#look me dead in the eyes and tell me that was clear and concise

[thereweredragonshere]

I don’t think words from any dialect will ever be able to accurately describe the feeling of when the anatomy of a human hand just clicks in your head

[crow-stars]

❝UNTIL DEATH DO US PART❞

❦summary; wedding vows are one of the most important parts of the initial ceremony, besides the kiss and exchange of rings. of course, this ceremony can be done anywhere and the most well known words that the officiator speaks “until death do you part” ♪the characters in this story; lilia vanrouge, gn!reader ✎word count; 3.8k ❀what do the ghosts say?; romantic, tall lilia mmm, set during the time in which lilia is still acting as general, angst, death, mentions of blood/bleeding, you get some fluff in this dw (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ (some) ☛the author's notes; a part of the @briarvalleyarchives wedding day event! i can finally pull this idea out after it's been stewing for a good year or two. ps this took me 17 days to finish wtf ☪look at the catalogue?

“Until death do us part.” Such a meaningful phrase.

It was springtime when he had been shot by an arrow in the forest. Tipped in a potent poison, one that could kill a human in an instant and give any magical creature a slow death, Lilia had thought this was his end. Not the end I expected, he thought while laying in the forest, blood pooling around him. He was ready to accept his death, eyes closing as he stared up at the darkening sky. 

At least the sky is beautiful in my final moments was Lilia’s last thoughts before his eyes slipped shut. 

Except, it wasn’t his final moments. 

The next thing Lilia knew was him laying in a soft bed, a phantom ache on his chest and a splitting headache. He tried to get up, yet more pain ran through his body and he audibly groaned. 

That was when a small gasp was picked up by Lilia’s ears and he turned his head to the sound. He turned his head to see you. 

You were holding a bowl of water and a towel was draped over your arm. There was a look of shock on your face, but it seemed to melt away to relief as you stepped closer to the bed where Lilia laid, placing the bowl down as you smiled at him. 

“You’re finally awake! Oh thank the Seven, I was starting to get worried.” Those were the first words you had said to Lilia, a small smile on your lips as you slowly sat next on a chair next to the bedside. 

“Where... am I? And who are you?” Those were the first words that Lilia had said to you, initially cautious of you as you were a stranger and he was injured at the moment. 

You answered his questions with no qualms at all, telling him that he was in your home at the outskirts of your village and introduced yourself as the village’s unofficial healer. You had found him while out in the forest to collect herbs and found the fae in a pool of his own blood. Lilia proceeded to ask you more questions and you answered each and every one with a calm demeanor and an amicable smile. And, from what answers you revealed, you didn’t seem to know that Lilia was a general, only knowing him as a fae that needed help. 

Then, you cleaned his skin with that towel and changed his bandages. All the while constantly checking if he was okay and asking if he was comfortable. It felt... strange to Lilia. Not you, but the constant asking, the care and wanting to make sure that he was alright. 

It felt strange to the fae. But it was comforting too. This medical aid of yours felt much different than the quick and hasty one back at the main camp. Of course, the soldiers had to get back onto the battlefield as soon as possible, but Lilia quite preferred your approach. 

A few weeks after Lilia first woke up was when he learned that you lived alone. He had assumed that there was at least someone around, perhaps a sibling, parent, partner, anyone. But no. You were alone in this makeshift clinic of yours. Lilia had asked about it and you had answered it with a clear and concise response. 

Your parents were dead, you had said. Your siblings had moved away because they had bigger dreams than this little village. 

“And what about you?” Lilia had asked. 

“Well, I don’t know yet.” You gave him a faint smile and shrugged. “I’m content staying here and making a family someday.” That smile you gave, it made Lilia want to smile too, just a little. 

Around the time where pink flowers began to sprout from the trees was the first time that you and Lilia had a real conversation.

You were changing out Lilia’s bandages again, touches gentle and never too harsh. Lilia was silent as he watched you, your face focused on your task. 

Then he asked you why you decided to be a healer. You had paused for a bit, but then continued to change his bandages. You were quiet for a few minutes and Lilia was briefly worried that you had somehow found offense in his question. But, you smiled that smile that Lilia was beginning to know you for and looked up at the fae. 

“Well, I want to be able to help the people in my village. My parents taught me quite a lot and I feel like I should put that to good use.” You paused and chuckled softly to yourself. “And I think in these times, everyone needs some healing.” 

Lilia couldn’t help but feel inclined to agree to such words. Then you had asked about why he was in the forest, a question that had apparently been on your mind for a while. And, he didn’t know why, but Lilia gave you a lie. A white lie, but still a lie, nonetheless. He told you that he was a traveler, having been attacked by a human in the forest. Luckily, Lilia didn’t have to say much else as you immediately understood him, sympathized even as you cupped his hands in yours in a sort of comfort to the fae.

“Don’t worry,” You had said, lightly squeezing Lilia’s hands, that gentle smile of yours spread on your lips. “You’re safe here, I promise you.” 

That promise made a strange feeling course through Lilia, only amplified by your touch, you holding his hands in your own. Lilia gave you a faint smile and nodded.

The two of you had then continued to talk, just small questions, small talk, most of it coming from Lilia as he asked about your daily schedule aside from your care of the fae. It was mostly just chores and errands, you explained, visiting older patients and administering medication, going to the market to get groceries or talk with the vendors, and then going out to the forest to gather herbs or relax after a day’s work. There was a certain clearing that you fancied, always filled with beautiful wildflowers and grass that could grow up to your knees. You had spent so much time talking about it, continuing minutes after you finished changing Lilia’s bandages. But he didn’t mind, encouraged it actually by asking more questions about that little field you so loved. 

When the air began to turn hotter, you had let Lilia walk further than the room he was staying in. Lilia wanted to explore the whole of your house, but you had just told him to take it one step at a time, so as not to put stress on his body. So, he listened to your instructions. The first day, the second floor. Apparently, your home had two floors, if the stairway Lilia saw was anything to say. You were nearby, watching Lilia carefully as he walked around the second floor. 

You were kind enough to explain to Lilia any of the rooms he entered, the bedroom, the guest room, the bathroom, your parents’ old bedroom that you turned into a place to grow herbs that weren’t easy to obtain. It almost felt like you were allowing Lilia to explore not just your home, but your life, how you organized things, how you decorated. All those little things seemed to allow Lilia to learn more and more about you. 

A week later, you helped Lilia downstairs and that was another discovery of your personality, as well as more things for Lilia to explore instead of staring out the window. 

Downstairs was your living room turned makeshift clinic, a kitchen, a sitting room, and a medical station. The clinic was clean and spotless, utensils set aside in a cabinet and medical herbs organized. The beds were neat and empty of any patients, as it was a day you weren’t taking non-emergency cases, you had said. The kitchen, albeit somewhat messy, felt homely, warm candles lit in the room and the tools in the kitchen obviously well loved. Lilia had even gone so far to compliment such, to which you had smiled shyly at him. Truly, your home had represented your personality quite well. 

That night, you allow Lilia to join you at the dining table downstairs while you cooked dinner. The curtains were drawn, the sky beginning to turn a golden hue outside. You were cooking some type of stew, Lilia thinks, a recipe that you used to cook with your family. You had offered to teach Lilia the recipe, but Lilia declined, favoring watching you do it instead. You looked so peaceful, so in your element as you paced and walked around the kitchen, Lilia couldn’t help but admire your stature, how you walked, that same gentle, calm smile on your lips as you moved about the room. 

The leaves were beginning to turn orange when Lilia had fallen in love. Though, moreso, Lilia could have described it as the day he realized he was in love. 

It was a somewhat normal day, you were still caring for Lilia. The poison was more potent than the fae had expected, due to his recovery taking so long. His initial wound healed, so you no longer were bandaging Lilia, instead making medicine to help with his recovery process. The two of you had been conversing with one another in the sitting, what it was, Lilia didn’t remember. All he knows is that there were three harsh knocks against the front door and your eyes had widened considerably. From your seat, you hurried over to where Lilia was, grabbing his arm and beginning to hastily bring him to the room where you kept your herbs. 

Lilia tried to ask why you were trying to hurry him away, but he was met with you shushing him. There was this fear, a certain dread that Lilia felt an almost kinship with. He didn’t have much time to decipher it, though, as you had pushed him into your room full of herbs, just one plea coming from your lips. 

“Do not leave this room. Please, just stay here.” You looked so desperate, your hands holding Lilia’s so tightly as if he would be torn away from you. Lilia couldn’t help but be compelled to just nod, just to wipe that desperation from your face. 

You had sighed in relief and squeezed his hands once more before turning towards the door. You closed the door behind you, the sound of a lock clicking shut. Then, the sound of wood scraping against the floor and your grunts of exertion, and the light that creeped under the door had disappeared. The front door had then opened and a rasp voice had spoke.  

“Ah! The King’s Guard Men, hello! How are you?” Your voice, calm and pleasant as always caught Lilia’s ears first, almost calming his confused mind. Although muffled a bit, Lilia could still hear the words loud and clear. He decided to press his ear against the door, perhaps to hear better. 

“Good afternoon, healer. We came here because there were reports of a fae being stowed away here.” For a second, Lilia could feel his heart stop, though not in the way he expected. Not because of the thought of him getting captured by the enemy side, no. 

The thought of you getting into some sort of trouble, or even getting hurt, had been more worrying to Lilia. Your safety was over Lilia’s own safety. 

You responded quickly, laughing lightly. “What? Who said such a thing? I can assure you that there’s no fae here, sirs.” There was silence for a few long seconds, too long for Lilia. 

“Then you wouldn’t mind us looking around then.” 

“Ah- wait! Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” 

Almost thunderous footsteps had then rapidly entered your home, glass shattering and chaos being heard on the other side of the door. You had cried out in protest, yelling at the soldiers and chastising them, yelling about the mess, about the destruction that they were causing. Each time, you had been met with a harsh voice commanding you to cease yourself, to just stand to the side. You had, eventually, though it took everything in Lilia to not bang on the door and yell as well, to share your grief with you. But, as you had asked of him, Lilia kept quiet, hands curled into tight fists as he listened to the sounds on the other side of the door. 

Eventually, it had stopped and the soldiers left. The door closed behind them and it was silent again, the air stagnant with dread. The heavy scraping came again, along with your grunts of exertion. The door opened and your face met Lilia’s eyes. 

You looked a mess, but you looked relieved. Lilia didn’t know what had came over him, but the first thing he did was hug you. Hug you so closely to him, so tightly as the breath he was unknowingly holding was released. And you had hugged him back just as tightly, just as closely. A shuddering breath left your lips and Lilia... Lilia felt safe. He felt relieved. The two of you were silent, not speaking a word for what seemed like hours. 

And then, Lilia understood, he understood that look you had on your face when you had pushed him into the room of herbs. The fear of loss, the fear of losing someone that you cared for and cherished. It was the same feeling that Lilia had felt, that Lilia felt towards you. On that day, Lilia knew he had fallen for you. 

That day, you had confessed to him everything you knew. You knew of his real identity as a General renowned for his feats, you knew who he was from the beginning in the forest. You had confessed such a thing as if there was a great shame from keeping it hidden from Lilia. Yet, Lilia couldn’t help but find it amusing. Sure, you had feigned ignorance to who he truly was, but you still aided and helped him. Despite who he was. And it only made Lilia’s heart warm with affection. 

When you had looked up at Lilia, guilt ridden across your features, Lilia only hugged you close to him, soft laughter slipping from his lips. 

“Such a silly thing to keep secret. It’s amusing, really.” You had groaned at him and lightly batted at his chest, but couldn’t help the laughter that came from your lips as well. Lilia then helped you clean your home, picking up shards of glass while you swept the debris up. 

It was such a mundane task, cleaning. Lilia had never really cared for cleaning and tidying up. But, alongside you, Lilia found a new calm to such a task, one that he finds peace in to this day. When the two of you had finished, you both found yourselves in the room Lilia was staying in. And then, you sat together, you laid on top of Lilia. There were no words said, no exchanges, just silence between the two. 

Your head was on Lilia’s chest, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat, as if to confirm he was still there, that he was still alive. Lilia, in turn, had a hand intertwined with yours and that was it. That was all that was done and Lilia couldn’t have been happier. It was a silent agreement, a silent promise to one another, a vow that didn’t need words to be understood. 

When the vermilion leaves filled the trees, dried fronds laid on the forest floor was when Lilia got married. 

Not officially, of course. No priest in a nearby proximity would dare to wed the two of you together, but your family apparently had their own version of a marriage ceremony. In the dead of night, when the moon was full and the stars shining so brightly was when you had taken Lilia to a flower field you had so adored. You had talked about this blooming field many times before, during times when you and Lilia were talking about possible futures for the two of you. The one thing that always came up was your dream to be married in a flower field you loved since you were a child. No matter the season, something would always grow. 

This was where you had brought Lilia, dressed in the attire your parents had worn for their own nuptials, with Lilia in his uniform. You had sat Lilia down in the middle of the field, your hands holding his, and began your own ceremony. It was somewhat similar to what one would think a usual wedding ceremony would proceed, just with a few tweaks. 

First, the both of you had gone to pick a flower from the field, one that would compliment your spouse before meeting again to place the flower close to their heart. Then, there was the exchange of rings, rings that were hung on chains and clasped around the spouse’s neck. A kiss would then be shared, one that felt so sweet and tender that it made Lilia break into a wide smile. Surprisingly, though, the kiss was not the climax of this ceremony, but instead preceded it. Instead, it was a dance under the moonlight. 

“Usually there would be music for this.” You had said, tittering lightly, your hands holding Lilia’s in a position ready to dance. A low snicker came from Lilia’s mouth, smiling at you. 

“Then we make our own music.” 

And you did. Under that moon, flowers muted yet bright, there was a gentle humming between you. A song that had no lyrics and easy to remember. Lilia remembered it all, your laughter when he picked you up in a spin, a giddy smile on your lips as you giggled. Then, after the dance, that was when you had said your vows. It felt so intimate and Lilia couldn’t help but adore the closeness you two had as you whispered those promising words to one another. 

“Until death do us part.”

Yes, he remembers it all so well. 

It was winter when those vows were fulfilled. 

By that time, Lilia was healed sufficiently. He was able to move just as well as he did before the arrow pierced him, lithe in movement and sharp in his reactions. You were there the whole time, cheering him on with your assistance and care. It was inevitable that Lilia would have to return to his unit soon. Even though Lilia loathed this fact, you were the one to encourage it. 

“Someone has to end this war.” You had said. You were serving him something warm, perhaps it was tea. Lilia had felt a pit in his stomach at this, but he knew you were right. 

A few weeks later, you helped Lilia pack supplies and even got him a horse to help him get himself there faster, even though he insisted that it wasn’t necessary. Your smile was so bright, more beautiful than the glimmering snow on the forest ground.

“Be safe.” You had said, warm hands in his gloved ones, the ring around your neck shining in the midday sun. “I love you.” 

Lilia had only squeezed your hand in response, hoping you would understand his intentions. He promised he would come back to you after the war, return and settle down with you in your village. You had laughed and gave him that smile of yours. Lilia then left your village that day, your figure waving him goodbye. He had gotten back to the camp by then, still operating well from his absence. Of course, there was many questions from his soldiers, many angered higher ups about his months long disappearance with no word, but overall, it had been fine. 

Lilia had felt a renewed vigor to finally end the combat, though perhaps only to come back home to you more quickly. That was Lilia’s goal, home. 

A month later, there was screaming. Lilia remembers this day so vividly, no matter how much he could ever try to forget. When Lilia had looked into the sky, there was red and orange smoke that billowed into the sky in the direction of where Lilia knew well. His heart dropped. 

A soldier had come up to him, saying there was a person’s yelling coming closer to the camp. Lilia could hear it well and it was the only thing that Lilia could distinctly remember that day. Without much thought, he began running towards those calls, those screams. The snow crunched and made way under his feet and Lilia could see the figure, see you stumbling towards him. 

And you were red. Covered in red. A trail of it followed after you, the scent of such a putrid thing smothering the familiar scent that Lilia knew as you. Your legs had then given way and Lilia almost dove to catch you, your body so close to him. Your hands gripped his uniform tightly, like he was your lifeline, fingers shaking and eyes filled with tears. But you weren’t warm, you felt so, so cold. You were supposed to be in the comfort of your home, you were supposed to be warm, you were supposed to be safe. 

“Lilia!” You had called him, your voice shaking so much, almost begging. “Oh Seven, Lilia! The King’s Guard, they- t-the village- I-!”

You could barely get a complete sentence out, breathing so shallowly. That was when Lilia had noticed the scrapes across your arms, the cuts of a sword across your legs, and a lesion across your chest, bleeding too quickly that it was apparent that you were mortally wounded. 

“My dear, please, save your breath, you’re wounded.” 

Lilia moved to pick you up, perhaps to save you, to have you live just a bit longer, yet the pained cry that left you, the pleading “no, no, no” made Lilia freeze entirely. You were still holding onto him so tightly, chest taking in breaths that were much too unsteady for it to be normal. 

You called out his name again, meeting his gaze. 

And you smiled. You smiled that calm and gentle smile to him. 

You looked so content, so at peace. Your cheek leaned into his chest, your ever so tight grip loosening on him. 

“Thank you.” 

On that winter day, the vows had been fulfilled. 

“Until death do us part.”

That was what you two had said to one another. 

Lilia knew that you would die before him, he knew that. But on that day, he had felt so hollow, staring at your face. 

Even in your death, you had smiled. Even in death, you were calm. 

And even after your death, Lilia would never stop loving you. 

Until death do us part.

Lilia felt so used to death, but yours... Yours was one he would never forget. Death separated him from you, you who was his first and last love. You, who was his first and last spouse.

Even now, under the full moon at Night Raven College, so different in appearance from back then, Lilia’s mind couldn’t help but replay the words you said when he left that day and the words slipped out before he could even think of it. 

“I love you too.”

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XX.

GIF by bestintheparsec

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: The night of the ritual.

WORD COUNT: ~9.1k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: dead dove: do not eat!, kidnapping, mc is held hostage, allusions to SA (nothing explicit. will be explained later on), hallucinations, humiliation, wound care, hurt/no comfort, crime thriller vibes are vibing, demon worship, cult ritual, supernatural elements, non-consensual drug use, angst, whump, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i'm missing any other tags please let me know.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: i’m going to hold y’all’s hand when i say this... i am putting paloma through it 😓 i was initially going to just bang everything out and post it in one big chapter, but as i was writing... i just felt like it would be better if we let the suspense of it all do its thing and end with a cliffhanger. i am a sucker for ‘em, even if they’re so frustrating (in the best way possible) 😭 i hope that all the lore revolving the cult has been concise and strong enough to hold up during the ending bit of this. i wish i could say things are going to get better from here but they’re not… they’re actually going to get worse 🤠 as always, feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or on ao3. i'd really appreciate it 🖤

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When ten minutes pass, Javier brushes it off. She’s probably just caught up in something. It’s nothing to worry about.

But when twenty minutes roll by, that’s when the unease creeps in. He starts pacing the living room, fighting the urge for a cigarette, glancing at the clock.

Where is she?

By the time half an hour has come and gone, he’s dialing the library, wondering why Paloma hasn’t come home yet. The phone rings and rings, but no one picks up. His stomach tightens, and he wills himself to remain calm. She’s probably fine.

At the hour mark, Javier’s behind the wheel, speeding into town. Maybe she’s still upset from the argument they had earlier, and instead of coming home, she went to Tammy’s.

But when Tammy tells him she hasn’t heard from Paloma for a few days now, a knot twists in his chest.

Panic threatens to take hold, but he pushes it down. He can’t let it consume him—not yet. Not until he has a real reason to worry.

But she has that damn habit of disappearing to sulk in random places when she’s upset. And that habit is gnawing at him now.

He drives to every spot he can think of, the abandoned tracks, the clearing behind the cemetery, the creek—but there’s no sign of her.

That terrible feeling grows, heavy and unshakable. He marches into the sheriff’s department, jaw set, not caring who sees the frantic look in his eyes.

He storms the file room, ripping through boxes. His hands tremble as he plucks out the file he’s searching for.

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath, jaw tightening as the photo of Paloma’s mother stares back at him.

Now, he has a reason to panic.

He should have known when he first laid eyes on it. The familiarity of her features—her eyes, her hair, her smile; it was all too close to Paloma. Too close to ignore. But he had, all because his mind was completely elsewhere at the time. Now look where that got him.

It’s like a scene from a horror film, where everything snaps into place too late.

The recent victims; brunettes in their mid-twenties with similar features, similar backgrounds—they resembled her.

The staged chamber, the gore, the man who killed himself.

All of it was leading to this, tying up the gruesome mystery with a neat little bow, like a gift Javier wishes he could burn. They had been played—manipulated, distracted from seeing the bigger picture.

Whoever orchestrated this whole thing has been after his girl from the very beginning.

He fights the urge to smash his fist into the nearest wall, to tear down every shelf in the room in a fit of blind rage.

But what would that solve? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Rage won’t lead him to her. Fear won’t undo what’s already been set in motion. All he can do is cling to hope, even if it’s slipping through his fingers.

The ultimate goal of this fucked-up cult—their twisted mission—is to birth the flesh reincarnate of their so-called, bullshit deity.

His blood runs cold at the thought of Paloma being used in some horrific ritual, being touched, violated, forced into madness.

He’s shaking, on the verge of a panic attack, his heart slamming against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape. But he forces himself to breathe—slow, deep, steady breaths, locking the perturbation away. 

Javier puts out an APB, his voice tight as he details her car, her appearance. Every word feels surreal, like it’s not really him saying it, like he’s watching someone else’s nightmare play out.

Romeo’s going to hear this, and he’s going to have to explain how they missed all the signs, how Paloma has been in danger this whole time.

The weight of it presses down on him like a thousand pounds of guilt.

Gathering what he needs and delegating some of the overnight officers at the station, he frantically drives to the Leighton house.

He’s already chain-smoked half a pack. That nasty habit he’s been trying to shake is clinging to him. The file in his hands feels too light for the bomb he’s about to drop.

How the fuck is he supposed to do this? How do you tell someone their wife’s past is tangled in a nightmare, and that their daughter—a woman they both love—is at the heart of it? How do you stay composed when you’re barely holding yourself together?

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

Javier’s barely set foot out of his truck when Romeo’s fists twist in his shirt, shoving him hard against the vehicle.

The impact rattles through him, but all he can see is the wild, desperate look in the sheriff’s eyes—a terror that matches his own but runs even deeper, cutting into every line on his face.

“Romeo, listen to me!” Javier’s voice is authoritative, that familiar guarded wall of stoicism building as his trademark defense mechanism to the absolute anxiety that’s gnawing away at his body. “This is gonna be hard to hear—I’m barely making sense of it myself—but I need you to listen if we’re going to figure this shit out.”

Romeo’s grip tightens, then slowly loosens, and Javier seizes the moment, shoving the older man back, no longer giving a fuck about keeping the peace.

He yanks the folded photo from his jacket pocket and holds it up, letting him get a clear look. “Tell me. Is this Paloma’s mother?”

Romeo’s gaze flits to the photograph, and the recognition that floods his face is immediate.

His fingers snatch the photo from Javier, and his expression cracks, aging him in just a matter of seconds. “Where did you get this?” His voice is barely a whisper, “What the fuck is going on?”

Javier’s own dread deepens. “From the old files,” he says, voice hollow. “The ones from the original group. She’s connected to all of this. They both are.”

He takes a breath, then begins to explain everything he knows. He lays it out, bit by bit—the tangled web of what Paloma had uncovered, the twisted threads that pointed to this cult, the fake leads that had kept them chasing shadows. Every word feels like glass in his throat.

Confusion, fear, anger—every emotion etched on Romeo’s face makes Javier feel like he’s the one who has failed. 

“Did you know about any of this?” he asks, though he already knows the answer from the lost look in Romeo’s eyes.

His mouth opens, then closes. He seems to gather himself, shoulders dropping under a weight he’s only just begun to grasp. “None. When I met Abby… she was just a woman startin’ over. She’d moved into a small house near the church. Said her parents had passed and she needed a fresh start. Picked a random town—that’s how she ended up here.” The sheriff’s gaze drifts to a place Javier can’t reach, caught in the bittersweet memory of his late wife. 

“Paloma said she found this out by going through her mom’s things,” he says carefully, each word a stone dropping into his gut. “But I don’t think she was telling me everything.”

Silence stretches between them, heavy and loaded as they lock eyes in an unspoken understanding.

They need answers, and every second they waste is another second Paloma could be slipping further away.

“Before we make accusations,” Javier says, forcing himself to stay grounded, “we need to dig through their belongings. There has to be something there—a lead, a hint—something that’ll tell us who’s behind this.”

“But you already know who it is, don’t you?”

Javier’s eyes darken, and his jaw locks as one name barrels into his mind, clear and hateful: August.

The red flags he had dismissed, convinced they were just a byproduct of his hate for the guy, now stand out like beacons.

He meets Romeo’s gaze, a grim certainty settling into his features. “I believe it’s Augustus Dixon and his group.”

Romeo’s face twists with anger, and he grits out, “Motherfucker—” His fists clench, his whole body radiating fury.

“Be pissed off later. We’ve got a job to do.”

They stalk up the stairs, both men moving with purpose—Romeo heads for his wife’s things while Javier makes his way into Paloma’s room.

It feels surreal, even wrong, to be rummaging through her life like this. The last time he’d been in this position, it was in Jessica’s room, and even then he could see the resemblance her space shared with Paloma’s—but he’d never thought he’d be here, seeing his girl as a victim.

His fingers skim over a leather-bound book tucked away on the top shelf in her closet, hidden behind a jewelry box. It’s as if she’d placed it there purposefully, stowed away out of reach.

When he pulls it down, he realizes it’s a scrapbook brimming with photographs and clippings.

Inside, he finds images of Calmana, surrounded by groups of men and women, all dressed in matching, traditional attire. A towering cathedral looms in the background, religious iconography scattered throughout—symbols he now recognizes from his research.

Maps, faded with time, span several pages, and in the center lies an intricate, sprawling family tree with Paloma’s name written at the bottom.

He spots envelopes tucked between the pages, each one addressed to her in cursive hand.

He calls out for Romeo, and the sheriff is by his side almost instantly, his expression a twisted mix of hope and dread.

“What’d you find?” 

Javier silently hands him the scrapbook, keeping the envelopes for himself. 

One by one, he opens them, unfolding each paper. His breaths come out ragged, and he feels his stomach drop as he reads.

They’re love poems—explicit, filthy in their adoration. Line after line, they detail all the things August wants to do to her, each word penned with obsession.

The praises he lavishes on her, how he calls her a spectacle, the power he insists she wields—it’s like poison seeping into Javier’s mind. 

His hands start trembling, and the implications tighten around him like a noose.

Romeo, sensing his agitation, reaches out, his voice rough. “What’s that—what did you find?” 

Javier jerks the papers away, swallowing hard. “Trust me. You don’t want to see these—not now.”

“Let me see them, Javier! Goddammit, my daughter is in danger!”

Before their back-and-forth can spiral any further, Javier’s walkie talkie crackles sharply, an officer’s voice coming through:

“A dark green, 1970 Buick Electra matching the APB put out an hour ago has been found in Lake Fraiser alongside an unidentified female body.”

The air thickens and shatters as Javier and Romeo lock eyes, both of them wearing the same look of wide-eyed horror. 

“Romeo—” Javier tries, reaching out, but the man is already out the door, the scrapbook falling from his hands and hitting the hardwood floor with a hollow thud that reverberates in Javier’s chest.

He mutters a quick fuck and scoops it up, rushing after him, yet the sheriff is a blur, tearing down the driveway with the kind of desperation only a father can muster when everything he loves is on the line.

Now that he’s left alone, Javier grips the railing, and the weight of it all—of losing her—comes crashing down. His heart’s splintering, his chest tight, mind skidding out of control.

This is what he’s been running from all along—failure… loss… grief. Now it is all coming back, circling like vultures, ready to take the one thing that’s ever brought him true happiness.

But he forces himself to breathe, to anchor his mind to the one cold comfort he has left. “He wouldn’t kill her. He needs her.” The words taste bitter, chilling him, but they hold him steady.

Paloma is at the center of this plan—there’d be no sense in taking her, just to end it so abruptly.

Despite everything, he finds a sliver of reassurance in that cruel logic. He clings to it with everything he has, because right now, it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Javier pulls up to Lake Fraiser, where the scene is a flurry of first responders, flashing lights reflecting off the water’s dark surface in sharp reds and blues.

He parks haphazardly, barely cutting the engine before he’s out of the truck, heading straight toward the area cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape.

His heart slams against his ribs as he spots Romeo, kneeling by the edge of the lake beside a body draped in a white cloth, his face blank, almost empty.

Javier’s eyes dart to the surrounding officers, scanning each one, trying to get a read on the situation before he speaks.

“Is it her?” His voice breaks the stillness.

Romeo doesn’t look up, his gaze locked on the covered body. “…No.”

Relief floods through him, dizzying him for a moment before his gaze lands on a tow truck pulling Paloma’s car away from the scene. 

He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to swallow back the bitter uncertainty rising in his throat.

Romeo stands slowly, brushing the dirt off his hands, his expression hardening as he relays, “Just got a call from the hospital. Our girl from the woods finally woke up. Tonight of all nights.” He chuckles dryly. “Asked to speak with me specifically. So I’ll head that way tomorrow after she’s been stabilized properly… which means you’ll be in charge of all this.” He gestures around them vaguely.

The pulsing emergency lights cast fractured shadows over their faces.

“It’s best for you to step back momentarily. Clear your head. You’re too close to this,” Javier adds quietly, “She’s your daughter.” And while Javier is her lover and every inch of him is fraying at the edges for her, he understands that his pain won’t amount to the agony that Romeo is drowning in.

The sheriff’s silence stretches, words hesitating on his tongue, until finally, with a quiet confession, he murmurs, “I was too harsh on her. On you. I was an asshole, and if it’s any reconciliation—thank you for tryin’ to get her out of this shitty town.”

Javier’s caught off-guard but doesn’t show it, the self awareness on his behalf is appreciated. “I’d do anything for her.”

Romeo studies him for a moment, as if measuring the resolve behind his words, then he nods, his expression taut, “Gonna start combing through everythin’ back at the station. Probably call Olsen, see if he’s got any cameras ‘round the library so we can get a timeline goin’.”

These two men are similar in that regard, backing themselves into their jobs to mask the turmoil inside. They talk through some of the procedures before Romeo is pulled away by other officers, leaving Javier to handle things here.

He forces himself to switch gears, to summon every bit of authority he has left to do his job. He’s got a dead body to assess, a team to command, and then—then he’ll focus everything he’s got on finding Paloma.

Paloma stirs awake, the pitch darkness of the early morning pressing in from all sides.

She’s disoriented—a dull ache in her head and the sting of thick, abrasive rope biting into her wrists.

Her hands are suspended and bound above her, tethered tightly to an old, rusted pipe overhead, which creaks slightly as she shifts her weight.

She can feel the grit of dried blood matting her hair against her temple, the aftershock of Sloane’s vicious hit with the bat ringing sharp behind her eyes. Her boots are missing, leaving her barefoot against the cool concrete ground.

As reality sharpens around her, she realizes this isn’t a dream and it nauseates her, instilling panic in her heart.

She barely remembers the car ride or the way they dragged her down here, everything muddled from the hit she’d taken until she’d finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

Now, the throbbing intensifies as she tugs instinctively at the ropes, her wrists burning, but no amount of pulling loosens her bonds.

Frustration and terror mix, unwieldy coiling in her chest and tears sting at her eyes despite her attempts to fight them back. She doesn’t want to imagine what they plan to do to her.

She knows Javier and her father have to be looking for her. They must be tearing themselves apart with worry. She can almost hear her father’s harsh reprimands and Javier’s quiet, determined rage—they’re relentless when it comes to protecting her. 

They’ll find her. They have to.

The cellar door creaks open and she freezes, her pulse skittering as August, Sloane, and Gabriel descend the stairs.

The dim light barely touches their faces, but she doesn’t need to see them clearly to know what they’re capable of.

She tries to hold her head high, pushing back the tears, refusing to let them see the fear that’s boiling inside. She won’t give them that satisfaction, not if she can help it.

Their footsteps echo against the walls of the basement. August stops just close enough that she can feel his presence invading her senses, suffocating, his familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Good morning, P,” he drawls, voice dripping with the charm that managed to slither its way into her heart.

What she once found magnetic in him is now hollow, a mask that hides something so unfathomable. 

“Pretty nasty cut ya got there.” Sloane’s voice drips with fake sympathy. Her eyes glint with that special brand of cruelty she’d always kept hidden behind a guise of friendship.

The satisfaction in her tone is unmistakable, like she’s savoring every moment of seeing Paloma in such a vulnerable state.

The urge to spit in their faces, to lash out, is almost unbearable, but she remembers her daddy’s lessons, advising her to stay calm, to never let them know how afraid she really is.

Every word of advice he’d ever given her about self-preservation hangs heavy in her mind. 

She keeps her face blank, her mouth a hard line.

“Silent treatment, huh?” August steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingers are inches from her forehead when she sees the sick satisfaction in his eyes, and she can’t suppress the involuntary grimace as his fingers hover over the gash near her forehead.

The moment of weakness feels like a win for him, his smile widening as he grazes her wound, pressing just enough to send a wave of pain radiating through her skull and a fresh stream of blood to trickle out.

Sloane watches her reaction, faux innocence weaving through her sneer. “You make for a pretty damn good damsel in distress. Thought you’d put up more of a fight, if I’m bein’ honest. You really disappointed me, doll face.”

Paloma’s grip tightens around the rope until her knuckles ache. She wants to tell her off, to fight and scream—but instead she just turns away, refusing to even look at them.

August’s hand cups her chin as he forces her to meet his eyes, eyes that once held promises of affection and loyalty now filled with something so dark and consuming.

His fingers dig into her soft skin. “I need you to look perfect, little dove. All stitched up and pretty.” His thumb trails along her chapped bottom lip. “Gabriel,” he calls, not even glancing back at the other man, “Tend to that. Tonight’s a big night, after all. Lots to prepare for.”

There goes that trepidation again. Her mouth twitches, half-ready to break her silence and demand to know just what the hell he’s talking about. But she’s already committed to keeping quiet.

Gabriel lingers behind them, shifting uncomfortably, the first aid kit clutched tight in his hand.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands there as usual, eyes flicking from Paloma to his partners, some part of him clearly unsettled yet too cowardly to intervene.

He’s her best shot of getting out of here, she just knows it.

“‘S’okay, you ain’t gotta talk,” August’s coos. “I actually prefer you like this—makes things a hell of a lot easier. The others…” He snorts, shaking his head.

How many other unfortunate women had been dragged down here, suffering at his hands?

“Too squirmy, too squeamish—like fuckin’ pigs.” His laughter is mirthless and Sloane joins in with loud, exaggerated snorts that mimic a pig’s squeal. The sound claws at Paloma’s ears.

There’s this twisted admiration in his stare as he studies her. “That’s why I knew I needed to have you. No one else on this planet holds a candle to the magic you have, Paloma. You should stop bein’ so scared and embrace it.” He murmurs, dropping his voice to a whisper.

His hand snakes down from her jaw, tracing her neck, lingering in an unsettling crawl between her breasts before settling at her hip.

His fingers dig in, and she flinches, her body stiffening in revulsion. He smirks at her reaction, savoring her discomfort like a fine wine.

“I’ll be back to check on you later, alright?” His tone is falsely tender. "Gotta make sure everythin’ is perfect. Can’t afford any fuck ups now—I’ve been way too patient for this."

He steps back at last, allowing Gabriel to shuffle forward with the kit in hand.

With a jerk of his chin, August motions for Sloane to follow him. She blows Paloma a mocking kiss and winks with a saccharine sweetness that really piles on the hatred that burns a little hotter for her specifically.

The heavy cellar door slams shut, casting them back into dim silence as the first pale light of dawn begins to creep through the basement windows.

Paloma’s heart pounds as their shadows disappear, leaving her helpless in the creeping morning light.

“What are you goin’ to do to me?” Her voice is hoarse, each word scraping her dry throat like sandpaper, but she can’t keep quiet now that they’re alone.

Gabriel wordlessly drags over a stool, placing the first-aid kit on top. He opens it, sorting through supplies as though she isn’t even there.

Paloma yanks at her restraints, the old pipe groaning in protest. “Fuckin’ say somethin’,” she snaps, anger edging her desperation. “It’s the least you could do—just… tell me.” She hates the pleading tone that slips through, the last thread of her control unraveling as she imagines what fate awaits her.

His gloved hands move to clean her wound, and she clenches her jaw against the sting, glaring at him as if she could force him to talk through sheer will. He’s careful and practiced, clearly having done this before.

“The Crimson Rite,” he mutters, brows furrowing as he concentrates, his voice a barely audible murmur. “It’s where the conception will happen… on the altar of incarnation.”

Paloma’s heart stumbles, her mind racing to piece together the fragments. “What the fuck are you even sayin’?” Her voice wavers, but there’s no denying the chill in her spine.

She knows what those words mean on their own, but together, they paint a picture she’d rather not face—the harrowing reality of how August truly plans on using her.

“August’ll explain,” he replies, brushing her off with the indifference of a man following orders. “He’s better at that shit than I am. I just do what he asks and stay outta the way.”

“Like a fuckin’ coward,” she spits.

The needle pauses, its sharp tip hovering an inch from her skin, and he raises his eyes. “You get all lippy with me, but keep your mouth shut around them? What, I ain’t intimidatin’ enough for you?” 

She holds his gaze, defiance simmering behind the exhaustion in her stare. “Nothing about you’s intimidatin’ enough to keep me from tellin’ you exactly what I think.”

His lips twist downward, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he resumes stitching, each tug at her skin rougher than the last. 

“At church that day, you were warnin’ me, weren’t you?” Her voice is barely a whisper, the memory of that awkward conversation rattling in her mind. “S’not too late, Gabe. You can still help me outta this… We both can be outta here ‘fore the sun comes up.”

There’s a lapse, just for a second, in his eyes—something she wants to believe is regret, a part of him she hopes she can reach.

The sliver of optimism she’s mustered might awaken that dormant part of him buried under layers of August’s bullshit and the bitterness life has forced him to swallow.

But he shakes his head slowly, avoiding her gaze as he finishes stitching her wound, his hands deft. “You don’t get it. Don’t matter if I do the right thing. He’d find us—he always does.” He sprays her wound with a numbing mist then covers it with a small gauze.

“He wouldn’t find us,” she insists, her voice fraying. “Daddy would protect us. He’d make sure we’re safe.”

He lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Yeah? He promise you that or somethin’? ‘Cause from where I’m standin’, you don’t look all that safe.”

A bitter, frustrated cry escapes her as he begins to pack up his kit, her pleas bouncing off him like stones against steel.

“Please, Gabe, don’t leave me down here alone,” she chokes out, and the words twist something deep inside her, pulling her further into a desperation she’s been trying to keep at bay.

“Breakfast’ll be down in a few hours,” he mutters, almost as if talking to himself, keeping his voice low and detached. “Probably get you a shower at sundown so you ain’t all sweaty and grimy. Needs you all fuckin’ pristine.” The last words slip out like a hiss, a disgusted edge in his tone. “S’gonna be a long day for you down here. Scream all you want; ain’t nobody around worth a damn to hear it. You got a better shot at rubbin’ the skin off your wrists than gettin’ out of that rope.”

Paloma snaps, her control breaking in a flood of panic and fury as she yanks at her restraint, her wrists burning as she curses him, calling him every name her mind can summon.

The words pour out in a desperate torrent, trying to cut him, to provoke something human out of him, anything.

But he stays silent, barely flinching, his face a mask as he gathers his things, turning his back on her without a word. 

When the cellar door finally slams shut, it echoes through the basement, and her last shreds of resolve crumble as she sinks into sobs.

The thoughts come in fragments, jagged and bitter, cutting her deeper than any wound.

The way things were left with her father—how they’d argued and he looked at her with that final, dismissive silence, like she’d become a stranger for daring to chase her own life beyond their town.

The love that took root so unexpectedly, so completely with Javier. He came into her life at the perfect time, pouring a rare, tender kind of intimacy into her soul; the kind that made her feel seen for the first time in her life.

He was a good man who’d endured his own share of hardships —and she let their last conversation end in anger and frustration. She’s just like her father.

Perhaps if she had told him the full truth about how she came across her mother’s past, she wouldn’t be in this mess at all.

This mess—it’s her inheritance. Not a blessing like August wants her to believe, but a curse Calmana left behind, the forced sins of her mother she didn’t choose but can’t escape.

Her suicide is starting to make more sense.

It all makes her feel like a lamb at slaughter, her life never really hers, and now her blood and body are an offering to feed whatever he believes she’s meant to bring to life. 

The promise of an explanation later on hangs over her like a guillotine. Does she even want to know? Will it make a difference?

She got herself kidnapped by trusting them all, falling for August’s romantic words and impressive knowledge. All of his lies. She’d thought she was smart enough to see through him, to keep a grip on her own heart, and instead, she’d unknowingly let him manipulate her.

Sloane was right—she is the helpless damsel she always denied being, someone who hadn’t fought hard enough to save herself. 

Paloma has to believe she’s got people searching for her, that they’re smart enough, relentless enough to find her before night falls. She has to cling to that hope, however fragile, because right now it’s all she has.

Her cries fill the empty space around her until exhaustion claims her in silence.

The basement is her prison as the sun traces its lazy arc above.

The day drags on in a haze of stale air and the natural sounds of bugs chittering about. On occasion, she’ll hear people walk by or see their shadows through the small windows.

She's trapped here, the only visits marking the hours coming when Gabriel brings a bucket for her to relieve herself—like she’s some kind of animal—or sets down a tray of food she refuses to touch.

“You need to eat,” he says, setting the tray with her dinner on the floor. His hands working on cutting the thick rope binding her wrists, each tug and scrape freeing her a fraction at a time.

“What’s the point? M’gonna die anyway,” she mutters, exhausted but still pissed. “Won’t matter if I’ve got a full stomach or not.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not goin’ to die, Paloma. You’re too important to all this. How haven’t you realized that yet?”

“Oh, forgive me if I haven’t picked up on all your twisted bullshit,” she snaps. “You all speak in fuckin’ tongues and riddles. No one’s told me a damn thing that makes any sense.”

At last, the final fiber of rope snaps, and the weight drops from her wrists. She lets out a low, relieved sigh as her arms fall to her sides, stiff from the hours of suspension.

The ache in her shoulders is intense, and her wrists are lined with red from the coarse bondage.

“Don’t try anythin’ stupid,” he warns, his voice low. “They might not kill ya but they’ll hurt you in ways that’ll make you wish you were dead.”

She doesn’t doubt it, so she reins in her impulses and instead glances at the food, the bitterness slowly giving way to resignation.

If the chance to escape comes, she’ll need her strength. She takes the cup, drinking greedily, barely noticing the water spilling down her chin—it’s just a relief to feel the dryness ease, something grounding in a nightmare that feels endless.

The meal tastes dull, but she swallows it down anyway, each bite a fight to hold onto her sense of self, to stay sharp.

Gabriel watches her with that quiet, unreadable expression.

“I tried leavin’ years ago, when August first started buildin’ the group.” He looks down, his mouth pressing into a grim line. “But he caught me at the train station. Gave me the ass-beatin’ of my life. Locked me up in a shed in the middle of the woods for days, left me there until I learned my lesson. I swear, I lost every bit of myself in that dark place.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “After that, I never thought ‘bout leavin’ again... not until he got his sights set on you.”

Paloma’s chewing slows, her eyes flitting over to him, reading the conflict etched in his expression.

For August to treat Gabriel, his so-called “brother,” with such brutality to keep him in line... it makes all too much sense now, why he is August’s silent shadow, obeying every command.

“His obsession with you is different. Everythin’ suddenly became different. He has this way of makin’ you submit to him that gets me wonderin’ if all this Eurynomos shit is actually real.”

The twisted loyalty, the deep-seated fear that’s tangled around them like shackles, intertwined with stories of divinity.

She’s barely scratched the surface of what August is capable of.

“That’s terrible,” she whispers, sympathetic to what he’s been through. “I’m sorry... ‘n I get why you’re scared, but there’s two of us now. We could make a run for it, slip away while we have the chance.”

Her food is forgotten as Paloma edges closer, her gaze steady and imploring. For a moment, he genuinely considers their escape.

But the heavy, thunderous creak of the cellar doors breaks through the moment, both of them jerking apart.

She scrambles backward until her back presses against the cold, damp wall, her heartbeat racing as Gabriel stands abruptly from his stool, his face hardening again. 

It’s only August this time, his usual shadow—Sloane with her biting sneers—thankfully absent.

He strides down with a bag in one hand and shower supplies in the other, eyeing her like she’s some prized possession he’s been itching to inspect. 

“Unrestrained, ate her dinner, and didn’t even try to run? My, my. Little dove, you’re such a good girl.” He passes the items to Gabriel as he steps closer, and she hates the way she’s wedged in a corner, wishing she could melt into the wall or skitter away like a mouse.

He crouches, gently moving the gauze out of the way, his sharp gaze examining the stitches worked into her head wound. “S’lookin’ better already. Now, let’s get you a shower. I can smell you from here, and, sweetheart, it’s not exactly appealin’.”

“Fuck you.”

He smirks, the cruel curve of his lips almost congratulatory. “There she is. Glad to see that fire hasn’t died just yet, my love.”

With a vice-like grip, his hand latches onto her arm, dragging her up to her feet and across the basement to a sad excuse for a shower—no curtain, nothing remotely resembling privacy, just exposed plumbing and mildewed tile. He shoves her into the cramped space, gesturing at her with a command that chills her: “Strip.”

Her stomach tightens, and she squares her jaw. “Turn around.”

A laugh bursts from him, sharp and mocking. “You think you’re in any position to make demands? You may be special, darlin’, but that don’t mean you’re runnin’ shit. Now strip, or I’ll tie you up and rip that little outfit off myself.”

She grits her teeth, fists clenched. “No.”

His smile vanishes, replaced by a darker, crueler expression.

In a flash, his hand is around her throat, shoving her harshly against the slimy tile, the back of her head meeting the hard surface making her cry out in pain.

Her breath snags as his grip tightens around her neck, the cool press of a switchblade grazing the scar on her hip, making her pulse hammer in her ears. “Don’t push me,” he growls, the blade’s edge nicking her skin just enough to sting. He knows exactly where she’s sensitive, and he revels in her flinch. “I’ve told you—I don’t like hurtin’ you, but I will if I have to. Strip. Now.”

He releases her, the air rushing back into her lungs, making her cough.

Her hands tremble as she peels away her clothes, starting with the long, flowing skirt that puddles around her ankles, leaving her in just her underwear and camisole.

August’s eyes rake over her, and his silent demand pulls at her last nerve.

She swallows back her tears, fingers shaking as she slides the straps off her shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor and then stepping out of her underwear, kicking the pile aside.

Now entirely naked, her arms wrap protectively around herself to shield what she can. She looks away, the sting of indignity making her skin crawl, willing herself not to cry.

August steps forward, adjusting the shower’s dial, and the pipes clank and groan as water finally bursts out of the rusted shower head, icy at first. She shivers, her teeth clattering, and only once the water turns warm does the chill ease up.

A snap of his fingers brings Gabriel closer, setting the shower supplies within reach. August then places them at her feet, his mocking gaze never leaving her as he drags a worn wooden chair up, seating himself like a perverse audience settling in for a show. 

Paloma doesn’t move, clinging harder to her body, her nails digging into her own skin, praying he’ll lose interest and turn away. But he just smirks. “Don’t be shy, P. Not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” His tongue drags over his lips, blue eyes glittering darkly, drinking in her discomfort.

She would rather die where she stands than have him touch her, lingering his hands over her body like a wolf savoring his meal. Slowly, reluctantly, her arms fall to her sides, shoulders curling inward, as she begins to wash herself.

The hot tears mix with the water streaming down her cheeks, each drop hiding the sobs she’s swallowing.

August’s stare trails over her figure, his smirk deepening every time she flinches under the weight of it.

He doesn’t hide his hunger, watching her every movement—the rise and fall of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the sway of her shoulders as she soaps herself in silence.

Gabriel’s eyes stay firmly on his boots, shame evident in his posture. 

Finally, she shuts off the water, chest heaving as she swallows down the humiliation, covering herself again and feeling his satisfaction lingering in the room like a toxic cloud.

A towel lands at her feet, and she grabs it, pulling it around her trembling frame, feeling like her skin might crawl right off her bones. 

“Got this dress made just for you,” August says casually, standing then pulling out a white dress and red flats from a worn bag. He tosses them onto the chair he’d just been sitting in, not making any effort to move or look away, and she swallows back the lump in her throat.

She’s barely holding herself together, her fingers fumbling with the towel as she dries off, eyes darting between the two men.

One won’t meet her gaze, too timorous, and the other stares at her with lecherous eyes.

She slips on the dress, it’s something she would’ve picked for herself under different circumstances; calf-length, delicate ladder lace along the trim, cap sleeves, and three charmeuse red ribbons that match the shoes.

But the beauty of it feels like a cruel mockery against the ugliness of this moment. 

“You look so beautiful,” August purrs, “Get a good look at yourself.” 

She’s forced in front of an antique mirror, the glass warped and cracked, but she can still make out her reflection. 

The dark circles beneath her eyes, bruised skin, the way her hair clings to her damp skin, the faded pallor of her face against her outfit—she looks like a ghost.

His hand slides to her shoulder, pushing her hair aside as he leans in, trailing his nose against her skin and inhaling deeply. “You smell like summertime.” He presses his lips to her neck, and bile rises in her throat.

Then, he pulls back, her mother’s cross pendant in hand, fastening it around her neck with a satisfied smile.

Her heart clenches once she sees it. She’d left that at Javier’s, tucked away safely with all the other things she moved out of her childhood home in preparation for their big trip.

The thought of August being in his space, doing God knows what, gets her alarmed. “What did you do to him?”

August looks momentarily confused by her query, but then his smirk grows as he eyes the pendent and sees that look in her eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your precious narc. He ain’t been home all day. He’s out there, sniffin’ around for you like a lost dog. Thought about killin’ him, but… I think he’d suffer more thinkin’ he failed you. Just another life he couldn’t save, huh?”

The words press against those bruising, sore spots on her heart. She scowls, throwing back as much defiance as she can muster. “You wouldn’t get close enough to try.” Her voice trembles, but she knows Javier and what he’s capable of. 

He just shrugs, the malicious glint in his eyes unwavering. “Maybe not. But Sloane?” He grins, knowing how even mentioning her gets under Paloma’s skin. “Now, I think she could.”

He doesn’t give her time to respond, moving to bind her hands again, this time in smooth silk restraints that feel uncharacteristically gentle against her wrists.

Time moves in slow motion, she becomes unresponsive, like a melancholic statue, as he brushes her hair, fussing over her appearance as if she were some doll, changing the gauze over her stitches.

Her hope of getting out of this has diminished. Gabriel won’t help her and August has run the two men competent enough to figure this out in circles, so tangled up in deceit to find her.

The evening melts into night, shadows deepening when he finally leaves, just to return moments later with a steaming cup of tea that smells rancid and earthy, like decay.

“Drink up.”

She shakes her head, refusing it, but he pries her mouth open, forcing her to swallow the scalding liquid. It’s bitter and burns her throat, her tongue singed as she swallows unwillingly. 

“See? Wasn’t so bad,” he taunts her, wiping away some of the remnants that spilled from the corner of her mouth.

The effect is immediate; her mind hazes, thoughts swirling, until her body feels sluggish, as if it is no longer tethered to her.

Just as her vision starts to fade, a red, body-length veil is draped over her, the fabric casting her world into blood-hued darkness.

“I need to see it again.” 

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose at Romeo’s request, fingers then pressing hard against his closed eyes as the footage gets rewound. 

It’s the only evidence they have—a single security camera capturing what transpired. The grainy video shows her crossing the street, pausing, and then August and his accomplices stepping into view. She runs, disappearing off-camera for what feels like a lifetime, before being dragged back and shoved into the bed of the truck.

Each time Javier watches, another shard of him breaks away.

Romeo shifts beside him, watching the screen with unrelenting focus. He’s insistent, searching for anything, some small clue to pinpoint where they went.

Javier, though, is at his limit, fighting the urge to hurl the screen across the room.

“Romeo,” he begins, a little strained, “we’re not going to find anything new here.”

“We missed shit before. Can’t afford to miss anythin’ now.”

They’d spent the whole damn day combing through the trio’s hometown, hoping for any piece of intel, some breadcrumb that would lead them to the group’s hideout.

The search had been maddeningly fruitless. Fayette’s local authorities helped spread the word, but there was nothing, no tracks, no whispers, no real leads to follow.

Every registered address tied to the three was a dead end. Their only childhood homes, a trailer park, had burned down over a decade ago, leaving no trace, no history to sift through.

Everyone close to them—parents, guardians—were either dead, in prison, or admitted. The few family members with any sense had cut ties long ago.

“They were hellraisers,” the retired sheriff had muttered. That’s all the town could say, the simple acknowledgment that the trio had always left destruction in their wake.

The only useful piece of information they dug up was that August had left his job at a local grocery store to work for some woman, an outsider no one really knew.

She’d shown up, taken August with her, and he’d returned a few years later with a more hardened resolve, recruiting Sloane and Gabriel.

After torching some local acreage and serving time for arson, they’d vanished from Fayette until the recent spree of murders started.

“He’s been planning this for a long time, Romeo. They knew how to hide; they’ve done this before.” Javier mutters, frustration simmering in his tone.

They’d tried running a partial plate of the truck, only to come up short once again.

Javier moves near the blinds, unable to keep watching her kidnapping, glimpsing the sea of people that make up their search parties gathered in their too small department.

The faces blur together, civilians and first responders alike, all waiting for direction.

“It’s probably best if you go to the hospital and get Harper’s statement. She’s cleared to talk, right?” 

Romeo takes a beat longer to respond, clearly grappling with his own anguish. “Yeah. Got the official call ‘bout ten minutes ago.” 

“If anyone’s got something to give us that can break this open, it’s her.”

The room is quiet except for the low murmur of voices spilling in. The tape finally ends and Romeo’s gaze falls to the corner of his desk, where a lone photo of Paloma sits; she’s grinning with his cowboy hat perched high on her head, radiating joy.

He stares at it like he’s trying to draw strength from that moment, then he slowly picks it up, pressing his lips together in thought, handing it over to Javier.

“Here. This is the one I used for the flyers.”

Javier swallows hard, taking it, his thumb grazing over the image, his own heart sinking. This is the Paloma he can’t let slip through his fingers, the one who belongs right here, laughing and safe. Not wherever she was now. 

Romeo’s tone holds firm determination. “Do what you gotta do. For her. You understand me?”

Javier just nods, no words left to offer in the face of everything unsaid.

The sheriff lets out a long, heavy sigh, the kind that speaks of too many hours awake, too many close calls, too many second chances lost to bad luck or timing or whatever fate is left to them.

He grabs his jacket, slinging it over his shoulders, steeling his expression as he leaves the office, moving through the throng that instantly swells around him.

They close in with questions, worry, and hope—all of it colliding in one tense space.

Seeing them converge on Romeo, Javier takes a steadying breath and steps out right behind him, his presence commanding even in his silence.

He straightens, letting the authority in his stance speak for him, his gaze hard as he begins relaying their plan with swift, unyielding precision.

The world tilts and sways as Paloma returns to half-consciousness, vision still muddled from the drugged tea that has her head feeling like it’s filled with lead and limbs sluggish.

She’s seated upright in an ornate, over-decorated chair with her hands still bound in front of her. She tries to blink away the fog clouding her mind, but the red veil over her face continues to shroud her vision.

Her stitched wound throbs faintly, then suddenly, she’s being lifted and carried by four indistinct figures.

The swaying motion makes her sick, but she’s too weak to cry out, her voice nothing more than a ghost lodged in her throat.

She starts to feel the dampness of the humid Texas night pressing into her skin, the scent of flowers floating in the air, sickly sweet as it mixes with the distant smell of incense.

She’s paraded down a candlelit path where kneeling figures line the walkway, bowing in silent reverence. The sound of murmuring voices hums around her like a distant, dreadful lullaby. 

Finally, the procession stops, and her chair is lowered to the ground.

Her surroundings feel unreal, like a fever dream she’s trapped inside. A dark shadow moves in front of her, reaching to pull her to her feet. She tries to make out their face, but it’s just a dark, hollow blur.

Her legs tremble as she takes a few shaky steps, guided by an iron grip that steers her from the soft earth to a hard surface. Somewhere to her right, she hears a voice—August's—so sharp that it almost makes her ears bleed.

“We have to capture this moment.”

Paloma’s body is positioned, hands adjusting her like she’s an ornament rather than a person. She can barely keep her knees from buckling, her body swaying as they try to hold her up.

Her mind is a mess, every thought tangled, every movement slow, as if she’s moving underwater.

She falls, just as she hears the flash of a camera, her legs finally giving way, but hands grip her before she hits the ground, lifting her, steadying her as her head lolls to the side.

Then, in one swift motion, the veil lifted from her face.

August stands there, close enough that she can see every cold line in his face, conforming into possessive delight. 

He’s dressed to match her, red bows on his collared shirt, the same lace design on his pants.

Her skin crawls as his fingers trace the side of her face, his voice a leering purr. “My special little dove.”

He pulls her close, spinning her so that she faces their creation in her honor. The white marble gleams in the halo of the candlelight, surrounded by a sea of blood-red spider lilies, their spindly petals stretching out like claws.

Candles of every size and shape cast their shadows over the altar, illuminating the intricate carving of their emblem, miniatures and other offerings strewn about.

“All for you,” his lips brush against her ear.

The hands surrounding her are unyielding as she’s lifted and maneuvered onto the cold slab, the hard surface unforgiving beneath her back.

Her wrists are freed only to be tied again, the silk binding each one to a small stone pillar at each side.

Her ankles follow, strapped to the pillars near the end of the altar, legs bent slightly and spread, leaving her trapped and exposed.

Her breath quickens, each ragged inhale catching in her throat as the reality of her fate crashes down with brutal clarity. The red veil is drawn back over her face.

Tears blur her sight, mixing with the snot and sweat as she starts to sob, desperate cries spilling from her lips, pleas tumbling out in a desperate stream that echo out into the vastness of the field.

“Please… please, let me go. You don’t have to do this, please.” Her words come out strangled and slurred but she’s ignored. She jerks against her restraints, each movement growing weaker as the drug saps her strength.

August stands before his followers, his voice low yet electrifying, every declaration steeped in reverence and simmering triumph. 

“For centuries, we have waited in the shadows, prayed in whispers, bound by oaths that our forebears swore. Those before us dreamed of this moment, yet they were weak, too fearful to claim what was rightfully theirs. We will not repeat their mistakes. The bloodline of the first, the birthing bloodline, flows through her veins, and she is ours. Eurynomos will have a body made of flesh and bone, a place in this realm, because of us.”

Paloma shakes her head side to side, desperate to block out August’s devious words. Just as a surge of strength flares within her, sharp fingers dig into her shoulders from behind, pressing her back down, anchoring her in place.

Through the haze of drowsiness, her blurred vision lands on Sloane, looming over her with a short, black veil shrouding her face. Beneath it, Paloma can make out an expression as evil as it is watchful.

“No more dreams. No more consuming or offering flesh that rots before dawn. Our devotion, our patience, has led us here. We are the last of our kind—the ones who bring forth the new age. Now is the time for fulfillment. Now is the time to step into the eternal night and bring our deity home.” 

His gaze sweeps over the bowed heads, the flicker of candlelight dancing in his eyes as his words coil around them like a vow.

Sloane relinquishes her hold, seemingly fading away.

He approaches her slowly, each step deliberate, his hand drifting up the length of her body. His fingers come to rest on her cheek, stroking gently, almost reverently.

August leans in, his nose brushing against hers, and without a word, he presses his lips to hers, a slow, possessive kiss over the sheer material of the veil.

She wants to pull away, to resist, but she’s trapped within herself, her will slipping as though he’s holding the reins to her very soul.

When he pulls away, his voice lowers to a rhythmic timbre, the words twisting together in an incantation she can’t understand.

Each syllable makes her sink further into delusion, the compromising position heightening her vulnerability. 

The weight of her own helplessness crushes her as she lies there.

Suddenly, the speaking stops. An unnatural silence blankets the moment, thieving sound until it’s just her shaky, pitiful cries. Even the cicadas quit their insistent chirping.

Paloma blinks, barely able to see through the veil, but she watches August step back until his figure is swallowed by the darkness beyond the altar. 

She shivers as a chill wind flows over her body, extinguishing the flames around her and plunging her into the night, save for the heavy, luminous moon hanging full and merciless above.

Two glowing eyes flicker into view at the far end of the clearing. They hover, eerie and inhuman, watching her with a predatory patience.

A twig snaps in the shadows. Her breath catches. Another snap, closer this time.

Blood rushes in her ears, but above the pounding, she hears something else—labored breaths, thick and wet, the sound too guttural to be human. 

Her body locks up and quivers as a shadow casts up to the very heavens, emerging from the backdrop of trees, its form towering and monstrous. It seems to stretch endlessly, merging with the dark sky above, as if it could reach out and seize the lunar sphere.

Paloma tries to scream, but her body is frozen, paralyzed in a state of unholy dread.

Her eyes widen, tears leaking silently, her throat closing tight as the figure moves forward.

The dark, hulking mass leans over her, and she feels something press down on her belly, then sharp claws caress her bare legs, creeping upwards, scratching at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

Her chest tightens as if she’s having a heart attack, fright coursing through her like poison. She can’t breathe, feeling herself teeter on the edge of consciousness.

Black spots swallow her field of view as her eyes roll to the back of her head, and in that instant, she’s slipping away, her mind yanking her away from this horror, casting her into the darkness of her own making as she loses herself, the terror too great to bear.

[writeouswriter]

hiiii sorry if this is Super weird !!! but i know some people look at their past writing n cringe a little yet also still love it a little but (n this goes out to anyone tht wants 2 answer too!) have u ever cringed at like. recent writing? bc i cannot 4 the life of me look at smth i wrote even seven months ago bc im just so embarrased..... do u or anyone else have advice on how u could overcome smth like this? i know cringe is dead be free n live ur life !!! but sometimes i cannot. help but just. Explode

Not weird at all! Though I'm not great with the advice personally, (clear and concise answers? Idk her), maybe someone else can help a little more as I have lots of lovely brilliant people following me!

But I definitely have cringed at some of my recent writing. I'm always going to cringe at some of my writing and be like what was I thinking, I can't write, while other times I'll be like, wow I actually can write. It's forever in flux. Sometimes, that's just how it is because even in the smallest intervals of time, you're constantly growing as a writer, learning new things every minute, every second, and with every new thing taken in, every new experience or reading or etc. under your belt, you see further into how the gears of writing turn, and occasionally that means you start to perceive more flaws in your own writing, whether real or imagined, because you're looking for them now, you're looking at the embroidery from behind with all the loose strings and stitches, you're looking at the clocktower from between the gears on the inside, watching them shudder and jolt a little unnaturally when most other people just see the face.

For recent writing, it's an especially tough beast because unlike writing from the further past, you're not far enough removed yet, so you still can't really look at it objectively, you're still stuck inside the clocktower, unable to see the view as an outside observer. So, maybe everything is going to look a little wonky regardless of whether it really is or not, and there's not much to do but keep learning and improving from it in the meanwhile, step back for a second, give it time and space, and be kind and patient with yourself as you take a walk around back to the front of the tower and see whether you can still see the gears and everything from there.

My analogies tend to get out of hand and may not be the most solid or helpful, so I'll drop that... but you feel me? Maybe you will still be cringing at it later, but that means you've come further as a writer and can pinpoint how to fix it/improve it or use the experience and observations for your new work, honing in on what exactly about it is making you cringe, maybe it's something with an easy workaround, or maybe with fresh eyes, you'll see it's not as bad as you thought and there's some good in there after all, maybe a mix of both.

Usually, it really is a matter of time. When I posted my first ao3 fanfic last year, I couldn't bear to look at it again, the thought of it made me sick. I had reread it multiple times at various stages to the point where I was just like if it's bad, it's bad, it's out there and there's nothing I can do now, and the thought of it haunted me, like people are gonna think the style is weird, it's ooc, it's this, it's that, etc., aah, but I reread it finally again last week and... it was fine. It was totally... fine. Meanwhile, another story I had been working on, I came back to it after a while and realized the dialogue was stilted and the prose repetitive, so I had to rework it, but that's fine too, no shame in that. It takes a while to find what works.

Anyway, I'm starting to ramble and repeat myself, and my keyboard keys are all sticking because I spilt milk on it the other day, rip, so yeah! That's all I can tell you personally, but if anyone wants to jump on and add something else, feel free! And I wish you all the luck in your writing quest! Take care.

[just-some-random-blogger]

I am not the same person I was one fic ago

When I fucking tell you my brain chemistry changed. When I FUCKING TELL YOU I WILL NEVER KNOW PEACE ANYMORE 🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪 NAHHHHHH IM DEAD I CANT I CANT I FUXKING CANT IN SORRY IM GOING TO REQUOTE YOUR ENTIRE FIC BACK TO YOU BECAUSE I AM UNABLE TO CAN

The journey from Winterfell to King's Landing took considerably longer than necessary, given the Queen's insistence that she travel in that godsforsaken carriage of hers.

AS SHE SHOULD WHAT ABOUT IT

As such, five weeks after your marriage to Tywin Lannister, you were spending one final night in a lavish red and gold tent alongside your lord husband.

AS SHE SHOULLDDDD UGHHHHH LETS GO CITY GIRL

For the entirety of the journey, the two of you spent the entire day apart – your horse trotting behind your father and King Robert, and Tywin a short distance behind, alongside Ser Jamie.

Hey daddy 😏😏🫦🫦🫦 keeping an eye out for selener huh 👀👀👀🫦🫦🫦🫦🤣🤣

The two of you quite quickly developed a very… peculiar dynamic. You had quickly learned and adapted to the way the fearsome Tywin Lannister operates – preferring you speak concisely and directly, vehemently uninterested in anything otherwise. Additionally, there was a degree of mutual respect, as well as a vaguely guarded openness to one another – but certainly no love, or any semblance of romantic feelings at all. In truth, you assumed there never would be.

I want him give him to me now 💳💥💳💥💳💥💳💥💳💥💳💥

On your end, it was your first and only experience with sex, and it was undeniably good, so you were eager for it.

Me

On his end… you couldn't be sure. It could be that the man was pent up from years as a bachelor, but it would be safe to assume he had simply sent for a whore when the mood struck him. A more likely reason would be his pursuit of an heir, but surely he wouldn't have needed to fill your cunt nightly to achieve that goal.

Either way smashing darling or should I say SMASH ME 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

No, you were almost certain that he was simply enjoying fucking you – just as much as you were enjoying fucking him.

BARKING DIRECTLY AT IT

When Tywin entered the tent, you were sitting on the edge of the cot, toying with the goblet in your hands, already undressed to your shift. He met your eyes as he entered, but said nothing, that unreadable (but somehow always leaning toward annoyed) expression on his face. He silently began taking off his boots, then removed his sword and placed it beside the cot. He was in the middle of pouring wine into his goblet when you found the courage to ask your question.

YOU DONT FUCKING UNDERSTAND I AM BARKING. IM LITERALLY BARKING AT MY FUCKING SCREEN IM SO FUCKING WET FUCK

"Will you stop bedding me when I become pregnant?"

The way my stomach dropped when I read this AHHH GIRLLL HELP MY ANXIOUSNESS

Tywin said nothing, setting the pitcher down and turning to face you as he took a sip of his wine. He wore that calm, calculating expression as he stared at you – but you could swear there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. The golden goblet made a faint clank as he set it down before speaking.

HES SO FUCKING RAHHHHHHH FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

"Do you ask because you wish for me to stop? Or because you wish for me to continue?"

NO CUZ I HEARD HIM SAY THIS I HEARD IT CLEAR AS FUCKING DAY FUCK WHAT THE FUXK FUCJ

"I wish for you to continue."

"Then I shall continue," Tywin stated, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Im fine

Tywin nodded, then stated, "I do not doubt that you are right, but we will have a Maester provide his confirmation and look you over when we arrive in King's Landing. In the meantime, is there anything you need?"

NO CUZ I STARTED FEELING OUT TO BREATH I GOT OUT OF BREATH I REALLY DID PLEASE BELIEVE ME I FUCKING HAD TO CALM MYSLEF FUCK

Tywin's hand reached up to cradle your face, somewhat harshly, hooking his thumb under your jaw to tilt your head up and kiss you. It was lustful and full of desire, accompanied by the scratch of his beard upon the delicate skin of your face.

When he pulled away, Tywin smiled quite faintly, then hummed lowly and said, "Well, what sort of man would I be to deny his pregnant lady wife her wish?"

I'm so normal

The old lion made quick work of removing his armor and smallclothes, and relieving you of the thin linen shift you wore, before guiding you to the luxurious cot.

My old lion mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine

Tywin continued to kiss you, eventually trailing kisses down your neck, until he reached your chest, unexpectedly taking one of your breasts into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

BARKING SO FUCKING MUCH BARKING BARKING RAAAHHHH

The sensation nearly made you shout, opting to take in a sharp breath instead as your back arched off the blankets. Eyes squeezed shut, you heard a low chuckle, and looked down to see a set of very amused, crystalline eyes staring up at you.

💔💔💔💔💔 Y R U LAUGHING 😧😭😭😭😭😭 STOPPPP ITTTT

"Hm, I see you were not exaggerating about the sensitivity."

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 WHY WONT YOU BELIEVE ME 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 WHY NOT DADDY PLEASE

Electing to ignore him, you let your head fall back onto the pillow. However, it seemed he did not intend to grant you any reprieve, moving to the other breast and doing the same thing – prompting you to dig your nails into his shoulders and bite your lip to avoid crying out. Unfortunately, that made matters worse, as Tywin let out a low groan with his lips still wrapped around your nipple, earning a loud, pitiful whine from you.

🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨 NORMALLL HAHAHAHAHH SO NORMAL

Seemingly enjoying himself, Tywin began peppering your chest with gentle bites, which he soothed with his tongue afterwards, sure to become small little bruises by morning. Breathy moans and sighs of pleasure filled the tent, as he then resumed his ministrations on the hardened peaks of your breasts before snaking one hand down to toy with your clit, expertly rubbing it in small, steady circles.

Astoundingly fast, your release washed over you, soaking his hand as you moaned and writhed beneath the Warden of the West – who only chuckled darkly at your quick climax.

No cuz i

Noticing that the continued kisses and licks upon your breasts began to make you twitch, Tywin captured your lips in a brief, rough kiss, before rolling onto his back. He then pulled you into his lap, with a strength one wouldn’t assume the older man to still possess – which was, admittedly, arousing. Your mind was still foggy from the orgasm, and your movements were not unlike a rag doll, eyes half-lidded and jaw slack, moving somewhat limply as you allowed him to maneuver you. He gripped his hard, leaking cock in one hand, then reached behind you to urge you forward with a flat palm on the small of your back.

LITERATURE HURTLE ME INTO THE FUXKING SUN I DONT FUCKING CARE FUCK

Tywin’s grip moved to your hips, prompting you to begin rocking them against his own, keeping your pace steady. However, he made no move to halt you when you eventually began to move faster, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs as you fucked yourself on his long, thick cock. The sound of it alone would have made a Septa drop dead – a symphony composed of wet skin upon skin and gruff grunts intermingling with breathy moans.

As a music major, I'm fucking pissed I will not be having this symphony for myself what the fuxk

He reached up to grasp and knead your breasts in his rough, calloused hands – but he then surprised you, his hands drifting lower, until they rested flat against your lower stomach. You thought perhaps he was focusing on the movement of your hips, but then his thumbs began to stroke across the soft skin of your belly.

AHHH THIS THIS FUCKING SCENE GOT ME FUCKING ILL IM FUCKING ILL DO YOU FUCKIG HEAR ME

At first, it seemed very sweet and sentimental. You thought that perhaps he was basking in the joy of another child being on the way – until you felt the way his cock throbbed, deep inside of you, as he stared intently at your belly. Immediately, you came to the realization that it must be arousing for a man to have successfully fucked a babe into his wife – stroking their ego and their pride to have done their husbandly duty, as well as show everyone that you belong to them.

GUNSHOTS EXPLOSIONS DESTRUCTION MISERY

Tywin groaned as you clenched around him, and when his eyes flicked up to meet yours, it felt as though he knew you had been thinking the very same thing he was.

NO CUZ HES SO FUCKING I WANT HIM TO RUIN MY FUCKING LIFE

That seemed to ignite something within your husband, and in the blink of an eye, Tywin flipped you onto your back and began driving into your soaked cunt with a newfound ferocity. You bit down on your knuckle to keep quiet, but Tywin pinned both of your wrists down, his arms on either side of your head. The act did not last much longer beyond that point, both parties having already been too near the precipice of climax, and the pair of you met your releases in unison.

LIVE LAUGH LOVE TYWIN LANNISTER

IM SO FUCKING NORMAL IM SO FUCKING INSANE

Tywin rolled off of you, breathing heavily, a light layer of sweat covering his chest, along with the small patches of silver hair. You allowed yourself a few moments of recovery, before moving to leave the cot in order to extinguish the candles, as well as tidy yourself up. However, Tywin grabbed your arm to stop you.

IM FUCKING SCREAMINF FUXKKJFN WHATTHEJFUCK

“Can wait,” Tywin interrupted, voice sounding unbothered as always, albeit with a hint of fatigue. He exhaled slowly, as he gently pulled you back down to lay upon the cot beside him. “One of the guards outside can see to the candles in a moment. You are carrying my heir, so you are to rest. As much as is feasible, from now until the babe is born. And if anyone questions it, they are to discuss it with me.”

I'm not the same person I was one reblog ago.

I cannot express how much I loved this. I want it tattooed in my brain. I never fucking got it when people said that but THIS SHIT FUCKING HELL YEAH I FUCJING GET IT NOW ITS SO IN CHARACTER FOR HIM SO WELL WRITTEN SO FILTHY AND EVERYTHING EVER FUCKING WANT FUCK MY FUCKING ITCH IN MY FUCKING BRAIN HAS BEEN SCRATCHED YOU DONT EVEN KNOW IM GOING TO PASS OUT NOW THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS WONDERFUL BEAUTIFUL AMAZING SHOWSTOPPING STUNNING FANTASTIC AAHHHHHHHHHH FUCKING GREAT FIC

↬ when night falls

Tywin Lannister x Reader

intended to be a sequel to the morning after, but it's not necessary that you read it prior to this

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, 18+ ONLY ⇆ P in V sex, unprotected sex, creampie, age gap, nipple play, bit of breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, pregnant!reader

The journey from Winterfell to King's Landing took considerably longer than necessary, given the Queen's insistence that she travel in that godsforsaken carriage of hers. As such, five weeks after your marriage to Tywin Lannister, you were spending one final night in a lavish red and gold tent alongside your lord husband.

For the entirety of the journey, the two of you spent the entire day apart – your horse trotting behind your father and King Robert, and Tywin a short distance behind, alongside Ser Jamie. Occasionally, Arya would pester you into allowing her to sit in front of you on the saddle, as you quietly conversed with her and taught her how to control the horse. But, aside from that, you were alone with your thoughts all day, every day.

The nights, however, were spent in the arms of your lord husband.

The two of you quite quickly developed a very… peculiar dynamic. You had quickly learned and adapted to the way the fearsome Tywin Lannister operates – preferring you speak concisely and directly, vehemently uninterested in anything otherwise. Additionally, there was a degree of mutual respect, as well as a vaguely guarded openness to one another – but certainly no love, or any semblance of romantic feelings at all. In truth, you assumed there never would be.

But gods was there lust.

On your end, it was your first and only experience with sex, and it was undeniably good, so you were eager for it. On his end… you couldn't be sure. It could be that the man was pent up from years as a bachelor, but it would be safe to assume he had simply sent for a whore when the mood struck him. A more likely reason would be his pursuit of an heir, but surely he wouldn't have needed to fill your cunt nightly to achieve that goal. No, you were almost certain that he was simply enjoying fucking you – just as much as you were enjoying fucking him.

When Tywin entered the tent, you were sitting on the edge of the cot, toying with the goblet in your hands, already undressed to your shift. He met your eyes as he entered, but said nothing, that unreadable (but somehow always leaning toward annoyed) expression on his face. He silently began taking off his boots, then removed his sword and placed it beside the cot. He was in the middle of pouring wine into his goblet when you found the courage to ask your question.

"Will you stop bedding me when I become pregnant?"

Tywin said nothing, setting the pitcher down and turning to face you as he took a sip of his wine. He wore that calm, calculating expression as he stared at you – but you could swear there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. The golden goblet made a faint clank as he set it down before speaking.

"Do you ask because you wish for me to stop? Or because you wish for me to continue?"

"I wish for you to continue."

"Then I shall continue," Tywin stated, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Good," you replied, then added, "Because I am."

"You are what?"

"Pregnant."

The smile dropped and Tywin's eyebrows raised, making his forehead crinkle.

"Already?" he inquired dryly, surprised. Then, incredulous, he asked, "How do you know?"

It was a fair question. You had never been pregnant before, so perhaps you were mistaking soreness and fatigue from travel as signs of pregnancy. But no. You knew.

"I should have bled three weeks ago, but I have not. My breasts are extremely tender, and certain smells make my stomach turn."

Tywin nodded, then stated, "I do not doubt that you are right, but we will have a Maester provide his confirmation and look you over when we arrive in King's Landing. In the meantime, is there anything you need?"

A faint but wicked smile spread across your face, and you stood from the bed, setting the goblet down as you slowly made your way over to him. The metal of his armor was cold beneath your fingers as you idly ran your hands over his chest, before toying with the belt around his hips, looking up at him through your lashes.

"You," was your simple answer. But both of you knew that it wasn't meant in a romantic, sweet sort of way.

Tywin's hand reached up to cradle your face, somewhat harshly, hooking his thumb under your jaw to tilt your head up and kiss you. It was lustful and full of desire, accompanied by the scratch of his beard upon the delicate skin of your face.

When he pulled away, Tywin smiled quite faintly, then hummed lowly and said, "Well, what sort of man would I be to deny his pregnant lady wife her wish?"

The old lion made quick work of removing his armor and smallclothes, and relieving you of the thin linen shift you wore, before guiding you to the luxurious cot. Tywin continued to kiss you, eventually trailing kisses down your neck, until he reached your chest, unexpectedly taking one of your breasts into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

The sensation nearly made you shout, opting to take in a sharp breath instead as your back arched off the blankets. Eyes squeezed shut, you heard a low chuckle, and looked down to see a set of very amused, crystalline eyes staring up at you.

"Hm, I see you were not exaggerating about the sensitivity."

Electing to ignore him, you let your head fall back onto the pillow. However, it seemed he did not intend to grant you any reprieve, moving to the other breast and doing the same thing – prompting you to dig your nails into his shoulders and bite your lip to avoid crying out. Unfortunately, that made matters worse, as Tywin let out a low groan with his lips still wrapped around your nipple, earning a loud, pitiful whine from you.

Seemingly enjoying himself, Tywin began peppering your chest with gentle bites, which he soothed with his tongue afterwards, sure to become small little bruises by morning. Breathy moans and sighs of pleasure filled the tent, as he then resumed his ministrations on the hardened peaks of your breasts before snaking one hand down to toy with your clit, expertly rubbing it in small, steady circles. Astoundingly fast, your release washed over you, soaking his hand as you moaned and writhed beneath the Warden of the West – who only chuckled darkly at your quick climax.

Noticing that the continued kisses and licks upon your breasts began to make you twitch, Tywin captured your lips in a brief, rough kiss, before rolling onto his back. He then pulled you into his lap, with a strength one wouldn’t assume the older man to still possess – which was, admittedly, arousing. Your mind was still foggy from the orgasm, and your movements were not unlike a rag doll, eyes half-lidded and jaw slack, moving somewhat limply as you allowed him to maneuver you. He gripped his hard, leaking cock in one hand, then reached behind you to urge you forward with a flat palm on the small of your back.

A hiss through gritted teeth escaped Tywin, and you gasped lightly, head thrown back and hands flat on his chest. Although you’d already lost count of how many times he’d taken you, it still felt more incredible than anything you’d ever experienced. A passing thought reminded you of the fact that he seemed to share the sentiment, always hissing or groaning when he first sheathed himself inside you.

Tywin’s grip moved to your hips, prompting you to begin rocking them against his own, keeping your pace steady. However, he made no move to halt you when you eventually began to move faster, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs as you fucked yourself on his long, thick cock. The sound of it alone would have made a Septa drop dead – a symphony composed of wet skin upon skin and gruff grunts intermingling with breathy moans.

He reached up to grasp and knead your breasts in his rough, calloused hands – but he then surprised you, his hands drifting lower, until they rested flat against your lower stomach. You thought perhaps he was focusing on the movement of your hips, but then his thumbs began to stroke across the soft skin of your belly.

At first, it seemed very sweet and sentimental. You thought that perhaps he was basking in the joy of another child being on the way – until you felt the way his cock throbbed, deep inside of you, as he stared intently at your belly. Immediately, you came to the realization that it must be arousing for a man to have successfully fucked a babe into his wife – stroking their ego and their pride to have done their husbandly duty, as well as show everyone that you belong to them.

Truth be told, you were surprised to learn that it aroused you just as much.

Tywin groaned as you clenched around him, and when his eyes flicked up to meet yours, it felt as though he knew you had been thinking the very same thing he was.

That seemed to ignite something within your husband, and in the blink of an eye, Tywin flipped you onto your back and began driving into your soaked cunt with a newfound ferocity. You bit down on your knuckle to keep quiet, but Tywin pinned both of your wrists down, his arms on either side of your head. The act did not last much longer beyond that point, both parties having already been too near the precipice of climax, and the pair of you met your releases in unison.

Tywin rolled off of you, breathing heavily, a light layer of sweat covering his chest, along with the small patches of silver hair. You allowed yourself a few moments of recovery, before moving to leave the cot in order to extinguish the candles, as well as tidy yourself up. However, Tywin grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Where are you going?”

“The candles –”

“Can wait,” Tywin interrupted, voice sounding unbothered as always, albeit with a hint of fatigue. He exhaled slowly, as he gently pulled you back down to lay upon the cot beside him. “One of the guards outside can see to the candles in a moment. You are carrying my heir, so you are to rest. As much as is feasible, from now until the babe is born. And if anyone questions it, they are to discuss it with me.”

Anyone possessing the sense the gods gave a mule knows “discussing” something with Tywin Lannister was just the opposite – it was not to be addressed at all, because what Tywin Lannister says, goes. A fact which made you smile softly.

“As my lord husband commands,” you replied, a hint of sarcasm in your tone, but you did exactly as he bade you, pulling some of the blankets over you and nestling into the pillows. You were already yawning by the time Tywin called for a guard, who extinguished the candles, and bathed the room in darkness as you drifted into a deep, contented sleep.

[endofthelinegang]

𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 (𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ druig x fem! reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ trying to have a normal holiday season with the kids (4.5k words)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ cursing

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ i loved writing this and welcome to the first of the series.

join the gang!

“Let me get this straight. You want me to take you and our children out into the freezing cold to cut down a tree and bring it inside the house?” You and Druig laid cuddled up in bed, you had brought up the topic of celebrating holidays now that your children were both old enough to make clear and concise memories.

“Yes, that would be a Christmas tree.” You tapped his chest lightly as you laughed at his reaction to the idea.

“You must be in love with the vacuum cleaner, because pine needles are going to be all over the carpet, why can’t we just pick a tree near the house and decorate it?” He put his hands up off of your arms gesturing in confusion.

“Because those are not pine trees.” You lowered his hands back onto your arms now holding his hands in your own.

“I believe the term is Christmas tree not pine Christmas tree.” Druig retorted believing that he was right and that the idea of having an indoor tree was absurd.

“So you wanna stand out in the cold and decorate a tree?” He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head lightly at your question.

“Wait, we have to decorate the tree once it’s inside? With what?” Druig hadn’t ever been truly introduced to human holidays tending to keep to himself and ignore things he deemed unnecessary.

“Ornaments, beads, garlin, pine cones pretty much anything the kids want.” You commented, though you had known of human traditions due to reading about them and being around friends who celebrated them you were unaware of Druig’s lack of knowledge in this particular field.

“Well good thing it’s a pine tree, that way it will already have the pine cones in it’s branches. Do bugs and sap count as decorations or will we have to clean the tree as well?” He rubbed his fingers over yours as he questioned your strange holiday.

“Bugs should be dead and the sap will be cold, so no we will not clean the tree. Just put decorations on it and stick it in the corner.” You rolled your eyes at his little question.

“Anything else we need to do to set up for this?” Druig was making a mental list of the day to come.

“Well, we can make other decorations to hang up around the house. We could also introduce the kids to Santa.” You just knew this was going to get a rise out of him.

“Santa? What or who is that?” Druig put his chin on your head curious as to what you had meant by your previous statement.

“So basically we tell the kids that the presents under the tree came from Santa. He is this jolly old fat man who rides in a sleigh carried by reindeer and climbs down the chimney to give children presents to wake up to on Christmas morning.” Druig’s head popped up from your own now looking down on you.

“You want to lie to the children about some old fat man breaking into the house and giving them presents?” You moved to look at his shocked face laughing a bit.

“It’s the holiday spirit.” Placing a hand on his face you stroked his cheek.

“Yes because nothing says Christmas like scaring the children into thinking a total stranger is climbing down the chimney and placing objects in the house. You do understand that Echo would light the fireplace and sit in the living room just to make sure he stayed out of the house. We would have to lock her door. If she even heard the footsteps of us putting out the presents we would be attacked.” Druig reasoned with the idea of his daughter trying to light Santa on fire due to his breaking and entering.

“Some parents let the kids help bake cookies and put them out for Santa just to get presents and you think our kids would try to hurt him?” You wrapped your arms around his neck now straddling his waist.

“We have to pretend to feed the fat bastard now too?” Yes, let's teach the children to feed people who break into the house. Wonderful idea.” He held your face in his hands making sure you were looking at him as he explained why Santa was not a good idea.

“Is it bad that I have a darker idea that I feel would fit our household better?” You thought of something that he might agree on.

“I can’t imagine anything worse than that.” Druig laughed a bit and shook his head.

“How about instead of Santa we have Krampus. We can put out the presents and say that we have to protect them on Christmas so that he doesn’t steal them. That is teaching them to attack strangers rather than give them things.” You smiled at the idea of your children sitting in the living room with sticks or weapons of their own making sure no one comes in the house.

“I actually quite like that, I feel that will fit the family better, What exactly is Krampus?” Druig assumed that by the name he was not like Santa.

“He is a horned monster, so the kids won’t mind, they're already used to monsters.” The more you spoke on the idea the better it became.

“Krampus it is, none of that Santa shit. Though it is still lying to the children this will be more fun and lighthearted. If it were anyone else's children they would be scared and this would be mean. Echo and Nikos will love this.” Druig agreed with you on the matter of who would visit the children Christmas night.

“So it’s settled, tomorrow morning we will get a tree and decorate the house and discuss Krampus?” You laid out the plan for the next day as you sat with your husband.

“Sounds like something.” He laughed as you leaned in and kissed him. “Why the sudden interest in holidays my darling?”

“Because holidays are fun, and we live in an age where almost all children celebrate them. Plus they can actually remember them and have fun. I wouldn’t have done this if they were any younger because I don’t see a point in making toddler and babies celebrate anything.” You shifted yourself off of Druig to turn the lamp next to your bed off.

“That was a good call, I think they will love this or at least parts of it.” Druig snuggled down into bed and pulled you close to his body.

“I hope so. Well, I love you, goodnight.” You cuddled yourself into your husband's chest as he held you close.

“I love you too sweetheart.” He kissed you on the head as the two of you drifted off into a warm slumber.

9:00 AM

“Dear, wake up, I made breakfast and the children are awake.” Druig kissed your face as he shook you lightly.

As you rolled out of bed slowly tracing Druig’s steps out of the room you walked down the hallway, through the living room, and made your way to the dining room.

“What’s the surprise?” Nikos looked up at you doe eyed excitedly. He was your youngest around 5 years of age and quite the hyper little fellow.

“Well, we have a fun day planned and it’s all new so if you have questions ask.” You yawned at sat down at the table where Druig had placed food and a drink for you. He then took his seat and looked at you ready to hear the discussion at hand.

“Your father and I have decided that since you are older we are going to celebrate Christmas, it’s a fun holiday where we decorate the house and you guys open presents on December the 25th.” You started slow not wanting to throw everything at them at once.

“Decorate? Like what?” Nikos was the first to start asking questions as he stabbed at his food with a fork.

“Well for a start, after we are done here we are gonna go get a pine tree and put it in the house, then we are gonna make stuff and or find things to decorate it with. We can also decorate other parts of the house with stuff like that as well.” You sipped your drink as the children looked at one another from across the table.

“You’re gonna let us put a tree in the house for a whole month?” Echo piped up the idea of having a big tree inside.

“Yes.” You looked over at Druig who sighed in defeat hoping to escape that part as he answered his daughters question.

“But I thought trees lived outside.” Nikos bit what he had stabbed more of off his fork after speaking.

“Your mother wants to kill one and bring it into the house.” Druig thought that maybe his description would drive them away from the idea.

“Can we burn it after Christmas is over?” Echo was now looking at you to respond as this was your idea.

“Sure, why not.” You shrugged your shoulders peeking over at Druig who rolled his eyes.

“Deal.” Nikos agreed with his sister.

“Now there is one more thing about Christmas.” Druig laughed to himself as he sipped on his drink trying to hide it.

“There is a monster that might try and steal your presents on Christmas. So, that night we will stay up until the clock strikes 12:00AM and protect the house from the monster who is called Krampus. There is a chance he will not come to the house but we have to be safe.” Both of the children's heads popped up as they looked at each other excitedly.

“Can I smack him in the face with my baseball bat?” Nikos looked at his father.

“I- yeah go for it.” Druig put his head in his hands, shaking it after his son looked away from him.

“Nikos we could build a trap and then use bats and knives if he escapes it.” Your 8 year old had a plan that the 5 year old could not resist as they smiled at each other.

Druig shot a look at you as you laughed and nodded your head at the two children who were more excited about possibly killing a monster than getting presents.

“Alright well go get dressed in warm clothes and we will go find a tree. I will get your dishes” Your kids bolted from the table sprinting to their rooms to find clothing.

“I’m kind of interested to see what they build as a trap.” Druig joked with you as you picked up the plates and dishes from the table.

“Most children can’t sleep because they’re excited for Santa to come and our kids are gonna try and catch a monster.” You shook your head laughing as you rinsed dishes off in the sink then put them into the dishwasher.

“I personally find this much more exciting and reassuring.” Druig walked up behind you and kissed your cheek.

“We better go get ready before we get dragged out the door in pajamas.”

Once everyone was ready the family went into the woods to find a proper Christmas tree for the occasion. Druig carried an ax as the children ran around in the snow to find a tree.

“Remember how tall the living room is, please try and find one that will actually fit in the house.” You yelled out to them as they examined different trees.

“E knows how tall everything is so she’ll know.” Druig reassured you as he held the ax in one hand he wrapped his other arm around you.

“Tree acquired!” Echo yelled as the two of you trotted off into the snowy woods to locate where her voice was coming from.

The tree they had picked was not as large as the others, Druig stood next to it and they were almost the exact same height. However the branches were full, no bald spots and was a lovely green. There were no brown or orange places, you walked around the tree to look around it. Druig looked at you to confirm that this was the tree as his daughter stood next to him holding onto his forearm. Smiling, you nodded at him that this was a good pick and to cut it down.

“Do you like it?” Echo pulled a bit on his arm looking at him grinning.

“I do, it’s very nice.” Druig smiled down at his daughter, in one sudden moment a ball of snow smacked Echo in the middle of her stomach where her jacket was.

Her and Druig looked around up at the sky and around them trying to figure out where the snow came from. Then another ball of snow hit her in the arm and directly across the way stood her little brother with another ball of snow in his hands. She released her grip on her fathers arm and picked up a bunch of snow with her gloves and started making a ball chasing her brother through the trees. Druig laughed, shaking his head as he began to whack the ax against the bottom of the tree's trunk. As he cut down the tree you stood watching him from the side until you felt a child slam into your back before turning your body to face the other.

“Base, I’m on base!” Nikos yelled holding onto your sides as Echo held a snowball in her hands. Her face was flushed from the cold and she was taking deep breaths. Snow was in spots around her hair clearly she had been nailed in the back of the head.

“Mom is not base.” Echo argued wanting to nail him as he just did to her.

“Hold on, if I am not base are you going to throw the snowball and hit me?” You questioned as your son peaked from your side to look at his sister.

“Yes.” Echo stood still, a snowball raised as if she were going to pitch it.

“I’m base, I’m base.” You raised your hands and you heard your son chuckle from behind you happy that he had won.

“Fine, well you have to leave her sometime.” Echo squinted her eyes at the two of them.

“Carry me, please.” Nikos moved around you not taking his hands off of you.

“I will carry you to the pathway but from there you better sprint, it would be unfair to carry you all the way back.” You picked him up as you spoke.

The two of you saw the missing tree from the trunk and Druig had the tree hoisted over his shoulder carrying it with two hands. He was walking back towards the house looking behind him to make sure that the rest of you were following. As you made your way out of the area more snow started to fall, Nikos adjusted his toboggan on his head. Echo was following you close behind, almost touching you with the snow still in her hands. As the pathway came into view Nikos looked behind him know that his sister was waiting and that getting inside the house was going to be hard with his dad carrying a tree through the door.

“I am gonna put you down here in a minute.” You whispered not wanting Echo to hear.

“Throw me.” Nikos whispered back and you turned your head to face his.

“Excuse me.” You blinked slowly at his request.

“I’ll land on my feet I promise.” Nikos had a plan, not a great one but it was a plan.

You shook your head as you saw you were on the path. You lightly tossed him forward and he hit the ground running, his sister stood next to you.

“What are you doing?” You questioned your daughter as she stood next to you, her brother running straight past the entire family.

“Wait for it.” Echo dropped the snowball in her hand and was now looking at one of the trees nearest the path. You looked down at her confused before her eyes started glowing and the tree began to pull back like a slingshot. All of a sudden the snow covering the limbs shot at Nikos who was almost to the house as a massive pile of snow came shooting at him.

“I think he upset that tree.” Druig turned his head around as the two of you laughed at the spectacle in front of you.

The tree stood up straight once more as the rest of you approached the snow pile. Nikos popped up from it lookin at his sister angry.

“We said no powers.” Nikos stood up and shook like a dog trying to get the snow off of himself.

“We also never established a base, you changed a rule and so did I.” Echo folded her arms across her chest as her brother groaned, taking off his hat that was now full of snow.

“So then it’s a tie. He got a good hit and so did you, next time we play on teams and keep score. Rematch.” You took the hat from your son's hands stepping into the pile to help him out as Druig fought with the doorknob trying to get the tree through the door.

“Deal.” Echo piped up now watching her father, she opened the door the same way she had moved the tree. Druig fell through the door not expecting it to open suddenly.

“Are you okay?” You moved around to walk over Druig in the doorway.

“Fantastic.” He rolled over onto his stomach getting himself up off the ground before lifting the tree again putting it in the living room in the empty corner.

“We are gonna need the vacuum already.” He pointed out the pine needles littered around on the floor.

“I don’t think a vacuum is going to sweep up all the snow you dropped on the floor from the tree.” Echo pointed at the snow that the tree had dropped when he fell as she stood to the side taking off her boots.

“Who opened that door?” Druig scoffed at her.

“Who couldn’t get the door open on their own?” Echo put her hands on her hips and looked directly at him. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’ll go get a towel then.” Druig retorted shaking his head.

“Nikos go get some ribbon and yarn from the closet, Echo go get paint from your room, and I will start on the wood.” You disked out tasks and the children walked down the hallway to go get the items you requested.

Going underneath the sink you found the tool kit and found the tool that was used to cut the wood before going and getting the wood. Once you acquired the wood you began to shave off thin circular rounds from the wood to make ornaments. Your husband brought out two towels to sop up the water that the snow had created on the entryway of the house.

“And you thought pine needles were going to be the biggest issue.” You laughed walking over to him.

“Well at least it happened on the stone and not the carpet.” He sighed as he felt the water going into the knee of his pant leg.

“Go change and I will finish what you started.” You put your hands on his shoulders as he rose up from the ground.

“You’re going to need more towels.” He looked down at the mess and you put your hands on his face to make him look at you.

“Thank you for this, they are really enjoying everything.” You kissed his cheek, moving your hands over his arms lightly. “You looked really good cutting down that tree by the way.”

“You have a thing for axes?” He whispered in your ear, leaning down.

“No, but I do have a thing for you.” You smiled lightly as he stayed exactly where he was.

“Hopefully this tires them out enough so that I can have a thing for you.” He pulled back winking at you before walking away.

You shook your head laughing as you squatted down looking at the mess he made. He in fact did not need more towels, rather he needed to spread them out and let them absorb the water rather than ball them up and scrub the ground. Once you had laid the towels down properly the kids were sitting at the table with the supplies you requested.

“You have three choices with this. You can paint the pieces of wood to make ornaments, tie the ribbon to make bows, or I will be cutting more pieces of wood to glue together and wrap the yarn around to make different things.” You sat down at the table and took your jacket and hat off placing them around you.

Nikos immediately gravitated towards the paint and round circles whilst Echo used bark off the piece of wood to use the yarn. As they sat and began crafts Druig joined you at the table to start doing his own thing, he decided on bows since no one else was touching the ribbon. You sat closests to Nikos and started painting circles as well.

“How come we’re doing all this now?” Echo questioned as she got up getting glue from the tool box.

“Because now you’re old enough.” You answered her as you cleaned your paint brush off in a glass of water.

“But Nikos is younger than I am.” Echo sat back down and began glueing the piece of bark she had plucked and made perfect.

“It would’ve been unfair to him had we celebrated with just you, and plus we didn’t want to scare you with Krampus when you were five.” You commented as you peaked up to see your husband tying bows.

“What about him?” Echo questioned again.

“Well he has you to help him out, we can’t help you until he’s actually here. The two of you are just supposed to prepare for him together.” Druig looked at her knowing that you weren’t sure how to answer her.

“Other than the tree what else are we decorating?” Nikos was looking at the colors in front of him.

“Well we can put bows anywhere, we can cut out snowflake trails and hang them up around the house. We can go get pinecones and cover them in glitter or paint. Maybe we can just paint pictures and use frames to hang them up.” You looked around the house trying to come up with ideas.

The kids nodded in agreement at your statement, all of you sat at the table and made decorations until the table was almost covered in different variations of decorations. The kids place bows and the yarn ornaments in the tree whilst Druig drilled small holes in the tops of each ornament. You laced them with twine on top so that they could be hung. Once the tree was fully decorated with a bow on the top Druig and Nikos got paper to start cutting snowflakes after you demonstrated how to.

“Do we have any adult scissors?” Druig questioned looking in the box of small scissors and wild bladed scissors.

“I think they’re dirty and in the shed.” You commented as he picked up a set of the small scissors.

“You all have small hands.” He held the scissors incorrectly as he tried to use them to cut the paper.

Echo sat on the floor with you with canvases painting Christmas pictures. Small curses were heard from the table as Druig struggled to cut the paper with the small scissors.

“Do you need help?” Nikos held his snowflakes in his hands.

“No.” Druig pouted a bit seeing that his son had made many trains of snowflakes already and none of them looked like his.

“Here I’ll help you hang them up buddy.” You had finished with a piece of your painting that had to dry before you could continue.

You found tape and tacs in the drawers as he got the short ladder. The two of you hung up his snowflake trains across the cabinets and directly under the ceiling on the wall. Druig had finished his and hung it up as well. That’s when there was a knock at the door.

“I got it.” You answered him as you walked over and opened the door.

“Y/n so nice to see you.” Kingo stepped into the house as you moved to let him in.

“What’s going on?” You questioned, not sure why he was here.

“One of your keys fell off of the ring the last time we all hung out.” He handed the key to you as he looked around the house.

“Wow, Christmas this year?” Kingo questioned as he stepped off of the towels that lined the entryway.

“An attempt at Christmas.” You commented as he looked around.

“Getting ready for Santa?” He looked down at Echo’s painting.

“No, Krampus.” She looked up at him from her position on the floor.

“Excuse me?” Kingo had never heard of this before.

“The monster that could possibly break into the house, destroy our decorations, and steal our presents.” Echo smiled at him as he blinked slowly.

“Mhm yes.” Kingo stood up and walked around looking at the walls.

“What cute kids, you all made lovely decorations, did you make this?” Kingo pointed at one of the snowflake trails on the wall.

“No, dad made that one.” Nikos shook his head at the man as you cracked up laughing standing next to Druig.

“Good job Druig.” Kingo turned and smiled at him.

“I had childrens scissors.” He whispered under his breath and nodded at his friend.

“Well, happy holidays, we will have to get together with everyone and celebrate.” Kingo waved and mentioned the idea of a party before leaving.

“While my painting dries can we go start on the trap?” Echo stood up and looked at her brother who was now looking at both of you.

“Sure, just be careful.” You looked at both of them as they ran to the front door putting their boots on to go to the shed.

“Some kids make cookies others build death traps” Druig sighed laughing as he cleaned up part of the table getting it more organized.

“I can’t wait to sit in the living room with a big ass trap with the three of you.” You turned towards him.

“I hear we have a snowball war coming up as well.” Druig was now turned towards you hands on your waist.

“We do, I’m calling girls versus boys now.” You tapped his chest.

“You’re still gonna lose.” He pulled you closer.

“I say we make an under the table bet.” You looked up at him.

“I agree, incentive is a wonderful thing my beautiful y/n.” He winked at you.

“Before we do that we should probably monitor the children right now.” You smiled at him as he leaned down kissing you on the lips…

[qtubpol]

I Don’t Pretend To Know - I’m Through

ao3 link

Wilbur woke up to the soft sun on his face. He expected to shiver from the familiar coldness he dreaded, but he sighed instead, melting deeper into the soft sheets and blankets that covered him.

It had been a few days since Wilbur came to stay at the castle. Each morning felt warm; and it would’ve been suffocating had he not had Eret there in the gardens. Every morning, instead of eating in the dining hall, Eret would grab their plates, and Wilbur would grab their drinks, and they’d take them to the table outside. Each morning, Eret would sit with her chin on her folded hands, listening to Wilbur’s plans for how he was going to go about apologizing. 

She’d give her input when prompted, usually along the lines of, “Make sure your words are clear and concise with Jack. Don’t sugarcoat it, but don’t sound brutish. With Tubbo, be gentle, but not enough to baby him. With Niki…” She’d scrunch her face just a bit in thought. “Try to let her talk first. That is by means the best way to get her to listen.”

And Wilbur nodded, sighing. “I-I know. It’s going to take some time before I can actually… talk to Niki, really.”

Eret nodded, tapping the top of his hand on the table. She smiled warmly at him, and Wilbur’s chest ached at the memory he was carving into his brain. He’ll need to write a book or something, for everything he wants to remember before he…

“There’s no rush. Believe me, I don’t want to rush you out of the castle any time soon.” She chuckled, and Wilbur nodded.

He probably looked frightened, the way he gently pulled his hand back. He almost shrunk in his seat- but not once did he take his eyes away from Eret. Even as she began eating, eyes focused on the papers a servant had given her, or a book one morning, Wilbur’s gaze did not linger far. 

By god he must’ve missed her. And that ache lingers, after a while. Thirteen years of solitude makes you think of your mistakes, of the life you lived and the regrets you have.

At Wilbur Soot’s feet lay a general, a president, and a man. At Wilbur Soot’s feet lay Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur.

Maybe Ghostbur’s memories and happiness are infecting him.

One morning Eret wears a blue ribbon in her hair - the third morning he’s at the castle. A blue ribbon with her hair tied in a half-bun. A white dress with light fabric, perfect for the warm weather. Wilbur remembered this because he neglected his jacket inside his guestroom, but kept the familiar yellow sweater on. 

Wilbur could not stop staring at that damned blue ribbon. 

Maybe he had issues. ~~

It was his fourth day at the castle that he finally gathered the courage to tell Eret he was going to visit his family in the arctic. 

He’d remember the soft purple shirt and black pants they’d worn that day. They had a meeting or something, they didn’t spare him the details. The circlet was still proudly on their head, handcrafted by themself, a sign of a long-forgotten hold on them, long before Wilbur came back, now discarded.

Eret smiled. She remembered the way Wilbur’s hands nervously wrung as he started telling her his plans. 

“It’s been a few days since I saw them. I don’t want Phil and Techno to think I’m dead or anything.” Wilbur cleared his throat after, then took a sip of tea. 

Eret nodded, setting her document down on the table and letting out a breath. “Yes, that makes sense. Tell them I say hi, for me?”

Wilbur’s mouth opened and closed in partial confusion. What business did Eret have with Phil and Techno? But, he elected to not push. He didn’t want to risk his stay, so he nodded and stood from the table. His hands stayed on the edge, however, and it took him a moment to nod again.

Eret watched with a small smile, tilting her head just a bit. Her hair slid over one shoulder, and she chuckled. “Wilbur, are you okay?”

Wilbur pulled away from the table like it had burned him. God damn he must’ve been clingy.

“Right. I’ll be back later then.” And with another nod, he turned away from Eret, walking out of the gardens and to the Arctic. ~~

The first thing Wilbur noticed as he crossed the fences was Michael playing in the snow.

The piglin, thought to be unsupervised until Wilbur noticed Phil on the porch, had made snow angels, snowmen- and Wilbur squinted and chuckled at an oddly big snow angel.

When he got up to the porch, he pointed at the hole, watching Michael as he asked, “And who’s angel is that?”

Phil chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “Techno wanted some bonding time with his,” Phil tried his best to imitate his friend, standing ramrod straight, arms bent at the elbows, and wings puffed just so, “Future anarchist mentee.”

Wilbur laughed at that, nodding just a bit. “Alright, alright… So I see Tubbo and Michael have had a good time then?” 

“Ehh… More like Techno’s having fun with Michael. Tubbo uh…” Phil clears his throat. Wilbur turned to look at him, eyebrows knit together. “Tubbo what, Phil?”

Phil sighs, rolling his eyes just a bit and waving his hand. “Ah, it’s- look, he’s grieving and tired and just… He hasn’t really talked to anyone since the uh. The ‘incident’.”

“What, the one with Sam? I thought Techno and Eret-”

Phil shakes his head, watching as Michael rolled another snowball. Connor was out there in the snow somewhere, Phil just… forgot. 

“New member. Aimsey, I think their name is? Tubbo had some kind of argument with them or whatever and uh… pushed them.”

Wilbur scoffs, hands in his pockets. “Pushed them?”

“...Off a bridge.”

“...oh.”

Phil nods, feathers going down just a bit when he hears Michael squeal excitedly.

Connor had popped out of a pile of snow, playfully scaring Michael and letting Michael “slay” him.

“So… He’s not being a big talker right now. Techno, surprisingly, seems to be the only one who gets a word out of him most days.” Phil shakes his head, “At least Connor can make him laugh though. And babysit when Tubbo just needs some time to himself.”

Wilbur looks back to the snow, to the Techno-shaped hole, and chuckles. “Yeah… speaking of um.” He clears his throat, nervous despite himself. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, per se…”

Phil looks back to Wilbur, looking over the side of his face. Wilbur’s making a point to not look at him, and his hands clench and unclench in his pockets. His shoulders hunch forward almost awkwardly, making up for the lack of his wings. He takes a breath.

“I’ve been staying at the castle not- not the van.”

Phil squints. “The castle…?”

Wilbur slowly, agonizingly, turns his head to Phil. “The castle. Eret’s castle.”

Phil takes a second to register, then his eyes widen and he barks out a laugh. “Wha- King’s castle. That castle. The one for the king. That castle?”

Wilbur nods.

“...Literally why-?”

“Phil…!”

Wilbur sighs, moving one hand out of his pocket to run through his hair. “Look I- okay. I messaged you about Fundy, yeah?” Phil nods, squinting again. Wilbur purses his lips for a second, stutters a bit, then continues. “Well, I mean- She helped me. I… After that, I didn’t know what to do and-” He looks down, fists clenching his jacket. “She was there. She offered me a place to stay and… Yeah. So,” He doesn’t look at Phil again, eyes looking over the wood of the bridge between Phil and Techno’s houses. “I’m staying there, for a little bit.”

Phil’s expression stays mostly neutral, eyebrows drawn in just slightly and lips in a line. His wings seem to have relaxed, however. “...And you’re good there? Safe?”

Since when has Wilbur’s safety mattered-?

“Yes. I’m perfectly safe. He hasn’t threatened to kill me yet.” He tries to chuckle it off, and the ends of Phil’s wings drag on the wood just a bit as he turns around. He opens the door to his house, holding it open and motioning with his head for Wilbur to go inside. “Come in for a drink. Tech’ll be out for Michael in a second.”

With a pause, Wilbur nods and follows Phil inside. ~~

Punz had come back to Eret, kneeling in front of her on the steps of her castle, three weeks prior to seeing Wilbur.

They’d taken him back with no hesitation. Punz was a good knight. He did his job dutifully, and even moved up to Eret’s personal guard. 

She was finishing up getting ready for a meeting with the elders of the eastern villages, while Punz stood guard beside her. 

She sat at the vanity, touching up her makeup and choosing her jewelry as she spoke.

“I’ve got the meetings with Cooran and Eli of the Dunei and Danai. Some sort of land dispute talking about a ‘one inch overstep’, but neither can decide which inch-” Punz rolls his eyes, hands folded behind their back. 

They puffed a little bit of smoke out of their mouth, blue eyes scanning the room and making sure no one was trying to come into the room. 

“And then there’s the meeting with Cooran and Eli’s daughters about actual issues in the villages. There’s been a recent slew of anarchist agenda floating around, which makes me wonder if Technoblade has made rounds again or if it’s just pure luck.” Eret picks out a nice set of pearl earrings, putting them on as she speaks. 

“And it seems like I’ll need to start sending messengers out to the other kingdoms or dominions of the server if I have any hopes of reconciling things.”

“I could take on Kinoko’s message, for you.”

Eret squinted at her reflection, then turned, still squinted, to Punz. 

“...What business do you have with Kinoko?”

A blue hue starts blooming on Punz’ cheeks, mildly embarrassed. He keeps his eyes trained on the door, however. 

They shrug, letting out another puff of smoke. “Messengers can get lost and everything.”

She tilts her head. “So, you wouldn’t mind taking on other jobs then? Like, if I were to send you to Las Nevadas or the Badlands.”

Punz grits his teeth a bit, but nods. “‘Is fine.”

Eret chuckles, turning back to the mirror. “Well then, glad to know you meant it when you said you were willing to work!” 

She doesn’t notice Punz turning his head back to the mirror and staring at her reflection. 

Eret continues on picking out a necklace, passing that conversation and talking about her plans.

She sighs as she does the clasp, moving her hair back to make sure it doesn’t get caught.

“I guess you can start by getting the letter to Kinoko, then?”

Punz nods, hands moving to his sides. “Of course, your majesty.” ~~

The last ideas of the meetings went quietly, the daughters of the elders seemingly more competent and cooperative than their fathers. Things had been handled relatively easily, and anything that would need further discussion was already planned out.

Eret happily held the door open for the two, smiling and thanking them for their time.

The youngest, Eli’s daughter Enri - an ender-ghast hybrid - grabbed Eret’s forearm before leaving. “Your majesty, as you may know, I have my wedding in a few days.”

Eret smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s why we had to push some discussion back.”

Enri chirped, moving a hand in her pocket for a moment, then pulled out an envelope and handed it to Eret. Eret made a little confused look, but opened the envelope and began reading the paper inside.

“Wedding invitation. I have a feeling you’d like to meet my future wife, your majesty.” She shrugs and tilts her head. “And it would be nice to have the king bless my wedding. I know you don’t do the whole - bless thing, but you at least do something and whichever wedding you something’d usually stays well so…”

Eret chuckled, looking up from the paper to Enri. “You’re asking me to hope your wedding and marriage goes well.” She nods. “I can do that, Enri. I’d love to meet your fiancee too. I’m sure she’s lovely.” 

Enri smiled and nodded, letting out a satisfied breath. “Thank you, your majesty. I’ll be happy to see you there!” With that, she leaves. Eret waves her off with a smile, then closes the door.

[plus-size-reader]

Forgotten

Thomas x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2326 words

Warnings: none

Summary: WCKD isn’t the only one with secrets. The Scorch has a few secrets of its own

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It would have been stupid of the gladers to think they were the only ones left.

While it was true that WCKD had taken to picking and choosing who got to survive, that didn’t mean there was no one else left outside of their domain. It just meant that the few of you that had survived were better at it than the rest.

Sometimes you called them the forgotten, those who WCKD couldn’t use that got left behind. In the beginning, it was like your own little maze, made up of all those who didn’t mean anything to anyone because they couldn’t use you.  

You were left for dead at the mercy of the scorch, and while some people had survived, as the time ticked by, fewer and fewer of those forgotten ones survived.

Most of them ended up as cranks, at the hands of the virus that had torn through the life  you once knew.  It was all you had now, and as treacherous as it was, the scorch was your home.

It was all that was left.

Which was why you were so shocked to see such a big group of them still alive out here, not deterred by the dust storms in the desert or the cranks who would surely tear them apart if they got the chance.

All in all, they were way out of their depth.

You had been staying here, in what was now little more than a bunker while now, keeping a close eye on the compound to the east. WCKD got shipments of supplies sometimes, which you had taken to ripping off occasionally.

Stealing from them was hardly the worst thing you’d done out here.

It was what you had to do to survive.

However, the last thing you’d been expecting here was a group of strangers, somehow still alive against every threat in this place. Though, from the looks of it, they hadn’t been out in it very long, which could have been the reason for that.

You watched them for a while, trying to figure out who or what they were, before eventually, you decided that you had to do something about it.

They weren’t going to survive out here on their own.

What you were doing went against your every impulse, of course, as you had learned not to trust anyone or anything, not even the other survivors that could be found bunkered down all over the scorch.

The only person you could trust was you, and even that was iffy sometimes, but for some reason, you felt differently about them.

Maybe it was because they were so desperately fighting for survival, ro maybe it was just because you’d been alone for so long but whatever it was, you had already made up your mind.

They needed your help, or they were going to die out here.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you” you called, just in time for one among them to flip the switch to the power grid. It may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but only if they knew even less about this place than you thought they did.

Both men in yoru view tensed at your appearance, but didn’t have any time at all to address you before the crank you’d loving been calling Doris for the past six months slammed against the bars of her cage.

She was here when you showed up here and once you’d decided that there was no risk of her getting out, it was easier to keep her alive than to put her down.

In your experience, having one around that wasn’t a threat to you, helped you keep tabs on what would draw in the rest.

“Follow me” you suggested, rushing off in the opposite direction of two of the other cranks, glad to find out that at the very least, the two of them could run. If they couldn’t, you would have been forced to leave them behind.

Just because you wanted to help them didn’t mean you were all of a sudden willing to die for strangers.

You would help them, or at least try to help them, for as long as you could. The actual survival was their responsibility, what they had to do out here because they wanted to. Everyone that survived out here had to want it.

If you didn’t, you died.

That was just how it was, and nothing was going to change that.

The pair of them shared a look, just one, before following your lead. The next few minutes went by quickly, more quickly than anyone could have predicted, as you raced toward the exit, meeting up with quite a few others in the process.

From the looks of it, the gang's all here.

You didn’t say anything more until you had made it safely, for the most part, out of the building, the door closed tightly, one metal door between you and them. All of you, with the exception of one, had made it out in one piece.

“What were you doing back there? What's going on? Who are you?” came the parade of questions as you walked, already sort of leaving the rest of them in your dust. While they clearly had no idea what was out here, you did.

...And you weren’t itching to see any more of those things tonight.

“Y/N, I was living there but I guess I’m not anymore” you decided, only looking back at them to answer the first of what you assumed would be a million more questions. The more ground you could cover before the sun went down, the better off you’d be.

If they thought one of them getting bit was bad, it was going to get so much worse in the dark. Those things thrived in the dark.

“Living there, with those things? You’ve gotta be mad” one of the scoffed, immediately forcing you to stop again.

Once again reminding you why you normally shied away from helping other people all together.

“You came out of a maze, didn’t you? Cause you definitely haven't been out here” you hummed, eyeing the blonde incredulously, though when an answer did come, it wasn’t from his lips. Instead, one of the original two you’d found, Thomas you thought you’d heard, spoke.

He was lost.

“Yeah we did, you didn’t?” he wondered, a genuine look of confusion dressing his face for a second. They hadn’t really considered an alternative, and why would they?

All this time, they had been under the impression that there was nothing out there in the scorch, but you were living proof that was a lie. It made him wonder that if that was a lie, there was a good chance other things had been too.

They just couldn’t be sure what.

“No, I grew up in the scorch” you shrugged, doing your very best to ignore the way their faces twisted up when you said it out loud. Of course they couldn’t understand what that was like, because no one could.

Only people who’d done it could even imagine what it was like.

The gladers weren’t exactly thrilled about this situation, but as uncertain as they were of you, it was clear that you were that much more concerned about them. Clearly, all this time out in the scorch had made you paranoid.

Rightfully so.

“You live out here? In this?” the blonde repeated, clearly missing the point of this conversation entirely. You wanted to make this as quick and concise as possible so as to not have to talk about it again but that wasn’t about to happen.

Not with all these shanks asking so many questions.

“Alright, I’m gonna need some names. Then I’ll tell you all about the forgotten ones” you decided, folding your arms crossed your chest, keeping as calm as you could be given the circumstances.

You didn’t have all day to sit around talking about this. From the looks of their friend, you didn’t even have till sundown anymore before you had at least one crank to deal with.

“That’s Minho, Frypan, and Teresa” he, Thomas, started, pointing each of them out in turn before moving on to the next.

“Over there is Aris,” the shortest of them.

“That’s Winston”  the soon to be crank

“This is Newt and I’m Thomas” he hummed, making it clear that there was some kind of connection between all of them that was much deeper than you would have thought, and confirming that was in fact his name.

At the very least, you had that going for you.

“There used to be more of us, out here, but as the time passes, there’s less” you started, deciding that a deal was a deal after all.

You told them you would explain this whole thing, after all.

“I’ve been on my own for a while, moving around to stay alive. Sometimes I stole from the WCKD supply trucks from the compound where you came from, but they aren’t even the biggest threat” you allowed, letting your eyes linger on Winston for a moment.

You knew that to them, he was family, but it was hard for you to see him as anything more than a ticking time bomb. You had just lost too many friends to cranks over the years to feel comfortable with him like that.

It was only a matter of time.

Thomas nodded as you spoke, thinking over each and every one of your words carefully.

After all, to the best he could tell, you had been living there all this time and when he stopped to think about it, it made sense. All those kids in the maze, they were there because they were immune, and they needed to be protected, but they weren’t the only ones left.

There was no way everyone else was dead.

Someone had to be alive somewhere, out there in the rubble, which wasn’t exactly wrong. There were plenty of people left, hiding out all over the scorch, just trying to survive.

“We’ll figure something out” he muttered, following your gaze to the male, who was currently holding tightly to Minho’s shoulder just to keep upright.

So far, it was just a sick feeling in his stomach and a dizziness clouding his thoughts, but soon it would be much more. You knew all the sighs, far too well, and you could have pinpointed exactly how it would happen.

It was a race against the clock.

“You can’t promise that. You don’t know this place like I do” you whispered, turning back around to continue on your way, not willing to discuss this any further. You wanted to believe in a cure as much as the next person, but you weren’t blind.

You didn’t get to be so naive.

“So why help us then? You clearly think this whole thing is hopeless anyway” Thomas called, jogging slightly to catch up with you, the rest of his group taking up the back. It wasn’t exactly easy to move through the sand, but you made it work.

All in all, it was easier for you than it was for them, just because you’d been doing it for longer.

You sighed, looking at him through the corner of your eye, desperately trying to understand what it was he wanted from you. This was a lot harder for you both than need be, as neither of you had a good history of working with others, but it was what it was.

It was plain and simple.

You didn’t want something to happen to them.

The Scorch had taken so much from so many people and you didn’t want to let it take anything else from anyone else if you could help it. At the very least, you could help guide them in this world they knew so little about.

It was all anyone could do, because there were so few of you left.

“Because it’s important,”

Thomas seemed to be determined to keep his family safe, and you could respect that. After all, he wasn’t the only one who’d had one, and you hadn’t been as successful as you’d hoped in your own quest.

If you could help him keep his people alive, you weren’t going to turn a blind eye to that.

“I lost my people, but you don’t have to lose yours” you decided, remembering the countless friends you’d had and lost over the years. The Scorch was real and dangerous, where nothing was ever guaranteed.

Between WCKD and the cranks, you’d lost everything. They would get bit; if they were immune, World In Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department was on top of it, and if they weren’t, they died.  

News of the immune, even out here, was hard to keep hidden. They were valuable, and as best you knew, WCKD was already tracking them down.

Thankfully, you knew how this went down, and if they had a shot out here, it was with you.

“You would do that for us?” he questioned, unsure of what in the world was happening here. He thought he understood the world, though he understood what was going on but every time he got any information, it flipped all over again.

Thomas just felt like he couldn’t win, no matter what he did.

“Yeah, but you have to know Winston isn’t going to make it. He probably has half an hour left, at most” you whispered. There was no way you could guarantee he had even that much time but he certainly didn’t have any more than that.

It wasn’t really the news you wanted to give him but you didn’t have much choice in the matter. He’d been bitten and since he clearly wasn’t immune, that wasn’t going to change.

“Yeah, yeah, I know”

None of this was going to be easy but at the very least, he won’t have to do it alone.

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Ni Kar'tayl Gar Darasuum

Pairing: Din Djarin x Pregnant! Reader

Summary: When you finally wake up, Din knows it’s time to break the news. (Part 2 of Aliit Be Cuur) 

Warnings: Pregnancy, Mild Description of Injuries

Word Count: 3700

A/N: The much requested part 2 to Aliit Be Cuur! I took some inspiration from a comment by @linkpk88​. My apologies for the long ass name. I just wanted to keep up with the Mando’a theme. 

__________

“M-mando?” Your voice shook and cracked from having gone so long without being used. You were trying to reach towards him but in reality, your fingers only lifted off the medical cot ever so slightly. 

Mando looked as if he’d possibly fallen asleep at your bedside, though it was difficult to know for sure with the helmet and the way he had a habit of sitting so still, even when he was awake. At your words, though, he immediately stood up, shooting to attention and coming to your bedside, “Cyar’ika? How are you feeling?” 

“W-water? Please?” Your mouth was dry and throat stiff. It felt like you’d been breathing in hot sand and it had sucked all the moisture from your body. 

Mando reached down to a water pack he had for himself on the ground by the crate he’d been residing on, unscrewing the lid, and tilting it slightly at your lips. The liquid felt like the best thing you’d ever drank, life suddenly coming back to your body at the small amount of water. “Thank you,” You said as he put the lid back on. 

Mando sighed, his gloved hand coming down to rub over your knuckles gently, careful to avoid anywhere covered with bandages, “Why would you run in like that?” 

“I thought you were dead. I was ready to kill the damn thing with my own two hands. I certainly can tell you I wasn’t expecting it to explode.” You attempted to chuckle weakly but you flinched, hand reaching for your torso in a poor attempt at soothing the pain of the broken ribs and burns. 

Mando noticed the way your fingers grazed unassumingly over your belly that held the secret everyone but you knew about and he stiffened beneath the beskar armor. “How long have I been out?” 

“About a day. The attack was yesterday.” He answered, pulling the crate closer to your bedside so he could sit beside you while you spoke. 

You groaned at the thought of being unconscious for so long, “Am I dying?” You asked in an attempt at making a joke to lighten the mood. You could practically feel the anxiety and stress radiating off Mando and you wanted to try to lighten the mood but clearly it hadn’t helped. Your grip on his fingers tightened slightly, reassuring him. “Hey, I’m kidding. It’s gonna be alright.” 

Mando’s silence was not something you were unaccustomed to. Even now that your relationship was much closer than professional, he was a man of few words. You still couldn’t help the way your face a little when you felt like your joke may have caused more harm than good. 

Little did you know that Mando had glanced up over your shoulder and made eye contact with the nurse from yesterday, the one who had shown him the unborn child within your womb. Of course, the nurse couldn’t tell that the Mandolorian was looking at him but he still sent the masked man a knowing, almost pushing look. 

As selfish as it made Mando feel, because obviously he was very concerned for your wellbeing and wanted nothing more than for you to be awake and okay, he was relieved when you remained asleep through the night. It gave him time to get his own thoughts straight, how he felt and how he would tell you. 

Children were sacred in Mandolorian culture. With depleted numbers, many of the Alor had encouraged child rearing amongst Mandolorians or the adoption of Foundlings to save the Way. Even so, Mando had honestly never actually seriously considered being a father, at least not at this stage of his life. He had Grogu, to whom he was a father by the Creed, but physically rearing his own genetic children felt different to him, even if it wasn’t supposed to. He lived a dangerous life full of criminals and skeezy backwater planets and he was comfortable that way. Even if it was preferred that Mandolorians reproduce, he was one of the few that had been called more to a life of service. Besides, after losing everyone he’d ever loved, from his birth parents to his clan, he was used to being alone. A part of him was scared to bring more people into his life because he didn’t want to keep losing them. Even accepting the fact that he loved you took a long time. 

But Mando was nothing if not a man of duty and honor and, as the leader of his clan of two, your lover, a father to Grogu, and now a father to your unborn child, he had a responsibility to protect and care for all within his clan, which was now about to expand to a clan of four. It was a responsibility that he had actually come to almost look forward to in some aspects in the early morning hours when he allowed his mind to move from the hardships that you were sure to face to the happy memories you were all sure to make together. 

“There’s-there’s something you need to know.” He began directly, his modulated voice sounding strained. 

Your smile faded at his tone and you gave him a concerned look, “Wait, am I actually dying?” 

His helmet shook side to side in a moment of silence before he continued, struggling to find the right words. All the words he’d spent all night rehearsing in his head were failing him now. “No. They said you’re going to be fine.” He began, another pause between words as the actual confession was so much harder to get out than he imagined it would be. Mando had never been a man of many words but suddenly there were no words at all that seemed fitting. 

Your eyebrows raised and you shook your head a little, indicating for him to continue. Nerves buzzed through your body. Mando was never like this. Sure, he had never been very talkative but he was concise and straight to the point when he did. He was never one to beat around the bush or draw out information for dramatic effect. Whatever he had on his mind must have been serious if he were struggling this badly. “What’s wrong, Mando? What happened?” 

“The nurse came by while you were out. He said you’re pregnant.” The words came out clear and blunt, straight to the point. It was the only way he could process the information himself and he struggled to find a more delicate way to put it to you. 

Your jaw went slack at the news, “What?” 

“You didn’t know?” It wasn’t so much a question as much as it was a confirmation of what he had hoped. You hadn’t known. You weren’t keeping secrets from him. That alone made him feel better. 

You shook your head, looking a little offended at the suggestion, “No, of course not. I- I wouldn’t have-” Your brain was moving a million miles a minute and cohesive sentences were difficult to form. “You have to trust me that I would have told you if I knew.” 

The sentiment let out a floodgate of relief in Mando’s chest. “What do you want to do?” He asked simply. Throughout the night, he had thought about this long and hard and the more he thought, the more he was actually excited about the prospect of having a baby. An actual baby. He knew that this wasn’t just his decision though. 

You swallowed hard, looking down at your stomach that you had just noticed was covered with Mando’s cape. “I-I don’t know. I need some time to think. This is just… a lot.” 

You didn’t talk about it for a while. You barely spoke at all for almost an hour. After he knew you were alright, Mando had left your side to take Grogu outside. The poor kid had been cooped up inside for almost two days. It also allowed you time to think without the pressure of him being right beside you. Mando didn’t know if you needed time alone to process the information or if you needed him there to talk it through but he knew that he preferred to have time to himself to figure things out and it was the best thing he could think of to help you. 

The nurse had stopped by while Mando was gone, just to ensure that the Mandolorian had in fact informed you that you were pregnant. He went over your vitals, important basic information about being pregnant, answered any questions you had, and reapplied bacta to all your wounds, which were estimated to be fully healed up within the next few hours with minimal scarring, thanks to the miracle medicine. You felt better after he left, physically and emotionally. 

When Mando returned a few hours later, you were sitting up in bed, having made nearly a full recovery. “You’re looking better.” He commented as he walked over to you. 

You gave a small smile of acknowledgement before looking down at your hands and flexing your wrists. You stretched out your torso a little bit. Your back was certainly achy but at least you didn’t feel like you had been hit by a flaming X-wing anymore. Mando felt better now that he could see the burns and abrasions that had littered so much of your body fading away to your natural skin color, only a few looking like they might possibly even leave a scar. 

“I’m feeling better.” You responded and it was clear that you meant it about everything. 

Grogu toddled towards the bed and reached his tiny arms out in an attempt to reach the frame and climb his way up to you but couldn’t reach. With an amused chuckle, you bent down and lifted the baby effortlessly. 

Mando didn’t want to press you about the matter but he was desperate to know what exactly your future held. He stood in waiting silence until you spoke again, “How do you feel about this?” 

Despite the fact that you were often concerned for others before yourself, he hadn’t been expecting that question. It also just wasn’t a question he had ever been used to being asked. Nobody usually cared. “How do I feel?” 

You nodded, looking up to him, “Yeah.” 

Mando sighed before sitting on the medical cot beside you, the thin mattress dipping more under his weight and the weight of his armor. He struggled to find the right answer to this question. Not just the right answer that you wanted to hear but the right answer that was truthful to himself. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” 

“What does that mean?” You asked, gently stroking Grogu’s soft head while you glanced to your left at Mando. You had tried to pick up on Mando’a since you’d been travelling with Mando but he rarely spoke it unless it was a knee-jerk expletive, which you too were now an expert on. 

“It means I love you. I know you. But it’s much deeper than those words mean in this language. But… that’s how I feel.” It took a lot for Mando to admit his feelings for you. Words of affection were seldom exchanged between the two of you. Your love for each other manifested more as just a mutual feeling of love, protection, and honesty with each other that extended beyond platonic friendship. Mando especially had a hard time expressing his feelings so when the words left his mouth, you couldn’t take your eyes off the visor in his helmet that hid those eyes you wished so badly you could finally see. 

“I love you too,” You started, wishing you could repeat those words in his tongue but knowing you would do them no justice. There was a brief pause while you inhaled a deep thoughtful breath before you continued, vulnerably honest, “I would like to raise this child with you, Mando.” 

Again, another pause. The silence hung thick and uncomfortable in the air, at least for you. You wished so deeply you could see his face so you could at least try to get a glimpse of something that might be going on in his head. You swallowed hard, attempting to get rid of the lump in your throat that was forming in the midst of his pensive silence. You took your eyes off his helmet that seemed to be pointed towards your knees or the ground just below them, though you could never tell exactly where his gaze ever actually was, and stared at your lap where you began to pick at your fingers with your thumb nail. 

“Din.” 

“What?” 

You looked back over to the Mandalorian to see his visor turn towards you and this time you were sure his gaze matched. “If we’re going to have a child together, I want you to know my name. It’s Din. Din Djarin.” 

You smiled, knowing how important this was to him. Mandalorian culture was still something you were learning about and you hadn’t met any other than Man- Din - but he had never told you his name before so you assumed that perhaps it was like his face, where you couldn’t know it in its true form. “Din Djarin,” You tested the name on your tongue, “I like it. It suits you.” 

Din’s mouth fell in disbelief beneath his helmet at the way his name rolled so sweetly off your tongue and he let out a little sigh of happiness when you had said you liked it. Though saying his name was not breaking the Creed, it was something he very seldom told anyone. It reminded him of his home planet and his birth parents, good memories tainted by tragedy that he preferred to avoid. It was also a way that he kept people at an arm’s length, a habit he’d developed quickly as a distrusting bounty hunter. But he didn’t want to be called Mando by you anymore. If you were going to give him the gift of a child, a literal human being to call his own, the least he could give in return was as much of him as he had to give. 

“There’s one more thing,” He began, reaching into his pocket. You stayed silent but waiting as you watched him pull a long chain from his pants, a small pearlescent shard dangling from the end. He held it up for you to see, the jagged and unrefined edges to the uniquely beautiful stone swaying in his grip. “I would like you to become my riduur.” 

Your mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape. That word you knew. The Armorer had asked Din if you were his riduur back on Navarro all those months ago, to which he honestly answered no to. “I love you, Din, but I don’t want you to marry me just because I’m pregnant.” 

“In my culture, we come to have our own children in several ways but marriage is not necessary in any. Like I said earlier, mesh’la: Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. And I would be extremely grateful if you would do me the honor of joining me in riduurok, baby or not.” He confessed, pressing the necklace into your hands. 

The edges, though jagged, were not sharp by any means. Simply unrefined but there was a beauty in it. The light created the illusions of different textures across the small stone. The chain was thin and of a material that you didn’t recognize, a dark grey metal that definitely was not silver, beskar, gold, or steel. “Usually betrothal tokens are rings. I know this is not a ring but Cobb had managed to scour a few broken pieces of Krayt pearl from the dragon yesterday and should you accept my offer, I will replace that chain with one made of beskar.” 

You shook your head, trying to shake away any doubt as to how perfect his gesture could be, “It’s beautiful. I love it.” 

“You don’t have to decide now.” 

“I would be an honor to be your riduur.” 

“Really?” He asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “You’ve never even seen my face and you’re willing to marry me?” 

You reached a hand out to rest on his helmet, just where it curved inwards where his cheek should be, “I know that I love the heart of the man behind this armor and I know what you feel like without it in the dark. I am willing to marry you without knowing what you look like beneath that helmet because I know I love you regardless.” 

Din’s hand came to press against yours, holding it against his helmet. Inside, his face was pressed against the interior, wishing he could feel more than just mere knowledge that your hand was there. He wished he could feel your skin against his again. “When we are bound in riduurok, I can finally remove my helmet for you and for you alone.” 

Your heart picked up with excitement, “You mean I can really see your face one day?” 

His helmet nodded up and down. 

“I can’t wait to look you in the eye and kiss you one day.” You closed your eyes and leaned your forehead against the beskar shielding Din’s face but he was mirroring the action beneath. A smile crept up on your lips and you handed him back the necklace, “Would you mind?” 

He reached around your neck and clasped the necklace together, pulling your hair gently to lay over the thin metal cord. “How’s it look?” You asked, straightening out the pearl over your chest. 

“Like it was meant to be there.” 

His arm fell to rest comfortable behind your back and you leaned over to rest your head on his shoulder. It was uncomfortable from the beskar that pressed hard into your cheek but you would still rest like that for the rest of time and then some if it meant you could be with Din. Grogu sat between you, a tiny leg on each of your legs and your hand pressing against his stomach gently to keep him from falling forward. 

When he startled wiggling around in your grasp, making tiny grunts of effort, it drew both yours and Din’s attention down to see what the kid was doing. He twisted to face your stomach, your hand now firmly keeping him from tumbling backwards. Neither you or Din were sure quite how much of your language he understood but it would have appeared that he somehow understood that there was now a new addition to your clan because his small three-fingered hand stretched out to rest against your lower belly and he closed his eyes, leaning back into your hand slightly. 

At first, you thought he was just trying to feel for the baby, which of course was far from being large enough at this stage to feel, especially from the outside. “Hey, hey! What’re you doing?” Din asked, not angrily but definitely concerned for what Grogu could be doing to the new baby. Though he wasn't a malicious child, Din had seen him choke Cara with the Force once before and he couldn't be sure what was going on within your womb from the outside. All he knew was that the kid was definitely using the Force. 

Grogu kept his eyes shut, ignoring his father, but a look of contentment spread over his face. That was when you felt it. You weren't even quite sure what it was that you were feeling but it felt positive, like an awareness of the life inside you that had been previously unbeknownst. It was more than that though. You could feel your connection to it and, though you knew it sounded absolutely insane, you could have sworn you could feel Grogu connecting to the fetus as well. 

Din made a move to lift the child from your lap but you put your hand on his forearm to stop him, “Wait, it’s alright.” You nodded in reassurance, looking down to Grogu. “Can you feel them?” 

Grogu reached out his other hand for Din’s, his entire hand only able to wrap around a single gloved finger. That was when Din felt it too. Again, it was a sensation he couldn’t describe. It was almost like an awareness of life but it was clearly emanating from within your womb. Grogu was merely acting as a bridge for Din.

 “Do you feel it too?” You asked, looking up at Din. 

Beneath his helmet, his mouth was agape as he struggled to process the feeling of life and light that seemed to radiate from where his body met Grogu’s and that his mind was able to just innately comprehend that this was the life you and he had created. “Yeah, I feel it.” He breathed out in amazement. “Is that the baby?” Din asked, the idea sounding preposterous but at the same time he had no idea of the capabilities of this new thing he’d learned of called the Force. He didn’t know the limits of Grogu’s power or his connection to it. 

Grogu’s hands fell from both your stomach and Din’s hand as he flopped onto his butt on your knee with an exhausted plop. Nevertheless, his disproportionate green ears wiggled happily and the rosiness in his cheeks made you fairly certain the answer was yes. 

Your hand came to cover where Grogu’s hand had just been, no longer feeling that same light feeling you had when he was touching you. Din no longer felt that connection either since Grogu sat down. “I don’t know what that was but it was kind of amazing.” You let out a breathy chuckle, “We’re going to be an actual family. Can you believe it, Din?” 

“Y’know, deep down, I think a part of me always wanted to have a family. A riduur and a youngling all of my own. I just got so used to being alone that I didn’t think I would ever find someone I’d want that with. But now I have you and Grogu and,” his hand came around your front to gently rest on your stomach, “this. I promise you that I will care for you and protect you both until the day you give birth and every day after.” 

You lifted your hand to Din’s helmet, gently turning him to face you, “Trillions of men in this universe and I got lucky enough to find you.” Grogu squealed in your lap and you laughed, stroking his ears, “And you.” Your hand dropped to Din’s lap and you laid your head against his chest plate, “I love you, Din. I cannot wait to spend the rest of our lives together.” 

[lilyofthesword-writes]

Anomaly (Haldir Oneshot)

Summary: Haldir meets you, a member of the Fellowship seeking passage through Lothlorien. Though not a fan of humans, he is curious about you.

Pairing: Haldir x F!Reader

Word Count: 5,111

Warnings/Disclaimers: A curse word. Some violence due to the Battle of Hornburg/Helm’s Deep and Minas Tirith. Injury, mentions of blood.

A/N: This is told more from Haldir’s perspective. Based off another weird dream I had. Threw in a bit of the book as well. Really wanted to get this out cuz my boi needs more love.

Masterlist

Haldir gazed at you from afar while he was on watch that evening. You were... peculiar to him. When he came across the Fellowship trying to pass through the Golden Wood, he never expected to find a human woman in their midst. The world of man was an anomaly to him despite his numerous interactions over hundreds of years. Human women were not granted the same rights and privileges as the men, a foreign to him. This was not the way of Elven culture. Meeting you there was refreshing in a way.

In conversing with Aragorn, he learned you were a soldier of Gondor who had traveled alongside Boromir and joined the Fellowship. You were a fierce warrior but kept a calm air about you. The few human female fighters he had come across, be it on purpose or part of their nature, generally overcompensated, feeling the need to prove themselves constantly. You did not. When the Marchwarden and his company initially surrounded the Fellowship, everyone drew their weapons, ready for the next challenge. You opted to place your hands on Frodo’s and Sam’s shoulders to calm them while Merry and Pippin stood at either side. Instead of fear or anger, Haldir saw an analytical curiosity gleaming in your eyes.

Even now as he kept you in his peripheral, your eyes held a certain light, a light not caused by reflecting the bright moon. It was a kind of serenity most humans rarely portrayed. It didn’t break even as pounding of ambitious orc feet hit the forest floor below. All you did was gently shift your arms that held two sleep-ridden hobbits.

Since the platforms amongst the trees were not large enough to contain both the Fellowship and Haldir’s party together, you had to be split apart. Aragorn kept you, Legolas, Frodo and Sam while Boromir, Gimli, Merry and Pippin rested on a neighboring platform. You had taken to the Hobbits just as much Boromir had, your arms wrapped around them with their heads resting on either shoulder. How you bonded with the curious creatures so well, Haldir would never know. You managed to bring a semblance of peace to their aching hearts, enough so they could rest. He could not imagine it was an easy feat considering all the Fellowship had been through. It made him wonder what Lady Galadriel would make of you.

Upon reaching Caras Galadhon, you practically vibrated with childish delight. Although you had been to Rivendell, you had never seen anything quite like the capital city, that much Haldir was certain. The corners of his mouth tugged into the faintest of smiles when he saw your elated face. He turned away to restore his stoic facade, but unknowingly caught the attention of another. Aragorn shot him a knowing smirk as their eyes met momentarily. Haldir said nothing and continued to lead the way up the stairs spiraling the ancient trees.

Up the stairs, across some bridges and the Fellowship was in the presence of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Haldir bared witness to the interactions from the sidelines. He knew when Lady Galadriel entered each of their minds through their minute expressions. While most struggled to remain slightly neutral to her ministrations, others had a difficult time hiding their horror. You, on the other hand, parted your lips with an acute tilt of your head, not bothering to mask your wonder or amusement.

The meeting came to a close shortly after. Lady Galadriel’s gaze swept over the group, ultimately landing on you. Haldir knew she would call upon you later that evening. Until then, he was tasked with guiding the Fellowship to where they would be resting.

It was long after the others had gone to bed, after Frodo returned from the mirror, when Haldir learned he was correct. He spied you and Lady Galadriel wandering the halls, speaking softly amongst yourselves. What about, he could not say. He swiftly took the next pathway so as not to intrude on your private moment.

Marchwarden. Please come.

Always the obedient one, he turned himself around to join you both.

He greeted the pair of you with a bow.

“Marchwarden,” Lady Galadriel responded with a smile. “Would you be so kind as to escort our guest back to her company? The hour is late, and she deserves just as much rest as her friends.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Haldir held out his arm for you to take which you did after properly bidding Lady Galadriel a good night with a bow. He led you along the walkways, taking his time in doing so. This would more than likely be one of the few times he would be able to speak with you alone. The Fellowship would continue on their quest as soon as possible.

“These woods are truly a wonder. I have never experienced anything quite like it,” you started, breaking the quiet between you, voice so delicate it was hard to believe you were the warrior Aragorn made you out to be.

An agreeing hum quietly rumbled in his throat. “It is a gem of Middle Earth.”

“I must agree. I think I can understand your fierce desire to protect this place, your home.”

“I am sure you wish to protect Gondor just as much. Your dedication to the Fellowship is proof of that.”

“Despite the hardships,” you tried to hide the way you sucked in a breath, “I am glad to be a part of this. They have all become like family to me.”

Gandalf.

Hearing the grief lightly laced in your voice, Haldir stopped and pulled his arm away just enough to take your hand, turning to stand in front of you. With his free hand he cupped your cheek to catch the stray tear that had escaped your lashes. He was at a loss for words. Comforting others was not a skill commonly taught to Marchwardens. You caught his hand before he had a chance to think about retracting it, leaning into his touch. He closed the last bit of distance between you two and stroked the swell of your cheek with his thumb, your eyes shutting to bask in the moment.

An eternity or mere moments passed. Neither of you could tell by the time you finally spoke. “Thank you.”

The day your company was set to leave, Haldir felt a small pang in his heart. Why was he so bothered by your departure? He had only had the one major interaction with you. The rest of his time was spent either training or on patrol, and on patrol really meant him keeping an eye on the Fellowship. You just happened to be around when he took watch, or so he tried to convince himself.

He stood aside as Lady Galadriel offered her gifts to the travelers, giving them each something they would need or want. She bestowed on you a small Elven dagger, tiny enough to conceal in a boot with little discomfort. The Marchwarden, though content you had some extra to defend yourself with, hoped you would never need to use it.

Haldir then brought the Fellowship to the boats where everyone’s belongings were already packed and settled. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you while everyone said their proper farewells, but nothing stopped him from following down river to the borders. He and his troupe had orders to make sure you all reached them safely anyways.

Despite being hidden amongst the trees, it was like you knew he was there. Your head turned towards him as you passed the borders, not making eye contact but still unnervingly close to it. A tiny smile graced your lips before returning to the task at hand.

Helm’s Deep was not where the Marchwarden wanted to be, but he still had his orders. He was charged with leading an Elven army to help defend the kingdom of Rohan. Entering the gates, he was speaking with a perplexed King Théoden when what was left of your party rounded the corner. Your grin shone brightly in the dark when Aragorn surprised him with an embrace.

Haldir found himself both pleased and upset by your presence. While you looked to be in good health, he did not know your full battle prowess and as such was unsure how you would handle the soon-to-be battlefield. However, he never had the chance to voice his concerns as he needed to position his soldiers.

The rain poured when the standoff with the Orcs and Uruk-hai began, pinging off of helmets loudly. Haldir stood among his fellow Elves. Aragorn spread the rest of you out, sending you to the opposite end of Helm’s Deep where Haldir’s view was partially obscured. He could at least see you standing proudly alongside the other men. He could only imagine the fire in your eyes.

When the battle began, it raged with seemingly no good end in sight. A section of the wall had exploded with Aragorn near enough to be caught in the blast. Haldir could hear you bark your clear and concise orders to the men as you rushed to help Aragorn. Upon reaching his feet, Aragorn yelled out the order to retreat further in to better protect the caves the women and children were hiding in. Haldir belayed the orders in his native tongue to his soldiers.

He made sure the soldiers retreated but was unable to do so himself. Surrounded by the enemy on a high ledge, he slashed through them in an attempt to make a path for himself. His weariness had caught up with him as he was hit in the side with a jagged weapon.

“Marchwarden!”

He spun around as someone called him, ready to slice through his assailant. It fell to the ground as he faced it, revealing you with a now broken sword which you cast away. You stepped over the dead enemy to get a better look at him. Haldir clutched his side when you tried to check on his wound.

“How bad is it?”

“You should be retreating,” he tried to dodge the question.

“As should you,” you answered sternly, locking eyes with him. “Are you still able to keep moving?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We must go quickly.”

You reached out to help him when your breath hitched. You lurched towards him, grabbing his free arm to pull him forward, the motion catapulting you behind him. You ripped the dagger from your boot as you continued towards the Orc that had snuck up behind Haldir, and shoved it between the layers of its armor. In the creature’s last breath, it brought down its sword on your shoulder, forcing you to your knees.

Haldir rushed to your side, stabbing the Orc once more for good measure before shoving it off the ledge. He kneeled in front of you, clenching his jaw to ignore the pain in his side, and held you steady by your upper arms. Your eyes were glassing over while you desperately tried to keep your head up to look at him.

He called out your name. “We need to follow the others. Are you able to stand?”

You blinked a few times before hoarsely whispering, “I... I don’t... know.”

Your shoulder bled profusely as Haldir tried to help you stand. He took on most of your weight with your arm over his shoulder. You wouldn’t last much longer without a healer’s attention. Biting back his own pain, he practically carried you down the stairs to solid ground where Aragorn met you. He and what little was left of the soldiers who had not yet retreated formed around the two of you, furiously slicing at the Orcs and Uruk-hai that would stop you from reaching the main halls.

Soldiers who were protecting the doors ushered you inside immediately where Haldir brought you into the caves for the healers to watch over. One tried to make him sit momentarily to tend to his own injury, but he brushed them away. He could still continue. His ribs were probably bruised, if not broken, but his armor kept the damage from being life threatening. He promptly left to speak with Aragorn about the next plan of attack. He would be damned if he allowed any of those foul beings to pass into the caves to finish the job.

The battle was won, Gandalf having arrived with reinforcements right when they needed him most. When victory was assured, the Marchwarden wasted no time in returning to the caves where you lay unconscious. The healers bandaged you to the best of their abilities given the circumstances, and you were at least breathing steadily.

Much to the surprise of his fellow elves and your company, Haldir rarely left your side, even during the trek back to Edoras. He was still there when you woke safely in the Golden Halls of Meduseld.

Your eyes struggled to open as you stirred awake. “Wh-what happened?” Your voice was hoarse from sleep and lack of water.

“You were struck down, Mellon nin.” Haldir brushed a rogue strand of hair from your forehead and placed his hand on yours. “We were able to retreat to the caves.”

“And the battle?” Your arms shook as you tried to sit up and lean your weight on your good side. “The outcome?”

The Marchwarden tried to settle you back down, but you would not relent. “We were victorious. Gandalf arrived with reinforcements at dawn and drove the enemy out.”

You began to relax at that before another question flooded your mind. “What about-”

“Your friends are well,” he chuckled at your persistence. “They are preparing to leave for Isengard soon. Word has returned that it has fallen.”

Before you had a chance to ask another question, he helped you sit up the rest of the way so as not to aggravate your wound further with your stubbornness and handed you a glass of water. You drank it slowly despite your need to relinquish your thirst.

“Thank you.” You passed the glass back to him, your voice clearer now. “When do they leave?”

“Tomorrow morning, I believe,” Haldir answered and coaxed you to lay back down.

You nodded with a hum. “I suppose I should rest more, then. If there is a chance that Merry and Pippin are there and well, I would like to be there.”

“Mellon nin, your injury is not yet healed.”

“A mere shoulder wound will not prevent me from riding to Isengard,” you huffed.

“It is nothing to scoff at. Mellon nin, you almost died,” he pleaded with you, taking one of your hands in both of his.

“Haldir, I still have my duty to the Fellowship. I cannot abandon them.”

“Tending to your health is not abandoning anyone,” he spoke softly as he ran a thumb across your knuckles. “You will still be able to continue your quest when you have healed.”

You sighed deeply, looking to the ceiling as though collecting your thoughts. “I just... This is something I feel like I need to do.”

A deafening silence showered the room. Haldir studied you for a moment, your unencumbered hand fiddling with the sheets. Your mind was made up, and there was nothing he could do.

“Mellon nin,” he breathed, reaching for your face so you would look at him. “You will not let this go, will you?”

You shook your head with determined yet pleading eyes.

He squeezed your hand gently. “Then, I suppose all I can ask of you is to get your rest tonight.”

“Thank you.” With a smile, your thumb glided over his.

He made to stand so you could sleep in peace without him hovering. As he pulled his hand away, you gripped it tighter.

“Haldir? Will you stay? At least until I fall asleep? I am not sure I wish to be alone right now.”

Taken aback, he stood there dumbly before retaking his seat. “Of course, Mellon nin.”

The next morning, the remaining members of the Fellowship gathered at the stables. Aragorn was in the middle of trying to convince you to stay behind. Gandalf stood out of the way with Gimli, biting back a laugh at Aragorn’s futile efforts, while Haldir and Legolas prepared the horses.

“You will only worsen your injury,” Aragorn chided.

You folded your arms defiantly across your chest. “One trip on horseback is not so arduous.”

“She has already made up her mind, Aragorn. I doubt you will be able to change it,” Gandalf chimed in.

Haldir was tightening the saddle on the horse that would carry you so it was more secure when Legolas silently sidled up to him. “You have already said your peace, have you not?”

“What makes you say that?” Haldir twisted the saddle to test it.

“You have barely left her side since our victory. You must have spoken with her before now,” Legolas quipped.

“Indeed, I have.”

“Then, surely in your fondness of her you would have tried to convince her to stay behind.”

“Fondness?” Haldir stilled a moment before adjusting the straps again. “We are friends, Legolas. Nothing more.”

“Then why is it you have been meticulously preparing this one horse whilst I have already saddled three?” Legolas shot him a pointed smirk.

The Marchwarden felt himself flush all the way to the tips of his ears. “She is still injured. I- We cannot risk her hurting herself further.”

Legolas held his chuckle in his throat as a hum. “The sooner you stop attempting to fool yourself, Mellon-”

“Alright, you may join us!” Aragorn growled with a huff, stealing the attention of the bickering elves. “However, the moment a battle should arise, you are to return here.”

“Of course,” you complied, a stubborn edge to your voice.

Aragorn’s heavy sigh was littered with grit. “Are the horses ready?”

Haldir and Legolas nodded swiftly.

“Good. Let us be on our way.”

You made your way to the Marchwarden who was beckoning you over.

“Are you sure there is nothing I can do to change your mind, Mellon nin?” he asked softly.

“I am, yes.”

You flashed a smile at him before placing a foot in the stirrup. Haldir remained hovering near you. Your shoulder strained as you willed your arms to reach the saddle, steadying yourself as you pushed down on the stirrup to lift yourself up. Midway up, you lost your grip as your shoulder suddenly gave out. Haldir was quick to press a hand to your back to stop your fall. He noticed how your jaw tensed to grind out what was obviously the pain of your wound, but you were still determined to mount the horse.

“Here.” He gripped your waist. “I apologize if this seems forward.”

He raised you enough so you could swing your leg over the saddle, letting you go the moment you had your balance.

“N-not at all. Thank you.”

You held the reins tightly as you settled down, knuckles turning white like it could make everything better. Haldir felt his chest tighten and covered one of your hands with his own, eyes filled with concern. Your head snapped down to meet his gaze. With a reassuring yet forced smile, you attempted to relax your muscles to conceal just how much your injury hurt, but he saw right through it.

With a heavy sigh and shake of his head, he took hold of the saddle and hoisted himself up behind you.

“What are you-”

“If your pain is that severe, you shall not ride alone,” Haldir interrupted, finality in his tone.

“Haldir, this is not necessary,” you argued as he pulled the reins from your hands.

Legolas slinked by with Gimli on their horse, sending you two a knowing smile. The Marchwarden’s blush bled to his ears again. He didn’t notice your own flushed face.

Haldir cleared his throat. “Let us go before we fall behind.”

The journey to Isengard was quiet and uneventful. Partway through the trip, you finally allowed yourself to relax, not realizing you were leaning back into Haldir. Though bemused, he was not about to protest.

Collecting Merry and Pippin was as simple as it was amusing. They were most excited about reuniting with their companions. It was on the ride back that you and Haldir overheard their teasing about you sharing a horse. Aragorn and the others bit back grins and commentary of their own.

The festivities that followed upon returning to Edoras were no better, the ale at least partly to blame. The Marchwarden and what remained of his soldiers were settled near Legolas who was currently in the middle of a drinking match with Gimli. You had yet to arrive. Eowyn was the only reason Haldir was not at your side forcing you to rest. She tended to your shoulder, promising to return you for the celebration. He would have preferred you did not come for the sake of your health, but as long as you were not overexerting yourself again, he would not complain.

He swirled the ale in his mug after taking a swig, mulling over recent events. Usually he was not one to allow his emotions control his actions, and yet he was doing that much more often now. He felt like he couldn’t help himself. There was this overwhelming desire to keep you safe, keep you close, regardless of the fact that you were perfectly capable of handling yourself. Haldir had caught a glimpse of your abilities at Helm’s Deep. There was a reason you had gone to Rivendell with Boromir and joined the Fellowship.

As if to break him of his spiraling thoughts before they grew out of control, one of his neighboring elves nudged his arm, winking and motioning him to look up. He lifted his gaze, about to make a remark for the elf’s teasing, when he saw Eowyn stepping into the room with you close at her side.

The music, shouts, laughter - they all faded away from his ears. You practically radiated light despite your nervous self on display. Eowyn had lent you one of her dresses, the fabric draping differently on your frame from hers yet no less perfect. She caught Haldir’s gawking and whispered something in your ear with a smirk. You glanced up to see him but dipped your head back down to where your hair curtained your tiny, bashful smile. Eowyn was quick to tuck the offending hair behind your ear. She giggled and murmured to you again, resulting in your flustered rush to join your companions.

Haldir focused on his ale once again. The elf who had coaxed him into looking up bumped his arm. Without saying a word, he was fully encouraging his captain to go to you. The elves in his company had never seen their normally reserved, stoic Marchwarden act like this before, and they thought it a fantastic development. They all joined in pestering him to at least ask you for a dance. It took a while, but his stubbornness crumbled, and he brought himself to his feet only to notice you were missing from your company. He scanned the crowds, hoping to spot you. Maybe someone else had already asked you to dance. That theory was thankfully doused when he spied the swish of your dress through a door leading outside.

Following and stepping out into the cool night air, he found you leaning forward on the wooden railing, gazing up at the stars. Your hair sparkled under the dim light. He realized tonight was the first time he had seen you without it tied or braided back out of the way.

“Mellon nin,” Haldir called to you softly so as not to startle you. “Are you alright?”

You turned to see him just outside of the door and nodded with a tired smile. “Yes. I just felt I needed some fresh air and a moment away from the crowd.”

“I apologize for disturbing you. I will-”

“No!” You cut him off quickly. “I mean... You did not disturb anything. You can stay if you would like.”

The corners of Haldir’s lips tugged upwards ever so slightly as he approached you, joining you in your previous stargazing. The peaceful quiet of the night muffled the festivities in the building. He felt you cover his hand with your own accompanied by a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you, Haldir, for everything,” your voice was just above a whisper.

“I should be thanking you, Mellon nin,” he shook his head, his other hand coming to grasp yours. “If you had not come for me, I would not be at your side now.”

A breathy chuckle passed your lips. “I suppose we are even then.”

Haldir hummed questioningly.

“Had you not brought me with you whilst retreating, then I would not be at your side now.” You parroted the last words with a grin.

The Marchwarden’s shoulders shook with a quiet laughter. “I cannot argue against that.”

You set your free hand on top of your conjoined ones as you leaned against his shoulder. A comforting silence befell you both. That is until you heard chittering giggles from behind. The pair of you turned to see Merry and Pippin poking their heads from the doorway, followed by Aragorn who proceeded to drag them back inside and shot you a wink as he did so.

Gondor had called for aid. Rohan answered. The army’s camp was set up, and Aragorn had a plan. Haldir received orders for his company to continue helping Rohan and meet with Elrond to receive more explicit directions.

The morning for departure arrived, and Aragorn was set to travel to the Paths of the Dead. Legolas, Gimli, Haldir and you were to join him. Haldir’s soldiers were to follow King Théoden into battle. You all stood wearily at the start of the trail, feeling the ominous air seeping down to the bone.

Haldir brushed his hand against your elbow for your attention. “May I speak with you privately?”

You looked up at him with worried eyes and nodded, probably guessing what this was about. He pulled you to the side just out of earshot of the others.

He steeled himself with a deep breath. “I must insist you do not join us, Mellon nin.”

“But Haldir, I-”

“Please, Meleth nin,” he desperately pleaded, not meaning to let the new term of endearment slip. Tenderly cupping your face with both hands, he continued, “None of us know how this will end. We... We may not come back. I beg of you to please stay with Eowyn.”

His voice was hushed, afraid it would break if he attempted to speak any louder. He knew his emotions were on full display, but he could not bring himself to care. What mattered was keeping you safe.

“Haldir...” you trailed off, grasping at his wrists with the utmost care to keep them in place. You gave a quick nod and tried to conceal your worried frown. “Alright. However. You had better- You all had better return.”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “I will do everything in my power to do just that.”

The Marchwarden was among the Fellowship in Minas Tirith when he saw a barely conscious Eowyn being carried into the Houses of Healing. Panic coursed through his veins. You were nowhere to be found. He rushed over to her as she was laid on a bed.

“Lady Eowyn, what happened?”

She nearly didn’t recognize him. All of her effort was put into focusing on his words.

“Lady Eowyn, please. Where is she?” He held his breath like it would help him hear better.

With a tiny shake of her head, she croaked quietly, “I am sorry... We... We were separated... in battle... I know not... her fate...”

Haldir stepped aside to allow the healers in. His heart was at a standstill. Had he known Eowyn was going to sneak her way into the army, he would have pleaded with you to return to Rohan. Your injury did not have the time to fully heal. Fighting in such a strenuous battle would do you no good. He needed to find you. He needed to know that you were well.

Bursting through the doors, he raced down the stairs for the lower levels, Aragorn shouting something after him. He did not hear a word. Canopies were set up and homes were open near the gate for the soldiers who were unable to reach the Houses of Healing. Haldir weaved through the injured in a desperate attempt to find you. He’d rather discover you here as long as you were among the living.

After a fruitless search under the canopies, he began entering the opened homes. He asked anyone able for a person matching your description. Nothing. Nothing until he reached the last home. There you were towards the back of the room. An older woman had just stepped away from helping you. The armor you had borrowed like Eowyn was in a pile to the side. He could see the bandage on your thigh through the tear in your trousers, but other than that you came away from the battle fairly unharmed. How you managed that with a preexisting injury was a mystery to him.

“Meleth nin,” Haldir breathed, making his way to you. This time he meant to use the term.

Somehow, you heard him over the throng of people, your gaze meeting his. “Haldir!”

You rose to your feet a little too quickly and swayed unintentionally to put your weight onto your good leg. Haldir darted to you just in time, bringing you into his embrace.

“You’re alright...” He rested his forehead on yours just like before you departed, completely forgetting those around you. “I was beginning to think my search was for naught.”

Wrapping your arms around him, you buried your face in his chest. “Haldir, I... I’m so sorry. I know you meant to keep me from harm-”

“Shhh,” he cooed, settling his chin on the crown of your head. “I know. There is no need to apologize. All that matters is that you are here and well.”

Your light chuckle vibrated through him. “You are much too patient with me.”

“I assume you are not familiar with that.”

“You would be right.” He could feel your cheeks lift as you smiled. “Most tend to leave when I grow stubborn.”

Haldir shifted his face so it rested in your hair, murmuring into your scalp, “I am not going anywhere, Meleth nin.”

The world of man was still an anomaly to him. You were an anomaly within that world, and he wouldn’t have you any other way.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 31

(Master Post)

Thank you everyone that took part in the contest. The entries and voting participation were amazing!

I can't thank you guys enough for making this such a fun time.

And congratulations to @bevvydraws for winning.

and the other wonderful finalists: @emdoddles, @heizerux, @dhdrawings and @spaghetti-l0rd

I hope you all enjoy this next part. I would love to hear your comments, and please share if you think it is worth being seen by others.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Lila!” Mrs. Rossi cried out after her daughter left the room in a hurry. The diplomat was ready to run after her only daughter.

“Mrs. Rossi, a moment please.” Principal Damocles asked with a demeanor that was stern yet not too harsh.

The mother turned to the elderly principal and the young concerned teacher standing next to him.

“Miss Bustier, please go locate Lila for us. I will handle everything from here. Afterwards, head back to the classroom.”

The red-haired teacher snapped to normal.

“Oh, of course. If you need any additional information, please reach out to me.”

The young teacher left the room to go find the young exchange student. Leaving the Principal and Lila’s mother alone.

“What is all of this about Mr.Damocles? Why was my daughter so distraught?”

The owl hero enthusiast took a moment to contemplate how he was going to word his discoveries to Lila’s caring mother.

“Mrs. Rossi, are you aware of Lila’s actions and behavior at her previous school?”

“Of course, My daughter was an excellent student. Top of her class, perfect attendance she was the perfect role model from the report cards I received.”

The principal took a breath which seemed to take the wind out of Mrs.Rossi’s statement.

“I was afraid you would say that.”

The principal turned his computer screen to Mrs. Rossi.

The older gentleman sat by patiently as he watched the mother frantically go through each document.

“There must be some mistake. I haven’t seen any of this! My daughter is a good girl!”

“I am afraid those are the records I had attained this morning. I made sure to check that these were authentic before calling you, and I have yet to find a single reason to believe that they have been altered.”

The horror that the Italian diplomat was experiencing was clear. She did not want to believe that her daughter had been lying to her.

She had gotten to the last document, an audio file.

“What’s this one?” She asked nervously, unsure if she even wanted to know the truth behind it.

“It is an audio recording of your daughter. She seems to have been bullying one of the students at our school. I would normally like to get both students’ side of the story before making any rash judgements, but the evidence in the file is rather concise.”

Mrs.Rossi could feel the tension in the air, this was likely going to be something that would change how she viewed her daughter, but she needed to be sure that these accusations against her were true. The diplomat knew that if there was even the slightest hint of doubt, she would use it to fight for her daughter with every fiber of her being.

“Let me… Let me hear the file.”

The principal took note of the woman’s conviction. She was willing to see this through to the end.

“Very well.”

He presses play.

__________________________________________________________________________

“Lila!” The young red head teacher called out in concern as she exited the school. She had been searching the entire building for the young transfer student.

She blamed herself for how everything turned out. How could she not have noticed the way Lila was acting? How could she not be aware that one of her own students was lying to her? Why was she so blind to the malicious actions of her own student? Was there a way to bring her back to being a good person?

Caline kept looking as these questions kept swarming her brain. She had to find Lila, she needed to talk with her firmly. She needed to see if there was still some good in her. Maybe she could help Lila turn over a new leaf, she was still just a young teen, she had time to turn things around. Chloé had started improving a bit since the start of the school year, so maybe Lila could as well.

A flash of light from a nearby alleyway caught the attention of the frantic teacher.

“Oh no…” She ran towards flash, hoping that the sudden light was not her student getting akumatized. She hoped she wasn’t too late.

“Lila?” She called out as she entered the small entryway. Her worried expression shifted to horror when she had found herself face to face with an akuma.

“So Sorry Miss Bustier, you just missed her.” The voice taunted with cynical glee.

The akumatized individual that stood in front of her had a crown like mask that transitioned from white to black as it covered the top of her face. Her brown hair slowly shifted whit as it reached the ends of her hair. Her eyes glowing with an ethereal white light, showing her fury. Her outfit was reminiscent of a costume in a high-end stage production, adorned with various masks, each showing different emotions and alternating in black and white color scheme. Her right hand was wearing a snow-white glove with her charm bracelet over it. Her legs had long white stockings which she wore long gray boots that reached up past her knees. Each boot had a small mask expressing a different emotion and covered her knees as if they were knee pads. The last and most mesmerizing detail was the gaseous monstrosity that stood behind her, it having a glowing mask with a mouth that moved.

(AN: Congrats again to @Bevvydraws for this amazing design and winning the contest)

“Lila… don’t move. We can fix this. We will get Ladybug and Chat noir here, then we can start to work with the school and…”

“Not this time. I have tried to handle things the civil way.” The akumatized Lila chuckled. “That was how Lila would handle things, with pretty words and half-baked apologies. You always assumed the best in people Miss Bustier, and that is why your students always got akumatized, because you couldn’t see how awful they all are, how awful everyone is!”

Lila had noticed her charm bracelet was glowing. It was telling her that Miss Bustier has been turned into an akuma. But that wasn’t all, it was if she could even read their darkest thoughts as it did. She was looking under the mask that was Caline Bustier.

‘Interesting’ Lila mused to herself.

“You don’t truly believe that. The akuma is warping your perception. I know you are hurting, but you can fight it Lila. You are….”

“I can see it now. You do actually care for your students, but you hate how despite your best efforts, you can’t control them to be the vision of them you see. Chloé is the biggest failure to you.”

“What?! No! Chloé has been a bit slow in progressing but she is becoming a better person.”

“You hate how much influence she has in the school thanks to her father being the mayor. The staff has to remind you how carefully you have to tread when dealing with her. When she was going to leave for New York some time ago, you were as happy as everyone else and you hated yourself over it.”

Caline could feel her spirit breaking as she said that. She was right, she did hate that she felt happy about Chloé leaving, she did despise the amount of influence that student had. Sure she understood that she couldn’t control everything, but it felt so much worse when she felt she couldn’t do anything to help her students excel and be the best they can be.

A mask launched from Lila’s dress and hit Miss Bustier dead center. The teacher fell to the floor as her screams were muffled, trying to fight the mask that had launched itself onto her face. She tried to pull the mask off with her hands but it only seemed more stubborn to stay put.

“I am Masquerade, the one who will reveal the farce that is Paris, just like how I removed your mask.”

The teacher’s struggles began to lessen as the mask began taking control.

“This world is a stage where everyone acts to please others, to get what they want, to pretend to be happy. I am going to destroy all of that nonsense. You wore your mask so well that you forgot you even had one on. You were so easily fooled, but now your true self will come to the surface. The evil that lies in your heart has a new face. Now let’s see how this new mask fits you and how well it will serve me.”

The mask began to glow and in an instant, Miss Bustier had reverted into the paler, akumatized version of herself, Zombiezou. The only difference being the white mask that covered her face as opposed to the eye mask  she wore in the past.

“Isn’t that Right Zombizou?”

“What is your bidding?” Zombizou inquired with an emotionless tone.

Masquerade smiled as she snapped her fingers. The masked monster behind her moved in front of her.

“Simulare!  Shift and transform into Volpina!”

The gaseous masked creature began morphing into Lila’s first Akuma transformation, the faux Fox heroine, Volpina. The Sentimonster perfectly replicated the form.

A purple butterfly outline appeared over Masquerade’s face.

“Looks like you have quite the handle on your new powers” a sinister voice said with glee. “Now what do you have planned to deal with Ladybug and Chat noir.”

Masquerade smiled.

“Just you watch Hawkmoth, this will be one show you won’t want to miss.”

“I am looking forward to it.”

She cracked her knuckles and prepared her order.

“Now, Have Zombizou reprise her role as Miss Bustier, and help me look like my former self.

Simulare nodded and activated her powers, transforming the two to look like their former selves.

“Excellent work Simulare, now stay close by and maintain the illusion until we get back into the school”

“Come, we must return to the Principal.” a sinister smile on Lila’s face.

_______________________________________________________________________

There was a lot to talk about in Miss Bustier’s class. They had a lot of revelations thrown their way in a matter of minutes. Rose was Gushing to Mylene and Juleka about Marinette and Adrien dating, Max was busy helping Kim and Ivan process what happened with Lila. Alix and Nathaniel were discussing if Lila was the one trying to frame Marinette for that whole chair debacle with Chloé.

Marinette decided this was all too much and just moved to her seat to sit down. This was a lot to process. Lila had finally been exposed. Everyone knew the truth! She was also dating Adrien, and the class found out about that, it all felt so overwhelming.

She noticed someone sit beside her, her blond model boy who also had a similar expression on his face.

“I am guessing we are both feeling the same thing.” Marinette commented.

“A mixture of shock, relief, nervous and excited?” Adrien responded.

“That pretty much sums it up.”

The two sat in silence for a moment. Marinette subconsciously touched his hand. They both interlocked their fingers as they let the events wash over them.

But the moment they were sharing was ended when Nino and Alya sat in the desks in front of them and turned around to face them

“I guess the date went well.” Alya rhetorically asked with a knowing smirk.

The two new love birds felt their faces heat up.

“No need to answer dude. We can read it from your faces.” Nino chimed in.

“We weren’t this bad when you two got together.” Adrien fired back.

“True, but we weren’t as bubbly and blushy as you two are right now.” Nino countered.

“Daww Mari, you look like a cherry.” Alya teased.

“Alright enough. We get it, we are adorable.” Marinette gestured to herself and Adrien. “I am curious on how you exposed Lila.”

Alya’s cutesy teasing smile shifted to her knowing smirk.

“Well if you must know, it all started with that recording you asked me to hold on to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alya began to paint the scene with her take on everything that happened.

(Cue chalkboard illustration explaining Alya’s elaborate plan with her standing in front of it)

“After Curiosity got the better of me while I was home. I played the recording.”

Chalk Alya showing a shocked expression

“I was absolutely shocked to hear everything on there. If I didn’t hear it myself and it didn’t come from such a reliable source, I would swear it was a fake. But it was right here.”

Chalk Alya’s expression turned to rage as the recording kept going. The chalk caricature stomping on the ground and steam coming out of her ears

“I was furious! I had been blatantly lied to and the worst thing was that this Liar was hurting my best friend. I could not let it slide.”

“So, I ran to Nino’s place and showed him what was up”

Chalk Alya clearly steamed and now starting to explain to chalk Nino who is also mad. Chalk Nino listening with shock at this.

“We knew we couldn’t let that stand. But we did get briefly distracted with that whole crazy Knights thing. So that delayed us for a bit.”

Cue comedic bits of Nino and Alya hiding in a dumpster while knights walked past.

“After that whole situation had cleared up, we started doing some serious digging on Lila back at my place.”

“We talked with some of Lila’s old classmates, friends, school teachers, anyone we could find from the places and people she mentioned. We needed to make sure we got as much information about this girl as possible.”

illustration of Chalk Alya emailing different people of varying looks. All sending responses back.

“And we found out some more shady stuff about her, it was crazy. It was like we didn’t even scratch the surface of how bad this was.”

“But to really confirm some of the more outlandish stuff, we needed to reach out for help. So, we brought in Max.”

Chalk Alya and Nino heading to Max’s place where it shows him talking with Chalk Markov.

“We asked him to check a few things which he was a bit nervous about doing but we managed to convince him. The stuff we did find was a massive leap forward in our little investigation of Lila.”

Show Chalk max hacking and reveal shocking info.  And then waking up sleeping Alya and Nino.

“After that, Nino and I decided to do a last bit of information gathering at school, just to make sure we had a strong enough case to ensure she could weasel her way around it.”

Chalk Alya and Nino tiptoeing through the halls trying to be stealthy. With little flashlights

“That was where we found the security camera footage.”

“And after all that was gathered, it was all about making sure everyone got the truth.

Show the class, the teachers, and all of the school getting the information about Lila.

(The chalk illustration ends and goes back to reality)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And then you pretty much saw everything else that happened.” Alya finished

Adrien and Marinette processed the explanation.

“Wow, that is something. You guys really pulled out all the stops for it.” Adrien commented.

“Well my dudes, she was messing with our friends, we couldn’t just let her do that. You two both knew that she was sketchy. Now the school knows, and possibly all of Paris because of the Ladyblog.”

A chill goes down Marinette’s spine. The baker’s daughter had a disturbing realization. What if Lila did get akumatized?

__________________________________________________________________________

Mrs. Rossi sat down.

The principal did his best to try and ease the disheartened parent.

“There is more to that recording than what we listened to?” The mother of Lila questioned, her voice trying to stay steady.

“Another 40 minutes yes.”

“And it is just as bad as what we have just heard?”

“I haven’t listened to the entire recording, but based on everything I would say that it is a high possibility.”

“I… I can’t believe my daughter is the girl on this recording. There must be some sort of mistake.”

Mr. Damocles could see that the poor woman was on the brink of tears. She was doing her best to stay strong. She wanted to believe her daughter was not capable of the horrible things the documents and the recording were saying. He couldn’t imagine the amount of torment she was going through.

The older gentleman was no stranger to dealing out discipline to bad students, but this was the first time he had seen such a distraught mother over finding out the actions of her child. He couldn’t blame the woman for her feelings, Lila was indeed quite the charismatic actor. He and her teachers were easily charmed by her demeanor. One would not suspect any malicious intent from her in the slightest. It made the discovery all the more shocking and now, all the more heartbreaking.

“I need to talk with my daughter about all of this.”

“As would I Miss Rossi, we do try to give all our students a chance to explain themselves.”

Mostly because too many parents complain when we don’t do that and that is its own PR nightmare that Dupont does not need to deal with.

“I know that my daughter is a good girl. There must be a reasonable explanation.”

The door to the office opens.

The two adults turn to watch a much calmer Lila walk in with the red head teacher.

Miss bustier remains quiet and stands by the door. Her face was unreadable.

“Lila! There you are.” Miss Rossi got up from her chair, her worry apparent in her voice.  

“There are a lot of accusations being thrown at you and I have no idea why. You need to tell them it isn’t true. Please tell them that this is all a huge mistake”

“It’s alright mamma.” Lila assures her mother. “I will take care of everything.”

Mrs. Rossi felt herself calm at her daughter’s assurance. She should have known not to get so worked up. She sat back down and watched as her daughter sauntered to the desk of the principal

“Everything that you have read and heard from those documents is accurate. I did do all of those terrible things. I am 100% at fault.”

Principal Damocles blinked at the statement.

“I’m sorry Lila, are you… confirming everything in here?”

“That’s right.”

“Mia stellina, please tell me this is a bad joke. A silly prank of sorts?”

“Nope, it’s all factual. I did do those things, I did threaten Marinette, I did fake those illnesses, I did skip school for a few weeks because I didn’t want to go. But you know what else is true, Mr.Damocles?”

The bracelet on Lila began to glow.

“What else is there?”

“You have been lying to yourself. Trying to act like an arbiter of right. You act like you are this no-nonsense principal that cares for the school and its students. But that isn’t true at all.”

“I beg your pardon! I do care about this school. That is why I have no choice but to…”

“I wasn’t done speaking.” Lila’s comment sent a shiver down the principal’s spine. Something was very wrong with Lila, and he couldn’t tell what.

“Now, where was I? Oh yes. The truth. The truth is that you dream of being a hero like the ones in your precious comic book. But you know you’re too old and pathetic to do any real hero work. You loved the idea of Ladybug and Chat noir, bringing those fantasies you had to reality only to slowly loathe them because they are young and can make the difference that you never could.”

Her words cut sharply into the bald principal. It was as if she knew the exact words to cut him down.

“But now that I broke through your pathetic façade, I have a new mask for you.”

Out of nowhere a mask seems to appear on Lila’s hand and she sent it flying onto the older man’s face, causing him to fall over. He struggles to try and get the mask off but the mask only seems to fighting harder to stay on.

The diplomat found herself paralyzed with shock at the situation. She was trying to process what was happening, but she couldn’t. Did her daughter just attack the principal?

Lila turned her attention to her mother. The mirage that was keeping her looking like her civilian self, faded away revealing her akumatized form.

“Now Mamma, you don’t need to worry. I have everything under control.”

“You… you aren’t my daughter.”

Masquerade took a moment before laughing darkly.

Suddenly from behind the desk stood the fallen Principal but his outfit had changed. His portly stature was now toned and muscular. His clothes were replaced with that of hero spandex. He had transformed into his former akumatized persona, Dark Owl.

“You act like you actually knew me. You know how much I love masks, yet you failed to realize I was always wearing one around you.”

Dark Owl went into his Utility belt and handed Masquerade a spray.

“Don’t worry Mamma, I won’t hurt you.”

Mrs.Rossi wanted to protest but her akumatized daughter used the spray she was given on her and felt everything fade to black.

“Put her somewhere safe. We move to the next phase.”

Dark Owl Nodded as he picked up the unconscious woman.

Masquerade’s expression softened as she looked at her mother.

“Trust me Mamma, once this is over, you will see how amazing your daughter truly is.”

The akumatized Villain cupped her earring.

“Simulare. Keep the mirage on Bustier, and have her move to the classroom once our two guests arrive.”

She smiled again as she noticed Dark Owl had finished putting her mother somewhere.

“Alright Dark Owl, I need you to make an announcement.”

__________________________________________________________________________

“Do you think Lila might get akumatized from this?” Marinette spoke aloud.

The three-other teens understood why Marinette was suddenly stiff.

“I am just going to put on the Ladyblog to be wary of a potential Akuma attack. Just to be safe. Maybe Ladybug and Chat noir will see it and take out the akuma before it gets to Lila”  Alya started frantically typing.

Marinette stood up from her desk.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom. I need to…”

“Attention students!”

The voice from the loudspeaker caught everyone’s attention.

“Alya Cesaire and Marinette Dupain Cheng. Both of you will need to come to my office immediately.”

Alya and Marinette look at each other, something seemed very off about this announcement. Normally the loud speaker wasn’t used for such direct announcements. Normally just to announce the school lunches or events. Most of the time Principal Damocles would just go classroom to classroom to do it. It seemed odd that he would use it now.

Alya stood up.

“This probably has to do with Lila. I did use your recording. I guess they want to get both sides of the story.” Alya commented.

“Do you need me to tag along? I did help you with some of the evidence gathering.” Nino inquired, sort of worried for his girlfriend.

“No worries. I think I can handle it. Besides, he only called Mari and I down.”

Alya started moving to the classroom door.

“Come on girl, we have one last thing to take care of.”

Marinette got up from her desk nervously.

“Don’t worry Marinette, whatever happens, I have your back.” Adrien assured.

Marinette gives the boy a soft smile.

She gives him a super quick peck on the cheek before running to Alya at the door.

Adrien cups his cheek and smiles.

“Dude, you are so love sick.” Nino commented.

“You are even worse than me, so don’t even.” Adrien fired back.

“I ain't dissing, I am just saying welcome to the club.” Nino laughed.

Adrien chuckled a bit. He did like this feeling. But he still couldn’t help but worry, Lila was crafty. What if she was up to something?

“Hey, I am just gonna go check my locker, I think I left my science homework in there.” Adrien explained as he got up from the desk. He moved slightly and noticed his shoe hit something.

“What are these screws doing here?”

Adrien checked to make sure Marinette’s seat wasn’t loose and was relieved when it was sturdy.

“Oh that probably has to do with Chloé’s seat breaking. I’ll take em” Nino commented.

Adrien decided he would deal with that later. He figured it would likely be best to confirm that gut feeling he had.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Things are going better than I anticipated.” The silver masked villain exclaimed with glee.

“Masquerade has infiltrated that school which houses several of my previously made akuma. Ladybug and Chat noir will have to face an army by the time they realize what is happening.”

“Sir, you do remember your son is in that building. Is it wise for us to leave him in there?” The blue clad villainess commented.

“My son has never been akumatized, besides. Lila has no interest in hurting Adrien. Unlike the last akuma, there will be no personal stakes.” Hawkmoth assured.

“You do remember that she mentioned wanting revenge against Marinette and that Ladyblogger.”

“That is of little concern.”

“The first one being the girl that your son is in love with.”

Hawkmoth paused for a moment.

“That shouldn’t matter. Adrien will get over it once we have the miraculous and bring back …”

“So, you believe Adrien wont risk fighting the akuma to protect her.”

Hawkmoth’s assurance began to melt at the realization that his son did share a rather glaring flaw. The will to jump into danger without a single thought of self-preservation in order to save the one they love. That could be trouble.

“Nathalie, we may need to get involved.”

Nathalie had dropped her transformation.

“I will head to the school and get Adrien out of there.”

“Take his bodyguard and be quick about it. Masquerade will have that building overrun with akumatized servants shortly.”

Nathalie nodded, she did feel faint for a moment but fought through it. Now was not the time to get weak. Adrien needed to be taken to safety.

______________________________________________________________________

Marinette and Alya made it to the office where Miss Bustier was outside.

“Hey Miss Bustier, is everything alright?” Alya questioned, noticing the expressionless face of their usually peppier teacher.

The red headed teacher said nothing as she gestured to the door.

“Umm… okay.” Alya took the door knob in her hand and opened the door.

Marinette took a moment to study the teacher. Something was very wrong here. She watched as the teacher began to walk towards the classroom they had just come from. She could swear she saw something flicker.

“Come on Marinette.” Alya insisted. The French-Chinese teen decided it must have been her eyes playing tricks on her and went into the office.

They entered the office and noticed that Mr.Damocles’s chair was turned away from them.

“You wanted to see us Principal Damocles?” Alya spoke up.

“No, he didn’t.” A familiar voice from behind the chair spoke.

“Lila!” Marinette exclaimed.

“Well aren’t you a detective, though you are sadly incorrect. I was Lila.”

“Was? Wait… don’t tell me…” Alya began to figure it out.

The office chair turned to reveal the akumatized Lila smiling.

“It’s Masquerade now. I really must say Alya I am quite amazed by all the work you did.”

The two teens glared at the villainess as she stood from the chair.

“This was the first time in my life that I had been so thoroughly backed into a corner. I had no way of dismissing the evidence, I was at your mercy. Truly, I am impressed.”

Alya did not know how to react to Masquerade’s rather out of nowhere praise for busting her.

“You’re praising me?”

“The old me would have had a breakdown, probably end up on the ground crying in frustration, unable to get my way. I was without a doubt destroyed.”

Marinette and Alya looked at each other in confusion.

“Why are you telling us this?” Alya questioned.

“Because anywhere else, I would have just given in. I would have resigned myself to my despair. But we are in Paris, a place with an emotion manipulating super terrorist with the power to weaponize my negative emotions.”

Marinette’s eyes went wide. She understood what Lila was saying.

“You weaponized your emotions.”

The akumatized villain started to laugh.

“I am glad you understand the situation.” Masquerade snapped her fingers.

From the shadows emerged a familiar owl themed akuma, Dark Owl. The only new addition to his ensemble was the white mask that covered his face, making his emotions unreadable.

“Dark Owl, Restrain Marinette!”

Dark Owl went to grab Marinette, but the teen quickly jumped to avoid the akuma’s grasp.

“Don’t worry girl I got you!”

Alya went to grab the nearby chair to throw it at the akuma, but Masquerade quickly moved across the desk and grabbed Alya’s shoulders as the charm bracelet began to glow.

“Oh Alya, you value truth among everything else, yet you are so dishonest with yourself. You always love to throw yourself into your passions, not giving a damn on who gets involved or who gets hurt. You put your theories and ideas above everyone else’s because you are so sure that you are right even when you aren’t. You hate how vulnerable you are when you are wrong.”

“Let go! You don’t know me!” Alya shouted as she tried to escape Masquerade’s grip on her shoulder.

Marinette had avoided a tackle made by the owl themed akuma and left him head first into an office plant.

“Don’t listen to her Alya! She is trying to turn you into an akuma like what she did to Mr.Damocles!”

“You know I am speaking the truth, your little mask of confidence is meant to hide the insecurity of a middle child that wants validation and acceptance because they never truly felt like they had their own identity. You fight so hard for everything and fear that it will be for nothing. You hate being left out of the loop and have trouble accepting when things happen that you aren’t a part of.”

“Stop it!” Alya pleaded. She could feel this akuma Lila’s words cutting her deep. This couldn’t be the truth, right?

“I can see the secrets you try and hide. I am bringing it all to the surface. You also secretly feel that Nino going after you when he was originally after your best friend makes you feel like a rebound and you hate that you feel this way.”

That was the last cut Masquerade needed, the look of hurt in Alya’s eyes was the proof.

Masquerade took a mask from her dress and placed it on Alya. The Ladyblogger dropped to the floor and tried to fight the mask that covered her face.

“Alya!” Marinette cried out in horror.

Masquerade turned to Marinette with a devilish grin.

“I warned you Marinette. I would turn everyone against you if you messed with me. And I intend to keep that promise.”

_______________________________________________________________________

So Ends part 31.

Will Masquerade’s revenge go unabated?

Will Nathalie make it in time to get to Adrien?

Will Marinette be able to escape and bring an end to Lila’s Masquerade ball?

Will I stop asking questions?

Find out all of these things and more next part.

Please comment your thoughts on the chapter and reblog.

Its tough writing on Tumblr and seeing the support really does motivate me to keep going.

Also, as for the mass amounts of tagging. I honestly won't be doing it anymore due to the f*** ton of effort it takes only for some to not work. 

[neeswords]

JAY HALSTEAD IMAGINE

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Requested?: yes

Word count: 2794

Authors notes: I hope you enjoy it. If you would like a personalised one please do ask! have fun reading! I have also a promt list :)

Trigger warning(s): mention of death, swearing, violence 

Summary: jay seems to always take Hailey's side one everything. Hailey always seems to come first. A trauma takes place and jay realises the reality.

Prompt: request.

————————————————————————------------------------------------------------------------------

Since Hailey had received a job offer from the FBI Jay had become really close with her, so close then he was pushing away his own actual girlfriend. It wasn't just y/n who noticed this though Atwater asked y/n one evening at molly's if her and Jay had broken up. 

Y/n loved Hailey and she thought she was so good to Jay. Maybe too good to him. When Jay got shot one time y/n was sat in the waiting room and Hailey and Vanessa were there and she heard a convocation she wish she could unhear. 

'you love him' Vanessa said to Hailey.

'Of course I love him he's my partner' was the response. 

This broke Y/n heart a little as she knew at that point that if she wasn't in the equation Jay would be in absolute awe of Hailey. Who was y/n anyways? Everyone would prefer a beautiful blonde greek badass cop. 

Y/n worked with a law firm, in fact that's how she met Jay. She was a criminal defence attorney she met Jay in an interrogation room whilst defending her client. Jay later asked for her number and one thing led to another. 

At some points she wishes she never picked up that phone call.

'Y/n if your gonna start then leave, Hailey would be so fine wi-' Jay yet again started comparing y/n to Hailey. Y/n was pissed off that Jay kept staying out late with Hailey. 

Thats all it took. Y/n lost it. "GET THE FUCK OUT AND GO BE WITH HER THEN" Y/n was fuming she was so tired of being compared to Hailey. Her own boyfriend who was meant to love her and only her was clearly in love with another woman.

"y/n come on what's going on with you? Since I've been shot you've been so different around me. Talk to me baby" Jay was so soothing. He gently approached y/n and gently placed some hair behind her ear. 

Y/n refused to even look at him. I guess you could say that she reached her breaking point. She had given up on him. Jay went to kiss her as a way of saying 'I love you' but she turned her head before he had the chance. As much as it hurt her, y/n had to leave. She made her way to the bedroom completely avoiding all eye contact with Jay. She grabbed a duffle and started showing clothes into it. Jay just stood there entirely confused on what to say or do. 

"I'll come get the rest when you're out" a few tears were brimming in her eyes but she sure as hell wasn't going to let them fall. 

Jay went to grab her hand y/n ignored him and walked out the door. 

*BANG BANG BANG 

"Derek what do you want" y/n was at her firm and her associate, Derek was wanting her. 

"you need to go to the 21st district, Mr Maxwell got caught up again" y/n rolled her eyes. Mr Maxwell was a frequent flyer he was homeless, y/n always felt bad for him so she took his case pro-bono. However, Rossi Maxwell always seemed to find trouble. 

"Tell him i'll be there in twenty" and with that y/n left to go to the district. 

"Hey Trudy, looking as beautiful as ever" y/n cheekily said with a smirk. 

Trudy rolled her eyes and responded with a blunt "upstairs" 

Going up these stairs was a familiar feeling for y/n whether she was going to support a client or going to see her boyfriend, well now ex-boyfriend. Y/n hadn't seen Jay in a week she still hasn't been by the house to collect her stuff. She loved Jay but just couldn't face him. 

Ruzek greeted y/n with a hug as soon as he saw her "girl I thought you were dead where have you been?" 

y/n just laughed and said "Maxwell? what's he been up to this time?"

Ruzek chuckled slightly 'what hasn't that man done? He got caught with some dope but if I tell you anymore I'm pretty sure you'll get him released and we will lose our best shot of catching our guy."

Y/n raised her brows at him. "Ruzek, you do realise i'm his lawyer and that's my job right?" 

Ruzek clicked his finger and led her to the interrogation room. 

"Adam who's in there with him?" y/n asked nervously. 

"Jay and Hailey" Ruzek said barely above a whisper. It was clear that everyone seemed to know about this love triangle between y/n, jay and Hailey. 

Y/n being the badass she is walked in with her head held up. "Rossi what have you gotten yourself into this time?" 

Rossi gave her his compelling cheeky smirk "oh nothing new, I just wanted to see your pretty face" 

Y/n smiled at him then looked towards Hailey who was sat next to jay directly in-front of Mr Maxwell. "My client has nothing further to say to you, we are leaving." 

Mr Maxwell stood up. "no he's not, he's being charged with the handling of a class a drug as well as distribution, hell I could hold him as an accessory to murder" Hailey stated with a stern voice. 

"accessory. Hailey come on he's a harmless old man who can hardly look after himself how the hell would he be able to help with murder?" y/n stated somewhat pissed off. 

"y/n he's staying. End of." Hailey said slightly raising her tone. Jay sat there silently not knowing where to look. He saw that Hailey was getting annoyed and placed his hand on her lower back. Y/n saw this and it made her blood boil. How could he have moved on in a week? They had been together for 3 years and he goes to his partner in a week! It was really clear how much he cared for y/n. 

"My client has rights and IM NOT SEEING ANY PROOF OF THIS ACCESSORY TO MURDER. MY client denies all charged and without any admissible evidence we will be walking out of here now." y/n leaned over the table to she was in Hailey's face "end of" she whispered to her. Y/n was true to her word she told Mr Maxwell to leave the interrogation room and to go outside, where Derek, the associate, was waiting. Y/n wanted to speak to Voight about how the whole situation was handled. 

"y/n can we-" jay began.  

"no" y/n simply stated and carried on walking. However, she was stopped when Jay grabbed onto her wrist and pulled her into him. 

"baby please. I love you" y/n could have sworn she saw tears threatening to spill form his eyes. This made her soften but she was still mad. 

"I won't be second place" she stated and with that she walked off to Voight's office.

"you need to get your detectives in place before this unit has a pending court trial" y/n said entering Voight's office. 

"y/n I know she was out of place bu-" Voight began. 

"no Voight I'm tired of making excuses for this unit sort it out" as y/n was leaving she saw Hailey comforting Jay. Y/n chucked and murmured a "point proven, case closed" and made her way back outside to meet with her client and Derek. 

Normally, Derek would be waiting outside the car but this time he wasn't. Y/n just predicted that he was in the car; the windows were tinted so she couldn't see. Y/n got in and saw Derek in the back seat, he was coated in blood. "oh my - DEREK WAKE UP" she started to shake him. Maxwell was sat next to Derek looking at his hand with a sore excuse of a smirk. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?" she screamed at him. This got his attention, he looked up at her and reached for a knife. Y/n knew what was about to come so she reached for the door handle of the car. Maxwell grabbed some rope and put it around y/n neck. She found it strange with how he didn't say a word, this wasn't him. She didn't know this person, she knew a sweet old man who just got caught up in the wrong crowd. Y/n fought hard trying not to be choked to death, tears were falling and fear was taking over her, she could barely breathe. "Rossi please" y/n said softly as she was somewhat loosing conciseness due to the lack of oxygen. This made him stop. He got out the car and left. y/n couldn't move, when she finally pulled herself together she went to check on Derek. "hey, hey" she said tears falling rapidly. She couldn't find a pulse and knew she needed help. She could barely catch her breathe so she had to leave the car. She got out and looked around, Maxwell was no where to be seen. 

She started speed walking back towards the district. She was stopped by a sharp pain in her upper ribs. She turned around, it was Maxwell. She had been stabbed. He continued plunging the knife into her, she didn't have any energy to fight him off. "Rossi please stop" y/n managed to get out. She wasn't sure if he heard so she said it again with everything she had "Rossi stop p-please." This time he looked at her. He froze and dropped the knife. y/n kicked it out the way. Yn fell to her knees she was blacking out. Maxwell snapped out of his trance and saw her in front of him covered in blood. 

"Y/L/N! HELPPPP" Maxwell picked her up and ran into the district with her in his arms. 

Trudy saw them and instantly shouted "HELP CITIZEN DOWN" she froze, that's when she recognised her. "AVERY GET YOUR ASS UP TO INTELLIGENCE AND TELL THEM Y/N Y/L/N IS DOWN HERE AND IS IN BAD SHAPE" Trudy put pressure on her wounds "come on y/n stay with me". 

JAYS POV. 

One of the officers came running up the stairs, something had to be wrong. 

"sergeant platt said you need to come down stairs she said something about a 'y/n y/l/n' she's in real bad shape" he started rambling. My heart dropped. There was no way it was her. How could it be her. 

I ran downstairs in less than a second and I saw her. She looked completely lifeless. 

"baby, come on oh my god, baby wake up" I cried. I couldn't hold myself together. I grabbed her hand whilst Trudy was doing CPR. 

END OF POV. 

Jay was frantically pacing around the hospital waiting room. How could he have let this happen? Who the hell would do this to her?

Dr Halstead entered the room. 

"Will, tell me she's fine. Will please" Will placed a hand on his brothers shoulder and took a deep breath. 

"Jay she lost a lot of blood. She's in the ICU at the moment its a hit and miss she's just gotta make it though the night" Jay fell to the floor sobbing loudly. Will comforted him. They were like this for a while until Jay finally spoke. 

"Can I see her?" Will responded with a nod, not knowing what else to say. 

Will walked Jay to y/n's room. Jay walked in and Will left them alone. 

JAYS POV. 

She looked ghost-like, yet perfect. Why didn't I go after her? why didn't I try to get her to stay? This is my fault. 

I went and sat next to her. I grabbed her hand and placed a light kiss on it. 

"Hey honey, its me." I was hoping she would wake up and answer me, she didn't. 

I didn't know what to do. what could I do? 

END OF POV

Y/n made it though the night but she still had no woken up. Two weeks had passed and nothing seemed to be improving. 

"Jay go home, take a shower and get some sleep I will call you if anything changes I promise." Will told Jay sternly. 

"promise" Jay said mid-yawn. 

"yes let me drive you" and with that both the Halstead brothers drove back to Jay's apartment, previously his and y/n's. 

Jay went straight to the bathroom when he remembered what was in the cabinet. He smiled at the thought of what he could have had. He never understood why y/n was always so mad at him he really never noticed how close he was getting with Hailey. He was furious at himself. 

"Jay you good?" Will interrupted his thoughts. Jay opened the bathroom door and showed Will what was making him smile. "do you think this was her style?"

Will laughed. "brother, she's a lawyer. Believe me they make it clear what they want. That is perfect" Jay also laughed. It was a noise Will missed hearing. 

Jay had a nap whilst Will went back to the ER. 

*BEEP BEEP BEEP

*BEEP BEEP BEEP

Jay didn't hear. 

*BEEP BEEP BEEP

He finally heard. Jay answered the phone as quick as he possibly could. 

"what's happened?" jay asked frantically 

"get here now" was all Will had to say. 

Jay rushed out the door and sped to the ER with sirens on. He ran up to y/n's room. He went to the door and he rushed over to her. 

"you're awake, Will had me thinking you were dead" Jay chucked 

Y/n didn't say anything she still was somewhat mad at Jay. 

"Y/n I didn't realise what I did when you left, I really confused me. I love you and I thought you loved me too. I have never missed someone so much, you make me the happiest man. These past 3 years have been the best. You put up with me through my sleepless nights, through the hospital visits and all the times I tried arguing with you in the interrogation rooms. y/n/n you are my everything. You are the reason why I smile in the morning and the reason why I can peacefully and happily close my eyes at night. Atwater made me realise about Hailey, I've only been with her so much lately because she's leaving y/n. She accepting the FBI offer and I wanted to give a good goodbye, spent time with her you know. She's one hell of a cop. She wanted me to go with her. I said no because everything I could ever want is right her. My life is perfect. Well, it was until you left and got yourself stabbed" Jay lightly chuckled. Y/n was tearing up and smiled. Until realisation hit her about being stabbed. 

"Maxwell-" 

"Is in a mental asylum. He has a 2 personality disorder, he will get better he just needs some support" Jay said softly going to kiss her forehead. 

"Derek?" y/n asked not really wanting to know the answer. 

Jay shook his head "i'm sorry" 

Y/n moved over in the uncomfortable hospital bed. "whoa what are you doing, you'll hurt yourself?" jay said sternly. 

"shut up and come cuddle me" y/n said back to him sternly. Jay did as he was told being careful not to hurt her. 

"i'm an idiot" she said. 

Jay laughed "my idiot" 

Will came in and ruined the moment "hey lovers not naughty business in the room thank youuu" They all laughed as Jay smacked his brother lightly on the head. Will placed something in Jay's hands making sure y/n wouldn't see he winked at him then left.  

"What was that" y/n asked as Jay got comfy next to her. 

"Look at me" Jay said. She did as she was told. "I love you. I don't want to lose you or wake up without you for another day. You are the one I want and I've been planning this for a while"

Jay got down from the bed and got on one knee. 

"y/n will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?"

y/n didn't know what to say so she just nodded and let the tears flow from her eyes. Jay placed the ring on her finger. 

"I love you Jay Halstead however I'm not letting that my idiot comment slide. I think your forgetting i'm the one with the law degree" y/n smirked. 

Jay laughed. 

"I love you too" and that's when Will came in. 

"WELCOME TO THE SEXY FAMILY Y/N!" 

The three of them laughed as Jay kissed y/n

[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— PALM TO PALM IS HOLY PALMER’S KISS ; PART 3 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1846

SUMMARY: You’re back to teaching at Gotham High and you end up overlooking rehearsals for the GHS drama club’s upcoming annual play: Romeo and Juliet that no one ever attends. In the spirit of keeping your students’ hopes up, you decide to take it upon yourself to draft out a plan to drive more people to come to the play. The key is the man you’re in love with.

WARNINGS: Vague description of a nightmare, death and an annoying teenager.

A/N: This is really going slowly like a true slow burn. I hope yall like this one. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

In the light of your unemployment as a teacher, Gotham High miraculously offered your old job back after Mrs Wilson, one of the senior English Literature teachers, died of a heart attack unannounced. In all seriousness, apologies were made, admitting they had a mistake with firing you because well, you were clearly a passionate teacher. To your surprise, you were told your students even missed you. Hence, you accepted a job from GHS once again because you would do anything to avoid the smell of burgers and the sounds of hungry crying children. After the whole burglary incident, the Big Belly Burger at midtown was forever doomed as customers gradually decreased over time. It was Gotham after all, people should be used to these kinds of things by now. Including witnessing Batman saving you, the whole experience felt like a fever dream. As excited you were and weirdly unbothered by the whole near-death experience, you realized that if you were to talk about it, no one would genuinely believe you anyway. He was a myth to most citizens of Gotham, but you’re an exception because you’re well acquainted with the knowledge that Bruce definitely knows Batman.

And oh boy, do they talk.

It’s your secret to keep and so is the Batarang you stole. You’re also dying to tell Bruce.

So, you find yourself back in the hallways, crowded with sweaty teenagers, but you would choose this over anything else in a heartbeat. Apart from returning to teaching uninterested students about the works of Shakespeare and Harper Lee and forcing reading lists onto them, you are also replacing Mrs Wilson as the GHS Drama Club’s advisor. Stage performance may be personally foreign to you but plays were practically your forte. That was how you ended up spending your Tuesday afternoons, preparing the members for the club’s annual play. This time, they decided to perform the classic: Romeo and Juliet.

As an English teacher, you were frankly sick of the play, forbidden love was a tad overrated to you. Yet the kids were genuinely trying their best. Shaniqua and Oscar were currently rehearsing their lines as the two infamous star-crossed lovers; You watched them with pride. The two were quiet in your classes but they truly shone on the stage of the school theatre.

“And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss—teach, what does this whole scene even mean?” Shaniqua exclaims and you chuckle, “This scene is simply a metaphor where Romeo is a pilgrim wanting to erase his sins and Juliet is a saint. So, he is basically trying to convince her to kiss him so that he can truly be free of sin,” your explanation echoes through the room, and you notice Oscar turning red when you mention the word ‘kiss’. It was clear as day that the poor boy really liked the girl he’s currently hand in hand with but you don’t want him to feel nervous and uncomfortable about the thought of kissing her. “Now Oscar, you can kiss her on the cheek and that’s fine. Shaniqua, say it with more emotion, okay? Everyone got it?” The response you received was a sputter of hums and nods. Before you could continue, Josh, who plays Lord Capulet and is sitting lazily on the handmade throne, speaks up much to your dismay, “Why is it so important that we put so much effort into this. It’s not like anyone is going to come.” The kids around him began agreeing with his statement, and it was honestly completely expected of him but it was the truth. No one attends the drama club’s annual play. As you're trying to calm everyone down, your phone buzzes on the table in front of you. It’s a text from Bruce, asking if you could come over tonight, phrasing it like he’s a schoolboy sneaking from his parents to meet with a girl late at night. Then, like an epiphany you have an idea although there’s an eighty percent chance it wouldn’t go through. Nevertheless, you turn to the rest of the students with a hint of a smile on your lips. “I might have just the idea to solve that.”

-

A brief span seemed like an eternity when sleep doesn’t come easy to you. Tonight was a different case; thoughts were completely clear and concise. In much need of sleep, you steal the chance to savour in this clarity and serenity for as long as you could. To feel his warmth, arm gently resting on your abdomen and the occasional whiff of his deodorant from his ebony shirt you’re dressed in. If this was what bliss feels like, you never want it to go away. Your eyes grow heavy, flickering into darkness due to exhaustion from a long day of rehearsals. At once, you’re struck with the reminder of the idea you had this afternoon. It is more of a favour, involving none other than Bruce. There’s a tinge of guilt whenever favours are involved because you never liked asking for help. You were furiously independent and responsible, relying on others was out of the question. Yet, Bruce has always seemed to find a way to weave himself in your mistakes and problems, constantly there to help out. You have to remind yourself this isn’t about you. It’s for the kids. Special guest, Bruce Wayne, playboy and billionaire. Sounds awesome.

As your consciousness begins ebbing away, you feel Bruce shift from beside you, grasp tightening upon your waist. Before your dazed mind could even fully process that he was in the midst of a nightmare, his eyes are wide open, heart-pounding and it seizes him up instantly. With deep breaths, he closed his eyes once more, unable to shake the feeling of dread that rattles in him. Then, a sudden cold touch to his arm—he jumps and snaps his head to look over his shoulder.

It’s you, still laid in bed with a prominent frown upon your brows. Your hand squeezes his forearm and all he feels is instant relief. His heart still pounds, not in fear but with affection. “Are you okay?” you drawled as you watch his lingering hand, fingers weaved between the strands of hair. The silver ones glint under the low light, contrasting the deep brown ones. You notice how his hair had grown along with his five o’clock shadow becomes more evident by the days. His face away from you, finally nodding in response to your question. “Yeah, just... a bad dream. His voice is subdued as he shifts under the sheets, head leaning against the headboard. Despite your weakened state, you bring yourself to sit up, twisting your body to face him properly. "You wanna talk about it?” you say, patting his shoulder lightly in a comforting manner. You watch him rub his eyes, exhale tightly and shake his head. “No. Anything but that.”

His response comes out almost harsh but Bruce doesn’t mean for it to be perceived in that way. His dream was the usual, the normal ones he’s used to by now but in times of stress overwork, they have started to become more intense and violent. This time it involved you, for the first time, and he watched you vividly get shot in the forehead—trails of his memory as Batman when he encountered you at the burger restaurant with the muzzle of a gun inches away from you. It haunts him to think that if the circumstances were different if you hadn’t texted him those dreaded four words, you might be dead.

He certainly is not telling you about the dream. Never in a million years.

Bruce turns to you and you’re still staring at him, worry carved deep in your furrowed brows. Change of topic was merely necessary at this point. “So, how has school been? The kids still mean to you?” Classic Bruce, always sweeping his problems under the antique Persian rug. You don’t blame him because you wouldn’t know better.

It was your turn to sigh at the mention of school but since tonight’s pillow talk is heading towards your job as an English teacher at GHS, you might as well use the opportunity to pitch in your plan. “Still mean, but the drama club kids are really great,” You thumb the edge of the blanket, unable to hide your growing smile. “Speaking of which, the annual play is next Friday and they have been rehearsing all week but,” you paused as you watched his right brow gradually lift. “No one comes for it. Like, no one and I hate to see all their efforts just thrown out the window like that—”

“So, you want me to go for it.”

You blinked, wondering if your explanations were too obvious of its underlying intent or Bruce could just read you like an open book. You won’t be surprised if it’s the latter.

“If it’s no biggie. You don’t have to because I know you’re very busy but I don’t want the special guest to end up being the Big Belly Burger mascot.” Your smile widens and Bruce chuckles. Hell, it’s probably past midnight and you’re still able to find ways to be terribly funny. Literally terrible. After a beat of silence, he clears his throat. “I’ll clear my schedule.” It didn’t need much anticipation or thought because despite everything going on in his life, he knows he’ll do just about anything for you. You’re practically beaming at him and he finally sees it’s all worth it in the end. “Thank you, Bruce.” Your voice is sweet, and it makes his heart swell ever so slightly.

He sometimes wishes the two of you weren’t trapped in this loophole of unsaid confessions and hidden strong emotions for the other.

It almost comes naturally when he leans to you and presses a swift kiss to your forehead. Instead, it’s contradicting everything the two of you consider normal. He isn’t thinking straight and now your smile has disappeared, mouth agape and eyes very wide. Your brain stops.

Uh, what the hell just happened?

It hits him like a punch to the gut and the growing awkward silence is deafening. Yet, he doesn’t apologise because if he does, it doesn’t mean anything when in reality, it means so much more than just an accidental gesture. You don’t mention anything because you don’t objectify his actions. Kissing Bruce was fine when there are no strings attached but a peck to the forehead is way too affectionate for the man.

Before the both of you begin to overthink the events of a few moments ago, Bruce’s rational conscience kicks in and he clears his throat. “Get some sleep. You had a long day today.” He pats you on the shoulder awkwardly and you hum, shifting your head to lay back on the pillow. “Yesterday.” you correct him as it’s well past midnight. He chuckles, now laying flat on his back as he stares at the ceiling. Silently, the two of you agree to forget whatever happened a minute ago and to just...sleep it off.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

[larkace]

Robber Claws

hi guys! i've read a bunch of your fics and got inspired so i wrote a thing! enjoy ;) also, it's pretty long so...buckle up! love yall <3

The criminals lurk in the mist, invisible, but Sofiya Pavlichenkov knows they’re there.

She’s perched in the Lookout’s nest of her Warship in Fourth Harbour, pretending to read the documents her first mate, Kastor, has just handed to her. But her blue coat is flapping in the wind and her papers keep jostling and she’s being watched, all of which is rather uncomfortable.

Idly, Sofiya wonders what the criminals might want. A smuggling, perhaps? Out and away from stinking, crawling, loathsome Ketterdam?

Sofiya hates this city. His city. She misses Ravka, her homeland- the Little Palace.

I miss my bloody Kefta, Sofiya thinks darkly as another bought of wind spirals harshly through the Harbour. The blue coat she wears is a subtle nod to her Tidemaker status, but it’s a sad, thin piece of cloth compared to the grandeur of the Fabrikator-made Keftas. But Sofiya can’t wear her Kefta, not if she wants to blend in in Kerch- a lesson she learned long ago…

Old enemies, Sofiya. Old enemies, but not withered grudges.

Huffing out a sigh that would make Zoya Nazyalensky proud, Sofiya rises gracefully to her feet.

They’re coming. She can feel it; they’re making their way towards the ship. They don’t have to be rowdy to intimidate, that’s for sure - or to make a crowd of Merchants and Thieves part like the sea almost immediately.

Sofiya reaches up behind her head and loops her hand around a piece of knotted rope; takes a deep, steadying breath.

And she steps off the platform into the open air.

For a moment, she catches on the air as if a Squaller has caught her on a buffering breeze, but sure enough, gravity kicks in.

Sofiya welcomes the feeling of her stomach in her throat as the fall takes hold, zipping her past the sails. It's good preparation, anyway, for the three dark figures moving up the docks towards her.

As they near and Sofiya lands lightly on the deck, she confirms what she already knew: these were criminals. Her criminals.

The trio stops in front of her. They're all wearing black and gold - not a uniform exactly, but it’s a solid way to show your allegiance. None of their hands were visible, but if they were, Sofiya would find the Robber Claws emblem branded cleanly onto the backs of their knuckles. Their hoods are drawn up over their faces, but Sofiya can tell from their posture who she’s dealing with.

"Ah, Iseut," Sofiya says serenely, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The girl in the middle pulls down her hood, revealing shining blond hair, dark eyes, full lips. She doesn’t smile.

"Where have you been, Sofiya?" Iseut asks coolly.

"The Wandering Isle," Sofiya answers immediately, "I stopped at Os Kervo on my return to pick up some supplies. I'm only three days late, Is. Cut me some slack."

Iseut sighs, and suddenly looks less the badass, fake-waitress man-killer, and more the tired mother of a delinquent child. Sofiya feels a flicker of guilt.

She had stopped at Os Kervo for more than one reason. The "supplies" were crates upon crates of commandeered Fjerdan weapons and traps, intercepted by the First Army on their way to the Front Line. Sofiya had paid nothing to take them off the hands of the Ravkan soldiers, who honestly had no clue where to send them. What good were jerky Fjerdan guns to a sophisticated, well-oiled Second Army legion?

Sofiya could picture Zoya's face at the sight of the sad little weapons. Disgust and disdain, unshakable beauty - and perhaps just a little bit of pride that her friend had been the one to collect the Fjerdan cargo. Sofiya would work on selling it all later. She'd dump the Grisha traps in the ocean, though. Drown them like they deserved to be drowned.

"I am sorry, Iseut," Sofiya says, and her words aren’t mistruths.

"Don't apologise to me," Iseut says dismissively, "It’s your friends that were barely able to sleep the past few nights. You should talk to -"

"Destry," Sofiya's words mist the air like a fine rain, "I know."

One of the tall figures stood behind Iseut lowers her own hood. Lyra. Ly.

It made sense that the Robber Claws would send their best Bruisers to Fourth Harbour. Sofiya knew by the other Robber's posture that beneath the hood, she would find the face of Winter. But Winter wouldn't lower her hood in front of so many people, so Sofiya was content with what she could get.

"You really had Destry worried, Sof," Ly says, chastising.

"Destry can handle me being gone for weeks on end," Sofiya crosses her arms. She will not be guilt-tripped, "This job was half a week, and I was only a few days off schedule. I did tell Cherry that I'd be late." The words come out as a question.

None of them say anything.

Another flash of worry courses through Sofiya. Cherry Vlasova is a Heartrender, and one of Sofiya's closest friends. The message that Sofiya had forwarded was simple and concise: I'll be a few days late. Stopping at Os Kervo. Don't worry, no Fjerdans. Tell Destry -S.P

Had something happened to Cherry? She was an avid gossiper; her post box was always full of tip-offs (a useful source of information for the Robber Claws) but Sofiya was reliably informed that her letters were always placed on the top of the pile. Marked "URGENT."

"What happened? Is Cherry alright?" Sofiya demands.

Iseut holds up her palms, and they are callused and grease-marked. Sometimes Iseut is so well put together that Sofiya forgets she's a barmaid.

"Cherry is fine. But all our Grisha are shaken. Whilst you were away, there was an attack on the East Stave."

Sofiya's heart stops and restarts and stops again.

An attack. On the Grisha. And she wasn’t there to - to help, to defend-

"Destry," Sofiya breathes, "And Cherry - and Adali, Roza, Linnea, Yan, Anya- oh, Saints, was it the Fjerdans?"

There are many Grisha members of the Robber Claws. It was one of the reasons that Sofiya wanted to join them in the first place. If the Fjerdans had attacked -

"Everybody is fine," Ly says lowly, "We had Freya and May fixing people up as soon as we heard- and Lita, of course, but behind the scenes."

Freya and May- and even Lita, whose powers most of the gang didn't even know of. Grisha Healers. So people had been hurt.

"What. Happened." Sofiya growls, and Ly glares at her challengingly, fists clenching. The water beneath the decking froths and bubbles as Sofiya brings her own fists together, power surging pleasantly up her arms. If Ly wants a fight, she can have one.

"Calm down, both of you," Winter's smooth voice projects from under her hood. Despite the heavy fabric, her voice is clear and commanding. Sofiya takes a breath to compose herself.

"To answer your previous question: no. It wasn't the Fjerdans." Iseut says, "We don’t know what they were."

Sofiya's brow creases at the chime of fear in Iseut's voice. She's never seen the golden-haired barmaid afraid before.

It begins to rain softly, the pattering of droplets quiet against the wooden decking of the docks.

"We should go back to the Queen’s Head, Iseut," Ly suggests, referencing Iseut’s place of work. Iseut nods once, swiftly, and glances over Sofiya's shoulder at her warship.

"Do you need to...?"

"Yes."

"Go on, then."

"KASTOR! IM GOING FOR A ROUND OF DAY-DRINKING!" Sofiya yells over the shoulder of her rain-splattered coat. She hears Ly chuckle as Kastor's scruffy head pokes out from a window.

He nods at Sofiya when he spots her, and she waves, assenting. Kastor would keep everything safe whilst she was gone. It was their unspoken agreement, unchanging and unwavering since the day they'd become crewmates.

Sofiya turns back to Iseut, Ly and Winter.

"Let's be on our way," she says, and lets her fellow criminals lead the way along the Harbour, her warship disappearing into the mist behind her.

~~~~

The mid-day slump of customers meant that the Robber Claws had the Queen’s Head pub all to themselves.

Iseut- who did not own the pub, but had put more work into it than the real owners ever did- had immediately trekked behind the bar and poured herself a whisky.

"Want anything?" She asks, directing the question directly at Sofiya despite the equal presence of Ly- and Winter (who had lowered her hood slightly now that she was back on familiar ground, with familiar faces.) Bruisers didn’t drink on the job. It slowed reflexes.

"The story," says Sofiya firmly, "It a joke about the day-drinking. What happened?"

Iseut pours herself another whiskey and the quartet take a seat at a shady little circular table in a quiet corner. The murmurs of other Robber Claws members is enough to shelter their conversation from the group- despite Sofiya being sure she was the only one unaware of what had transpired the days she’d been gone.

As Iseut begins her story, with Winter and Ly regularly interjecting with additions, Sofiya feels horror and fear clamp down on her heart like a Fjerdan Grisha trap.

Iseut’s alluring voice weaves a tale of Komedie Brute actors in bloody masks, rose-painted rubble from an impossible explosion, and worst of all: Grisha. Dead Grisha, killed by creatures with screeching metal wings.

“Only a few of our Grisha were hurt,” Iseut sips her drink solemnly, “We took your advice of keeping them anonymous and undercover. We have Erin and our other spies out searching for answers at the embassies. I’m sure you’re just as eager to find out about the winged creatures as we are.”

Sofiya nods, “I am. Thank you for filling me in, Is, really. And to you, Ly, Winter. I know you don’t like going to far from the West Stave.”

The last comment was directed purely at Winter. It’s not a lie. Winter runs a dojo for training Kerch’s women to protect themselves from Barrel bosses and scum alike; she didn’t want her clients finding out about her… Robber side. Being a criminal wasn’t the most unintimidating, friendly persona to have when speaking with vulnerable women.

Sofiya respected Winter and her clean profession. It was hard to be so kind in the Barrel. And men were rarely kind to women at all.

Sofiya knew that first hand.

Shoving away the memories- blue eyes, dark hair, gorgeous smile, charming words and sharper wounds- Sofiya stands in one fluid movement.

“I’m going to find Destry,” she says. Iseut stands, Ly and Winter falling back to flank her again, and smiles. She’s beautiful, that is undoubtful, but the attacks- the sleazy men at the Queen’s Head, the strain of the city- it’s all gotten to her. Sofiya can see it.

This city is poison, thinks Sofiya as Iseut takes her hand and shakes it. Poison and rot.

“Destry will be in her rooms,” Ly supplies, and Sofiya nods at her once.

Sofiya grins brightly, hoping it covers her own weariness, and recites, “Fair winds.”

“Bright stars,” chorus her friends. Sofiya waves over her shoulder as she slips out of the bar and down an alley. Above her, a storm brews in the clouds.

Perhaps the stars would be out that night. It didn’t matter. Nobody in Kerch saw the stars anymore.

~~~~

On her way to Destry’s apartments, Sofiya ran into more members of the Robber Claws.

Malcolm and Firefly, who lived together in shared housing in the Anvil, were shopping for new blacksmiths’ equipment. They each provided invaluable services to the Robber Claws, crafting flawless weapons second only to that of Fabrikators. They greeted her with a wink each. Sofiya moved on swiftly after trading them a Wandering Isle-crafted staff for twenty Kruge.

She picked up some baked goods on the way. She would need them. Destry- who had been her closest friend since she arrived in Kerch- was an Inferni. Fire-bringer; with an even fierier temperament. Rumour had it- and Sofiya knew the rumours were true- that Destry had been attending the University of Ketterdam when she’d heard a boy make a lude comment during an exam and lit the paper on fire with her mind. And that paper had been thrown. At the boy’s face. Ouch.

Sofiya had been nursing a whiskey in a tavern when she’d first heard the story recounted. She’d leapt up from her seat, slithered into an alley and held the recounter at knifepoint until he’d told her Destry’s name.

They’d become fast friends upon meeting. Sofiya had been in awe of someone so rebellious, so brave as to set fire to an exam paper, and Destry- well. Destry had laughed for hours when Sofiya had told her how she’d first come across her name.

But now, staring up at the ornate windows of Destry’s apartment, Sofiya feels unsure. She didn’t mean to worry her friend. Iseut had explained that her letter must have gotten lost during the riots. Sofiya cursed the post offices. So there was a deadly storm- your motto is still “We always deliver.”

Despite her trepidation, Sofiya’s feet were swift on the stairs. She had a key to the apartment, and didn’t hesitate to unlock the door and slip inside without a sound, content to watch Destry whilst she worked; even if only for a moment.

Leaning against the wall, Sofiya’s brow creases as she surveys her friend. Destry’s hair is plaited carefully into two loops at the nape of her neck, hazel strands freeing themselves gently against her light brown skin. She’s stood facing away from Sofiya, arms circled in rings of fire. The shirt she wears is Fabrikator-made; the flames don’t take to the papery material.

Sofiya takes a step forward, and pointedly drops her bag of confectionary on the floor. It lands with an audible thump.

Destry whirls, the fire at her wrists whirling into an inferno ready to strike- until Destry sees who is at her door.

“Shouldn’t have hesitated, Des,” Sofiya said weakly, “I could have put a knife in your back.”

The shock on Destry’s face dissolves. Her face splinters down the middle. Licks of fire at her fingertips wilt into ash in a pile at her boot-clad feet.

“You would have put out the flames with your water, I’m sure,” Destry says, and then flies across the room towards Sofiya, wrapping her in a tight, smoke-smelling embrace.

Sofiya would normally pull back. “Don’t be too open with your heart, Des,” she’d say, “People use your loves against you here.” But Sofiya couldn’t bring herself to say those things. The weight of the week comes crashing down on her head like a tsunami.

Fjerdan traps on my boat, attacks on my gang, tensions in Ravka boiling over… where’s safe anymore, except here?

Destry pulls back slightly to scan Sofiya’s face. She has a smear of oil on her cheek. Destry’s eyes are filled with fire, burning like an ember beneath onyx waters.

“Where. Have. You. Been.”

“Destry-”

“Don’t you make excuses with me, Pavlichenkov,” Destry snarls, “You didn’t warn us you were late! I couldn’t sleep- neither could Cherry!”

“I-”

“We thought you’d been caught, Sofi,” Destry cries, “We thought the Fjerdans had got you! I thought you died.”

The word is ugly and big in the room, choking Sofiya’s response. Death. Dying. Dead. And by Fjerdan hands. It wasn’t so rare for travelling Grisha to be caught and sent to the pyres.

“I’m sorry,” Sofiya says, because it’s the only thing there is, “I wrote- I really did, don’t look at me like that- according to Lyra, there was a storm in the True Sea. The letter sunk with the ship.”

“You’re a Tidemaker,” Destry huffs.

“Yes, which means I manipulate water,” Sofiya says, “Not stop it from overturning ships with important letters on them. Destry, I’m sorry. I brought waffles.” She offers the last sentence like a defendant on trial with the Stadwatch; one final piece of evidence to prove her innocence.

Destry brightens immediately, “Well, in that case.”

The pair of them set to work, shoulders just brushing in the cramped kitchenette. Sofiya’s array of pasties are laid out over two plates, which they lay on their laps. Destry’s job for the Robber Claws is, in few words, that of the logician. Papers are scattered all over her apartment, covered in detailed blueprints and scale drawings of buildings all over Ketterdam, Fjerda and even- rarely- Shu Han. There were no drawings of Ravka.

If Iseut had ever commissioned a robbery in Ravka, Sofiya didn’t know about it. It would be…unwise to hit out at the Ravkans, with so many Grisha in the gang.

But Destry’s job was essential, so Sofiya couldn’t complain about the lack of trays to put their plates on. Such things were useless for such an incredible mind as Destry’s.

“So,” says Destry conversationally as she lights the fireplace with a casual flick of her wrist, “How were the Wandering Isles?”

Sofiya says nothing, massaging her temples lightly. Destry manages a laugh.

“Your silence is telling, Sofi,” she warns.

Sighing quietly, suddenly feeling very tired, Sofiya says, “It was crawling with our Fjerdan friends from the North. ‘Peaceful’ Fjerdans.”

Destry spins, and she is outlined with the fire. We’re opposites, Sofiya thinks. Fire and Water.

“You didn’t-” Destry begins, horrified.

Silently, solemnly, Sofiya raised her palms to face the ceiling. Destry reaches out.

Her gentle fingers trace the scars there. Deep and painful and barely healed, the scars run red against Sofiya’s pale flesh.

“Sofiya…” Destry breathes.

“It was the only way to push my power down,” Sofiya whispers. She’s rarely so emotive, but Destry is someone she trusts with everything. It was a weakness, some would say, but they were each powerful Grisha. They were Gods in a world of men. And they would not kneel “If I hadn’t, I would’ve been caught. It was a price to pay.”

Grisha shone like lighthouses around people. In Kerch, in Ketterdam, it was safer for them- especially ones loyal to a gang, as Destry and Sofiya were. But in the Wandering Isles; where Fjerdans passed through on their way to Novyi Zem, where gang affiliations mattered less than the colour of your eyes… Sofiya tells herself she had no choice.

“Sofiya, you’ve opened up old wounds here,” Destry says, tracing the marred skin of her palms again, “You need a healer. Freya, Lita, May-”

“Wouldn’t understand,” Sofiya finished, pulling her hands out of Destry’s and placing them carefully in her lap, obscuring them with her coat, “They’re healers, Des, not warriors- they’d go to Iseut.”

Iseut. Their unofficial leader, the founder, the lighthouse in raging seas. All of the Robber Claws seemed to be caught in her gravity. She was their sun. And Sofiya… well, Sofiya was the moon. Iseut would send her to a healer, one who would stop her travels. One who would commandeer her Warship, and Kastor… health of the mind was important to Iseut.

But Sofiya was not damaged, as they would tell her. She was not broken. Her mind was sound.

I did what I had to do, to survive.

But Destry can see through it all. Through the mask, through her eyes, right to her bones. Through to her lying, treacherous heart. We’re all broken in the end.

But.

Oh, Destry, Destry, please…

“I won’t tell her,” Destry promises, “But I’d like you to know that I think you should. Tell her, that is- Iseut. She might help.”

“She might ship me back to Ravka,” Sofiya grumbles, biting into a toasty croissant.

“Oh, she wouldn’t.”

“You never know.”

“She’ll want you to heal, that’s all.”

“Yes,” Sofiya rolls her eyes, “But these wounds are of the flesh. The scars on my heart will never heal, not in this life Perhaps there will be mercy in the next, even for my rotten soul.”

“You sound like you’re auditioning for the Komedie Brute,” Destry laughs.

“Mother, Father, pay the rent!” Sofiya crows.

“I can’t my dear, the money’s spent,” Destry choruses instinctively.

Sofiya wipes away an invisible tear, “Gorgeous! We’ll make an actress out of you, yet, Destry Clements.”

“Oh, you most certainly will not,” Destry huffs.

Their laughter fills the air, and Sofiya thinks that maybe there is hope for her rotten soul, after all.

~~~~

The man returns late from the pub wearing only one shoe.

A bottle drained halfway of mauve liquid dangles limply from his pale fingers. The veins in his foot are blue in the half-moon’s light.

He slurs a broken melody. She catches a few words as he passes below her on the street.

“Hmm… perish… light… air… fire… hell… hmmm…”

The man’s name is Danyl Harrop. And he is going to die tonight.

“Hmm… shadow… devil… rot… earth… sun… burn… lose….”

Harrop continues down the road, heedless of the mud on his bare foot. He'd be blackout drunk in the morning if he survived.

He wouldn’t.

Silent as a breeze, steps as soft as downy feathers, she leaps from the streetlight where she was perched.

She strikes.

She is ash and shadow. She is a storm of fire. She is vengeance.

She is death.

Harrop yelps as she pins him against the tree. His face is as white as the moon, with eyes like black craters.

“What’re you doi-” he slurs dazedly, but she silences him with a wave of her hand. He blubbers like a fish on land as he tries to shout for help.

“For King and Country,” says the girl. Stepping away from Harrop, she lets her power hold him against the tree, keeping his muscles upright. She surveys him like an artist would their unfinished masterpiece.

The girl whispers, “Sleep tight, Danyl.”

Flicking her wrist, she snaps his neck. He’s still alive, barely, so she latches on to what little of his mind there is left and strips it like an onion. For a man who is out so late, so drunk, on what the girl remembers as a work-day, he knows too much.

Secrets. They feed this girl, nourish her. There is a skip in her step as she turns away from Harrop; without her supporting his muscles, he collapses against the tree. She leaves his mind just as it goes dark.

There is no need to hide in the treetops upon her return to the city. It gleams just half a mile away, most of which is roiling seawater. As the girl wanders along the road back to Ketterdam, she finds Danyl Harrop’s shoe in a puddle of mud. The girl laughs at the sky. She flips a coin into the shoe, whispers a heartless prayer to her Saints, and moves on.

Back to Ketterdam. Back home.

~~~~

Ok, so that's that! I left it on a bit of a cliffhanger... I may have created a whole plot... so there might be some more coming soon!

all these excellent characters (save Sofiya, Danyl, Kastor and the girl at the end who kills Danyl- who has no name... yet *wink*) belong to the following:

Iseut is @littlegirldorothea's

Destry is @finnick-annie's (I may have made them besties👀👀)

Cherry is @brekkercookie's (they are ALSO besties👀👀 we have a trio omg)

Winter is @cressjacquine's

Lyra is @no-mourners-at-my-funeral's

Malcom is @blackpheonix’s

Firefly is @ask-shadowbon’s

Erin is @lightningboytytonjesper’s

Adali is @apple-bottom-jeansx’s

Roza is @vampire-rights’s

Linnea is @alonlyfangirl's

Yan is @lucentcorrigan’s

Anya is @queenlilith43’s

Freya is @smol-evil-gremlin’s

Lita is @the-whispers-of-moonlight’s

May is @saltyfortunes

and the "Fair winds, bright stars" motto as created by @spicy-tomato-sauce's

oh and the whole Grishaverse is the wonderful @lbardugo's <3

if I missed anyone or you want to tag anyone go ahead!

[novantinuum]

Hi, I was just wondering if you had ever thought about what would have happened in your story "Hollowed Moon" if you had continued it. I always thought it was such an interesting setup that could have gone in so many different directions. And there really aren't other stories focusing on Stevonnie and Spinel, so it was unique!

Hiya!

So, I do have some half-written, half-plotted out material to share. I gave this story some consideration the other day, and came to the decision that I don't have the desire to finish it out, alas- I have far too many other active WIPs to add it to the list. There's a few good reasons why I discontinued it, anyways... intimidation over the huge surge of attention it was getting back in 2019, some rude comments from overzealous Spinel fans, (I know everyone isn't like this, but a certain segment of the Spinel side of the SU fandom kinda burned me over time, hhh), and a future chapter containing a sensitive topic that I wasn't in a good headspace to write about at the time.

But! Anyways! Below the cut is all the existing material I have for Hollowed Moon past chapter 14, consisting of a mixture of descriptions, sketchy dialogue, and prose. It honestly feels nice to finally be able to put this story to an official rest.

__

Chapter 15

“I... I saw her.”

“Who-?”

“I saw Pink Diamond. I saw you, in this exact garden, in a dream. I- it was like I was experiencing everything through her. She explained your game, tapped your nose and told you to smile, then warped away—“

“That’s it, that’s what happened, almost exactly! But how could you even know that, I never—“

“I don’t know,” they blurt out. “I have empathic abilities, and sometimes that makes dreaming a little weird, but I have no idea how or why I saw any of this.”

[Pause for Stevonnie to think]

“Spinel, I’m so, so sorry,” they whisper brokenly. “But I think... she left you here.”

“What...?”

“She said she’d return, but before she warped away she whispered goodbye, like she didn’t actually intend to make good on that promise. She was lying to you,” they choke out, voice thick.

“No. No,” she says in clear denial, “no she’s not. She can’t be! She told me she’d come back! I can wait! I just have to wait—“

“But she’s not! She... she can’t, because Pink Diamond is gone. She- she was shattered, Spinel. Five thousand years ago, on the Earth. I- I should’ve told you this from the beginning, and I didn’t, and I- I’m so, so sorry—! But she left you behind, and now she’s never coming back.”

[Silence. Tears brim in Spinel’s eyes. Her eyes grow dark, pained, and then she glares at Stevonnie with such venom it almost knocks them backwards in alarm. ]

“NO!” she screams, tears streaming down her faded pink cheeks.

[She tears her feet up from the roots and runs away, using her arms like an orangutan to vault herself forward super fast so Stevonnie can’t catch her.]

___

Chapter 16

AN: Content warning for self-shattering attempt. Part of the reason why I had to stop writing this story at the time. I considered pushing the plot another way, but it didn't feel authentic to how I believed this scenario would play out for Spinel when she didn't have a direct target for her anger. Without someone to actively be jealous and upset AT, I could only imagine her breaking inwards instead of outwards, feeling that she's utterly failed in her life's purpose. Nothing more than a description for this chapter... and it'd be a short one.

[When Stevonnie finds her, she’s smashing her fists against her gem in her sheer anguish. She’s already cracked it. She’s glitching. It looks terribly painful. She’s about to strike her gem again when Stevonnie intervenes.]

___

Chapter 17

[Post timely intervention. Spinel is still cracked at this moment, though... her form glitching as she cries.]

“I was... her best friend,” she cries, fat, glistening tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was supposed to make her happy! Why wasn’t she happy? Why didn’t she come back?“

[Spinel reasoning that maybe if Pink came back for her, she wouldn’t have been shattered in the first place]

“What did I do wrong?” she whispers hoarsely, gazing pleadingly into Stevonnie’s eyes. “Wha- what am I doing? Why do I wanna hurt myself so badly?”

“Shh, now,” they reply, tears of their own brimming at the crease of their eyes, and pull Spinel’s head to their chest. “I’ve got you...”

___

Chapter 18

They know their throat is tight, and their voice scratchy. They know they’ve never sung this song in front of another living being, since it’s something personal they composed alone on one of their late nights back on Earth, thinking about all the difficult days Steven and Connie have had to face over the months. Pair this with their active crying, and there’s no way their singing will be anything pretty.

But pretty doesn’t matter right now.

Stevonnie opens their lips, and— clutching the broken hearted Gem close, rhythmically rocking with her back and forth— lets the wandering melody emerge from within.

“I guess I have to face That in this awful place I shouldn’t show a trace Of doubt...”

“But pulled against the grain I feel a little pain That I would rather do Without...”

“I’d rather be Free, free Free...”

[Hoarse, Spinel starts singing with them.]

“I’d rather be Free, free Free...”

“Free, free Free...”

“From here...”

[Stevonnie holds her tight while crying, their tears healing it back up.]

___

Chapter 19

AN: Don't have anything but a single bit of dialogue in this chapter note- I'm assuming I intended it as being a good few hours after the events of chapters 16-18... when Spinel has calmed down a little and has a moment to reflect on the upsetting news she's just received.

“I think... I always knew,” she says, voice hoarse. “In a way. It was so obvious how she felt about me.

___

Chapter ?

AN: From here on out, the plot hasn't been split into individual chapters.

[At some point shortly after chapter 19, Lars and his crew locate Stevonnie in the garden, and pick them and Spinel up. The next few bits of dialogue and description takes place on the ship.]

Rutile twins: “I haven’t heard of Spinels being produced in over five millennia.” “Me neither!”

Rhodonite: “Yeah, I heard they stopped making them entirely after the rebellion on Pink’s colony.”

[A bit of overwhelming conversation later, no one really noticing Spinel's conflicted emotional response to so many Gems hovering around her at once.]

Padparadscha: “I predict that you’re both going to make Spinel feel very uncomfortable aboard this ship.”

Rhodonite: “I’m sorry, we don’t exactly meet new Gems every century.”

Rutile twins: “Yes!” “It’s just been us until we met our captain!”

Fluorite: “Our new huuuuman friend helped us escape the tunnels on Homeworld. Now... we’re slooowly making our way back... to Earth.”

Spinel: “Earth?? You’re going to Pink’s world? But why? I heard she... was shattered.”

___

[Spinel feeling a sense of kinship with the idea that there’s other Gems who didn’t serve their rightful purpose and are now escaping their life on Homeworld to be free of that. Because now, without her Diamond, since she was unable to keep her happy, she’s an Off Color too. She failed her given purpose same as them.]

[Discussion of Earth, and the rebellion, and how there’s Gems living free there. And how Pink’s colony was siphoning life away, and that’s what these Gems were fighting to protect. Stevonnie points out all the plants and wildlife that used to live in the garden, and asks her if she felt happier when it was around. Spinel says yes. Stevonnie says that this is what the Diamonds are destroying, with each lifeless colony they forge. Everywhere they go, dead wildlife lies in their wake.]

Spinel: “I... guess I never thought of it that way.”

[(Stevonnie adds...) And while they’re very sorry for the personal connection there, and can’t imagine how painful that must be, that’s why Pink Diamond was shattered.]

[Spinel is given an open choice... Lars gives the invitation to stay with him and the Off Colors, and Stevonnie offers for her to come with them back to Earth. It's not a hard decision for her in the end, though. She's always dreamed of seeing what was once Pink’s planet, ever since she heard the Diamonds bequeath it to her.]

___

Stevonnie: “Okay, so… before we go, I need to be honest with you about something." [deep breath] "I’m actually a fusion of two separate people who are close friends. You... know what fusion is, right?”

Spinel: “Duh, o’course! What, d’ya think I was made yesterday?”

[...]

Stevonnie: “But even with that, I can’t be together as me all the time. Steven and Connie, the two who come together to form me... they love hanging out with each other so much, but they also have their own lives! Other friends, other hobbies, their own families. They still talk when they’re apart, but they know it’s okay to do things alone, too. Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

Spinel: [shakes head no] “No...?”

Stevonnie: [sighs] “I understand you’ve been left behind. Believe me, I know how bad that feels. So the last thing I wanna do is make you think I’m doing that too.”

Spinel: “Y-you— you’re going away?” Stevonnie: “Unfusing, yes.” Spinel: “But Stevonnie, you—“ Stevonnie: “Spinel. No matter what, you are my friend. Steven and Connie consider you a friend, too. And my hope is that you’ll keep making a whole bunch more on Earth, so you’ll always have people around who know and love you. But that can’t always be me, okay?“

___

[At home... on Earth. There's a bit of a close call for Pearl when Spinel arrives, and recognizes her as Pink's second pearl. This is news for Garnet and Amethyst and Steven, the first of which had somewhat suspected that Pearl used to be in the diamonds' service, but never knew for sure. Pearl, of course... can't say much on this due to her gag order... not that anyone else knows about that yet... but does manage a very concise and PD=RQ free explanation about her past in Pink's court, and her transition towards being a Crystal Gem:]

Pearl: “Rose Quartz set me free, and I’ve been a part of the rebellion ever since.”

___

[At some point between the last scene and the next, mention how Spinel had a bit of a relapse... she ended up poofing herself, and reformed differently. A little bit closer to the smudged mascara and frayed pigtails look of canon, but no rotated heart. Unlike in canon, she has a solid support system amongst the Crystal Gems, and she's working hard to recover from the heartbreak of Pink's abandonment.]

___

[Final scene is set post A Single Pale Rose. Steven and Connie fuse, and Stevonnie goes to find Spinel to check in on how she's taking the news. The final line of the fic is as follows:]

Spinel: “I know you’re not her, not really. And I know you’ll always be a better person than she ever was. But in some silly cyclical way... back in that garden... it’s almost like Pink came back for me after all.”

[soracities]

hi, i hope you’re well. would you be able to find some more touching words regarding love and nature? your set on bones was beautifully morose and i cannot stop thinking about it. thank you.

“I died, and was born in the spring; I found you, and loved you, again.”

— Mary Oliver, “Hummingbirds”

“Autumn of your uncoiled hair. Your body moves in my arms On the verge of sleep; And it is as though I held In my arms the bird filled Evening sky of summer.”

— Kenneth Rexroth, “When We With Sappho”

“Do you remember, my beautiful, / how our home bloomed in orchards of olives and figs, / how the spring slept beside it… Do you remember, my beautiful, / how the branches fluttered with butterflies, / and every night was a new beginning on earth?”

— Adonis, “Transformations of the Lover”

— BillieHoliday, “I’ll be seeing you”

“There are plenty of legends about women turning into trees but are there any about trees turning into women? Is it odd to say that your lover reminds you of a tree? Well she does, it’s the way her hair fills with wind and sweeps out around her head. Very often I expect her to rustle. She doesn’t rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch. Would I had a hedge of such saplings naked and unadorned.”

— Jeanette Winterson, Written On the Body

“In daylight, every tree became you. / And pretending, I kissed my way through / the forest.”

— Marie Howe, “Gretel, from a sudden clearing”

— Adonis, “Beginnings of the Body, Ends of the Sea”

“But he could never tell her all the rest, how many other living things, birds, nights smelling of grass and rain, sunlit moments of simple peace, also gather in what she is to him.”

— Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow

— Hozier, “Shrike”

“We make love. We make love. We make love under the silent beech tree. So quiet, so quiet […] Only the rain drops, fall on our hair, our skin. Rain drops on the cowslip flower by our feet, without disturbing us.”

— Xiaolu Guo, A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers

“My throat / is a beehive pitched in the river [...] / Look how long this love can hold its breath.”

— Sierra DeMoulder, “Your Love Finds Its Way Back”

— Adonis, “Transformations of the Lover”

“I dreamt we slept in a moss in Donegal On turf banks under blankets, with our faces   Exposed all night in a wetting drizzle,   Pallid as the dripping sapling birches.   Lorenzo and Jessica in a cold climate.   Diarmuid and Grainne waiting to be found.   Darkly asperged and censed, we were laid out   Like breathing effigies on a raised ground. And in that dream I dreamt—how like you this?— Our first night years ago in that hotel   When you came with your deliberate kiss   To raise us towards the lovely and painful   Covenants of flesh; our separateness;   The respite in our dewy dreaming faces.”

— Seamus Heaney, “Glanmore Sonnets”

— John Cage, letter to Merce Cunningham

“Your thighs are appletrees [...] / Your knees / are a southern breeze—”

— William Carlos Williams, “Portrait of a Lady”

“We lie here in the bee filled, ruinous Orchard of a decayed New England farm, Summer in our hair, and the smell Of summer in our twined bodies, Summer in our mouths, and summer In the luminous, fragmentary words Of this dead Greek woman. Stop reading. Lean back. Give me your mouth. Your grace is as beautiful as sleep. You move against me like a wave That moves in sleep. Your body spreads across my brain Like a bird filled summer.”

— Kenneth Rexroth, “When We With Sappho”

— Ali Smith, Girl Meets Boy

“I should like to creep Through the long brown grasses   That are your lashes; I should like to poise   On the very brink Of leaf-brown pools   That are your shadowed eyes; I should like to cleave   Without sound, Their gleaming waters,  their unrippled waters, I should like to sink down   And down       And down           And deeply down.”

— Angelina Weld Grimké, “A Mona Lisa”

— A. Poulin Jr., “Cave Dwellers”

“What I mean is—when I see your face / in the dusk I understand the desire of the rain. Each time / you happen to me all over again.”

— Aleda Shirley, “A Dwelling in the Evening Air”

“Between your touch / and my cry / between the sea / and the dream of the sea.”

— Anne Michaels, “Sea of Lanterns”

— Robery Creeley, “The Rain”

“In a forest of stars and boughs, here is your face. In the garden, in the shipwreck, in sacred stones, in figs and roses. Through long nights of walking, what does not sing for us?”

— Anne Michaels, The Winter Vault

“nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands.”

— E.E. Cummings, “somewhere i have never traveled gladly beyond”

“I cannot write about Damascus, without the jasmine climbing on my fingers. / I cannot say Her name, without my mouth getting overcrowded with apricot juice, blackberries and quince.”

— Nizar Qabbani, “A Green Lantern at Damascus’ Door”

— Hozier, “Shrike”