#perhaps she was hiding there all along in the darkness only to emerge later;; about

[notdelicatc]

Emmeline Vance, 1979 at the Zabini&Travers Wedding, Fulham Palace

[notdelicatc]

Things that Emmeline and Alecto would absolutely do - with @alectocarrowx

#me grabbing the popcorn when there’s family drama 🍿

[grumpymiika]

♡ TW: Yandere, dark content, kidnapping

♡ Chapter 1 - The Illusion of Love

Among the rubble, on a cloudy night, she crawls. Seeking comfort, something far from all the turmoil and chaos she found herself in.

Shards pierce her skin, leaving evident marks on her soft skin, probably a scar for life. Even with the shards, she doesn’t give up and continues to fight for her life.

Sirens ring in her ears. She couldn’t think of anything, even with the potential help, nothing could pull her from the agonizing fear of death.

And that’s how she would meet him. He was a paramedic, and he saved her on the night of the accident.

Their eyes met for the first time. Was it love at first sight? She wouldn’t know how to say. Perhaps the fear of death brought feelings that shouldn’t exist. He quickly, along with his team, pulled her from beneath the remains of her beloved old car. Unfortunately, her father, who was also in the car, didn’t survive. His injuries were fatal, especially since he was behind the wheel.

Maybe the whole situation helped, after all. She was in her most fragile state, and he emerged as her savior.

Months later, the two were together. And how did that happen? Well... it’s a long story. Since she was rescued, this man never left her side; he was the one who saved her life. Perhaps that was the only thing she should be grateful to him for, as she hardly knew the direction this tragic encounter would take.

At her father’s funeral, the man showed up. An unexpected situation, but it warmed her heart.

"Hello. Good to see you doing so well."

"Oh... Hello..." She paused for a moment, searching for words that wouldn’t reveal her surprise.

"By the way, in case you don’t remember, I’m William."

William was his name. A name almost too old for him, but certainly ideal for a guy like him. He was too sweet, to the point of being sickening, like eating too many chocolates at once: it would bring an inexplicable feeling of joy, but as soon as you ate too much, you’d feel nauseous and want to spit it out.

At first, William’s constant presence in her life brought happiness and comfort. Having your savior as a friend sounds incredible, doesn’t it? Well... it was amazing until he showed his true intentions.

William was the type who always brought flowers and chocolates. It was a surprise when she happened to find him at a café, carrying a bouquet of daisies and a heart-shaped box full of chocolates. Of course, suspicion arose—who would bring such things to a café? Well, she was too caught up in his charm to think too much about it.

At her home, now filled with flowers, there was no room without the presence of blooms. Deep red roses, yellow daisies, and cyclamens... Ah, the smell. So sweet, just like him. But, just like the petals, all that sweetness would wilt and turn into something rotten.

Wilted petals, that was her love. Who would suspect someone so "sweet"? Well, not even she was able to notice his masked actions. What a shame.

As the beginning of this romantically sweet story unfolds, on a cloudy night, she runs through the woods. Pleasant sounds could be heard: cicadas crying, the rustling of trees, hurried footsteps on the ground... It would be ephemeral in different circumstances; there was no way such a cruel situation could be seen as anything other than a disaster.

As she ran, she thought about how she ended up like this. What went wrong? Ah... him, that scoundrel. How could she be so foolish as to really think he would take her to another city for an outing? Thinking back, maybe he really was in another city, as she didn’t remember such a forest in her hometown. No time to lose; she must keep running.

The gentle breeze brushed against her face, the smell of nature enveloped her senses, and the sound of other footsteps could be heard along with shouting: "Please come back! I swear I’ll be better." Damn, it was him. Out of breath, she hid behind a tree. A terrible hiding place, but she prayed it would be a good spot, at least until she could think of a way to escape.

What was that? A rock? Good!

The man, or rather, the panting and desperate creature, was approaching. He probably saw her, as he began to slowly approach the tree with steady steps. He whispered, "Don’t make things worse. I don’t want to hurt you."

Without hesitating, she turned and threw the large rock at William. He stumbled back, and a soft grunt escaped his dry lips. "Bitch..." he murmured. It didn’t take long for the two to start running. Damn, damn! She couldn’t hit him in the head, and he remained standing, now filled with rage.

She ran aimlessly forward, hoping to find someone who could help her, while he chased after her, almost catching up. Eventually, cries for help escaped her lips. Her screams caused an intoxicating sensation in William, one he didn’t fully understand. He craved for her to scream more, to plead for her life and beg for forgiveness. Perhaps that would calm his soul, and maybe he would forgive her for hitting him.

William threw himself forward, falling on top of her. They were both on the ground. She tried to push him off, hitting and shoving, but nothing worked. Already irritated with the situation, he got up, grabbed her by the legs, and dragged her to the cabin where he would keep her safe from the world.

"Let me go! Please..." she screamed, hoping for mercy from William. "It’s for your own good, my dear. Now behave," he said in a threatening tone, almost as if ordering her to shut up. She was taken to the cabin, and there she discovered what hell was like.

It had wooden walls, a mattress, and a fireplace. Being handcuffed near the fireplace was uncomfortable. She felt as if she was becoming one with the wall. William walked in circles, murmuring things like: "I love you so much," "it’s for your own good," which didn’t help her mood. She was going crazy.

How does this tragic story continue?

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Simply Transactional pt. 1

Pairing: Astarionxf!Tav

Rating: M

Warnings: Hurt/angst, comfort, trauma, mentions of abuse/rape/violence

Summary: Astarion and Tav have an unexpected run-in one night in a clearing. After revealing part of her past, Tav realizes her relationship with Astarion might simply be a transactions for both parties. Pre-confession Astarion.

Full story under the cut or can be found on AO3 with both parts. Part 2 here!

Masterlist

Astarion hissed quietly to himself as he once again came up empty handed. He had searched the woods surrounding camp for hours looking for something, anything, to feed from. Much to his disappointment there wasn’t a single creature in the woods tonight, or the night before, or even the night before that, and he was borderline ravenous. He paused near a tree, listening intently for the sound of something scampering through the underbrush. He perked moments later when the sound of something large stepping cautiously through the forest graced his ears. He followed the sound, hunting his prey silently and quickly. Whatever it was, it was much larger than the mere squirrel or rabbit he was hoping to find. A fawn maybe? Perhaps a boar? Or, if he was lucky, even a bear. 

Unfortunately, however, he was not that lucky. For the creature skipping through the forest wasn’t even an animal at all. Instead, he sighed in disappointment as Tavriel emerged from the tree line. Not that he was particularly unhappy about seeing her, of course, but the hunger in his stomach was gnawing at his bones and he was hoping for a meal. Astarion leaned against a nearby tree, out of her line of sight, and waited for her to pass through. He wouldn’t be able to hunt effectively if she was scaring off everything within the area. 

Tavriel came upon a clearing in the dark forest. The moon shining overhead and the sound of a nearby waterfall filling the space almost entranced her. She stepped softly into the grass, feeling the first taste of dew chill her toes as she walked. Her pace had slowed as she took in the sights around her. The grass, the trees, the babbling water nearby, and finally, the heavens above. 

“Stunning,” she whispered to herself, “absolutely stunning.” She lifted her arm in the air, watching intently as the moonlight danced along her fingers as she moved them. With her head still pointed towards the sky, she found herself almost dancing in circles, desperately trying to take in every star within her field of view. She continued to slowly spin as she made her way to the middle of the clearing, deciding that it would be the best spot for stargazing that night. 

Astarion watched silently as Tavriel spun in small circles in the clearing; her eyes wide while looking at the moon and stars above. With a final twirl, she dropped to her knees and then onto her back before stretching out along the grass. For the first time since knowing her, he saw a genuine smile grace her lips as she ran her arms and hands through the grass beneath her. She used one arm to support her head while the other stayed by her side, twirling small blades of the greenery around her delicate fingers. She remained fixed on the constellations above, beginning to hum softly as she relaxed into the ground. 

“Now that,” Astarion murmured to himself, “would be quite the treat.” He had fed from Tavriel before. Each time never being as satisfying as his very first taste of her blood, but was always a pleasure and a thrill. He waited in the tree line, hoping she would simply drift off to sleep and he could sneak in a bite. Not that he had to, of course, Tavriel was always willing to offer her neck to him when he was hungry. He only had to ask. Although, something stirred in him that made him crave the thrill of a hunt; to sink his teeth into an unsuspecting body. But, for now, simply asking would be good enough. 

“Oh darling,” he called to her as he emerged from his hiding spot, “how do you expect me to find a tasty meal with you stomping all through the woods? You’re running off everything from here to the entrance of Baldur’s Gate.” Tavriel turned her head quickly, eyes wide as she realized she wasn’t alone, and she partially sat up. With a hand firmly gripping the handle of her knife, she soon sighed, releasing her grasp as she realized it was only her companion that had snuck up on her. 

“There are other places to hunt, Astarion.” She said as she reclined back into the ground; her fingers once again finding blades of grass to fiddle with. 

“And there are other places for you to play with weeds and yet here you are.” Tavriel rolled her eyes, but Astarion couldn’t tell if she was being playful or actually annoyed with him. Astarion found that Tavriel was particularly difficult to read. She was unlike anyone he had tried to seduce before. She wasn’t one to be swooned by lovely phrases and pet names. She did not fall for his charms or his promises of ecstasy. She was, however, eventually persuaded into a night of passion and Astarion had accomplished his goal of finding someone to keep him safe. That night was weeks ago at this point and yet Tavriel was still not fully under his thumb. There were times where he found her to be cold and standoffish, but she was always there to lend an ear when he needed. As much as it pained him to say it, he was beginning to think of her more than just a means to an end. He enjoyed their time together and found himself craving her company more and more. Not that he would ever admit that to her, or himself, for that matter. 

“Unless, of course, you wanted to be found,” he teased as he approached her, “looking for another late night romp in the woods, dear?” He smiled, his fangs glinting in the moonlight as he looked down at her. 

“Not particularly,” she stated firmly. Her brows furrowed together as she looked up at him and her upper lip almost slipped into a look of disgust before she caught herself. “Although if you would like to join me and watch the stars, I wouldn’t mind.” she softly patted the patch of grass beside her. Begrudgingly, Astarion sat beside her, resting an arm on his knee as he supported himself with his other hand behind him. He quickly realized she was in one of her moods tonight and buttering her up for a bite at her neck was going to take effort. Although, no good meal was easy to come by, and the warm, rich blood of a thinking creature was exquisite. 

“You really should be more careful at night,” he said after a few more moments of silence, “there is danger all around. It would be a pity if someone or something were to slice open that stunning neck of yours.”

“I’ve never been afraid of death, Astarion,” Tavriel said quietly, “Hells, every night I’ve wished and prayed for my death since I was a child.” Astarion felt his unseating heart drop into his stomach. Did he hear her correctly? Surely he didn’t. His scarlet eyes remained fixed on her face, waiting for her to follow up. However, she avoided his gaze and only continued to stare into the night sky. 

Tavriel was a closed book. In the weeks and months following the crash, he barely knew anything about her past. Although, up until he started craving her company, he truthfully didn’t care to know. He wasn’t interested in where this tadpole infested wood-elf had come from. His only concern was securing her favor and her protection. But even then, she was not too keen on sharing her past with the other companions. Whenever the question arose around the fire or during a trek, Tavriel always managed to avoid going too deep with her past. The only thing he truly knew about her was that she was alone before the crash. No family. No companions. Just Tavriel. Whatever horrors or pleasures she experienced before being scooped up by the Nautiloid, she preferred to keep close to her chest. 

“So what do you fear, my dear?” he asked cautiously as the silence continued. 

“Him finding me again,” she whispered, “I would rather die a thousand deaths before I am thrown back into that cage. Back into that tomb. I don’t think I have the strength to escape again. Not that he would let me, mind you.” Her eyes scanned the sky above, looking for something to latch onto and ground herself as she felt the fear rise in her throat. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, holding it for a moment before the shaky exhale left her lips and she reopened her eyes. 

“I was a child when I was taken. Ripped from my family and my bed; only to be thrown into a metal cage. Left to go hungry, to sit in filth and squalor, alone and afraid. I was so afraid…” her voice quivered as the sentence trailed off her lips. The faintest hint of tears forming in her eyes as she began to relive the nightmares she tried desperately to hide. 

“How old?” Astarion asked softly. He was taken back, not expecting this to be the conversation for the evening, but also at the surprise he felt at Tavriel opening up to him. He had told her bits and pieces of his past to try and earn her trust, but he had never pressed her for information on herself. A twinge of guilt shot through him as Tavriel prepared to tell her life story to someone who was actively manipulating her.

“I don’t know,” she said softly, “I can’t remember. It was so, so long ago. I was young, I do know that. I needed a light to scare off the monsters of my dreams so I could sleep peacefully. I slept with a teddy, I think.” Astarion had never heard Tavriel speak like this. Her voice was quiet and full of sorrow. Although she had her moments, Tavriel was a generally optimistic person. Always the first to reassure her companions that they would find a way to free themselves of their tadpoles and even offered her services to each companion to help them with their own personal demons. But tonight, the headstrong woman was gone and had instead been replaced by a girl who had never experienced a moment of kindness. She was ripping open old wounds she had long since sewn shut. 

“I don’t remember much of my life before then. It comes as fragments, sometimes to me in dreams, sometimes as familiar tastes and smells, or sometimes just out of thin air. They are few and far between, but they are the few fragments that remind me that I had something before all of this. Something other than fear.” She gripped the grass beneath her fingers tighter, almost ripping it from the soil. She hesitated going further with her tale. She didn’t fully trust Astarion, but she was ready to unburden herself with the memories flooding back into her mind. 

“I can’t even remember my parents. Their faces are nothing but a blur, their names have long left my memory. Hells, sometimes I wonder if I even had them. They are nothing but ghosts. What I do remember, though, is the night I was taken. I could never forget that. I had never known fear like that.” Astarion took his arm from his knee and placed his hand on Tavriel’s, trying to reassure her as she told her tale, but before he could interlace his fingers with hers, she snatched her hand away. She was breathing heavily and she clenched her fist. Her fingers nestling and squeezing the fabric of her shirt as she placed her hand upon her chest. 

Astarion watched as Tavriel began to spiral into her thoughts. Her eyes were frantic, quickly looking around as she relived the horrors deep in her mind. Her breathing was slow and deep, trying to center herself. He could see her pulse pounding in her throat and he felt something almost tickle his brain with desire as he watched the pressure point of her neck rise and fall rapidly; tempting him. From behind his lips, he ran his tongue along his fangs, trying to control the vampiric hunger he could feel all over. Before he could stop himself, he instinctually found himself beginning to lean down towards her, aching to sink his fangs into the soft skin of her throat. Silently, he thanked the gods she hadn’t noticed him inching closer to her, afraid he would have scared her off or ended the night with her dagger at the base of his skull.

“Are you still there, darling?” He whispered in her ear, trying to pull her back to him. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, “Ignore me. I’m keeping you from your hunt, you should just…go.” 

“Oh, nonsense, dear,” Astarion reclined back on his arm, his body turned towards Tavriel, “You’re among friends here. You’ve listened to me discuss my past on countless occasions. You’ve always had a kind heart for that sort of thing. The least I can do is return the favor while you’re working on… whatever… this is that you’re going through.” 

Tavriel wrestled with his words in her mind. Deep in her heart she knew he wasn’t being sincere. A hungry vampire stopping his hunt simply to spend time with her? No, something was off. But then again, something always was with Astarion. From the moment they met, he filled her ears with pet names and compliments. Even though she didn’t mind hearing those things from someone that wasn’t her old overseer, she knew it was all an act. And tonight was no different. 

“They pulled me from my bed in the middle of the night. I screamed and cried, hoping someone would come for me, but they never did. I found myself being drug through Baldur’s Gate in the dead of night, still screaming for help, down through dirty streets and slums. They took me out of the city, for miles and miles, far enough to where you couldn’t even see the towers on the horizon. We came to a manor, set deep in the woods, sprawling grounds with dark flowers and haunting statues. The manor belonged to Lord Oaklarth, a drow who, up until I was found by the mind flayers, was my keeper. My captor. I would have never thought that a tentacled face menace would be my savior from the hell I found myself in.” Tavriel was whispering now, afraid that simply speaking Oaklarth’s name would conjure him to her. With a tremor in her voice, she continued her story.

“He’s a self proclaimed Lord, with no actual ties to any throne. Oaklarth believes himself to be above others; to be better than them. He has made it his personal mission to rid the world of all those that are imperfect and to rebuild this gods-forsaken place in his image. But in order to do that, he needs to know how he can change all of those beneath them; how to make them perfect. He needed participants, test subjects, to experiment on. Someone like me.” Tavriel’s eyes remained fixed on the sky, silently wishing she could live among them instead of Faerûn.

“He had me thrown in a cage not even big enough for Scratch. It was cold and filthy filled with vermin and insects. I spent a lifetime in that cell, never seeing the outside world. The sun, the moon, the stars, even grass, eventually became foreign to me. Like I’d imagined they’d ever existed. My memory has faded over time and all I’ve grown to know is the familiar cold of stone and sting of a whip. I’d been left to crawl in my own filth until they were ready for me. Until he was ready for me. I waited for days upon days, given scraps for food thrown between the bars. The guards would laugh as they threw food in; they relished watching me scarf it down like the animal I was. They’d beat me through the bars if they deemed I was being too greedy or too unappreciative for the slop they fed me. They’d beat me more if I screamed during my punishment and I wouldn’t see food or water for a week. It was then that I’d first asked the gods for death, but no one granted me my wish.” Her voice was sad, a whine almost escaping.

“I was stupid to think that was the worst that would happen in my time there. That was the nicest thing they did. I was quickly turned from captive to experiment. Potions forced down my throat, spells cast over me, dark magic ripping through my body and mind. Every day was a ritual. I was pulled from my cage, being drug along a cold stone floor to the inner chambers, and the experiments would begin. Sometimes it was quick, other times it would last hours, depending on what was being done. And by the end I was always thrown back into my confinement to see the results. One potion made me go blind for a time, leaving me to feel and hear my way around that dungeon. Boils and blisters would form on my skin and burst with the slightest touch and left scars all over. Crippling pain, cuts, body spasms…everything you can imagine I endured. But after years of torture and torment, I was blessed to finally catch his attention, and I suffered even more.” Tears were streaming down Tavriel’s face by this point. She dug her fingers into her arms as she remembered her horrors; her body arching as memories flashed.

“Tav…” Astarion said softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand in his. Her usually warm hands were like ice, almost colder than his own, as all of her body heat rushed to her face. Her cheeks were hot and red with emotion, streaks of her tears shining in the moonlight. Astarion couldn’t help but watch as those tears fell from her cheeks and down her neck. He cursed himself for once again finding this to be his focal point. He didn't want to think of his hunger in this moment. He was no longer interested in taking a bite from his companion tonight. Instead, he ached to take her in his arms and hold her tight until she felt safe. He cared and he wanted her to know this. But once again his instincts had his eyes transfixed to her nape. 

“You don’t have to keep going if it’s too much. I don’t want to see you upset.” He genuinely meant what he said. Her tale was eerily similar to his own and his own memories were starting to make him squirm.

“No,” he said as she shook her head, “You need to hear this. I was older, barely cresting the horizon of womanhood, when he finally set his hands to me.” Tavriel pulled her hand from his, once again flexing and clenching her fingers as she spoke. It felt as if a stone had been dropped in Astarion’s stomach, twisting in knots as he knew where her story was heading.

“I screamed as loud as I could that night, until my voice was gone and my vocal cords ached. Never stopping while his filthy hands and mouth were on my body. Scratching and clawing, hoping he’d release me and let me rot in my cage. But, as luck would have it, screaming and fighting only encouraged him. He was relentless, violent, and cruel. And when he was finally done, he threw me back in my cave, bleeding and exposed. I begged for my death that night. Everyone in the manor knew what happened simply from my screams, but when the guards came by that night to toss me my meal for being such a good girl, they laughed. They mocked me. They thought it was the most humorous thing they could ever imagine.” Tavriel was angry, seething with rage as she remembered that night. 

“He took everything from me. My home, my freedom, my innocence…and he took it again, and again, and again. Every night I was taken to his bed chambers and he had his way with me. Without fail. And then every night I was discarded back into my confinement until he was ready to use me again. After some time I stopped screaming. I stopped fighting. What was the point? No matter what I did, he wouldn’t stop. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of my fear, though. He fed off it, it’s what he craved. Instead, I would just lay there, emotionless, getting lost in my own thoughts until everything was over. Oh, how he hated it.” Tavriel was shaking with anger, her lips curled into a look of disgust as she dug even further into her own flesh.

Astarion shifted uncomfortably; trying to shake away the feelings creeping into his bones. He and Tavriel were so much alike. Both were plucked from their lives without so much as a warning and tossed into a seemingly endless cycle of pain, torture, and abuse that left them physical and psychological scars. Each had also suffered greatly at the hands of one who found that manipulation through sex was the easiest, and most sadistic, way of controlling their pets. Then, as if by fate, both were taken upon the Nautiloid and deposited within walking distance of each other after the wreck. 

“You’re safe here, free, even. You are free from your master as I am free from mine. On my honor, I’ll keep you safe, Tavriel.” Astarion spoke honestly. He actually felt sympathetic towards her; for the first time in his waking memory he felt pity for someone other than himself. He knew what it was like to live each day in fear, ruled by someone far more powerful and evil than himself. It was an odd feeling. Astarion wasn’t the type to feel sympathy or sadness towards the plight of another; he had enough of his own to deal with. But with Tavriel it was different. His undead heart ached as she sat beside him, tears falling down her face as she shook with both anger and fear. He wanted to keep her close; to keep her safe. More uncharted territory to explore, but he was beginning to think that Tavriel herself was worth the trouble. He was beginning to think that just maybe he was beginning to like her for reasons other than what she could provide. 

“Not that it matters,” Tavriel spat as her words broke him out of his thoughts, “even in this group it’s the same. I’m only valued for what I can provide. For what I can give to others and what they can take.” By now she was sitting up, legs crossed and fingers digging into her knees as she spoke. 

“Oh come off, darling, that’s not true.” Astarion gave an anxious laugh, trying to diffuse the anger that was very quickly filling his companion, “Everyone here thoroughly enjoys you for…you.”

“Really?” Tavriel snapped, her head whipping around to face Astarion for one of the few times that night. Her eyes once again filling with anger and tears as she spoke again. “Is that so? So you had no other intentions in mind when you brought me into the woods that night? You felt something towards me in the brief weeks we’d known each other? No. Do not lie to me. You wanted something, or maybe you still do, but your intentions were not and have not been pure. Even now!” Tavriel now found herself on her feet, standing above her companion as she let her brewing rage spill over and out of her mouth, “You’re not here tonight because you wanted to stare at the stars with me or even enjoy my company. You’ve been staring at my neck all night. You think I haven’t noticed? It’s practically written all over your face. You came here for a meal. Nothing more, nothing less. I may not be the most well versed in interactions with strangers, but I’m not naive. I’ve spent my entire life watching others, seeing if they can be trusted or what their intentions are. I see through you.”

“Then why in the sweet Hells would you agree to bed me?!” Astarion shouted back as he made his way back to his feet. He found himself filling with anger as well. However, this anger wasn’t directed towards Tavriel, but instead towards himself. He just couldn’t decide if he was angrier with being caught in his intentions or that he had missed his opportunity to make this situation genuine between them.

“We needed something from one another! Because this, whatever we’re calling it between us, is simply transactional. Nothing more. Is it not? You needed something from me and I provided. I needed something from you and you provided. It’s a transaction; an exchange of goods and services. I at least have the decency of not trying to hide that and call this a relationship. You hide behind gentle touches and sickly sweet words to wiggle your way into people. You never wanted me, Astarion, you wanted only what I could provide you.” Her lips snarled as she spoke, dripping venom into her words as she raised her voice. Tavriel clenched her fists tightly, her knees locking in place to keep her from falling over. Never in her life had she lost her temper in front of another, let alone towards someone, for fear of torture as a retribution. But she was tired. Tired of being used for her body. Before Astarion could answer, Tavriel spoke again.

“Well, I think we know enough about each other for the time being. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone,” Tavriel hissed, “Enjoy your hunt.” With a turn of her heels, she set off back towards the tree line, seeking the safety and comfort of her camp tent. He reached for her, trying to take her hand in his own so they could discuss their issues further. With a flick of her wrist she swatted him away, leaving Astarion alone in the clearing. 

“So that’s it, then?” he called after her, “We’re done with the conversation?” Astarion threw his hands in the air as he watched her storm off. Why was she always so difficult?

Tavriel snuck her way back into camp, being careful not to awaken her sleeping companions, and into her tent. She hastily closed the flap and paced the inside of her living quarters. Her mind and pulse were racing, her thoughts swirling with the argument she’d had with Astarion. She had told him too much and had lost her temper. What was she thinking? She should have endured and let things carry on as they had been. At least if she could keep him satisfied, he could keep her safe. Maybe even help her with Oaklarth after they had the tadpoles under control. That’s how alliances worked, did they not? She offers herself and then she can be owed a favor, her desire for genuine affection be damned. But something deep inside her craved the love she had been so desperately stripped of her entire life. She didn’t want a facade. She wanted something real. But there was no time for that now. Safety was more important than happiness, after all.

“Not that it matters now, you stupid, stupid girl.” She muttered to herself as she climbed into her bedroll. It took time, but she eventually drifted off into a light sleep, the memory of the stars dancing through her dreams as she curled into herself.

Astarion found himself coming back to camp long after Tavriel had drifted off to sleep. Looking across the dirt of the camp, he noticed the entrance to Tavriel’s tent was closed, an unusual sight. He pined to speak with her, his anger being short lived, but ultimately decided to leave the conversation tabled for now. They both needed to rest and reconvene with a clear mind and a full belly. Instead, he entered his own tent, sighing as he rested along his bedroll. His stomach still ached with hunger, having still not found a morsel to feast upon, but he pushed the feelings down as he returned to his thoughts. He stared at the ceiling of his tent as he tried to form the words he needed when he spoke to Tavriel in the morning. He would apologize and tell her how he felt. She deserved something real. He wanted them to be something real.

[red-riding-wood]

OC: Charlotte Griffin

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: Charlotte Griffin, on a quest to emerge from her family's dark shadow, becomes a spy in a gang war that puts her loyalties and desires into question as she grows closer to the man who is meant to be her enemy.

WARNINGS for whole story: eventual explicit sexual content and references, explicit violence and gore, mentions of physical abuse, language, ethnic slurs (mainly because of Alfie)

Watching Luca Changretta walk from Thomas Shelby’s office, a gloating smirk pulling devilishly at his lip, was not a sight I had expected to see that afternoon.

His eyes scored deep past my flesh, impaling my soul for the brief moment that he passed me, his shoulder brushing mine and raising goosebumps along my arm despite the layers of fabric between us.

I kept walking, desperate not to let the falter in my stride become apparent. The door to Thomas’ office was left ajar; his visitor had unsurprisingly not had the courtesy to shut it, and though I knew I should have knocked, my fingers curled around the frame with curiosity and slid it open to reveal a disgruntled Thomas standing at the end of the long table.

“I didn’t know Mr. Changretta was paying a visit,” I said. “Are you all right, Mr. Shelby?”

There was something in Thomas’ eyes. Something that indicated that whatever had happened between Luca and him had left something in him shaken to his core – shaken, perhaps, to his very soul. Luca had a way, as I had learned, with rendering even the most guarded souls quiet.

Twin blues swept to the table, and I followed his gaze to the six bullets placed across it, one laying on its side and at the other end of the table.

Though I expected him to demand that I leave, or rebuke me for not knocking first, Thomas said, “I’m all right. Thank you, Charlotte.” He smoothed out his waistcoat and cleared his throat, before saying, “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I have news from Luca,” I said, and stepped inside the room. The door shut behind me with a heavy click, and I watched as Thomas began to collect the bullets from the table and load them into his revolver. His fingers trembled as he lifted the one that had rolled across the table.

I wanted to ask about the meeting, what Luca had said to him, why ammunition was strewn about. But the parting of Thomas’ lips to dispel his fevered breaths and that look in his eye – the look of a prey animal in the sights of a predator – cautioned me otherwise. I was scared more by a cornered animal than I was by the supposed Devil that people spoke of.

“He wants to test me,” I continued. “Wants to see if this isn’t all some trick. So he proposed that – “

“How about some gin, eh?” Thomas interrupted, blue eyes darting up to meet mine as he stuffed his revolver back into the holster slung around his shoulder.

I blinked at him. “Gin? No thank you, Mr. Shelby. But if this isn’t a good time, I can come back – “

“No. Stay.” Thomas waved me forward, and I furrowed my brow at him. “I’m to open a gin distillery and I need to ensure that I perfect my recipe. I need opinions. We can discuss this business with Changretta later.”

I resisted the overwhelming urge to cock my head at him, to take in every twitch of muscle and every detail I could. I wanted to read him, but there was something about Thomas that seemed damn near impossible to read, as if he had been trained specifically to hide from the prying gazes of people like me.

But what I could gather was that, in this moment, he wanted nothing to do with the Changrettas or the vendetta. He had the look of a man who bore too much on his shoulders, who was cracking if only slightly at his seams. And I wasn’t about to test him on his wishes, even if I found the matter to be pressing. Thomas, unlike Luca, did not seem to be a man who wished to play games.

“All right,” I said in agreement, and as I opened the door to the hallway, I couldn’t help but sweep my gaze across it, half-expecting to see a felt hat and a long, black coat. Luca was like a ghost; the only trace he’d left were the goosebumps still raised along my arm. It was enough to make me wonder, for one dreadful moment, if I was imagining things.

“How’s business, other than the gin?” I asked as Thomas led me down the hall.

“Not bad,” he said, mumbling around a cigarette as he held a lighter to it. “Though there might be unrest in some of the factories. But I intend to speak to Arthur on handling it.”

“Handling it?” I said. “Your brother does seem to have a knack for violence. More so than the average man in this life.”

The night I’d been tested by the Blinders and met Arthur, I’d been whisked into the nearest pub and had witnessed the eldest Shelby brother nearly bludgeon a man to death for looking at him the wrong way.

“My brother can work up a bit of a temper,” Thomas said.

I cocked a brow at him, and said with a bit of wry smile, “He threw a bottle at my head.”

Thomas chuckled, and blew a gout of smoke into the bitter air of winter as we stepped onto the street. “He has a good heart. A better heart than most men in this life.”

I pondered this for a moment or two, thought of the smile that had stretched across Arthur’s face when he’d grabbed me by the shoulders and welcomed me into the gang. He’d been loud, garish, reckless. But he didn’t scare me as much as a man I knew who enacted his violence behind closed doors, who tried to convince you he was something he wasn’t with honeyed words and pretty gifts. And I wondered if, despite how often I thought I knew someone from the way they tilted their head when they spoke or where their eyes landed, if I could really ever read their heart.

“And what do you think of my heart, Mr. Shelby?” I asked.

Thomas’ gaze remained fixed ahead, on the car that we were approaching. “Polly’s the one you ought to go to for that. She’ll have you all figured just by reading your tea leaves.”

“She doesn’t strike me as the superstitious sort.”

“It’s the Gypsy blood.”

My father had told me to never trust a Gypsy. I knew of the Shelbys’ roots, knew that both Polly and Thomas shared Gypsy blood. But it was easy to forget sometimes that they did, for they were a far cry from living in caravans.

Knowing this, I cast him another glance and countered, “So why can’t you tell me, then?”

He said nothing; I watched as he crushed his cigarette beneath his boot and opened the door to his car for me. Piercing blue eyes seemed to stare straight through me, as if I were hollow, as if I possessed no heart to read.

But I didn’t press him on his silence, only watched as his gaze followed me until the door was shut.

---

“It’s too bitter,” I said, and passed the glass of gin back to him.

He took it, brow furrowing slightly. He “hmmed” as if he found my statement intriguing, and the icy gaze of death itself glinted slightly with life as it bore into mine. Finally, he shook his head and set the glass on the cedar wood table beside us.

“I’ve had people say it’s too sweet,” he said, and took a seat at the table. He gestured for me to sit across from him. “So.” His tonality shifted as I took my seat, and he said, “Tell me about the news from Changretta.”

“He wants to test my legitimacy and my loyalty. He said to tell you that he would be at Frederick Square this Wednesday, at eighteen-hundred hours. Whether or not Luca will actually be there, I don’t know – I doubt it. But he wants Arthur. And if Arthur doesn’t show, well, I suppose I fail the test.”

I suppose Luca Changretta kills me.

Thomas nodded, leaning back in his chair as he seemed to take all of this in. But it didn’t take him long, for he said rather promptly, “Then Arthur will be there.”

“He intends to kill him,” I said.

“Most certainly.”

“Are you certain you want to walk into this?”

“Let me worry about that, Charlotte.” He was always dismissive. “Have you learned anything else?”

My eyes fell to the table, not in dishonesty but in an almost shame. Luca was still an enigma to me, a serpent who refused to shed his skin. I had learned little of him and little of his men and this war, had only met with him once more since the incident with my father. I supposed that would have been my opportunity to learn more about him, though I had grown frustrated with his refusal to order the investigation in America and had cut the meeting short. I had been blinded by my heartache.

“He doesn’t trust me,” I said. “Yet.” I allowed my lungs to release a small sigh, and I leaned back in my own chair, and said, “Perhaps this assignment will change that.”

“There’s still time,” Thomas said. “Trust is not easily won. Especially not in this life.”

A pang shot through my chest at his words, and my fingers instinctively went to the ribbon around my neck – an action that, thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice, as his gaze wasn’t on me.

But before I could become deluged in my own, swiftly darkening thoughts, or think up a response, the obnoxious blare of a car horn shot through the silence that had pulled taut between us, and I flinched as a pair of starlings squawked and flew from one end of the warehouse to the other, wings a flurry of movement, stirring the dust from the rafters.

Shouting followed suit – a gruff, deep voice – and Thomas merely sighed. “That’d be Alfie,” he told me. “Here on account of business. I didn’t expect him this early.”

The door burst open, and another group of starlings came alive. A wooden cane announced its presence against the floorboards, heavy boots following suit. A long, black, dusty coat swished behind his uneven gait, and although wearing a rather wide hat, his features were not obscured, for he did not tip his head down like Luca, but rather, held it high. He was shadowed, however, by a colossus of a creature of inordinate proportion: a man whose shoulders must’ve been wider than the haunches of a draft horse, but who kept quiet and immediately found his place leaning against one of the gin kegs, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh, dear,” Alfie – the one with the cane – said, looking up to the rafters. “Tommy, you’ve got fucking starlings, mate. That shit will rot your pipework.”

Thomas had already started towards him, just in time for Alfie to pull a revolver from his coat and aim it to the rafters.

“These bastards only understand one language,” Alfie said.

“It’s all right, Alfie,” Thomas said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder to bring him to his senses. “No need. It’s all right. I’m going to get a kestrel.”

Alfie reluctantly holstered the revolver, and turned to Thomas. “I hear you’ve got Italians, mate. You got a kestrel for them and all?”

 “As a matter of fact, yes, I do,” Thomas said, and motioned towards me. I sat straighter in my chair as Alfie met my gaze and Thomas introduced us. “Charlotte, this is Alfie. Alfie, this is – “

“Well, between the pikey I met outside with the shite haircut and this poncy looking broad…” Alfie lifted his cane to point to me. “… you’ve got to ask yourself, mate, ‘have I made a mistake?’”

I stood, smoothing out my coat, and said, “A pleasure to meet you, Mister…?”

“Solomons.” He took a step closer to me, dark blue gaze examining me head to toe, but mostly settling on my face. “You’re a Londoner, aren’t you, yeah?”

Though recognition passed through me at the name Solomons, the infamous gang of Camden Town, London, I dared not betray such a thing on my expression. The less he knew, the better, and I was quietly grateful that Thomas had only given my first name. The moment I supplied the name Griffin, my history would be written for me. I was not my family, and I was not my father.

“I am, yes.” I took this time as he studied me to do the same, reflecting mostly on the red sores above the bristle of his moustache and the pallid complexion around his cheeks. Physically, he seemed unwell, though his voice boomed with all the energy of ten men and, despite the limp in his gait, he walked with confidence that rivaled Thomas Shelby’s.

“Fucking knew it. Me too, yeah. Certainly not from round your neighbourhood, though,” he said. “Now, are you expecting to not get blood on those pretty white gloves of yours, or is this some joke, because you don’t look like you could take on a fucking mouse if it looked at you the wrong way, love.”

“I’m a spy,” I said, tone even. “I don’t get my hands dirty, not even with a mouse.”

Alfie’s brows raised, and he swung his head over his shoulder to look to Tommy. “See what I’m sayin’, mate? I’m inclined to wonder if you’ve suffered a recent head injury with these new recruits of yours.”

A dark blue gaze was back on me in an instant, and he asked, “Are you a Jew?”

Though mildly taken aback by the question, I still maintained my neutrality, and said, “Catholic.”

“Ah, real shame that is. Was hoping for at least one redeeming quality. See, now, I always thought you Catholics were a stuck-up lot, and this just further confirms my theory, ain’t it?” Alfie said.  

“Alfie,” Thomas interjected, a warning in his tone. “Why don’t you tell Charlotte about the boxing tournament?”

I eyed the men curiously, but remained silent.

“Right, well, speaking of freaks of fucking nature, this godless fucking thing here…” Alfie turned and lifted his cane to point now to the hulking man that had shadowed him. “… is my nephew. And any man you put before him, right, would be like entering a fucking threshing machine, mate, so there really isn’t any tournament to speak of, is there?”

Though Thomas appeared tired, I could glimpse the slightest twinkle of amusement in his eye.

“Aberama Gold has a rather qualified competitor. I wouldn’t get ahead of yourself, Alfie,” Thomas said as he walked back around to the table to pour himself a glass of gin. He kept pouring until the amber-tinted liquid nearly overflowed.

Alfie blinked at him as if he’d just insulted his mother, and said, “Now, I don’t think I heard you right, Tommy dear, see, because it sounds like you just said that pikey outside is the muppet offering up a sacrifice to Goliath here.”

Thomas took a hearty swig of the gin, and said, “You heard right, Alfie. Aberama’s son has quite the swing on him.”

I’d spoken with Aberama only briefly, when he’d met with Thomas to conduct some form of business. He was the leader of the Gypsy gang that had defended the Shelbys at the funeral and killed Luca’s men. Though I’d thought at the time that he’d been too big for his boots, I was rapidly beginning to reconsider in the presence of my current company.

Before Alfie could say anything more, Thomas nodded to me, and said, “Charlotte, you’re invited to the tournament.”

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby, but I will have to decline the invitation,” I said politely. “I’m not a fan of fighting.”

“Well, you came to the wrong employer then, eh?” Alfie said, giving Thomas a pointed look.

Thomas pursed his lips and shifted his jaw, holding Alfie’s stare for a moment, before downing the last of his gin.

“So people keep telling me,” I said, my gaze drifting to meet Thomas’ as I remembered Polly’s warning.

“Thinking about going back to London?” Thomas asked me.

A smile pulled at my lips, and I said, “Not for a second.”

---

I’d waited outside while Alfie and Thomas discussed the fight and whatever else it was that he’d invited him for. The streets of Small Heath were empty, the cold wind that whistled through them the only seemingly living thing that spoke.

It spoke to me in a hushed yet incessant tone, growing in intensity with every gust. The clouds above hung low in a dark sky; a storm was brewing, building, and the wind was denoting its arrival.

It tossed the hair across my face, and I pawed it from my eyes, blinking, tearing up. A figure had appeared past the threads of my hair and the blurriness of my gaze, and a chill that was not from the weather ran through me as I spotted the sandy blonde hair that streaked across my vision.

When I had reclaimed my sight, his figure had disappeared down one of the alleyways, and something tugged cruelly at my heart, pulling me forth. The wind ushered me onward, buffeting my back and blowing the ends of my coat and the long ropes of my hair forward.

Something so malignantly hopeful had built inside, for it now crashed cruelly into my gut as I stared down the emptiness of the alley, and I reached for the threads of ribbon around my neck, cold fingers running along the silken fabric for comfort.

A snowflake melted against my cheek, streaking cold down my jaw.

I had been so certain, if only for those few moments, that it had been him.

I looked to the sky to see that it was not snow, but rain, that began to filter from the heavy clouds. And I looked back to the alley to see nothing but rubbish and brick.

“Charlotte?” Thomas’ call forced my hand downward, and I swallowed, my hair blowing back from my shoulders and the wind burning my eyes as I looked to him and Alfie.

“Be right there, sir!” I called back, my step hurried and my heart slamming against my ribs as I made my way back to the distillery.

Alfie was bidding goodbye to Thomas; he then looked my direction, and shouted rather theatrically with a wave of his cane, “Shalom, fearsome kestrel!” before ducking into the door of his vehicle.

Thomas turned to me, and said, “We best be off.” The wind hardly stirred a strand of hair on his head, as if not daring to vex him as it did me.

“Actually, I would like to walk back. The hotel isn’t far from here,” I said, casting a glance down the street to the alley. A piece of me still felt tethered to it, could almost hear my brother’s voice over the wallow of the wind. It was as if I was being haunted.

Thomas spared a glance at the sky, and said, “Very well, Charlotte. The rain is good luck, you know.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my coat. “Is that a Gypsy superstition?”

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps.”

“Thank you for your hospitality today, Mr. Shelby,” I said. “I will be seeing you tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow,” he confirmed, and said, “Be safe, Charlotte. Don’t take any taxis. I don’t trust them nowadays.”

“You don’t say,” I remarked as I turned a shoulder to leave, but there was little humour behind my words. My spine and insides still felt as though they’d been rattled.

“Oh, and Charlotte?” he called, and I paused, turning again to face him and the bitter wind.

“Your heart,” he said. “You have a good heart.”

“How do you figure?”

“Call it Gypsy blood.”

I nodded, my heart feeling suddenly numb, the biting winds passing through the hollow shell of my chest but lingering, whispering its cruel words into the eddy of horrors in my mind and prodding, gently, at the bright buried in the dark of my soul.

A.N. Because it will likely never be explicity stated in the story, the reason that Tommy discerned she had a good heart was because she thought the gin was too bitter therefore implying she has a sweet or "good" soul. I know it sounds like such a stupid reason lmao but it ties into other stuff later. And also, ssssssymbolism.

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[artzee-bee]

Now and for eternity| Lucifer Morningstar x reader

Fandom: Lucifer ( netflix)

Request:” Can you write an imagine where Lucifer’s wife is like this well known social light that owns her own luxury fashion brand and she starts receiving gifts from an obsessed secret admirer and Lucifer is unknowingly being targeted by the secret admirer who is trying to kill Lucifer in order to get the reader and Lucifer thinks it’s his father trying to ‘strike’ him down for some unknown reason until Chloe point out someone that correlates with the readers secret admirer and Lucifer’s attacker. Feeling some type away about it Lucifer decides to taunt the secret admirer by upping the PDA and romantic gestures getting a kick out in it much to Chloe’s dismay. And once the secret admirer is caught Lucifer rubs it in their face that the reader is his for now and all of eternity before showing the secret admirer his true face. ”

Genre: fluff? I guess

Warnings:death threats, stalking, attempted murder

~~~

It wasn’t unusual to receive gifts and flowers at your office. After all, with the job you worked and the wealthy people you collaborated with, the presents simply represented one of the many perks of being a designer. Except, one friday morning, while examining a particularly beautiful bouquet of pink lilies, you noticed the little card that came with it

“I know they are some of your favorite - <3 “

Usually, work associates would leave a name. Some way for you to know that they value your work and are thinking of you (and maybe to flatter you into giving them a discount), but there was no name on this card, just a tiny heart in a glittery, pink gel pen. Pink lilies were, indeed, your favorite.

You brought the flowers home and told your husband, Lucifer, all about the mysterious gift. You had talked to your secretary and even she didn’t know where the flowers came from, since no one came to drop off lilies that morning. You presumed the sender must have simply forgotten to sign the card, and perhaps your secretary had forgotten about them, with the busy morning she’d had. You and Lucifer had a laugh, imagining the shy and anxious intern that was probably assigned the job, and the scolding they’ll get when their boss finds out about their mistake.

The next morning, a box of your favorite chocolates were waiting for you on your desk. There wasn’t any note, just the same heart, written in the same glitter pen. You dismissed it as a weird coincidence and moved on to working on your designs.

Without you knowing, this also happened to be the first time Lucifer would be faced with a very interesting note. As he was getting ready to leave the police station, he noticed a piece of yellow paper, stuck to his windshield

“Back off of Y/N. Consider this your first and last warning” no signature. Anyone in Lucifer’s place would have lost their shit, but he paid it no mind. He was the devil after all! If anyone wants to take his precious Y/N away from him, well, they can try. It would make things all the more fun. He folded the paper and stuffed it in his pocket before heading home.

The couple shared Y/N’s chocolates that night, talking about who this person might be. Lucifer wasn’t as amused as he had been the night before, if anything he was rather concerned but he didn’t want to say anything about the note to Y/N, because she would freak out. 

Nothing really happened for the next week. Anonymous gifts stopped showing up at Y/N’s office, Lucifer didn’t get any more notes and things were falling back in their place, until the day right after Y/N’s latest photoshoot went public and viral. It was all to promote her upcoming clothing line. As soon as she walked into the office the next day, she spotted a red, velvet box, the size of a notebook, in the middle of her desk. On top of it, a note written in the same glittery pink as the other gifts

“Congratulations on your new line. Those photos are gorgeous - J.P. <3”

Inside the box was a gorgeous diamond necklace, looking like it was worth millions. If you hadn’t been concerned about the sudden apparition of all these gifts so far, you sure were now. You immediately called your husband to tell him about the mysterious jewelry, but he didn’t pick up. Unbeknown to you, he was busy ranting to detective Decker.

“I mean, not to be dramatic, detective, but the situation does feel like it’s spiralling out of control. Death threats, sure, those come every other weekend, kind of like fanmail, y’know? But actual gun shots fired at my head, well, that’s where I draw the line.” he ended with a giggle. Lucifer was leaning on Decker’s desk as she was examining the bullet casings Lucifer had brought her from his apparent ‘attempted assasination’

“Where did this happen again?” she said, not taking her eyes off of her work

“Right by that coffee shop ms. Lopez always talks about. I may have lost a bet to her the other day and have to get her coffee for the rest of the week, so I was just exiting the shop when a masked man in a dark blue BMW zoomed by, pointing his gun at me and shooting blindly. I mean, that is the most basic attemp at murder I have ever witnessed. At least make it interesting!”

“Lucifer, if someone is out for your life, it’s serious business”

“Why would it be? It’s not like I can actually die, detective! Plus, it’s probably not that deep anyways. Just, dear old dad coming after me again for no particular reason. Very characteristic of him.”

“ You’re getting ahead of yourself. Whoever sent this wants you and Y/N apart, why would your dad want that?”

“Because he’s a prick who disagrees with everything and anything that makes me happy?” Lucifer concludes with an innocent smile “And, of course, Y/N being moral, our marriage goes against the heavenly rules of the almighty, so he’s trying to break us apart, but worry not detective! Me and Y/N are stronger and more in love than ever. My father will simply have to accept that. Nothing will break us apart” he said, puffing his chest out with confidence

“That’s good to hear Lucifer, but I still think we should stay open to different possibilities”

“Oh, come on detective, that would be a waste of our time. I know my father better than anyone, believe me when I tell you this is his hand and no one else's. Case closed! Now, let’s move to the next one! Chop chop detective, murders won’t solve themselves!” Lucifer said, marching out of the precinct. Chloe rolled her eyes at her partner, before hiding the bullets and the note in her desk and going after him.

Although it didn’t bother you, you couldn’t help but notice how much more touchy Lucifer had been with you, ever since the necklace incident. He needed to touch you at all times: when you were out for coffee, at lunch, at the station, in your office, in Lux. His hand was always either around your waist or tangled in yours. You felt sort of bad, thinking he must be a little insecure with this secret admirer being after you at all times, but you wanted him to know that you loved him more than anything and that no matter what, you would never leave him for a faceless man, no matter how many pearls and chocolates he bribes you with. And so, you decided to play along with him, giving him as much attention as you could. Your visits at the station almost doubled, you always cleared your schedule to make time for him and even decided to start work later in  the day than usual, so you could spend more time with him in the morning. 

One afternoon, as you were enjoying your time with Decker and Lucifer during their lunch time, one of the notes from your secret admirer slipped out of your pocket. You didn’t realise it until Chloe picked it up

“Oh, I was going to throw that out”

“Where’s this from?” she asked, studying the note

“Just one of this week's gifts” you confessed awkwardly. Without a second thought, the detective reached for her drawer, pulling out another note from inside and inspecting them side by side. Eventually, she placed them both in front of Lucifer

“Notice something interesting about the writing?”

“They are remarkably similar…”

“More like identical”

“What is that?” you asked, looking at the unknown note. Your heart sank as you read it

“I’ll explain everything at home dear, I swear” Lucifer said

“You’ve received death threats because of me?”

“I’ll tell you everything at home, I promise”

“You have initials…” Decker noticed

“Yeah, ever since my photoshoot, they’re present on every package”

“What floor is your office on again?”

“5th, why?”

“How can someone enter your office every morning without anyone, not even your secretary noticing, and exit just as mysteriously?” “Unless he found a different way in” Lucifer replied

“My window” you realise “You can step out directly onto the emergency staircase from there”

“He knew when to sneak in without being seen, so he must have known your schedule like the back of his hand. Who could know?”

“The only people who know it are my secretary and Lucifer”

“A stalker?” your husband suggested

“Maybe” Decker turned quickly to her computer “I’m going to check any business owners around that neighbourhood who could have had a close shot of when you enter and exit your studio, see if any initially match the ones on the notes. We’ll go from there” 

You thanked Chloe for the help and went home with Lucifer, who spent the entire car ride explaining the note to you and the events of the previous days. You were angry at him for keeping all of it away from you, but ultimately happy that he was safe. You spent the night drinking wine and rewatching all of your comfort movies, to calm your nerves.

You decided to try working from home for the next couple of days, too scared by the idea of a stranger following your every move. It was a challenging process but Lucifer did his best in helping you get accustomed to this new routine. His homemade meals could not compare to anything you would eat while in a meeting with your business associates. Plus, the company was much more delightful.

Chloe texted you, almost a week later, to come down to the station as quickly as possible. They had found the guy. You hopped into your car and when you finally arrived, Lucifer was waiting for you outside

“They found him?” 

“Yes dear, they did”

“How?”

“Well, as it turns out he lived in the apartment building next door. His living room window had a great view of everything happening in your office. We’ve found a week’s worth of gifts he was planning to deliver. It’s him for sure” 

“Thank you” you whispered before collapsing into Lucifer’s arms and hugging him tight

“It’s alright lovely. It’s over now. Let’s go see how the detective is handling it. I think they’re in the interrogation room now.”

From behind the glass, you watched the man that threatened your marriage and your husband's life, confess to everything. Admit to stalking you, in order to learn your schedule. Break into your office and open fire on Lucifer. More than enough to get him behind bars for a long time. Decker and Lucifer got up and were ready to leave, but your husband requested a couple of minutes alone with the man. The detective agreed, cautioning him to not do something stupid, before leaving them alone. Lucifer turned on his heels to face the man in handcuffs and you could instantly tell he was furious

“Truly an honorable try. Y/N is one of a kind, you were right about that, the only detail you missed is that, you see, she’s taken. By me” the mischievous smile on his face let you know that he was up to no good “Our bond is indestructible and it’s really laughable to think that you’ve risked so much to tear us apart when you didn’t stand a chance to begin with” Lucifer leaned over the table, now his back was facing you “Me and Y/N are, and forever will be, together. There is nothing you or anyone else can do to change that. She is mine and I am hers, now and for eternity” as his little speech came to an end, you noticed the man in handcuffs go pale with terror. He began shaking in his chair, screaming incoherently about the devil. Even tho you hadn’t see what your husband did, you could tell by the man’s reaction. You laughed to yourself, not even mad that Lucifer had used his devil face against this man. You would have done the same if you had the option.

[meg-moira]

A short story based on this writing prompt.

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The woman sloshed from the water, waves frothing about her knees as if the cold ocean was straining to keep her. Once on land, her soft toes sunk into wet sand as her legs wobbled with disuse. Lush black hair hung over her shoulders and back in sodden, twisting ringlets, and she crossed her arms against the cold as she stumbled toward a rocky outcropping in the distance. Goosebumps rose along dark skin as her eyes, black as the sea-depths, searched the beach for movement.

Save for the scuttling of a gray crab, all was still.

Naia was the name she had chosen, and when she emerged from the rocks, Naia wore a thick shawl, cotton breeches, and boots which made her toes feel warm but terribly constricted. Standing on the sand, she brushed her fingers along the fabric, hands tracing down the sides of her legs. With an eager, if not somewhat ungainly skip, she set out toward the white bluffs which stretched above the beach - and the red-roofed buildings which piled atop them.

In the city’s streets, Naia was treated to a series of friendly nods. She’d visited the city a handful of times over the past year, and it seemed that at least a few of the residents recognized her. The thought warmed her, and Naia made the rest of the journey to the tea shop with a delighted spring in her admittedly, still wobbly steps.

She was jittery with an energy which was both excited and nervous, for she had made a friend. A human friend. Her friend’s name was Saoirse, and Naia had met her after unknowingly venturing into town on a market day. Saoirse was selling bracelets made of pretty ocean polished stones, and though Naia had no money at the time, she’d stopped to admire the jewelry all the same. Touched by Naia’s admiration of her work, Saoirse slipped a bracelet over Naia’s hand, and the only payment she asked for was to meet for tea a month from that day.

And now, a month later, Naia stood at the tea shop entrance, stone bracelet cool against her wrist.

Saoirse sat at a round wooden table in a tucked-away corner, beneath a window trimmed in emerald curtains. Her pale hands were folded together atop the table, and chestnut brown hair, cropped short, curled about her ears. She had a narrow face, a strong, high bridged nose, and large dark eyes. As soon as Naia stepped into the shop, wooden floorboards creaking beneath her, those large eyes flickered up. Instantly, Saoirse was smiling, the kind which filled her face, dimpling her cheeks.

When Naia sat, it took her a moment to figure out how to fold her legs comfortably between the chair and table. Fortunately, Saoirse seemed not to notice, and when Saoirse reached across the table, squeezing Naia’s hands, Naia squeezed back. She was determined to avoid scaring her new friend away with the truth - that it was a mermaid who’d joined her for tea.

“It’s good to see you, friend,” Saoirse said, smiling brightly.

“And you,” Naia replied.

“I hope you don’t mind - I ordered tea for us both.”

“I don’t mind.”

Saoirse’s smile widened, and up close, Naia noticed that the teeth at the corners of her mouth looked surprisingly sharp. If humans hunted for fish in the sea like merfolk, Saoirse’s sharp teeth would be particularly useful, Naia thought - before forcing it out of her mind. She was meant to be making human conversation, not discussing the best methods for catching fish in one’s mouth.

Naia cleared her throat. She’d practiced this. Granted, the practice had been with a particularly talkative gannet. But practice was still practice, and Naia was determined to make a good, very human, impression.

“So,” Naia said, folding her hands in a mimicry of Saoirse’s posture. “Is selling jewelry your means of collecting coins?”

Saoirse’s chin dipped in a hurried nod. “Oh yes. I collect many beautiful coins from my jewelry sales.”

“Wow,” Naia said, a little breathlessly, as she imagined what it would be like to hold so many pretty, gleaming coins in her hands.

“What of you?” Saoirse asked.

“Oh, I-” Naia stammered. “I - um, find my coins. In the sand.” There really was no way to explain that she collected the stray coins which dropped like fallen stars to the sea floor.

“The sand,” Saoirse breathed, black eyes growing wide. “How marvelous.”

Naia grinned, pleased that her answer had been satisfactory. Breathing easier, she relaxed back into her chair.

A young man delivered their tea. He carried a teapot and two earthen mugs. As he bent over the table, nimble fingers deposited the teapot and then the two mugs before them. He had long black hair that fell over his shoulder in a long braid and eyes as bright as a kelp forest in shallow water. Dipping his head, he said, “Please enjoy,” before hurrying away.

Naia stared for a moment at the pot in silent consideration, and when she looked up, saw Saoirse doing the same. However, when Saoirse saw Naia looking, she straightened up, grabbing for the teapot. Pulling it in front of her, she plucked the lid from the top and peered down at the liquid inside. Her nostrils flared as she eyed it critically.

“Is it...okay?”

Saoirse paused before nodding. “Yes. You’ve got to check beforehand to be sure, though.”

Naia nodded as if this made perfect sense. In truth, she knew little of tea, and had yet to consume any in her visits to land.

Wordlessly, Saoirse plucked a spoon from a tray at the table and set about scooping sodden leaves into each of the mugs. Tilting her head, Naia watched the process, utterly fascinated. She had always assumed tea referred to the liquid - but clearly it was meant to describe these leaves once they were soaked in water.

When Saoirse slid her a mug, Naia grabbed a spoon of her own. Before eating however, Naia paused. She recalled a ritual she’d observed humans practicing at meals. Meeting Saoirse’s eyes, she dipped her head down and said, “I pray to you my thanks for this meal.”

Saoirse blinked, and then she was nodding. Dipping her head, she repeated Naia’s words, “I pray to you my thanks for this meal.”

And then, lifting their spoons, they scooped the wet leaves into their mouths.

The taste was...bitter. But no more bitter than a bite of an urchin not yet matured. Naia turned the leaf over in her mouth before grinding it between her teeth and swallowing.

“A delicacy,” Naia said, licking her lips.

“Yes,” Saoirse replied, poking at the other leaves in her cup.

Naia watched as she spooned another glob of leaves into her mouth. As she leaned forward over the cup, Naia noticed, for the first time, the thick pelt that wrapped around her shoulders. It was odd. The pelt was dark - almost oily in appearance, and it certainly should have been one of the first things she noticed - but until now, Naia’s eyes had slid right over it. It was pretty, she reflected, admiring the sheen.

“I like your shawl.”

When Saoirse stiffened, Naia froze, wracking her brain to determine the human social norm she had violated. Perhaps Saoirse thought she wanted it? Because that was what had happened with the bracelet, wasn’t it? But it was one thing to give away a trinket and quite another to give away the pelt which kept you warm.

“I do not want it,” Naia hurried to explain. “Your bracelet was gift enough for me.”

Saoirse’s tight expression relaxed, and she lifted a hand, running her fingers along the pelt. “It is special to me.”

“It is lovely.”

“Thank you,” the corners of Saoirse’s eyes crinkled with her smile.

When the waiter returned, he glanced a little oddly at the teapot and mugs. When he asked them if the tea was satisfactory, both women assured him it was. Before returning to the back, he turned a dark, contemplative look upon them both.

Both Naia and Saoirse watched him go.

“Perhaps I should have given him shinier coins,” Saoirse mused in a thoughtful whisper.

Naia swallowed, nodding, for that must have been what offended him. “We humans love our shiny things.”

“That we do,” Saoirse agreed, and promptly dug a gleaming coin from the pouch at her waist. Holding it triumphantly up, she set it on the table with a click. “I’m sure this will please him.”

“If it doesn’t, he’s a fool,” Naia said a little haughtily. “It’s very shiny.”

Both women gazed a little wistfully at the coin.

“So,” Saoirse said at last. “Tell me more about yourself. What do you like to do?”

Naia didn’t hesitate with this answer. It was one she had prepared. “I walk. Everywhere. All of the time. Walking. It burns my muscles most pleasantly.”

“Walking is wonderful, isn’t it?” Saoirse agreed, an excited flush crossing her pale cheeks. “Not always convenient. But it’s always an adventure.”

Naia nodded in eager agreement. She was overjoyed to have so much in common with this human.

“Perhaps we can walk after our tea,” Naia ventured. “Where the cliffs overlook the sea.”

Before Saoirse could answer, the waiter returned. His hands slammed the table, and Naia and Saoirse both jumped in their seats as the teapot and cups rattled on the shaking wood. Saoirse’s lips curled back, and her white teeth gleamed. From Naia’s mouth, there escaped a hiss.

Gone was the waiter’s easy cordiality. His fine-boned cheeks were pale, and those green eyes were sharp as the broken glass which collected beneath the shipyard waters. His elegant fingers curled around the edges of the table as he glared.

“I know,” he said, and his voice was trembling. Whether with rage or fear, Naia couldn’t be sure.

Naia’s heart was a rock in her chest. Mouth dry, she could only stare as her toes curled helplessly in her boots.

It was Saoirse who spoke. “Know what?” she snapped.

“You can stop hiding. I know what you are.”

Naia heaved a shuddering breath. Swallowing, she looked across the table. Saoirse, her gaze filled with inexplicable terror, stared back.

“I don’t understand why you fae hunters won’t just leave me alone.” The waiter’s voice hitched, and he sounded near to tears.

Naia’s head whipped around so fast that her neck gave a twinge. “What?”

At once, the waiter's rage fled, melting instead into an exhausted sort of grief. Green eyes welling with bright, inhuman tears, he bitterly shook his head. “I saw that you refused the tea. Not a drop of it was drunk! It’s a myth you know. I can’t bespell folk with just any food or drink.”

“Oh,” Naia said, drawing a wondering breath. “You’re meant to drink it.”

“Yes of course you drink-” the waiter’s mouth snapped closed. “Wait what?”

“What?” Saoirse exclaimed, looking at Naia.

“Wait...” Naia said looking back at Saoirse, taking in her dark eyes and the pelt around her shoulders.

“What?!” the waiter said, throwing his hands up as he looked between them.

“You’re not human,” Naia and Saoirse said in unison.

For a long moment, all three were silent.

And then Saoirse was laughing, and it was a sharp, barking sound.

Naia pressed a hand over her mouth as she looked at Saoirse. “You’re a selkie,” she said between her fingers.

“Well of course I am. And you’re merfolk,” Saoirse said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

“Yes well you’re both responsible for the couple hundred years that stress probably took from my life,” the waiter said, tossing his braid over his shoulder and crossing his arms against his chest.

“Is leaf water good?” Naia asked, looking at him doubtfully.

“Of course it is,” the waiter said with a sigh and pulled up a chair. “Here, let me pour it.”

Steam rose from the mugs, and Naia watched as it softened Saoirse’s sharp features. “I thought you were my first human friend,” Naia admitted.

Saoirse bit her lip, and Naia again glimpsed those sharp teeth. “Maybe instead I’ll be your first Selkie friend?”

Wrapping her fingers around the hot mug, Naia smiled. “I think I’d like that.”

“And we can still take that walk. I do so like moving these legs,” Saoirse said. Gaze sliding to her right, she studied the waiter. “Would you like to join us, faerie?”

“It’s Adam,” he said with a sniff. “And yes, alright.”

“I’ll give you a bracelet to make up for scaring you,” Saoirse said.

“And I will not eat you should you slip and fall into my waters,” Naia generously offered.

“...thanks.”

Naia grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Tea was good, as it turned out. And once the teapot was empty, the mermaid, selkie, and faerie left the shop to walk together.

If any should have turned their gaze toward the ocean that day, they would have observed three windswept silhouettes trailing along the pale bluffs. And should the watcher have persisted in watching, they would have seen the figures’ outlines shifting, becoming something beautiful and other when faced with the vast blue of sky and sea.

[justalost4girl]

" If anything can go wrong, it will."

Good night!! (Here it's still night :p )

A few weeks ago I said I would do a oneshot Lorraine Broughton x F! Reader, but it got too big so I decided to follow the initial idea and turn it into a mini series. I have two chapters written and I'm going to post them here and in Ao3, I think there will be 3 or 4 chapters in total, but I'm not sure yet.

English is not my first language, so all mistakes are mine.

Enjoy!!

warnings: mention of violence, R cursing, forgery of documents (?)

Words: 4573

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1989

Berlin, East Side

You feel in your bones, when you wake up, the consequences of last night and think that the famous Murphy's Law decided to test you. On this side of the wall few things go right, but having an order in your head two days after joining STASI's wanted list proves that nothing is so bad it can't get any worse. Courtesy of a dumb customer who messed with the wrong people and thought revealing where you find your customers would be enough information to escape death. The Local Gang (or Angels, as they call themselves) loves to eliminate competition from the market.

Now he's dead and you have to deal with the STASI AND the Local Gang (you refuse to call them Angels).

The local fucking gang that sent a team of idiots to break into your favorite bar and made you run out the back door before meeting a customer who was going to pay well. The local fucking gang who must be pissed that you shot the six dumbest members you've ever had to face in your life. No really fatal shots, but of course that won't matter as they do business with the KGB.

Sometimes you want to ignore the rules you've made for yourself, especially "never kill someone unless it's in defense of yourself or someone you love", but you think killing six agents who don't have the ability to set up an ambush of success would be a great waste of bullets. Now you know you're going to have to leave town soon and you have no idea how to break the news to your brother/partner, how do you honorably abandon a war before it's over?

Damn Murphy's Law

You know you need to sort this out, but you refuse to stay in bed crying over what's already written and decide to leave the wonderful Egyptian linen sheets you got from your favorite client last month to face the world and it's impossible to face the world without a good amount of coffee. After a quick shower with a cup of Blue Mountain in hand, your newest addiction, you sit in a robe in a nice armchair, look out the window at dying Berlin and thank heaven for the comfortable life you've earned by working with one of the greatest smugglers on this side of the wall, perhaps from all over Germany. Some desperate customers offer you valuable items from them in exchange for passports and unlike your idiot “brother”, you don't have a rule about only receiving cash. Almost everything here comes from gifts, from the sofa, pictures, bags, clothes and even some books on your shelf. You don't even remember buying that cup, or the coffee set, for gods' sake.

If he saw you now he'd complain about being soft with customers and say something about how items aren't a bargaining chip in the real world, you'd get into a tiresome discussion about enjoying the finer things in life and how bills don't compare in the importance of yours. silver chain with moon pendant that was once an amulet for more than three generations for a French family.

At the end of the day, Merkel has a large information network and an office that takes up half the block, where she keeps as much money as she has secrets, and you have a house decorated by other people where each object symbolizes someone you've helped.

Four walls don't make a house

The thought takes away some of the almost peace you feel and you decide to finish your coffee before it gets cold.

After a quick glance at the calendar you remember about the march that will take place in Alexanderplatz square and decide to go scream for Germany one last time, hopefully you'll be able to hide long enough to see the fall of the damn wall that divides this country. It's not your country, not really, you don't even like to remember how you got here, but the experiences you gained wouldn't be exchanged for anything, not even for an original Van Gogh. Also, Merkel asked you to go and bring a black umbrella, the reason was not explained and you didn't feel like asking, sometimes you think Gordon Merkel is not his name, but how to judge the man who is your only family in this end of the world? You smile when you remember that he shouldn't have an umbrella with a story as cool as his and decide to piss him off for it.

Your phone rings, and you notice you've lost track of time. Merkel was helping a blonde woman named L, he didn't give you more details other than a few stories about how she was a perfect and dangerous assassin that you should keep your distance, as few people know how to deal with her. You thought he overreacted, but you had to take over some business from him while she was in town. She seemed important considering the way he told you about her and you knew better than to deny help to the person who always supported you and declared himself a brother, you trusted him because not even the best agent in the world could fake so much sincerity and affection in claiming this title for himself.

You reach out, pick up the phone, and decide to answer it. “Hey little sister, how are you out there? I called to say that everything is fine for dinner today, but there was a mishap and the wine ran out, bring the best Bordeaux you have, I'll return the courtesy as soon as possible." A code, of course.

He needs your services ASAP. Wine is a passport, Bordeaux means two elements, courtesy involves a child.

You can combine business with pleasure "Hi brother. I'm looking forward to today, I'll take the best wine I have, don't worry. I already know how you can thank me. I need to clean the house and go to the office first, but I'll be there on time. wait for me." you say in a voice that oozes normalcy, you never know when someone's listening on the phone especially now that you're a fugitive, disgraced customer. Your body sinks into the armchair noticing the oncoming cloud of worry

Merkel now knows you need his help, as cleaning the house means getting away and going to the office shows you're in a hurry.

"Alright, do you want me to send the driver?" He asks like he's not freaking out and offering the bloody job of one of his mercenaries

“No, bro, thanks, I know the way.” You say as if you really have an escape plan besides getting a fake passport, emergency backpack and all the money you can find.

“See you later, don't forget the wine. Are you sure you don't want the driver?" You wonder if he has forgotten that knowing the way literally means everything is fine

“Relax, see you later” It takes a few seconds for him to hang up and you can hear his sigh.

He will be SO pissed.

You put the phone down as you get up to gather the passport forgery materials and put them in a briefcase. Your cookbook is already there along with some banknotes from different countries. As you pick up the black backpack of standard clothes and accessories that always waited for you in the corner of the door, you decide to wear the first jacket you bought, the dark blue jeans, the combat boots you got from a skinhead, the wristwatch you bought. you got for your brother's birthday, thick leather gloves and a thin white shirt that matches the rest of your outfit. After all, if you can die when you open the door, then die well dressed. Be sure to keep the Colt 1911 around your waist and the Russian dagger around your ankle, after yesterday you never know, Your pocket watch with the coat of arms of the Brazilian imperial family indicates that 15 minutes have passed since Merkel's phone call

You take one last look at the house you've been so proud of in recent years, snap a photo with the Polaroid you've won, and, with a bittersweet smile, close the door. One day when the wall comes down, the government changes and your face is forgotten, you can come back here, until then you will have to make do with the photo album you keep in your backpack and this photo.

Putting on your sunglasses, you arrive on the street and decide to take a taxi on the other corner, make sure you look around before leaving your home, no one knows your address, but you can't be sure the local gang is so stupid to the point of not following you after last night.

Getting a taxi was relatively easy. Neil, the driver, thanks to the boots, mistook you for a revolutionary and talked for 10 minutes about how he hoped he could take down the wall with his bare hands, you thought it was cool, but as you passed the big river that was just a few blocks away from the your brother's office, you couldn't hear a word from him.

A sign signaling that the river was closed to visitors made your eyes fill with tears. You used to go there when the day was bad, spread a blanket in a corner and watch the stars, or just laugh at the distinct reflection the water made of the moon and stars. Merkel accompanied you on anniversaries, justifying them as bonding experiences. After some freaks started swimming in the river and executions increased, STASI took over and you replaced the dark water for the restaurant's bright lights. But seeing it tightly closed gave him a feeling of anguish and rancor. You would silently curse the wall builders for the rest of the trip.

Neil seemed to notice but didn't comment on it, you thanked him, wiped your tears and left a good tip as you descended a block away from your final destination. This time you didn't need to look around because even though Merkel was super busy, he made sure to leave some security close to where your landing place was.

A tall man dressed in a red T-shirt approached you and hugged you as if he hadn't seen you in a long time. You've known him since the beginning of last year, when he arrived at Merkel's office begging for a job, and from the first moment the way he turned grief over his brother's death into a thirst for revolution made you admire the young man. The two of you walked through the great gate hand in hand as you asked about his life with genuine interest, and Klaus increasingly believed in Merkel's theory about you having such a pure heart that you didn't care about motivation or the number of lives they took, your explanation of the judgment not being your responsibility, crossed the man's head before he escorted you to the main office.

You thanked him with a smile, opened the door and stood in front of the table in the windowless room, where your brother was already waiting for you.

"What the hell happened? Are you okay? I was about to send J to get you, please tell me what happened"—he said hurriedly as he got up and pointed at the couch for you to sit on. J was one of the most dangerous women in the building and you were grateful for not wasting her time.

Putting your backpack and umbrella aside, you answered:

"I'll explain later, little brother, now let me help you. You need passports urgently, don't you?" Yes, you were stalling and postponing the conversation. He'd call you an idiot for going out on the street right after you got on the wanted list, and he'd feel guilty when he found out why you didn't tell him. Merkel wasn't going to understand that her fear of failing him was no one's fault but yourself.

Your sentence seemed to give him some responsibility back, but still, as he held out a glass of water for you, his eyes met yours with a glint that warned that this conversation was far from over.

"Yeah, I really do, but don't think I'm going to forget about it. Let's talk when this is all over. Even if it's the last thing I do today."

You accepted the glass with a bit of trepidation and stood up towards the large center table while opening the briefcase with the supplies you were going to need, if Merkel noticed the bills he didn't say anything. Once at the table, you made two passports for mother and daughter in record time. According to the clock, 10 minutes passed, faster than a car, this deserves a celebration. It would have been six if Merkel hadn't been so curious to make you waste time pulling your watch out of your pocket just for him to analyze.

Everything was going well and there was only one last detail for mother and daughter to be taken by one Percival to the other side of the wall. Percival, according to Merkel, was strange and fickle. Unreliable and extremely dangerous, you should also keep your distance from him, as this man had crucial contacts on both sides of the wall.

"He must have fewer contacts than you", you would answer

If a loud noise didn't break the silence

The annoying noise of the door creaking made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you almost missed the last signature, it made your body vibrate with irritation and your eyes follow to the offensive source of the sound. A tall man with short hair and blue eyes was holding the doorknob with a military posture and before you could release your anger and explain something about how people shouldn't be violent inside Merkel's office you noticed he was accompanied by a woman.

AND WHAT A WOMAN!

Your eyes connected to a pair of fierce, intent green eyes, surrounded by a pale skin tone and hair so blond it looked like snow. The barely perceptible frown showed she was surprised to find someone other than Merkel there, yet she looked ready for a battle. You looked into her eyes again and nodded in acknowledgment, this must be L, the woman he was talking about.

She looked at you suspiciously, but also as if she could see into your soul, and what must have been frightening, you found endearing. A few stories of murders orchestrated by her crossed your mind, but all you could imagine is how beautiful she must be when she's mad.

They say green eyes darken when we're high on adrenaline, does that happen to her?

Her analysis of the intriguing blonde ends when she notices that the man accompanying her has raised his voice and from his furious expression, it's not the first time he's repeated the question. You interrupt him before you hear him and make sure to direct the ghost of anger before him:

"Have you lost your mind? Who walks into the office without knocking? Surely you should be here asking about passports, but if it weren't for my experience and steady hands, they would be in the trash by now. Learn to be civilized. You're under two paws not four, so act human and not animal" you say in an explosive but articulate tone to make sure he understands what you say. Sometimes when you speak fast, you are betrayed by faulty diction. Not today. Today you want this man to feel every fiber of irritation that went through his body.

Hearing Merkel holding a nervous laugh, you try to relax, but judging by the cold, almost murderous look of the man in the doorway, you've definitely gotten yourself in trouble. Looking at the organized clothes, you notice it's an old police uniform, probably taken by your brother, and unless Merkel has hired new employees, you've never seen it around here. His eyes snap back to his and something inside you warns that this must be Percival. He probably wants to kill you.

Damn Murphy's Law

A brief silence settles in the room and you shake off the fear and turn away, refusing to play the glaring game with a man who almost spoils your art. On other days you might look at him at a party, but today you want to make him swallow the ink on the stamp in his hands and invite the blonde to dinner

And it's her voice that breaks the silence.

You're flipping through the two passports for failures when she says

"Sorry, miss. My friend is an unprecedented idiot. Shall I close the door and knock again? Perhaps your highness too--"

You turn her body towards her when you hear the slightest hint of irony in her tone and interrupt her with a fake smile as you look into her eyes.

"It's not necessary, I accept your apology, Miss. I always said that Merkel should have someone armed at the door to remind everyone of the need to knock on the door. Anyone who didn't knock would lose his mind as the law of my reign says. Perhaps I should start. for him, since the top head is the last thing he wears lately" you joke look at Merkel who doesn't seem offended by the statement, shrugging you look at those blue eyes again and say "the passports are ready. Let's get out of here."

You close the passports, reach for your backpack and umbrella and start moving towards the door, both agents let you lead the way and judging by the blonde's expression, she's not used to being interrupted, nor is she used to seeing someone talking like that with Merkel, but today it was acceptable. You really think she's adorable, but you know better than to let someone make fun of you, especially in front of your brother who wouldn't let you forget about it. Either she doesn't care, or she's a great actress. Anyway, that idiot is still by her side and you refuse to be the reason for his possible laugh.

Her friend probably didn't have the same acting classes and his resemblance to the local gang members, like he's going to kill you in the blink of an eye in a cowardly way, is almost frightening. If Merkel hadn't said L is a woman, you'd be scared. It makes you shiver a little and look for Merkel, but he's not following you. Looking over his shoulder you see him putting a few more piles of dollars and euros into your briefcase. With a snap of your fingers you get his attention and before you walk out the door, you hear the briefcase click closing.

Once out of the room, you look around and realize that nothing has really changed, all faces are familiar, except for three people: a couple talking to a child. After a brief analysis you find yourself facing the passport clients, mother and daughter. The man doesn't look older than 60 and has kind eyes, almost as if he doesn't live on this side of the wall.

They don't seem to notice you

Your observation is interrupted by Merkel's loud, proud voice, right behind you. Here it comes

"This is Elizabeth Loyd and Percival, two trusted clients. Elizabeth and Percival, this is my little sister, she will be on the march today, if you need anything in the future you can talk to her."

Hearing her name, you notice that Merkel really wasn't creative at all. Who would use the initial letter of a surname as a symbol? Anyone who heard the stories about L and met a loyde who knows a Merkel would make the connection. As you turn around, you swallow your nervousness and try to put on your best smile as you say your name to them. The blonde woman who finally has a name, Elizabeth, leans closer, her eyes never leaving yours, and you wonder if she can feel the jumble of emotions that is unraveling inside you.

She smiles a smile that makes you sure she does and reaches out and greets you with a firm grip, if she noticed the sweat on your hands, she didn't let on. She also looks a little more comfortable.

Maybe because she noticed you said her real name, idiot.

You hate yourself for one second and the next you want to be without gloves because it feels soft and warm.

The man, Percival, comes next and looks at you suspiciously and the smile fades from your face, you wonder if no one else can smell the strong smell he gives off, a smell of cheap whiskey and arrogance. Still, he holds out his hand and this time you thank the gods for the gloves. Make sure you don't bow your head or fail in your posture. He still looks at you like you killed his son. Useless even to pretend, for God's sake.

Merkel watches the exchange from afar and nods to Elizabeth, she responds and Percival walks away looking uneasy. You look around uncomprehendingly, feel a little left out, and wonder which computer must have Tetris installed.

You would kill for a distraction right now.

Going out on the street in a crowded march while being chased by two groups still makes you sick.

Your brother approaches and extends his hands around you. You've missed him for the past few weeks. He still wears the perfume you gave him for his birthday and it makes you sink deeper into the hug. You know he's going to be mad when he finds out what happened so you enjoy as much affection as you can

"Little sister, in addition to our conversation I need to tell you something" his voice is low in tone and you doubt you would understand the words if you weren't so close to him "but I can't do that until the march is over. Meet me at usual table at the restaurant where we celebrate our achievements, It's very important"

His even low voice is charged with strong emotion and you are genuinely worried, Merkel has never been like this before.

"I'll do it, brother, I promise. Whatever it is, we can work it out together" you say with all the certainty you can muster in your voice, because you need him to understand that this is true.

You feel eyes on you and as you look up you notice that Elizabeth keeps an eye on your exchange with Merkel while talking to the little girl's father, from the distance she probably can't understand anything and you don't know if she celebrates or cares with so much attention received. A little further away is a Percival who pretends to be busy with the coat he's wearing. He also pays attention to your exchange, but his talent for discretion is as effective as his ability to open doors.

Your eyes return to the concentrated blue eyes that are in front of you and Merkel speaks in an almost inaudible way:

"When I whistle, I need you to raise your open umbrella and stay alert. The three people we're going to cross are very important, nothing can go wrong. But if it does, I'll be at the restaurant, whatever happens find me there."

Noticing the proximity of Percival and Elizabeth, you place your hand on your brother's shoulder and smile as you speak a little louder:

"Don't worry man, it's always a pleasure to help you. I'll leave my briefcase here, then meet you to get it. Good march."

Merkel shows that she understands his strange move and smiles, you greet some friends of his that you haven't seen in a while and as you head towards the exit, you meet a pair of deep green eyes. Elizabeth is gleaming in the cold lights that are refracted by the mosaic of the gate, she looks into your eyes, ever alert, looks at the object in your hands and nods her head with a half smile, do you think the guard's idea black rain was hers.

As you wave back, you can feel that a pair of eyes haven't left your back since the moment of your brother's embrace, as the old man is saying goodbye to the family, you know who they belong to and decide not to look for them. If the STASI, KGB or local gang find you, he doesn't own the pair of eyes you want to remember before you die.

Taking a deep breath, you walk through the gate and blend into the crowd.

..........................................................................................................................

After leaving Merkel's office block, you take a hat out of your backpack and wear your sunglasses as you look around, not that a local gang member is here but because if he sees you in disguise he will ask a series of questions and he has enough problems already, plus STASI must be monitoring this area and the last thing you want is to be arrested. You decide to tuck your coat into your backpack to change your look, and while internally debating your ability to ignore the cold, your eyes catch the almost snowy blond hair in the crowd.

This signals that they are already on the march and you decide to get a little closer to them, but make sure you do this without drawing attention to yourself since the nasty man is still there. Elizabeth is on your diagonal absorbing all the extraneous details that might be a possible threat, she seems so focused on the job of passing the owner's gentle eyes in a safe way that it makes you wonder how important he is and if she's noticed you.

A few meters later a familiar noise floats through the march and you open the umbrella almost instantly, as do other protesters.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Percival taking the man's family across and sometime later Elizabeth does the same. You notice that her posture has changed and when she decides to stop for a better look, the crowd drags her and you can no longer locate her.

Her feet continue forward and as some signs are raised by the protesters, you try to find your brother. Unsuccessfully. You decide to trust their ability and hope that you can meet him again at the restaurant.

You also want Elizabeth to be okay.

Continuing on the march, after two or three long blocks you notice the familiar silhouette of one of the STASI bosses, he is watching the crowd as if looking for someone, but he doesn't seem to notice you. You notice observers on top of buildings and decide to leave the streets. Whether it's the Local Gang, KGB or STASI itself you don't know and decide you don't want to know.

Your brain tries to design routes to escape and your body mimics the movements of the closest protesters so as not to draw attention to you, but when some agents in black point in your direction and make space in the crowd, you run between people to seek shelter in somewhere you know and at every step you are sure that the day will be worse than you thought.

Damn Murphy's Law

[batsandbugs]

The Great IKEA Game

Chapter 1 - Meet the Players

Marinette originally came to the IKEA an hour outside of Gotham to buy twinkle lights for her new living room. She eventually extended her trip into obtaining new dishes since all she had right now was empty takeout containers she kept rewashing. She would have been very content getting what she needed and being on her way, (no, she wasn't lonely Plagg, she had two dozen mini-gods to keep her company, shut up) but halfway between the bedding and lights sections, Marinette’s life changed forever. 

For the better, if she was being honest. 

She never would have realized it if she hadn’t ducked into a showroom to test out a couch. She settled against the fluffy folds, knowing it would be destroyed within minutes if she ever brought it home when she noticed him. A boy, no man, about her age, hiding behind a desk looking for all the world as if he were plotting world domination or someone’s demise. 

They looked at each other in shock for a moment. 

“Are… are you ok-”

“Shhh!” his green eyes narrowed, and boy, Marinette had been on the receiving end of death glares before, but this one had to take the cake. 

“Sorry,” she whispered. 

He rolled his eyes. “Do you see a group of dark-haired obnoxious idiots out there?” he asked. 

The request was an odd one, but Marinette rose from the couch and glanced around outside of the showroom. She didn’t see anyone fitting his description. She shook her head. 

He smirked. “My idiot older brothers dragged me along for a “family bonding experience”." He made the little quotation marks, and Marinette never thought anyone could look cool doing that, but somehow this person nailed it. "Tt. I’ve successfully avoided them for an hour. Didn’t know when the coast would be clear though.” He rose gracefully from the ground, looking all the more like a prince, rather than a crazy person hiding from his family. 

It was absurd. 

Marinette found herself instantly amused. 

“I have friends exactly like that, I totally get it,” she said, thinking how Adrian would be beside himself when she told him the story later. The pang of loneliness that had been present since she’d left her friends in Paris, for college in America re-emerged. She shook her head of the maudlin thoughts. 

The Kwamis would have had a field day with this idea too, thankfully she had left them in her severely under-furnished apartment for the day in order to avoid the squabbling that came with only taking a few of them out of the house.  

Marinette looked back out at the hallway again, wondering if the man's brothers would soon appear, finding herself invested in what would happen. “What are you going to do now?” 

“Well, Drake has the keys, and those idiots will be at their shenanigans till the store closes, so…” he shrugged. 

“Are they like… furnishing a whole house?” Marinette didn’t know how you could spend an entire day here. Sure, it was big, but… 

“No. We’re engaged in a no holds barred game of hide-and-seek.” Marinette’s mouth dropped open. “If one of them catches me I become the seeker.” 

“Why?” 

He smirked, “Because I’ve held out the longest.” 

"No, I mean, why are you playing hide-and-seek?" It seemed an odd choice for a bunch of adults. Well, Marinette and her friends would do it. But they also willing became superheroes at the age of fourteen so their judgment was already in question.   

He shrugged. "My oldest brother thought it would be fun, and our father is... out of town at the moment," he said with a bit of hesitation. 

“So, you’re just going to hide in this showroom till the store closes?” 

A devious smile spread across the man’s handsome features. “No. I intend to troll them. If Grayson wants my participation, I'm going to make him regret it.” 

It was at that moment she crossed the point of no return, not that Marinette knew it yet.

Throwing away any idea of finishing her shopping today she returned his smirk. “Any chance I could join you in your crusade?” 

The guy looked her over suspiciously. “Why should I allow a stranger to join me and potentially ruin my chances at victory?” 

Marinette thought for a moment. “Well, your brothers know you well?” He nodded. “Then they likely know what you’ll do to avoid and troll them. You need a fresh perspective. Plus, I can operate out in the open, I’m not officially a part of the game.” 

“Hmm...” his face was impassive; Marinette couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “You make some good points, but I’m not fully convinced.” 

Marinette huffed, “I also grew up in Paris without being akumatized.” 

He looked at her oddly. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Paris had a terrorist for five years that turned people into monsterized versions of themselves if they felt negative feelings. They were called Akuamas. Everyone in my class had it happen to them at least once. More for some particularly loose cannons.” 

The guy looked bewildered. “Why didn’t anyone hear about this?” 

Marinette shrugged, trying to play off her knowledge as what a normal civilian would know. “Combination of corrupt politicians, social media blackouts, and magic. People died during these attacks, but everything was put to rights at the end of every fight due to the superheroes powers.” 

His mouth dropped, but he recovered quickly looking contemplative. “I want to know more about this at a later time, but if what you say is true you can control yourself better than the average peon. But my brothers and I are a combination of street orphans, circus brats, gymnastics freaks, and geniuses - are you sure you can keep up?” 

Marinette nearly laughed at his description but managed to keep a straight face. “Positive.” 

“Alright, I'll do whatever it takes to win.” He offered her his hand. “I’m Damian.” 

She took it, feeling a slight shock as her fingers touched his. “I’m Marinette, nice to meet you, Damian.” 

“You won’t be saying that soon enough,” he said with a slight smirk. He looked over her shoulder. “Shit.” He dove beneath the desk he’d been hiding behind earlier. “Tall guy with the white streak in his hair.” Marinette turned to look. “Don’t make it too obvious,” he hissed. 

Marinette grabbed her phone and leaned against the desk. With small side glances, she saw a man probably mid to late twenties with two-toned hair. He wore a leather jacket and seemed to be searching for something, or someone. 

“Who’s that?” she asked quietly. 

“Second oldest brother, Jason Todd - arguably the most and least dangerous.” 

“Why both?” 

“He did not want to participate initially, so he’s reluctant, but at the same time, he hates losing.  He’ll hang on to the bitter end. More resourceful than the other two, and more violent, although less sophisticated.” 

Jason moved closer to their showroom. 

“Hush, he’s headed this way,” she whispered. Damian remained quiet and Marinette tried to make herself look busy. 

“Quick question miss?” Marinette glanced up from her phone. Jason stood at the entrance to the showroom. 

“Oh, uh, oui? Non, non, I mean yes?” Marinette said in an exaggerated accent, playing into the oblivious tourist stereotype always came in handy. 

“Oh French, shit, haven’t spoken that in a while,” he muttered. “Um...” 

“Non, it iz okay, I speak English well. Can I help you?” She batted her eyes just a bit. Marinette had long since grown from the days of not using all her advantages - courtesy of forced confidence from Chole. A friendship no one had seen coming but had grown quick and strong once they reached an understanding. 

“Oh, I’m looking for my little brother, about yay high, black hair, green eyes, permanent scowl. Have you seen him?” 

Marinette pretended to think for a second. “Non... I do not theenk so, perhaps help desk at zee front?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jason said, Marinette could see he had already written her off as useless. “Thanks, anyway.” He walked away quickly. 

There was a minute of silence. “Coast is clear,” said Marinette once Jason was out of sight. 

Damian popped up, a gleam in his eyes. “Your lying skills are adequate; we may just win this yet.” 

“I’m glad to meet such high approval, monsieur. Let’s get going.” 

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3 

Chapter 4

[notdelicatc]

- A life of lies all along

mentions: alusius vance, gianna sartori-vianello, ismelda vance, rabastan lestrange, evan rosier, alecto carrow where: venice, italy & vance manor, united kingdom when: august 1979

Vance manor was such a bizarre contrast the rays of sunshine that had covered each and every inch of the streets of Venice. Nothing had changed since she'd left a few days ago. The flowers were still covering the area, the scent of lavender carried all around with each breeze blowing through each corner of the garden. When she'd left the weather had tried its best to compete with Venice yet upon her return the clouds drifting above held an anger words could hardly describe, the wind blowing with a roughness that that was only surpassed by her the disappointment the witch standing in front of its doors held within her.

Emmeline had thought things would be easier, that coming home would simply be a discussion with words that would make it all make sense, but that was a reality she could not longer see for herself. For minutes at a time she'd stood in front of the heavy oak doors, refusing to enter simply because she couldn't even dare to think of the words that would flow. Had her father not once been everything she'd wanted to be? No longer, no. He was family, but he was also a liar. What explanation could he possibly give her to make sense of all his lies?

Her mind drifted back toward the documents left on her kitchen table in the flat above the shop she shared with Rabastan. A bitter chuckle echoed through the silence as she thought about her friend. Not because she didn't appreciate him, no. Emmeline felt ever so grateful for the honesty and the, well, kindness the other had shown even if the whole thing had completely unraveled the floor underneath her feet. Without him the witch would have walked the rest of her life believing herself to be a half-blood. Emmeline still felt like a half-blood, despite the written word, the documents that confirmed it.

Finally her feet moved, carried her through the manor toward the room the elves had indicated her father could be found; the library. A place of documentation, what a funny twist of fate. With each step her anger seemed to grow. Despite that her face seemed oddly calm, the storm only found within her eyes. A part of her wanted to run, to find anywhere but here to stay and make her stand, oh, but how silly the idea alone was. Where else would she confront her father?

How long had she stood within the door frame? How long had she stared at the wizard in question before those words slipped out without so much as a chance for her to prepare. Truth be told, there was no way of ever being prepared for this. "I know." Emmeline watched as her father looked up from the desk behind which she'd seen him so many times throughout her life. "Emmeline. How was your trip to Venice?" The question alone caused her blood to boil yet years of masking came in handy. "I know." She did not care to talk about a vacation. It had been anything but that. "I know everything." Emmeline didn't know everything, but enough to demand answers from the man in front of her.

"Whatever do you mean?" Yet he could not fool the girl who had grown up with a mask, turned into a witch walking a path that constantly caused her to assure her steps were masked with shadows as her companion. "You know. I know. Why?" Would he attempt to cover it up again? Would he come chasing her down with silly explanations. "I know she isn't my mother. I know that I am not the disappointment you've made me out to be, for all of wizardkind to see." No, the brunette wasn't going to give him a chance to make up more lies or questions of utter pointlessness. There was a sickening satisfaction in watching as Alusius Vance's face dropped in a twisted mix of shock and confusion.

Emmeline took a step toward him, then another. "Why would you let them all believe I am lesser than them? Because of her?" There was no question as to whom she was referring to. "I hated her. And she hated me all my life. All her life." She paused. "I always wondered why. She was dragging you down but whatever reason could a mother have to hate her own child? Her own flesh and blood." The answer seemed so simple now that she knew. How could that woman not hate the child of another woman? A part of her could almost understand the way she must have felt, the way that betrayal had crept into her bones and fed off of her thoughts until it was all consuming. But there was no pity.

"Tell me!" Her father sagged down onto the chair he'd occupied, almost giving off an air of defeat. Emmeline knew better. "No lies, no stories. Tell me. What was so bad about a child that was pure but illegitimate?" There it was, that word her father seemed to shrink down from. "It was an arranged marriage with someone I did not care to marry. I wanted to be with your mother." Emmeline felt the chuckle, the bitterness evident in the sound alone, before it had even made its way out. "She is not my mother. She never was." Her father only nodded. "I didn't wish to marry someone I didn't love." The brunette stared at him, listening. No, she wanted the full story.

A sigh from the older man broke through the silence that threatened to settle between them. "The wedding was held in Venice, on an island in the bay area. Ismelda hated it, hated that she had to make room for another." Emmeline refused to move, glued to her father's every word. For anyone not in her position perhaps it would have been one of the more tragic love stories. To her it was only a painful reminder of what could have been. "Clearly my mother had me, though. So what happened."

There was silence for a moment before her father spoke again. This time his voice seemed to carry a hint of regret. "Ismelda couldn't have children. We wanted to be together so we did the only thing we could think of." Silence, for a moment, a split second that felt drawn out into infinity. "We arranged for you to be taken. Your mother never knew I was in on it. A divorce happened because it was decided to be better this way and we left. She never knew." There it was, the truth of what her father had done to her mother. Emmeline stared at him through tears threatening to spill. "So you've let my mother believe I was dead or lost for the last twenty eight years? Well, she knows now."

Emmeline had gone in search for her mother mere days after Rabastan had left, staying in Venice just enough to finally find her mother. Perhaps in time things could be repaired, bridges mended and broken fences fixed, but it would have to be without her father in the picture. "Gianna sends her regards, by the way." For a moment it seemed almost calm, the way she had let that information go and flow through the room. Alusius Vance seemed shocked at that, but said nothing. What more could he say? "I admired you. I always have, but you've been a liar and a hypocrite. You committed crimes, covered them up and had me carry the fall out all my life. All for that muggle wench." For a moment it looked as though her father wanted to speak up, complain about the usage of harsh words and then he did speak up. "I did what I thought was right; what I thought was best."

It was the final straw, the words that broke the camel's back. "You did what was best for you! You and my step-mother, with no care for how it would affect the world around you. You left a mother heartbroken, you left a child to carry your sins." With each word her voice was getting louder, thinking of the way she'd made sure never to offend, never to be in the way. Always be the asset, never the one in need; the one with no rights to anything. Oh, she did not regret assuring proper etiquette shown to her friends; to Alecto and Rabastan and all the others. But the way she'd held back, never gone for anything she wanted, it broke something inside.

"You got to live, you got to love. You got to be happy." Her anger was roaring inside her. "I never dared to love, to live. Always worried I might overstep boundaries and taint bloodlines or offend someone. I didn't get to be in love. I got to watch people I love-..." Emmeline stopped herself. No, she wasn't going to let this humiliation show even further than she already had. Her silly crushes of the past, suppressed until she could no longer feel it. Evan, gone with the wind and engaged to someone else. Now, she'd never been foolish enough to assume he cared, but the reality was that for anyone she'd ever cared enough for Emmeline had not even been an option; not even a thought. Even her friendship with Alecto felt tougher. It had taken years to feel like the friendship was truly what it was. She couldn't help but wonder if she had to work as hard as she did simply because of her blood. Not that she had minded, if only there hadn't been this lie. "I was never enough for anyone or anything. And I was okay with that, if only that had been true. But you lied. For your own benefit."

Somehow she did not want to hear anything beyond that. In that very moment she just wanted to go. Her face was filled with the evidence of disappointment. "I am not your pawn to use. I never was." And with that she turned around, tired of the conversation and, for the moment, her father's coimpany.

[leejungchans]

— dance with me?

word count: 1.7k

pairing: dino (svt) x ateez oc (juliet)

warning(s): none!!

genre: an overwhelming amount of fluff bc i love lee chan

set on february 11, 2021

summary: during a late-night date on dino’s birthday, he asks juliet a special question.

juliet’s masterlist

minnie 🐭❤️ [22:16] i’m heading down now!! (◕‿◕) don’t drive off without me please ur so sexc 😩😩

From where he is, parked a street down from the building where ATEEZ’s dorm is in, Chan shakes his head fondly, looking out the window from the driver’s seat for any sign of his girlfriend.

Sure enough, just a few minutes later, Juliet emerges from the building’s entrance, glancing down the mostly empty street before spotting the familiar car.

Under the light of the street lamps, he can see that she’s wearing a huge puffer jacket with a scarf wrapped around her neck, purple hair stuffed under her beanie to avoid catching the attention of prying eyes. With all the layers she has on, she reminds him of a waddling penguin as she speed-walks towards the car.

Cute.

Chan unlocks the door as Juliet approaches, her eyes smiling while she settles into the passenger’s seat before leaning over the console to hug him. “Happy birthday, Channie,” she beams, taking off her mask to nuzzle the bottom half of her face into the thick material of her scarf.

“You already said that,” Chan teases, also smiling as he watches her fumble with the seatbelt for a bit.

“That was from almost twelve hours ago at 12 am! I think it’s illegal if I didn’t wish you a happy birthday again,” Juliet protests. “Sorry for being late, by the way. Have you been waiting long?”

“It’s only a few minutes, don’t sweat it.”

“Okay, but there’s actually a good reason! I was about to leave the building when Mingi-oppa called me because I left your present on the table, and I had to go back up to grab it! So you have him to thank that you have a birthday present.”

Juliet takes out a small gift bag, its handles tied together with ribbon so he can’t look into it, and hands it to him with a sweet grin. “Don’t open it now, though,” she warns half-jokingly.

“What? Why?” Chan whines. “I can’t even open my own present on my birthday?”

“No, because if you open it now then I’ll have to explain the meaning behind your gift, and if I do that I might actually cry. There’s a card inside explaining it.”

“What if I want to hear it from you?”

“Then you can call me when you get home,” she responds cheekily.

Chan relents. “Fine, you win. But you didn’t have to get me anything, I hope you know that,” he adds the last part seriously.

Juliet smiles reassuringly. “I know, but I wanted to. I hope you’ll like it, though.”

“I know I will.” It’s at that moment when he finally gets a good look at her face, the light from the street lamps hitting it just enough for him to note the dark circles under her eyes. “You look tired, baby. Don’t get me wrong, you’re beautiful no matter what, but is everything okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” As though on cue, Juliet brings a hand up to cover her mouth as she yawns. “Just a little tired from comeback preparations and practising for Kingdom. I’ll be fine, though, don’t worry.”

“I’ll always worry about you,” Chan admits. “You shouldn’t have come so you can rest.”

Juliet frowns. “No, I wanted to see you. Plus, it’s your birthday.”

“Okay, but you have to promise that you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I always do!” A pause. “Okay, sometimes I don’t, but I’ll try,” she promises genuinely.

Chan smiles. “Good. Let’s go, then. Seatbelt on?”

“Mhm!”

“Um, where exactly are you taking me?” Juliet asks suspiciously, noting that they’re currently driving up a hill away from central Seoul.

“Patience, Minnie. You’ll find out soon,” Chan says with a mischievous smirk. “We’re almost there.”

She feigns an offended gasp. “I am always patient! I’m just asking because I’m too pretty to meet my end now.”

“If something happens, I’ll protect you.”

“Nice try, but don’t think I haven’t watched that episode of GOING SEVENTEEN with you guys in the haunted house,” Juliet teases with a raised brow. “If anything, we probably need to call Wonwoo-ssi or Minghao-ssi.”

Chan groans. “Can we not talk about my members when we’re on a date?”

This only earns a laugh from Juliet. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“You’re going to tease me even on my birthday?”

“It’s how I show affection!” she defends while the car comes to a stop at the side of a dimly lit road. “Are we here?”

Upon his nod, she unbuckles her seatbelt to hop out the car, snow crunching under her boots. Immediately, harsh winds whip at her face and she shivers, the temperature even lower due to the higher elevation.

She hears a lighthearted tsk from behind her before feeling her jacket being draped over her shoulders. “You left it in the backseat, silly,” Chan says softly while he helps her into it, referring to when she took it off during the car ride. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“No, I won’t. I have you to remind me,” Juliet says cheekily, earning herself a light flick on the forehead. She follows Chan to a clearing a few paces away from where they parked and immediately realises why he took her here.

Seoul, with its sparkling lights, is captivating at night when you’re in the heart of the city, but perhaps even more so when you’re looking at it from afar. She can’t help but admire the stark contrast between the tranquil hillside they’re at that compared to the vibrant city centre it overlooks.

“I sometimes come here with the members when we want to be away from... the loudness of it all,” Chan explains quietly as they move closer to the railing. “To think. Or just to take our mind off certain things.”

Juliet leans closer to his side to link their arms, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. “It’s beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Don’t come to places like here often?”

She snorts. “I don’t just let anyone drive me to a dark hill in the middle of the night.”

Chan laughs, gently resting his head on hers. “You have a point. Does this mean I’m the only person allowed to take you here?”

“I’d like that. I also have a horrible sense of direction, so I don’t think I can remember the way here even if I tried.” Despite her quip, something in Juliet feels fuzzy and warm at the thought of this place being one only they know of.

It brings a sense of giddiness, the same one she felt when she was much, much younger; when she and her friends first decided on a secret hideout at their school back home in Sydney. Only this time, there’s more to it than just childhood innocence.

Juliet doesn’t know much about love. She’s had crushes here and there throughout her life, but none of them ever developed into something further. Of course, until she met Chan.

She doesn’t know much about love. But this feels like it.

And that’s more than enough for her.

His voice cuts through her thoughts. “I actually have something to ask you.”

At her hum, he continues.

“I was wondering if you’d want to be on Danceology. You know, like for a collaboration. We can choreograph and dance it together... anything you want, really.”

Juliet looks up at the boy with wide eyes, not knowing if she heard him correctly. “You’re sure?”

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. Or you don’t have to decide now, I know you’re really busy these days. No pressure at all.”

“No, no,” she clarifies. “I meant if you’re sure you want to do one with me?”

The look in his eyes is so tender that she feels like crying. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Something tells her he’s not only referring to Danceology.

Juliet leans her forehead on Chan’s shoulder to hide her face from him. “You’re going to make me cry on your own birthday,” she mutters.

“Is that a yes?”

She nods against him while blinking away the hot tears prickling at her eyes, feeling his lips press against her temple.

“That’s the best present you could’ve given me.”

“Yah, you can’t say that!” Juliet says, somehow finding it in her to crack a joke. What can she say? Humour is one of her many coping mechanisms. “You’re only supposed to say that if I didn’t give you anything! What does that make the gift I got you?”

“Best of the best?” At her laugh, Chan presses again, “am I still not allowed to open it?”

“No, you’re not.”

[00:05—Outside ATEEZ’s dorm]

“Okay, fine, you can open it.”

“What made you change your mind?” Chan grins, already reaching for the small bag in the backseat.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Juliet admits, smiling as she uses the dimmest setting of her phone’s flashlight to illuminate the dark interior, the overhead light being too risky to turn on at this hour lest they want to draw unwanted attention to themselves. “I guess I want to see your reaction.”

She stares quietly as he undos the ribbon tying the handles together before looking into the bag and taking out a small box. Despite her shyness and the sudden urge to jump out of the car and run back up to the dorm, Juliet continues to hold up her phone as he takes out the silver band within it.

It’s simple, minimalist, inconspicuous enough to wear during the day but at the same time uniquely his due to the custom engraving on the outside of the band. A snowflake.

She bites the inside of her cheek from nervousness as Chan silently reads the small card that came along in the bag, subconsciously tracing over her neat handwriting with his finger.

“Like a snowflake, I fell for you hahahaha (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) You asked me to be yours during the first snow of the year. I hope that is only the start of many more years to come. Happy Birthday, always be happy and healthy ❤️ And don’t forget to take care of yourself!! (♡`Д´) If you forget I’ll come over and nag you, but maybe you’d like that more than not ㅋㅋㅋ — 🐭❤️”

Chan’s eyes are glossy when he finally meets her curious and worried gaze, trying to gauge his reaction. He beams brightly.

“Told you I’d like it.”

find their collaboration here!! 😼

a/n: blessing you guys with this gif bc look at him go!! ;-; stream dino’s dancelogy to be sexcie 😼 pls don’t let juno flop </3 also i thought it’d be too mean if i didn’t tell you what the present was bc i definitely considered not saying anything about it 👀👀 anyways let me know what you think about this chapter 🥺 personally i am <///3 bc bwhehwhs i want what they have but also i’m not very good at writing fluff whjehdhw i cringe at myself sm when writing it 🤡

thank you so much for reading 💕 please do consider leaving feedback whether it’s a reblog, a reply or an ask, it would mean the absolute world to me as feedback really motivates and supports creators 🥺 and feel free to chat with me about juliet or anything else through my asks!! as always, take care and have a good day!!

[siebenschoen]

the broken love I make to her

fandom: ikemen sengoku

pairing: mitsuhide x mc/mai, (implied hideyoshi x mc/mai)

warning: implied sexual content, suggestive language, unhealthy behaviour, self worth issues

a/n: this is part of my big, big draft pile and while I don’t think I’ll ever properly finish this or turn it into what I wanted it to be when I started writing it, I still like the parts I did write. so, I decided to polish it up until I was happy enough with it to post it - enjoy!

summary: mitsuhide gets the girl. and they nearly destroy each other.

She doesn’t usually stay. But tonight the idea of leaving felt strangely wrong. And so she remains, tucked beneath the thin blanket on Mitsuhide’s futon, bodies not touching, eyes staring far off into the distance. The moment calls for a cigarette like nothing she has experienced since she has jumped through time. A cigarette and a bed with a headboard to lean against. So she could sit there and give a bit more sense to her senseless staring - like a heroine in one of these dramatic European movies. Cigarettes after sex, she almost laughs, what a cliché.

She throws a quick glance at Mitsuhide next to her. His wild hair the only thing betraying his composed facade. She is sure that he would find it funny, if only he would be able to get the joke.

“Hideyoshi’s jealous, you know?”

“I do”

“Oh? So, does that mean our little mouse is going to run into the arms of her dashing hero and stop using me?”

“You weren’t complaining, last I heard.”

“Ah, but I was not.”

[...]

“He does like me, that much is true,” She chuckles, her lips brushing along his ear. “But how would he deal with my worst behaviour? He can barely handle me at my best.” She lets the words run over her tongue, tasting them, giving them meaning, before she lets them fall into Mitsuhide’s ear.

[...]

It doesn’t come suddenly. The weird possessiveness that fills him everytime he looks at her. It sneaks up on him, silently, on bare feet, overwhelming him before he has a chance to notice. He can’t help but feel like he has failed, somehow. It is his job, his worth, to know and notice things, so that this development escaped him is disappointing to say the least.

It doesn’t escape him, though, that there is a similar change going on in Hideyoshi. Mitsuhide noticed, even back when their dear mother hen still prided himself as Mai’s big brother. (Mitsuhide noticed and she noticed and for once that’s information he doesn’t know what to do with.) Hideyoshi does that less now. And the reason makes Mitsuhide’s blood boil. Calm, he tells himself, anger will do you no good.

So, he watches him watching her. And while he remains calm, he also hates himself. Hates himself for hoping that she might turn around and smile and blush for him. But Mai doesn’t, instead she walks down the hallway, off to see the seamstresses. The mouse does not love the snake. This is not a fairy tale, kitsune, a voice in him whispers. So, he walks past Hideyoshi with a raised eyebrow and a teasing smirk until the other man blushes indignantly, because that is what he does.

That night the door to his room slides open and Mai slips in, the same way she slips underneath his covers not much later as her hungry mouth devours his. And Mitsuhide delights in the fact that he knows what Hideyoshi doesn’t (not yet, at least). That their little chatelaine likes it rough. That he can handle her.

[...]

She comes to his bed more frequently after that, almost every night. And he teases her for her sheer insatiable hunger and basks in the fact that he can make her blush past her cheeks (all the way down). What does it matter that she avoids him during the day, when he has her all to himself at night?

But it is the delight he feels at the knowledge that she is hiding his - his - marks under her collar, that nearly frightens him.

(A man who has placed his worth in the shadows, should not seek to possess. For shadows can never settle, only wander along with the sun.)

[...]

It’s not that Mai doesn’t feel guilty. It’s just that she doesn’t let that stop her. And maybe, she wonders, that makes her a truly bad person. It also makes her realise that there is quite a difference between wanting to do something and actually doing it.

She knows that Hideyoshi has feelings for her. And she hates that she knows, because knowing makes her feel like she has a responsibility that she really doesn’t want to have. She also knows that she should talk with Hideyoshi, to let him down gently, to tell him that there is someone else if need be. (What does it matter, who that other person is?)

And she hates all this even more for the fact that there is a part of her that’s screaming. Screaming to consider, to think it through, because if she would just stop to think about it she would surely, surely realise that Hideyoshi is a great guy, loving and caring. And that she deserves to be with someone, who would never play games with her. (So, what if she desires the game?) But, ah, if matters of the heart could be so simple. If they could only be solved by thinking.

Then she would simply think her feelings away, the thought makes her smile. She would think Hideyoshi to not be in love with her. She would think Mitsuhide into an honest man. She would think herself to not be in love with him. Or maybe, just maybe, she would think him to love her in return. Her smile widens into a sad grimace. Putting it like this makes it sound quite tragic, does it not?

[...]

He is getting greedy. And that is always a dangerous thing. Greed is not meant for the ones like him. The ones who serve.

But the thing is, he can’t help it. The way he wants her, the pull she has on him. What is he to do? He is just a human and most days he barely feels like that anymore. He always suspected the crippling little part of his humanity that he seemingly does not manage to get rid of, would be his downfall. He just didn’t suspect a woman would be.

Well, he tells himself, it does make for a good story - a snake that finds itself a loving fool for a human woman and dies of his own fangs to please her. Maybe someone will turn it into a play, once all is said and done.

But all is not said and done. He still has a purpose, a master to serve. And he can’t rest, can’t fall, before the world they have worked so hard for can finally emerge - newborn and golden. So, he buries himself in work, in papers and missions. He eats little and sleeps less and vows to himself that he will send her away when she comes looking for him-

Only to find that he can’t. One look at his face - at the dark circles and tired eyes - and she is all soft and sweet to him and he cannot possibly deny her. Her fingers stroke over his cheeks and her lips flutter over his face and it’s all too much and not nearly enough at all-

And meant for someone else, he’s sure of it. Deserved by someone else. Oh, but he’s greedy. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Greedy for something that couldn’t possibly belong to him. So, he let’s her give and give, though it hurts, and he takes and takes, as long as she still let’s him.

[...]

Masamune is the first to come to him. Of course, he is. Nobody is closer to him than the one-eyed dragon. (Except maybe Nobunaga. But Nobunaga would never advise, he would order.) And Mitsuhide expected him to, because he is still good at what he does, still one step ahead. (She doesn’t count, he thinks. She’s something else altogether.)

“Whatever you two are doing - you should get it under control. It’s not good.”

It’s amusing to see the ever so carefree, ever so wild Masamune serious. It’s even more amusing to see Masamune so serious in his concern over him. A smile sneaks on his lips, uneven and twisted. “Perhaps such a thing would be easier if you were to tell me what has you so concerned, my friend.”

“You know what I’m talking-” Masamune scoffs. His one eye focused on Mitsuhide. Equal parts furry and concern seem to be trapped in the dark blue. “I’m not joking, Mitsuhide. It’s going to destroy you. Both of you.” The one-eyed dragon pushes past him. “And the lass deserves better.”

The words hang heavy in the air as Mitsuhide watches the other warlord leave. His cheek hurts and when he brushes his fingers over his face, he finds that he is still smiling. He doesn’t stop. It feels carved into his features. Instead he stares at the spot where Masamune disappeared around the corner, thinking: she does, she does, she does.

[...]

He is so shocked that it almost shows on his face. Mai lies beneath him. Spread out on his futon, bathed in the late sun’s glow like a vision. She lifts her hand to his face, stroking his cheek. Her kiss bruised lips pull into a soft smile.

He has grown used to swiftly burning fires. Too hot passion that roughly burns. (And he can barely keep from scolding himself. To grow used to something is to grow predictable, to grow weak-) It’s so sudden that it almost feels like a punch in the guts, when she repeats it. “I would like you to be gentle tonight.”, her cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink, but still she smiles. “I would like you to make love to me tonight.” She leans up and kisses him - sweetly and fully on the lips - and Mitsuhide swears a part of him breaks.

But he gives in. Let’s himself break and heal together differently so that all his crooked edges might fit against her soft warmth. And he loves her. With all he’s got, with all he is.

When morning comes, she has left. Her scent lingering on the futon like the faint memory of a dream.

[...]

Maybe she put a spell on him.

[...]

It ends how it was always meant to. Because this could have never ended well and Mitsuhide knows himself enough to know this.

He is kissing her in the hallway, when it happens. It is greedy and lovely, with her hands in his hair and his around her waist, and it ends with the sound of books hitting the floor. He looks up to find Hideyoshi staring at them.

From the corner of his eyes he can see that Mai is flustered and pulling at her kimono. This was probably not how she envisioned her afternoon to go, when she had pulled him into the darker corner of the hallway earlier. This must be awfully inconvenient to her.

He debates whether or not he should say something, something teasing perhaps. But Hideyoshi’s shock never lasts long and his anger has always been quick. So, when Mitsuhide stares back at him, he sees that there is really no need for his teasing - Hideyoshi is already fuming.

And he can see why. Poor Mai having been seduced by the sketchiest, the unworthiest of all retainers. What a shock. What an injustice. A smile etches itself on Mitsuhide’s face. Hideyoshi oh so hates injustice.

Mai gasps loudly as Hideyoshi storms towards him. He can see her attempting to put herself between them - always too noble for her own good -, but she doesn’t succeed and then all Mitsuhide can see is Hideyoshi.

Hideyoshi is slightly shorter than he is, but stronger without a doubt and so he presses him easily against the wall, collar clenched in one fist. The other, Mitsuhide notes, is trembling at his side. He will hit me, Mitsuhide thinks and he can’t stop smiling. Do it, a voice in him whispers and hopes that Hideyoshi can hear it, can see the dare in his eyes. Do it, do it, do it - please, please, do it-

He wants it. He wants Hideyoshi’s fist to collide with his face and leave him black and blue. It would only be fair, it would only be just. He is sick and tired of getting what he wants. He is sick and tired of injustice. So, let it end, he thinks. It was always meant to end after all.

Hideyoshi’s fist connects with his cheek, sharp pain and dull throb. And it ends.

[zenonaa]

'The smart thing would have been for Touko to retire to her room. Anyone could wear the mask of a handsome man, even a monster. Instead, she found herself following him, spurred on by her own curiosity, not only about what he offered to tell her but why he wanted to tell her something potentially so important. As she walked, she felt extra conscious of the holster of scissors hugging her thigh. Throughout her life, she had met many monsters that wore fake faces, but with Byakuya, she felt sure he didn’t wield a mask hiding his true self.

It was a gut instinct. No. Not gut. Her heart told her this.'

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya Characters: Fukawa Touko, Togami Byakuya Additional Tags: Togafuka Week, talent swap Summary: Talent Swap AU! Togami and Fukawa bump into each other and discuss what motive Monobear would need to provide to push them to murder. Also there may or may not be smooching.

Comments: A (late) Day 5 for TogaFuka Week - Swap! Takes place in the universe from this fic I wrote in 2016. When I was a more optimistic Livi, I wanted to write a multichapter fic for this talent swap.

💗 Please like, share and comment if you enjoyed it! 💗

***

Ten students remained.

As Touko Fukawa sat at her desk, twirling a pen between her fingers, she passed over their corpses. She stepped over Yasuhiro and Kiyotaka. Skipped around Hifumi and Chihiro. Hopped across Sakura and Celes. Of course, she wasn’t really maneuvering around them. Her dorm obtained no bodies. In reality, they were tucked away wherever Monobear dragged them to once it had finished with them. What had been described was figurative, as could be found in a passage from a literary novel.

Not that Touko was a published author. The title of Super High School Level Writer belonged to her classmate, Byakuya Togami. Touko Fukawa was the Super High School Level Heir, not that her title was anything to scoff at. Already she had earned billions of yen, and she had survived more attempts on her life than anyone else here. Except perhaps Sakura, the Super High School Level Soldier. But she was dead so she didn’t count.

Other than Sakura, Kyouko was also likely to have fought off death, and Touko wondered whether the Fighter had participated in any deadly battles. Whether she had inflicted such pain onto others. Whether she had ever murdered an opponent before arriving at this school.

Touko had. Killed people.

Not in the way her alter had, puncturing the veins and lungs of corrupt businessmen, of perverts, of half-siblings, always with scissors, always with a signature written in the victim’s blood nearby. No, Touko didn’t need to do that. With victims working for other corporations, she struck them bankrupt. In her conglomerate, she confiscated jobs, leaving victims to drown in their desperation as they tried to stay afloat. She exposed fraud, blackmail attempts, human trafficking, and with nowhere for her victims’ darkness to hide, they withered in the light.

Memories dug into her skin like termites. Tasting bile, she looked up from her desk. The walls of her room lurched toward Touko before reeling back into place. If she stayed here any longer, the room would close its jaws and crush her to pieces. She stood up, her chair shunting backward with a grunt, and marched to the door.

Ahead of her lay a silent corridor. Most of the others were probably sleeping by this time. Touko stayed on guard as she wrapped her arms around herself and started plodding along with no particular destination in mind. The cafeteria would be shut, so she couldn’t acquire a cup of tea to try to soothe her jittering nerves from there. While she had glimpsed a box of teabags in the storage room a few days ago while searching for some towels, she still had no way to heat them up.

Then she remembered she had also spotted some chocolate in there, and chocolate was supposed to be able to help calm a person down. That was better than nothing.

Touko quickened her pace, moving with more purpose now. Maybe she was being reckless. Six of them had been slain and another motive dangled over their heads. Someone would surely attempt murder for what Monobear had on offer. Not her, but someone else would. All Touko had to do was ensure she wasn’t the victim.

By the time she entered the storage room, she hadn’t seen Monobear nor any other students. The idea of returning to her room, where the only sounds would be her own thoughts, made her stomach roll, so she decided to eat her chocolate in the library. Reading about another’s life ought to distract her from her own. Grabbing two bars, she left, and she soon arrived at the library. She managed a few paces forward before she heard rustling, turning her blood to ice, freezing her, rendering her immobile.

Moments later, Byakuya Togami emerged from behind a bookcase. His presence in the library wasn’t shocking in and of itself. He was the Super High School Level Writer and an avid reader. Touko just hadn’t expected him to be here so late. Though she had seen him here during the evenings, she usually stayed in her room after the nighttime announcement so never saw him in here after that. She would have thought he would have kept to his room at this hour, especially when one took into account the latest motive to murder.

“Which one are you?” he asked her. When she entered, she hadn’t made much noise - at least, she thought she hadn’t, but Byakuya seemed to have homed in on her as soon as she came in. “The abhorrent admirer, or the creepy loner girl?”

“I’m Touko Fukawa,” she replied.

“The latter then.”

She stayed where she was, and he stayed where he was.

“Have you come to murder me?” he asked. “Or is this just a regular stalker with a crush behaviour?”

Touko squeaked and shook her head. Her cheeks burned. “I... I came here to read, that’s all.”

“You’re rather jittery. Does my presence unsettle you? Do you believe that I intend to murder you?”

A gasp cracked in her throat. He sighed and pushed up his glasses.

“Compose yourself. I will not harm you right now. I intend to be the last man standing. The survivor who confronts and defeats the monster at the end.” Byakuya’s brow furrowed, his face darkening. “I refuse to yield to the pressure that Monobear tries to inflict on us.”

“... is that it?” Touko asked, her voice a pinprick. “You don’t plan on murdering anyone because two students will be allowed to leave? It ruins your envisioned ending?”

That was the motive. For the next murder, if the perpentrator was not voted out in their victim’s trial, they were allowed to choose another student to graduate with them.

“Not quite. I couldn’t care less if another escaped with me.” The bitter twist of his lips morphed into a smirk. “It’s simply too early for this to end. The plot has barely reached the halfway point.”

Even with such a wicked expression, he was still handsome. Touko’s heart raced watching him. By now, the chocolate bars in her hands had crumbled from the pressure of her fists. Not that it mattered, because her insides were writhing too much for her to keep any food down. She shifted her weight between feet.

“You don’t have to believe me,” he told her. He cocked his head to one side, his gaze as sharp as a knife. “I do wonder about you, though.”

“Even if I wanted to kill anyone, I couldn’t,” she said. “Everyone knows about my alter, so I would be the first person to be heavily scrutinised and suspected.”

His stare embedded deeper.

“Still. I must be on my guard. Your alter may wish to seek revenge on me for revealing her identity,” said Byakuya.

Touko hunched her shoulders. She should have hated Byakuya for announcing her secret in the last trial, even if the alternative was being framed by Hifumi and dying. After all, when a person shoved another out of a window on the top floor of a blazing building, the fall still left bruises.

And yet the sight of him still filled her chest with butterflies.

“My alter wants to survive as much as any of us,” said Touko.

“None of the motives so far seem to have impelled either of us to murder,” remarked Byakuya. “Not money... not the paranoia of another owning one of our secrets... not being forced to sleep in the same room, in the same clothes, and abide by the same rigid routine everyday.”

He trailed off. She didn’t offer a word to the silence, waiting to see what he was getting at, if anything.

“Tell me, what would drive you to murder?” he asked her.

“I told you - ”

“ - that you’re always going to be a suspect because of Genocider Syo,” he interrupted with a flap of his hand. “You already said. But is there nothing that Monobear can do to force your hand?”

Touko edged back a step, eyeing him. She found it hard to tell if the fluttering inside of her was still attraction, or fear. “What are you? The m-mastermind?”

He smirked. “That would be a twist, but no. Curiosity.”

“There is nothing that Monobear could offer me,” she said firmly, even if her legs were trembling. To counteract that, she clenched her legs together and further mutilated the chocolate bars in her tightening fists. “What about you? What would push you to murder?”

The glimmer in his eyes disappeared as he glanced away. “This isn’t the best location to discuss this. Monobear may be listening in.” He returned his gaze to her. “How about we continue this conversation elsewhere? The locker room by the baths will provide sufficient privacy.”

She was still processing his offer when he strode toward her. She stiffened. Didn’t breathe. He paused next to her.

“You may stay here, or hurry back to your room if you desire,” he said. “Should you wish to indulge me in more conversation, however, you know where I will be. I shall be there for the next hour, with an answer to your question.”

Touko stood motionlessly as she listened to Byakuya’s receding footsteps. The smart thing would have been for Touko to retire to her room. Anyone could wear the mask of a handsome man, even a monster. Instead, she found herself following him, spurred on by her own curiosity, not only about what he offered to tell her but why he wanted to tell her something potentially so important. As she walked, she felt extra conscious of the holster of scissors hugging her thigh. Throughout her life, she had met many monsters that wore fake faces, but with Byakuya, she felt sure he didn’t wield a mask hiding his true self.

It was a gut instinct. No. Not gut. Her heart told her this.

They arrived at the locker room together, slipping past the noren curtain.

“So what about you?” asked Touko once both were well inside. She had thrown away the chocolates on the way there and could now fidget her hands together. “What could convince you to deviate from your plot outline?”

He was already standing near Touko, but he took a step toward her, approaching like the swell of an oncoming wave.

“Perhaps,” he said, dragging up his glasses, then hers, “a love interest.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Byakuya dipped his head, drawing closer and closer. Touko could have pushed him away. Kicked him between the legs. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to. As their lips pressed together, and his hands rested against her upper arms, her heels creaked away from the ground and her hands latched onto his waist.

Byakuya withdrew first. Touko wobbled for a moment, feeling light-headed. Even though he had initiated the kiss, she still expected him to grimace and swipe the back of his hand across his mouth. He scraped his teeth lightly against his lips, wetting them. Tasting. Then he made eye contact again.

“Hm? Are you suffering from post-kiss catatonia?” he asked. She stirred, the fog in her head not yet fully cleared.

“I’m s-surprised.”

“That is what is known as a test kiss.”

Touko squinted. “Test kiss?”

“It’s a trope that means... I am testing to see if you would partner with me in murdering one of our classmates.”

Her head jerked back. “W-What?”

He held out his hand toward her.

“Would you commit murder with me, Touko Fukawa?” he asked like a marriage proposal. Touko’s eyes flickered.

“I...”

She didn’t finish her sentence. His fingers curled into his hand before retreating, coming to rest on his hip.

“It doesn’t matter. As I told you, I have no intention of murdering yet. This was really a test to see if you could be recruited for murder. Though as you have said, due to your alter, you are by default a prime suspect.”

A test. There was always some kind of catch. Touko nodded, gazing down at her feet. She should have hated him.

“That’s all,” he said. “You are dismissed.”

The room hummed.

“Goodbye, Fukawa,” he said. “Go to your room now.”

Touko turned away and trudged out. With her back to him, she didn’t see him bring his hand to his lips, not to wipe his mouth, but as if he could still feel the kiss lingering.

She should have hated him.

And yet... she was smiling as bright as a butterfly.

[elerondo]

Headcanon | Rivendell and Celebrian

This headcanon is set in the timeline from S.A. 1697 to T.A. 2501, so it’s going to be very long. It is my attempt at the fullest account of Elrond’s priorities in that timeline, and his life and marriage to Celebrian. And the After.

PRELUDE After the initial crush that Elrond had on Celebrian, Elrond did wait more than 1700 years before proposing to her. Elrond did not want to subject her to a life of war and hardship with him when they’d only just met. Elrond loved Celebrian enough to let her go home to safety and a more peaceful life. But Elrond loved Middle Earth more, that he would sacrifice his personal happiness in order to protect and save the free peoples.

The dire costs of the War of the Elves and Sauron were echoes of the War of Wrath, where Elrond had seen the wrath of the dragons as a youth and the trumpets that eventually marred and sunk Beleriand. He was determined not to let Eriador reach that stage of destruction, and since few of the strangers in the Valley were well enough to engage in battle, Elrond was frequently at the helm of offensive measures against the forces of Sauron that sought to besiege Rivendell.

POST WAR OF THE ELVES AND SAURON When Rivendell was founded, it was basically filled with refugees and soldiers gravely wounded from the destruction of Eregion and Sauron’s conquest of Eriador. Simply put, Rivendell was functional at best, and a stinky shit hole of armour and blood at its worst. A stronghold with severely weakened military power. There was no Ring of Power to protect it yet, so Elrond took it upon himself to ride out and meet evil before it could come near. Frequently, he rode from the northern foothills of the Hithaeglir, to the south bordering the outskirts of Eregion, then east across the valley to the ford of Bruinen, and even further still to penetrate the forests to the west.

Even though Elrond wanted to beautify Rivendell with other areas like education, hospitality, music, etc, it remained clear to Elrond that his immediate and most urgent priorities had to be taking vanguard in most marches as his elves and men were recovering, returning home, or sailing West.

After Vilya was handed to Elrond and he was made Lord and Master of Rivendell, Elrond was at the peak of his power and strength. Loyal and following the passions of a war won, the coverage of Vilya stretched from the Men-i-Naugrim to the Coldfells to the Last Bridge to the meet of Mitheithel and Bruinen. It matched his initial marches, patrols, and more. Elrond purified the forests and straightened the roads, dealing death to the last of the fell beings out of the Coldfells, the East Road, and the Old Forest Road. Strongholds were built upon the Misty Mountains and the borders of Eregion to keep watch on the southern and eastern passages. Where the Ring could reach, there Elrond’s spirit was, working its inner machinations to keep it safe.

FALL OF NUMENOR Elrond took his marches very far south to keep the borders and to exercise his Crown rights. He tripled the patrols around southern Eriador. If there were any stray survivors, they must be verified clean and without evil before they could travel. Otherwise, they were caught and handed to the nearest City willing to let them stand trial. When the presence of the Crown Prince of the Noldor increased near the borders of Gondor, there were quite many mixed reactions. A certain pressure to observe decorum, for example, to stop everything one was doing to answer questions, possessions checked thoroughly, and weapons that were deemed stolen or machines of darkness were confiscated until further notice. As long as one saw the banners of Gil-galad, even from a distance, they were compelled to stop and obey.

MARRIAGE TO CELEBRIAN Elrond is not a free and easy leader. He is a leader who actively chooses to sacrifice his happiness, his reputation, rest / sleep / food, for the sake of protecting and aiding the people at large. Elrond’s version of taking care of himself was stretched until his limits threatened to break, then rest for a while. It was the equivalent of sleeping once a week.

I think that Celebrian would have heard a lot about Elrond and what he was doing, Elrond’s fame and infamy spreading far and wide over the Misty Mountains. On the other side of the land, Elrond knew his deeds and renown were preceding him. He had some fears that he wouldn’t be well liked, because who could understand the land’s emergencies as well as him? He didn’t think anyone could, not because he was arrogant or wanted to do everything himself, but he was the most endowed.

Celebrian would be the only person Elrond could be weak to without being judged, rejected, or told to change or stop what he was doing. With her, Elrond was that bit more comfortable in taking / asking for comforts, and sharing his griefs, resentment, the nasty stuff and not just his plans, counsel, the good stuff that was always dispensed to all without cost. Celebrian was the shoulder Elrond cried on, while he was the shoulder for the world. Celebrian was the person whom Elrond revealed all of his quirks and eccentricity to. It was Celebrian who really made Rivendell into a Homely House. Celebrian was the one who helped him fulfil his visions and execute the blueprints of his mind while he properly focused on keeping Eriador and Rivendell safe. With her in mind, Elrond took more care of himself because he did not want her to be worried about him. Elrond was the healthiest in the 1000+ years before the Angmar War.

ANGMAR RISING The split and existence of Rhudaur in T.A. 861 unsettled him and so Elrond frequently visited Arthedain in secret, debating upon many topics of potential insurrection and defense strategies. The chief of the matter were these: Both Rhudaur and Cardolan desired to possess Amon Sul, and Rhudaur resisted Argeleb who claimed to be High King over all of Arnor. Elrond was sensitive to the matters of kingship and the Palantir. For the lands of Men and the Palantiri to come under one king was better than for them to split into the hands of the wrong people. Celebrian understood that for Elrond to ally Rivendell with Arthedain, hostilities with the rest would be inevitable.

( my Angmar war timeline here where Elrond suffered a Morgul-wound at the end of )

THE WATCHFUL PEACE … is a deceitful name. It was more watchful than it was peaceful.

Rivendell spent the early years recovering from the 600 year war, especially Elrond - being the first of all elves to suffer a Morgul-wound, a large scar on his back with no recovery method yet. Elrond had to devise and experiment on himself, while he was suffering from it, before he managed to heal himself. However, the military never again rises up to any relevant standard in a war. A lot of commanders were lost, Elrond was weak and sick, and many elves succumbed to their injuries, grief, and they faded or sailed West.

Every year for the rest of Elrond’s life in Middle Earth, on the same week, the Morgul-wound brought Elrond searing and debilitating pain. He still could hold the power of Vilya over The Angle and the Misty Mountains, but the western forests and Coldfells were neglected.

Rivendell never ceases to send patrols across Eriador, despite Elrond being in an extremely bad shape and the vale was desperately short handed. Elrond depended on Vilya more, both to heal and to protect, as he would leave Rivendell defenseless except for the Kingsguard, while he sent aid and resources everywhere else. Celebrian was beside him every step of the way, going into a Post-war scenario in a huge piece of land called Eriador again. They really could not enjoy the quieter times at all.

Furthermore, before the Watchful Peace ended, evil again invaded Eriador. It was followed by Galadriel’s summons of the White Council.

CELEBRIAN ASSAILED, DEPARTURE TO THE WEST 46 years later, tragedy ended the marriage of Celebrian and Elrond. He would be officially widowed with her passing over the Great Sea. The greatest healer who ever lived could not save his greatest love.

He let her go when she made her choice to go. He did not force to stay her, it would be too cruel to her. Elrond chose to do what was right instead of what was kinder to himself. When she left, she tore half his heart and flesh along with it.

This trauma is one that Elrond carries with him. The darkening of the times did work to twist his sacrifice into guilt, into thoughts of ❛What if❜ he was stronger, more powerful, better, or enough. Because of how obvious it was that Celebrian’s assault was premeditated by Sauron to weaken Rivendell, Elrond would always blame himself for bringing her into his life. Perhaps he should have just continued hiding his love. Perhaps she would have been safe. Perhaps.

In Elrond’s lowest moments, he could not understand what was so good about Valinor. He could not reconcile Celebrian’s choice of Aman over him and their 3 children together. For all his wars and battles in Middle Earth, no army ever came from the West to aid the people. He has no good perception of Aman. Over time, Celebrian’s departure joined one of many gravestones that Elrond had to force himself to move forward from. It was the only way, force himself not to dwell on it, bury himself in work, in the forge, in planning. For his children, for all the people who depended on him, for the sake of unseating Sauron, Elrond had to move forward even if it was by crawling through the mud.

His love for her did dull, did become mixed with depression, and he feared to see her again if he sailed to Aman. Elrond fears that Aman might actually be better for Celebrian than him. The dilemma? Wanting Celebrian to be happy and healthy, but wanting it to be him for her and no one else. Elrond knew the solution to that, and the answer was: Not him. It is a fact that is so hard to swallow at times, that he has to leave the love of his life in someone else’s hands.

[nervousladytraveler]

From Duty (Chapter 4? 5?)

“What shall we do?” Demelza asked, her voice almost dreamy. To whom was she even speaking and about which of the thousands of human dilemmas?

“We go down to your shelter,” Ross said quickly, slipping on his shirt and fumbling with his buttons in the dark.

The whining rise and fall of the siren was louder now. Closer.

Instantly she seemed to snap out of her fog and into action, leaping to her feet and reaching for an old cotton frock that laid over a chair. A routine she’d had weeks to practice. Ross noticed she didn’t bother with any underwear and worried she’d be cold.

“You’ll come down? With me?” She sounded relieved. “Of course you will.” She shook her head.

Now was not the time to worry about what the neighbours thought. If Ross stayed in her flat and died, they'd talk just as much as if she brought a live man down with her. What other options did he have really other than to risk his life going out to seek shelter in the nearby Underground?

“Introduce me as your cousin, ” Ross suggested and by feel found both their woolen coats on hooks by the door. “Come, we have to go.” He reached for her hand, urgently, protectively, as she slipped into her shoes.

“Yes, Ross,” she said and followed him out into the darkness.

They emerged from the cellar four hours later.

Demelza needn’t have worried--the neighbours asked no questions about her visitor, perhaps they’d been too preoccupied with the possibility of impending doom to make a fuss. Still she’d introduced him as a cousin as they settled into a far--and airless--corner.

“I was visiting and it got late,” Ross had mumbled.

“And naturally once curfew fell you couldn’t leave,” Mrs. Boylan had offered, generously. The woman had five children so she knew a thing or two about what happened between a man and a woman under the cover of night.

No one noticed when Demelza leaned wearily against Ross. And despite the thunderous roars, compliments of their German guests outside, and the near-constant wails from the terrified British children inside, she managed to fall asleep. Ross’s arms wrapped tightly around her, warming her from the December chill.

Once they emerged, silent but alive, they saw the air in the streets was thick with mist and smog and smoke--the unmistakable smell of destruction. It was still dark but soon a triumphant sun would beam down on them all.

Survival was measured one night at a time. For some--not all. Demelza’s building was still standing but at the end of the road, a pile of rubble lay where Pally’s locksmith shop had stood only the day before.

“What will you do now?” Demelza asked closing the flat door behind her, once they were back upstairs. Without saying a word she began to make tea, although what Ross really wanted was a slug of whisky.

“I’ll walk home,” he said.

“But it’s so far!” she cried.

“I’ve done it before...and I’ve walked further distances. I was a soldier once, don’t forget.”

She knew he was right--taxis weren’t exactly plentiful after an air raid and the Underground might not yet be running.

“But I’ll be alright and should make it to the office by nine.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I’ll be watching the clock,” she said and looked up at him. “Ross, what are you thinking?” she said. He hadn’t said a word but she’d read his worries.

“Nothing...” He turned to gather his remaining belongings scattered about her flat. No, better to be truthful--besides, she’d know if he was hiding something. “I’m thinking that I don’t like your shelter.”

“My shelter? I’m not overly fond of it either but I’m certainly grateful it’s there when the need arises,” she laughed.

“It’s entirely too close, not nearly enough air for the number of people it supports. How many were we? Fourteen?”

“Mrs. Boylan was holding her infant son, so really it was fifteen,” she said.

“Christ! And I examined the framing--the timber is ancient, you know--and the whole thing will collapse easily with just the smallest rumble. Not to mention it's a fire hazard on the best of days, even without the threat of an incendiary bomb…”

“Ross…” She put her hand on his arm. She meant what choice did she have? Did any of them have, really?

“Mine is better,” he said.

“What?”

“The shelter in my building. It’s newer, reinforced concrete, steel...It isn’t just a cellar or even one of those corrugated garden constructions. It was actually built in the last war specifically for this sort of thing…”

“And a bit of a jog for me when the sirens go off here,” she laughed.

“No, I mean...come live with me.”

“Oh Ross, you are daft,” she said with a smile. Was it lack of sleep? Lack of oxygen? Surely something was impairing his senses.

“Leave your post. I could employ you as a maid and you could live-in. I have a servant’s room--it’s warm and dry.” Had he noticed the leak in her bedroom ceiling?

“And what would people say of us?”

“What people?” he asked.

“Your wife wouldn’t hear of this? Technically it’s still her flat as well. And once I start to show…”

“Yes?”

“Oh Ross, anyone would guess what had occurred. Unless you kept me locked in a cage, the arrangement would be hardly discreet!”

“Demelza…”

“Besides I’m a shit maid, you’ll find.” She pointed to the unwashed dishes in the basin.

“I doubt that.” He seemed to believe what he said. “Look, I’m not letting go of this idea.”

“Then you are as stubborn as you are handsome, Ross Poldark,” she laughed. “It’s getting late--you’d better go, my dear.” She hated to say it but it was true. He had no way of knowing what obstacles he might come across in his journey through the ravaged roads that morning.

“I will see you later then, Miss Carne, in the halls outside Room 4…”

“Shh,” she teased and put a finger to his lips. “You mustn’t say it aloud…”

“Room 443.” He said defiantly and kissed her hand. Then remembering that she was bare under her frock, he squeezed her bottom for good measure.

“Tut tut, Poldark. Such careless talk!” she laughed and repaid him with a playful tug of his hair. “And as you pass by--in those halls that must not be spoken of--I will modestly avert my gaze but you will see by my secret smile that I’m imagining your…”

“My what?” He pressed his body to hers so she could feel the not-so-secret bulge in his trousers.

“Your toes,” she laughed. “I was going to say your toes.”

“My toes?”

“Yes, I enjoy how you drag them along my ankle when you lie beside me. And I’m rather fond of your feet as well.”

“You’ll have to demonstrate your fondness later then. Will I see you tonight?” he asked and wrapped his arms even tighter around her.

“No, darling, you have a meeting with Sir Francis Bassett. Don’t you remember?”

“Vaguely,” he said, which they both knew was code for no. “How is it that you remember?”

“I scheduled it for you,” she smiled. “And then no doubt you’ll dine with him and let's face it, there will be drinks afterwards. No, my dear Ross, when you're done with the fine cigars and even finer cognac, tuck yourself safely into a taxi and go straight home.”

To your warm dry flat and your reinforced shelter. Strangely she wasn't at all concerned that he’d find a girl and go home with her, even though they’d never spoken of an exclusive understanding.

“But Thursday?” he asked, unable to conceal his desperation.

“Yes, Thursday you will come to me,” she said and rested her cheek on his shoulder. “And I will be waiting.”

[eternally-drifting]

Eclipsed (Jungkook FF) - Ch.1

Discovering the kings biggest secret leads you into understanding the way he is, and how perhaps you have been just a bit too prejudice. After all, who are you to judge anyone.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

genre: fantasy, fluff, inspired by the anime Inuyasha, slight e2l, the f2l, and some angst cuz why not, future smut.

warnings: TW - description / mentions of blood loss

word count: 1779

parts: 1 / next>?

a/n: I tried to get this out by Halloween last year but it was 2020 and life got in the way. A lot of stuff happened in my personal life so I just needed to cope with that first before I did anything. Also, since this is inspired somewhat by the anime Inuyasha, I wanted to give a moment and respect the passing of Kirby Morrow who is the english voice actor of Mirkou in the series as well as many other great characters. It felt like a piece of my childhood just left and while I know we can all still see and hear his work, it definitely did leave an impact on me as well as many other. Rest well Kirby. Aug. 28, 1973 - Nov. 18, 2020

Without further notice, hope you enjoy this.

“Come now darling, we need to hurry and head home before the sun sets.” A woman gently tugged on her child’s hand as she finished putting the last bit of herbs in her basket. The child’s eyes gleaming at every trinket that glistened in the rays of the setting sun. A certain fascination was held in the child’s eyes. Though, upon hearing what her mother said, she quickly drew her attention from the trinkets. Looking at her mother now as she was pulled through the crowd, a question laid heavy on her tongue.

“Mama, why do we always need to hurry home before the sun sets?” With a furrow of her brow the little girl couldn’t hide her disappointment. Despite being only eight, the little girl knew that it was an odd thing. Never really understanding the reasoning as to why one could not stay out past the sunset. “___ sweetheart, it’s a law that the king has set in place.” This answer did not seem to quell her curiosity.

“But why?” Her mother chuckles as she halts all her movements. She looks at her daughter before kneeling to her height and lifting her up. She scans around to ensure no one is paying attention before whispering in her daughters’ ear. “It’s to keep everyone safe.” You blink at her, owlishly so, that she lets a small giggle leave her lips. Squishing your cheek next to her, she places a kiss on it. “Safe? But doesn’t the king-”

Your mother simply smiles, “don’t believe everything people say ___.” Whispering ever so gently, she places you back onto the ground before taking your hand and leading you home. Where later into the night you lay up and think over your mother’s words.

Later that evening – once you are tucked into bed and in a deep sleep. Your mother looks out the window of the cabin, watching the glow of the barrier surround the entire kingdom. Just beyond that, she gazes up at the moon as it turns a striking blood red. It brings back a distant memory.

Entering the castle, she takes note at how dark it is inside, the curtains have been drawn and there are barely any candles lighting the corridors up. ‘Strange, the moon is full and bright tonight’ She isn’t allowed to think much of it any longer

“Your highness.” The man that sought her out for weeks – one of the kings’ advisors he informed – leads her into one of the many rooms in the enormous castle. She turns her gaze back to the front, where a man stood with his back faced towards them. There has been a demonic energy present since she passed the forest into the capital. And despite the darkness within the castle, she was able to distinct the horns that protruded through his head as he slightly turned it. ‘No doubt, he’s where all this demonic energy is coming from.’

“We have brought the priestess just as requested.” Surprisingly, his voice was soft, tone gentle. “You may leave us.” He remained facing the large window.

Nothing was said as they stayed in their spots. She didn’t know what to say or do, but by heavens is this a deafening silence. Just as she was gathering up all the courage to finally speak, he beat her to it.

“You were the high priestess of Faemma, were you not?” The mention of her past stuns her so much, that it takes her a full moment to compose herself. “Yes, your majesty.” She holds her head high, never allowing the blight to hinder her dignity. Another bout of silence engulfs them. A sudden shift in the air sends chills down her spine. Glancing at the king she is stunned in silence, lilac eyes shining in the dark room as they stare her down.

“If the rumors that proceed you are to be true, then I need you, to achieve something for me. In return, I will grant you asylum in Aurelia.” As though it never existed, his demonic aura disappeared along with the glow of his eyes.

That was over nine years ago. Just as the king promised, she was granted asylum and lived her life as much as she could. Starting her family of two in peace, no matter the consequences. One final look at the barrier, and she heads to bed.

‘I’ve done my part, the rest is up to you, my darling ___.’

 “You will regret ever crossing paths with us priestess!” Another attack was thrown your way, all too quickly that you barely managed to escape it – the ray of lighting hitting your arm. Blood seeped out from the open gash at an alarmingly rapid pace. The effects after the blow caused shock waves through your entire body.

‘If I don’t get away soon, I’ll surely be killed. If not by them, then certainly by all the blood that I’m losing.’ Casting a look over the horizon you see that the sun is nearly set. ‘The sunset!’

If you lead them close enough to the village - the sun should have set by then, activating the barrier! They won’t be able to penetrate through! With your plan set, you act and try to run without tumbling over everything in your way. Holding on tightly to your arm, hand over the wound, you feel blood pour out as your heart raced and pumped the blood through your veins. Your hand and arm completely drenched that it dripped down and caused a trail on the foliage.

“Running is futile! We can hear your heart beating, smell the very life pouring out of you!” One of the demons growled out at you as you looked back. Eye narrowing as you could see that your blood has lured other demons out. You hasten your pace as you see the last ray of light go out.

‘Yes! Just a little further!’ You ran desperately, that you had closed your eyes thinking that it would somehow aid you in running faster – only this led you into running and tripping on an uprooted tree root.

“Die priestess!” Just as the demons lunged at your fallen body, you felt a shift in the air – a pulse – almost. Within a moment, the barrier had activated. The light flashing across the sky as it shielded the entire kingdom. Looking back, you see as the demons are stopped, those touching the barrier bursting into flames.

‘I made it in time… but barely.’ You watch as the demons retreat into the forest, but not without sending a vicious glare your way before leaving. Once there were none left in sight, you let a sigh out and lay back down against the grass, eyes closed as you regained your breath. Thoughts consuming you.

‘They’ll be back after tonight, and with more demons seeking revenge. I miscalculated, didn’t take the threat seriously and ended up with more than I could handle…’ You grab hold of your arm again and feel where the blood had started to dry and crust, but also how wet it continues to be. ‘I’ve lost so much blood… I’m surprised I haven’t – no, I won’t think about that, not now.’

Deciding it best, you let your mind go blank for the remainder of the time. Still, you lay there in the grass as the cool breeze sways around you. Carrying the scent of the river down (along with your blood, no doubt). However, there is another sudden shift in the air, another ‘pulse’ is felt. It’s the same strong pulse you feel every other time the barrier goes up. On instinct you sit up as best at you can with your injured arm and look up.

Blood.

The once silver moon, is now a vibrant blood red. How befitting, your blanched sleeve has also become vibrant with the shade of blood.

‘Wait, there was a second ‘pulse’.’ Staring intently at the moon as though it would give you the answers. In some way it did.

The barrier had formed before the blood moon emerged… could it be due to your injury? Did the rapid beating of your heart force the barrier to appear before it should have? Are you starting to lose control of that too now?

‘Great, if his majesty noticed, then he’s sure to send his advisor to interrogate me again.’ It’d be the fifth time this month alone if he does. Certain things have gotten out of your control, and his majesty has been a thorn in your side. You shudder at the mere thought of the royal advisor to come and question you.

“My, my, that certainly is a gruesome wound you’ve acquired yourself this time.” On second thought, perhaps you prefer the royal advisor as appose to the current pest.

Merely side glancing, you can see the fiend look of concern on his face. How he irritates you with his underlying derisive attitude.

“Oh now, don’t look at me like that. If someone were to see they might think I’m nothing but a nuisance to you.” His tone is patronizing, and to hide the smirk gracing his lips, he spreads the fan out and brings it close to him.

“Then they’d think right.” Your brow twitches with annoyance as you brace yourself to stand. It’s a tough feat, but you manage it. “Why are you here?” Though it was grumbled you know he heard you. He however, doesn’t answer right away. You give it a moment but when he still hasn’t answered you, you decide to not waste anymore time on him and leave.

Until he does speak, and with such conviction, that it leads you to shudder for a moment. “You are using too much power. At a rather hasty pace at that. Tonight’s incident is one of many within the past few weeks where you have lost your abilities within moments of engaging battle.” His usual carefree aura is replaced with sternness you only witnessed once.

The breeze gently flows around you two, trapping you in tense silence. “___,”

You don’t look at him, instead you opt to look at the moon and take in how red it is. “You are losing control.” He’s figured it out, chances are, he knew before even you.

Inhaling the cool air, you whisper, letting the wind carry your voice over to him. “I don’t know… but I’m frightened.” With no more energy left in you, you make way to your cabin, walking past him without so much as even sharing a glance at one another.

‘Seokjin, I know my mother asked you to help me, but I’m afraid that even this maybe out of your control…’