#my son went to the er last night

[peachypede]

It’s come to my attention that the Poppy Playtime fandom has a huge art stealing problem. There are writing blogs that are stealing people’s art and posting their headcanons/writing under them.

I’m here to tell you that you need to always, ALWAYS ask permission from an artist to use their work.

It’s very rude to use art that isn’t yours without permission. It doesn’t matter if you have a disclaimer that the art isn’t yours or if you have a post telling artists to politely ask for their art not to be on your post. It’s YOUR responsibility to ask for permission first and to respect their answer. It’s not the artist’s job to hunt you down and ask you nicely to stop.

[daycourtofficial]

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 14.7k | warnings: depictions of violence, gore, blood, bodily harm

Summary: your relationship with Rhysand had been icy at best, but your attempts to reconcile are quick to be shot down. A rash decision leads you to endangering your life - can Eris find you in time? Can he save your infant son?

Author’s note: happy Gingerfucker Week to all who celebrate!! My first post has to be the most anticipated gingerfucker fic ever - otherwise I’m sure yall would kill me lmao

“Eris, we’ll be fine. Feyre wouldn’t let anything happen to us. But if it would make you feel better, you may winnow us there.”

The babe in your arms slept softly, the smallest crop of red hair peeking out from his swaddled head. Atlas was so tiny, yet had grown so much in his one month of living. The last babe you remember spending prolonged time with was your younger sister, and even though a baby’s basic needs were the same, caring for a wingless babe felt different, almost unnatural.

Being a young female in Illyria meant spending many hours and nights helping the other females with their young. Atlas was likely the first babe without wings you had ever seen. It still surprised you to rub your hand across his empty back or that you didn’t have to stretch his wings multiple times a day.

Only a quick winnow trip separated you from your nephew, leading your impatience to grow with each moment Eris spent rifling through trunks. You were dying to see the toddler, having missed several months of his life due to your brother’s refusal to see you. Things were still rough between the two of you (not from your lack of trying), but they seemed to be improving. It felt right to spend a few days there - to let your family see Atlas, hold him, spend some time with the three of you. It might be foolish, but a tiny babe is enough to have at least some of the pressure off of your mate.

Your words did little to slow him as he flitted about the room, a cloud of anxiety following him as he searched for something you weren’t entirely sure existed. He moved about the room, opening trunks and moving their contents around before closing the lid in a huff. If you weren’t getting annoyed at the delay, you would be amused by his antics. 

“Er, if it’ll really make you this upset, I can wait until tomorrow when you’re able to stay with us.” The possibility that Eris was purposely stalling wasn’t lost on you. He was less than thrilled about this visit, however he was unlikely to ever stop his mate from getting what she wanted.

“No, no, you were adamant about arriving tonight so you could see Nesta on her birthday and- aha!”

From one of the seemingly thousands of chests around your room, all full of gifts from every High Lord, advisor, and courtier the two of you had ever come into contact it seemed, Eris procured a tiny yellow blanket, one end of it full of stuffing to give the illusion of the head of a duck. He raised it quite proudly as if it were a trophy, gallivanting over to the two of you as if he were a prized mare.

“What is that?”

“It’s Atlas’ favorite blanket.”

You squinted your eyes at him, clutching the babe tighter to your chest. The blanket looked brand new, unmarred by the constant stream of dribble Atlas left everywhere he went. Eris ignored you in favor of situating the blanket into the crook of your elbow, situated next to his son. “He’s three months old, he doesn’t have a favorite blanket.”

“Surely pregnancy has not completely rotted your brain. This is his favorite blanket.” He ignored the glare you sent his way, furthering your annoyance. You gripped Atlas tight in one arm, using your free hand to smack Eris’s bicep. An incredulous look overcame his pale face as he turned back to you. “You’ll wake the babe - set him down before trying to get physical with me.”

“I’ll get real nice and physical when I throttle you.” Your threat was not received as you had intended. Instead of coiling in fear and cowardice, your mate moved about, putting everything back into all of the various chests. “Then you’d be late for dinner and breaking Madja’s rules, and I never took you for a tardy rulebreaker.”

“I can throttle you without breaking Madja’s rules.”

“My love do not pretend if you were to kill me you wouldn’t be riding my cock as you did it.” You gasped, moving to press Atlas further into your chest and covering his other ear with your hand. You hissed his name, sending a barbed spike down the bond in frustration. Eris’s hands met his hips, amusement quickly turning into exasperation. “He’s asleep.”

“He can hear you!”

“He is in a deep sleep from spending nearly an hour on your tit. He’s going to be out for the next hour or two.” Eris felt your frustration through the bond, placing his hands on your shoulders, causing you to look up at him. “Come now, I’ll escort you both to Night, see that you are safely in Feyre and Rhysand’s care, then I’ll come back here until tomorrow.” 

Eris moved past you, grabbing the bags you had packed before putting them across his shoulders. He reached an arm out, taking Atlas from your hands and securing him to his chest. You reached out, already missing the warmth of your babe, a hand pressed to his back to feel his slow breathing. Eris moved his free hand up to your face, fingers soft caressed your cheek.

The world changed around the three of you, Atlas shifting slightly beneath your hand as the orange curtains you recently had hung up on the brown paneled walls were exchanged for the light blues of the foyer of the River House. Atlas didn’t stir, but the sudden change in the world made you slightly dizzy. It had been months since you had last winnowed, a fact more pronounced by the stagger in your stance.

Eris had been writing to Rhysand, requesting special permission for him to winnow directly into their home. In true Rhysand fashion, he turned it into a much bigger spectacle than it was by placing special limitations on it, telling him he’d change the wards when everyone departed at the end of the week. His letter contained an additional note at the end, stating, “I will, however, allow Atlas in through the wards permanently in case he were to be a savant and learn to winnow and his first action be to leave you.” You had sent Rhys a responding scathing letter using words Eris was not entirely certain were real. 

Feyre and Rhysand were waiting in the foyer, Feyre quickly standing off of Rhys’s lap to embrace you. Feyre always treated you differently than the others did, perhaps because she knew how awful it could feel to be as no more than an extension of Rhysand. Or perhaps because she knew what it was like to go to the ends of the earth for your mate. 

You melted in her embrace, her lilac and pear scent a bit flowery but welcome. Her hug was gentle, careful not to squeeze too hard, something the High Lady had to work at perfecting after being turned high fae. It had taken years for her to master her grip strength. That time was not missed, however, the crushed door handles were always a source of amusement.

“Eris,” Feyre smiled, reaching her hands out after untangling herself, shifting to look at the High Lord, “hand over the baby and no one gets hurt.”

You giggled, pushing Eris toward her outstretched arms. She cooed at the bundle as it was put into her arms, her fingers moving the blanket so she could see his face. She made little faces, the Cursebreaker nowhere in sight as the babe reached out for her, gently grabbing her loose hair.

“He looks just like you, Eris.”

“How unfortunate.” Rhys ignored the pointed look he received from Feyre, picking lint from his jacket as he strolled forward. You stayed silent as he wrapped his arms around your body, and you couldn’t help but melt a little in his embrace. He was an asshole, gods was he an asshole, but he was still your brother and you loved him so dearly. You could feel the tension slough off of Rhys’s shoulders in your embrace, hoping this weekend could be a step forward for all of you.

Eris leaned down, kissing Atlas on the forehead before softly rubbing his head. He gurgled in response, causing Feyre to chuckle. 

“I just want to eat his little cheeks! Nyx doesn’t have his chubby cheeks anymore, it’s a real shame.” Her hand gently smoothed over Atlas’s cheeks as she spoke, her heart breaking over realizing just how much her little boy had grown.

“He’s not on the menu tonight, Feyre.” 

“I know, but I just want to eat him! He’s truly adorable.” Feyre continued making faces, certain she could get a tiny giggle from them. She puffed her cheeks and moved her lips a bit, deflating at the indifference Atlas showed her. 

“I trust that your wards are secure enough for the two of them.” Eris cut into the discussion, having noticed the sun moving through the windows. Stacks of papers sat on his desk waiting for his eyes to peruse them in preparation for the next day’s council.

Rhys rolled his eyes, nearly scoffing at the male’s tone. “If they weren’t sufficient, would I allow my mate and son to live in them?”

“Rhysand, I am not in the business of trying to make sense of every decision you make.” Rhys opened his mouth to respond, but Feyre’s voice cut through the growing tension, extinguishing the sparks the two High Lords were sending each other. “That’s enough, thank you Eris for winnowing them here. We’ll be seeing you tomorrow?” 

His amber gaze was glued to the tiny bundle before dropping the bags he was holding. The Autumn High Lord did not want to leave his son. He was still so small and so vulnerable. He remembered all of his brothers at such a size and it never ceased to amaze him how much newborns truly depend upon their parents. He looked back up to his mate, one last confirmation needed. A slight nod was all it took before he cupped her jaw, swiftly kissing her forehead.

“I will see you all tomorrow, then.”

-

Feyre had left quickly after Eris’s departure, returning Atlas to your arms before checking on Nyx. Truthfully your sister in law looked exhausted, and you were sure she was taking any opportunity that Nyx slept to take a nap of her own. She had written to you just last week that Nyx was in a sleep regression and she and Rhys were not having a great time. You had offered to reschedule your visit, but Feyre insisted you come and outright demanded to see the babe. She had said Nyx had lost his baby smell ages ago and she was convinced smelling it on Atlas could get her through this sleep regression.

You sat in Rhys’s study, Atlas sleeping on your chest after having just fed and changed him. Before running off, Feyre had given you one of Nyx’s old onesies, the pale babe in your arms looked so out of place in the black fabric. It felt so strange to be back in Rhys’s study - it must have been at least two years since you had last been in this room. It looked exactly the same - the massive portrait of Feyre looming over the two of you. So much had changed the past few years, and yet nothing had. Rhys looked exactly the same sitting across from you. If you placed Atlas down, it would be as if you had never left.

“Watch out for Cassian.”

Rhys’s words confused you. You waited for further explanation, looking up to find Rhys’s gaze on Atlas. Deciding he likely won’t tell you, you asked, “why?”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning from the shift in weight. “He followed Feyre around for months, asking to try some of her milk.” He laughed at your grimace but continued. “Someone told him the health benefits of breastmilk and he’s more than determined to get his grubby hands on some.”

“Eris will be thrilled to hear that.”

You could hear his retort clear as a bell in your mind. “A bastard so desperate for a mother’s love he’d suck random teets to get it.” You decided it was best kept to yourself.

You ignored Rhys’s scowl at the mention of your mate. “Do you think he’s trying to convince Nesta to have a babe so he can take the milk for himself?”

“I’m absolutely sure of it. Nesta kicked him out of the house for a few days because he wouldn’t stop trying to make everything into a deal to impregnate her.” Rhys was smiling at the memory of a downtrodden Cassian slipping into the River House one night, Feyre passing him as he grumbled about her sister. You laughed softly at Cassian’s antics. 

It felt strange to be back here - in the Night Court, in the River House. As if you hadn’t left, your family continued on. Their lives continued with or without you. Your heart felt a slight twinge at the realization. You would choose Eris again and again, but you did miss the everyday antics of your family.

“Have I told you that Eris’s hounds detest Lucien? He visited a week prior and two of them worked together, one in front and one in back, to table top him into some mud- what is that face for?” Rhysand tried to recover the earlier smile, his mouth slowly forming into a grimace. It was impossible not to notice - he looked as if he smelled something terrible.

“Nothing. Just remembering something I have to do.” A lie. Your blood was heating beneath your skin. It annoyed you to no end whenever Rhys lied to you, something you hadn’t been able to shake since childhood. It made you irrationally upset, hormones raging through you.

“No, it’s because I was talking to you about Autumn, wasn’t it? Can’t you at least pretend to care about my life?”

“I do care.” He leaned back in his chair, trying to give off an air of nonchalance, but his eyes remained sharp.

You stood slowly, ensuring your feet were steady as you rose with Atlas. “I won’t sit here and listen to you lie to me, Rhys. I thought we were past this, I thought things were different now.”

“They are different.” His curt responses caused your nostrils to flare, your jaw tightening with every word.

“Because I made them different?”

“Your words, not mine.” You groaned, feeling like a little girl before him. He looked like he were dealing with a petulant child, his gaze only adding more fuel to your anger.

“You are so..” you trailed off, not knowing where to start. Pigheaded, brainless, annoying, condescending.

Rhys’s mouth turned into a snarl. “Think any harder, why don’t you?”

“Oh, you’re such an asshole!” You cradled Atlas’s head closer to your chest, placing a hand over his ears. “You’re such a dick, Rhysand. You can’t stand that I have a life away from you and this court.”

“I tolerate it.”

Your jaw dropped as his words tried to take shape in your mind. “You tolerate it? What the fuck does that mean? I’m trying to open up to you about my life, Rhys. About my home. I’m trying to fix things.”

“Fix the things you broke? Why don’t you just go back to your new home, then, if Night is so inferior you have to cross courts for cock.”

You stilled, slowly turning towards your brother, head cocked. The tension had reached its boiling point but you weren’t shying away from it. “Is that all you think of me then? Someone who gave up her title, her name for love. That I did it all for a quick fuck?”

“Don’t act as if you gave it all up for him.”

“You forced me to!”

“I have never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to.” He rose to his feet, his hands slapping on his desk accenting his words. The air went cold at his words, the insinuation lingering.

“That’s rich, Rhysand. You spout off about choices, but really it’s always ‘option A: what Rhys wants’ or ‘option B: perilous death and despair’.”

“Maybe it’s because if I don’t guide you, you make stupid decisions.” His eyes flickered to Atlas, and your blood boiled beneath your skin. You took a step forward, jaw clenched as you snapped at him. 

“Are you insinuating that Atlas was a stupid decision?”

“I’d never insinuate what I can convey with words.”

Tears stung in your eyes, one landing on the tiny head in your arms. The room was too stifling, too suffocating. You had to go anywhere but here.

“Well, if insinuations are out the window, listen to me loud and clear: fuck. you. Fuck you, Rhys. Sorry I don’t fall into line with the path you planned out for me. Sorry for making my own choices. Sorry that the Mother made plans for me and didn’t ask for your input. And I am terribly sorry for Feyre because you are an asshole!” 

You couldn’t take it anymore. You winnowed into the void. If you heard Rhysand’s voice for one second longer, you’d say something horrible. Irredeemable. Anger simmered at his words, claws desperate to come out and stoop to his level. He never understood your choices, never tried. No matter how many times he had promised to listen, Rhys had never tried to fix the walls he had put up between the two of you. 

The world shifted as you thought about your home in Autumn, the brilliant leaves of the forests, the warm spices of the kitchen, your mate’s touch. A blur of colors passed and your throat tightened as shame washed over you. Eris was right - you shouldn’t have come. You needed more time. Rhys needed more time. You clutched Atlas tighter, taking comfort that you had him, at least. 

Mind hazy, you moved through the courts, the world flashing with sunshine, the rush of an ocean, and the patter of rain until your magic unraveled, and the two of you fell from the air onto your back into a wooded area. At the impact, Atlas sniffed and then whined as he rubbed his face against your shoulder.

You took in your surroundings, opening your eyes to the bright afternoon sun peeking through the trees. Your eyes darted the area, looking for any signs of life as you laid still. Atlas moved in your arms as you maneuvered the two of you, trying to sit up to lean against a tree for better sight. Once you were certain no one else was around, you pulled Atlas away from you, unwrapping him from his swaddle to assess him for any injuries. His wailing was piercing through the woods, a sure cry to any creatures that were here.

You shushed him as you checked him, content that his worst injury was being woken from a nap. His cries were lacerations on your heart, each tiny inhale causing so much distress. It nearly cracked you in half, deep breaths a half hearted attempt at self-soothing.

The land was unfamiliar, nothing about it gave you any information about where you could be. The two of you were surrounded by trees, none any species which were familiar. The green leaves blocked out most of the sun, occasional streaks of light passing through. This didn’t feel like any of the solar courts - did you winnow past the mountain? If you had, you would have landed in Winter, or if you veered off course in Summer. Maybe you overshot and ended up in Spring?

The two of you moved about the area, your feet crunching on dry leaves as you went. You hadn’t made it very far before stumbling over a large root, some how hidden beneath your skirts. You barely caught yourself, the jerking motion causing another round of screams to come from Atlas. His little face was so red from crying. You looked back to the spot you had landed, hoping to sit back against that tree once more, but the land behind you wasn’t what it had been. In its place was a swampy scape, several inches of water that would have made your trek impossible. You clutched Atlas tighter to your chest, tucking his head beneath your neck.

You swiveled your head around, breathing labored as you realized you were somewhere you haven’t been in centuries. Where the land was nonsensical and ever changing, where horror stories began and ended. The land above the mountain where atrocities occurred in the caverns and tunnels beneath it. 

The two of you were somewhere in The Middle. A land no court wanted for themselves, the tireless mazes too much for any fae to justify living in.

A land no one wanted to be lost in.

-

Pumpkin wandered into Eris’ room, the small pup clearly lost without Atlas to follow around. Eris ignored the whimpering from the hound, the beast having grown incredibly close to his son in a short span of time. It was sweet the way the hound trailed behind him when he was carrying Atlas, shushing and singing him to sleep. Eris was especially happy to see Pumpkin and Clover standing on high alert whenever Atlas was being fed. It soothed some part of him to know even in moments he had to step away from, his family was well guarded, even if just from his brothers.

Eris reviewed his notes, annoyance simmering beneath his skin at the distance between him and his family. He’d never deny you anything, but if you had had any doubts about spending a night without him, he wouldn’t complain about your presence in Autumn for one more night.

Pumpkin whined once more, Eris’s pen dropping at the sound. His chest felt hot with anger, something he’s unsurprised by. Any visit with Rhys often left the two of you fighting, your anger flaring through his veins as you fought. Your own feelings were compounding his own, utter annoyance at the meeting that kept him away from his mate. 

Eris felt a sharp tug in his chest, nearly pulling him from his seat. Everything inside of him was pinging, his chest felt heavy with fear and uncertainty. What was happening over there? He waited a moment, trying to parse out each emotion. The anger in his chest subsided, every instinct inside of him urging him to go. He abandoned his notes, watching the brown hues of his study swirl and churn into black and blues.

-

Feyre looked about the office, confusion crossing her blue gray eyes as she didn’t find who she was looking for. “Rhys, where’s your sister?” Feyre’s voice echoed across the room as Rhysand took another sip from his glass of whiskey, slumped in his chair.

“Autumn.”

Feyre looked around, as if he were lying, covering up her hiding somewhere in the room to surprise her. “What do you mean she’s in Autumn? She was supposed to stay here for a week so we could spend time with her and Atlas.” Rhys shrugged, his eyes unable to meet Feyre’s, “she left.”

Feyre’s eyes were skeptical, certain that her mate was leaving pieces out. Things had been tense, but surely it didn’t take her mate three hours to scare off his sister?

“Did Eris take her back? Change his mind about his mate being here?”

Rhys gritted his teeth at his brother in law’s name, sinking into his chair slightly, “no.”

Feyre ticked her jaw, determination flooding her to understand her mate’s standoffishness. “Was she upset by our accommodations?”

“No.”

“Did Cassian annoy her into leaving?”

“No.” It came out as a growl, causing Feyre’s eyebrows to raise. “Just cut to the chase, Feyre. Ask what you really want to know.”

“What did you do?”

He sucked in a breath, as if the question were shocking. “Words were exchanged.”

That was all Rhys was able to get out before the doors to the room burst open, the wood hitting the walls as all of the heat was sucked out of the room, everything going cold as the High Lord of the Autumn Court stormed in, his rage palpable. Cassian trailed behind him, trying and failing to hold him back, unable to stop his path.

The redhead looked around the room before he stalked over to Rhys, grabbing the collar of his tunic before his hand connected directly with his eye, spitting out, “where is my mate?”

Rhys wrapped his hands around Eris’ wrists, trying to get him to stop. Cassian’s hands wrapped around Eris’ biceps before quickly pulling them away, his hands smoldering.

“Stay back, pigeon, if I find out you had a hand in this I’ll burn more than just your hands.”

Eris was a blazing storm inside of the house - his flames were erupting over the surface, turning the room red with heat. Dark tendrils of shadow coated the flames, attempting to extinguish them. The flames burned a bright blue in response, whirling around the tendrils, burning them up.

“Did my sister come to her senses and leave you? Ran off with one of your more capable brothers?” Rhysand’s smirk dropped as Eris hauled him from the chair, pressing his back to the wall. Eris’ long fingers dug into the lapel of Rhys’ dark coat, the fabric singing as the redhead pressed him into the wall. 

“Watch your tongue, Rhysand. It would be a remarkable mount on my wall.”

The two males snarled at each other, Rhys moving his leg out to get Eris off balance. He faltered just enough for Rhys to get momentum, swinging his fist into Eris’s face.

Feyre and Cassian were scrambling as the two continued their brawl, both High Lords successfully bruising the other.

“Where is she, Rhys? Have you locked her away in a tower, thinking I wouldn’t notice?”

Rhys pushed Eris off of him, hands moving to straighten his jacket to find his lapels singed off. 

“Perhaps you need to hone your abilities at hide and seek before Atlas is older.” Rhysand’s nonchalance caused Eris’s anger to burn brighter, certain the day was going to end with the Night Court in ashes.

“Why can’t I find my fucking mate but I can feel her desperation and fear in my chest?” Eris’s words clanged through the room, everyone stopping to take in his words. Feyre moved closer to him, her voice soft. “What do you mean, Eris?”

“I mean,” he snarled in Rhys’s direction, “something's very wrong. She has never felt like this in my chest before. Not even during labor. She’s panicking, I have never- never felt this from her before.”

Feyre turned to Rhys, her eyes wild with concern. Eris was quick to interject, his voice echoing through the room. “No, don’t do this. Don’t be communicating where I can’t hear it. This is about my mate, I deserve to hear it.”

“You don’t deserve-” Feyre’s arm on Rhys’s bicep stops him. “Rhys, where is she? Where’s Atlas?”

The High Lord of the Night Court’s chest was heaving with each breath, certain a rib or two was broken. “They went back to Autumn.”

“They haven’t arrived in Autumn.”

Rhys went pale, concern taking over his features. “They must be. They winnowed away ages ago - did she go straight to bed?”

The words fueled his rage once more, his voice on the edge of despair. “She is nowhere in Autumn.”

-

Trudging through the forest, you weren’t certain which way you were headed. You tried to feel for that bond with Eris in your chest, trying to pull it taut to receive some direction but whatever cord it created merely tugged you in over a dozen directions, the strength of each pull ebbing and flowing with your breath. You felt Eris’ concern grow as you stood, looking in all directions.

The trees were too tall for you to see the sun - it would give you some indication of which direction to head. Autumn laid in the southeast of The Middle, but navigating through its woods would still be impossible even with the sun’s guidance.

You cursed your hothead, annoyed you couldn’t just run out of Rhys’s study and go hide in your room until Eris came back. Surely you could have tried to mend things with Rhys, not just going on the defensive?

You spun in a circle, nearly tripping over more roots before deciding to just pick a direction and go. Atlas remained calm in your arms, what little power you have going to soothe him. Your breaths were slow and deliberate, trying to keep yourself calm. It was working enough to soothe Atlas and to keep a level head, and that was all that mattered.

You would need a source of water soon. It felt like you were moving on a downward slope, keeping your eyes peeled for any creeks or streams nearby. Sweat collected at the nape of your neck, sticking to the hair that covered it. It was oppressively muggy, the air feeling heavy with humidity. 

Time was hard to track in the Middle, every moment stretching endlessly as you continued to walk a path that seemed to never change. Each tree looked the same as the last, no distinguishing characteristics to help you track any sort of progress. 

Perhaps you were stuck in an endless loop, circling the same bit of land over and over until you collapsed from exhaustion.

“Running from something?”

A high pitched voice caused you to stop mid stride. A sinister tilt to the question that caused you to secure Atlas to your chest before your feet went flying without turning to look at the source.

-

Eris paced across their floor, a thin layer of fire coating his skin and clothes, a small trail of flames followed his path on the floor. 

“I would prefer if you didn’t leave scorch marks on my floor.” Rhysand’s voice was buzzing in Eris’s ears, much like the annoying pests of Summer.

“And I would prefer my mate to have a better family, preferably one who doesn’t allow her to leave unattended so soon after giving birth.”

Eris was itching to unleash his anger, desperate for some fight to break out to let out a fraction of the rage that had nestled in his gut.

“My sister’s been strong-willed since she was born, anything she gets her mind on she does.” Rhys strode closer to Eris, looking down at the new High Lord. It hadn’t even been two full years since the magic had chosen him. The newfound power that thrummed within him was an adjustment, but he had quickly taken the reins of it. Now he felt like nothing more than a vessel for the well of magic inside him, set to erupt any moment.

“And yet, she’s not foolish enough to believe she could winnow across Prythian unless she felt she had no other option.”

“What are you insinuating, Eris?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, Rhysand. I’m speaking directly. I apologize if my language is too complex for your pigeon brain to understand.” Something in Eris snapped before he pushed Rhysand up against the wall, his head thumping against the wall as flames licked around Rhys’s skin, not burning, but restricting. “My mate felt so unsafe she took our babe and her chances of going anywhere but here.” 

Every other word was enunciated with Eris shoving him into the wall, “and now you better pray to the Mother we find them both unharmed or your mate will rule this court alone.”

Rhys snarled at the threat, a rebuttal dying on his tongue as someone pulled Eris off of him, shoving him into a chair. Eris’ snarl died as he met the eyes of the eldest Archeron, the only person in this court he truly tolerated. 

“Killing Rhysand can wait. Unfortunately, he may be helpful in finding her.” Nesta’s voice was a pleasant surprise for Rhys, probably for the first and last time. He took in a deep breath, the flames gone from his neck, before he straightened his jacket, moving toward the maps Azriel and Cassian had been looking over. The two Illyrians had been having a discussion of their own while Eris and Rhys fought, both too caught up in plotting to pay mind to the High Lords. Cassian’s thick fingers trailed a path from Velaris to where they knew the Forest House was located. 

“Eris would know the second she stepped foot in Autumn, Rhys would know if she were in Night.”

Azriel stood rigid, his wings tucked in tight behind him. A formidable strategist determining the right course of action. “She could be anywhere in Day, Dawn, or Winter.”

“Or in The Middle.” Just the name gave Nesta chills, the phantom feel of the Kelpie around her. She swallowed harshly, the action feeling more restricting than it should.

“Lucien’s in Day, I could fill him and Helion in there while Azriel goes to talk to Thesan. Mor can go to Winter. Rhys, Cassian, Nesta, and Eris can look around the Middle. Elain, you stay here, take care of Nyx. If she comes back, let the twins know and they’ll contact us.” Feyre looked around, wanting to see how everyone felt about the plan. Everyone was on edge, this relief team more likely to implode on itself than succeed. 

This was a tragedy and everyone had a finger they wanted to use to pinpoint the source. 

-

Trees were a blur, hitting the ground in swift footfalls, every breath not big enough. There was no cleared path to take, the brush and bramble catching on ankles. Blood dropped from the nicks and cuts of thorns, but the urgency to run never stopped.

Atlas continued crying, soft wails coming from him as you pulled him closer to your chest, trying to quiet his pain.

There was no way to know where you were going, paths changing as you moved down them, but you continued forward, deciding it was your best option. You knew whoever found you was still following you, their breathing so loud it felt like they were right behind you.

Sudden sharp, shooting pain caused you to fall, your ankle caught on something as you fell forward. Quick thinking had you turn on your side, taking the brunt of the fall, except some thorny vines sliced through the swaddle, cutting Atlas’s arm.

Brows cinched together, the pain from your foot almost unbearable. Eyes were pinched closed, not wanting to see what had caught your foot. Whatever it was was still there - and was crushing your leg too. It took everything not to wail out in pain, matching Atlas’s cries. You breathed in through your nose, lifting up your skirt enough to see the metal bear trap that had clamped shut around your left leg, blood rushing out in spurts.

The sight caused bile to catch in your throat, quickly moving your head to the side to expel it.

Trying to sit up and assess the situation was no longer an option when the hunter appeared, her strong hands wrapping around the trap and tugging your body toward her. A scream ripped from your throat as blood gushed out of the wound, hot pain causing your vision to darken with each tug of the chain. Atlas was wailing, the protective arms of his mother insecure for the first time. His grip loosened on the duck blanket he carried, the yellow fabric turning brown with mud.

-

The Inner Circle and Eris were divided into teams, each taking on their own travels. Once everything was agreed upon, Eris was the first to winnow away, grabbing Nesta by the arm to take with him. She struggled in his grip as the world blurred around them, the smell of the unforgiving forest burning Nesta’s nose. Eris held tight against her as the familiar smell of burnt umber filled his nose, the two reappearing in his study. 

Nesta searched the room, never having set foot in the Autumn Court, much less the Forest House Eris resided in. She looked at the papers scattered across Eris’s desk, eyes quickly scanning for anything of interest. A quick, high whistle startled her, bristling in his grip before a large hound came barreling through the door. A second, longer whistle came before the beautiful, sleek hound stopped before Eris.

He wrapped his hand around the hound’s collar before winnowing the three of them once more. Nesta’s head spun as the ground slipped from beneath her feet once more, the back to back winnowing causing her to stagger once they landed in a forested outcrop.

Eris quickly let go of her, his ears and nose twitching for anything he could pick out. Satisfied the area was secure enough, he gave the command to Clover, telling her to fan out. He was certain she knew Atlas and his mate by name, but nonetheless he provided a discarded shirt to her. She took large inhales, memorizing the scent before she ran off, her nose to the ground. She weaved between trees, dodging above ground roots with practiced ease. 

Eris didn’t wait before taking off in a brisk pace after Clover, boots stomping through the muddied ground, his boot prints replacing paw prints in the soil. Nesta tried to keep up, her form trailing behind Eris as they moved through the landscape. 

The Middle was unlike anywhere else in Prythian. It was what Nesta expected faelands to be when she was a mortal girl. Roots snarled over barely forged paths, an attempt to trip up any travelers. The landscape was hazy, almost dreamlike. There was an idea of what you were looking at, but the longer you looked, the more confusing it became. Hairs stood on end, a perpetual feeling of being watched followed travelers as they moved across paths.

Paths were nonsensical - rivers flowed up the mountain, ending wherever they wished rather than venturing out to the sea. Nesta’s limited experience here before was enough to know she did not care for the creatures that lurked here.

Nesta’s eyes were sharp, looking in every direction, desperate to pinpoint and remove the feeling of being watched. Eris trudged ahead, uncaring of Nesta’s plight behind him. He made no attempt at stealth - whatever they would find out here, Eris wanted the beast to know he was on the move. A bark up ahead quickened Eris’s pace, a catch in his throat at what his furry companion may have found.

The barking continued until Eris reached a break in the trees, finding Clover sat on her haunches. Tears sprang at his eyes at Clover’s discovery, crouching down to investigate further. He knew what it was, even covered in dirt and mud. He had handled the thing just hours prior.

Nesta caught up to the pair, pressing her hand to a tree, trying to catch her breath. Eris was hunched over something while Clover whined softly next to him, sitting perfectly still. His arm reached out, pulling something from the mud. He motioned Nesta over, pulling her water skein from her before pouring some out onto the muddied thing. The clear water ran brown, the dirt clinging to the object before running off it. Eris’s fingers rubbed at the spherical shape to reveal yellow fabric. He poured more water, draining the entire skein, to find a tiny yellow blanket with the face of a duck sewn onto it. 

-

Darkness swam at the edge of your vision, everything feeling so bright as you were dragged through the dirt. Your fingers pressed hard into Atlas’s blanket, a firm grip desperate to keep him as close as possible. His cries were causing pain to swell in your breasts, your body not knowing the difference between his hunger and his concern.

Your body ached, the pain ricocheting through every crevice. You grit your teeth, not wanting to give the female any satisfaction. 

There were rumors of fae who roamed The Middle. They were an interesting subspecies of fae - their movements were said to be jerky and strange, their bodies having adapted to the constant change of their homelands.

There was no known record of how many there were or anything about them. They were urban legend during Amarantha’s reign, thought to lurk the woods to drag anyone who fled her captivity back to the Evil Queen herself.

Rumor turned into a nightmare as she grabbed you by the bear trap, your cry of pain echoing through the trees, certain the blades were going to cut through the bone. A gutteral scream left you as she pulled you up by the ankle, shoving you into what seemed to be the back of the wagon. Somehow you still managed a tight grip on Atlas, his wails blocking out all sound. The wretched creature pushed the two of you up, your ankle catching on something too dark to see as she pushed you further in. It smelled awful, the stench of urine and vomit coating your nostrils.

Her rough, barklike hand let go, the pain subsiding enough to look around. You felt woozy from the blood loss, certain you were going mad when you heard barking somewhere in the distance. There wasn’t much in the back of the wagon - a wooden floor covered in various dark, unidentifiable stains. 

Your thoughts whirled with self-deprecation, this whole situation being preventable if you had just stopped and waited.

Patience was a virtue you certainly had not acquired.

It was getting harder to stay awake, the pain overbearing. Sweat made your clothes cling to you, nearly chafing from the dryness. The last thing you thought of before drifting off was that the barking sounded like home. It sounded like warm pumpkin bread and cold nights spent by the fire.

-

The wet blanket squished between his fingers, water evaporating off the surface as he boiled with anger. The air around him seemed to silence, waiting to know what the High Lord would do next.

“Clover, find.” His command was razor sharp, the smokehound racing off, her muzzle to the ground. Eris ended many of his days with Clover, the hound loose, the need to hunt satiated as she found whatever it was she had been looking for. The thrill of not knowing what the two would find.

It was the worst hunt of his life. The uncertainty of how it would end. Most hunts saw him thirst for blood, content at culling the populations of the prey animals around Autumn.

This hunt was nothing like that.

He waited for his trusted companion to return, not wanting his own scent to interfere. Clover was the most clever dog he had bred, but he wouldn’t leave anything up to chance now.

“Nesta!” The voice shouting for the Valkyrie wasn’t too far away, his deep, loud voice not causing Eris to look away from where Clover had descended to.

Nesta wasn’t surprised Cassian had found the pair - her mate had spent the entirety of her time in the Middle tugging and pulling at the cord connecting them. She could feel his concern through it, the concern deepening each time a sound spooked her. But Nesta kept him at an arm’s length. She knew that cold rage that still lingered inside her at Feyre’s near death.  

She knew exactly how Eris felt both now and about Rhysand in general. They both were members of the ‘resignedly having Rhysand as a brother in law’ club.

Nesta responded by pulling the bond, tugging Cassian in their direction. She could hear branches breaking and curses shouted before the two Illyrians made their way through the trees. They were both covered in dirt and sweat, the dried mud nearly up to their necks. Nesta couldn’t help the small smirk that formed at seeing Rhysand’s appearance so unpolished.

“Nes-” she quickly cut Cassian off, holding a finger up to him before turning back to Eris. He stood still, lingering on the path his hound had taken away from them. Rhysand observed him too, and Nesta was certain some barb laid on his tongue. Before he could, she brought the two up to speed about the blanket in a hushed tone. As she was finishing, a high pitched bark echoed through the wood. Eris took off in a sprint, the three quickly chasing off after him. They ran several miles, barely keeping up with Eris’s pursuit.

Eris met Clover’s barking, the hound circling a wagon, keeping the owner from getting into the front. The hair on the hound’s spine was raised, her teeth bared as she snarled and snapped at the fae. The horses attached to the wagon were startled by the hound, causing their own commotion. The pauses after their whinnying should have been silent, the space between brays a reprieve. Instead it was filled with the sound of a wailing baby. 

Clover’s teeth clacked at the stocky female, sinking into the fabric of her pants and letting go before she was swatted. The hound had repeated this over and over again, not having received a command to go in for the kill. This hadn’t kept the hound from drawing blood as she nipped, her own territorial act over his master’s family. Blood was dripping from the female’s leg, thick, green liquid falling in puddles on the ground. 

The other three fae weren’t far behind Eris, quickly approaching the scene not a moment after him. Cassian moved toward the wagon while the others approached the female Clover was on the verge of mauling. 

Rhysand flicked his wrist, the reins restraining the horses disappearing, the pair running off. Their hoofbeats got quieter as the fae were surrounded on all sides. She looked between the four sets of eyes, certain the dog was her best bet. The most unlikely of allies banded together as a pack offering no escape.

Cassian climbed into the wagon, his weight shaking the cart. The bounty hunter flicked her forked tongue out, her hand reaching for something on her belt. A shadow lashed out, wrapping around her forearm, causing her to let go of her belt. She shrieked in pain as the shadow twisted her arm behind her back.

The clearing was dark, the only sound came from the bounty hunter’s mouth, cries of pain swallowed them as arm cracked and bent in every direction. The wind caught beneath the bounty hunter’s legs, forcing her to her knees.

“Cassian?” It was perhaps the only time Eris had referred to the general by name. His tone was stern, a voice he had used for centuries as a general himself. But something desperate creeped at the edge of his voice, a reality he didn’t want to consider.

The one where he was too late. That this was the wrong wagon. That his mate was somewhere else and this was a waste of time.

Cassian’s silence forced Eris to move, his feet jumping off the ground without him telling them to. He lunged forward, catching the fae offguard as he landed on her. 

Eris laid on top of the bounty hunter, her long sharp nails scratching at him. One of her arms was still behind her, but she was determined. He didn’t register the fabric she ripped through, uncaring at the scratches on his arms. 

“Cassian, are they alive?” His question was accented with the sharp thud her head made as it hit the ground. She was snarling up at him, her lifeless eyes dark as she peered up at the High Lord.

“Have enough coin for the pair?” 

Eris’ fangs grew longer, the High Lord’s second form desperate to come out. His fingers quickly changed to talons, the nails biting through the fae’s skin, causing her to cry out. She began thrashing once more, Eris’ weight pinning her down. He was snarling, practically spitting as he couldn’t contain the rage boiling inside of him. He heard shuffling behind him, Nesta or Rhysand moving to help Cassian.

“They’re breathing!” He wasn’t sure who yelled it, the sounds blurring together. It sounded like Cassian, but all his mind could make out was they were alive. Alive, alive, alive. It was enough to tide him over for now.

“Take them to the Forest House, my healers are on standby.” He didn’t know if they responded, if they even looked his way, if they tried to argue. That thrumming need inside of him to protect his mate felt satiated enough knowing Nesta or Cassian was with her, that they were en route to Autumn. He wanted to be there, wanted to hold the loves of his life as they went back home. He was desperate to know how they were, to listen to the beating of their hearts.

His gaze narrowed back on the creature beneath him, her brown skin turning red beneath him. His heart was miles away, but it would eat him alive to see a fae with such audacity not receive their comeuppance. 

“And what was the price on her head? How much was she worth to you?” His tone was ice, his question not a rhetorical one. He wanted to know how much this lowlife wanted for the two most precious things in his life. His wonderful mate, his equal in every way. Atlas, his darling boy. To consider them nothing more than traded goods made his stomach churn.

The bounty hunter couldn’t answer, her throat drying and desperate for water with every breath. The air was unbearable hot, but she managed to whisper out, “five thousand gold marks.” Once the words escaped her lips, the hard metal of coins pelted her face. She winced from the pain. Eris ignored the resounding crack in the air, metal meeting bone.

“Here, take it all.”

He poured more coins onto her, winnowing them from somewhere. He could barely think straight, every fiber of his being thrumming with revenge and anger. 

A life for a life, an eye for an eye.

But really, what is the life of a trafficker? 

Every breath was difficult, her lungs ached with heat. Fire caught around the pair, the flames staying low to the ground. Eris still sat atop her, unmoved by the flames circling their bodies, slowly making their way closer to the tree like fae.

“Take them back.” Eris’s command was directed to the group behind him, if they were still even there. He had no idea - his world had become so small. It was just him and this fae now. “Take them back to Autumn. Now.”

Her tongue dissolved to ash in her mouth, unable to speak. The High Lord grabbed more coins, shoving them into her mouth. The gold coins began losing form in her mouth, a river of melted gold pouring down her throat. It burned as it moved through her body, all of her organs alight with heat and fire.

Eris watched as her eyes dried out, as she tried to scream but was unable to. He watched as she thrashed beneath him, begging for mercy as if he were a kind and just god. Eris didn’t believe in the old gods, but if he did, he knew they would approve. He watched for several moments before her body slowly began turning to ash, carried away in the wind.

He didn’t linger long after the remnants of her floated away, not even looking back before winnowing back to Autumn, rematerializing to find the Forest House in chaos. Servants moved quickly through the halls, hurried footsteps as they carried linens and rags toward the team of healers he could hear yelling down the hallway.

“Call off your guards.” The first words to greet him were from his brother in law. It was a voice he could never get used to, the smoothness grating.

Eris’s mate and Rhysand looked strikingly similar - same violet eyes, same feline-like face. But Rhysand didn’t look right in the Forest House. He didn’t carry with him the warmth that made his mate look so at home here, as if the entire court had been made in preparation for her. 

Rhysand seemed so out of place in his sister’s home. The once close siblings’ stark differences could not be ignored.

Eris waved his hand noncommittally, the guards lowering their swords from Cassian’s and Rhysand’s necks. 

“They let me bring her in before threatening me, at least.” Cassian’s joke doesn’t land, the silence bouncing through the hall before Eris moved forward, his path straight to his bedchambers. It was a guess - the correct one - as to where they’d put you to look over you. He stormed into the room, a fierce blaze on the wind as he moved inside. You had been placed on the bed, the healers circling you tending to every inch of you. 

The bond shook with anger, that golden string practically vibrating with urgency at the mangled mess that had been your ankle. 

Nesta was standing off to the side, holding Atlas as he cried. 

“I didn’t want to leave her alone. I haven’t taken my eyes off her this whole time.”

It felt like the cord around his heart had divided into two - one path to the bed, his bloodied mate, the other to Nesta and the tiny bundle that laid in her arms.

He knew which you’d prefer for him to go to. You had an army of healers around you as you laid unconscious, but all Atlas had was Nesta.

“Give him to me.” The tone of the High Lord. Nesta slipped the small babe into Eris’s arms, “they looked him over. He has a scratch on his arm, but otherwise fine.”

The worst feeling his son had experienced up until now had been the harshness of birth. The sensory overload of the world - how loud and bright it was after being evicted from his dark and cozy home. He had not known physical pain, had never been exposed to it. Every fae held him with such tenderness, it was impossible for Eris to rectify that his son, barely a month old, knew the atrocities of fae.

“Someone will check my son every half hour, ensuring he is in good health.” None of the healers answered, but Eris had known them long enough to know they heard him. He took a breath, holding the bundle tight to his chest. Atlas’s cries slowed, softening as he felt the familiar comforts of home.

Amidst all the chaos of the room, it seemed almost like they were alone. Eris’s ears twitched, listening intently to his son’s breathing.

A commotion was heard through the door, but Eris ignored it, opting to let himself feel the comfort of his son.

Shouting could now be heard, breaking the stillness he had artificially created. 

Eris wretched open the door, searching for the source of the yelling, only to find Cassian and Rhysand fighting with the guards at the door.

His jaw tightened, his mate’s family a permanent fixture beneath his skin.

“What are you doing?” Everyone stilled at his words, the hall clearing of commotion.

“Never mind. I do not care. You have done enough. Her family,” Eris nodded towards Nesta and Cassian, “are allowed to stay. You,” he pokes a finger into Rhys’s chest, the tip singeing his shirt, making the black shirt slowly turn ashen, “are not welcome here until she says so.”

The two males continued staring each other down. Eris didn’t blink as he addressed the crowd, “if any of your thoughts align with your High Lord’s words from earlier, I suggest you leave now before I have to disgrace myself with the sight of you once more. Otherwise we have accommodations you may stay in.”

The redhead went back inside to his mate, shutting the door on Rhysand. Eris slumped back in the chair he had pulled up next to the bed, uncertain what to do with himself. Small flames erupted from the hand not holding Atlas as he flexed his fingers, trying and failing to burn off some of his anger. It was all consuming - the death of the fae responsible doing little to quench the adrenaline pumping through him. 

Eris couldn’t stop the biting words coming from him, couldn’t stop the waves of anger coming off of him as the healers worked around him. Your hand stayed still in his, his grip firm as he let loose words he didn’t truly mean.

-

“Why are you out here?”

“I want to be in there, but that Night Court healer kicked me out.” The anger had lessened the longer Eris had sat in the hallway, his mind clear of the chaos anger brings to the forefront. 

Lucien raised an eyebrow, “you take commands from old bitties now?”

“I do when they tell me to come back when I won’t set the curtains on fire.” Lucien looked down at his eldest brother. A fixture in his life, someone so tall in his memories, now looking so inconceivably small as he sat on the floor. He was the High Lord of the Autumn Court, but at this moment he was nothing more than a concerned mate. “And now I feel no better than a kicked hound.”

“You’ve never been one to let being kicked keep you down.”

“I wasn’t the one who got kicked.” Eris’s words were cracked as they came out, finally verbalizing the guilt that had been gnawing at him for hours by this point. It wasn’t very freeing, but it felt surprisingly good to share the feeling with Lucien.

“I wasn’t there-” Lucien was quick to cut him off. The love of your life in danger indirectly because of you was one few understood. “And if you were, this would never have happened.”

Eris stayed quiet, a sight so unfamiliar to Lucien. He looked to the door, surprised at Eris’s lack of desire to have the last word.

“Where is Atlas?” 

“The Archerons are watching over him. Your mate arrived just before I was removed from my own bedchambers.” Lucien was certain it wouldn’t take much to procur that story from Elain. His smile was hard to contain imagining the healers tossing him out.

“Do you trust them?”

“They are three rooms down in a windowless, winnowless room.”

“So you trust the viper?” The fact Eris allowed them to take Atlas away from him was proof enough for Eris’s feelings about the pair. He didn’t want to mention how he wasn’t even trusted alone with Atlas yet.

“I suppose I do.”

A pregnant pause settled between the two, their gazes coming together to look at the door. They sat in silence for a while, neither looking from the door, their minds stuck on the possibilities that laid behind it. Eris tugged at the bond in his chest, desperate to feel his mate on the other side of it. He kept his face neutral at the silence that followed.

“It will likely be a while before she wakes.” A hard truth even harder to verbalize.

“I did not come here for her.”

Lucien’s voice came out strained and soft, so unlike his usual confidence. It betrayed his worries - his concern for not only his friend and new sister, but for the brother next to him. Eris was cruel, playing the part Beron had wanted for so long it was difficult for him to untangle every memory for the truth behind it. 

Lucien knew Jesminda wasn’t his mate, but the grief that nearly consumed him whole was real. He hated Eris for playing the part of dutiful son, but he had played the part of rebellious son. Were the roles they played assigned or did they have some choice in them? The rebellious son returned home to the legacy the prodigal son had dismantled.

“I mean, I did come for her. I want her to be alright.” Lucien leaned against the wall before sliding down it, sitting next to Eris, facing the door his brother’s mate lay behind. 

His unsaid words hung in the air and, shocking both of them, Eris reached out a hand, desperate for some familiar touch. Lucien took it with little hesitation, squeezing softly. Gods, he couldn’t remember the last time he just sat in his brother’s company like this or the last time he had touched Eris.

Despite the circumstances, it felt easy.

The two sat in silence for a while, the air heavy and stifling with uncertainty. 

“Lucien, I..”

Eris trailed off, not sure if the language existed to convey how much fear lingered in his chest. He felt your pain bouncing inside of him like a dull ache, but he couldn’t feel you any longer. He couldn’t take a moment to linger in the part of his chest that was normally bursting with everything you. He didn’t hear any music, the silence almost deafening. Lucien squeezed his hand again, “I know.”

“No you don’t.”

Lucien shrugged, his long hair swishing with the movement. “I don’t know.” He brushed some of his hair off his shoulder, “but I know you look like shit.”

Eris didn’t need to look down at himself to know that his brother was right - he hadn’t bathed since they all went off looking for you, certain there was debris and blood all over his clothes and hair. The sweat soaked shirt clung to his chest, his skin itchy from the contact. The larger of the two made a big show of sniffing the air, crinkling his nose in disgust. “Smell like it, too. But that’s nothing new.”

Eris growled, unable to ignore his brother’s taunts. “At  least I am not a smartass.”

“Ah,” Lucien tutted, a smug look on his face, “now we both know that is a lie. Autumn’s High Lord, starting your new tenure off on mistruths. What a look.”

Lucien’s feline smirk lessened a bit as he looked at his brother with something bordering on fondness. “I will take up the hallway guard if you go bathe. Really, you want your mate to smell you like this? If she doesn’t leave after that, I will be certain you’ve poisoned her mind somehow.”

“I am certain that would be the worst of my crimes.”

“I would believe so, forcing the mother of my babe to believe she was in love with you.”

Eris hissed in response, his knees popping as he stood up. Lucien ignored his brother, his barbs continuing.

“To think the mother of my child could be in love with an old, decrepit thing like you. Witchcraft, I say.”

“You’re not going to be speaking for long if you keep this up.”

“He does look rather like me, don’t you think?” Lucien grinned, something big and wolfish. The look only a little brother could have at getting beneath his brother’s skin.

“And why is your son so pale?”

Lucien shrugged, unbothered by Eris’s irritation. “Ran out of pigment. Who am I to question the Mother?”

“Ran out of my pigment my ass,” Eris muttered, finally moving down the hall to some bathing chambers.

“Do all High Lords speak with such vulgarity or just you?” 

Eris responded by slamming the door, blocking out Lucien’s laughter. He didn’t linger long in the bath, the extra two hundred feet of distance felt like too much space between him and his family. He didn’t want to admit it, but Lucien was right - having the grime removed from his skin made him feel more capable of handling things. Fresh clothes made him feel more like himself.

His brother was still in the hallway when he returned, his head shaking slightly when he saw Eris walking in his direction. The healer must still be tending to you. He stopped at the door next to yours, turning the knob before walking in. The two older Archerons were in the room, his brother’s mate carrying Atlas in her arms. Eris’s son appeared to be in good health - so far each check proved the same, and despite the physician's groaning, he continued them. Elain seemed happy to carry Atlas around, her soft voice explaining to him the recent travels she and Lucien had gone on. 

“Tulips of every color covered the fields. I’m sure one day Lucien and I can take you to see them.” Her vivid descriptions of the continent wasted on the babe’s ears. Nesta’s gray eyes looked toward the door, watching as Eris entered. 

“Elain, the High Lord’s going to have you killed for speaking of kidnapping his son.” He couldn’t help the slight tilt to his mouth, some deep part of him appreciating Nesta’s attempt at normalcy.

“Nonsense, Nesta. If I had Elain killed, Lucien would mope about the house for the rest of his life.” His hands reached out, gently taking Atlas from Elain’s hold. “You keep him entertained for me. I owe you a great debt for it.”

The middle Archeron never knew how to respond to Eris, having only truly interacted with him a handful of times up to this point. She swallowed, thinking of all the stories Lucien had told her about his eldest brother and how language was his preferred method of battle.

“Perhaps you could entertain him with the dog toys?”

Eris tilted his head, his thumb stroking down his son’s back as he bit back a laugh. He knew any Cauldron fated mate of Lucien’s and sister to Nesta was surely somebody of interest to him, but Elain had yet to show anything Eris found to be interesting - until now.

“Did you just make a joke?”

“Yes.”

Eris nodded, wondering if he had underestimated his brother’s mate. The weight of the day had exhausted him, his bones begging for respite. Now that Atlas was in his arms once more, the tiny bundle so warm, his mind drifted to his bed where his mate currently laid. Your fate was still questionable - the healers were certain a full recovery was the most likely outcome, but when had the most likely outcome ever happened with Eris? Had he forged a life for himself only for it to be ripped away from him - the mother wanting him to know what happiness could be so he could feel its absence?

The air held a hint of awkwardness as they all stared at each other, Eris doing nothing to improve the warmth of the room. The two sisters filed out quickly, their voices directed toward Lucien as they left. The click of the door behind them was a beautiful symphony to Eris’s ears. To be alone with his son at last. It had only been twelve hours, but it was more like weeks had passed since he had seen Atlas’s small face, kissing his forehead goodbye. Nothing had felt off - no sense of anxiety overcame him, no fear for his family. Just annoyance and sadness at being away from them. 

Eris gently cradled Atlas’s head as he made his way up the mattress, propping himself up against the headboard, back cushioned by pillows. His son had been restless in his arms when he took him from Elain, his little arms and legs trying to disturb the perfectly swaddled blanket around him. 

The room had no windows and technically connected to his private chambers. When he was a boy, he had a full time nursemaid stay in here. Once he outgrew her, the space became his own private sanctuary. Many nights were spent hidden in this room, no concept of the passage of time as he poured over books, back curved in desperation to stay awake so he could finish it.

The shelves still lined the walls, but he had some of the furniture removed should his mate eventually want her own chambers. 

His muscles ached less the longer he stayed still, and he softly piled up pillows on each side of him. Atlas was stirring in his arms, tiny coos that were endearingly pathetic. He broached a long finger close to Atlas, tiny hands wrapping around it as he settled back down. If he could, he’d strip his shirt to allow his son to rest on his skin, but thought better of it. The jostling would wake him for good, and he’d be doubly upset to know he was on someone’s chest who wasn’t his mother.

The sound of deep breaths was all that could be heard in the room as Eris used his magic to put out the lit candles littering every surface. The darkness of the shadows made his eyes heavier, but he fought to stay awake, not wanting to let his guard down.

“My beautiful son.” Hushed words filled the room, the warmth of his voice almost visible in the darkness. Atlas didn’t acknowledge the words, content in his slumber and being with his father. His body felt warm in Eris’s arms, Vanserra babies always running hot. 

“I will always find you.” Outside the moon rose high in the air, the cold bringing a slight frost to Autumn. The midnight hour was one Eris made most of his best kept promises, all relating to the mate from the Night Court he found centuries ago. A tradition he unknowingly passed on to doing with his son. He was so pale, cheeks flaming pink. 

Atlas didn’t know his father was High Lord or general of Autumn’s armies for centuries. He had yet to experience the parts of himself that Eris wanted to keep hidden. Eris’s eyes closed slowly, lulled by his son’s breathing, content to know that for now, his son only knew him as a father.

-

Eris startled awake, something prodding at his arm. A groan escaped his lips, his brother’s scent filling his nose enough to rouse him from slumber. He must have slept off the adrenaline, his heart rate a more regular rhythm.

“She’s asking for you.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Eris scolded before he shot up, nearly jumping off the bed.

Lucien rolled his eyes, Eris’s annoyance growing further at the action. “You had been awake for days, Eris. You needed the rest. Don’t they say to sleep when the baby sleeps?”

Eris ignored his brother as he remembered his last moments before he fell asleep.

“Where’s Atlas?” 

“Cassian has him.” Eris shot his brother a glare.

“That’s not funny.” Lucien’s hand went up in defense. “Atlas is asleep on Cassian, and Elain and Feyre are with him if he wants any help.” 

“When did you move him?”

Lucien shrugged. “An hour ago, maybe? You didn’t want to let go of him.”

Lucien’s words were nonchalant, an air of not knowing to them. Why would Eris ever let his son out of his arms again? He had already been exposed to the horrors that lay outside his father’s arms - he wouldn’t let it happen again. He left Lucien in the room, the hallway much quieter now. So much had happened in the past few days, and yet the halls of the Forest House were unchanged. 

Eris stood outside the door, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. Heat danced at his fingertips, a small attempt at having any control over the situation. 

Big, violet eyes looked back at him as he opened the door, something settling in his soul. His mate had a plethora of pillows behind her, each one working to prop her up to be sitting. Long black hair flowed around her, lacking its usual shine. The dark hair highlighted just how pale she looked, but life was slowly returning to her face. A blanket covered her lower half - for the best, perhaps. The tight lid he was holding on his rage was sure to give if he were to see her injuries.

“Hi, Er.” Your voice cracked with trepidation. 

“How is the pain?” You looked down at your bandaged ankle, not moving it to check if the pain was still there. The wound only stopped pulsing with pain recently. Though you had been mostly unconscious, flashes of light and intense pain lingered in your memory.

He continued standing in front of the closed door, keeping his back to it. His eyes were focused on your face, watching every slight movement.

“It’s not so bad with the tonics Madja provided. She said the trap got to the bone of my ankle, so I should limit putting weight on it for a week.”

Eris nodded, the healer telling him much of the same. He had been trying to work through solutions to keeping his stubborn wife bedbound, not quite above shackling her to prevent further injury. A bassinette already sat next to their bed - maybe he could have it moved to his side so he could pick Atlas up and bring him to her. 

Eris nodded, staying uncharacteristically quiet. His feelings were dulled in your chest, muffled by a blanket of privacy neither of you used before.

“Say it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He continued staying by the door, his tone growing slightly sharper. He was being petty and spiteful and you were having none of it.

“Tell me how you feel. You have never hidden your anger from me.”

“That is because I have never felt such anger at you.” The room was cloaked with Eris’ words, not quite stifling the roar of the fire.  “I cannot lose you. Either of you.”

His words were soft, nearly a whisper, but the crackle of the fireplace gave hint to how deep the anger ran.

“I know.”

He kept speaking, not acknowledging your words.“You are far too precious to me. Please, don’t ever risk yourself to escape Rhysand.” His words surprised you, a new wave of guilt overcoming you. Your actions had been done out of anger, winnowing when you knew well enough you shouldn’t. 

Everything could have ended so differently. And for what? To get back at your brother?

“Look at me.”

Eris had moved closer to the bed, as if his confession were a bridge that led him to you. His fingers moved slowly, gripping your chin. “There were a hundred better options, including asking the other bats to fly you home. Do not be so foolish with your life. With Atlas.”

Home. How that word had changed over the centuries. It was the cabin in Illyria, your mother and brother and sister inside, occasionally housing Cassian and Azriel. It was being four years old and scraping your knee and Rhys doing everything to dry your tears and make you laugh. It was flying with Cassian, determined to finally beat him in a race, chastisement over how knotted and wind whipped your hair had become.

And then it was Eris. Late night rendezvous turning into a permanent fixture. It was eating meals at the large, expansive table with two chairs right next to each other. Hounds lazing about the house, one practically laid out in every room in the massive dog beds you had insisted on. Warm colors making everything so vibrant.

And now it was Atlas. Two chairs soon becoming three. Two toothbrushes that would become three. A bassinet beside the bed. Teaching him everything he needed to know, his own neck unable to support the weight of his head. 

Tears clouded your eyes at wholly dependent upon you he was and how you wholly failed him today.

“I was a fool. I- I could have gotten Atlas killed or taken. I am- I will never allow my anger to cloud my judgment when it comes to Atlas.”

“Or you.” It felt like a gentle caress through your chest, so many unspoken words in those two.

“Or myself.”

The words felt like a truce, like you had both arrived to some understanding. To further prove it, you gently patted the bed next to you, eager to feel more of your mate’s warmth. He climbed on the bed, sliding in next to you. 

It was his preferred side to sleep - the left side, facing the door. It allowed him to come and go more easily without waking you, to keep himself between what laid in the world outside the confines of your marital bed.

Anger bubbled back up in your gut, remembering the bounty hunter’s wretched face, the immense delight she had found in your agony.

“Is she?” 

“Dead? Yes.”

The confirmation did little to ease the panic inside. She had been so close to hurting Atlas, so close to selling him away. It was an anger you were certain you would carry until you died.

“My only regret is I didn’t do it myself.”

“Rest assured, my mate. I took care of it.”

You leaned into his side, your head resting in the crook of his neck. He laid above the blankets, his feet crossed at the ankle. He looked so prim and proper, it delighted you a bit.

“And Atlas?” His arm wrapped around you, his hand stroking your cheek lazily.

“He is safe with Lucien as we speak.”

“I don’t think anything’s safe with Lucien.”

His grip on your head was soft but firm, keeping you close to him. His thumb started moving on its own, his body so content to be next to yours once more.

“I thought-“

“I know.” And you had known. His panic was all you had felt before being rescued. It would have been easy to drown in it if it weren’t for the instinct to protect Atlas.

“But we are okay.”

But for how long?

“There’s a note on the side table.”

Eris had to change the subject, unwilling and unwanting to face his emotions head on. Your eyes moved to find Rhysand’s delicate penmanship on the fold of the paper, the letters of your name in grand, swooping movements of the pen.

“Can I see it?”

You could feasibly reach it, but your arms felt so heavy. Your body was still so tired, movement a burden to worn out muscles. He reached over you, careful not to lay his weight on you, keeping the paper folded as he handed it to you.

“You’re not going to peek at it?”

“It is your correspondence.”

You rubbed the paper through your fingers, not certain if you were ready to know its contents. You wanted to read this alone, not have Eris coloring your feelings.

“Can you bring Atlas in here? Madja said I can hold him.”

Eris nodded, slowly untangling himself before leaving. The click of the door prompted you to open the note, some small part of you wanting this to be between siblings. Hope had bloomed at the sight of the note - a ceasefire, maybe. Or maybe it would contain the tenderness Rhysand had so adamantly kept locked away the past few years.

Eris had been adamant his relationship with Lucien was his to navigate. He wanted Lucien to feel Eris deserved his company, not coming around because Lucien likes Eris’s mate.

And so this letter was yours. Rhysand was your brother. Any tenderness or ire or passive aggression from him is yours to decide what to do with.

-

The letter sat next to you, your mind lost in thought when Eris returned with the small bundle in his arms. Your chest lightened at the sight, the tight grip of anxiety around your heart lessening with every step Eris moved forward until your son was tucked back into your arms.

“And he’s okay?”

“Yes, he’s been looked over at least a dozen times by now. His worst injury is a scrape on his arm that has already healed.” 

You gazed down at the impossibly tiny thing in your arms, taking in the features of his smooth, pale face. He was beautiful and he was yours.

“I am sure the extent of his injuries is in no small part due to your quick thinking.”

“Eris-“

“You are littered in cuts and scrapes, bruises everywhere. Do not think I can’t be both angry and proud of you at once.”

You preened a bit at the compliment, your mate’s pride in you always making your heart swell. “And if I did risk injury to myself for him?”

“Then you’d be the female the Mother mated me to, the one I had sworn myself to so long ago.”

It was quiet, two pairs of eyes looking down at the young boy between them. He was so small, so unaware of the danger that had surrounded him for several hours. To him the afternoon was different and scary in a new way: utter exhaustion had left her unable to stop her emotions from spreading and he felt his mother’s fear bubble in his belly. 

“I haven’t seen such injuries on you in so long.” Centuries ago, the blonde male had dropped off the Night Court princess in Autumn, her beautiful wings haphazardly cut off. The outpour of blood seemed endless, Eris not knowing how you still had any left. He could still smell the blood and vomit, the scent had stuck to his walls for years to come. 

“It would be the greatest disservice for Atlas to not know his mother.” Eris couldn’t say more, couldn’t verbalize the fear that was easing off his chest. It would gut him to not have anyone to share Atlas growing up with. He would go on without you for Atlas, but he wouldn’t be the same. How much pain can one bare before it consumes you whole? 

The room was silent, the small family huddled together, enjoying their reunion. Warmth radiated around the room as two sets of eyes watched Atlas smile.

-

A soft knock at the door woke you from the sleep you had dozed off into. You were alone - Eris’s scent still lingered, likely having left not even ten minutes ago. You took a deep breath, feeling around in your chest for him. All that was found at the rope that tethered you to him was a sense of calm and pride. He was definitely with Atlas, hopefully eating a meal as he cradled his son to his chest. 

“Come in.” 

The door opened, your brother’s head popping in through the door. Rhysand looked so out of place here in Autumn. His violet eyes screamed ‘wrong’ as he stood out from the background. You had the same eyes as him, but they seemed wrong here.

He kept his head low as he walked in, varying degrees of guilt and shame pouring off of him. The magic inside of you was slow to return, but Rhysand’s emotions wouldn’t be a mystery without them.

“Hello.”

“How cordial of you.”

“Well, when in Autumn.” He shifted on his feet, taking your silence for confusion. “Historically Autumn is a much more proper court than Night.”

An awkward tang filled your mouth with each word. “I am aware.” 

The two of you looked at each other, the silence in the room settling over the siblings. So far from their younger selves, so many atrocities laid between them. An observer would think they were strangers from the odd tension in the room.

Speaking was the hardest either had done.

“I am sorry.” His words were slow and deliberate, emphasizing each syllable to truly show he meant it. His shoulders hunched slightly, Cassian’s words from an earlier conversation swirling through his head.

We’d expect that kind of treatment from your father.

“When was the last time you said that to me?” Rhys was never good at apologies - every one had been followed up with “but-“. It would have been more sincere for him to apologize for his actions hurting your feelings.

“Far too long.” 

Silence. You waited, wanting more from him. You were tired of fighting with him, a constant battle for choices already made, each party wanting to be the victor. It was exhausting and with a new babe, something had to give.

“Rhys, this is my life, whether you like it or not. I can’t- I’m not playing games with you anymore. I don’t care if you like Eris or not, but you have to believe I can make my own decisions. You have to trust me.” Your earlier words seemed to finally get through to your brother, his shoulders slumping in some form of concession. “I can’t keep doing this merry go round of things seeming to be better just to blow up again.”

“I do trust you.”

“Do you?” The question flew from your mouth without thinking. “I kept this a secret for a century, Rhys, because you reacted exactly how I expected you to. You don’t - you used to trust me, let me make my own choices, but since that night you haven’t.”

You were growing wearisome from this argument, the fight draining you of what little energy was left. You pointed to the water cup on the nightstand, Rhys picking it up and giving it to you. He hovered next to you, staying at your bedside.

“I am sorry that I made you feel like I don’t trust you.” The water helped ease the slight headache that was building, and gave you something to do while you took a moment to think on Rhysand’s words.

“Do you?”

“Of course I do.” His voice broke as he spoke, a desperation lacing his words. “But how can I trust anyone else to care for you? How could I live with myself if I let you be with him only for him to hurt you?”

“He’s a good male, Rhys.”

“I want you safe. I want what’s best for you.”

“And he is. If I told you Feyre was no good for you, what would you do?” He quickly looked away, proving you right. His hand tugged at his hair, an action he hardly ever did.

“I was scared. When Eris came in and you were missing, I was scared. Cassian had to talk me down from blowing up the entirety of the Middle.”

The truth finally came from him. Every discussion, every argument, all Rhys would talk about was his anger, the betrayal. He kept his emotions so tight to his chest, they were suffocating him. You kept quiet, letting him continue.

“I was scared that it finally was happening. That another court was finally going to finish what Spring had started. I thought Eris had done this somehow, wanting us to discover his deeds. Wanting to basque in the glory of getting the upper hand over me.” He breathed in deeply through his nose, his hands shaking as he brought them to his face. Unshed tears lined his violet eyes, the depths of sadness keeping your gaze. “But it was me who led you to danger. It was me who couldn't keep you safe.”

A sob tore through him, the sound of the last wall between the two of you collapsing. You moved over on the bed, allowing space for Rhys before patting the bed. He stood before sitting on the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes, and laying next to you. You leaned your head on his shoulder as he draped his arms around you, clinging tight. 

He clung to you as he sobbed into your shoulder, your own tears falling on top of his head. How had things become so twisted? How had your relationship crumpled this much? 

The High Lord’s embrace allowed the emotions of the day to crash into you, clutching his shirt tight in your fingers. The soft silk was such a contrast to the pain in your chest. 

Rhysand was your brother,  the only person alive who loved you before you were born. He didn’t have to know you to love you.

Rhys had always told you he loved you before you were born, something you had never grasped until Atlas. Seeing something so small and tiny and knowing you would go to the ends of the planet to help them. 

“You didn’t get to meet Atlas.”

He stayed in your arms, a less than dignified sniffle coming from him. When was the last time you had seen Rhysand cry? Those nights he would find you in Feyre’s absence when she was in Spring, letting you soothe him to sleep? Or was it when Nyx was born and Feyre nearly died? 

“Do I even deserve to at this point?”

The two of you were the sole survivors of a noble family. An entire family gone in one night. You leaned further into him, nose pressed against his bicep. He was warm, the citrusy scent coming off him made so many memories flash through your mind: learning to fly, lounging in his study as he worked, intense chess matches that left everyone mad. Centuries of baggage laid in the space between the two of you.

The second part of his scent was the soft undertone of sea salt that always reminded you of home. Your mother smelled like sea salt and caramel, a scent that always made your mouth water for sweets and feel safe. She was gone, had been for so long your memories of her were blurry from use, but so much of her lay in the male next to you.

There was no way back to her or the rest of your family, gone for centuries now, memories so replayed they were memories of memories by now. But you still thought of them often. You were thinking of your mother when you spoke once more, thinking of the excitement Rhys had to finally have a little sister.

“Yes, you do.”

Author’s note: AHHHHHHH wasn’t that great ❤️

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124

Gingerfucker taglist: @bookwormysblog

Thanks for reading ❣️

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT

I DON'T CARE, I DON'T MIND 💉 TRAFALGAR LAW X F! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 8: BAREBACK

🐙requested by: Anonymous. Hello, yes! I forgot the gender lmaoo. Anywho... day 8 with trafalgar Law x fem!reader? (He's my recent obsession since I came to sabaody) ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. pretty sweet and silly. bareback. modern au in where Law still has amber lead's disease. 🐙 wc: 1,6k // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

You wouldn’t mind, he is so hot… you wouldn’t care, you’ve always wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him. 

“That’s amber lead’s, don’t come any closer” people whispered when he passed through corridors and halls. 

“Don’t even talk to him, the moment you touch that boy you’ll get it” they murmured when he sat down, alone, under a tree and ate his lunch. 

But you, even though you never came any closer, were never afraid of him and those white spots on his tanned skin. In fact, you spent most of your time looking at him from afar; the way his silver eyes scanned the books, the way his hands one random day appeared covered by tattoos… 

That last year of school went by flying, and that man didn’t even attend graduation, because his loneliness perhaps -or maybe how smart he was- allowed him to graduate faster than the rest. 

And, despite you never saw him again, he never, ever abandoned your mind.

However, destiny has twisted ways to make it happen, when something is supposed to happen… And it only took ten years. 

“Excuse me, Miss… My son isn’t feeling well, do you perhaps know what’s the waiting time?” A tall blonde man, with a kind appearance asks you, an ER nurse receptionist. 

You smile at him; it is almost impossible not to. He is young, so naturally you peek to the side to see his son. However, there wasn’t a kid in sight, so you ask. 

“Hi Sir, who’s your child?”

“Well, you might say he is still a child in a way…” the man says, pointing at a man of tanned skin and spotted white marks all over him, sitting with his phone. 

You immediately remember him, that boy of your school days. But he couldn’t be the same, you are sure his father looked almost like him and not like the man in front of you… yet, the moment he lifts his phone, you notice the D.E.A.T.H tattoos on his hands. 

Ten years have passed, maybe it is just a coincidence…

“Oh…” you blink, in awe… if that’s him, then, he has grown up to become an even hotter man that what you could have imagined. 

You quickly ask the “father” about his “child” symptoms, but it is the “kid” himself who stands up and starts talking to you. 

“Trafalgar Law, 26 years old, high fever, amber lead disease. I need antipyretics, that’s it. Insurance number 107460610” he says, not even looking at you, but constantly at his phone. 

Law… He is the same lonely guy you used to admire back in school.  “Ok, Mr. Trafalgar. Please, follow me…” 

Yet, Law was wrong. He didn’t just need to lower his fever, but, because of his rare disease he had to stay hospitalized for some time. And, to your surprise, one of those nights he remembered you very well. 

“You are (Name)-ya, right? From high school. I remember you had a polar bear plushie keychain on your backpack” he mutters while you happen to visit his room to inform he needed to sign some paper so that he could go home by the morning. 

You take your eyes from the documents; two opened big orbs fixing on his silver ones. Lips separating, warm breath coming in between your teeth. “He remembers me?”

“I am, yes. Law? The ho- the intelligent kid?”  “The horrendous? The lonely one? The sick, contagious kid? Yep” 

You immediately shake your head. 

“Not the horrendous, the hot one!” you tell him, sincerely. Maybe you shouldn’t have said it, but you won’t allow him to lie about himself that way. 

Law remains silent. His cheeks suddenly tinted in slight pink dust. He tried looking away for some time, while you also played dumb re reading the form you hold in your hand. 

“Would you like to grab some breakfast tomorrow when I’m finally off this place?” Law finally breaks the heavy silence only filled with the typical sounds of a hospital. “I mean, if you are not… afraid of this” he finishes, showing you the white spots all over his skin.

How could you be afraid, if those garnish his skin like the first snow of the year does to the sand on a beach? Like the clouds beautifully grow on a hot summer sky? Like the powdered sugar sweetens the most delicious pastries? 

“It’d be my pleasure, Mr. Trafalgar…”

You couldn’t sleep. You really couldn’t sleep. You tossed and turned the whole night, you simply remained in your bed looking at the ceiling as if it had all the answers in the universe… answers you didn’t even know the questions to. 

October has already become chilly, and the autumn morning shines its orangey depictions all over your city. The scarf around your neck playfully flies with the breeze outside the hospital and it has you wondering why it is always so damn windy on every hospital door you’ve ever been to.

Such thought becomes interrupted by his sweet raspy voice, and it is actually the first time you come to think it took you almost ten years to hear it for the first time. 

Law didn’t touch you, but he called your name to make you turn around. In fact, his hands remain hidden inside his jeans; spotted ones and very tight to his long, long legs. 

“Law! Good morning! You are looking better under the sun. Let’s go, I know a good spot” you chime, smiling sweetly. Something inside you tells you to grab his hand in a very friendly way, but you stop yourself… is it because of his disease? Or is it because you are scared of making him uncomfortable?

“I follow you” he only curls a tiny piece of his lips upwards, and immediately after hides underneath a white fluffy cap. 

The spot you mentioned wasn’t exactly what Law was expecting; instead of a pâtisserie, you chose a tiny on the go coffee shop in front of the beach. And he was pleased you did; the cold sea breeze kissed his cheeks that helped with the constant blush to have such a beautiful woman by his side. 

Both prefer to fix your eyes towards the sea, as you sit on a bench facing the beach. A hot cocoa warms your palms, while a little inner voice screams to look at him. 

“So… what did you do aft-“ you want to ask; but you are cut short.  “I had a crush on you, (Name)-ya” Law startles you with those words. 

You quickly turn to look at him; out of words you blink slowly trying to process those words, maybe even unsure he had actually said them, or it was just your wishful mind. 

“Everybody turned their faces when I passed, they never looked but only murmured. But you, instead, looked at me. You looked at me. I guess you were just curious, but I still had a crush on you” he reassures. 

You smile, and your hand lands on his thigh. 

“I was, indeed, curious. But I also wanted to talk to you, to sit right by your side and ask about those “Sora the Warrior of the Sea” comic books… I am still curious… and I am still looking at you…” you confess, coming closer at him, slowly, so carefully. 

“Are you?” “I am…” 

Those words maybe were never said; perhaps, they were only thought. However, your lips encountered his so out of the blue, so sudden and unplanned. A kiss so long due, that could even make you laugh to think of how it happened… grown up adults acting like teenagers in love? 

Definitely, both of you act like it, as Law grabs your hand, and both stand up when the kiss breaks. 

“I know this will sound weird and so out of chivalry but… would you like to uh… visit that place?” he asks, pointing at a tiny love hotel from across the street.  

Out of chivalry he says? Well, perhaps. But who cares?

You’ve always wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him.

It took you two a couple of minutes to finally get a room; a Thursday morning isn’t a very busy time for that type of activities after all. 

Bam! The door of the room opened with his back hitting it as both kept kissing. 

“(Name)-ya, aren’t you afraid of my disease? My skin, see? Covered in this” he asks, while your hands work to undress him -rip his clothes off-. 

“What spots? I only see those sexy ass tattoos…” you smirk, kissing his neck and the heart inked on his chest. 

Truth is, science still fought over the “contagiousness” of that illness and still, you didn’t mind, you didn’t care. And Law couldn’t resist himself, no more. You were ok with those spots, you didn’t mind, you didn’t care! 

Skilful inked fingers, hands so deadly undress you as fast as desperate. Your skin, so different than his, so perfect, so kissable, also desperate, waited for his wet and warm kisses. 

Slowly, or maybe violent, both fell on a bed. Bodies jumping, looking at each other side by side on the ceiling mirror… it was almost magical to see the reflection of your flesh one against the other, rubbing, white spots against “healthy” skin… make me sick, I don’t mind, I don’t care! 

It definitely feels like making love for the first time, like teenagers touching other for the first time. You knew Law knows how to fuck a woman, but this time he couldn’t avoid acting clumsy and desperate. 

Kisses all over your skin, your nails carved on his tattooed back. I don’t mind for foreplay, just fuck me raw… bare… do not even think of it. 

He guides his sex, hard, warm into you. Hands a little trembling, kissing you nonstop. Your hips buck up, searching, allowing, letting him bury deep inside you. 

“Ngh… are you sure? I could make you sick…”  “Fuck me, Law. I don’t mind, I don’t care… I actually had a crush on you, too… And I still do…” 

Taglist of amazing babes: @terrabear2003 @eyes-ofhell @votaeto @cokou @seoul-is-a-dream @tinydonkeysforlife @appalost @themessedupsonata @adamsfanficstash @ariesbbytings @animesnowstorm @lenablack9919 @anothersoulless 💖🍓

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

VIII. whatever keeps you around.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce has a proposal for you. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, brief discussion of slight suicidal ideation/martyrdom, drug (and the injection of drugs) mentions, you will not guess what trope I managed to include in here. words: 6.9k. a/n: plotting this series makes me feel like charlie day pointing at a wall of red string

“…You won’t like it.”

It's clear what you have to do. You'd realized it when Gordon came to you, so of course Bruce did too. If you were going to make this right, you would have to face this head on. "I know what I have to do," you start, "I need to lure him out."

Bruce's expression shifts. Whatever you've said seems to be the wrong answer, "That... won't be necessary."

"What? What else can I do?"

"What did Gordon tell you about Dimitri?"

Your head throbs as you recall the memory, "Uh... he said he believes I'm next on Dimitri's hit list. He also said Dimitri hadn't anticipated me being at the house."

"Right, because Russo didn't want anyone knowing where he was." Bruce turns to his computer and brings up Russo's file, "After his divorce and the death of his son, he holed up and started erasing himself from the internet. As far as his neighbors know, he was constantly alone. You already know how hard it was to find him on your own, and unless Dimitri knew someone keeping tabs, it doesn't stand to reason that he found him any easier. But you, on the other hand," Bruce opens a search engine and types in your name. You're unsettled when the screen fills with results, most of them news articles from the night you'd been held hostage, "your name and face was everywhere after the gang war."

When the reporters had shoved cameras in your face and begged for you to tell them about Batman's heroic rescue, you hadn't thought twice about it, still fresh from the throes of gore and violence in the ER. Friends, family, coworkers: almost everyone you knew had seen it.

It clicks for you then, "If Dimitri planned on killing us both and I was easiest to find, why didn't he come for me first? I mean... it was me and Alex who ruined his life. If he wanted anyone dead more, wouldn't it be me?"

"I wondered the same thing. With the know-how and the right connections, anyone could find where you live just by name alone. Russo, on the other hand, is almost anonymous. It doesn't make sense why Dimitri would target Russo first."

"Do you think maybe it was a warning? Maybe he wanted to scare me."

"If he wanted to warn you, he wouldn't kill the guy in his house where no one checks up on him. Days would've passed before anyone noticed the flies in the windows."

"I don't get it."

"Do you remember how long it's been since you were taken hostage?"

Your mind lands on a weak estimate, "I don't know, a week and a half?"

"It's been over two weeks. According to the wardens, Dimitri stopped being a problem for them after the first few years. Friends with a rough crowd but he rarely got caught up in anything. Didn't have the heart to. So why, after 17 years, does he break out?"

Your stomach drops, "He saw me."

"And realized that while he was rotting away with nothing to live for, you were a hero," the word sickens you to hear, "on the front lines, saving lives, being saved. Your life went back to normal."

You grip the side of Bruce's desk with the sudden urge to vomit up everything you'd eaten today, which, frankly, wouldn't add up to much more than water and crackers.

You'd said it yourself: you'd gotten to live a life that Natalie, Dimitri, and Alex never would. Of course he wanted you dead. "So then I have to lure him out."

"And put yourself in danger? No."

"I’m already in danger, Bruce. What if he goes after the others? My parents? My coworkers? The other cops at the shootout? We have to end it now."

"This isn't the only way."

"It's the best way."

"Last time he had a knife, you could defend yourself. Barely. What if next time, he has a gun?"

"So what, you just want to do nothing?"

Bruce turns away from you. He gnaws on his lower lip, "No, I want to bide our time. Look into him more. I need to know if he's working with the Vipers again."

You watch him as he begins typing away at his computer, but you can't process what he's looking for through the haze of anger that washes over you. You lean on the desk, craning your neck up at his face to make him look at you, to understand how ridiculous he sounds, "We don't have time for that. His grudge is with me. I should meet him now and end this... either he gets what he wants or- or..."

Or what? Your stubbornness peters out. You don't know what. You see yourself standing face-to-face with Dimitri, his knife raised, ready to bury itself into the cushion of your chest. And nothing.

The you in this vision has no weapon.

"You don't think you're going to survive this." Coming out of your mind, Bruce is now looking at you, brows furrowed. He looks... mortified.

You scramble to cover your tracks, "That's not true. I'd have you there."

"But you don't want me there. You want to go alone. You think you deserve it."

"God, what are you? My therapist?" Your words flit out of your mouth in a rush, tongue nearly slipping up to defend yourself. You push away from the desk when you start feeling overexposed.

Bruce follows you, "You're not 16 anymore, this isn't some gang fight where you throw all your chips in because you can't see a year ahead of you. You've made a life. You've got people to lose, you said so yourself. I know what it's like... the survivor's guilt. You relive that day over and over-"

His words are making you feel sick to your stomach again and you lurch forward, finger in his face, "Don't you fucking preach to me-"

Almost as immediately as you'd raised your finger, Bruce snatches your wrist in his hand, yanking you close enough to be imposing, staring down at you with the same power that the Batman had used. It was so sudden that you quickly fall slack, wrist going limp in his grip.

It had completely sobered you of your tantrum, and for better or for worse, you were forced to listen to him, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think. You see this ending with you dead because you want to make up for the shit you did. You think that's what Alex wants? For you to bleed out in an alley like she did?" And just like that, the fire roars in you once more, but your other hand can't slap him across the face before he's caught that one too, "No future? What about all the people you've saved? Could still save? Face it now because you may not get another chance: you're alive. Do you want to be or not?"

You want to hurt him, turn his skin red and give it a place among the other bruises that glitter and glare down his torso, and as your hand shakes in his hold, you are forced to understand that you are angry because he is right.

You'd felt this same anger before. When your parents told you Alex was a bad influence on you. When Russo looked you in the eye and told you that you didn't have it in you to pull the trigger. It was maddening. He had clocked your suicide mission before even you had, had seen you in his mind's eye the way you saw yourself: disarmed, a lamb to the slaughter, a sacrifice for the greater good, a speedbump.

You could see Batman tackling him to the ground over your dying body. You couldn't see yourself getting up the next day.

After the frustration leaves Bruce's eyes, he's looking at you with something softer. You feel known, uncomfortably so, as he waits for you to meet him there.

And when you do, you hate how you collapse into him. Even more, you hate that he takes you up into his arms, holding you steadfast, as understanding as you needed him to be with all your fear of admitting it. The solidness of his body reminds you of the night he'd first held you, and that just makes you cry harder.

It feels different from last time. Where there was armor is now warm skin, the likes of which you hadn't felt in a while. If you had told your past self you'd one day be standing in Batman's cave, hugging Bruce Wayne and crying over the permanence of your mistakes, you might have diagnosed yourself with head trauma.

You screw your eyes shut in a vain attempt to put the tears to rest, your freed hands practically clawing at Bruce's warm back for some purchase, some stability. He doesn't seem to mind. He just holds you closer.

After a few minutes, you force yourself to speak, sniffling away the last remaining tears you'd allow yourself to shed, "You said I wouldn't like it. Your plan. What is it?"

"To disappear."

You wrench yourself back. Bruce is dead serious. "What?"

"I've considered it from all angles-"

"What do you mean, 'disappear'?"

"All but one of the prisoners Dimitri broke out with are still missing. How do we know they're not all working together? How do we know that you luring him out won't draw them out too? You were the easiest target before, not anymore."

"Say what you mean, Bruce. What do you want me to do?"

"I want to hide you here," he winces as he says this, as if aware of his words only now that they're out in the open, "with me."

"You're shitting me."

After a while, Bruce's face hardens, "I told you you wouldn't like it."

Liking it or not liking it was nothing. You'd advanced past "like". You were firmly out of your depth here.

You slip out of Bruce's hold and he lets you, standing rather awkwardly as you rub a hand across your mouth. Despite earlier, it now feels uncomfortably dry. You glance at Bruce and then at his screen, the tab with your name and face plastered all over it hovering in the background. "You want me to disappear off the face of the earth while you track him down. Leave my home, leave the people I care about, abandon my job. You want me to hide."

"I don't know how else to protect you. Not until we figure out what we're up against." Bruce watches you spin away, scoffing into the air, "You noticed it when you fought him off, didn't you? Something was really wrong with him."

You see flashes of Dimitri's feral stare, the way he staggered and swung. He was like a rabid animal in a cage. "Of course there was, he was trying to kill me."

"Beyond that," Bruce insists, "he wasn't right. I've seen it before. He was on something."

"Most people are these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd... I don't know, gotten his hands on drops or something-"

"It wasn't drops. Gordon told me."

"The detective?"

"He said they found a syringe with traces of venom in it. Dimitri's shooting up. That's why he was so strong."

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, "Venom? Great. Somehow worse than Drops."

"If he's on that drug, he's definitely addicted. It also means you won't stand a chance against him. This is why I'm telling you to stay here," Bruce steps forward, eyes imploring yours. You're dumbstruck by the heavy earnestness there, "stay in the tower. Hide here for a few days. Let me handle this."

"If he's on venom, it means he doesn't think he can handle you on his own," you wring your hands, flitting through images of the Dimitri you remember, "he was always really small. Even at fourteen, he hadn't really sprung up. He was scrawny and small and couldn't defend himself. Suddenly Gordon's saying he's almost twice the size of what I remember. Have you ever fought someone on venom?"

"Once or twice, somewhere between fixes. Why?"

"General has this kind of... sedative that we use when we get patients dealing with the effects. It's not perfect, but it does help calm them down enough to help them. Maybe we can use it to help him."

"The strain is constantly changing," Bruce watches you deflate and clears his throat, "but if I can get that sedative, I can use it as a base to make a new one."

"You need clearance to get your hands on that stuff. I'm going with you."

"What part of disappear do you not understand?"

"One, I never agreed to do that, and two, if Batman gets caught stealing from a hospital, that'll make you public enemy number one. You need my help, so let me help you."

Bruce is looking away, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth even as you zero in on him. You're getting flashbacks of that same Bruce from when you'd first met him here in this tower. All tender-eyed, even as he tries to put on a face for you, "And I need a drink," you rub your temple next, catching a glimpse of Bruce watching you from his peripheral, "You've got those, don't you?"

It turns out Bruce has plenty. There's a whole cellar full of them, the kinds you see in MTV Cribs with the low recessed lighting and mahogany shelves gleaming with polish. It makes sense for him to have it, but less so when he tells you he doesn't actually drink any of it.

"You weren't drinking at the party, either. Even though everyone else thought you were." You brush your hand along the shelves, careful not to knock any bottles loose. "Is that a trick to keep people spilling secrets? Or to keep from spilling your own?"

Bruce hovers near the entrance with his arms folded and back pressed to the wall, carefully watching you peruse his selection, "Maybe I don't like the taste."

"That's good. Men in Gotham die from alcoholism at a higher rate than any other city in the state."

"Really?"

"Really. You don't smoke either." Bruce blinks at you, "Just get shot at. And stabbed."

He says nothing.

Your hand lands on a red aged older than your mother and you stand to the side, looking expectantly at him. You're afraid that if you try to pick it up, you might knock down the whole row.

Slowly, Bruce pushes himself off the wall and glides over to you, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and looking to you for approval. You try not to shrink yourself when you nod.

You follow him out of the cellar, flinching when the lights dim behind you and the door rolls shut all on its own. He guides you to the kitchen where night still hangs over Gotham outside the window, but the time on the stove clock warns of early morning soon.

Bruce pulls out two glasses and fills yours with wine and his with cranberry juice from the fridge. You could almost laugh at the pairing.

Once he slides your glass to you, you take a seat at the island and take a sip, "I need to ask you something. I get now why you refused me at the station, but then you came back. Why did you change your mind? I mean, neither of us knew Russo would be dead when we got there. Were you just going to let me hate you?"

"Yes." His simple response draws a quick, stifled laugh out of you.

"Are you always this... chaotic?"

Bruce leans his elbows on the countertop, hunching in on himself, "I always meant to tell you who I was. I just didn't know when. And I didn't mind if you hated Bruce Wayne, but... you trusted Batman. I didn't want to break that trust. Even if it meant telling you earlier than I planned, I wanted to give you some closure."

You think about the fear that had paralyzed you back then, thinking that Bruce Wayne was some big, bad criminal hiding behind polite society. Then you think about the real man, hiding behind a mask. You fidget uncomfortably, struggling with feeling somewhere between grateful and nauseous. Your eyes catch the stitches on his shoulder and you itch to wipe away the dried blood that had dribbled from the cut, "You said you were looking for Dimitri when you got that. Did you..."

Bruce catches your eye when you fail to finish your question. "No," he answers solemnly, "which is only part of our problem." He stands to his full height, flexing bruised knuckles against the counter, "I ran into one of the guys that broke out with Dimitri tonight. That's who gave me this. Dimitri isn't working alone."

You frown, "Is he trying to shake you? Why leave clues at all?"

"Because these people want me dead. The guy from tonight? I booked him a year ago for trafficking women. Earlier led me to a fringe group of Falcone's."

"You've been looking for Dimitri all day?"

"I haven't stopped since we found Russo. I couldn't."

You rub your arms, feeling the room grow chiller by the second, "So... so he's leaving clues to people who hate you. To keep you occupied." Bruce nods. "So he can get to me?"

"After last night, he knows the Batman is on your side."

"Dimitri wasn't out when you got on the scene. Do you think maybe he's taking venom because these guys warned him about you?"

Bruce smirks, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his glass, "As a precaution, sure. And now he has reason to believe I know you. If he's going to go after you, he's going to shoot up each time."

"That stuff is nasty. You're big and scary when you're on it but as soon as the effects wear off-"

"You deflate like a balloon. It's also stupid expensive, so he's either got real generous prison pals or he's being used. It's why I need to know if he's working with the Vipers. They might be supplying him."

How you'd gone from an ordinary surgeon to a detective in the span of mere weeks was beyond you. You're beyond just treading water. You're diving into the abyss.

Your brain struggles to make real what is before you. Bruce, still shirtless, drinking delicately from a glass as he watches the night sky shimmer from the kitchen window. And you, sitting across from him, cracking open one of his family's expensive bottles that, frankly, puts your pantry vinos to shame. Playing vigilantes like schoolchildren. Except the blood on you both is very real.

Your arm throbs at being remembered for once tonight. Bruce notices you touch it, "You need to get some rest."

You know he's right, and you're not arguing for the sake of arguing when you say, "I can't sleep yet." But he can tell there's more on your mind as he waits silently, almost egging you on to lay yourself bare. You swear you're not arguing just for the sake of arguing, "And I don't want to disappear. I want to be alive."

Bruce says nothing. The silence isn't humiliating like you'd think it be, even if the first few seconds leave you feeling just as laid bare as you thought you would. No. It feels acknowledging. Understanding, even.

For the first time, you look at Bruce and feel like you understand him. If he was really Batman, then he would know better than anyone why you would want to put yourself in danger. But beneath that, with the meager knowledge of who Bruce Wayne is, you also think you understand him too.

He'd mentioned the survivor's guilt. While he'd played a much more innocent role in the whole ordeal, you couldn't imagine the weight on one's chest knowing that two people you love didn't get to go on but you did. It's a lot to ask of a child barely coming to understand the mortality of one's own keepers.

The choice to be alive for someone like that is a deliberate choice. Constantly made every morning.

"There is another way," Bruce muses, "but you'll like it even less."

"Don't leave me hanging."

"We could go public."

"What?"

"You said disappearing would mean abandoning your life. And it would. No one could know where you went, who you were with, but there's always the chance someone might slip up. It's the safest option but it's not what you want. So don't hide." Bruce's eye contact is deep and unwavering. Compared to earlier, he seems to trust you're willing to listen this time, "Be mine."

For the nth time tonight, you are rendered nearly speechless. Nearly. "Are you fucking with me?"

Bruce's eyes narrow, "No."

"Did you just... proposition me?"

"I made a proposal."

"You're asking me to date you."

"Publicly. Batman has more enemies than allies, but Bruce Wayne has the people. If you and I are publicly linked, it tells everyone looking for you that the world is watching. It makes you more visible, as well as anyone who comes after you."

"You haven't slept," you reason, "clearly. And you're delirious."

"I haven't slept, no." But he looks fairly sober for someone who hasn't slept in a day. He is a different breed, this Bruce Wayne.

You peer out the kitchen window and see the black sky dipping into a blue horizon, "Then sleep on it and come up with something better."

Bruce rounds the island until he's standing beside you, looking down at your barely touched wine, "There's some spare rooms upstairs. You can take your pick." It dawns on you that you may not be going back home any time soon. "You know your way around."

You suppose you deserve that dig.

Then he's leaving you, glasses abandoned, home for you to explore. You don't realize how thick the air had gotten with him right next to you until he's gone.

You half-expect Alfred to pop up somewhere nearby, but there's nothing. This far up, there is no city to listen for, no neighbors slamming doors. You are in a cold house all alone. You suddenly wish he'd stayed to keep you company, even if the weight of it was beginning to take its toll on you. Left alone, you only had the sunrise.

You watch until the sky has all but chased the night away, and then you head upstairs.

You didn't think you'd get much sleep in a stranger's bed, but you're being roused by a sharp, successive rapping at your door several hours later. It jolts you awake, kick-starting your heart, and you clumsily tumble out of the million thread count sheets to open the door.

Alfred stands there fully dressed for the day, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other still raised to knock. Upon seeing you, he lowers his fist, "Morning," he starts, looking away as soon as he meets your eyes, "breakfast is ready. Come get it before it's cold."

He does not give you a choice in the matter. He's already limping toward the staircase without another word.

After you get your heart to settle down, you follow after him, preening yourself as you pass hallway mirrors and portraits of the Wayne family through the generations. You hadn't come down this hallway when you'd found the terminus elevator, so you stumble to a stop in front of a portrait of a young Bruce grinning ear to ear.

It startles you. His eyes are soft, a gentle humming blue untouched by wrinkle or darkness. He must've been especially young here. Glancing at a nearby portrait of his parents, you find him the spitting image of his father. You look around and realize there are no portraits of Bruce at this age.

Bruce. He might be at breakfast, and the mere thought of having to discuss what occurred last night almost turns you right back around to the guest room, but your stomach rumbling begs you not to. You still walk quietly, peering around corners in case your stomach changed its mind.

You find you're cautious for naught when the only person standing in the kitchen is Alfred, chopping up fresh fruit.

"I hope you don't mind that I moved your things," he gestures with his paring knife to your surgical tools neatly congregated on the counter, "I cleaned them too."

"Oh. You didn't need to do that."

"There was blood, so I'm afraid I did." Alfred places a bit of pressure on "blood", and you quickly take note of his short tone.

Still, all the same, he then gestures to the island and implores you take a seat in front of an empty plate. Without asking, he begins pushing steaming hot food onto your plate, "Tea or coffee?" He asks, barely looking up at you.

"Uh, coffee is fine. Thanks." You watch Alfred pour you a mug and wonder if the awkwardness with him is any more preferable to the awkwardness with Bruce. Alfred is passive-aggressive, Bruce is... aggressive. You remember how the latter had left off your night together and find yourself feeling warmer toward Alfred. "How long have you been up?"

"Since 6, although I woke a few times through the night."

You wince, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I did think Bruce had invited you over under different circumstances, so... not as alarming, all things considered." Your grip on your fork slips and it clatters to the marble. Alfred barely reacts.

"He needed stitches." Is all you can get out.

"Yes, I'm well aware."

You glance up at him, "You saw?"

"When he first arrived home, yes. I was the one who helped stop the bleeding."

You stare at the coffee sweating in your cup, recalling something Bruce had mentioned last night, "Bruce said you were the one who used to stitch him up."

"Yes."

"If you were there, why-"

"It's what he pays you for, isn't it?" Alfred almost snaps back at you, slicing a strawberry into quarters with more edge than needed.

You recall something else next. The softness in Alfred's face the day you first came here, arguing with Bruce in the very room next door. You'd wondered what it had all been about.

"I've done alright, haven't I?"

"He said something else too," you start, careful as you choose your next words, "about how much you worry about him." You fiddle with your mug, pretending not to feel the heat of Alfred's eyes on you, "I think the reason he hired me is because he was worried about you."

You just catch the tail-end of Alfred's frown, "Worried about me? Why?"

You probably aren't close enough to either of these two to laugh about this, but you do anyway, "Isn't it kind of obvious?"

"Nonsense. We always discussed... if it would come to it, that if he were to pursue this life further, that he would recruit professionals who might aid him in his work. It was the natural thing to do."

"Maybe, yeah. But would he have really needed me if you weren't already doing everything else for him? You've taken good care of him this long. I mean, the aftercare you gave his bullet wound was exceptional. I accused him of talking to other doctors."

Alfred busies himself with scraping his strawberry halves into a bowl, "It's basic knowledge. You learn that kind of thing in the service."

"Or when you invited me to watch you two spar. You know his body probably better than he does. You're fantastic, Alfred." You couldn't say you weren't also trying to butter him up to better his feelings toward you, but you were speaking truth all the same.

In a very British way, he rebuts your compliments and spoons some fruit into a glass, beginning to layer some yogurt over top them, "Regardless of reason, you are here now, and I'll have you know that every part of your contract covers this. Wayne Enterprises will exhaust every possible legal tool at our leisure if you speak of any—any—of this to anyone. Master Bruce's identity is safely guarded, and regardless of his trust in you, I will not hesitate-"

"Whoa, whoa, hey. I would never tell anyone. Not after all Batman has done for me." You press a hand over your heart for emphasis, "He is just as much my patient as Bruce Wayne is, and he didn't have to pay me to take care of him."

Alfred still stares you down like a guard dog, paring knife still clutched in his fingers. After a moment, he looks away from you and points at your plate, "Eat. It's getting cold."

So you do. It's good so you say as much, counting any point toward his affection as a good thing. If you could get Alfred to trust you, you'd call that a win.

The tension in the air dissipates over time, and after you've licked your plate clean, you and Alfred are sharing coffee together. "Bruce isn't joining us?"

"I've stopped expecting him to be awake this early." You glance at the clock that reads 10:12. "He has adopted a near-fully nocturnal lifestyle."

"The night that he crawled through my window, he was there at the hospital the next morning like nothing happened. He doesn't do that often?"

"Before last year, it was a rare occurrence. While he's dedicated himself to his role more recently, if he can avoid it, he will."

You think back to what knowledge you do have on Bruce's charity work and his friendship with the Mayor. You'd worked shifts just as long, but you couldn't imagine showing up to work mere hours after getting shot in the stomach and having to put on a brave face about it. You almost feel bad for calling him out on it in front of everyone.

But then again, if you hadn't, would you even be sitting here?

You swirl the last vestiges of coffee in your cup, trying to picture a world in which you'd gone and found that empty office to nap in instead of toddling behind Rudy and Em and Alfred and Batman. The Batman.

The novelty of it brings a fresh wave of dizziness over you. You had been exposed to so much information over the course of the last 12 hours that it hadn't fully settled in on you what Bruce was. You didn't think that your brain would process it even if he was standing in cowl and cape right in front of you.

"I suppose you'll be staying with us for the near future, if Bruce has anything to say about it," Alfred stands from his chair beside you and puts your dishes in the sink, "shall I inform your security detail or would you like to?"

You don't know what to say to that. "I'm... I think I should talk this over with Bruce first. It may not need to come to that."

The butler shrugs. "I'll be attending to some house duties for the rest of the morning. Should you stay for lunch, let Dory know, hm?" You give him a weak nod and watch as he makes his way from the sink and heads down another hallway out of sight.

Not too long after Alfred leaves you, you hear the doorbell ring. Bruce hadn't mentioned to you that any guests would be here today, but then again, the two of you had had more important things to discuss last night. You check your reflection in the glass of the kitchen window, wondering if there were any hidden doors in the bookcases that could hide you from whatever Wayne Enterprises exec that was coming to talk business, but you wouldn't trust yourself not to break something in the process.

You hear two pairs of footsteps approaching from the elevator and turn to see who it might be. You first recognize Dory, fluttering between frantic small talk and making sure not to trip in her kitten heels as she guides her guest into the living room. You stiffen as soon as you see him.

Detective Gordon catches your eyes instantly, his own widening. Dory says something about going to fetch Bruce before she quickly ascends the stairs, leaving you and James staring at each other across the distance. In one hand is a notepad and pencil, and the other fixes his tie, almost as if at a loss for words. He greets you, hesitantly leaving where Dory had left him to approach you, "I saw the boys out front but... I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither." You reply. "Is everything okay?"

James glances up at the stairs as he passes underneath, "That depends. I followed up on your request."

Shit. Of course a cop would do their job when you least expect it. You slip out of your chair and rush to meet him halfway into the kitchen, "Did... did you find something?"

"I can't say much right now. I'd like to talk to Mr. Wayne, but-" The sound of Dory's heels clacking against the wooden stairs makes James lower his voice, "-you being here complicates things."

Bruce is wearing a shirt this time, thankfully, though you're not expecting him to look as put together this early after what Alfred had said. He towers behind Dory's much smaller frame in a pair of loose black pants and a matching turtleneck, looking in a fashionable state of undress as he pads barefoot into the room. With hair slicked back and stubble freshly shaved, he doesn't look like someone caught unaware. He's fixing the sleeve of his sweater when he extends a hand to Detective Gordon, bright smile and all, "Detective James Gordon, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. If this is a bad time, I can come back." James gestures to you.

Bruce's look at you is empty, devoid of any detectable emotion or thought. It strikes you as unsettling, the same way a cashier at the end of their shift isn't really looking at you, "Oh, no. I was just on my way to work when I felt unwell. I called my doctor over but it was nothing to worry about. A little stomach bug, is all."

You do look like you'd just come over in a rush. You're still in your lounge clothes from the night before, and your medical supplies are still in the kitchen where Alfred had left them. James seems to notice, but he doesn't look any more relaxed. "That's good to hear. I don't want to keep you too long, but truth is, I have some questions I'd like to ask you if you have the time."

"Is something wrong?" James glances between you and Bruce, something the latter doesn't miss, "is it sensitive?"

"It's about the party you threw here the other night, Mr. Wayne. For Mayor Reál. I hear you invited quite a few Gotham politicians to celebrate the passing of the mayor's new bill, correct?"

"That's correct."

"And I understand you're quite invested in Gotham politics in general, much like your father."

"I am. My mother and father were very interested in the city, and Mayor Reál breathed new life into that for me after the election. I do what I can to support the cause."

"And that cause is...?"

Bruce takes the skeptical tone on the chin, smiling wider, "A safer, fairer Gotham. For everyone."

This Bruce was nothing like the Bruce you had all to yourself. He taps into that persona from the party with ease. Watching him is like watching a performance. "That's good, good. I notice you try to make an effort with charities in the city, donations and the like. You recently donated a new wing to Gotham General."

"I did. Increasing access to medical care for the citizens is important to me. My doctor, a talented surgeon at General, knows this well." You flash a timid smile when both Bruce and James look to you.

"And you also financially support politicians in Gotham."

"Occasionally. Anyone I feel has Gotham's best interests in mind."

"And have you found members of Gotham's political parties to be unusually forward in requesting your support, Mr. Wayne? Perhaps a little too pushy, maybe."

Bruce wears confusion well, "Not necessarily. I'm not easily pressured into doing things I have no interest in."

"Of course. How about any attempts to win over your support? Publicly or otherwise."

"I'm not sure what you're asking, detective. I'd love to help, but I don't think I have the information you're looking for."

James nods, holding his chin high, "My apologies. I should've been clear from the beginning. My question is: have any politicians or members of law enforcement offered you anything in exchange for your financial or public support? I have reason to believe there may be someone with high clearance exchanging confidential information with civilians. Especially ones who can pay. I'm just looking for a lead."

James frames his question well, even though any fat cat familiar with the cops could see the hidden question. Bruce frowns, tilts his head, shaking it slowly, "That's awful. I don't currently know of anyone doing such a thing, to me or anyone else. But I can keep an eye out. I can only imagine how dangerous that might be."

"Exactly. We'd like to nip it in the bud as soon as possible."

"Of course. Do you have a card? Perhaps I can contact you if I hear anything."

James fishes out his card and hands it over, "I don't want to put you in a bad position, only pass along what you know if you feel safe enough to do so."

You notice Bruce is flicking the business card between his fingers as a fidget, though he keeps his attention respectfully on the detective. "Absolutely. Thank you, detective. Dory can show you to the door."

The detective nods and follows Dory out of the room. As soon as the two are out of earshot, Bruce's expression softens as he presses his back into the counter. You wish you could sink into the floor. "To be fair," you begin, "I didn't think he'd find anything."

Bruce side-eyes you, "That was you?"

"I thought my criminal boss was going to blackmail me to keep his secrets."

"Criminal boss." You think he's trying to mock you, but his eyes are surprisingly guilty when he looks at you, "Alfred wasn't kidding. I really didn't handle this well."

"No, not really." You don't mean to kick him while he's down, but you can't lie either. Even now, you were still making meaning out of this whole thing.

By all means, you've gone from knowing nothing about him, to understanding even less, to fearing him, to this. With Batman on the other hand, you'd felt nothing but loyalty and trust in him up until the very last second. Now they were both the same person, and the meager hours of sleep you'd gotten hadn't cleared all that up just yet.

You wonder who you're supposed to see now. Batman or Bruce Wayne? Why was the line separating them blurring the more you thought of them?

"So, did you ever come up with a better idea?"

Bruce does not offer one. You'd dreaded that.

"You already know what I think. No matter how we go about this, there's going to be something. So what do you want to do?" Bruce's eyes follow your ever minute expression, laser-focused on you. "Whatever you choose, I will keep you safe. I promise you."

He feels so staunchly Batman in this moment, even with the soft voice of Bruce, watching over you. Through all your uncertainty, this you believe him on.

And you're exhausted, you find. Your arm is beginning to throb again. You crave the reprieve of a bed but not your own, to your surprise.

"I'm going to trust you, Bruce," your voice wobbles as you say it out loud, "I'm going to trust you like I trust Batman."

Bruce holds eye contact with you for a few moments, "Okay."

"Can I ask... why are you dressed so nice?"

"We're going to get the sedative."

"You're going as Bruce?"

"It's the middle of the day. Yes, I'm going as Bruce. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

You fluster, suddenly reconsidering this entire plan. You'd pictured Batman skulking on the rooftop while you Mission Impossible'd your way into the medicine cabinets for what you needed. Walking in with him—the real him—would draw attention you didn't need, "You're only going to make me look suspicious."

"I'm your patient, and more importantly, I'm a donor."

"You will stick out like a sore thumb."

"That means when people are looking at me, they're not looking at you." You open your mouth to argue but he's already cutting you off, "Do you want me to drop you off at your place or do you want me to send someone to get your things?"

You're aware of what he's really asking.

You heave a sigh, "Drop me off. I can't promise Judith won't hurt someone if she finds a stranger in my house."

a/n: mj stop having the reader move in with bruce when their life is put in imminent danger challenge impossible

[talesfromberk]

First flight

Okie dokie *cracks knuckles* lets get into the first one. Warnings: Slight angst but ends with fluff. Word count: 1.2K

It happened within a blink of an eye, your village was being raided. It had been at odds with a rival clan for almost a century, but this has now reached boiling point. The tension had finally snapped and you weren't anywhere near prepared for the assault that you faced, a war in to a magnitude your village could not fight.

Your dad saved you when you had a very close encounter with someone. He prepared for the worst of the worst if a situation like this arises, so he ushered you down to a cave near a port, a secret passage to which you saw a boat in sight. He shushed you when you tried to question him and urged you onto it.

"Go, go and don't look back. Do you understand ?? I will send for you when we are safe..."

"Dad come on..." You tried to get him onto the boat but it was too late, He pushed you out to sea, the boat beginning to sail.

"DAD !!!"

He watched you go, his expression grim and remorseful. "I'm sorry... I love you my child" He whispered as he watched you go, you watched helplessly as he was then surrounded.

Tears rushed down your face as you could only watch as your village... your home... went up in flames, all the memories gone. Your family, your life, everything you knew. Now out here with no supplies, in this rickety old boat, nowhere to go.

But you didn't have time to mourn as a storm was now approaching, the choppy cold water slashed against both sides of the boat, It grew fierce, making it impossible to steer. You did your best to try and sail out of it, but the rope burned your hands when the winds were against you. Soon a massive tidal wave came crashing through, knocking you offboard. The waves stole you from the boat, taking you under and washing you through the frigid frothy water, washing you away in a completely different direction. The waves then made you slam against a rock, hitting you in the back of the head hard knocking you unconcious.

The waves continued to carry you beyond the storm, eventually sloshing your body up along the shoreline, and pushing you into the sand. The sun rising and shining across your features, You frowned and hissed in pain, that was going to leave a bruise. You slowly rose from the sand and saw your ship in tethers, there was no salvaging it, and it didn't look like you were climbing very far. But then you heard a mighty roar from above, you grew scared and grabbed a plank of wood nearby for self-defence, running into the woods to hide. "Dragon..."

But this dragon was anything but. The dragon's name was Toothless, he was a night fury, the last of its kind. The person who was riding him was Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the III, son of chief Stoick the Vast on the Isle of Berk.

The two were out for their normal flying session, enjoying the cool breeze when they spotted wreckage below, so they decided to fly over the island to be sure, Toothless scanned the surrounding area, he started to pick up on a scent, looking back at Hiccup and making a small noise.

Hiccup looked down and nodded. "Take 'er down bud, We'll check on our guest... Maybe they need help ??" If there was anyone. He gently patted Toothless' side and the two then descended onto the sandy beach.

"Whoever was on this must've gotten caught up in something..." He rubbed his chin as he tried to maybe figure out where it came from. Soon toothless then picked up that same scent again, this time it was much stronger, so he rushed into the woods to try and find the source. "Wait up bud !!"

You hid yourself deep into a nearby burrow, ready to defend yourself, you gripped onto the plank tight as you began to hear footsteps, one lighter and one heavier. Toothless then sniffed you out effortlessly, tracking your scent through the woods and right to the burrow. Hiccup slowly looked around and called out. "Hello ??"

You then saw toothless' snout and backed up, holding the plank in front of you. "Get away !!"

Toothless then growled lowly, his pupils sharpening when he saw the plank before Hiccup put his hand in front of him. "Easy... easy bud. We don't want to hurt you" He turned to you "We're here to help"

"You one of them... *clan name* ??"

He frowned softly. "No, Berkian. We saw the ruined ship and figured we'd look for survivors. Toothless here sniffed you out"

You looked over at Toothless who softened his look, but you gripped onto the plank tight, they could see you starting to shake.

"He's friendly... He's friendly..." He reassured you.

You closed your eyes as you took a shaky breath, dropping the plank. Toothless raised his ears, and then relaxed more, shifting his stance.

Hiccup smiled a little. "What's your name ??"

"Y/n..."

"Hiccup, Or Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, But... just Hiccup. Nice to meet you. And this here, is Toothless" He properly introduced you properly.

You slowly moved out of the burrow, Hiccup then saw an injury on your stomach, His eyes widening slightly. "You're injured, I need to get you help"

"I'm fi... Ow..." You felt a sharp sting and held your wound.

"Ok, we're not actually far from my home, you seemed to have washed ashore on the back of the island, Come on I'll help you" He helped you up, the trio beginning the journey.

They made it back to berk, Hiccup making sure you were away from prying eyes before ushering you inside his home, sitting you down. "Thanks..."

He smiled a little "No problem, Let's get this fixed up" He then looked around for first aid supplies and you sat there and watched on. Toothless sat close to you as a form of comfort. You then heard loud thumps before the door opened to reveal the biggest man you have ever seen in your life.

"My boy !! Where have you..." He then saw you.

"Heh... daaaad. Hey, your back"

"Who is this ??" He went over to him, you could hear them whispering as Hiccup began to explain.

"Toothless and I found them stranded on the back of the island... Their injured"

"Where are they from ??"

"I didn't get to that... I was going to ask when I noticed the wound, They mentioned *clan name* though" He shifted slightly.

Stoick remembers that name. "They could be from *Island name* they have been at war for almost a century" He softened his look and then turned to you, walking up carefully so he didn't look intimidating, sitting down next to you, his gaze intense despite trying not to be intimidating, he usually does that without realising.

"Do you remember how you were injured ??" He softly asked you.

"I... was on a boat..." You began to explain. "Sailing away from my island... we were getting raided..." The memories came back as you felt tears wash down your cheeks. "My dad... saved me"

He nodded. "Hiccup did right to bring you here... I'm so sorry... War isn't easy on anyone" He looked at hiccup briefly, to his prosthetic leg, then back to you. You felt a couple of little licks on your hand, Toothless cooed softly, nudging your hand gently.

"How would you like to stay here for a bit. I understand It's not home, but it's the least we can do to help you" Stoick offered. That made you smile softly. "Thank you"

Whatever berk will bring, you would be ready for the challenge.

[drabblesandimagines]

Motorcycle Rides

Pairings: Sebastian x you

Wordcount: 1623

You limped out of the mine, your pack heavy with materials. That last bunch of slimes had really taken it out of you and as you’d realized your strength was depleting, you’d turned on your heels and ran, only to twist your ankle on a rock.

You leant heavily against the wall, trying to catch your breath in the cool night air. Truth be told, you’d lost all track of time in the mines and it was now just before midnight on a Tuesday for goodness’ sake. You’d hoped to get to bed at a decent time for once, despite your endless to-do list. You’d only meant to be in the mines an hour or two tops!

After your heart had stopped pounding, you reached down and tentatively prodded at your ankle before wincing at the pain. It was already swelling and that probably wasn’t a great sign. This was a situation you hadn’t considered before embarking on your new life in Pelican Town – what exactly do you do in an emergency? There was Harvey’s clinic, but that would involve limping down there and waking him up over your own stupidity.

If you were going to be limping anywhere, you might as well limp home. Heck, the town was gossiping about you enough, you didn’t want your midnight trip to the clinic to be their next topic. You took a deep breath and took a step – there was a sharp ache that immediately dulled, but it was tolerable? It had to be tolerable, you concluded, as you took another shuffling step. It might take you all night, but you were determined to get home.

It was slow, painful progress as you found yourself walking past the carpenter’s house.

“Farmer?”

You jumped from the voice, your ankle immediately twisting on its side and you fell flat to the ground on your back, groaning.

“Sorry…” a figure appeared above you, looking down with an apologetic smile. It was the carpenter’s son… Sebastian? “I didn’t think you’d be so jumpy with being out so late and all.”

“I… I guess I just thought everyone in this town was a bed by 10pm on a week night crowd.”

“Well, the majority are. Er…” He hesitated, almost as if he was debating something in his head before he offered his hand. “Can I help you up?”

“Thanks.” Truth be told, you weren’t sure how graceful you would be at getting up without his assistance, so you happily accepted. In a combination of not expecting him to be as strong as he was and your weakened ankle, you were ill-prepared for getting back to your own two feet. You nearly went falling back down when Sebastian caught you in his arms and you threw yours around his neck. From your glow ring, you could clearly see the black-haired man’s face had flushed red.

“Sorry, that’s us city folk”, you tried to make light of the situation. “We swoon at any country man.”

That didn’t seem to help as – you didn’t think it was possible – his face had gone even more red.

“Er… here,” he tilted you upright, trying to get you to stand on your own two feet. You tried to comply, but your ankle collapsed underneath you, the sharp jolt of pain bringing tears to your eyes. You grabbed hold of his upper arm in a fierce grip. “You all right there?”

“No… I-I’ve hurt my ankle,” you swallowed, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I was in the mines and I twisted it. I thought I could limp home on it but that seems like a really dumb idea.”

“Ah…” Sebastian mumbled. “Erm, should I wake Maru? She works at the clinic part-time, she’ll probably know what to do.”

“No, please don’t. People are talking about me enough without adding this to the mix. I’ll be okay. I’ll just… I’ll take five and then it’ll be okay. You should go home.”

“I mean, I don’t know exactly how things go down in Zuzu City, but I can’t exactly go to bed and leave you out here.”

“That’s exactly how things would go down in Zuzu City. You’re a natural.” You grimaced.

“Er…” Sebastian paused. “Wait, I think I’ve got an idea. Do you wanna sit?”

You blushed, before mumbling, “I don’t think I could with any sense of grace.”

“I got you,” an arm wrapped around your waist and helped you down towards the ground.

“Right, I’ll be back in a moment.” He turned and went to head back up to his house.

“Wait, Sebastian…” He spun on his heels and looked at you quizzically. “Thank you.”

He smiled shyly, before walking out of sight, swallowed by the darkness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when Sebastian eventually returned. There was a brief moment when you thought he wasn’t coming back. Maybe it was some sort of Pelican Town hazing… The black-haired man eventually reappeared, wheeling along a motorcycle in tow towards you before stopping.

“So, it’s not working reliably at the moment – I’ve been working on fixing it up. But I thought you could sit on it and I can wheel it along back to the farm? Means you can take the weight off your ankle and get home and ice it, I guess? Or heat. One of those.”

“Honestly, you don’t have to do this. It’s so late.” You protested, embarrassed that your antics had led to this.

“I’ll be up for hours yet anyway. Plus, I’m curious to see what you’ve done with the land and it’ll get you home – win-win.” He put the bike’s kick stand out to balance the machine, before crouching down and offering his hand again.

You hesitated. “Only if you’re really sure.”

“I’m positive. Come on.”

You took it, allowing him to pull you up fully this time and you made sure to let your uninjured leg take all the weight. “Hop on.” He kept a tight grip on your hand as you swung your injured leg over the seat and boosted yourself up onto it.

“Cool. Right, er, probably best if you hold onto the handles too.” You followed his instructions, and he leant over, positioning his hands next to yours before kicking the stand back in place. There was a momentary wobble before you found your balance and Sebastian moved forward, pushing it along up towards the path you knew would lead back to your farm.

“What were you doing out so late? Not that I’m complaining,” you quickly rectified.

“I got wrapped up in work and forgot to get out today. I thought I’d have the night to myself,” he teased. “Was that your first trip down the mines?”

“Oh, gosh, no. The Adventure’s Guild and Marlon gave me some tips and I think that was my fifth trip. I probably went down a bit too far for the equipment I have, but to get better equipment I need money and the mine’s good for making a quick buck. Crops take their sweet time…”

“Ah, makes sense.” He nodded.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a freelance programmer. It’s okay, it means I can choose my own work hours. I’m more productive later in the day, so…”

“Oh, really? That’s so cool.”

You fell into a companionable silence. Thankfully, it wasn’t a long walk back to the farm and Sebastian let out a whistle as he admired your work so far.

“Wow, this looks different.”

“A good different?” You frowned.

“Of course. You’ve been busy – this was all weeds and rocks the last time I was out here. What are you growing?”

“Just potatoes and turnips – they’ll be out of season soon but I should get another load out… if I can keep the crows at bay.”

He wheeled the motorcycle up to the bottom of your porch, eyeing the steps. “Er, do you want a hand up the stairs?”

“If you don’t mind…” You mumbled – you weren’t convinced hopping up them would be a winning formula. Sebastian put the kick stand back down, then assisted you off his motorcycle. He hooked an arm around your back, just under your armpits to steady you as you hopped towards the stairs, and then took a big leap up the first one as he kept your balance. You were extremely grateful there were only three stairs and you exhaled in relief now safely at your front door.

“Thank you so much, Sebastian. I wish there was something I could give you in return…” You trailed off as he began to protest, but then you remembered – there was that cool-looking mineral you’d found earlier… You dug around in your satchel, leaning heavily on your front door, until your fingers found the smooth surface.

You withdrew it and Sebastian’s eyes lit up. “A frozen tear?”

“Is that what it is? Some weird creature dropped it – I think it came from deeper down in the mines. I thought it must be special. I was going to take it to Gunther tomorrow to identify, but it seems you’re a fan, so, please…”, you pushed it into his hands, “Take it.”

“No, I couldn’t…”

“I insist.” You unlocked the door behind you before he could really protest. “Goodnight, Sebastian. And, hey, every time you look at it, you can remember the time you helped the idiot farmer home.”

“Goodnight…” He continued to stare at the mineral in his hands as he heard your door open and close, “But I’m totally going to remember the time I helped the cute farmer home.” He said that a little louder than he intended and blushed, glancing up to see your door firmly closed at least.

Fortunately, your window was open and you’d definitely heard.

[daisyblog]

Caught

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN and Harry’s relationship is exposed after a photo of them kissing is leaked. Written in Louis' POV. Warning: swearing

Louis POV:

EXCLUSIVE: One Direction’s Harry Styles caught kissing bandmate’s sister

One Direction charmer Harry Styles has been pictured kissing his bandmate’s sister, YN Tomlinson, at Harry’s childhood friend's University party that the pair attended together last night. Students who were at Jonny's party said “They really seemed to have a connection and only had eyes for each other”. Another student said “They were enjoying themselves, laughing and joking together..were even dancing together”. Harry and YN were then seen getting into Harry’s car where he drove her back to her hometown. Whilst we think the pair are sweet and clearly enjoying themselves, what we want to know is…What does Louis think about his bandmate and sister locking lips?

“I’M GONNA FOOKIN’ KILL HIM” I shouted as I slammed my phone down in front of me on the table.

“Louis..what’s wrong?” my mother questioned as she stood behind the kitchen counter prepping mugs of tea for my grandparents who were sitting opposite me at the dining table. “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?” showing my Mum the article I just read and the photo attached. She only glanced at the photo quickly and continued making tea. “Oh no..no..please don’t tell me you already knew” I could see it on her face, she knew because she was not shocked, it was like she had already seen it.   “Louis..” my Mum began to speak. “No…this can’t be happening” I said with a sarcastic chuckle. “Where is she?”

“Look..I’ve been trying to sort this out all morning…do you think I wanted to be up half the night with my daughter sobbing in my arms ‘cause she thinks her brothers gonna hate her” my Mum spoke “Just please…calm down for a moment..and let's talk about this without the screaming and shouting..yeah?” “Louis…come and sit with your Nan and me a second son” Grandad interrupted. I went back to my original position and slumped in the chair and crossed my arms. My Grandad’s voice interrupted my thoughts “Okay..so you’re going to sit there a moment..without interrupting me..okay?” “Yeah” “Okay..I understand you’re angry” I interrupted him with a huff “..but answer me this..do you ‘onestly think Harry would risk the band and your friendship if he didn’t like her?” I thought about it and he was right, Harry wasn’t a nasty lad, in fact, he’s the one who tries to look out for everyone and always makes sure they're okay “No” “Does he talk about other girls..does he bring them back to the flat..is he disrespectful?” again, the answer was no. Even when the other boys were talking about their girlfriends or girls they liked Harry would always just sit there and listen. My Grandad’s voice spoke again “I’ll take your silence as a no…have you even considered that maybe they’re meant for each other…ey?” at these words, I looked up and saw my Mum and Nan give me a slight smile. “Okay I get your point…doesn’t mean I’m ‘appy ‘bout it though” I spoke. “Just promise me this” Grandad spoke again “when YN walks through that door…don’t scream, don’t shout, don’t assume anything…please just listen to her…Harry too” I thought about it and took a deep breath “Yeah..fine I promise” Feet are heard coming down the stairs and a couple of seconds later YN appears, walking very sheepishly. I’m given a warning look by my Mum and before I say anything YN’s voice is heard. “Lou..I’m so sorry..I really am” she said with tears threatening to spill from her eyes. I rub a hand over my face because I hate seeing my sisters upset. “I-I…w-we…we never meant t-to hurt you” she sobbed. I got up from my seat and walked over to her, opening my arms as my feet took me to her “Come ‘ere” and she wrapped her arms around me and sobbed into my chest “shh..c’mon it’s alright…I-I’m just shocked that’s all” After YN had calmed down a little and stopped crying, she joined me and our grandparents at the table. “Look..I can’t say I’m ‘appy ‘cause I’m not..but I just need some time to think okay” “I am sorry Lou” YN apologised again. “I know you are…where’s Harry now?” I asked. “He went back to London after the party last night” she explained. “So…is it serious then..you know..you like him?” YN nodded “Yeah..he’s really nice Lou…you should know that” she said with a slight grin. “Yeah…he is…I am gonna talk wiv him though..you know that” “Just listen to him Lou...’cause he’s actually terrified he’s messed up…not just wiv you but with me too”

---

I walked up to mine and Harry’s shared flat, having just driven almost three hours back from Doncaster. I put the key in the lock and opened the black door. I close the door behind me and kick off my shoes. I take a deep breath before I walk slowly towards the lounge door, as I was in Harry lifts his head from his hand where it was leaning on the arm of the sofa. “Louis” he began “L-l-look I’m…I don’t know what to say..but I’m sorry” I sat down on the sofa opposite him and leaned my elbows on my knees “I’d be fookin’ lying if I said I was ‘appy…but I’ve had time to think on me way ‘ome…and I’m tryin’ to do what’s best for me sister” “Is she okay?” Harry asked with worry written all over his face. “Uhh..yeah she’s okay…just a bit upset by the whole thing” “I’ve fucked up man” He said and buried his face in his hands. “Do you like her..like is it serious..or is just a phase?” I needed to know for sure. “Lou..I-I would never have risked this if I didn’t like her…I don’t how to describe it but..I can promise you it’s not just a phase…I’d never want to hurt her or you…you’re my best mate and I just wish I’d have told you and you didn’t find out like this” he rambled. “Harry” I spoke “If you hurt her..I will hunt you fookin’ down...now come ‘ere” I spoke as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “I’ll look after her Lou..I promise” he squeezed me tighter “thanks for not punching me too..I’ve been waiting for it all morning” he said with a grin. “The band needs your handsome face…otherwise I would ‘ave” I joked. --- As I was walking back from Zayn’s flat where I’d been for the evening, watching football and filling him in on the situation, my phone buzzed in my jean pocket. YN Thank you for listening to Harry. I really am sorry Lou! I’ll phone you tomorrow, love you lots xxx I began tapping my fingers against the screen, adding the nickname I used to call her when we were younger. LouisI love you Tiny xx

[searchingforserendipity25]

Plentiful as Sand is Plentiful. LoTR. on ao3.

There was for many years an hourglass upon Elrond’s desk, a tall ivory-and-glass thing from sunken Númenor. 

As a little child Estel liked to turn it and turn it, and would sit for hours upon his foster father’s lap following the mother-of-pearl etchings on the handle with his fingertips and watching the sand shift softly. 

For a time it was too heavy for his small wrists to turn; but Elrond with his keen hearing would know when the last grains came with an end, and knew when to turn it without lifting his eyes from his papers.

 Elrond had given it for him to hold, when he told him the truth of his name: Aragon, son of Arathorn, heir to Isildur’s line and Isildur’s grim failure. 

“Yet also to the courage of his people, and their skill,” Elrond told him. “Your forefather it was who made this time piece as a gift to me. From the glass-rooms of Armenelos it came, the last of Isildur’s works of beauty. It has been of good use to me, and good memory; I give it to you, that you should remember him with gratitude, as well as bitterness.”

“Yet bitter is it what you say to me,” said Estel, who was Aragorn. He was startled still, and yet not surprised entirely; for the blood of kings ran in him, and had at times left an uneasy premonition upon him. 

Still he would have remained been Estel, and no lost kingdom’s wayward heir; least of all in this century, this Age of the world, with an evil reckoning brewing in the distance. 

He turned the hourglass in his hands; a Mannish means of counting time, not to be found in other elvish kingdoms, but common enough in the house of Elrond Peredhel. “Keep it, Master Elrond. I cannot have it as my own, ere I am Isildur’s heir truly. These hurrying moments that are my lifetime shall be a heavy load to carry, I judge, and my course too rough for such a delicate thing.”

“Then keep it I shall, until you wish to reclaim it, or your score of years are run to their course,” said Elrond; and laid upon Estel’s shoulder the heavy comfort of his healer’s hands, which he felt for a time like a yoke as well as a kindness. 

It rested between a tall orchid Celebrían had found once in her expeditions in the wilds of Ennor, a narrow and tall and very orange creature, the last of its kind on these shore - and on the other side was his pile of used quills, which he tended to keep until they were worn through into stumps, too blunt to be sharpened.

He used it little, after that day; but at times Arwen his daughter came, and stood by the chair where Aragorn had sat with bent shoulders to her his name. 

Her fingers, long broideress fingers, touched the waves and leviathans Isildur had carved, with careful deliberation, in the last days of his youth, the dying of his empire. Her eyes grew clouded, then; not with the memory of the past, but her own designs, a future seen with the force of her want. Her own lord of man, his dear face not like any other’s; her own cities crowded with the smell of stone dust and salt.

She left it there, warmed by her skin, and went away from it but for rare and secret visits; but Elrond at times looked heavily upon it, as once he had not. 

That was another Age of the world. There is now an hourglass amidst Tar-Elessar’s instruments - behind the inkwell of Gondorin silver, besides the whittling of an eagle in flight his eldest daughter has wrought him. 

Many gifts have been to him, the king well-returned; but none quite as ancient. Elessar turns it in his hands, when a heavy ruling keeps him at work long into the night; Isildur’s hourglass, grown light with the strength of his manhood, feels always a little terrible to hold.

[ragingbookdragon]

Soap was definitely a jeans and t-shirt type of man. Hated penguin suits for the life of him. But when the team saw him come in with a clean pair of dark denim jeans, a forest-green plaid dress shirt, and a dark brown buttoned vest with tan leather straps, they knew something was up; he’d even gotten a new pair of dark dress shoes. He was running a hand through his gelled hair, a little longer than usual, but clean-shaven head and face, the scent of wintergreen aftershave wafting around him, mixing with the smoky, tobacco and cedarwood cologne he was wearing.

Price looked up from his deck of cards, looked down, then back up in shock. “Soap?”

The sergeant blinked, fixing the button of his vest, before fumbling with the gold chain that connected from his button to the watch in his pocket. “Yeah, Cap?”

“Uh…where you goin’, son?” he asked and Soap flushed a little, clearing his throat as he shifted on his feet.

“Got a date.”

Ghost snorted. “With the lass he’s been head over heels about for the last six months.”

Gaz shook his head. “You’ve been dating someone?”

“Won’t shut up about her,” Ghost answered, and Soap crossed his arms over his chest.

“I just wanted to make sure she was legit first. We’re not that serious.”

“Uh huh,” Ghost shot back. “Show us your phone background then.”

Soap blushed and shoved his phone in his pocket. “Fuck off,” he griped and looked at the captain. “I’ll be back by eleven. Call me if anything happens.”

Price waved him off. “Go have fun.” As soon as Soap disappeared, he turned on Ghost. “You didn’t tell me he was seeing someone.”

“It’s not my business,” he retorted.

“Of course, it is. Look at ‘im. He can’t be left alone to his own devices.”

***

The night had gone amazing. The food was wonderful, the atmosphere was even better, and Soap was on cloud nine as he walked with her hand in his down by the water. He felt like a teenager again, his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest and as they came to a bench, she pulled him towards it.

“Can we sit?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Of course, love,” he said and sat down with her. She seemed nervous, fiddling with her hands. “Love? You alright? Look like you’re sweatin’ bullets.”

She sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I just need to tell you something. It’s…really important and I think it might define the rest of this night.”

Now, he was nervous, and he took her hand, gently rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Love, whatever you need to tell me, I’m listening.”

“I appreciate that,” she answered and took a deep breath, looking into his eyes as she said, “John, I’m not a biological woman.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

She gestured below her. “I’m not a biological woman. I was born a biological male. Y’know…male parts. Boy. Man.”

Soap nodded slowly. “So…you’re transgender? A male to a female?”

“Mhm.” She pulled her hand away, resting it in her lap. “I had my top and bottom surgeries a few years ago, and I’ve been on medication since I was a teenager.” Her eyes seemed sad. “I just…wanted to tell you this before things went farther. I know I waited a little longer than usual but I…I didn’t want to ruin things between us.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I really like you, John. I mean, I really like you. And I want to keep seeing you, but if you aren’t comfortable with this, I understand a-and I won’t hold it against you if you want to stop seeing me. Some people are okay with dating people like me, and some aren’t. I just…needed you to know.”

Soap was quiet for a moment then he reached over a put his hand on her cheek, turning her face to his, thumb brushing away the tears on her skin, then he took his other hand and did the same before tilting her face up and down, side to side until a startled laugh escaped her.

“What are you doing, John?” she questioned.

He smiled at her. “Looking for all those wrinkles you must’ve gotten from frowning so much thinkin’ o’er how you were gonna tell me this.”

She laughed pitifully, a grimace coming over her lips after. “I once ended up in the ER for not telling a man I was seeing. Not that I think you would do something like that to me, I just, y’know…needed to be sure.”

Soap’s face turned uncharacteristically serious, and he promised, “Love, I will never lay my hands on you. For any reason.” He wiped her tears away. “And whether you are a biological woman or not doesn’t matter to me. I love you exactly for who and how you are. You’re perfect. In every way. I love you.”

She blinked, gaping at him. “You…you love me?”

Soap swallowed thickly, cheeks crimson as he pulled away and scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly stretching like he did when he was flustered. “I mean, I care about you greatly. A great deal. A large extent. Quite a lot.”

“You love me,” she repeated as she nuzzled into his side. “It’s okay, John, I love you too.”

He melted, wrapping his arm tight around her, squeezing her against him. “You make me really happy, love. And thank you for trusting me with this I know it was something important and I’m even sorrier if I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me.”

“John, you make me happy,” she answered, looking up at him. “And I told you this because I trust you. You have nothing to be sorry for.” She smiled. “Do you maybe want to spend the night at my place tonight?”

“I’d love to,” he said. “But do you want me to come over? I understand if you don’t want me to.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure.” She smiled. “Besides, I want nothing more than to sleep next to you.”

“You won’t be next to me, love,” he said, standing from the bench, and pulling her with him. “You’ll be in my arms where you belong.”

Her smile rivaled the moon above and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “John MacTavish, you are a real catch, you know that?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “You are.” He pecked her lips. “I love you, lass.”

“I love you.”

[darth-mortem]

Here is Valentine's Day GhostSoap fanfic 😌

Someone sends Soap anonymous valentines, and it would've been fine if not the text inside which disturbs him greatly. 1999 words.

Yeah, it's my knives on the photo :)

Johnny brought the mail into the house and began to lazily sorting the envelopes, newspapers, and flyers. Today, February 14, was the last day of his leave, and he had to go back to the base in a few hours, but for now he was at home and enjoying it.

“Maw!” Johnny shouted towards the kitchen. “Ye hae a letter from Aunt Agnes!”

He put the envelope aside, took the next one, and was surprised to see his name on it. Soap had no idea who could have sent him a paper letter, even to his parent’s house address, not to the base’s.

You can keep reading here or on Ao3

“Maw!” Johnny shouted again. “Did ye tell anyone I was ‘ere?”

“No, dear,” Mrs. MacTavish said, looking out of the kitchen, “as ye asked. And what’s th’ matter?”

“Someone sent me a letter wi’ no name ‘n’ no return address." Soap rubbed the back of his head in confusion.

“Well, mibbie someone wanted tae confess his feelin’s tae ye on Valentine’s Day.” The woman gently stroked her son’s head. “Let’s go tae eat, dear.”

Johnny opened the enigmatic envelope in his room after breakfast. There was a postcard in the shape of a heart with standard greetings on one side. MacTavish grunted, turned it over, and everything inside him went cold. There were inscriptions made from letters cut out of magazines or newspapers, stickers with skulls, and an uneven heart made from photos of various knives. Feeling an unpleasant pressure in his chest, Johnny started to read crooked lines of words.

The first were lines from a song he knew very well:

‘Valentine is done

Here, but now they're gone

Romeo and Juliet

Are together in eternity

We can be like they are’

After them, there were a few more words. ‘See you later,’ Soap read, ‘bye.’

It looked like a treat. It was a treat, and Johnny involuntarily looked around and then peeked out of the window, as if he expected to see the person who had sent this eerie postcard there. Of course, there was nothing suspicious on the street. Soap stood there for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts, then stuffed the postcard into his already packed bag and went downstairs. Whoever this madman is, he won’t spoil MacTavish’s last hours of his leave at his parent’s house.

Anxiety began to grip Soap again, as he was already flying back to the base. He wasn’t alone in the helicopter; there were other soldiers whose leave was over. Johnny stared at them involuntarily, wondering if the sender of the menacing valentine was among them.

“Hey, MacTavish!” One of them called, and Soap shuddered. “How did you spend your leave?”

“Ah was at home,” he answered. “Ate maw’s food, slept a lot, went fishing wi’ my da. And what about ye?”

The rest of the flight was spent in cheerful conversation, and Johnny relaxed a little. Gaz met him at the airstrip, eager to tell him all the latest news from the base as they made their way to the residential block.

“Well, I have to train rookies.” Kyle said when they got to the building. “See you later, mate!”

He left with a waving farewell, and Johnny’s insides went cold again because he immediately remembered the text of the creepy postcard. He walked down the corridor nervously, looking around, and almost ran into his room, slamming and locking the door behind him. Turning around, he breathed a sigh of relief, closed his eyes for a second, and then...

There was a postcard in the shape of a heart on the floor. It wasn’t far from the entrance, so it could be assumed that someone had pushed it under the door. Johnny carefully picked it up, turned it over, and read the text made from letters cut out of a magazine. ‘Be wary, my dear, as you walk alone,’ it said, ‘for on this night, you're never truly on your own.’

Johnny panicked again. Everything indicated that someone was watching him; someone knew where he was and what he was doing. Perhaps it was someone from the base, or he had connections here, a friend who, at his command, slipped the postcard into MacTavish’s room.

Soap was not given much time to think about all this. Price knocked on his door and ordered him to go help Gaz. Johnny wanted to say hello to Ghost first, but the captain told him that the man was busy with paperwork and, given the amount of it, wouldn’t be free until the evening.

Johnny walked to the training ground, looking around and tensing if anyone got too close. Gas noticed his strange behavior and, finding a free moment, took him aside.

“What’s wrong with you, mate?” Kyle asked. “You’re twitchy since returning from leave.”

“I’m fine,” Soap tried to smile. “I just need tae get used to it all again.”

Gaz didn’t believe him but didn’t ask any more questions, and they went back to training. The rookies needed a lot of attention, especially after one of them fell on the obstacle course and injured his arm. Kyle took him to the medical center, leaving Johnny to continue the training. He didn’t return until dinner because he had to write a report on the incident.

Objectively, nothing at the base had changed, but now MacTavish felt that someone was constantly watching him. He caught glances at himself and wondered if this person was the mysterious sender of the creepy valentines. That’s how the whole day passed, and, realizing that it couldn’t go on like this, Soap took the postcards and went to Price’s office.

“I need tae tell ye something, sir,” he said, approaching the captain’s desk.

Price looked at him intently and pointed on a visitor’s chair. He also noticed that something was wrong with the usually cheerful and friendly sergeant and worried about him.

“What happened, son?” He asked gently, looking at nervous Johnny.

“I think someone is stalking me,” MacTavish answered, sighing heavily. “I received a postcard tae my parents’ home address. And then I found another one in my room ‘ere at th’ base.”

With that, Soap placed both valentines in front of the captain. He took them, examined the inscriptions attentively, and looked up at the nervous sergeant.

“Son,” Price spoke cautiously, “what made you think they were sent by a stalker?”

“And how else?!” MacTavish exclaimed with resentment. “He knows where a'm, knows mah home address! And thae inscriptions? Thae ur true threats!”

“Well, the inscriptions are really weird,” the captain admitted. “And about the other... Tell me, son, who knows where you were on leave, who loves skulls and knives, and who gets a themed magazine every month?”

“Ghost,” Soap answered without thinking and froze with his mouth open. “Fucking hell… I’m an idiot, yeah?”

“That’s your words, not mine." Price got up and went to the exit. “Close the door when you leave.”

The captain left his office, and the sergeant grabbed a document from his desk, turned it over to a blank side, and started to write something concentrated.

The door of Ghost’s room was locked as usual, and Soap knocked until it was opened to him. He burst in, turned to the lieutenant, and saw that he looked very sad. It was visible despite the balaclava on his head.

“What do you want, Johnny?” Ghost asked, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Simon,” the sergeant exhaled, catching his breath, “it’s for ye!”

Ghost silently took from his hands a crookedly cut paper heart, on which was written: ‘I like ye too.’ Johnny watched his gaze change, and then the lieutenant looked up at him in confusion.

“Sorry for bein’ sae late,” Soap sighed and made puppy eyes. “I’m just an idiot, ‘n’ only now guessed that those postcards were from you.”

Johnny didn’t say that they scared him to not sound even more like a fool. Instead, he took the first valentine out of his pocket, turned it over, and, smiling, pointed to one of the knives that formed the heart.

“I like this one,” he said.

“You have a good taste." Ghost finally calmed down and smiled under his balaclava. “It’s the best one, and I hoped that you’ll choose it.”

He went to the closet and came back holding the knife from the picture.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Johnny.” The lieutenant said.

“Och, Simon…” Soap blushed like a boy, accepting the gift. “Thank ye! It’s sae cool! Och, hauld yer horses a second…”

The sergeant started rummaging through his pockets until he found a quid coin in one of them. He handed it to Ghost, and he took a symbolic payment so that the gift of the knife wouldn’t cut the relationship between him and Johnny.

“I have something for ye too,” Soap said. “I’ll bring it now!”

He ran to his room and soon returned with a neat box of chocolate chip cookies that his mother had baked for him. Handling the gift to Simon, Johnny rushed into the break room of TF 141 to make them tea. When he finally got back and sat down, the lieutenant looked at him and asked:

“Johnny, why did you make your valentine on the page from the annual budget of our unit?”

“What?..” Soap froze, blinking his eyes. “I… dinnae know, I just..."

The sergeant remembered that he took the first paper he saw and didn’t look at what exactly it was.

“Price will kill me,” he said finally. "So, mibbie, I deserve one kiss before death?”

“Maybe you want more than one kiss?” Ghost answered the question with a question and rose up the edge of his balaclava to the bridge of his nose. “Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

“Och, I want to!” Johnny smiled cheerfully and a little stupidly. “Will ye take off yer mask ‘n’ show yer face?”

“Negative,” the lieutenant answered composed, and took the cookie from the box.

On the morning of February 15, Johnny woke up in Simon’s arms. He really didn’t take off his balaclava; actually, it was the only thing he didn’t take off. His clothes were mixed with Soap’s on the floor by the bed. It was still dark outside, but the wake-up call had already ringed, so the lieutenant and the sergeant stirred and reluctantly started to get up and get dressed. They went to breakfast together and sat down at the table opposite Gaz, who came to the mess hall first.

“You’re kind of weird today, mates,” Kyle said, looking at the sergeant and the lieutenant.

“We just didn’t get enough sleep,” Johnny answered lazily, and then understood what he said. “I mean, separately, each in their room, you know.”

Soap coughed, and Gaz slowly looked from him to Ghost and back.

“And where is Price?” The lieutenant asked, changing the topic of their conversation.

“He took sandwiches and went to his office,” Kyle answered. “He said that he had to check and hand over some papers to the general.”

Johnny paled, but he didn’t have time to do anything. Price was already entering the dining room, and, seeing MacTavish at the table, he shouted angrily:

“Soap, you, son of a bitch!!”

“Better run,” Kyle advised, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah,” Johnny nodded and then looked at Ghost. “See ye later, Simon.”

Johnny jumped over the table, rushed to the window, and threw it open. Blowing Ghost an air kiss, he jumped out and sped away, followed by surprised looks from the soldiers and rookies.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Gaz asked Ghost.

“Negative,” the lieutenant lied.

“Oh, really?” Kyle absolutely didn’t trust him. “And since when does MacTavish call you by your name?”

“I don’t remember,” Ghost said, annoyed. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“So I can call you ‘Simon’ too?" Gas didn’t stop asking questions.

“Try it, and I’ll shoot you.” Ghost barked, took his tray, and went away quickly.

“Yeah, each in their room,” Gaz grunted, then smiled and finished his coffee.

[thebiggerbear]

WIP Wednesday - 5/29/24 - Beau Arlen x Reader

A/N: Oh wow, I haven't done one of these in a while, but I've still been a busy bee behind the scenes. This is from another short series for Beau x Female Reader that I've been working on since, sheesh, July 29th of last year (don't judge me lol). It's another project I really love with my whole heart because it's allowing me to go to places with Beau and this world that I haven't gone to before and explore some...things about his character that we got a glimpse of in the show. Without giving too much away, this is going to be a bit darker than my average Beau story. I will start posting this very soon. I took out any specific spoilers. This takes place a bit after season 3. All unbeta'd.

Warnings: mentions of domestic violence (not Beau); injury/blood; a split second of violence

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Beau Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @illicithallways; @muhahaha303

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

You and Poppernak had responded to a domestic disturbance call and the husband was obviously at least twice past the legal limit for blood alcohol. Seeing his wife’s rapidly blackening eye, you talked her into pressing charges to at least get him out of the house for the night, if not for longer. When you went to arrest him, he pulled a knife on you and you saw it just in time. As you moved away, dodging his blows, thankfully Poppernak snuck up behind him and knocked him to the ground. You both then tackled him and forced him to drop the knife. Once he was in handcuffs, Poppernak radioed for backup and a bus. 

“You okay?”

You glanced at your bloodied shirt sleeve. “Yeah, I think so. Just a scratch.”

Poppernak shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re getting that checked out.” He pulled a bandana from his pocket and placed it against your arm, urging you to keep it there and steadily apply pressure.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Usually, you would have but the wife was watching you and you knew what you had to do. Without realizing it, the stupid son of a bitch had just given the justice system the perfect reason to keep him from going back home right away, even if his wife changed her mind regarding the charges. Now, he had assaulted an officer, so you had even more reason not to resist the full process of reporting and medical follow up.    

So here you were, in the ER, waiting on the nurse to finish up so you could get out of here.

“There. All set.” She snapped her gloves off and threw them in the trash.

“Thanks.” You carefully slipped your injured arm into the sleeve of your jacket. 

The woman held up a sheet of paper. “Now, here are the care instructions. You’ll need to—”

You took the form from her and gave her a reassuring smile. “I appreciate it but I already know the drill. Not my first rodeo.” You slipped the other arm into your jacket and shrugged into it, wincing at the slight jab of pain.

“Okay,” she replied in a singsong voice, obviously assuming you were that type of patient. “You go home and get some rest now, you hear?” 

She was gone before you could roll your eyes at her fake cheeriness. You pulled out your phone, about to text Poppernak that you were ready for pickup, when a young male nurse strolled in. “Oh, good. I’m glad I caught you.”

“I was discharged so…” You held up the paper in your hand as proof. No way were they keeping you any longer. You had a job to get back to, though you had a feeling you would be arguing with Beau not that long from now about you being able to complete your shift.

“Oh, I know. Dr. Strickland wants to see you quickly before you leave.”

Dammit, just when you were about to get out of here. “Do I have to?”

He gave you a look. “If Dr. Strickland is asking to see you, it’s probably best if you hear what she has to say.”

“Fine,” you groaned. “Where is her office?”

“Down the hall, make two lefts, then a right, first door on the left,” he directed as he began to clean up where you had just been sitting.

“That’s not confusing at all,” you muttered under your breath as you left the room. Much to your surprise a few minutes later, his directions had been spot on.

The door was open and you rapped on it, sticking your head in. Dr. Strickland glanced up from her desk and gave you a smile. “Deputy Y/L/N. I’m so glad Ryan caught you before you left. Please, close the door and have a seat.”

“Okay…” You did as she asked, plopping down into the open chair facing her. “Everything okay? My insurance should cover all of this, I’m pretty sure.”

Dr. Strickland waved a hand in dismissal. “This isn’t about that. If it were, you’d be sitting in the Billing Office instead.” She chuckled at her own joke.

Right. You had already had a rough few days; you weren’t really in the mood for jokes or being polite for politeness' sake, so you cut right to the chase. “What’s up, doc? Why did you need to see me?”

The older woman typed something up on her computer. “When you were brought in, even though it wasn’t a deep cut, I ran your blood work just as a precaution. In case a tetanus booster was needed.”

“I remember.” You weren’t afraid of needles but you weren’t exactly a fan so anytime one came near you, you made sure to look away until they were done doing whatever it was they were going to do with it. 

“Well,” Dr. Strickland glanced over her glasses at you. “We found something.” She swung her gaze back to her computer, continuing to type. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You should have fucking known. Ever since you’d come up here to Helena at Beau’s insistence, everything had been wrong. Why wouldn’t they find something in your blood work on top of everything else? “What did you find?” You nearly whispered.

The doctor’s eyes snapped to you and she gave you a reassuring smile. “Oh, nothing like that. Don’t worry.” She hit a button and the printer started up. She then folded her hands on her desk, patiently waiting for the paper to finish printing. “You’re pregnant.”

There was a ringing in your ears and you began to feel light-headed. There was no way you heard her right. “I’m sorry…what?”

“You’re pregnant,” she repeated, picking up the paper as it spit out from the printer. “Here is a copy of your test results.” She offered it to you and for a moment, you considered not taking it. There was no way; she must have made a mistake. Perhaps your results got mixed up with someone else’s.

“That’s impossible.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Actually, it’s quite possible. A blood test is ninety-nine percent more accurate than urine tests. It’s hard to know exactly how far along you are without a proper examination but the results don’t lie. You’re pregnant.”

The ringing and light-headedness got worse, so much so that you barely heard her telling you that you needed to make an appointment with your OB-GYN to start prenatal care and get your first ultrasound to determine how far along you were in your pregnancy. Pregnancy? What the hell was she talking about? There was no way you could be pregnant...no fucking way. Not the moment that you had finally put your foot down with Beau — oh God. Fucking…Beau!

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this upcoming mini series.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

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[tiredthingbehindyou]

hey same silly anon as the leo valdez ask... could I get a Reyna bc... women :P

A Bowl of Elysian Fields

During/After SoN War Games

Headcanons/One-shot

Reyna because women

Mentions of injury and falling unconscious

Imagine coming back from the War Games after being slammed against the wall by a water canon exploding

You were (wo)manning one of them when you and your partner spotted a trio staring up at you

You didn't know how they manged to get so close to the walls, but there were there nonetheless

You didn't want to shoot them, what could three kids from the Fifth do to you all?

But your partner ignored you and turned the water canon to face them

The newbie held up his hand, and the next thing you know, you're sent flying off the walls and are caught by one of the eagles

All you can focus on is your armor digging into your skin and the loud ringing in your ears

You close your eyes when dark spots appear in your vision

You didn't know how long you were out for, but it must've be a while considering it was bright as Apollo outside when you opened your eyes again

You sit up and are quickly reminded of last night when you feel a sharp pain in your leg and in your head

Reyna immediately hurries over to you. "Eres una idiota absoluta, querida," she chides as she pulls the covers down to inspect the bandages around your thigh.

You could tell you were in trouble. She rarely spoke in Spanish unless she was feeling emotional and instinctively went to her native tongue.

"Reyna, I'm fine," you say, trying to calm her down. "It's just a a cut and a headache. We've both gotten worse injuries."

"I know we have," she responded as she carefully unwrapped the bandages around your thigh. She grimaced at the angry red welts and scabs on the skin.

You stayed silent as she grabbed more bandages for your thigh. All you did was watch her face focus on helping you. You smiled at the way her hands moved with the skill of a woman who's been doing this since she could walk.

Considering you both were demigods, it was a given you both had to be. You couldn't always count on others to be there for you, even if that is how everyone was trained at the Wolf House.

Help yourself, then help others. Either come back with your comrade walking beside you, or with their body in your arms. You don't leave them behind.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you felt lips against your own. Before you could kiss back, Renya pulled away, making you pout like a child denied candy for dinner.

When she turned away, you couldn't help think it was punishment for not being as careful as you could've been. You huffed and collapsed back down on the bed, wondering when your thighs would heal.

Reyna returned with a bowl of ice-cream and a book in her hand. She sat next to you and handed the bowl to you.

"A treat, for my favorite idiot," she said with a subtle smile. She flipped the book open as you climbed into her lap.

You laid your head on her chest as her calming voice started to read to you.

This was practically The Elysian Fields for you. It was perfect.

[lost-onpurpose]

The last month has felt like a badly scripted soap opera.

1/22: Sister passed out at the store. ER found no cause.

1/23: Sister called from school bathroom floor because too dizzy to stand. She went to different ER and they determined migraine/dehydration. IV fluids helped.

1/24-1/26: Residual migraine. Missed school.

2/4: Mom got diagnosed with pneumonia. Started meds.

2/7: J called and said Mammaw's oxygen had dropped into the 70s/80s and they were starting her on supplemental oxygen. She wasn't very coherent but she was alert. The only coherent thing she said was making me and sister promise to take care of Mom. My Aunt S came down to sit with her that night. Alerted her son and the close relatives who live out of state.

2/8: Mammaw fell asleep. Could not wake up. Still breathing. Still had pulse and blood pressure. Called local family and updated our of state family. Stayed with her until 6 pm. Aunt S called at 6:30 pm and told us that Mammaw's breathing had gotten raspy. We went back. She had the death rattle. Called family again. Held Mammaw's hands and talked to her. Told her we'd be okay and it was okay.

2/9: 12:22 am. Hospice nurse called time of death. Called Mammaw's son Uncle J, cousin J, brother, dad, and other Uncle J (didn't realize we had so many J names in the family). 4:00 pm met with the funeral director to start planning. Called Y at the florist and got the casket spray and standing sprays ordered.

2/10-2/13: Helped family find hotels and plane tickets to attend funeral on 2/16.

2/14: Sister did Mammaw's makeup for the services.

2/15: We had private family viewing before services on 2/16. Had dinner with family that we hadn't seen in a while.

2/16: Visitation. Funeral (I spoke some). Graveside service. After service meal.

2/17: Had therapy at 9 am. Cried on my therapist's couch. Went to Barnes and Noble, Five Below, Bath & Body Works, and the mall as an attempt at distraction. Didn't help. Saw family before they left.

2/18: Last of family left to go home. Cried again.

2/20: Mom goes to ER with chest pain (started during funeral planning week but thought it was anxiety). Admitted to hospital with fluid on right lung (lower lobe collapsed, middle lobe collapsing).

2/22: Going to drain lung but she had too much eliquis in her system

2/23: Drained lung. Lidocaine didn't help. She felt it all. 1.4 liters of fluid pulled off. Chest X-ray showed it was almost all of the fluid and lung was reinflating.

2/24: Mom discharged from hospital.

[drinkintrashjuice]

Ep. 3 :0 (MID Rewrite)

Hellooo!! I finally finished ep. 3!!! I do think that the first section isn’t my best work, but I’ll make up for that next chapter! I really hope you guys like this one! If you haven’t already, make sure to go read both ep. 1 and ep. 2. While I don’t think it’s my best work, they’re still important to understand the story. (Also this was finished like last night by the time I’m posting this. I just didn’t wanna post late at night like I did last time)

Episode 3: The Daze of the Day

Yakedo sat in the carriage Garmon had made for him. It was a rather “princess” like carriage. It was mostly made of wood that was smooth enough to easily slip on, and jungle-like leaves that acted as a sort of window cover. The carriage was decorated with many flowers that made it smell quite nice. Not only that, the driver was a dainty Mir woman with light pink horns. While the idea was clever, making it look like Yakedo was actually a princess Garmon’s son was supposed to marry, Yakedo didn’t think he appreciated it

“Garmon’s guest, please be aware that when you come through these gates, we ask for no harsh language or violence.” said the Mir woman, looking through a tiny slit where she could barely see Yakedo.

“Of course I know that, I’m not an idiot. But please pick up the pace.” Yakedo was starting to get impatient. This coupled with how girly and small the carriage was made him much more irritated than usual.

”I apologize, but I am not allowed to, as king Garmon asked me to make you feel relaxed.” Yakedo grumbled and sunk into his seat.

As the carriage rolled past the front gates, many people of the kingdom stared in curiosity. Many murmurings of who could possibly be in the carriage echoed throughout the crowd. Once they gotten in front of the castle, two knights that looked equally as weak as the woman driving the carriage were carrying huge leaves that could fully cover someone about Yakedo’s size.

“Garmon’s guest, please step out of the carriage. We’ll respectively keep your privacy.” The two knights then held the leaves over the door.

Yakedo felt as if his masculinity was deteriorating by the minute by entertaining this. Yet he still did as he was told and carefully stood out of the carriage.

Both of the knights and Yakedo carefully walked towards the doors of the castle. As it shut behind them, they went down a rather long flight of stairs. Going down this was made extra difficult with the knights still covering Yakedo’s figure.

“Must you both keep doing this?” Yakedo asked irritably.

“We are sorry, but Garmon has asked us to keep you hidden. For now, please refrain from speaking” The other knight nodded as they continued to descend.

Finally they reached the end of the torture that was having to shimmy down each step. The knights stopped covering Yakedo with the leaves so he could see.

The room was a big pool with a path of stones leading to a large area in the middle. This area had a large palm tree in the middle with two comfy looking chairs beside both sides of the tree. A table sat between the two chairs with a tea pot and two tea cups.

“So? You like it?” Asked Garmon from behind Yakedo, spooking him in the process.

“Gah! Er- it looks…fine.” Stated Yakedo, not wanting to admit how Garmon scared him.

“Apologies for sneaking up on you. But to be fair you did seem pretty entranced with the scenery.” Garmon walked in front Yakedo to head towards the middle and Yakedo followed.

Each stone as they stepped on it made a tiny sound, which made a lovely tune. Once they reached the middle of the pool, Garmon sat on one of the chairs and crossed his legs, while Yakedo sat on the other and crossed his arms.

Yakedo studied Garmon for any sign of betrayal. Garmon’s usual green cloak looked normal, as does his emerald green horns. His mint green hair covered one of his eyes, but he always styled it like that. His skin was pale, but again that’s what it’s usually like…Yakedo couldn’t find anything suspicious.

“You don’t know how thrilled I am you accepted this invitation Yakedo! I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while now…” Yakedo simply looked away from him, while Garmon poured himself and Yakedo some tea

Garmon started to talk again, but was interrupted by Yakedo.

“Are you really telling me that was your master plan of getting me here?” Yakedo faced him, “I must say, it’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever had the displeasure of going through.”

“Y-Yes, and I’m sorry, but it clearly worked didn’t it?” Garmon started wringing his hands out of nervousness.

“Truly you are a pathetic little thing…I don’t even know how I thought you had any sort of backbone strong enough to even consider trying to take me down.” Yakedo looked away from Garmon again, clearly infuriated.

Garmon then slammed his hand on the table and stood up. His face was red with frustration.

“Yakedo I’m tired of this! I brought you here to help you!” Yakedo looked at Garmon surprisingly.

“Listen to me for once! I promise it’ll do you at least a little bit of good!” Garmon then sat back down grabbing his cup of tea.

Yakedo was annoyed because of Garmon’s outburst, but decided to let him talk.

“As Mothando has told you numerous times before, starting a war with others will only make the magic crises worse.” Garmon took a sip from his cup, “I believe you’re doing this because there’s a special type of hate in your heart…and I’m willing to help you fix it.” Garmon gave Yakedo a warm smile.

Yakedo was not at all amused of the notion that he needed “fixing”. That on top of everything else that happened today made him want to strike down Garmon right then and there.

“Garmon, I demand you tell your men to bring me back to Chikara! What you’re implying is absurd.” Yakedo stood up and started for the exit.

”Yakedo I’m telling you if-“

Yakedo then struck Garmon in the face. Right on the eye he didn’t cover. Tears already started to stream down Garmon’s face. Once his tears and blood started to mix, it made a sickening smell.

“No! I’m telling you that if you want the people of your kingdom to be alive by tomorrow, you should escort me out of this pitiful place!” Yakedo stood over Garmon, effectively terrifying him.

Garmon looked behind Yakedo and nodded. As soon as he did this, something pricked the back of Yakedo’s neck.

“What..? I…should’ve…” Yakedo then fell to the ground. Whatever substance was in the needle had made him extremely tired very quickly.

“I’m sorry Yakedo…I wanted to do it my way but…it seems Mothando was right…” An Umnotho soldier then tended to Garmon’s wound.

“You…bastards…” Yakedo then passed out.

Ava woke up to the beeping of her alarm. She waited a bit to think before turning it off. Specifically about the five men that were in her living room. She originally thought they were just some weird cosplayers, but not only has she just never seen those characters before, their horns and clothes looked too real.

Ava turned off her alarm and grabbed her phone. One thing she regrets from yesterday is obviously the whole “marry me then power” thing she said to the Daemons, but also never calling her manager. She decided to go through that mini war while she still had the energy and time. After all, she had to explain to some guys how earth worked.

There were very few rings before her call was quickly picked up.

“Ava! Where were you yesterday!? You are aware we’re busy when summer break starts right?” Scolded Ava’s manager, Max.

“Yes ma’am…but to be fair, I have a really good excuse this time!” Ava waited a bit, “tomaybenotgotodayeither” she spat out quickly.

“To no go to- Wuh- Ava, if you want to keep a job you’re gonna have to actually do it!” Max started to sound frusterated, and to Ava, that’s exactly all she needs to hear to retreat from this battle.

“haha yeah uhm….c’ya tomorrow I hope!” She then hung up before Max could retaliate.

She then laid back down on her bed already exhausted. But she knew sooner or later she’ll have to deal with the multiple elephants in her living room.

“Know what? I’ll just turn on the T.V. or something. Won’t be that bad” Ava then stood up, ran to her door and practically burst through it.

“Ow! What the-“ Turns out that she had accidentally hit Leif in the process.

“Oh shit! Why were you even sleeping there!?” Ava slams the door behind her and crouches to meet Leif’s level.

“None of your fu- I mean” Leif swiftly stood up and bowed, “My apologies queen Ava…still none of your business…” he murmured.

Ava honestly forgot she told them she was a queen. She was mostly hoping it wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass.

“K’ let’s get some stuff straight” She walked to stand in front of her T.V. and nudged at Pierce to get off the table.

Once Pierce obliged to her silent request, she studied all the Daemons to see if they were all listening. When she was convinced that they were, she cleared her throat to give her a small boost of confidence.

“So…I’m guessing all of what you guys said was true right?” All the Daemons nodded with Rhys raising his hand to speak.

“Yes, and if I may, it’s extremely important that you choose one of us quickly. This is a life or death situation.”

Ava waved him off, “yeah, yeah I’m gettin’ to it!” She then lightly slapped the top of her T.V.

“You’re obviously gonna have to learn a lot about Earth before ruling it so uh…this bad boy’s gonna do it”

Ava then turned on the T.V. Flashing colors and blaring rock music were emanating from it. It absolutely mesmerized the Daemons, coming closer to it like it had its own orbit.

“Queen Ava…what is this…it’s…beautiful!” Said Noi sounding tearful.

“Oh! That’s called Two Punch Girl. One of my favorite animes!” Noi turned to look at Ava with a confused look in his face.

“What’s an…An-knee-may?” All the other Daemons looked at Ava with the same confused look. Most likely having the same question, but thinking it was too dumb of a question.

”Uhm well…it’s Japanese animation!” The Daemons looked even more confused.

”The hell is a Jab-pan-ees?” Asked Leif.

“Yeah…and what’s a An-ee-may-chion?” Asked Asch. Ava started to get irritated.

“It’s a- know what? Never mind!” She switched the channel to some wildlife documentary. “Watch this while I go do royal stuff or whatever!”

Ava stormed off to her room leaving the five men to watch the documentary.

“I liked the an-knee-may better…” lamented Noi. Most of the other Daemons agreed.

“While the other one was more stimulating, I for one believe this is more beneficial.” Stated Rhys, “How could we rule if we don’t know a thing about the other organisms that inhabit it?”

“An orga- what?” Said Leif. Rhys simply rolled his eyes and squinted at the T.V. to see.

Ava paced around her room. Quietly murmuring to herself.

“Man…what am I supposed to do!? How am I supposed to go to work with five literal aliens in my apartment!?” She laid back down on her bed and smothered her face with her pillow.

Ava’s phone started ringing, and despite her better judgement knowing she might blow up on them she still picked it up. She saw that Lorelei was calling and she was immediately in better spirits. Lorelei would help her! Somehow. She’d have to lie to her though.

As soon as she answers a flood worth of apologies poured into her ear.

“I should’ve know they would make you work! I mean it’s a burger place so…I’m so sorry! Please forgive me!” Pleaded Lorelei.

”Yeah it’s okay but…” Ava started to cook up a lie.

“You…actually saved me! I forgot I had friends who were coming over today who were uh…from a different country! So…yeah!” Ava was sometimes surprised at how good of a lier she was.

“Wait…” Ava was just about ready to retract that thought until Lorelei spoke again.

“You have friends other than me!? C-Can I meet them?” Lorelei was absolutely estatic.

“Uhm…yeah! In fact, all day tomorrow ‘cause I really have to work tomorrow and you can be by them all day and we can hang out! Heh” Ava was relieved Lorelei believed her. Now she just needs to keep it up.

“Omg! Thanks Ava! Lettin’ me and your other friends hang out while you get that bag! Haha!” Joked Lorelei.

“I’ll be there at 7:30 on the dot! I’ll tell Jake first since he usually wakes up at 9:00 for his job though, so maybe not on the dot? ‘Cause he takes a while to wake up. But close!” Lorelei then hung up. Ava assumed that was because of her excitement.

Ava sighed and geared herself up to go back out there. She didn’t know what those guys would do to Lorelei if she didn’t tell them about her.

She, more carefully, opened the door to see the five men bored out of their minds. Rhys seemed to be pretty engrossed in whatever they were watching though.

“Hello dear…uhm g-guests!” Yelled Ava.

The attention of most of the Daemons were taken up by her except for Rhys.

“So…I have to do royal duties tomorrow and the two days after that! In those days a great friend of mine shall look after you!” She then looked at the Daemons attire. Lorelei couldn’t see them like this. It’s too…from whatever they’re from.

Ava then ran to her dresser to find something they could wear that’s normal. She’s never been more grateful to be a lover of baggy clothing.

“All of you will have to wear this!” She walked back in front of the T.V. and placed the multiple sets of clothes on the table.

They were very big shirts with huge pants. Ava always wore these on the weekends with Lorelei and Jake to watch movies.

“I understand it might be uncomfortable for all of you, but it’s very important you wear these tomorrow!” Ava thought for a bit to see if she was forgetting anything. She looked at their heads and immediately saw it.

“Is there anything you guys can do to…hide your horns?”

She expected them to get weirdly offended or something. She didn’t know whatever their culture was, no matter how stupid she thought it to be.

“Yeah, sure” said Leif nonchalantly.

Asch punched him in the arm for his tasteless response, but they all hid their horns.

“Woah! K’ perfect! So tomorrow’s all set!” Ava started to walk back towards her room, but Asch stopped her.

”Yesterday you said you were gonna teach us about Earth right?” Said Asch. Ava slowly turned around.

“Uh…y-yeah..?”

“Then why aren’t you doing that?”

Ava’s brain started to spur for a way to get herself out of this situation. Everything was going good, she didn’t know what happened.

“Hehe…yeah, but like the thing I introduced to you guys earlier-“

“It’s not teaching us shit.” Asch towered over Ava.

“I know you don’t know this, but I’m royalty where we’re from. My father’s kingdom is feared by all and I’m tired of you waving us off. So either actually teach us something, or earth is gonna have to find a new ruler”

Asch got close enough to Ava to where she could feel his hot breath against her face. Her mind was a circus of fear, and her heart started to pound in her chest.

“Did you hear me? Or are you fucking ignoring me?” Asked Asch.

“No! No! Heard everything!” Ava nervously speed walked towards the front of the table and sat on it.

She then explained things about how to talk to humans, since they were going to be with Lorelei most of the day tomorrow. She was very glad Asch looked pretty satisfied with the info, because she didn’t think she had the mental energy to explain anything else.

“Alright so you guys should be fine by tomorrow! I hope…” she looked at the time, and it was almost 9:00 pm.

“it’s uhm…gettin’ late. I’ll go sleep. Feel free to take the blankets you guys did last time.”

Her legs still felt wobbly because of Asch’s speech earlier. So, she drunkenly walked to her room and shut the door.

All five of the Daemons slept in the same spots they did as the night before. Asch was still awake.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what his father told him. Execution. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to.

He said it in such a way where if Asch wasn’t paying attention, he would’ve missed it. He thought about if that’s what his father really wanted. So he’d have no choice but to kill him.

It made his stomach churn how he has to identify with him. He did that to make an example of his power to Ava, but it still felt wrong to him. Even then, Ava waved them off just like how his father does, and that made his blood boil.

Asch felt everyone like that deserved nothing but suffering. He wanted his father to feel how he’s made him felt so many times in his life.

Asch started to hug himself tightly, not knowing he was making himself bleed. He was begging himself not to cry, especially over something like this. This is tame compared to all of what his father went through, but he still felt horrible.

“My prince,” Rhys harshly whispered, “are you okay?”

Asch snapped out of his daze, quickly feeling the pain on his sides from digging his nails into them.

“Oh sh- yeah I’m okay…w-whisper better though” he wiped the blood slowly spilling from his sides.

“You don’t seem okay my prince. Please tell me what’s wrong.” He put his hand on Asch’s shoulder.

“I’m telling you Rhys I’m fine ju-“ Rhys interrupted Asch by giving him a hug

“Woah what the!? Rhys, get off if the others-“

“You are clearly in pain my prince, and queen Ava told us that hugs give other humans comfort. I think it’s worth a try.”

“Do you know how soft this is?” Rhys quickly got off of Asch looking dejected.

“Of course my prince…my apologies.” He wrapped himself in his blanket and faced the other way.

Asch had completely forgotten how sensitive Rhys was to being called soft. He really never knew why. He doesn’t even know if he ever called Rhys that.

He wanted to apologize, but it seemed he already was asleep. Asch decided to get some rest as well, but now three things plagued his mind: His father, Rhys, and the fact that he actually didn’t mind the hug.

really glad I finished this cus MAN. I don’t rlly have much to say this time though. I just wanna I really appreciate the people who’ve followed me bc of this! I’m sorry you have to sit through my posts about other fandoms sometimes but I rlly hope you enjoy the rewrite! Peace!✌🏾

[loraliewritesthings]

Nameless danny au: Aftermath

(What you've all been waiting for, sorry I was gone so long. I get burn out easy.)

Talias pov. Ras pov will be next chapter.

Talia did her best to keep her expression blank. As her son was shoved into a portal to what looked like crime alley, and her beloved was strong armed into taking leave. All for the better. She didn't need them winning him over.

"My son," She started. Then the room turned cold(er)

He turned to her with a fridged eye. An eye that for a second were cruelr then any look her father had thrown anyone. He bit his tongue, ring glinting on his finger.

"I suggest not starting," it wasn't him who spoke first but the red head beside him looking to her threw the folds of a black lace fan, headband of jasmine flowers barely not falling over her eyes.

"And I suggest weaklings stay out of conversations not concerning them." Just as she said it Talia understood what she said was a mistake. She could feel the ghosts around her turn steely. Still she continued

"Unless you would rather face my blade."

"I think it's time to leave" king Danny (apparently) spoke. She noted he had regained an air of nonchalance.

"Are you not greatful." She questioned trying to look as offended as she could.

"Great...full?" He looked fully at her for the first time that night.

"Yes greatful to not have been held back? Surely if you stay-"

He cut her off.

"Talia al ghul you did not make me a king. If anything you made me a street child. And if you ever face me again. Ever threaten the queen mother again I swear I-"

It was her turn to cut him off.

" Queen mother ? You gave that pushover a court position?" Talia responded half coolly half mocking.

"She couldn't even keep her tears to herself during your coronation. Surely if I was beside you i wouldn't have wept like a child."

Her response went unnoticed

King Danny turned to the massive knight that was now beside him. And muttered something half under his breath in the strange syrupy language from earlier.

Then he turned to her and half whispered

"I would never make ghost queen mother a woman who has cheated death as many times as you... even if I wanted to, even if I loved you.. the ghosts wouldn't want you."

He continued louder

"Cruel and unloving is all you'll ever be."

"I've loved"

"You've held attraction. There's a difference."

"I'm not here to debate I'm here to take my proper place."

"Alright" king Danny smirked and snapped his fingers.

The portal opened underneath her swallowing her whole. The last thing she heard before she was fell threw the ceiling of her bedroom was her own child saying she'd never be ghost queen mother.

...

She laid on her bed staring at the ceiling for a couple moments unsure what to think

In the end she had to admit as much as she despised it...

At least he held his ground.

Tags: @bluerosefox @fisticuffsatapplebees @skulld3mort-1fan @samgirl98 @thegatorsgoose @ladythugs @thatrandomsarahchick @mlpizza @iamheretoconsumeandsharethatisit @betinaplayingwriter @busterkeel @tinybrie @alixanterm @icedbluesoul @lesling123

[deva-arts]

CRINGE NAMES. NOW. 👹

FINE! FINE!!! So everyone had some name tryouts at first, and everyone has different themes behind their name! I think about this an embarrassing amount.

Sera is pretty on the nose with hers. Vincent had a lot of ancient Roman name themes. Nathaniel? tons of Latin. Sonia has a more American name, and Amon has both ancient and modern Egyptian names to his- er... name.

The name 'Seraphina' was my first choice. You can give her several nicknames! But I felt like it was super cringy- I still cringe here and there when I say that my MC has such a mouthful of a name! However, she quickly grew into it; it was the only name that fit her.

Other runners up were: Daya, Jena, Lark, Pheobe, Raven, Tori, Diane, Robyn, Vanessa, Karla, and Corrine. You can tell I wanted a specific vibe here. Her last name used to be Guerrero!

Herrera is a Hispanic surname. It literally means iron forge, but sounds so cute. And her middle name, Nephele, means cloud in Greek. You can tell she is my oldest oc goddamn four years now

Vincent has always been Vincent AFAIK, but his lab name had changed quite a bit, to the point that I decided to leave him nameless in the lab. A name implies an identity after all. I still sometimes wonder if I'll stick to the name, since the way he canonically gets it is kind of weak narrative-wise.

His beta lab names included: Livius, Lucius, Odysseus, Aetius, Nero, and Dante. Kind of teetering on cringe, even though I liked Dante... Oh well. It's for the best. My subconscious would've played the nastiest trick had I not found out:

Now, Vincentius remains with his first and only name, its latin root, Vincere, means to conquer and prevail. He's the winner! He won! why is no one clapping...?

We move on! Nathaniel!! Ahaha I liked brainstorming Nate a lot...But his name was pretty straightforward. I just picked something off the top of my head and it stuck! kind of how it happens in Canon, lol. As Nathaniel grew his personality and character profile past "Hi! I exist to be your boyfriend!" Things quickly took form for our dear Wilson. I chose Wilson as a surname because of our og here:

...I just think he's neat. The tattoo on his shoulder was going to be Inter Umbra, but I soon found that Noctis Umbra fit far better. Darkness in a night filled world. Toxie Noxie. Plus these names make a poem!

Nathaniel Wilson: God has given a son of will,

Noctis Umbra: A shadow in the night.

Sonia’s names were pretty straightforward. I wanted something playful and energetic! but also quite American. She's a carefree ginger with her heart on her shoulder... Even though it's doubtful this is her real name past just being a stage name. It might be something stupid. Like Marjorie.

Oof. Let's stick with Sonia. I wasn't thinking about any name meanings here, but it is kind of funnily ironic that her name means wisdom! ahah!

Amon wasn't going to be Arab at first; I was leaning more towards Egyptian mythology rather than modern, Islamic Egypt. I found it a lot funner to meld Momo more in that direction. even though he is raised a lot more multiculturally and areligious past his teen years in canon. (He was working in the mafia since he was fourteen. He has become the definition of Haram.)

So, instead of making a character based off of Amon Ra, or Ammit, the crocodilian deity in ancient Egyptian mythology, Momo kind of evolved past just his character abilities! In canon, Amon uses this name as a nickname/street alias. Adra finds it cool! so she call him that too.. His real, birth name is Arham Hassan Ahmed. Not that he will use it much in the story.

Some literal Google search translations to his name- Arham, coming from the arabic word "rahma", which means merciful or compassionate. Hassan, meaning handsome. And Ahmed, from "al-hamd" meaning praiseworthy. Or so I have read!

Lastly, Eric. My mom came up with it, and my brother immediately went "gasp- RICKY." and it stuck. My brother also came up with Schraf as a surname. It doesn't mean anything, but it's cool innit? (This is also how he named Karl Strohl.)