#i would go there just to read the threads and get each chapter as quickly as possible

[yurucamp]

so glad you are a fan of shimeji simulation!! ❤❤🍄🍳 i hope to see you draw more someday

this is how i learned that the page on my website with my shimeji simulation art is very broken, i just fixed it! https://waxwing.neocities.org/tkmiz

will draw more for sure, i should reread it soon! any characters you'd particularly like to see? if i remember correctly, it was announced on my birthday, i followed girls last tour as it was being released so i remember the annoucement of shimeji simulation so vividlyy

[the-kr8tor]

Loose Thread

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (R is mentioned smaller than Hobie though), food mentions, sexual innuendos, FLUFF.

Main Masterlist

Thread the Needle Masterlist

CHAPTER 2 >>> CHAPTER 3

You hold onto Hobie's waist like your life depended on it, the wind whips at your face, your cardigan not helping with the cold breeze. Your arms perfectly mold around him, like you're made for each other.

You shut your eyes when Hobie accelerates his bike, the harsh wind kisses your cheeks, making you hide your face behind Hobie's back. Feeling the leather against your skin, you get a whiff of Hobie, he smells like leather and citrus, the familiarity of it relaxes you, your hold on him eases a bit.

Hobie feels your hold on him waning, he slows down before tapping on your thigh, bringing you back on earth. "Don't tell me you're falling asleep" He yells, staring at you through his side mirror. Your face pops out, peeking behind his back.

"No, I'm not" you wrap your arms around him tighter, intertwining your fingers with each other. Making yourself his personal seatbelt.

"Sure," he revs up the engine, you yelp when he drives faster, weaving through traffic. You're sure he broke some traffic laws.

Despite the threat of possibly getting arrested, you squeal. Hobie stops abruptly, bumping your head on his back, Hobie's free hand holds your back so you won't get thrown off, the awkward angle making his shoulder ache. He doesn't care for the discomfort though as long as you don't turn into a street pancake.

"Hobie!" You yell, your arms let go of him, slapping his back with your palm "I almost flew off!"

"I'm holding on to you aren't I?" He says in between laughs, as you smack his back a few more times, he's wearing leather, this is definitely hurting you more than it's hurting him.

You stop when your hand stings, but you don't give him much reprieve when you pinch the back of his hand that's still holding on to you.

He brings his hand back at lightning speed, "I just saved your ass, and this is how you repay me?"

"You drive like a maniac! You could get hurt, Hobie!"

"You liked it" he taps his helmet with his knuckles "besides, I'm wearing a helmet" Hobie hitches his leg up, getting off the motorbike.

You stay seated, arms crossed around you, you glare at him. "Not the point"

"Alright, would you get off?" He extends you a hand, helping you.

You hold his outstretched hand, making goosebumps appear on your arms, you slap his hand away when your feet hit the ground, hiding how a simple helping hand makes you feel.

"I'm serious Hobie, Be careful next time, please"

"I will, promise" he can't help surrendering to you, especially when you look up at him like that, your eyes gleaming with determination. If only he could just quickly lean down maybe he can–

Hobie quickly stops his train of thought, bringing his hands over to the clasps of your helmet, taking it off for you.

His fingers graze your chin and neck, making your breath hitch in your throat. He sees you swallow, neck bobbing up and down. Hobie takes his eyes off your skin, clearing his throat.

"Hold still, I'm trying to fix your hair" you pause, actually holding still for him. Hobie tucks it behind your ear, his fingers stay a few seconds longer on the shell of your ear. The cold rings on his fingers are a stark contrast to your heated skin. You stare up at him the entire time, waiting for something. He doesn't take that step, instead Hobie hands the helmet back to you, before he takes his off.

One day all these lingering looks and soft touches will finally break the dam, spilling your affections for each other that's been festering for a decade inevitably take over. Hobie knows once you both cross that line, there's no turning back. He won't risk it, afraid of ruining your friendship for something he's not a hundred percent sure about, he obviously can't read your mind, so until you vocally tell him you like him, he won't cross that line. Hobie sometimes thinks he's delusional, reading your concern for something romantic and not completely platonic on his end. You're best friends of course you would be concerned for him.

Meanwhile, you share the same sentiment, waiting for those words that you've been waiting for to come from Hobie. You see your relationship like a loose thread, just one tug and everything will unravel. Either making or breaking everything you've built with him.

So you're stuck in a perpetual cycle of mutual pining, waiting for the right time to say it, and yet too afraid to cross that thin line of friendship into something more.

You scratch at a peeling sticker on your helmet. Your eyes downturned. The cherry red color of your helmet compliments his jet black one, yours is covered in various stickers you've collected over the years, some cutesy, some you've nicked from Hobie's stash. His helmet is absolutely covered in band stickers, some random ones he picked up from different places; there's no coordination where he placed them. There's a few scattered ones where you sneakily placed your own stickers, adorable looking ones in a sea of punk. The helmets do a good job representing you both.

"Alright, this is the place" he takes his wicks out of the ponytail. Showing you the name of the place.

"Aunt Janet's fabric store?" You read the sign out loud.

"Heard this place from a friend who does that thing where you dress up as a character"

"Cosplay?"

"Yeah that, he said this place sells fabric for cheap. Said this place was a 'hidden gem'" Hobie makes quotation marks with his fingers. "Might help with your project" the way you're staring at him, makes him doubt himself by bringing you here, what was he thinking?

You snort "well, let's see about that" you grin, taking his worry away.

Hobie opens the door for you, the bell jingling, signaling your arrival. The inside looks bigger than you thought. The walls are lined with multitudes of fabrics, all in different colors and types, some shiny and metallic, some sheer.

"Wow, they've got everything" you look at a random fabric, your eyes land on the tag. "Holy shit!" You look at Hobie, pointing at the price tag "is this real?"

"Is that cheap for that kind?"

"Duh-doy!" You point at the price again, almost fifty percent off the usual fabric you buy in your regular store.

"Dork" Hobie flicks your forehead, "let's look around, yeah?" He moves through the store.

"Am I dreaming? Oh my gosh! Look at this one!" You squeal when you see a dark fabric embroidered with flowers, Hobie watches you fangirl over cloth, a lopsided smile on his lips. You gasp "it's sixty percent off!" Feet bouncing excitedly.

"You want me to flick you again? Just to make sure you're not dreaming" Hobie leans on a display, toppling a dozen rolled up fabrics. It crashes loudly on the tiled floor, making you stare wildly at Hobie, he stares back at you, eyes wide, should you make a run for it?

"Shit" you both say simultaneously.

"What was that?" A third voice rings out from the back of the store, a tapping sound comes closer to your frozen bodies.

You grab Hobie's arm, Hiding behind him.

A small woman with a cane rounds the corner, "Oh, what happened here" for dramatic effect, a rolling green fabric stops near her cane. She has thick eyeglasses, her colorful clothes grabs your attention, she rests her hands on her cane, eyes turned curiously to the both of you. She reminds you of a fairytale grandmother, only this grandma might make you pay for damages. "Well? They can't talk for you" she gestures towards the fallen merchandise.

"I leaned against the shelf, sorry. I–" He pushes you out from his back to face the woman. " – we'll fix it, don't worry"

"You better, these old bones can't lift those up" she sweetly smiles.

"We're really really sorry, um?" You ask for her name.

"It's Aunt Janet for you sweetheart"

"Wow, you're the Aunt Janet! It's my first time here, I love your store!" You excitedly say, Hobie raises a brow at you, it's like you're meeting a celebrity.

"Aww thank you, honey. Come with me, I have new fabrics sent in a few days ago, you look like a lace kinda gal" you nod enthusiastically. Aunt Janet gestures for you to go over to her side. You dodge rolls of fabric on the floor, careful not to step over them. "As for your boyfriend, he has a lot of work to do," she laughs at Hobie.

You correct her, as to not make things awkward for the both of you later "oh, he's my best friend, actually"

"Mm-hmm sure, 'best friend' y'know that's how my husband and I used to call eachother" she leads you farther into the store.

You crane your neck behind you, looking apologetically at Hobie. You have a silent conversation with him, while Janet leads you.

He makes a rectangle with his hand, his index finger poking a hole in it. You owe me.

You make a number two with your fingers. Two down eight to go. Already dreading what he's gonna ask for in exchange.

Hobie stares at your retreating back, watching you walk away with a fond smile. Unbeknownst to him, Janet was sneakily watching the interaction.

You and Aunt Janet talk about various things, from facts about different fabrics to your lives. You learned that she did in fact marry her best friend, she even showed you a few pictures (you thought they were adorable) She also told you that the store can sell fabric at a cheap price because she owns the building, also learning that she used to design clothes in her youth, prompting you to tell her that you're a fashion student. Janet talks about her days in the fashion industry, even giving you a few tips.

But of course she asks about you and Hobie, that's inevitable.

"So just best friends huh?" She asks as she gives you another fabric sample, a deep royal blue with a shine on it. "From where I was standing it didn't look like that" she looks at you from the corner of her eyes.

"We've been friends since year six. No offense but you only saw us together for like five minutes"

"Those five minutes were enough for me to see that you're both hopelessly in love with each other, I saw how he looks at you"

You look in between the shelves to see If Hobie heard your conversation. You see him struggling to put together the display, a roll of fabric smacks him right in his face when a shelf topples over. You hear him hiss, immediately wanting to help him.

Janet looks at you with a knowing stare "I know you want to help him" you turn to look at her "trust me I know that look anywhere, I had the same face everytime I look at my best friend"

If she can see that you're absolutely in love with him, why can't he see it for himself?

You clear your throat "thank you, I think I'm gonna help him, before he hurts himself more"

"I mean no disrespect, sweetheart" She taps your foot with her cane "all I'm saying is, it's a rare thing, what you two have. Some people look for it their entire lives, and yet you two already found it. Don't let it pass you by"

"I'm– I don't know" you stammer out.

She nods, grabbing your hand, her hand feels foreign over yours and yet comforting. "One day" you'll know she lets go. Thumping her cane on the floor, "now, you gonna buy something or what?"

You chuckle, as you hear an oof behind the shelves.

—

You give Janet your list of fabrics you're ordering in front of the register, your hand plays with a square sample of a metallic cloth, it feels cold in your hand. Hobie pokes your side, getting your attention, he lays his arm on your shoulder, leaning against you.

"Got it fixed, Aunty" he points behind him with his thumb.

"Good, how's your nose?"

"I'll live" Hobie taps your elbow "Got everything?"

"Hmm? Oh, not yet I've only bought a few that I'm sure I'll use, I'm still not done designing yet, so I still need to come back here" you look up at him, breath warm on his skin.

"Alright, tell me when, yeah? I'll give you a ride"

"You don't have to"

"I want to," He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. Hobie sees Janet stares at you two with a knowing look. He raises a brow.

"This is your total" Janet exhales, showing you what you owe her. "You come back, I've enjoyed our little conversations"

"Thank you" you notice she added another discount on top of the already cheap price but before you could decline it, she gives you a stern look, shutting you up immediately. "Thank you, really. And we'll definitely come back, I mean look at him, I'm gonna need yards of fabric" you give her the bills.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hobie leans slightly away from you, arms still looped over your shoulders.

"It means you're very tall and you need a lot of fabric to cover your tall ass"

Hobie smirks, an innuendo on the tip of his tongue.

Janet cuts him off before he could open his mouth "okay, go flirt somewhere else. You're getting too sweet for my taste"

"I'm not flirting" you simultaneously say, making you look questionably at each other.

"Thank you, come back anytime" Janet smiles sweetly, practically pushing you two out of her store.

—

You grab the paper bag from the cashier, a quick thank you thrown their way. Walking outside you spot Hobie immediately. He's leaning against his bike, hands tucked inside the pocket of his leather jacket, smoke bellowing out from his lit cigarette. Hobie looks cool without even trying, looking like he came out of a magazine. He quickly flicks his cigarette over to the nearby trashcan when he sees you.

You set the bag on the bike's seat, grabbing his shawarma, handing the hot food over to him. "You got my chips?" He asks, peeking inside the bag.

"Our chips" you bite a piece of fry.

"Don't eat it all" He grabs your hand that's holding the half-bitten chip, bringing it closer to his mouth, you play tug of war, pulling your hand back. But he's too strong for you, he ends up almost biting your finger off, leaving some of his drool over your fingers.

"Ack! Hobie, come on, that's disgusting!" You try to wipe your hand over his shirt, but he dodges you last second.

"That's what you get for eating my chip" he steps back when you try to come near him again, a lopsided smile on his lips.

"I bought them" you say matter-of-fact.

"I punched out my card for it" he bites into his shawarma.

You narrow your eyes at him "ass"

"Love" that sounded a lot sweeter in his mind, but he's still chewing his food so it came out muffled, sounding a bit like 'calf'. But you still understood it, you wiped your hand over some napkins in defeat.

Hobie comes closer to you, you're both leaning on the side of his bike, taking bites of your own food. You watch as the sky slowly turns orange, the late afternoon sun glowing on your face.

Hobie watches as your eyes glimmer in the light, taking his breath away. He can't help but take your attention away "Oi, tell me about your project again?"

You knit your brows in confusion "wait, you went with me, without understanding the full thing?"

"Well, you did rush it out last time"

You sigh, not in exasperation but because of his overflowing fondness for you. He accepted your terms without understanding the full extent of your project, he trusts you that much. He just understood that you needed his help with a project, and he accepted, well the favour card helped. But still he agreed.

"We have to make this look, um, outfit, that is the perfect blend of both our styles. And you have to model it in front of everyone" you explain the gist of it.

"A perfect blend of each other huh? so basically we're making our kid then, yeah?"

"That's a weird way of putting it, but yeah I guess so, aren't you worried about modeling?"

"Don't worry about the modeling part, have I ever told you I got scouted once?"

"Hobs, I was there" you reminded him. "You told the guy to fuck off back to his mother" you chuckle remembering the memory.

"That was a good day" He grabs a chip from the bag, "I've got you, yeah? 'm not letting you fail"

"I know you do" you sip at your drink, hiding your shy smile.

—

You step on a stool to reach the top of Hobie's head, the wood wobbles, making Hobie protectively hold your waist. You can feel his warm hands over your blouse.

"I've got you" He watches as you take measurements of his head with a tape measure "please don't tell me you're gonna give me a bloody hat"

Various conversations from your classmates can be heard but you ignore them, focusing only on Hobie.

"Maybe" you smirk at him, "you've got a big head, Hobs"

"Y'know what they say about men with big heads" he loops his thumbs on your belt loops, playing with the rough denim.

"Please don't finish that"

"What? I was about to say we have big brains, what were you thinking 'bout?" He tilts his head, you move him back to place, your hand over his jaw, making him look up.

"Nothing, I was thinking the same thing" you quip as you measure his neck, the tape is cold over his warm skin.

"Sure" he peeks down at you, the tip of your tongue poking out from your slightly parted lips. He exhales "you almost done?"

You scoff "we just started, Hobie. What, you got places to be?"

He rolls his neck when you finally let go. "Band practice" he lies.

"I'll try to be quick then" you hop off the small stool, Hobie helps you down, still grasping your hips. "What size suit do you wear?"

He scrunches his nose "do I look like I wear bloody suits?"

"Right, stupid question" you straighten out your tape measure. "Size of your shoes then?"

Hobie smirks, a quip already on his lips.

"Don't, you already tried that" you point at him. He shuts his mouth playfully, mimicking closing an invisible zipper over it. "Size shoes please" you slap his chest lightly.

He dramatically shrugs, mouth still tightly closed.

"Don't make me take your shoes off" you bunch his shirt in your hand, playfully threatening him. He finds it adorable, he can't help teasing you more.

"Guess"

"Guess?" Your eyes widen at the double meaning of what he's asking. Knowing him, If you answer with a size too small, he's gonna be a brat about it the entire time. But if you answer with a size too big, the size of his ego will triple in magnitude, making him an absolute menace. It's a lose-lose situation. You have to guess correctly.

"What will it be, lovey?" He looks at your thinking face, a knot on your forehead, lips pursed.

You choose neither "I'm not answering that, just wear your own bloody shoes" you pat yourself on the back internally, outsmarting Hobie.

"You're no fun" despite his disappointed words, his large grin betrays his true feelings. "Cheeky" he scoffs, waiting for your reaction.

"Mm-hmm" you tap his arm with your pencil, "lift your arm, please" you bend his raised arm at his wrist, making a half ballerina stance. You choose to ignore his last comment, rolling your eyes, putting a stop to your back and forth.

Hobie watches you measure his arm, your knuckles brush against his warm skin, you take notice of the goosebumps blooming on his skin, choosing to ignore it, avoiding another back and forth teasing, this time coming from you.

"Right" you take the pencil from where you've placed it on your ear, scribbling his size on your sketchbook. You brush away the various papers and tools littered over your table. Hobie brings his long arm down for a second before you put your hands over both, raising them to his sides.

"You done yet?" Hobie's getting antsy, especially when you hold him so tenderly. It's not like he doesn't like it, it's just that he wants to get it over with so his heart will stop thumping so fast against his chest. He's sure you're gonna give him a heart attack any second now.

The classroom's noise fades out in the background.

"Not even close, Hobs" you scribble down the words 'chest and waist'. Hobie sees it, legs bouncing so he has an excuse when you feel his heartbeat while measuring his chest. "Hobie, stop moving or I'll have to start again" you stretch the tape over his chest, sure enough, you can feel how fast his heart's pounding. Shit you gotta finish this fast, or you'll be a goner.

You quickly jot the information down, clearing your throat. Bending down slightly, you hug him, pulling the tape over his waist, face almost completely over his stomach. Hobie feels the dam cracking.

"Sorry, I just gotta" you point down, too awkward to tell him what you have to do.

"Sure" Hobie nods, not completely understanding what you meant. He should've asked though.

Hobie doesn't like not moving, but when you fully kneel in front of him, embracing him again, pulling the tape over his lower waist, He turns to stone, avoiding looking down at you as you clearly avoid that area.

You've done this a million times before, why is it when it comes to Hobie everything seems to leave you flustered?

You look up at him through your lashes, blinking slowly "is this okay? Tell me if you're uncomfortable and I'll stop, okay?"

"I'm fine, it's fine" Hobie avoids your gaze, he plays it off nonchalantly, inside he's burning, he hides his shaking hands behind him.

Hobie watches the white ceiling instead, focusing on listening to your classmates' conversations to trick his mind from thinking something inappropriate. He finds out your classmate just bought their first car, good for them, he thinks.

Hobie exhales a trembled breath when you wrap the tape over his thigh. You can feel his muscles tensing at the contact. You bite your lip, trying to focus on finishing it up.

He just learned that one of your classmates' name is Hannah, and she apparently likes shepherd pie– Hobie closes his eyes when your hand grazes his hip again, the tape falling on the length of his leg.

"Almost done, you okay?"

Hobie looks down, that was a mistake on his end. He almost chokes on his own spit. Be a fucking adult, it's just her. He curses himself, that's the problem though, it's you, isn't it?

You feel hot, seeing how he looks down at you, his lips slightly parted. You shake your thoughts, That's your best friend you moron! Stop!

" 'm fine" Hobie's proud of himself for managing to say something. He feels bad, you're acting like a professional and he's a mess, heart stuttering with every contact.

You stand up, knees creaking. You're not even done measuring him yet, maybe you could just estimate the rest? He's fine having loose clothes right?

"Right, uh, I need to meet with you again, bang out some– I mean brainstorm some ideas" you change your choice of words so fast, already learning your lesson from last time. It doesn't go unnoticed by Hobie though.

Still reeling from a second ago, Hobie clears his throat, he internally fights with himself, whether or not to tease you with your first choice of word. "Of course, just let me know" He decides not to tease you more, if he chose to say it, he might end up flustered too. But his last sentence sounded too formal, a consequence of his (still) fogged up mind.

"I've already submitted the first rough sketch to Mrs. Williams, so we're good" you awkwardly make a double thumbs up.

"Yours or my place?" He blurts out.

"Uh, yours if that's okay? My dorm doesn't allow visitors staying late so"

"That's fine then, just don't come over too early" you both sound like you're acquaintances, oh Hobie hates this, this is exactly what he was avoiding.

You take notice of the mood change, so you try to break the ugly vibe permeating from you both.

"I'll bring the food" you say in a sing-song voice, bumping the tip of your shoe over his boots.

"And drinks?" Hobie raises a brow. Tricking you to use one of his favours without punching a hole in your card.

"And drinks" you sigh defeated, it's the most you can do after making him uncomfortable, in your mind at least. For Hobie it was far from uncomfortable, he felt like he was drowning, your touch the only thing bringing him back to the surface. It was the most pleasant thing, if only it didn't end with you both being awkward towards each other.

"Deal"

You shake his hand, doing your old secret handshake with him, your mind drifting off in the past.

You were this close from unraveling the thread that binds you both, good thing you stopped tugging at it. Hobie can see the fissures you've left on the dam.

A/N: Sorry this took a while. Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️

*pictures above are from pinterest*

[callsigns-haze]

An outburst of a spark

Eris x Rhysand's Sister!Reader Summary: Eris and Y/N discover their son Finna has powerful magic after a dramatic outburst, leaving Eris panicked and uncertain. Together, they resolve to support and guide Finna, reaffirming their bond as a family. Chapter Warnings: Magic outburst, parental panic, strong emotional distress.

*Serves as a one-shot but can be read as memories fade or the sequel loves haze series

A couple of nights have passed, Eris and Y/N lay in bed, wrapped in the cozy warmth of their blankets. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. Y/N rested her head on Eris's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Her dark hair fanned out across his skin, and his fingers gently threaded through the strands, each touch a soothing, rhythmic caress.

"We need to take Ace to his vaccination," Y/N murmured, her voice a soft whisper in the quiet night. The puppy had quickly become a beloved member of their family, full of boundless energy and mischief.

Eris's chuckle rumbled in his chest, a warm and comforting sound. "I know, but who's going to take him? I have that meeting with the council tomorrow."

They debated for a moment, their conversation a gentle tug-of-war filled with playful banter. Eris's hand wandered to her weak spot, just at the base of her neck, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles. She sighed, feeling the tension melt away under his touch.

"You're not playing fair," she mumbled, her resolve weakening.

Eris leaned in, his lips brushing against her earlobe, his breath warm against her skin. "How about you take him? Finna and I can have a father-son day. Just the two of us."

Y/N felt her willpower slipping as he nibbled gently on her earlobe, sending shivers down her spine. "You're impossible," she sighed, her voice a mixture of exasperation and affection. "Alright, alright. I'll take Ace. But you owe me."

Eris grinned, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. "Deal. You get a break tomorrow, and Finna and I will have our day off together."

He continued to stroke her hair, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her scalp. She closed her eyes, feeling a wave of contentment wash over her. The thought of a peaceful day, even if it meant taking Ace to the vet, seemed more manageable knowing Eris and Finna would have their special time together.

As they lay there, wrapped in each other's embrace, Y/N felt a deep sense of love and gratitude for the family they had built. The challenges of parenthood and the responsibilities of their roles seemed a little lighter in these quiet moments of intimacy and connection.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Eris tightened his hold on her, his lips pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "I love you too," he replied, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity.

-----

The next morning, Eris woke up feeling the familiar chill of early December in the air. He stretched his limbs, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, and glanced over at the empty side of the bed. Y/N was already gone, having taken Ace for his vaccination appointment.

With a soft sigh, Eris swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet meeting the cool floor. The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. He quickly dressed in his usual attire, opting for a warm, dark green tunic and brown trousers. After combing through his ginger-red hair and fastening his boots, he set about the morning tasks with practiced efficiency.

First, he headed to Finna's room. The little boy was peacefully asleep in his crib, his light strawberry-brown hair tousled and sticking up in adorable tufts. Eris gently lifted him out, taking care not to wake him. He changed Finna’s diaper with swift, practiced movements, the baby stirring slightly but remaining mostly asleep.

Once Finna was clean and fresh, Eris dressed him in a cozy, light blue onesie lined with soft fleece. He added a little knitted hat to protect Finna’s head from the cold, and slipped his tiny hands into matching mittens. Despite being so small, Finna’s outfit looked both adorable and snug, perfect for a day out in the crisp December air.

Eris carefully carried Finna on his hip, feeling the reassuring warmth of his son against his side. He moved with a sense of purpose, heading downstairs and through the house to meet Borra outside. The winter morning was frosty, with a light dusting of snow on the ground, and the world was painted in shades of white and gray.

Outside, Borra stood by the gate, his breath visible in the cold air as he waited. He was dressed in his usual uniform, looking every bit the capable leader of the armies that he was. When he saw Eris approaching, he gave a nod of acknowledgment, a faint smile touching his lips at the sight of Eris with his young son.

“Morning, Eris. Ready for the market?” Borra asked, his tone light and friendly.

Eris returned the smile, his eyes softening as he looked at Finna. “Good morning, Borra. Yes, we’re ready. Just need to make sure everything is in order before we head out.”

Borra chuckled, glancing down at Finna. “He looks like quite the little adventurer, all bundled up.”

Eris adjusted Finna’s hat, making sure it was snug but not too tight. “He’s as ready as he’ll ever be. I just hope the cold doesn’t bother him too much.”

As they walked toward the market, the crisp December air filled their lungs, and the occasional snowflake danced through the sky. Eris held Finna securely, occasionally glancing down at his son to ensure he was comfortable. Finna’s small face peeked out from the layers of clothing, his eyes wide with curiosity as he took in the sights of their surroundings.

The market was bustling with activity, a lively contrast to the serene landscape they had left behind. Vendors called out their wares, the smell of baked goods and hot drinks mingling in the air. Eris navigated the crowds with practiced ease, his attention divided between the market stalls and his son.

Borra fell into step beside him, occasionally pointing out different stalls or items of interest. “If you need any help with the shopping, just let me know,” Borra offered, his voice warm despite the chill in the air.

Eris nodded, appreciating the offer. “Thank you. I might take you up on that. There’s always so much to see and choose from.”

As Eris and Borra exited the bustling market and moved towards a more deserted part of town, the stillness was abruptly shattered by Finna’s sudden, distressed crying. The baby boy’s wails echoed through the quiet streets, accompanied by harsh, rattling coughs that tore at Eris’s heart. Eris bounced Finna gently, trying various soothing methods to calm him down, but nothing seemed to work.

“Shh, Finna, it’s alright, little one,” Eris murmured, his voice tinged with worry. “Daddy’s here.”

Borra’s concerned gaze darted between Eris and Finna. “Is he alright? Those coughs sound serious.”

Before Eris could respond, a surge of magical energy burst from Finna. It was like a flame, gleaming with golden red, black, and the most delicate shine of purple—a perfect blend of the powers of the Night Court and the Autumn Court. Eris felt the heat and power of it, a raw and potent force emanating from his infant son.

Eris’s eyes widened in shock and realization. He knew there was a possibility that Finna could inherit their abilities, but this display of magic was far beyond what he had anticipated. The fact that Finna was a descendant of the Phoenii had magnified his powers, making them manifest in a sudden and explosive way.

“We need to get him home,” Eris said urgently, meeting Borra’s eyes. “Now.”

Borra nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. He moved closer, ready to assist in any way necessary. Eris held Finna tightly, and with a focused thought, they winnowed back to their house, the world around them blurring and reforming in an instant.

Once they arrived home, Eris's panic only intensified. Finna's cries grew louder, echoing through the house and amplifying Eris's worry. The baby's tiny body continued to radiate bursts of magical energy, each wave a mix of golden red, black, and purple.

“Finna, please, it’s alright,” Eris murmured, his voice shaking. He could feel the magic coursing through his son, wild and uncontrolled.

Borra, sensing Eris’s mounting distress, quickly moved to his side. “Eris, we need to get Y/N. She’ll know what to do.”

Eris nodded, his face pale and eyes wide with fear. “Yes, yes, you’re right. Please, find her. Hurry.”

Borra wasted no time. He winnowed out of the house, leaving Eris alone with Finna. The baby’s cries were relentless, each one piercing Eris’s heart. He held Finna close, trying to calm him, but nothing seemed to work. The magical energy continued to pulse, each burst making Finna’s little body tremble.

“Shh, it’s okay, Finna,” Eris whispered, though his own voice was unsteady. “Mommy will be here soon. Just hold on, my brave boy.”

Minutes felt like hours as Eris waited, the anxiety gnawing at him. He paced the room, trying to soothe Finna with gentle rocking motions and soft words, but the baby’s cries only grew more frantic. The room seemed to shimmer with the residual magic, a constant reminder of the power their son possessed.

Finally, Borra returned, his expression grim. “I couldn’t find her anywhere, Eris. I’m sorry.”

Eris’s heart sank. He had hoped Y/N’s presence would be enough to calm Finna. Now, he was on his own. “Alright,” he said, trying to steady his voice. “We’ll have to figure this out ourselves.”

He took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. He remembered the calm, soothing tone Y/N always used with Finna and tried to emulate it. “It’s okay, Finna,” he murmured, rocking his son gently. “Daddy’s here. We’ll get through this.”

He tried everything he could think of: singing lullabies, rocking Finna gently, even using a touch of his own magic to try and stabilize the chaotic bursts emanating from his son. But nothing seemed to work. The cries continued, and the magic only grew more intense.

Borra watched helplessly, unable to offer more than moral support. “You’re doing everything you can, Eris. Just keep trying.”

Eris nodded, though the weight of his worry pressed heavily on his shoulders. “I can’t let him lose control,” he said, more to himself than to Borra. “I promised we’d protect him.”

As Finna’s cries reached a fever pitch, Eris felt a surge of desperation. He held his son closer, letting his own magic flow freely, creating a protective barrier around them both. The chaotic energy seemed to clash with his own, but slowly, gradually, it began to subside.

“It’s working,” Borra said, a note of hope in his voice. “Keep going, Eris.”

Eris focused all his energy on calming Finna, whispering soothing words and projecting a sense of safety and love. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Finna’s cries began to soften. The magical bursts dwindled, becoming gentle pulses that matched Eris’s own heartbeat.

“There you go, little one,” Eris whispered, tears of relief streaming down his face. “We did it. Daddy’s here, and everything’s going to be alright.”

Borra stepped closer, his expression a mix of admiration and concern. “You did it, Eris. You kept your promise.”

As the door to their cabin creaked open, Y/N stepped inside, feeling an almost palpable rush of energy hit her. It was an unusual, unsettling sensation, one that sent a shiver down her spine. Her heart quickened, and instinctively, she called out, “Eris? Eris, where are you?”

Her voice echoed through the quiet house, carrying a note of urgency and worry. She hurried through the entryway, her eyes scanning for any sign of her mate and their child. The sense of unease only grew stronger as she moved deeper into the house.

“Eris?” she called again, louder this time. “Finna?”

She found them in the living room. Eris was sitting on the floor, cradling a now-sleeping Finna in his arms. The room still seemed to shimmer with the aftereffects of magic, and the air was charged with residual energy. Eris looked up as she entered, his expression a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

Borra stood off to the side, looking as if he’d been rooted there for hours. As soon as Y/N entered, he gave a slight bow and excused himself, slipping quietly out of the room to give the family privacy.

Y/N rushed to them, her eyes wide with concern and shock. She knelt beside Eris, her hand immediately reaching out to touch Finna’s soft hair. “What happened?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I felt the magic from outside.”

Eris closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “It was Finna,” he said quietly. “He… he had a magical outburst. I’ve never seen anything like it. I tried to calm him down, but it was like the magic had a mind of its own.”

Y/N’s heart ached as she looked at her son, his little face peaceful now in sleep. “Oh, Eris,” she murmured, her voice filled with sympathy and surprise. “Our son has magic.”

Eris nodded, his eyes meeting hers. “I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I tried everything, but he wouldn’t stop crying. The magic just kept coming.”

She reached out and cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. “You did everything you could,” she said softly. “And you kept him safe. That’s what matters.”

Eris leaned into her touch, drawing comfort from her presence. “I thought I was becoming like my father,” he confessed, his voice choked with emotion. “I felt so helpless, like I was failing him.”

Y/N shook her head, her eyes fierce with determination. “You are nothing like Beron,” she said firmly. “You’re a wonderful father, Eris. You did exactly what you needed to do to protect our son. And you succeeded.”

She leaned in and kissed him gently, a silent promise of support and love. “We’ll figure this out together,” she whispered against his lips. “We’ll learn how to help Finna control his magic. He’s our son, and we’ll always be there for him.”

Eris pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her and Finna close. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice full of gratitude and love. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with love for her mate and their child. “You’ll never have to find out,” she said softly. “We’re in this together, always.”

As they sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the remnants of fear and panic began to fade, replaced by a renewed sense of determination and hope. They were a family, and together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead.

A/n: @rcarbo1 thank youuuuu for this wonderful idea!

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

@lucky7rosie

@daughterofthemoons-stuff

@lilah-asteria

@crossfandomslut

@pit-and-the-pen

@inky-sun

@the-sweet-psycho

@why4anne

@bunnyredgirl

@rcarbo1

@pandabiiissh

@adalia-jaycee

@swiftie-4-lifes-stuff

@minaethrym

[discount-shades]

Contract Spouse Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Living the Lie 

A/N: to quote M*A*S*H “War isn’t Hell. War is war, and Hell is Hell. And of the two, war is a lot worse.”

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning:  Angst, war, PTSD, civilian deaths, child death, nightmares

Length: 2100 ish

Summary: Jake and Pip settle into living together.

Previous     Masterlist     Next

Two weeks after you had settled into Jake's house in San Diego you were on the phone with Sami. Your almost daily phone calls with Jake had been replaced by phone calls to Sami. You look up from the pasta you were stirring on the stove as Jake walks through the side door. He goes to greet you but cuts himself off when he sees you are on the phone.

“Who is it?” You read his lips as he mouths the question and you mouth the answer back. “Hi Sami,” he calls out.

“Jake says hi,” you say with a resigned sigh. Relaying a conversation between the two siblings when you were on the phone with Jake had started very soon after the wedding and now that you were living with Jake, the habit had immediately resumed in reverse and you had long since given up trying to get them to talk to each other. Jake now sports a smile identical to the one Sami always had on her face during these conversations. 

When you finally hang up the phone you roll your eyes at Jake. “You guys are ridiculous, I hate you both.” 

“No you don’t,” he grins as he heads to his room to change out of his work clothes “You love us.” 

“That's the problem.” You mumble to yourself as you dump the pasta into a serving dish and set the table before sitting down to dinner.

“I got two more quotes on redoing the roof,” you tell Jake between bites of alfredo. “I think we should go with the second, they’re more expensive but have better reviews and can begin sooner.” 

“Whatever you think is best.” Jake shrugs, relieved you had taken over the repairs he had been too busy to arrange.

“And the contractor for the hot water tank called, he had a cancellation and can come replace ours tomorrow.” Jake just nods in confirmation and you fight a sigh.

The house that Jake had bought a few months ago, though overall in good shape, had needed a few updates and you had quickly taken over organizing them. Talking about hiring contractors over dinner makes you feel more married than you have ever felt before. The monotony of cohabitation made slipping into the rhythm of life together automatic. 

Living with Jake was easy. You worked together seamlessly, easily dividing household chores and responsibilities. Chatting in the evenings, watching tv, or just sitting in silence reading. The two of you just fit together. He had even tolerated you reorganizing every drawer and shelf in the common spaces with minimal cursing over not being able to find things.

Life continues in the same thread. You and Jake grocery shopping, going for walks, cooking, and doing dishes, just easily living together. But as time went on you were finding it harder and harder. 

Everyday you had to stifle your imagination as you pictured him coming through the door and giving you a kiss. The little part in your heart that you could never squish down was still hoping that one day Jake would look at you and fall in love. 

The logical part tried to keep your breathing steady when Jake would brush past you in the kitchen. Tried to keep you from melting into his touch when he placed his hand on your lower back when you were walking together in public. Tried to keep from staring when you were together. 

It didn’t help that Jake frequently walks around without his shirt. Whether it was first thing in the morning, after a shower, or after a run. You loved and hated it. When you said goodnight and went to your separate rooms you wanted to follow him into the master bedroom and finally end your embarrassingly long dry spell. You should have hooked up with your cute neighbor in your final days in Austin. Maybe that would have made things easier. 

– – – 

“Jake,” your voice startles him out of his sleep. He can hear you tapping gently on his door before easing it open. “We have a problem.” 

“What's wrong?” he mumbles sleepily as he sits up in bed, squinting in the hall light shining through the open door. The rain from earlier is still lightly falling outside. “What time is it?”

“It’s a little after midnight, The roof is leaking.” You tell him, hair pulled up into a sloppy bun and pillow creases on your cheek. “I woke up in a puddle, it's coming through the light fixture above the bed.”

Jake mumbles curses. He had been sleeping soundly and would have likely been able to sleep the whole night if the roof hadn’t leaked. He helps you move the bed and set up a big rubbermaid bin under the leak to catch the dripping water while you strip the wet bedding off the mattress and throw it in the bathtub. You flip the breaker and he carefully removes the light so the water can fall directly into the bin without pooling, you dutifully hold the flashlight.

After you follow him into the attic to see where the leak is. Fortunately it is only in one spot and the rain has slowed to a stop. Using the towels you had so neatly organized, you help him mop up all the water you can. You place another bin under the main leak but it has slowed to a drip. Working next to you in the dimly lit attic, Jake realizes he never would have noticed the leak so soon if not for you.

“When are they supposed to fix the roof?” Jake asks you.

“Monday,” you say sadly and he sighs. “If you leave all the information for me I’ll call the insurance company tomorrow.”

He follows you down the ladder with the wet towels and throws them into the washing machine. You follow with the towels from your room. Your teeth chattering and he looks at you for the first time and notices that your pajamas are soaking wet.

“Pip you're going to get sick, go change.” You roll your eyes at him but comply and grab a dry pair of pajamas and head to the bathroom so you can leave your wet ones in the tub. When you come out of the bathroom he meets you in the hall. “I dumped the bin in your room, we should be good to go back to sleep.” You nod but don't follow him; grabbing your pillow you turn to go into the living room. 

“Where are you going?”

“The couch.” You stare at him in confusion. “My mattress is soaked.”

“Yeah but mine's not.” You stand there staring at him and he suddenly feels like he has overstepped. The look in your eye is unreadable but you just agree quietly and follow him. When he reaches the bed and you crawl in beside him he feels his stomach clench. He can't remember the last time he slept next to someone, it's been years, definitely before the nightmares started. What if he moves and hits you, or says something he doesn’t want you to hear?

It’s awkward. As soon as he lies down beside you he feels the need to move and eases himself over to his other side. He can hear you rolling over when he does. You don’t say anything but he can tell you are tense. Maybe he shouldn't have insisted you share his bed. “Do you want to build a pillow wall?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You roll over again and he can feel your eyes on him. “Good night Jake.” 

“Goodnight.” You stop moving but he can tell you are not asleep by your breathing. He listens and tries not to move but he can’t sleep if you are awake. He feels the bed shift every time you move and shuffle your feet. He stares into the dark hyper aware of you beside him, pretending to sleep before he finally breaks the silence. “Are you awake?” 

“Yeah.”

“Can’t sleep?” 

“My feet are cold,” you tell him. “I can’t sleep with cold feet.”

Jake bites back a sigh and says the thing he doesn’t want to do. “You can put them on me.”

Your soft laugh almost makes it worthwhile. “I don’t think you mean that,” you counter. And he reaches down to feel your feet and immediately regrets his decision when he feels how icy they are. 

“Come on,” he says resignedly and urges you to roll over so you can press your feet to his warm legs. When you settle he finds himself focusing on your cold toes to distract himself from the warmth coming from your body lying beside him. 

As your feet warm he can feel the tension leave you as you relax into sleep, your breath slowing and evening out and soon he finds himself drifting off as well. 

– – – 

Maverick is carrying a lifeless Rooster in his arms. He is standing in the desert. Rubble and fire from a destroyed building around him. Blood is dripping down Rooster's extended arm and steadily falling from his fingertips and onto the dry sand. Jake stands, blood pounding in his ears with every drop that hits the ground. Maverick is speaking to him in a language he can't understand, repeating the same phrase. 

When he realizes it’s weird to see Maverick cradling Rooster so easily everything seems to blur  and when it clears there is now a father holding his young son in front of him. The boy's eyes are open and staring blankly at the sky. The man speaks but it is Maverick's voice he hears, “You shot at the wrong time, his death is your fault Hangman.” The man advances towards him brandishing the body of his dead son repeating the words in Maverick’s voice, becoming angrier and more grief-stricken with every repetition as Jake retreats, his heart pounding, unable to escape.

– – – 

“No!” Jake sits up gasping. His heart is hammering wildly as he tries to breathe. He feels like there is a weight on his chest, contracting his lungs and keeping his ribcage from expanding. The image of the boy burned into his retinas. 

“Jake?” The soft sound of your voice startles him and he flinches when he sees you move before pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Trying to rub away what he saw. Your hand is hesitant as it brushes against his back, gently moving and pressing his t-shirt into his sweat soaked skin. He wants to tell you to stop, that he doesn’t deserve comfort after what he did. He wants to get up and leave, but he doesn't. He just sits there frozen and focuses on the feeling of your warm hand smoothing over his spine as his breathing steadies. When the chill sets in he strips off the sweaty shirt and lies back down on his back.

“Nightmare?” you ask quietly already knowing the answer. He nods even though he is not sure you can see him. He’s told you about the nightmares, never why or what he sees but you know he has trouble sleeping. You're the only one who knows. 

You lie on your side and he can feel your eyes in the dark. Unable to rub his back you place your hand on his chest and resume the relaxing motion. But the feel of your hand on his bare chest is too much and he stops you, flattening your hand to his heart. When you go to pull away he reaches up with his other hand and clutches your wrist, unwilling to let you go.

“Don’t go.” The words slip out before he can stop them and he clenches his jaw to keep from speaking more. He can feel you nod you head beside him. You slowly begin flexing your fingers and he relaxes the hand flattening yours and you begin to gently scratch his chest with your finger tips. He finally lets out a shuddering breath and shifts his grip on your wrist so he can feel your steady pulse. 

“Breath with me,” you whisper. “Focus on my breaths.” he lies beside you and listens to you breathe and focuses on the feeling of your warm hand pressed to his heart and the gentle caress of your finger tips. He feels the butterfly kiss of your lips on his shoulder and his skin burns. Your soft breaths moves over his skin and his heart aches.

When your fingers stop moving he knows you are asleep but doesn’t let go of your hand, eventually he falls into a dreamless sleep listening to your soft breaths. 

[supernova-stardust]

A Habit to Kick (The Age-Old Curse)

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 after the break wip | rated M | jegulus | wolfstar | rosekiller | total word count: 19,273 full fic also on ao3

A few weeks ago, Regulus Black jumped off a bridge. It's not that he really wanted to die, but he didn't really want to live either. He didn't think anyone would care one way or another, if he's honest. Now he's stuck learning how to live.

James Potter was used to seeing Reg every day at the cafe he worked in, until one day he stopped coming in. When he finally sees the guy he's been crushing on come back into the cafe, he knew he had to take his chance at asking him out on a date.

***This fic deals with heavy themes of depression, lack of a will to live, and suicide, but will have a happy ending***

Regulus threw himself onto his bed and let out a heavy groan. He thought that nothing his brother did could surprise him anymore, but here he was, shocked. Sirius hadn't acted this immature since they both lived at home with their parents and Regulus had always assumed that it was in act of defiance more than anything else. He couldn't help but wonder what had triggered his brother to be so over-protective when he had been the one encouraging him to go on the date in the first place. He had to know what going on a date meant, right?

He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the text thread with James, staring at the glaringly bright screen in contemplation. He started typing out a few messages before promptly deleting each one.

sorry about my bother

you're a great kisser

hey i had a nice time, sorry my brother ruined it

funny story, a few weeks ago i jumped off a bridge because i was so desperately lonely that it felt better than living with the fear of being forever alone, anyway that's why my brother is a fucking menace to society right now

He continued to stare at the open thread, wondering what he could even say, when a text from James popped up on the screen.

[James]: hey, i had an amazing time with you. i'd love to go on another date, is later this week too soon? i really want to see you again.

Regulus fumbled his phone from shock and then immediately began spiraling. Had James watched as Regulus typed and typed and typed, never sending a message of his own? Of course having the thread open, James would have seen that Regulus had read the text immediately. He quickly typed a reply.

[Regulus]: i would love that, my treat like we talked about. how's friday? [James]: friday's perfect, you plan and let me know details, but i'll plan to pick you up since you don't have a car? [Regulus]: sounds perfect, can't wait

James reacted to his message with a heart almost immediately and he felt a flutter of excitement in the pit of his stomach. Then, another text came through and Regulus nearly screamed. He probably would have if his brother and Remus weren't in his apartment to judge him.

[James]: can't wait to kiss you again [Regulus]: you have no idea how pissed i am at my brother for interrupting us [James]: i have some idea *exhaling emoji*

Regulus laughed, imaging James' face making the same expression. He heard a soft knock at his door and locked his phone as he placed it on his nightstand. "Go away, Sirius."

Sirius opened the door anyway, a sheepish look painted on his face. "Look, I know you don't want to see me right now—"

"You're right, I don't. Leave."

"I want to explain myself. Please?"

"I don't want to listen right now. Whatever it is, it can wait until I'm less pissed."

"Yeah, sure, I mean… I wanna believe that. I do. Except we both know that you don't get less pissed. You just ruminate."

"Let me ruminate, Sirius."

"Listen—"

"No, fuck off." Regulus grabbed a porcelain trinket tray from his bedside table and dumped the contents onto the surface before holding the tray up in his hand. "I will throw this at your head if you don't fuck off right now."

Sirius held his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll be here when you're ready to talk." He left the room, closing the door gently behind him. As Regulus laid back, he overheard his brother and Remus talking in hushed tones in the hallway, but he wasn't able to make out what they were saying.

He appreciated both of them, he really did. He would even go so far as to admit to himself—never to Sirius—that they were a huge reason why he decided to follow through on all of the treatment he's been participating in. Sure, a huge lesson in therapy was that he needed to do it for himself, but he couldn't find it in himself to care about himself enough to get better right now. He did, however, care about Sirius. He cared about Remus. Maybe it was pathetic to consider his only reason for carrying on to be his brother and his brother's boyfriend, but it was the truth.

Fuck, he was pathetic.

***

In the morning, Regulus mindlessly went through his routine before going to the café, driven solely by the motivation to see James. As he hurried through the door, he immediately deflated upon seeing his least favorite barista behind the counter instead. Peter.

It wasn't that Peter was unpleasant, in fact the problem very well might have been that he was too pleasant. He was boisterous and what he lacked in ability, he made up for in friendly discussion and remembering every detail about each person who came through the door. He may have routinely burned himself with steamed milk, but he always had a laugh at himself about it. Regulus found him to be absolutely irritating.

"Want anything other than your black coffee, Reg?"

"No, thank you." Regulus replied curtly as he took out his cash.

"You sure? I know you don't usually grab anything to eat, but the almond croissants are especially good today." Peter gave him a smile that was far too cheerful for the early hour as he poured the cup of coffee.

"I'm good," Regulus deadpanned. He held out the cash for his coffee in a polite attempt to end the conversation, but when Peter placed the coffee on the counter, he reached into the pastry case. He placed an almond croissant on a plate and set it on the counter next to the coffee and Regulus gaped in shock.

"On the house," Peter said cheerfully. "Have a great day!"

When Peter didn't take the cash in Regulus' outstretched hand he placed it on the counter and picked up the coffee and the croissant. He stared at the abomination of a pastry the entire time he walked towards the back of the café. Placing his things down on the table and sitting down, he continued to glare at the croissant. It wasn't that he didn't like croissants—he did, very much so—but almond? Who on earth had thought to put the least impressive nut inside something so decadent as a croissant?

He sipped his coffee—it tasted terrible—and decided that today was going to be awful.

***

This was the first time Regulus had participated in group therapy that wasn't mandated by the hospital as a part of his treatment. Participated was a strong word, really. He sat in a metal folding chair and disassociated as everyone around him shared their traumatic backstory, a valid reason for their attempts at ending it all.

He couldn't help but to feel inadequate. First, his reasons for jumping off a bridge were trivial at best, and then he couldn't even kill himself properly.

None of his backstory was nearly as traumatic as anything he had heard here today. Here were people who had been terribly abused, neglected, and in one case quite literally tortured. Yet here he sat, among these people with real reasons to give up on living, with nothing but a little bit of religious trauma and loneliness to fuel his suicide attempt.

The group leader, Poppy, looked to him next. He had been so self-indulged in feeling sorry for himself that he hadn't heard what she said. "What?" Regulus asked, making it clear to the entire room that he hadn't been paying attention. He heard a few people laugh under their breath and he did his best to ignore them.

"Is there anything you'd like to share with us today, Regulus?" Poppy was kind, her voice gentle. He hair was pulled back in a way that would make many look severe and cruel, but on her it accentuated her softness. Everything from her face, to her voice, to her body was soft and sweet. She exuded a type of maternal energy that Regulus had longed to feel his entire life.

He resented her for it. It made him feel weak in the face of her questions.

"I— Well, I fired my therapist this week."

"Did something happen?" She asked, probing him to elaborate.

"Not really? I just…didn't like him." He answered like it was a question. When she didn't say anything he continued. "He was late to the appointment. He didn't bother to take the time to read my chart before our session. I just didn't feel like he cared, so I fired him."

"I've fired therapists before," a girl with platinum hair said in an airy voice. "The least they can do is be likeable. Awful of them to not be likeable, really."

"Pandora, we've talked about this. You can't villainize people because you don't like them. People are all individuals and not liking someone doesn't make them bad," Poppy admonished.

"Yes it does." Pandora answered so plainly that Regulus choked out a laugh.

Poppy leveled a reprimanding look towards Pandora before turning back to Regulus. "Have you found a new therapist then?"

"Uh…"

"Regulus, group therapy is a great tool to help in your recovery process, but one-on-one therapy is very important. Stay after for a few moments so I can give you a list of therapists who are taking new patients, okay?" Poppy said with no room for Regulus to argue.

Group therapy continued with Regulus staying silent throughout everyone else updating the group about their weeks and their goals. When Poppy asked Regulus what his goal for the week was, he said to find a new therapist, taking the easy way out so that he didn't have to think any further. He had been intending on it anyway, but now he was going to milk it for all that it was. As everyone got up to leave, Pandora gave him a smile and a wave before heading out with a skip in her step. Regulus followed Poppy to where she had left her belongings and she rifled through her bag to find the list of therapists she promised him.

"I try to keep this list up to date with therapists who are currently open for new patients and who would be able to see you soon, so you shouldn't need to call too many in order to get an appointment in the next week or so." Poppy pulled out the list and held it out to him. He hesitated for a moment before finally taking it in his hand and scanning it over.

"Do you know any of them personally?" He knew it was a bit of an invasive question, but Poppy was kind and if she knew any of these therapists herself, he hoped that her knowing them would be a bit of a filter in his search for the right therapist for him.

"I went to school with Sybil Trelawney. She's… Very kind. Different. She tends to be a bit outside of the box for most, but she means well. I find that sometimes it's refreshing to see things from her perspective though."

"Thanks," Regulus said and he meant it. "I'll give her office a call to make an appointment. I could do with a new perspective, I think."

"I hope it works out," Poppy said with a gentle smile as she grabbed her bag and followed him out the door.

When Regulus stepped outside, he saw Remus leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette and let out a groan. "I can walk home alone just fine, you know. It's only a fifteen minute walk."

Remus took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled, avoiding looking at Regulus as he did. "I know, I'm not here to babysit you."

Regulus leaned against the wall and held out his hand in a silent request to share the cigarette Remus was smoking.

"I didn't know you smoked," Remus said.

"I thought you weren't babysitting."

"Fair enough." Remus handed him the cigarette and watched Regulus take a long drag. When Regulus exhaled without coughing, Remus took out another cigarette from his pack and lit it. Regulus raised an eyebrow but continued to smoke. "You clearly need it."

"I do," Regulus laughed, a hollow and humorless thing. "Why are you here then?"

"I wanted to talk about your brother."

"I'd really rather not."

"I know, but we all have to live together for the next week or so and I'd rather it be peaceful. I can't handle the stress."

Regulus took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes fixed on the scars painting Remus' face as he mulled over his words. Life hadn't been kind to Remus—not when it came to the body he was forced to live in. Even at his young age, there were days where he struggled to get out of bed. Plagued by rheumatoid arthritis and lingering injuries from a childhood car accident, his joints would flare up in agony whenever the weather was particularly cold or when the stress was too heavy on his shoulders.

"You should quit smoking if you're so concerned with your health."

"Sure, and you should talk to your brother. We both have to do things we don't want to, I guess."

"Oh, come on." Regulus complained as he tilted his head back into the wall and stared at the overcast sky.

"You walked into that one, I'm afraid." Remus pushed himself off the wall and stubbed his cigarette out, pocketing the trash and giving Regulus a look that said let's go.

Regulus followed suit and the two of them walked towards his apartment in silent understanding. Neither of them were chatty or wanted to spill their guts out to one another, but they had always understood each other all the same.

"He didn't mean to ruin your date, you know." Remus said, breaking the silence when they were nearly home. "He just says shit sometimes, doesn't even think about it before it comes out of his mouth. I know you know what I mean, you grew up with him. He's mortifying sometimes. And protective. I know the impact overshadows his intentions, but he really does mean well. What you did—the whole jumping thing—it really fucked him up. He won't say it because he's trying not to make it about him, but it did. Fucked me up too, if we're having an honest moment here. I think you need to give him a little bit of grace to act childish right now. We're all coping the best we can."

"I'm not acting—"

"I'm not even gonna let you finish that sentence, you've been petulant and childish. You literally shoved him, Reg. And that's okay, we've been letting you act out. But you need to give Sirius the same grace, this happened to him too. He nearly lost his little brother and now he's doing the best he can to be strong and act like it didn't hurt so it's easier for you."

"Can we go back to unhealthy coping mechanisms? I want another cigarette."

"Nah, we just quit. Besides, we're home. I can't be seen as an enabler."

"We did not—Ugh, he's gonna smell it on us anyway." Regulus groaned as they walked up the walkway to his apartment. "Just one more, then I swear we can quit."

Remus rolled his eyes, but he reached into his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter anyway. "You're awful, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Regulus smirked, taking the cigarette from Remus' outstretched hand. He put it in his mouth and leaned into Remus' space as he lit the cigarette for him. "I can't help it though, I'm a byproduct of my upbringing. Just look at what a mess my brother is. Therapy can only do so much."

Remus laughed before lighting his own cigarette and taking a deep drag. "How was therapy anyway?"

"It was therapy? I don't know. It never seems to make much of a difference."

"You get out of it what you put in, you know." Remus shrugged. "Not saying that you're not putting in the effort, but you're not exactly known to be the most vulnerable guy around."

"I've already had terrible coffee, gone to therapy, been babysat by you, and now you want to give me more therapy?" Regulus inhaled his cigarette. "I'm gonna get a fucking migraine before I even talk to Sirius."

"Hey, I said I wasn't babysitting."

"Could have fooled me."

Remus chuckled and stubbed out his cigarette. "Fair enough, c'mon." He walked away and flicked his finger between Regulus' brows. "Sirius was in a good mood when I left."

Regulus trudged up the steps behind Remus and they walked inside together. He shoved his hands into his pockets in search of something to do with his body. Talking to his brother wasn't something that he was exactly pleased about—Sirius wasn't known to admit when he was wrong, but then again, neither was Regulus. Growing up, they couldn't show any sign of weakness, and admitting they were wrong was a huge weakness that they couldn't risk. He was trying to be better, though. The two of them had made huge progress in the last few years in regards to their relationship, but they also hadn't had many opportunities to fight as they had. Something about living together brought out the worst in both of them.

"Hey," Sirius said from the couch in the living room. His voice sounded small and unsure. "How'd it go?"

Regulus wasn't sure if Sirius was talking to him or to Remus, but he answered anyway. "It was fine. I got a new recommendation for a therapist. Gonna call tomorrow, I'm too beat to do it today."

Sirius nodded. "Good, that's… Good. I'm glad you found someone new."

Regulus sat on the couch next to him and watched Remus walk past the living room into the kitchen to busy himself. Close, but not intruding. Just present enough to help diffuse the situation if the brothers blew up at one another.

"Look, I— I'm sorry I shoved you."

"It's fine, Reggie, I get it. I'm sorry I ruined your date."

Regulus scoffed. "You didn't ruin my date, asshole. I'm seeing him again on Friday."

"Oi, then why did you get so pissed?"

"I said you didn't ruin my date, I didn't say you didn't ruin the moment. Which was amazing, by the way—"

"I really don't want to hear about how great making out was from my baby brother," Sirius complained.

"Then you shouldn't have interrupted the moment." Regulus leaned back into the couch and rested his head on his brother's shoulder. "I really like him, you know. He's not just in it for the sex, I think he actually wants to get to know me."

Sirius pulled him in closer, hugging his body and resting his head on top of Regulus' dark curls. "That's good, Reggie. I'm glad, honest. I want you to be able to come to me and talk about it, just… Don't tell me about your sex life. You can talk to Remus about that. Deal?"

"Deal."

"So… are we good?"

"Yeah, we're good."

"You stink like cigarettes," Sirius said solemnly into the quiet room. Regulus heard Remus choke on a laugh in the kitchen—clearly, he was eavesdropping.

"Don't ruin the moment. Remus and I quit today." Regulus said, including Remus in the whole concept of 'quitting' as punishment for babysitting and eavesdropping.

Sirius hummed. "Glad to hear it, he's needed to quit for a while."

***

"Oh, thank God it's you today," Regulus said as he walked into the café to find James working behind the counter.

"Well aren't you sweet," James said, laughing and pouring Regulus' coffee.

Digging through his bag for cash, Regulus snorted. "Peter is a fucking nightmare, James. Why does he still work here?"

"What, you're just happy to see me because Pete can't manage to brew a cup of coffee?" James gave him a mock pout and held his coffee just out of reach. "And here I thought I was special."

"You are, but Peter is so intolerable that he overshadows your greatness."

James stared at him in horror. "What did he do?"

"He made me take a croissant yesterday, wouldn't take no for an answer, and while I may have excused a plain croissant, he insisted that I try the almond one. Wouldn't take no for an answer. Almonds? In croissants? An abomination, truly. I swear he watched me the entire time I was here to see if I'd eat it." Regulus shook his head. "I didn't, for the record."

"What a terrible person he is," James said with mock outrage. "How dare he give out free croissants."

"Almond croissants, James."

"Yes, yes, you're right, love. Almond croissants. The horror."

Love. James said it so casually, Regulus was determined not to visibly react to the pet name, but internally he preened.

"Glad to know you're on my side on this." He said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I-I wanted to warn you that my friends are stopping by here today to meet up. They… might be insufferable."

"Your friends? Evan and Barty?"

Regulus nodded. "We haven't touched base in person in a bit and since this is the only place I go to besides my apartment and therapy these days, they're trapping me into hanging out. I can't break my routines and they know it." He paused, realizing too late how much he had just divulged to James in that moment. What was it about him that made Regulus feel as though he could say anything that came to mind?

"I think that's good of them," James said.

"Good of— Huh?" Regulus was speechless.

"Yeah, I mean, we all want to be seen, right? Seems like they see you for who you are and work with you."

What was with this guy?

"How are you so fucking perfect all the time?"

"I-I'm not, but I have done a lot of therapy myself. Teaches you things, y'know?"

"Yeah," Regulus said softly. "I suppose it does." He grabbed his coffee from the counter and hoisted his bag higher on his shoulder. "Are you working tomorrow?"

"I'm not, but I'll see you tomorrow night? What time should I pick you up?"

"Let's shoot for 6, but I might be a little anxious and take a few minutes longer. Just… text me when you're there this time? I'll come out. I don't really want to have my brother ruin another date for us already."

"Can't wait." James gave him a soft smile. A blush dusted his cheeks and Regulus couldn't help but stare for an extra moment before turning away to allow James to continue his work.

Regulus settled into his usual booth, pulling his headphones on and placing his laptop and coffee on the table in front of him. He opened the outline of his novel and stared at the screen, hoping that a revelation to the plot would come to him. It didn't, of course, but staring at the screen while sipping coffee was a necessary component to writing a novel.

After working for a while, he glanced up to see Evan and Barty enter the café hand in hand and waved at them. Evan waved back as Barty walked up to the counter. Regulus' hearing was still impaired by his noise-canceling headphones, but very quickly he could tell that Barty was being a menace. He pulled his headphones off and pushed his way out of the booth towards his friends.

Evan immediately pulled him into a hug, which was… strange. They weren't huggers. In fact, he couldn't remember ever hugging Evan when he was sober.

"Uh, hi?" Regulus tried to pull away, but Evan just pulled him in tighter.

"I need you to promise not to kill Bee," Evan said under his breath.

"Sure."

"He's hitting on James."

"I take it back, he's dead."

"Reg, you promised."

"I lied."

Evan locked his arms around Regulus and spun them around so he was facing Barty. "Bee, I can't hold him back any longer, abort mission."

James and Barty laughed in unison and it immediately soothed Regulus' frayed nerves. He was worried that his friends were going to be too much. He knew that they were loud, silly, and overall a lot to handle. Most people were surprised by the fact that Regulus was a part of their group, but those people didn't know any of the trio well enough to know how perfectly they all fit together. Three completely different people perfectly designed to balance each other out.

"Aw, Reg, are you jealous?" Barty teased. He came up to where Evan was still hugging Regulus tightly and wrapped his arms around both of them, sandwiching Regulus between them. He planted a kiss on Evan's lips and then on the top of Regulus' head. "You have nothing to fear, James rejected me. Can you believe it?"

"Well, now that I know the three of you are that close," James said suggestively.

"Now you've done it," Regulus said.

"Done what?" James asked.

"Barty isn't gonna rest until he's gotten you into bed with us now," Evan sighed. "He practically begs Reg for a blowjob at every opportunity."

"Speaking of—"

"No." Evan and Regulus said in unison.

Regulus looked up to James in an attempt to gauge his comfort level. After their conversations around sex and dating, Regulus was nervous that Barty's forwardness and constant flirting would be abrasive, but James' eyes were crinkled with laughter and his expression was open. He wriggled his way out of his friend's embrace and glared at the two of them. "Can't you act normal for five minutes? At least long enough to properly greet someone?"

Barty and Evan adjusted themselves so that Barty had his arm slung over Evan's shoulder and Evan nestled himself into the crook of Barty's body. They couldn't help but to touch each other at every possible moment they were together. Two halves of a whole, with just enough space for Regulus and their mildly codependent queer platonic relationship.

"What's normal, Reg?" Evan asked. "Don't tell me you're getting boring in your old age. You used to be the wildest of us all."

James watched them carefully as he worked on making their coffees, silently observing and absorbing every detail that the three of them revealed.

"I was not," Regulus gaped. "Don't make shit up just to embarrass me in front of James."

"No, he's right," Barty said. "I might have always been the one that people expected to be crazy, but you're the one who always encouraged me and you can't even deny it."

"How crazy are we talking here?" James asked as he placed their coffees down on the counter in front of them. "Threesomes crazy or passing out from drinking crazy? Drugs?"

"Yes," Evan and Barty said in unison. Regulus had the fleeting thought that maybe he should have tried harder to kill himself—at least then he wouldn't be stuck in this conversation right now.

James laughed. He was expecting to be judged, but instead James said something that surprised them all. "I've been there too, I just wouldn't expect it from Reg—He's so quiet and unassuming."

"Not once he's had a few shots," Evan teased.

Regulus' eyes widened in shock, ignoring Evan in favor of finding out anything new he could from James' past. "You told me—"

"That doesn't mean that I've been a virtuous priest my entire life, Reg."

"I like him," Barty said with a maniacal grin plastered on his face.

"We know," Evan smirked. "Let's go sit, yeah?" He moved to grab his coffee. "Thanks, James. It was great to meet you. Let's all get together sometime when you're not working and you can tell us all about your party days."

"Sounds great, it was nice meeting you guys too."

"Bye James," Barty sing-songed. "I'll miss you."

Regulus smacked Barty upside the back of his head as they walked together towards his table in the back of the café. "I could kill you, you know. I'm rich enough to pay off the cops and no one would ever find your body."

"You'd miss me too much and we all know it," Barty said.

They piled into the booth and Regulus put away his laptop to make space for his friends.

"So, how's writing going?" Evan asked, always one to start with a safe subject with Regulus. He was aware that his friend did this to help him put his guard down and while a part of him resented it, a bigger part of him appreciated that Evan always went out of his way to soften the blow of whatever heavier conversation they were about to have.

"Not great, honestly. I haven't been feeling inspired, I guess. Haven't written much the last few days."

"Maybe it's because you need to stop writing about murder and start writing romance," Barty suggested, leaning in conspiratorially. "How did the date go?"

"Barty, he's right there," Evan whispered.

"He can't hear us all the way over here. C'mon, spill."

Regulus sighed and took a sip of his coffee to delay the inevitable. "It was amazing."

"Why do you sound so put out by it?" Evan asked.

"Because, I just— He's so sweet, I'm afraid I'll ruin him."

"Was the sex good? I just know that man fucks like—"

"We didn't have sex." Regulus said quickly to avoid hearing whatever Barty was going to say next.

"You— What?" Barty sputtered in complete shock. Evan, however, looked pleased.

"We didn't have sex. He's… I think he's demisexual? He told me he hasn't gone on more than one or two dates with other men before, which… I was worried meant that he was just experimenting by dating me, but he says he's sure that he's queer so… I don't fucking know. He's sweet and fucking beautiful and I can't stop thinking about him, so I'm just gonna keep going at whatever pace he sets. Follow his lead."

"I'm impressed. Dare I say, proud?" Evan said. "I think this will be great for you, Reg. Even if it doesn't go further, just going on dates with someone without the expectation of it leading to sex is so important. And god, he really is beautiful. Did you guys kiss? Please tell me you kissed."

Regulus groaned. "You're never gonna fucking believe this."

He recounted the story of how amazing their first kiss had been, and then how it was immediately interrupted by his brother being absolutely terrible. The three of them laughed and made fun of Sirius, and caught up on everything they had missed out on in the last few weeks, completely ignoring the elephant in the room that was Regulus' attempt. It was like they had all made a silent agreement to never talk about it again, so long as Regulus was continuing his treatment and seemed to be improving. And he had to admit, at least to himself, that things did seem to be improving.

For the first time in a long time, Regulus felt content and was looking forward to the next day.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

The Art of Etiquette Part 4 | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: You and Jungkook get to know each other a bit better Pairing: f!reader x Etiquette instructor Jungkook Word Count: 4.6k~ a/n: Took me a while to get back to this story so I made this chapter a bit longer. Hope you like it! Read from the beginning

"Again" Jungkook says in a commanding tone, watching as I pick up the book I had balanced on top of my head while he had me running through the steps for a waltz on my own. (yes, like you see in those cheesy princess movies)

"Why am I doing this again?" I ask, stopping for a second to prevent the book from wobbling so much. "It's to help with your posture and balance. Once you've learned how to maintain proper posture then we can fine tune it to make it seem more natural" he says an eyebrow raised as he watches me trying to regain balance of the book as well as myself. 

"How much longer do I have to do this?" I ask as I finally am able to regain my composure. "As long as I tell you to. Now please stop talking and focus on what you're trying to achieve" he says and I roll my eyes since luckily I have my back facing him this time, leaving me able to blow off a little bit of steam without him noticing. 

Ten or fifteen minutes later he finally lets me take a break. "Here" he says while handing me a glass of water. I look up at him with a confused expression, wondering what's gotten into him. He's hot one minute and the cold the next and I really don't know where things stand between us most days. "Are you going to take it or not?" he asks, clearly getting impatient. 

"Yes, sorry. Thank you" I say quickly reach for it, our hands subtly brushing up against each other and neither of us pulling away right away. "Um, Mr. Jeon?" I say, questioning why he hasn't let go. 

"Oh" he says and pulls his hand back, acting as if he had touched a hot stove. "Rest for ten minutes and then be ready to begin again" he says, clearing his throat and walking out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. 

Pulling out my phone I open Jesse's message thread and send him a text immediately.

'Bitch' I simply send, knowing that that kind of message will get his attention right away. 

'Bitch' is all he sends back, showing that he's listening. 

'Jungkook is acting weird again' I send, not really knowing how else to explain it. 

'Isn't he always though? What happened this time?' he sends, making a point but also wanting to know more.  

'He has me dancing around the room with a book on top of my head, you know very princess in training kind of situation' I send, annoyed at the fact that I've already been doing this for an hour. 

'Okay, doesn't sound too crazy to me'  he replies, not really sure where I'm going with this. 

'He's been doing stuff like this for weeks right? But today he's been leaning up against the wall and watching me, but I feel like this time he's checking me out more than anything. I don't know it just feels different. And he said I could take a break (hence why I'm able to talk to you now) and he gave me a glass of water' I send off, trying to get it all out before he gets back. 

'Okay and? Sounds like he's just being nice'  he sends back, not really getting the full picture yet.

'But the thing is, once he handed it to me he wouldn't let go of it. Like it took me a second to grab it because I was confused as to why he was being so nice to me but then when I finally did take it it was like he wanted to keep our hands touching. I don't know but it felt kind of weird' I send, hoping to get some validation for my feelings about this. 

'Oooo sounds like lover boy might be into you'  he teases and I can't help but smile and roll my eyes when I see the message. I of course told him about the dress incident and he's been teasing me about it ever since. 

'No he's not' I send, wondering though if he might be right. 

'Okay but what happened after that?'  he asks, pressing for more details since things have gotten a bit more juicy (how he would describe it, not me).

'Well I called out his name since he seemed to be in a bit of a daze and when he realized what he was doing he ripped his hand away and looked flustered? Nervous? I don't know but he definitely was more surprised by his actions than I was. And then he just kinda left and said to be ready to continue in ten minutes' I send, not really knowing how to describe his reaction. 

"Let's get started" Jungkook says, walking into the practice room again and I send Jesse a quick message telling him I have to go and lock the screen and throw it in my bag before I'm able to see his response. 

I stand up and smooth out my skirt and walk back towards where I had placed the book down and reach for it again but before I'm able to touch it Jungkook grabs my wrist and pulls it away and places my hand on his shoulder, and pulls me in by the waist. I take in a sharp breath at the sudden proximity and I'm left staring at him with a wide eyed look. "I thought I needed more practice with my posture" I say, confused as to why he's done this so suddenly. 

"You seem to be progressing faster than I had anticipated so I figured we should move on" He says, leaning towards me, leaving me having to close my eyes, not really sure what to do but I'm startled by the sound of music suddenly playing through the speakers again. Now just realizing he was leaning in closer so he could press play on the sound system. 

"Are you alright?" he ask with a smug look on his face after standing upright and seeing the blush that had started to form on my cheeks. "I'm fine" I say, clearing my throat and looking off to the side so I can avoid his playful gaze. I hear him chuckle under his breath and say something that I just can't catch which leaves me turning back to face him. 

"What was that?" I ask with my brows pinched together in confusion. "Nothing, now focus and try not to step on my feet like last time" he taunts and I grace him with a sarcastic smile in return before he starts to lead me in this waltz that we've gone through a million times at this point. 

"Head up, back straight, wrists relaxed" he lists off, fixing the small details to make everything look seamless and I can't help but agree. With these minor changes it feels more natural and comfortable with each and every turn. 

Once the song finally ends we both part and I do a slight curtsy to him and he bows back. "That wasn't horrible, wasn't the best, but better" he says, trying his hardest not to make his compliment go to my head. "Umm thanks?" I say with a questioning tone, thinking that I did a lot better this time but I guess he's someone who is never truly satisfied.

"Grab you things, we're leaving" he says and puts on his suit jacket and looks in the mirror, fixing the collar and making sure everything is in place. "What do you mean?" I question, quickly grabbing my jacket and purse off the table in the corner of the room. 

"Did your father not inform you? We're going out to dinner tonight, I need to asses your table manners and this would be the best way to go about it. We'll work on fine tuning the small details tomorrow if need be" he says and walks down the hall, rushing me out of his home. 

"I've made reservations for us so we need to make sure to be punctual, which you have gotten a bit better at so well done" he says and holds the front door open for me to head out first so he can lock up. 

For some reason that small bit of praise has a nervous feeling start to bubble in my stomach and I get slightly nervous at the thought of being with him like this. It's not a date or anything but it just feels weird, like it's uncharted territory for us. 

"We'll take my car. You father has already sent someone to pick yours up" he says, never bothering to give me a choice in the matter. I might as well not have a car at this rate, seeing as he always seems to make the decision to drive the both of us. "You know you don't have to drive me around right? I really don't mind taking my car and meeting you there" I say as I walk towards him where he's holding the passenger side door open for me. 

"I am well aware. It's more convenient this way. I have another meeting in the city again so I'll be dropping you off at home as well" he informs me and closes the door once I've gotten in. "You're really controlling did you know that?" I say, finally voicing my opinions since I'm tired of him making choices for me. 

"I believe I make decisions that would be the most advantageous for the both of us so if that's seen as controlling then yes I am. Are you done now?" he asks as he gets into the driver's side and puts on his seatbelt before starting the car. "Whatever" I mumble, crossing my arms over my chest and angling my body away from him. He decides to let this one go, honestly not seeing the error in his ways until I spoke up and makes it a point to discuss this later when I'm not already upset with him.

~~~~

The drive to the restaurant is painfully silent and he doesn't bother to put any sort of music on leaving the tension that had built between us still thick with animosity (at least from my side). As we get closer though I start to realize that some of that anger and frustration might just be from the fact that I'm actually starving so I decide to make a note to give him a bit of a break, trying to be a bit more reasonable. 

Once we've pulled up I see that we're eating at one of the high rise restaurants that I've always wanted to go to and I can feel myself already start to salivate. "Close your mouth or you'll start drooling again" Jungkook says as he unbuckles his belt and gets out of the car, handing the keys to the valet, exchanging it for a ticket. 

I close my mouth and frown at him before going to do the same but before I'm able to open the car door on my own I see that he has yet again opened it for me and is now offering his hand to help me out. I have half a mind to brush it off and get out on my own but then I remember that we're in public and this is one of those times that I need to be showing off the skills that he has been teaching me, so I graciously accept it and step out of the car. 

"Good girl" he whispers to me and I turn towards him with a startled look on my face. "I could tell what was going on in that pretty little head of yours but you accepted my hand nonetheless so good job" he says and takes my hand, placing it on his arm to lead me inside. 

Being this close to him and especially in public feels different, he seems a bit more relaxed and isn't as short with me. It's nice but it feels weird, I just never know what version of Jungkook I'm going to get these days and it's making me dizzy. 

"Table for two?" the host asks us when we walk up to the podium. "Yes it should be under the name Jeon" Jungkook answers and I'm thankful that he does. I'm not a shy person so to say but I definitely feel out of my element so as the minutes go by he seems to bring me a sense of comfort and familiarity. 

"Ah yes Mr. Jeon, if you will follow me please" the host replies and leads us to our table that seems to be set up in a nice almost intimate corner of the restaurant. Safe from the pressure of the masses that are seated all around. 

I could've sworn I saw a senator or governor around here before we sat down as well as a CEO or two so it's nice to not have to worry about perfectly keeping up appearances as of yet. That's just what our family needs, a scandal because of me spilling a drink on someone important or not chewing my food properly and being called a slob. 

Okay that last one was probably a stretch but still it's not something that needs to be added to the list since our family is already under fire for my stepfather marrying beneath his social status. I want to do everything I can to keep from adding something else to his plate so I guess I should still be on my best behavior. 

"Good evening" our waiter says when he comes around to no doubt take our orders. "Oh Mr. Jeon, how lovely to see you again. Is this another one of your students?" he asks, looking over at me with a friendly smile. "Yes this is Miss y/n, my newest pupil" Jungkook replies, matching the same warmth the waiter has offered to us both.

Looking at him as he exchanges pleasantries with this man I can see almost a hint of a smile, a genuine one at that. They must know each other well since he recognizes him and already knows what Jungkook does for a living. "We'll have the set menu please with a glass of merlot for the both of us" Jungkook finishes and I'm startled out of my train of thought at the fact that again he didn't give me a chance to make a choice for myself. 

He notices the slightly narrowed gaze I'm giving him and he has the audacity to smile, clearly enjoying my reaction. "Why didn't yo-" "At the various events you shall be attending this fall you won't have much of a choice in the menu so it's better to get used to eating food that you wouldn't necessarily order on your own" he says placing his napkin on his lap. 

"At least you ordered the kind of wine I like" I mumble, mirroring him with my napkin at well. "What was that?" he asks, clearly using it to subtly scold me and ask me to speak properly or not speak at all. Or that's what he's told me in the past. 

"I said you have an excellent taste in wine" I respond with a pained smile, hating that I'm complimenting him, no matter how small it might be. "I asked Matthew what kind you tend to prefer and he gave me a few options" he says and takes a sip of the water that had already been placed here for us. 

"You asked what my favorite type of wine is?" I question, confused again by this constant push and pull between us. "Did I not just say that?" he says and before I'm able to respond the wine in question is brought to our table. "Your first course will be out in just a moment" the waiter from before says and he leaves us again as quickly as he had come.

"Try it" Jungkook says and waits for me to take a sip before he does the same. I do as he says and let the subtly sweet flavor envelop my tastebuds leaving me letting out an almost inaudible moan, surprised that wine could even taste this good. 

"Needless to say it is to your liking?" Jungkook asks, clearly amused with my reaction and I can't help but nod feeling embarrased. "Yes I guess you could say that" I respond awkwardly before taking another sip, trying to hide my reaction to it a bit more this time. 

~~~~~

The dinner goes on without a hitch. Jungkook and I actually engage in pleasant conversation and I end up learning a bit more about him. "So what you're saying is that because you hated how bratty and rude rich kids around you were when you were growing up that it made you want to become an etiquette teacher to fix the future generation of rich kids" I summaries, the thought of it almost laughable. 

"In so many words yes, I guess you could say that" he says, smiling at my simplified version. "So you've been a control freak from day one. I mean-" I say, my eyes wide while covering my mouth after I've realized what I had just said. "I think this wine has gone to your head y/n" he teases, this time using my name without any sort of formal title attached to it, somehow causing butterflies to stir in my stomach. 

"Yes you're probably right" I say, just now noticing the fact that he only had one glass at the beginning of our meal where as I am on my third. I set my glass down and start drinking water to hopefully clear up my head a bit but I guess the damage has been done. 

~~~~ 

As we walk out of the restaurant with my arm linked with his just as it had been before we went inside I turn to face him while we wait for the valet to bring the car around. "I'm sorry Mr. Jeon, what I had said in there was completely uncalled for" I say, admitting to my fault. "It's fine, I guess I have been quite harsh with you from the very start and that hasn't been very fair to you" he says, again surprising me with the walls that seem to be breaking down showing me what a kind and considerate person he can be. 

Before I can say anything else our car has stopped right in front of us and Jungkook leads me over to it and opens the door to help me inside, trying his best to maintain some sense of subtly at the fact that I might be a bit tipsy. Wanting to hopefully keep both of our images in tact. He closes the door after he's made sure that I'm all set and exchanges the keys with the ticket and gives the valet a tip before going to the drivers side and closing it behind him. 

He looks over at me and leans over towards me, leaving me confused and closing my eyes again just as I had done before in the practice room today and before I'm able to say anything I hear him pulling the seatbelt over and buckling it around me. I open my eyes and see that he's still close even though he had already fastened it and we both just sit there for what feels like hours studying each other's features. 

"Thank you" I say barely above a whisper which seems to break him out of the momentary trance he had been in for a few moments and sits back up straight mumbling a quick "You're welcome" before pulling out of the parking lot and back onto the road. 

Again the ride is silent but this one is filled with more of an awkward air to it with some sort of tension as well. What kind of tension is something I'm not sure of but he's definitely gotten close enough to kiss me on multiple occasions today alone but I'm not exactly sure if that's just the kind of guy he is or if there's something else going on in his head. 

~~~~~~

As we round the corner to my house I see Jesse's car parked outside with him sitting inside of it while on his phone. "Jesse?" I say aloud, perplexed as to why he would show up unannounced but I'm happy about it nonetheless. "Who's that?" Jungkook asks, his clear curiosity a surprise to me. "Just a friend" I say casually, trying to gauge his reaction and to my surprise I see the muscle in his jaw tense as he clenches his teeth a bit before tonguing his cheek soon after. 

When Jesse finally notices the car he looks up and smiles when he sees me and then looks over to the driver's side and sees Jungkook for the first time and gives him an unreadable expression. Unreadable if you're not familiar with him but with how close the two of us are I can tell that he's trying his hardest not to freak out after finally seeing him in person. 

As Jungkook moves his car further up the driveway Jesse makes his way up towards the house as well on foot, meeting us when Jungkook parks his car right outside the front door. "Jesse hey! Were we supposed to meet tonight?" I ask, still confused as to why he's here. "Yeah we were gonna watch a movie, remember?" he says in a voice much deeper than usual, throwing me off guard and checking out Jungkook who is standing right behind me. 

"Oh sorry Jesse this is Mr. Jeon, he's my teacher I had talked to you about. Jungkook, this is one of my friends from college Jesse" I say introducing the two, kind of catching on to the reason for Jesse's change in behavior. Jungkook comes closer and goes to shake Jesse's outstretched hand but still stands behind me, making him press up against my back, our bodies flush together for only a moment before he let's go and take's a few steps back to his previous spot. 

"Thank you for dinner Jungkook, I really enjoyed myself" I say turning to face him while Jesse makes his way over to the door waiting for us to say our goodbyes. "Jungkook?" Jungkook says, raising a brow at me, this being the first time I've used his first name. "I-I mean Mr. Jeon" I say, feeling flustered by my need for correction. 

"It's okay, you can call me that if you'd like" he say before reaching back into his car to grab my jacket and purse that I've left sitting in the passenger seat. "Oh, thank you" I say taking both of them and taking note of how he again brushes his hand up against mine. "Goodnight y/n" he says, placing his hand almost protectively on my waist before glancing over and giving Jesse a quick nod which he returns. 

"Goodnight" I say and quickly scurry off before I try to do something stupid and make matters worse and what I don't notice is how Jungkook closes the passenger side door and leans up against his car watching as I go and takes in the small interaction that Jesse and I have while I'm pulling out my keys to go inside. 

I only notice when I turn back around to close the door where we make eye contact for only a second before he pushes himself off of the side of the car and walks over to the drivers side and drives off. 

As I watch his car slowly disappear I don't take notice into the fact that I've slowly leaned further and further out of the doorway to watch him go until I hear Jesse's deep voice scare me half to death behind me. 

"Girl you got it bad" he says, laughing while I almost fall on my face from the precarious position I had put myself in. "I do not!" I say and turn around to close and lock the door before running up the steps to my room with Jesse hot on my heels. 

"Did you see the way he was looking at you? At me?" he laughs, seeing how defensive and flustered I am. "No" I continue and shush him so he doesn't wake up the whole house. "If looks could kill I would be six feet under" he says once we've gotten to my room. "Why were you acting all masculine out there? I mean not to say that you aren't masculine but you know what I mean" I say, pretty much knowing but wanting to make sure. 

"I wanted to see how he would react to another guy being around you. One that he thought was straight and close to you" he teases while throwing himself on my bed. "Why would you want to do that?" I question, taking off my heels and grabbing some clothes to go change in in my bathroom. "Because I wanted to see if he would get jealous and if jealous was a person his name would be Jeon Jungkook" he says, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

"Why would he get jealous? He hates me" I say, not even believing the words that are coming out of my own mouth. "Please, he was practically green" he says laying on his back and picking up one of the books that I still haven't finished and thumbing through it. "He was not!" I say finding his observations ridiculous. 

"Did you see how possessive he got with you? How he purposefully leaned against you to shake my hand instead of going around. How he held your waist when he said goodnight. I'm pretty sure I heard him say that you could call him Jungkook now instead of Mr. Jeon right?" he lists, showing me what Jungkook's behaviors added all together really showed.

I groan after I come out of my bathroom, throwing myself on the bed next to him and staring up at the ceiling trying to process everything that happened today. "What am I supposed to think about all of this? What am I going to say when I see him tomorrow? What is he going to say?" I ask aloud, dreading the answers to these questions even though I know I won't be getting any answers tonight.

"Just go in tomorrow and act like everything is fine. Try out that more casual approach by calling him Jungkook like he told you you could. I don't know just take it easy and follow his lead and see where things go from there" he suggests and I take a deep breath, taking in everything he's saying and deciding the best thing I could do right now is try to distract myself. 

"Why are you here anyways?" I question, turning towards him now realizing that we never talked about him coming over tonight. "I wanted to hear about what happened after what you told me earlier today but I think I saw all that I needed to see" he says turning over to face me with a teasing smirk and I push him a little in response. 

"Do you wanna watch a movie?" he suggests. "Please" I groan out and he laughs at my response. While he turns on my tv I send Jungkook a quick message just trying to hopefully clear the air after what happened tonight. 

'Drive safe :)' I send before I can second guess myself. 

'Always x'  he responds almost immediately, leaving me smiling. Who knew that one little 'x' could make me so flustered.

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[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Thank @feral-ferrule for reminding me of this little aside. Now ya'll gotta deal with it.

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Dosing the Batch Boys: (Glitterstim)

In Disgrace (ch3) Crosshair and Tah'nyem are dosed with Glitterstim, a psychoactive variant of spice made by the spiders that live in the caves of Kessel. It lets you read minds...This results in their minds slamming together in new an confusing ways, which is fun for their chapter but it even occurs to them that it might be even funner in bed, let's explore that a little.

Though glitterstim is canon it's underutilized and definitely not utilized the way that I do, so this is very HC based. We're also going to assume that the drug doesn't affect the health of the boys in anyway. (Echo, sweetie I worry about you other wise.)

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Hunter-

I think what would get Hunter off the most about being in your brain is the complete confirmation that all of your praise is genuine. All the boys might be surprised at just how attracted clonethirst girlies are to them but Hunter is particularly susceptible to the flattery of it. Ego boosted, the next aspect he would utilize is the direct feedback for how pleasurable his actions were. You'd probably not get to actively participate as much because he would get wrapped up in feeling what heights he could drive you to.

Wrecker-*let me in meme goes here*

What is going on in there? I can only imagine Wrecker's brain being a kind of messy place, sparks flying back and forth, complex equations drawn in crayon... What would be hot about it is just how overwhelmed with his emotions you would get. With practice he might be able to hold back but without it your brain is getting flooded. Joy, exuberance, and of course the sexual pleasure on a feedback loop. Actually, don't do this with Wrecker, you two are gonna fry.

Echo-

You'd have to ease Echo into this, he'd feel a little self conscious that you might feel any discomfort his implants and prosthetics might cause him, and you would, but having that open map would guide you to new ways to comfort him and make him feel good. He'd also find himself enjoying a type of relief basking in your mind. Like Hunter, he'd be enamored with feeling what he does to you and would try to heighten your experience more than focusing on himself.

Crosshair-

Cross isn't a selfish lover, but unlike Hunter and Echo he's very of the mindset that pleasure is a two way street. He'd more than likely take advantage of the connection by doing things that are mutually beneficial and might yield crazy results via feedback a la 69ing. More closed off and focused, Crosshair would have more control over holding your mind on task, easily keeping you away from parts of him he wouldn't want you to see.

Tech-

Where do I start?

Absolute dog shit at staying on task, once you let this little gremlin loose in your brain he'll start to rip you apart like an engine. Good luck keeping him out of your deepest darkest secrets, your half forgotten ruminations, dreams, and whatever other threads he gets his hands on. Not like it'd be much better, but you can also step into the whirring whirlwind resting in his brain pan. A single calculated thought releases so much mental energy you're floored immediately. There's not even sex yet, and since you'd be a helpless kitten of an rc car hooked up to the power of a jet engine you might as well let him run wild kriffing you within full efficiency.

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Not that it moves the plot much besides being way too comfortable with each other too quickly, there are lasting effects of the Glitterstim on CrossXTahny.

She never gets a clean slate with the rest of the Batch Boys since she was exposed quite strongly to Crosshair's opinions of them. His opinions of them directly after Kamino. Yeah.

Also more of a fun fact, in case of alternative dimension shenanigans, Tahny would always be able to pick her Crosshair out of a line up. Even if it's between other Crosshair's that had Glitterstim experiences with other Tah'nyems.

Kids got little tan lines in the shape of each other burned into their brains.

[rosanna-writer]

Love at First Sight's for Suckers (5/5)

Summary: [A Feysand Newsies AU] Rhysand had a reputation. A big reputation. But fortunately for Feyre, a newsie selling papers on the streets of Velaris, tabloid gossip about the handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir means business is booming. That is, until the city's newspaper magnates get greedy, Feyre finds herself an unwitting labor leader at the center of a strike, and Rhys becomes an unexpected ally...

Warnings: None

Thank you again to @itsthedoodle for beta-ing my gift for @the-lonelybarricade!

Ch. 1 - Got a Feelin' 'bout the Headline | Ch. 2 - Beautiful. Smart. Independent. | Ch. 3 - Guts and Glory | Ch. 4 - Dead or Dreamin' | Ch. 5 - Something to Believe in

You can read the fifth chapter Here on AO3 or under the readmore.

A mating bond was a massive, overwhelming thing. Feyre didn’t have the words to talk about it—didn’t even know where to start. It all seemed safer if her suspicions stayed suspicions.

The moment she voiced them aloud, her whole life would change.

For just a little while longer, she wanted to stay Feyre-the-newsie, not Feyre-the-prince’s-mate. And it felt good to give in to the urging of the thread in her chest—her mind went pleasantly blank every time Rhys’s lips touched hers. She wanted to drown in him and forget about everything else.

She started to reach for the buttons of his jacket, but a broad hand covered hers. “Mother above, Feyre,” Rhys murmured, huffing a soft laugh, “we don’t have to do this on a rooftop.”

Feyre started to protest—after all, they’d have even less privacy if she brought him down to her crowded, shared bedroom in the tenement below—but before she could get the words out, her feet were off the floor. Rhys had slid his hands beneath her knees and shoulders to scoop her up.

Her stomach flipped. If being cradled against his chest didn’t feel quite so nice, she would have wiggled her way out of his arms. She still had half a mind to do it, just to spite him for not giving her any warning.

Rhys snapped his wings out wide. She felt the slight bend in his knees, as if he were about to— “Don’t take off without telling me where we’re going,” she said quickly.

“The House of Wind,” he said, as if it should have been obvious.

A blush crept up her cheeks. “You’re…taking me home?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not an ill-mannered brute.”

They shot into the sky, and the rushing wind drowned out any of Feyre’s further complaints. All she could do was loop an arm behind his neck and cling to him even tighter.

Feyre was built for the shadows—not the open skies. As the city fell away beneath them, she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the hard warmth of Rhys’s body against hers. With each beat of his wings, she could feel the powerful muscles of his back and chest at work. An Illyrian warrior exactly where he belonged.

But still, it was something of a relief to feel the world fade into mist as he winnowed them. He was impatient, she realized. The flight wouldn’t take more than a few minutes, but apparently that was too long to wait.

In the space of a heartbeat, they were in the sky again, this time directly above the House of Wind. Rhys held his wings out as they descended past the wards in a smooth glide. The balcony rushed towards them, but Feyre barely felt anything as Rhys’s feet touched the stone floor.

She didn’t feel like she belonged in the palace—especially not after the High Lord had called her there earlier just to intimidate her. Feyre spent her life on the streets, never anywhere this opulent. She couldn’t shake the feeling, ridiculous as it was, that they’d be caught any moment and she’d be forced to leave.

Rhys set her down, and on instinct, Feyre made herself incorporeal again. He hadn’t dropped her hand, and the shadows skittering along her skin extended down her arm, enveloping him, too.

“There’s no need to hide,” Rhys said. “In case you’ve forgotten, I live here, and I invited you.”

“Don’t be a prick. There might be problems if we run into someone,” Feyre said. She was sure the High Lord wouldn’t be thrilled to see her again—and she was fairly certain Rhys’s sister was also somewhere nearby.

“After all those headlines about how many people I’ve brought to my bedroom, no one will be scandalized, I assure you.”

Feyre growled, and perhaps that should have embarrassed her. But it was a relief to stop pretending she hadn’t been envious of everyone the press had linked to him romantically over the years.

Something sparked in Rhys’s eyes, an excited gleam that made Feyre’s toes curl in her boots. He’d liked that low, possessive sound when it came from her.

“I thought it would be obvious by now,” he said, “but apparently I hadn’t made myself clear before. You are the very last person I’m bringing to my bed and the one I want there the most.”

She knew why. But she still said, “Prove it.”

In an instant, Rhys was tugging her through walls and furniture. He seemed completely unbothered by temporarily becoming incorporeal, which was unusual—Lucien had always complained the shadows felt like spiders crawling all over his skin. Maybe it was different for mates.

Feyre let the shadows fade when they reached a room that could only have been his—bed large enough for wings, desk covered in paperwork and the sword she’d seen him brandishing the other day, curtains rustling gently in the glassless window.

Curiosity got the better of her, but only for a moment. Rhys had used their joined hands to pull her against him, and his tongue was already pressing its way between her lips again.

Perhaps his way of proving he wanted her there was just…devouring her whole.

Not that she was the sort of person to just stand there and get devoured. Feyre had heard all the rumors about Illyrian wings, so she reached for his, brushing a hand against the membrane just to see what would happen.

Rhys groaned, and they were pressed so close that Feyre felt every inch of his full-body shudder.

So there had been some truth to the stories she’d heard, then. She reached out and pressed a little harder against his wing—the taut skin was cool to the touch, silky and surprisingly soft. Slowly, she dragged her hand down.

Rhys’s hips bucked against hers, and Feyre couldn’t help but giggle. “Did you just…” she said.

“No, but I will shortly if you keep that up.”

That sounded like encouragement, so she stretched her hand out again. Rhys snapped his wings back before she could touch them.

“If you can’t last very long, I promise I won’t leak the story to the press.”

“My stamina isn’t an issue,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again. It was softer than on the rooftop, his hands settling gently on her hips. “As I told you, I’m not an ill-mannered brute. Ladies first.”

Before Feyre could respond, he was already on his knees. Splaying one broad hand across her stomach, he pressed her back against the door, then hooked one of her legs over his shoulder.

There had been a flurry of headlines about Rhys refusing to kneel to his father in protest, then several more after an interview where he’d revealed the mountain and stars tattooed on his knees—that they meant he’d bow to nothing and no one but his crown. It had been dangerously close to declaring an intent to kill his father and take the throne.

But he’d knelt for her without a second thought. His crown and his—

No. Feyre wouldn’t let herself think it again.

Besides, Rhys was already hooking his fingers in the waistband of her pants. He looked up at her, a question in his eyes. As if now, she might actually change her mind. She’d never known him to look unsure of anything.

She nearly managed to say what they were to each other, just to wipe the doubt from his face. But Feyre wasn’t quite brave enough to manage it. Not yet.

“Keep going, please,” she said, hoping it was enough.

Rhys peeled the threadbare leggings down, and Feyre gripped his shoulder to steady herself as the fabric stretched around her knees. But that hand pinning her to the door wouldn’t let her fall.

He pressed a kiss to the bottom of her abdomen, and Feyre couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been so soft with her.

There was nothing hesitant in the first sweep of his tongue, a slow stripe up her center. Too much, but not enough. Feyre whined and canted her hips closer.

With a satisfied growl, Rhys feasted on her in earnest, licking and sucking every part of her he could reach. Feyre writhed, her hand on his shoulder digging into the fabric of his jacket. A wave of knee-wobbling pleasure was building within her, and the fingers of her other hand scraped uselessly against the wooden door.

The relentless strokes of his tongue didn’t slow despite his hand reaching up to interlace his fingers with hers.

Feyre squeezed his hand with enough force to crush his fingers as release crashed through her. Breathing hard, she started to slide her leg off his shoulder. The hand on her stomach pressed her back into the door, holding her in place.

His voice echoed in her head; with his tongue already slipping inside her again, Rhys couldn’t speak aloud. You taste too magnificent to stop after just one.

There was nothing to do but let him wring more pleasure from her. Rhys seemed to be intent on making her climax as many times in a row as he could, at least until Feyre finally managed to whisper, “I want the next one with you inside me.”

She kicked her leggings the rest of the way to the floor as he stood and lifted her up. Without his mouth on her, her head finally started to clear, and it suddenly seemed massively unfair he was still completely clothed.

He carried her towards the bed, and once her shaking legs were locked around him, Feyre tore at the buttons of his jacket. The rest of their clothes disappeared with a crackle of magic.

Quite a lot of ink had already been spilled about Rhysand’s chest. Since he’d won the Blood Rite and earned his tattoos, he’d favored plunging vee necklines to show them off, and it wasn’t unusual for him to stumble out of Rita’s missing the tunic he’d gone in with. Feyre had certainly never complained—not when that chest splashed across the front page sold so many papers.

But none of that prepared her for how good it would feel to run a possessive hand down the expanse of hard muscle.

Feyre couldn’t make promises—not with a one-way ticket to the Continent in her pocket. If she was leaving, it wasn’t fair to snarl and call him hers and no one else’s.

She wanted to, though. Cauldron, she wanted to.

He was staring down at her like he wanted the same thing, and it was all too much. They were coming dangerously close to blurting out a confession, so she plunged her fingers into his hair and dragged his lips towards hers again.

It was another hungry, open-mouthed kiss, and it felt far better than talking. Feyre tipped her hips up, a silent plea to keep going. Her clit brushed the underside of his cock, drawing a mewling sound she made right into his mouth.

Needy little thing, aren’t you? The words floated into her head as if carried on a night-kissed wind.

I’m not needy, you’re just slow. I told you what I want.

The thread tying them together—that Feyre was still trying very hard to ignore—seemed to hum with wicked amusement. She lifted her hand from his head and stretched it over his shoulder.

She could feel the rumble of his low laugh as he tucked his wing out of her reach. His hips shifted, and his considerable length slid into her.

The stretch was ecstasy. There was no way around it—Rhys’s cock was big, just like the rest of him. He moved slowly at first, and Feyre let her eyes flutter shut as she just savored the feeling of him filling her up.

It was nearly too much, but at the same time the instincts driven by the bond in her chest pushed her to take him deeper and demand more. She pressed her hips up, taking every inch of him she could. 

It was all the urging he needed to go faster. Suddenly, Rhys was fucking her like his life depended on it. He was far from Feyre’s first partner, but she’d never had someone chase her climax so relentlessly. There was nothing to do but give into it until she shattered around him.

He was breathing hard when Feyre came back to herself. She knew she should have smirked, said something blasé to make it clear this was just a bit of fun before she left for the Continent. Made it clear this was casual so she could ignore the bond in her chest just a little while longer.

But no, whether it was the mating bond or something else, Rhys had just utterly ruined her for anyone else. And based on the way he was looking at her…he felt the same way about her, too.

Leaning down, Rhys rolled them both over until they were on their sides. The mess they’d made disappeared from between her legs with half a thought.

“Stay,” he whispered into her shoulder. “Please.”

Feyre let herself believe he only meant for the night. After all, she’d have to be back here in the morning for the start of negotiations anyway. Not forever.

“I will,” she whispered back, pulling him tighter.

Even during bombshell tell-all interviews, none of Rhys’s lovers had ever mentioned his wings, and most of them had stumbled out of his bedroom or bid him goodbye before he skittered home. Feyre pillowed her head on his massive bicep, tangling her legs with his as his wing blanketed them both.

Warm and safe, she drifted off and let herself dream.

Out of habit, Feyre woke just as the eastern sky began to lighten. She wanted to linger a bit longer—she couldn’t remember ever sleeping on a mattress free of lumps before—but years of poverty had shaped her into an expert at dragging herself out of bed.

She started to wiggle free of Rhys’s hold, but he let out a sleepy, irritated growl. The arm around her waist tightened.

“I can’t be late for my own strike. Don’t be a prick,” she whispered.

His reply slipped into her mind, as if he weren’t awake enough to speak aloud quite yet. You can’t be late when you’re already here.

She still needed to bathe and change. Pulitzer and the High Lord would laugh her out of the room if she arrived at the negotiation table in yesterday’s clothes and reeking of Rhysand and arousal. If word got out, that would certainly—

Did you really plan on taking all ten thousand steps instead of just using my tub? Rhys asked, interrupting her train of thought.

She had. It seemed easier than asking to use his bathing chamber and borrow some clothes. Feyre didn’t regret what they’d done last night, but she’d get her head on straight easier in the familiar territory of the Rainbow instead of staying in the House of Wind a moment longer.

And Feyre needed to be sharp today.

Before she could protest, one of Rhys’s legs joined the arm twined around her. Something deep within seemed to purr in satisfaction as he pressed her flush against him. Stay. You can sleep for another hour and still have plenty of time to make yourself presentable.

It made sense. And even if it didn’t, Feyre suspected the thread in her chest would pull her right back to him. A contented little noise escaped her as she tucked her head under his chin and closed her eyes.

Golden light streamed in through the glassless window when Rhys nudged her awake again. Feyre lifted her head and spotted a gown folded on top of a chest of drawers. Someone—Rhys, presumably he didn’t allow servants in his room while he slept—had placed her cap atop it.

“You needed something to change into,” he said, answering the question before she could ask.

This time, when Feyre pulled away, he let her. To her immense relief, Rhys didn’t try to kiss her good morning. Feyre’s mind was already on business, and she didn’t need him setting her head spinning.

After pointing her to the bathing room, Rhys set off to handle breakfast. Probably just because he was making himself useful. Feyre did need to eat, after all.

Definitely that, and not to head off any possibility that she might be the one to find food and offer it to him.

Feyre thought that she’d feel more herself after she’d gotten something in her stomach and washed her face. But the flaky, layered pastry and impossibly fluffy eggs were nothing at all like the porridge she usually breakfasted on, and the fine fabric of the gown must have cost more than she’d ever make in a lifetime of selling newspapers.

It fit perfectly. Just a bit of good luck—Rhys certainly didn’t know her measurements, even if as the heir, he probably kept a small army of seamstresses on retainer. Feyre supposed his sister or Mor had just lent her a spare gown. Probably.

Their eyes met in the mirror as she slipped the newsie cap onto her head. Just like at home, it was the very last step Feyre took before venturing out for another day of hawking papers. It had never made her feel quite so much like a knight slipping on a helmet before battle.

“Are you ready?” Rhys said, offering his arm to her.

Feyre took it, oddly grateful for something steady to hold onto. Her hand brushed the fabric of his tunic, and she realized their clothes were made of the same cloth. As if the two of them were a matched set.

A pair, equals matched by—

She cut off that line of thought before she could finish it. Rhys didn’t blink; her shields must have been intact, and she thanked the Mother for that. Besides, there wasn’t time to be distracted, not when they were already headed towards the meeting rooms in the more public sections of the House of Wind.

They paused at one of the main balconies, where Feyre and Nesta had agreed they’d meet the other day. It was empty. Feyre stared at the door, hoping Nesta was just late.

It wasn’t like her sister to forget. Not when there was money on the table.

The sound of rustling wings pulled Feyre’s attention to the window. An Illyrian. And in his arms…Nesta. She’d tucked her head just under his chin, resting it against his chest, as if he often cradled her like this.

Feyre recognized the male, another war-hero friend of Rhys’s, who’d graced front pages since the war. They’d never met, Feyre remembered shouting the headline about the building that he’d leveled in Adriata. That one had sold more papers than all the stories about his courage on the battlefield and swift promotions through the ranks. Cassian, if she wasn’t mistaken.

As the pair landed, Rhysand slipped into Feyre’s mind again. I wasn’t aware they knew each other.

Neither was I.

They’d discuss it later. Nesta was already dropping gracefully to the floor and smoothing out her skirts. “Work has already halted in Illyria,” she said in lieu of a greeting. “They’re following through on their promises of support.”

The faint sound of chanting floated all the way up to the very top of the House of Wind. Hundreds of newsies and their lesser fae supporters rallied at the base of the stairs, accompanied by Illyrian war drums. Feyre could just barely make out the words— minute by minute, that’s how you win it.

When she turned to her sister, Feyre’s smile was grim. “Then let’s go hand Pulitzer his ass.” 

***

For Rhysand, watching Feyre negotiate was exquisite torture. She handled herself like a queen—like a High Lady, really. A businesswoman who’d gotten down to brass tacks as soon as everyone was seated.

“The Illyrian warriors have chosen to lay their weapons down in solidarity with the newsies of Velaris,” she’d said. “We have you surrounded, and Lieutenant Cassian can confirm. Until we sign a fair contract, the Night Court will be without an army.”

But as much as he admired the efficiency, Rhys couldn’t help but hate it, just a bit. She’d be gone when the strike ended.

He tried not to think about it, instead choosing to observe his father. Rhys had expected far more bluster from the High Lord—the newsies had, after all, essentially arranged for insubordination on a massive scale. But the High Lord had gone strangely quiet.

To Rhys, that spelled danger. He knew from experience that if the High Lord wasn’t making a show of power in front of others, it was because he was waiting to do something more devastating in public.

Rhys tried not to shiver when ebony claws speared his mind, ripping down his shields. His father never bothered to knock out of courtesy.

You can keep her. The words rang with ancient power, and Rhys tried not to bristle at the way his father spoke about his mate as if she were a stray dog.

Then what was the point of that one-way ticket to the Continent?

If she doesn’t use it, a daughter-in-law I can send to beat the governors of the Palaces into submission would be useful. Merchants often get cocky and mistake their wealth for true power. And if she leaves the Night Court…well, you won’t see me complaining if the trash takes itself out.

Rhys growled, low in his throat. The negotiations ground to a halt as every head in the room whipped in his direction. On instinct, he reached towards his hip for a sword, though he hadn’t carried one since coming home from the war.

His eyes flicked to Pulitzer. “I agree with Feyre,” Rhys said evenly, covering up the fact that he’d been speaking mind-to-mind with his father. “That proposal would be unacceptable.”

He’d been too distracted to hear what the proposal had even been, but it seemed to be the right answer. The talks resumed, even if Feyre did shoot him a brief confused look.

The High Lord didn’t invade Rhys’s mind again, but he didn’t need to. He’d made is position clear. Instead, Rhys sat back and continued to marvel at how well Feyre held her own as the details of the agreement were hammered out.

Nesta communicated with the rest of the newsies, making sure there would be support for the contract when they put it to a vote, working in tandem with Feyre, who dug her heels in with Pulitzer.

He challenged her on every single aspect of the deal, a transparent attempt to wear her down. A sound strategy, considering the resources at his disposal. But fortunately, the well of Archeron stubbornness was infinite.

Eventually, they came to what Feyre termed “a compromise we all can live with.” To let Pulitzer save face, the price of papers would still go up, if only by half of what he’d originally planned, but in return, the publishers would buy back the unsold papers at the end of the day.

A victory—fewer losses for the newsies to eat when papers didn’t sell on slow news days.

The sun had long since set by the time they finished it all—the back-and-forth, the voting, the signatures, spitting into palms and shaking over deals, celebrations with Elain and Nesta and Lucien and the rest of the newsies. By some miracle, Feyre had allowed Rhys to stay at her side throughout all of it.

Once it had all ended, they found themselves alone, walking along the Sidra. A last look before Feyre left. Rhys wanted to mention it—and perhaps try and change her mind—but the words caught in his throat each time he tried. He’d thought about offering his arm, but Feyre had kept her hands jammed firmly in her pockets.

If last night had merely been a distraction before a long day…he understood. Watching the lights glitter on the surface of the Sidra with Feyre nearby was more than enough.

It wasn’t Rhys who finally broke their companionable silence. He tensed at the sound of hurried footsteps behind them, then the abrupt silence as whoever it was winnowed to catch up.

“I’ve been looking for you two everywhere,” Mor said, materializing on Feyre’s other side.

Rhys glared at her over the top of Feyre’s head, irritated by the interruption. “Have you now?” he said, voice icy.

“I was positive you’d be at Ressina’s, but when I asked around, no one there knew where you’d slipped off to.”

“And you didn’t consider that might have been because we didn’t want to be found?”

Mor stuck her tongue out at Rhys, earning a laugh from Feyre. “I needed to catch Feyre before she left,” Mor said. “Ressina let me have the stack of paintings you were going to leave behind. There was a portrait of your friend, the one with the mechanical eye. Apparently he’s quite the charmer—flirts with them all when they buy their daily paper. They were horrified to hear the High Lord sent him to the Prison. After the fuss they made, Rhys’s father is going to start sending petty thieves somewhere more humane than an island full of monsters.”

Feyre stopped in her tracks, so abruptly that Rhys nearly walked into her. For a moment, she stood rooted to the spot, blinking in surprise.

“All that because of my art?” Feyre said slowly.

Mor nodded. “I wanted to make sure you knew. That was just one portrait, so just think of all the good you could do. And congratulations on the victory today.”

“I—”

Before Feyre could get the rest of the words out, Mor pulled her into a rib-crushing hug. Rhys raised his brows, locking eyes with his cousin over his mate’s shoulder. Mor winked and flashed him a grin.

“Safe travels, Feyre,” Mor said, giving her one last squeeze before winnowing away.

“She’s right, you know. Your paintings could do a lot of good here,” Rhys said quietly.

Feyre merely nodded, her gaze flicking back to the lights of the Rainbow. She seemed to be staring at the view as if she were trying to memorize it. They were silent, and it took all of Rhys’s willpower not to slip into her mind to find out what she was thinking.

“I should get home and pack,” she whispered.

“So should I.”

Feyre stilled. For a moment, Rhys thought she might disappear into a shadow. But she said, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I wasn’t aware you held a monopoly on leaving for the Continent tomorrow. Unless you don’t want company.”

“But don’t you have obligations here? Work, your family?”

“Don’t you?” Rhys said. When Feyre said nothing in response, just opened her mouth and closed it—he knew he’d won. More softly, he added, “If you want to get out of the city, there’s somewhere I’d like to show you. We can leave now if you want.”

Feyre’s cheeks went pink, but perhaps that was just the cold night air. “Alright.”

She reached out a hand, clearly expecting that he’d take it and lead her somewhere. But Rhys scooped her into his arms instead. To his surprise, she didn’t protest, just looped an arm behind his neck to steady herself, comfortable and familiar.

Rhys let his heart swell before winnowing them to the cabin in Illyria.

This far north, it was even colder, and Feyre shivered, pressing herself closer as Rhys glided to the ground. They could have walked from the edge of the wards—it was only a few yards. But it had been a long day, and some part of him wanted to carry Feyre instead of putting her back on her feet.

“What is this place?” she said, finally wiggling out of his arms after they’d crossed the threshold.

“Traditionally? It’s where the wayward youths of my family have been sent for ‘reflection’ for millennia. But I thought you might want the peace and quiet,” he said.

Rhys waved a hand, and a fire sprang to life, lighting up the cabin and warming it. Snow hadn’t fallen yet, but out of habit, he toed off his shoes and placed them near the door. Feyre did the same, apparently following his lead. She sighed, and Rhys could practically feel the tension melting off of her as she closed her eyes.

“Thank you. It’s like I can finally hear myself think.”

It was exactly what Rhys suspected she really needed—a break. Even if a new life on the Continent seemed appealing, everyone she loved was in Velaris. But if Feyre didn’t agree…there would be no forcing her to stay.

He couldn’t let her leave without telling her the full truth, either.

Rhys forced himself to say, “We need to talk, and no one will disturb us here.”

“I think we do.”

There it was again—that tug, right behind his heart. The first time, Rhys had hoped he wasn’t mistaken, and after feeling it again, he was more sure. Feyre knew. And hopefully she wasn’t about to rake him over the coals.

He ushered them into the living room and gestured for her to sit. Out of habit, his movements had gone stiff and formal, though he longed to pull her close and share a blanket. But he wasn’t sure that would be welcome. Instead, he kept a careful distance between them as he sank onto the sofa.

“Feyre,” Rhys said, forcing himself to look at her. Each word felt like it was dragged out of him. “You’re my—”

“Mate. I know.”

Rhys flinched—the words sounded like a rebuke. And there was a harsh finality when the words were spoken aloud for the first time. They couldn’t be taken back. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry that we’re mates? Or is there something else you’re about to confess to me?” Her voice went sharp, and Rhys wished he could disappear.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner,” he said quietly.

“How long have you known?”

“The bond snapped a few months after meeting you. That day our fingers brushed as you handed me the paper—I think the contact triggered it.”

Another tug. This time, Rhys pulled back, just because there was no fear of being found out this time. Feyre’s hand flew to her chest, eyes going wide.

“It’s real, isn’t it?” she said, shaking her head as if to clear it. “I felt the spark that day, too. But you were such a flirt��with everyone —and I didn’t want to be some deluded girl who convinced herself it was more than a bit of fun.”

“I thought you would have noticed the headlines about my love life stopped after I met you.”

“I did. I just…didn’t think it had anything to do with me. At least not until recently. And then we were in the middle of the strike, and it’s not as if you had an opening to tell me.”

“I didn’t want to burden you with it.” Rhys still didn’t. It was honestly a wonder that Feyre hadn’t rejected the bond already; she’d shouted headlines about enough kidnapping and assassination attempts to know what a life with him would be like.

Feyre slid her hand across the sofa, interlacing their fingers. “It’s not a burden, but I need time. Can it be just us for a while? No High Lords, no labor unions, no newspapers.”

Word would get out eventually. They’d been seen together often enough in the past few days, and Rhys could hardly slip out of Velaris unnoticed. But if they stayed at the cabin, they could put it off for a while.

He pressed a kiss to their joined hands. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Another tug, but not behind his ribs this time. Feyre was pulling him closer, until Rhys lost his balance and they became a tangle of limbs and nearly tumbled off the sofa together. Her breath tickled his ear as she let out a peal of laughter. Rhys hooked a leg around her waist, twisting until she was on top of him the way he liked.

It was a while before they actually made it to the bed. And even longer until he finally fell asleep with a wing blanketing them both.

Rhys woke to a claw poking at his shields. Not hard, but insistent. His father would have just pushed his way in, which meant the daemati who wanted his attention must have been his sister.

He opened a crack for her, one just wide enough to say, Go away.

I’m outside.

Go. Away.

I’m coming in. Make sure you’re decent.

Truthfully, he was lucky Rhiannon hadn’t pounded on the door to wake up Feyre, too. Rhys bit back a snarl and slowly slid out of the bed; hopefully, he could get his sister to leave before Feyre even realized someone else had been there. With a flick of his wrist, Rhys summoned a robe and slipped it on, hurrying to the door.

Rhiannon was already in the entranceway, running a hand through windswept hair. Her dark cheeks and the tip of her nose had a pink tinge from the early morning cold—she must have flown here.

“Mother’s tits, how the hell did you two make this place stink so badly in just one night?” Rhiannon said, making a face.

“What are you doing here?” Rhys said.

Rhiannon rolled her eyes. “Meeting my new sister because you couldn’t be bothered to introduce us before running off.”

“She’s not your—” A shuffling sound from the other room cut him off; Feyre must have woken up. Rhys snarled, then slipped into Rhiannon’s mind to add, Do not ruin this for me.

Ignoring the sound of her snickering, Rhys turned to see nothing more than the faint outline of Feyre creeping through the shadows. She’d gone incorporeal, probably because she was shy.

“We can go back to bed. Rhiannon was just leaving,” Rhys said pointedly.

Rhiannon pushed past him, nearly smacking Rhys in the face with a wing. Feyre materialized fully and, still a bit groggy from sleep, blinked at them both owlishly.

Rhiannon reached into a pocket dimension and pulled out a copy of the Herald . “I’m just here to make a delivery, and I’ll be out of your hair,” she said, holding it out to Feyre.

Feyre took the paper and unrolled it. Rhys stepped closer, reading the headline over her shoulder. Newsies Stop the Presses: Historic Lesser Fae Coalition Secures Labor Win. The accompanying picture had been taken just after they’d inked the deal, a smiling Feyre flanked by her sisters and Lucien in the House of Wind.

Rhys heard his mate’s breath catch, and he decided that perhaps he wouldn’t kill his sister for this after all.

“After all that time you spent selling the paper, it just seemed fair to bring it to you when you’re finally in it,” Rhiannon added, a bit more softly.

Feyre smiled. “Thank you.”

To Rhys’s shock, Feyre accepted a hug from his sister, and true to her word, Rhiannon slipped back out after that. Thank the Mother she hadn’t insisted on staying for breakfast.

Once the door shut and they were alone again, Rhys said, “I suppose if we head back to bed, tomorrow’s headline will be about the mountains shaking.”

Feyre laughed and took her cap off the hook where she’d hung it near the door. Pressing a kiss to Rhys’s cheek, she put the cap on his head. “We’ll make a newsie of you yet, mate.”

It was only a matter of time before he made her a High Lady, too.

[goforth-ladymidnight]

A Second Chance, Ch. 16

@praetorqueenreyna @thrumbolt @achaotichuman @northern-polaris @zivotzaruzi @taymartiart (Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged or untagged.)

I just checked my last update, and not only was it almost a month ago (sorry!), I included an apology for the previous chapter's cliffhanger. So, to get it out of the way, I'll just warn you now and apologize for this next one. 🫶

Pairing: Tamlin x Lucien

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: It's the Friday before Christmas, and some unexpected surprises show up on everyone's doorsteps.

Read on AO3, or read on below:

There was a knock on the open office door, then someone called through the crack: “Special delivery for J. P. I.”

Tamlin and Jurian looked up at the same time, then exchanged surprised looks.

“From who?” Jurian asked the smartly-dressed courier standing in the doorway with a large rectangular box tucked under his arm.

“T & J, sir. It’s a department store, sir.”

“I know what it is.” Jurian gave Tamlin a look. “The only question is who would be sending us a box full of high end goodies from Thread & Jewels of all places,” he remarked dryly, then flicked up his eyebrows. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Tamlin blushed as he carefully closed the drawer of the filing cabinet he’d been organizing. “You never know. It could be from Vassa.”

Jurian grimaced as he pushed his rolling chair away from the desk. “Doubtful,” he said, groaning as he stood. “She just barely started speaking to me again. Besides, why would she need to have something delivered? More to the point—” He took the pen from the waiting courier’s outstretched hand. “—Why would your boyfriend have something delivered? You just moved in together. You could be saving a fortune on postage alone, not to mention tips. Which I will happily pay,” he quickly added to the courier.

“No need, sir. It’s been taken care of, sir,” the courier said, unfazed as he held out the clipboard for Jurian to sign.

“Really? No kidding.”

Tamlin stood back and slid his hands into his pockets. “Maybe it’s not for us,” he mused. “Maybe it got sent to the wrong place.”

Jurian squinted at the fine print, then scrawled his signature. “Guess again,” he remarked, clicking the pen closed and handing it back. “That’s our address. And look—” He held up a small, cream-colored envelope and wagged it. “—It’s got our business name on it, with a little heart dotting the ‘i’ and everything.”

Tamlin rushed forward, blushing madly. “Let me see that,” he said, snatching the envelope from a smirking Jurian, then turned it over. “It does not.”

“Maybe not, but who else would go to all this trouble?”

“Lucien,” they said in unison.

“You got it.”

As Tamlin slit open the envelope, Jurian asked the courier, “Is there anything else?”

“No, sir. Enjoy your weekend, sir. And happy holidays, sir.”

“Yeah, you, too,” Jurian said, accepting the box before closing the door behind him. “So, what does your little love note say?”

Tamlin was too intrigued by the message to be embarrassed further by his friend’s teasing. “Here’s a little something for each of you,” he read aloud. “You’ll know which is which, but just in case, call me.” He didn’t mention the small heart next to the phone number at the bottom, but he smiled at it, just the same.

Jurian tilted his head and listened as he gently shook the package. “Huh. Whatever it is, it’s tightly-wrapped,” he mused. “It’s probably just clothes, but it feels too heavy to be Christmas pajamas.”

“As if Lucien would ever buy you pajamas,” Tamlin said, smiling.

“Good point,” Jurian said, hefting the box. “Hmm. A blanket, maybe?”

Tamlin slid the card into his pocket and chuckled. “You look like a big kid shaking your presents the day before Christmas,” he said wryly. “Did you ever open them early, just to see if you were right?”

“You bet I did,” Jurian said, smirking as he set the large box on top of the desk. “My parents had to get pretty creative to fool me.”

“Sounds like you were always meant to be a detective, then.”

“Huh. I guess I was,” Jurian agreed, reaching for some scissors. “Now let’s see how good I still am.”

As it turned out, there was more than one box tucked inside the larger one.

Jurian clicked his tongue and shook his head. “The old nesting doll trick,” he moaned. “I should have known.”

Tamlin allowed him to heft the smaller box before he opened it, though, just to give him a sporting chance.

“Books, maybe… No, wait. I’ve got it. T & J’s is a department store. It’s picture frames, or nothing. I’d bet my couch on it.”

As it turned out, he didn’t have to, because he was right. There were two picture frames inside, one for each of them, with pictures.

Tamlin smiled at his silver reindeer frame, but he had to chuckle at the photo inside it. He and Lucien were standing next to their newly decorated tree, he in his jingle-bell antlers and his boyfriend in an ugly candy-striped sweater, and making a heart with their outstretched hands. The rest of the photos that Jurian had taken of them that night were in a small envelope of their own. There was the one of them falling into each other’s arms and laughing, then hugging, and then just looking at each other.

He would have kept looking, but Jurian’s wistful sigh drew his attention.

His boss—and friend—was slowly flipping through his own stack of photos, featuring him and Vassa standing by the Christmas tree. The frame Lucien had chosen was tucked under his arm.

“So, what did you get?” Tamlin asked him politely.

Jurian’s gaze was soft and somewhat sad as he glanced up. “Hmm? Oh, it’s empty,” he said, turning the frame around. It was covered in sculpted silver snowflakes, but the frame itself had nothing inside it, just as he said. “I guess he knows Vassa and I aren’t together anymore. Not that we were ever together to begin with, I mean…”

Tamlin winced. “I think he just wanted to give you the choice in what photo you wanted to put inside,” he offered kindly.

“That’s very optimistic of you, but highly unlikely,” Jurian said, sitting on the edge of the desk. He set the silver frame aside. “I think he just didn’t want to hurt my feelings. This is the sort of gift you give your future in-laws when you want to impress them… or your boss, in this case.” He pointed at the framed certificates on the wall behind him. “Everyone who knows me knows I like my frames like I like my liquor: cheap, oak-y, and on sale.”

Tamlin rolled his eyes. “Or maybe—” he said, picking up the snowflake frame and brandishing it. “Lucien thought that Santa and his Little Helper would like a frame that looks more like it came from the North Pole instead of the bottom of a bargain bin.”

“Hey. My frames have character, even if they do give you splinters.”

Tamlin ignored his sarcasm. “He didn’t have to give you a frame,” he continued. “Or the photos. I don’t think Vassa would have let him give those to you if she didn’t still care about you, at least a little.”

Jurian’s pinched mouth softened. “You think?”

Tamlin nodded, then reached out and tapped at the topmost photo in Jurian’s hands. “I think you should frame that one.”

It was the one candid photo Lucien had managed to take of them, in which Jurian was gazing at Vassa with such tenderness, it was impossible to believe that he had been pretending the whole time. It had been real from the start. Only he hadn’t realized it yet.

Jurian let out a heavy sigh. “Okay. Maybe I will,” he said quietly, taking the frame from Tamlin’s hand. “It’s not going to match anything on my wall, though. I guess it will have to live on the desk for a while.”

Tamlin smiled. “That’s the spirit.”

“Yeah. And speaking of spirit,” Jurian declared, gesturing to the large box behind him. “You still have one more gift to unwrap. And—before you say anything—I highly doubt it’s for me. It’s got your name written all over it. Metaphorically speaking.” He held up a finger. “Unless…”

But even Jurian didn’t guess right this time.

It wasn’t a monogrammed quilt, like he thought, or a robe, for that matter.

It was a beautiful gray wool overcoat with a high collar and two rows of buttons. Tamlin slowly rubbed the thick fabric between his fingers. He couldn’t stop touching it. He couldn’t stop staring at it.

Jurian whistled. “Fancy,” he drawled, moving the empty cardboard box to the floor. “Now that’s the sort of coat you can take for a stroll downtown without freezing your ass off,” he remarked. “Where did you say Lucien was taking you, again?”

“We’re going to his family’s Christmas party. Well, it’s a company party. They have one every year,” Tamlin told him with a wincing smile, then shrugged. “He talked me into it.”

“Well, congratulations. Or, condolences,” Jurian said with a small bow. “I guess it depends on how cheap the Autumn Corporation is going to be. Either way, I don’t envy you.”

Tamlin huffed a shy laugh. “I don’t mind,” he said honestly. “Mostly I’m just nervous about meeting the rest of his family. I only met them once around the holidays about eight years ago, and that was before either of us came out.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Jurian said, giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “At least you know his brother likes you.”

“Yeah, but that’s just one of them. He has six.”

“Six? Good lord. His poor mother.”

Tamlin ducked his head to hide his nervous smile. “I remember she was really nice when I first met her, but that was before Lucien and I started dating.”

“Relax. She’s gonna love you,” Jurian said kindly, thumping him on the arm. “Now quit worrying. We’ve still got some cleaning up to do before we close up for the holiday, and we’ve got your boyfriend to thank for that.”

“Oh! That reminds me. I still need to call him,” Tamlin remembered, reaching for the card in his pocket.

“All right,” Jurian conceded, “but make it snappy. I don’t want to hit rush hour. Traffic is going to be crazy enough as it is.”

Luckily, Lucien picked up after the second ring. “Hey there, Handsome.”

Tamlin adjusted the receiver against his ear and smiled. “How did you know it was me?”

“I didn’t. I’ve been saying that all day, hoping you’d call,” Lucien teased. Tamlin laughed, and he could hear the pleased grin in Lucien’s voice when he continued, “So, I’m guessing you got my message.”

“I sure did, but Jurian and I were wondering why you went to all this trouble to have things delivered here when I’m going to see you in a couple of hours.”

“Well, you know me,” Lucien said unabashedly. “I just couldn’t wait until the party. Besides, shopping took longer than I thought, and I still have to give Vassa her gift. I’m on my way to see her now, actually. Did you know she’s coming tonight?”

Tamlin shifted the receiver to his other ear as he glanced at Jurian, who was putting her photo in his frame. “No… I didn’t know.”

“Do you think you can convince Jurian to come? It would be nice to see him and Vassa make up before the new year.”

They had certainly been cordial enough as they helped Tamlin move his things into Lucien’s apartment, but breaking down cardboard boxes was not the same thing as breaking down communication barriers.

Tamlin winced and looked away when Jurian noticed him staring. “I’ll try,” he told Lucien quietly.

“Thanks, Tam,” Lucien said warmly. “Before I go, how do you like your new coat? Is it too big? Is it too much?”

“No, I love it,” Tamlin assured him, folding back the tissue paper to look at his brand new coat again. “It’s perfect.”

“Good.” Lucien sounded relieved. “I was worried it wouldn’t fit, so…”

“Oh. I don’t know about that. I haven’t tried it on yet,” Tamlin said sheepishly. “Your card said to call…”

“Well, put it on!” Lucien said eagerly. “There’s still time to exchange it before we go to the party tonight.”

“Oh, okay. Um… Here. Talk to Jurian for a second,” Tamlin said, thrusting the receiver in Jurian’s direction. Jurian, who had been slowly cleaning up and pretending not to listen in, rolled his eyes as he reluctantly accepted the receiver.

“Hey,” he said flatly, then looked Tamlin over as he pulled the coat out of its box. “Yeah, he’s putting it on right now… Hmm? Oh, that. Yeah, thanks. The photos were a nice touch. You know, you’re not a bad photographer. Everything turned out real nice with the tree and everything—Ooh, not bad, Tam. Not bad,” he said with an approving nod, then paused to listen in. His brow furrowed. “What? I don’t—” He sighed, then tilted the receiver away from his mouth. “Lucien wants to know if you look hot in it.”

Tamlin’s cheeks warmed as he chuckled and pulled his hair free from the folded wool collar. “Tell him I think so.”

“He says he thinks so,” Jurian said obediently, then rolled his eyes. “You talk to him,” he complained, holding out the receiver.

Tamlin smiled shyly as he accepted it and traded places with Jurian at the desk. The duster-length coat swirled comfortably around his legs as he turned around and sat down. As he settled into the chair, he ran a hand over the soft wool. It was perfectly warm, and perfectly perfect.

“—on a scale of one to ten,” Lucien was saying on the other end.

Tamlin bit his lip, then told Jurian, “He just wants to know what you think, on a scale of one to ten.”

Jurian wolf whistled, loud enough for Lucien to hear, and Tamlin’s face turned pink.

Lucien laughed. “That’s more like it,” he said warmly. “Which reminds me. Have you found your other gift yet?”

“You mean the picture frame? Yeah, I love it.”

“That’s good, but check your left pocket,” Lucien said mysteriously. “No, wait! I mean the right one. Sorry. There’s two gifts, actually. One in each pocket.”

Tamlin bent his neck to hold the receiver in place as he reached inside the right pocket. “How many gifts does this make, exactly?”

“I’m not sure. I kind of lost count after buying those aprons.”

“Hey, new gloves,” Tamlin marveled, pulling them out.

“I hope they fit,” Lucien said shyly as he tried one on. “It was kind of hard to get your measurements without spoiling the surprise.”

“Huh. Well, that explains why you wanted to compare hand sizes last night,” Tamlin remarked, then caught Jurian’s cocked eyebrow. He blushed deeper and turned away.

Lucien breathed a laugh. “I was trying to be subtle.”

“You were,” Tamlin assured him. “I had no idea.”

“Good,” Lucien said warmly. “As long as I guessed right, that’s all that matters.”

“Mm, they’re a bit snug,” Tamlin admitted, flexing his fingers inside the fleece lined gloves. “But stores don’t usually have my size, anyway. Don’t worry about it,” he said, peeling it off again. “They’re great.”

“I’ll get you another pair,” Lucien promised. “Now, you can save the other gift for later if you want, but you have to promise to open it before sunset.”

“Uh, okay…” Tamlin’s brow furrowed as he reached inside the left pocket and drew out a small flat box with a hinged lid.

“Just in case you turn into a werewolf, remember?” Lucien teased.

Tamlin flipped open the lid, then stared at the spiked leather choker within.

“What is that?” Jurian asked, coming closer for a better look.

Tamlin snapped the lid closed and hid the box behind his back. “Nothing.”

Jurian looked at him askance. “Is that what I think it is?”

Tamlin quickly shook his head.

Jurian’s brows rose in understanding as he spread his hands wide and backed away. “You know what? You’re right. Forget I asked.”

“...Tam?” Lucien said, worry creeping into his voice. “Tam, are you there?”

“I’m—I’m here,” Tamlin rasped, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. Mm-hmm.”

“Did I go too far?” Lucien asked hesitantly. “I thought maybe it would make you laugh…”

“It’s… uh… definitely different,” Tamlin admitted, setting the box aside, then lowered his voice so that Jurian couldn’t hear. “You didn’t actually pay for silver, did you?”

“Would you be mad at me if I did?”

Tamlin grimaced.

“Don’t worry,” Lucien said quickly. “I’m pretty sure it’s stainless steel. I don’t actually expect you to wear it. I know you’re not a werewolf.”

“Do you, though?” Tamlin said in a low voice, surprising even himself.

“What? Oh. Ooh,” Lucien purred. “Maybe I don’t know.”

Tamlin bit back a laugh. “I guess you’ll have to wait until tonight to find out.”

“I can’t wait,” Lucien said in a low voice, then in a louder tone asked, “Hey, listen. I’m almost at Vassa’s hotel. How would you guys like to meet me there? They have a nice little bar just off the lobby where we could meet up for drinks. How does that sound?”

Tamlin bit his lip in thought. “Hmm. Let me ask Jurian.” He covered the mouthpiece with his free hand. “What would you think about dropping me off at Vassa’s hotel? Lucien’s on his way there now, and he’s offering to pay for drinks at the bar, if you’re up for it.”

Jurian hesitated, then shook his head. “Tell him ‘Thanks’, but I already have a date tonight with a hot pink couch. We’re going to split a couple beers and watch the game.” When Tamlin grimaced, he added quickly, “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Not right now.”

Tamlin nodded and turned away. “Maybe another time,” he told his boyfriend.

“It was worth a shot,” Lucien said, sighing.

“Yeah,” Tamlin agreed softly.

Jurian interrupted, “Hey, I can still drop you off, if you want to go. I just can’t stay. You understand. Prior engagement, and all that.”

“Sure. Thanks,” Tamlin said, surprised, then passed on the news to Lucien. “Do you still want to meet up there? Can your convertible seat three?”

“Hmm. I’m sure we can work something out,” Lucien said distractedly. “Listen. Call me before you leave, and we’ll figure it out. Do you have the number for Vassa’s hotel in case you can’t reach me?”

When Jurian—reluctantly—admitted that he did, Tamlin told Lucien so.

“Great. Then I’ll talk to you soon. Oh, and Tam?”

Tamlin paused. “Yeah?”

Lucien sighed softly on the other end. “I love you.”

Tamlin smiled. “I love you, too.”

* * *

Vassa was still wearing her robe when she peered through the opening of her hotel room door. Her surprised expression softened when she saw the wrapped gift in Lucien’s hand.

“You are early,” she said chidingly, even though she smiled and opened the door wider.

Lucien bent down to kiss her cheek. “Christmas is next week,” he told her as he stepped inside. “If anything, I’m late.”

She chuckled as she closed the door behind him, then slid the deadbolt into place for good measure. “And your party tonight?” she reminded him.

“Oh, that,” Lucien said teasingly. “That I’m early for.”

As he set her gift on the coffee table, he glanced around and asked, “So, how do you like your new room?”

“It is nice. View is better,” she said softly.

After Tamlin revealed that he and Jurian had been hired to report on Vassa’s whereabouts, it was agreed that she should change rooms, just to be safe. It was still registered under Lucien’s name, but it was one that Jurian hadn’t been to. It was on a higher floor, with a better view of the city, although they couldn’t see much of it at the moment. It had snowed earlier, but they were expecting more later that evening.

As Lucien shrugged off his coat, he noticed that Vassa remained by the door, hugging her arms.

“Hey… What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I do not think I should go.”

“What? Why not?”

She shrugged and looked away. “I have bad feeling. In here.” She pointed at her stomach.

Lucien relaxed a little. “Oh. You mean you’re nervous.”

She shrugged again. “I suppose.”

Lucien sighed and stepped closer. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, Jurian’s not coming. He has other plans tonight.”

“Oh.” Vassa rolled her shoulders and lifted her chin. “With another woman?” she asked, trying—and failing—to sound disinterested.

Lucien tried to contain his smirk. “He didn’t say, but I doubt it,” he said honestly.

“Hmph. He certainly knows how to keep his secrets,” she said dismissively, then brushed past Lucien to reach for her gift. “What did you bring?”

Lucien breathed a laugh as he watched her lift it to her ear and shake it. “Careful. It’s fragile. Uh, it might break.”

“Oh,” she said apologetically, then gently returned it to its place on the coffee table. She sat down on the couch and carefully removed the top of the box, then gasped appreciatively at what laid within. “Oh, Lucien. It is beautiful,” she gushed as he joined her on the couch.

“To remember your first Christmas in Prythian,” he said, smiling as she brought out the silver snowflake ornament.

It glittered as it caught the light and dangled from the ribbon she held in her delicate fingertips. “Beautiful,” she said again in Scythian.

“There is one more gift,” he told her in her language, and folded back the white tissue paper to reveal the glittering picture frame underneath.

The silver snowflake frame matched her ornament, as well as the frame he had selected for Jurian, although he didn’t tell her that. He wanted them to discover that on their own. He wanted to believe that they could be friends again, even if they never dated again. Considering how intertwined their lives were, considering that Lucien and Tamlin now lived together, it would be easier on everyone if they could learn to get along.

As she admired the new frame, Lucien reached inside the box and drew out a small white envelope. “These are the photos from our tree-decorating party,” he explained, without opening the envelope. “You don’t have to look at them, but I wanted you to have them, anyway.”

Her smile faded as she hesitated, then slowly accepted the envelope. “Thank you,” she said softly, then set it aside without looking at them.

Although he was disappointed, he wasn’t surprised.

She must have noticed his expression change, for she repeated her “Thank you” in a much more sincere tone, then kissed his cheek. “You are most kind.”

“You are most welcome,” he told her in Scythian.

She beamed. “Come,” she said, seizing his hand. “Help me decide what to wear.”

“Oh! You’re going to come?” he asked as she pulled him to his feet.

“Yes,” she declared. “If Juri can—I mean, Jur-i-an,” she said, pronouncing his name carefully. “If he can have plans, then I can have plans.”

It was better than leaving her alone in her room all night, with only a television and a minibar for company, so Lucien didn’t argue. “What did you have in mind?”

* * *

By the time Tamlin and Jurian made it downstairs, it was getting dark.

Even though it was still technically afternoon, the thick clouds above their heads made it seem later than it actually was. The near-empty parking lot was covered in a light dusting of snow, and they were already expecting more. If they didn’t leave soon, they’d be caught up in it. Most of the workers in their building had already gone for the day, having started their holiday weekend early.

“You sure you’ve got everything there, Tam?” Jurian asked him, watching him pile his old coat and the coat box into the back seat.

Tamlin flipped his scarf over his shoulder, then patted at his new pockets. “I think so. I—wait.” He blushed as he remembered the spiked choker. “I forgot my, uh…”

“Your something,” Jurian said with a meaningful nod.

“Yeah,” Tamlin said meekly.

Jurian chuckled and shook his head, then opened the driver’s side door. “I’ll get the windows scraped off. You, go fetch,” he teased.

Tamlin’s blush deepened. “Yeah, okay,” he said, then quickly turned for the entrance.

His embarrassment only lasted as long as it took to call the elevator. As he slid his hands inside his new pockets, he caught sight of his—somewhat blurred—reflection, and he smiled. As he turned, his new coat swirled around his knees. His white scarf looked good with the fine gray wool, even better than his bomber jacket. This one was a lot warmer, too.

What a Christmas this was turning out to be. He now had a boyfriend, a bigger place to live, an actual bed, a warm coat, and his violin. It seemed that his luck had finally turned around, and for the better.

Cold air swirled into the lobby. Tamlin glanced up as three men walked through the doors, wearing long black coats. That wasn’t so unusual. What was unusual was that they joined him in waiting for the elevator. It was the last weekend before Christmas, and no one was doing business. Not at this hour.

Then again, it was none of his business what these men chose to do with their time. He didn’t know everybody in the building, after all.

When the elevator opened, a gaggle of women walked out, wearing red and green and chatting merrily as they carried out boxes filled with leftover holiday goodies. There must have been an office party upstairs. Tamlin might have wished them a happy holiday as they left the elevator, if he had been alone, but he found himself strangely self-conscious and unable to speak.

With the elevator now empty, Tamlin wished he could take the stairs, but the three men seemed to be… waiting for him. Nonsense. They were just being polite.

The elevator could hold eight men comfortably, but it seemed oddly cramped when the four of them got in, one in each corner.

Tamlin stood by the buttons, even though he would have preferred to stand by the doors. “Which floor?” he asked politely.

Two of the men looked wordlessly to the third, standing stoically in the opposite corner.

“Third,” the man said, with a hard accent.

Tamlin was too distracted by his pronunciation to press more than one button. If he had been thinking straight, he would have pressed Two, and then Three, and then taken the stairs the rest of the way. Slowly.

As the elevator doors rumbled shut, Tamlin pressed himself into his corner and took a deep breath. There was no reason to be nervous. These men were strangers, but he had ridden this elevator with strangers many times before. Besides, he was just as tall as they were, even if they did outweigh him in sheer muscle. At least, two of them did.

The third man, the only one who had spoken thus far, was tall and slender to the point of being gaunt. His closely cropped hair was so blond it was nearly white, and he had a neatly trimmed goatee. He had a cane, too, but that didn’t help Tamlin guess his age. If he had to guess, perhaps he was in his late forties, or early fifties. Not that it mattered.

Had the elevator always been this slow?

The white-haired man slowly tapped a bony finger against the hand holding his cane. A thick silver ring rested on his first knuckle. Tamlin tried not to stare at it, but the movement caught his eye, and the shape held his attention. The ring was shaped like a skull.

The man noticed him looking, and he smiled. It was not a friendly smile.

Tamlin managed a tight, polite smile in return, then looked away. His icy blue eyes were rather unsettling to look at.

It was like looking at a ghost. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.

After what felt like an eternity, the elevator rumbled to a halt, and the door chimed sweetly as it opened.

Nobody moved, though.

“Please,” the man said, gesturing with a bony hand. “After you.”

Tamlin nodded politely, then hurried out. He forced himself to walk down the hall, although he would have preferred a brisk jog. Why was he so nervous, anyway? He didn’t know them. They didn’t know him. He hadn’t been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past… unless he counted Lucien.

Tamlin shook himself. He was being silly. He was no Scrooge. He was just nervous about meeting Lucien’s family, and he was running late. That was all.

He glanced back over his shoulder. He hadn’t meant to, but he did it anyway. Not that he had any reason to worry. The three men hadn’t tried to follow him. They were simply examining the directory printed outside the elevator. The white-haired man had lifted that same bony hand to drag his skull finger down the list of names.

Tamlin shivered, and looked away.

Bah, humbug.

His hands shook when he tried to unlock the office door, and he cursed under his breath when he nearly dropped the keys. Maybe Lucien would forgive him for ‘forgetting’ the collar. It seemed silly to come all this way for a joke. What would he tell Jurian, though? That a group of strangers had followed him onto the elevator and given him the creeps? No, it was better to grab the box and get out and pretend this never happened.

He let out a sigh of relief when the key turned and the office door swung open. Leaving the keys in the lock, he rushed for the velvet box on the other side of the desk. Maybe he would even tell Lucien about it later, and they could laugh about it over pizza and a glass of wine.

But when he turned around, box in hand, he didn’t feel like laughing.

The skeleton man was standing in the doorway, and the other two men were right behind him.

“You are J. P. I.?” the man asked in that same hard accent.

Tamlin swallowed. “We’re closed,” he rasped.

The man smiled that same cool smile, then glanced over his shoulder and murmured something in another language. The other two men stepped closer. “But… the door is open, no?”

Tamlin slipped the box in his pocket and tried to think of a way out.

At his silence, the man continued, “You speak Scythian, yes?”

Tamlin’s blood ran cold. He knew that voice. “No,” he whispered.

The man continued to smile. “I think… you do.” He pulled Tamlin’s keys from the lock and pocketed them as he stepped inside the too-small office. “I think you know exactly who I am, and why I am here.”

Tamlin couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. It was like Amarantha had drugged him all over again.

This man had his keys. Koschei had his keys.

No. No. It wasn’t possible. Why would Koschei come all the way from Scythia? It didn’t make sense.

This was just a very, very bad dream. In a minute he’d wake up next to Lucien. That was good. After kissing him awake, his boyfriend would pull him into a nice hot shower to work out all the kinks from the night before. They had just finished unpacking, after all. They lived together now. That was worth celebrating. Maybe they could go out for latkes…

Maybe… after he woke up.

“You try my patience,” the man said irritably. “Where is my Vassa?”

Tamlin didn’t mean to, but his eyes fell to the framed photo on Jurian’s desk.

Unfortunately for him, Koschei noticed.

As he picked it up, he frowned, and his eyes were like blue ice. “Where is she?”

Swift footsteps sounded in the hall outside the door.

“Tam?” Jurian’s voice called out. “Hey! What’s going on? Get out of my way.” He shoved his way past the two men. “What are you doing in my…?”

He faltered when he caught sight of Tamlin standing on the other side of the room.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Tamlin said weakly.

“So, I saw these clowns follow you into the building,” Jurian said quietly. “I didn’t want to seem like a mother hen, but, uh… you know. You can’t be too careful these days.”

“Yeah. I know.”

The white-haired man turned the framed photo around and asked Jurian something in Scythian. Tamlin had a pretty good guess as to what he wanted.

Jurian straightened and rolled his shoulders. His face was grim. “Da.”

Koschei lowered the photo and smiled, and it was not a pleasant smile. “Good.”

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: Depiction of wounds on feet, details of gore.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: If Aemond showed up into my room all feral.... I would simply drop to my knees. Yes sir, what do you need sir? I am a simp 8 days a week.

Chapter 7: Little Dragon

The door shut with thud, and a whoosh of air slipped past your lips that you had been holding. Your hand came up to gently touch the skin beneath your eye.

He had not maimed you. Aemond had taunted you instead. His intimidation causing you to chew your lips raw. You gulped in air, bringing your hand down to look at it, only the smallest pinprick of blood sat on your finger.

You stumbled back, the adrenaline from the evening slowly dwindling and fatigue from the night rapidly growing. Your feet throbbed and head strummed as you stumbled on your feet. Your vision swam as you moved.

Limping over to the arm chair you dropped into the seat holding your head in your hands. Why did he leave you unharmed? What did he want now? Was this all just a game? How did he get into your chambers? 

The knight would have let him in, or at least known he was in there. This meant that Aemond could come back into your chambers at any time or moment, his unknown intentions causing you to become frantic.

You felt bile rise in your throat as your stomach turned in knots. Would he return back into your chambers when you slept? How long had he been watching you? Do you tell your parents? Or would the news create more tension and divide?

You felt your head spin from all the thoughts that raced into your head.

The doors opened suddenly and you let out a small shriek, Aella and Saria standing at the door in shock.

“Are you alright my lady?” Aella asked in a hushed voice, eyes scanning the room beofre looking down towards the small bloodied footprints that were littered across the floor. 

You blinked. Were you? How could this be okay? What could you even say to her question, for you did not even know yourself. You looked to the girls blinking, yet not finding the words to respond.

Aella and Saria slowly walked over, bringing a small footstool with them and two bowls. Saria picked up one foot and rested it on the wooden stool, sucking in a sharp breath, 

“Have the Knight fetch milk of the poppy.” She rushed, turning to Aella.

“No. I don’t wish to sleep.” You quickly spoke.

“Your grace you must sleep” Aella insisted.

“I will not.” Your tongue sharp from stress and pain.

Aella bowed her head and began to sit on her hands and knees, slowly wiping the floor with a wet cloth, cleaning the blood away from the tiles with each swipe. You watched as streaks of blood moved across the tile back and forth, her hands dipping them back into the bowl before rinsing, wringing and wiping again.

Saria was quiet as she gently washed your feet, pouring water over the soles to clear the clotting blood, shards of glass becoming visible as they were embedded in your flesh. 

“We may need the Maester, these wounds look deep, Princess.”

“No Maester. I do not trust the snakes in this keep.” You sneered.

Saria became concerned, having slowed her movements on your feet. Then turning to face Aella, she murmured for her to collect the items whilst she tended to your feet.

“Boil some water, bring it up as fast as you can. Go down to the Maesters quarters, collect what we need, needle, thread, you will know the rest.” Saria spoke, still looking down at your feet, inspecting them as she turned them gently in her hand to show Aella, who looked pale looking at the gashes.

Aella stood quickly, moving to leave your chambers.

“Wait,”  You stopped her, “You can’t let anyone see you. If you are caught, say that Saria has hurt herself.” 

You were to keep this quiet, the risk of exposing Aemonds behaviour would lead to a war, your father would demand his head. Showing your wounds to the vultures that circle your Grandsire would only show weakness.

Only Aemond would know of your injury.

Aella nodded and slipped out the door quietly, returning a short while later with the boiling water and a large copper bowl. Kneeling next to Saria, she placed the bowl near the stool, placing the needle and tweezers inside. The older girl dipped a cloth into the steaming water.

Her slender fingers sunk into the boiling water, her face scrunched slightly at the sting. You leant forward to prevent her from doing it again but she gave you a reassuring smile.

Saria began to softly dab at your feet again, the burning hot cloth sending searing pain up into your cuts. Gritting your teeth you hissed, and Aella grabbed your hand gently, allowing you to squeeze it. 

Saria started on your left foot first, a large chunk of jagged glass sat deep inside the heel, sticking out at an odd angle, as blood began to ooze out of the would slowly. Grabbing the tweezers, she stuck the long points into your open wound. 

You sucked in a shaking breath as you whined, peeling the odd sensation of the tweezers sliding up against the glass. Slowly she pinched the shard of glass, tweezers slipping slightly as she pulled the shard out. The sharp edges sliced through your flesh as she pulled it free, agony ripping up through your foot.

Blood dribbled down your heel and onto the stool, dripping thickly onto the floor beneath it. Saria moved onto a smaller shard next to that and then two more small pieces. All whilst you let silent tears fall down your cheeks. 

Going back with the cloth she gently wiped the new blood away and held your foot up higher, the gentle wipes of the cloth causing a stinging, irritating pain to crawl through your feet. You grit your teeth and grunted.

“You’re doing so well Princess.” She praised, looking up at you as she did, eyes kind.

“Ha,” You scoffed, huffing a breath out blowing a small strand of hair away from your face, “I am crying like a child.”

“Not at all your grace, the feet are sensitive, and the wounds are quite deep.” Aella chimed in, smiling gently at you as she went back to scrubbing the blood off of the floors. She looked more comfortable looking at the floors rather than your feet.

Lifting a hand to roughly wipe the tears from your face you took a deep breath in. 

“Right. Let's finish.”

Saria nodded, grabbing the needle from the bowl and threading it gently, resting your heel back onto the stool in the process. She looked up at you for confirmation as you nodded back, looking at the fireplace which slowly licked against a new log that had been placed on top.

You felt a pulling popping sensation as the first part of the curved needle penetrated your flesh, the sharp pain spreading to your toes. You ground your teeth together, clenching your jaw as she pulled the thread through the wound, the strange feeling making your skin crawl. You sniffed and continued to look into the flames.

After finally sewing the large cuts in your left foot, she then began on the right. There were no large gashes that needed to be stitched, but Saria still had the task of painstakingly pulling out the smaller shards of glass, gently wiping the foot clean in the process.

The water in the bowl beside her had turned a soft pink by the time she had finished. The girl rinsed her hands, wiping them with a cloth to get the off blood. She reached to her side once more, long cream bandage strips were bundles tightly in a ball.

Saria unravelled the bandages slowly, wrapping it around each foot methodically, making sure that each bandage was sufficiently tight and protective of the open cuts. Soon both feet were wrapped tightly, the pressure of the bandages causing your feet to throb with your pulse.

Saria once finished collected the items around her, placing them into the bowl of water, wiping the stool clean of blood. Aella finished scrubbing the floor and began to help tidy with Saria. 

Releasing a breath you leant your head back and sighed, closing your eyes, listening as the girls moved about you. Deep steady breaths. Do not think of the pulsating fire in your feet. Do not think of how Aemond looked as he held the blade to your face, or how it felt to have him so close to you. Do not think. This was your new mantra.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

“Would you like help to the bed, Princess?” Saria enquired, appearing in front of you.

“No, I wish to stay up.” You replied, fatigue heavy in your voice.

Saria and Aella bowed and began to collect their belongings, quietly slipping out the room to leave you with the storm that brewed inside of you.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

Your feet throbbed and your throat felt raw. Your entire body felt heavy, but the fear he would return once you closed your eyes kept you awake.

So you sat up straighter and looked out at the storm.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

Do not think of Aemond. Do not think of how it would feel to twist a blade into his throat. Do not think of the evenings events. Do not think of tomorrow. Do not think of taking Aemonds only eye for your own. Do not think of gifting it to your mother. Do not think of his lips. Do not think of how he devoured you with his gaze. Do not think.

So instead, you recited a song that your father Daemon would sing to you often, a song made for dragons and those with their blood. 

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis,” 

(Fire breather, Winged leader, But two heads, To a third sing)

You rolled your head back to stared at the ceiling, breathing in deeply as you continued, 

“Hen ñuhā elēnī :  Perzyssy vestretis, Se gēlȳn irūdaks, Ānogrose, Perzyro udrȳssi, Ezīmptos laehossi, Hārossa letagon”

(From my voice: The fires have spoken, And the price has been paid, With blood magic, With words of flame, With clear eyes, To bind the three)

You paused shutting your eyes once more letting your head slump against the wing of the chair.

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

“Aōt vāedan, Hae mērot gierūli, Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī.” 

(To you I sing, As one we gather, And with three heads, We shall fly as we were destined, Beautifully, freely.)

You sighed, finishing the song, before starting once more. 

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think.

You continued to sing until the sky changed from a dark grey to a warm blush, the sun rising higher in the sky, the storm having moved on during the night. The pain from your feet ached up into your legs and your lips were swollen and raw from biting them.

You watched as the sky turned a beautiful red, to soft warm yellows, then finally to a striking blue. Voices could be heard from outside as people began their day, the birds whistled their morning song and you did not think.

However, the day break brought a new warnin.

Another yet to come.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580

[spacesapphi]

"Moving Forward, Spiraling Downward Chapter 15- Spiraling Downward"

As I mentioned in previous chapter notes, this chapter is one where things start getting heavy. A different take on Shane's 4 heart event is in this chapter, and the next will be covering the 6 heart event. Those who have played his route already know what these events entail, but I will be adding a CW list as well.

CWs for this chapter include emetophobia, references and depictions of addiction, a very intense argument, a physical fight scene, blood, eye trauma and injuries, mentions of past deaths, and depictions and talks of suicidal ideation.

If you feel like reading these things in detail will be too much, I will not be offended if you don't feel up to reading it. If you'd like, I'd be more than happy to give you a basic rundown of the chapter while sparing detail so the point of the story gets across. Stay safe, take care, and if you ever need help for anything, please let those around you know. You are cared for and loved!

Summary: It's been a few weeks since the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies, the night where Shane made a complete fool out of himself. He's been avoiding a certain someone since then, but finds he can't avoid them much longer when the Stardew Valley fair rolls around. The festival goes well, near perfectly in fact… but that night, Shane will find himself doing something that will change the lives of himself and all who knew him, and he fears these changes can never be undone. The final threads of his life begin to unravel, and leave him freefalling into a true downward spiral.

AO3 Version Here

Tumblr Version Below the Cut

As the weeks rolled by, Shane found it harder and harder to talk to Möhle. Everytime the two saw each other they’d get flustered, quickly going in opposite directions of each other, never speaking a word. That night was so awkward, so embarrassing for the both of them. How was Shane supposed to confront them again? What would he even say? “I’m sorry for kissing you and then vomiting on your shirt?”  He felt like such a fool. 

Now that the Fall was underway, he feared he’d have to see them much, much more. Möhle was often at his aunt's shop for feed and supplies to winterize their animal houses now, and each time the two of them saw each other it was more awkward than the last. The tension only grew with each passing day, and Shane was afraid it was only a matter of time before it imploded on them. And now on top of all of that, the Stardew Valley Fair had approached, a day where they certainly would be in town, rendering an interaction inescapable. 

Ever since he could remember, the morning of the fair was entirely hectic. Marnie would have him awake by 5 AM to start transporting things to town for set-up, and it seemed like he was yet again on petting zoo duty. Normally he didn’t mind it. He actually remembered how excited and proud he was when Marnie first let him run it on his own when he was a teen. This year he had been reluctant to get up though. For one, withdrawal and his declining mental state were starting to kick his ass worse than ever. Getting up and out of bed was beginning to feel more and more like a chore, like a herculean task he could barely bother to do. It took all of his effort just to slip on the outfit Marnie had asked him to wear, an old blue-green gingham shirt and nice, sturdy jeans. As bad as Shane felt, he couldn’t deny the outfit was kind of nice. Made him feel just a bit better about himself. But even still, there was still that air of hopelessness about him. Everything felt so much worse now, and getting up this early didn’t help him.

Neither did the noise. The fair was in full swing, and tourists were arriving by the busload to come ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the quaint little town, enjoying all the games and events there were to get involved in. The zoo was always popular too, especially with families who had little kids. Jas was on the other side of the pens, showing some kids her age how to properly hold and hug some of the baby chicks, doing it just the way he taught her to. She loved having the chance to be a little helper, feeling that same pride Shane did as a child when he was helping Marnie. He held Charlie in his lap, sitting contentedly in a folding chair as he watched over the pens, mostly there to ensure no one pulled any pranks or tried to unlatch the gates. He’d seen it happen before, and he remembered exactly how stressful it was to chase a flock of hens through town back into their corral. It seemed all was well this year though, just plenty of well-meaning and kind families. But… there was something odd that he had noticed. 

Out of the corner of his eye he kept getting glimpses of a quartet of young men, all of whom had to be college aged. They stuck together whispering to themselves, giving looks and pointing towards Shane as they did so. It unnerved him, deeply. It made him feel like there was danger afoot, like maybe they were planning on doing something to the animals. He made sure to keep note of the group, keeping a good eye out for each and every one of them. 

He flinched when he felt a tap on his shoulder, a faint feeling flooding him when he saw who was at his side. Möhle stood there, dressed in an earthy green sweater and deep brown overalls, an oversized cardigan practically swallowing their upper body. They looked happy to see him, happy that he hadn’t run away already out of embarrassment. Shane just sat frozen in his seat, giving them an awkward, forced grin as he held on to Charlie.

“Hey…”

“.... Hey,” Möhle responded, folding their arms across their chest, “You… wanna talk?”

“Busy,” Shane blurted out an excuse, motioning towards the petting zoo, “You gotta be busy too, don’t you? Y'know… with the grange display and all,”

Möhle sighed and held up a pitiful green ribbon with the number 3 written on it, “Already got judged, your aunt and Pierre had me beat,” they looked back to the grange boxes, seeing the shopkeeper brag to all who would listen about his victory. The gloating annoyed them, “I don’t mind losing to her, but… All the produce Pierre showed off was stuff he bought from me… isn’t that… fishy?”

“He does that shit every year. Buys good stuff and passes it as his own,” Shane scoffed, “I don’t know why Lewis lets him compete… Marnie used to get first place every year until he started entering. It’s not fair…” 

Möhle   nodded slowly in understanding, clicking their tongue as they thought, “Listen, I just walked over here ‘cus I wanna rip the band-aid off... You wanna talk about what happened?”

“Here?”

“Why not?”

“So what, just wanna talk about how I made a damn fool out of myself?” Shane blushed in deep embarrassment, “Yoba, I’m sorry about it… I got so nervous and I just-... You didn’t do anythin’ wrong, that’s not why I… y’know,”

“Soooo you didn’t find me so repulsive that you vomited?” Möhle teased, a cheeky grin on their face. 

“No! No… of course not, I just…” Shane sighed, “I wasn’t expecting that to happen, I still don’t know how it did… I just got… scared?”

“Why?”

“Well, I was scared you didn’t like it,” that was half of the truth. Honestly, Shane was more scared about the fact that he did like it. He still didn’t know how to grapple with these feelings, or if he was even prepared for them… or if Möhle   felt them either. 

“Well… I did. I think,” they admitted, shrugging nonchalantly, “It was nice… I just. Didn’t expect it,”

“Yeah… me neither…” 

The conversation tapered off, Shane feeling his jaw wire shut once again. Möhle just gave him a pat on the shoulder, their touch firm, yet somehow so soft, “Listen… I gotta clean out my grange display. Do you maybe want to talk more about this later? Maybe when we’re not in town square?”

Shane felt a tint of blush on his face, swallowing deeply before nodding. He earned a smile from the farmer, who turned back towards the grange area to pack up. It seemed most of the vendors were doing so as well, tents slowly closing and coming down from their spots in the square. He looked up at the sky, seeing it already begin to turn orange. Even though it happened every year, Shane was always so shocked with how early the night would roll in around the Fall. The fair would be over soon, much to his relief, and he could finally kick back and relax, exactly as he needed. 

Once everything was back in its proper place, the petting zoo torn down, and the animals resting in their houses, Shane took his leave towards the saloon. A twinge of guilt hit his heart with each step. He promised Jas he wasn’t going to do this anymore, he promised. He’d been breaking it for some time now, and he felt bad about it each and every time. Shane would do his best, stop drinking for a few days and fight it back, but eventually the urge grew, and along with it that frustrated and nauseous feeling. It felt like a pot that was always on the verge of boiling over, and he was so tired of it. The urge had grown so strong now, and he just couldn’t take it anymore. He thought of a silent apology towards Jas, and opened the saloon door, making his way to the bar counter.

Taking that first sip after weeks made Shane feel like he had been pulled from drowning, even though all it did was push his head further beneath the waves. Leaning up against his typical spot by the fireplace he took slow swigs from his mug, doing his best to ignore everyone in the saloon. It was absolutely packed, with both villagers and guests from the fair who hadn’t taken their leave. At the other end of the bar a small crowd had formed. Möhle, Emily, Penny, and that new artist he didn’t remember the name of, despite the fact that they were basically neighbors. They all seemed happy, chattering away as they drank. Möhle seemed to catch Shane staring from across the counter, giving him a polite smile and raising their glass just slightly, a happy look on their face. He just nodded in acknowledgement, turning back to his own glass, going back to contentedly ignore everyone once more. Even though he was here, even though the urge was satiated, he still felt so unhappy, and he just didn’t want to get caught up in conversation. 

Gus and Emily sure seemed happy at least, the two of them both needing a boom in business like this. It was no secret that the saloon was struggling, and tourist seasons like this helped keep it afloat. It wasn’t very nice for him though. All the noise, how crowded it had become, Shane didn’t like that, not one bit. Especially since those weirdos from before were now drinking away in the saloon, still giving him weird glances and whispering amongst themselves. Who the hell were they? What was their problem? 

He internally groaned as he saw the trio approach him, the scrawny one in the red shirt getting a bit too close for comfort. His face was mere inches away from Shane’s, squinting intently as he scanned him up and down. It made him immediately feel defensive, ready to strike at any given moment if need be. 

"Ain't no damn way..." He muttered breathlessly, "Are you Shane Yoder?"

Shane felt himself tense. He took a good, long swig, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt "What's it to you?"

"Dude you were varsity for the ZCU Hawks! We go there!” He pointed back to his buddies, one of which Shane could see wearing a t-shirt with the college’s logo. “Holy shit man, what are you doing here?! Weren't you about to go pro?"

"I live here." He stated flatly, feeling his mood sour, "Life happened. I couldn't join the team."

"Aww, bummer,” The blond whined, "You were so cool, you’re still talked about by the coaches!" He pulled a pen and notepad from his pocket, holding it out to Shane, "Can I at least get your autograph?"

"I.... No." Shane stated flatly, looking back down at his mug. The last thing he wanted to do was be reminded of his failed glory days yet again. The man complained yet again, his whining tone sounding like that of a child.. 

"Come on, dude! It's just a quick autograph! Just one, please?"

"I said no."

"How about a picture then!" The man pulled out his phone, holding up his free hand with a 'peace' sign as he adjusted the camera’s angle. Shane could feel an unmistakable rage build on him, his face turning red. 

"I said NO-!" he barked, pushing him far back. The blond stumbled back and fell to the floor, looking up at him with the most shocked expression Shane had ever seen. The entire saloon went silent, tourists and villagers alike gawking at the sight. The man's brows furrowed, looking at Shane with such a deep anger in his eyes. He lunged back at him, pushing Shane up against the wall as he began to wail on him. 

“The hell is wrong with you, man! I thought you were cool!”

“Get out of my fuckin’ face!” Shane spat, throwing a punch of his own in an attempt to get the man to back off. 

The next few moments were a blur. Before he knew it, the two of them were wrestling on the ground, the man growing more and more agitated, slamming Shane against the ground, saloon counter, anything he could reach. Shane was just trying to get the man to back off, even if that meant throwing a few punches himself. He was never a violent man, but he wouldn’t just sit back and allow something like this to happen. The saloon burst into action yet again, people trying to get away from the brawlers, others calling out for help. Shane could swear he heard Gus tell Pam to get Marnie. The others just crowded around, treating the altercation like a spectacle. Very few people seemed to want to break this up. Why would they want to? Chances were they’d only get dragged down with them, caught in the fray.

Finally, the man's friends started trying to yank him away from Shane, yelling at him to quit it already, to give it up. The two men refused to let go though, and the group only succeeded in dragging the pair of brawlers across the floor, inch by inch. Shane felt a pair of hands grabbing at his shoulders as well, sending another wave of fury, and almost fear, through him. He thought it was another one of those men, maybe another friend to the obnoxious trio. The last thing he wanted was for another person to get involved. In a rage of self preservation, he finally let go, swiveling himself around to punch the person who grabbed him, launching a fist at full force.

He heard a howl from a very familiar voice, a searing pain shooting through his fist, an almost blinding pain. As he adjusted, he could see the person who had grabbed a hold of him in the first place crumpled to the ground, surrounded by patrons offering a helping hand. They were breathing heavily, hunched over and grasping a hand at their left eye, blood seeping through their fingers and staining the wood floor of the saloon. His vision was blurred from the beatdown he’d just taken, and his mind was hazed, but it was impossible not to recognize them. That red hair, the simple farmers clothing. It was Möhle. 

Their hand left their eye for just a moment when Emily rushed over with a little first aid kit, just long enough for Shane to see that the left lens of their glasses was shattered, and most of the missing pieces of glass were stuck firmly in his knuckles. The rest of the shards were nowhere to be seen, not even on the floor, confusingly enough. But as soon as Shane saw that sick, paling look on Emily’s face and that blood dripping to the floor, he knew exactly where they’d ended up.

Emily looked to him with a horrified, almost angry expression. She was in complete disbelief, slowly helping up Möhle as she caught glimpses of Shane, silently screaming at him “What have you done?”.... What had Shane done? He wanted to reach out, try to help, but he feared he’d make it worse. Watching the blood dribble down his hand and begin to stain his shirt, feeling the searing pain in his knuckles, the pain was almost blinding. He could only imagine how much worse it was for them. 

Möhle was trembling, hand still clasped firm over their eye. They surprisingly didn’t scream or cry, simply taking shaky, deep breaths as they tried to regain their bearings. The group of tourists that had confronted Shane were squabbling amongst themselves in another corner, the sheer sound and air about the room making his head swirl. What had he done? What had he done?

“Just breathe, take a seat…” Emily instructed, helping the farmer to a bar stool, “Relax…”

“I-I’m fine really, don’t sweat it,” Möhle warbled out, obviously in a state of shock. The pain had hardly registered with how much adrenaline was running through them. They just shook, holding their eye tight, “I think… I might,” 

Emily held them steady as it became clear they were about to pass out, “Is anyone going to get Harvey?!”

Leah stepped into action, nodding quickly as she ran out, hoping to catch the doctor quickly. The saloon door burst open the moment after she ran out, Pam charging through with a frantic Marnie trailing close behind, looking for any sight of her nephew. Catching a glimpse of him on the floor, she ran over, lifting him by the arm and getting a good look of him. Shane looked terrible, beaten and bruised to the point he could hardly keep his head up. She tried speaking to him, but the man was so out of it her voice sounded like it was underwater, completely unintelligible. He could only make out a frantic, confused tone.

The next while was a blur, Shane could only remember bits and pieces. He could’ve sworn he saw Harvey and Elliott rush in together, the doctor tending to the farmer while Elliott was demanding to know what had happened, where the person who had done this was. Marnie was talking to the group of tourists involved, the conversation seemingly getting heated, though he could barely make out a word. Soon, Marnie was all but dragging him out of the saloon. He stumbled over his footing, trying his best to get one last good view of Möhle, to see if they were okay, to see what he had done. But he could barely see a thing over the crowd, merely watching the saloon door slam shut behind him, leaving him and Marnie alone in the dark on their walk back home. 

----------

The only lights on in the ranch were the ones overhead in the kitchen, shining down harshly on Shane and Marnie as she tended to his injuries. Shane hissed as the antiseptic burned at the wounds in his hand, his arm shaking from the pain that rippled through it. Marnie just shook her head as she wiped the blood away, holding his wrist tighter when he tried to yank away yet again, “Stop it, I’m almost done,”

He just scowled at the pain, biting his lip so hard Shane feared he’d break skin. Marnie reached for the gauze, huffing in a frustrated tone, “Anything you want to say? You've been quiet,”

“There’s nothing to say, Marnie,”

“How about ‘thank you’? How about ‘sorry for getting into a bar fight at the saloon’? Do you have any idea how hard it was to get those men to leave without pressing charges? Any idea at all?”

“They started it!” Shane barked, “I was just trying to get them away!”

“I understand that, but that's not all you did...” Marnie huffed, “Poor Möhle… Shane, how could you just-...”

“I didn’t know it was them…” Shane felt queasy thinking about them. He could only hope that they were okay, that those injuries weren’t half as bad as he expected they were. But realistically they were, and the guilt was crushing him.

Marnie set down the roll of gauze with a loud *thud*, “This isn’t like you, what happened there? Do you have anything to say for yourself?!”

Shane indeed had nothing to say in response, leaving her incredibly frustrated. She felt like she was the only one who understood the gravity of the situation, just how bad this was. Marnie stepped away and held her head in her hands, pacing around the kitchen nervously. She was practically shaking, running over the events of the night in her mind. She was just getting ready for bed, about to lock up before Pam burst inside, begging her to follow her back into town. Marnie was mortified and terrified all the same, and remained that way even still.

“Shane, they could lose their eye. Do you get that?!” her voice began to warble, a tone of frustration and absolute grief in it, “I just don't know what to do with you anymore… I don’t know how to help you.”

“.... I'm sorry,” Shane mumbled, his voice hoarse and broken.

Marnie didn't respond, simply staring at the floor with her arms crossed against her chest. She was so angry, so utterly and thoroughly ashamed over what happened tonight. Though the actions weren’t her own, she knew they reflected on her, on their family. She didn't know how she'd face the town, how she'd even try to make up for this. What was she even supposed to do?

“Shane… if you don't get yourself together, if you don't try to do better… I -” she pinched the bridge of her nose tight, mourning what she was going to say next, “Shane I don’t know how much longer I can take living like this,”

“Like what?”

It was quiet for a moment, Marnie choosing her words carefully, “Shane… honestly if it weren’t for Jas I don’t know how much longer you could stay here…”

Shane felt another wave of nausea run through him. He looked to his aunt, hurt and horrified, “Marnie… what are you-”

“You break every rule, simple ones, and you've been nothing but disrespectful as of late. Calling me by my first name, starting arguments, pushing your responsibilities aside… and now this?!” she threw up a hand for emphasis, “Shane you know I love you, you’re my nephew… but I can’t sit here and let you keep doing this. It’s not fair,”

Marnie's voice was calm, scarily so. She stared down Shane with a serious intent, letting him know under no uncertain terms that she wasn't joking, “You know I don't want to say this…. But what you’re doing now, your actions, are tearing this family apart, Shane,”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?!” Shane grew defensive, but  Marnie stood her ground, “You know what I mean… Shane, I’m watching you get worse by the day. And getting to the point of something like this… I can’t live like this,”

“So what? You don’t want me to be here anymore?” Shane felt his voice warble, the disbelief obvious in his tone, “I have been tryin’ so h-hard to get this under control, I-” he couldn’t stop himself from crying and stuttering anymore, his unharmed hand gripping at his hair tight, “I have been trying, I don’t know why I’m getting worse… I don’t want to be worse!”

He felt himself begin to spiral, his heart clenching in on itself. Marnie put a soft hand on his shoulder, “Shane, listen to me. What I’m saying is you need to get help. Actual professional help. You need to do better, for all of us… I’m not asking for perfection. These things take time, we both know that… But I am asking for effort,”

“Please…” he pleaded, his tone broken and desperate, “I can be better, I promise I can be better. You know I’m tryin’, please…”

“I need to see it, then. Jas needs to be able to see it. We all do,” she closed her eyes tight, feeling her heart break down and crumble, “Shane I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore…”

Shane sat hunched over in his chair, taking in deep, shuddery breaths. He felt ready to vomit, ready to just completely lose it. How did it get this bad? How did he get to this point? Marnie, who once begged him to come home and live at the ranch, the woman who once called him a treasure and a gift to their family, no longer wanted him here. And it was all because of his actions. He knew she was right, in a way at least. He was falling, he was spiraling, and he could no longer stop it on his own. But getting help scared him, being vulnerable about all of this was his worst nightmare. Getting help made him feel weak, made him feel like a failure. He spent his entire life watching his aunt push through and be the best person she could be for his sake. She was successful, strong, and kind all the same. And he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be like her, as much as he tried. It all felt so impossible. He could only imagine what things would be like if Marnie did tell him to leave. He thought back to the night a year ago today when he was out on the street, realizing he had nowhere to turn but here. But what would happen if even she wouldn’t take him? Where would it leave him?

Marnie felt so much guilt, so much anger at herself for the words she’d spoken. She would never make him leave, she knew she wouldn’t forgive herself if she did. But what else was she supposed to do? Sit by, watch him slowly kill himself, watch Jas grow more and more dejected by the day? Was she supposed to enable him, allow and encourage him to get worse? To hurt himself and others? She couldn’t do that, she wouldn’t do that. Not anymore. Marnie had been a pushover once. Once upon a time she’d have given in and retreated, let him continue down this path of destruction. But she found that holding the hand  of a loved one in their final moments, to say goodbye because they were too stubborn to get help until an untimely death… it changed you. It made you more resilient, made it easier to stand your ground, to say ‘no more’ when you watched another person you loved do the same. Marnie would do anything to avoid seeing Shane in that situation, even if it meant he wasn’t happy with her now. 

It wasn’t like Marnie didn’t understand the situation either. If anything, she understood it more than anyone else in this world possibly could. Every last detail she could relate to. Giving up your dreams, your life, for a child and the responsibility of raising them, the stress and turmoil it came with… the coping mechanisms it made you turn to just to quiet the thoughts that criticized your every move. She had never told most people about that part, understanding the judgment and stigma that came with it. It made it difficult for her to even admit to herself, but maybe now she could tell him. Maybe it would help him realize that what she said wasn’t out of judgment, but from a place of complete and total understanding. It was far too late to tell him, she knew. But late was better than never, and she knew he needed something now. Something to make this feel possible to move past.

She pulled a chair to sit in front of him, softening her voice and expression, “Shane… I think it’s time for me to be honest about something. Truly honest. I understand what you’re going through… more than I ever told you before.” she paused for a moment to try and find her words, “Shane, what I’m trying to say is-”

“What? That you ‘get it’? The same shit you tell me every fuckin’ time we argue about this?” Shane spat, the shock wearing off, replaced with anger, “Because honestly? I don’t think you do. You say this to me all the time, but you obviously don’t! I don’t know how to make you understand that! You don’t fucking get it!”

“I don’t get it…?” Marnie’s voice grew louder, her expression livid as she slowly rose from her chair, “I don’t get it?!”

“Fuck, sorry, that was-”

“Of all people, you should know that I understand what this is like! Do you think it was easy to raise you after your mother died? It’s an awful situation to be in, raising a child when you shouldn’t have to!” Marnie threw her hands up for emphasis, face flushed a deep red, “Do you think I wanted to give up my dream job and come back to the valley?! To leave everything I worked so hard for behind and-”

She quickly cut herself off and clapped a hand over her mouth, seeing her nephew's expression change into one of horror. She quickly realized what she had said, how she said it, and felt sick. She wanted nothing more than to take it back, to have reworded what was shouted in anger, but the damage was done. Those words were burned into his mind now. All Shane felt now was betrayal, anger, but most of all, guilt.

“Did I really make you that miserable?” Shane's voice was hardly a whisper, broken and defeated.

"Oh Shane, I didn't mean it like that-"

"Didn’t you?” Shane scoffed, fighting back the urge to cry, “You’ve made it clear that I’ve been nothing but a burden to you since I came back home.”

"I promise I didn't mean it like that!" Marnie sounded frantic, tripping over her words to try and make anything sound better. Shane threw up his hands in frustration, "Then how did you mean it, Marnie?! Tell me!"

 "I just meant that I understand how hard it is, how easy it is to fall into this hole! And I’m worried about you! You need to think about your future, Jas' future, what's your plan?!"

“A plan…? Hopefully I won't be around much longer to need a plan." Shane's voice was resolute, filled with such anger. Marnie felt her blood run cold, her mind trying to process the words that had just come out of his mouth. She shook her head slowly, “Shane, no-”

“It would do us all a favor, ‘specially since I ruined your life, right?” Shane interrupted, laughing bitterly,  “Made you give up on aaaaall your dreams just so you could raise this ungrateful piece of shit, right?!”

"Don't say that." Marnie warned, pointing at him accusatively, "You don't mean that."

"Yes! I do! I've wished I was dead every fuckin’ day since the accident!" Shane was practically screaming, voice booming and face growing red. Hot tears streaked down his face as he yelled, "I still have no fuckin’ clue what I'm doin’ and all it’s done is hurt everyone! How am I supposed to plan Jas' life when I can't even keep control of my own?!"

"Shane..."

"NO. I'm not interested in ANY-"

"SHANE."

Marnie had rarely yelled at him like that before. He could only think of one situation when he was a child, but he knew that tone of voice meant business. Shane immediately got quiet, hearing a soft sniffling sound from his side. 

Oh. Oh no.

He turned around slowly, finding Jas standing behind him, dressed in her pajamas, snuggling a plush tight to her chest. The commotion must’ve woken her, drawing her to the kitchen to see what had happened. She was doing her best to hold back from crying until he looked at her with the same horrified expression, one that made her shatter. The little girl immediately broke out into wails, throwing down her plush to the ground and running back to her room. Shane was stuck frozen, staring blankly as a sick feeling burned its way up his throat. He would've never said any of that if he thought she would be there, never in his life. 

He looked back to Marnie, seeing a similar terrified expression plastered on her face. She looked back and forth, between Shane and the direction of Jas’ room. Part of her wanted to run to comfort Jas, and the other wanted to comfort her nephew. Both of them needed her right now, but she couldn’t help both of them at once. Oh how she hated being in these situations, hated making these choices. Why was it always on her to be the strong one in this house?

Reluctantly, she made her decision. She took a deep breath, and spoke in a warbling tone, "Stay here…."

The older woman stormed off, making her way to Jas’ room. The girl's cries echoed through the house, each second that passed making Shane feel worse and worse. Jas had already lost so much, and now she had to hear him yell about wishing he was dead? She had to watch him break yet another promise? It wasn't fair, and he couldn't shake the guilt. Maybe he should try and talk to her, to try and tell her he didn't mean it. It was the least he could do.

Anxiously, he shuffled out towards her room, peeking in to see the 6 year old curled up on her bed, face planted in her pillow, sobbing wildly as Marnie tried her best to comfort her. 

"Jas, honey, I'm so sorry..." He started, voice getting warbly, "I didn't mean that-"

"GO AWAY!" Jas screeched, lifting her head from the pillow, "I HATE YOU!"

"Jasmyne!" Marnie scolded. 

Jas threw her head into her pillow again, balling her little fists together. How could things have gotten like this? Ever since they moved here, a gradual downward spiral had started. Shane rarely smiled anymore, he always reeked of alcohol, he was always so sad. And now, he was yelling about how he wished he was dead. He was a husk of the man he was just a year ago, completely unrecognizable. He had promised her this would change, that he’d stop drinking and stop fighting with Marnie. But what was he doing just moments ago? Standing in the kitchen, smelling of alcohol as he and Marnie screeched at each other. It made her so angry. Jas didn't hate him, just the poor facsimile of him that stood in his place. Whoever this was, he wasn’t Shane. She just wanted the man she considered her father back. She wanted her family to be whole.

"Go away..." She repeated, her sobs and voice growing quiet. Marnie gave Shane a knowing look, encouraging him to leave. It seemed being here wasn’t making things much better. He got the hint, nodding and closing the bedroom door. He could only hear Jas’ muffled cries through its solid frame, his heart tearing apart at the sound. How could he have hurt her like this? What the hell was wrong with him? Slowly, he turned away from the two of them, and made towards his bedroom door, locking himself in the dark and dismal space. Everything was lost. Marnie’s life was ruined by his hands, Jas hated him, and it was all his fault. The last family ties he had were severed, and for the first time, Shane truly had nothing and no one. Emily likely wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore, not after that display. His friendship with Sam ended almost as soon as it started, and Möhle… He wouldn’t blame them if they never looked in his direction again. Oh how he wished he could turn back time already, fix what had been broken. But he couldn’t. What was done, was done.

Over the hours, Jas’ eventually stopped crying and Marnie had gone to bed. The only one awake in the household was Shane, still sitting against his door, blankly staring at the wall in front of him. Everything was ruined, lost. What was he supposed to do from here? Who was he supposed to turn to? There was absolutely no one, not a single person who could or wanted to be there for him, and it broke his heart. 

Marnie’s words rang in his head, getting louder and louder. He couldn’t blame her for wanting him to leave. He’d been hurting so many people, broke all the rules she set… and he’d apparently ruined her life. Shane had heard plenty of stories about what she was like when she was young. Marnie was talented, she was going places. But right when success was so close, she gave it all up to be his caretaker. Pam had often told him that she was an artist, the best she’d ever seen. But Shane could barely remember a time when he saw her making anything. Most of her life was spent running the ranch and raising him, swapping her crafting tools for those of a rancher’s, taking up a position that by her own words she didn’t want. 

He couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault. Honestly, he believed many things were his fault simply by existing. If he didn’t exist, Marnie wouldn't've had to come home to the ranch after his mothers passing... Maybe she wouldn’t have even passed. Marnie always kept the details vague, telling him that stress had taken her in the end. Shane knew he wasn’t an easy child to raise. Many adults in town had jokingly called him a ‘handful’ when he was young. He couldn’t help but feel like he was to blame for the misfortune that befell his family. Marnie had always called him a gift and a treasure, but Shane felt like he was a curse. Everyone close to him either ended up hurt or dead. He was a walking bad omen at this point. He felt like it wouldn’t stop either. As long as he was alive, those he loved would be miserable.

He would change that; one way or another.

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

“Oh Marn, that’s bad…”

“I know… Yoba, I wish I could take it back,” Marnie held her head in her hands, the weight of shame on her shoulders. 

Pam had come to visit her in the early hours of the morning, finding the household to be in complete turmoil. Marnie had run over the events of the previous night, sparing no detail, and Pam was understandably horrified. All she could do was just place a hand on her back, a silent, grounding gesture to let her know she was there for Marnie. Rain beat down on the windows of the ranch, the heaviest storm the valley had seen in some time. It seemed to fit the mood of the house perfectly, as grim as it was.

“He still hasn’t gotten up, right?” she looked over to his bedroom door, shut tight, no sound coming from behind the solid wood. Marnie shook her head, huffing and wiping her eyes, “No. You know how he holes up like this… He locked it too, won’t open up for anything,”

Pam drummed her fingers on the table, “Well… Maybe I could talk to him. I don’t think he cares for me much, but it might help seein’ as we both got the same vice now,”

“I guess it’s worth a try,” Marnie agreed. It wasn’t like much else could get worse from here. Pam gave her a soft pat on the back as she stood up, approaching Shane’s door carefully, knocking twice, “You awake, boy?”

There was no answer, as expected. Pam shook her head and knocked harder on the door, surprised to find it popping open just an inch from the gesture, “Marn… didn’t you say this was locked?”

“I thought it was…” she muttered, her face riddled with confusion, “I mean, it has gotten stuck before, but I just assumed…”

Pam stuck her head into the room, panning her view around its interior.

“... Hey, Marn?”

“Yes?”

“He’s not in here,”

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love, Pt. 3

I wrote so many drafts for this chapter. But I'm so pleased with how it turned out. I hope you love reading from Altan's POV as much as I loved writing it. He's a little more free and unfiltered in his narrating. Also I'm so sorry that each chapter keeps getting longer!!! I just write and I can't stop until I get to the end! Thank you so much for the lovely comments so far. I'm really really happy to hear that so many of you like these characters.

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 Word Count: 3,025 (average 23 min read) Content Warnings: mention of mating, mention of masturbation, nothing happens....yet ;) All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil. Not beta-read. Criticism is welcome, but be sure to distinguish criticism from hate.

Altan POV

One month.

Why in all of the nine hells did I agree to one month?

If I had been smart, I would have said a week. Two at the most.

I was going to go insane.

Ever since I left Drunrag's forge, I could feel him. It was like we were tethered together by an invisible thread and when one of us moved in proximity to the other or further away, we felt the pull and release of that thread. I figured out very quickly that he lived a very structured lifestyle and I started to predict at certain times of the day when I would feel the pull of him.

And every day I would sense it when he would be closer to me and I would hope that maybe he'd follow the pull back to me. To tell me that he changed his mind. That he'd be willing to share one night with me.

Oh Altan, you sap, how quickly you fall for a pretty face.

I knew the symptom's of Drunrag's lordhovid was probably affecting me - I'd like to think of it more as augmenting what I was already naturally feeling...semantics I suppose - but I felt almost immediately that there was something special about Drunrag the moment I saw him.

Gods, how I wanted him. He was...well, everything.

Tall - well over six feet tall and looming. Having stood so near him, I knew he dwarfed me entirely. It felt dangerous, but so alluring.

Dark - Green skin, the shade of deep emerald, textured with dark freckles across his face and on his shoulder. His hair was black, but I caught lines of silver that ran through - it looked to be nothing related to age. It was pulled up into a topknot, but some hairs slipped and strayed into the front of his face. It was tantalizing and begging my fingers to pull his hair free and run through it. 

Handsome - Maybe a bit subjective, but truly, he was exactly my type. His height was matched with a thick build, his body possessing muscle and strength that was built to break me, but I just knew he would hold me so gently.  I saw how his piercing grey eyes noticed everything. They darted around him, taking in everything in rapid order. His tusks were pearly white - well maintained. I wanted to feel them on my neck with those large hands holding me in my place. I imagined what it would be like to be ravished by someone like him.

By all appearances, he looked like what most people would see as a dangerous orc - bound by a god-given oath for power and blood. My home was near where an infamous tribe known as the Wolves of Dirge frequently raided and pillaged for sport - but I found that Drunrag was more puppy than wolf, and I loved him for it.

Oh my Drunrag, if you only knew how many ways I dreamed of you ruining me.

I think I need to change the subject.

My symptoms were mostly manageable. I felt feverish and seemed to be sweating more than normal. I found that I was more irritable and easily flustered by any sudden shifts in temperature. The longer the day went on, I would also develop a pounding headache and a strange dull pain in the pit of my stomach. But I managed. I could stave off a bit of heat and discomfort as I needed to.

It was nights that were the worst.

With nothing to distract my mind or body, I would find myself in a frenzy. The first night I kicked my sheets off of the bed - it was far too hot - and I was near panting with frustration. My entire body was on fire, it felt like it would burn through the bed and I gasped and panted for air, for release.

My mind could only stray to one thing that could take it away: Drunrag.

Whether he believed it or not, I believed him to be something special to me. I avoided calling him my mate, as that would make him uncomfortable to call him that, but I knew there was a connection between us. I wished he could have seen it as clearly as I did.

But he didn't, and I was alone to comfort myself.

As the nights passed one by one, my self-control was dwindling. Each night, I could only see Drunrag in my head. I could close my eyes and imagine his weight as he settled next to me, laying so that my back was pressed against his chest. I imagined his arms snaking around my waist and pulling me towards him. His hot breath against my neck as he whispered to me how wonderful I smelled.

I wondered what he smelled like. Damn, Altan, you should have caught a whiff before you promised to leave him alone for a month.

No. No. Actually, that would have made things so much worse.

My mind refocused on the vision in my head and I imagined his large - such large hands - close over mine and bring them up to my chest where he would curl in and hold me close and let me feel his weight around me as we both fell into a fitful slumber.

Meanwhile, imagining this only brought me an edge of desperation as I stretched out on my empty bed which had no handsome orc man to hold me.

I couldn't deal with this lust alone. Not without him. Not without help. The only comfort I had was his name. His beautiful name.

Drunrag. Drunrag. Drunrag.

Drun.

If I was lucky, I could call him that as he held me. I would say it so sweetly to him, I would never say it in anger. I would hold him in return, his head on my lap as I played with his hair and told him all the gentle things no one ever told him.

Drun, you're so handsome, so stunningly handsome. Drun you're hands are so gentle, I know you could take such good care of me. My Drun, you make my head spin with want. Drun let me touch your hair again.

I laid alone in that bed, wanting, wishing, regretting.

In desperation I tried to pleasure myself, imagining my hands to be equal to Drunrag's - they weren't - and urging the lust to spill over enough to let me rest. I could feel the pressure building between my legs and I began to breathe harder, Drun's name on my lips as I worked myself harder.

But in the end, my body would not release. I could not be satisfied or sated. My body didn't want my own self-pleasure. It wanted Drun. I wanted Drun. If my father had seen me in such a state...I dared to hope that it would kill him with shock.

Why did I agree to a month of this?

I woke the next morning with a headache I could not abate and my body flushed with heat that would not go away, even after burying myself in cold water in the bathhouse.

It had only been four days at that point.

There was no way in any hell that I would be able to last another 26 days like this. Not only was it that I couldn't live like this, but I also wouldn't. My standards were too high to accept this much sweat from so little labour. I stumbled out of the room in the Inn I was staying at, gave a slight polite nod to the innkeeper as I shuffled out.

I'm sure I looked like absolute shit. And for the first time in a long time, I really couldn't give a shit how I looked.

I needed a bath, I needed a meal, I needed to change my clothes. In fact, I needed to leave this town before I stumbled into one of my father's goons.

But I also needed to see Drun again. My body couldn't take it. I followed the pull, not minding who I rammed or tripped into as I got there. I wound through busy streets and ascended down to the lower part of the city near the coast. We weren't anywhere near where his forge was.

I found myself on the docks of the town. The smell of fish and salt-sea air overwhelmed my lungs. It was enough to make a man puke if you weren't prepared for it. Which I wasn't and I found myself flung over the the edge of a dock and heaving my guts out.

"You 'right?" A voice called from behind me.

I wiped my mouth clean and looked up. The morning sun was shining just enough to block any features of the man. I couldn't see much of him besides a rotund silhouette and a tricorn hat sitting askew atop his head. Sailor folk, I could only presume.

"Fine." I said. I wiped my mouth and struggled to my feat.

"Oh, ain't you dressed fine for a day out on the docks." He whistled low. "Fancy."

Not really, I thought. These clothes had gone two days without wash. Though, in hindsight, that's probably much more often than that man ever washed his clothes. I blinked the sun from my eyes and took a closer look.

He was a short, round man with a twinkle in his stark blue eyes. A pipe was in one hand, and the other rested calmly against a pistol on his hip. His shocking white hair and deep wrinkles revealed a man with many years behind him on the sea. He seemed friendly enough.

I smiled back at him, it was nice to have a friend. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. You wouldn't have happened to see an orc gentleman pass by, would you?"

The man pondered for a minute, then shook his head. "Don't believe I have." He narrowed his eyes and looked at me more closely. "What would a fine young lad like you be doin' with orc folk?" He looked me up and down and I saw his eyes lock back onto my face. Something about me triggered and his friendly expression fell. "Oi...you match the description of that Duke's son that's gone missin'. You wouldn't 'appen to know anything about that, would'ya?"

I shook my head, forcing my best grin. "Handsome lad I've heard, but that's all I've gleaned from the gossip." I sidled my foot towards where I felt Drun's presence and began to slide away.

"Now, now son." The man's voice was low now, not remotely friendly in tone. I felt a chill run down my spine before my body began to burn even hotter than before. "The Duke's got a generous reward for anyone who brings his son back home. I ain't partin' with you till I know for sure." His fingers graces the wooden handle of his pistol and he tilted his head, a knowing smile on his face. "If I'm wrong, we split and pretend this never happened."

This man wouldn't hesitate to shoot if I ran, I sensed.. I wondered if my father had put dead or alive on that prize money. He'd likely be relieved to be rid of me.

The smile on my face fell as I realized the trouble I was in. I hadn't expected word to spread so fast.

Then again, I also hadn't expected to stay in this town as long as I did.

Damn you, Altan.

"Sir, please." I said, pleading. "I'm not going back to Durbesk. Help me and I'll double the price my father has offered."

The man clicked his tongue and shook his head. "With what funds? You ain't got shit on you."

He was right, the gold I brought to pay for my room and board was nearly gone and it wouldn't even begin to cover the price my father demanded for my return.

I felt my heart race inside me. I couldn't go back to my father. Fear and panic set in as I saw the man take a step towards me, his pistol now pointed at me.

"As a precaution" He said, his tone was friendly, but I saw the glint in his eye was now a look of wicked greed.

My cries would fall on deaf ears if I begged to him. It wouldn't matter that my father hated my existence and wished me to be a different sort of son. One who would obey him, who aspired to be just like him with a pride and ego that outmatched anyone else. Who was arrogant and spoiled. Who believed money, stature and reputation was more important than music, art, and the simple pleasures in life.

He wanted a son that wouldn't kiss boys behind stables when they were fifteen. A son that wouldn't smile so much and laugh too loud. That wouldn't bring home rodents as pets and nurse them back to health and cry when they died. He had always wanted someone more tough, more heartless and brave than me.

No, this man wouldn't hear any of that. He could care less what sort of nightmares I faced at home at the expense of my father's disappointment and hate in me. And he wouldn't care that the only person who truly loved me - my beautiful mother - was gone and buried in an unmarked grave so that I could never find her.

My mother thought I was perfect the way I was, and told me so. She never wanted me to stop smiling or laughing. She told me my music was beautiful and that it reminded her of her home in the Silverwood. She told me that I was beautiful. Everything I loved about myself I got from her. My eyes, my hair, my heart.

I wish someone would understand how much I missed her. How much I wanted to be with her instead of here...running away from my life to start over away from my father. Away from everything that reminded me of her.

I bowed my head, fighting back the hot tears that I felt brimming at my eyes. Why was I crying at a time like this?

"Please." I said, faint and breathless. "Don't make me go back."

The man looked like he was about to laugh at me, when I suddenly felt the warmth of someone's presence behind me. The shadow of his height fell over me and I whirled around to see him.

Drunrag.

My Drun.

His eyes were like deep silver pools, blazing with the heat I knew was smoldering inside him. He didn't look at me, his eyes were instead trained on the man. I looked down and saw his hands were clenched into tight fists. Under each of his arms was a barrel, which he carefully set down on the dock on either side of him, then rising again to his full height.

"You're his friend?" The man asked, a sour tone in his voice that I didn't like one bit.

Drunrag didn't answer, only sniffed contemptuously before taking a step towards him, shifting around me so that he didn't come close to touching me. I still felt the sizzling heat between us.

"You have no business being here." Drunrag said. His voice was heavy and low, rumbling his chest that reminded me of bear's growl. My body reacted to it strongly and I stumbled back, unsteady and wavering.

"Yeah? And what's your business with him?"

"None of your concern." Drun's voice was level and calm, but I could sense the mounting pressure inside.

"You just want the money for yourself." The man protested, pointing his gun at Drun. My heart began to pound faster. Don't shoot him. Oh gods please, don't shoot him.

"I saw him first." Drun responded. "We can fight on it, if you wish." He cracked his neck side to side, then clenched and unclenched his fists. Muscles, tight from his tense posture, rippled and reacted to his movements. The man's eyes were on them and I watched gleefully as his pistol lowered to his side and his face fell open.

Drun continued. "Get lost...or I'll be cracking each of your finger one...by...one until your bones are ground to dust." He cocked his head. "Won't be much use on a ship with boneless fingers."

Oh dear gods above...that shouldn't have affected me when he said that, should it? I looked down at the barrel and decided it was for the best to take a seat on it. I needed to catch my breath.

"Stupid piece of shit, is what you are." The man spat, "Green shit straight from a horse's soured stomach. Cross my path again and you're gonna see a bullet right between your puny eyes."

I had never wish a person dead or suffering greater than this man. I rose to my feet, rage radiating off me.

Drun turned back at me, his eyes flashing and a deep frown on his face. "Stay back." His voice cracked. "I can handle this." He turned back and asked calmly. "Have you anything else to say before I punch out your teeth?"

The man shook his head and turned away from us, mumbling threats and insults as he shuffled away. Drunrag stood still, tensed and ready for any retaliation.

When the man was gone, he finally turned back. I looked up to meet his gaze, my thanks and gratitude on my lips when I saw he wouldn't look at me. Instead, he walked passed me and retrieved his barrels before turning and beginning the walk off the docks towards the main part of the city.

"Drunrag." I breathed out. I shuddered to hear his name out loud like that. I wanted to say it loud and open like that all the time, for it was the name of my beloved. My hero. My fated partner.

"Don't." He said, his voice dark. "I'm doing everything I can to stop this from affecting us. Give me time and stay away as much as possible." He finally turned, his eyes were still fierce as he looked at me. "Please don't get into trouble again. I don't want to see you hurt."

He walked away from me, barrels in hands. I watched him walk away.

What could I say to him to make him stay?

I remembered then what he told me in the beginning. He didn't want to mate. He made the choice to not do it. It was never about me.

Whatever made me think that I could convince him that I was worth changing his mind for?

I bowed my head, I couldn't bear to see him walk away from me.

[skylathescholarly]

The Terrible Fire of Old Regret (fic under the cut)

A One Hundred Days to Become a Wayne (by @maccreadysbaby) story

TW: Child abuse, violence, panic attacks

So! If you follow the lovely @maccreadysbaby, you may find a thread where we both shouted at each other (in a good way) over this lil oneshot. If you haven't read their fics, you can find the first installment here, and if you love the Batfam you need to read it. You'll also need to in order to understand this, haha. But anyway! Most of the dialogue is taken straight from her story. It covers chapter 1-3 in 100 Days (plus some stuff I made up that doesn't happen in the original, but is implied to have happened) and is Dick's POV of chapter 7-8 in 100 Days. Chapter title from Bitter Water by the Oh Hellos. Hope you enjoy!!

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

Dick swung through the streets, reveling in the swing and release of his grappling hook. It was good to get out and clear his head. He’d been having a weird feeling lately, like something was coming. 

It was probably nothing. They were tracking a new metahuman, those cases always got on his nerves. It was dangerous for metas in Gotham, and they also really didn’t need to be adding to their Rogue gallery anytime soon. 

“No. It’s… I don’t know. It’s like all of these reporters are scared of her for no reason. None of them point back to anything she’s done, all the photographs are of her just… walking around.” Barbara said over the comm.

“Then how do they even know she’s a metahuman?” Dick asked. 

“I don’t know, I’m looking into it,” Barbara replied. “Facial recognition software pinged her on the Northern outskirts of Gotham. Nightwing, you’re closest, but I’m sending her coordinates to everyone. Stay sharp.”

“Always am,” Dick grinned.

“Lots of these reports say they saw her in a dream-like state before they ever saw her in person. One from the blog Drew Confidential says: I’d never seen the girl before in my life, until I fell asleep that night. I could hear her voice and see her botched face. It was like I could feel her in my head, and I knew she had to be stopped. I didn’t know, however, that I would see her, yellow hood tugged over her head, walking right by my office building the next day. I knew her name without ever speaking a word to her — Secret Keeper. Several of the first hand accounts talk about dreams coming first, and then seeing her for real.”

“Okay, weird. I’m just going to be busy walking elderly people across the road.” Steph cut in. Dick smirked at the comment, but quickly returned his attention to the task at hand. 

“She’s moving to the East, Nightwing. Slowly — looks like she’s just walking down the street. Keep your head on your shoulders.” Barbara instructed. 

“Gotcha.”

“Red Robin, standby to assist,” 

“Standing by,” Tim replied.

Dick silently followed Barbara’s directions. Secretly, he had to agree with Steph. What the eyewitness had described was more than a little creepy. The creepy parts of the night job were always the worst. 

“Oracle, I’m closing in on her position,” Dick updated the Cave. He hoped Bentley wouldn’t watch if it got to be too much. The kiddo didn’t need any more trauma than he already had. Anything to keep him out of the field. Maybe one of us can be the lucky one for once. 

Suddenly he saw her. Blonde, dressed in yellow, standing on the ground below him. She looked… weirdly calm. 

“I’ve got eyes on her,” Dick said. “And she’s… got eyes on me?”

“Elaborate, Nightwing.”

“She’s waving at me. She was waving as soon as I walked up, like she knew I was coming,” because that wasn’t creepy at all. Oh no, am I gonna get kidnapped? Not this week, please, I’ve got stuff to do. 

Barbara sighed. “Well, she hasn’t done anything yet, so the most we can do is monitor from afar. I’ll let the police know where she was and keep her pinged on the Batcomputer, for now.”

“Alrighty,”

“I’m also going to set up the system to alert us when she gets near large public gathering places — schools, the library, malls, the bank, county buildings,” Barbara said, and by her tone Dick knew she was already working on it. 

“Roger that, Oracle. Should I-” Dick suddenly gasped as agonizing pain shot through his head. He could honestly say that in all his years of crime fighting, he’d never felt such piercing pain. He tried to form the words he needed to call for backup, to warn his family, to ask for help, because it hurt- black spots swam in his vision and he knew he was too late. He barely felt himself crumple to the ground. 

When he opened his eyes, he didn’t recognize his surroundings. It almost looked like Wayne Manor, but he knew intrinsically that it wasn’t. It was too… dark. At the sound of light laughter, he got up and walked across the hall. The rest of the house seemed to be decorated just as classically, if a bit over the top for Alfred’s usual tastes. Everything around him felt real enough, but one could never be sure in Gotham. He could even just be dreaming in the Cave. A really weird, hyper-realistic dream, but still. A guy could hope. He found the source of the laughter in a sitting room, and snuck into the room, sure he wasn’t able to be seen. He wasn’t sure what was happening-either some new Scarecrow drug or the Secret Keeper. Lovely. Dick prepared himself mentally, but… even then, his usual protections fell short. 

Bentley. That was a tiny baby Bentley, sitting on a chair much too big for him, in a tiny suit that looked supremely uncomfortable, staring at the three adults in the room with a serious, wide-eyed gaze. The kid couldn’t be more than five, but he wasn’t fidgeting at all. Dick began to feel sick. Were these Bentley’s real memories, or an elaborate lie his brain was concocting? Or even the Secret Keeper’s doing? 

The adults were talking, Dick heard snippets of conversation that sounded like business matters, and he had to wonder what Bentley was doing here. Maybe it was a weird rich kid thing. Tim might know. 

Dick turned his attention fully to the adults as the two guests started exiting. Bentley’s father-no, Bentley has a better dad now. A better family. This man is nothing. Whittaker saw the others out, and returned to the room to collect Bentley. Dick watched warily. He knew Whittaker was an abusive piece of trash, but none of them had really pushed Bentley into telling details. From various nightmares he’d helped Bentley through, though, he knew Whittaker was physically and emotionally abusive, and Bentley often dreamt about a dark closet. He had a terrible feeling that what he was seeing was real, and that he was about to get up close and personal with Bentley’s worst nightmares. 

He wanted to see. He wanted to run away. He wanted to grab the tiny Bentley and hold him as tightly as possible. He wanted Bruce to handle it. He didn’t want anyone else to have to see it. 

Bentley hopped off the chair as Whittaker approached, a hopeful look on his tiny, squishy face. He was so little. Were five year olds normally this small? Was he even five? 

“Did I do good, Father?” Little Bentley asked, and despite the tension growing in his chest, Dick had to resist the urge to coo at the toddler. 

“Shut up, Bentley. Go to your room, I have work to do.” Whittaker said dismissively. Dick clenched his fist. 

“But-”

“Go! Do you want to spend the night in the closet, Bentley?” 

“No, sir, please don’t-”

“Go to your room.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Dick watched as Bentley ran out of the room, barely holding back the tears. He followed the boy, trying to put aside his anger at Whittaker in favor of comforting the child. Everything felt way too real to be an illusion or hallucination, and as crazy as it seemed, he might have to start considering time travel. He had to admit, though, it was mostly wishful thinking. Maybe if he got sent back in time, he could make a difference in Bentley’s life sooner. He made sure he wasn’t seen as he followed his baby brother to what he assumed was his room. 

Bentley scrambled onto the bed and buried himself under the covers, and Dick flinched as he heard the unmistakable sound of someone choking back their sobs. Bentley was trying to cry as silently as possible, probably out of fear of his father. He desperately wanted to comfort the kid, but wasn’t sure he should. Would Bentley freak out? He was dressed as Nightwing. Bentley didn’t live in Gotham or Bludhaven, he probably had no clue who Dick was. He didn’t want to scare Bentley more than his father had. No, maybe he’d wait and watch, as much as it pained him to do so. 

Almost as soon as he’d decided to leave Bentley alone for now, the scene dissolved and Dick found himself back in the sitting room. Confused, he turned and saw Bentley, but it was the same Bentley that Dick had first met all those months ago. Small, scared, and pale. Brave, hopeful, and kind. And sleepy. Dick watched as Bentley’s eyes drifted gently shut and his chin sunk toward his chest. 

“Aw, John… looks like your little helper got a bit sleepy. How sweet is that?” A female voice said. Dick turned long enough to see two people, obviously potential business partners. He didn’t spend too much time on them though, instead focusing his attention on Whittaker. It would’ve been invisible to a civilian eye, but to him who’d been Bat-trained since he was eight, he saw the brief flash of anger. Bentley jerked upright as Whittaker strode toward him, chuckling. 

“It seems as though he has. Let me take him up to bed.” He gathered the boy into his arms. Bentley wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and laid his curly red head on his father’s shoulder, the very picture of youthful innocence, but Dick could see the tense lines in his shoulders, the slight tremble to his fingers. No nine-year-old should ever have those traits. 

Dick ran after Whittaker as he carried Bentley down the dark halls. Once they were on the other side of the house, Whittaker stopped and abruptly dropped Bentley onto the floor. Dick cried out and lunged towards the boy, but he was too slow. Bentley hit the ground with a thud and a soft whimper, and Dick turned on Whittaker, furious. What the heck? Why did he even have Bentley with him in his stupid meetings if he was just going to beat him up for being a kid? 

“Get up,” Whittaker said, a cruel edge to his voice. Bentley obeyed wordlessly. “How many times do we have to talk about you not embarrassing me during meetings? It’s always something with you. You’re tired, you’re hungry, you don’t feel good,”

“I’m sorry,” Bentley whispered as he brought his hands up to wrap around his middle. “I was really tired.”

“Yeah? Well I’m really tired of your excuses.” Whittaker said. Dick jumped forward to stop the hit he saw coming for Bentley’s face, but his hand seemed to slide right off of the attacker’s arm, and he shouted as Whittaker slapped Bentley-his own son, just a little kid-in the face. Bentley jumped and staggered back. His hand reached up to his cheek, and Dick choked as his little brother whispered a small, 

“I’m sorry.” 

Tears were now pooling in Dick’s eyes, and he tried to blink them away and focus on Whittaker. He was moving toward Bentley again, and Dick was too slow, he was trying to get Bentley away, he couldn’t move-

Whittaker gripped Bentley’s arm tightly and dragged him around the corner. All Dick could see was Bentley’s terrified, pale face, as Whittaker dragged him toward a white door. 

“No! Father, please… I promise I won’t do it again. I promise. Please don’t-” he begged, pleaded with the larger man, but to no avail. Whittaker simply growled something at him and tossed him roughly into the dark room behind the door. Dick heard another small thud as Bentley hit the ground again, and he wanted to scream. Why couldn’t he help? He was so useless, it was Ethiopia all over again, he wasn’t enough-

Whittaker deadbolted the door and left, not seeing Dick standing helplessly in the hall. Dick rushed toward the door, tried to open it, to get in, to save his baby brother, but his fingers kept slipping off the lock. He couldn’t open it, couldn’t unlock it, why?

“Father! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Bentley was screaming, but then he finally gave up, and all Dick could hear from inside the closet was silence. Awful, dead silence. 

“Bentley! Bentley, please, it’s okay, I’ve got you, I’m right here! Bentley!” Dick cried, near frantic. He was still desperately trying to open the door as it dissolved into darkness like before. It gave way once again to an elaborately furnished office. Bentley was sitting on a chair on one side of a large desk, and Whittaker occupied the desk chair. 

“You know I love you, right?” Whittaker said, and cupped his hand around Bentley’s cheek. Dick tried to cross the room to rip Bentley away, but he felt like he was running through mud. 

“You… you what?”

“I love you,”

“The way I treat you, the way I raise you — I do it so you can be successful,” Dick saw Bentley start to trust the gentle touch, to lean into it. 

“I teach you the hard lessons so you don’t have to learn them from anyone else,” Whittaker stroked Bentley’s face. “Because I want what’s best for you. I always have.”

“No, Bentley, no baby, don’t listen, we love you-” Dick felt like he was being ripped apart. 

“And that, son, is how you manipulate someone,” The man said, and walked away from his desk. Bentley was unbalanced by the loss of support, and Whittaker’s expression regained its cruel edge.  “With your words, your touch, your eyes… you can make people fold in the blink of an eye. People you never thought would fold. You believed me, didn’t you?”

“No! No, you- you- stop!” Dick practically screamed in Whittaker’s face, but the man looked right through him. 

“I… you don’t… you were lying?”

Dick turned toward his little brother just in time to see the heartbreak unfold on his little face. 

“I’m going to teach you how to do what I just did to you. How to take people's pasts, their desires, their fears, the tiniest sliver of information they present to you… and twist it into a net they can’t get out of. How to tie strings around the wrists and ankles of every person you meet so they bend to your will. Move when you move.” Whittaker pulled a stack of files from the desk. “I’ve asked myself for a long time, what’s the most efficient way to get rid of my rivals? To silence them? It's been right in front of my face for as long as I can remember. Sales people, businessmen, they live, thrive off of pulling the right strings, moving the right parts, saying the right things… they’ve made manipulation, deception, into a career. But us, we’re going to make it into a superpower. And you… into a weapon.”

Dick couldn’t hold back anymore. He sobbed as he tried to hold Bentley, to take him away, to cover his ears, but he just couldn’t seem to affect anything. 

“These are going to be your main targets.” Whittaker said. Dick guessed they were the Wayne family folders, but he didn’t care. “But first, you need training. Let’s start with this,” 

Bentley and Dick yelled out in surprise and anger respectively when Whittaker’s hand thwacked across the child’s face, hard enough to shake the office chair and leave a painful red mark on Bentley’s cheek. “You must not allow yourself to be so easily deceived. If you’re going to be using it as a weapon, you must be immune to it yourself.” Whittaker eyed his young son with distaste. “Don’t you dare start crying.”

Dick sobbed harder. Bentley didn’t move. 

“You know who else thrives off of manipulation? Children. They cry to get what they want, or to make people feel bad. It’s instilled in you simply for existing as a human being. And while you’ve learned over time that you can not manipulate me with childish antics… you will learn just how far you can take people before they teeter off the edge. We’re going to pull that instinct out of you until it’s all you are. All you know. I’m going to turn you into a human Puppeteer. One that can twist and weave its way into the unsuspecting consciousnesses of strangers and control them, make them feel and believe things that aren’t really there. A weapon that can’t be found. Do you understand?”

“I… understand, father.” Bentley said, but his voice sounded thick. Dick didn’t know how much more he could take. 

“Good,” Whittaker tossed a protein bar on the desk in front of Bentley, and Dick nearly threw up at the look of joy and thankfulness on Bentley’s face when he saw it. “It seems you have much reading to do. When you finish, we’ll discuss how you can use that information to make the Waynes weak at the knees.”

Bentley happily began to eat the measly protein bar and look at the files. Dick tried and tried to get Bentley to see him, to hear him, but nothing worked. He was still trying to get the boy’s attention when the room faded to black again. 

He knew he should be trying to focus on figuring out what was going on, could hear Bruce’s voice in his head telling him to slow down, think logically, but he couldn’t. Bentley was in trouble, his baby brother was getting hurt and again-always, always-he couldn’t do anything, he was too late, he was in space, he didn’t listen-

The darkness once again pulled away and Dick was standing in another sitting room. Whittaker was staring at a portrait of a woman on the wall, a glass of alcohol in his hand. His eyes were red, he was crying, and Dick hated him. Hated him with every fiber of his being. His attention was drawn toward the door on the other end of the room, and he saw Bentley peer inside, fear and curiosity on his face. When he saw his father crying, something unreadable crossed his face. 

“Father?” he said timidly. Even with this monster, he’s always kind. Dick thought, but his reflection on his brother’s unfailing empathy was chased from his mind when Whittaker leapt from his chair and punched Bentley in the face. Dick screamed as Bentley flew into the air and crashed down hard on the floor. The ten-year-old pressed his hand against his mouth as tears pooled in his eyes. 

“Stop it, stop, stop, he’s just a kid-” Dick shouted at Whittaker, but the man marched toward Bentley without a glance in Dick’s direction. Bentley scrambled backward, utter terror written in every line of his body. 

“What have I told you about invading my privacy?!” Bentley’s back hit the wall, Dick’s feet seemed to be cemented in place. “Tell me!”

Bentley curled into a little ball, and Dick saw rather than heard the sobs rack his body. 

“Stop crying!” Whittaker raised his hand and threw the glass toward the child, his son. 

“No!” Dick screamed, and lunged forward, but his hands just slipped off the glass, not deterring it in the least. The glass barely missed Bentley’s head and shattered against the wall. Strong liquid pooled on the floor, and the scent of heavy alcohol, fear, and anger made Dick want to gag. 

“Just… just… go put yourself… in the closet,” Whittaker grumbled. When Bentley simply looked up at him, he shouted, “Now!” 

The boy stumbled to his feet,and in his hurry, pressed his hand against the shattered glass. Blood joined the already nauseating smells in the air. Dick remembered that wound. They’d helped him dress it. 

“Get out of my sight, boy!” Whittaker slurred as he sat down. “Knew I shoulda’ given you away after your mother died. Worthless excuse of a human being.” 

Dick heard the words as he followed Bentley out, and he knew the boy had, too. I hope he knows better now. I hope he knows we love him. Bentley’s small frame shook with sobs as he huddled in a bathroom, but after a while, he bandaged his own hand and cleaned the blood from the floors and walls. Dick hated the blank, miserable expression on the child’s face as he closed himself into the closet. Dick tried to comfort him, tried to hug him close, but he couldn’t do anything to dry Bentley’s tears, and he was soon crying as well. 

“Dick…” Bentley’s voice said in the darkness. But it wasn’t the young Bentley still crying in the dark next to Dick. It was his Bentley. His babybird. “It’s okay. Nothing scary is happening.”

As soon as Bentley finished speaking, Dick was pulled violently from the darkness of the closet. He was in the sitting room, Whittaker was slapping Bentley. He saw Bentley cry himself to sleep because he was so hungry. He saw Bentley get locked out of the house as a toddler for interrupting a meeting. He saw Whittaker strike his son again and again and again and again and again, and he couldn’t move, and Bentley kept getting hurt, and Whittaker starved him and yelled at him and never ever touched him without causing pain and Dick screamed and sobbed and begged everything he knew for it to stop. 

Until it finally did. Until he woke up in the Cave, Bruce sitting next to him. Until he sobbed into his father’s shoulder and begged him to send Bentley down, he needed to see Bentley, bigger and happy and safe. Until he could finally, finally hug his baby brother. 

[smillingcartoonist]

He is getting abducted by Spirits, She is getting possessed by Aliens (Dandadan)

Dandadan is a manga Written and draw by Tatsu Yukinobu, the story follows Momo Ayase and Takekura Ken, Nickname Okarun and called that the entire time (I honestly forget that is not is actual name) in their paranatural adventures, having more of an episodic arc structure, the main thread of plot is finding Okarun missing genitals !!!

In mine opinion, this one of the few recent mangas that are worthy of following, not that is a lot out there that is worthy the time any way, Dandadan is funny, action packed, gorgeously draw, it have a great characters, an interesting story, and it's a bit too tear jerky at times, honestly everything that you could ask in a comic, too bad it's first chapter fucking sucks !!!

I never seen this before, a comic with a really bad start and then the rest of it's pretty good actually, normally it's the inverse, it's start strong then it goes to shit, I found that MamaYuyu had this problem, it's first chapter being really promise then it quickly devolve into generic shounen stuff, maybe it was mistake to have such high hopes for it !!

But what' so bad about it ? well it's more the direction that it seem to go on after the chapter. The Story of Dandadan begins with a bad taste in my mouth at least, Momo and Okarun first meeting end on a dare to each, to each other prove that aliens and spritis are real, Okarun dares Momo to got to an Alien abduction hot spot, Momo dares Okarun to go to a spirit sighting hot spot, the both of them encounter said creatures, Okarun meet with the 100 km/h hag (Or Turbo Granny as it knows in the manga) that offers to suck his dick if he suck her tits, Momo meets the Serpo, odd looking aliens that abducted her and want to extract her genitals... so well, she gets nearly raped there, she is saved because her psychic powers awake there, and a possessed Okarun also appears through her cellphone, the spaceship that they are in crashes, Momo and Okarun escape, The turbo Granny that was possessing Okarun said that stole his genitals and dares Momo to get them back, giving the main thread of plot of the series.

After reading the first chapter I Thought "well that was crap, shame it's really well draw" I think i cut down a huge chunk of the stupid of it all in that resume, it's really bad, here it have another run of the mill shounen with more thoughtless ecchi elements to appeal to creeps, why would I lose my time on this ?? so I back out of it, well not really something compelled me to go back and read the rest, maybe it was the art !! well I do that. Second chapter follow the aftermath of happen, Okarun still possessed by the Turbo granny, Momo discovers that she can use her powers to contain the possession briefly, and it's kind of debt of help him out of the possession, returning to her home, both of them are attack by another alien that transport them to some pocket dimension, Okarun manages to control the powers of the turbo granny, even if briefly, so the both of them work together to defeat the alien. Well that was much better, and no ecchi shit !!! that's a big improvement !!

Fortunately the Manga continues this trough line, ending it's first arc with the defeat of the turbo granny, not really tho, she get stuck possessing a small cat doll for the rest of manga, and the return of Okarun genitals, not really tho, his mast is back back his balls still missing, as he puts it, and that continues the series as Okarun and Momo search for his balls, turned into golden magic balls, that contain the rest of the Turbo Granny powers. Other of the main Characters are introduce as well, such as Saeko, Momo Grandmother, Aira a smug and self important popular girl that quickly creates an aversion to Ayase and gets powers just like Okarun, Jiji (Enjoji actually, I forget that is his actual name) Momo childhood friend and the shrimp Mantis, an alien (That all you need to know)

But those the cringe elements from the first chapter get back, well yes, certainly there are some more cringy moments that come off more endearing then the first chapter, the third arc, has Momo Aira and Okarun fighting in a pocket dimension in their school while the place is slowly being submerge in water, Okarun end up naked for one reason and another and both of the girls are in underwear by the end of it, all that is not a sleaze as it sound, Tatsu manages to do all that without being all showy about it, or I'm to forgive because I like this comic at this point, no, it those all that and it's not an embarrassing ecchi cringe fest ! There is a running visual gag were Aira continue to block the view of her panties while she fights, that come off from Tatsu previous work, an oneshot where we have a giant girl fighting some kaiju while trying not to show her panties, is that joke stretch into 50 pages or something, he does a panties shot at some point In Dandadan and is rather hilarious.

Most of the comic centers around the dorky romance between Okarun and Momo, developing from silly encounter to silly encounter to Jealously of each other for literally anything, to genuine caring for each other, Okarun would jump in front of a bullet for Ayase as just she would for him, it is something that made scream "just kiss already" multiple times while reading this.

Of course I should point out Tatsu Yukinobu talent here, he is indeed an amazing artist clearly one the most visually interesting out there, not only does he have this clean art style, but he does manage to create incredible actions sequences, something that not a lot of mangakas out there can do it. And not to mention the certain bizarre horror imagery that he can create, most of it steam from references from pop culture with a Junji Ito flait to it, I mean if you gonna do horror then why not just use the most recognizable guy in business, and Tatsu does really emulate him well, creating the same uncanny imagery that Ito does.

I would say that one of it's major weakness is a lack of general direction to where the story is going, at the point that its is now we have that, but most of this comic is going from one situation to another without any major build up to anything, there is one at some point but barely comes ever again and I do wonder if Tatsu even remembers about it !!

There is an anime adaptation coming this October, I'm sure it be the same success that Dungeon Meshi was this year, I mean have you seen the type of stuff that is put out these days, it's a endless stream of boring isekai and pathetic harem anime target to incels, so it's no wonder when stuff like Chainsaw Man and Dungeon Meshi surge, it makes a bunch of success !! Dandadan I'm sure will be the same, I do wonder what the reaction of the first episode is gonna be like.

[indndwnshead]

Amalgamation: Part V - When you meet... Taehyung

Pairing: Min Yoongi x (f) Reader

Chapter tags: developing relationship, meeting the bro, Yeontan and pawrent Taehyung, playful Taetae

Series summary:

Now that you are a permanent fixture in Min Yoongi's life, it's inevitable that you meet the rest of BTS.

Each encounter with the rest of the group becomes a unique thread in the tapestry of life, gradually integrating disparate elements into a harmonious whole and seamlessly weaving into the fabric of your joined world.

A/N: Felt like I have to post this on Taetae's birthday! A bit more SM AU than usual, hope you like it!

---

Masterlist. Previous Chapter. Next Chapter.

Also read on: AO3

---

Your shooting ran over schedule, leaving you unable to pick up Bagel from the doggie daycare. With no other option, you called Yoongi, whom you know had some unusually free time that day, hoping that he could get someone to do it for you. However, considering his nature, you should have anticipated that he would graciously agree to personally pick up your cherished pet.

When Yoongi arrived at the doggie daycare to collect Bagel, an unexpected encounter occurred. Kim Taehyung was also at the daycare, there to pick up his cherished Yeontan. As the two dog owners approached the daycare area, their surprise and delight were evident.

"Hyung!" Taehyung called out with genuine excitement as he ran to Yoongi's side. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Yoongi, just as pleased to encounter his fellow member, greeted him with a friendly smile. "Taehyung-ah, picking up Yeontannie?" he inquired.

Bagel, ever the social butterfly, gave an enthusiastic bark and wagged his tail in response to Yeontan’s presence.

Taehyung's eyes gleamed with curiosity and amusement as he observed Bagel. He crouched down to Bagel's level, greeting the dog with a warm grin. "Who's this?" he asked.

Yoongi, amused by Taehyung's excitement, kneeled beside Bagel and patted his fur affectionately. "This is Bagel, Taehyung-ah," he explained.

"Oh!" Taehyung exclaimed, putting two and two together with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Already friendly with the girlfriend's dog, huh, hyung?"

Yoongi chuckled, "Please, Bagel and I go way back."

With the introductions completed, Bagel and Yeontan were set free from their harnesses. The two dogs immediately hit it off, racing around the play area with tails wagging and tongues lolling. Taehyung couldn't help but smile at the sight, grateful to see Yeontan making a new furry friend who was just as sweet and playful as he was.

As they watched the dogs enjoy their newfound friendship, Taehyung's curiosity got the best of him. Playfully, he turned to Yoongi and asked, "So, Hyung, when do I get to meet Bagel's mom?"

Yoongi grinned with a secret gleam in his eye, "But you already did."

Taehyung furrowed his brow, struggling to remember ever meeting Yoongi’s girlfriend. "Huh, when?"

Yoongi's tone was casual as he replied, "Back in 2018. At Wooshik-ssi’s party, we all met her there.” At the guilty look on Taehyung’s face, Yoongi quickly reassured him, “It’s fine, I didn’t remember that either."

“How does she know Wooshik-hyung?” Taehyung asked in curiosity.

Yoongi hummed thoughtfully, "Well, they met when she went on an exchange year to Canada. Wooshik was friends with the son of the family who hosted her during that time."

Taehyung's mind raced as he tried to piece together the information Yoongi shared. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in his head. "Wait, _____? Your girlfriend is the Cherie, your co-star in that drama?"

Yoongi nodded with a smile "Yup, that's her. And I see that you’re aware of her nickname.”

“Wooshik hyung mentions her sometimes.” Knowing that his hyung is the type to be wary of new people, Taehyung expressed his surprise, "But that was kind of fast, Hyung. You met her on the drama set, what, just a few months ago?"

Yoongi acknowledged the truth with a nod. "Yeah, but we actually knew each other from a few years back, way before the drama."

Taehyung's curiosity piqued, and he raised an inquisitive brow. "Oh? Do tell, Hyung."

Yoongi couldn't help but laugh at his friend's eagerness, but he maintained his air of secrecy. "Maybe later, when everyone's together."

Taehyung reluctantly agreed, understanding that his hyung was not as open about their love life." I'm happy for you either way, Hyung," he said with a warm smile, watching Bagel and Yeontan's joyful play.

As the dogs frolicked around, Taehyung noticed the collar tag around Bagel's neck, which was strikingly similar to Holly’s, the one he had been bugging Yoongi to share for Yeontan. "Hyung! So, your new girlfriend's dog already has the collar tag, but your favorite nephew doesn't?" he playfully whined.

Yoongi chuckled heartily, "Oh, Taehyung-ie, she bought that herself when I got one for Holly."

Taehyung's eyes widened in surprise. "But that was, what, 2019?"

Yoongi grinned mysteriously, teasing his friend, "Exactly. As I said, I'll tell you all about it later."

---

When you finally had a day off the next week, Yoongi was occupied with group activities, leaving you with a free day to spend with just Bagel. However, your peaceful morning took an unexpected turn when your phone buzzed with intriguing messages from Yoongi.

You quickly replied, of course you know the first ever K-pup idol. You also remember Yoongi mentioning that Bagel and Yeontan had gotten along well when they met at the daycare some time ago.

Taehyung arrived at your door around the time Yoongi said he would, holding Yeontan in his arms, and with a wide, appreciative smile on his face.

“Hello _____-ssi, sorry for asking you a favor on our first meeting.” Taehyung expressed his gratitude with a small bow after entering your home.

“It’s no problem, Taehyung-ssi.” You greeted him warmly.

"Thank you so much for helping out on such short notice. I hope Tannie and Bagel behave themselves." Taehyung said as he kneeled to let Yeontan out of his arms.

You immediately noticed Yeontan's excited tail wagging when Bagel came into the room, curious about the visitors. 

You chuckled, "I'm sure they'll have a great time together. Don't worry about it."

Taehyung gave the dog a loving pat, reassuring him, "Be a good boy, Tannie."

With that, Taehyung stood up and you both watched as the two dogs greeted each other, making sure they got along. After several rounds of sniffing and excited tail-wags, they run off to play around the room. The two dogs were thrilled to see each other again, making it clear they enjoyed their previous playdate.

Taehyung’s phone beeped loudly, reminding him that he’s needed somewhere else. “I have to go now. I’ll ask Hyung for your number, he was oddly protective of it earlier,” He said with a teasing smile and a hint of mischief in his eyes.

You laugh in slight embarrassment. Your boyfriend can be a tad possessive, citing that after 16 years of openly sharing everything with the members, he prefers not to share you and all the details of your relationship with them. It's endearing, and deep down, you might find it rather charming.

Taehyung quickly bid his farewell, leaving you with Bagel and Yeontan. You spent the day playing with the two fur babies and relaxing catching up on the new drama that Hoseok recommended to you a couple of weeks ago.

Throughout the day, you and Yoongi exchange your customary updates, sharing details like your lunch menu and a snapshot of Yeontan and Bagel playing in your living room. It's a deliberate effort that both of you consistently make in your relationship. Despite your busy schedules, you always manage to find the time to keep each other informed about the little moments that shape your days. Just as you were about to reply, you received a message from an unknown number.

As the day went on, you exchanged messages with Taehyung, updating him on Yeontan’s activities and sharing some adorable pictures of the dogs.

Tae responded with pictures of the members, including a notably attractive shot of your boyfriend in the recording booth. Yoongi's eyes were closed in deep concentration, his lips positioned so closely to the microphone that it seemed as though he was intimately whispering into it. The memory of him doing something similar to your ears involuntarily sent shivers down your spine.

At around 10 PM, your phone beeped with a new message from Taehyung.

You heard the sound of your door being unlocked, and soon, both Yoongi and Tae entered your home. The exhaustion on their faces was evident, having endured a day filled with recording, choreography practice, and meetings for their upcoming release.

As fatigue set in, pleasantries became too much effort for both, and shortly after Tae bid his farewell, you were left with Yoongi in your apartment.

After he cleaned up, Yoongi joined you on your bed, sliding close and wrapping his arms around you under the covers. He let out a deep sigh as he settled in, his head snuggling into the crook of your neck.

"How was your day?" you whispered.

"Long. Tiring," he replied, letting out a yawn. "Miss you," he mumbled, eyes closed.

You softly stroked his head. "Hmm, my poor baby. Let's just sleep tonight."

He didn't reply. Before long, his soft snores filled the room. You cherished these moments when he could relax with you, finding comfort in considering you his home. Amidst your demanding jobs, these quiet instances served as a much-needed recharge for both of you.

---

Little did Yoongi know that his suggestion for Taehyung to ask for your help would lead to you and Taehyung becoming fast friends. You both frequently exchanged photos and stories about your beloved dogs, deepening your connection over the shared joy of being pet parents. Your bond with Taehyung continued to grow, and it was all thanks to your mutual love for your four-legged family members.

[theapocalypseisonlythebeginning]

Bad People or Good People? - Chapter 8: We’re the Good Guys, Clem (Part 3)

☝️beautiful art that I had commissioned by the lovely @estethell for this very story ❤️🖤 thank you again!

chapter summary: New alliances are made. Tyreese doesn't like what Woodbury seems to be, but Kenny is blind to it all. Rick doesn't like what he is turning into, meanwhile Clementine might have finally found a friend in Carl.

previous chapter: We’re the Good Guys, Clem (Part 2)

story masterlist

read on Ao3

Word Count: 2556

tag list: @nowandthane @fizzyxcustard If you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know

Tyreese wiped away some sweat from his forehead. The sun was scorching hot outside, but this was important work. With the threat of the prison group, Tyreese and some others had been ordered to help Kenny with the fence. The Governor had, apparently, thought Kenny’s suggestions for keeping Woodbury safer ideal, and had given all the supplies necessary almost immediately.

Kenny was slowly inching his way inside the Governor’s inner circle, and Tyreese wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Glancing to the side, said man was planting a kiss to Sarita’s cheek. He was a stark contrast to the man Tyreese had first met; the man who punched the Governor in the face.

He’d never do anything bad to Sarita though. Everyone knew Kenny would do anything for her and Sarita’s niece. The devotion he had for them made it seem like they’d known each other for years. Yet… apparently, they’d only known each other for two months.

“Here yeh go,” Kenny said. He handed Tyreese a zipped up bag of lunch Sarita had packed for the men working there. As Kenny handed the rest out, Tyreese continued to watch him.

The smile on Kenny’s face seemed fake. It always had. Like he was a politician trying to gain favor with the others. But Kenny was the opposite of a politician, and it all came off as… rather creepy. At least to Tyreese and his sister. No one else seemed to react to it.

“Very nice of her,” Tyreese said quickly.

Stood outside of the walls of Woodbury, taking a break for some nicely packed lunch seemed almost laughable. Yet here they were, pretending Woodbury was such a safe haven that a lunchbreak wasn’t dangerous.

Woodbury just felt… surreal. Sasha had been right about that.

“Where’d you get the idea from?” Tyreese asked, gesturing to the wired fence they were adding. The walls of Woodbury were already safe…

Well, that had been everyone’s hope, until the prison group had infiltrated the place.

“Some farm.” Kenny crouched down beside the small holes they’d drilled through the metal walls earlier. Through them, wires were going to be threaded that were attached to generators inside.

They were creating an electric fence. Difficult to pass, and easy to fry some Walkers that got too close.

“They had it all ‘round their property,” Kenny had continued. Then his face turned sour, an angry look appearing on his face. “They were freaks.”

Tyreese grew silent, watching as Kenny double checked any work that was done. If he’d only seen the idea once, then he was no expert. But the Governor was pretending he was.

The Governor was pretending Kenny was a lot of things lately. It was weird.

Their relationship was weird.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…” Kenny simply replied at first. But something dark overtook him suddenly: “Just thinking ‘bout all them things I’ll do to anyone who even dares to come close to Woodbury.”

Those words made Tyreese grow quiet once more. He wanted to trust the people here, but from the deluded civilians who thought life would go on like it did post outbreak, to the completely deranged anger that Kenny showed, to the tightly knit soldiers that spoke in hushed whispers behind Tyreese’s back and into the Governor’s ears…

This place was mental.

As if he could sniff out any type of disloyal or unsure thoughts, the Governor appeared behind Tyreese. “How’s it going?” he asked casually, planting a smile on his face. Walking with his hands behind his back, he glanced with his one eye at Tyreese as he rounded him to approach Kenny.

“Good, sir,” Tyreese was quick to reply, before going back to his work, lunch untouched.

“Just got a few more feet left, then we can start attaching the wires,” Kenny added.

“Good. Good,” the Governor hummed. “This was a great idea. We’ve got to do all we can to keep our enemies out.”

There was a brief pause in the conversation, only Tyreese’s hammering interfering with the silence.

“You say you’d been at the prison, right?” Tyreese glanced up at the Governor’s words. He stood, nodding his head. “And you say they had, what, at the most three strong men to fight?”

Tyreese wordlessly nodded his head. “And a baby, a kid-“

Upon the added information, Kenny had turned his head in surprise - but the Governor had raised a hand to stop Tyreese from talking more.

“Yes, very good. And tell me…” The Governor moved in closer. “Was there a little girl?”

“What?” Tyreese asked.

“Was there a little girl with them? Around ten years old?” the Governor asked.

Shaking his head no, Tyreese’s eyes grew suspicious. But not as suspicious as the Governor’s.

A long pause followed. The Governor moved in closer, invading Tyreese’s personal space. Suddenly, any hint of a fake smile was gone, and Tyreese tensed up as the true Governor showed its face for the first time.

“We’ve got people watchin’ them,” the Governor spoke menacingly quiet.

“Okay.” Tyreese spoke with a hint of a question, unsure what was being referred to.

The Governor suddenly smiled and patted Tyreese’s arm with a strange, forced chuckle. “Kenny,” he said, still staring straight at Tyreese, and staying right there in his personal space. “Do you think the men can finish without you?”

“Oh, yeah. I don’t see why not,” Kenny replied from behind the Governor’s back, seemingly oblivious to the tension.

Only then did the Governor turn and leave Tyreese be. A strangely relieved sigh left him, having been unaware that his chest had tightened so much he hadn’t been able to breathe.

That was weird… right? Did the Governor just threaten him by accusing him of potentially lying? Tyreese and the others were only in there briefly, they hadn’t met everyone… At least, he didn’t think so…

“Walk with me,” the Governor asked, throwing an arm around Kenny’s shoulders before the man could reply. “Who was it you traveled with again…? Lee and Clementine?”

“Yeah.” As they moved further away from Tyreese, he heard less and less of their conversation, but kept staring at them.

“And you came from… Hershel’s farm?”

“Yeah, we did. Was the first place we got to when me and the wife decided to get outta town.”

“Interesting… Tell me more.”

…

Rick steered the car down roads not yet tainted by the lack of maintenance in this new, dark world. He sat back in his seat, relaxed. It was quiet. They had succeeded on a mission. And now the only threat they had to deal with was Woodbury.

All should be well.

But it wasn’t.

Where Daryl had sat earlier was just an empty seat. No one had sat down in the front, both Glenn and Daryl stuffed in the back. No one spoke. No one even looked at each other.

Rick didn’t have to use his police instincts to know that the atmosphere in the car was… his fault.

Both the men, clearly fond of Clementine, were being forced to lie to her. On top of that, they were forced to lie to the rest of the group too. Rick doubted whether Glenn would keep this from Maggie, but beside that, he knew no one else was going to find out.

Not for a while at least, and hopefully never.

He knew Glenn was going to stay true to Rick’s request to keep this quiet. Glenn was in line with Rick’s hatred for Woodbury. They were seeing eye to eye on a lot of things lately.

But Daryl…

Those three bodies and the very obvious evidence of a group leaving, albeit it away from the prison, were all facts that Rick should openly tell his group - especially Clementine.

But…

What good would it do? Clementine might want to follow, meaning some people would leave with her. That would mean leaving the rest even more vulnerable to Woodbury’s threat. And that meant endangering Carl and Judith.

Selfish? Maybe… Or he was just trying to be a good leader.

For the first time in a long time, Rick wasn’t quite sure about Daryl’s loyalty. As he glanced back at the archer, perched awkwardly in the back with knees hitting the front seat uncomfortably, Rick was unsure what to do…

This was not a democracy. There were threats left and right.

But was it right to keep things from others just to keep people safe?

Far down the road, the prison could be seen already. They were almost home, and Daryl called it in through the Walkie Talkie.

But there was something else there.

Something along the road, waiting…

His mind revealed Lori, standing in an innocent white dress, watching him… Judging him for what he had become. For what he was doing. Lori, the woman who whispered in his ear about Shane’s bad intentions; Lori, the woman who loved Rick unconditionally; Lori, the mother to his children.

But she was gone.

And he had but one child.

 But no, he had two.

But…

Lori would have disagreed with Rick’s behavior. Lori did disagree with Rick’s behavior. She hated dictatorships.

The world was not right, she would say, if there are dictatorships ruling over people, lying and manipulating. Thinking only on how to make them do what their leader wanted of them…

Rick was doing just that.

Was he doing it for the right reasons…?

…

“I heard what you told Michonne.”

Much to Clementine’s surprise, Carl was the one stood in the doorway to her cell. She had holed herself up in there since hearing back from Daryl and breaking down to Michonne. Whatever Michonne had told the others about it had apparently made them leave Clementine alone. She wasn’t really complaining about that. The solitude had been great to calm herself down again and to do something to get her mind off it all.

Drawing had been what she had been up to. Just aimlessly scribbling and coloring.

She had been two drawings in by the time Carl had come to her cell.

“Merle said we should leave you alone, but…” He shuffled inside the cell, long brown hair sticking out from his hat in various places and angles.

Surprised, Clementine had perked up from her spot on the floor. “He did? Why?”

“Dunno,” Carl replied with a shrug. Both seemed to be talking about different things; whilst Clementine had been surprised that Merle had asked the others to leave the girl alone, Carl was more confused by why solitude was what people thought Clementine needed.

He shifted to sit down next to Clementine, glancing at the drawings. But his eyes weren’t very interested in her art, shifting to her waist instead: “You get your gun from someone?” he opted to ask instead.

With a nod, Clementine took it out from its holster. Daryl had found that holster for her, even spent some time trying to shorten the strap so it would fit her child waist. She placed the gun in front of her. 

Carl watched it for a while before taking out his own gun, placing it next to hers. “I killed my mom with it.”

It said a lot about this world that Clementine didn’t shift away from Carl in horror at those words.

Silence filled the cell instead.

“I killed Lee with mine,” Clementine whispered.

Two children sat alone in a cell, broken by what had happened to both, forced to do the unthinkable at a despicably young age.

“Sorry,” Carl had said quietly.

“Sorry,” Clementine repeated earnestly.

And suddenly, all of the fiendish feelings that Clementine had gotten from Carl since the beginning was gone. Suddenly, Carl reached over to place a hand on her shoulder - a brotherly gesture that made him look ten times older than he was, ready to protect her from any future horror.

“You’ve got friends in us too,” Carl said, trying his best to be a little supportive concerning the apparent disappearance of Ylva’s group.

Clementine nodded her head, but didn’t offer a smile at his words.

The children tucked their guns away again, before Carl gestured to the drawings. Without words, Clementine had offered Carl a blank piece of paper and some pens, before both simply… began to draw. Sitting next to each other to keep the other one company, they did this in silence for a while.

They had forgotten how nice it was to have someone closer to their own ages to talk to. How nice it was to just… be themselves, to have someone understand how shitty this all was for them.

They’d feel much better in each other’s companies than without from that moment on.

…

“Daryl.” Rick’s voice was a command. Glenn left them alone to find Maggie, or Clementine, whilst Daryl stayed put outside in the scorching sun. Rick shut the car door behind him, then approached Daryl, eyes darting at everything everywhere but at Daryl… until he came to a halt only a few feet away from the man.

Never in his life would Rick invade Daryl’s personal space to make a point. Despite any bad feelings or ill wishes that appeared between the two, Rick knew to give Daryl that space. It was important to Daryl, and Rick didn’t dare ask why - too worried, in all honesty, to hear how bad the reason might be. Daryl was his friend after all. He respected that distance even now.

“I wanna talk ‘bout what just happened.”

Daryl didn’t reply in any other form but a single, strained, nod.

“You know it’s important we keep our focus on the Governor-“

“This why we lyin’?” Daryl interrupted, his eyes narrowing into a glare. “’Bout someone’s friends? How would you feel if we lied ‘bout your family dyin’.”

It was no question. It was a point made. A point that was a touchy subject too.

Rick bit back some unkind words, lips thinning into a straight line, as he looked away. Composing himself, Rick pushed the anger, grief, and sadness away to offer Daryl an understanding nod.

“I know,” was Rick’s reply, spoken through a strained pair of lips. “You think I like lying? You think this is what I wanna do?” Daryl remained quiet, eyes narrowing into slits of mistrust, and Rick took a breath to calm himself. “They’re gone. We have no reason to follow. But we have all the reason to defend against the Governor, who is literally on our doorstep. You get it?”

“Then I go with the girl,” Daryl had quickly replied.

That had been Rick’s fear, and it showed as he was quick to shake his head. “Yer one of my best warriors, Daryl. I can’t lose you.” He paused then added: “We can’t lose you,” for emphasis.

“The tracks’ll be gone if we wait,�� Daryl said, biting his lip. His gaze had drifted away from Rick, his head hung low. His voice, too, was quieter.

Rick was getting through to Daryl. “I know…”

“Ye’d have less difficulty leading if ye just spoke the truth,” Daryl snapped. With those words said, Daryl turned and marched off.

But something told Rick that Daryl wasn’t going to tell anyone they’d lied. That despite what he wanted to do, he understood Rick’s reasoning. Still, it didn’t feel right to force a good man to become bad.