#lord i hate feeling bitter — and i especially hate feeling this way over my sister

[salsflore]

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hi😊 what do you think was Petunia's reaction when Harry told her year after year about Voldemort's return? especially after the 4th and 6th years. Petunia is a very interesting and for me disgusting character

I think we are told her reaction:

“Lord — hang on,” said Uncle Vernon, his face screwed up, a look of dawning comprehension in his piggy eyes. “I’ve heard that name . . . that was the one who . . .” “Murdered my parents, yes,” Harry said. “But he’s gone,” said Uncle Vernon impatiently, without the slightest sign that the murder of Harry’s parents might be a painful topic to anybody. “That giant bloke said so. He’s gone.” “He’s back,” said Harry heavily. It felt very strange to be standing here in Aunt Petunia’s surgically clean kitchen, beside the top-of-the-range fridge and the wide-screen television, and talking calmly of Lord Voldemort to Uncle Vernon. [...] “Back?” whispered Aunt Petunia. She was looking at Harry as she had never looked at him before. And all of a sudden, for the very first time in his life, Harry fully appreciated that Aunt Petunia was his mother’s sister. He could not have said why this hit him so very powerfully at this moment. All he knew was that he was not the only person in the room who had an inkling of what Lord Voldemort being back might mean. Aunt Petunia had never in her life looked at him like that before. Her large, pale eyes (so unlike her sister’s) were not narrowed in dislike or anger: They were wide and fearful. The furious pretense that Aunt Petunia had maintained all Harry’s life — that there was no magic and no world other than the world she inhabited with Uncle Vernon — seemed to have fallen away. “Yes,” Harry said, talking directly to Aunt Petunia now. “He came back a month ago. I saw him.”

(OotP, 38-39)

She is terrified, so terrified that she is willing to acknowledge magic and even feels some worry towards Harry, for what Voldemort returning would mean to him — because she knows how her sister died.

Like, I think for all of Petunia's talk, she still loved Lily, and felt protective over her as older sisters usually do. I think, initially, a lot of her hate for magic came from jealousy, yes, that Lily was the first witch in their family and how proud their parents were. But I think, she also hated her sister left her for that world of magic. A world of magic she tried to join (she sent Dumbledore a letter) but couldn't. I think a lot of her bitterness is from that.

The world of magic stole her sister from her. Then, a wizard, James Potter, stole her away again. And then, finally, a wizard (Voldemort) killed her sister. In her eyes, magic only ever distanced and eventually took away someone she used to love as a child.

So she's bitter and terrified of magic.

And, we see that she, well, I wouldn't say she's even kind to Harry, but she's less forceful after this point. She's terrified of Voldemort being back. She's scared for her family (Vernon and Dudley). Dudley was just attacked by dementors and she knows things like that would become more and more common now that Voldemort returns.

I think, from the passage above, deep down, she is concerned for Harry. I wouldn't say she loves him or cares about him like family, (because she doesn't. Not really at least. Her feelings about Harry are weird), but I think she has a vague sense of concern. Like, a more distant care. Like if you hear someone you went to high school with just died in some horrific accident. Like, you weren't close to that person, and you haven't seen them for years, you don't really care and their being dead won't really affect your life in any way, but there is a certain emptiness that comes with knowing a person you saw every day for years, someone you knew in some way, died horrifically.

Because it makes you feel something, but it's not the same fear you'd feel for close family you care for.

[sheadre]

Phantom of the Opera (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader) Chapter Six

Summary: Lady (Name) Granville, daughter and only heir of Duke Granville just arrived back for this season from her tour in Europe. However, she came back to London with a secret. And it seems Anthony Bridgerton just found out that secret.

Word count: 1116

Warnings: fluff, romance, angst

It took you by surprise when Lord Vincent de Trafford appeared at your door. He was one of the eligible bachelors interested in finding a wife this season. You danced with him once and he was likeable. But he was no Anthony Bridgerton. You hated yourself for still thinking about him just like now, when you were standing in front of Lord Trafford. As you looked up at him, you had to strain your neck but his bright smile made you forget about it.

“Lady Granville, I asked Lady Danbury if I could join the two of you to promenade in Hyde Park today with my mother and younger sister.”

His deep voice was caressing your ears as he spoke. His smile was so bewitching, everyone was smitten with him but lately during all the balls since he and his family arrived, his attention seemed to be solely on you. His presence drew everyone’s attention especially because of his mysterious background no one really knew about.

Your heart flattered in your chest as you tried to find the words of agreement.

“And I agreed to it.” your aunt walked out from the drawing room. “Are you ready, my dear? Ophelia and Margaret are waiting for us outside.”

With a simple nod, you intertwined your arm with your aunt and let her lead you to the carriage outside. Lady Danbury seemed like she had a plan in her mind because the other day she was warning you about Lord Trafford and now she was ready to let him close to you. The ride to the park was filled with small talk and you tried to pay attention to it so you could respond respectfully to any questions asked. Getting out of your head was quite hard these days.

After Sienna asked you to give up your dreams, you thought over her reasons and left the theatre. Ever since then, you felt numb. The only thing you truly enjoyed in life was taken from you because of your simple existence. Having responsibilities you never asked for but was forced into, made you feel bitter. Your anger soon died out, however, leaving only numbness behind. It has always been like that. You got angry quickly but it just as quickly snuffed out and you accepted how things were. Reality hit you hard that way sometimes but that is life and one has to move on if they want to experience other things as well.

Once you arrived at Hyde Park, you felt relieved, the carriage was crowded with all five of you inside besides, you were still not used to Lord Trafford. He was a stranger after all. Your eyes widened at that. Wasn’t Anthony a stranger as well in that sense?

“Lady Granville, we haven’t had time to talk ever since the play-hunt.” Lord Trafford smiled gently down at you. “How are you fairing? Have you read anything interesting lately?”

“Actually I quite enjoyed the latest poems of Lord Kershaw. He is a unique talent.” you replied. “Do you enjoy poetry or do you prefer novels?”

“It depends on the author. It is not the genre but the style that piques my interest.” he said as he stared ahead, Lady Danbury and his family behind the pair of you. The weather was nice, there were only a few white puffy clouds in the blue sky. This environment felt peaceful like this. You didn’t need to be on guard by Lord Trafford’s side, you didn’t need to think about ulterior motives.

Then, as you listened to Lord Trafford’s musings about literature, your eyes landed on three familiar figures in the distance. Benedict Bridgerton was telling his brothers about his latest story when your eyes met with Anthony’s. His brown eyes were trained on you, his smile that lighted up his handsome face by the funny story only brightened when your eyes met his. Your heart skipped a beat and you quickly turned your head avoiding further eye contact.

He only made your life miserable so far, you shouldn’t be spending even just a second thinking about him. As you walked with Lord Trafford and his family, you slowly seemed to ease into a tranquil conversation. Your heart slowed down its pace and small smiles and chuckles left your lips when the lord made a few jokes.

Your group found a perfect spot for your picnic, sandwiches and small cakes were passed while conversation flowed. Then suddenly, a ball hit the back of your head making you spill tea on your dress as you sat on the blanket.

“Hyacinth!” a familiar voice cried out partially from anger. You looked back still in surprise to see little Hyacinth standing a distance away, staring at you in fear. Then came running up to her a frustrated looking Anthony Bridgerton with furrowed eyebrows. He crouched down to her level, said something to her and then held her hand and led her toward your group.

You stayed put, your heart beating so rapidly in your chest at the sight of Anthony you thought it would jump right out of your body. He greeted everyone with a dashing smile and then looked to Hyacinth and encouraged her to apologise.

“Hyacinth came here to apologise for being careless when playing, right Hyacinth?”

As you looked at him, your mind was filled with thoughts of how much Anthony looked like a father. Shaking your head a little to clear your head, you smiled at them and listened to Hyacinth’s apology. She looked ready to burst into tears, her lips pouted and her cheeks grew red.

“I-I… I’m really sorry!” she cried out and then hid behind Anthony’s legs. You smiled at her and reached out for her to grab your hands.

“It is quite alright, darling, no harm was done. Are you alright as well?”

Hyacinth seemed to calm down seeing your reaction and soon she was sitting in your lap. Then Lady Danbury spoke up:

“Lord Bridgerton, why are you not joining us?”

There was a pause in the air, then he cleared his throat and said: “I would not want to impose on-”

“Brother, you shouldn’t say no to a lady when she invited you herself.” Benedict Bridgerton clapped his hand on Anthony’s shoulder with a wide grin on his face. Lady Danbury laughed and motioned for you to move over to her side. Benedict pushed Anthony down next to you before his brother could protest. It was way too obvious that Lady Danbury and Benedict Bridgerton were in on something but you couldn’t help but focus on the close proximity you found yourself in with Anthony.

You knew you were doomed.

To be continued…

[eeblouissant]

hii !! @witchybitchybisexual tagged me a while back to answer some tgg questions, and I’ve finally gotten around to it haha! Thank you soso much I had lots of fun with this :D (under the cut so I don’t clog anyones tl)

1. How did you find out about the show?

I was raised on it! My mother always (and I mean always. I’m very grateful she kept all her DVDs in such good condition so that I can rewatch!) had it on in the background when I was little, my great grandma too I believe. (I’m also convinced Bea Arthur was my gay awakening, i used to sit and stare for hoursss lol)

2. One storyline you'd eliminate?

Listen … there are so many but. I feel like you all already know what I’m about to say - firstly, the bit where Dorothy almost marries Stan again. I’d get rid of many of the Stan storylines (and get him much further away from Dorothy, honestly it’s a little upsetting to see him near her at all but maybe I’m just overly sensitive when it comes to the things Dorothy’s been through because of him? He shouldn’t have been a reoccurring character imo.) but that one especially. I can understand the need for it, because it dives into a part of Dorothy’s character that I find very interesting and that I love expanding on, but god it just hurt my heart way too much. He makes me very upset and I’m just a viewer - so I can’t imagine what it would be like for someone to actually have to put up with him. I really think I’m just overly sensitive because of the subject matter but oh well 😅. Anyway - that and, I’d change how the show ended. And not in the way you think !!!! I think it was crucial that Dorothy got her fairytale ending, she deserved it more than anyone (sorry rose, blanche, sophia) after the way she’s always treated, even if it’s not really meant, she deserved to hold that over their heads. I wouldn’t change a thing about that. But I would change that exit scene, where she isn’t able to respond to roses��� “is this goodbye?” It is goodbye. It shouldn’t have been goodbye - I hated that they ended it that way so badly. And the affect is seen later in the golden palace (they don’t even patch things up really!!!!!! It was so horribly done imo!!!! Maybe I’m just bitter I’m not sure 😭)

3. Best guest star/character?

The two times Sophia’s sister appears are my favourites, so I’ll have to go with her 😂

Also - I’m forgetting his name at the moment, but the trans man that made an appearance in that one episode. The way he was never misgendered or deadnamed!! that episode has a very special place in my heart!!! (Jean as well, that episode is also a huge comfort. But I don’t think I need to say that - it’s kind of implied)

4. Character you most relate to?

Dorothy and Rose equally 🚶🏻‍♀️ but is this really a shock at this point lol

5. Favourite character?

Rose !!!!!! You may think otherwise but she will forever be my favourite. She’s just too relatable, I see a lot of myself (unmasked) in her and it brings me a lot of comfort. Shes actually helped me start to be okay with the idea of unmasking a little more outside of the house. I love her soooo so much.

6. Favourite story of a cast member?

This one kind of involves all of them? So I hope it counts, but learning that the crew were the photos in the ‘men of blanches boudoir’ episode 😂 hilarious!! I can’t remember if the girls were expecting it, I hope it all came as a surprise because their reactions seemed genuine!

7. Which was the episode that got you hooked?

I can’t really answer this one because I’ve always loved the show, simply because I grew up on it 😅 my mum & I have a very similar dynamic to Sophia and Dorothy, so I actually think that’s what kept me hooked; the emotions and memories attached! And then of course growing up and picking up on how queer coded those three are, good lord.

8. You could wear one girl's wardrobe for the rest of your life, who would you pick?

Sophia and Rose, no hesitation. Dorothy is too tall and flowy for me (I’m 5’2, no way I’m pulling her wardrobe off lol), Blanche is too, well, Blanche 😭 although I do adore her wardrobe, it’s just definitely not for me (I will however be stealing her robes & housecoats immediately)

9. How many kids do you think they all actually had?

Okay, I know Dorothy for sure only had two. That’s talked about lots. Blanche had four? Because she’s only ever talked about having four, possibly adopting? And Rose, I’m actually unsure, does she ever say it outright 😅? I’d guess three or four. I know we see one or two of her kids but otherwise I’m unsure.

10. Do you think the actresses would've gotten along with their characters if they met in real life?

Why/Why not?

Sophia and Estelle would be two peas in a pod and I stand by that. They both just have this way about them that makes me think it wouldn’t turn out any other way haha

hhhhmmmm … I think that Dorothy and Bea would be able to relate on a different level for sure. Cheating husbands, very specific insecurities (until Bea was a little older that is. Her confidence was contagious!) fashion choices, similar opinions on how comfortable shoes actually are lol - but I feel like Dorothy is a little too much of a romantic. That might have thrown them off. Bea was also a very shy person, and Dorothy is a little more bold. That would have gone one of two ways I think! Either Dorothy ends up being her scary guard dog or they clash for all the wrong reasons 😂

Rose and Betty? I don’t have much to say other than, again, it would have gone one of two ways and been very black and white 😂 either they’re hitting it off, or never speaking again.

Rue mentions once that shes all Blanche with the exception of not being from Atlanta Georgia, and friends of hers have mentioned that she had a hard time shaking Blanche off after the show ended - so, I’d say they’re practically twins 😅 they’d question if they were related!

11. What are your other comfort shows?

The crown! (special interest, you know how it goes), I don’t watch much, because I always fear getting too absorbed in media and developing another fixation 😭 it’s also just hard when I’ve got such intense interests going on. I can’t delve into new media because it’s almost overwhelming? Idk can’t explain that one. Anyway, talk to me about the crown and I’ll marry you on the spot (/j)

12. Headcanons? (Feel free to list as many as you'd like)

Oh BOY. Oh here we go. You’ve all seen many of my headcanons by now so this might get repetitive, but I’ll list some anyway:

First off, because oh my god I think about it daily, Blanche has a natural tan!! Partly because she lays out in the sun so often but I also see her just being born with it. Something about it suits her so well! She gets a tiny bit paler in the winter but in the summer she’s almost unrecognizable (Thank you Blanche for adding some colour to the group lmao, those ladies are white !!!!)

I headcanon strongly that Rose is autistic. Or at the very least neurodivergent somehow (definitely autistic, but you get my point) - as an autistic person she reminds me a lot of myself when I’m unmasked and it’s actually really lovely unintentional representation! I feel so seen by her!

Honestly, a lot of what I would want to headcanon about Dorothy is already canon (her chronic illness, depression, hearing aid etc) but one thing I do headcanon her dealing with that isn’t explicitly stated is dissociation. It would come naturally with that one really awful thing that I won’t name that happened to her - and having to them live with Stanley for 38 years after the fact? I believe dissociation became less of a concern to her and more of a very, very dear friend. Anyway, I’ve rambled on that a million times so I’ll spare you all 😅

I also headcanon that Dorothy is an extremely repressed lesbian, be it her religion or, again, the very awful thing that shall not be named, etc - there’s something about the way she treads so carefully around the topic of lesbianism that just … yeah. We know Dorothy. It’s okay. I headcanon blanche being bisexual, since it’s kind of hinted at once or twice? Or like? Straight up implied? Cut to all the times she just happened to ask Dorothy to “help her out” or pick between her and rose lmao. I can see rose being pan or bi as well, but I think I headcanon her being unlabelled honestly! She just wants to love and be loved, if she loves someone, she loves them!

Honestly, I don’t have many headcanons for Sophia - she’s perfect as she is 😂 10/10 no notes!

13. What would you change (if anything) about the show/ characters if it was set in the modern day?

Again, how it ended, and in this case because of the insane amount of queer coding and subtext - need I say more? I can’t see this show being set in modern times, I honestly think it would ruin the vibe 😅

14. Which other Fictional Characters would you like each one of the golden girls to meet?

oh lord okay, I’ve saved this one for last because I’m actually not sure? I don’t think I can answer this one but I’ll edit and add if anything comes to mind later 😅

15. Who were your favourite duo?

Rose and Dorothy!!!! Although it’s very hard to separate the four, rose and Dorothy always had the most precious scenes.

16. Who should've got more 1:1 screen time with each other?

Rose and Dorothy 😭😭 pleassseeeee oh my god

16. Calmest season?

Two I think!

17. Most chaotic season?

Seven or three - season seven felt rushed, so it felt chaotic in a way I hated, but season three was so filled with lore and things that it felt chaotic for all the right reasons!

18. Favorite Season?

Three and four!

19. If the girls hadn't had their established careers, what other ones could you picture them doing?

Well firstly I’d give Dorothy her antique shop dream, obviously. I cant not see Blanche doing something with the arts… if she really put her mind to it I think she would make an incredible artist. & rose … hhhmmm. Maybe a preschool or kindergarten teacher! (Sophia is exempt here, let the woman rest lol she’s much to old to be working)

20. Best aspects of the show in your opinion?

All the different kinds of representation! How much it leaned into topics that were otherwise considered kind of swept under the rug. There’s been a billion posts made explaining this already though so I’m sure I don’t need to talk anyone’s ear off about it 😅

21. This question is for my fellow cheesecake lovers) favourite cheesecake flavour?

Ohhhh strawberry has to be my favourite.

22. Storyline you wished they had expanded upon?

Okay this is going to sound silly so bare with me, but that time Sophia got a job (dressed up in that pirate costume) - they never expanded on it, in fact she kind of disappeared for the rest of the episode!!!! I have to know what on earth was going on there 😭!!!

23. Questions you'd ask the actresses?

Honestly, if they actually got along. Because there have been rumours and things. (and then, you know. The Thing Rue Said that Bea had said about Betty because of the way she was picking on Estelle. And also Betty admitting that Bea was never too fond of her. I just have to know!) id also ask Bea Arthur specifically what she thought of the possible queer subtext around Dorothy’s character - I have a feeling she’d be fond of it actually 😂

24. Episode that brings you the most comfort?

Any episode that isn’t from the end of season 7 😭 I don’t think I can pick just one

25. Episode that made you laugh the hardest?

The episode where Dorothy sleeps with (or well, attempts to. We all know how that went) stans brother. I could write an essay on that one but oh my GOD I was laughing so hard at the parts that weren’t ripping my heart out!!!

26. Which other work that the actresses did you enjoy the most?

You’re asking me to pick only one of Bea Arthur’s other works???? I’d have to say Maude I think, basic answer I know - but oh my god I love her 😭 I’ll have to say Maude for Rue as well. The Beatrice Arthur special is Very close behind her though. & Betty - hhhmmm. Probably Password (if it counts?)

27. Best St Olaf Story?

The Great herring war hands down - I CANNOT with that scene 😂😂 when rue started to giggle I knew exactly what was about to go down - BEA lost composure, and I’d imagine that’s a hard thing to get her to do!!!!

28. Best slut story?

does this count I’m not sure … but I’m very very fond of that little moment where rose and dorothy are recalling different men Blanche has told them stories about to ask if they’re true (after she admitted that she tends to over exaggerate sometimes) like oh my god. They actually remember all the nonsense Blanche tells them 😂 I can’t !!!!

29. Best Sicily story?

The Pablo Picasso story !!!! Oh my god I think about it daily !!!!!!

30. Which girl would you be most interested in seeing a prequel of? And at which point in their life?

Young Dorothy !!!!!! OH MY GOD !!! She should have had her own show I’m so serious!!!!! The fact that she didn’t get a spin-off is a crime - I don’t know how that never happened. I’m so fascinated by her and how she survived back then. I need all the details big and small or I might (will, I will) die

[tamurilofrivendell]

Heart of Stone | Chapter 7

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

AO3 LINK

pairing(s): Thranduil x Tamuril (oc) storyline: Tamuril was in love with Haldir but the battle at Helms Deep took away all hope she had for the future. She struggles with her grief and tensions eventually run high when she shares a moment with Lord Elrond she feels she cannot come back from and flees Rivendell, hiding herself away in the Elvenking Thranduil’s Halls. chapter summary: Arwen attempts to speak to Tamuril and Elrond goes to the stables to talk to Thranduil.

Tamuril’s heart jumped in her chest as the door slammed shut in the wake of Elrond’s retreat. He was angry. Was he angry at what she’d done or was he angry at what she’d said? She decided that it was both, there was no other answer that would make any sense. She hated how it hurt and wished she could go back to feeling nothing. If only she could turn back the clock and make it so none of this ever happened. She stood still for a long minute before she closed the bag and turned to the window. She caught sight of Elrond striding across the courtyard in the direction of the stables. He was going to speak to Thranduil, she just knew it, and her stomach dropped as she wondered over his reaction to finding out that she had lied.

Before she could think too much on it, the door to her room eased open gently and she turned around. “Arwen…” She whispered, frowning softly as she looked at her friend. 

Arwen smiled softly back at Tamuril, moving a few more steps into the room and gently closing the door behind her. “Are you alright?” The way she asked made it clear she knew the answer already.

Tamuril lowered herself into the chair next to the window and covered her face with her hands. “I have been better.” She admitted.

Arwen gave her friend a sympathetic look. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

Tamuril could have laughed, though it would have sounded as bitter as it would have felt. She wasn’t sure how she could ever talk to Arwen about any of this, especially not about what she had done! Elrond was Arwen’s father and Tamuril thought of her as the closest thing she had to a sister… it was just all so terrible. She lowered her hands and lifted her gaze to look at the other, who was still smiling kindly at her. 

“My friend, there is nothing you can say… nothing you could do.” 

Tamuril eyed Arwen and then sighed. “You already know?” She questioned.

Arwen gave her an apologetic nod. “I am afraid I was in my father’s private garden…”

Tamuril’s face flushed bright red again as the embarrassment once more flooded through her body. “Oh, gods…” She frowned. “I am so sorry, I have no idea what–”

“Hey, hey.” Arwen shook her head quickly, holding up her hand. “It is alright.” Arwen understood, or… well, she thought that she understood, at least. “You have a lot going on. Up in your head.” She murmured. “Tamuril, please do not think my father will hold this against you. He would never. He does not have it in him.”

Tamuril shot her a look. “You did not see him when he came to find me. He is angry, Arwen, I have shamed him. I have disgraced myself and I have pushed him too far. He will not forgive me and he is right not to.” She did not deserve it.

“Tamuril, please.” Arwen began but Tamuril wasn’t quite finished, standing up and moving back over to the bed where she had packed her things.

“He did not even attempt to get me to stay.”

“You are leaving?!” Arwen interrupted, turning to follow Tamuril’s movements across the room, her gaze falling upon the bag of belongings in the middle of her bed. “You cannot! Why? Where will you go?!”

“I am going to Mirkwood.” She felt shaky as she said it but she did her best to keep her voice level, glancing at Arwen. “There is nothing you can say that will stop me… and even if there was, your father would not agree. He already planned to send me away on a ship.”

Arwen frowned. “Tamuril.” She said softly. “Do you not think… perhaps that is an idea you should have considered?”

Tamuril stilled her movements and turned to give Arwen the most incredulous look. “You would also wish me away?”

“It would not be right away but you… you do realise that in doing so, you would be reunited… with… with Haldir, yes? Eventually.” Arwen knew it wasn’t an instantaneous thing and the time apart would still be bitter and full of longing but his spirit would surely leave the halls of Mandos at some point and Tamuril was gifted with the long life of the Eldar and she could go… heal… and eventually be reunited with the man she loved, whose presence she grieved over.

“Do you not understand?!” Tamuril practically shouted, causing Arwen to freeze as she stared back at her friend in absolute shock at the reaction. “He is not coming back!” She could feel tears pricking at her eyes yet again, clouding her vision. It was frustrating to have gone from never shedding a tear to not being able to stop once more. “He has left me!”

Tamuril turned and fled the room, running away down the hall with her bag on her shoulder, leaving Arwen standing in the middle of her chamber.

Thranduil reached up to pet his majestic Elk on the nose, allowing himself the briefest ghost of a smile. He truly loved that animal and they had been through so much together. “Ready to go home, boy?” He murmured. Thranduil was more than ready but part of him was anxious to return. There was a lot that needed to be done within the woods. The memory of the fires raging across the trees came back to him and he lost himself for a moment before he managed to blink it away.

It was just then that Elrond walked into the stables, looking distressed. Thranduil’s eyebrows raised in mild surprise as he regarded the other, not often having seen him in such a state.

“Am I to assume that your talk with the lady did not go as you intended?” Thranduil wondered, turning back to his Elk.

Elrond frowned at the back of Thranduil’s head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

“She had informed me that she is departing with you for the woodland realm at dawn.” He said calmly, gaze fixed on the King. “Apparently you offered her a place there.”

Thranduil was taken aback by this revelation because of course he hadn’t said anything of the sort and his mind quickly worked back over his previous interactions with Tamuril. They hadn’t truly said much of anything to each other from what he could recall. He had spent time with her and, yes, he had perhaps lingered a little more than he maybe felt that he should have… had she taken his attentions the wrong way? Though he realised that something had happened between Tamuril and Elrond, something that had quickly made the pair tense and uncomfortable with each other. Thranduil wasn’t privy to what this was but he had seen enough to know that something happened. Perhaps the girl simply wanted away and this was her best bet, the first opportunity that seemed to present itself to her.

Thranduil turned back to Elrond after a brief second. “Do you disapprove?” He asked, not admitting to have invited Tamuril to Mirkwood, but also not admitting that he hadn’t.

Elrond kept his expression blank as he studied Thranduil for a moment. He didn’t know what was going to happen if Tamuril went to the Woodland Realm. Thranduil had a temper and often spoke out of turn, much like he had at dinner the other night. Elrond didn’t put it past him to say the wrong thing and make Tamuril’s state of mind worse. But he knew that he could not keep her here after what happened. He saw it in her eyes and he felt the chasm between the two of them growing by the second. It hurt but he forced himself not to think of it.

“No.” He half-lied. “I merely wonder why.”

Thranduil shrugged. “We need all the help we can get at the moment.” He said. “I intend to bring the wood back to its former glory… but it will take time and many hands.”

Elrond mulled this over in his mind. Here, he had allowed Tamuril to drift where she wanted, not wanting to push her too far in the wake of Haldir’s death. She had spent a lot of her time hiding away but she had friends here that he had hoped would help bring her back out of her shell. Elrond didn’t know how she would adjust but surely she had agreed already if she and Thranduil had talked about her going.

“Right.” Elrond nodded, frown deepening as he looked back at Thranduil. The King could see this whole thing was difficult for the Lord of Rivendell and that he was doing his best to keep it buried and accept what came his way. “Anything else you need, Thranduil, please do let me know. You have Rivendell’s full support.”

Thranduil dipped his head in thank you and watched as Elrond turned and strode across the courtyard back into the building. He watched until he disappeared inside and then turned back to the Elk, his thoughts now full of Tamuril and Elrond, which irked him.

[wespersdaughter]

i hope you're happy - bridgerton sister reader

SOUR series | masterlist

Summary: When Anthony’s favourite little sister has her heart broken, he tries to help her feel better.

Warnings: reader is sad because of a man

A/N: Hope you enjoy, love you.

Lady Whistledown was a great source of entertainment for you and your sisters, especially Eloise. But you were quite certain you hated the woman. Well ‘hate’ is a strong word, you were very upset with her.

And to be fair, it wasn’t her that you were truly upset with. She was after all just the messenger.

You were actually incredibly heartbroken by Lord Ashby. The man who promised you the world in his poems. Who painted the most beautiful love story in his flower arrangements. Who charmed your mama at every party.

On the morning of 18 August 1815, she published the beautiful tale of Lord Ashby’s engagement to a beautiful young debutante, not by the name of Y/N Bridgerton.

Most mornings, Eloise would snatch the pamphlet first, skimming through it quickly before she brought it to you and your sisters. This particular morning, she skimmed through it only to stop and call for Francesca.

She pointed something out to her sister.

“What? What does it say?” You frowned, greeting your mama with a soft kiss on the cheek.

Violet looked to her other girls, “Enough of that gossip, it’s time for tea.”

“Mama, I need to show you something.” Eloise waved her closer while Francesca approached your brothers who’d entered the room.

“What’s happening?” Benedict sat down next to you, stealing a sip of your tea.

“I’m not sure they won’t tell me.”

“WHAT?!” Your oldest brother cried.

“Anthony!” Francesca chastised, trying to soothe him.

Finally, your mama turned to you, a soft smile on her face. The one she used when you’d fallen down the stairs years ago. The one that said ‘you’re about to be in pain but your mama’s here to help’.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” You handed your tea to Benedict, stomach churning.

Eloise looked at your mama, then at Frannie and Anthony, then at you.

“Lord Ashby’s engaged.”

“What do you mean engaged?” You practically ran at her, grabbing the pamphlet from her.

When you reached the portion where she wrote about his announcement your heart broke.

“The Earl of Suffolk was absolutely smitten with his new fiancée, a Miss Charlotte Templeton. This Author was rather surprised it was not the young Miss Y/N Bridgerton, considering their season-long courtship.”

You couldn’t read any further, handing the pamphlet back to Eloise. Your mama placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and whispered your name.

The wash of emotions running over you were confusing, you were heartbroken and bitter, but a small part of you was relieved. Another part of you hoped he was happy. You knew Charlotte, she would make a most wonderful wife and mother.

But the mix of everything plus your family’s concerned calls of your name led you to brush your mama’s hand away and run from the drawing room.

You bolted all the way to your room, ignoring the staff or your brothers or your mama and diving straight under your covers.

And you cried. Unable to express yourself in any other way, you sobbed and screamed and gave yourself a headache for the better part of an hour.

Once you’d calmed down a little, you heard a housekeeper peek her head in, then duck out and say something to someone outside.

Then the door closed.

“Sister, are you alright?” It was Anthony.

“No.”

“Well, I have some water for you, some tea as well.” When you made no sound or movement, he placed what sounded like a tray on your dresser. “Gregory offered some sweets if that will entice you.”

You buried yourself even further into your blankets, “I am perfectly content to stay here for the rest of my life. Tell Mama I love her.” The joke would have landed if you weren’t fresh off a crying session, voice still clogged with tears.

“First heartbreaks are difficult, I know.” He began, sitting near your feet. “I thought I would never get over my first.”

Your face poked out from your little burrow, “How did you?”

“I was treating myself and everyone around me poorly, because I was angry and I didn’t know how to deal with it. And once I realised how wrong I was, I worked through it. Then I met Kate and everything changed again.”

You smiled at hearing the genuine love in his voice. You sat up, “Now what’s this about Gregory’s sweets?”

“I knew that would work!”

[adorerdraco]

Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 2

PART 1

Summary: PART 2  ! of Draco falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and dealing with the consequences of opening his heart to someone. 

Warnings: angst !!! but just a little fluff as always, BLOOD, violence, more crying, very detailed sectumsempra scene, mentions of death

Words: 4.9K

A/N: omg i can’t believe so many people liked the first one and to everyone who left me a comment, I appreciate you so much you have no idea plsss you guys are so beautiful. but here is part 2 and I hope you guys like it as much as the first oneee !!!!!!!! this one got dramatic. I’m thinking of doing a part 3, but I’m not sure and i also want to make it be mostly fluff so PLS let me knowww <3 i do not own gif. 

It was an awful feeling; the feeling of needing a specific someone to bring him a peace he so very much lacked in his life. It was a feeling of not being able to feel joy unless he had you by his side. He felt stupid and pathetic knowing he had made an even bigger mess of himself and regrettably of you. He felt more weak too, wondering to himself why he couldn’t stop crying and do what he needs to do without several potions or you with him to get him through the day. 

He didn’t want to need anyone. He didn’t want to need help. He didn’t want to need advice.

“Why can’t I just do this?” he cried to himself one night in the room of requirement, kicking something by his foot across the floor in frustration. He stared at the dead bird in hopelessness, not wanting to move it from its spot in the vanishing cabinet. He had managed to send inanimate objects, but not living things and that was only a discovery he was able to make when you were still in his life.

It had been weeks, since he left you under the tree, broken and in tears. He regressed back into to his old ways of lacking proper self care, of sleeping and eating, his studies being the last thing on his mind, him distancing himself from his Slytherin friends again. It was right back to square one, maybe even below that this time.

In Potions, he didn’t dare look at you, ever. He moved to a seat in the very back of the class where he would be hidden from you and could sulk to himself in peace.

“Mr. Malfoy, forgive me as it is none of my business, but why are you no longer working with Miss Y/L/N?” Slughorn asked him one day as he came by to grade his potion.

“It is nothing of concern, Professor,” Draco answered bitterly, holding back the scowl that wanted to show but deciding against being any more rude to authority. “I just rather work by myself.”

“It’s a shame, Mr. Malfoy, you both were my star pupils,” Slughorn mixes the potion around, eyeing it with a frown. “Now the both of you are falling behind. This potion is not passing, you forgot to mix in the dried periwinkle leaves.”

Draco never noticed how you would glance at him throughout Potions class. Of course, he was ignoring you and you felt that nasty realization every time your eyes landed on the platinum blond.

You felt numb, to say the least. You cried for days and days on end. If you weren’t in class, you were in your dorm, wrapped underneath the covers wondering why someone you shared so much love and time with had dropped you with no explanation. You tried endlessly to get him to talk to you, cornering him in the corridors, going up to him in class, but he would ignore you until you went away. He never once met your eyes, and your heart broke more every time you saw the coldness in his icy gray’s that made you feel like you didn’t even exist to him.

Your roommates and friends had gotten involved, forcing you to take better care of yourself. Staying up and hugging you while you cried. Bringing you meals from the Great Hall into the dorm. Brushing your hair when it started to become matted. Encouraging you to divulge yourself in studies rather than your sadness.

“Y/N, you are so much more than what you’re feeling,” your closest friend whispered to you one night as you cried in her embrace. “You can’t keep going like this. It’s okay to cry and be sad, but this is eating you up. Remember how strong you are. Remember the healer you are trying to be. You’ve helped so many people, inside and out, let your friends help you now.”

You nodded sadly, and finally accepted the help your friends had been trying so desperately to give you. You allowed them to take you out into the Great Hall again for meals. To Hogsmead for a fun day out. To the courtyard where you guys would sit and just talk. It was nice, feeling your old and normal life coming to light again even if it was just for a couple hours. But when you couldn’t sleep at night and your mind wandered off to Draco, you felt that same empty feeling of a gaping hole in your heart sting at you. 

There was nothing you could do or say anymore. The cornering him was getting desperate and made you feel weak. The ignoring was never going to stop. You didn’t cry anymore, forcing yourself to bottle up your feelings for him deep down into your mind, body and spirit to the point where you just tried your best to recognize him as a dream. 

Your brain didn’t know any better, right?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Draco sat on the floor of his dorm, head resting against the side of his bed as he twiddled with the letter from his mother between his fingertips. His owl, Aquila, sat beside him and enjoyed the loving pets he was giving her with his other hand. It was rare she let him do this, but he figured it was because she felt that he might have possibly needed this. She nibbled on a crumb of a biscuit he gave her that she had brought with her on her journey from home. Draco sighed and opened the letter again, his eyes scanning over the perfect cursive of his mother’s handwriting once more.

My Dearest Draco,

          How are you, my love? I feel as though we have gone too long without writing to each other. I must say, the Manor feels lonely without you and your father here, but the house elves have been keeping me company. They are quite entertaining, some of them. I do hope you enjoy the small pastries I sent with Aquila that the elves also send on their behalf. 

I know the pain you are feeling, my son. I know it wears at you and I am deeply sorry that I cannot change it or help you. Please do entrust in Professor Snape, as he is the only one who can help you and understands your circumstances. You cannot get through this alone.

Please also remember that you are just a boy. In these times of turmoil, it is easy to lose yourself in your own despair. You are young, Draco, only 16 years of life and it has already failed you. Please find it in your heart to locate the little several joys in life that keep you going. Despite your situation, It is okay to be that 16 year old boy and revel in those joys for as long as you can before it is too late and they are no longer there. Do not succumb, it is what he wants. 

I will always love you, and I hope to see you soon. 

All my love,

Mother

He felt tears sting at his eyes, clutching the letter to his chest as if his mother had charmed it with the feeling of a hug. It wasn’t, but he swore he could feel it. He felt sad, knowing she was all alone in that house, but suddenly remembered that his aunt was seeking refuge with her at the Malfoy Manor and his mother left it out for the sake of keeping Bellatrix’s location secret. Seeing as she was a maddened Ex/Present Death Eater and escaped prisoner on the run. The thought of Bellatrix left a bitter and foul taste in his mouth, making him feel even worse that his mother was stuck at home with that beast who was nearly as bad as the Dark Lord himself. He didn’t care that that was her sister, his aunt, she had no empathy for anything, especially not for him. He recalls her telling him right before he went to school, that he should be grateful and honored for being entrusted with a task so important.

As much as Draco wanted nothing to do with his tasks, he didn’t ignore them. He begrudgingly let Bellatrix teach him Occlumency, something he desperately needed to learn and was now a little good at. He had even tried convincing himself that he needed to do this. It was all up to him. He was chosen for this. He hated it, but he was chosen nonetheless. And he would try with everything to save his family and to make them proud, even if it killed him.

He ignored the thoughts of his aunt and his dreadful life options, refocusing on the words his mother wrote to him. They echoed in his mind, imagining her saying them to him. 

“It is okay to be that 16 year old boy and revel in those joys for as long as you can before it is too late and they are no longer there.”

His mind wandered to you, knowing full and well you were are the one and only joy in his life he so deeply desires. His mother’s words hit him hard, to the point where he almost ran out of his room to go look for you. Almost.

But he was stubborn and still couldn’t pull himself out of the mindset he had boxed himself in where he thought being with you would be worse in the end for you than not being with you. 

So he went over to his desk, Aquila following him before flying up to the wooden surface where she perched herself in front of him as he sat down and pulled out a parchment and quill to begin his responding letter for his mother. He thanked her for the pastries, told her he would try his best in confiding in Snape, loosely promised he would fulfill her wishes of him finding some happiness, and gave her his love. He gave the letter to Aquila, smoothing the feathers on the top of her head one last time before she chirped and flew to the window and then out of his room and into the open dark starry sky. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

More weeks had gone by. And then a month. You were seeing less and less of Draco and for a healing heart, it was the best thing for you, but also the worst. He had even began skipping class as much as he could, not that anyone ever noticed, except you and Slughorn of course.

“Miss Y/L/N, may I have a word?” Slughorn came up to you while you were working on a potion with your friend. The same friend who had given up her seat to Draco who she now despised and regretted ever doing in the first place. She gave you and the professor a look before getting up and heading to the front of the class where she began to pick up vials and jars to store the potion.

“Of course, Professor,” you answer with a polite smile.

“I spoke to Mr. Malfoy about a month ago, he seemed rather distraught,” he began, placing a finger over his chin in thought. “I’m beginning to grow worried of the boy! Is there a reason he’s no longer showing up to class?”

You swallowed thickly before responding, “your guess is as good as mine, Professor.”

“Ah, well, one mustn’t pry too much,” he says. “Also, I’m pleased to see your marks improving in the last couple weeks. Keep up the good work, Miss Y/L/N.”

And with that the professor turned around and left to go check on other students, your friend returning.

“What’d he want?” She asked, setting the supplies down on the table.

“Wanted to know about, Mr. Malfoy,” you mocked quietly, your voice turning bitter when the name left your lips. 

You knew Draco’s disappearance was your fault and you felt that twang of hurt beat against your chest thinking about it. That whole conversation with the Professor killed your entire mood. It wasn’t great to begin with, but the feeling of nothing had turned into hurt. 

You were roughly stirring the cauldron, preparing to put the nearly finished potion into the two large jars so it could sit overnight. They were right beside your arm and you felt your elbow collide with the glasses, cringing internally when you heard them crash onto the ground and shatter. Luckily there was nothing in them, but you had still made a mess of glass. In your heat of embarrassment and with the people are you now staring at you, you forgot you could easily clean up your mess with magic so like a klutz, you instead bent down to pick up the shards of glass that scattered the floor with your bare hands.

A loud gasp left your mouth as you began to pick them up, feeling the largest piece of glass in your palm deeply slash the skin of your hand. You dropped it, feeling the blood begin to drip down your arms and onto the floor.

“Oh no, Y/N,” your friend sighed from above you, gripping onto your other arm and lifting you up. “Are you okay?”

The question was meant for your hand, but you felt it hit your soul just as it did whenever someone asked you that question when you were so overwhelmingly not okay. You shook your head no, the pain from your hand and your heart taking over you completely as tears began to trickle down your face. 

Slughorn came up to the table, waving his wand over the mess of the floor and fixed the damage done to the vases and making the small puddle of blood disappear.

“Class is dismissed, students, you are free to go to the Great Hall for lunch,” Slughorn announced and everyone quickly packed up their things and hurried out except for you and your friend. The full-bellied Professor watched you with concern and you turned to your friend where she took your hand in hers and placed it palm up for you.

You shuddered, bringing up your wand to the cut and simply thought your healing spell before watching it completely fade into a faint light pink scar.

“I’m going to explain to Slughorn what happened and put away our stuff,” she says to you, a sad glint in her eyes. “Go clean yourself up and I’ll meet you at our table for lunch with everyone when you’re done.”

You could only pathetically nod before you slung your bag over your shoulder and trudged off into the direction of a bathroom. You decided to go up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, wanting to be alone from everyone so you could clean yourself up in peace and also have a meltdown. You didn’t know why you wanted to torture yourself with the ghosted memories you shared with Draco in that bathroom, but you still went. 

You took your time getting there and you were only down the hall when you saw the entrance. It was then when you heard a familiar ghastly screaming and wailing. It was horribly loud.

“MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!”

Moaning Myrtle floated from the large wooden double doors, screaming so loud it ricocheted off all the walls of the now deathly silent castle. You felt all the blood drain from your face as an awful and sickening feeling had bubbled in your stomach.

“It better not be Draco,” you said to yourself, your legs taking longer strides towards the bathroom. “Please, don’t let it be Draco.”

By now, you were sprinting towards the end of the corridor, throwing your bag to the floor as soon as you reached the doors and flung yourself through and into the destroyed bathroom, stepping into a pool of water that had streaks of crimson red. Your eyes followed the trail of blood, stopping suddenly when you found the source.

A blood-curdling scream twice as loud and stronger than Myrtle’s, left your throat as you tripped over your own feet to reach him. You saw Harry Potter, standing a little ways by the door, a panicked and pained look in his eyes as he tried to understand what he had just done. 

Once you reached Draco’s nearly lifeless body covered in angry red gashes, you fell next to him, his eyes finally meeting yours for the first time in ages. He was breathing raggedly in choked grunts, clutching at his mauled chest as he struggled to breath. The stormy eyes you loved so much were clouded in fear. Nothing but fear.

You shoved your hand into your pocket, searching for your wand and pulled it out hastily. You shakily waved it over his cuts, thinking and saying any spell you knew that came to your mind in the matter of 5 seconds. This was what you did. This was all you did. Why couldn’t you heal him? None of your spells worked.

“I, I can’t heal you,” you sobbed, resorting to putting your hands over his chest at a failing attempt to stop the bleeding. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“n...o,” Draco said weakly and quietly. He mustered up all his remaining strength and placed a bloodied hand over yours, you grabbed it tightly and leaned over him when you realized he was trying to speak. “S-sorry. lo...ve. y...ou.”

It felt like there was a knife in your chest being repeatedly stabbed into your heart and twisted. His eyes closed and you cried harder, knowing you were going to lose him. Everything was happening so fast. You had only been in the bathroom a solid 10 seconds, everything around you moving in a slow blur but so quickly.

It was as if Merlin had answered your pleas, the sound of the door slammed open and a maddened looking Snape rushed inside, pushing Harry roughly to the side and looking down at Draco and then you only momentarily before dropping to his knees beside him and opposite of you.

“Vulnera sanentur,” he began running his wand over the cuts on Draco’s chest and you watched with wide teary eyes as the blood pooling around you began to retreat back into the wounds. He said it again, and once the blood was back in, the cuts began to close. He chanted it one last time, and the cuts had healed into thick and reddened scars. “Miss Y/L/N, please help Draco over to the hospital wing for some dittany, and quickly please. We might be able to help with the scarring, perhaps avoid it completely. I need to deal with, Potter.”

Draco was half conscious, a dazed and confused look in the gray of his eyes as they fluttered open and closed. You noticed the scar beginning to form on his paled face and you bit back a sob. You knew if that scar stayed there, it would only drive him into a deeper hatred for himself.

You quickly got up, Snape picking up Draco and throwing his arm over your shoulders so that you would be able to help him over to the hospital wing which luckily happened to be a hall away from the bathroom. The adrenaline and sheer love for the boy was pumping through your body which had made you feel stronger in basically carrying Draco through the halls. He was dragging his feet, mumbling incoherently and you couldn’t stop crying.

You saw the doors to the hospital wing open, Madam Pomfrey staring at the scene heading towards her in horror. 

“DITTANY!” you called to her. She threw open the doors wider, nodding before she ran back inside in a hurry. A passing seventh year Hufflepuff had dropped all of his books and his bag and linked arms with Draco’s free side, helping you take him inside with much more ease. Madam Pomfrey yelled to rest Draco on the nearest bed and she quickly returned with the dittany, shooing the both of you away from him.

“I’m afraid the two of you are going to have to leave, immediately,” she demands, her hand reaching up to grab the privacy curtain before shielding her and the love of your life from you and the prying eyes of shocked students gathered at the doorway to see what had happened. The Hufflepuff that had helped was already out the door, but you couldn’t bring your legs to move.

“Away from the door!” McGonagall suddenly appeared from behind the crowd of students, a disgruntled look etched into her aged skin. “Return to your house’s common rooms! That goes for you too, Miss Y/L/N.”

She gently placed both her hands on either of your shoulders, guiding you outside the door and out of the hospital wing. She gave you an empathetic glance before grabbing the handles of the doors and shutting them with a loud clang.

The lingering students stared at you in discomfort and grimaces. You looked around, still in a daze and then looked down at your body. You were drenched in blood and water, looking straight out of a horror movie and closely resembling the clothing of the Bloody Baron, Slytherin’s house ghost.

Everything still felt quiet and slow. You didn’t even notice your friends rushing towards you in hysterics, throwing you in hugs as you only stood there, unable to react. You let them pull you away, leading you to your house’s common room, tripping every now and then. You caught a glimpse of Moaning Myrtle in the distance, her cries still very loud and apparent. She had gone around the entirety of Hogwarts wailing the same news that had broken you, only this time you heard the new choice words she had added along the way.

“MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER! HARRY POTTER HAS MURDERED DRACO MALFOY!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You sat immobile on the edge of your seat besides Draco’s hospital bed. Much to your surprise, Madam Pomfrey had allowed you to stay overnight with the fallen Slytherin Prince. You recognized it might be her way of paying you back from all your countless volunteering and because of that, she trusted you in knowing exactly what to do when it came to the medical field of the wizarding world.

It was around three in the morning, the incident having happened well past twelve hours ago. You were showered now and in a fresh pair of robes, your pajamas holding in your warmth as a cold draft flowed throughout the dark dimly lit room. The hospital wing was tall and large, it felt like a castle in itself, and it only made you feel more feeble. You scooted your chair closer to the bed, placing a hand onto the mattress right next to Draco’s paled slender hand.

Fingertips ghosted over his knuckles, your body shivering at the closeness of the near contact. You didn’t know how he was going to react when he woke up. It was all a waiting game, and your heart squeezed with anxiety as you awaited his regained consciousness. You didn’t forget the words he said to you right before he slipped away. They rang and rattled in your head like a pinball game on loop.

He had told you he loved you.

The thought of him dying and you never being able to tell him you felt the same haunted you. You thanked Merlin that Snape got there when he did. You also made a mental note to hex Harry into the oblivion the next time you got a chance. 

You sighed deeply, your voice quavering as your ran a hand through your tangled hair. His face glistened under the orange lamp on the bedside table, his skin tinged with a grayish undertone and his eye bags deep and dark. The scar you had seen on his face earlier was gone, the skin now just holding a skinny reddened line going across his features as if he was just hit with something. You smiled slightly, knowing it would be gone in the morning and feeling grateful for him that he wouldn’t be scarred with it.

His body was covered in a hospital gown and bandages infused with dittany, but seeing how bad his cuts were before they healed, you knew those would leave something behind no matter what. In your studying towards becoming a Healer, you read about the effects of dark magic and the marks it left behind on its victims. You didn’t know what spell had done what it did to Draco, but it was violent and radiated with darkness. 

The softness of his his skin was met under yours, your hand finally allowing itself to fall over his and you let out a sharp exhale at the touch. It wasn’t like earlier when you were holding onto him for dear life, rough and filled with fear and pain, this time it felt familiar. It felt warm despite the coldness of your skin and his. You shook quietly, another set of tears rippling through your body as you tried your best to not wake him. You sat up and slowly leaned over him, looking down at him to observe his peaceful features. He slept soundly and peacefully, his breathing even and quiet. Even though he almost died earlier today, he looked as though he was having the best sleep of his life. The sleep he gravely needed but seemed to never be able to get. 

Your free hand softly rested on his cheek now and you carefully moved your lips towards his forehead where you placed a long kiss. A stray tear had fallen onto his skin as you pulled away and you frowned, wiping it away with your sleeve before moving your hand up towards his hair. You smoothed it back, the soft blond strands feeling like silk between your fingers. He was a dream, an angel to you. You stood by what you had told him that unfortunate day under the tree, he was good, and you would tell him again and again until he believed it himself.

Just as you pulled back from him, a sharp gasp erupted and he shot up in bed, grabbing and tearing at his gown as breathless quick pants fell from his lips. 

“Hey, Draco, I’m here, you’re okay, relax,” you coo gently, grabbing his hands and holding them tightly in yours so he wouldn’t tear his bandages. Your heart battered against your chest, the waterworks in your eyes beginning all over again. He stared at you, searching your eyes and he began to cry too. The same broken and deep sobbing from months ago you had grown accustomed to hearing. 

He threw himself onto you, crying even harder as his arms wrapped around you, his hand on the back of your head pressing you into his chest. You climbed into the bed in deep shaky breaths so that you were now sitting on your knees between his legs. It was overwhelming, to put it lightly, both of you crying into each other as you remembered the fall out, the lonely days and nights, the wasted opportunities, the endless missing of one another’s presence in their lives.

“I’m sorry,” Draco chokes out. “I never meant to hurt you. I thought that by pushing you away, you would be safer, but I can’t do it anymore. I need you, I love you, Y/N.”

You cradled him in your arms, rocking the two of you back and forth, and you shook your head reverently.

“I forgave you the second I thought I was going to lose you,” you respond quickly. “Merlin, Draco, you scared me to death. I thought you were gone.”

The same words from his mother echoed in his head again and he finally understood what they meant. 

“It is okay to be that 16 year old boy and revel in those joys for as long as you can before it is too late and they are no longer there.”

Darkness was going to arrive one way or another, it was going to steal the rest of whatever life he had left in him one day. It was out of his hands, out of his control. The time to live his life was now. Because he didn’t know when he would ever have this opportunity of love again, of safety, of light. Everything was undefined and unknown and he felt the anguishing regret of all his decisions when he had seen you in the bathroom hovering over him with a hopeless look in your eyes. He promised himself, to Merlin and to the sun, the moon and all the stars that in the 1% chance that he survived that close call with death, he would never abandon you again. His heart pained at the memory of him trying to sputter out his final ‘I love you,’ not knowing whether or not you heard it or if you understood how genuinely he had meant it.

The room was only filled with sniffles and shaky breathing, both of you still in the same rocking position, afraid that if you let each other go, the other is going to disappear.

“Draco,” you say, lifting his head up from the crook of your neck so that he could look you in the eyes. “I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know. Please don’t ever, ever leave again.”

“Not in a million years, darling.”

PART 3

[unhealthyfanobsession]

I teased this in a previous post and people asked me to expand so...here’s my controversial take that Rhysand and Nesta are actually parallel characters in many ways and that they both hate each other so much because they ultimately hate themselves.

Alright ladies and gentleman, anti’s and stans, buckle your fucking seatbelts or hope off the roller coaster here because I’m about to learn you a thing or two about the most divisive characters in the ACOTAR world. 

Starting out very broadly- both characters are introduced as sort of confusing villains (Rhys is “evil” but he’s also helping Feyre. Nesta is an “awful sister”, but she also is protective of Elain and tells Feyre essentially to go and be happy), both have faced significant trauma and grapple with self-loathing and feelings of not being good enough, and both ultimately find redemption and healing with their mates who love them. They also both currently exist in a strange parallel coming out of ACOSF where Rhys is supposedly “chosen by the Cauldron” and Nesta is “blessed by the Mother”- the two sacred entities of Prythian.

Intrigued? More specifics and text analysis under the cut

Mommy (and Daddy) Issues:

Both characters were basically raised by their mother’s alone and then lost them at a young age and that had a deep impact on them. Rhysand had a far more positive experience of being raised by his mother HOWEVER I would argue that it was still “grooming” of a type since she took him away to train in Illyria specifically so that he wouldn’t be influenced by his father.

Rhys’ mother did this out of love and Nesta’s mother groomed her out of a social climbing agenda, but it had the same effect- they both lost the parent who was their primary caregiver at a young age and they were both not close with their father’s because of their mother’s actions  (again this was a good thing for Rhys, not as much for Nesta).

Parents Death: Rhys and Nesta both blame themselves for one of their parent’s death and are deeply affected by feeling like they failed someone important to them.

Rhys thinks that he is responsible for his mother and sister’s death because he gave Tamlin info

Rhys even says after this “It should have been me.”

Nesta feels that she was unable to save her father and she hates herself for it.

Rocky sibling relationship and Separation:

Rhysand and Cassian are obviously a lot further along in their sibling journey, but it’s stated that he and Cassian HATED each other and fought constantly essentially until Azriel arrived and then they decided to be “allies”.

Nesta and Feyre are also at each others throats but seem to put their differences aside in order to not upset Elain. (Even when Feyre first goes back to the human lands Nesta says NOPE NO FAE! But as soon as Elain asks her to do as Feyre says she agrees) and then Nesta states in ACOSF that she and Feyre were brought together by Elain to be allies in the war.

Rhysand and Cassian obviously grew into true brothers despite their adversarial, insulting, bitter beginning... and Nesta and Feyre after ACOSF have done the same. Obviously there’s still a lot of work to be done in that relationship, but the parallel stands (and is just strengthened by the fact that in both cases it’s the character with more power in the relationship- Nesta for being the oldest and Rhys for being the one whose family took Cassian in is then mated to the opposite sibling!)

Both have a parent who essentially separated them from their ‘siblings’ for their own benefit. Nesta’s mom isolated her as a child so that she could groom her and tell her how to maneuver her sisters when the time was right while Rhys’ father- afraid of his, Cassian, and Azriel’s combined power- separated them for 7 years through the first war to ensure they wouldn’t ally against him. Nesta was also separated from Feyre by Tamlin and tried to go to the wall to get her back but couldn’t get through- which is very reminiscent to me of the scene at the beginning of ACOWAR from the first war where Rhys is searching desperately but without hope for Cassian.

Shared Trauma and Learning to be “Evil” to protect their family:

both characters are sexual assault survivors who spend a chunk of their book (I’m counting ACOMAF as essentially Rhys’ book since that’s when we learn more about him as a character) grappling with that, coming to terms with it, and moving forward with a general attitude of “Never Again.” I would also argue that even their abusers are parallels as Rhysand was only ‘with’ Amarantha because he was trying to protect his family and Nesta was only ‘with’ Tomas because she thought his family might be able to take in and feed Elain (she says in ACOSF that she would give him whatever he wanted- her body meant nothing to her and Elain meant everything, which is essentially Rhys’ UTM mindset). In addition, both characters are able to escape their abusers out of love for Feyre. Rhys does so when Amarantha is about to kill Feyre, and Nesta does so because she realizes that Tomas would never go to the wall with her to save Feyre.

 Beyond this, both characters express that it is the lack of control over their own lives that truly haunts them. Rhys when he felt like he had no choice but to be Amarantha’s puppet and Nesta with a lot of her life, but especially when she is forced into the cauldron. Both of these are things that make them feel like failures for not protecting others. Rhys is haunted that he couldn’t protect Feyre under the mountain and Nesta is haunted that she couldn’t protect Elain from the cauldron.

This leads both characters to have a terrifying power-surge nightmare brought on by their trauma (Rhys from Amarantha; Nesta from the Cauldron) that terrifies those around them and can only be stopped by their mate.

In addition to this, they both have a “persona” that they put on and sometimes feel like they can’t shake off, a face that they made to protect themselves and their family. Rhys with his “Court of Nightmares” persona that he uses UTM, in the Hewn City, and with the other High Lords until the war. Part of his growth is letting people see beyond that ‘most powerful high lord of darkness’ mask.

For Nesta this is expressed by her “wolves” that she uses to put up a wall between her and the people who mocked her and her family, and especially Elain. And her learning to open up with Cassian and her found family was really important for her growth

HOWEVER, they both also keep that persona. Rhys has his mask polished for when anyone might threaten the people he loves and so does Nesta. Neither of them truly gave up that side of themselves, the darkness, they simply learned to stop it from consuming them. 

They also both LIKE doing this to their enemies. Rhys likes to toy with his enemies and torture those who would harm his family or betray him and so does Nesta- she revels in cutting down anyone who insults Elain and says in ACOSF that she’s felt the urge to do the same for Cassian. They both wield words like weapons and use their intelligence to ensure they are always one quip ahead of their enemies. Something that both Feyre and Cassian admire in their mates and try to emulate to a degree.

(Bonus points for the fact that in both cases their families did not ASK to be protected/sacrificed for.)

Found family and sacrifice:

Rhys calls Cassian and Azriel his “brothers” after becoming close while training and they conquer the blood rite together. Nesta calls Emerie and Gwyn her “sisters” after becoming close while training and they conquer the blood rite together. Rhys sacrifices himself to Amarantha in order to protect Cassian and Azriel (and Velaris). Nesta sacrifices herself to hold the path of Enalius to protect Emerie and Gwyn. There’s also a line in ACOMAF and a parallel line in ACOSF essentially about Nesta being willing to do anything- including “whore” herself- to protect Elain, and in order to protect his brother’s that’s exactly what Rhys did- “whore” himself to Amarantha.

Both are ‘saved by’ and feel not good enough for their mate:

I hesitate to use the word “saved by” because ultimately both characters have more agency than that, HOWEVER, both characters rely on their mate to a degree to pull them out of a very dark time and place. Feyre helps Rhys remember who he is and forgive himself for under the mountain and he even specifically calls her his “salvation.”

I don’t think I need to even say the Nesta part here, all of ACOSF is essentially Cassian helping Nesta climb out of a dark period so that they can heal together.

(Both also start connecting with their mates on a “just sex” situation.)

Both characters think that because of the things they’ve done and the darkness inside of them that they don’t deserve the people they have been mated to.

Obviously there are many differences, but the characters are similar in a lot of ways and what I think this really highlights is just how true that line is in ACOSF about Nesta being a wolf that was never allowed to learn how to be a wolf. Meanwhile Rhys is 500 years older and has always had power and agency of some kind even at his lowest point. Nesta didn’t have that power and wasn’t allowed to really unleash herself so she armed herself with a steel exterior to make up for that lack of power and control. Which is very similar to what Rhysand did when he felt he didn’t have power under the mountain- put on a cold face, not let anyone in, and act cruel in order to get through it.

Overall it’s an interesting character study because in a lot of ways these are very similar characters, but there is such a MASSIVE divide among the fandom of liking and hating one or both of them. Ultimately, I do think that a lot of the hate Nesta gets is because she’s a woman and female characters simply aren’t allowed to have the same flaws as male ones- which is kind of Nesta’s whole life story. BUT I think that Rhysand actually gets unintentionally screwed over by the narrative in one big way. Becuase my final paralell is that I think a lot of people came around on Nesta when they saw in her perspective that she knows she has problems and how much she was struggling… and I also think that Rhysand is so hated by those who dislike him because of Feyre’s ‘he can do no wrong’ perspective. I think if we saw more of Rhysand internally struggling and knowing that he made the wrong call sometimes and second guessing himself he’d be a lot more likeable character. We know he’s capable of this because when Cassian calls him out on the training roof for always thinking the worst of Nesta he just says “you’re right. I’m sorry” and he even *kinda* admits some wrong when he’s so shocked by how deep Nesta’s trauma is. Feyre and the rest of the IC constantly exalting Rhys as perfect when he so clearly isn’t and in fact has a lot of the same “flaws” as Nesta is probably the most frustrating thing about the character, which ultimately I think is kind of unfair because we know from his few perspectives that he doesn’t see himself that way.

[queerdraws]

Cleaning Out the Rooms - a Harry Du Bois playlist Alcoholism, getting better?, memory loss, being a superstar, The Final Dream, forming political opinions, bad breakups, past transgressions, being a strange and inconsistent being, and persisting despite it all 26 songs (r-slur warning for Turnin’ on the Screw - QotSA)

including: David Bazan, They Might be Giants, The Mountain Goats, British Sea Power (of course), Queens of the Stone Age, and more.  Full track listing and lyric excerpts under the cut

---- Turnin' on the Screw - Queens of the Stone Age (This is the opening track on Era Vulgaris, seemed like an appropriate opening song / introduction to Harry's general essence) ----

... They say those who can't just instruct others And act like victims or jilted lovers You can't lose it if you never had it Disappear, man, do some magic

Want a reason? How's about because You ain't a has been if you never was

I sound like this

Scared to say what is your passion So slag it all, bitter's in fashion Fear of failure's all you've started The jury is in, verdict: r******d

I'm so tired, and I'm wired too I'm a mess; I guess I'm turning on the screw

---- Bless this Mess - David Bazan (Harry being a drunk and a general mess, things going in cycles) ----

God bless the man who stumbles God bless the man who falls God bless the man who yields to temptation God bless the woman who suffers God bless the woman who weeps God bless the children trying her patience Trouble getting over it Is what you're in for So pour yourself another 'Cause it'll take a steady pair of hands Holy or unholy ghost Well now I can't tell, but either way you cut it You should get some distance if you plan to take a stand God bless the house divided God bless the weeds in the wheat God bless the lamp hid under a bushel I discovered hell to be the poison in the well So I tried to warn the others of the curse But then my body turned on me I dreamt that for eternity My family would burn Then I awoke with a wicked thirst

---- Don’t Sit Down Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair - Arctic Monkeys (general Harry vibe.  off-kilter) ----

Break a mirror, roll the dice

...

Find a well-known hard man and start a fight Wear your shell suit on bonfire night Fill in a circular hole with a peg that's square

But just don't sit down 'cause I've moved your chair

...

Bite the lightning and tell me how it tastes Kung fu fighting on your roller skates Do the Macarena in the devil's lair

But just don't sit down 'cause I've moved your chair

---- I've Been Seeing Things - They Might be Giants (feels very Harry's detecting style, surreal happenstance) ----

I've been seeing things I've been seeing things Don't have answers but I've got lots of questions

Carpool's up, someone gets out Hand someone else a violin case I'm trying not to let them see me looking at them But I'm pretty sure there was a dollar sign

Keep your eyes peeled and you'll see stuff Which at first seems like unimportant irrelevant things

Can't just ask some perfect stranger "What are you hiding in your violin case?" Shadow them at a distance instead Try to get inside their head

Where'd they go now (Where'd they go now) I got distracted (I got distracted) Begging me to stay (Begging me to stay) Wearing a disguise (Wearing a disguise) That lady (That lady) Must have ditched the kid (Must have ditched the kid) Hidge the down (Hidge the down) [???] What's she up to now? (What's she up to now?) Trembling cold by the airport road Watching them stack containers in rows Seagulls, helicopter, windblown trash Something doesn't add up

I've been seeing things I've been seeing things No one asks but I'm packing all kinds of attention

Later I'm watching a news report Camera pans across a crime scene Unremarked upon detail Empty violin case Okay maybe not the same case Different material, different color Still you have to wonder Am I the only one who knows

I've been seeing things

---- Music is the Victim - Scissor Sisters (breakup Harry.  drug-addled disco Harry) ----

I left my heart in San Fransisco It's at some motherfucking disco The people there where dancin' on it And that's including Ms. Matronic

Hell if music is the victim then so am I Of lovin' and a cheatin' the snake gon' bite I beg and I scream and I cuss and I cry If music is the victim then so am I

Of your bad fun Money's all gone but you need some Lover's on the phone but they got none Daddy ain't home from the dog run And you're riding through the city with a shotgun

I left my bag in Pasadena Where all them girls was doin' Tina Them bitches sure were crunked up on it I said I'd rather smoke some chronic

Hell if music is the victim then so am I Of lovin' and a cheatin' the snake gon' bite I beg and I scream and I cuss and I cry If music is the victim then so am I

---- Down to Your Soul - Right Away, Great Captain! (about the Final Dream and pre-game Harry) ----

And I see things I actually don't see. I knew it wasn't actually you a few feet from my reach. I looked into your eyes and I began to lose my teeth, And I felt you were dreaming the same thing.

And I know you don't know what I'm capable of But if you give me just one more minute I'm sure That you would be shaking right down to your soul And I'd hope that the fear of the lord brings me home. I'm a man in a body of water so tall Could swallow you whole and forget where he's going But I carved a map in the back of my arm Don't worry I'm coming home I said don't worry cause I'm coming home

---- No Surprises - Radiohead (suicidal harry, pre-game.  Maybe immediately before the game.  A little Big Communism Builder) ----

A heart that's full up like a landfill A job that slowly kills you Bruises that won't heal You look so tired, unhappy Bring down the government They don't, they don't speak for us I'll take a quiet life A handshake of carbon monoxide

And no alarms and no surprises

…

This is my final fit My final bellyache

…

No alarms and no surprises, please (get me out of here)

---- Cleaning Out the Rooms - British Sea Power (The instrumental part seems to have been used / referenced for a background music track.  And also the name of that one thought project. as expected, it fits beautifully.  Wake up in a new life, down by the seaside.  Cleaning out the rooms.  She’ll be coming soon.) ----

Where life is good in a way Swept away upon our hearts, in cold coal ceremonial On a rainy day, hang it up Get the vacuum and suck it in Cleaning out the rooms, I'll clean it up Dark cloud, drifting out of view I'll never know, she'll be coming soon, that is all I'll wake up in a new life, ship shape and shoe shine Cleaning out the rooms, I'll clean it up She'll be coming soon Drifting into view, way in the west, white cloud If everybody knew, I never knew, she'll be coming soon I'll wake up in a new life, down by the seaside In a new life, down by the seaside Cleaning out the room, I'll clean it up Dark clouds, she'll be coming soon Down the chimney, out the window, that is all

---- In the Morning of the Magicians - The Flaming Lips (waking up with no memory, but bad vibes) ----

In the morning I awake

And I couldn't remember What is love and what is hate

The calculations error

Oh, what is love and what is hate? And why does it matter? Is to love just a waste? And how can it matter?

Oh...

As the dawn began to break I had to surrender The universe will have its way Too powerful to master

---- Once in a Lifetime - Talking Heads (Huh??  What's happening??  same as it ever was, same as it ever was) ----

And you may ask yourself, "How do I work this?" And you may ask yourself, "Where is that large automobile?" And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful house" And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful wife"

...

Same as it ever was, same as it ever was Same as it ever was, same as it ever was

...

And you may ask yourself, "What is that beautiful house?" And you may ask yourself, "Where does that highway go to?" And you may ask yourself, "Am I right? Am I wrong?" And you may say to yourself, "My God! What have I done?"

---- Don't Change - David Bazan (alcoholism, cycles of wanting to get better, depression, slipping in to old coping mechanisms, plus a little bit in here about dreams.  This is a song for if Harry continues partying after the memory wipe, I suppose) ----

He seems nice You met him once or twice But you wonder what he's like When he's sober

Then again You hear he has no friends Just people that he spins To do him favors

When he wakes up in the morning he tells himself Today I'll make a change But falling into his bed at night he thinks Man it was a beautiful day to stay the same

I'm so deep That only in my sleep Do the secrets that I keep Float to the surface

So I hold them down Till they don't make a sound Like they accidentally drowned Except on purpose

And when I wake up in the morning I tell myself Today I'll make a change But falling into my bed at night I think Man it was a beautiful day to stay the same

---- Airbag - Radiohead (born again, back to save the universe) ----

In the next world war In a jackknifed juggernaut I am born again In the neon sign scrolling up and down I am born again

In an interstellar burst I am back to save the universe

In a deep, deep sleep of the innocent I am born again In a fast German car I'm amazed that I survived An airbag saved my life

In an interstellar burst I am back to save the universe

---- A Comet Appears - The Shins (puppeting a man-body around pretending to be a living thing. drinking, depression) ----

One hand on this wily comet Take a drink just to give me some weight Some uber-man I'd make I'm barely a vapor

They shone a chlorine light on A host of individual sins Let's carve my aging face off Fetch us a knife Start with my eyes Down so the lines Form a grimacing smile

Close your eyes to corral a virtue Is this fooling anyone else? Never worked so long and hard To cement a failure

---- The Communists Have the Music - They Might be Giants (Big Communism Builder, but especially Harry's shallow understanding of Communism.  Party-boy communist) ----

I got handed an Ayn Rand sandwich Straight from the can, it tasted so bland I asked a lass to pass me a glass Of Engels' Conditions of the Working Class

Right away they dragged me to the committee To explain my un-American activity They're gonna see they made a mistake If they'd only let me play my mixtape

I'm not partial to the martial Or the plutocrats, in their beaver hats And the fascists have the outfits But I don't care for the outfits What I care about is music And the communists have the music

---- Harlem Roulette - The Mountain Goats (Harry thinking about Guillame le Million?  Generally: that vibe of secret, maybe supranatural machinations happening just outside your field of view.  A kinda lonely, pensive vibe, sprinkled with past drug use, driving...memory) ----

Unknown engines underneath the city Steam pushing up in billows through the grates Frankie Lymon's tracking "Seabreeze" in a studio in Harlem Its 1968. Just a pair of tunes to hammer out. Everybody's off the clock by 10:00. The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again. Feels so free when I hit the avenue. Nothing like a New York summer night. Every dream's a good dream, Even awful dreams are good dreams, If you're doing it right. Remember soaring higher than a cloud. Get pretty sentimental now and then. The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again. And four hours north of Portland, a radio flips on. And some no one from the future remembers that you're gone. Armies massing in the dusky distance. Ghosted in the ribbon microphone. Leave a little mark on something, maybe, Take the secret circuit home. Nothing in the shadows but the shadow hands. Reaching out to sad, young, frightened men. The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again.

---- Suture up Your Future - Queens of the Stone Age (Harry's gonna fix his mess) ----

I'm gon' suture up my future I ain't jaded, I just hate it See, I been down too long It's kinda hard to explain Burned and buried, all I carried

...

Tried explaining unexplained Got caught in the plan All this talking at once I've been giving my love away To the things that tear it apart I'm gonna suture up my future

---- Lampshades on Fire - Modest Mouse (Harry trashing his body / having already trashed his body, just kinda a Harry-vibe song) ----

...

Well, the lampshade's on fire when the lights go out This is what I really call a party now Well, fear makes us really, really run around A-this one's done so where to now? Our eyes light up, we have no shame at all Well, you all know what I'm talking about The room lights up, but we're still dancing around We're having fun, having some fun now

Pack up again, head to the next place Where we'll make the same mistakes Open one up and let it fall to the ground Pile out the door when it all runs out

...

As our feelings are getting hurt Oh, we want you to do the work Our ass looks great inside these jeans Well, we want just our water clean

Well, this is how it's always been And this is how it's going to be So you just move on

---- Seven Nation Army - The White Stripes (Harry "can-opener" du Bois.  Talking to the skills, solving things, detecting, generally being a terrifying force of nature / the pale) ----

I'm gonna fight 'em all A seven nation army couldn't hold me back They're gonna rip it off Taking their time right behind my back

And I'm talking to myself at night Because I can't forget Back and forth through my mind Behind a cigarette

And the message coming from my eyes Says, "Leave it alone"

Don't wanna hear about it Every single one's got a story to tell Everyone knows about it From the Queen of England to the Hounds of Hell

And if I catch it coming back my way I'm gonna serve it to you And that ain't what you want to hear But that's what I'll do

And the feeling coming from my bones Says, "Find a home"

---- Body of Years - Mother Mother (Harry's past that follows him, Harry's half-decomposed body that marks the years of abuse it's been through) ----

All the remains of a cadaver of days I keep hidden away, keep them there just in case I wanna visit that place Blow the dust from the bones Off a body of years that I leave all alone Just a body of years

See the skin disappears And the blood turns to stone In a body of years now a pile of bones Like a sheet of veneer Each a piece of my soul It's a body of years that I leave all alone

It's Just a body of years, now a pile of bones You know Old soul who falls down Can't stop trippin' on these Old roads I go down Get back up and get my foot in the door And my face on the page Make my mark in the world With a bat and a blade It's a body of work that you can't ever change Like a body of years that you take to your grave It's just a body of years that I leave all alone It's just a body of years, now a pile of bones Like a sheet of veneer Each a piece of my soul

---- The Cap-m - They Might be Giants (just a Harry vibe song) ----

When I talk you keep looking away from me 'Cause you probably think that I'm high on pot But I'm not, I'm not

Look me over, I'm the Cap'm You say it's such a joke But I don't see you laughing

People seem to think you can't be called the Cap'm Unless you drive a boat Well, I don't I don't

Look me over, I'm the Cap'm Go ahead and mess with me You'll find out what will happ'm

...

Did you say what I think you just said My hat looks good on me? I agree, I agree

Look me over, I'm the Cap'm You act like it's a joke But I don't see you laughing

---- Broke - Modest Mouse (oops!  all mistakes.  Broke it all.  Want to forget it but can't) ----

Broke account, so I broke a sweat I've bought some things that I sort of regret about now Broke my pace and ran out of time Sometimes I'm so full of shit that it should be a crime

Broke a promise 'cause my car broke down Such a classic excuse it should be bronze by now Broke your glasses, but it broke the ice You said that I was an asshole and I paid the price

Broken hearts want broken necks I've done some things that I'd love to forget, but I can't

Broke up, and I'm relieved somehow It's the end of the discussions that just go 'round and 'round And 'round, and 'round, and 'round ... It was like everything was evidence of broken time

You're living on fancy wine You'll drink that turpentine You're starting conversations You don't even know the topic

---- Spent Gladiator 2 - The Mountain Goats (Defiantly alive) ----

Like a spent gladiator, Crawling in the coliseum dust. Who can count on his remaining limbs, All the people he can trust. Like the one who stands behind him, Cheering him on. Ecstatic when he stands defiant, Wild with abandon when he's gone. Just stay alive. Keep your eyes on the pay line. Like a village on the step, About to get collectivized. When the men emerge with rifles from the haystack, Everybody looks surprised. Like the mice in the forgotten grain, Way up on the top shelf. Like someone who's found a small town to escape to, Keeps one eye on his abandoned, former self. Stay in the game. Just try to play through the pain. Like a fighter who's been told its finally time for him to quit. Show up in shining colors, And then stand there and get hit. Like the clock that ticks in Dresden, When the whole town's been destroyed. Like the nagging flash of insight, You're always desperate to avoid. Like the bloody-knuckled gunman, Still stationed at the breach. Like that board game with the sliders, And the children on the beach. Stay alive. Maybe spit some blood at the camera. Just stay alive. Stay forever alive.

---- You Only Live Once - The Strokes (just general Harry, talking about the skills, choices you can make, what kind of cop you can be) ----

Twenty-nine different attributes Only seven that you like, oh-oh Twenty ways to see the world, oh And twenty ways to start a fight, oh

...

And countless odd religions too It doesn't matter which you choose, oh, no One stubborn way to turn your back, oh This I've tried and now refuse, oh

Oh don't, don't, don't get up I can't see the sunshine Oh, I'll be waiting for you, baby 'Cause I'm through Sit me down Shut me up I'll calm down And I'll get along with you

---- Pork and Beans - Weezer (Superstar Cop) ----

They say I need some rogaine to put in my hair Work it out at the gym to fit my underwear Oakley makes the shades to transform a tool You'd hate for the kids to think that you've lost your cool

I'ma do the things that I wanna do I ain't got a thing to prove to you I'll eat my candy with the pork and beans Excuse my manners if I make a scene I ain't gonna wear the clothes that you like I'm fine and dandy with the me inside One look in the mirror and I'm tickled pink I don't give a hoot about what you think

Everyone likes to dance to a happy song With a catchy chorus and beat so they can sing along Timbaland knows the way to reach the top of the charts Maybe if I work with him I can perfect the art

I'ma do the things that I wanna do I ain't got a thing to prove to you I'll eat my candy with the pork and beans Excuse my manners if I make a scene I ain't gonna wear the clothes that you like I'm fine and dandy with the me inside One look in the mirror and I'm tickled pink I don't give a hoot about what you think

No, I don't care I don't care

---- Freaks - Surf Curse (head filled with skills, The Final Dream) ----

Don't kill me just help me run away From everyone I need a place to stay Where I can cover up my face Don't cry, I am just a freak

I am just a freak(x3)

My head is filled with parasites Black holes cover up my eyes I dream of you almost every night Hopefully I won't wake up this time

I won't wake up this time(x3)

---- The Smallest Church in Sussex - British Sea Power (oh yeah this is mandatory) ----

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

When We Were Young Part Three

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Rating: T Notes: Not beta-read I just wanted to thank everyone for the likes/comments/reblogs!! I really appreciate it! Warnings: Uuuuuh none Summary: “Have you seen this?” You turned around to see Sherlock holding up the Pall Mall Gazette. You strode forward, holding your hand out for it.

Your next day was spent looking in on your aunt (your father’s sister, Mary - a kind woman, but always troubled with some illness; she would spend nearly an hour describing it to you and then say, “But I don’t want to bore you with that, dearie, it’s a trouble for an old woman”), as well as meeting with one of the investors that your father had asked you to speak with. You’d taken over the use of Cornelius’ study while you were in town, and had hoped that the atmosphere would soften the man’s attitude toward you. Unfortunately, it hadn’t had the desired effect. The man had been rude and condescending. It had taken everything in your power to keep your head and not snap at the man in the way you wanted to. As irritated as you were, this was your father’s livelihood, and the way he kept a roof over all your heads. That being said, you were in an awful mood when your Uncle informed you of a visitor. “Who is it?” You asked. Cornelius chuckled at your dark tone. “No need to look so dour. It’s your friend, Mr. Holmes,” He said. You hesitated before turning to answer him. “Which Mr. Holmes?” You asked. “The detective, not the politician,” He reassured you. You nodded. “Send him in, then,” You agreed. As soon as Cornelius was out of the room, you found yourself turning to check your reflection in the glass of the cabinet, reaching up to tuck away a stray hair. You immediately felt ridiculous. Sherlock wasn’t there to see you, he was there to tell you about what he knew about Enola. You huffed, resting your hands on your hips and turning away from the cabinet. Surely it was the meeting with your father’s investor earlier that had you so riled. Your hands absently smoothed over the skirt of your dress before you raised a hand to fiddle with the cameo on your choker. You heard the door open and you lowered your hand, resting it on the back of a chair. You opened your mouth to greet him, but he spoke up before you could. “Who did it?” 

He’d hardly been there a moment and he was already throwing around questions.

“Excuse me?” You asked. “Who upset you?” He pressed. You had expected Cornelius to come in behind him, but the door closed, leaving the two of you alone. You knew that your mother would have a fit if she found out you were alone with a man, especially when her brother was meant to be looking after you. It was one thing for Sherlock to come and speak with you alone when you were in your own home. Your parents were always wary of what may happen to you and your reputation when you traveled - “People talk in London,” Your mother would always sniff (as if the country was entirely free of gossip). “What makes you think I’m upset?” You asked. Sherlock strode further into the study, looking you over openly. You didn’t have a book to hide behind this time, though, and despite the fact that you were wearing several layers of clothing, you felt very exposed. “You mean beyond your inability to keep still?” He asked. “I haven’t moved since you came in,” You argued. “Your fingers haven’t stopped tapping on that chair,” Sherlock nodded toward your hand. You hadn’t even noticed you started, and you immediately pressed the pads of your fingers into the leather of the chair to still them. “Your shoulders are pulled incredibly tight,” Sherlock added, continuing to come closer. “I value good posture,” You excused. “You're flushed...And your jaw is clenched,” Sherlock added, stopping right in front of you. You immediately relaxed your jaw, but the redness in your face, well. There was nothing you could do about that. “...Have you heard anything about Enola?” You asked, choosing not to address his initial question of who had upset you. Sherlock watched you for a few seconds as if waiting for you to crack. Then he hummed thoughtfully, brushing past you to go the desk. You felt your shoulders relax as he did; you hadn’t even realized how tense you were. You hated how easily he could read those things on you - but you reminded yourself that he could read those things on anyone.

“Have you seen this?” You turned around to see Sherlock holding up the Pall Mall Gazette. You strode forward, holding your hand out for it. He passed it to you before he unbuttoned his jacket, leaning back against the desk. You skimmed the article he’d opened to: Disturbance on London Express. Two Boys Leap From Train. Your brow furrowed as you turned away from him, paper in hand as you began to read it to yourself in a mutter: “There was a report of a disturbance on a London bound train yesterday morning. The London express train had left Basilweather station at 9:15, and was bound for the city when passengers witnessed two boys and a man with a bowler hat moving around the carriages excitedly and with much haste--” “You still read aloud to yourself?” You ear caught on the teasing in Sherlock’s tone and you grumbled, “Shush,” Before you went on reading in silence. You’d skimmed the article that morning, but it hadn’t caught your eye the way it had Sherlock’s. You unfolded the paper when you finished, eyes darting to the article on the Marquess that was reported missing before you rejoined Sherlock at the desk, pressing the paper into his chest wordlessly. You had intended to move your hand away, assuming he’d catch the paper quickly enough, but his hand quickly covered yours, keeping it there. It wasn’t for more than a moment or two, but it felt like ages. You never went into public without your gloves, rarely met with men or had occasion to touch a gentleman’s hand besides. Now Sherlock’s thumb brushed over your bare knuckles, the pads of his fingers fanning out over the back of your hand. It was a simple touch, innocent and soft, but it set your blood singing. You slipped your hand out from under his, picking up a stack of mail that had been deposited on the side of the desk and beginning to leaf through it. In truth, you’d already done this once, half an hour ago, but you needed something to keep your eyes off of Sherlock’s and your hands away from his. “...Thoughts?” He asked. You could hear him refolding the paper. “You know these matters better than I. I’ve never been in a situation where I’ve had to go looking for someone that didn’t want to be found,” You answered. “Perhaps not, but you’ve spent more time with Enola than I have in these last few years.” “Yes, and whose fault is that?” You volleyed back dryly, turning a letter over and inspecting the wax seal. When Sherlock didn’t answer, you glanced up to find him frowning and staring ahead. “Your jaw is clenched,” You informed him, reaching up and tapping at the tight muscle with the letter. Sherlock cut you a sharp look, and you smiled sweetly before you lowered your eyes back to the mail, tossing the letter onto the desk. “If that was her, she’ll have changed her disguise by now,” You added, “Your sister isn’t stupid. She knows that that incident will have caught some people’s attention.” “I know that she’s not stupid,” Sherlock snapped. You regarded him carefully out of the corner of your eye. There was only one person that could get a rise out of Sherlock when you were children - you had been his favorite target then, and Sherlock let him at it, as long as it meant Sherlock got some peace. You weighed your options before deciding to play your hunch. “What did Mycroft say?” You asked knowingly. Sherlock directed his gaze elsewhere in the room, clearly displeased at being caught out. “He doesn’t want me looking for Enola...And he’ll send her to boarding school once she’s found.” You shook your head, muttering, “Smarmy bastard,” Unable to help yourself. You had looked away, and didn’t see Sherlock’s slight smile at your curse. “She’d hate it there,” You added more loudly, “There’s no freedom, no way for you to be yourself. Mycroft may think that what he’s doing is for Enola’s own good, but... Being sent to one feels like a punishment.” “How would you know? You had a governess,” Sherlock grunted. You pursed your lips, nodding. “I did... Until my mother deemed me un-governable.” You felt the weight of Sherlock’s frown as it was turned on you in full force. “I didn’t know you were sent away,” He said. “Well, how would you? You never came back,” The bitterness and hurt seeped into your tone, unbidden. “You stopped writing,” Sherlock’s rebuttal spoken more harshly than you’d expected, and you turned to him with fire in your eyes. “You never answered,” You snapped. There was a knock at the door, and it only gave you two a second’s warning before Cornelius’ cheerful self popped inside.

“All well in here?” “Quite,” Sherlock answered brusquely. Both men went silent, waiting for your confirmation, but you never gave it, instead pretending to re-immerse yourself in the letters in your hands. Cornelius cleared his throat. “I hate to intrude, but we'll be having guests over for dinner this evening and I’m sure it’ll take my niece some time to get ready. Frills and frippery and all that.” You rolled your eyes, unable to help it. You’d had quite enough with men’s assumptions for one day. “I do hope you enjoy yourselves.” Sherlock’s tone was very flat, matter-of-fact, and you were almost certain he didn’t mean it. “Oh, you know how these things are. Business for the men, pleasure for the women,” Cornelius tutted, “Though Lord Dawson will be there and he and a certain someone seem to be quite keen on one another.” You scoffed quietly, tossing another letter onto the desk for the sake of throwing something. Lord Dawson was an egotistical bore, but a well-moneyed one, and someone that your mother was pressuring you to marry.

“I believe my brother has been meaning to become acquainted with Lord Dawson for some time,” Sherlock commented.

“Well, then you and Mycroft ought to join us for dinner this evening!” Cornelius offered. “No!” You said sharply. You froze, feeling both Sherlock and Cornelius turn their attention to you.

You turned your head to look at your uncle, lips pursed. “Mr. Holmes is in the middle of a case, he’ll be far too occupied to join us for dinner,” You glanced over at Sherlock, adding, “Won’t you.” Sherlock nodded. “Your niece is right, I am currently in the thick of a case,” He said, looking at Cornelius. You relaxed, turning back to the letters, satisfied...Until Sherlock continued, “But I will have to eat sometime, as will Mycroft. We’d be glad to join you.” Your hands tightened on the letters, fighting the urge to reach up and smack Sherlock over the head with the lot of them. “Splendid!” Cornelius grinned, “We will send a formal invitation around to your brother, of course.” “I will excuse myself, then, and give you all time to prepare,” Sherlock straightened from the desk. He turned back to you, leaning in and tapping a finger against your cheek with a murmur of, “Your jaw is clenched, dove.” You gave him your most murderous look, but he was already striding toward the door to bid your Uncle Cornelius a good day. Tag list: @run-through-wa11s ; @thefallenbibliophilequote ; @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem

[anondudeao3]

Fic Recs!

Since I'm on hiatus, I've finally had time to do some reading, and I thought I'd give some fic recommendations, since I won't be posting for quite a while. These are my absolute favourites!

(I split this into two posts — one for JayDick and one for JayTim — because once I finished with the first half, I realised it was quite long)

JayTim

19th of October

By: gothamnight

Word Count: 8,395

Summary: Jason's stuck in a time loop and forced to relive the same day over and over again. Surprisingly, it's not that bad when he spends every day with Tim.

→ A 'Groundhog Day' scenario! It's so (bitter)sweet seeing Jason slowly fall in love with a Tim who completely doesn't even remember that they don't hate each other. And a happy ending!

Honeymoon

By: cinnamon_skull

Word Count: 14,793

Summary: Tim and Jason go undercover as a just-married couple celebrating their honeymoon in order to catch a high-profile drug lord. Hand-holding, kissing, secret rendezvous and bed sharing ahead.

→ Who doesn't love a good fake relationship fic? The ever-mounting tension between Jay and Tim is just chef's kiss, and seeing the difference between the ease with which Tim seduces people for the case vs how flustered he gets when things get too intimate with Jay is hilarious.

Worlds Apart

By: commanderquill

Word Count: 22,984

Summary: “Let me get this straight,” Bruce says, in full Batman regalia save for the cowl hanging from his neck, and Jason shuffles awkwardly. “You met the only merboy in all of Poseidonis, and within minutes of knowing him agreed to break into Atlantis’ highest acclaimed science laboratory to steal an experiment of top research priority, because it felt like the right thing to do? Even though you didn’t actually know what you were doing at first?”

“Was he cute?” Barbara pipes in with zero grace. “What?” she says in response to Bruce’s look. “It’s an important question. Boys are stupid around pretty people. You’ve met Dick, right?”

→ Okay, this one is pre-slash, but it's so fucking cute and well written I had to include it! It's little Jay and little mer!Tim having an adventure (small heist) together! It's so fun, you won't regret reading it. (I also recommend checking out their other works, especially 'One Step Closer', although it is unfinished and possibly abandoned it's so good. More kid Jay and Tim goodness!)

Forget Me Not

By: wellthatjusthappend

Word Count: 30,423

Summary: “It’s always nice to know how disposable we are to them, isn’t Replacement?”

“Jason?” Tim’s head snapped up, tension coiling all through him.

“Don’t worry though, we’re gonna prove them all wrong again.”

→ This is a heavy, angry one, but it hits so fucking good. Tim has been missing for almost two years, and when Jason finds him he has a lot to work through with how the whole family assumed he was dead and didn't look for him. Jason is only grudgingly helping him recover at first, and they don't exactly like each other, but watching them slowly get closer, and watching Tim grow into himself and the ways he's changed because of his experience is really beautiful. It's always fun to read morally grey Tim, and the writing really makes it feel so righteous, like Tim deserves to do the things he does.

strange fear i ain’t felt for years

By: Sister

Word Count: 31,350

Summary: “Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has to come begging to the Red Hood,” he says against Tim’s neck. “Thought they’d be lining up down the block for you. Thought Daddy would need to get the shotgun.”

“You’re the one with the shotgun,” Tim points out.

++

Tim’s benched with a broken arm and starts playing Jason’s personal Oracle. Things escalate.

→ Probably hilariously unnecessary to rec this, since it has almost 86.5k views on AO3, but it was one of the (if not possibly the) first JayTim fic I ever read. I reread it somewhat recently and still love it. The whole concept of Tim playing Jay's personal Oracle is one I love dearly, and I go wild for it every time I see it in fics. There's hot phone sex and exciting casefic elements too! If you somehow haven't read this, I definitely recommend!

The Knight's Quest

By: chibi_nightowl

Word Count: 67,449

Summary: Sir Timothy Drake never wanted to be a knight. But when his parents send him off on a quest to slay a dragon, what else was he to do? Of course, said dragon has his own thoughts on the matter and his counterproposal is much more enticing than a fiery death.

→ Ohhhh this one. THIS ONE. The fantasy was done so well. The plot was amazingly engaging, the descriptions were so immersive, the emotion, the worldbuilding. This story has it all. I promise you, you will not regret reading this one, it's positively magical. (I also recommend all of their other works, especially the 'Moon, Snow, and Ice' series! But seriously, all their works. There are so many and I've read them all, and they're all amazing.)

Bite Your Tongue

By: dnawhite76, Prubbs

Word Count: 109,135

Summary: Being raised by a famous actress and and hockey legend, Jason learned at an early age that his dirty laundry would always be up for public display. But that never bothered him until rumors started flying about his relationship with the internet's favorite rookie defenseman.

→ Now, if you're like me and you generally don't like super AU AUs — particularly no capes — (despite the surprisingly several over both rec lists, which I guess just shows that some of the best fics can be the ones that aren't what you're looking for!), you may be thinking why hockey? Just read it. It's so good. I honestly have no fucking clue what made me click it the first time, but I'm so glad I did. I don't know anything about hockey, I have zero interest in sports normally, yet this fic managed to be super engaging and interesting with all of the playing and hockey talk. And also the premise of them being shipped together by fans? Adorable and hilarious.

Edit: because I am just now rereading BYT for the first time in a while and I forgot, just a warning, it does use a slur for Romani once.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 1

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn's attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain's father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is going to be a long, slow burn fic (hopefully)

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter One: Moonlight Messages

Soon, the flowers wouldn’t be enough. No, Elain corrected herself as she glared at the vase, they weren’t enough already. They had never been enough.

The house slept while Elain perched on her window ledge at the River Manor. Despite her cotton nightgown, she had not yet been able to find sleep herself, as so often she did these days. And so, Elain had risen to sit in the silver light of her window ledge and watch the impossibly beautiful night sky of the Night Court wink down at her tauntingly.

The revelation had occurred to Elain a few nights ago, but it hadn’t seemed important then and, along with most of Elain’s life experience thus far, had been brushed under the proverbial carpet. Her education in the etiquette of balls, the correct way one must curtsey in the presence of lady’s and dames, even the novels she’d read on the history of cutlery; it was all useless. She should be upset; she should care that the values that had been instilled in her by her terrifying mother had all but evaporated. But Elain felt nothing.

She was afraid of the flowers, though, because once they’d gone she’d really have nothing left. No mother, no father, no mortal etiquette, in fact, no mortality at all. After being reborn in a world that didn’t make sense to her, after being abandoned by everything she held dear, her father, her fiancé, gardening truly was the only common factor between her life then, and her life now.

And that was useful, to begin with. Gardening was a lifeline to pull her out of the fog that was those first months out of the Cauldron. It should’ve been a steppingstone in her road to recovery, the first step into her new life. Instead, it had consumed her.

As Feyre continued to prove that she’d always meant to be the High Lady of the Night Court, and especially when Nesta – Nesta – found her footing with the Valkyries and began to make a life for herself in Prythian, Elain was left to her flowers. There was nothing else for her, no purpose. No one knew how to talk to her; too afraid she might break if they ask anything more of her than a new pot of petunias.

But if flowers were all the universe could give her, whilst her sisters got married and began to spew out their beautiful children, then she would be grateful. But the flowers weren’t enough, and she was a fool to ever think otherwise.

She’d read every book, familiarised herself with the climates of the different courts and the different shrubbery that grow there. The information was running out, and so, her purpose was running out. Maybe this wouldn’t have threatened her when she was a human, when she only had a good 80 years, if she were lucky, before she’d be taken in the arms of oblivion. But it was eternity that now stretched before her. Eternity of being her sister’s gardener.

Death gives life meaning, petal – so live. It’s what Elain’s father had told her when Graysen had asked for her hand in marriage. Elain had kneeled at her father’s feet, giggling as she gripped his knees and begged him to say yes. In all her life, she’d never been so happy. She was to be married, she was to have her own estate, her own gardens! Imagine that. It would be a little life, nothing of the prince her mother had sworn she was pretty enough to marry. But Elain would’ve gone with Graysen even if he had only a cottage and a ring made of straw.

Her mother, rest her soul, had told Elain that she was a fool, because she believed in romance the way children of the night believed in the fae. Elain devoted her life to romance, her holy books were the novels her father had brought her from the continent, full of dangerous escapades and rising tension, love confessions and secret weddings. Where Nesta had wished to marry rich, Elain had wished to fall in love.

Silly girl, infatuated with infatuation. Her mother’s voice echoed around her head. Just wait, Elain. Wait until a man breaks your heart, it’s all they know to do, then you’ll realise that you and I, well, we aren’t so different after all.

Elain hated her mother for a multitude of reasons, but most of all because she was right. Now her engagement ring was sitting at the bottom of her beside drawers, her heart was broken, her body something else entirely, and her mind…Her mind was torture. It was a labyrinth, and it was complicated. Where Elain used to have silence, she now had noise, endless undisturbed chatter of visions that had not yet taken form. And above it all, beating like a drum of justice – his heartbeat.

At that moment, it was steady and satiated, and Elain knew that meant he was asleep. Lucien, her mate, safe and asleep on the other side of Prythian, and though she could never admit it to herself, the thought did bring her some comfort. At least Lucien was stagnant and reliable, even if he was only reliable in his ability to avoid her at all costs.

It felt like rejection.

All this time Feyre and Nesta, even Rhysand, had talked to her about Lucien in terms of everything being her choice. It would be her choice if she wanted to accept the bond with Lucien, and no matter her decision, Lucien was a good enough male to accept that choice and move on. But it didn’t much feel like her choice mattered, not when her supposed soulmate spent his days at the other end of the lands, as far away from her as possible. Maybe he was hoping she’d reject the bond, but that didn’t explain his behaviour when he visited, all racing heartbeats and flushed cheeks.

Lucien was a hypocrite, Elain couldn’t help but think as she sighed into the crook of her elbow, feeling a surge of emotion batter through her. Damn her human heart. Lucien was a hypocrite because in leaving her, he’d left her with no choice at all.

He may as well have rejected her. As Graysen had rejected her. As Azriel had rejected her.

All Elain wanted was to love, and to be loved, and yet she was loveless, alone – drowning, all over again. Most of the time Elain could keep the ocean of agony at bay, the one that had almost killed her when she’d first come out of the Cauldron. But then there were moments like these, in the dead of night, when she could not sleep. In these moments, the pain had nowhere to go, and it rose up in her life a black wave, before taking her under.

Sinking her teeth into the crook of her elbow until she tasted her fae blood, Elain battled through the wave of emotion. Her tears coming hot and quick as she curled into herself and lay, paralyzed in the depth of her aloneness, till the clouds smothered the moon and turned the world dark.

***

On the other side of Prythian, Lucien found himself tumbling into consciousness. He was sprawled on his back in his bedroom of the Lockhart manor, the residence of Vassa and Lucien, and he supposed, his own home too. Supposedly. The pale sheets were crumpled around his waist and his bare chest was rising steadily in the moonlight.

Unable to stay still, and forever thinking the worst after a childhood of running and hiding, Lucien sprung from his bed and unsheathed his sword from where it hung on a nearby armchair. Breathing through his nose, Lucien turned back to the dark room, his eyes, one fae, one machine, roved over the room, checking for any threat.

But the moment he was up and moving, his body showed him his cause for waking. A sharp, agonising tug from in between his ribs on his left side caused Lucien to surge forwards with a gasp, his sword cluttering to the floor. Just when he recovered from that first tug of the mating bond, a second followed, throwing Lucien onto his hands and knees as a wave of pure, agonising, hopelessness washed over him.

But the moment he was up and moving, his body showed him his cause for waking. A sharp, agonising tug from in between his ribs on his left side caused Lucien to surge forwards with a gasp, his sword cluttering to the floor. Just when he recovered from that first tug of the mating bond, a second followed, throwing Lucien onto his hands and knees as a wave of pure, agonising, hopelessness washed over him.

“What…” Lucien gasped into the silence, his hand running over his ribs, trying to ease the bond that was so fervently demanding his attention. The bond had pulled on him, not Elain – at least he could tell that by now. But the way in which the bond had demanded his attention, it was haunting. It felt as though it had reached the end of a limit, like an elastic band stretched to far only for it to snap right back.

With his mating bond being tugged on so viscerally the base mate desires that Lucien had spent two years putting a damper on, raged into fiery life. Go to her. Find her. Comfort. Keep her safe. Protect her. Comfort…She’s hurting. Kill the threat. Growling into the silence, Lucien scrunched his eyes shut and threw himself against those urges, shoving them deep down. As he did so he repeated his mantra to himself – ‘She doesn’t need me. She doesn’t want me. I will not demand anything of her. She’s fine.’

The last one didn’t really help, not if the overwhelming sadness was any indication of how his mate was faring. She’s upset. The bond seemed to whisper in his ear and Lucien felt his guts turn. Elain was supposed to be happy, that’s why he was doing all of this. He was keeping himself on the other side of the world so she could find herself, so she could be happy. But she wasn’t. If that spout of emotion was enough of an indication, Elain was miserable.

Sighing, Lucien rocked back onto his knees and ran a hand down his face, only for his hand to come away wet. Touching his cheek again, Lucien smelt the brine of tears in his room. But they weren’t his tears. No, a lady, his lady, was weeping on the other side of the world, hard enough for her tears to roll down his cheeks.

Again, Lucien felt his guts turn and thought for a moment he might be sick. Throwing himself to his feet Lucien sat back on his bed, glaring out his window to the moon, the same moon she might be looking at, at that very instant.

Lucien didn’t have anything going for him. He was a traitor, a coward, a seventh son, an outsider; when the world reforged itself around the Archeron sisters, Lucien had got left behind. No, not left behind, stuck. He was neither here nor there. Neither friend nor foe. Nothing was solid in his life, nothing constant, except that golden thread wrapped around his ribcage, tugging him north to…her.

She was enigmatic and good, supposedly. The same way he was supposedly cunning. He wanted to…well, he wanted to do everything. But in this moment, and over the past few months, he just wished to know her. A minute of her time, each day, would that be so much. But she was beyond him, in every sense of the word.

She was still broken and still healing, and he couldn’t impose himself into her new world. Right?

Lucien groaned and turned away from the moonlight, burying his head into his pillow. All Lucien seemed to be able to think was that somewhere, on the other side of Prythian was Elain. Elain, alive and well. His mate. His mate. Mother, he’d never get over saying those two little, impossible words.

She was his soulmate, did that mean she was awake now, thinking of him the way he thought of her? Obsessively, incandescently, without remorse or restraint. Rolling on his back, Lucien looked again at the moon.

“Are you thinking of me?” He whispered into the silence, only the moonlight and the mother to hear the tremble in his voice, “…because I’m thinking of you…I’m always thinking of you.”

[wisteriabookss]

Why Nesta Stans Stan Nesta: For The People Who Don’t Get It.

I think one of the biggest misunderstandings towards Nesta fans is that we don’t acknowledge or understand that she emotionally, mentally, and verbally abused Feyre. We know. We very much know. And if you come across a fan who doesn’t, then please educate them! I’m not afraid to say that this past week I was educated on this as well. 

I think a lot of anti-nesta’s focus on Nesta in ACOTAR, whereas Nesta stans see the progression of her character throughout all three books. Nesta stans see her potential to grow, learn, and change. This in no way makes her past actions excusable. Nothing can do that. But clinging to the idea that someone isn’t able to evolve will cause more harm than good, especially in cases like Nesta’s where they have shown they have the ability to evolve (examples coming later in the post).

Not all abusers can learn from their mistakes; some are just too far gone and don’t see their actions as wrong. But some can, and I believe Nesta is one of those who can. My reason for this belief comes from reading ACOWAR.

1.) Nesta holds herself back from saying something insulting to Mor after she says something in a rude tone to her, and instead approaches Feyre. This shows that a) She’s learning to hold her tongue instead of saying something stupid, and b) She says something nice to Feyre, which she wouldn’t have done two books ago. I’m not saying her being nice to Feyre makes up for how she acted towards her before, but the point is to show that Nesta is now uplifting Feyre instead of tearing her down.

“Where is he?”

“Who?” Rhys crooned.

“Cassian.”

I didn’t think I’d ever heard his name from her lips. Cassian had always been him or that one. And Nesta had been … pacing in the foyer.

As if she was worried.

I opened my mouth, but Mor beat me to it. “He’s busy.”

I’d never heard her voice so … sharp. Icy.

Nesta held Mor’s stare. Her jaw tightened, then relaxed, then tightened—as if fighting some battle to keep questions in. Mor didn’t drop her gaze.

. . . . .

“Mor was watching both carefully—the warning she’d given my sister ringing silently between them. And Nesta, Mother damn it all, seemed to remember. Seemed to rein in whatever words she’d been about to spit and just approached me.

And nearly made my heart stop dead with shock as she said, “You look beautiful.”

2.) Nesta didn’t know Feyre couldn’t read, so if I see one more post using “Nesta didn’t teach Feyre how to read,” as another example of how Nesta abused her, I’ll scream. There are a lot of other examples to show her abuse, but not this one. Nesta clearly wanted to teach Feyre how to read if she knew she couldn’t. 

“I didn’t know you couldn’t really read,” Nesta said as she paused before a nondescript section, noticing the way I silently sounded out the words of a title. “I didn’t know where you were in your lessons—when it all happened. I assumed you could read as easily as us.”

“Well, I couldn’t.”

“Why didn’t you ask us to teach you?”

I trailed a finger over the neat row of spines. “Because I doubted you would agree to help.”

Nesta stiffened like I’d hit her, coldness blooming in those eyes. She tugged a book from a shelf. “Amren said Rhysand taught you to read.”

My cheeks heated. “He did.” And there, deep beneath the world, with only darkness for company, I asked, “Why do you push everyone away but Elain?” Why have you always pushed me away?

Some emotion guttered in her eyes. Her throat bobbed. Nesta shut her eyes for a moment, breathing in sharply. “Because—”

2b) The reason why I highlighted the last part is because I think Nesta is showing shame here. I think she is ashamed of what she did, and she can’t be ashamed of her actions unless she knows her actions were wrong. Like I said up top, an abuser who can’t change is one who doesn’t see their actions as wrong; Nesta sees her actions as wrong.

3.) When they’re running from the Ravens the King of Hybern sent to kidnap Nesta, we see a moment of trust between the sisters that I don’t think we’ve ever seen anywhere else in the entire series. I love this because it highlights their growing trust in one another.

“I gripped Nesta’s fingers in my free hand. She glanced at me.

I need you to trust me, I tried to convey to her.

Nesta read the emotion in my eyes—and gave the barest dip of her chin.”

4.) In that cabin, Nesta basically left Feyre to fend for herself. In this excerpt of them escaping the Ravens, you see Nesta not wanting to leave Feyre. 

“Run toward the light,” I breathed to Nesta. “I’ll hold them off.”

“No.”

. . . . . 

We didn’t have time—for whatever was down here to find us. We didn’t have time—

“Run,” I breathed. “Please.”

She hesitated.

“Please,” I begged her, my voice breaking.”

5.) So many people try to shit on Nesta for trying to cross the wall but not actually crossing it because she couldn’t find a hole, which I think is so stupid cause it’s not her fault if she couldn’t find one. You can tell from this quote that even the simple act of trying meant the world to Feyre, so I hate it when people try to diminish what she did.

“Rhys stared her down. But Nesta looked to me—and I could have sworn fear shone there, and guilt and … some other feeling. “You told me to run.”

“You’re my sister,” was all I said. She’d once tried to cross the wall to save me.”

5b) An extra scene from ACOTAR to show ya’ll just how much this meant to Feyre:

“My hands slackened at my sides. “You went after me,” I said. “You went after me—to Prythian.”

“I got to the wall. I couldn’t find a way through.”

I raised a shaking hand to my throat. “You trekked two days there and two days back—through the winter woods?”

She shrugged, looking at the sliver she’d pried from the table. “I hired that mercenary from town to bring me a week after you were taken. With the money from your pelt. She was the only one who seemed like she would believe me.”

“You did that—for me?”

Nesta’s eyes—my eyes, our mother’s eyes—met mine. “It wasn’t right,” she said again. Tamlin had been wrong when we’d discussed whether my father would have ever come after me—he didn’t possess the courage, the anger. If anything, he would have hired someone to do it for him. But Nesta had gone with that mercenary. My hateful, cold sister had been willing to brave Prythian to rescue me.

“What happened to Tomas Mandray?” I asked, the words strangled.

“I realized he wouldn’t have gone with me to save you from Prythian.”

And for her, with that raging, unrelenting heart, it would have been a line in the sand.

I looked at my sister, really looked at her, at this woman who couldn’t stomach the sycophants who now surrounded her, who had never spent a day in the forest but had gone into wolf territory … Who had shrouded the loss of our mother, then our downfall, in icy rage and bitterness, because the anger had been a lifeline, the cruelty a release. But she had cared—beneath it, she had cared, and perhaps loved more fiercely than I could comprehend, more deeply and loyally. “Tomas never deserved you anyway,” I said softly.

My sister didn’t smile, but a light shone in her blue-gray eyes. “Tell me everything that happened,” she said—an order, not a request.

So I did.

And when I finished my story, Nesta merely stared at me for a long while before asking me to teach her how to paint.”

5c) Remember how in the beginning of ACOTAR Nesta insulted Feyre’s paintings? A couple hundred pages later she just asked Feyre to teach her. Nesta was already progressing (albeit at a snails pace I know) in ACOTAR, before anything had really happened.

6.) Back to ACOWAR, in this excerpt Nesta is asking Feyre why she didn’t hesitate going into the Battle of Adriata. I think the reason Nesta asks this question is because in the cabin, Nesta thought Feyre was trying to help their family in order to gain power over them, rather than an act of selflessness. It forces Nesta to think about her actions in the past, and, in the hopes of doing better, she decides to go to the High Lords meeting with them to fight alongside them. Feyre’s selflessness inspired Nesta to do better, and Nesta took the opportunity to do so. This is growth.

“Nesta only spoke when I rose to my feet. “You’re going to that meeting in two days.”

“Yes.”

I braced myself for whatever she intended to say.

Nesta glanced toward the front windows, as if still waiting, still watching.

“You went off into battle. Without a second thought. Why?”

“Because I had to. Because people needed help.”

Her blue-gray eyes were near-silver in the trickle of morning light. But Nesta said nothing else, and after waiting for another moment, I left, winnowing up to the House for my flying lesson with Azriel.”

. . . . .

“I felt Cassian’s attention slide to us, felt them all look as Nesta said, “I’m going with you.”

No one said anything.

Nesta only lifted her chin. “I …” I’d never seen her stumble for words. “I do not want to be remembered as a coward.”

“No one would say that,” I offered quietly.

“I would.” Nesta surveyed us all, her gaze jumping past Cassian. Not to slight him, but … avoid answering the look he was giving her. Approval—more. “It was some distant thing,” she said. “War. Battle. It … it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means … telling them what happened.”

“You’ve given enough,” I said, my dress rustling as I braved a solitary step toward her. “Amren claimed you were close to mastering whatever skill you need. You should stay—focus on that.”

“No.” The word was steady, clear. “A day or two delay with my training won’t make any difference. Perhaps by the time we return, Amren will have decoded that spell in the Book.” She shrugged with a shoulder. “You went off to battle for a court you barely know—who barely see you as friends. Amren showed me the blood ruby. And when I asked you why … you said because it was the right thing. People needed help.” Her throat bobbed. “No one is going to fight to save the humans beneath the wall. No one cares. But I do.” She toyed with a fold in her dress. “I do.”

7.) In front of the entire IC and all the High Lords, Nesta makes it clear that she wouldn’t have survived those years in the cabin without her sister. Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is the first time she’s ever even acknowledged or spoken about it.

“She looked to Kallias and Viviane. “I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent.” She shook her head. “But beneath the wall, I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death.” She jerked her chin at me. “Were it not for my sister … I would be among them.”

My eyes burned, but I blinked it away.”

8.) When Nesta senses something wrong at the High Lords meeting, she comes so close to saying she cares for Feyre, and cares for her safety. Cause really, the only person there who she would admit to caring about would be her sister (I know Cassian is there but she wouldn’t have admitted that lets be honest lmao). Also, in the first book Nesta was very selfish and only cared (outwardly) about herself and Elain. We see her being selfless here. 

“Something is wrong,” Nesta insisted.

“I’m not doubting you feel that way but … If none of the others are picking it up—”

“I am not like the others.” Her throat bobbed. “We need to leave.”

“I can send you back to Velaris, but we have things to discuss here—”

“I don’t care about me, I—”

9.) Book one Nesta wouldn’t pick up a pinky to help anyone or anything, but in ACOWAR she basically becomes a medic. She gets her hand dirty.

“No, Nesta only made sure that Elain was dozing in her tent, and then offered to help cut up linen for bandages.”

. . . . .

“How do I fix it?” she asked. Her hair had been tied in a loose knot atop her head earlier in the day, and in the hours that we’d worked to ready and distribute supplies to the healers, through the heat and humidity, stray tendrils had come free to curl about her temple, her nape. Faint color had stained her cheeks from the sun, and her forearms, bare beneath the sleeves she’d rolled up, were flecked with mud.

. . . . .

“I helped with the wounded long into the night, Mor and Nesta working alongside me.“

10.) When Nesta was pacing outside of the tent waiting to hear about Cassian’s condition, Mor attacks her again for literally caring about his well being. And Nesta, again, bites her tongue, says nothing, and walks away. I’m currently working on another post that goes in depth about the relationship between Nesta and Mor, but the point of this excerpt is to highlight how Nesta’s immediate response is to no longer bite back when someone comes after her. That being cold and bitchy all the time isn’t worth it (although I do think Nesta would be in the right here to say something back if she wanted to).

“I squinted at the watery light—the very last before true dark. When my vision adjusted … Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced—

“He’s fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly.

Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit.

She’d saved me the trouble of hunting her down to ask her about tracking the Cauldron. Better to do it now, with some privacy. Especially before Amren arrived.

But Mor said coldly, “Shouldn’t you be refilling that bucket?”

Nesta went stiff. Sized up Mor. But Mor didn’t flinch from that look.

After a moment, Nesta picked up her bucket, mud caked up to her shins, and continued on, steps squelching.” 

11.) When the sisters slept beside each other after Elain was saved, Feyre points out how different they sleep now. Instead of fighting with one another over the space, they held onto each other. This symbolizes their growing togetherness and how before, they were against each other, and now, they’re a team.

“A moment later, another warm body nestled on my left. Nesta’s scent drifted over me, fire and steel and unbending will.

Distantly, I heard Rhys usher everyone out—to join him in checking on Azriel, now under Thesan’s care.

I didn’t know how long my sisters and I lay there together, just like we had once shared that carved bed in that dilapidated cottage. Then—back then, we had kicked and twisted and fought for any bit of space, any breathing room.

But that morning, as the sun rose over the world, we held tight. And did not let go.”

12.) Nesta tells them to use her as bait to get the King of Hybern away from the cauldron. Literally a suicide mission. Probably the most selfless act she’s done this entire series.

Nesta stared toward that armada, toward our father fighting in it. “Use me. As bait.”

I blinked at the same moment Cassian said, “No.”

Nesta ignored him. “The king is probably waiting beside that Cauldron. Even if you get there, you’ll have him to contend with. Draw him out. Draw him far away. To me.”

13.) Nesta doesn’t stop fighting the King of Hybern after already spending all her power trying to do so. She starts to lure him away from Cassiand and the cauldron in order to buy Feyre more time.

“Nesta rushed to him, kneeling.

Not to comfort.

But to pick up his Illyrian blade.

Cassian tried to stop her as she stood. As Nesta lifted that sword before the King of Hybern.

She said nothing. Only held her ground.

The king chuckled and angled his own blade. “Shall I see what the Illyrians taught you?”

He was upon her before she could lift the sword higher.

Nesta jumped back, clipping his sword with her own, eyes flaring wide. The king lunged again, and Nesta again dodged and retreated through the trees.

Leading him away—away from Cassian.

She managed to draw him another few feet before the king grew bored.

In two movements, he had her disarmed. In another, he struck her across the face, so hard she went down.

Cassian cried out her name, trying again to crawl to her.

The king only sheathed his sword, towering over her as she pushed off the ground. “Well? What else do you have?”

Nesta turned over, and threw out a hand.

White, burning power shot out of her palm and slammed into his chest.

A ploy. To get him close. To lower his guard.

Her power sent him flying back, trees snapping under him. One after another after another.

The Cauldron seemed to settle. All that was left—that was it. All that was left of her power.”

14.) Do I even have to say it?

“Nesta surged to her feet, staggering across the clearing, blood at her mouth from where he’d hit her, and threw herself to her knees before Cassian. “Get up,” she sobbed, hauling at his shoulder. “Get up.”

He tried—and failed.

“You’re too heavy,” she pleaded, but still tried to raise him, fingers scrabbling in his black, bloodied armor. “I can’t—he’s coming—”

“Go,” Cassian groaned.

Her power had stopped hurling the king across the forest. He now stalked toward them, brushing off splinters and leaves from his jacket—taking his time. Knowing she would not leave. Savoring the awaiting slaughter.

Nesta gritted her teeth, trying to haul Cassian up once more. A broken sound of pain ripped from him. “Go! ” he barked at her.

“I can’t,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I can’t.”

The same words Rhys had given him.

Cassian grunted in pain, but lifted his bloodied hands—to cup her face. “I have no regrets in my life, but this.” His voice shook with every word. “That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.”

She didn’t stop him as he leaned up and kissed her—lightly. As much as he could manage.

Cassian said softly, brushing away the tear that streaked down her face, “I will find you again in the next world—the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.”

The King of Hybern stepped into that clearing, dark power wafting from his fingertips.

And even the Cauldron seemed to pause in surprise—surprise or some … feeling as Nesta looked at the king with death twining around his hands, then down at Cassian.

And covered Cassian’s body with her own.

Cassian went still—then his hand slid over her back.

Together. They’d go together.

I will offer you a bargain, I said to the Cauldron. I will offer you my soul. Save them.

“Romantic,” the king said, “but ill-advised.”

Nesta did not move from where she shielded Cassian’s body.”

15.) Nesta killed the King of Hybern. Killed their biggest foe, the person who was going to rip apart their entire world. I know Elain stabbed him, but as she herself put it:

“Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien. He noticed it. “I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.

Elain studied the trees ahead. “Nesta did. I just stabbed him.”

16.) And finally, Nesta walks in side by side with Feyre into the treaty meeting. This also symbolizes the bond they’ve been forming with each other, that goes beyond just sisterhood.

“I offered my hand to my sister. “I want you here for this. With me.”

Nesta considered that outstretched hand. For a moment, I thought she’d walk away.

But she slid her hand into mine, and together we walked into that room crammed with humans and Fae. Both parts of this world. All parts of this world.”

All these examples show a different Nesta than the Nesta in book one. She has become selfless, more aware of her own actions, and grown up. 

To close this out, it was so painful reading ACOFAS because of the regression of Nesta and Feyre’s relationship when they were going down such a good path. I think the reason why SJM made Nesta go down an even darker hole than Feyre (not trauma wise, I’m not comparing the two, but recovery wise) is because she wanted to show another example of how trauma can have an effect on people. 

All of the IC are still healing, but they’re all healing relatively the same way, ie. surrounding themselves with each other and going about business as usual. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, if it works for them then thats amazing. 

But it’s disappointing when I read people vilify Nesta for not healing the same way, and not wanting to interact with the IC, or for distancing herself from her sisters. Like, it’s obvious she’s hurting, and I don’t even think she knows how to heal herself or knows what to do. People who are severely depressed don’t know how to get out of it, so calling her a bitch for not wanting their help is so tone deaf and narrow minded. No one is a terrible person for pushing people away. The girl has just literally become a shell of herself.

When people say Nesta stans are “glorifying abuse” because they like Nesta, it’s sad because they really just relate to Nesta’s depression. They relate to her feeling devoid of feeling, and relate to how she pushes those closest to her away because she doesn’t know how to deal with her pain. Most importantly, they saw all of the examples I listed when reading, and saw Nesta growing and evolving, and they want to see her become a better person. They want to see her fight and confront her own demons. 

It’s not about discarding her abusive behavior. It’s about confronting it and hoping she learns and grows from it.

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - xv (King!Steve Rogers x Reader

FINAL CHAPTER

Chapter Summary: The war has come, separating the king and queen for seven long months. 

Warnings: MAJOR character death(s), (complicated) child birth, angst, anxiety, FINAL CHAPTER

Word Count: 5k

BRING HIM LIGHT MASTERLIST

Thank you for riding this out with me, guys. xoxo

<- Last Part

The clashing of swords and hollers of men filled King Steven’s ears. The mayhem took his breath away. In all his years of battles and wars, he had yet to see something this destructive.

From what he was able to gather, the fighting had, thankfully, left the north. King Anthony and his armies were able to push Thanos to the northern border, but that didn’t mean York was winning. The scouts informed him that the enemy was able to cut York’s army to half its size. Steven was also told that Thanos’s army was steadily growing – it was as if every time one soldier fell, two would take their place. York and its king were tired and losing – in desperate need of an assist, whether Anthony Stark would admit that or not.

“Just like old times.” Lord James told his king with a bitter chuckle.  

“I’ll get you home, Bucky,” Steven promised. “Back to that lovely wife.”

“Well, my queen would have my head if I let anything happen to you. So, likewise, Steven. Likewise.”

It was different now – the two old friends knew that. Before when they rode off into countless wars together, only Steven had a woman waiting for him back home. Whether it was Margaret or Sharon, he still had a wife. But now, both men had two worried women waiting on them back in Brooken.

Before he had left to lead his men, you cried in his arms, begging him to come back in one piece. The somber moment witnessed by what felt like the entire country. They watched as you wrapped the white fabric – torn from your wedding gown – around the hilt of his sword, kissing the blade and praying for his safety. Brooken watched as their king kissed his queen one last time before mounting his horse and riding off. Everyone – but you most of all – wished for his safe return.

Steven’s eyes narrowed as he withdrew his sword and his fist wrapped tightly around his horse’s reins. Around him, he heard hundreds of swords being drawn from their sheaths. He raised his blade high into the air, kicking at his horse’s hind as he sped off into battle with his army marching behind him.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Days into the war…  

You sat at the fountain – the first place you laid eyes on Steven. The water was no longer running; the irrigation turned off for the cold, bitter winter. The flowers that decorated the garden had wilted away. Only a select few remained. You visited it every day, always with the intention of picking the surviving few. But you could never bring yourself to do it, scaring yourself into thinking that the flowers were Steven’s lifeforce. Instead, you opted to stare blindly at them as if they’d conjure up your husband like magic.

You heard footsteps approach but did not think you were in any danger. An assassin would be taking their strides carefully with light footsteps. This person’s steps were soft but in no way near quiet.

“(Y/N).” Your mother greeted as you turned to face her. She had Morgan in her arms. Your baby sister thrashing about in the thick garments that she was dressed in.

“Mother.” You smiled at her though she saw the sadness in your eyes. You stood and relieved her of the child, rocking slightly to help calm her. “She’s gotten big.” You looked over at your mother who smiled at you both with teary eyes. “Don’t you dare cry.”

“I can’t help it.” She smiled sadly. “Seeing my eldest and my youngest together… It’s heartwarming in this cold, cold times.”

“Did Harvey go with father?” You asked. “I would’ve thought he’d be safeguarded considering he is the heir of York.”

Your mother sat down at the fountain. Her hand nervously wrapped around the pendant of her necklace. You stopped your movements as you stared at her. She swallowed thickly and furiously dabbed beneath her eyes, attempting to stop her tears. She let out a shaky breath, the hot air materializing itself in the cold winter as thick white vapor. You frowned and asked her again.

“There’s something you have to know…” She whispered. You didn’t need to hear the rest of it. Her tone – the grief and the pain, feelings you were all too familiar with – gave it away.

“Mother – “

“You asked before your wedding where he was. Your father lied and told you he was too tired to travel… The truth was…” she took a sharp breath, a few tears fell. “He was too ill.” As if sensing your sorrow, Morgan began to thrash about even more. You shushed her, patting her back soothingly, wishing someone were doing the same to you. “We always thought he was healthy… He gave us no reason to believe otherwise. Then, days after you left, he started coughing up blood. He ran a fever for days, dropping himself into a coma. When the fever finally broke and he woke up, we were told he didn’t have long.”

“Mother, where’s Harvey?” You asked, your voice breaking because you already knew.

“He’s gone, (Y/N). He passed a month ago.”

You bit your lip to suppress the cry that nearly escaped. You continued to hush Morgan, lulling her to sleep. You closed your eyes, feeling the tears roll down your cheeks.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.” You whispered.

It was a terrible feeling. A closure that you will never get. It left an ache in your chest and the pain only increased when you realized if Steven died during this war, you may never get to say your goodbye either. You may never hold him again, nor kiss his lips. You may never see his smile and hear his laugh. You’ll never hear him tell you I love you again.

The realization pained you more than anything you’ve ever experienced.

And the fact you could do nothing but pray and hope made the pain twice as worse.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

A little over One Month into the war…

Brooken was left with a few guards to ensure your safety. You hated being cooped up in the castle. You felt useless. No word had been brought back about the progress of the war. Your mother encouraged you to take the silence as a good sign – because if things had taken a turn for the worse, Thanos would be pounding at Brooken’s doors, which he was not.

Nevertheless, it left you a worried mess. The ring, a reminder of your union, sat dauntingly on your finger. You often stared at it when you were alone. You’d nervously twist the ring around when you spoke to others – when you told your people that everything would be fine, hoping that they believed you.

“You worry too much,” Natasha told you as you stared into the distance. You often did this at night and in the early mornings. You wanted to be awake for his return. You wanted to be the first one to see him.

“You’re a newly wed lady. Shouldn’t you share my concern?” You asked her, twisting the ring around.

Natasha eyed you, wearily. She glanced down to your nervous fumbling and shook her head. “King Steven has never lost a war.” Your eyes widened as you rushed to your balcony’s wooden doors, knocking furiously on it. Natasha sighed and pulled you back in. “Everything will be right again, (Y/N). Worrying only makes you suffer twice.”

“I’d rather worry and suffer threefold if it meant my husband be brought back tomorrow – preferably alive,” you told her. You took two deep breaths as you tried to steady your breathing. Natasha noticed how you visibly winced and grabbed your lower abdomen.

“What’s wrong?” You waved your hand at her concern. The sharp cramping sensation was from stress – you were sure of it. “If you are in pain, we should seek a physician – “

“I’m fine,” you assured. “It’s from worrying too much, I suppose.”

Natasha frowned as she eyed you cautiously. Ever since the voyage that took the lives of Wanda and your unborn child, you had always worn loose fitting garments – you told her it was because you hated the way corsets made you feel breathless and trapped. However, this morning as she loosely laced you into the dress, she noticed how she didn’t need to pull the laces around your chest as much as she was used to – how your breasts had suddenly increased in size.

“(Y/N) …” She trailed off as you rubbed your stomach, trying to dull the pain. “When was your last blood?”

You frowned as you tried to think. You opened your month to answer but quickly closed it when you realized you had no idea.  “No…” You shook your head. You didn’t want to entertain the idea of bringing a child into this world – especially with Steven absent and not by your side.

“Could it be possible?” Natasha asked. “I mean the entire castle knows what you two do at night. You two are not shy when it comes to… keeping warm,” she smirked, “during the winter.”

You shot her a glare and she shrugged. “I suppose it is possible…” You whispered, rubbing small circles around your tummy. “But the idea… This is such a difficult time, Natasha. The uncertainty… Steven’s not here.”

“Yes, but the line needs to be continued.” Natasha said. You gave her a thoughtful glance, brows furrowing. “If Steven falls during this war – gods forbid it – Brooken will need an heir. Brock was next in line, but he’s gone now… If you’re pregnant, your child is the heir.”

“I don’t to live in a world without Steven in it,” you snapped. The idea alone sent chills down your spine.

Natasha nodded, understandingly. She, too, had a husband in this war – one whom she’d only been married to for two months. “But you must, (Y/N),” she whispered. “For, if you are pregnant, you carry a piece of him with you. The child of the north, an heir to both Brooken and York’s thrones.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Two and a half months into the war…

The camp had a foul stench that hung in the air. The soldiers were spread about – wounded, exhausted, many both. The two kings tried their best to ration out what supplies they had left. Two and a half months into this war and it felt as if they were nowhere near victory though they were nowhere near defeat, either.

Both Anthony and Steven exchanged blows with Thanos in the past battles that ended with hundreds of men on both sides dead and no one declared victorious. It felt as if every time the north was close to winning one battle, Thanos would retreat – and vice versa.

It was a continuous tug of war that lasted months and showed no signs of ending any time soon.

Steven stared blankly as the moon rose. He thought if you were staring up at it as well. He wondered how many nights you’re spending sleepless and full of worry. He wanted nothing more than to just come home to you – to wrap his arms around your body as you slept curled up next to him.

His hands toyed with the fabric tied to the hilt of his sword. The white had been stained with mud, dirt, soot, and blood. He let out a shaky sigh.

“Miss her?” He turned and saw Anthony slowly approach. He watched as the York king slightly limp over to him and pat his shoulder.

“Just want to go home to her,” Steven responded with a sigh. He felt a bit strange confessing this to her father, but considering James and Sam had both been injured and were resting, he welcomed the company.

“You will.” Anthony told him.

“It feels as if this war will go on forever.”

Anthony chuckled. “What’s the longest war you fought in?”

Steven thought for a moment. He had fought in too many wars, but his first war against the long-vanquished country of Hydra was one he’d never forget. “Four years?” He said though it came out as a question. “Fought for so long the years became muddled together.”

“You married then?”

“It’s different now.” Steven sighed.

“You really love my daughter?”

“Without a doubt.”

Anthony smiled. “I didn’t think she’d get married. She’s too … sharp-tongued. That girl damn near offended every noble I introduced her too.”

Steven chuckled. He always found your bluntness and witty remarks entertaining. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’ll get you home to her,” he promised, clasping his old friend’s shoulder. “Come now, Steven, we have battleplans to prepare.” He looked over at Steven. “Do you trust me?”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Three months into the war…

The rounding belly became increasingly challengingly to hide – especially now that the bitter northern winter was ending, and spring was quickly approaching. Though word from the battlegrounds painted the war as gruesome and dark, the life growing within you was a source of light – of comfort – for you and your people.

The midwife, Jean, preformed a trick she learned from her mother. She tied your wedding ring to a string and held it above your swelling belly. She watched as the ring swirled in fast, large circles. “A boy!” She announced to you with a big smile. Your mother clapped excitedly as did Lady Natasha. You were a skeptic, of course, but the idea of bringing a miniature Steven into the world made your heart leap.

The pregnancy had brought you something new to worry about. Due to the trauma of losing your first child, you became extra cautious with this second pregnancy.

“Have you thought of names?” Natasha asked you as she plaited your hair. Your mother laughed at the question as she watched Morgan crawl around the bed with her array of toys.

“I don’t want to think of names,” you said, lowly as you nervously rubbed the growing bump. You noticed that you had forgone fiddling with your ring and had begun to rub your slowly rounding stomach when you became nervous. “What if it isn’t even born? I don’t want to be disappointed.”

Natasha gave you a sigh before nodding. She found that you had become quite the pessimist in the three months of the war. Though everyone tried to see the bright side of this situation, you had clung to the idea that everything would go wrong – as if you were preparing for the worst.

“Don’t think like that,” your mother scolded.

“I can’t help it.” You clenched your jaw before quickly unclenching it, thinking the tension in your skull could somehow harm your child. “Has anyone sent any word?”

“Besides the squire that vaguely reported that hundreds of died on both sides? No.” Natasha hummed as she finished your hair. “But you needn’t worry about the brutalities of war. You worry about taking care of yourself and that babe. Have you eaten? Shall I fetch you some food?”

“A lemon actually sounds delightful.”

Her nose scrunched up in disgust. “Just a lemon?” You nodded. “Alright then.” She chalked the strange request to pregnancy cravings.

“Oh, Natasha?” You called out. She hummed in response. “Perhaps you could also get me something sweet?”

“What a strange baby you will have.” She joked. “Strange, royal, and richer than anyone in Brooken. I’ll order the maid.”

You stood and walked over to your bed. Morgan had cooed at you, grabbing your hand and stuffing a doll into it. At such a young age, she had such a big personality – a common trait of Stark kids, your mother joked. She told you a story of how you always stuck your tongue out at diplomats and nobles when you were Morgan’s age – which nearly cost your father many trade opportunities.

You played with your baby sister, making up for all your lost time together. “You’ll be a great mother,” your mother said, suddenly. You smiled at her as Morgan became preoccupied in her own world. “You always took such good care of Harvey… and you took great care of Morgan when she was a newborn… You’ll be a great mother, (Y/N).”

“I hope so.” You smiled. “Perhaps, I should name my baby after Harvey? If it is a boy as Jean says.”

“What a lovely sentiment.” Your mother nodded.

“We can always conjure up a new name,” you smiled, rubbing your belly. “ We’ve got time.”

“Indeed, we do.”

Side note: I apologize that the gif depicts a woman with light skin. Please know that gifs/pictures used are no where near a representation of who the reader is/what the reader looks like.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Six months into the war …

Steven fell to the ground, exhausted from the duel and bleeding from his wounds. Thanos had successfully ambushed their camp – a surprise attack that left the dramatically dwindled down army hopeless and scattered.

He had no idea where Anthony had gone off to when he decided that he’d take on the Mad King on his own. Unprepared for the sudden attack, the Mad King had the upper hand, easily overpowering Brooken’s king.

Steven could hear Thanos’s army approach. In that moment, it felt as if it were one man versus the entire south. Was surrender really an option? No. He didn’t want to surrender to this monster. He just wanted to rest, closing his eyes as he followed the tempting beckoning of death.

He suddenly heard a laugh ringing in his head. Vivid images of his wife flashed before his eyes. Memories of her – her eyes, the feeling of her lips, her skin against his, her smiles, her laughs, “I love you, Steven,” – all calling his name, begging him to come back to her – pushing him to stand.

So, the Brooken King’s eyes shot open and slowly, he got up, refastening his shield to his arm to stop the bleeding from the large gash. Thanos raised his eyebrows with a sense of respect – whatever was driving this northern king must be something worth living for. And to Steven, you were.

“You want to do this?” Thanos taunted from across the field. He gestured to his army. “Are you sure, Rogers?”

Before Steven could respond, he felt the ground rumbling. Thanos’s brows furrowed as he felt the same vibration. Steven turned around and couldn’t help the relieved smile as he saw hundreds of horses approach. Allies from around the continent and even the world – from House Danvers to Wakanda’s reputable armies – all gathered together to take down one enemy.

The battle was long and well fought. Stark and the rest of the soldiers rejoined the battle. Everyone with one mission: strike Thanos down.

Swords clattered against swords and shields. Horses and people were slain. Bodies fell like leaves in the autumn. Steven had again exchanged blows with the Mad King – Thanos ultimately, rendering the Brooken King unconscious with a hard blow with the hilt of his sword.

Thanos raised his blade up, ready to separate the king’s head from his body when another sword stopped the attack. Anthony Stark’s sword hovered over Steven’s unconscious body, deflecting Thanos’s attempt. He lifted his sword up with so much force that the Mad King stumbled backwards.

“Stark.” He spat.

“Made a promise to get him back to his wife.” Anthony Stark shrugged. “I don’t like breaking promises.” Thanos cocked his head to the side with a menacing smile. “Look around you, Thanos,” he gestured to the carnage. Many of the bodies were of Thanos’s men. “You’re losing.”

“Are you making an excuse not to fight me?”

“I’m giving you a chance to surrender.”

The two men circled around each other with their swords drawn.

“Never.” Thanos snapped as he swung.

The clanging of their blades rang out throughout the entire field. It drowned out the other duels around them. Both drawing blood and taking turns giving one another fatal blows.

Steven had only come to when Anthony kicked Thanos’s sword away and plunged his sword through Thanos’s chest. His vision was a bit blurred but quickly cleared as he blinked furiously.

“Surrender.” Anthony seethed, kicking the Mad King to his knees. “Surrender.”

Thanos held his head in shame as he barked orders at his army, telling them to lower their weapons. Steven stared on as Thanos’s men hesitantly followed the order. The field was silent. Had Anthony did it? Was the war finally over?

“You win, Stark,” Thanos smiled, teeth bloody. Steven saw the man’s hand slowly reach behind him. His eyes widened as he tried to warn his friend, but it was too late. With the last of his strength, Thanos sheathed the sharp dagger into York’s king. “If I go, you go with me.”

“Tony!” Steven screamed. He ran towards them. With no hesitation nor remorse, he raised his sword and beheaded Thanos where he kneeled. He caught Anthony before he fell to the ground. “C’mon, Stark, stay with me.” He pleaded. He looked at one of the Danvers knights and ordered her to get a physician though he knew the attempt to save his friend was futile. Steven slapped Anthony’s cheek lightly as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

“Steve…” Anthony muttered. “Steve…”

“I’m right here.”

“Tell (Y/N) …” He trailed off, struggling to catch his breath. “Morgan… Pepper…” He heaved. “I love them all…” Anthony had a sad smile on his face. He was leaving York in his eldest daughter’s more than capable hands. Though he knew his wife would be devastated, he knew he was leaving them with no impending threat of a Mad King in the south. “Take care of ‘em, okay, Rogers?”

“I swear to you – on my life, on my marriage – I will.” Steven nodded. Anthony gave him a small smile and a nod before his eyes became unfocused and glossed over. Steven called his name three times – his voice breaking at the third and final time.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Month 7 – one month after the war.

You were emerged in the crowd, hidden behind the hundreds waiting for their loved ones returns – though many may be disappointed and heartbroken. You prayed you were not one of them.

You were far along your pregnancy, too big to hide the swollen belly. The midwife told you that you had a little over a month left, still very adamant that you had son.

You craned your neck over the crowd, trying to get a glimpse of the approaching men. Natasha gasped as she let go of your arm, rushing through the crowd and into her husband’s arms. You smiled as they shared a tender kiss. When they parted, James glanced your way – you saw the sympathy in his eye and your heart dropped. Your husband was nowhere to be found and the way his best friend looked over at you did not ease your fears.

You clenched your jaw before pressing your lips into a firm line. Tears pricked in your eyes. Your mother’s free hand – the other preoccupied with holding Morgan up – rubbed your arm, comfortingly. You turned to head back inside the castle. You had no intention of crying in front of the entire country, but then your mother’s grip tightened slightly, keeping you in place. You frowned at her before following your eyes.

Relief quickly flooded through you. He was battered and bruised, limping as he walked, but he was alive. You hurriedly cut through the crowd – though as their pregnant queen, your people practically parted to give you way.

“Steven!” You gasped, running up to him.

He stared at you in disbelief. You were glowing in the sunlight – a true vision. But it wasn’t your beauty that baffled him. It was your rounded belly. His eyes watered as he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you into a long-awaited kiss. And after seven long months, you felt as if you could finally breathe again.

Foreheads pressed together, he nudged your nose with his a happy grin on his face. “You’re pregnant.” He whispered. You nodded – you felt so much joy in that moment you were sure your heart would combust. “You’re pregnant.” He repeated, breathlessly.

In the weeks that followed, you were in a whirlpool of mixed emotions. With putting your father to rest and trying to piece together what was left of the north, you were exhausted – not to mention heavily pregnant.

Though, it became easier to shoulder all the responsibilities now that your husband was finally home.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

His paced anxiously as he waited outside the bedchamber doors. He wanted nothing more than to be in that room with you, but the midwife told him it was not customary that the husband be inside.

Steven winced when he heard your scream. The pained shriek would probably haunt him more than his war flashbacks. “IT HURTS… IT HURTS.” You repeated like a mantra. “SOMETHING IS WRONG.”

Steven couldn’t take it. He pounded on the doors. Natasha had cracked it open, but he pushed through it, almost knocking her down. He rushed to your side, your hands desperately grabbing each other. “What’s happening?”

“Something’s wrong, Steven,” you wailed, shaking your head against the pillows. Your face was wet with tears and sweat, and your anxiety was through the roof. “He’s – he’s dying.”

“The queen is losing too much blood, your grace,” Stephen Strange informed him.

“Get him out.” You begged. “Godfather,” you croaked, pleading, “if it comes down to me or the child, choose the child. Do you hear me?”

“No.” Steven snapped. “I will not lose you.”

“Steven…” you cried. “Brooken and York need this heir to survive.”

“But I need you to survive,” Steven pleaded with you. You shook your head, jaw trembling as you cried in pain. “Whatever happens, you save her, Strange. Do you understand me?”

“I – “

“As Brooken’s king I command you – “

“I think you forget that I am of York and she is my queen first.” Stephen frowned at him. “You may be her husband, but she is my queen and I follow her orders.”

Your godfather went to grab surgical instruments and Steven sent a glare his way. “Touch her and I will kill you.”

“Steven…” You whined. He turned his head to you, worry written all over his face. “I love you…”

“Don’t – “

“No, no… I need to tell you that.” You whispered. “Please, say it back.”

“I love you, (Y/N).” He said. His voice was barely above a whisper as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “(Y/N) – please…” His heart dropped when your eyes rolled back, losing consciousness as you succumbed to the pain.

“I have to operate, Steven,” Strange told him. “She ordered me to save the child.”

Steven didn’t pay him any attention as his grip on your hand tightened. “(Y/N),” he called. “I know you can hear me.” He choked back his tears. “You can’t die. Please don’t leave me. You’re strong – probably the strongest person I know. You can do this. I know you can do this. C’mon…” You were unresponsive, eyes rolled back, and your chest had stopped rising. “My love, please… If I lose you, I am left in the darkness. I will not know how to recover from this loss. Please come back to me, (Y/N). Please.”

You suddenly gasped, regaining consciousness as you sat up. “C’mon, (Y/N),” your godfather prompted as the midwife peered beneath the blanket that covered you.

“Your grace, we need you to push,” the midwife told you.

You screamed through clenched teeth. You grabbed Steven’s hand so tightly his went numb and turned white. “One more, big push, your grace!” You did as you were told, pushing through the pain in muffled screams.

And then the room was filled with a triumphant screeching of a newborn. You slumped back against the pillows, breathing heavily as the umbilical cord was cut and the child was cleaned and checked over.

Steven kissed your temple, whispering praises to your ear. He was relieved that you were okay – that you were alive.

“Queen (Y/N), King Steven,” Strange smiled, cradling the crying baby in his arms. “You have a son.” You reached out for him and your godfather gladly placed the baby boy in your arms.

His wails instantly calmed as he rested against your heart. You smiled down at the red-faced child whose eyes were fluttering close. Steven stared in absolute awe. “We made him.” He whispered to you. “You made him.”

You bit your lip. “Edward Harvey Rogers?” You suggested.

“Edward.” Steven tested, smiling. “Your father’s second name.” You nodded. “It’s perfect.”

“I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Edward,” you cooed to the child.

“As have I,” Steven whispered. You turned to smile at him. He leaned in and pecked your lips before you turned back to take in the beauty of your child.

As you admired the baby boy, Steven admired you, his queen – his wife.  

It had been a long, treacherous journey to get here. He had stumbled through the darkness for far too long, but here you were – a beacon, a promise of happiness and a bright future.

The Queen of York and Brooken, the Queen of the North – the Queen of his heart.

The Queen who brought him joy – who brought him a child.

The Queen who brought him light.

[starlessskies94]

Consequence (Joel Miller x OC)

Summary: What if Joel survived his injuries from the Abby and Fireflies attack but ends up with really bad amnesia. He can’t remember his wife, Ellie, or the Outbreak; only before. How will his family bring back the man they once knew?Pairing: Joel Miller x OC                                                                                      Note: An update? Could It be? After all this time?...Yes. It is I! I come with a thousand apologies for taking so long to update. I didn't plan for it be so long but with Covid and going back to work during Covid and family stuff, I just haven't had the time but I'm back my lovelies and I really hope this chapter doesn't disappoint :)

Chapter Seven 

Tommy woke up late for the first time in weeks; he didn’t often sleep in but given his late night chasing lost cattle through the town after they’d somehow managed to escape the paddocks; he figured he more than deserved it. Maria had woken him when she made to leave and insisted he stay put while she made a start on the morning checks. She kissed him goodbye and they promised to meet later for lunch together.

The morning air was crisp and fresh as he stepped down onto the path, his jacket zipped tight to fight off the dwindling cold. The snow had long since melted and there were clear telltale signs of Spring fast approaching in Jackson.

And while the cold wasn’t as biting as it had been, there was still the odd chill that needed to be shielded from with a layer or two.

It wouldn’t be long before they were preparing for a new harvest to grow throughout the year. The sacks of seeds and planting equipment appearing all over town as families began to prep the soil and start their planting as the wildflowers poked their heads through the ground to bask in the warming sunlight.

Tommy made his way through the streets heading straight for his brother’s house. It was still hard to believe that it had been a whole two months since Joel’s attack.

Two whole months since his sister in law had lost her husband; his niece, her father. And unfortunately for all of them; it didn’t seem like Joel was making any progress to getting his memories back. He tried to help of course but his brother, being the stubborn grump that he was, had only pushed his younger brother away, insisting he was capable of handling the trauma alone.

He hated seeing his brother struggling, especially when it seemed that some details were coming through. It was little things but it was better than nothing. The only problem was, it was things Joel seemed to dismiss without a second thought.

Tommy honestly believed if Joel focused on them, they’d help process bigger things. Though it certainly hadn’t helped matters that the older Miller had stopped going to his weekly check ups to help his mind improve. The head of the infirmary had voiced her concerns to Tommy a few days earlier. His constant dismissal and disregard for their importance to his slow recovery; not just frustrating the Doctor but also Tommy himself.

He just hoped he could talk some sense into his big brother.

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He knocked but no answer greeted him as he stepped inside the house. It was quiet but clean. Each room meticulously organised and tidied to within an itch of its life. He figured this was what Joel must have been filling his days with over the past few weeks. The sound of muffled hammering caught his attention, leading him up the stairs to Joel’s workshop room. The door slightly ajar. Tommy had barely entered the room before Joel acknowledged him.  

“What do you want, Tommy?” Joel grunted without even bothering to turn around. Tommy just shrugged silently, his hands awkwardly stuffing into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Well good morning to you too, just stopped by to see how you’re doing.”

“As good as I can be I guess.” He muttered as he continued to work, never taking his eyes off the wood in his hands. It felt nice seeing his brother once again taking an interest in an old hobby that he had enjoyed before his injury. It felt like maybe they were finally heading in the right direction. But Tommy had to hold off, he didn’t want to push anymore than was necessary. He knew Joel well enough to know that if you pushed too far; Joel would only push back twice as hard. “Right, sorry... whatcha making?”   Joel hobbled back a little from the table, giving Tommy a better view of the work in question. The long neck and the four legs beginning to take shape made his heart skip. The older man had always had a talent; that was for certain. The horses he made were always magnificent. The wolves and the deer along with any other animal the people of Jackson had asked for; were always made with utmost care. And it seemed this work of art was no different.

“I think I meant for it to be a giraffe before... everything. Figured I might as well finish it. Hell if I know who it was supposed to be for.”

“Ellie.” Tommy whispered.  

“What?”

Tommy took a second for his brain to catch up with his words as he quickly cleared his throat and tried not to fidget too much. “It’s just...uh.. that it’s her birthday in a couple of months and she always liked giraffes, maybe it was meant for her?” He offered nervously. Joel just hummed casually. With a quick dismissive shake of his head and a sigh; he moved the half carved giraffe onto a nearby shelf along with his other unfinished projects. Turning to face his brother, his arm reaching out to grab his cane to steady his balance.

“Yeah, maybe...maybe Ada asked me to make it for her to give to Ellie as a gift.” He wondered out loud, stopping Tommy in his tracks.

“You talked to her?” He asked almost a little too quickly. Causing Joel to frown slightly in response at his brother’s unexplained eagerness.  

“Who Ada? Briefly, why? Am I supposed to know her or something?”

“You guys were...friends I guess…” Tommy replied weakly. He knew he had to be cautious here, baby steps. They were moving into uncharted territory when it came to Ada and Ellie. Joel had only just started to accept the life they had lived in Boston as smugglers and that was before he had even had the courage to bring up the Fireflies. He needed to steer clear of things deeper than that for now  and ease into the conversation he wanted to have. But his patience was starting to run thin. “Look, the reason I came by is because I was talking to Elizabeth and she said you’ve stopped going to your check ups.”  

“Oh not this again Tommy!” Joel snapped, his brother rolling his eyes in frustration as Joel hobbled away from his work space and further towards the door. But Tommy was quick to stop him, stepping in the threshold and blocking Joel’s exit.

“Look I know I don’t understand what you’re going through but-”

“You’re damn right you don’t!” He yelled. "You have no idea what it’s like Tommy; to lose years of your life in an instant. Forget everything you’ve done and the people you used to care about. I don’t see how bitching about how shitty this is to the damn Doctor is going to help!”

“But you’re starting to remember things Joel! That’s a big fucking deal!”

“How?! All I’m remembering is crap no one cares about! How are horse’s names gonna help me? Or how I take my coffee in the morning? I couldn’t even remember holding my little girl in my arms after she was shot! Oh but thank the lord I could remember what colour shirt I was wearing when it happened!!”

With every word Joel got closer, his nostrils flaring in anger as blood continued to boil. But Tommy never backed down, squaring up to his big brother wasn’t unusual and certainly wasn’t the first time they’d been at odds on how to handle something. Joel’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.

“It’s been two months Tommy...two months of this and it ain’t getting better any time soon. This ain’t your problem so just back off!” He hissed between gritted teeth.

“You can’t just push me away Joel, I want to help. I’m trying but you’re just being so damn stubborn.”

“Then leave, I didn’t ask you to babysit me. And I sure as hell don’t need you sticking around outta guilt.” The words stopped Tommy dead.

“What?”

“I might not remember what happened but I know enough from what you told me about Boston...You survived because of me. All those years I took care of us. Just like when we were kids. So what? You feel like you owe me? You gotta take your turn to take care of me now? You can keep it baby brother because I don’t want it. And I didn’t ask for it.” The words spit venom with every ounce of bitterness Joel had in him. And Tommy felt his lip snarl in response. The ungrateful bastard; he thought coldly, after everything he’d done to keep his brother alive on the way back to Jackson after the Fireflies had almost beaten him to death and this was what he had to say in response.

“How do I know the people who did this weren’t after you. I mean they did a pretty good number on you too right? Big brother to the rescue to save your sorry ass; yet again! You think I want to live like this?! Huh?! Trapped in a life of a man I don’t even know. A house full of memories I can’t even goddamn remember!”

That was it, Tommy was done. Joel was frustrated and angry, he knew that. He understood that. Of course he did. But to blame him for this?! How the hell was that fair? His hands shook in pure anger, chest heaving as he held back his punches as much as he could. He stumbled away from the door. His trembling hand reaching up and running through his beard in a poor attempt to calm himself.  

“You know what screw you! Screw you Joel! You wanna give up, you wanna feel sorry for yourself? Fine! I’m done. You give up on your family-”

“Family?! What damn family? There’s no one left Tommy! Sarah is gone!”

“She ain’t the only one you got!” Tommy cut off without thinking. Joel’s face dropping at his brother's outburst. The younger man’s eyes widened in shock as he realised what he’d said. But it was too late to take it back now. And Tommy knew that. They both did. Perhaps now was the time to tell the truth.

“You want to know who your family is Joel? Take a look in your damn attic.”

Tommy uttered the words into the thick silence left between the two men. Before turning on his heel to leave, never giving Joel a chance to answer. Leaving the man to stew in his confession. He just hoped that somehow...Ada could forgive him for this.  

[tainted-wine]

Evil Demonic Music

Priest!Reader X Demon!Present Mic

Hizashi has a large and filling feast on every Halloween night. He’s been doing it since before you were born. Yet here you are crashing his party while smelling like fresh meat in a den of wolves. It’s entirely your fault for throwing off his groove.

Disclaimer: Reader is more reminiscent of an action priest in a gothic action movie or anime. There’s little to no accuracy here. Lightning will most likely strike me the next time I venture outside.

Words: 7.9k

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, Christian Themes, Possession/Mind Control, Orgy, Public Sex, Sorta Corruption, Downer Ending

🎃👻🎃HAPPY LATE HALLOWEEN, EVERYONE!🎃👻🎃

------------x------------

Yuuei Club Presents “Dance With The Devil” Halloween Event LIVE Music by Present Mic Costumes Encouraged // Doors Open at 8 p.m.

It looked innocent enough; a graphical poster on the door of a building surrounded by smaller businesses in the outlet. It masked itself well in the daytime with its plain exterior, devoid of any attractive decorations save for the club’s name that glowed in hypnotizing neon when night falls. All of its temptations were contained inside, dormant until it was filled with careless souls seeking unholy pleasures.

You didn’t hate them for it. The temptation to sin is strong. It’s how evil thrives, and the average person lacks the strength to resist. It’s your duty to protect all people, even the faithless, from evil’s many devices. 

Like this nightclub.

Party locations like these were an uncommon feeding ground, although now that you think about it, the muddled and vulnerable minds residing within should make for easy meals. The loud and nonsensical “music” and absolute lack of restraint that the people displayed was baffling, but your task is to guard souls, not convert and guide them back to Heaven’s path. One demon in particular, however, favored ‘party animals’ more than any other creature from the vile depths.

“Easy there! You glare at this place any harder and it might combust!”

To the average human, the monster that appears beside you is nothing more than a tall blonde man with an inviting smile, but he can’t hide himself from the blessed and perceptive. Beneath the guise of spice and incense, he reeks of smoke and brimstone.

Hizashi, as he called himself, will never fool you.

“Stay back,” spit nearly flies from how harshly you say the words. You know that he can’t harm you, not while you wear your cross around your neck and calmly hold thoughts of your Lord in your mind. Still, you warn the dangerous fiend to keep his distance.

He obeys and innocently raises his hands. “Hey hey, you know I’m not out to hurt you, and you’re not gonna pull anything with that crafty little weapon there, right?”

No, you weren’t going to take a stab at him with the blade hidden in your holy necklace. You tried it before, an attempt to drive it into his back when he wasn’t looking. His hand caught your wrist at a speed you couldn’t comprehend – you were certain that you didn’t blink, yet you didn’t even see him move at all. His friendly smile didn’t waver, not a hint of anger visible on his face.

“Careful, baby priest! Don’t mean to sound cocky, but I’m way out of your league.” The warning wasn’t in his words, but in the heat of Hell itself that briefly washed over you, a sensation so powerful and real that you feared you were being dragged down that very instant. But the unseen flames died off the second he released your hand, eyes flashing a bloody red before returning to their usual emerald hues.

That was the first and only time you tried to banish him.

“I don’t trust you, but I’m not stupid,” was your answer, making sure not to let your hatred and disgust cloud your mind. He might take hold of that.

It was a satisfactory response, going by his bright beam of a smile. So friendly and inviting.

Months had passed when you finally accepted that he was a demon who genuinely enjoyed living alongside humans. He never spoke ill of your fellow men and commended them for their many ways of enjoying their short lives. Most demons you’ve dealt with favor negative emotions. Fear, sorrow, anger… those cold and bitter feelings attracted hellbeasts like flies to honey. 

But this one? He fed on mortals that were as cheerful and carefree as him. All of this still wasn’t enough to convince you that he is truly gentle, however.

Hizashi stayed where he was, staring at his own promotional poster. The urge to leave was almost overwhelming, but you couldn’t let him know how much he unnerved you with just his presence alone. Instead, you shuffle awkwardly and try not to utter prayers of protection. Whether or not that will anger him is something you don’t want to find out.

He rocks back and forth on his heels. “Are you pumped for the best night of the year? Man, Halloween never gets old for me, especially in this day and age. Everyone dancing while dressed like a bunch of monsters...it’s almost like I’m at home! Humans sure know how to party like tomorrow is The Cleansing.”

“Yes, and it’s shameful,” you humor him. “I have no interest in debauchery.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “It’s called having a good time, babe. Put the tome down and loosen up every once in a while.”

Put down the tome?

Loosen up?

Babe?

How dare he make you even entertain the thought of abandoning your teachings. You just know he’s trying to rile you up, to make you lose control. You won’t let him have his way. “I have my good times in moderation, on days when I praise God with my brothers and sisters with a glass of wine. There is discipline in everything, even celebration. Heathens simply get drunk and lose themselves in the madness.”

The demon chuckled as he ran his fingers through long golden locks. Just the beautiful sheen of his hair could probably attract the greedy. “Yep. Times sure do change, don’t they?”

“They don’t just change, they’re desecrated. What was once a day to ward off evil spirits now does the exact opposite. They’re too busy with their consumerism, candy, haunted houses…”

“Oh yeah, those haunted attractions are wild. So many of my buddies gorge themselves there. Free fear for the taking, ya dig?”

Despicable.

“And you don’t?” You test him. He was a conversationalist; a few probing questions won’t bother him, surely.

He withdraws his phone, scrolling through the screen for something. “Come on, you know me by now, don’t you? That sour stuff isn’t for me.”

“Forgive me for still struggling to trust you.” Sarcasm felt too risky, actually. You won’t use it again.

“Heh, no offense taken! You priests know just how cruel we can be sometimes. Mortals learned from the best, after all.”

Your lips twitch. His curve into a more wicked grin.

Every single passerby can’t seem to resist giving you odd looks. You can feel the eyes behind you as people make their way around the shops. Your garb wasn’t that strange; they’re acting like they’ve never seen a person in a robe and wearing several divine artifacts before. They would too if they knew what Hizashi was, who has yet to garner a single look of suspicion.

Ridiculous, his casual getup is actually fooling them. Perhaps the silly villainous mustache wasn’t big enough to give him away.

“Ah, here it is!” You nearly jumped from his voice and how quickly he leaned in, a video playing on his phone. “Just tap on the screen to play it an-”

“I know how to use a phone,” You hiss, taking the device from his hand and shooting him a glance every few seconds in case he tried something. 

The video was chaos, an unsteady view of flashing lights and thumping heavy beats. Whoever held it was smack dab in the middle of an energetic crowd that sang and danced like barbaric animals. It was an orgy of overindulgence. Too much drinking with their comically shaped cups and bottles, too much lust in their crude excuse of a dance, and synthetic drums that dragged on for so damn long, even the beat sounded drunk. It’s not the first time you heard the horrid noise; it unfortunately appears to be popular among the masses. 

God help these poor souls.

“Last year’s party.” Hizashi’s words cut through your thoughts. “Pretty hype, huh? Nothing gets my listeners goin’ like a hard trap beat!”

Oh? So he’s fully admitting it now? “So you’re calling it what it is, are you? Trapping them with your satanic melodies?”

The confusion on his face was very convincing, but you knew better. “What? No, that’s what the music is called.” 

You couldn’t help but snort. “Please, demon. What do you think sounds more believable: A genre of music with such a simplistic and misleading name, or evil tunes that your kind uses to ensnare unassuming mortals that don’t know any better?”

“....um…”

“I thought so.” To think that he’d slip up so easily. He wasn’t as clever as he thought. “Tell me what happened to the people in this video. Are they alive? Or did you drain them until they were nothing more than lifeless husks?”

There was a snicker behind you. Both you and Hizashi turned around to see a young man holding his phone up with an amused smile, giving a little wave after being noticed. “Sorry,” he didn’t sound sorry at all. “I really like your costume, miss. Your acting is awesome, too.” With that, he put away his phone and whatever images he now has of you and continued on his merry way.

Impertinent juveniles.

“Anyway, they’re all fine,” Hizashi said, eyes returning to the door while tapping his feet to a beat you can’t hear. “I know how to feed without causing any serious harm. Even if I do go a little overboard, they’ll just brush it off as having too much to drink.”

“It doesn’t matter how good you are at controlling yourself. You’re an evil entity invading human minds.” It takes every bit of strength to not flinch when he looks at you. Again, there’s no anger – there’s never anger with him – and it makes you all the more uneasy. Maybe a being as ancient and influential as him doesn’t find a novice exorcisor like you worth getting angry or even annoyed over. “Your stench will remain on those people forever, attracting more of your kind to them unless someone like me finds and cleanses them.”

He shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck. “Come on, your boy is doing his best here. What do you want me to do? Starve?” He considers what he just said for a moment before laughing. “Nevermind, don’t answer that. Look, I ain’t leaving the stage, little priest. I’m addicted. The noise, the energy, the way everyone just loses themselves in all of it.”

The way his tongue peeks out to swipe over his upper lip has every hair on your skin sticking up.

“Man, I wish they knew just how sweet their own essence is when they’re caught up in the lights and music. Sweeter than any candy the kids will be bringing home tonight.”

He compares consuming pieces of a soul to children’s treats. “You’re really not helping your case,” you remark.

Another shrug. “C’mon, you say that like I actually have a chance at winning with you! I won’t hurt anyone in there. You have my word.”

You scoffed. “A demon’s word is-”

“Worthless, I know. See what I mean?” He withdrew a ring of keys out of his pocket. “Welp, I think we’ve stood here and stared at the door long enough. I gotta prep for the big night. Thanks for the company!” A few more seconds pass when he finds the right key and opens the entrance to the club. 

You didn’t follow him inside. That would be careless.

Now it’s only you observing the building that will soon hold a giant living feast for the hungry monster. After another passing compliment about your “cool and authentic costume”, you figured you’ve stood around long enough. It was time to head home.

And find a way to keep everyone safe.

He was right; you have no way of getting rid of him yourself. That doesn’t mean you’ll stand by while knowing what danger these people will be walking into when night arrives. You’re not afraid to put your life on the line if it means protecting His children from the many evils on earth. When the first step of your plan takes root in your head, you change routes and make your way to the nearest costume shop.

Hizashi won’t be having his fill tonight.

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

8:30 p.m.

You weren’t expecting to encounter two demons tonight.

Well, perhaps that term isn’t appropriate. There is no sort of aura attached to the dark-haired man that you can trace back to the pits of Hell, but he is undoubtedly a creature of evil. One that was birthed from the shadows, living for eternity by lurking in darkness and drinking the blood of any unfortunate mortal that catches his eye.

“I knew it. I knew someone so close to Hizashi couldn’t be human.”

The vampire at the lively club’s entrance didn’t seem fazed by your accusation. He wasn’t even hiding himself. The sly bloodsucker knows that his crimson irises and enlarged fangs will be mistaken for prosthetics. Very convincing prosthetics.

“Nice to see you too,” he deadpans. 

You’re getting a little tired of these beasts brushing you off. “So what’s your feeding plan here? Waiting to find an innocent maiden who wishes to see the sinful wonders inside, then take her to the back and drain her dry?”

“Like you?” The smirk doesn’t reveal any teeth, but his predatory eyes are enough to make you step back and grip the cross that still hangs around your neck. Your reaction makes him chuckle darkly before he returns to his regular disinterested self. “I already ate.” That monster. “I’m here because Hizashi thought I’d make for good security.”

“So you intend to drink from anyone that steps out of line?”

“No.”

“Lies. Look here, vampire…”

“My name is Shouta.”

“...You and your friend won’t be preying on these naive humans for much longer. He told me about his trap music, but I won’t let his songs bewitch anyone tonight.”

He stared at you, one eyebrow quirked high up. “Alright...can you give me your hand already? There’s a line growing behind you.”

You look over your shoulder, and there is indeed a line of disgruntled people dressed as various monsters and characters. You have to admit that their costumes look to be of higher quality than the angel outfit you hastily bought in the store’s clearance section. The fuzzy headband for your halo was itchy and your flimsy wings were on the verge of falling off with every sudden movement.

With a glare that messaged him not to try anything, you cautiously extended your arm. He took your hand in his – deathly cold – and wrapped a thin paper tag around your wrist. “Have fun.” 

You always hate it when you can’t read their smiles.

The suffocating darkness around him was lifted when you made your way to the same doors you were looking at with so much contempt this morning. Glancing back, you saw others happily complimenting his ‘spooky’ appearance, to which he responded with either a quick thanks or a grunt. None of them seemed to notice his chilling aura or ice-cold touch.

Why must they be so blind to the evils that walk beside them everyday?

When you stepped in, the music nearly blasted you back outside. So loud, but not like the angelic choirs during gospel. You didn’t feel lifted, you just felt bombarded by pure noise. A repetitive tempo made the entire building pulse like a heartbeat. This didn’t sound like the music Hizashi supposedly used to put the crowd under a spell. It just repeated the same forsaken beat over and over again. Perhaps the repetition is meant to ease the victim’s mind and lure them in a false sense of security, then those long rolling beats will come in next, ensnaring them when their guard is down. Clever, but not clever enough.

You passed the lounge and bar area, paying no mind to the lecherous behavior around you. Boisterous laughs, alcohol being carelessly chugged…

“Hey there, angel.” A man dressed as a superhero nearly tripped over his own cape in his attempt to approach you. “You as innocent as you look? I can introduce you to the boUUUURP.” The sudden belch burned your poor eyes with the stinging smell of rum.

Lord have mercy on both you and these savages.

“No thank you,” you said through gritted teeth and brushed past him. The lights and colors are disorienting. Strobe lights, spotlights whizzing across the walls and floor, and vibrant ever-changing shapes on every surface. The intoxicated folk probably welcomed the flashing chaos. When you drink at the church, your sips stay modest and controlled, ensuring to never reach the stage of drunkenness. If you were feeling ‘buzzed’, as they would say, this musical and optical discourse would likely feel pleasant, like entering a world devoid of rules and consequences.

Also known as a world of sin.

A huge mass of bouncing bodies covered the dancefloor, and there on an elevated platform, acting as an advanced musical throne, was the evil orchestrator of the chaos.

And those long curved obsidian horns were most definitely real.

Even as he tampered with the many buttons and dials before him, Hizashi moved as wildly as his prey, too caught up in his own infernal electronic hymns to even notice your presence. Surely your chaste energy sticks out among these wrongdoers like a dove in a pit of serpents.

You need to activate your blessing before he eats. Good thing the vampire didn’t bother to inspect your costume for any natural evil repellents that you happened to be carrying.

Your self-made pockets were filled with sage and rosemary, common herbs used to drive away demons and spirits. You sprinkle them onto the floor as you continue to make your way to the center, where your power will work most efficiently.  Hopefully their scent will not be overpowered by the sweaty bodies and breaths laced with alcohol of all kinds.

Pushing through the dancing crowd was an arduous task. The music had since switched to something faster and more aggressive. The hectic sounds in this one was making you miss the boring but calmer tunes from before. You never considered what the sound of a robot vomiting would sound like, but it would probably sound similar to the cacophony of ‘whirs’ and ‘wubs’ that were assaulting your ears.

The mass was pushing and tossing you every which way. The variety of masks and makeup beneath the constant moving lights was rather frightening. Of course, you’ve dealt with plenty of real monsters, but it disturbed you to see your fellow man acting in such a frenzied matter in such a perplexing setting. You can see why Hizashi adored this environment. You couldn’t tell the difference between man and beast.

Straightening your halo, you decide that this spot will fare well enough.

Now it was time to apply holy water around your feet. Just a few drops of the blessed fluid will be enough to protect everyone here.

You close your eyes, ignore the many bodies bumping against you, and pray.

O Lord, protect me from temptation.

The water trickles out before you.

O Lord, forgive those who have been led astray.

“WOOOO SHIT! THIS IS MY JAM!”

The nearby exclamation makes your eyebrow twitch.

For we know that your power is greater than any evil.

The song is deafening, but you keep going.

Grant, O Lord, the protection fro-

Someone violently collides into you, knocking the bottle right out of your hands and rolling away to disappear behind the wall of stomping shoes.

Shit! Forgive my language, Father!

You elbow the fools blocking your way, ignoring the occasional “hey” or “watch it” during your desperate search for the most important tool against evil influences.

You didn’t even finish your prayer. You need to at least do that first, before it’s too late. Clapping your hands together, you shut your eyes again and moved your lips rapidly.

OLordprotectmefromtemptationOLordforgivetosewhohavebeenledastrayforweknowthatyourpowerisgreaterthanany-

“HERE COMES THE DROP!”

The rhythm and bass changed drastically, and with it came a powerful wave of raw exhilaration.

It’s like a force was injecting every positive chemical directly into your bloodstream. The abundance of newfound energy needed to be released, just like the tension that was released from that beat drop.

Your hips are swaying in a way you’ve never moved them before, and you can’t make them stop.

Stop! Stop, please! This is his doing!

“How are my listeners doin’ tonight?!”

The demon’s voice booms through the speakers, seeping into your ears and filling you with so much excitement that you can’t help but cheer with everyone else. Your senses feel simultaneously enhanced and dulled. The humans around you were out of focus, but the diabolical DJ up ahead was so clear, it’s like you were right in front of him. The hunger in his currently red eyes struck fear in you even as you danced.

“Woo, I’m lovin’ this energy! Thanks for coming by this Halloween, ya little monsters! Now...bring this house down!”

Your heart accelerates from the rush and you begin to jump in sync with the possessed crowd. Even the people standing by or sitting at the bars couldn’t resist, joining the growing horde on the dancefloor to jump in unison. 

It was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. Not a care in the world. No customs, no praise. It didn’t give you that warm feeling of ascension. Instead you just felt...liberated.

No!

Struggling in the demon’s grip, you cleared your thoughts just enough to try to calm yourself and regain control.

Utter a prayer. Hurry. Focus. You need His protection.

‘Baby priest? Is that you?’

That is not the mighty entity you wanted to hear. The voice echoes in your head, impossible to escape. When your eyes open, you see that above the vast sea of faces, Hizashi is staring right at you. 

‘I thought the dancefloor smelled a little weird! I was so busy feelin’ the beat that I almost missed you!’  You watched him laugh as he continued to violate your mind. Damn him. Wasn’t possessing you cruel enough? ‘Please, no prayers when I’m about to dig in. That’s gonna leave a bad taste in my mouth. Just keep groovin’ like everyone else!”

Your limbs obeyed without your consent and followed the rhythm. This didn’t even sound like the music you heard in the video. Were you just foolish in thinking that he only used one specific sound to trap his victims?

With another change in the bassline, a heavier weight invaded, reaching right into the depths of your heart and tugging at your very soul. You know that fear will only make you more defenseless, but there was no fighting the terror that overtook you.

Not when a demon was feeding from you.

Your brain clashed with itself. You had to keep fighting, even as he stole a fragment of what your gracious Heavenly Father had gifted you and every human, but the cheerful voices implanted in your mind begged you to stop worrying and just give in already.

There was no stopping your movements or the unending rush that surged as strongly as the music. Only now, as he completely ignored your holy safety measures and tainted your soul as easily as the oblivious heathens surrounding you, did you fully understand just how great the differences in power between him and you were.

‘Whoa...holy shit.’

The breathless moan in your head made you shudder. 

‘I haven’t tasted a human as pure as you in ages.’ 

“Please! You’ve already fed from me!” You scream out loud as the mob revels in the thrilling sensation of having a part of them sucked away. Your voice is drowned out by the music and shouts, yet you know that the horrid fiend can hear you loud and clear. “Just get out of my head!”

The dancing stops.

The music stops.

Everything stops.

It’s relieving to finally let your body rest from the forced celebration. The lights still flash and move in the dead silence. Every single person in all of their costumed glory turns and pins you with a sharp glare. Their eyes were unfocused and glazed over, consciousness elsewhere. Hizashi was in full control of all of them.

The demon himself looked down at you, no longer wearing his usual friendly and carefree smile. He was now showing the more twisted happiness you were used to seeing on his kind.

Crazed and eager to devour.

He spoke into the microphone on his headset, voice low and eerily calm. “Angel, you can’t just give me a sample of a five-star meal and expect me to not want more.”

The dread threatens to make you faint.

“Hey, none of that!” He laughs and switches back to his cheery tone. “I told you the negative emotions aren’t for me. I mean, a lady as sweet as you is gonna taste delicious either way. Why don’t you come on up here?”

You didn’t want to. You wanted to flee from this entire situation that you foolishly believed you were ready for. You thought you could sneak into this age-old creature’s gathering and force him to go hungry for the night.

Cockiness treads horribly close to pride, and pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

You clearly didn’t have a say in the matter, what with your feet moving forward on their own. Every individual in front of you stepped aside to create a clear path from you to Hizashi’s platform. Their eyes never left, heads slowly turning as they watched you slowly climb the steps with legs that trembled from your resistance.

As he stood tall clad in leather behind the large mixer table, you noticed along with his sturdy horns, he also sported a black pointed tail that lazily swayed behind him. And his stench...the foul smell that would often make you crinkle your nose was replaced with a pleasing fragrance, like a sweet and fruity beverage. It was undoubtedly the work of his spell; everything about him has suddenly become tempting.

At this point you were wishing for the music to return so that you couldn’t hear your thunderous heartbeat as you stopped right in front of him. His hellish eyes observed you from head to toe, holding his chin between his fingers before shaking his head and smirking.

“Ya really couldn’t find a better costume?” He snickered as he got closer and fiddled with your cheaply-made gown. You avoided looking directly into his eyes, afraid of falling into the blood-red depths and never finding your way back out.  “Or do you priests work on a budget?” He pauses when he notices the contents in your pockets. “Oh?” A hand is shoved inside and pulls out a handful of herbs.

“Aww gross! Sneakin’ herbs into the joint?” He winces from the smell before tossing them aside, leaving them to scatter into the unmoving group below.

How? His reaction should have been much stronger…

“Not that this stuff really works when I’m vibin’ in my element, but I’m hurt! I thought we had some trust!” He pinches your cheek, knowing that you’re unable to pull away. “And I thought you knew that I was way out of your league. You’re gonna need the big guns if you plan on keeping me away from my food.” The breath blowing into your face is abnormally hot.

There’s a layer of something otherworldly hidden in his tone whenever he emphasizes his words, like a filter poorly attempting to cover up a monster’s true guttural voice. 

But once again, he switches back to normal, which does nothing to calm you. “But I’m not gonna get mad at some rookie that doesn’t know better, especially one as tasty as you!” Twirling around, he pushes a few buttons on the table that you didn’t even know where to begin to figure out. 

“Sorry about the interruption, listeners!” He says to the crowd, cruelly acting like they have any ability to respond. They continue to stare blankly. “I hope you don’t mind if I switch things up a bit. Your boy is gonna be a little preoccupied during the next few tracks.”

The deafening silence is lifted with the start of a new song, and the people suddenly spring back to life, completely unaware of the mindless state they were in. Their only goal was to keep partying.

Your body was moving again as well, this time bobbing gently to the double and triple beats and low frequencies that vibrate through the floor and up your spine.

This...this was the type of melody you feared, and yet it didn’t affect you any more than the other songs. All of them were traps.

The only way you can think of fighting back is by filling your head with songs of praise. Keep your Lord in your thoughts. He will protect you.

“Tsk...angel, that stuff doesn’t work when I, ya know, already ate a piece of you.” His face tightened from hearing just a few seconds of the holy song in your head. “I told you, ya gotta loosen up a bit. You’re already dancing better than I thought you would!”

He paid no attention to his other prey, instead admiring your simple but energetic movements.

Then he began to move as well, shoulders doing a slow shimmy and following each of your steps with his own, moving closer and closer until he was able to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you in.

He’s warm. Not burning or emitting an aura of terrifying darkness. The music suddenly feels softer, easing your fears. Like an intimate embrace. 

“There, it’s not so bad, is it?” He says lowly, lips almost touching your face. “Quit thinking about your big daddy for once.”

You want to protest against the disrespectful nickname for your God, but he predicts your reaction and tightens his hold on your spirit.

“You taste so damn incredible right now, don’t mess it up,” he groans and savors you. With every part of you that is consumed, it becomes harder to resist. It would be so easy to just hold onto him and keep swaying like this, rocking back and forth as his hips press against yours, grinding into you.

The unfamiliar sensation startles you, but Hizashi shuts down your panic with a growl. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’ve forgotten.” he murmurs into your shoulder, breathing deeply to take in your scent. “I’ve been so hooked on the party life that I forgot just how heavenly innocents like you taste. To think that I’d have an actual priest dancing with me, tasting that revelry from such a pure source...pardon my blasphemy, but goddamn.”

You’re swimming through the fiery haze clouding your mind, clawing against it in a desperate search for an opening. But with every beat, the haze thickens and you sink further in.

You couldn’t find the light. No salvation.

More sinful feelings assault you from the friction of his groin against yours, a growing bulge rubbing on your most sacred area. It sends a foreign tingle down there.

“Ooooh, don’t think I can’t feel that, baby” he rasps, holding you so closely in a dance fitting for two lovers. “I can sense everything now that you’ve let me in.”

That angers you enough to find your voice again, just barely. “I didn’t let you in...” You tense from another hard grind. “Foul...beast.”

“Are you sure? You’re giving in pretty easily. It’s nothin’ to feel bad about, I promise. Humans aren’t built to resist life’s basic needs, so I don’t know why the big man in the clouds gets so wound up about it all the time.” 

How dare he.

“Damned snake!” You force your hands to beat against him and push him off. “You will not corrupt me with the Devil’s words!”

He’s actually shocked for a moment, even to your own surprise, but he laughs it off. “Geez, my bad! I guess you are pretty persistent. Must be…” He grabs the cross around your neck, ignoring your horrified gasp. “...this.”

With a sharp yank and a pinch at the back of your neck, your one remaining object of holy protection is removed.

And with its loss, his influence completely overpowers you. The clearness of your senses switches on and off.

The music is muffled. It’s too loud.

The roaming lights are blurry. Too bright.

Are you still moving? Or is your body too heavy?

“It stings a bit, but that little thing can’t do much when the wearer’s already under my control.” An unfocused image of the demon tossing your precious necklace over his shoulder, the necklace you’ve held close to you since the day you first stepped into the cathedral and accepted your role as a righteous defender of man.

Your essence is now being stolen so quickly that it makes you shiver. He shouldn’t be taking this much.

“Mmm, I can’t get enough of this,” Teeth that are too sharp brush against your neck, threatening to pierce your skin. “I’m an old guy, ya know. I’ve done a lot of experimenting over the centuries, to see what I’m into.”

There’s a rip, and your gown is being pulled down along with your wings. It only relieves you from the growing heat of your surroundings.

“Y’see, our daddy isn’t a helicopter parent. He brings us into the world and just...lets us decide what to do. So no, my words ain’t the Devil’s words. They’re just mine, honey. I live for myself.”

Tilting your head, he presses his lips against your throat, making your breath hitch. No, your body is sacred. Don’t let him do this to you.

You don’t even know when the music had changed, but you’ve noticed the club was filled with a synthetic ambiance, the colors switching to magenta and cyan. 

The party demon is so captivated by you that he doesn’t even acknowledge the change in tune. “I used to stalk the depressed. Wasn’t worth it, they were too bland.” He peppers kisses down to your collarbone. “I tormented scared paranoid folk. Fun, but it loses its flavor fast.”

Your bra is removed to expose your breasts to him and the entire populace within the building. Your heart races, but the synths don’t stop seeping into your ears, the bliss wrestling with your fear. 

“Shh, don’t freak out. I’ll make sure everyone forgets everything that happened tonight.” He attempts to reassure you while massaging your newly revealed mounds. “So time went on as I treated my palate to different tastes. Wasn’t long before I realized my favorite vibes were the good ones. Festivals, games, a few buddies hangin’ out,” he lowered himself and flicked your nipple with his tongue. “Or a couple fucking, I ate all of it up. And after a while I decided that I just liked people in general.”

The pleasure felt when your breast is engulfed by the heat of his mouth is shameful. Hizashi moaned at your taste, though you weren’t sure if it was the taste of your flesh or your lust that was exciting him.

“I liked it when humans were having good times, so I figured out how to join in on the fun and damn, how do you guys keep finding new ways to rock out? The prudes keep droning on about how my favorite type of people have lost their way, but I think they’re the ones who found paradise, and they’re not even dead yet!” After nursing on both of your breasts, he rises and grabs your face to turn it toward the crowd. “I mean, just look at how these guys – oh.”

‘Oh’ indeed.

The people were no longer dancing. They were grabbing at each other, at men and women they probably didn’t even know, tearing apart clothes in a vicious urge to fornicate right there on the dancefloor. Some of them were already completely nude. You avert your eyes to stare at your feet instead.

Hizashi cleared his throat. “Whoops. Look what ya made me do, angel. My lust got the best of me!” He held you close while watching the horrid act before him. You’re trying to move your heavy arms to cover your bare body. “No wonder I’m feeling so horny. Think I should make them stop?”

It takes effort to nod your head.

His lip sticks out in an exaggerated pout before going, “Nah. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an orgy. I bet this is a first for you.”

Something tickles your hips, your eyes wandering over to see the arrow-like point of his tail curling around your white panties, tugging them down.

Part of you already knows that Hizashi is allowing you to struggle for his own amusement. With all of your protection gone, he can easily stop you from swatting at the flexible limb as it brings your final article of clothing down to your ankles.

Wearing nothing but the small strap around your wrist, you want so badly to curl up and hide yourself. You were completely bare on a stage with a demon quietly taking in your form. The contrasting feelings of anxiety and calm threaten to tear your psyche in half.

“Given how anal you guys are about chastity, I think it’s safe to say no one’s ever touched you before?” The way you tense tells him enough. “Alright alright, relax. I’m gonna make this easy for you.”

‘How? By letting me leave?’ You want to say, but your vocal chords aren’t cooperating.

He grinned from ear to ear. “Well, no. I told ya I know everything goin’ on in that head.” He grabs you by the shoulders and places you right in front of his mixer.

There were many suggestive sounds amongst the pile of writhing bodies before you. It was the most depraved sight that you’ve ever witnessed. These people may have been sinners for their immoral pursuits, but they were still victims of a wicked creature’s influence. You wish you could apologize to all of them for failing to protect them.

Slender fingers massaged your shoulders. “Ain’t it beautiful?” He whispers hotly into your ear. “I’m not that crazy about lust, but I can’t resist when it’s coming from someone like you.”

His aura has you shackled on the spot, unable to move or even tear your eyes away from all of the sex. His voice meshes with the increasingly sensual tunes, both him and the music putting you in a deep trance that leaves every nerve in your body extra sensitive.

You’re gently pushed to lean forward until your hands are supporting yourself on the table. The leather of his clothes pressed against your back is irritating, but easily overshadowed by the hands trailing down your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“One of my favorite hobbies was hunting down faithful maidens like you. All demons love doing it, really. You can’t top raw innocence, it’s always a delicacy. It’s the closest most of us will ever get to fucking an actual angel. I managed to fuck an angel, and lemme tell ya, it’s a once in an eternity experience.”

He reaches your mound. There is still fear and an urge to pray, though it’s drowned out by the electronic harmony and all of the hot sex.

“Now she’s a fallen one that hangs out with me. Pretty little devil’s obsessed with sex now. If you’re lucky, maybe she’ll give you a visit in your sleep at midnight.”

His fingers reach your untouched folds, making you gasp. You’ve never felt so much lubrication down there before. Was that normal?

“I was really good at the whole corruption thing, so good that I caught the attention of the big holy boys. They were toughies, gotta hand it to 'em. I decided to lay low after that little showdown. That was all a preeetty long time ago.”

The demon’s voice is background noise as you watch deplorable acts that you didn’t even know existed. One woman was taking a cock into her mouth while another man pounded into her from behind. A new male approached and grabbed her free hand, wrapping her fingers around him and encouraging her to stroke him.

Three men pleasuring themselves with the same woman. They were probably complete strangers.

The repulsive sight makes you wetter.

They sure were having fun.

Hizashi hums at your arousal, sinking a digit into your folds. 

“Ah,” you choke on your own voice. His other hand plays with your breast again while you’re being penetrated for the first time. Some sort of flame was growing within you, burning and pleasing at the same time.

“I thought I’ve found my place. Going place to place and bringing in crowds who just want to forget their troubles for a day and groove.”

The finger pushes through your tightly clenched walls, or at least they try to.

“Fuck, relax a bit, babe,” he groans.

You do exactly that, giving him enough leeway to push in and out at a steady pace. You don’t think about the violation, only the strange friction that has no right to feel as good as it does. 

“And then you come along,” An unexpected sharp thrust causes his finger to brush against a spot that fills your vision with even more blinding lights. “It’s not like I was after you or anything. You’re a solid negative ten on the threat scale, but ya just wouldn’t leave me alone!” He relentlessly hits the spot again, and again, until you’re crying out and your legs are shaking. “Then you waltz in here and try to ruin my favorite night of the year?

He’s able to hide his anger as he speaks, but fails to keep it from entering his possessed victims. The orgy becomes more violent, all of the people looking no more civil than savages in torn rags as they try to dominate and fuck each other senseless.

It affects you as well, going by how annoyed you’re getting by his rambling. Can’t he just focus on pleasing you?

His finger leaves you too soon, your cunt already missing the brand new sensations. “Sorry, babe,” he says when he releases you and begins to undo his pants. “Normally I’d spend more time warming up, but I gotta join in on the raunchiness now before I go nuts. Just...do me a favor.”

You whined, wiggling your hips and rubbing your ass against his freed cock. He only chuckles at your impatience.

“Slow your roll, I’ll get started as soon as you push that button riiiight there.”

You push one of the many glowing buttons, and stock phrases are shouted out of the speakers.

“No, the one next to it.”

You press it, and another song begins.

Hizashi hums in approval. “I usually do a smooth transition between songs, but…”

A hard impact knocks you forward with the overwhelming feeling of being completely filled all at once. The stretch and pressure has your mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

“....Yeah, I just wanted to do that. And-” He yanks the halo off your head and drops it at your feet. “-I always loved the symbolism in that.”

He wastes no time building up. You’re being pounded as hard and consistently as the energetic beat. It should hurt, but the euphoric state of your mind dulls any pain and discomfort. 

With the demon inside both your head and your womanhood, there was no saving yourself. Your prayers wouldn’t even be heard through this thick depraved fog.

“Oh fuck yeah,” He growls loudly with his wild thrusts, hands gripping your hips tightly enough to bruise. “I’ve been missing out. So hooked on the party life that I don’t even remember how it feels to eat up a modest little soul like this.”

Was he still devouring you? You can’t even tell, not while you’re trapped in this melodic dreamworld as his cock rams you.

“Ya mind if we do this again sometime?” He angled himself to ensure he was hitting that sweet spot with each rhythmic pump. Despite his aggression, his hips moved with musical purpose. “Not like you’re much of a priest anymore. You’re fuckin’ a demon, sweetheart. I think the pearly gates have closed for you.”

That sounds sad and all, but God does he feel good. The entire moment was feeling like a hallucination. Your world was saturated with fuzzy images and muffled bass as your virgin pussy was ravaged. The tightened heat in your core was growing hotter by the second.

Hizashi just wouldn’t stop talking even as he became short of breath. “Ah, don’t worry, my doors are always open to misfits!” His rhythm falters a bit when you give him an especially tight squeeze. “Ya like that? I can always wipe your memory of tonight along with everyone else’s, and you can head back home. I just don’t think your next visit to the house of God is gonna end well.”

How does he expect you to care with the way he’s plowing into you?

His arms wrap around you in an embrace. “No pressure, angel. You can decide later. For now, just enjoy the show.”

And finally, he shut up and focused on fucking your divine lights out.

With his pelvis flush against your ass, Hizashi humps with newfound vigor, his thrusts rapid yet precise enough to keep stimulating your most sensitive areas.

The blinding stars in your eyes make it impossible to even make out what’s happening in front of you. A shame, because you want to know if you’re being dicked down as good and hard as the whores on the dancefloor.

The demon may not be talking anymore, but he was still being very vocal about his pleasure with feral moans and growls right into your ear. 

An extra hard slam forces you to nearly topple onto the controls, hands scrambling to keep you upright and hitting several buttons in the process. 

A series of sounds and distortion effects are added to the song.

It unexpectedly riles him up. “Shit, that wasn’t a bad mix, angel. I might have a junior DJ in the making,” he praises.

The tempo changes - different speed and new layers - and Hizashi follows suit by switching his quick bucks into deep thrusts.

The fire inside was close to doing...something. You weren’t sure what it was or what exactly will happen if this lasts any longer, but part of you knows that it’s about to feel very good.

With the head of his dick striking you nice and deep, you quickly learn that you were right.

The explosion of spasms was too pleasurable to even comprehend, each contraction tearing filthy screams from your throat. Hizashi bursts soon afterwards and fills you up with a cry even more lewd than yours.

Just like that, your mind is freed and the weight of his aura is lifted...and you feel gravely tired.

A coldness sweeps over you and saps every ounce of your strength. You find yourself dropping to your knees and falling over as a distant voice expresses genuine worry.

“Oh.......I overfed.” Though it doesn’t sound as panicked as it should.

You don’t want to close your eyes. You fear that something terrible might happen if you do, but your eyelids are quickly becoming too heavy to fight.

“Really sorry, little priest! I didn’t mean to! Look at the bright side - my friends are gonna love ya down there! Home isn’t half as bad as those books make it out to be!”

Each word sounds fainter than the last, but you still catch each one.

Home?

Your eyes shut. 

And the remains of your soul become stained with ash and black before heading downwards into the demonic realm.

Welcome home.