#remember to feed your middle aged men

[kply-industries]

[skyguytoast]

JUST A FRIEND (MY DAD’S): DBF!ANAKIN X YOU

SYNOPSIS: Anakin Skywalker has always been off-limits, your father’s best friend, the man who watched you grow up, the one who lingered just a little too long in the kitchen after family dinners. There have always been sparks, furtive glances, near touches, the unspoken tension crackling between you like static. But tonight, during a simple game night at your house, something shifts. A brush of his fingers. A look held just a second too long. And suddenly, the game you're playing isn't the one on the screen… it's the one you're playing with fire. WARNING: +18, dirty talk, sexual innuendo (doesn't happen), age difference (reader is over 18, Anakin is in his 40s), cheating. WORDS: 2.1k  A/N: hey babes, how do we doin’? sooo this little fic was literally rotting in the trash folder of my docs 💀 and I thought, you know what? let me resurrect it real quick. made a few tweaks here and there and boom, here’s the result✨hope u like what I wrote it!! your comments, likes & reblogs mean everything to me fr 🥺💕 they help me know if I’m feeding y’all right or if I’m going weird 😈 so let me know, did I push it too far this time?? should I chill? should I not? 😏 lmk your thoughts, angels!! requests always open 💌 kisses to all😘✨ also thxs for the 300 followers, dividers by @cafekitsune

CHAPTER ONE:

Anakin Skywalker had been your father’s best friend for as long as you could remember. They met back in college, becoming fast friends who quickly turned inseparable. From late-night study sessions to wild adventures that your father still joked about, their friendship had stood the test of time. They were each other’s best men at their weddings, and later godfathers at the births of their children, you and Anakin and Padmé’s twins, Luke and Leia. 

It had become a tradition that every friday night, Anakin would come over to watch football with your dad. The two of them, both middle-aged but still full of energy and humor, would crack open a few beers, devour an entire pepperoni pizza between them, and relive their glory days with stories they never seemed to tire of. Meanwhile, your mother and Padmé, would head off to book club, a well-earned escape from the chaos of family life. Luke and Leia usually had plans of their own, out with their boyfriends or hanging with friends.

And then there was you. Grounded. Bored. Alone in the house, with no fun in sight. It was a cruel twist of fate, but you had resigned yourself to the boredom. As you padded downstairs, your intention was simple: steal the pizza your dad always ordered for game night and maybe annoy him a little, just for fun.

But as you reached the last step and turned the corner into the living room, you realized your father wasn’t there. Instead, sprawled comfortably on the couch, was Anakin, sipping a beer with his usual calm confidence. His broad shoulders filled out the worn t-shirt he was wearing, and the light from the television cast shadows that only seemed to highlight his chiseled features, ones that had only grown more striking with age. 

It was hard not to notice how well life had treated him. Anakin had always been good-looking, but now, at forty, he was the picture of a DILF: tall, ruggedly handsome, with a strong jawline softened just slightly by the beginnings of salt-and-pepper scruff. His blonde hair, longer than it had been in the old photos you’d seen, was perfectly tousled. It gave him an effortlessly cool look that contrasted with his laid-back, friendly personality.

He glanced up when he heard you enter, flashing a grin that was both mischievous and welcoming. "Your dad went to buy another pack of beer," he explained, patting the spot next to him on the couch. “But you can join me until he gets back.”

You hesitated for a moment, feeling strangely self-conscious under his gaze. Anakin had always been a presence in your life, someone who felt like a second father in many ways, but you couldn't deny that there was something undeniably magnetic about him now, a kind of charisma that came with age and experience. He looked good. Way too good.

"Grounded, huh?" he teased, his deep voice rumbling with amusement as he took another sip of his beer. "What did you do this time?"

"Nothing serious," you muttered, throwing yourself onto the couch beside Anakin.  "Apparently, staying out past curfew is a crime now."

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a strange warmth through you. "Your dad’s always been tough when it comes to curfew. Guess old habits die hard."

"It's so unfair," you whined, your head flopping dramatically onto his arm. "I do everything right, and the one time I make a tiny mistake, I get grounded." You shot him an exasperated look, seeking sympathy.

Anakin barely glanced away from the game, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. "One little mistake, huh?" he drawled, his voice easy and teasing. "You sure about that?" His arm, draped casually along the back of the couch, didn’t move, but his fingers grazed your hair lazily, sending a shiver down your spine as he twirled a strand between his fingers.

You huffed, shifting to get more comfortable, but secretly savoring the sensation. "Yes, I’m sure," you pouted, stretching the words out as though you were explaining the most obvious thing. "Staying out a little late isn’t the end of the world."

Anakin hummed in recognition, his fingers still playing lightly with your hair, as though entirely unfazed by your outburst. "Your dad’s just looking out for you, sweetheart," he said, his voice smooth and relaxed, the deep timbre settling in your chest. "This world isn’t always kind to a sweet little thing like you." 

There was something almost affectionate in the way he said it, his words dripping with that laid-back charm that made everything feel less serious. His easy going nature only made you more irritated and undeniably more drawn to him.

You sighed dramatically, but the warmth of his comforting tone of his voice made it impossible to stay mad for long. "Yeah, well, maybe I don’t need so much looking after."

Anakin chuckled, the sound rumbling softly from his chest. "Sure you don’t, sweetheart," he murmured, his fingers still lazily combing through your hair. "But we both know you're used to getting things your way, always a spoiled little girl” He tilts his head to look down at you, eyes lingering on your pouty lips.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, blinking up at him with exaggerated innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about," you said, your voice dripping with mock sweetness.

Anakin chuckled softly, the sound low and amused, his fingers lazily stroking through your hair. "Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean, sweetie," he murmured, his voice deep and rich, sending a flutter through your chest.

He leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath brushing against your ear, making your pulse skip. "Your father's been spoiling you since the day you were born," he whispered, his tone teasing but with an undeniable edge. "And let’s be honest, I’ve helped. How could we not, with you batting those big eyes at us like that?"

You scoffed, trying to brush off the butterflies in your stomach, but the corner of your mouth twitched in a smirk. “I can’t help it if people like me,” you shot back, crossing your arms, though the touch of his fingers in your hair was far too comfortable to pull away from.

Anakin’s chuckle deepened, his eyes glinting as he looked down at you, his voice lowering to a near-growl. "Oh, you definitely know how to get whatever you want from the boys at college, don’t you?" His lips hovered near your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Just bat those lashes, flash that innocent smile... you’ve got them wrapped around your little finger."

You swallowed, trying to stay composed, but the way he said it, so calm, so sure, made your heart race. 

His hand stilled in your hair, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple. "Your poor father doesn’t stand a chance," he said with a low laugh. "I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes... just thinking about all the dirty thoughts his little girl inspires."

You bit your lower lip, staring up at him with a playful gleam in your eyes. "And you, Mr. Skywalker," you teased, your voice dripping with suggestion, "have you ever had one of those dirty thoughts?" Your tongue darted out, moistening your lips in a way you knew would draw his attention.

Anakin's amused chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound rich and lazy as if your boldness barely fazed him. He leaned back slightly, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his beer, letting the moment stretch out. His eyes never left yours, the weight of his gaze making your cheeks flush with heat. The silence between you crackled with tension.

He finally swallowed, a small smirk playing on his lips as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "Uhm," he murmured, his tone casual but his eyes telling a different story. "You know, I think that’s a dangerous question to ask, sweetheart." 

His voice dropped a little, filled with a teasing edge. "But since you brought it up…" His gaze flicked to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your eyes again, his stare so intense it made your pulse quicken. 

Another low chuckle escaped him, watching as your confidence wavered ever so slightly. "Let's just say... that it's not just the boys at your uni who find you attractive”

Anakin’s gaze lingered on you, studying your movements with an easy confidence, his eyes following the way your fingers absentmindedly toyed with a strand of your hair. 

You crossed your legs, the slight movement drawing his attention downward for a brief second before his gaze returned to your face, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I can only imagine what it would be like to have you spread out for me” He leans in, inching his face closer to yours, lips only a breath away. “Your father wouldn't approve, but a man can dream”

“What my dad doesn't see, he doesn't feel” Your lips parted, and you glanced up at him, catching his eyes just as they flickered toward your mouth. You bit your lower lip, letting your teeth graze the soft skin slowly, knowing full well he was watching. The air between you thickened with unspoken tension, his gaze darkening as the space between you seemed to shrink.

He shifted slightly, turning his body toward you, his knee brushing against yours. The movement was subtle, but it sent a pulse of electricity through you. His hand, which had been resting behind you, drifted lower, his fingertips now gently brushing the bare skin of your shoulder, the touch so light it made you shiver.

“Is that so, you reckless girl?” He practically purrs, voice dripping with sinful promises. 

You tilted your head toward him, the two of you so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. His fingers lingered at the nape of your neck for a moment before they grazed down your arm, slow and deliberate, as if testing how much further he could go. Your heart pounded in your chest, but neither of you moved to break the moment.

“What exactly do you think your dad wouldn't want to see, hmm?” His other hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your bottom lip. “His precious princess, wrapped around a man's cock, begging to be filled?”

“Would the cock be yours?” You teased him, raising your eyebrow, the suggestive glint flickering in your tone.

He chuckles darkly, his grip tightening on your jaw as he presses his forehead against yours, noses touching.

“Oh, it most certainly would be mine, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his voice a deep, seductive rumble. “I'd make sure you never forgot who this tight little body belongs to.” His hand on your thigh inches higher, fingertips brushing against the damp spot that's forming on your shorts.

“Fuck, you're already so wet for me, aren't you? Such a needy little thing, desperate to be claimed.” He licks his lips, eyes flickering down to your mouth.

Just as your lips parted to respond, your breath already hitching from how close Anakin was, your father's voice rang out from the hallway. "Hope the game still going"

You and Anakin jolted apart like guilty teenagers, your bodies moving faster than your brains could catch up. He sat back against the couch with a practiced ease that didn’t quite mask the red crawling up his neck, while you quickly tucked your legs underneath you, trying to pretend your heart wasn’t hammering against your ribs.

Your dad returned to the living room balancing a new pack of beer in one hand, he paused mid-step, narrowing his eyes slightly at the two of you.

“Already stealing my pizza, huh?” he teased, setting the drinks on the coffee table and taking his spot in the recliner with a heavy sigh.

Anakin gave a tight-lipped smile and a short laugh, his hand sliding discreetly off your thigh as if your dad hadn’t already seen it. He reached for his beer and took a long sip, like he could wash away the moment with hops and carbonation.

You weren’t sure what was louder, your racing pulse or the awkward tension buzzing between your knees where his hand had just been.

Your dad, mercifully oblivious or just choosing not to push it, turned his attention to the TV, adjusting the volume. Anakin leaned forward slightly, grabbing a slice of pizza as an excuse to close the distance between you again. His thigh brushed yours, casual, but not accidental.

He didn't look at you when he said it, his voice low and warm against your ear. “This isn’t over, sweetie.”

The words sent a thrill up your spine. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, and there it was, that same heat. That same wicked promise in the curl of his lips. His eyes flicked to your mouth, barely a second, but you felt it like a spark to kindling.

You reached for your drink to hide your smile.

No, this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

TAGLIST: @ihearthayden @anakinstwinklebunny @sometimescharlolette @awhhayden @dessxoxsworld @speaknow-sw @freudsweetlamb @devilslittlehelper

[tiredfox64]

Hello! I wanted to know if you can make a request for kuai liang mk11 and his wife that have newborn twin babies?

Relax Mama

Yip notes: I love old men….

Pairing: Kuai Liang (MK11) x Afab reader

Warnings ‼️: I don’t want baby fever

Giving birth ain’t easy. But giving birth to twins, ah good luck.

Thank goodness your baby boys were healthy. You were stuck in labor for about fifteen hours so you were beat. So was your husband, you crushed his poor hand.

And to think you thought with Kuai Liang’s old age there would be issues with getting pregnant. Hah! Jokes on you, you get two. Never doubt him again.

You knew the struggle wouldn’t end even after you pushed those babies out. They are needy little things. But Kuai Liang was determined to let you rest as much as you could. If the babies woke up in the middle of the night he would be the first to get out of bed to deal with them. If the babies were hungry he just brought them to you. You’re responsible for the breastfeeding part.

He tries his hardest he really does. No one taught him how to be a parent he is going on pure instincts or what he can remember from his childhood that wasn’t so messed up. He was doing his best so that you could get rest and he could prevent any mental stress. He has the strength to carry these baby around all day, he’s got this.

What a sight to see for everyone in the Lin Kuei. Seeing there grandmaster who is always so serious and gruff carry around two sweet, cuddly babies. The twins immediately fall asleep in Kuai Liang’s arms. One of them was even drooling on his uniform. People are just melting at the sight of your husband holding onto those babies. That is until he yells at them to keep training. The babies have gotten used to the yelling at this point.

Motherly instincts won’t let you sit down at all. You’re still tired but you want to tend to the babies even though they are in safe hands. You walked over to Kuai Liang, your movements a bit sluggish.

“Why are you out of bed? You should not be up while in your conditions.” He warned you.

“I know, I know. I just feel like I need to check on them.” You replied.

Kuai Liang could see that you were worried. He knows you want to help out since they are your children too. You don’t want him doing this alone and neither does he. You’re new parents and this can be exciting yet also scary. Perhaps it’s time that you both get some outside help. Any help would do and Kuai Liang knew the right person to call.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

A tall man with tan skin and yellow attire stood before you in the doorway. He had swords and a chained kunai with him.

It’s Hanzo.

It’s freakin-it’s freaking Hanzo! YOUR HUSBAND CALLED HANZO FOR HELP.

“I was unaware that you had a wife and children.” He said to Kuai Liang.

“Did you doubt my ability to find a partner?”

Hanzo didn’t say anything because, yes, he did doubt that Kuai Liang would ever settle down. Hell you thought the same but look where you are now.

You informed Hanzo that the babies were only four weeks only. They still got that new baby smell. You handed over one of the boys to Hanzo to hold onto. Your baby looked up at him in confusion, unsure of who this man was.

“You have been feeding them well, I can already tell. They do not seem that fussy. You are incredibly lucky.” He stated.

Hanzo bent down and began to put your baby on the floor. Kuai Liang did the same with the other one. He was not too sure why he was doing that until he saw Hanzo put the baby on their stomach. Oh right, it is best to start helping them grow some strength in their neck and limbs.

Your sons didn’t seem to like that. They kept trying to roll over but then Kuai Liang would roll them back on their stomachs. It looked silly but they really do need tummy time. When you asked Hanzo if there was anything else you done were not doing right he asked you simple questions.

“Are you feeding them?”

“Yes”

“Are you changing them?”

“Yes”

“Are you bathing them?”

“Definitely.”

“Do you love them?”

“Absolutely.”

“That’s all you need to do for now.”

If you think about it, it makes sense. They are new to the world and although they are needy there isn’t much they truly need. You and Kuai Liang absolutely adore your sons. They are the cutest things ever that will eventually turn into honorable warriors. But for now all you need to do was give them your attention and love.

A few minutes passed and that was enough tummy time for your boys. You and Kuai Liang picked them up. They stopped being fussy the moment they were in your arms. This whole time you and Kuai Liang have been doing the right thing. You were worried about nothing. Your babies are doing fine. You are doing fine, mama! Kuai Liang took hold of your hand and squeezed it gently as a sign to just relax.

Kuai Liang thanked Hanzo for his help. Though he didn’t do much anything was still helpful. The only thing Hanzo asked of him is to not ask him to babysit, they ain’t that close.

Once Hanzo left you two seemed to be in a better mood knowing that you both were parenting well. For some reason others in the clan took that as a signal to approach you two with wide smiles. They seemed giddy about something.

“Since you both are more comfortable…does that mean we get to hold them?” One clansman asked.

Even the toughest warriors can’t help but to gush at a pair of well-behaved babies. But your husband will tell them to,

“Get back to training!”

Yap notes: I’m sorry if this is too short I tried. You legit can’t do much with newborns because they are like potatoes, they don’t even know they exist. I would like to do more with mk11 Kuai Liang and im just sad I might have botched this. If you want me to try something else with him or possibly redo this I understand.

[hanafubukki]

My mind went a different way with the "Lilia finds you in a puddle of your own blood" prompt. Like... a Beauty and the Beast way haha. A beast with children- they could either be young or canon age so let's go with canon.

He's making an errand run in the village and also takes a stroll in the outskirts to make sure there's nothing troublesome in the area. Thats where he finds you in your own blood, off a beaten path where likely nobody would look for you. He doesn't know what happened, but you don't look like the type of person who deserves to die on the side of a road. So he takes you home with him to fix you up (with magic fae stuff idk). You're brought to the castle they live in, avoided by everyone in the area, and are put in an extravagant guest room where you're tended to. It takes three days for you to wake up. The first person you meet is Silver coming to check up on you. You don't recall what happened to you so Sipver explains how his father found you and healed you. The young man is so kind and gentle, you imagine his father must be the same way. You can't thank him personally yet, though, because he's gone further away for some supplies not avaliable in the village. Silver is the one who brings you meals and such, although a couple of times it's been Sebek, who yells at you that you'd better not be trouble and to be grateful for Lilia. You don't meet Malleus until you can leave your bed. You run into him in the castle- this strangely large but empty castle, housing only 4 men and is cleaned using magic. He's kind like Silver but with a hint of mischief. He gives you a tour and keeps you entertained. While he doesn't seem to actively seek you out, he does appear before you routinely an hour after you leave your room and seems reluctant to leave your side.

A week later is when Lilia returns. He's glad to hear you're up and out of bed. But you freeze when you lay your eyes on him. You know him. You've seen him before. You and a friend had stayed out a little too late one night and you caught a glimpse of him in the moonlight. Deadly fierce as he pushed his sword through a monstrous beast's chest. You didn't know WHO he was, but you knew he was dangerous and didn't want to be on the wrong end of his ire. And now you're in his castle with his sons. But...the personality he's showing is the exact opposite of what you saw that night. He's lively and funny and....weird in an endearing way. You thought your heart would race from fright but instead its racing for reasons you don't yet want to admit. And you forget that you could go home at this point, but instead you're fitting into this family's life so seamlessly and now....you don't want to leave. You want to watch Sebek and Silver bicker and have Malleus explain his favorite gargoyles to you. You want to cook a fsmily supper for everyone and enjoy evenings by the fire as everyone relaxes before bed. You want Lilia to take his spooks on you a step further...to kabedon you against the wall, to have you feed him a spoonful of soup you're in the middle of cooking, to share a bedroom with him....but is that even something he wants or would ever want? Are you a guest to him? A friend? A .... daughter? You want to be none of those things, but what right do you have to want that? After only a month or two, to be a permanent member of this family you hadn't know had even existed before.

((And later on, when you accompany Lilia into the village, you run into a big and burley man. And you remember what had happened that night Lilia found you. He'd been upset with you- you hadn't expected him to be so upset that he chased you into the woods and brandished a knife and....and did that to you. Lilia can tell instantly how you change and pulls you away from the man. He can tell that that man is the one responsible for you almost losing your life that night. It doesn't matter if you've remembered or not- your body does, and now that he knows who did that to you....he'll have to pay him a visit later that night, when the man is leaving the tavern and stumbling to a tree to relieve himself.))

-Fake Date Sebek Anon 😘

[referencing this post]

Hello Fake Date Sebek Anonie 🌷💚💞

I love how that post just went in all different directions in the reblogs lolol love it. 💞💞

Also Anonie, *grabs you* I need that sebek dating fic continued 😭 pleeaassseee 🙏🙏🙏

I love the beauty and the beast route this went. So wholesome and domestically cute 💞💞

To be kabedoned by Lilia and those domestic moments?? It’s a NEED not a want at this point. It’s a “it’s part of my survival and happiness” tier. Lilia please 🙏🙏

Time for the sons and sebek to play match maker 🤧🫶

Lilia could tell right away that something is wrong. Your trembling form and hitched breath gives it away. The way the man eyes you both tells him all he needs to know.

First he’s going to get you away from him, calm you down before you get into a panic attack.

All the while, he’s planning his nightly hunt. He’s a beast after all and the full moon will be here soon. It’s been awhile since he’s stretched his wings and let his claws out.

For now though, he’s taking you home where you can be at peace with him and the boys.

[the-penguin-of-baskervilles]

Summary: Lloyd delays telling Princess about her stalker’s identity. Vivian has a medical appointment, which leads to an episode of babysitting where Lloyd bonds with a three-year-old. Meanwhile, an unexpected event kicks the serial killer investigation into high gear.

Masterlist

Word Count: 6,866

Warnings: Smut, erotica level explicitness, impact play (Lloyd spanks Princess), and semi-rough sex. Criminal activity including stalking, kidnapping, and murder. Mention of child abandonment and dysfunctional family dynamics.

Chapter 22

From your perch on a barstool, you watched Lloyd stir a pot on the stove. He wore a snug pair of boxer briefs and nothing else. You decided this was your favorite look on him. Lloyd glanced over his shoulder and caught you staring. He smirked.

“See something you like, Princess?”

“Mmmhh. You’re like a real life Calvin Klein model, and you’re cooking me dinner.”

Lloyd snorted. “Their current poster boy is what, twenty-one?”

“I don’t know. Calvin Klein models were more of a middle school fantasy for me.”

“Which models, specifically?” he asked.

“The ones featured during the South African World Cup. The internet was plastered with their photos. You don’t remember?”

“Twelve years ago I was in Afghanistan. They don’t allow underwear commercials.”

“Well, I can’t remember his name, but he was a Danish soccer player, who was like three times my age.”

“You were drooling over thirty-six-year-old men when you were twelve?”

“What? He had really great abs.”

Lloyd shook his head, returning his attention to the pot of soup simmering on the stove.

“They were inescapable, and I had a lot of hormones, okay? All those delicious muscles slathered in baby oil was my sexual awakening.”

“Once you hit thirty, you’ll feel more comfortable thinking about sexual awakenings happening around the age of sixteen, or even better, seventeen.”

You laughed. “That’s not reality.”

He flicked off the burner and winked. “Once you eat something, let’s talk about these soccer player fantasies. I want details.”

“Don’t get your hopes up - I wasn’t old enough to fill in the details. Now, my highschool fantasies? Those are worth talking about.”

Lloyd caught you around the waist and pulled you into his lap when you moved to sit down at the dining room table. You giggled when his hands snuck under the hem of the button down dress shirt you wore, exploring the bare skin he found there.

“No panties?”

“Your dress shirt was all I could find. Someone must have stolen my clothes.”

“What a tragedy,” Lloyd murmured, nuzzling your cheek.

You giggled when his mustache tickled your neck. He kissed along your throat and across your jaw and chin, before finding your lips.

“First we eat, then you tell me everything,” he said.

Eating in Lloyd’s lap was surprisingly comfortable. He didn’t insist on feeding you and didn’t mind when you stole the spoon for yourself. After consuming half of the bowl, you handed it back to him and curled against him while he finished the dish. You sighed, content.

“See, this is even better than my fantasies. You can actually cook-”

“This hardly counts, it’s just soup.”

You ignored him, continuing, “-and you have chest hair. I didn’t know there was such a thing as a chest hair kink, but I definitely have one.”

Lloyd groaned as you traced the whorl pattern of hair on his right pectoral.

“Plus, you’re warm.”

“You’ll be all over me this winter, won’t you?” he said.

“Arm candy, bed warmer, and he’s smart? You really are the whole package, aren’t you?”

You stroked a zigzag pattern through the dark brown hairs of his happy trail just above the waistband of his boxers.

“Princess… you’re playing with fire.”

You smirked at his gravelly voice. “No, I’m not. You already turned off the stove.”

He grunted when you straddled him. The position put your breasts at the same height as his mouth. Lloyd nuzzled their upper swells as you sank your finger into his hair, petting the short strands at the back of his neck.

Lloyd unbuttoned your dress shirt and examined your breasts.

“Still sore?”

“They’re definitely tender.”

He rubbed one and you hissed.

“Yeah, that’s going to sting for a while,” he said.

“It’s not a bad sore, just kind of… raw?”

“Well, I did promise you raw nipples, didn’t I?”

“And a sore ass.”

Lloyd glanced up through his lashes. “I’m glad you brought that up, Princess. It reminds me… I only delivered on half of my promise.”

“Huh?”

“I gave you instructions, and you disobeyed me. That warrants punishment, don’t you think?”

“Lloyd, I’ve never let anyone paddle my ass, and if you think-”

He moved too fast for you to protest, manhandling you so you lay chest down, spread over his thighs. Your breasts pressed against his leg and you moaned at the pressure on your aching nipples. Tension coiled in your belly as excitement heightened your sensitivity, making the raw flesh sting.

“Lloyd!”

“Scoot up. I suggest you cooperate because if I don’t spank you, I’m going to have to come up with another punishment. I have a few ideas…”

The butt plug and lube in his nightstand drawer flashed through your head. You scooted forward.

“Good girl, so obedient. I think you want to be punished, don’t you?”

You whimpered at his velvety voice. “Y-yes…”

Lloyd ran a calloused hand over the back of your thighs. “I’ve been thinking of smacking this pretty ass for a long time, Princess.”

That piqued your interest. “How long?”

“Too long,” he said, caressing your bottom.

“The first day you met me?”

“The second day. That pencil skirt, the one that goes past your knees? It’s blue and tight.”

You suddenly regretted donating that skirt last year during a closet declutter, even if it was a size too small.

“On the day you gave me your first research file, that’s what you wore. I still can’t forget how good your ass looked as you walked away. Last chance to back out, Princess.”

You squirmed, but didn’t object.

Lloyd grunted. “Princess, use your words.”

“I don’t think you have the guts to-”

His palm cracked on your left ass cheek. You gasped, stunned by the blow. He slapped the other side with the same force and you cried out. He pinched the fleshy part of your inner thighs between his thumb and forefinger, hard, eliciting a yelp.

“Don’t hold your breath. If you do, you’ll pass out,” Lloyd said.

Then his palm cracked against your skin. The sides alternated: left cheek, right, left, left, right…

“Lloyd!”

You surged up, only to have his forearm shoved into the small of your back, pinning you down.

“Arch your back, Princess. Keep your ass in the air, practice makes perfect.”

“Ow, Lloyd! That hurts!”

“It’s supposed to. You can’t follow instructions, then you pay the price, my naughty… little… fucktoy,” he hissed, punctuating the last three words with a smack.

Your back arched.

“Please! Fucking hell, Lloyd! Damn it, oh!”

You struggled to get enough leverage to escape, but he was too strong.

“Next time you’ll arch your back just like this, won’t you? You’ll be a good girl and keep your chest down and your ass up, huh?”

“Gaaahhh!” you screamed when he peppered a series of blows on a spot that was already aching.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…! Lloyd, please!”

He wasn’t holding back and despite the pain, his spanking was having the strangest effect on your body. It was turning you on. Your protests were born from shock and confusion, because you hadn’t expected this to hurt so much. The pain was the shocking part; the confusing part was that you hadn’t dreamed it would feel so good.

Yet, your toes were curling and your legs stiffened with each stinging swat. Every strike aroused you further. The harsher the sting of his hand, the sweeter the pleasure in your pussy. It was like the sting traveled through you, racing through nerves and transferring the heat of burning slaps on your skin to the inferno deep in your core. Your pussy was throbbing with a fire that was more intense than pain. Then his next blow triggered a cry that had nothing to do with discomfort.

Your thighs flexed and your toes curled as your shriek tapered off into a needy, hungry sound.

“Oh, fuck… Lloyd…”

You whimpered and rocked against his thigh, groaning at the overwhelming rush of pleasure, mingled with pain.

Lloyd cooed. “That’s my girl. Your pussy’s dripping down my leg.”

Your nipples tingled, still raw from their earlier treatment. You were panting and shivering, sweat trickling down your neck. He switched hands, and you squealed at the next barrage of unrelenting slaps. The line between what was pleasure and what was pain ceased to exist. You were acutely aware of the pulsating heat in your nipples and the hardness of Lloyd’s cock pressing against your belly.

The feelings his spanking elicited now were sharp and hot, causing your moans to drop into a lower register as you rocked back to meet each blow. Slowly, he eased into a gentler pace, delivering milder smacks.

Your chest was heaving as darkness danced on the edge of your vision.

“Breathe, Princess.”

You gasped.

“That’s it, good girl.”

His fingers brushed your sex, and you wailed, shuddering at the intensity of the sensation. Your back arched when he stroked your abused skin. The gentle caress made you keen.

Lloyd hauled you upright, turning you so your back pressed against his chest. Without his support you’d have slid to the floor. Your body buzzed with an urgent need and you mewled as he gently palmed your breasts.

You moaned, caught in the grip of a sensation somewhere between pain and immense pleasure.

“There, there, Princess. You’re okay. Next time, what are you going to do? Hmm?”

“Keep… my ass… up,” you sniffed, fighting back tears.

He rubbed the backs of his knuckles against the side of your breasts. “You’ll keep your ass up, and?”

“Chest down,” you whispered.

“That’s a good girl. We’ll try again when your nipples aren’t sore and you can show me what an obedient little fucktoy you are.”

You whined, thighs clenching. Tears were falling and your ass stung but you were so turned on that the pleasure was acutely uncomfortable. Lloyd’s hands drifted from your breasts to roam your body, tracing your waist, belly, and hips. He skimmed your thighs, tugging them apart until you spread them wide, giving him unrestricted access. His fingers dipped into your sex.

“Aw, fucking hell. That pussy’s drenched for me. I knew you’d like your spanking, naughty girls always do.”

He pinched your tender nipple, and you keened, tipping into a state of delirium. Your head fell back against his shoulder as your body went lax. Lloyd murmured something approving, but the words were lost in the buzz of euphoria that echoed in your ears. You couldn’t stop trembling.

Lloyd’s fingers breached your cunt, probing your g-spot.

“Yeah, gush all over my fingers. That’s my Princess, so fucking responsive. You’re spent, but this creamy little pussy just can’t get enough, can it? She’s throbbing. I bet it aches worse than your ass.”

He used his free hand to tease your clit, and you bucked, sobbing from the intense pleasure. You grasped his wrist to ease the friction and Lloyd snarled.

“Cut that out, or I’ll put you over my knee again.”

He spread your pussy open and stroked your entrance, collecting juices and swirling them over your clit.

“Come on my fingers, Princess.”

After issuing the command, he worked your clit hard. Within seconds you jackknifed from a lightning flash of pleasure that almost made you surge out of his arms. Lloyd nipped at your neck and the unexpected sensation made you shudder. His teeth sank into your skin as your body rolled with waves of ecstasy.

When you came down from the high, you felt the hardness under your thigh and squirmed. Lloyd allowed you to slide off his lap but caught your hips to steady you when your knees wobbled. After taking a second to get your bearings, you turned to face Lloyd, then sank to your knees between his legs.

Surprise flickered in his eyes but he lifted his hips, cooperating as you pulled down his boxers. The thick, ruddy cock sprang free, and you grasped it by the base, then licked at its weeping head. Lloyd groaned, shoving himself past your lips in a silent demand. You accepted him eagerly, wiggling your tongue against the underside of his cock.

“Yeah, just like that…”

He guided your head, showing you the tempo he preferred, then let go once you’d adopted the pace.

“Harder,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal.

You hollowed your cheeks and gripped him tighter. He hadn’t tried to push into your throat, which only made you more excited to perform the act. Relaxing your jaw, you inhaled through your nose and took him as deep as you could.

Lloyd gasped. His cock twitched in your throat, and you swallowed reflexively, moaning. When you couldn’t hold the position anymore, you pulled back, gagging. After another deep breath, you braced your hands on his thighs and repeated the maneuver. He was restrained, and that emboldened you to swallow harder, pushing yourself out of your comfort zone. You kept your hands on his thighs out of caution, aware that his good behavior might end at any moment.

The self-protection didn’t prove necessary. Going down on Lloyd was fun. He wasn’t pushy, and he was vocal about his pleasure. The slurred praise he offered when you took him deep made you quiver with excitement. When your jaw needed a break, you ran your tongue over his balls, laving the swollen sac and basking in the rough, male noises that rewarded your efforts.

You chipped in surprise when Lloyd hauled you to your feet. He jerked you onto his lap, cupping your ass while he aligned your bodies. His thick erection grazed your clit. The sensation was so intense that you jerked away. Lloyd growled, hauling you back down.

“Come on, relax for me, Princess. I know you’re desperate to be filled.”

He was right. Sucking him off had triggered a fresh wave of arousal that had fire licking at your core. Lloyd captured one of your battered nipples in his mouth and sucked, purring when you trembled in response. He released it and caressed your hips, then stroked his palms over the tender skin of your buttocks.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

You pressed your forehead against his and whimpered as his cock probed the entrance to your pussy. “Yes… Please, fuck me.”

He thrust up hard, impaling you with a single stroke. You screamed and dug your nails into his shoulders.

“Ah, fuck! Lloyd!”

“Shh… relax. Let me in. I know, I know. This is a new angle for you, isn’t it?”

He felt huge like this. The girth was too intense and you scrambled to adjust, hooking your ankles over his knees and raising your hips. Lloyd kneaded your ass, causing a rush of pleasure and pain that flooded your pussy with juices and allowed you to sink down a little further.

You groaned, thighs quivering as you struggled to hold yourself up. You were afraid your legs would give out, and you’d be impaled again. Lloyd claimed your mouth and kissed you. HIs mouth was slow and sensual and coaxed you into relaxing. You rolled your hips and whimpered when he slid deep, brushing a spot that made you quiver. He grasped your hips and pushed them back, then drew them forward.

You gasped at the sensation.

Lloyd paused. “Too deep?”

“N-n-no… Oh, fuck…”

You squirmed and tried to mimic the maneuver. Lloyd moaned.

“Atta girl, baby. Get yourself off on my cock.”

Your hips snapped harder at his encouragement. When he sucked delicately on one of your nipples, you keened. You lost your rhythm, but it didn’t matter because Lloyd took control. He used your body’s weight to guide your hips in quick tempo, rooting himself as deep as possible with every stroke. Your legs shook violently and when the orgasm hit, you screamed, unraveling into sobs of overwhelmed pleasure.

Lloyd took advantage of the deep angle. The ripples of your channel seemed to aim his cock right at the sweet spot that made you quiver and turned your muscles to Jell-O. His thrusts became rougher and harder, and your pussy creamed. You cried, disoriented, helpless against the unrestrained response of your body. All you could do was hang on and shudder as your eyes rolled back in your head and Lloyd’s hands guided your hips through the last of the orgasm.

He hissed your name and his seed flooded your womb, triggering another orgasm that wracked your exhausted muscles. After the final burst of ecstasy, your head fell into the crook of Lloyd’s neck and he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tight.

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

Lloyd broke from his usual routine and silenced his alarm at 4 a.m.

He nestled against you, grateful that you were sleeping deeply, and therefore accepting of his intrusion into your side of the bed. When you were half-awake and still trying to cling to sleep you were very territorial about your personal space. He relished the victory of getting to hold you like this and pressed his forehead against the back of your neck. You slept soundly in these early hours, which sometimes allowed him to indulge in the affection he craved without disturbing you. Although he’d only intended to cuddle, he succumbed to sleep within minutes.

The buzzing of his phone woke him. Scowling at the time - it was just after six - he answered the unknown number.

“What do you want?”

“Hello, Lloyd.”

Lloyd’s nostrils flared. “Why are you calling me?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“We aren’t friends.”

“Fair point. Wait, don’t hang up. I have a new lead,” Court Gentry said.

Lloyd hesitated, his finger over the end call button.

“Go on.”

“The spy is trying to access files from B&H’s patent department. If they do, it’ll pose a threat to national security - a significant threat.”

“Then call Clayton Bishop, or the FBI - anyone but me,” Lloyd replied.

“Trust me, if I could, I would. You’re the only person I’m sure isn’t involved. The latest efforts to access the files prove this guy has hacking skills. He’s trying to exploit weaknesses in your cyber security and someone’s helping him. I know something is going down this week. I need your help.”

“No. I’m not a spy. Don’t call me again.”

Lloyd tossed the phone on the nightstand and sighed. The Chinese spy wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t even Court’s problem, but Gentry wasn’t the type to keep his nose out of other people’s business.

You murmured and rustled in the blankets, stealing the covers he’d loosened his grip on. Lloyd watched as you coiled yourself into a cocoon of blankets and wondered how you didn’t smother yourself by sleeping like that. His phone buzzed again. The sound made your lashes flutter and Lloyd rubbed your back. He was inordinately pleased when you settled immediately, your breathing evening out again.

Lloyd silenced the phone and checked his text messages.

There were three new messages, all from Jake. One had just arrived. The other two had come in around 5 a.m.

Hey. I need to upgrade the security on your guys laptops - work and personal. The stalker’s been trying to hack them. It’s mainly Princess’ work computer, but I want to cover all the bases just in case.

What time can I come over?

Lloyd? R u awake?

He responded, letting Jake know he could come over after eight, then went downstairs to make coffee.

Between the call from Court and Jake’s texts, the morning had gone sour. His anxiety was flaring back up and he was halfway through his first cup of coffee when it occurred to him that caffeine probably wasn’t the greatest idea right now. He poured the rest of his coffee down the sink and rubbed his jaw, wondering what problem to tackle first. There was the matter of telling you about Nguyen, reviewing your notes from the interview with Aliyah, catching up with Jake about the attacks on your laptops, and… Lloyd frowned.

The conversation with Court was still echoing in his head. Could the cyber attacks on your work computer have something to do with Nguyen? Did that fit the stalker’s profile? Aiden might be behind the latest attack. That would make sense… kind of.

Lloyd leaned against the counter, scowling, and wishing he hadn’t thrown the last of his coffee down the drain. Maybe Nguyen was the serial killer. Bishop still believed he was, and while Lloyd wasn’t keen on his boss’ blind faith in that theory, he suddenly wanted to take another look at Nguyen. His gut said that he’d missed something - something critical.

“Do I smell coffee?”

He turned to see you standing at the foot of the stairs, wearing his robe.

“Yeah, creamer’s in the fridge.”

Lloyd waited while you doctored your coffee and took a few sips. He’d figured out what he needed to say, but instead, he grabbed the files Landon had given him yesterday.

“Princess. We need to talk about your stalker.”

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

You sat at the dining table, reading the files. Each one was labeled with a name: Georgina Rochester, Aiden LeDoux, Shun Nguyen, and finally, Juan Medina.

Picking up Juan’s file, you frowned.

“What’s this?”

Lloyd cleared his throat. “We investigated all potential suspects we could think of.”

“Really? Investigating Juan would’ve involved talking to me. That never happened.”

“Given the circumstances, I can’t expect you to be impartial.”

Your gaze sharpened. “I’ve known Juan for a decade.”

“Princess, you’re too close to him to see him as a threat, and you know it.”

“And maybe you’re too far removed to see that he’s harmless. Everything in here is technically true - Juan got into bar fights and took anger management classes - but there’s more to the story.”

“Then explain it.”

“Juan’s little brother just turned twenty-one. He’s always had a bad temper and alcohol exacerbates it. Juan’s tried to keep him out of trouble but-”

“There’s no arrest record for the brother,” Lloyd interrupted.

“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Juan is the complete opposite of his brother and he’d never do anything to harm his family.”

“He’s been charged with multiple misdemeanors.”

“Two nights in jail hardly makes him a hardened criminal.”

“Princess, you’re one of the most loyal people I know. You’d defend someone you love even if they were guilty.”

“Maybe I would, but the idea that Juan would hurt me is ridiculous. He’s not angry or dangerous.”

“We can’t afford to dismiss any leads,” Lloyd said.

“But this lead isn’t significant. You should’ve discussed this with me.”

“I didn’t want to put you in a position where you had to defend him.”

“The impression you get of Juan from this file is totally wrong and knowing the backstory changes everything. Letting me explain would’ve saved time and resources.”

“No, it wouldn’t have. We’re running down every lead in this case - especially after what happened two weeks ago. I’m not risking your safety on a blind spot.”

“You’re not listening to me. I know Juan and I trust him. I’m absolutely sure he isn’t the stalker.”

“I don’t even trust myself to be objective right now, Princess. Neither of us should try to unravel the stalker’s identity. If Juan made the suspect list, he’s on it until Landon decides he isn’t.”

“Then I need to talk to Landon because investigating Juan is a waste of time.”

“I’m sorry this makes you uncomfortable, but we should turn over every stone.”

“You’re being unreasonable on purpose, aren’t you?”

Lloyd’s expression softened. “I’m sorry I waited to tell you about this, but please, leave the investigating to Landon. He’ll figure it out. If Juan is as squeaky clean as you think, it won’t take long.”

You sighed, rubbing your neck. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fly off the handle. I’m just…”

Suddenly, you were on the verge of tears. Your voice cracked when you tried to speak and you buried your face in your hands.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

Lloyd stood up and moved around the table. His arms wrapped around you as he let you bury your head in his chest.

“I’m here, Princess. Everything’s going to be okay. We’ll get through this and things will go back to normal. You’re safe.”

“How can I be safe if Nguyen is in the country?”

Lloyd squeezed you. “I won’t let you out of my sight. Also, Jake’s coming over to update the security systems on the house and our computers. We’re taking every precaution and then some, okay?”

You pulled back and looked up at him, lips compressing in a grimace.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about something… Vivian has an appointment with her obstetrician. She asked me if I could watch the kids this afternoon.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Lloyd said.

“I agree, but she needs my help. If you came with me, you could search for evidence on Juan. Think of how much time that would save Landon. Can we take evasive measures and sneak over, or is it totally out of the question?”

He hesitated. “It might not be safe.”

“The last thing I want to do is put Vivian’s family at risk, but if there’s a way to make it happen…”

“Have you discussed this with Vivian?” Lloyd asked.

“I can talk to her.”

“Explain the situation and if she’s okay with it, I’ll figure something out. Just don’t say anything about Juan, please.”

You kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

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

Lloyd sat at Juan Medina’s desk in the upstairs master bedroom, preoccupied with Juan’s laptop. He kept an ear out for sounds that would warn him of an approaching toddler or the jangle of tags from the family dog, Chewy. The tan and white Cavalier King Charles spaniel had taken an instant dislike to Lloyd at first sniff, which he considered to be very insightful on the canine’s part.

The house was fairly quiet. The only sounds from downstairs were of you cleaning. He could hear the rumble of the washing machine, along with the frequent buzz of the dryer and the dishwasher. Your efficiency was unrivaled. He’d listened to the sound of you tackling a mountain of household chores while keeping the smaller toddler - the boy, Sam - occupied. Meanwhile, the three-year-old, Alyssa, had escaped to the backyard. From the window over the desk, he could see her playing in the yard.

His thorough search of Juan Medina’s laptop had yielded nothing of value. The man’s internet search history was full of hockey, nerdy online card games, and researching which fantasy novels he wanted to buy next. Judging by the bookcase, your brother-in-law’s primary hobby was reading. His offline commitments included a weekly Dungeons & Dragons meetup at the library, helping his mother with yard work, and taking the kids on monthly field trips with a local father’s group. Juan was probably pretty normal by regular standards, but to Lloyd he was the most boring person on earth. He was also envious of the man and that drove him nuts because he couldn’t pin down a reason why he felt that way.

Lloyd brushed off the feeling and closed Juan’s laptop.

Downstairs, the transformation in the family room startled him. The clutter of kid’s toys, piles of books, jackets, blankets, and empty drinking glasses had vanished. He barely recognized the room. In the kitchen, the countertops gleamed. You’d swept and mopped the floor and conquered the overflowing pile of dishes. The family room, the kitchen, the living room, it was all spotless. Even the sliding glass doors that had been covered in Chewy’s nose prints was now clean.

He noticed the basket of folded laundry by the couch and shook his head. How had you managed all this in just a few hours?

Lloyd walked out onto the deck where Sam was playing with a toy tractor. The little boy was so absorbed in his own world that he didn’t spare the man a glance when he walked by. Lloyd headed down the steps to the yard and headed to where you were crouched in the middle of the yard, looking frustrated.

“What are you doing?” Lloyd asked.

“I’m trying to fix this sprinkler head. Juan left Vivian a note to have Dad take a look, so I read a how-to article, which made it seem easy enough. I think I was lied to.”

Lloyd squatted down. “What step are you on?”

“Taking off the sprinkler head. I’m afraid if I use any more force it’ll break.”

“Do you have a screwdriver with a longer handle? You need more torque.”

You gestured to the tool box beside you. “Take your pick.”

He found the right tool and loosened the troublesome screw. Once it was free, you took over.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it.”

After knowing you for three years, he recognized the look on your face and easily handed over the sprinkler head. It was better to just get out of the way when you were on a mission. Besides, he wasn’t about to get grass stains on his freshly dry cleaned Tom Ford chinos if it wasn’t necessary. He scanned the yard, taking in Sam playing on the deck and then turning to the rock pile where Alyssa seemed to be digging a hole to China.

“What’s your niece doing?” Lloyd asked.

“Digging up rocks. Don’t ask me why, because there’s a perfectly good sandbox on top of the hill. She’s always in that rock pile.”

He left you to the sprinkler repairs and headed toward the rock pile. When he saw who was approaching, Chewy, the cocker spaniel, positioned himself between Alyssa and Lloyd. He gave the suspicious dog plenty of space and crouched down on the other side of the rock pile, leaving a large space between them to appease the dog.

“Hey, Alyssa.”

The three-year-old glanced at him, then stabbed her yellow plastic shovel into the dirt. There was a pile of stones next to her right foot. Lloyd watched as she sorted them, examining each before keeping it or tossing it back into the pit. He spotted one he recognized in front of him and picked it up.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked Alyssa.

She stopped digging and examined the rock he held out for a moment before shaking her head.

“See how smooth it is?” Lloyd scraped his thumb over the surface. “When you can scratch a rock with just your fingernail, that means it’s soft. The color and shape are also big clues.”

The little girl looked at him expectantly.

“It’s slate,” Lloyd said.

She held her hand out, and Lloyd dropped it into her palm. He watched as she searched her red bucket and then handed him two more rocks. Lloyd examined them.

“Yeah, these are slate, too.”

Alyssa dug into the bucket again. She paused, as if something had just occurred to her, and extended her hand and wiggled her fingers at him. He passed back the two pieces of slate she’d given him, and the one he’d picked up. She placed them carefully into the red bucket before offering him another rock.

Lloyd studied the specimen, hiding his grin. When he realized what she’d handed him he raised an eyebrow.

“This is agate. Sometimes people make jewelry out of these.”

Alyssa continued to pass him different rocks, though she only allowed him to handle one at a time. She was like a strict librarian who only allowed single book check outs and enforced the return policy with the zeal of a Mutaween. He identified limestone, quartzite, agates, and several pieces of granite for her.

“Which ones are your favorite?” Lloyd asked.

She reached under a dense fern and pulled out an old Folgers coffee container. It surprised him when she took off the lid and handed it over. Lloyd inspected the contents. There was a chip of Mica, easily identifiable by its flakey structure and pearlescent shine. Several of the greenish rocks looked like Sandstone, though one of them had the striations characteristic of Gneiss. Looking at the collection, he realized that Alyssa’s criteria for special rocks focused on color and shininess. At the bottom there was a gray rock with a dusting that looked like blue powder.

He rubbed it with his thumb and inspected it in the light. Chrysocolla or Amazonite?

“This is an impressive collection,” he said.

Alyssa reached under the fern and dug around, searching for something and brushed it off before passing it to him. At first he thought it was just a piece of limestone, but when he flipped it over, there was a clear impression on the other side.

“Wow. This is a cool fossil.”

It looked like a prehistoric crustacean, with lots of ridges and segments in the stone that showed the shape and structure of the animal’s body.

“Is this why you’re digging over here?” Lloyd asked.

The plastic yellow shovel she was using made sense, considering the fossil. He handed it back and watched as she packed the rocks into the Folgers container.

“Why don’t you pick a few rocks to take inside? You could display them on your windowsill or something,” Lloyd said.

Her lips pursed as she considered him, then glanced over her shoulder at you. Lloyd followed her gaze to where you were filling in the hole around the sprinkler head.

“Hey, Princess. Have you seen the fossil Alyssa found?”

At his announcement, Alyssa hissed, shoving the red plastic container underneath the fern. She glared furiously at Lloyd and grabbed the spaniel’s collar. He watched as she stalked across the yard to the deck, dragging Chewy along with her. Lloyd realized he’d committed a betrayal of great magnitude but wasn’t sure how.

When you’d finished with the sprinkler system, he asked.

“Why is Alyssa so protective of her rocks?”

“What rocks?”

“She collects rocks. She’s got a good eye for it too, but I guess she doesn’t like sharing them.”

“Oh, you mean the rocks she smuggles into her bedroom? We try to keep them in the yard because she stashes them in her bookcase and it gets all muddy. Vivian tosses them back in the rock pile when she finds them.”

“That must be frustrating,” Lloyd said.

“Yeah, Vivian can hardly keep up with it.”

“No, I mean that she’s finding interesting stuff. You should have them tumbled. One of her rocks is probably Amazonite or Chrysocolla and she has a really cool fossil, too.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. She knows what she’s looking for. I think it’s the colors in the rocks that attracts her attention. Blues and reds seem to be her favorite. Does she have any books on rocks?”

“No, she can’t read yet.”

“They have picture books,” Lloyd said.

“Huh. That’d be a great Christmas gift. Do you think I should re-seed the lawn?”

“What?”

“It might be too early, and I don’t know if Juan is planning on aerating,” you mused.

“You already did the dishes, the laundry, cleaned the house, and fixed the sprinklers.”

“Oh, crap! I forgot about the dryer. Sam! Come inside, it’s getting late!”

Sam launched a valiant protest when you tried to herd him inside. You tended to the toddler’s outburst while Lloyd went to find Alyssa. She was upstairs in her room. Chewy was curled into a ball on her bed and when he saw Lloyd, the fluffy spaniel growled. Lloyd stopped short, respecting the warning, and leaned against the doorjamb.

“If you pick out some rocks from your bookcase, I’ll help you polish them,” Lloyd offered.

Thirty minutes later you walked into the kitchen to find Alyssa standing on a stool next to Lloyd at the sink. A paper towel full of wet rocks sat next to a pile of used sandpaper.

“What are you two up to?” you asked.

“We’re polishing Alyssa’s rocks. Look at this one, it’s a carnelian.”

You examined the bright red stone and smiled at your niece.

“That’s beautiful.”

She looked down, shrugging, but smiled. Lloyd picked up another one.

“This is a blue lace agate.”

After he showed it to you, he handed it back to Alyssa, who snuck it into her pocket instead of laying it on the paper towel.

“Did you find these in the backyard?” you asked her.

She didn’t respond, so Lloyd answered for her.

“I think she might have, but I’m not sure. There’s enough variety here that I think she collected some of them from other places.”

“You should put them on display in your room. Your Mom will be home soon and she’d like to see them - especially now that they’re clean.”

Alyssa beamed. “Mine.”

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

The quiet hum of the Mercedes’ engine filled the car as you drove west towards the cabin. Lloyd glanced over and you sensed his scrutiny.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” you said, breaking the silence. “Is something on your mind?”

He turned his attention back to the road, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Tonight, at your sister’s place…”

“You really hit it off with Alyssa. I was impressed.”

“She’s a sweet kid, but I was actually wondering about all the housework. You did everything from the laundry to fixing the sprinklers. If your sister had hired a whole cleaning crew, they wouldn’t have done as much as you did.”

You sighed. “Vivian is juggling a lot right now. I was just lending a hand.”

“It’s not just tonight, though. You’ve always helped her out, even before, when you were in college. I’ve never seen her do the same for you, especially not to this extent.”

“She’s my sister, and she needed help. Besides, you never complain when I do things for you.”

“I pay you to help me,” Lloyd pointed out. “She didn’t even say thank you.”

You chuckled. “That’s just what having a sister is like.”

“Well, from my perspective, it seems like she’s taking advantage of you.”

“Lloyd, I can’t explain this to you.”

“What’s to explain?” he growled.

“I’m the oldest, it’s different. You wouldn’t understand, you’re an only child.”

Silence fell and again, the gentle hum of the engine filled the car.

“Actually, I’m not.”

“What?” you stared at him.

“I have two younger sisters.”

“You never mentioned… Lloyd, I didn’t realize… the articles about you never said...”

“I haven’t seen them in thirty years.”

“Why?”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. You watched his shoulders rise and fall on a deep breath.

“My mother left when I was eleven. She took my sisters, but left me.”

“She abandoned you…? And left you with your father?”

“Yeah.”

“Lloyd, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“Did you ever reach out to them?”

“No.”

You frowned. “Why not?”

“I wasn’t even sure they were alive until recently. I doubt they’d want to hear from me. They’ve built lives of their own. What would contacting them do except stir up bad memories? If they can forget… that would be better.”

Better for who? You held back the question, unsure if he was ready to answer it.

Lloyd sighed. “I don’t know if they’d want to see me and talking about them isn’t easy. That’s why I’ve never mentioned them before.”

His face was stony but there was a quiet ache in his voice that hinted at the hurt hidden behind the composed mask.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For assuming. For not asking you about your family.”

He shrugged. “Who could blame you? Sharing isn’t exactly in my nature.”

You turned away, gazing out the window. You tried to imagine having your siblings ripped away but couldn’t manage it. What was wrong with Lloyd’s mother? How could she have done such a terrible thing? There were reasons, of course - desperation, fear, psychosis. None of those answers softened the anger you felt toward the faceless woman who’d snatched Lloyd’s siblings. Why would she leave him behind, sentencing him to live with the man she’d chosen to flee?

“You’re wondering why she took them and left me, aren’t you?” Lloyd asked.

“I can’t imagine what kind of a mother would do something like that. It’s awful.”

“She was crazy. That’s a solid reason, but if you ask me, it’s because I looked like him.”

You were confused. “Him?”

“My father.”

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

The cabin’s porch light glowed in a cozy welcome as Lloyd turned into the driveway. You pretended to look out the window to hide the tears in your eyes.

Lloyd’s childhood couldn’t have been easy. You’d known that already, but what he’d revealed tonight was crueler than your imaginings. He parked and shut off the engine, silencing the quiet hum.

The shrill scream of his phone pierced the quiet, making you jump. He frowned at the caller I.D.

“It’s Roth.”

You watched as he answered and lines of concern creased his face. The words on the other end of the line were muffled but the furrow between Lloyd’s brows suggested the news wasn’t good. He listened for a long time before he spoke.

“Alright. We’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“What’s going on?”

“There’s been a disappearance. Another woman was abducted in Harmony.”

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

Next - Chapter XXIII

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Masterlist

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Taglist:

@denisemarieangelina @before-we-get-started @buckysteveloki-me @patzammit @badassbaker @meetmeatyourworst @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @thiskindahotkindamusic @jesgisborne @charmingprincess @amiets2 @seitmai @elle14-blog1 @chaoticsteverogers @kaleidoscopepov @fangirl-and-doctor-help @jesevans @openup-yourmind @kandierteveilchen @adoreyouusugar @awkwardgiraffe726 @pono-pura-vida @mysweetlittledesire @liecastillo @marantha @babyevansblog @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa @thegirlnextdoorssister @ladygrey03 @cynic-spirit @rosedpetal @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @bambamwolf87 @yiiiikesmish @calwitch @peachiestevie @texmexdarling @here4thefanfics @rogersbarber @spikeluv84 @dear-fifi @crayongirl-linz @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @andydrysdalerogers @mrsbarnes32557038

[taevbears]

Magic Shop - 13

Every coin has two sides

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Namjoon focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 10.3k ⤑ warnings: descriptive violence, body horror, near-death of a main character, prejudice and oppression of mages, heavy angst. ⤑ note: lol bc last week, i had already written out the entire chapter and just meant to edit and post it last weekend. but then another idea struck me while i was at work, and even tho i meant to just change ONE scene, it started leading to a completely different ending. so lol here i am, one week later, after rewriting half this chapter 💀 this chapter is also heavily inspired by "A Village Under Siege" and "The Attack at Nightfall" quests in Dragon Age: Origins + the world of necromancer bells from the "Old Kingdom Series" by Garth Nix

Chapters: Series Masterlist | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

From the distance, an old windmill is spotted over a hill. Its turbines spin slowly with the breeze, and the weathered bricks keep it standing tall after all these years. The distinct landmark signifies one thing.

Hawthorn Village. You’re finally here.

And it’s just as Namjoon remembers it.

Nostalgia hits him as you all cross the bridge that leads into the village. Thatched roofs and walls made of stone and wood. A large well near the center of the square where he used to make wishes upon as a kid. The elementary school he went to, the old church that his parents religiously attended, and the farmlands with livestock and crop mazes.

Much to his dismay, the aftereffects of the nightly terrors have taken its toll on his beloved hometown.

People are trying their best to get through another day, distributing produce to feed the hungry and burning the dead. A blacksmith with tired eyes insistently pounds iron with a hammer to make new weapons that will give them a better chance against the enemies. A militiaman tries to keep up morale, although most of the remaining men are just farmers and workers – none of them trained to fight. Survivors step out of the infirmary tents, wrapped in bandages but still in pain. A small child cries, looking for their parents.

Doom hangs in the air. Haunted and defeated are the faces of Hawthorn’s residents, as the looming threat of another unsettling fight is set before them.

“What’s happened here?” Seokjin asks one of the villagers.

A middle-aged man’s light up when he sees your group. “I haven’t seen you folks before. Have you come to help us? Did our notices finally reach someone?”

It isn’t long until the group is ushered to the local church. Gathered by the altar is the mayor of the village. Dark circles are under his eyes from sleepless nights, but he looks at you all with hope as the villager announces you’re all from a guild. Then, he explains to your party their dire situation.

Decomposing corpses return to life at night with the hunger for flesh, and they have been attacking this small village for the past few nights. From dusk until dawn, these attacks on Hawthorn are relentless. Each night, they come in greater numbers. Due to the necromancer and dark magic being involved, no one has been responding to their urgent calls for help. The local hunters have been summoned to the capital, and guilds often overlook their tiny settlement when they pass by.

All of Hawthorn fears that tonight will be the worst attack yet.

“You’re our only hope,” the mayor pleads. “Hawthorn won’t stand a chance otherwise.”

The Oathkeepers look at Seokjin, but his eyes are on Namjoon. He feels the rest of you looking at him too. As if it’s up to him to decide whether his hometown is worth saving, or if the quest at hand is deemed too dangerous to assist. Allowing him to back out now before they’re obligated to see things through, no matter what the risk.

“Of course we’ll help,” Namjoon decides without hesitation. “Tell us what you need.”

Tonight, things look pretty grim.

Morale within the village is at its lowest. After multiple perilous nights of terror and gruesome deaths, the ones still alive are worried they’ll be next. That nothing will remain of their beloved Hawthorn once the sun goes down.

“Someone has to know something about the necromancer. We have to find out who is terrorizing the village and what their motive is,” Namjoon concludes as you all gather outside the church to debrief. “We also need to help the residents prepare for tonight’s battle: teach them how to properly hold weapons, encourage every able-body to help with the fight, and inspire them to defend the land and their community.”

“Leave the villagers to us,” Seokjin offers, gesturing at himself and the members of his guild. “We’ll do our best to get everyone ready before sundown. You just focus on finding that necromancer.”

“Taehyung and I are going to look at their resources,” Hoseok informs, surveying the infirmary tents. “I might be able to make something for the injured.”

“We’ll check on the blacksmith,” Yoongi says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “He was in rough shape when we passed by. Half of the villagers aren’t wearing proper armor and are carrying broken weapons. Repairs need to be done if they want to stand a fighting chance.”

“Taverns are a great source of information,” Jackson mentions as he eyes the local pub. A smile touches his lips as he wonders out loud, “Maybe I can even convince the owner to give out free shots of courage to the fighters.”

“Then Jungkook and I will talk to the farmers,” Namjoon decides as he looks at his familiar, who nods his head in agreement. “The notice mentions that they’re the ones who suspect dark magic is at hand. Maybe one of them saw something that can give us a clue to where our necromancer is.”

With a solid plan set, the party breaks off to their assigned tasks.

Tonight still looks grim, but there’s hope.

With success, they might be able to turn everything around before nightfall.

“Any luck?” you ask when you see Namjoon and Jungkook circling back to the village square after a while.

“Not really,” Namjoon mulls with a sigh.

“They said the horde comes from all around the village. One night, they’re skeletons from the village’s graveyard. Another night, they’ve come from the nearby lake or from the thickets of the woods,” Jungkook explains with a frown. Whoever they talk to seems to have different descriptions of the undead creatures. “Most of the villagers are too busy trying to stay alive to keep track of what’s been causing the dead to rise.”

“They did confirm one thing, though,” Namjoon adds before he throws a glance at his familiar. “They heard the sound of bells.”

“Bells?” you echo, looking between them.

“It’s how the necromancers summon the dead,” Jungkook simply explains. “Without them, they’re just like any other mage.”

“Good to know,” you mutter, shivering at the thought of hearing strange bells in the middle of the night. At least, if nothing else, you’ll be able to take away their advantage.

Still, a mage that has the skills to control the dead must be incredibly powerful.

“How is everything here?” Namjoon asks as he looks around.

“Good. Jin is a natural at raising morale,” you reply, looking over to where a small crowd chants Seokjin’s name. The others in his guild have been teaching them how to use their weapons, and although they’re still clearly unskilled, their progress is still quite an improvement from before.

“Hoseok-hyung looks like he has things under control in the infirmary,” Jungkook points out. The nurses and patients around him are in awe at the simple potions he had given them, claiming that he must be a miracle doctor. They also look smitten over Taehyung, who’s soothing voice calms and comforts the bedridden a bit.

“Yoongi-hyung, too,” Namjoon notes when he looks at your familiar, sitting over an anvil and helping the blacksmith craft weapons of steel. With assistance, it seems like the blacksmith will be able to get repairs done in time after all.

Shouts and cheers from the tavern show that Jackson, somehow, persuaded the bartender to give out free ale to the villagers. Although tipsy, their spirits are high, and they seem eager to fight after a round of complimentary drinks.

“I’ll help Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook states, interested in what they’re doing. He approaches the blacksmith, who seems elated to have additional assistance.

“We should probably check on Jackson. Maybe he’s heard something,” you suggest, turning toward the tavern. But Namjoon grabs your hand and pulls you back.

“Actually,” he starts, suddenly a little nervous. He takes a deep breath before he tells you, “There’s something I need to do first. Before it’s too late.”

At age thirteen, Namjoon awakened the power of magic. The feeling of bestowment is like fire. The initial spark of energy courses through his veins and spreads within him. Mesmerizing, alluring, and dangerous. No matter how much he reads and tries to understand his abilities, there’s always something new to learn, to incantate, and to master through his connection to the Veil.

Magic is both a blessing and a curse. Two sides of the same coin.

At first, Namjoon hated what he was. He hated that he became a mage.

Every night, when he was locked away in Alterwood Keep or WIndshire Tower, he questioned what he had done to be damned with such misfortune.

Magic is what burned his family’s home to the ground. Magic is what got him taken away from his parents, his friends, and his village – everything he knew. Magic is what lured the hunters into killing Ignis, turned Adriel into a beast, and shunned him from his home for so long.

The same home he stands before now.

“This is it,” Namjoon tells you, looking at an ordinary-looking house.

It’s been rebuilt over the years. Shabby, but somewhat similar to what it used to be. The curtains are identical to the ones his mother had put on the windows, down to the same shade of color. The front has pots of flowers that she liked to grow, and as the weather warmed, she’d smile as they began to bloom. Inside, Namjoon is certain he’d find a small collection of books his father would’ve read, and upon his favorite chair, he used to emphasize the importance of education and the pursuit of knowledge.

Your fingers thread through his. “Are you ready?”

He looks at you and nods his head.

At age nineteen, shortly after he was transferred to Blackstone Castle, he finally started to see magic as a positive force in his life.

Magic is what brought you all together, intertwining your fates with each other like red strings of soulmates. Magic is what makes the ordinary, unassuming shop at New Haven come to life and keep you all safe and happy. Magic is what brings him back to where it all started, with you by his side.

Years have passed since that fateful day he was taken from his parents. He’s started to accept that magic is a part of him. For all its wickedness and destruction, and all its serenity and wonder. Two sides of the same coin.

He just hopes, as he raises his hand to knock on the door, his parents will accept him as well. Magic and all.

The door swings open. An older woman stands on the other side. “Yes, can I help you?”

There’s a polite but cautious smile on her face, and deep dimples on her cheeks that match Namjoon’s. The resemblance between them is unmistakable.

“Hi Mother,” Namjoon greets her with his own nervous, dimpled smile. His hand squeezes yours for assurance. “It’s me. Your son.”

Confusion turns to recognition, which turns from surprise to disbelief. You watch as the woman looks at Namjoon like he’s a ghost.

“Y-You. You shouldn’t be here,” she stutters, lip trembling as her eyes water. Her hand is pressed to her heart as she steps away from the door. 

An older man notices his wife’s distress and comes to the door as well. He puts an arm around her and frowns at you two, not seeming to recognize the young man who has his height and strong build. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Father, it’s me,” Namjoon tries to say, but his voice is small. He’s starting to think that this is a bad idea. “Kim Namjoon. I’m your son.”

Like the woman, the man is initially shocked by the news. But then, his eyes narrow at Namjoon angrily. “What are the likes of you doing here, boy? Don’t we have enough to deal with?”

Namjoon visibly stiffens at the harshness in his father’s voice. “I’m here on a quest. I’ve come to learn that our village is under attack.”

“My village doesn’t need your help!” his father yells, spit flying as he holds his wife protectively. “Magic is what got us into this mess! Magic will make things worse!”

“Let’s get out of here,” you quietly urge, frowning at their hostility.

This is like his nightmares. Their looks of hatred and disdain burn under his skin, searing themselves into his memories. It’s hard for him to breathe, it’s hard for him to think. Suddenly, he feels so small. Like he’s a child again, standing before the fires that destroyed his home and took everything from him.

“Get away from him if you know what’s good for you, little girl,” the man warns, finally noticing that you’re there. “He’s something Wicked. His magic put us all in danger and ruined our lives!”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon chokes out. The words that he wanted to tell his parents after all these years. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Get out! Do not come here again!” his father interrupts as his mother bursts into tears, burying her face into her husband’s shoulder. He grabs whatever is closest to him and waves it in a threatening manner. “Get away from our house before you destroy it!”

Namjoon obliges, stepping away from the door. He looks deeply hurt as he tries again. “But Father—”

“Do not call me that!” he barks as he gives him one more hateful glare. “We don’t have a son. Not anymore.”

Then, he slams the door shut.

“That went well,” Namjoon comments, sarcasm thick in his voice. He sits on a broken crate in the alleyway the two of you end up in and sighs. “I feel like an idiot.”

Part of him had known that, maybe, his parents weren't going to give him the warmest welcome. Part of him even thought that, perhaps, his parents wouldn’t recognize him.

Still, it hurts.

It hurts that he had expected otherwise. That he had hoped his parents would listen to him and forgive him. That they’d come to accept him.

But they’ve made it more than clear that Hawthorn Village and the house he grew up in is no longer his home. And that the parents who raised him are no longer his family.

Namjoon always knew this scenario could’ve been a possibility. And yet, he foolishly wanted to be wrong.

“Joon…” Your voice calls out from behind him, but you seem at a loss of words.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes, feeling incredibly dejected as he keeps his back to you. “I shouldn’t have bothered. I should’ve known it’d be a waste of time.”

And it hurts. It hurts so badly.

Knowing that all his efforts to return home — and all the punishments he took for running away — were fruitless. That no matter how hard he tries to be good and understand his magic, nothing will change.

In the end, Ignis really died for nothing. And that’s probably what hurts the most.

Namjoon half-expects you to scold him for dragging you along. For you to comment how you knew this was a bad idea, and that you both have other important things to worry about right now.

Instead, you approach him and gently wrap your arms around his neck. Your body is pressed against his back, hugging him from behind. Neither of you speak as he stiffens under your touch. But he places his hand over your arm in a wordless request to stay.

And you do. You stay with him, kissing his tear-stained cheeks and wishing you could do more to comfort him.

But to Namjoon, this is enough. Being with you is more than enough.

When the sun goes down, the dead awakens.

Villagers of Hawthorn scramble indoors, locking themselves inside and barricading the doors and windows. The church bells are quiet, not to be rung until morning light. Everywhere is an eerie silence, and those left to fend off the inevitable enemies swallow their fears as they train their eyes on the horizon.

There, a green fog mixes with the misty air, and the putrid stench of rotting flesh slowly advances toward them. Death is coming, and with it, alarming numbers of the undead.

“All right, everyone!” the mayor begins, taking command of the last line of defense. The odds are heavily against them, but he has to keep up what little morale they still have left. “We’ve driven off this evil before. We can do it again for one more night. We fight, or we die trying!”

With that said, the villagers charge in. Battle cries ring out as they use their pitchforks, shovels, and scythes to attack the incoming herd.

But they only get so close before the fear sets in.

Death looks them in the eye. Corpses with lifeless, glowing eyes, flesh rotten and decayed, and bones visible as they unhinge their jaws and let out an unsettling groan.

Some of them flee the opposite direction, running away from their foes. Some stand frozen, panic seizing them in place. Some, unable to stand the horrid smell, drop their weapons and retch out their stomach’s contents.

The villagers don’t stand a chance.

Then, they begin to hear it.

In the dark, rural farmlands, the sonorous sound of bells toll. Yet, when their eyes gaze to the local church, the large brass on the tower is completely still. If it’s not from the church, where are the bells coming from?

A scream pierces the air. The mayor turns to see a woman swinging an axe around violently. Her eyes are wide with terror, fixed on something before her, but there isn’t anyone around her. She continues to scream at something to get away from her as she slashes the air.

Two friends suddenly turn on each other. The two men have been buddies for years, and it’s like they don’t recognize their friend. They have that same, wild look in their eyes as they grab each other and raise their weapons.

The mayor’s heart hammers in his chest as they turn against each other, mistaking alley for enemy. “Men, what are you doing? Stop it!”

But it’s too late.

Blood splatters. Followed by cries of agony.

Horrified, the mayor gets away before they try to hurt him as well. As he runs, he grabs a woman’s shoulders and tries to warn her not to listen to the bells. But when she turns to face him, her face is completely disfigured. The flesh looks like it’s melting off her skin, bone and muscle peeking as she smiles wickedly.

“What’s wrong, mayor?” the woman asks, but her voice sounds off. Another voice is layered over hers – deep and raspy, almost demonic – that clearly isn’t her own.

The mayor lets her go and shrinks back in fear. As he looks around, he sees that the undead have somehow surrounded him. They stand there and watch him with their lifeless eyes. Their rotting flesh. Pitchforks, shovels, and scythes in hand.

Mysterious bells continue to echo, drowning out his screams.

“Do you hear that?” Hoseok asks from beside you. The two of you are stationed a little away from the village, near a part of the woods that locals claim was one of the spots the dead have risen from. It’s foggy and creepy, and you’ve been eyeing the thicket and expect a horde of undead to stumble from beyond the trees.

But it’s been dead quiet.

Even as you hold your breath and stand perfectly still, you can’t hear anything.

“What is it?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

Hoseok glances over at you with a frown. “I hear the ringing of bells.”

The sound of footsteps crunching on leaves and twigs catch your attention. Seokjin calls out to you and Hoseok as he and Namjoon appear from the fog. “We need to regroup. Something is happening at the village.”

“What do you mean? Are they under attack?”

Neither of them answer you. The concern on both their faces only makes you worry more as you and Hoseok follow them toward the old windmill where the rest of your party is waiting. It’s a little closer to the heart of the village, and you can hear some commotion going on, like the villagers are in the throes of battle.

You spot Taehyung in his raven form, flying from the direction of the village and landing before you and Hoseok. When he transforms into his human form, he reports, “The recently deceased have risen, but they’re not the biggest problem.”

“Then who are they fighting?” Namjoon asks, eyebrows furrowing together.

Taehyung leans against Hoseok for support, bringing his palm against his forehead like he has a migraine. “They’re fighting each other.”

Silence follows the unsettling news.

Seokjin is the first to break it. “What the hell is going on?”

As if to answer him, you all hear it too.

The haunting, sonorous sound of bells in a nearby distance.

Hearing them sends a chill up your spine. And knowing that they’re beckoning death makes them even more terrifying.

“We need to get the bells,” Jungkook reminds you, turning away from the village to look you in the eye. “It’s the only way we can stop their madness.”

“We’ll have to be quick,” Namjoon agrees. “Or Hawthorn won’t make it to sunrise.”

There are seven necromantic bells. Each is more difficult to wield properly as their size and power increases. And, without proper care, the bells have a negative effect on the ringer that could backfire to certain death.

As you and the others approach the village, you hear the chime of the first bell.

It’s been a long day. Traveling the long roads to the village by carriage and on foot. Helping the residents prepare for the gruesome attacks tonight. Getting ready to face a powerful mage hiding somewhere nearby.

Sleep. The first bell sings. And you’re hit with a wave of drowsiness.

Yoongi catches you before you collapse on the ground. His eyes are tired, as if he hadn’t slept for days. In a slurred mumble, he commands, “Stay with me.”

The others aren’t faring any better. Long yawns and slow steps plague your group. Some of them look like they’re about to slump over and fall unconscious. You and the other mages ignore the lull of the bell and stay awake and alert. With tired eyes, you try to scan for the source of the sound and see a shadow slip into a building.

“There,” you point out, readying your wand. You follow after it with half your party close behind you. Seokjin stays behind with his guild, promising to catch up. Jungkook looks lethargic as he kicks open the entrance a few times before nearly tumbling inside.

A home abandoned is what you’re met with. The people living here seem to be gone, hurriedly leaving in the middle of making dinner. Flies swarm the rotting food, but it doesn’t look like anything else has been touched.

“Be careful,” Jackson warns, going further into the house. He uses his wand as a light, cautiously going from room to room to make sure the coast is clear.

It looks empty. But you know it isn’t.

You feel someone watching you all from the shadows.

When you turn to face the main room, your eyes widen when the figure emerges. Shrouded in tattered robes and carrying a bandolier of old bells is the necromancer. Deathly pale as a ghost, thin and bony like a skeleton, and decayed like the very creatures they summon. 

The necromancer — a truly Wicked creature — isn’t human at all. It’s a phantom.

It towers over you, face covered in darkness. In its hand is the second bell, which rings and beckons the dead with every step it takes toward you.

A burst of flames comes from your wand, aiming right at the necromancer’s face. Fire catches on its robes, but the necromancer seems unphased. Even as it’s burning alive.

Behind you, wooden boards split and break, and arms of the dead reach through the window to grab you. A startled scream escapes your lips when something does.

You’re pulled tightly to Namjoon’s chest as he leads you away from the doors and windows. He keeps a wand pointed at the necromancer as he holds you protectively. From your peripheral vision, you see Jackson, Hoseok, and the familiars trying to keep the horde out.

Distracted, you don’t notice the necromancer tucking the second bell away and taking out the third one from the pouch. With two hands, it rings the bell – up, down, left right – each toll causing different sounds from one bell, but they make a dancing tune that compels your legs to move on its own.

“Namjoon!” you gasp, trying to hold onto him. Mechanically, one foot marches over the other. Against your will, you leave his side. Neither Namjoon nor the other boys could stop you as their own feet seem planted in place, unable to move.

By its command, you spin around and start to slowly head straight toward the window, into the reaching arms of the undead. The boys call out to you, and you try to resist the magic. Every fiber of your being tries to hold you back from being torn apart by their greedy hands and mouths.

But your body won’t listen. You continue to march forward.

With all his willpower, Namjoon leans as far as he can and reaches toward you. His fingers grasp the back of your clothes and he yanks you backwards. You stumble a bit, but you reach back and cling onto him, anchoring yourself as he pulls you closer.

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, wrapping both of his arms around you.

Relief washes over your face, even as your legs continue to move on its own, you and Namjoon hold onto each other. With the wand still in your hand, you manage to point it at the necromancer and cast a spell of frost, just as it takes out two more bells.

The necromancer freezes. Icicles form around it for a few seconds before it shakes it away. Namjoon’s eyes widen when he realizes something.

Magic is very effective against the necromancer.

Just as he realizes this, the phantom necromancer starts to rapidly swing the bell in its left hand.

Whispers from beyond the grave seem to float around the room with the fourth bell, disembodied and ambiguous. The voices are in every direction, layered with the quick and steady rings. And Namjoon swears one of the voices is calling out to him.

His eyes look for who is calling him, and his gaze turns toward the crowd of undead by the window. Then, his eyes widen when he hears the chime of the fifth bell.

One of the skeletal remains starts to look familiar to him. The clothes are tattered and weathered, but the scraps of what’s left are the same from that day, slightly charged from when the hunters burned him. Flesh and muscle start to form around the skeleton, bringing back the teenage boy Namjoon once left behind.

Impossible.

Ignis, alive and well, is among the horde. His first friend since he’s become a mage.

“Namjoon,” Ignis calls out to him again. His voice is echoing and weak, but it’s still very much the same as he remembers.

Hoseok, and Jackson are looking in the same direction, stunned. Namjoon would’ve thought they’re also seeing Ignis until he hears the names they call out.

“Mina?”

“Adriel!”

A sense of confusion draws Namjoon out of the spell. He doesn’t see Adriel or Mina in the crowd, but he sees Ignis. Are you two seeing someone different?

Taehyung grabs both Hoseok and Jackson before they could step closer to the window. “Don’t. You’ll get hurt.”

Yoongi and Jungkook block the window as well, trying to keep you and Namjoon safe. He doesn’t realize it, but Namjoon’s grip loosens around you from the shock. The spell from the third bell still lingers, causing you to move away from him again, but Yoongi easily catches you this time.

“Is that—?” you begin to ask, but Yoongi shakes his head.

“It’s a trick,” he says as he tightens his hold around you. “Whoever you see isn’t there.”

Namjoon’s heart drops a little when he realizes the fourth and fifth bell must’ve brought back memories of a deceased loved one. An old friend to each of you that had passed on. Their voices. Their likeness.

“Hyung, you have to get the bells, Quickly,” Jungkook reminds him as he glares at the phantom necromancer. “Before it uses the seventh one. That’ll cause death to everyone who hears it.”

That means there’s only two more bells left, and the last one is deadly. If there’s a chance to stop the necromancer, it has to be now.

The necromancer tries another combination. It exchanges the fourth and fifth bell for the second and sixth ones. With the second, it’s able to summon the dead, beckoning them to come to it from beyond the grave. And with the sixth, it has complete control over them, binding them to its will. Within its shrouded face, its eyes begin to glow an eerie yellow the moment it wields the sixth bell.

Namjoon casts a bolt of lightning from his wand, but the necromancer vanishes before it hits. The bells ring somewhere that he can’t pinpoint, and he sees you and the others regain control of your bodies and try to look for the necromancer all over again.

“It couldn’t have gone far,” Namjoon reasons, scanning around. All of you are on high alert, wands ready to strike the moment the phantom necromancer appears.

Then, he hears the sound of wood breaking. More reinforcements join the previous herd and start to come inside. Namjoon completely loses sight of you and the others, using gusts of wind to blow the undead back and knocking them against walls and furniture. He calls out to you, but the disembodied groans, the stench of rotting flesh, and the sight of disfigured creatures keeps him from looking for you.

One of the creatures he comes to face is Ignis. Or at least, what looks like him.

“Stop. I don’t want to hurt you,” Namjoon says, pointing his wand at him. It feels like his Harrowing all over again. Being forced to face his biggest regret.

Ignis has his wand pointed at him as well. It’s a broken stick. The old, dirty clothes that he wears barely covers his chest and waist, but there’s a deep wound where the hunters have stabbed him through the heart. There are burn marks from when they had set him on fire.

Namjoon feels a burst of hot air as a fireball flies past him. He counters it with a water spell, dousing the flames before it hits him. The two elements collide as steam fills the room, causing Namjoon to lose sight of his old friend.

Sparks of lightning flash to his right, and he barely dodges an electrifying bolt. The attack hits a picture frame behind him, and the glass shatters as it falls on the floor. Wind sweeps up the broken glass and hurls it toward him, and Namjoon levitates the broken boards in front of him and uses them as a shield to protect himself.

Spells after spells become a dance between offensive and defensive attacks between Namjoon and Ignis. He can feel himself getting tired. The overuse of magic is causing his hands to blacken. He’s breathing heavier, and pain shoots from his arm when it got hit with a critical ice attack.

But Ignis is slowing down too. He’s proven to be an incredibly difficult opponent. But like Namjoon, Ignis is panting for breath and from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist is inky black of magic overuse. The wound on his chest expanded, bleeding heavily, yet he still stands. Stubbornly, he continues to point his wand at Namjoon, still wanting to fight.

However, Namjoon knows he needs to end it now.

While in battle, it seems like the others have taken care of the undead herd, but the necromancer’s whereabouts are still unknown. He can hear them shouting at him, but he doesn’t know what they’re saying. All he can focus on is the opponent before him.

Needing to end the fight, Namjoon tries a new spell.

Keeping his eye on Ignis, he slowly crouches and puts his hand on the ground. The earth moves beneath his fingertips, and covering the house are thick vines. They come from one side of the house, through the window, reaching across the floor and ceiling, and finally snagging Ignis. He seems surprised when they wrap around his wrist and disarms his wand, and around his ankles to immobilize him. 

The surprise turns to worry when one of the vines wraps around his neck.

Then, they begin to tighten.

Namjoon tries not to react as he watches his old friend die by his hand once again. He feels the sting of tears threaten his eyes as the wand falls on the ground and Ignis begins to choke.

As much as Namjoon wishes he could go back in time and undo his old friend’s death, as much as he’d like to think this is the real Ignis and not some undead creature wearing his skin, he knows his friend is long gone.

He points his wand at Ignis, the tip of it heating with a fire spell.

But before it’s cast, Namjoon is knocked to the ground. As he comes to his senses, he realizes three horrifying things.

First, the phantom necromancer had been there the whole time. It’s been ringing the bells, conducting them like a puppeteer. And Namjoon is its puppet with strings.

Second, it isn’t just Namjoon that was being controlled by the bells. His party has been immobilized, forced to watch as Namjoon fights Ignis. But Jackson – who was standing closest to the phantom – manages to break from the spellbound restraints, covering his ears to block the sound. Out of willpower and determination, he puts one foot over the other to sneak up on the necromancer. Until, finally, he yanks the hoister of bells before the necromancer has a chance to grab the seventh and deadliest one.

Third, the moment that the necromancer is no longer in control, Yoongi lunges at Namjoon with his hand curled into a fist. Jungkook manages to grab Yoongi’s waist, but they both topple over and knock into Namjoon. The three of them are on the ground, and Namjoon realizes that Hoseok and Taehyung are yelling at him too, but their voices are where Ignis is.

Or what he thought was Ignis.

It isn’t an undead creature caught in the vines of his spell.

It’s you. This whole time, it’s been you.

“Let her go, Namjoon!” Hoseok screams, trying to yank the vines away from you. Every time he pulls one away, another takes its place. They start to tangle around him and Taehyung as well. He can feel it grabbing his ankles and see it wrap around Taehyung’s hand as he tugs on the one around your neck.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know if you’re even breathing. Your body looks lifeless as they continue to constrict your chest and your neck.

Taehyung curses and tries to shake off the vine that’s spreading up his arm and toward his neck. Hoseok’s mind is spinning, wanting to use a fire attack to burn the vines, but afraid that it’ll hurt you and Taehyung. And Namjoon is still dazed from the effects of the bells.

Seokjin finally catches up after helping the surviving villagers. His eyes widen when he sees what’s happening and immediately rushes to you with his sword at hand.

“Hyung!” Taehyung exclaims as Seokjin carefully cuts the vines to free the three of you. Hoseok immediately catches you, and to his relief, you’re still alive. You’re still breathing, but barely.

“Is she okay?” Seokjin asks, his hand still around his sword. The Oathkeepers have jumped into battle with Jackson, trying to take the necromancer down with standard magic spells now that the bells are not with it.

“She’ll be fine,” Hoseok says as he sees Yoongi rush toward you. He hands you off to him. “Watch over her, hyung. We have to help Jackson.”

Yoongi merely nods. His hands are trembling a little as he holds you in his arms, taking you somewhere safe from the fight.

Namjoon finally snaps out of it when he sees Yoongi passing by. He catches a glimpse of you too, but Jungkook shakes his shoulder and urges, “Hyung, come on, let’s go. They need us.”

Slowly, Namjoon stands and his eyes narrow at the necromancer. The spells are aggressive as it targets Jackson, trying to get its bells back. The Oathkeepers surround him, protecting him as they use their weapons against the powerful mage.

“Push it toward the vines,” Namjoon instructs, and they do. Each swing of an attack that the Oathkeepers land, and each spell cast from Hoseok and Jackson causes the necromancer to step closer and closer to the vines where you were.

One of the vines manages to snag the necromancer’s ankle. Another starts to wrap around its arm. Everyone watches as a being associated with death struggles to free itself from the plants that are full of life. But that only tangles it up even more, constricting it until it can’t move at all.

Then, Namjoon stands before the necromancer. He still has a bit of magic in him, and with it, he unleashes a small fire. Just like he had accidentally casted all those years ago, when he first awakened his power.

This time, it’s with purpose as the flames engulf and destroy everything before him.

There’s an unnerving feeling that settles throughout the remains of Hawthorn Village.

All night, the Oathkeepers gathered everyone they could find and brought them to the church. They figured it would be easier to protect everyone if they’re all in one place.

Priestess and the faithful Devoted clasps their hands so tightly in prayer, their knuckles turn white. Mothers hold their young children close, comforting them as best as they can. Men guarding the inside of the chapel anxiously pace with their hands hovering over their weapons, anticipating that they’d be the last line of defense if your party fails to stop the necromancer.

It’s been a long night.

The fighting and shouting beyond the church door lasts for hours.

But beyond the horizon, there’s a silver lining of hope. Dawn breaks, and a new day begins. As the sun rises, so does their salvation.

Word spreads of what you and the others have done. How you all saved the village. How Namjoon defeated the awful creature that’s been terrorizing them.

“Didn’t you have a son named Namjoon?” one of the villagers asks, but Namjoon’s father shakes his head and denies it. There’s a frown on the old man’s face as others have gathered to talk about the news.

It’s finally over. Their village is saved. They’ve survived those perilous nights. And it’s all thanks to the guild that came to help them.

Stepping outside, the morning light greets them. Fighters return to embrace their loved ones after the long battle. Children cheer with joy for their heroes, and tears are shed from relief between reunited families and partners.

Among the fighters, there’s Namjoon and his group.

One of the boys – the one with a slender build and a sharp face – has you on his back. The others are worn and exhausted, but seem okay from the distance as they help support each other back to the village. And Namjoon, with two of his comrades holding him up, keeps trying to disregard his own injuries as he worries about yours.

The concern on his face, the remorse and sorrow in his expression – it’s just like when he was a kid on that fateful day.

“How do you reckon they did it?” another villager asks him, looking at the direction that Namjoon’s father is staring at. It would be easy to reveal the truth. That Wicked mages are among them, and the entire village would be full of distrust and anger toward them.

“Who knows?” the old man says instead, and turns away from the group with a frown.

Magic may have gotten them in this mess, but in an ironic twist of fate, magic is what saved them.

For the first time in days, Hawthorn Village is promised a good night.

The mayor and the surviving villagers hold a small ceremony to honor the deceased and to hail your party as heroes. It will take time for their tiny village to recover. Even with the threat of the necromancer gone, there’s still fear of the night and what it could behold. But the mayor is confident that they can rebuild.

You’re then taken to Hawthorn’s inn to recover. Luckily, no one else is severely injured, but you and Namjoon have the worst of it.

Hours pass, and you’ve yet to open your eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Hoseok reminds him, wrapping a cloth bandage around Namjoon’s arm. “That necromancer made you guys attack each other.”

It doesn’t make Namjoon feel any better.

“I nearly killed her,” he laments. At Blackstone Castle, Hoseok once swore that if Namjoon ever hurts you, he’d kill him. Truly, this warrants his friends to turn against him like others have done before.

But somehow, they don’t.

Hoseok finishes up and examines his work. “To be fair, she did a number on you too.”

Namjoon is told to rest, but he can’t bring himself to let his guard down. He keeps thinking there must be a catch. That, perhaps, the others are still angry with him and are starting to resent him.

“Namjoon-ah, come eat,” Seokjin calls out for him, gesturing for the mage to sit at the table. He serves him a bowl of stew the innkeeper made. “Be careful. It’s still hot.”

“Hyung, are you healing okay?” Jungkook asks again – probably for the fourth time that hour alone. He frowns at the bandages Hoseok put on him, and there’s genuine concern in his big, doe-shaped eyes. “If you need anything, let me know. Got it?”

“Be careful, hyung. You don’t want to hurt yourself again,” Taehyung scolds when Namjoon nearly bumps into something. It’s the closest any of them have been stern with him all day, yet Taehyung frets over him like he does with you and the others.

Even Yoongi strikes up a casual conversation with him, flipping through a book of Devoted scriptures he’s found. “What is this garbage they’ve been teaching you?”

Namjoon frowns. “Hyung, what are you doing?”

“There’s nothing else to read,” he states with a scowl.

“I mean, why aren’t you angry at me?” Namjoon asks, his heart still full of guilt. You mean so much to all of them, and what he did is unforgivable.

“You didn’t mean to hurt her,” Yoongi simply replies.

“But I did it,” Namjoon protests, feeling a bit frustrated. He doesn’t get it. “Why are you all so nice to me after what I’ve done? Why don’t you hate me?”

Isn’t this how it always goes? Why is it so different this time?

“You’re family to us, Namjoon,” Yoongi tells him. “We could never hate you.”

Namjoon wants to believe that, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves to. Not after what he did to you.

Whenever he feels overwhelmed and stressed, Namjoon likes to run to clear his mind. Usually, it’s along the river near New Haven, where he can relax beneath the shade of a tree he liked afterwards. But as he lets his feet take him somewhere, he finds himself by the Hawthorn Lake.

Most of the villagers have gathered here as the late afternoon sun colors the skies with reds and oranges of twilight. To honor and mourn the lives that were lost the past few nights, they’ve decided to hold a small ceremony for them. And standing a short distance from them is a familiar face.

“Where’ve you been?” Namjoon asks, walking up to him.

Jackson is quiet as he watches them. The villagers pray and hug each other, and some sing hymns and play instruments by the shore. Paper lanterns are lit and sent off into the water, representing both hope and remembrance, as well as grief and loss. With the setting sun hitting the water’s surface, it matches the small flames being carried across the lake.

It’s a beautiful ceremony.

“I wish we could’ve done something like this,” Jackson quietly confides without looking at Namjoon. “For Adriel, Mina, and everyone else we lost at Blackstone.”

“We still can,” Namjoon tells him, facing the lake as well. It might be difficult now, but maybe when things settle down with the hunters, they could go back to the lake by the castle and hold a memorial for them one day.

Silence passes as the sun continues to sink. For once, it’s a peaceful evening. And the somber songs start to turn to ones of celebration as a relief washes over them. Tonight, they no longer need to fear the dark.

“You know, I wanted to take up this mission so I could bring them back,” Jackson confesses. “Adriel sacrificed himself to give us our freedom. I’ve been trying to enjoy the gift he gave us, but it isn’t fair that he’s dead while I get to live outside the prison he desperately wanted to escape from.”

Namjoon frowns. “Necromancy is dark magic, Jackson. What if it backfired?”

“I didn’t care. I would’ve used whatever they had to bring them back: bells, tomes, ritual circles,” Jackson lists as he looks at the stash of bells he’s been carrying with him. “Whatever it took. Wouldn’t you want to do the same for that old friend you told us about? The one you saw during the fight?”

Ignis.

Immediately, Namjoon thinks of how the bells convinced him that his old friend had come back. How it took his shape and form, and how it used his voice.

“If I did, he wouldn’t have been the same.” He’d probably be no different from any of the other undead they saw last night. A shell of a human with its spirit gone. A mere illusion of what he once was.

“I probably wouldn’t have been the same either. Had I tried, I would’ve lost a sense of who I am and become a monster like that necromancer phantom,” Jackson concludes with a frown. “That thing we fought… it wasn’t human. It was truly Wicked.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. The necromancer felt like it had lost its humanity a very long time ago, and now just wanders into towns and villages to torment and cause chaos.

“Here.” Jackson holds out the bells to Namjoon. “Make sure to destroy them.”

Namjoon takes it, and he can feel the weight of its power in his hand. “What’s your plan now?”

“Don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out,” Jackson replies with a small shrug. “I might stay here for a bit and help them rebuild. The guys at the pub really liked me.” 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep.

For a while, you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the warmth of Hoseok’s healing magic before he applies an ointment to your wound. You hear the sweet tune of Jungkook’s song as he sings to you. You feel Taehyung brush the hair away from your face and press his lips against your knuckles. You hear Seokjin bargain with you – a kiss from your handsomest boyfriend if you open your eyes. When you do, you see Yoongi sleeping on a chair nearby, and you’re certain he hasn’t left your side since you were brought here.

But you don’t see or hear from Namjoon. You force yourself to sit up as the memories of last night come back to you.

In all the years you’ve known Namjoon, he’s always been a strong person. He has thick skin and a level head, and is eloquent and witty with his words. He shoulders a lot of the hard work so you and the others don’t have to. Whenever you need advice, comfort, or someone to rely on, he’s always the first person that comes to mind.

But Namjoon is also human. He can’t always be strong.

And while the details of the fight are still a bit foggy to you, there’s one thing that haunts your mind. The absolute horror on his face when Namjoon finally realizes it’s you he was attacking.

Yoongi stirs when he senses you’re awake. “Where are you going?”

Caught halfway to the door, you stop mid-step and ask, “Yoongi, have you seen—”

Just then, the door opens. Jungkook blinks in surprise when he sees you out of bed. “Oh? You’re awake?”

The others start to crowd in when they hear you’re up. You’re met with relieved sighs, lingering touches, and questions about how you’re feeling from all of them. But as you look around, you notice someone is missing.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

The boys look at each other, exchanging glances as if they don’t know what to tell you. Then, Jungkook speaks up. “He went to get some fresh air. He feels really bad about what happened.”

“I should talk to him,” you decide, determined to find him. You want to look for him anyway. “Do you know where he went?”

Soon, all of you are outside the inn. It’s incredibly empty by the square, and you learn that it’s because most of the villagers have gathered by the nearby lake. From what you’ve heard, it seems Jackson and Namjoon heeded over there as well.

“You’re the girl that was with that boy, aren’t you?”

For a second, you almost didn’t realize someone was talking to you. Then, you turn to see a familiar face. A woman that looked at you with terror and coldly slammed her door at your face yesterday. Namjoon’s mother.

“I am,” you answer, honest but a bit guarded. Now that you have a good look at her, you can see how much Namjoon takes after her appearance. He has the same high cheekbones, the same shape of her eyes, and the same deep dimples in his smile. She stares at you as well, but she doesn’t say a word. Self-conscious, you ask, “Is… Is something wrong?”

She blinks and shakes her head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to stare.”

You don’t sense any hostility from her this time. Rather, you feel like she’s genuinely curious about you. Perhaps, after the battle and hearing people talk, she had a change of heart about her son.

“That’s all right. I must look terrible.” 

You laugh awkwardly, trying to dust off any dirt from your clothes and fix your hair. Magic helps make you look presentable enough to go out, but you’re still exhausted from fighting all night. Your spells are still weak from overuse, your current clothes are battle-worn, and you’re in a dire need of a bath.

“Actually, you’re quite beautiful,” she quietly admits, and you’re taken aback by the compliment. She looks away from you. There’s a sadness in her eyes as she asks, “How do you know him?”

She doesn’t need to name him for you to know who she’s talking about.

“We’re…” Friends? Lovers? Housemates? Family? “Together. He’s my partner.”

She still doesn’t look at you, but you can see the frown form upon her lips. “And you know what he is?”

“That he’s a mage? Of course I do.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

You blink at her, confused. “Why would it bother me?”

Her gaze lifts to meet yours, and she stares at you for a long time. It begins to occur to you that, although she knows that Namjoon is a mage, she doesn’t know that you’re one as well. To her, it seems outlandish that a human would willingly love a mage.

“He’s a monster. At least, I believed so,” she finally tells you. “I blamed him for ruining our lives. Don’t you know how shameful it is to have a child cursed with magic? The whole village shunned us for years.”

“Perhaps that’s a problem with your village’s beliefs and not your son,” you retort with a scowl. “His affinity to magic isn’t the only thing that defines him. He’s a good man with a kind heart, and while he’s many things, a monster is far from it.”

Remorse flickers on her face. “Forgive me. It seems you care an awful lot about him.”

“Of course I do,” you tell her so earnestly. “Whether he’s a mage or not, he’s still Namjoon. And I love him.”

Again, his mother stares in silence. She seems baffled, and, perhaps, a bit guilty. For a moment, she hesitates, and just when you’re about to walk away, she asks, “And… is he happy?”

You glance back at his mother. “You can always ask him yourself.”

“No, no. It’s too late for that now. It’s better that he doesn’t know I talked to you,” she backtracks, but there’s a small hint of relief to know what’s become of her son after all these years. “Thank you for indulging an old, shameful woman. I’m glad that he has someone like you who loves him for all he is.”

Night has fallen over the village of Hawthorn. But for once, it’s met with laughter and festivities of celebration. Jackson spots his new friends from the pub and introduces them to him. A guy named Mark invites them both for a drink and to hang out as the lantern ceremony continues.

The moon shines brightly as its light reflects against the lake’s surface, and the glow from paper lanterns being carried across the water is a breathtaking sight.

“Namjoon.”

But despite all the people and festivities around, all you see is him.

Namjoon leaves Jackson and the others and sprints toward you, but stops himself before he gets too close. His hand reaches out to touch you out of habit, but he holds it back. He swallows the fear and hesitation building within him before he plasters a nervous smile. “Hey, baby.”

You look him over, not saying anything at first. Your eyes seem fixed on the bandages he has around his arm. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

His smile fades. A short chuckle of disbelief escapes his lips. “How is that the first thing you ask me when I’m the one that hurt you?”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve killed you!” His voice raises, causing a couple passing by to look at you two. He steps a little closer and frowns. “I’m sorry, baby. I swore to myself that I’d always protect you, and I put you in danger. I don’t ever want to put you in that situation again.”

“Namjoon…”

“So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

You seem to know where this is going. He could see the shakiness in your breath and the way your eyes water. “Namjoon, stop…”

“I think it’s better that I stay here at Hawthorn.”

This decision didn’t come easy. But after hearing that Jackson planned to stick around, he figured he’d stay with him. Help the villagers rebuild. Reconnect with old friends and maybe even his parents. Make this place feel like home again.

It seems like a reasonable idea, but the hardest part is leaving you, the family you brought together, and the shop that became your home. As Namjoon stands before you, he knows he doesn’t deserve any of them. Not you, not the others, not the shop.

“You don’t mean that.” You’re crying now, and even as you wipe your tears, you can’t bring yourself to stop.

In all the years Namjoon has known you, you’ve always been a strong person. You carry an admirable confidence when it comes to your magic. You’re as kind as you are protective of the people you care about. You’re capable of handling yourself when faced with difficult situations.

Before he realizes it, he reaches out to you again. His hand cups your face and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, wiping your tears away. “I’m so scared of hurting you again.”

“And I’m scared to lose you.”

But you’re also human. There are times when you’re not always strong.

It dawns on him that you, like him, are terrified that your magic has hurt him. That you think the reason he wants to stay at Hawthorn is because you attacked him.

“You’ll never lose me,” Namjoon promises. Because he knows, even if you’re far apart, he’ll always think about you. In his dreams, in his thoughts. You’ve already claimed every part of him like a fire. “I love you.”

“Then don’t stay here,” you tell him. “Come home. With me.”

And it strikes Namjoon that this is what he’s been searching for his whole life. All the times he’s tried to return to his family, and all his efforts to understand his magic were to get what you’ve given him all along. Acceptance, trust, love. 

Namjoon nods his head, swallowing back his own tears. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, smiling with relief. And on that beautiful night, with the moon shining brightly and the paper lanterns glowing in the water, he kisses you.

Hawthorn is just as Namjoon remembers it.

The small, farming village with a tight-knit community. Every morning, the villagers rise at the crack of dawn, tending to their animals and crops, fishing by the nearby lake, and selling their produce at the marketplace. His parents still live here, and so do many of his childhood friends and their families. And when he looks around, he sees the familiar buildings of the old windmill, the local church, and homes made of thatch roofs and mud and stone walls.

Even when he was forced away, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else could be his home.

Years later, after finally returning to the village, Namjoon realizes he couldn’t be any more wrong. He had once thought – while trapped in a tiny room in Alterwood Keep – if he ever made it back here, he’d never want to leave. That this place was his village. This place was and will always be his home.

“Ready?” Hoseok asks, looking at you, Namjoon, and Jackson. The three of you nod as all wands are drawn over the necromancer bells.

With the power of four mages, the powers are sealed away and their tempting call to beckon the dead is nearly silenced. They look like ordinary bells, but should anyone try to ring them now, it’d be muffled and mute. Its effect is significantly weak with the magical seal intact, and the bandolier of bells tucked away in Jungkook’s pack.

“Let’s get out of here,” Seokjin decides once the spell is done. His hand slips around your waist protectively, weary eyes double-checking that none of the villagers have seen you guys use magic.

“It was nice seeing you guys again, man,” Jackson says, hand clasping Hoseok before he pulls him into a quick hug. He does the same to Namjoon and adds, “I’m glad you changed your mind. It doesn’t feel right to separate you all for some reason.”

Namjoon smiles a little at that. “Feel free to stop by at the shop anytime, Jackson.”

“I’ll know where to find you.” There’s promise in his voice that he’ll keep in touch.

Your party heads out of the village, receiving final thanks from the mayor and some of the other villagers for your help. Namjoon pauses when he sees his parents among them. His father merely nods at him and says, “Take care of yourself, Namjoon.”

“Thanks. You too,” he replies, a bit stunned. His parents leave it at that, shuffling away as Hoseok calls for him not to fall behind, but for Namjoon, that is more than enough.

When he catches up to you, you’re at the bridge that enters the village. He pauses and takes one more look around at the old windmill, village, and the farmlands. It really hasn’t changed that much since he was a child.

But Hawthorn no longer feels like home to him.

“Ready?” you ask, offering your hand to hold.

Around you, the others state how they’re looking forward to going back to New Haven. Yoongi complains that he needs a bath and a long nap. Jungkook wrinkles his nose at his muddy pants and mutters how he’s eager to start his meticulous laundry routine. Hoseok and Taehyung invite the Oathkeepers for food and drinks at the shop once you’re all back, and Seokjin complains how he’ll end up doing the majority of cooking.

Namjoon smiles fondly as he watches you all. Then, he nods and takes your hand.

These days, home to him is a small, ordinary, and unassuming shop in a bustling trading town. It’s a building that’s much bigger and more extraordinary on the inside than it is on the outside, with a tavern, a parlor, a mysterious door by the entrance that fulfills a person’s greatest desires, and bedrooms on the upper-floor curated to their residents’ tastes and styles.

Lately, home is waking up to bread baking and coffee brewing when Seokjin and Hoseok wake up early to start the day. It’s afternoons when he’s reading a book and listening to Yoongi playing the piano in the parlor, or Taehyung and Jungkook giggling as they play games with each other. Home is evenings when Jimin stops by with a bouquet of flowers for you, and all eight of you are gathered together for dinner as the weariness of the day melts away in each other’s presence.

To him, home is picnics by the river with you, basking beneath the sunlight of a gorgeous day. Home is debating what fruit is the best at the marketplace, and ending up taking home both of your favorites anyway. It’s childishly teasing each other with pranks and mischievous spells, and then finding ways to be in each other’s arms by the end of the day.

Home is with you.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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[margindoodles2407]

@seeking-elsewhither I was going to put this in the tags of that last post but nope, there's too much to elaborate in such a limited amount of space

Therefore

Let me explain to you The Big Family Experience (tm), for your enlightenment and understanding and perhaps even. Amusement

So. I have seven younger siblings at home. Also three who have gone to the next life and whom I can't wait to meet when I get there too, but for the purposes of this essay I am speaking only about my living siblings who I spend my day-to-day earthly life with.

When you live in a family as big as ours, there's a certain point you reach where the entire household falls into a kind of hierarchy of age. It's the only way to keep things civilized and also save our parents from premature deaths to cardiac arrhythmia. In my family, it looks something like this:

Me (Margin) Brother One Sister One Brother Two Sister Two Sister Three Sister Four Sister Five (Baby)

The first tier, the Damage Control, consists of myself, my first brother, and my first sister. Our job is essentially to keep everyone else from killing each other (this... also includes ourselves) and, as the name implies, smoothing the messes out as best we can when the attempted murder does inevitably occur. In practice this means we're the ones who do most of the chores, the ones who wake up in the middle of the night when a little one is crying to spare mom and dad the trip upstairs, the tantrum-soothers and get-an-ice-pack-the-toddler-has-a-black-eye brigade and the right-hand-men of our parents. I don't think they've hired a babysitter in at least five years. We're also the main organizers of sibling events- which we have a lot of; I make jokes about how we're always two side-eyes away from fratricide but we're actually all extremely close. We run an impromptu camp for them (and our cousin) in the late summer, we have an Olympics-esque tournament in the spring, right now for Advent we run a nightly mini scavenger hunt and have for years- these are only a few examples. The three of us are a unit, we rely on each other for support and as the closest and most mature there's rarely any major infighting we can't smoothe over in a couple of hours.

The second tier, the Assists, is made up of my second brother and sister. They're the middle children, too young to be part of Damage Control but too old to be considered little, and they play a critical role in helping us oldest three when things are Too Much. They're single-handedly challenging the "useless middle sibling" stereotype- they know their strengths and they know how to play them. My second brother is really, really, good with little kids- so when, for example, we babysit, he's usually the one in charge of the youngest three on a personal level (so one of Damage Control- usually me- can focus on like. feeding people. and making sure the house doesn't burn down), while my second sister, who's a little more pragmatic and better at solitary tasks, helps out with the more practical side of sibling culture: household chores and cooking and stuff like that.

The third tier, the Littles, consist of my three youngest sisters. The babies. The vod'ike, if you will. They're too young to do any real heavy lifting- right now, their job is to learn, to grow, to practice making good choices and getting along with each other. They're perhaps the second closest-knit sub-group after Damage Control.

There's an average gap of two years between each of my siblings, myself included. For example, I'm around two years older than my first brother, who's around two years older than my first sister, and so on. The largest age gap is between the Assist siblings- this is because we moved when brother two was a baby, so there's more like three years between those two. Now, two years may not seem like a lot- until you remember how many of us there are. What does this mean, you might ask.

Well, it means that I am a whopping fifteen years older than my youngest sister. (Which isn't even the largest age gap I've seen between oldest and youngest siblings- we know a lot of other big families- but I digress.) And this is actually the reason that last post reminded me so much of my own family. See, when Baby was born, Damage Control was old enough to take a new level of responsibility for the baby that we couldn't even take two years prior, when Sister Four was born. She was the first one of our siblings we kind of had a hand in actually raising. We held her almost as often as either of our parents. We fed her bottles. We helped change her, we helped put her to bed, we were an integral part of her infancy. She was the first infant that mom and dad left us to babysit- and she's barely ever had a sobbing meltdown when they're gone, like her older siblings did (no you don't understand they'd literally just sit there and scream-cry for hours and there was nothing you could do except ignore them until they fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion), because it was just normal for us to be there.

And... our hijinks were normal, too.

What I have to emphasize is that that post was spot on. Seriously, yeah, you do balance your food on the baby's back when you hold her. Your little brother will stand on your face for no reason. You absolutely use the side of your face to keep the bottle in the kiddo's mouth while your hands are occupied. This is how big-family-inter-sibling culture is.

I've got a scar on my face from a time I threw Sister Two in the pool and the bridge of her goggles caught on the bridge of my nose. The only time I've ever gotten a nosebleed was because Brother Two headbutted me right in the face. Sister Three is nicknamed "The Creature" because she is actually a little feral rodent in human form. Once Sister One and I were cleaning the attic in preparation for me to move in, we had a scuffle over the music, and she completely shattered my front right tooth (I've got a replacement now but it still aches a little when I eat cold foods). Brother One and I are the most tactile out of all of our siblings because our dad would wrestle with us when we were little, and to this day we still just all-out brawl each other affectionately for no reason. Sometimes I just pick Sister Four up by the ankles and shake her (she loves it). Baby and I have an entire love language that just consists of us repeatedly slamming our foreheads together. The list goes on and on and I'd be more than happy to give you more examples if you're so inclined to ask for them but I think you get the picture.

Anyway. Yeah. The Big Family Experience. It's hard. It's not for the faint of heart. But I wouldn't trade it for the world.

[writingakanatorior101]

Forbidden fruit

Plot: When Vinces little sister takes a gap year fresh out of highschool to spend time with her older brother Nikki's unwelcoming reaction leads to somehting more.

MDNI BELOW THE CUT

This story contains:, choking, dom(nikki), mentions of fucking

"Vince do you think I don't see the news stories about trashing hotel rooms, coke, and hookers. Locking me in the back of an Rv is not gonna stop that."

Vinces chest rises and falls. "Y/n I dont want you around Tommy and Nikki when their having their dumbass conversations. Its like listening to cavemen."

I feel my eyebrows cock. "You know your one of those cavemen right?"

"I came here to spend time with my brother, not to critique his Neanderthal lifestyle."

A smirk comes to his face. "Please don't do anything they do."

I manage to come up off the bed. "So leaving me in the back of the Rv is going to fix that."

"Just listen to me once, you never do y/n"

I click my tounge

"I swear to god mom and dad said that a couple of times about you."

"I remember Tommy and I'd like to meet the others."

In all my life I have never seen Vince that mad until I said that.

"Your going to listen to me on this."

Without another word the doorway was empty and the door to the room was shut from the outside. I had been sitting here waiting to meet them all. This bus is empty the bandmates were gone when I arrived the only who was here was Vince.

I can't fucking believe it I took a leap year for that fake blonde prick just for him to lock me in the back of a rockstar RV.

"So his sisters just tagging along"

"Man I didn't know she was our age."

Men's voices grace my ears, whoever it was, was defiantly outside. Peeping my head up and pulling myself off the bed I strutted my ass to the windows.

I know damn well who's outside, the rest of Motley Crue. The velvet of the curtain felt so rich when I touched it. This defiantly wasn't some cheap camper. No matter how many hookers and how much crank have been in here.

To my surprise their taller in person. Especially Tommy someone needs to feed that man he looks the same weight as he did in high school. Then there was a Mick someone Vince describes as sweet and most likely to be the only one he would let me talk to.

But there stood in the middle of them Nikki fucking Sixx. He resembled this picture of Hades I saw while reading a book. The mother fuckers godly and the most piercing blue eyes god how do any of them get women with a man like that standing around.

He's got that type of height that makes a girl feel safe you know I like a man I can climb.

Tommy turns when Vince comes out the camper doors. "So where is she?"

"Its been forever since I've seen her, and she did use to do my homework for me Vince."

Vince retorts "Thats sad man she was a freshman, and you were a senior and in the same math class."

Mick tilts his chin up "when did you get a sister, we've never heard about her and now she is living with us."

Doc turns to them "Shut up all of you, a young girl is less of handful than any of you could hope to be and here wanting to see her brother means she may be with us for while."

I close the curtains. Do I just have to act like a ghost as long as their all around. At this point seeing Vince might not be worth it.

"So is she in here" Tommys voice cascades from down the hallway and I feel the camper start.

"Sit down, fucktards." Docs voice is very domineering and when he yells, they listen.

Then a voice rattles me one I hadn't heard from outside the window before it was deep and sultry. He didn't use a lot of words when he spoke, everything he said sounded like a summary. I knew it was Nikki.

"So is this sister goanna stop me from living my life are we going to have to change for the whole tour cause this little girl around or something."

"What you can't come fuck groupies now on the table" Vince had a mocking tone "you gotta get a hotel."

I know they think I can't hear them but the wood door is very thin. And honestly Vince has been gone for three years a lot changes in three years. I'm not very innocent like come on I went to a public high school in LA and I'm damn sure not a virgin.

But I'd prefer if my brother didn't know that.

When I got here the look on his face. Like I was a whole different person hell that man spent five minutes sizing me up trying to make sure I was the real y/n his sister.

That I'm the same y/n who told him over the phone that she got a full ride at NYU and the same y/n who used to do Tommys homework and watch MTV every night.

I would like to go out that door and see those men from not behind a glass and I would love to talk to Tommy again.

"You brought a child a Fucking rockstars tour bus and except us to live our lives so she isn't exposed to the way you live."

Nikkis voice spit with poison

Vinces spit back "All I said was you don't have to bring your whores in here weird ass."

They were yelling now and I was giggling. Not because it was funny but because I genuinely didn't know what to do.

"Is she fucking giggling behind that door"

I lift my hand to my mouth. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Theres rapid footsteps approaching the door.

"I will turn this goddamn bus around sit down get, Nikki get the fuck away from that door."

They were to close for comfort on the other side. From what I could hear Doc was right next to Nikki.

From the other side of the door, I hear Doc's remorse "I'm sorry young lady."

"Its ok" is all I could muster up.

Hours passed and the sun went behind the hills I was reading a book not like a could focus at all. This was the nicest camper I had ever seen. I completely opened the curtains and the lights of the other cars illuminated the roads.

It was so peaceful I heard my brother's laughter in the background he is so happy and Im proud of him I am.

Sitting on the bench next to the window. Footsteps were coming down the hall. They were Vinces I know they were so I picked up a book and started "reading".

The oak door opened and I could see his blonde hair in the light. "Hey uh were gonna stop at a gas station and I'm gonna meet Beth and drive her to the hotel."

"Your finace Beth am I going to meet her?"

"You will tomorrow but no promises tonight."

"look at me y/n"

I whip my head around

"Don't leave the room while I'm gone."

"yeah whatever sure vince."

And just like that my freedom was granted. All because Vince wanted to see his fiancé, a woman I have never met.

Peeking out of the curtain I see him exit the RV and I see Beth getting out of a ford truck. She is pretty. She has a small frame and bleaches blonde hair. That real American look which is defiantly Vinces's type.

Looking at me and Vince you can't tell were related anymore I kept our real hair color which is a light brown and went more towards the blonde side.

When they were out of dodge the door was open. I wanted to see some rockstars goddammit. All I was wearing was a short romper that was grey with a blue line that ran down both the sides. My hair was in a bun. Down the narrow hallway the room was vacant the boys had all gotten into different cars all except Nikki. Who was facing the Tv.

"I thought you would be taller and have more muscle."

The rv was moving now and there was a wall separating us and the driver.

"I knew I heard the door open I just thought it was Vince. But no its his little sister dressed like whore."

Now that comment hurt but not as much as that lamp I threw.

A glass lamp sat next to me it was beautiful probably one of those thousand dollar ones. Well now it was in a thousand pieces on the floor and I barley missed Nikkis head.

"Piss off" My voices bounces off the room walls.

"You crazy bitch."

"I know you're not talking, all the blow you fucking do and you wanna call me crazy."

I hadn't even noticed it but between the lamp throwing and insults me and Nikki had moved closer to each other.

All he was wearing was some jeans and sleeveless tee that said Black Sabbath. He just toured with Ozzy after all.

"All your wearing is a fucking romper."

"What are you a middle school boy who just saw his first pair of tits, its romper not lingerie."

"Your not exactly shapeless."

It was at this point I lost my morals

"Oh you like it, we call that sexual frustration and you can handle that with your hand."

Until this point the man didn't really have an expression on his face. Yeah sure he was vocal but he was still. That comment left a mark on him though. He was dumbfounded he looked complexed if anything. Then a shit eating grin had took his face and I knew I lost the argument.

"I bet you like it hurt."

"You like to cry during it don't you."

I didn't know what took over me but who does this man think he is. He can be free and loose with his words and Im gonna be free and loose with my hands.

"Actually you don't know the half of it, I like to fuck like hate people I don't mind hitting, spanking I love choking why do I need air."

When I moved closer to him he stiffened his body and cocked his head.

"And to think I called you a little girl"

Nikkis hands are cold, but they can hold me throat easily so easily. The wall of the rv was made out of wood so it didn't hurt that bad being pushed against it.

His breath was in my ear and suddenly every part of me was warm. He seems so tall like this and his eyes have never been so pretty.

I start to giggle, is this real. It feels like lucid acid dream or like I won the lottery that caters to really fucked up girls.

"Why are you laughing, you always laugh" His hands are on my throat still and he slammed he into the wall again with more force than the first time. I had enough courage to warp my legs around him and put my full weight on him.

For a moment that felt like a lifetime he just sat there looking at me. Trying to decide what to do. He could barley meet me eyes with his. But the hunger in them couldn't hide nor could I hide the moisture between my hips.

In my life I had never felt a man so prominent. Fuck this fucker might sell out shows every time if he only wore grey sweatpants. The girth could probably keep you from walking for weeks alone but the length is causing him to almost touch my stomach piercing.

Any dignity I had turned into liquid between my thighs despite his grip I threw my weight to wear I hanging on him with my arms and my legs and moving myself up and down.

His head was back and he was riding it out with me. Nikki was using every iota of his being to not let this cross the line.

"To bad you'll never have this baby"

My high died and he was off me so fast like a bat out of hell. The erection had a clear outline in his jeans and I could see precum stains where his tips is. I could also feel it on my inner thigh.

I was painting breathing for air I could feel my shoulders rising and falling.

"You fucking let down Nikki"

!!!Let me know if you guys want a full fic!!!!

[thelarkestsongbird]

The King

Summary: A King makes a decision.

“Please Your Majesty,” the man begged, wisely planting his eyes to the ground as he kneeled before the throne. “All I ask is enough food to feed my family for the rest of the winter.”

The throne room echoed in silence. Despite the vast space,only 5 men occupied the room.  The begging man, who kneeled beneath glass murals of heroics. The knights, flanking the throne with the likeness of ancient statues. And a man sat atop the royal seat.

The King. 

His name was whispered with frightened awe around the kingdom, yet no one seemed to remember it. Only flashes of his deep frown and the sharpness of his eyes remained in their memories.

The King leaned forward, gloved hands rested against his lap. “What a request,” he said with a quirked eyebrow. “One might wonder what had occurred. Sir?....”

“Harris, Your Majesty. And-” Harris cleared his throat “-and our storage was burned. By those bastard bandits.”

“Live west, don’t you Harris?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. On the farmlands. The area’s been ravaged by bandits.”

Yes, he had been trying to resolve that issue, working with his supposed Guard Captain on better patrol routes. An advisor had interrupted before they truly got started. A part of him regretted accepting. The world outside had grown dark, and yet he sat on his throne. His coat still clung to him. The crown weighed on his head like a boulder, and his medals chimed whenever he moved.

“Mr.Harris.” The King ran a tired hand through his locks. “It’s the middle of winter. I have an army of thousands to feed. What makes you think I should give away my stocks to a peasant?”

Even the knights by his side tensed at the question, yet the King remained steadfast. Caution and cruelty were twins, often mistaken as one another.

The man dared to raise his head. His gaze met the King’s like a wounded animal. Even the King - the intransigent and noxious man the people called him- felt his heart clench in pity.

“Please,” the man repeated. It was hardly a whisper. “Don’t you have children? The young prince and princess.”

“Prince Elias. And Princess Anela” The names rolled off his tongue softly.

“They’re my daughter’s age. She’s so so hungry, Your Majesty.” Harris’ throat bobbed as he spoke. With a trembling voice, he added, “and so sick. She needs food.”

The King hummed, but the sympathy Harris attempted never stirred. Ruling didn’t allow for pity. But The King softened his eyes, playing into the fantasy Harris created in his head.

“I have….some food I’m willing to bargain for.” The King hid his amusement as Harris snapped to attention. “But I’m no philanthropist, Sir Harris-”

“Yes, yes of course Your Majesty. Of course I-”

“You will work in the palace for the rest of the winter. Your wife too.”

“Y-Yes of course!” Harris bellowed with happiness as he bounced up with rediscovered enthusiasm. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Oh gracious King, oh kind King!”

He took a step towards the dais, arms outstretched as wide as his grin. His foot met the ground the moment the knights snapped into action. With a flash of shining iron, a sword was tucked under his chin.

Harris froze. His eyes widened as he stared down the blade. The knight regarded him coldly beneath his armet. If the King ordered it, his head could be on the ground in seconds.

The King could only sigh.

“Bring him to the pantries. Give him enough to last him the remaining winter months.”

The King heard as Harris shouted his gratitude, and then his devotion when he ran out of blessings. His voice faded into silence as his knights led him down the castle’s hallways.

When the throne room housed only him and his thoughts, he let himself go. His back slumped against the backrest while he crossed his legs. The King allowed himself to reach up and pluck the crown from his head.

If the child was sick, she would die anyway. No amount of food could replace medicine, yet he didn’t beg for that, so the King would not suggest it. If the man wanted to plead for food, so be it. It was not his job to educate his people.

-

(OH I'M NOT READY I'M NOT READ-)

And now presenting, Lark's endnotes:

I have a goal. Four short stories each week, connected together by a theme. Since they're quick, small things, they won't be edited. No beta we die like my motivation.

Anyway, the first theme will be royalty because I am a fantasy reader at heart I fear. You can pry knight x royal from my cold dead hands.

Feel free to comment or interact :) and please criticize but criticize gently lol.

[rekucchi]

old men lovers raise your hand 🖐️

Chapter 2: The Dawnseeing Mansion (3)

After changing your shoes Aylarik drags you you all the way across the hall. You notice that at the end of the hallway is a decorative glass door.

“The area ahead is the greenhouse. The doctor is using it to cultivate some rare herbs, that’s why he picked a room close to it as his laboratory,” Aylarik explains when he notices you looking at the glass door. He guides you to the less conspicuous wooden door near the glass one and knocks it. A man’s voice could be heard from inside, telling both of you to come.

The room smells like alcohol mixed with lavender. Its large area is seperated into several spaces using curtains. To your left is what you assume to be his laboratory with glass tubes and erlenmeyers placed everywhere on a table. To your right is a patient’s bed. In the middle sits a middle-aged man. He has dark hair with white streaks on the temple. His warm smiling face betrays the coolness of his blue eyes. A white doctor coat is worn above his neat shirt and necktie.

“Oh, Mr. Aylarik, welcome!” he says. He quickly notices you. “You bring someone new here, is she a new member of this residence?”

“Yes, dr. Daniel!” Aylarik answers before introducing the doctor to you.

Actually before even being introduced you already knew who the middle-aged man is. He is a doctor famous for his research on familiar illness. Though it’s a rare occurence, familiars can also get sick. Since their body is different from humans or animals they need special doctors. You remember Daniel because he was in the news from being forced to close his clinic. Aylarik must have granted him a place to stay after that.

After the introduction he starts examining you.

“You worked too much and your diet is unhealthy. You need to rest your body and feed it nutritional foods,” he says.

And how are you supposed to do that when you were struggling to pay your bills? When he takes a look at you the doctor laughs.

“You are going to stay here until your apartment is renovated, right? I think it’s a good idea to take your time until then. The butler also cooks delicious foods.”

“You've worked too hard. I think you should avoid taking part-time jobs for now,” Aylarik adds while nodding his head.

And who is he to tell you what to do?

“No way. I cannot impose on Mr. Aylarik’s kindness. People will think I’m a leech if I stop working just because I’m living here with you,” you quip.

“No, (Y/N), think about this… if something bad happens to you, like if you fainted of got admitted into hospital when you are under my care then I would be a bad host!”

“You can rest assure Mr. Aylarik, because I have never done such things for the many years I’ve been working to provide myself!”

“Just because it didn’t happen doesn’t mean it won’t happen—“

“Oh of course it won’t—“

“You need to—“

“No you—“

Your heated fight is pacified by a loud, decisive cough from doctor Daniel.

“I’m sorry for interrupting you two, but there is something I still need to tell the young miss so can you put it until after that?” the doctor explains with an apologetic smile. You relent unhappily. If Aylarik is unsatisfied he doesn't let it show.

“So, miss (Y/N)… are you a mage?” the doctor asks again.

Oh, as expected of a familiar doctor!

“No. I have Mana Organ but I don’t have Mana Manipulation Aptitude so I can’t be a mage,” you say.

The doctor nods apologetically.

“I see… it looks like mana has been accumulating in your body for some time. If you don’t let it out it’s going to damage your other organs. Have you been having headaches lately?”

You nod. Actually you thought it was lack of sleep.

“It seems like it wasn’t a problem in the past, but now it has been accumulating and putting a burden in your body…”

“Is there any way to let it out?” you ask.

“Oh, plenty! You can take it out in one go using mana suction tools or you can do some exercise to let it out little by little. The most efficient way to do it is by doing some magic but it’s currently impossible for you,” the doctor hums.

“Don’t worry doctor, I know of a great method! You can leave it to me!” Aylarik whom you thought have sulked begins to speak again.

“Oh, really? It’s great then. There is nothing else I want to say to the (Y/N). Don’t forget to take some rest and eat plenty of good foods, you mustn’t take your body for granted!”

And like that you are escorted outside the clinic.

next: The Dawnseeing Mansion 4

Table of Contents

[bookwormgamerweeb]

Vampire Hunter D x fem reader

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WARNING

There is talk about religion and pedophilia and grooming view at your own risk

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I reload my pistol, firing in every direction killing the bastards one by one.

The job was messier than what I'm used to, at least with the carnage people who want me dead will think a bit before attacking, hunters especially.

Being born a dhamphire was very difficult my father human, mother vampire.My childhood actually not a bad one my father loved me and I had friends but as I got into teen years everything slowly went down hill one of the ways was when the Sherif of village came to my home in the middle of the night just to kill my dad, turns out the bishop sentenced him to death for no reason at all.

Most of the reason I got in this line of work is so I could kill him, his disgusting.Unlike the priest the bishop would hang around me a little too much, my dad noticed this and told me to say no if he asks me to do anything while we are alone.I ofcourse followed what he said but doing so would lead to his death . . .

FLASHBACK

I remember it clearly it was a normal day me andy friends were playing and feeding the horses by the church and he came out I hadn't seen him coming to us but my friends did

they ran

He asked to help him clean the church, I said yes.I made sure to always put distance between me and him but he always had a reason to come closer to close .I was forced to stay till dawn,I was finishing up cleaning the stairs I bent to grab "You always tempt me"he whispers caressing my thigh,a chill runs down my back "I must go my father is probably worried", I try to walk past him but he grabbed my shoulder squeezing my arm."He won't be worried your with me", he whispers again but closer in my ear.Something in me gave me courage to push him away and run out of the church fear of him following me home as the sun seems to set faster and faster.

I never told father but I knew he knew something was wrong so he went to Bishop and he didn't like it (the bishop).

After my father's death I ran away knowing no one had my back besides from my father.

PRESENT

At that age I knew I was a dhamphire trying to learn how to control my powers was difficult since there was no one like me so I opted for weapons my favourite being my pistol.But that was 854 years ago, throughout that time I have made friends with many people but no one has stayed with me, I don't know if that was a blessing in disguise or not since I'm not that comfy around people since I left my village especially men.

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I'm very inconsistent but there might be pt2, kinda got the bishop thing from Castlevania but I hope u enjoyed it byeeee

[moonlite-drabbles]

Correspondence (pt. ll) - Mika, Capitano, Varka

Aka; Mika wingmaning for Varka and Capitano, 2.3k words

~

Mika found himself an… unexpected new responsibility, what with their expeditions traveling side by side for the time being, Varka had thought it fit to use Mika as the currier between the sides, since he was already aquainted. As such, he was running between the two to trade information on the upcoming routes, or to simply invite the other side over for dinner. 

One such situation had Mika walking into the enemy camp. Heads turned towards him, but they recognized him by now, letting him nervously trot up to a high ranking looking personnel. 

“H-hello. Grand Master Varka requested I shared information on the path ahead. We scouted out some upcoming terrain issues.”

“Hm.” The general replied simply. “Take it to Capitano. He requested you be sent his way next time you cross over. Training is done so he will be within his tent. Just go in.”

The general pointed him towards the large tent set in the middle of the encampment. Large enough for someone even of Capitano’s size to stand fully within it. “Oh. A-alright.”

Which is what lead him to Capitano’s tent, sitting nervously across from the man as he shared information.

Mika couldn’t help but wonder if this was part of his training, facing such a terrifying man diplomatically. It got easier though. Capitano was a beast of a fighter during training. Untouchable in terms of strength, except maybe by Varka. As such, when they were on the move, Him and Varka led the expedition by horseback, side by side.

“S-sir? Varka requested I-”

Capitano tilted his head towards him. The gaping void of the mask swallowed all light, but Mika got the impression the man was looking his way. “Sit, scout.”

Mika did so, silently reminding himself of good relations and respectful interaction. Archons, why was this his job?

“So, you came here for…?” Capitano asked. His voice was deep and smooth. 

“Ah, yes. Varka requested I share.” Mika quickly handed over the mapping, which detailed the paths ahead, along with the issues with each one. “The westmost path is long, at a roughly thirty-five degree angle going through it, and the recent rain has rendered it muddy. It poses a hazard for horses. The second is over forty feet wide and the straightest shot towards progressing, but we have concerns about rock slides closing off the path. The third requires traveling a ten foot wide cliff edge during the worst of it.”

“Good to know. Our own scouts came to similar conclusions. With less detailed maps though.” He thumbed over the paper. “Does Varka wish for the soldiers to eat communally today?”

“He said nothing of it, sir.”

“Hm. You said you were fifteen when we first met, correct?”

Mika froze, Capitano had never delved into person conversation before, despite having been the designated currier between the two for a few weeks. “Well—yes. I am fifteen, sir. Soon to be sixteen.”

“Young for someone with Varka’s expedition, which has been active for years.”

“I am capable… sir.” he said, did he say that before? When they first met? Mika couldnt quite remember with all the days that’d gone by.

“Indeed. I’ve seen some of your maps when meeting with Varka. You are incredibly talented with drafting military maps. They rival ours, which are drawn by men twice your age—and stature.”

“Thank you?” Was that a compliment?

It probably was. Capitano continued, appraising Mika with a tilt of his head. “You are a good scout. Could use some meat on your bones, though. You know, in Snezhnaya, we at least try to feed our boys.”

“I—I am fed well, I promise. I am just on the skinnier side.” Mika responded, feeling an embarrassed heat rise to his cheeks.

“Hm. Boys like you freeze back home.”

“I am not too concerned with freezing currently.” Mika laughed slightly. “Natlan is quite hot.”

Capitano seemed to drop it, instead turning the conversation. “Grandmaster Varka, what is your opinion of him?”

“Well—I’m not quite sure I can answer these types of questions.”

“It is nothing of intelligence I assure you. Just a personal inquiry on the character of one of your comrades.”

“Alright then...”

“So, is your opinion of the Grandmaster?” Capitano asked.

“Grandmaster Varka?” Mika tilted his head. “Well, he’s my combat instructor so he’s taught me a lot. He’s a very good Grandmaster. He’s very…”

“Boisterous? I’ve seen such. He is a loud man. Proud to laugh. I’ve seen. He often, and with enthusiasm, invites me to a drink. He is a good conversationalist, if a little long winded.”

Mika resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose at the mention of Alcohol. “Yes. He’s—he’s a good man, really. I respect him deeply. He’s very honorable as well. There’s no one else I’d have leading us.”

“I see.”

“And of Varka, surely a man of that renown has a lover?”

What.

What.

“I mean… he has children. Two, both adopted vision holders, that are in Mondstadt, but—I suppose there are only rumors of flings. Nothing solid, definitely not official or–or public. I guess.”

“And of these flings, who has been the subject of them?”

“S-sir… this is very quickly turning to a subject I cannot talk about.” Mika bit out, flustered. What was this man playing at?

“I apologize, but ask you indulge me, scout.” The Captain dipped his head.

Oh. Oh. Mika… supposed he could help out Varka and the Captain in this regard. There couldn’t be much harm in it.  “W-well… there was rumors with a admiral of similar age stature, but that was long before the expedition.”

“And what was this… admiral like?” Mika immediately deduced this question’s true intention. The Captain wanted to know the gender.

“I don’t know much about him. This was before the expedition so I was quite young. More of gossip. The admiral though I met in passing later on, he was a decorated man. But he did not join the expedition.”

Capitano seemed to have gotten what he was looking for. He dipped his head in gratitude. “Hm. Thank you. You’ve been very insightful.”

He seemed appreciative, as if what Mika had done was more than just participate in gossip. The young scout tired hard not to smile. Honestly he should get a metal of valor for this. Or maybe an acting award. Does Liyuean theatre hire Mondstadters? “N-no issue, sir. Was that everything you need?”

“Yes. You are free to return to your camp. Oh, and tell Varka we extend an invitation to him and his comrades for a joint dinner.”

Mika left that tent, struggling to maintain a straight face as he darted from the fatui camp, only breaking out into giggles as he ran back to Varka’s tent.

That night, Mika watched as Capitano chose to take a seat at the bonfire next to Varka at dinner, instead of the other way around. And when Mika had to retire to his tent, he glanced over at the near abandoned bonfire, The Captain and Varka still sitting by it long after the other’s retired.

~

“I must ask, is this a common arrangement, Grandmaster?” 

Capitano asked, long after their sins had been committed, as they laid against one another. They were in Varka’s tent, Capitano having abandoned his own. Just for the night. And maybe another.

“Bedding opposing military personnel? Can’t say it is.” Varka’s laugh was soft. 

Grandmaster of the country of freedom meeting with the highest commander of the goddess of love. To an outsider, it would make sense, be beautiful in a way. 

To Capitano it was a slight to his goddess, equal to heresy. To Varka it was an embodiment of his ideals.

“Is that comforting, Captain?” 

“How is the boy?” He asked instead of answering.

Varka knew who he was referring to. “Mika? Good. He’s back on scouting shifts and training.”

“You take a lot of care with the boy. I’ve seen you personally training him.”

“I try to pay special attention to Mondstadt’s vision holders. And the attention is good for him. He does not have many… responsible men in his life.”

Capitano stayed silent, hoping Varka would elaborate despite doing so would probably be invading the boy’s privacy. He did not. Instead the man sighed.

“I have a soft spot for the boy as well. I have it for most kids.” Varka said. He was always doing that. Just admitting things. Freely. As if no one was listening. “Which is probably how I ended up with two despite not having a wife.”

This was new. “You have children?”

Varka laughed, and Capitano felt as though he had referenced a joke he hadn’t learned yet. “Some would say—they themselves change opinions on the topic. The younger of the two is Razor. I knew his parents, but they died, and the boy was raised by wolves. The lad is still half feral according to his teacher, but he wields a claymore and an electro vision…” 

Capitano listened. It was another one of Varka’s long winded tangents, where he hid nothing and spoke because he loved to.

“The elder is Rosaria. She’s an adult, a nun of the church, though you’d sooner guess a vampire from her way of dress.” He gave a small laugh. “She wields a polearm and a cryo vision. Deadly, the girl is. I didn’t even train her to be so, I left her in the care of the church hoping she’d find peace. Instead, she found it necessary to put others to peace. Pretty soon the two of them will be able to hold blades against their old man. I wouldn’t mind it.”

Capitano hummed.

“Those are only the ones who choose to call me family. There are others I’ve done my best to help raise—an old friend of mine had two sons. The red haired one…”

And Varka shamelessly fell into another tangent, detailing, with glowing pride, his children and their lives back in his homeland.

“Then there’s Mika. I’d be lying to say anything less than I see the boy similarly to Razor and Rosaria. Perhaps it’s simply because he’s been the youngest of our expedition, and I’ve had no one else to exercise  what my daughter refers to as ‘empty den syndrome’ onto, but I do think of him quite fondly. He, though, has a set of parents, though—ah. I seem to have gotten off track. Yes, I have children.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Many would.” Varka responded. And then they laid in silence a moment longer.

Varka breathed like he spoke, deep, loud, and without care. Not an ounce of tension to the man. Capitano wanted to gently rest his hand around the other’s throat, just to feel the thrum of his windpipe as the other would surely laugh at the motion. It was an infatuation uncharacteristic of him. And so, once again, he distracted himself.

“Mika is young. Very. For a scout. He must have been younger when he joined the expedition, and younger then when he joined your knights.”

Varka hummed. “He was. Twelve when he started as a courier for the knights. Thirteen when he earned his vision and officially joined under one of my officers. The boy has always been flighty—uncertain. It was much worse back in the city. He’s come far.”

“I’d imagine it’d be better—what with his family nearby.”

Varka sighed, face falling into far off frustration, not directed at Capitano. “His parents have always been moving about as adventurers, and Mika found himself being raised by—or rather raising, I’d think—a much older brother with a drinking problem. The amount of times me or my men have seen the poor boy dragging his adult brother from Angel’s share is pathetic. I’d dismiss the older from the knights but I’m certain he’d just wallow at the tavern until they sold the house.”

Well. That was quite a confession. One he didn’t quite know how to respond to. “I suppose that’s why the boy always looks seasick when we pass around fire-water.”

“Indeed. It’s unfortunate but it’s simply what it is.”

“I’ve never understood how Mondstadters can leave their children about. To wander and such.”

“Our landscapes are safe, our weather temperate, and our predators few and far between. The freedom gives them strength.”

This, Capitano knew. 

Snezhnaya was much the opposite. Their icy land filled with jagged edges, the weather raging and dangerous, their predators always stalking. Huddled close together and around warm hearths is what allowed them life. The love, perhaps, is what gave them their strength.

Freedom and love. Between the two of them, Capitano would offer both roles to Varka. The man was undeniably better versed in each, and when he commuted his heresy he had no duty pulling him away, no god to judge him. But, Capitano supposed, if needed, he’d take one.

Once upon a time, the Tsaritsa’s gospel and worship spoke of love. The different kinds, the magic of it, the gift of it. Once, Snezhnaya was icy cold, but warm in the ways of his goddess’ love. He remembered sermons where preachers promised them that they will fall in love, and may pursue that love under the protection and benevolence of their goddess. No matter what land they hailed from, or scars they bore. Now though, such practices were abandoned as his goddess The Tsaritsa ended such worship. Now, there was no promise of acceptance, should it be found him and Varka had courted.

He shifted to his side, propping himself up on one arm, to look Varka in his eyes. Then he planted a kiss on the man's jaw, scratchy stubble brushing against his lips. He’d take that chance. If even for the fleeting moments that their sides passed one another in their lives.

~

Also up on AO3!

[dreaming-of-mossballs]

hii so I'm like a super ultra silent reader of your content bc I am deathly afraid of my liked posts showing up on my friends' feeds. but I had to somehow let you know that even though you seem to be having some sort of burnout and unhappiness with your writing, as someone who's very very picky about what writing I even enjoy, your writing style and skill is definitely some of my favorite on the app at all. I totally understand being unhappy with your own work since I'm an artist too (albeit a visual artist so, not quite the same here but the idea applies), and I can relate to being unsatisfied with whatever it is you're putting out there. but basically, I just wanted to let you know from an outside view, your writing is extremely eloquent and well-put-together and organized. you can tell your writing is created with a lot of thought and time put into it, which is why it's so easy to enjoy. and side note, I LITERALLY haven't been able to stop thinking of your last post since I read it yesterday which almost never happens 😭. honestly even though there's like 5 gepard fans on here so he gets practically no content from anyone, I'd still prefer to have your writing carrying the "fanclub" of sorts over a large crop of posts from lots of people that isnt very well-done or thought about. I know you said this recent post may be your last one for a bit, so please, PLEASE take your time with whatever's next!! your stuff is always very much worth the wait ❤️ and please do take care of yourself and don't push yourself too hard.

(by the way, you totally don't need to post this on your profile or respond to it at all, I just wanted to send in some kind of message about it since as I mentioned, my paranoia prevents me from interacting with your posts directly 😞)

CRYINGB UGLY SOBBING OMGOMGOMG

It surprises me when people say I don’t need to respond because I can’t keep such a nice note to myself 😭 but I do the same thing when I’m sending asks so I totally get it (I’d get this tattooed on my forehead if no one stopped me)

i had NO IDEA I had a super ultra silent reader so this was an absolute joy to get. There was a post I saw earlier about how in fandoms, it’s either you talking with a small group of friends or your door is open and people come in and listen to you ramble. I’m definitely the latter. I’m so fortunate to have so many people invested in my story lol, because like most things I write, they start off as daydreams in bed. I’ve never written one out before, but I’m SO GLAD I DID.

And honestly, if I were to release something the quality I wanted it to be, it would take ages of rereading and refining. Unfortunately im not a very gifted writer, but all the practice I’ve gotten due to being obsessed with gepard has helped me a bit. I just have to remember that haha

Some less coherent thoughts

ITS EASY TO UNDERSTAND???? YAY IM SO HAPPY AHHHHHHHH

i actually based my style off the wings of fire series, i don’t know if y’all are familiar with it, but the introspective humor was so fun to me as a child. (Also I love using Chekhov’s gun as a crutch I’m sorry guys) it also stemmed from the worry that readers wouldn’t be able to visualize what I was picturing, so that ended up in a LOT of describing scenes early on. With no metaphors so it was just like. (Y/N) set the cup down, (Y/N) put the laundry in the washer, etc. hahaha it makes me laugh looking back on it

it also makes me absolutely kicking my feet giddy that it’s invaded your brain. I love giving people brain worms and inflicting emotional damage on them. And gepard ALWAYS shares posts with other Hsr men like. The absolute middle child treatment. But I’m glad I’m doing my part to bring something to the table that’s different than the usual 1k words he gets sandwiched in between five other people.

it makes me so so happy you think my writing is organized and well thought out, because I do put a lot of thought into it!

I’ve run out of words to say but i might come back to this to ramble pfft

i hope that fic gives you a good supply of serotonin for days to come 🩵🩵

[canyouhearthelight]

Nihilus Rex, Ch. 12: Aftermath

Here we have what should be the last really technical chapter for...hopefully the rest of the book. Fingers crossed. Although I am sure we can sneak some more stuff here and there if someone asks for more technical stuff, just not so many unending chapters of it.

As always, on the even-numbered chapters, I wrote while @baelpenrose co-wrote and beta'd.

Some legends are told

Some turn to dust or to gold

But you will remember me

Remember me for centuries

And just one mistake

Is all it will take

We'll go down in history

Remember me for centuries

Fall Out Boy, “Centuries”

Lash

“I heard it was part of a bigger hack.”

“Everything I’ve seen about that goes back to some QAnon boards. They think everything is a conspiracy.”

My heart rate picked up just a bit as I looked over dozens of similar conversations across several message boards.  It was entirely too close to home, but felt completely surreal at the same time - I had been part of a coordinated attack against major financial institutions, and no one even believed the scale of what had actually happened.  Not even the people directly impacted, if everything from our botnets was accurate.

In the immediate aftermath, over truly horrendous spinach pie and far too many dolmades, Nils and I had kicked around what-ifs and half-assed contingencies.  It had all boiled down  to keeping an eye on our feeds, waiting for updates from Bishop if he caught anything, and laying low until the attack had aged out of the news cycle.  If online communities started piecing anything together, the plan was to sow misinformation and redirect.

We had definitely called it on the news portion - pundits were still arguing over whether the slain men were heroes of the middle class out to free people from the bonds of financial indenture, or anti-capitalist villains trying to destabilize the global economy.  Every late night show had a self-referential monologue about the deceased, followed by a person-on-the-street segment with split opinions like some ghoulish, real world version of the Boondock Saints.  No one could agree if their goal had been just the one attack, or if there was a secret manifesto somewhere with their ultimate strategy.  What everyone did agree on, however, from the Department of the Treasury, to the OCC, to all major news networks, was that the people responsible had been gunned down by police.  Body camera footage had been released, sometimes uncensored, with all six men declaring loudly that no one else was involved, nobody had put them up to this, nothing had inspired them. 

No One. Nobody. Nothing.  Anyone who had interacted with Nils online and had two brain cells left to rub together would have known immediately.

Except… Our damage control had done its work for us.  Every single time I had been alerted that someone was suggesting a larger plan, the same response had come: That’s QAnon nonsense. A conspiracy. I bet you think the moon landing was fake, too.

Nils had joked about his handle then. “Would you buy that my handle is also an Odyssey reference to be a contingency for exactly this?” He’d said, half joking.

I squinted, half smiling at the memory. “I bet your minion morons believe that.  I do not.  Especially not having seen how far back your handle goes, in some form or another.” She waggled a bite of food at him. “Nice try, though. The bravado almost sold it.”

“Fair enough. Speaking of handles, Lash. Can I get your real name?” He’d said, as they’d shared dinner after the fact. “I haven’t tracked it down as a matter of respect, but we’ve been friends for a while and I would like to know. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

“You aren’t allowed to use it,” I had made him promise. Something about sharing my first name had always felt too… exposed. “Not in person, not via text, not at all.”

He’d given that weird smile that seemed almost like his signature, the one that seemed like he was laughing at something somewhere else, and said, “I promise. I’ll only call you Lash.”

“Then I will tell you when all this dies down and you can’t rat me out to the authorities.” He hadn’t been expecting that, and I winked at his shock. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Not like you would rat me out anyway.” Truth be told, I liked having him at something of a disadvantage.

He inclined his head at a little bow, “As you wish, Lash.” He raised a glass. “This was really fun though. Good working with you.” 

Now, I was staring feeds on three monitors, a week out, watching the entire financial sector and public refuse to believe anything more serious had happened than six armed men breaking into a major bank Guy Ritchie-style.  All three of us had expected some form of damage control, but there was nothing to control.

Almost like I had cursed myself, my phone started buzzing violently across my desk, sending me to my feet hard enough to almost knock my chair over.  “Spam Spam” showed up on my caller ID - Bishop.

“Please take me off whatever list this is,” I answered carefully. Bishop did not call me. He messaged me through about a million proxies, but calling was a no-no.  Paranoid did not begin to describe the man’s communication habits.

“Just a moment of your time, Miss,” the voice came through. “I am calling on behalf of Bloomberg to offer you a one year subscription for only $1 per week. That’s all your basic financial and stock news, for $52 a year.”

“That’s nice, but I’m broke,” I sighed, taking note of the site before hanging up.

My stomach sank when the phone buzzed again, this time a message from Nils. “Uh. Quick meetup somewhere secure. We may have overshot slightly. In a good way.” 

Definitely not good. “Let’s meet at the usual spot. We need to talk about the project for class, anyway.” I sent the message and didn’t even check for confirmation before gathering my stuff with one hand while I checked my news skimmer with the other.

Well, fuck.

Nils was waiting at the shitty hacker cafe, and he looked tense, eyes sharp. He barely waited for me to sit down. “So. There’s a thing. Remember when we were making the worm? And we had to shave some stuff off to make it small enough to still function? And we had to simplify some of its seeking parameters? Uh…it…I just realized that everything in Blackbox…”

“Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention. “You and B reached out within about five minutes of each other, and he managed to tell me to check the news. I saw. We overshot by a couple orders of magnitude, yeah.”

“Yeah. Explains why no damage control. Until someone leaked it, I don’t know that they were legally allowed to admit it could be hacked.” 

“We need coffee,” I stammered out, running a hand over my head. “And B. But coffee first.” Without waiting, I bounced up and ordered for us both. When I came back to the table, he was bouncing a knee - not out of place in a place that specialized in caffeine addiction for the ADHD set, thankfully. “I don’t suppose you carry a flask or something? Could only make it taste better.”

“My flask is for energy drinks when I need caffeine in emergencies because my head is starting to hurt from withdrawals, so, no. It absolutely would not. I appreciate the suggestion though.” Nils’ voice was flat. “I’ll reach out to B and tell him to get over here. We have a bit of a security concern to address. A slimy, perverted security concern to address.” 

“He doesn’t know my actual name or my face,” I told him pointedly. “I’ll drive the bus if you’ll do the throwing, it comes to that.”

“He knows your handle, he’s better than we are at breaking encryptions and worse about boundaries, he absolutely knows your name.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to trust any records scavenged from a defunct elementary school or a birth certificate. Those are the only places my actual name is listed. I don’t even drive.” I thought about it for a minute. “But backing up his stuff remotely to make sure we have any sex trafficking or worse would be a good idea.”

“Honestly I was thinking simpler. We have a crime that he was accomplice to, he can’t blackmail us without incriminating himself without claiming he didn’t know what it would be used for. He might get immunity for the tip, but that takes time. He’s attempted to solicit you for indecent shit a lot, and attempted to get me to engineer…basically letting him do sex crimes, a few times. I kept the messages after turning him down, you? If nothing else it kills his credibility as a witness and ruins any ability he has to get us convicted of anything.” 

I gave him a dirty look. “What kind of amateur do you think I am? I have all my dirt on everyone backed up where no one can find it except me or my parents. External drives, somewhere safer than that server we just fucked up.”

“Of course, my apologies.” He looked a little calmer with the idea that Weasel was handled. “They’ll try to trace us but our databombs will have made such a brutal hash of anything they could trace that they won’t know where to start looking. At a guess they’ll move to a different system against future hackers - and I don’t envy the next suckers to try this.” 

I tapped my chin, trying to think what Bishop would point out. Something simple we would be missing. I wasn’t good a peopling, but Bishop was surprisingly adept - “They have six dead bodies, a drive designed to fuck shit up, and six cell phones that had been in contact with you.  So, first link is you. Let’s start there.”

“Burn phone, pre-paid, cash, with an out of state number, picked up ages ago for something else entirely, under an alias I no longer use, again invented for something else entirely, and called through wifi service using a vpn. Said burn phone has now been utterly destroyed with its remains scrubbed of fingerprints and the remains tossed into a dumpster, whilst I was not carrying my normal phone, on the opposite side of town from where we normally spend any time. I think that about covers it.” 

“I don’t ever want to hear anyone say women watch too much true crime,” I muttered. “You literally could have just taken it apart and used a belt sander on it, handed the pieces to a makerspace. Or donated it to a Goodwill bin.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

Bishop showed just after that, making a point to ignore us while getting his coffee and sitting at a table two over from us, facing away.

“I knew getting involved with both of you at once would get exciting. So. We want to talk about what you little maniacs have been discussing before I got here so I can go over what you missed?” B’s voice was vaguely amused, and a little tense. “I should mention, I’ve already gotten a message from Weasel. He put it together. Hopefully you two have a contingency for that.” 

“Oh, the usual,” I answered airily, arching a brow at Nils. “Blackmail and making sure there aren’t any other tracks to cover. Nils overdid it with his phone, but it should work.”

Harvey’s voice took on an amused note. “Alright then. I’ll tell Weasel to pound sand. Am I to take it you kids had fun the night of the job?”

“Food was hit or miss, and there was some half-delirious contingency planning around damage control.” I rubbed my face. That felt like a decade ago.

Nils was looking embarrassed and Harvey looked amused as the older man continued. “Pity. You two were getting really wound up and I was hoping you’d be able to take a load off that night. From the looks of things, Nils’ usual bullshit and choice of pawns is working out on deflecting suspicion against a bigger conspiracy - I think the feds are reluctant to give conspiracy wingnuts credibility.”

Someone isn’t paying attention to politics, I mused internally. On the surface, I just smiled and took a sip of my coffee, suppressing a grimace at how bitter and nasty it was. Cold brew…. How hard did you have to try to fuck up cold brew, I swear. “Either way, the damage had controlled itself so far.  Any updates since you called? I checked my skimmers right after, but the news was sparse.”

“So far an announcement that 4Chan white supremacist boards are going to be looked at more seriously as a breeding ground for stochastic terrorism coming from the FBI, unsurprisingly now that they’re affecting rich people.” 

Nils gave an evil chuckle. “Oh good, that’s a pot I was stirring a bit ago. Unmanaged retaliation against cops in a predictable timeframe for whatever happens to them and we can let the system eat itself and look away from us, thank you very much…”

The only reason my head didn’t bounce off the table when I dropped it is because my arms cushioned the fall. “Don’t get me wrong!” I held a hand up blindly. “After the revenge porn thing, yes, scrutinize breeding grounds. And at least everyone knows the guys who are currently taking the fall are not - “ I pointed at myself emphatically. “But I am not a fan of ‘unmanaged’ retaliation against a group with airtight legal protections and a poor track record of reading perp stats correctly.” It was the most polite way I could say ‘racist assholes’ without everyone in the cafe looking at me.

“Options: I have to actively take command of the right wing gun nuts a la some shitty real life Code Geass-ripoff shenanigans to manage them, or I let their anti-government shit lead them to fight actual problems for a change, or I let them continue believing that the Jews were running the world and that everyone who couldn’t pass a paper bag test were their foot soldiers in need of shooting - right as the ax was about to fall on them. Guess which option I figured involved the least collateral damage? If you prefer I decide to go whole hog on the aesthetic and try ripping off Lelouch vi Britannia harder, which to me seemed worse than telling them they were going to have a cop problem rather than a Jews run the world problem…” Nils response was less annoyed than exhausted, and unlike our previous conversation where it was clear that he hadn’t thought it out and felt bad about it, his tone indicated that he’d thought this one through and had simply picked the least evil available option he saw. 

Thankfully, Bishop’s unending focus on ‘simplest solution is best solution’ saved me palm abrasions and an assault charge from strangling the cute but dumb motherfucker on the spot. “Since the heat right now is on an actual breeding ground for incels, alt right, and revenge porn entrepreneurs, we could just let them chase their tails and keep laying low. White collar crime is historically white, et cetera, ipso facto Columbo Oreo.”

“I like that idea,” I agreed, putting as much reluctance as possible behind the sentiment. Realistically, Nils as Commander and Chief of the Fucknuckle Wingnut Army was not giving me the warm and fuzzies.

[rikomoriyama01]

Deaged Riko AU (10 years) angst fluff idk

There is a demon summoning circle the size of exy court in the undergrounds of Edgar Allen. The room is dark and as big as the stadion hall itself there is no light sources aside from the red gloving marks on the whole area of the floor For years the demon uses the circle to feed off all the misery and suffering the young men and women experience in the nest, their pain and their deaths are all here for it alone. Riko is 20 when he finds the summoning circle drawn to it he steps in the middle, it feels like hell, but when wasn’t it calling to him?  The only place he felt like home was on Reven's court , right under the court, the summoning circle. He was meant to be here wasn’t he? Because of all of them he suffered the most out of all of them he was never happy, never loved and now the demon wants to enjoy all of those feelings from the source itself. “For half of your life i will make it worth living again” It promised Riko expected to die at age of 40 , loved and respected , top of the world of exy once more after Minyard broke his arm a month ago. Instead he runs out of the basement room screaming and crying horrified , 10 years old and with damaged memory. The boy has enough awareness to try and call the one person he trusts and after kevin brings him on Wymack’s doorstep they take care of the confusing case. David knew there was something wrong in edgar allan, moriamas contact with the other side were popular conversation topic, repeated often enough that now with heavy proof David took it in stride The demon did not lied Riko gets another chance at growing up, this time with people that support him and care about him. Riko dreams daily of long dreams that he can never forget, dreams of life he had before, every night of his new youth is plagued by memories of a day of life that responded to it in the past. The vivid nightmares leave him trembling and crying. It’s hard to tell which is real - riko somewhat remembered the 10 years but the nightmares are perfect 1:1 re-enactment, including all his abuse and traumatic events forcing him to relive those as well and when he realises it he starts dreading it - riko is terrified that one day he will not wake up and that his old life is still his true life - riko doesn't understand why his other life was so horrible, what had he done wrong for things to be so horrible the first time around? it makes him feel like the happy life is the fake one - nature of all his relationships with others changed drastically due to his age and he is mourning them every day 

[justgivemeteaandbooks]

We are all aware of the popular books that parade themselves through our news feeds and for you pages in social media. They are all we see and it is usually the big 3: ACOTAR, Fourth Wing, and Cruel Prince. Then there are the others like Collen Hoover, JLA and all the Tik Tok recommended authors that inundate our waking moments, so much so that other books get lost. So I wanted to try something:

✨The Teacup Recommends✨

These will be some of the books that I just finished that I have had in my TBR/ on my bookshelf for literal years because I too was drawn into the book series of recent years. Books I slept on and left me wishing I read earlier. As a start, I recommend:

Type: very low fantasy/ kingdom intrigue (?)

Spice: .5- 1.0

Number of books: 3

This series really surprised me. I have only read two so far, but the authors writing is refreshing. Its smart, concise, and pretty well thought out. Its in 3rd person, so we get the POV of at least 3 people which includes the antagonist, but there are others that may come into play as well.

With the authors background, the strategic planning feels logical and the battles are fleshed out in a way that a historical war movie may be viewed (while A is happening, B is also happening at a different vantage point). It keeps the reader emersed and anxious how everything will get pulled together (at least for me).

The characters were refreshing as well. In the age of girl bosses who are all proficient in weaponry and morally grey/ Shadow mmc's these characters are nothing like that but are no less strong and fleshed out in their own right. Sage (fmc) is a scholar, she uses her mind and knowledge of societal norms and natural science to get her out of trouble because with her being in the middle of the hornets nest (ie millitary age and traind men) she knows that she is at a disadvantage when it comes to strength. Something she works on in the 2nd book as a means for self-defense and making herself a harder target.

Alex (mmc) is a military man, but he is also a cinnamon roll. He knows how to make the hard calls to keep his men and his country safe, but he still remembers the first time he took a life, and he worries that with every life he takes he loses more and more of his humanity. He is also intelligent and a match to Sage's character, but they but heads multiple times in regard to their tactics, however they both know when to own up to a mistake and come back together all the stronger for it. Plus, he is just head over heels for his girl; I mean look at this quote:

"When I say over and over how I want you to be mine, it is only because I am already yours" Bk. 2 pg 183.

Anyways, I just wanted to put this out there because I feel that this book has barely gotten any attention, so maybe on my little corner of the internet, it can get some love.