reached out a hand of seduction, but I shook my head.

“I think there are probably people I want to give it to.”

At my words, Isidor's expression became more serious.

“What… . Hmm! Who are they?”

“Our babies.”

“!”

His face turned bright red like a ripe apple in an instant.

“Wh, why?”

“I thought I was going too far ahead, but when the princess said that, my heart raced… .”

Isidor murmured.

“How the hell have you gone so far? ? Did you make plans for your retirement in advance like I did?”

“I even thought about how to donate gifts to my great-grandchildren.”

“… I have gone very far.”

I overlooked the inheritance of wealth... . It is also unusual because it is not the blood of a dragon.

He looked at the rosary in my hand with a slightly reminded face, and after a while he spoke softly.

“… What we give to our children is unconditional approval.”

I swallowed my laughter as I listened to the shy voice and looked up at the branches with green shoots. One warm spring was coming.

5. May's Bride

“.....”

Early in the morning, Duke Seymour came out of the annex and gazed into the garden full of red roses.

In May, the garden becomes brighter day by day. Every time she went for a walk, the fresh scent of flowers filled her nostrils, just like when she was there.

- Georgesah.

Duke Seymour looked at the dewy red roses and recalled the vivid remnants of a dream last night.

Until now, even in my dreams, I didn't show you a single piece of clothing... The wife in my dream last night was so vivid. So much so that I can even feel the scent of lilac that she always carries.

My wife was wearing a white dress, holding the bouquet I had offered her in the past.

As far as the Duke can remember, he called his name in the form of the most daunting moment.

With a soft smile on his lips, he gently wrapped his arms around him. It was also lightly patted on the back of her hand. As if encouraging them that you are doing well.

Even though it was a dream, it felt kind and warm.

‘Did I have such a dream because it was May?'

Because the wife was the bride of May.

In the Empire, the most weddings took place in May. Not only because of the mild and warm weather, but also because there is a legend that the goddess in charge of fertility and fertility disappeared in winter and then resurrected in May.

'May is the most appropriate time for a wedding. '

Perhaps because of this tale, there was a superstition that a bride getting married in May would be happy, and the Duke also thought that May would be better if his daughter got married.

'By the way, I'm afraid I'll graduate early.'

My studies must have been completed, and after the preparations for the wedding that flowed like water, the wedding to the Duke of Visconti was already approaching.

'I feel more peaceful than I thought.'

I thought it would be very sad.

Lately, there have been times when I feel like my daughter is already married.

Hey, maybe it's because of Isidor, who comes to visit me like a son-in-law.

Isidor often came to the townhouse to teach Enrique's swordsmanship, even when Deborah wasn't there. He is a genius who can handle magic and sword at the same time, and in fact, Enrique did not have a good teacher.

“By the way, why is the youngest suddenly obsessed with swordsmanship… ?”

I was a little puzzled, but due to moderate exercise, the child's complexion was improving day by day, so I left it alone.

Inspection on Seymour.

In the past, I would have objected with a sense of rejection, but now that I see that it is not so, I wonder if I am old.

'Did Deborah say she was flexible?'

Duke Seymour looked at Enrique and Isidor wielding wooden swords in the backyard beyond the garden for a moment, then returned to his office to return to work.

Anyway, it's still too early for the youngest to do what he wants to do.

Target is 20 Likes and i will upload the next chapter.

[raybug-theradfem]

For my religion assignment (Catholic school not my choice) I have to choose an issue I’m passionate about and relate it to the Gospels, the Catechism and a Saint. I wanted to choose feminism, my teacher said “stream line it” I decided on Rape Culture because well I couldn’t say abortion or dismantling patriarchy. So of course the more I tried to grab at straws looking for some way to actually relate Religion and Feminism I grew less and less hopeful. I learned that (even tho I already knew it just hadn’t really hit me Yk?) Christianity is one of the reasons we have patriarchy in the first place, it’s the reason that women are blamed for their own assault, even Jesus who sat with prostitutes only defended her on the basis of no one else being without sin the fact that her being a victim of assault based on the fact that she had no one else to provide for her wasn’t enough, the verses that would help dismantle a dress code “if your left eye causes you to sin pluck it out …” are taken contextually but “man shall not lay with man” is always thrown in our faces. I learned that this religion has stomped on my light since birth even tho it’s supposed to shine but my light “isnt what god intended” I am “equal” to a man but I’m really not because at the end of the day the goal is for me to “submit to my husband” and keep myself “pure”. I am not even entirely equal in the eyes of the law because the right to my autonomy can be taken away at any moment (the right to abortion is not protected in Canada like it was in the US it can be taken at anytime and women of colour are sometimes sterilized against their will.) My girlfriend calls herself a Christian but really she just believes in God, she acknowledges that Christianity made it difficult to accept herself and that it saddens her that her family won’t be at her wedding because of it. I always wonder how someone can believe in something that completely contradicts how they live their life. She knows my views and accepts them, we have friendly debates but anyways, as I was sitting with her I remembered that my chaplain told my friend that God knows everything before it happens and planned for it to happen. He created the Devil, created sin, then he creates people knowing that they will sin or suffer or harm others, he sends those people to hell. Therefore, we don’t have free will if it was all planned from the beginning of time. By that logic, he knew I would be typing this with this exact wording having this exact idea before he even created the Earth. That would mean that he decided that some of his children should just go to hell and be tortured, he created them for that purpose. How can a God that creates people for the purpose of torturing them be an all loving God? How can he love all his children equally when he already knows which ones are bad and have no chance of turning to him? If we were created to worship him, why wouldn’t he let us know of his existence? Why is he hiding behind a man made book and not correcting us? Is it not blasphemy to use his name for wrong doing?

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

thinking about reed's worldview & morality makes me feel sooo insane this guy contains such multitudes it's crazy

(major spoilers for reed's backstory)

like i mean when you take into account all of tesilid's timelines you see him at his lowest and then get up from it and you realise that hey his lowest was pretty low but it really is so far from his default. he did commit atrocities but like it's not an inherent part of him. when he decided comitting atrocities wasn't worth it anymore he did just stop, because being evil wasn't really very important to him anyway.

my read on reed's motivation is that it's not really about him being evil and wanting to cause pain, but a desperate attempt to save himself. i don't really see all his mass murdering as him being inherently evil tbh because like. he had saved the world 8+ times and all of that reset. what is the worth of other people's lives, when any joy they experience, any pain they felt, would no longer exist except for in his memories? i think to reed, every other person becomes like a video game character. it's perhaps disturbing but the immorality of killing them is a little suspect because death and suffering doesn't even have long-term consequences for said person anyway. reed causing some massive destruction is just... morbid entertainment? reed certainly smiles (smirks) more than he ever does as tesilid. glad he's having fun(?). like everyone in the timeline is going to die anyway according to his plans, and they and anyone else who lived didn't have a future even if he did fail, so what does it matter if they died now or not.

but even after he's become uncorrupted tesilid again, it's still clear that he remains angry and vengeful. he chokes and scares the bandit leader Just Because. The bandit leader in this timeline doesn't even know what tesilid is taking revenge for, so all that scaring is really just for tesilid's own satisfaction. Scaring the hell out of the bandit leader is important enough to tesilid that he risks ailette seeing this happen if she just turned around a little early. And in the pandora's box dungeon, he lied to the order of light pillars about having lost his memories about the sculptor's atelier, but "don't worry my memories are coming back!" There's literally no reason for him to lie in this particular way, if not to see them squirm. and he purposely leaves them with ailette, whom he knows will beat them black and blue for him. he's still going to sacrifice himself for others and put himself in danger, but he's not above some schadenfreude and taking delight in the pain of those who'd wronged him, he's not some saint.

he's still angry and vengeful but even as readers we rarely get to see this side of him, because there are things more important to him than revenge. And doesn't that say something about his capacity to love and to be good. Even after hitting the lowest of low, he still picks himself up. He cares about Ailette's safety so much and tries to get along with her family. I kind of wonder if he woke up and went yeah that "destroy everything" plan was kind of whatever let's try something else this time, and picked up his moral compass where he dropped it under the kitchen counter. his attitude to cardinal cartelyena dooming him to a really terribad punishment is really just "yah i was objectively bad so i don't even hold anything against you lol".

like. shakes him up and down. the way he decides to mass murder and then some time after goes actually you know what sorry god that wasn't very nice of me i think i'll be good this time and he genuinely means it. it's so funny he has such a range and it doesn't compromise the integrity of his character at all, his core still feels the same. do you get me. like he's always been intrinsically inclined towards doing good and he has a great deal of patience, but he can also snap and be angry and decide to just be evil but it also doesnt make his inclinations towards goodness any less real you know what i mean.

also he's so good at lying that it's funny. he's lying all the time and no one even questions it, because why would he lie? he's the pushover doormat who always sacrifices himself for others. the only way you would know that he's lying was if you already somehow knew the truth. and you sure as hell aren't getting it out of him. honesty being a virtue (generally speaking) and he doesn't have an ounce of it. and none of the people in universe would even consider it.

edit: i realised that it's not really accurate to say that destroying the world wasn't that important to reed anyway, because reed did expressedly reject ailette because he was so hell-bent on destroying the world. ah well we all have times when we hit rock bottom and he sure hit at least 500km past that. whatever, the point is that he did that and then went oh whoops let's not do that this time and genuinely meant it. what a guy. i love all the character development he goes through. and the great changes he goes through doesn't feel contrived at all.

[lethalyuri]

stupid hs / svsss crossover claspect repost from an old comment:

I did "his" cohort, so no peak lord generatiom - although I'm sure I have feelings on that lineup as well.

LBH as Prince of Blood is so obviously Homestuck-perfect in the way it quite literally desrcibes him and the class and aspect each suit him individually on a gameplay level.

From there it was easy to pick GYX as a Knight of Breath: both because Knight is a lesser court position than Prince and because Breath is the opposite of Blood (freedom vs bonds), perfectly suiting our poor little HHP golden boy always doomed to contrast with and come up second to Bing-ge. It would make him someone who sacrified themselves for the freedom of others, which. Well.

NYY is a Heart player through and through. I gave her Sylph because it's one of the least-understood classes and frequently dismissed because of that despite being championed by Kanaya herself. I thought that played well with NYY being a disciple of one of the best peaks possible but never having space to display that narratively.

MF, rest in pieces, got Heir of Mind. This one felt like a clunky placement but it was so important to me to emphasize his role as SQQ's head disciple by having him inherit those literal QJP jade-toned robes if he ever Godtiered. Regardless of if he used them very well (or at all!) he was the one who had the big special key to the QJP library through all of LBH's childhood in mainline PIDW. I also wanted their roles to be able to hold up to SVSSS routes, and in a better lifetime MF is capable of inheriting lessons worth learning from a Shizun who can teach him when to present a dignified image to the world and when to just be vulnerable and kind instead.

SHL I made Witch of Hope. I toyed with some others, but I wanted her to have a class that reflected her role as Saintess-turned-General, and Witch does sound the most outright demonic. Hope is a very poorly understood power because it's only been utilized in canon for Eridan's horror-spree and Jake's failed page evolution, but I've always liked "light as a destructive force" and those blinding white beams suit the sunkissed Southern demon palaces she conquered in PIDW despite the odds against her and her future husband.

MBJ is the Mage of Space. He had to be the Space player, and Mage is the Witch equivalent for male players on top of suiting his manipulation of portals. Plus, as one of the players genuinely needed for a successful session, he had to be one of LBH's actually dependable Generals to make up for the sting of GYX being the mandatory Knight (and wouldn't that just chew LBH in all of his rejection issues...)

LMY got to be the Time player right after this so the "you have to have these three players" condition could be stacked in LBH's favor, and because Time is the aspect the most linked with more intimate and personal experience of death. From there I gave her the Seer class, to bring that connection in and have her as a player who could see horrible things to echo her PIDW role as the only person on CQM who seemed to truly remember her brother's death after a few months. In another life she'd predict tragic romance plots based on inuition and horny grip alone, but here she's severely blinkered by that one specific loss. Time players and their tragic fighting-focused Bro...thers, am I right?

After that we hit the Named Wives, so I sped through their roles.

QHT: Maid of Doom. She's the ghoul that hangs over SJ even more than QJL is, the omen of every loss he's ever suffered as a child and frequently the unwitting instigator. Every action she's taken has led to the destruction of someone else, right up until she embraces that role at SJ's trial and expressly demands it.

XG/LPM: Rogue of Rage. Rage is easy because she's volatile and violent and close-minded and she learned that at the knee of the HHPM, patron saint of what happens when people let manufactured outrage drive them into cruel and bad choices. I couldn't decide between Rogue and Thief but her actions have never been politically guided, and because she'd disobey any order from both her father and husband in PIDVSS for the chance to attack someone she hates.

QWY: ...and because I wanted to make QWY the Thief to reflect her taking LBH's first time at the Alliance Conference when she thought she was dying. I don't care about the sexpot world or her internal motives: LBH could not consent in any meaningful way to such a terrified request. I gave her Life as a cheap sperm joke to lighten the mood.

QWR: Void, obviously, as befits her role as the narrative sacrifice in SVSSS. She's not a very utilized character in either story, so I threw the "could grow if they really tried, but they rarely do" Page class at her and clocked out.

And then, funnily enough, with my cast complete, the only classpect left was Bard of Light. A player with access to a lot of information, who through passive and wide-rippling actions participates in the total destruction of clarity and understanding in others. Maybe by keeping secrets, or by lying, or simply by sending mixed signals and letting misunderstandings compound to fatal degrees. Someone whose role could compliment with LBH's own Princely actions, associated more with music and stories and ballads than with ruling. Whose aspect could be used to provide guidance and help for LBH, and who could confuse any issue around him for his benefit just as easily. Isn't that such a funny coincidence?

[donutloverxo]

A Royal Scandal 2

Modern royalty au

(Image from Pinterest)

Cowritten with @lizzygal

I'm so sorry! I made a mistake while posting this yesterday so I'm reposting it now. Hope y'all enjoy💖

Note - Since y'all liked it so much we've decided to post this fic on both ao3 and my tumblr! There will be no taglists for this however💖 You can subscribe to the ao3 story to receive updates!

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, Mentions of previous domestic abuse.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 8k

To be fair, Steven could understand why his mother was so upset after watching the entire footage from the royal steam rooms. He had a far better understanding after having seen the footage in question. The one that had led to his mother’s reaction that very morning.

Seated beside Carol on the ride back, he slipped in his wireless earbuds and pulled up the first video he found online on his phone.

A separate car had been sent for you for whenever your meeting completed. However, he had a whole series of his own back at the palace before his day could be considered over in the administrative offices. Days were never really over for him. Should anything happen somewhere in his nation, he would be informed. As was expected for a ruler.

Until then, he had fifteen or so minutes to kill till he arrived back at the royal palace, depending on city traffic.

Which was how he found himself watching what was obviously some sort of hidden camera. As the royal banya did not have CCTV cameras. Steve found himself making a mental note to himself to ask Carol about it.

After he watched the video.

He had the feeling that this would not be going away anytime soon. Therefore, he needed to know what was on there if he was going to have to defend his actions, or even speak about it.

It was somewhat surreal watching himself walk into view wearing nothing. Not even a towel. Talking with someone who was obviously you.

Based on where the camera was located, Steve could tell it was somewhere in the hallway that led from the steam rooms into either the showers or locker room. Thank all the saints above your back was to the camera. Half of it anyway. You were standing at a turn in the hallway, leaning against the wall. Half of you hidden. A towel wrapped around your body.

Thanking those saints above still that there was no sound, Steve watched on as a voice narrated the video, some celebrity blogger dissecting the footage as if it were a pivotal moment in some sporting event.

Steve watched himself turn to face you, facing the camera too and exposing his entire self to the world.

Not that he was ashamed. He had nothing to be ashamed about. Steve was built tall and powerful like his father and mother’s father. He kept himself in shape and as for the manhood that hung heavy between his thighs, he refused to be embarrassed by that either. The blogger however did have several opinions about what she referred to as, the royal sword.

She also seemed to be very opinionated when Steve watched himself kneel down in front of you. He’d never watched himself go down on you before and found himself transfixed, easily able to ignore the blogger’s excited rambling.

For once, Steve watched your hands sink into his hair as he sank between your legs. He watched your pleasure grow and grow, he watched you sag back into the wall and reach up, grabbing at it like a cat stretching out in the hot sun.

Seeing it happen like this? Steve felt like a voyeur. He felt like he was doing something wrong. And then, he watched you climax on his face. He watched your hands tighten up against the corner of the walls meeting. He watched himself stand and no longer noticed the commentary as he sheathed himself between your legs and proceeded to pound you into the wall without mercy.

His attention caught on one little inconsequential thing. Watching one of your legs that wound over his thigh bounce wildly each time.

Quickly he exited out of the video and blog. Unwilling to watch more. Pulling a bud from his ear, he glanced over at Carol who was watching the city fly by her window.

“Have you inquired as to if the palace guard has looked into how the video was taken in the royal banya?”

Blonde hair dusted her shoulders as she looked at her king. Carol answered without a second of hesitation. “Already done Your Majesty. The camera was found this morning. A webcam of some type. It’s been sent away for fingerprints and I have the best IT professional I know looking into it, to determine if we can track down who it belongs to. The royal guard has also launched an investigation into all palace employees.”

“Thank you,” he answered her with complete sincerity.

Captain Danvers had been at his side since he assumed the throne and had proven herself hundreds of times over. She was his confidant. She was his bodyguard. She was his closest thing to a friend, if Steve could say he had such a thing. He could tell Carol anything. He had told Carol about you. Carol had told him about her sick mother and in return, Steve have given her a cottage on palace grounds while providing a nurse. So that Carol would be able to spend as much time as possible with her mother in her final days. Carol still lived on the palace grounds in that cottage down by the gardens.

“I’ll let you know when I know something,” she assured him.

***

Your return to the palace felt like it took forever. Mostly because your panties were very obviously damp from leakage and you were greatly concerned about a wet stain. The modern equivalent of a scarlet letter. Letting everyone know what you’d done.

Twice you’d checked in a bathroom along with every mirrored surface you came across.

Alas, it seemed you were in luck.

No one would know that you’d had inappropriate contact on a workday, or think you’d had an accident. Granted if someone would have noticed you planned on blaming your monthlies.

By the grace of the many women who came before you, you managed to get back to the palace without being caught and were about to go change your panties when a familiar face popped into your office.

“Hey! You’re coming! I’m not taking no for an answer!”

Wanda.

Bright red hair and a brighter red dress that was far from office appropriate appeared in your office, leaping in like an acrobat leaping onto a stage. Making you look up from where you stood behind your desk, digging through your handbag.

A bunch of different thoughts buzzed through your head.

What was Wanda talking about? Where did she want you to go? Did Wanda wear that mini-dress to work? Cause it was about five inches too short and did downright sinful things to the girls. Wanda could always pull off anything. She looked amazing in clubwear, sweats and those tea-party dresses that Jackie O was always wearing.

“Coming?” Fell from your lips in a valiant attempt to stall till you could make sense of what was happening. “What are you not taking no for an answer for this time?”

In your roommate swept like a hurricane.

“It’s practically six!” She declared, as if that was supposed to mean something to you. It had you staring at her and waiting for more information. Hands paused in their hunt for clean panties and a pantyliner in your bag’o’stuff. “No more talk of this fake boyfriend. You and me are going to go have dinner. We’re going to hit the bars to pre-game and then to the clubs! Everyone is going so you are too!”

Such news had you freezing in your patent leather pumps.

Pre-gaming? Dinner? Clubs? Everyone?

How?

It was only Thursday and then you remembered.

It was a long weekend. The winning of some great victory over the Germans from the big war that you only kinda remembered hearing about. Mostly because you’d been busy with the border issue and the education overhaul. You’d known that it was coming up and the entire four-day weekend would be spent celebrating.

Wanda saw your face. She saw what you were thinking. She was practically a mind reader. Which led her to pointing at you scoldingly. “No! No no no! No checking emails or messages. No more work. No! We’re going out tonight and we are going to have fun! You remember what fun is? Right?”

But…you really did have emails and messages to check. You actually did have a ton of work to do. Granted you always had emails and messages to check, plus work piling up. It was the nature of your job. Helping in the running of a country was a 24/7 gig.

“Wanda…”

“Nope!” She declared, marching on into your office and behind your desk to chase you out. Shooing you. Literally making you hop away and grab your handbag because you just knew Wanda wasn’t letting you back near your desk. That much was for sure.

Like a sheepdog, she herded you around your messy desk as you attempted to protest, to get her to listen, to inform her that you really really did have a good bit of work to do.

“Wait…hold on…wait, Wanda…just one second…gah!”

“No more protests! I’m not going to hear it anymore! I refuse to let you hide behind work or the fake boyfriend.”

More protests came from you. You tried. You really really did. But Wanda was shoving and pushing and hip bumping you out into a hallway that did not look like an office building, instead, it was very obviously a palace.

Your heels clicked on polished white marble that shone. Walls were cream and had priceless art hung around, gold gilded borders ran up along where the ceiling met the walls. Light fixtures were old, bronze and cut glass. Furniture that belonged in Sotheby’s was sparsely decorated around the halls.

Door were old and creaky up and down the halls, wooden with locks that required big iron keys.

It was unlike any other place you’d ever worked.

You could feel and see and even smell the smokey history oozing from the walls.

A few people were hurrying out of their offices and locking the doors behind them, which Wanda didn’t even let you do as she went on indignantly. “No! Nope! Clint from Tinder will not wait forever! He digs foreigners and he has a job and he loves to dance!”

At mention of Tinder, your gut lurched.

Dear god not this again.

Why had you ever agreed to let Wanda make you a Tinder profile? At the time it seemed so reasonable. Let her make the profile and she’d get off your ass about your alleged imaginary boyfriend. Problem solved! How on earth were you to know she’d be on the damn app making matches for you?

“Why don’t you go out with Clint from Tinder,” you wanted to know, earning yourself a roll of Wanda’s eyes as you were dragged down along the hallway to the massive marble stairs. Looking as if they’d been carved from one piece, smoothly curling down a floor to the ground floor. Large chandeliers hung with cut glass that threw light everywhere. A massive painting hung up on the large wall of a long dead large royal family in the palace of past.

“He’s not my type. But he is absolutely your type.”

Somehow you doubted that.

Sighing deeply and focusing on not snapping your ankle on the stairs and in your heels, you followed Wanda down, mixing in with the few stragglers who were leaving work and making mental notes to text Steve and let him know you’d be late coming back to the palace that night. You were then planning when you could check your work emails and work-phone messages. That had to be done in a quiet place where no one could overhear. Maybe you could go out to the club and feign a tummy ache? Then sneak away from Clint? It’d probably be much easily to sneak away from Clint than Wanda.

Click. Click. Click.

With every step you maneuvered down your heels were noisy. You’d managed to fling your sizable bag over your shoulder and just knew Steve was going to be annoyed with you. But he was an adult. Being adults meant the two of you would have to do things that you didn’t want.

“So help me, if it kills the both of us, you and I will be going out tonight and having a fun time! This is a celebratory weekend! There are festivities going on all over the city!” Wanda went on, yanking you along behind her upon reaching the bottom step and heading in the general direction of the ground floor exits.

Hurrying along behind her, you followed but you weren’t happy about it.

God did you have so much work to do and you really really wanted to spend the night with Steve. And maybe if you gave in to Wanda, she’d get off your ass about your fake boyfriend? Wait, no, your secret boyfriend, because Steve was very real, you just didn’t want to be eviscerated all over the internet and tabloids for dating a king.

You’d seen what happened when a pretty actress had dated then married a prince who didn’t rule his country. The only thing you had going for you was Steve’s country was still looked at with some serious side-eye from the world, due to past events and rulers. Plus, he wasn’t a young prince that had grown up before the eyes of the world. He was a son of a tyrant, a citizen of a sizable nation the world still viewed suspiciously with a questionable human rights record.

“You’re going to love the club! It’s totally new and they open at ten. Meaning we can have plenty of time with the girls!”

Girls?

As in plural?

Because of course this would be a group event. Wanda never half-assed anything.

“Wanda…” you began.

Before Wanda could turn her attention on you, loud shrill lady screams came and you were greeted to the sight of Maria, Okoye and Pepper. All three threw up their arms and grabbed Wanda in a big hug, yanking her away from you and freeing you from her grip.

Loud girl screeches followed.

There was group hopping and hugs and laughter.

It should have made you realize that it’d been so long since you had a fun girls night. It should have reminded you that you were young and your life shouldn’t be all about work and sneaking off with your boyfriend whenever the two of you were able to.

Your heart should have been warmed by the sight of your palace coworkers who were clearly part of the aforementioned Girls.

How long had it been since you had fun?

How long had it been since you’d had a night out on the town?

What were you doing?

Were you jumping and screeching and hugging too?

No.

You were digging into your handbag so you could text Steve real quick. To let him know about your change in plans before he began to think you’d bailed because you were a coward and got cold feet.

Just as your fingers touched the smooth surface of your iPhone…

A noise caught your attention.

Movement.

Peering up to the side at the wall, or what you’d assumed was a hallway wall since you were in another hallway nearly identical to the one upstairs. All while the hugfest continued. You noticed that the wall was at a weird angle. As if it were opening up on a hinge and by the time you realized that the wall was actually an opening to a hidden passageway, a hand grabbed your elbow and yanked you in.

No more than a soft squeak came from you.

In you tumbled.

Into a dimly lit hallway that was actually a passageway you found yourself. With a metal sounding click the wall slid back into place and a big hand fell over your mouth. Making you immediately panic, immediately reach up to grab the hand that was silencing you. Making an arm band around your chest and pull you flush back against a broad muscular body.

“Did you honestly think for one moment that I would allow you to go get drunk with Wanda? Or go to a club with a man that she met for you on Tinder?”

Steve.

It was Steve.

His faint aftershave still burnt your nose but paired with the masculine scent that was him, you relaxed only a little bit, just a smidge.

How the hell did he know all of that? Had he bugged your office? Was he following you?

Deep in your chest your heart pounded wildly. Your skin was on fire. Even though it was dimly lit, you swore you could see each nail and groove in the wooden walls of the hidden passage.

Steve’s shoes were soft on the carpeted floor. Yours however never reached. Your legs dangled. Desperately you stretched out to try and reach your toes down, but alas, Steve was holding you up and was simply that much taller than you. Easily holding you up as he carried you.

His voice an angry snarl, a seething whisp against your ear. “That is so disappointing my love. A failure on both our parts,” came his angry voice. Walking with sure footing and a quick pace through the only barely lit halls.

Turning here and there, quickly and suddenly, until you were very much lost.

A protest came from behind his palm that was crushed against your mouth. Your blood heating with every passing second till it felt as if it were boiling. All that sudden fear was turning into anger at this treatment.

“I’ve clearly failed you if you’re unable to announce with nothing but the utmost certainty that you’re both in a relationship and have no desire to go out clubbing with whomever Clint from Tinder is.” The word clubbing was spat out, as if Steve found it vile on his tongue. “As for you? Yesterday we were discussing where to go for your birthday and today, you refused to answer one of my calls! You have work to do tonight to make up to me your behavior today!”

Further down the hidden passageway you were unceremoniously carried pulled to his front. Your brain racing at warp speed.

You had work to do? You had to make up for your behavior?

Had he lost his damn mind?

Had he not seen the video of his naked nether-regions all over the internet? Or the sex that made the footage a sex tape? The two of you were now amateur porn stars and he was mad that you? Because you were trying to be lowkey until the entire situation blew over? Steve was mad because you were being reasonable?

A most valiant attempt was made to free yourself.

You struggled. You kicked. You flailed and shrilled behind the hand over your mouth. No longer taken by surprise or frightened. Now you were growing angry.

On top of being terrified of being found out in that footage and ridiculed by the world, or worse, chased out of this country by a horde of angry people who didn’t agree with you being the kings choice as not only a foreigner, but one from pretty humble roots. You were upset that the world saw such an intimate moment between the two of you and even if Steve didn’t care that his junk was all over the internet, you cared. You cared a great deal. The royal junk was your junk. It was bad enough you had to know he’d dated women before you who’d seen him nude and were intimate with him, but now the world? It was simply too much for you to comprehend.

Steve slowed and turned, using his elbow he made something pop and a slight crack of light where there was obviously another hidden door in the wall appeared.

Using his broad shoulder, Steve pushed the door open and stepped out into a hallway that led down to the royal chambers and split off.

With his knee, he shoved the hidden panel shut and tightening his grip on you, Steve hurried down that hallway.

A completely different one from where the administrative offices were located.

Rich wooden paneling covered the walls. Making everything appear warmer, lusher. An amber haze hung in the air.

Thick carpet was underfoot. Furniture spoke to its age but had been made with a quality that endured. Like this palace. Built when his land was called something else but had stood through time in proof of his claim to the throne.

Generations before him had ruled, claimed spouses and lovers in these halls, grown old and made history and now it was his turn.

Merely that knowledge had him growing excited in his slacks for a second time that day. All of your thrashing and struggling didn’t help. If anything, it sparked a part of his brain that insisted he ravish and conquer you in his royal bed.

Mouth pressed to your ear, till he felt amber and diamonds press against his lips. “I swear, I will spend the rest of tonight inside of you until things are as they were yesterday. Until you remember that when I speak to you in any manner, you answer. Considering how thoroughly you’ve consumed every last part of me, it is only fair.”

And then, in his slowed pace down the hall ever closer to the door that would lead into Steve’s Royal Apartment, he saw a portrait up on the wall that made him pause.

It was him.

Or his portrait from when he’d turned thirty.

There he stood looking down at you both. Dressed ceremonially in his crown, holding the traditional ruling scepter and wearing the robes from kings of past. Fur, jeweled toned fabric that he’d easily filled out with gold adornments, amber buttons and pipping on his shoulders.

What was most striking about this portrait compared to all the others of Steven throughout the palace, was he was alone in it and unlike all the others, at the time, he’d not been single.

Further making that internal fire burn hotter.

Making him stop and force you to look up at it with him. Framed in a gilded bronze heirloom. Up where he had to look at it to be reminded of what could have been.

“Look! Look!”

You stopped struggling and looked, were well aware of his mouth against your hair.

“See? See it? You could have been there with me. At my side. Wearing my crown. Wearing the robes and jewels of my grandmothers. My queen.”

And indeed you saw.

When you’d seen the finished portrait, you had been blown away at how your body reacted to the sight of your lover in his traditional uniform he only pulled out for big special events. How powerful he looked. How sexy he was wearing a crown, holding a golden scepter with an eagle on the end clutching a piece of amber the size of an egg.

The arm around your chest fell so he could point at the empty space in the picture beside him. “Look. Right there. That is where you would have been. Right there. At my side.”

His hand over your mouth still held you flush against him. Pulled tight against him.

That thought, that entire notion of you painted on a portrait, up there with Steve at his side. It was so surreal to you.

When it was just you and Steve it was fire and gold and everything was amazing. When it was King Steve and his Chief of Staff it was stimulating and exciting. You still weren’t sure about being queen. A queen! That wasn’t like being a princess or a duchess. A queen was different. Even the word felt different.

It made your heart start to pound wildly in your chest again. It made you breathe hard against the back of his hand. It made you have a physiological reaction.

***

This was not how Carol intended to spend her night.

It was not how she wished to start her off-time. Having given Val the update on all things that had transpired for the day as she handed off command of the Royal Guard to her fellow captain.

No sooner had she told Val everything, did one of the messengers from communications come hurrying in. A slip of paper in her hand. A note that changed everything for that night, that week and even that month.

It had left Carol walking through the royal apartments towards the Queen Mother’s rooms.

As she knew exactly what King Steven was doing and quite frankly, she wanted no part in disturbing that unless she absolutely had to.

Besides. The message that had been sent to the palace via royal envoy was meant for Her Majesty. It was best Her Majesty the Queen Mother figured out how best to deal with this coming…situation.

Compared to His Majesty’s Private Rooms, Sarah’s were all light and brightness. White marble and ornate touches. Colorful priceless paintings and large bouquets of fresh flowers in crystal vases. Soft plush furniture held little personal touches. A white chenille throw draped over her couch by a fireplace. Pink slippers sat on the floor. Books both new and ancient with various markers holding her place were scattered about. Fresh flowers. She loved fresh flowers. They were everywhere.

As expected, the door to the Queen Mother’s apartments were open.

Carol still paused outside of it to knock gently.

“Your Majesty?” She called out, looking at her watch to see that it was nearing seven. Around seven was when the queen took her dinner meal privately. Of course she’d leave the door open for kitchen staff to bring up food as usual. It wasn’t one of the nights that was reserved for Steve and his mother to have their dinners together.

After the death of her husband the former king, Sarah had effectively thrown open all the doors that he had imprisoned her with.

Her soft voice drifted out.

Delicate and gentle.

The Queen Mother sat in a large chair by a big window overlooking the city. Her pale hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. A string of pearls tightened and loosened around her fingers as she lowered the book she’d been reading. A pleasant smile came over her soft features.

Upon seeing the stone of Carol’s face, the queen frowned. “What is it? What is wrong?”

Only confirming that something was wrong, Carol shut the door and locked it.

Dinner had been brought up. Smells emanated from the queens private dining room off to the left. It reminded Carol that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning. It had been that kind of a day.

Clasping her hands before her, she rocked back on her heels. “A message was sent by Her Highness Janet Van Dyne. She and her daughter will be at the palace tomorrow…”

Janet and Hope Van Dyne?

Steven’s former fiancée and her mother?

Two golden eyebrows rose, making Carol press on. “Her Highness is under the impression that they’ll be staying here? In the palace?”

All of this was new to Sarah.

She had not heard from Janet since Steve’s coronation. When she and her husband had been in attendance. Earlier that particular year, Hope had broken her engagement with Steven to run away with a Maharaja.

It’d been all over the tabloids.

A young princess of the Netherlands had broken her engagement to the crown prince of an incredibly traditional nation to follow her heart. Hope had spent many years splashed across tabloids and blogs with a handsome charismatic Asian Prince. She’d lost her royal title and gave tell-all interviews about how her family had forbade her from running away and how she’d never marry a man from infamous Rogers Royal Line. And then, oddly, she was back home with her family this year.

Sarah had found it unusual. Alas, she was a busy woman with a life of her own to keep her busy.

“Was anything else in the message,” Sarah wanted to know.

Carol shook her head.

It had been a simple message that was very to the point.

Sighing in a most un-Sarah-like sort of way. She set her book down on the arm of her chair and rose. Tall. Willowy. Pursing her lips. Her dress fell around her in a gauzy cloud.

“Do you want me to tell His Majesty?”

Pausing, the older women considered the question. Dare she tell her son? He deserved to know. Nothing good would come from this visit.

If it were Janet alone? Sarah would not be so suspicious. But Janet and Hope? And that they would come so last minute? After the release of this video footage from the royal sauna?

“Is my son with her?”

Silence.

Carol was quiet.

A noise came from the Queen Mother. A clicking of her tongue. Stepping into her slippers, she pulled the hem of her dress up. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you would keep this from me.”

More quiet came.

“I won’t ask. I’ll find out my own way and leave him be for now. Janet and Hope won’t be here tonight. This can be a problem for tomorrow, today has been difficult enough for us all. Let tomorrow be tomorrow.”

Let tomorrow be tomorrow.

On her other hand was her wedding band. A treasure itself. Now on the widow’s finger. It was so symbolic of the cage she’d lived in for the duration of her marriage.

Absentmindedly, she twisted the rings. “Have you eaten yet?” Pulling them up and down her hand. “I had hoped you would come. I had the kitchen bring up extra.” Off slipped the rings that she had to wear in public. In her hand they jingled until she set them down on a smoothly polished table.

With two heavy clicks, they bounced on the wood by a vase full of peonies. Freeing her for the time being.

“I missed you while you were away.”

A blush bloomed over her porcelain complexion at Carol’s words.

As she watched Carol lock the door to her chambers, a warmth bloomed within her chest. Such words were so simple. So honest. They were words she had not heard before in her life. In this new chapter however, in this new time in her life, she had become accustomed to kind words and compassion.

“I missed you as well.” She confessed, stepping closer and still keeping space between them. As some habits died hard. “Stay with me? Tonight?”

“There is nothing I want more, Sarah.”

***

As it turned out, now you were ready to talk.

However.

Unfortunately.

Steve was now past that point and was on a whole other page.

You found yourself protesting when he carried you into his bedroom like some manner of caveman would carry a slab of meat. Shrilling out when he yanked and ripped and tore at your dress, forcing it over your head after ripping fabric and popping buttons, till it was an unsalvageable heap of material and threads.

Which was an absolute tragedy.

You loved that dress.

You even pointed out that fact to him somewhere between the threshold of his bedroom and his massive bed that really was fit for a king.

It was so big!

A headboard wider than Wanda’s itty-bitty car was long. An elaborate collection of regal flourishes and shapes. Dark sheets so soft they were slippery awaited you as you screeched and hollered, letting out an outraged sound when your bra was popped then yanked roughly from you.

“Steven!” You admonished your king, toes digging deep into the thick carpet as you’d lost your shoes back in the hallway leading to his quarters.

This whole evening was going off the rails for you. There was no other way to put it.

Dim sconces on the wall lit the way. Highly effective mood lighting if you ever saw it. Allowing you to see the set in Steve’s face, the firm line of his mouth.

His fingers wrapped around the back of your neck so he could hold you close, ground out for your benefit. “All day long I tried. Calls. Messages. Texts. Did you want to talk? No. You ignored me. Now I do not wish to talk either.”

Pushing you forward, you found yourself stumbling but knew if you didn’t walk on your own, Steve would merely toss you up on his bed. Up on the sea of pillows. Framed by gilded silver and dark curtains that came down from above to allow for privacy.

“All day long you denied me. I’ll remind you what is mine until you’re thinking clearly again. Until we’re back where we were yesterday!”

“I’m ready to talk now! I’m in a place where I can discuss this with you! I am thinking clearly!”

Words were not needed.

Oh no.

Not when the king grabbed your hand, pulled your arm back and pressed your palm against his straining erection. Hot to the touch. Shockingly hard. Painfully so even you were willing to bet.

Your knees hit the bed and you were pushed forward till you fell over, till you wound up on the expanse of bedding in a tangle of hands and knees and that silky smooth material.

A big explosion came from Steve. Feeling like and you were flailing on your stomach, trapped beneath his oppressive weight and the bed. Fighting. Wiggling. Trying to get free from beneath him but bigger stronger arms had your wrists.

Something was being wrapped around your wrists that you couldn’t see, as your vision was impeded by the broad chest in your face. Right there. Blocking your line of sight. Pinning you down to the sea of grey until finally, finally, he was up and you were once more struggling, wiggling, jerking and finding that you were tied to the headboard.

You were tied to the headboard. You were naked and bound to his bed.

Silky fabric that was Steve’s tie bound your wrists snugly together and wove into the headboard, securing you there most soundly.

It was outrageous! It was absurd!

You were tied to his headboard!

It was a first for you.

When your gaze returned to your boyfriend and even that was now a bit questionable, you were greeted to the sight of Steve shedding his suit. Yanking off each garment without pause or care. A few tears were heard and he was far rougher than need be. A button or two may have flown off.

“You cannot be serious! That’s your plan? You’re going to take what’s yours? Are you serious? This is not the dark ages!”

Ignoring you, Steve shoved his slacks down his long legs. Allowing his rigid cock to bob obscenely. Causing an eyeroll to immediately come from you. A hint of something dark on his hip caught your eye. But it was only a flash and as he was moving, yanking off his suit jacket and fiercely ripping open buttons on his shirt, you couldn’t get a good look.

Was it a bruise? A tattoo?

Somehow you doubted kings were even allowed to have tattoos. Or that Steve even had the time to get himself permanently inked. When the hell did he get that bruise?

Momentarily distracted by him climbing up on the bed, you looked up to give your bindings a good hard yank.

No luck.

Steve’s weight was pushing you down. Shoving you into the bed. Pinning you down as you protested, implored and began to plea. Which was exactly what he wanted. After everything you had put him through today? You would beg. You would plead. You would forget all about that video.

“Open your mouth.”

It was an order.

It could be nothing less.

An absolute command that had your lips slowly parting as your eyes widened in surprise at the sudden treatment, this roughness. Steve held his painful erection in hand and pushed his tip to your lips. Pushed the red end of his cock sticky with precum past your lips. Till you were forced to open your mouth wider and wider for him. To take him deeper and deeper into your mouth.

Steve held your gaze and pushed his member in further. Straddling your chest and gripping his headboard in one hand, till it dug into his fingers. While his other hand grabbed your face to hold it tight.

You’d never be able to take all of him. He knew this. You’d never been able to no matter how much you’d tried. But he wanted to see how much he could fit in your mouth tonight.

“Don’t swallow. Don’t let me down again.”

Your mouth was so warm closing around him. Wet. Sacred. It made him want to close his eyes to sink in deep but Steve would not. He would do that soon enough. He would lose himself in your cunt soon enough.

A few small movements from his hips sank his cock deeper into your mouth. Filling your cheeks as you struggled. Until you found a motion of moving up and down his length, running your tongue along his sides. Wetting up his shaft till sloppy noises started to fill his ears and a small little dribble began to moisten the corners of your mouth.

Those blue eyes remained set on your own. Never once showing you mercy.

“Tomorrow. In the future. If I call or text, you will answer.”

There was no follow-up. Nor was it a question.

Long fingers that belonged on an artist or musician sank into your hair tightly.

All you could do was nod as drool rolled down your chin and you suckled his cock like you would a popsicle, without swallowing, sucking on his sensitive flesh as he liked and without the aid of your own hands to steady his member.

It was glorious and Steve could only slightly appreciate it. As the words that fell from his mouth were more important, more vital.

Feeling how wet your mouth was getting was fantastic. Absolutely. Your nimble tongue was a gift. No one had ever sucked his cock like you.

However…he was still frustrated, still angry, still hurt even.

He’d not worked his way through those feelings as of yet.

Perhaps? In your body?

Those feelings teased and taunted him with his unworthiness. Of how you hadn’t been firmer with your roommate. How you had allowed her to drag you down the stairs for a night out with possibly another man? It infuriated him. It sent his hips rocking into your mouth. It had his cock rubbing up along the back of your throat and made your eyes water.

No.

Steve would not lose you. He loved you too much to even entertain such a notion. No. Infact, he would make sure that he ruined you. By the end of the night, he would make certain that you’d never even amused the notion of being set up. He would be completely sure that when you left his chambers come morning, you would never be doubted when you told Wanda or anyone that you had a partner.

“I want to start publicly courting you. I want to be engaged this year. I do not want to hide any longer. When people look at you, I want them to know that you belong to me.”

Noises came around his cock that Steve knew were words and he did not care.

“Look at yourself.” Steve stilled, his words harsh, bitter even. “You have my cock in your mouth and I am completely at your mercy. Tied to the bed of kings because I cannot go one night without dreaming of you, fantasizing about your tight cunt and smooth skin. I would give you the world and all you want is nothing. You are the worst type of infuriating.”

As if to prove his point, he steadily pumped his pelvis up into your mouth. Each slide in pushed saliva and pre-ejaculate out, making it ooze from the seal of your lips around his erection. Against your throat his wet balls bounced. His ass rested on your chest and he could not get enough. More. He wanted more. He needed more. Craved more.

The urge to go harder was strong.

Steve wanted so badly to fuck you. To make you feel how much you drove him mad. How you caused him physical pain from longing alone.

With drool smeared down your chin and neck, never looking more beautiful in his opinion, Steve pulled his dick out. Done with your mouth for now. Needing more. Needing to grab your tits and to be closer to your face, looking closer into your eyes.

In a familiar sort of way, your throat bobbed.

“Did you just swallow when I specifically told you not to?”

A moment of hesitation followed from you that had Steve gripping your face, easing his body down yours but holding your slippery chin tight in his grip. Your eyes were wide. Again, probably without even realizing, you swallowed in nervousness.

“I’m…I’m sorry…”

“I’m sorry what,” he demanded, leaning down closer, licking the wetness from your chin and earning from you a most satisfying shiver that wracked your body.

“S-s-sorry, Your Majesty.”

His tongue was hot and wet on your chin. His body was heavy and hot on your own. Skin on skin contact made your brain short circuit. It was a miracle you could string those syllables together. With your hands bound so snugly to the bed. All you could do was take it. Take what he gave you.

Feeling him push your thighs open and position himself between your hips made you gasp. Words failed you.

And then words didn’t even matter because he was pushing into you. Claiming you. Taking what was his because you did belong to him. You belonged to him in every possible way.

A scream exploded out of you when he dove right in. Sank in till his crown was pressed up against the wall of your cervix. Deeper than anyone had ever been before. Hands were grabbing your ankles and spreading you wide. Spearing you on his cock. Stretching your body taut.

“So wet. You were made to take me. Made to take your king.” He whispered more to himself even though you heard. You would have heard a pin drop. You could hear your heart pound and blood rush through your ears, each gasp your lungs took. You could feel every last inch of him deep inside your core. Painfully stretching you open like this. Burning. Tingling. Twisting.

Hands tightened on your ankles till you looked up at Steve. Hovering over you like a pillaging warlord about to ravish his prize.

“You have till Monday to decide how you wish us to become public. I will not wait a day longer.”

Seeing you like this before him. Splayed out. Your pussy curled around his member, plump from being filled with your breasts round puddles up on your chest. It set his hips into a frenzy. Powerful thrusts were sent into your tight walls that made Steve grunt every time from the power behind his motions, from the sight of his cock vanishing up into you. Watching your pussy take him so hungrily as you cried out beneath him each time. Breasts swaying. Skin slapping on skin with the contact. Your hips jiggled, his headboard creaked, his balls slapped soundly against you both.

“Say it. Say the words to me. Say them!” Steve commanded you. Pieces of his hair falling and sticking to his sweaty forehead as he sank in to the very depths of you then pulled out, revealing a glistening shaft before slamming his member right back in where it belonged.

“Yes…yes…yes…yes…” you chanted, over and over, again and again with every thrust in, every withdraw that was like heaven and hell, your body needing him to complete this circuit only the two of you could create. “…yes…yes…my king…yes my king…”

Those words. They were a song to his ears and had your ankles slapped together. Those words had the backs of your thighs slapped wetly against his chest, your feet touching his shoulder as Steve continued to pound into you.

Pumping into your now closed thighs, into your tighter walls at this angle.

“Look!”

Dimly your eyes fluttered, you looked into his burning blue eyes.

“Look. Here.”

You followed his gaze to where he pointed, looking down at his pelvis, where his hip met his abdomen in that hard cut of muscle that was visible above his beltline. The one you loved to lick.

He did have a tattoo.

It took you a second to realize what you were looking at and focus, as his thrusts continued without mercy, pounding away, slamming into you without mercy. Shaking and pushing you into his bed.

Your writing was inked into his skin. Your very own signature.

Your name was forever scrawled into Steve’s skin and then, it hit you. Your climax took you by complete surprise. Your entire body went stiff. A pained noise came from you and you shattered all around his cock. Fingernails dug into your palm and you stared at your name in cruel ecstasy.

Steve fell too. You could tell from his thrusts getting wild, falling out of sync. You could tell because he swore out, clenched his face and held your thighs tight to his chest.

Pumping deeply into you while your body milked him for everything he had to give.

Making him merely a man in that moment with you.

Up on his headboard, you were tightly secured and would soon have bruises from arching up against the silk tie restraining you. Unable to do anything but feel and accept what your king was giving you. On your back. In a bed that past kings had slept in.

None of which was lost on you.

Not as your body felt leaden, filled with molten hot lava. Limp. Your secret garden continued to suck him in, clench around him and spasm, making your eyes roll up in your head, your body dig into his bed and words fall from your mouth.

In a most dignified sort of manner, your king humped into your body like a jack rabbit, chasing the last vestiges of his climax with coral wet lips and dark honey hair now damp with sweat.

A sight for your satiated eyes.

“Let me call my mother in the morning.” You breathed out slowly, as if figuring out how your lungs worked once more after a marathon. Your words making Steve still above you. Though your cunt did not. It twitched around his royal girth and you met his gaze from on his pillows. “Tomorrow you can have Maria release a statement saying whatever you want. Just let me tell my parents myself. They should hear from me that I’m not coming home.”

Whatever wind that may have held up his sails had clearly been withdrawn.

Almost tenderly now, Steve leaned forward to quickly loosen the silk around your wrists and free your hands from his headboard. Stretching out his long powerful body above you. Flushed red now. Glistening. Though he left his tie there. He remained inside of you too. Filling you and stretching you full.

Gently, he pushed your legs down until they wrapped around him and he was able to rest his weight most carefully on top of you. Pressing wet kisses to your nose, your cheeks and chin. Worshipping your face with delicate touches and caresses.

“I’ll fly them out here whenever you want. When we get back from Switzerland, I’ll have them waiting for you.”

Softly you answered, reveling in his softness now that your body had been given her reward, her treat, her pleasure from his roughness. Smelling the musk of his sweat and feeling the wet glide between your bodies.

Leisurely, your hands found their way up his muscular arms to his shoulders. “You know what I mean. I won’t ever be their daughter again. I won’t ever be Wanda’s roommate. I’ll have to quit my job. Nothing will ever be the same.”

Those words, well, they settled uncomfortably in him.

All of them were true.

You would be giving up so much. He would have to make sure to take care of you even more so, keep a closer eye on you. He would need to have a talk with his mother come morning.

“That’s true,” Steve softly conceded, rubbing his nose along your own. Barely grazing his lips over yours. A hint of a tongue touched you before his breath danced over your mouth. “We would be together though. Finally together. You. Me. Not hiding anymore.”

Speaking of hiding.

That word alone had you pulling away from his mouth to lean to the side, to get a look down at his Adonis belt. At the alluring groove that led down to his pubes where your name was now in black.

Nay, your signature.

As if sensing what you were after, your boyfriend tilted up a smidge. Enough for you to see but not enough for him to leave your body. Pray tell that couldn’t happen.

“When did you do this?”

“Do you like it,” Steve asked, as if your opinion mattered. Which was laughable considering how permanent it was.

He’d literally took your signature and had it tattooed on his body.

“Of course I love it. Now you have a part of me on you all the time.” An incredibly modern take on Steve’s royal jewel gift thing, but in reverse you thought. Then grinned as it sank in. “I can’t believe you did it though.”

Why wouldn’t he have done it?

Steve hadn’t thought twice when Maria had gone on about getting her late mother’s writing tattooed on her side, in a lasting forever tribute. Having your writing on him at all times had been an idea that hadn’t left him. Not until he’d had a tattoo artist praised for their work brought to the palace late the other night.

He wasn’t even going to lie, king or not, there was something downright satisfying about having something like this hidden on his body from all. Known only by you and him. A secret only for you two.

Bringing him right back to the thought that the biggest secret the two of you shared would soon be out.

Soon it would be public knowledge and that had Steve brushing his fingertips over your cheeks, kissing the swell of your cheekbone and moving ever just so to make a small moan come from you. “You’ll never regret this. I’ll love you for the rest of my life. I’ll devote myself to making you happy. You’ll never regret becoming my queen.”

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Kaz Brekker x fem! Reader - Dark Grey

A/n: So this was request but I couldn't find who requested it (and it wasn't anonymous!) So whoever did just give me a hey! This is literally the longest fic I have ever written.

Warnings: Blood, gore, death, sad Kaz, language, torture, Parem I think that's it? You have been warned!

Summary: Your a double agent for the dregs

"Come on you little shits, we have a job to do." One of the higher ups of the Dime Lions yells at some men at some tables at the Emerald Palace in the back.

Little birds have told me that people have been raving about this place being extravagant, but it's really just extra dramatic if you ask me. The green of the building is like someone drunk from the Crow Club wandered over here and puked on it and someone just decided the color looked pretty, so they mixed some glitter and red and pow. There you have it.

That may just be me though.

I start to get up with all the others but the man who just yelled, jets hand in front of me, fast like I'm going to run off.

"The boss wants to talk with you about getting you higher status." The man growls obviously not happy about someone who could be possibly taking his spot and he's probably not happy it could be a girl. Well sucks too suck.

I almost nod and have an emotionless face on but I realize that's the real me would do that, have have to be Cozbi and she's a little naive. But she's good enough if Pekka wants to notice her.

I let a smile crawl on my face; "Well I guess your just going to have to tell Mr. Rollins I would be delighted." I say nearly flirting with an accent, but more taunting like as I twirl my tailored unnatural bright red hair (like it's VERY bright) around my finger and I grin like a popular school girl.

"I'm not your messenger." The man scowls.

"But boss wants you up there in five minutes." He snaps and goes off face all red.

I barely even manage keep into place long enough as the men walk out to start their job. As soon as they do I speed off to a bathroom and I write on a piece of paper in a stall.

Giving me higher status, think he's getting suspicions though. Their going on a job tomorrow night to take out the Blacktips. Amush. Pekka also got a stash of Parem. Don't know why. Stay Safe, don't give clues. Frame someone.

-Your favorite person from the barrel

I open the window above my stall and I do a low whistle.

Fweet. Fweet.

A crow comes and lands on the window sill I grin slightly and my (also tailored) e/c eyes touch down on the raven haired bird. I'm reminded of Kaz's raven hair and his dark brown eyes as I hand him the folded note and the bird tilts it's head and takes the note and fly's off.

I flush the toilet and hurry out heading to Pekka's office.

I open the door slowly priding myself for being exactly a minute late, it works really well for who I'm playing. I see Pekka siting in his chair but instead of waiting for me like I thought he would be. Right now though he's reading something with a almost confused look on his face.

Shit.

"Well, well, well Cozbi your finally here." Pekka smiles not a nice smile - though he is a barrel boss.

The door shuts behind me and someone shoves me to the ground and people surround me and hold me in place.

"Or should I say Y/n." And then everything goes black.

_______________Time skip a few hours in a random warehouse (not that you know that)😈😈😈___________________________________

I slowly open my eyes and I look around the place. I'm tied to chair there's no light in the room so it's hard to make out anything but I think the floor is concert but the walls are wood.

Cheap.

"I didn't think you would be up so soon Y/n... Well this is a surprise." Rollins says and then in flash stabs a dagger into my stomach.

My scream fills the air as he pulls the knife out. I make my voice quiver I can still be Cozbi, I can still be Cozbi.

"I-I don't know who Y/n-Y/n is sir-sir." I stutter but my entire body is on fire from being in enough interrogations before. It's telling me to be harsh to not get to the point, but I might be able to get out of here if I play the part.

He takes my jaw and shoves it forward harshly. "We already know who you are L/n. Y/n L/n the dregs notorious double agent that never gets killed or even better caught."

Pekka smiles sadistically.

"I'm going to make sure this story ends in red." He laughs.

He goes to leave but he puts his hand up.

"And make sure she's can't see." His henchmen put a blindfold on me as I hear the door close. I can feel them coming closer and I hear one smack something on the ground that must have been a bat.

"Let's have some fun girly." I tug at my bonds hopelessly and helplessness fills my body.

________TIME SKIP_________________________________________

My screams ring this room for the next week.

Or what I at least think is a week. There's no windows in here so it's hard to tell when time pass's. Pekka doesn't come back again but I know his coming soon because his henchmen have been worse than usual because they want a raise or something.

I gave up thinking Kaz would come. I remember what he told me last time I saw him before I went on this mission.

We won't come for you if you get caught and it's only a matter of time before you do.

I messed up the last mission we were on with the crows, I got Inej hurt and he wasn't happy. So I did this job.

Because maybe then I would get what I deserved.

My hands have knives through them sticking them to the chairs, there's blood all over my face from the daily beatings. My one leg is twisted and broken in ugly places and cuts and bruises litter my body.

I know it's only a matter of time before my body gives out and Pekka finally wins.

The door to my (what feels like) cell opens and there's Pekka and six more henchmen in the room.

Those are new.

They might not be henchmen though I think we're past that at this point, I think their assassins.

Or something like that anyways.

Their hoods are up but I can clearly see that there's two girls and four guys. My vision blurs a little. Maybe death will grant me mercy sooner than I thought.

"Meet my new friends Cozbi." Pekka mocks and jesters towards the cloaked figures.

"Ironic that you choose the name Cozbi. For did you know, it means liar? I thought maybe I should call you that now, liar. It fits perfectly you know?" Pekka spits in my face.

"Anyways..." Pekka drawls on for a bit and I realize the lack of movement in the halls. But before I can question that one of the male hooded figures gives a box to Rollins and he opens the box. Rollins grins like someone just made his day.

Fuck.

He advances on me with a small packet and I stay deadly still.

"Do you know what this is Cozbi." I keep my eyes trained on the packet.

"My name is Y/n."

Pekka laughs and grins evilly.

"You wanted to be Cozbi so you will be called as such." He growls and calls for is henchmen.

Two men come to tip my head back and hold my jaw in place. I try to shake them off by moving my head but it's no use.

"It's Parem." I freeze. No, no, no.

"For grisha you suffer by always wanting it not inculding the rare cases. But for normal humans."

He takes a step forward and he opens the packet and holds it over my mouth.

"It kills you terribly and so, so, so painfully." He crouches down and looks at me.

"Your going to die as Cozbi. Your going to die a liar, and I will make sure all of Ketterdam remembers that."

He gestures towards his henchmen and instead of trying to prier open my mouth like I expect them too.

They go and pull up my hands.

My hands go through the hilts of the blade and it hurts so much I can't do anything but scream.

Pekka shoves the Parem in my mouth.

My body feels like it's withering away and Pekka laughs as I vibrate against my seat. I feel my eyes widen and the only thing going through my head is that Rollins is a foul.

The knives.

And I'm not going out without a fight.

I pull the knives out of the handles of the seat and I scream as the hilt of the blades touch my skin but I quickly cut the bonds around me and I stab one of my knifes into the first henchmen.

I leap towards the other and I barley manage the scrap him before my body hits the floor and I can't move anymore.

Searing pain stabs through my body like multiple knives just stabbing me over and over again I expect Pekka to be the last face I see and I murmur something about the saints but then I see it.

The hooded figures.

It's the Crows.

The henchmen are down on the floor and Pekka is tied up and gagged to the chair. I feel my vision start to blur and the Crows go to check the area.

"We have to get her a healer!" Someone yells. But I'm on my back looking up and I barley even recognize that things are happening around me. It's like I'm watching from a different world but I can't do anything.

"Y/n!" Someone yells and picks me up from my spot on the ground.

"Come on Y/n!" Someone whisper-yells.

I groan as the person starts walking and I let out a rattling breath, that I knew that should concern me but I couldn't care less.

I just wanted it to end.

"Your not dying on me today Y/n."

Kaz, I think it's Kaz.

Everything shifts back into focus, Kaz is running (even with his bad leg) and somehow the searing pain from the parem in my body has started to subside. Noticing the many, many yards of guards running after the crows and some group of them has so, so, so many guns pointed right at Kaz.

Then it happens.

Suddenly I feel above the others, like I have powers that no one has ever had. The universe was bending to my will and I gasp as I'm lifted up into the air by something shadowy, and dark blackness surrounds my legs all the way up to my waist. I don't quiet know what I'm doing but it feels natural, like I knew how too do it all along.

I raise my hands into the air and shadows burst out into the open.

Guards are being cut in half, some are being chocked to death, some look like their getting stabbed multiple times as wounds just show up. Others look like they have a disease as darkness spreads across their bodies. And some just fall to the floor and die silently.

Their dead.

The power, and the need to protect everyone I care about is gone.

I don't even scream.

I hit the ground with a thud and I try to open my mouth as Kaz frantically pulls me into his arms cradling me. No, that couldn't be right though.

He yells for someone but I can't make it out I try to blink, but even that is hard and it's so slow and I can feel Kaz bring me closer too him but I don't really know what's reality anymore.

"Y/n." The voice (although it tries not to show it) lets concern and fear run through the words. I gasp.

"Kaz." I manage to say. He pulls me (somehow) closer as he lifts my face up to look into his.

He says something, but I can't comprehend anything he's saying. The edges of my vision start going black and everything else is going fuzzy.

"You'll live!" Kaz says, trying to reassure me but it sounds like he's trying to reassure himself more.

I place a hand on his and I want to say something, but the words are all mixed up and it feels like concrete is holding my jaw shut. Everything starts slowly turning black and I'm internally screaming in my head;

No! I have to say something! I can't go like this!

It's useless though, because everything slowly fades away the last thing I see is the dark brown of Kaz's concerned eyes.

_______TIME SKIP_____________________________________________

The light bulb of whatever room I'm in flickers off and on as darkens seems to try and cover it. I take a look around to see all the Crows tied up to a chair each, they have gags in their mouths and they look like they have been tortured out of their minds.

I run over to Wylan trying to help him out, but he let's out a muffled scream as I go towards him. I quickly turn to Jesper but he's so still in his seat not even looking at me.

Nina and her confident demeanor is gone, her aura is laced with panic and Matthias is with her on that one.

Inej can't seem to stop shaking, making her presence known to everyone. Then I turn to the last chair and my heart must have stopped.

Kaz's corpse lays, in the chair. Bubbles of darkens, are around his mouth and it looks like it chocked him to death.

Dirtyhands was finally beaten.

Then darkness shoots out of me, and I can't seem to stop it as it kills everyone else.

I sit up and a scream rips through my throat. I breath in heavily trying to get the air into my lungs. Everything in me burns, pain course's through me like a parasite on steroids, but at least time I succeed at muffling my scream.

I hear someone running from another room and the door fly's open. On command darkens shoots out from my hand and starts chocking the person- Holy shit! That's Kaz!

"No!" And it all appears to fade away into the shadows.

Tears start to fill my eyes, what will happen when I'm in a real state of panic? Could my nightmare eventually come true?

I feel the bed dip beside me and despite my hardest efforts, my eyes wander over to Kaz.

He looks like he hasn't slept a day in his life, with the essentially black moons under his eyes. His skin looks chalky white, contrasting his red rimmed eyes that looks like he had been crying just a few minutes ago.

Concern fills my shadowed heart, something must have happened for the Kaz fucking Brekker to be like this. My fears about being a shadow summoner disappear, they do stay at the back of my mind but finding out what's up with the bastard of the barrel is more important.

I carefully place a hand on his cheek. He tense's up a bit before relaxing into the palm of my hand and even leaning into it a bit.

"What happened?"

Kaz looks at me in disbelief. "What happened?" He lets out a chocked laugh that holds a sob in the background.

"You died." My breath hitches in my throat, wait... That can't be right. Can it?

"Matthias had to do chest compression's on you while Nina tried to restart your heart. All because I couldn't fucking do it."

He takes in a breath and rips my hand away from his face.

"Your heart stopped Y/n, we thought you were dead. But they kept going and somehow saved you!" A sob tears through his throat and Kaz Brekker breaks down in front of me. His walls that he has tried so hard to keep strong have had a boulder thrown at it. Smashing it with so much force that he couldn't possibly rebuild it.

"I'm sorry." I whisper. "For all the pain I caused you." I somehow manage to speak as my own tears start to come up.

"Seriously? Your sorry?" Kaz turns to me and grips my shoulders.

"Your the one who died, damn it!"

"Hey I have something to hold over Jesper?" I try to joke and it gets a small, very tiny tried smile out of Kaz.

"And the fact that your a shadow summoner."

"I didn't know." I say quickly and I pull back defensively, Kaz just sighs.

"I know."

He lets his hands run down my arms and his hands make delicate patterns on my skin. Then I remember the parem. Fuck.

"What were the effects of the parem?" If anyone would know, it would be Kaz.

He pause's for a second seemingly in thought before opening his mouth the speak.

"Well your life span was shortened to a normal one." I exhale in relief at that news, I really didn't want to live for centuries.

"But your powers could surpass the Darkling's, and the only reason you don't have the opposite of what you have now is because you pushed it down for so long. The healers somehow purged the parem out of your body before it could make you a mindless addict."

"That better news then I thought I would get." Kaz nods but there's something else lingering in the back of his head.

He thinks I'm going to leave.

I intertwine our hands together, and I turn my head to look him right in the eyes.

"I'm not leaving." I blurt out.

"If I went to the little palace I would get hunted, if I went anywhere else I would get hunted. I might go into hiding for a bit, but I'm not leaving you."

A smile that's even bigger than the last one by some means crawls up on his face.

"Good, because I just got you back."

Words 3021

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Shadow and bone taglist: @kaqua

(If you want to be added just comment taglist)

[iwishicanbeagoodpianist]

the Wifilcon and the Winter Router

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC/Reader Summary: When Bucky learns that his neighbor has been stealing his wifi for months. Warnings: None A/N: I'm not a fanfic writer at all, this, like all my stories, are adaptations to fanfics. My original stories are not written in english, so this is also a translation. please do not repost my work

For an instant, Bucky thought that the knocking he was hearing was coming directly from his head, I mean, it wouldn't be the first time his mind played tricks on him, but he realized that the sound was actually coming, unluckily for him, from his apartment door. Oh no no no no no no no, I just got back from putting up with Sam for almost 6 full weeks, I don't need interaction with more people for now.

Bucky thought for a minute to ignore the sound, to wait for the person to give up and leave, anyway he didn't spend many days on this apartment, almost no one had seen him leave or enter the building and he had no contact with the neighbors, only with the lady on the 7th floor who once lost one of her cats, which ended up in Bucky's apartment, accidentally. Not that I found the cat in the alley and actually brought him to my apartment, it doesn't mean that I stole the cat, he was in the street by himself, I rescued him.

When the banging on the door stopped and Bucky thought he could breathe calmly again, a voice between altered and annoyed was heard all the way to the living room where he was sitting trying to overcome his third panic attack and fourth existential crisis of the day .

-"I know you're in there! I saw you coming in a few hours ago! I've been waiting for days for you to come back!"-

More out of instinct than anything else, Bucky pulled out the knife hidden in his right boot as he slowly backed away from the door. Do I really have a spy as a neighbor? Should I call Sam? Is he in danger too? Never mind now, you need an escape route Bucky, concentrate, third floor, window to the alley, 2 minutes max, the bike is parked far away, I'll have to run, but to where, rendezvous point, safe place, think....

- "for God's sake, open the door, I need you to pay for your fucking internet plan, I'm in the last season of my series and I need to know if Carolina died or not!"-

- "The internet?"- Between the andrenaline from escaping and the shock of not understanding what was happening Bucky spoke louder than an assassin, with over 60 years of experience, should have spoken. Oh, shoot.

-"Yes! Your wifi, I need it to finish watching my series"-

Whispering "wifi" to himself, Bucky tries to remember where he has heard that word before, this is what I get for never listening to Sam when he talks to me. But before he can continue his mental analysis of all the conversations with Sam about such stupid things as his favorite American Football team, the New Orleans Saints, that I remember, to how Antonio could possibly leave María on the last episode of the 6 o'clock telenovela of which Sam is a fan, his apparent "neighbor" spoke up again:

-"Jesus Christ, can you open the door? So we can resolve this like adults"-

Bucky resigned to the fact that he has given his position to the "enemy", walks to the door and opens it waiting for his death. Well at least if I die I won't have to listen to Sam again talking about Antonio and María. But on the other side of the door, there was a woman, who in her pajamas, very unthreatening but cute, was watching him as if he were a ghost but still with defiance in her eyes, in one breath she introduced herself and continued her speech about her complaint to Bucky:

-"As I was saying, I need you to pay for your internet"-

-"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I understand what you mean"- mumbled Bucky.

- "Good Lord"- To Bucky's surprise his neighbor, pushes him and enters his home, well not so much a home home, more like the headquarters of his secret club, of which he is the president, vice president and only member, the point is that it is his place, where he can (and wants to be alone), as she lives here. This must be a dream, maybe I hit my head too hard in the last mission and I am unconscious in the hospital.

Crossing the room, Bucky's unwanted visitor looks around searching for something while whispering the words "I see you are quite minimalist, but maybe this is too much, someone urgently needs to look for some inspiration on Pinterest". She stops abruptly in front of the shelf where, in theory, a TV should go, while shouting: "EUREKA", she bends down and picks up a white device which has two antennas and like a million little blinking lights, damn, that looks like something out of a spaceship, I'm being watched by aliens? I'm being spied on by Kree?

-"This is your router, this is where the internet signal comes from, which I need you to pay for so I can finish watching my series"-.

Bucky, still in shock for the third time in less than 15 minutes, as he processes the idea that perhaps Thanos' unknowing twin is spying on him for a second invasion of earth and revenge for his brother's death. He can only nod to his now more relaxed and happy neighbor.

-"Perfect, thanks! I need to check the food I left in the oven, I'll talk to you later"- and as quickly as she came she left through the same door, leaving Bucky with more doubts than answers, peeking down the hallway, he realizes that she is the neighbor who lives next door, to his right. When Bucky comes out of his initial stupor, still not fully understanding what is going on, he decides to take his cell phone out of his pocket and call his own personal Google to solve his doubts about this century: Sam Wilson.

-"Hey Buck! What's up?"-how does he always manage to sound so happy? focus Buck.

-"What the hell is a router and why do I have one in my house?"- somehow Bucky manages to formulate, although maybe his voice cracked a little on the last words.

-"That thing's been there for at least two months and you didn't even notice it? Have you even paid the bill?"-

-"You put this in here? Without telling me????"- maybe Sam is also a Kree? Who can I trust now? It's all a trap?

Listening to Bucky's accelerated breathing, Sam tries to explain to him slowly, that in this century life without internet is not life, but obviously as Bucky does not even know how to set the alarm on his own cell phone, he was in charge of buying the router and creating the contract with the company so that, the 106 year old man could have his personal network at home. He had given it the name but he had not given it a password so that Bucky himself could set it up later. "I am an excellent friend, I mean co-worker, if I may say so"

-"Sorry man, after all that happened, we got called for a mission and I forgot to tell you, do you have your laptop over there? I'll help you set up a password, so your neighbors won't steal your internet anymore"- and with that comment everything started to make sense in Bucky's slightly screwed up but functional mind about the events with his seemingly non-spy and harmless neighbor.

Meanwhile Bucky was trying to remember his own password to unlock the laptop in front of him, also courtesy of Sam. "Bucky, when you learn about online banking and that you can pay your rent, electricity, phone and everything with a click of your computer, you will thank me". It should be noted that Bucky hasn't used that laptop once, like a good 100 year old grandpa he goes to the bank to make his deposits and pay his debts, which obviously consisted only of electricity, water, gas and phone because the man had no idea that there was a device in his house that spit out internet, apparently only his next door neighbor knew this. Buck tells Sam how he thought his router was an alien device and how he thought his neighbor was a KGB agent coming to kill him. "Relax Buck we all have undesirable neighbors that steal our internet signal sometimes", well undesirable is not the word I would use to describe her but ok.

When Sam finally explains to him how to connect his computer to the internet, Bucky can finally see the name that his wonderful co-worker, not friend, because he could never be friends with someone so stupid as to think that the name "THE WIFILCON AND THE WINTER ROUTER" was a good name.

- "my god Sam, you're such an asshole!"-

-"HEY! That's a great name!"- Sam responds with as much indignation as possible, he's the best at naming everything from dogs to wifis.

- "I can't believe you're Captain America, I can't believe we're even friends"- Bucky really can't understand his luck to have friends, well, co-workers whatever.

- "Well excuse me but we're co-workers..."-

- "Well, take this call as my formal resignation, bye"-

-"Wait a minute Buck..."- Bucky ended the call, to finish -his self-imposed- punishment of listening to Sam Wilson talk for over an hour. At least I asked him how to use the bank's website to pay for the internet. Suddenly, without warning and without explanation, the memory of his neighbor is lodged in his head, her hair in a ponytail, her reading glasses, pink shorts, her sweater from some university of which he can't even remember the name because he was watching out for other things... that she wouldn't kill me obviously, he was watching out that she wouldn't pull a knife out of her back and kill me right there. The message on his laptop indicating that he can now set a new name and password to his wifi distracts him enough to stop thinking about his sweet and cute non-spy neighbor and how she would look with her hair down and her glasses off.

Still with the sweet feeling in his chest and the desire to see her again he writes as the new name of the wifi, while laughing:

"If you want free internet, you owe me at least one free dinner"

After paying the internet debt and closing the laptop, Bucky gets up hoping to find something edible in the kitchen, while leaning over to look inside his fridge and analyzing how bad it would be to eat a fried egg with pasta and sriracha, he hears again a knock on the door, but this time it does not cause Bucky the anguish and anxiety that caused him the first time, but quite the opposite.

-"Open the door Winter Router! I prepared chicken pot pie for dinner"-.

[bitch-biblioklept]

The Darkling x f!oc

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 <you are here> Part 7

Chapter-6: Amplifiers

Chapter Summary: Frustrated with Alina's lack of improvement, the Darkling finally found a way to use her powers for his thirst for revenge.

Word Count: 2.1k

(My gif)

The Darkling knew what he had to do, and went to the bitter old woman his mother had become to inform her of such. He still cared about her opinion, no matter how old he’d grown… even if it had bothered him a lot. She wouldn’t react, most likely.

“I have decided to give Alina an amplifier,” He declared once inside the heat of her hut by the lake. “Hopefully we will find the stag.”

Her head snapped in his direction at the mention of the stag. Her dark eyes looked livid. “Of course,” she muttered, half to herself. “I was a fool for thinking for a second that you’d let her have it.”

“The girl is naïve, she can’t control her powers.” He explained. “She will do better with that.”

“I’m not going to let you take control of her powers.” She said with the certainty of a decision. “I know what you are planning to do.”

“How would you?” The Darkling asked, his lips set in a sneer.

“I gave birth to you, boy.” Baghra said. “I know you better than you think I do. She wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“But she isn’t here to stop me now, is she?” Aleksander said. The lump in his throat was suddenly too much. The lakeshore was a bloodbath again. Baghra was silent for too long. “Well?”

“She isn’t,” His mother agreed slowly. “But the least you could do is honor her memory, her mannerisms.”

“She wasn’t a saint mother,” He reminded. “By all means she was the viler and crueler one of the two of us.”

“Not to someone who hadn’t wronged her,” Baghra added.

“I shall avenge her, whether you like it or not, mother.” The Darkling said. He still had a vague memory of the last time he had addressed her as such. Aleksander had been too distraught, everything had happened just so fast… there was no time to tell if it had been reality or a nightmare. Serephina had been assassinated, found lying with her throat slashed, there were others too, her attackers, only one of them was barely breathing by the time he had gotten there.

That was the first time he had used the Cut in the Little Palace grounds, the first time all the young Grisha realized why everyone was so afraid of him. It was the first time his mother looked terrified.

They were supposed to be happy, it was supposed to be a celebrations filled night. But like Serephina used to say in her Suli sayings, some had jinxed their joy. They were to be a family, they were to become parents.

But all of that had been taken away because he was the Darkling and she was Lady Kirigan, and not Aleksander and Serephina.

A light knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts.

Alina appeared in the doorway a second later, looking awkward on finding she interrupted their conversation. “Sorry,” she said.

“In girl, don’t let the heat out.” Baghra declared instead.

The Darkling bowed as a show of courtesy. “How are you Alina?” he asked to be polite.

“I’m fine,” Her voice sounded forced.

“She’s fine!” hooted Baghra. “She’s fine! She cannot light a hallway, but she’s fine.”

The Darkling had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at her words. “Leave her be,” he said instead.

The old woman narrowed her dark eyes at him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she decided.

He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to alleviate his frustrations. This was not going well. He turned to Alina. “Baghra has her own way of doing things.” He explained to stop himself from snapping at his mother at the moment.

“Don’t patronize me, boy!” she screamed at him. For a second, he was eighteen again, afraid of his mother’s wrath upon finding about his and Serephina’s marriage, and stood up straighter.

He stopped himself in time, remembering he wasn’t the same boy he had been then, not anymore. “Don’t chide me, old woman,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

There was an intense stare down between the two of them, the tension so thick it could have been sensed even by a donkey. That was until Baghra turned to Alina and said, “The boy thinks to get you an amplifier. What do you think of that, girl?”

He watched as Alina’s face brightened with a smile as if she had heard the most brilliant idea. And for a second, a brief moment, she reminded him of Serephina again, with the curve of her smile and the way her eyes crinkled with joy.

“I think it’s brilliant!” She nearly squealed. And the similarity was gone. Alina was not Serephina, and the differences got more evident as he got to know her better. Serephina’s face had always had a cold mask, much like himself, but he knew how to read her, where to look for in those brown eyes to find the answers. She was a book meant to be read just by him, and him only. Alina’s face was an open book left for everyone to read.

Baghra let out a disgusted sound, and the sound inspired an odd sense of pride in him. Alina was right where he needed her to be.

“Alina, have you ever heard of Morozova’s herd?” he asked.

“Of course she has. She’s also heard of unicorns and the Shu Han dragons,” Baghra said mockingly. If this woman wasn’t his mother, he would have kicked her out by now, but alas.

The Darkling took Alina out of the hut instead, wanting to have one conversation where Baghra didn’t interrupt him at every utterance that came out of his mouth. Though he was aware that she was keeping an eye on everything he was going to do.

“That woman,” he muttered to himself, running his hands all over his face. Then he ran his hands through his hair again, but this time to get the embarrassing image of him hiding behind Serephina to be safe of the rage Juris had upon finding out about the wedding.

“What?” he asked; half-embarrassed by the humor on Alina’s face.

“I’ve just never seen you so … ruffled.” She said.

“Baghra has that effect on people.”

“Was she your teacher, too?”

She was. Of course she was, she was his mother. But she wasn’t just a mother or teacher, she had been through a lot with him, suffered as bad as he had. Perhaps she was the only person alive who would bother to understand Aleksander and not the Darkling. “Yes,” he said in its place. “So what do you know about Morozova’s herd?”

Again she talked about how she had heard children’s stories. Again he told her what he wanted her to, making a passing remark about forgetting how new she was to all this. He was keenly aware of the raven-like gaze Baghra kept on both of them, but he ignored it. Again he was nice to Alina, listening to her talk by the lakeshore when the image of the bloodbath resurfaced. He turned his thoughts to less painful things like how things would have been different had Serephina been here.

After a while, he had had enough and he left. He was desperate for a glass of kvas, or even better, a glass of strong whiskey. The memories wouldn’t just stop invading his head.

So he focused on the night he thought Serephina was going to die.

It was a cold night after a snowstorm, a village in central Ravka that had once been free of the abomination of creation that most people called the Shadow Fold or the Unsea. They had stopped by the village while they were on their way to Fjerda.

 There was a pack of large wolves tormenting the villagers, and they had warned them against going out at night. But Serephina had wanted to see them, the wolves. She said something was calling out to her, and that she needed to see the wolves.

And refusing to let her go out in the danger all alone, Aleksander had accompanied her. He was scared, of course. He had always been afraid of the dark but he never showed it, but she knew. He knew that she knew. That was why she had been holding his hand, warming the both of them up to keep them through the night.

It was a little past midnight when Sere had lost hopes of seeing the wolves and they were about to head back, when a deep growl sounded somewhere to their left.

A pair of bright red glowing eyes were fixated on them dangerously. She let go of his hand and shoved him behind herself and then reckoned the alpha wolf closer. Aleksander’s male ego would have been hurt if he weren’t so scared.

The wolf was one of the biggest animals he had ever seen, standing taller and either of them. For a moment he was certain the wolf was one of the Grisha of the old stories, the shape-shifters who couldn’t turn back into their human form after being in their animal form for too long during the first Ravkan war.

Before Aleksander could think of an escape route, Serephina had moved forward, studying the animal. Its dark black fur was blacker than anything he had ever seen, but it gleamed against the white snow under the moonlit canopy. The wolf and the girl regarded each other, assessing the danger.

The wolf leaped in the air with its jaw spread open to attack Serephina faster than he could say, “Stop!” She didn’t leave her ground and raised her hands, shoving them forward with all the force. The wolf fell to the ground as if hit by an invisible wall.

And when her flint sparked up from her sleeve, the cold blue flames scared the large animal. But it got up, shook the snow off its fur and got back into the battle.

Ice, air, fire all of the three elements helped Serephina in her conquest. She even used a bit of the heart rendering powers that she had mastered and paralyzed the wolf, after some of their blood had splattered on the snow, frozen like red pearls.

She walked to the laying wolf, limp in her step from where the wolf had bitten her leg, her hidden knife in hand and stabbed the wolf right where it heart would be. And strangely, the wolf looked proud when she did it, and then raised its paw and scratched it through her chest, right where her heart would be.

Aleksander’s soul left his body in that instant.

The soft glow of moonlight that came from Serephina showed her face, bloodied and contorted in pain, as both their blood flowed freely to the ground, freezing instantly on the snow. The wolf was the first one to close its eyes, the glowing red disappearing.

She fell on the snow next, her breath escaping with a sigh.

He rushed to her side, almost blinded by the brightness of the light she radiated, and cradled her head in his arms, regretting not staying back at their little cave, not being able to convince her to stay, not being able to protect her because of his own fears.

Then her eyes opened, and her thin lips moved, muttering his name. Her eyes glowed bright red, like the wolf’s but the voice was hers, for no one else could ever speak in that musical voice that made him want to drop everything and just listen to her talk all day.

“Sere…” he softly said, tucking her black hair behind her ear.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, and then stood up. Her hair was a mess, her eyes looked tired, but they were back to their brown, and her clothes were ragged, covered in her own blood and the wolf’s, but to him she had never looked more beautiful.

“But the wolf-” he started.

“The wolf is one with me now,” She calmly explained. Her eyes changed to the bright red once again. “I am the wolf and the wolf is me.”

“Like the amplifiers,” he realized.

She smiled. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

“I hope you don’t eat Grisha for meals now,” He joked.

“I might eat someone if he gets too annoying,” she winked at him and walked away. Aleksander was frozen in his place.

The wolf was old, she knew everything. Serephina had always had an answer to his problems. Things would have been so much better had her and their child were with him right now. He would have been so much happier and maybe they would have been done with the fold by now.

But fate always had other ideas.

[only-johnny-deppp]

“Whatever I’ve gone through, I’ve gone through. But, ultimately, this particular arena of my life has been so absurd...” 

 Johnny Depp’s NEW INTERVIEW!

Last saturday, August 14, The UK Times, released a new interview with Johnny for the Sunday Times section. It was realized sometime earlier this month, in London, probably on the same day he and Andrew Levitas were recording for the Q&A for the “Minamata” release in UK. This is Johnny’s first interview since the UK trials in London last year, and released three years after Johnny’s major interview for the British GQ Magazine. Here Johnny and Andrew Levitas speaks about “Minamata”, his future as actor and a thing or two about his personal life, although he cannot talk about the court case.

For those who couldn’t read yet, here is the FULL interview:  Enjoy.

***

“I’M BEING BOYCOTTED BY HOLLYWOOD”

Johnny Depp has a new film out this week. In the opening scene his character, the real-life photographer W Eugene Smith, says, “I’m done. I’m tired. My body is older than I am. I’m always in goddam pain. I can’t trust my f***ing dick any more. Constantly in a foul mood. Even the drugs bore me.”

I ask Depp if Smith’s despair resonated with him. Depp stops. Rocks back and forth. “That’s interesting,” he replies with painful hesitation.

“I didn’t approach playing Smith in that way… Although you bring your toolbox to work and use what is available. Having experienced...” He stops again. Depp takes any questions that might refer to his calamitous libel case last year slowly, in a mumbly, croaking drawl. “A surreal five years…”

In the film Smith needs to revive his reputation. In real life Depp’s task is even more daunting. Thanks to the judgment, everyone can call him a “wife-beater”. Now he must convince a Hollywood still convulsed by #MeToo that he’s not toxic — and that any attempt to rebuild his career is a risk worth taking. This is Depp’s first interview since the case.

We are speaking over Zoom, Depp in his London home, in front of a gold-framed painting. The 58-year-old is wearing a lot of clothes. Earrings. Floppy hat. Sunglasses. Bandana. Scarf. Checked shirt over a T-shirt with an indiscernible slogan. If you saw him on the Tube*, you might think he was off to work at the London Dungeon*, to play most of the characters.

PS. For those who are not familiar with British words: * Tube = British slang for London Underground, the subway trains. * London Dungeon = is a walk-through experience that recreates scenes from London's scary history in a mixture of live actors, special effects and rides.

Depp resumes, talking in broken sentences about the new film, Minamata, in which Smith, via Life magazine, exposes the brutal mercury poisoning of Japanese villagers in the early 1970s.

“How do we do this?” he asks rhetorically, meaning how to speak about the elephant in the Zoom. “Well, there’s no way one can’t recognise the absurdity of the mathematics.” He grins. “If you know what I mean?” No. “Absurdity of media mathematics.” He talks in riddles. “Whatever I’ve gone through, I’ve gone through. But, ultimately, this particular arena of my life has been so absurd...”

He trails off again. He is holding a big brown roll-up of some sort. “What the people in Minamata dealt with? People who suffered with Covid? A lot of people lost lives. Children sick...Ill. Ultimately, in answer to your question? Yeah, you use what you’ve got. But what I’ve been through? That’s like getting scratched by a kitten. Comparatively.”

Last July, I went to the High Court in London to watch Depp on another screen — a video from the socially distanced court where the Hollywood star was losing a libel action against The Sun after it called him a “wife-beater”. It was the grottiest showbiz trial of the century. There were photos of the actor passed out in a foetal slump, socks on show. One lengthy exchange involved faeces. Another urination, inside or outside a house, after a violent night with his ex-wife Amber Heard.

This had all been going on for a while. In 2016 Heard applied for a temporary restraining order against him. The couple had long endured a narcotic, booze-filled, childish relationship, but that does not matter — 12 incidents levelled against Depp were proved, said the judge, and abuse is abuse, regardless of how badly they both behaved. Depp wanted to appeal, but the court said no. Next April in the US he has a $50 million defamation case against Heard relating to an opinion piece she wrote about being the victim of domestic abuse. It may be his last roll of the dice.

In the 1990s Depp was a sensitive heart-throb. Cooler than DiCaprio, edgier than Pitt. In this past year he has been stripped of his status and dignity. On day three of the trial Sasha Wass QC, representing The Sun, asked Depp about daubing a penis on a painting. He could not remember. “That would be quite a big thing, painting a penis on a picture?”  Wass asked. “Quite a big thing?” Depp asked.

It was a well-delivered line, but Depp was on show. Performing. Now he is more timid, less lucid. His people say he cannot talk about the court case given the looming US trial, yet it hangs over everything. The director of Minamata, Andrew Levitas, is also on our call — as a pub trivia aside, Levitas is married to the Welsh singer Katherine Jenkins.

The two men clearly get on. “With regards to journalism, it was important for us to put across in the film the power of truth,” Levitas says. Depp nods. “The responsibility of journalists to look after citizens of the world. [Our film] coincided with the moment important publications had to put Raquel Welch on a cover to get enough eyeballs to sell enough ads in order to put something meaningful inside. A result of that is clickbait — it’s destroying the purpose of journalism,” Levitas continues.

“You said it beautifully,” says Depp, one of the world’s most pinned-up men, who built a career on magazine covers. “I couldn’t say it better than that.”

Last month Levitas wrote to MGM, which bought Minamata for the US market but decided not to release it. He accused MGM of being concerned that “the personal issues of an actor in the film could reflect negatively upon them”. Then the letter got really strong. Levitas accused MGM of failing in its “moral obligation” to release the film and said it needed to explain to the victims “why you think an actor’s personal life is more important than their dead children”. He then attached Smith’s photos of ghastly deformities that shocked the world 50 years ago.

“It’s important that the movie gets seen and supported,” Levitas says. “And if I get an inkling it’s not going to be, it’s my responsibility to say so. Where it goes from there? I don’t know. But we have responsibility to these victims . . .”

You can see why he’s passionate. The film is good. MGM bought the film because it is good. Depp is good too. He disappears into the role, far from his more recent pantomime parts. It’s being released worldwide, just not in the actor’s homeland.

Depp, who also produced the film, interrupts. “We looked these people in the eyeballs and promised we would not be exploitative. That the film would be respectful. I believe that we’ve kept our end of the bargain, but those who came in later should also maintain theirs.”

“Some films touch people,” he adds. “And this affects those in Minamata and people who experience similar things. And for anything…” He pauses, as he does. “For Hollywood’s boycott of, erm, me? One man, one actor in an unpleasant and messy situation, over the last number of years?” He trails off. “But, you know, I’m moving towards where I need to go to make all that…” Again, he trails off. “To bring things to light.”

The fact, as I think Depp knows, is that for his career, the court that matters is not one of law, but public opinion. On social media, where a lot of minds are made up, Depp’s good reputation will always outweigh the bad, thanks to his frequently blinkered fans.

Outside the High Court, as Heard arrived, I saw Natasha, 30, yell: “Get hit by a truck, Amber!” She is extreme, but the persistent way his fans demand that others think their idol is a saint shows a career revival will happen. After all, most filmgoers do not follow his private life at all. To them, he is Jack Sparrow, Edward Scissorhands. To them, he is a star — and a star can take an awful lot of heat before it burns out.

“They have always been my employers,” Depp says of his fans. “They are all our employers. They buy tickets, merchandise. They made all of those studios rich, but they forgot that a long time ago. I certainly haven’t. I’m proud of these people, because of what they are trying to say, which is the truth. The truth they’re trying to get out since it doesn’t in more mainstream publications. It’s a long road that sometimes gets clunky. Sometimes just plain stupid. But they stayed on the ride with me and it’s for them I will fight. Always, to the end. Whatever it may be.”

Depp will talk like this for ever — about his “truth”. Minamata is the last film Depp has listed on the industry site IMDb, where actors usually have half a dozen in development. So, yes, fans of the actor can see Depp in a new role now — it is a return, but is it a relaunch? The film was finished in 2019, way before last year’s court case. Is that it? His last film? He thinks and looks off to his bookshelves, at biographies of Betjeman and Olivier.

“Er...no,” he says, eventually. “No. No. Actually, I look forward to the next few films I make to be my first films, in a way. Because once you’ve...Well, look. The way they wrote it in The Wizard of Oz is that when you see behind the curtain, it’s not him. When you see behind the curtain, there’s a whole lot of motherf***ers squished into one spot. All praying that you don’t look at them. And notice them.”

I would ask him to explain, but I am not sure he is an explainer. Watch this space, I guess, but he is already taking a first step back. After we speak, it is announced Depp is getting the coveted Donostia award at the San Sebastian Film Festival next month. Some people are just too famous to fail.

~ Interview by Jonathan Dean, in London, for The Times UK (released on August 14, 2021)

[t-o-m-hollands]

Chapter eight

Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You knew each other as children, before everything changed. Now your paths cross again.

Pairing: Tom and female reader.

Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London.

Warnings: Violence, kidnapping, one hit to the head. Smut. I mean, it’s a mob!AU so generally just a lot of talking of murder, fighting and violence. THIS IS A +18 STORY. 

Word count: 5k. Sorry, but this is an eventful chapter so got a bit long. I didn’t want it to end in a cliffhanger so I sort of had to go on a bit

An absolute massive thank you to @plantlungs​ for being an amazing editor and for having the patient of a saint and correct all my misplaced commas and confused word choices. 

READ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE

Recap of the story so far: Tom is part of and working himself up in the Firm; the feared London gang. Its leader is a certain Fabien Towner. After an attack on Harrison it’s clear that they have a traitor in their midst who is also working for the rival gang created by a man called Jack Flanagan. While Tom is trying to bring the attacker in for questioning he meets you; his old school love (and unfortunately for him, the daughter of the home secretary who has spent most of his career trying to put an end to organized crime).  After an interesting night where you end up as a witness for a murder Tom essentially has to kidnap you until he knows what to do with you. Ending up deciding to let you live, and in doing so risking his own life, he lies to Fabien about there being no witness to the crime.  

Some time later you and Tom meet again at the club Romantique, as Tom has gone there to negotiate with Jack Flanagan. You go home with Tom that night and the two of you begin an affair. Fabien, finding out about the affair and of who your father is, is delighted, thinking that he can use you as leverage to the home secretary.  

Not many days later Tom is attacked by Flanagan’s gang, and he flees to your house where you patch him up. He tells you of Fabien’s plan, and asks you to work with him in order to bring the traitor in – the only thing that can possibly distract the Firm’s leader from you. You agree to help him.  

***

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

arsonist's lullaby - hozier

***

You wake with a kiss to your forehead. Opening your heavy eyelids, you’re met with a smile, and a pair of sparkling brown eyes.

“Morning” Tom says quietly. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed for the day in his usual suit, hair fixed and the outlining of a gun showing underneath his suit jacket. 

“Good morning,” you respond, voice soft and full of sleep. Sitting up in the soft bed and pulling the sheets around you, you lean closer towards him. Gently you place your hand on his cheek, stroking his skin you feel the faint trace of stubble. He smells of his lemon and cedar soap and faintly of cigarettes. Pressing your lips softly against his other cheek, and then on his jawline,  you whisper against his skin, “Do you really have to go?”

You can tell he’s focusing on his breathing, and as you lean back his dark eyes, glossed over and pupils dilated, are focused on your lips. His own mouth is slightly opened, and he’s leaning in towards you. Just as he’s about to press his lips against yours he murmurs, “Afraid so, darling.” He leans back and winks at you, a devilish smile on his lips. 

“Don’t worry, angel, I’ll give you everything you want soon enough.”He stands up and moves towards the door. “I’ll be back before you know it, just doing some collecting today; shouldn’t be more than an hour. I’ll come back and we’ll have lunch, yeah?”

He’s leaned against the doorway, hands in suit pockets, the stolen Rolex on his wrist glistening in the early morning light coming in through the window. He’s all wicked smiles and dimples and his eyes are gleaming as he looks at you; sitting in the middle of the bed, white sheets pulled around you and hair loose, your skin kissed by the sun streaming in.

You smile back at him and letting go of the sheets you let them fall around you. Leaning back against your elbows you slowly spread your bent legs; looking at him all the while. He’s got his dark eyes fixated on where your spread legs meet. Slowly walking towards you, like a hunter approaching its prey. Reaching the bed he leans over it, grabs hold of your thighs, and pulls you towards him until he’s pressed up against your naked crotch. Leaning over you, hands resting on either side of your face, he whispers in a low voice against your lips, “Such a devious little temptress, aren’t you?”

He leans back and falls down on his knees. Kissing the soft inside of your thigh he bites the sensitive skin, leaving a wet and burning spot, he blows cold air on it and you shiver. He looks up at you, wicked smile in place and eyes sparkling with pleasure. “You could tempt a saint you know?” he says, voice thick with bewildered wonder as he presses his soft lips against your cunt, before licking up your slit, eagerly. “How’s a poor devil like me supposed to stand a chance?” 

***  

There’s a flickering light above your head and the hallway smells of something rotten. The dark medallion wallpaper and crimson-coloured carpet make it feel like the room is spinning slightly around you. 

You’re just about to carefully lock the door to Tom’s apartment, having decided to go home and change before lunch, when you hear a creaking on the floor behind you. Something like alarm bells go off in your head, and you turn around only to be hit with something heavy and sharp right by your mouth.   

A ringing in your ear, and the whole room seems to change perspective, turn on its side somehow. It takes you a second to realize that it isn’t the room that has fallen; it is you. Something above you moves, but you can’t see clearly, just the outlines of a blurred shadow coming closer and closer and a smell you can’t place but is stronger than the rotten smell of the hallway. And then a wet cloth covers your mouth.

Memories of when you were a child, swimming in the municipal pool, flash before your eyes and you can’t understand why.

Only, just before everything turns dark, does it hit you.  

Chloroform. 

*** 

The first thing your mind registers as you wake is a sore neck. A sore neck and a stinging nose and a back that feels uncomfortably stiff. You try to open your eyes but find the world just as dark as when you had them closed. Trying to move your hands you realize that they have been tied behind the uncomfortable chair you’ve been placed in.  

Panic rises like bile in your throat and you want to scream, but the sound refuses to leave your lips, as if the panic itself is blocking it from leaving. Trying to kick your legs you realize that they too have been bound.  

“She’s awake,” someone mutters behind you and you freeze, heart beating so hard in your chest that it’s hard to hear anything but the blood rushing through your system. “Go tell Jack,” the voice orders, and a pair of heavy footsteps move across the floor and soon a door opens and shuts.  

Laying all your focus on your breathing, trying not to hyperventilate, you try to keep in control of yourself, though you can feel sweat begin to form on your forehead. You feel hyper- aware of your own body, of the rope digging into the fragile skin of your wrists, of the hard chair underneath you, of your own mortality and the dangerous situation you are in. You had been in a situation like this before, in a now very familiar apartment in Mile’s End. But even though you had been frightened then, it is nothing compared to the terror that grips hold of you now.

Soon a door opens, and footsteps move across the floor again.  

“Now boys, is this the way you treat a lady?” A deep voice roars in an Irish brogue. “Have I taught you no manners?” The footsteps move closer and closer until they’re standing behind you.  

“You big lads so scared of a girl you need to tie her up?” You hear how the man fiddles with something, only to realise that he’s untying the rope around your legs. Soon you feel the rope loose; but you are too frightened to even try to move them out of their uncomfortable position.   

“Now unless you think this tied- up wench will overpower me, I suggest you get a fucking move on, yeah?”  the man continues, as he frees your wrists as well.  

No verbal answer follows, just the sound of a dozen of boots moving across the floor until eventually, the door shuts; leaving the room in silence apart from your ragged breaths and rabbit heart; pounding so hard in your chest you’re sure it’s clear for anyone to hear.   

Then there’s a sudden movement by your head and then – you can see again.   

Disoriented you blink into the light. The man, Jack you presume, pulls a chair across the floor, the scraping noise almost alarmingly loud to your panicked senses, and he sits down opposite you. Carefully you move your stiff hands from their position behind your back, slowly moving them to your front and placing them on your knees. 

“There we go,” Jack says in a low, gruff voice that tells of years of smoking.  

 He’s probably in his early fifties, with blond hair that has begun to turn white and a neatly trimmed beard. A long scar is etched across his cheek. Wearing a rather worn grey suit he’s leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed and comfortable; the very opposite to how you are feeling. There’s something both harmless and, at the same time, absolutely terrifying about him. He’s almost disarming in his lack of threats, his slow, low way of talking and the patient, curious way he’s looking at you. You can’t get a read of the man, and that frightens you.  

The room you’re in doesn’t help to make you feel more comfortable. It looks like an abandoned old apartment, wallpapers half torn down and a broken chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s dark outside the dirty window, and you wonder for how long you’ve been unconscious. An entire day must have passed since this morning.  

“Now girl, you and I are gonna have a little chat about an old friend of mine,” he starts. 

You don’t respond, waiting for him to reveal his hand before you make up your mind about how to play your cards with this unknown man. 

“Now, child,” he continues, “what do you know of Fabien Towner?” 

You’re taken aback at that. Somehow, subconsciously, you must have assumed that this kidnapping by this evident gangster had something to do with your father and his work as home secretary. That you had been picked out to provide information about a man you had never as much as laid eyes on had not occurred to you.  

“All I know is what’s written in the newspapers.” You answer, only somewhat truthfully, since Tom has told you a few things about the feared London mobster as well.  

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles, a deep, throaty sound, “do I look like the sort of man who reads the papers?” He’s smiling at you, though it seems malignant. You are reminded of a cat, playing with its food before it eats it. “I know better than to believe a word that's written in them,” he adds and grins, “after all, they write that I’m a bad man.”

“But alright then, let’s play that game,” he snaps, and the sudden change from almost playful to deadly serious has your heart faltering in your chest. “What do you know of a young mister Tom Holland, hm?” 

If your heart was faltering in your chest before, it positively stops beating now. Your first instinct is to deny your knowledge of Tom’s existence. To say you’ve never heard that name. But you must keep your head cold, be calm and clever. This man knows very well that you know who Tom is, you were after all attacked when leaving his apartment.  

“Not much,” you say, and your voice is frailer than you’d hoped. “He’s just a man I’ve been seeing”.  

Jack’s hard, blue eyes are fixed on yours. He observes you for a while before saying, “You seemed very cozy with him at Romantique. I’m the owner of that club, I damn well know who frequents it, and what they get up to in it.”

It hits you then, and you want to groan at how slow you’ve been. This is Jack, the Jack Flanagan, the owner of club Romantique and Fabien’s sworn enemy, who has infiltrated the Firm with a traitor. 

“Yes, I met Tom there, but I don’t know anything about Fabien Towner.”  

Jack keeps his intense eyes fixed on you, as if he’s trying to read any slight change in your face. He scratches the roughened skin of his scarred cheek almost absentmindedly. “Come on now, I know how young men work when they’re trying to impress a pretty girl. They boast about how big and bad and ballsy they are. He’s told you about his,” and there’s a slight pause and a wicked grin before he continues, “profession, I presume?”

“All I know is he’s part of the Firm,” you say and sniff, “do you think he’d tell me anything? I’m just some girl he fucks. I don’t think he cares at all about me.” Your voice breaks as you speak, and two tears fall down your cheeks as you lie. They aren’t hard to fabricate in your current state of mind. You need to make him believe that Tom would never spill any secrets to you, because if this man in front of you,; his entire aura shouting of danger, finds any hint of the secrets stuck in your throat he’s bound to beat them out of you. 

“Now that’s not a very nice thing to do,” Jack says in a low voice, and a smile spreads over his lips. “How would you like some revenge?” 

Fear holds such a hard grip on your heart then that you are sure it’s bound to stop beating altogether. “What do you mean?” you ask, trying to hide your terror.  

Jack smiles even wider, and something like a shiver moves up your spine. “You see,” he starts in his broad brogue, “old Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. He’s a, well, I guess you can say a friend of mine. I know him well. I know what makes him tick.” He leans forward, resting his arms on his widespread legs, his intense eyes still fixed on yours. “Now I want him to stop ticking.”

Trying to swallow down the panic you answer in a cool voice, “and how could I possibly help with that?” 

“Like I said, Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. But he’s got a blind spot when it comes to that lad. I’ve heard the rumours; the Devil’s Boy, that’s what they call him, and that’s the way Fabien sees him. I’ve met Tom, on the night you danced with him in my nightclub in fact. And he's brought up by the devil alright,” he pauses, a grim smile on his face. “In order to get to Fabien, I need to get to the boy. And that’s where you come in, miss. See, Tom is Fabien’s weakness, so I’m gonna need you to become Tom’s weakness.” 

“And how do you expect me to achieve that?” you ask, voice shaking slightly despite all your efforts to keep it under control. You feel like you’re trembling all over, like your very soul is rattling inside of you. Nothing seems real, nothing in this nightmarish scenario or in this strange room; nothing except for those bleak, intense eyes looking at you, and that low, gruff voice speaking of betrayal of the worst kind.  

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Like a little bird. I’m sure you could convince him to stick around, to open up; to trust you. Then all this little bird needs to do is fly to me and sing her song, and I shall see to the rest, and you will have your revenge.” 

You feel ice-cold all over, as if the blood itself in your veins have frozen. “And what kind of song does the bird sing? What is it that you need to know from me?” 

“For now, I just need you to make him trust you. When the time is right, when everything is ready to be set in motion, I shall tell you the plan. What do you say?”  

You don’t know if he’s honestly offering you a choice or not, if he’d even let you live if you refused him, but slowly you nod your head, and the smile grows bigger on his face, and his cold, blue eyes sparkle.   

 “Good,” he says, and rises from his chair. “Now it’s time for this little bird to be set free.” 

*** 

Your legs feel unsteady and unsure underneath you as you make your way up the familiar steps to your house. You can hear the car that dropped you off drive away, but you don’t look back, you don’t ever want to look back again but it feels like you will spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder after this. You feel heavy all over, every limb slowly moving forward underneath the weight, burdened with a terrible secret.   

Letting yourself in, you quietly make your way through the hall, wanting to avoid seeing anyone since that would mean you’d have to explain your split lip and your sore wrists. The skin of your lip pulses uncomfortably. You must have attained the injury this morning as you got attacked outside of Tom’s apartment. 

With quiet feet you move up the stairs to your bedroom, needing only to change your clothes and leave a message for your father to let him know you will be sleeping at a friend’s house for a night or two. You jot the message down in spidery letters, so unlike your normally neat handwriting; your hands refusing to collaborate with you as they keep shaking. You leave the message on your desk, knowing that Mason will find it later and pass the information on to your father. 

You fill the bathtub with water and scented oil, needing to wash the reminders of today off of you before you are ready to face Tom. Quickly ridding yourself out of your dirty dress, you step into the lukewarm water and start the process of scrubbing your skin clean. After having washed up, you change into another dress, feeling great relief in feeling the freshly washed fabric against your skin.

Looking at yourself in the mirror you cannot help but be taken aback at the sight. You have a split and swollen lip, your hair is a mess and your eyes seem bigger than normal; as if you are a frightened animal. Knowing there is nothing to do about the lip you try to smooth your hair, before giving up, deciding instead to pin it up into something a little more respectable.  

In your new dress and hair, you look a little more put together, though your eyes remain frightened.  

Packing a small bag with some essential clothes and hygiene products you creep out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind you. Your father’s voice booms out from the library, as he’s speaking on the telephone with someone. Passing the door on your tiptoes, as not to make a sound, a name caught your attention.  

“Yes, Fabien’s boy.” 

You stop dead in your tracks, listening carefully as your father goes on. “He’s been causing uproar in all the underworld. He set fire to a pub in Camden this afternoon, one of Flanagan’s places, and he’s been involved in a dozen fights all over the East End.”

Your breath hitches, but you force yourself to be quiet as your father keeps talking. “No, apparently he’s looking for some woman. A kidnapping they say.” Your father listens as the voice on the other side of the phone speaks before he keeps going. “Yes, of course, but if this means we have another gang war on our hands there needs to be readjustments. 

You walk away, as quickly and quietly as you can, and step back out into the night. Never have you been in such a hurry to find a taxi in your life.

*** 

After having paid the driver, you rush up to Tom’s apartment, all four stairs, never slowing for a moment. You’re not sure of what you’re about to meet in the apartment but as you push the door open and rush inside you are relieved to see the figure of a man standing there.

Only to soon realise that it is not Tom. 

The man is blond, and about the same age as Tom and dressed much the same in a dark suit. One of his arms is wrapped up in bandages. You recognize him as the man who came to pick Tom up the morning after you spent your first night at his place. A friend then, and not a foe. 

He stands up from the sofa when he sees you, and smiles, seemingly relieved. “Thank fuck,” he mutters, moving closer. Standing in front of you, impressive in his length and stature, he observes your wounded face with a frown. 

“Any other injuries?” He asks, voice collected but underneath his calm stature, you think you can sense a wave of anger. 

You shake your head, unsure of what to say. 

He nods, takes a gentle hand on your arm and leads your numb body to the sofa, gesturing for you to sit down. After you have done so he moves across the floor to the phone, his long legs taking wide strides. Dialing in a number he stands there, leaning against the wall, still observing you as he waits for the number to go through.

“Yeah, Harry? It’s Haz,” he says into the phone. “She’s here.”

There’s a loud voice on the other end of the line but you can’t make out what it is saying. “Yeah, yeah, well you need to let him know then, don’t you? Before he causes any more damage.” More silence as he listens to the other man. “No, apart from a split lip she’s unharmed,” and he looks over you again as he speaks, “she looks pretty fucking shaken though so get a fucking move on, yeah?” He hangs up. 

In your wild haze of suffocating numbness, it strikes you how unlike Tom this Haz is, despite your first confusion. His accent is polished and posh despite his attempts to hide it. His back is almost impossibly straight as he’s holding himself upright and his young face looks taut. You wonder how a young man like this ended up within the ranks of the Firm. 

He crouches down in front of you as you sit on the sofa, his knees bent until you are at eye level.  “Have you had anything to eat?” He asks in a soft voice that takes you with surprise. 

“No,” you mumble, only realizing now that it’s the case. But you’ve been so full of terror the entire day you’ve hardly even noticed. Haz has a frown on his face and a worried look in his eyes as he scans you over. 

“Alright,” he sighs and gets up, moving across the room to the kitchen. You keep your eyes ahead, fixated on faded wallpaper in front of you, as you hear clattering and muttered swears coming from the kitchen. 

Some while later Haz is back, a plate of sandwiches in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other. “Sorry,” he says, placing it down on the table in front of you, “fucker hasn’t got any milk.” 

You tell him you don’t mind, and thank him for his kindness, before tucking in. Only after having nearly devoured the first sandwich do you fully realize how hungry you’ve been. Haz sits down on the worn leather armchair, leaned forward and resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in his lap. It is as if he’s ready to jump into action on the first sign of danger. He watches as you eat. 

“Hungry, ey?” He asks with a smile, as you swallow the last of your sandwich, reaching for the tea. 

“Famished,” you confess. 

For a few moments everything is silent in the darkened room, only lit up by the dim light coming from the kitchen. Outside you hear a car drive by. 

“How did he know of the abduction?” You ask in the end. 

Haz’s mouth tightens into a grimace, as if remembering something unpleasant. “The landlady saw as they carried you out to the car. She recognized you as Tom’s girl and let him know as soon as he came back.”

“How did he take it?” you ask, with reluctance. 

Haz looks away from you, avoids your eyes; the frown on his face growing deeper. “Let’s just say the boy’s got a talent for destruction when he puts his mind to it.”

“Where is he now?” 

“Well, last I heard he was,” he pauses, edits himself in the search for the right word, “he was interrogating someone in Hackney, trying to find a lead of where they took you,” he sighs. And then in a bitter tone, he adds, “I would have gone with him,” another sigh, “but out of combat, unfortunately. So I was put to stay here and wait to see if you’d return. Harry was placed in the pub, much to his indignation; ever the boy of action, while Fabien made Sam and a few others go after Tom. To try and reel him in a little.”

A bang, and then Tom comes crashing through the door. Harrison is on his feet, almost before you’ve registered the sound of the door slamming against the wall, gun in hand and aiming at the man in the hall. When he sees who it is he lowers the weapon and breathes out. 

Your eyes remain fixed on the man striding over to you. It’s like he’s unable to look away from you and as soon as you get within an arm's reach he pulls you towards him. With a hand carefully cupping your chin, he inspects your face, eyes glued to your split lip, a deep frown on his face. 

He turns to Harrison, who just nods at him; the taut frown relaxing and a smile pulling at his lips. “Alright, that’s me done for the night.”

“Harry’s sulking at the pub if you feel like cheering him up,” Tom tells him, still holding onto you. 

Harrison moves to the door, snorts loudly, and says in a voice that sounds done for, “You fucking Holland boys and your goddamn sulking.” And then he’s out, the door closing behind him.

Tom rests his forehead against yours, breathing slowly. “Hi,” he says, voice a quiet whisper. His fingers don’t stop stroking your cheek for a second. Then, “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.” It’s a savage kind of remorse, real like a physical presence in the room. To think that on this very morning you had laid in bed, wordlessly tempting him into staying there with you for a while.

You should have stayed in that bed forever with him.  

“Is it not your fault,” you tell him, knowing that it’s useless, and true enough, he shakes his head at the idea. 

 A deep sigh escapes him, as if he’s letting out a breath he’s been holding for a long time. You breathe him in, the familiar lemon and cedar soap; the faint trace of smoke. 

“Tonight I’m going to take care of you,” he says, stroking your cheek with his long, ring- clad finger, “gonna make sure that you’re alright.” He presses his lips softly against your temple. “And tomorrow,” he continues, voice hardened steel now, “tomorrow I’m going to take care of him.”

 “No,” you say softly, looking at the floor.  

 Dead silence wills the room for several heartbeats. Then, voice bewildered, “What?”

 He’s leaning away from you, though his big hands are still covering your jawline, your throat. “You can’t go after him,” you say, taking a slow breath, staring at his shoes. Slowly you take in Tom’s appearance for the first time. When he had crashed into the apartment all your attention had been on his face, but now, now you see the state of him. The once white dress shirt he wore this morning is stained with blood and dirt and the sleeve on his jacket has a burn mark. 

Tom pushes your face up to meet his eyes. Reluctantly your eyes follow. “And why can’t I do that?” he asks slowly, through gritted teeth. 

“Because I’m working for him now,” you say, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. For a moment he goes completely still and before he can react you keep going. “He is going after Fabien, he wants to bring him down. He thinks you are Fabien’s weakness, so he’s hired me to become your weakness. He wants to use you against Fabien, and use me against you. I told him yes.” 

Tom lets go of you, takes a step away from you, looks at you with big, wounded eyes. “What have you done?” he asks, sounding almost defeated. 

“I could play this to our advantage, we could -” but he interrupts you with a roar.

“Have you lost your fucking mind? You don’t know these men! You don’t understand what they’re capable of. They’d enjoy murdering you if it comes to that. Jack Flanagan’s the sort of man that would kill over an insult, do you have any fucking idea how badly he’d take a betrayal?” 

“Don’t you understand?” I am working for him now, just as the traitor does. I can find out who it is and once we know, Fabian will kill the traitor and once he is gone he can go after Jack with full force. We can play them against each other, don’t you get it?”

Tom is stunned silent for a moment, thinking over what you’ve said with a horrified expression on his face. “Does he know, does Jack know who your father is?”

You are silent for a long time, biting your lip in worry. “I don’t know. But I think so. I didn’t have to leave my name or address and they still knew where to drop me off.”

Tom looks pale. His eyes big and glossy as he looks at you, shoulders tense as he’s holding himself together. “I see,” he says, trying to remain calm, “so the two most dangerous men in London are aware of your relation to your father and are both more than capable at using that as leverage if needed.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you whisper.

And he’s in front of you again, holding onto your face, his body pressed tightly against yours, and maybe it’s imagination, but you think you can feel the drumming of his heartbeat underneath his chest; can feel your heart drum back to the beat of his. He’s breathing hard, slowly in and out, and his strong body is rigid, every nerve tense. You know that he’s trying to calm himself down; trying to get a hold of himself and all his fear and anger. Can feel it radiating off his body in waves. 

“I can do this, I can play them against each other.” You don’t know why you are whispering, except that maybe you want to make something in this whole situation gentle, in any way you know how. 

“I don’t like this, angel,” he says, his voice also a whisper, as he breathes slowly through his nose. “I really fucking hate this.”

You know that the road you have begun walking is a dangerous one, no doubt full of menace and doom. But you have chosen your road. “I know,” you whisper back, “but it’s the best shot we’ve got.”

You know, as you stroke his cheek, that you would do anything for him. Because it turns out that you are made up of the kind of never yielding devotion that is bound to end in tragedy, but as you look into his sad, brown eyes, tender as they look at you, you wonder if he isn’t made of the same. 

[ktheist]

04 — show me yours & i’ll show you mine | m

➙ muses. seokjin x college student / gamer!reader ft. best friend! taehyung

➙ genre. best friend’s brother au. university au. working au. fwb au.

➙ word. 2.9k

➙ warnings. angst

➙ index. 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | finale | side story 1 |

➙ warnings. explicit content. smut. 

➙ synopsis. 

“you wanna say goodbye?”

“yes, i would love to say goodbye.”

x

one second, you’re exiled from taehyung’s room and the next, you’re under lockdown in the same exact room you were forbidden to enter. 

the boy who always made a fuss about cleaning up - cleans up his mess without a single complaint. you thought he’d come knocking on the (his) door and ask for your help but after an hour of twiddling your thumbs and swaying your feet in the air, kim taehyung finally walks in with beads of sweat on his forehead and that ugly stain of a vomit on  his shirt.

he pulls it over his head and tosses it into the laundry before pulling a fresh mickey mouse printed shirt and slips into bed. the temptation to text jeongguk or hoseok or jimin to pick you up has never been stronger but you bite the inside of your cheek, lay out the futon and turn off the lights.

“good night, tae.” you say into the darkness, not expecting for an answer.

“why did you do it?” the darkness whispers back.

“it just happened,” you know better than to offer half-baked excuses for something you completely intended and would even pursue if you didn’t get caught in the middle.

when silence lapses into the room, you thought the matter done and buried six feet under you and taehyung’s conscience. 

not the first time you’ve been wrong.

“why seokjin? why not me?” his lips brush yours, tasting like heartbreak and missing the part where he’s supposed to be drunk and out of his mind for even daring to get so close to you.

to let his hair brush against your forehead. to let his hand snake down your thigh with feather light touches until he’s an inch away from grabbing your ass. if he dared try, your kick wouldn’t be aimed at the air to which he moves it away and places that hand next to your head, boxing you under him completely.

“ew, what the fuck?” and despite the trapped-between-a-rock-and-a-hard-place situation, you manage to lean as far away as you can. or so you’d like to think, but you can still feel his breath fanning your neck.

you wish you have an owl’s ability to twist its neck all the way to the back.

“you’re my best friend, taehyung! get off!” you feel like a child hitting her father with her tiny little fist. taehyung doesn’t even flinch when it hits his chest.

but he pulls away anyway, standing on his knees over you within a lull in time before he falls back on his butt in the space between your parted calves. the wrist of his hand that’s propped against the floor brushes against the side of your foot.

“do you get it now? we grew up together,” his voice echoes into the dark, “my brothers are your brothers- that- what you did- that was messed up, ___.”

“so? was creeping up on me like that necessary?” you retort,  pushing yourself up and hearing the thud pillow you vehemently hurled at the silhouette of the man hunched over a couple feet away from you, “you perv!”

“how much do you like seokjin?” he asks, trapping the pillow in his lap, under his elbow, but before you can even say anything, he shoots you another string of question, “do you even like him?”

“stop making it sound like i’m the bad guy,” you huff, “as if your brother’s such a saint. he wanted it just as much.”

“i don’t care who wants it more, fuck’s sake,” he says roughly, “all your past relationships have only been sexual.”

holding up one hand, you find your shadow cloaked fingers much more nails, “your point being?”

“don’t you stop to think about how much things’ll change? how awkward it’ll be at family dinners once you finally got tired of each other? how awkward it’ll be for me?” 

“oh, because everything’s about you, isn’t it?” you roll your eyes yet your stomach churns.

only silence hangs over the darkness as your teeth sink into the soft flesh of your bottom lip. taehyung pushes himself out and marches out of the room whilst you stay rooted in your spot, curled into a ball with your legs against your chest.

when morning comes, you’re awaken to the sound of taehyung padding around with a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping off his hair and trickling down his chest, “there’s no one if the bathroom, if you wanna wash up.”

it’s the only exchange you have in the morning and throughout the drive to your uni until taehyung parks the car in the spot somewhere near your faculty.

“i thought about it,” you finally say, breaking the silence. the way he turns to you in your periphery makes you want to shrink into the seat and crawl away like an ant but you shrug instead, “what you said last night - i thought about it... you’re right, you guys are the closest family i have here. and i don’t wanna ruin that just cause i can’t keep it in my pants.”

the soft hum of the music fills the space between you, making the unspoken truth a bit more bearable than a pin-drop silence. taehyung’s hair sways for the briefest moment as he arches his brows in contemplation before unsmiling lips curl into that signature box smile, “really?”

“yes, really,” you roll your eyes, “one dick wasn’t worth losing my best friend over.”

“i’d hug you but i’m still having withdrawals from what i saw last night,” tahyung’s face scrunches in disgust.

“oh so that’s what it takes to get your sleazy hands off me. by the way seokjin-” trickles of laughter escapes your mouth as you hop out of his car, managing to avoid his swatting hand just in time, “bye! thanks for the ride!”

x

the mindless banters between you and taehyung never cease, if anything, it goes from playing rock-paper-scissors to decide where to eat to googling up and showing each other pictures of poisonous shrooms in case you get lost in the woods for more than 36 hours.

you used to have lunch together every other day, but taehyung comes to you for a continuous three day, hitting four days streak in between classes this week. each time bearing that boyish grin that could fool just about anyone when it comes to picked-up pieces of a broken heart.

“she texted me,” he shrugs, twirling his chopsticks in the bowl of cold noodles and letting the silence hang stale without any hint of providing more information until you nudge it out of him.

“i didn’t text back.” he says it as if it’s the easiest thing to do.

“it’s so easy for you boys, huh?” you don’t know where in the deities greenland he got the narrowing of your eyes and the scrunching of your nose as-

“seokjin didn’t text you?” the titled smile of his tempts you to smack it off his face right that instance.

“how- wha- that literally has nothing to do with your bitch ass ex-girlfriend who were talking about though?” kim taehyung doesn’t offer any response, only the sway of his shoulders as he laughs before digging into the sweet, savory noodles in front of him.

it’s only after you’ve returned to your faculty, fast-walking towards your lecture, that you find out the subject matter himself sitting hunched over on one of the benches laid out along the roofless pathway that leads to your faculty. the jaws of the girls and gays that happen to be standing a few feet away, drops at the way seokjin looks up, eyes squinting at the sudden intrusion of the sunlight before his lips curl into a smile.

“hey,” there’s that smile you miss so bad.

x

it turns out seokjin’s little shit of a brother and your ass of a best friend snuck into his room, flashed a light over his face, bypassed his phone’s lock and deleted your number, blocked you on snapchat and unfollowed you on instagram.

“and here i thought you were done with me,” your jaw would have hung loose if you don’t have the tip of your venti mocha swirl keeping your lips together as you stare at the pavement, walking aimlessly with seokjin down the path of rose beds.

“i took the day off, decided to try my luck, and hope you’d see me at waiting for you awkwardly - everyone probably thinks ‘who the hell is this old ass guy hanging around-’“ his words get cut off by your gasp as you feel your face hurting from the way your lips are almost reaching your ears.

“you did?” shoulders sagging, you press a hand to your chest where you heart flutters with a sort of warmth, “for me?” before holding your arms out in an invitation for a hug and retracting them not even a second later, “no wait- i promised tae i wouldn’t do this.”

somewhere along the lines, you find yourself at the sky rose garden because the pathway you found him at, all of a sudden, becomes a runway for the girls and gays. they pass you in a guise of walking by whilst their eyes linger on his broad chest and pants that hug his thighs and the protrusion of his natural size that wasn’t going to get smaller than that.

“what he doesn’t know won’t kill him- or us,” there it is again, the melodic hymn of a chuckle as he opens his arms for you, the action ever so natural, as if he’s done this a couple of million times.

and just like that, you fall into his embrace, cheek mushing against his chest as you inhale the familiar scent of mint seaside and the faintest scent of woody earth. you find it unfair that his heart beats steadily whilst yours thrash in your chest. maybe that’s the cause of your cheeks heating up.

“i can do it, you know?” his voice vibrates against your ears in a honeyed tingles, “i can use my ‘big bro influence’ and get him off our backs.”

you lift your head, breath stuttering at the sight of star glinted eyes gazing down at you with the gentles smiles, “should you?” but you shake your head a second later, “no, he’d hate me forever - he’ll know i put you up to this because you’re too nice. you’d ne-”

a finger under your chin and a tilt of your head and you’re lost in an ocean of galaxy, “i brought up the idea, if anyone’s gonna get in hot water, it’s gonna be me.”

“that’s not what taehyung’s gonna think,” the recollection of your conversation with the aforementioned man floods your mind and almost as if an invisible current wraps around your body, you find yourself  taking a step back in surrender.

“and he’s right, seokjin,” the way his eyes flash with a sort of emotion - one that you can’t pinpoint, let alone interpret the meaning of - doesn’t go unnoticed by you yet you go on, “this has to stop. once the passion simmers down and we get bored of each other, what do you think is gonna happen?”

but the words that hits the air is like frostbites to your warm, beating heart, “you already have it in your mind that we’re gonna break up.”

it takes you a second to clear your throat, another to gather your thoughts, “relationships like ours always end with a break up.”

galaxies are littered with illuminating stars but you’re a fool to have turned a blind eye to its dark side. and seokjin’s stars have dimmed, leaving only a trail of shadow in those clouded eyes.

but the half-hearted smile that curls on his lips appears like a ray of sunlight on a cloudy day, “do you wanna at least goodbye?”

your eyes follow his that trail down to the noticeable bulge in his pants.

“yes,” you beam, “i would love to say goodbye.”

x

the cars and the scenic view of the highway pass by in a blur, not that you’re in a position to stare out the window like a heartbroken woman whose fiancee set out for way.

“slow down,” there’s a desperate plea in his voice, “i don’t want to cum too early.”

the stern, warning look he shoots you is makes you giggle. what with his flushed face and twitching self in your hand.

how adorable.

“but you taste so good, jinnie,” your tongue sweeps past your lips, licking the pre-cum off his oozing tip.

“keep teasing me like that if you want me to pull up and fuck you on the side of the road,” the threat on his tongue sends tingles down your spine.

eyes glinting, you can basically hear the blatant disregard in his voice when he first asked if you’d climb up in his lap while he was hitting the back of your throat after you’d quickly scurried into his car for the last goodbye.

so you take it slow, licking him down his length as his hand settle on your head, caressing your hair.

the door closes behind you as seokjin pushes you against it, his hand on your cheek as he crashes his lips against yours and your hand reaching under his boxers. it looked almost painful as he zipped up his pants before getting out of the car and walking the distance between the parking spot and the apartment.

you distinctly remember the sight of a blanket on the couch and an opened laptop on the coffee table, the red of the cans of energy drinks laying around on the ground and surface of said coffee table - they only ever try to clean up when they know you’re coming for your weekly stay over.

but who are you to judge when your clothes soon join the cans on the floor, forming trails down the hallway.

by the time your body lightly bounces on top of seokjin’s bed, you feel the cold air brush against your skin whilst he stands over you like a beast drinking in the sight of the prey he’ll devour. but you don’t mind if that allows you to admire the beautiful landscape of tight abs and powerful physique.

a sort of dread washes over you at the thought of such length coming close to the apex of your legs. taking him in your mouth was doable but only because you’ve had enough practice to know how to adapt to certain lengths by steadying your breath. but you’ve had enough experience to know you wouldn’t just be able to get use to his size right off the bat.

and he’s the biggest you’ve ever met.

your hand runs over the ridges of his muscles biceps before they twine together over the nape of his neck. it must have been the way you look at him, the yearning that pours through gaze and beckons him like a siren’s song. 

the spot of the bed a few inches from your head dips as he props himself on his forearms, lips marking your skin as his.

“seokjin- ah!” you should already used to the bold caress of his tongue around your nipple.

your control is devastated, your thighs are quivering and seokjin’s touches have enthralled you in a fierce flare of yearning. 

“ah,” you breathe out, gaze unfocusing as pleasure and discomfort flood from your core while he deliberately stretches you out.

his hand returns to the side of your face as he stays inside you, lets you feel him, take him for what he is whilst he kisses your cheekbone, your jawline and burry his face in your neck. 

your breath stutters as you feel him slide out of you, heart beat stammering for the briefest moment when his tip kisses your entrance before he pushes himself in deeper than before.

but you know you haven’t taken all of him in.

not yet.

“you’re stretching me out so good,” you say barely above whisper.

“not even half is in, baby,” is all he says before you feel the muscles in his back flexing as he shifts most of his weight onto his hands, thrusting deeper into you.

“fuck,” you moan, the discomfort fading away as pleasure surge through your body in waves as your arms wrap around seokjin’s neck, face buried in his shoulder until you don’t know where he starts and where he ends.

lost in wicked delight, your fuzzed mind barely registers the sound of your phone despite its blares a few inches above your head where you remember tossing to before slipping out of your jeans and succumbing to the reckless savage lust that neither you nor seokjin should speak about to a single soul.

“pick it up,” the man’s husked voice drums in your ear clearer only because of the cease of ripples of pleasures as he stills.

“wha-” you don’t say much, groping around for your phone before shooting him a pleading look of ‘can’t this wait till after you give me the greatest orgasm of my lifetime?’

“it’s taehyung,” the name that spills out of your mouth strikes guilt into your beating heart.

“hm? you’re tightening up. is it because of my little brother?” the surge of possession in his voice tempers with your sanity, it drips like sweet honey rose and mars your skin with its thorns, “answer the call.”

x

note. ooof ig yall know what next chapter’s gonna be. maybe.

taglist. @aretha170 @scalubera @ambersaesthetics​ @heyjiminnie​ @hyuck-me​ @fanfuckingfic​

[arminbitchlover]

the moon is beautiful, isn't it? (1)

pairing: connie springer x gn! reader

content warnings: mention of vomit, blood, angst, & death

summary: chapter 138 spoilers / you and connie have been in love for years, falling for each other at the exact same moments. one night, connie tries to hint his feelings towards you on top of utgard's castle, but you don't catch it, so connie shrugs it off. a few years later, during the rumbling, connie decides that it's finally time to admit how he feels.

song recommendations : the swans by: camille saint-saëns, gymnopédie no. 1 by: erik satie, nocturne no. 2 in e flat op.9 no. 2 by: frédéric chopin, and mia and sebastian's theme by: justin hurwitz

word count 4.1k

DO NOT POST/SHARE ANY PART OF MY WORK ON TIKTOK

This is the end.

You lay on the stone floor atop Utgard castle, gazing at the stars while reminiscing on all the memories you made with your friends.

Everything is becoming too much for you; nobody knows how titans are infiltrating the walls if there's no breach, you still have no idea where Eren, Mikasa, and Armin are, and now you're left with no ODM gear to fight in case titans were to take over your refuge.

You feel completely utterly useless.

"It was a good run," You mutter to yourself, feeling the lump in your throat get stronger.

You're not ready to give it all up, your life as a scout was just about to begin. You've met so many people that mean so much to you, especially him.

You won't ever forget when you first met him; Sasha introduced him as her bestfriend and you instantly fell in love with everything about him; his eyes, his voice, his laugh, and his sense of humor, just everything about him is absolutely perfect.

You continue your search for constellations amongst the stars, trying to distract your mind from the harsh reality.

"Hey." You hear a voice come from the door and you turn to have your eyes meet with golden brown orbs.

It's him.

"Connie." You sit up, moving your legs close to your chest with your jacket spread across them.

You feel your face start to heat up as he gets closer to you. You could never understand why he has such an effect on you, he could do the slightest thing and your heart will always skip a beat.

"Mind if I sit?" He walks towards you, one of his hands scratching the back of his neck.

"Be my guest." You gesture on the empty spot next to you, feeling your heartbeat start to quicken as you immediately catch his scent while he settles in next to you.

You glance down and see that your hands are only an inch maybe centimeters apart; god, how bad you wanted to hold it to make you feel better. You look back up, worried that he may have seen but notice that his gaze is fixated on the stars.

"Beautiful, right?" You move your focus back to the night sky.

Almost as beautiful as him.

"Sure beats this shithole," He chuckles.

"Yeah, it sure does..." You trail off, looking back down to the floor while fidgeting with your fingers.

Silence thickens between the two of you, but not the awkward kind when nobody knows what to say, rather the kind that just wants to savor each other's presence. You enjoy it, worried that if you were to say something you might burst into tears from panic, anger, confusion, and sadness.

“...Christa told me you were up here.” He turns to you, sharing a sympathetic look.

“Yeah, I- um told her I would spend some time here for a bit before sleeping.” You take in a deep breath and rub the back of your neck.

You didn't dare overload Connie with your feelings. It wasn't because you thought he would shove them under the rug or tell you to suck it up, but you were fully aware what he was going through as well.

“We’re going to be okay, you know.” He reads you like a book, seeing through your calm demeanor and knowing you were just a ball of anxiety ready to burst at any moment.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

"We're going to be okay, you know." Connie laughs, helping you undo your ODM gear.

"Ugh, I wish! This training will be the death of me, I swear." You giggle and place your gear on the table.

You love the way he makes you smile. Even when your body is on the verge of extreme fatigue and exhaustion, he somehow always made you feel a bit better about the whole situation.

"If it makes you feel any better, we're finally having a hot dinner." He places his gear next to yours and you both walk to the dining room.

"As great as that does sound, I just need to get this gunk and sweat off of me." You feel disgusted with yourself, thinking about the number of hours you spent outdoors in the heat.

"Yeah that too, you smell like a Titan just threw up on you," He playfully jokes, already speeding up his pace as he knows what's about to come next.

"Asshole!" You laugh and chase him down the hall.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

It was strange, you could be on opposite sides of the world, but he always knows if something was bothering you, like an invisible tether always kept the two of you in sync.

“You don't know that, Connie.” Your eyes start to get glossy, looking back up to try and hold back your tears.

You can't understand why everything in your life has to end up so shitty. For once you just want to save lives and be the hero that everyone needed after the Shiganshina incident, but you can't even do that.

“Y/n.” He scoots closer to you, gently pulling your head to his chest as he lightly traces your back.

You hold your breath and become stiff as you hear Connie’s heartbeat. Fuck, you'll never get used to this, no matter how many times it happens. Having him comfort you when everything was going wrong and assuring you not to worry and that it was all going to work out, made you forget all your problems for a moment.

"No regrets though, right?" He lightens up the mood with an inside joke.

"No regrets." You smile and feel yourself melt into his embrace.

You love the way he makes you feel, whether you're upset, sad, frustrated, or maybe just hungry, he always finds a way to make your day not so shitty.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask while you bury your head into his chest, feeling like this is too good to be true.

You feel his chest stop moving and his arm stay still. Silence once again takes over and lingers in the air.

"I mean, after what you found out about your family, I-" He cuts you off.

“I… just really care about you.” And he isn’t lying, he cares about you more than you could imagine.

What you didn't know was that he has been in love with you ever since the day Sasha introduced you as a member of her training squad. He adores everything about you: your voice, your lips, the way your eyes lit up when you ramble about things you're passionate about, and your wits, just everything about you is absolutely perfect.

It didn't take him long to realize he had fallen head over heels for you months ago, but he couldn't tell you. There's no possible way in his eyes for everything to work out if he tells you. He knows the risks of everyone’s lives when it comes to being a scout. He can't bear the thought of becoming more attached to you than he already is and know that he might not have you the next day.

“I care about you too.” You hide your wide grin, relishing this moment for as long as you could.

“Y-You do?” Connie chokes, causing you to pull away and make eye contact.

“Of course I do, why wouldn't I?” You immediately inhale a sharp breath, scared that you may have said something wrong.

‘I need to do it now.’ Connie’s thoughts start to cloud his mind. ‘If this is it, I need her to know.’

“I just… I don't know. Forget it.” He opens up his arm again, inviting you back into his chest.

You brush it off, not wanting to ruin what you already have, and lean back into him. You start copying his breathing, finding comfort that you never thought you would never find again.

You close your eyes for bit, trying your best to memorize everything in the moment. The material of his shirt, his warm skin against yours, the light breeze that hits your face, everything.

“The uh- the moon is beautiful, isn't it?” He quietly stammers, and you immediately feel his heartbeat begin to pound and so does yours.

It can't be.

You know exactly what that means, but does he? Was he just saying that because the full moon that illuminates the hills genuinely looks beautiful? He has to be, right? This night was already beginning to feel like a dream, there’s no way he means what you want it to.

“Yeah, I guess.” You wince as you hear the words fall from your mouth.

You sit in silence yet again, but this time filled with unwanted tension. While your head is spinning with a million thoughts, Connie can't help but feel anger with himself. Why couldn't he just come out and say it? Did you not know what he meant or did you really just reject him?

"It's getting a bit cold, so I'm gonna head inside. You coming?" You put on your jacket, avoiding eye contact to hide the tears that were on the verge of falling down your face.

"Nah, I'm going to um- stay up here a bit." He clears his throat and kees his gaze fixated to the moon.

"Oh alright, well goodnight, Connie." You weakly smile and walk away.

"Goodnight, y/n." He whispers, not loud enough for you to hear.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

chapter 138 spoilers

"Y/n, we need to go get Armin, now." Mikasa snaps you out of your thoughts.

"But Connie? He has to be near here somewhere, I-I just know it." Panic sinks in as you scan through the battle of the titan shifters to find your lover.

"Y/N SNAP OUT OF IT!" You slightly jump and turn to her, her face becoming flushed with red.

"Sh- Sorry, right, Armin." You shake your head, covering Mikasa as she makes her way towards the pig-type titan.

It's been 4 years ever since that night on Utgard's castle and you remember every second of it. A day never went by when you didn't think back to that moment and wonder what could've been if you had said something different, but you couldn't and you hate yourself for that.

Nothing changed between the two of you, if anything you feel a lot closer than before. You or Connie never address that night, as if it never happened, and you were somewhat fine with that. It hurts that your gut feeling of him not having feelings for you was accurate, but that's okay, because you would always still have him by your side even if it was just a close friendship.

"Y/N!" You look behind you and see him coming at you at full speed.

"CONNIE!" You feel a bit of weight being lifted off your shoulders, seeing only one visible injury.

He joins you side by side to defend Mikasa, noticing the number of titan shifters making their way towards you was too much for you to handle.

"Are you okay?" Connie defends you as you briskly check the state of your weapons.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

"Are you okay?" Connie rushes to your side, inspecting the cut on your cheek.

"Yeah, I just have to be more careful with the branches." You wince as you feel his finger graze your injury.

"Well, we're definitely not racing anymore." He looks into your eyes and smiles.

"You're just saying that cause you know I'm better with ODM gear." You giggle and get back up, brushing off the dirt that caught on your equipment.

"You wish!" He blasts off, not giving you a chance to ready up again.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

"MIKASA HURRY!" Your anxiety starts rushing through you, ignoring Connie's question as you notice your blades were on the verge of giving out.

You see her make a quick glance towards you before zooming towards the titan that trapped Armin and quickly slices his jaw open. Before you know it, you see Connie soar in your peripheral vision to the tongue that entangled Armin and slice him free.

"ANNIE!" Connie screams out, making his way back to you and wrapping his arm around your waist.

You feel the tiny butterflies you always get when he's near you and admire his perfections for a second.

"I'm getting us out of here," He assures you as he looks into your eyes, instantly melting all the worry and panic that stirred up inside you.

"O-Okay." You whisper, the wind harshly hitting your face as Connie moves both of you to the top of Eren's titan, getting Falco's attention.

While Falco flies his way towards you, you gaze upon everything that is going on around you. You start feeling overwhelmed again, too much was going on at once. You see Jean and Pieck trying to make their way towards the Founding Titan's head but get trampled by shifters, Annie holding Armin as he recovers, and Levi and Gabi shooting their gun at every titan.

"What is- is happening?" Your voice cracks and you hang your head low with your eyes shut.

"We should've fucking known ever since Eren decided to infiltrate Marley, but it's okay. We're okay." He gives you a weak smile and a slight squeeze on your waist for reassurance.

Falco reaches the both of you and board his back with Levi and Gabi.

"Are you guys okay?" You can slightly hear the concern in Levi's monotone voice.

"Yeah, we're fine," Connie answers, completely disregarding the gash that was dripping blood on his forehead.

"We need to help Jean and Pieck." You chime in, watching them struggle their way to the neck.

"No, we-" Levi cuts himself off when he hears his name being called out by a familiar male voice.

The five of you see a blonde man with only half a body attached to one of the Founding Titan's ribs.

Zeke.

While you see his lips moving, you can't make out what he's saying. He begins waving around his arms, successfully capturing Levi's attention, but in a blink of an eye, he's dead.

Levi decapitated him.

You hear a slight gasp come from Gabi's mouth and immediately see tears start to swell up. You quickly pull her into a hug, rubbing her back as you try to soothe her.

"It's okay, Gabi. We're okay." You whisper in her ear, slightly rocking back and forth.

While you didn't know or care for Zeke much, you know how much Gabi saw him as another father, an uncle.

"I-I need my- my parents." She hiccups into your chest.

You can't imagine what's going through her mind. All of her plans to become a warrior and making her family proud was all gone. You remember what that felt like, thinking throughout your whole life that titans were your enemy and Eren would be the solution for it all, but you couldn't have been more wrong.

"I promise, I'll get them to you." You bury her head into your chest and stay still, forgetting where you are for a second.

You and Gabi share a weird relationship, especially after everything that happened with Sasha, but you were somewhat like the older sibling she never had. You nurture her when things become too overwhelming or when she was worried someone would kill Falco for her doing. It was strange for you at first, caring for someone who you thought was the enemy, but was really just a twelve year old girl who was taught the wrong things, all to be treated as a 'good Eldian'.

"The- The rumbling stopped." You turn to Connie and furrow your eyebrows.

"Wha-"

"He's right, look." Gabi points to the titans that were completely still in place, but the titan shifters were still moving in battle.

Bizarre.

"JEAN! PIECK! GO!" Levi's yell snaps you out of your thoughts, watching him fly back to Falco's titan.

You feel your heart start to pound and chest begin to tighten. This is the moment that would define the rest of your life. If Jean and Pieck weren't successful, then there's nothing left for you. Everything you and the scouts worked for would be done, ruined, over.

"God, let Jean be okay." You hear Connie mumble under his breath.

"He will." You instinctively grab his hand and give him a slight nod.

He nods back and you both turn back and watch Jean soar to the head with the TNT box. You feel him squeeze your hand, becoming more anxious as seconds passed.

"STUPID LITTLE SUICIDAL BLOCKHEAD," Jean screams at the top of his lungs, before setting off the bomb that decapitated the Founding Titan's head.

You keep your eyes on Jean, making sure that nothing is seriously wrong and to your relief, he's unharmed.

"JEAN," Connie cries out, tears streaming down his face from alleviation.

He immediately pulls you in for a hug, causing your face to start heating up. While this wasn't the first time you and Connie hugged, it always makes you feel like it's your first all over again. You wrap your arms around him, savoring this moment for what thankfully feels like an eternity. You feel his body heat radiate against yours, warming you up from the cold winds that coat you.

In the corner of your eye, you see Reiner struggling with the cord that connects with the Founding Titan's head. Wrapping his arms and slamming it to the base of the ribcage, holding it down for as long as possible.

"Shit, it's going back for the head. ARMIN, NOW," Levi commands, stirring Falco to Jean and Pieck.

God you hate what's about to come next. The loud noise, the bright light, the endless destruction that's always created, and the lost lives were things you loathe to witness.

"JEAN! PIECK! ARMIN'S GOING TO BLOW THESE BONES TO PIECES! WE NEED TO GET AWAY QUICK!" Connie reaches his hand out, pulling both of them onto Falco's back as Annie and Mikasa make their way as well.

"But Reiner-" Pieck cuts Jean off.

"The Armored Titan should be able to withstand the Colossal Titan's explosion. And most of all, Reiner's prepared for the consequences."

Her words feel like a stab in the chest to everyone listening. Even though Reiner was a traitor in the beginning of this mess, it doesn't take away the great memories you made with everyone and the thought of maybe losing him too was a lot to take in.

"She's right, Jean. We need to go." You put a hand on his shoulder, trying to give him some type of support as you hope that your words help you too.

"Y-Yeah, of course." He slightly shakes his head as Falco flies away.

While you're hundreds of feet in the air, all of your eyes are glued to the titan shifters, watching Armin's explosion destroy everything in its way, including the monsters that fought you and your friends. Although the sight wasn't pleasant in the slightest, you can't help but notice the pit that you had in your stomach was gone.

"Is this it?" You weakly smile, feelings of ease and nervousness begin to overpower everything else.

You haven't felt this much hope in years. The deaths of your fallen comrades weren't in vain; it meant something now.

"See, I told you we would be okay, y/n." He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, leaning his head against yours.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

"See, I told you we would be okay, y/n." Connie grins as you put on your new Survey Corps jacket.

"Geez, I never thought I would ever see the day." You admire yourself, not knowing that Connie's doing the same thing.

You feel nothing but excitement when the leather hits your skin. All the hours, blood, sweat, and tears you put into your training was all worth it. You can finally be the hero you've always wanted to be.

"Well, here we are." He lightly pats your back and chuckles.

"Yeah, here we are." You hand him his new jacket and admire how great he looks as a new scout.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

"You're always right," You giggle, snaking your arms around his waist and holding him a bit too tightly.

You both bask in each other's presence, enjoying the thought of planning out your new future. As you close your eyes and enjoy the breeze, Connie can't help but adore how perfect you look in his arms. Every time you share a moment like this, he can't help but get flashbacks from that night. He knows how badly he messed up, he should've just straightforwardly said what he always wants to confess to you but he couldn't and he hates himself for that.

He can't recall what number this was for all the times both of your lives were at risk. The times he would forget what his mission was and sought out for you if he lost sight of you. It always takes him back to the same thought, 'You have to tell them before the day comes that you can't.' It's an ongoing battle with his mind and he always comes back to the same conclusion, 'I can't get more attached, not if there's a possibility I could lose them tomorrow.'

But no, this time he feels different, he senses that something's different about this. He suddenly feels queasiness and pulls away from you. 'No, no more hiding it.'

"Is everything okay, Connie?" You feel his body tense up as you give him a concerned look.

"No, it's not, y/n, I've been needing to tell you something, for a while now actually." He scratches the back of his neck and avoids making eye contact.

"What's wrong..?" You trail off, having your mind go a million miles per hour.

"Nothing- Nothing terrible but, y/n-"

"MY PARENTS," Gabi yells out, pointing at the crowd below you.

You and Connie snap out of your conversation, leaning over to the side and see a group of people staring up at Falco.

He lands his titan and Gabi immediately flees into the arms of her parents, Pieck doing the same with her father. You can't help but feel a bit of happiness after all of this, Jean stopped the rumbling, Armin killed off Eren, and all the people you love are safe from this never-ending war.

"We did the right thing, didn't we? I mean with what we did to Eren." You change your focus back to Connie.

"Of course we did, look at the amount of lives we saved, y/n. So, no regrets, right?" He playfully collides his shoulder with yours.

"No regrets." You smile and make your way towards Jean.

Your heart always skips a beat when he says that, you think of it as your own little thing that only you two share. Every time you feel like everything in your life is going wrong, he always reminds you that even if things were to go to shit it would be okay because you have no regrets.

"Can't believe I did that," Jean mumbles, still in a state of shock.

"You did what you had to, Jean." You console him as Connie chimes in.

"Don't bring yourself down, Eren brought this among himself."

You can never forgive Eren for what did over the years. It was apparent from the beginning, but you were to naive and filled with hope to see it. Now, this is different, you lost some of the most important people in your life for his doing. There's no going back from that.

"Y-Yeah, you're right." He brings the two of you in for a group hug, leaving a space in the middle for Sasha.

"She would be proud of us, you know?" You feel a tear run down your cheek as you speak.

Fuck, you miss her so much. All the fun and stupid memories you made with her flash through your mind. All the way back to your first moments meeting her, Connie holding her back from eating all the meat during dinner; to your final moments together, cheering for a successful raid on Liberio.

"She is." Connie corrects you, a smile forms across his face.

"Yeah, she is." Jean starts tearing up, grateful for another day to be alive.

"REINER," Gabi screams, causing the three of you to interrupt your moment and go by the ledge and see something you never thought you would.

You see the centipede that Jean exploded continue to move as if nothing ever affected it. Luckily, Reiner and Armin's titans look unharmed, but you immediately feel the pit in your stomach start to come back.

"See Gabi, he's fine, ever-" Connie gets cut off by another extreme explosion.

You feel nauseous as you see what emerges.

"He-He's alive?" Your voice trembles, all the hope and happiness you just shared obliviates in a second.

Eren's titan.

"No way." Connie gasps, his body starts to shake with fear.

"What do we do now?" Mikasa's voice cracks, wanting everything to come to an end.

You can't believe it. Every fucking time you think that everything will finally work out for you, something always changes. You always end up losing someone, witnessing things that no one should ever be forced to see, and always feel empty in the end.

"We can't let Eren come into contact with the shining thing! Who knows what'll happen!" Gabi tries to pull everyone's focus back into the war and luckily, it works.

"She's right, we have to kill that thing, no matter what." Connie's voice becoming slightly deeper at the end of his sentence.

"Don't you get it? How can we kill a thing that survived Armin's explosion? We need to go for Eren." Levi's command lingers in the air.

"There has to be another way. AGH!" Mikasa starts gasping for air as she starts tightly gripping her head.

Before you could go by Mikasa's side, you notice smoke coming from afar. You don't think much of it, just assuming it was debris from the explosion, but no.

You scan everyone's faces, instantly seeing some of your comrades faces turn into pure terror. This couldn't be what they think it is. This isn't how it's supposed it, how it's supposed to end. It has to be some kind of machine malfunction that's just giving out tons of smoke. It has to be something else than the thing you fear most.

"Isn't this smoke the same thing they did.. at Ragako?" Connie's face becomes overwhelmed with horror and anguish.

"N-No..." You fall to your knees and bury your hands to your face, not being able to come to terms with what's going to happen next.

This is the end.

"Hey, Hey, look at me." Connie's voice never sounding so calm before.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

"Hey, Hey, look at me."  Connie wraps his arms around you as tears cascade down your cheeks and soak his shirt.

"Wh- Why her?" You hiccup, feeling your chest begin to tighten and your head spin from hours of crying.

Your best friend's dead.

You can't hug her anymore, tell her any scouts gossip, or scold her when she stole your food. You can't go to her room in the middle of the night and have her comfort you when your nightmares felt too real. She's gone, forever.

"I wish I had an answer for you... shit-" He starts breaking down right in front of you, both of you begin to cry in each other's arms.

You hate this, fucking hate this. You've dealt with the deaths of your squad members and scouts but nothing like the way you feel right now.

You need to escape, you need to get rid of these awful feelings that were eating you up inside, but no matter how much you may want to escape this shithole with the only person you love, you can't.

"B-But we still have each other, right?" Connie's voice trembles, his grip becoming tighter, thinking if he lets go he'll somehow lose you too.

"Always."

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

He grabs your chin and leaves your faces just inches apart. All of the yelling and cries drown out as you solely focus on your soulmate.

"No regrets, right?" He wipes your tears away with his thumb.

"No regrets." You barely let a whisper, savoring his embrace one last time.

You feel a hand touch your shoulder and you look up to see Jean, seemingly relaxed.

"So this is how it ends for us." Connie brings Jean into your hug.

"Guess so," Jean replies, acting as if this wasn't the end.

"You know I blame both of you for all this, making me end up with the job of saving humanity." You joke, making the most of your final moment with your best friends.

"Yeah yeah, and take that to your grave." Jean chuckles as he slightly squeezes Connie's shoulder.

Connie glances Jean a confused look, seemingly not aware of the next few seconds. Immediately his eyes widen, finally accepting that this was it for you and him, and he never got to tell you.

"Y/n, there's something I need to tell b-before this is all over. Something I-I should've told you years ago." He speeds up his words, slightly stumbling.

"Yes?" Your heart drops to your stomach and you can't help but wonder if he was going to tell you what you've been waiting for since the day you met him.

"Y/n I-"

a/n : yes, i took some direct quotes from 138 & yes, i switched up dialogue between characters and actions from the book to make more sense with the reader.

[julemmaes]

98.“It’s not a double date. We’re just third and fourth wheeling.” for nessian???😅😅😅😅

Third And Fourth Wheeling - October 16th

Nesta Archeron x Cassian

A/N: I AM. ASHAMED. OF MYSELF. I KNOW IT’S LITERALLY THREE MONTHS LATE BUT I HOPE YOU’LL LIKE IT ANYWAY

Masterlist

Word count: 2,312

Nesta would have rather done anything else at that moment than have to walk even for one more second through the streets of Velaris with her best friend, her boyfriend, and Cassian Navarro. Not because the company was bad, but the last chapter of the book she was reading had ended with an unexpected event, and she needed to know if the main character would be able to save herself somehow.

When Amren had suggested going out that afternoon, she hadn't realized that the last person Nesta wanted to see would be there, and by the time she'd arrived at the meeting point and seen him with his back turned in the distance, it had been too late to turn around and go home, because Varian had greeted her with a curt wave of his hand and he'd turned around. And Nesta had felt as if she were floating for a moment.

It was no secret that Cassian had been genuinely interested in her - with all the times he'd flirted with her at every party they'd met at, it was quite impossible to ignore that detail - but Nesta was sure she'd never hinted at her true feelings for the man in question. Or at least, she had been until Amren had given her a not-so-sneaky wink, seeing how she'd blushed when she'd stopped next to Cassian and ogled her with inquisitive eyes.

They'd started walking along the Sidra, stopping at a small cafe with a gorgeous view of the river mouth, only to resume walking after not even an hour. The only thing she could be thankful for was the spectacular winter sunset the city offered them.

"Are you having fun?" asked Cassian suddenly, distracting her from admiring the falling sun.

Nesta slowly turned to face him, clenching her hands into fists in her pockets. She blinked a few times, not sure if she heard him correctly, "Hmm?"

"Are you having fun?" he asked her again, a sly smile on his lips.

Lips that Nesta should have stopped staring at. She glanced up at his eyes and noticed that they sparkled with mirth. She shrugged, returning her attention to the sidewalk, "I'd rather be home on my couch reading a book." she murmured without hiding her boredom. Varian burst out laughing a few feet ahead of them as Amren chuckled beside him at something the latter had said, and Nesta wondered again why her friend had invited them if she wasn't going to consider them at all.

"I guessed as much." Cassian gave a nervous chuckle and scratched his chin thoughtlessly, "When Amren suggested we meet for a double date I didn't think she meant with you." he said in a more cautious tone, "Not that I mind."

A sound much like that of a cat choking made its way out of her, "It's not a double date. We're just third and fourth wheeling." joked Nesta, chuckling at the idiocy he had just said.

Cassian looked at her wide-eyed and then burst out laughing, throwing his head back, and Nesta thought it was an overreaction to what she'd said, "And here I thought I was going actually taking you home after dinner."

Nesta wrinkled her brow, looking at him with a horrified expression, "Pig."

"I was only kiddin'," he said, still with that stupid grin on his face.

She nodded once, reducing her lips to a thin line, "Sure." she whispered, probably in a more detached tone than she intended.

He seemed to stiffen beside her, and Nesta risked a glance in his direction. The frown on her face deepened even more as she saw his expression. He looked almost tense, like when you're in high school and you don't know if the teacher is going to say your name for the exam.

She shook her head, flashing her eyes back to the snowy mountains, thinking it was just her imagination.

Yes, it couldn't be otherwise.

Cassian couldn't be under any pressure just because she hadn't fallen for his temptation and responded to his flirting like she always did. Her doubts were soothed when he sagged down beside her and returned to his relaxed demeanor.

Still, as she strolled through the snowy streets of Velaris and cursed all the saints and gods of that world for not making her turn down Amren's invitation, she couldn't help but think that she wasn't uncomfortable next to him. That even though their arms touched every time they passed someone walking in their opposite direction she didn't mind being there with him. She didn't mind him wrapping his arm around her shoulders when passersby had no intention of moving and risking coming at her, and he would remove her from their paths before they bumped into her.

She hadn't even minded that he'd offered to pay for her tea, though she knew she'd have to find a way to pay him back. Or that he'd offered her his gloves when she hadn't been able to hide the fact that her hands were turning purple from the freezing weather.

She also liked that he didn't feel the need to fill that silence that had fallen between them, but rather seemed to appreciate it as much as she did.

One thing she'd noticed during the few outings she'd been invited to was that people seemed to dislike silence that was considered awkward, always trying to cover up every second of time by saying polite phrases or giving far too much personal information - things that Nesta could stand to accept from her sisters and closest friends, not from strangers she'd known for a few days or in some cases a few hours.

Cassian seemed to think exactly as she did, however, because he hadn't said a word since she'd contradicted him, and although he always had that confused, thoughtful expression on his face, he didn't seem inclined to start another conversation.

***

Cassian often wondered how people managed to stay silent when they were doing boring, simple tasks as walking. He felt the need to speak, the words tickling his tongue like they never had before so they could go out and tease her some more, just one more time, to see how far he could push it.

Nesta Archeron was the most beautiful and mesmerizing woman Cassian had ever had the honor of meeting, of that he had no doubt, but she certainly wasn't committed to making his job any easier.

The first time he had seen her, he had been shocked by the sharp, elegant, serious features of what he did not yet know would become the woman of his dreams for the next ten months. The eyes of that peculiar gray, a color he had never seen in anybody else, that he had learned to appreciate in the blink of an eye. The dark hair she'd always worn tied back and never styled the same way... Cassian had dreamed of touching it so many times, of putting his lips to it, of holding it between his fingers as he held her.

And the first time he'd seen her with her hair down, that had been the day he'd realized there would be no other in his life. The way it had wrapped around Nesta's face, the way it fell over her shoulders and framed that perfect breasts.

But Cassian hadn't been lost just by the appearance of that ethereal being, no, that would have been foolish. That mouth had spoken words that the man wouldn't have been able to think of even in his wildest dreams. They had made him kneel, fall before that queen he would serve without the shadow of uncertainty.

Yet when he had gathered enough courage to speak to her, she had done nothing but look at him, arch an eyebrow, and walk away.

The dismissal a blow so hard to the man's pride that it had taken him seconds before he realized that she was actually gone. It had hit him deep, hurting him in ways he didn't think he could be hurt, and he certainly hadn't expected that such a beautiful body could also contain such indifference. God how wrong he had been.

He hadn't tried to make a move on Nesta again, respecting what was clearly a rejection, but his hopes had been revived, stronger than before, when Feyre had mentioned to him that Nesta had asked about him. Several times.

With the memory of that hopeful emotion stirring in him, he uttered the words before he could stop himself, "And what if I asked you out on a real date?"

Nesta's head snapped up, toward him, and she seemed to stumble over her steps. Her eyes went wide for a moment as surprise laced her every feature. That hope was about to turn into fulfillment in him, but then she blinked, composing herself, and turned back to Amren and Varian, looking at their intertwined hands, "I'd tell you I'm not interested."

Cassian felt the disappointment and embarrassment of being rejected for a second time make its way inside of him, as his cheeks turned a light red. He only hoped she didn't notice, that she thought he was just cold.

"I see," he murmured. He put his hands in his pockets, squeezing into his shoulders.

He saw Nesta watching him out of the corner of her eyes and turned to her, giving her a tight smile, wanting to reassure her that it was okay. When she realized he was looking at her she parted her lips, but closed them the next second and Cassian sighed, forming a cloud of mist in front of him.

Then Nesta surprised him, "It's not you." she murmured so quietly that for a moment he thought he'd imagined it, "I just don't date people I don't know."

Cassian was confused, "I don't understand."

Nesta took a shaky breath, keeping her eyes fixed in front of her, "I don't date people who aren't my friends."

Those words didn't help quell the confusion inside of him, but rather only added to the disappointment the pain of being told so directly that Nesta didn't consider him her friend.

He decided to gloss over that mitigating pain in his chest, "So how do you meet new people to date?"

Nesta bit her lower lip, the muscle in her cheekbone twitching, "I don't." she said even more softly. "I don't like to make the people I'm going out with think that they should expect something from me at the end of the night and so before I know if I want something from them or if I want to give them something, I have to get to know them. I can't bond - romantically speaking - with someone, if I don't know them."

Cassian nodded, with a furrowed brow. It was obviously the opposite for him considering how madly lost to Nesta he was even without knowing hardly anything about her.

Then, an idea began to form in his head, "What if instead of going out as two people who want a relationship, I invite you out as someone who wants to be your friend?" he asked, straightening his back so as not to bounce with glee.

"Cassian-"

"Please, Nes." the nickname was out hanging between them before he could stop and before she could answer him, he said, "I wouldn't expect anything at the end of the night even if it was an actual date, like no one else should," he took a short breath, "Just a simple day out between two strangers who need to get to know each other to become friends."

Nesta was looking at him now, no emotion showing on that beautiful impassive face, "You'd still take me to a nice restaurant and I'd know it would be a date for you, even if you say so."

Cassian ran a hand through his hair and didn't fail to notice the way Nesta swallowed as she stared at the gesture. He smiled, trying not to give away how much her minimal attention made him feel, "Not even if I took you to one of the most beautiful bookstores in the country?"

Her eyes locked on his for the first time all evening and Cassian noticed that the left one had a darker streak of color in the middle of the gray, "Tell me more." she said, when a shiver rippled through her body.

He had to restrain himself from offering her the jacket. She would surely turn him down and then accuse him of shamelessly hitting on her and he'd dig his own grave even deeper, so, fighting every fiber of his being that screamed at him to hold her close to keep her warm, he said, "It's in a town near here. It's only a two-hour drive." he saw the hesitation in her at the prospect of having to spend all that time together with him cooped up in a car and added, "You can choose the music."

"You read?"

Cassian felt something blossom in his chest. She wasn't saying no.

He nodded, suppressing a smile, "Not as often as I'd like, but yes, I do read."

Nesta hummed something, "And what do you read?"

He didn't understand where this was going, but he was glad it wasn't him who was asking all those questions. Maybe she had agreed to his request and he hadn't even noticed and she was already starting to try to get to know him.

"Mainly historical novels." he replied hesitantly, afraid of her reaction.

The silence that followed lasted eons in Cassian's mind, but when she looked at him, he thought he would be silent for the rest of his life if it assured him that view every day.

Nesta smiled at him and he felt the air leave his lungs when she said, "Alright."

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[littlekatleaf]

The Dreams in Which I'm Dying

Well wtf, it's a new fandom for me. Unexpected! I started watching D/imension20 RPGs and fell in love with F/abian Seacaster and G/arthy O'Brien from F/antasy H/igh and P/irates of L/eviathan. This takes place 20 years after the events of the games.

And I find it kind of funny I find it kind of sad The dreams in which I’m dying Are the best I’ve ever had. ~ Tears for Fears, Mad World

It begins with nightmares - dark, heavy things Fabian doesn’t remember on waking. At least, not the first few nights. He’s left with nothing more than vague shadows and a lingering sense of unease. Everything seems wrong - his apartment simultaneously too big and claustrophobically small. He’s suffused with restlessness. He knows something’s coming, like a squall brewing just beyond the horizon. He might not be able to see the gathering clouds, but feels the barometric pressure plummeting.

At first he attempts to dance out of the way - to dodge and evade - but the dread wraps around him like his own battle sheet, tangling him tight. He tries to ignore the tension singing along his shoulders, the constant twist in his gut. It’s nothing, he tells himself, less than nothing. There’s no time for it to be something. Rumor has it the ship carrying one of the last pirates of the Crimson Claw will reach the mouth of Leviathan in mere days. If he’s going to meet it, he needs to pull together a party. Barely enough time remains to cement plans once he knows the group’s strengths and weaknesses.

As he paces his living room, trying to outrun the apprehension, Fabian’s eye is caught by a piece of red string, like Riz always used in his conspiracy boards. In that instant he longs for them. The Bad Kids. No matter how many years passed since any of them were kids, it’s still at the heart of who they are. (Isn’t it?) They fit together in their roles. Like that movie Kristen made them all watch once - a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess and a criminal. The others had bickered good naturedly over roles that night - specifically who was the basket case. Kristen joked it was Gilear. Ragh said it was her. Fabian didn't need to argue because he knew the truth - Riz was the brain, Gorgug the athlete, Adaine the princess, Fig the criminal, Kristen the saint. Himself the basket case. Even in all the intervening years, he’s never found a group that connects as well as they had, before they all went their separate ways. Even if they hadn’t lost touch, none of the others adventure anymore. In their absence he needs to choose alternatives, like he always does, attempting to fill the holes they left behind - and failing.

He picks up his crystal, turning it over in his hands. The group chat is saved, they are all still members, but no one has used it in years. Maybe he’s wrong; maybe he needs to let them go.

He knows there’s no time for self-indulgence. But he still stalls, the trepidation casting a fog of doubt over every option. He cannot decide on even one person to trust. Perhaps this time he should go alone. He can defeat one single pirate himself. The rest - crew and spoils alike - is irrelevant. The Maelstrom’s Maw will likely bring in the boat and then he can attack. He rubs his forehead against a growing headache and puts the decision off again.

Two nights pass, with only the lightest veil of sleep and even that torn by disquiet. The intervening days feel equally foggy with a mix of exhaustion and dread. Fabian drags himself through the necessary tasks by his fingernails until he’s done everything he can without a crew. A crew on which he still has not managed to settle. In the midst of circling the problem for the five hundredth, or five thousandth, time his crystal flashes an alert. The ship’s been sighted just a few nautical miles off Harroway Bay and will reach Leviathan before dawn. He’s waited too long, he realizes. It will be a solo adventure, then. Nothing else for it.

Fabian knows, almost from the moment he engages, that he’s made a deep mistake attempting the attack this way. Though he comes upon the pirate in the dead of night, alone as planned, he hadn’t considered that the pirate’s shipmates might still be within earshot. His blade only crosses the pirate’s once before he hears heavy boots closing fast.

The pirate thrusts and he manages to parry, but only just. His body feels strange and disconnected, as though he’s a half-beat behind in the dance, perpetually off-step. The pirate presses his advantage; Fabian retreats. Suddenly there’s a flash of light on another drawn sword and several more pirates surround him. At his best he can handle eight, maybe ten. He is not at his best, and light from the streetlamp falls on fifteen.

The pirate grins. “Yer goin’ down, boy.”

“Not a boy anymore.” At least he’ll die in battle, and if he’s very lucky he’ll take this scourge to hell with him. Make his papa proud.

“That remains to be seen,” another says.

The battle is fierce. Swords clash, lunge and dodge, strike-parry-riposte, movements Fabian knows in his sleep, but something is wrong. His body won’t obey. His lungs ache and he can’t catch his breath. Sweat drips into his eye, burning. And then - an opening - the pirate attacking leaves his flank unguarded and Fabian darts in fast - too fast to pull back when he realizes it’s a feint.

I’m fucked, he has time to think, as the pirate whirls. A sharp blow cracks across his elbow, his fingers go numb and his sword falls, clattering to the cobblestone. One of the crew kicks the back of his knees and he stumbles forward and drops. He grabs for his sword, but just as his hand closes around it, the point of the pirate’s sword is at his throat. Should have known it would end this way. Alone. On Leviathan. Fitting for it to be here, tonight - on the anniversary. The way it should have ended if he hadn’t run like a coward, abandoning Alistair to Captain James. Fabian fumbles in his pocket for his crystal, wishing for just enough time to send a last message to the Bad Kids. “Do it,” he says from between gritted teeth.

The pirate barks a laugh, but shakes his head. “Ain’t worth the world o’ hurt that would bring down on me head, boy. Chungledown Bim’s a right devil and yer marked as his. Can’t let ya follow for another go at me, though this has been a delight.”

A brilliant flash of pain blinds him. The crystal slides through his fingers. He falls… and falls… and falls…

through ropes that burn his skin and do nothing to slow his speed and his body hits water that closes over his head like he’s been swallowed whole and still he falls through freezing darkness until the ocean parts and he falls through fire and the flames crackle and whisper - What will you tell the Captain when you meet him in Hell? Have you written your name on the face of the world, Fabian? No, you have written nothing. Nothing to be remembered by. Even your friends have forgotten you. How does it feel to be a failure of a pirate and a failure of a friend? the whisper turns to choking smoke and

Fabian coughs himself awake, lungs aching like he’s been breathing water and smoke, but he still lays where he’d fallen, in some Four Castles back alley. His body’s not been hijacked. Not dropped here by imps. He blinks up at the sky for a long moment, struggling to orient himself. The sky is heavy with clouds, hiding even a sliver of moon. Fat drops of rain pelt down, edged with ice. He blinks the water from his eye and pushes himself to his feet. Once again he staggers through the streets of Leviathan, shivering hard enough to rattle teeth. This time, however, there’s no Cathilda to wrap him in a blanket, no Hangvan to disappear into. No Kristen to slap sense back into him. He wraps his arms around himself, but the rain soaks his shirt and finds no warmth.

Those he passes take no notice of him, perhaps assuming he’s nothing more than another drunken pirate. Even so, he needs to find a place to lay low. Given enough time someone will roll him just to see if he has any coin. Or simply for the fun of it. He’s not even sure, at this moment, that he could defend himself against a single assailant. His head aches where the pirate hit him and his throat is unaccountably raw. Then, as if to add insult to injury, he sneezes. Once, twice, thrice, smothered in the sleeve of his shirt. He always sneezes in threes. Riz teased him mercilessly about it.

“If you’d just sneeze like a normal person, instead of those pinchy things, you’d be done in one, Fabiahn,” Riz would say, drawing his name out like his elvish grandfather did.

“It’s called being polite, The Ball,” he’d reply. “And what do you know about normal?”

“About as much as you.”

They’d laugh together and Fabian’s embarrassment would ease. He would give anything for Riz to be laughing with him now.

Suddenly a door slams open and a wash of warm yellow light spills over the ground in front of him. He glances up. Maybe Kristen sent Cassandra to watch over him, because his meandering path has brought him to the Gold Gardens. The exiting patron brushes past with a muttered curse, but Fabian barely notices. As the doors swing shut, Bob’s voice slips through, full of dream and promise. Fabian checks his pockets and breathes a sigh of relief at the comforting feel of coin.

He stands straighter, raises his chin, allowing the light to fall on his face, scars and eyepatch and all, as the Goliath guard regards him suspiciously. Though it has been some time since he’s been on Leviathan and longer since he’s sought refuge at the Gold Gardens, he trusts the reputation he’s built in the intervening years yet holds. “Good evening. I find myself in need of a room for the night,” he says. “I have payment.”

The other guard, a half-orc he vaguely recognizes from previous visits, turns to him. Her face betrays no reaction to his disheveled state. It’s likely that she’s seen worse. “Ah, Master Seacaster. Garthy O’Brien has made it known there is always room for you here. Please, enter.”

Fabian sketches a small bow. The doors swing wide and the heat that flows out and envelops him is nearly as heavenly as Bob’s voice. But the change in temperature makes his nose run. He sniffs, presses the back of his wrist against the tickling itch, but can’t stop the inevitable. He’s barely inside before he’s sneezing again and wishing for something other than his sleeve to cover with. “H’tchsh! Chh! H’tsh!” He hopes the music and general merriment of the patrons is enough to hide the slight sound, but of course he is noticed.

“Blessings, Fabian, darling. Are you ill?” Garthy touches his shoulder gently and before he can stop himself, Fabian flinches away. His skin feels too tight, even the light pressure too much sensation. They take a step back, one hand raised in a calming gesture.

“I beg your pardon, Garthy,” Fabian says, attempting his usual charming smile. He’s not sure he pulls it off, because a small frown of concern still lingers between their brows. Somehow the expression does nothing to mar their beauty; the proprietor of the Gold Gardens is exquisite as always, the few silver threads in their black dreads the only indicator of years passing. “I’m fine. Just a little chilled from the rain. And you, my friend, are a sight for sore eyes. Eye.” His mouth quirks. “Might there be a room for a traveler seeking shelter from the storm?”

Garthy considers him for a long moment, gaze intent. Fabian resists the urge to look away, to avoid scrutiny. It’ll only make them more suspicious. He concentrates on keeping his expression vaguely flirtatious, his stance loose and easy. At last Garthy gives the smallest nod, allowing him his ruse. “I have told you before, lovey, you are always welcome here. You and yours. Come.” They turn down a hallway and Fabian follows.

Bob’s voice, the rattle of dice, the din of too much conversation fade and Fabian releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The Bad Kids always stayed in a room just off the main parlor, right in the midst of the action. Fig and Gorgug would take over for the house band and practically blow the roof off. Kristen would try to outdrink that biggest pirate she could find, and usually ended up drunk-best-friends with everyone. If Tracker had to pull her out of a fight or two, well, that just kept things interesting. Ragh and Fabian would drink too much mead and take too much snuff and Ragh would challenge the wrong people to wrestling matches and Fabian would beat the wrong people at dice and sometimes fists would be thrown. Good naturedly, of course. Adaine would watch them all over the spine of a book from the Compass Points and shake her head. Sometimes she had to heal one or another of them, but she never seemed to mind. Riz would disappear into the crowd for indeterminate amounts of time, only to suddenly appear at their table with a sharp-toothed grin and clues to whatever mystery they were trying to solve that he’d gleaned from overheard conversations. Fig and Kristen, especially, never wanted the nights to end. Sometime around dawn, though, Kristen and Tracker would peel off, followed by Fig and Ayda. The rest of them shared a room, Fabian, Riz, Gorgug, and Ragh all sprawled on a huge bed while Adaine tranced on a chaise nearby. Somehow Fabian slept better those nights than before or since, even though the room was never peaceful, or silent. Ragh and Gorgug snored. Adaine muttered to herself in her trance. Riz, when he slept, was restless, taking up more room than a three and a half foot tall goblin should. When he didn’t, his pen would scratch across his notebook for hours. None of it ever bothered Fabian.

A door creaks open, startling Fabian out of his thoughts. The room Garthy offers is a small and simply furnished space, just a bed, desk, and fireplace. Fabian crosses the room to a large window and looks out over the edge of the city to the black ocean beyond. It’s still raining, drops pattering against the pane. He should say something to Garthy. Thank them for the room, make a joke about another Leviathan brawl gone badly. He can’t find the words. Any words.

“Would you like something to eat? Or perhaps a warm drink?” Garthy’s voice is quiet, as though they might be intruding.

“No, thank you,” he says. Kippers, Master Fabian? Cathilda’s voice in his head. I don’t deserve kippers. He didn’t. Doesn’t. Twenty men dead. Twenty innocent men. Worst of all, Alistair Ash. Still a child. Dead because he needed to prove that he was a true pirate, heir to his father’s fame. That he is worthy. Instead he left Alistair to the fate that should have been his. He rubs his hand over his eye as though he could rub away the ache. The failure.

Garthy whispers something Fabian doesn’t catch, and flames rise in the hearth, hot and bright, crackling cheerfully. “At least let me take your wet things,” they say. “You’re shaking.”

He hadn’t realized how cold he still feels, despite being out of the wind and rain, until Garthy points it out. He takes a breath to declare, again, that he’s fine, but a chill cascades over him, followed by several sneezes, instantly proving him wrong. “H’ngxt! Fuck. H’Ntch! Ngxt!” He straightens and Garthy offers a handkerchief. Abashed, he takes it, blows his nose. “Pardon me.” Before he can gather himself, he’s overtaken again. At least this time he has a handkerchief to mute the sound. The sneezes shiver through him hard enough to send drops of rain spattering from his hair.

“Bless you, darling.” Garthy draws him closer to the fire. With deft fingers they undress him, peeling sodden clothes from his body, then wrap him in a thick robe. He doesn’t resist, suddenly beyond exhausted. Everything feels like it’s happening at a distance. Or maybe through a pane of glass. “Come, have a lay down. Things’ll look better in the morning.”

Fabian nods, even though he’s certain things will look just the same. He barely slides between the sheets when his eye drifts closed. He feels the bed dip slightly as Garthy sits beside him and, seeking warmth, he curls close. They smell spicy and sweet, like cinnamon and sandalwood and orange blossoms. Garthy curves a hand over his forehead. It’s strangely comforting and he wants to bury his face in Garthy’s hair, but instead he drifts out and out and…

floats in a strange grey emptiness. He can only identify his surroundings by absence. No color. No sound. No touch. He thinks he lifts his hands, or tries to lift his hands, or what should be his hands, but there’s nothing. He tries to look down, what he might assume is down, only to find no body. Nothing. It’s like the Nightmare Forest, but worse because they defeated the Nightmare King. They defeated Kalina. Which means this must be real. This nought. Of course no one reaches out… you don’t exist.You never existed. You are not even memory. You are a nonentity. A nullity. He opens his mouth to argue, but there’s no mouth, no vocal cords, no lungs, no breath. No words. No thoughts. Just deep, endless cold. Bone aching cold, if he had bones.

“...safe…You’re all right. Wake up, Fabian, love.” Garthy’s voice coalesces from the cold, at first sounding sharp as ice breaking. But they know his name, beckon him back into form by shaping the word. “Come on, darling. You’re dreaming.”

“Should’ve left me; felt better there. Nothing hurts when you don’t have a body,” he mumbles, and even though he has vocal cords again, he sounds nothing like himself. He clears his throat, sniffs.

Garthy laughs, low and kind. “Let me help you feel better, here in your body.” They cup his cheek gently, then urge him up and through a door to a bathing chamber.

A large bathtub stands in the center of the room, steam rising in soft curls. It is surrounded with dozens of candles and in their light Garthy glows, irises and tattoos molten gold. Fabian reaches for them, hesitantly. As if touching them might dim their shine. They smile tenderly, allowing him to trace the Zajiri script, the flowers and leaves with one tentative finger. He wonders what the writing might mean. Their skin is soft under Fabian’s own calloused hands. He longs for Garthy to wrap their arms around him, to hold him close until his shivering stops, until he’s finally warm. He doesn’t know how to ask.

Instead he moves back, putting a bit of distance between them. “I’m not w…” he starts to say, but an unexpected set of sneezes interrupts and he only just manages to pull the handkerchief from his robe pocket. “Ht’ngxt! Heh...ihh… Nxgt! H’tchh!”

“Not well?” Garthy suggests, steadying him. “Blessings.”

Heat rises in Fabian’s cheeks and he coughs a laugh. “That either. But no.” He gestures broadly, including the room, the bath, Garthy themself. “Not worth this.”

Garthy tilts their head with a puzzled frown. “Oh, lovey, of course you are.” They press one finger to Fabian’s lips before he can continue arguing. “Shh. It’s all right.” They take Fabian’s elbow, guiding him into the bath.

Fabian sinks into the heat with a deep sigh as his muscles begin to relax. He slides down, submerging himself completely in warm darkness. The water closes over his face; he rests his head on the bottom of the tub, and the only thing he hears is the thump of his own heart in his ears, still beating, beating, beating. At last his breath runs out and he surfaces with a gasp.

Gathy’s pulled a stool up beside the bath and as Fabian wipes water out of his eye, they wet a cloth and begin to wash his back, humming quietly. The soap smells of eucalyptus and peppermint, cool and clean. Fabian shivers once, and only slowly eases into the touch, closing his eye as Garthy washes his hair, gently working his fingers over his scalp. A memory rises, unbidden - himself, in the bath, he can’t be more than five and he’s sobbing. His papa is away, his mama asleep in her room even though it’s not even dark outside and he’s sick and scared. But then Cathilda’s there, as she always is, and she’s cleaning him up and humming a lullaby. Tears rise now, before he can stop them, dripping into the water.

“What’s distressing you, love?” Garthy asks.

It takes him several minutes to gather his thoughts; they feel ephemeral as clouds floating through his mind. “It’s been twenty years, Garthy. Shouldn’t it have faded?” He coughs, trying to clear the lump in his throat. “I still see them, you know. My father’s warlocks.” He presses the heels of his palms against his eye sockets. Breathe, he tells himself.

Garthy hums a listening noise.

“I shouldn’t have gone alone that night. I just wanted a moment in Crow’s Keep - we’d gone there together, my papa and I. When I was little. It was the one time Mama got angry at him, for bringing me to Leviathan, when he wasn’t supposed to be interacting with pirates. But he’d taken me up to watch the sun rise. He said he’d bring me to the top of the world, that we could touch the clouds. If I was lucky, I might even bring some home in my pockets…

“He gave me cotton candy, told me it was one he’d harvested himself. I’d never imagined clouds tasted so sweet…” he licks his lips, remembering how the candy had melted on his tongue, just like a rain cloud.

“I thought, maybe… somehow… if I spoke to him from the top of the world, he might hear me.” Fabian laughs at himself, coughs on a sob but manages to swallow it back. “Of course, Papa wasn’t listening. He was busy taking over Hell and selling spells to pirates. Always on to a bigger adventure, even in death.

“When the warlocks came, I let myself get swept up. Figuratively, as well as literally. I told them about Papa. About what I’d done… and it wasn’t enough. I killed him and it wasn’t enough.” He takes a ragged breath and Garthy rubs his back in slow circles. “I thought we could take Captain James. I thought I could take Captain James. It would make up for… everything.” He sucks in another breath, on the edge of desperation. He can’t get enough air. When he blinks, he feels Whitclaw’s tentacles on his face, cold fingers gripping him tight, raw hatred pulsing in the air between them.

“It went so fast. So fast. If I didn’t run… if I didn’t… he would have killed me… with the others. I didn’t stop to think, I didn’t even grab Alistair and he was fighting for me. I abandoned him… and I didn’t die, but he did. Because I fucked up.” Fabian sits in silence for several minutes, jaw clenched, struggling to breathe and not cry.

“I thought the guilt would fade,” he finally says, voice rough and not much above a whisper. “I thought the good I’ve done since would make up for it. I thought the adventures I had with the Bad Kids would make up for it. But it hasn’t. It doesn’t. And they’re gone… I thought killing the last of Whitclaw’s men would be penance. But I fucked that up, too.”

The only sound for a long moment is the rain on the roof, thunder rolling in the distance. Then Fabian takes a breath like he’s about to dive into the ocean and turns to face Garthy. “Am I forgivable?”

“Oh my darling Fabian. Of course you are. You are already forgiven.” They lean forward and brush the lightest kiss across his lips. “Yes, dire mistakes were made. And you have repented of those mistakes, and made reparations. You did not follow in your father’s footsteps; you found your own way. You have made a good man of yourself. You help those who are in need. You do not take advantage of anyone. You are generous, kind, thoughtful. Tales of your deeds are not spoken of as widely as Captain Bill Seacaster, but I have heard them nonetheless. Be proud of who you have become, Fabian Aramais Seacaster. And you should know that Alistair Ash lives again.”

A warm breeze whirls through the room and the candles suddenly go out. It’s as though the light has been transmuted into a seed of hope in Fabian, gold as the irises of Garthy’s eyes. Back in bed, Fabian curls into Garthy and they wrap their arms around him, holding tight until his trembling passes.