#she’s Sad and forced to face the consequences of her Actions for like one afternoon

[itspileofgoodthings]

idek why but this is Peak Romance(TM)

[hellonoblesky]

Happy Saturday it’s past 2am here’s Harbinger Angst. Because I’m up late and I’m havinggg thoughts.

So here’s my hcs about the Harbingers reacting to/dealing with the news of Signora‘s death :)

(CW For like. Mental breakdowns and guilt and general emotional instability because no one is having a good time here. Oh also cussing, anddd some familial angst in Childe’s bit? Also I am so sorry about any misspellings n whatever it is. Very late and I already have two other posts in my drafts collecting dust that are also HCs so.)

Dottore:

So if you don’t follow my art blog or haven’t seen my Harbinger hcs (which are under the process of some change with new info being released and whatnot), you don’t know this but I HC Dot and Signora to be like sorta just evil siblings

Now because death is such a commodity in Dot’s uh… specific line of work, he doesn’t register that Signora is dead until like two days after he hears the news

He picked up the phone (rotary perhaps?) to go call up Signora‘a office to see if she has any good gossip and then stopped halfway through dialing because it hit him that she’s never going to be there to pick up the phone on the other end. Ever.

He usually listens to music when he’s working but with the absence of Signora ranting he has to take up listening to the radio on top of the music

Problem is: the radio doesn’t have the same charm and cadence to it that Signora’s rants did, because normal people are boring and it’s going to drive Dot up the walls if he has to listen to one more commercial or one more anxious ramble about how cool and great the Fatui are from some stupid radio host trying not to overstep the Tasritsa’s favor like she listens to some boring ass radio station in her spare time!!!

HE HATES IT. But is forced to make do because if he shows weakness he will be torn apart (or so he thinks)

So this leads to him locking himself away in his office even more than he already did

Because he was already intrigued by the traveller after their actions in Mond and their victory against Childe, but them beating Signora in a duel before the Shogun? Oh now that kickstarted a whole new line of study

Especially because his only coping mechanisms are Be Destructive and Dive So Far Into Work You Don’t Think so within about three days he has a comprehensive analysis of everything he can possibly get his hands on regarding the Traveler (without interacting with other people) and is about to pass out because he hasn’t slept

Oh and the funeral was absolute hell for him.

Mainly because while he was barely conscious he agreed to play violin at the service and then promptly passed out and forgot about it so he woke up and was hit with the consequences of his own actions in the form of sheet notes

He endured, obviously, he’s not going to back down from playing something at the funeral of one of the few interesting people in the organization, that’s what tools and cowards do and this might be the Fatui but if he’d survived the wrath of dead gods he would make it through this

Went right back to locking himself away after that though

He actually got bad enough that the other Harbingers took notice of his state and MADE him come out of his labs and eat (mainly at demand of the Tsaritsa because she just lost the Crimson Witch as an asset, she wants the rest of her Harbingers in good health god dammit, the Traveler is becoming a genuine threat)

Broke down at dinner a week after the funeral

Swears that if any of the other Harbingers bring it up ever ever again he will kill their bodies and keep their consciousnesses trapped in a machine that he controls forevermore

Really he’s just glad that no one immediately pounced on one of his few shows of weakness

Maybe he’ll risk it again if it means he can cry it out for another hour but he wouldn’t dare say that out loud, won’t even finish the thought

But you know what he will do?

What he does best, of course

Look at an oddity in the world (in this case the traveller) and seek to pick it apart until he can put it back together without looking and still have it work

The only way he can actually get through his grieving is by finding something to take the edge off

And it just so happens that the traveller is a perfect candidate

Childe:

By no means has he ever liked Signora, in regards to personality or method, but her death still hit him

He had to travel back to Snezhnaya for the funeral, and it did absolutely cheer him up to see his family again and get to spoil them all silly, but with a mind whirling with thoughts it was genuinely hard for him to keep a smile up

Mainly thoughts about battle, because that’s really the only way he can interpret the world at this point

Like he keeps thinking about weather the Traveler was holding back with him, or if they had gained the strength to fight off yet another Fatui plot just in the month or so since Liyue? And if they had gained strength, how had they done it so fast? If they’d been holding back against him had he not shown himself to be a fighter worthy of their strength? Had Signora even faced the Traveler‘s full strength?

Overall his head is much too full of too many things, and it wears him out to the point that he ends up sleeping in late enough for his family to actually worry because usually he’s up before dawn training and they don’t see him until the afternoon

But he’s back on track as soon as he can, because the training helps him think, and once he can resolve most of his thoughts (or repress them so they don’t bother him too often) he’s absolutely alright and fine and ready to go! Totally. Fine. It’s fine.

The thoughts were very much There during the funeral, especially as the first harbinger read a (somewhat summarized version) of Signora’s life to the assembly of Fatui

(Oh and Pierro didn’t really care weather or not Signor wanted people to know her life after she died because she was dead now what was she going to do??)

The reveal that Signora had been fighting for the Fatui because her lover had been killed by the actions of the Anemo Archon, and she desired nothing more than to see him again… it got to Childe. It got to Childe more than he’d like to admit

Because suddenly the woman who he had always known as the embodiment of frostbite and frozen barbed wire fencing had someone she had cared about, genuinely cared about, to the point where she had become the Mondstadt legend, the Crimson Witch herself

And she had lost that lover to the actions of a fool of a God

He swore silently to himself that when the Tsaritsa‘s future came to pass he would make a little monument for Signora. Nothing big, probably a plaque on a nice stone where Mondstadt would have been before the Tsaritsa’s success, but a monument nonetheless

This promise was a spur of the moment thing, and later he would be like “Man she was a jerk, lost love or not why did I promise her that?“ but he doesn’t go back on promises

Besides, actually watching Dottore break down in a grief and sleep-depravation induced haze was also something that got to him because of course the two people he happened to simply Hate The Most in the organization were close that makes perfect sense but also wow it is weird to see Dottore cry and it feels Wrong because after murdering and tormenting so many people… Signora is gone and he breaks then??? What the fuck

Avoids most of the Harbingers after that, just heads home to Morepesok to spoil his siblings silly before going back to Liyue

Oh and his siblings can tell something is up, Teucer especially because when his brilliant big brother, the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya, is suddenly struggling to keep a smile even though they’re at home… he notices

Childe’s other siblings are all avoiding the subject, they heard about the death of Signora and all, they just assume the organization is going through it tight now and frankly most of them are a little afraid of him weather they‘ll admit it or not

Not Teucer though, he’s confused just because he still has grasped how Snezhnaya works yet, so he goes ahead and asks anyway

Childe just says he’s sad because he has to leave again so soon! And he hasn’t even been able to take Teucer fishing this time, isn’t that sad?

Teucer can tell that he’s lying

But Teucer is also beginning to sense the danger that lies behind Childe’s eyes, so for the first time? He doesn’t push it or say that they could go fishing now if they hurry

Just a grin and a “Next time!! Promise?” Makes it all better and he doesn’t have to think about why his big brother feels unnerving to look at sometimes

Childe is oblivious to Teucer’s growing awareness

He heads back to Liyue and makes himself focus on work

Scaramouch:

Now he didn’t particularly like Signora either, and didn’t really care about her life’s story, because blah blah blah we get it lady you lost someone, we all did, cry about it or whatever

But he does feel… he feels guilty for leaving her to face the Shogun

He had the Gnosis, he had finished Signora’s mission for her without even meaning to, and he had thought it would be funny to just let her face the Shogun without knowing that

To some extent, it’s his fault she’s dead

And it’s not the fact that she died because he didn’t go get her that weighs on him, it’s that he left her to the Shogun of all things

I don’t know if puppets like Scara can feel things like people and such do, but considering how the Shogun expressed frustration and stress when Ei disabled the majority of her functions, I’m going to assume they can

And because of the meddling of ‘some eccentric scientists’ his emotions are probably toned down a tad but he can still feel guilt all the same

And leaving Signora to the Shogun makes him feel guilty because he and the Shogun are essentially kin

Disowned and disavowed kin, but you know

He may have been able to easily counter the Shogun, or even help Signora prevail in her duel, but he. Ran. Off.

He happens to think that that was very cowardly of him

It causes a spike in his aggression which everyone unfortunately has to notice every time he walks by because the sheer static electricity that snaps in the air when he’s in the room now? Haha. Ouchie

Fun fact: he has no idea how to cope with guilt

He channels ALL of it into SHEER RAGE

Ever seen a couple hundred year old man go absolutely apeshit in the Harbinger‘s shared training arena? Well now you have!! It’s not a pretty sight!!

He’s crying and can’t tell why, which fuels his anger, which fuels stress as a fun side effect which just makes more tears and now he has to snap someone in half because he needs it to stop he hates it here he hates it here he hates it here

And in the beginning the guilt wasn’t even that severe for him, it was just so immensely magnified by his lack of coping skills that he very nearly broke himself down

He tried going to Dottore to get it disabled but Dottore had his doors all locked so Scara couldn’t even get a word through to him

Oh and the funeral was fine with him he just left early because he didn’t want to deal with looking people in the eye at the time because, again, his lack of coping skills with guilt magnified the whole feeling so it was almost unbearable

It’s a lot of fighting and breaking things before he’s able to resign himself to some semblance of how he was

[enternalempires]

Downfall of a Liar

This is a Lukanette fic. Some fluff, some angst, a lot of salt and Luka being a King of Revenge. You all get to see the more conniving part of our snake boi. Hope you enjoy! Haven’t figured out how to use links yet but my Ao3 username is the same. Basically,  Lila Rossi has gone too far and Luka Couffaine is going to do something about it. He is, after all, a Couffaine… a little chaos never frightened him.

Marinette came to him on a Friday afternoon with sad eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Her knees were bleeding and her wrists were bruised, hair messy and lip busted. Her dress was ruined with an ugly paint smear and her stockings underneath were ripped.

“I fell down the stairs,” She told him, looking away. “I didn’t mean to. I must’ve fallen into some paint.”

Luka didn’t believe this.

The wobble in her voice and the unsteady way she had stumbled right into his chest when she saw him was not the actions of a girl used to her own clumsy feet. Marinette was a strong girl and he knew how much of a burden was placed onto her shoulders. She did not crack easily and she did not do it over being a klutz or smudged paint. She did not cry over repairable things, over broken nails or washable clothes. She did not come to him looking upset and watery-eyed without feeling one step from breaking.

These were things he knew.

So, after calming her down and getting her to take a shower, offering her clean clothes and a warm bed, and letting the girl he fell in love with fall asleep on his chest to the sound of his heartbeat, he did some digging.

He went to his sister first and found out the real story.

Marinette was in the art workshop, Mrs. Bustier having set up a lesson in there during the last hour of the day, with the other members of the band as she helped Nathan and Marc on their story.

She was honestly just being nice— as Jules explained— then the bitch, his sister’s respective name for Lila, sauntered into the room and started to wail about how Mari was only helping the two co-creators because she wanted the credit for their work.

The girl he fell in love with defended herself, and her friends did the same but with most of the Akuma class— excluding the band members and Nathaniel— having fallen for her tails of woe and amazing, yet false, life experiences, they sided with the liar instead of Mari.

Then, throughout the rest of the class, the bitch found ways to terrorize Marinette (going as far and tripping her and cutting her dress with scissors, dropping her paint onto her, pushing her into things, or slamming different objects onto her wrists) and then blame her for getting in the way.

Juleka and Rose had helped Marinette calm down a little as the girl broke into tears as soon as they were away from the rest of the Akuma class but she just kept panicking— and ran away. They didn’t know where she ended up until he texted them and asked.

Then Luka asked for Alya Cesiare’s phone number and made an unsettling discovery.

Marinette and the blogger were no longer best friends.

And, horrifyingly, she had been accused of being a bully, a liar, and a manipulator. Lila painted his melody in the way that everyone should view her instead.

Finally he created a group chat with a few allies he could trust.

He contacted Adrien Agreste (because even if the boy had been painfully oblivious that Marinette had once been in love with him, he would do anything for his lady), Kagami Tsurigi and her girlfriend and spoiled brat, Chloe Bourgeois, the boyfriends Marc and Nate, and then the rest of his band.

He named it ‘The Marinette Protection Squad’ and, just like that, the war was on its way.

*-*-*

Lila Rossi was waiting in the back of the school by herself when Luka arrived. He found her hidden between one of the walls and a thick oak tree and he didn’t bother to hide himself as he crossed the grounds over to her.

She saw him, surprise lighting her features for a second before it shifted into a— what he would guess, if it wasn't on someone so repulsive— a seductive smile.

“Luka!” She squealed, sauntering up to him and stopping a few feet away. “How are you, sweetheart? It’s been forever since we saw each other, since your last year in Lycee, right?”

“I don’t care,” Luka took a step back, face emotionless as he looked down at her. His eyes gave away nothing as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’ve made a lot of people angry, Lila.”

“A-Angry?” She stammered, feigning innocence by putting her hands over her heart with too wide of eyes to be real. “Why would they be angry with me?”

“Because you’re a liar and you hurt the people they care about— you hurt the person I care about.”

“Oh,” Lila straightened her back. “You must be talking about my bully.”

“Your bully?” Luka scoffed, less than amused. “Sure, I’ll play along for a minute. Who is your bully.”

“She’s... s-she is Marinette,” The liar sniffles. “And she says such horrible things about me and they’re not true! She pushes me and, and she rips up my homework and she insults me. Whatever you heard isn’t true, I swear!”

“Are you done?” He sighed out, shrugging his shoulders to make them relax more. “You’re a lying bitch, I get it. I’m not here to let you try to sink your claws under my skin, not that it would work, I’m here to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?” Lila asks, voice going a bit nastier than she probably intended.

What a two-faced bitch.

“That you should watch your back,” He says simply, turning slightly to walk back to his house. “You pushed a lot of people into your enemy list by threatening Marinette and now you’re about to face the consequences. It’s only fair to give you a head’s up.”

“Marinette,” she shrieks, “is nothing but a liar and a horrible person—”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, no matter what anyone says, is the kindest person you will ever meet,” Luka snarled, whirling on the sausage-haired girl so fast that she stumbled back, unprepared. “And I’m hers. You hurt the wrong person, you egocentric bitch, and you’re going to pay for it.”

Lila gaped for a second before she forced an innocent look on her face, mouth opening to say something but the musician just continued, eyes hard and narrowed and angry, mouth drawn into a tight line.

He was a generally calm person, he could handle a lot before ever blowing a fuse. Because he was also a Couffaine at heart. He thrived in chaos where others wither and when it came to those he loved, nothing would stop him from protecting them.

Especially when the one he loved and had to defend was the girl he fell in love with.

“She is thoughtful and compassionate and selfless and astounding in how she will push herself to the knife’s edge just to make sure her loved ones are okay. She is a cinnamon roll but the fiercest ally you could ever have. There is no stopping her, there is no convincing her to step down when she’s standing up for something that’s right— when she’s standing up for someone, unless that someone is herself.”

He took a step closer and, well, that must’ve been pretty intimidating because she scrambled to take one back, causing a humorless chuckle to leave his lips.

He was his mother’s son but he had enough of his father in him to leave others terrified.

“And you want to convince me that just because you have the Akuma class, Mlle. Bustier, and M. Damocles so far up your ass that people will hate her? Really? Let me tell you something, sweetheart," He gave a cruel smirk, voice mocking as he repeated what she called him earlier. “This isn’t you and all your puppets against Marinette, it’s now you against the entire school. You might pretend to rule this place but she is the one who everyone looks up to and loves. She’s their sunshine child and leader and she has connections everywhere. She knows people that could make your life a living hell and it is her kindness alone that has spared you in the past. And you should have cut your losses when you had the chance because I, however, am not as kind. You declared war, Mlle. Rossi, do not be surprised when your downfall comes knocking on your door.”

With that and smirking at the ugly glare on her face, Luka saunters away, whistling a happy tune despite how tightly his fists are clenched inside his pockets.

It’s a week later when they make the first move.

Ivan and Rose, because despite her size she puts up one hell of a fight, are Marinette’s bodyguards during school. They prevent her from getting hurt while Mylene, Marc, and Nate make sure to record anything and everything Lila does that’s incriminating towards her reputation. 

Juleka is on sabotage duty during school to make sure any plans backfire onto the bitch while Adrien is the distraction. Both were excellent at their job. Almost scarily good.

Outside of school Kagami and Luka strategize and come up with plans to make sure anything Lila says can be used against her. They organize groups and make sure that Marinette and her family doesn’t get bothered by Lila or any of her followers.

One by one more people in the school help. Marinette’s friends from different classes going from the highest grade level to the first year students at Lycee all jump in when needed— when they overhear a lie and debunk it by pulling up proof or contacting the people involved directly (Marinette isn’t the only one with contacts).

One by one Lila is getting more isolated, one by one she’s losing her power.

And it’s so satisfying to see that Luka goes to sleep laughing.

It’s not even a full month before the Akuma class had fully left Lila’s side, the last to turn was Alya— the reporter so distraught over how she realized she had been treating her former best friend that she had a mental breakdown.

It was a month on the dot when Honeybee and Ryuko got video footage of Lila snatching one of Hawkmoth’s butterflies from the air with a wide grin and a “What can I do for you today, boss?” and it was a week later when her life got ruined.

(Marinette was so overjoyed that the constant terror— in her civilian— life was going away that she kissed Luka until their lungs ached and, just like that, Luka got revenge and a girlfriend in one sweep.

And that girlfriend was very, very grateful for it too. Most nights he went to bed with bruise-kissed lips and a beautiful girl in his arms. Marinette looked happier than she did in years and all the planning and frustration melted away when he saw her wake up with a smile.

He couldn’t protect her when she was fighting an Akuma but he’s proved more than enough times that he could protect her when she goes back to having two left feet.)

First she got expelled from her Lycee for false accusations, thief, bullying, and cheating. 

Then her lies— ever last one of them— were exposed and her mother was informed about what her daughter was up to and even waved her daughter’s diplomatic immunity— being absolutely disgusted with her daughter’s behavior— when the court cases of people suing her for fraudulence, harassment, threats, attempted murder, and acts of terroism.

Last, but not least, Lila was banned from Paris and all the cases stacked up against her were moved to a different court within France so they wouldn’t even have to see her again.

Though they did see her screaming and shrieking and snarling towards Luka as he joyfully waved at her when the bitch was getting dragged to the back of a cop car, “You! You did this! You made this all happen! I’m going to get you back for this, Couffaine, I swear I’m going to get you!”

She seemed absolutely insane, drool going down her chin from how hard she had been yelling, eyes frantic and face flushed and she jerked like a wild animal trying to get out of her cuffs and the officer’s hands that held her back from attacking the young musician.

He was a Couffaine and this chaos made him delighted to witness.

After all, it’s not everyday you get to see the downfall of the bitch who made the love of your life miserable.

Luka just laughed and sent her a cocky wave, “I look forward to it, sweetheart.”

Well… you can’t say she wasn’t warned.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 1: Logince

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 1: Your soulmate’s name is on your wrist.

Content: Flower/Tattoo Shop AU, background character death (unspecified cause, none of the sides), that’s pretty much it, it’s just soft Logince.

Word count: 2.7k

A small ding from the store entrance pulled Roman out of his thoughts, and he groaned softly. It was nearing the end of his shift, almost closing time, and another customer at this time would probably mean he was staying after hours again. All he wanted to do was go home and watch cheap reality TV in his sweatpants while shoveling handfuls of hot cheetos into his mouth. So sue him, it had been a long day. But nooo. Someone else had just walked in, probably someone with a very specific style that was out of season and they would argue for half an hour, no matter how many times he explained that tulips aren’t blooming right now, Vanessa! 

Sure, usually his customers were great. Nervous first anniversaries, eccentric brides, all that romance stuff. He loved it. And they were usually all too willing to give him a budget and a color scheme and let him go wild, which was the best part about his job. He was good at it, too. His boss had seen his eye for style and almost immediately gave him solo shifts, which meant decently good pay and hours alone to belt out songs amongst the flowers and daydream to his heart’s content. It was a small enough business that the only mandatory part of his outfit was a green apron, so he could wear whatever he wanted, and he didn’t need a pesky nametag. Those had always weirded him out just a bit. So yeah, he loved his job, but right now, he knew himself too well. He had awful luck. 

With a forced customer service grin, he poked out of the backroom and began his usual spiel of, “Thanks for coming to The Rainbow Bouquet, what can I get started…” 

His words died in his throat at the mere sight of the man before him. Never had he been so equally attracted and frightened at the same time.

He was tall, probably just taller than him, but he held himself in a way that made Roman feel miniscule. Both arms were covered in tattoo sleeves, the left one a flurried mix of black and white and color, beautiful strips of pink and blue galaxies blending with grayscale skulls and clocks. The other had more order; shadows of a forest growing from around his wrist, shimmering mist curling up over his bicep and ending with a full moon stamped on his shoulder like a crest. A corner of something peaked up around the collar of his torn vest, and if Roman had to guess, there were most likely plenty more tattoos that were covered by his ripped black jeans and blue Nasa shirt. Not that his mind was going there at all, no siree. 

Once Roman’s brain had screeched to a halt back in his body, he spoke again.

“What can I get started for you today?”

The man swallowed with difficulty, taking in the rows and rows of flowers surrounding him. He definitely didn’t look in his element.

“I need an arrangement for my mother. She’s in the hospital.”

Ah, the part of the job that Roman didn’t enjoy. Probably half the orders that came in were for sick people or funerals, and those were always a lot harder to arrange. It was always hard to find joy in creating for something so dismal.

“I’m sorry to hear. Did you have anything specific in mind? Does she have a favorite flower?”

“Daisies. She likes Daisies,” He murmured, still admiring the space around him. Roman couldn’t help but smile at the man’s expression. It was just a little awe inspired, a little bit of childish wonder, under that rough exterior. It was a gorgeous shop, that’s one of the reasons Roman had started working there.

“That’s good, it makes it a little easier for me to design something when I have that to go off of. Do you have a budget, or…”

He shook his head weakly, finally turning to look at Roman. “Price isn’t an issue. This is one of the last things I’m going to be able to give her.”

“Oh,” Roman whispered, slowly putting down the pen he’d been writing with, “I’m so sorry.”

“It can’t be changed. There’s no point in losing sleep over it.”

“Just because it’s going to happen doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. You’re allowed to be sad about it.”

The man narrowed his eyes, giving Roman a once over before lifting his chin slightly. “I don’t need advice from a stranger.”

“Of course you don’t,” Roman quickly corrected, remembering he was still at work, “My apologies. When did you want to pick it up?”

“I’m visiting her tomorrow at noon. Could it be ready by then?”

“You bet. Can I have a name for the pick up?”

“Logan.” Roman’s pen skittered over his notepad, almost falling through his fingers. 

Having a common name on your wrist was a curse in and of itself. And poor him, the hopeless romantic that he was, had met countless “Logan’s” in his day, and consequently fallen for most of them at first introduction, only to figure out quickly that they weren’t destined for a “Roman”. As inconspicuously as possible, he tried to glance down at Logan’s wrist, only finding a mass of swirling tattoos covering his skin. Dammit. There were some people born without soulmates, or had their soulmark fade to nothingness when their person passed away, and he tried not to think too terribly hard on which one Logan was. He tampered his rush of excitement as quickly as it had arisen and turned back to his notes, ignoring Logan’s raised eyebrow at his sudden stop.

Roman scribbled down the name and phone number as it was given, setting down the notepad with a customer service smile. The man spent no time dawdling, immediately starting towards the door, only to hesitate before walking out.

“Her favorite color is yellow.”

Roman nodded, the fake smile slowly morphing into an authentic one. “I can work with that.”

It was now a week after Logan had picked up the bouquet, a somewhat awkward interaction filled with small compliments towards the arrangement and Roman nearly dropping the flowers as their fingers touched while passing it over. As he was ringing up the total, he’d been able to uphold a brief conversation where Logan revealed he was a tattoo artist (no shock, considering he showed more inked skin than plain), and Roman showed off his rose tattoo on his upper arm. It would have been fine if the conversation ended there, but no, Logan had to reach up tentatively to brush his finger along the edge of the piece, commenting off handedly about how the color had started to fade.

“How long ago did you get this done?”

“Probably ten years, give or take.”

“You’re what, mid twenties? There’s no way you were legal ten years ago.”

“Who said I was?” It was said with a small wink that made Logan pull his hand away, an action that immediately dampened Roman’s mood.

“If you ever want it touched up, come by the shop. It’s just down the road.”

Roman had promised to consider, pulling the collar of his long sleeve shirt back up over the rose and bidding the man a good visit to his mother. Even now, a full week later, he couldn’t help his thoughts that were so centered around the tattoo artist. So maybe that was why Logan walked back into the shop the following Wednesday. I simped so hard I summoned him, Roman thought weakly as the gorgeous man strode straight up to the counter, leaning on it like he owned it. 

“I have a question.”

“What’s your question?  

“A client asked me yesterday to design a tattoo for her. A bouquet, seen from the top, and all she specified was it should feature hydrangeas, and she asked me to, quote, ‘go nuts’.”

“This isn’t sounding like a question so far.”

Logan sighed apprehensively, adjusting his glasses, “I was hoping you could give me some ideas on how to start. All the tips I found online contradicted each other in some way or another, and the arrangement you created for my mother was so well done…”

He trailed off, giving Roman a look that clearly said I need your help but don’t make me ask for it. Chuckling slightly, he leaned onto the counter as well, his face inches away from Logan’s. For the first time, he could see the small piercing on the man’s tongue as he sighed again. God, that’s hot.

“I’ll help you. On one condition.” 

“Being?” 

“Help me design my next tattoo.” In full honesty, he hadn’t even considered a second tattoo until that second. 

“Deal.” There was no hesitation in his answer, and he took Roman’s offered hand, barely shaking it in the small space between them. 

“Alright!” Roman pulled back, satisfied but disappointed as their hands separated, “Let’s talk flowers!”

And talk they did. For hours, in fact. It started with Logan’s tattoo dilemma, and Roman’s skillful eye and creative mind solved that problem in a flash, crudely drawing out a bouquet idea that fit all the criteria. The tattoo artist took it from there, using the notepad paper and Roman’s sketch, along with a quick round of the shop to see what the recommended flowers, fillers, and greens would all look like, and drew out a detailed piece that put Roman’s own art talent to shame. After explaining that his shift was done at the parlor and he had the rest of the afternoon free, Roman invited Logan to stay for a while longer, seeing as his day had dragged on customer-less so far, and he was bored. Plus, now was as good a time as any to pay back the favor. Two mugs of breakroom coffee later, the two were huddled around the counter, Roman describing his ideas and Logan sketching them like there was no tomorrow. Maybe half way through the brainstorm, the conversation switched to Logan’s mother (which he talked about hesitantly), then to Roman’s family, slowly changing to the absurdity of satin couch cushions, then to their favorite foods, and finally ending with a loud debate on whether pineapple deserved to be on pizza.

“It’s a fruit, Logan! Why the hell would you put fruit on a pizza?!”

“All I’m saying is that the sweet flavor of the pineapple balances out the tanginess of the marinara sauce, and adds more to the plain crust!”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

Logan had to go soon after that, wanting to visit his mom before visiting hours ended. He left with a begrudging smile on his face and a promise to come back another day, drawing an ear to ear grin from Roman. He’s just a friend, he reprimanded himself sternly, all the while sliding the drawing of his next possible tattoo into his phone case with startling reverence. No use getting attached to some who wasn’t his soulmate. 

Yet, he still couldn’t help but feel saddened as a week passed again, then two, then a month. His job had returned to it’s boring normalcy, with only the flowers and no cute boy to keep him company. Even when he sat at his little desk next to the counter, hands working effortlessly to string together order after order, he couldn’t help the occasional glance at the door. The hope that his prince charming would waltz back in, piercings and ripped clothing galore, never faded. 

A month and a half later, the little chime above the door dinged, and Roman glanced up from his handful of Baby’s Breath (seriously people, there are other fillers). Immediately a huge smile pulled at his lips and he dropped the half finished bouquet onto his table.

“Logan! What took you so… long…” His expression morphed into one of worry as he took in the other’s appearance. Gone was the usual grunge attire he was so prone to wearing, replaced with a black hoodie and beaten up Vans. His eyes no longer held that dangerous glimmer that had intimidated Roman so much when they first met. He just looked… small. Logan had never looked small before.

“My mom died last month,” He whispered.

Roman was over the desk in a second, pulling the man into his arms before he could protest. It took Logan a second, a long, awkward, stiff second, before he let his arms wrap around his waist, allowing his forehead to rest on the florist’s shoulder. 

“I thought I’d be okay when she died… it was inevitable. It was her time… so why does it still hurt so bad?” The desperate whisper shattered Roman’s heart. 

“You’re allowed to feel sad, Logan.” He felt him merely shake his head in response, but he said nothing to push the topic further. 

Logan didn’t cry as they stood there, though he clung to Roman almost desperately. If he had to guess, the poor man was probably already cried out. He looked exhausted, and his unusually slumped posture only weakened more when Roman tightened his arms ever so slightly. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. You were probably waiting.”

“Hey, no apologizing.”

“I just… didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“So what changed your mind?”

Logan shrugged, still not pulling away, “I couldn’t seem to snap myself out of it. And I needed someone who wouldn’t laugh at me. If our few interactions were anything to go by, you were that person.”

Roman decided to ignore the blatant implication that Logan didn’t have anyone except a practical stranger to go to. They could talk about that later, if he decided to stay for a while. Roman really hoped he did. 

When the tattoo artist finally pulled out of the hug, many minutes later, he pushed his sweater paws under his glasses to scrub at his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t cried, but he sure was close to it. 

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I don’t even know your name, and I-”

“It’s okay, stop-” Roman reeled back slightly, eyebrows shooting into his hairline, “Oh… sweet Zac Efron. I never told you my name! Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

“It felt too late to ask,” Logan smirked subtly despite himself, letting his hands fall back to his side.

“Oh, my sweet summer child.”

“I am none of those things.”

Roman sighed in soft exasperation, smiling at the barely perceivable glimmer in the other’s eyes. Ah, there it is. “My name’s Roman. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

He was instantly concerned with the way Logan’s face fell into one of total shock. Shit, what did he do wrong? The fear was quickly replaced with understanding, however, as the artist’s hand drifted to his right wrist. 

“What are the chances that your wrist says my name on it?” Logan said it like he was scared to be hopeful, like a happy ending was just not imaginable for him. Roman couldn’t comprehend all the emotions he felt at one time; elation, shock, fear. He answered in a choked voice, smiling all the while. 

“One hundred percent.”

The both upturned their arms in near harmony, Roman pulling his gardening glove down to reveal the name. He squinted at Logan’s wrist, finally noticing the small writing that just barely stood out underneath a grayscale (anatomically correct) heart. No wonder he missed it before, it almost blended in with the outline. 

And then Logan did cry, but so did Roman, so it was a little more okay. He seemed more confused than anything as Roman pulled him back in, holding him even tighter than before.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I’m so unused to… well, feeling. I’m not usually like this, I believe I’m just sleep deprived and worn out from-”

“You never, ever need to be guilty for feeling, you absolute punk stereotype.” Roman pressed a long kiss to the other’s temple, letting him unwind in his arms. “We’ll work on that together. I promise.”

A muffled affirmative hum was all he got in response. He pressed another kiss to the top of Logan’s head as his crying slowed, breathing out heavily into the man’s hair. Together. That’s all that mattered.  

Peep this gorgeous art piece for this fic

[effinsusie]

Day 7: Purple

CLASS ACT ch 2 on A03

Summary: School’s finally out.  Rated T+

Their tangled bodies fell together in a heap of sweaty exhaustion, clinging on as the world around them slowly fell back into place. Kagome's head finally stopped swimming, but she was still catching her breath, and the heavy rise and fall of his scalding chest beneath her cheek told her he was as well.

When the last stars sparkled from her vision; the fingers buried in thick, wild strands gave a gentle tug that forced her to look up.

"Look at you," she croaked, nuzzling deeper in his embrace, "So smug. It just slipped."

"So much for your restraint."

Those long, talented fingers lazily worked through the knots he'd put there. His own hair was no better, and she braved the arrogance she spent the last two hours feeding just to take another glimpse of the rare, disorderly sight.

Too rare, she sighed. At least lately.

She rolled on top of him to put her face in his own; the challenge in her eyes caused his eyebrow to lift.

Soft lips drifted to his ear. "Bet you can't make me say it again," she whispered before heatedly kissing the abused flesh, sucking on his lobe.

Warm hands smoothed over her backside, squeezing roughly when she rotated her hips. He rocked into the friction that stirred his arousal once again, releasing a guttural groan when skillful lips moved down his neck.

"Hn, I have worked too long around children to not identify such a childish ploy, Miss Higurashi."

Lean legs parted, pinning him between her knees and she rested her forehead heavily atop his own. Blue eyes looked innocently into his, batting dark lashes against his heavy lids.

"Does that mean you are going to discipline me, Principal Taisho?" she taunted, squirming into him again.

She let out a delightful shriek when he made firm contact with her ass, which became a pleasured gasp as he soothed the erotic sting with the offending palm. She threw her head back, encouraging the attention as he feasted on her throat to a chorus of breathy moans and sighs.

When she tried to rise up on her knees, a swift maneuver toppled her, so she was trapped half-way beneath him.

"You are in for a long night," he promised lowly. "I will ensure you are hydrated."

As he tried to pry himself off, she clung to him in protest. He returned for a kiss.

"I will not have you passing out from exhaustion before I am through with you."

Another slap reddened her other cheek, and she finally let him rise, rolling onto her back with a satiated smile.

Scooting to sit against her headboard, Kagome watched on fondly as he took a couple of tall glasses into the bathroom and busied himself at the sink. His chiseled body was covered with bitemarks and bruises, and she admired her handiwork in the various shades of purple littering his long, pale form.

"I meant it, you know."

He looked up from the glass he was filling, lips quirked. "I know."

The smile they shared relayed much more than the lust they'd spent the better part of the evening celebrating. But the circumstances of their relationship forced too much to go unsaid as it was.

"I've really missed you this week."

The hint of sadness in her voice reflected in his gaze, making her feel guilty.

"I will endeavor to make the next more accommodating, lest we find ourselves both seeking employment."

He was only half-joking, but it was clear that ignoring their desires at work was impossible if they couldn't find at least some time together during the week.

She hated those rules, but she loved this job. And she had only just started there. She didn't know if his tenor made the situation better for him, or worse.

"Maybe me, but they won't fire you."

"I am your superior," he said, and shut off the sink. "I am held to a higher standard."

"Don't think that's not how I'll plead my case if we get caught, either." She grinned cheekily as he walked back in the room, a full glass of water in each hand.

"Don't think I will not support those claims."

She was only kidding, but Kagome truly believed she was the only one in danger of getting put up on the chopping block if their colleagues found out about them. At the very least, his job would be spared.

His reputation, on the other hand...

Not that hers would be any better, but that was the more likely consequence of their torrid little affair.

At least, she had to believe it was. She didn't know if she could carry on like this if she thought their actions might ruin him. Speaking of which...

"I meant to ask; did you get ahold of Kagura?"

He rounded the bed carefully with his cargo, looking too stoic not to be uncomfortable with the topic.

He'd pointedly avoided discussing her, though she suspected it was for as his benefit just as much as hers. But enough time had passed, and she didn't want to avoid anything when it came to him.

She'd proven that just thirty minutes ago.

"Unfortunately, I missed her at pick up this afternoon- despite the messages I left."

He handed her a glass and took a seat on the edge of the bed while she greedily gulped it down.

"I called three times, and she has yet to respond," he said, and paused halfway to bringing the water to his lips. "Though considering how we left things, it is not entirely unexpected."

Seeing how much this daunted him, she felt guilty for troubling him with it. But she knew he would have wanted her to.

She began rubbing his back supportively.

"I hope she does, for Rin's sake. You're her daughter's principal; she can't avoid you forever."

He sighed, placing his empty glass next to hers. "You are right, of course, but the wounds are still fresh." At her insistence, he stretched out beside her on the bed, pulling her close as she happily nuzzled into the embrace.

"Regardless, if need be, I shall pay her a visit. Though I hope it does not come to that."

"Me too." She smiled deviously, sliding her body over his. "But I have to say; it's really sexy how you go above and beyond for your students."

Mischief returned to his eyes, staring back at her through sodden, silver bangs. She gyrated, hands smoothing over the planes of his broad chest as he arrested her arms in his grip.

"Let us not forget all I do for the teachers," he rumbled, craning forward.

Before their lips met, she pushed him back.

"I hope I'm the only one getting such special attention."

"Of course," he said, and leaned towards her again. This time, he landed a kiss.

When she pulled away after only a quick moment, he was not discouraged, affirming his hold and busying himself at the hollow of her throat.

"Hm, I don't know," she grinned. "I see you talking to Kaede an awful lot in the lounge..."

A muffled noise vibrated against her, making the hands at his shoulders clutch tightly.

"Merely a decoy," he removed his lips long enough to say, "to divert from the tawdry affair I am having with the pretty, young new hire."

She giggled as he returned to kissing her neck, but they became breathier as he grew more assertive.

"So scandalous," she gasped. "I'm starting to think you didn't hire me on account of my exemplary credentials."

"Of course, I did," he said, dragging his mouth over salty, heated skin. "Though I must admit, that was not the reason I insisted on taking you to lunch on your first day."

She feigned incredulity, forcing him onto his back.

"You mean, you don't take all the new teachers to the nicest restaurant in town to welcome them aboard?"

"No." He kissed her again. "Nor do I invite them to my personal residence for celebratory drinks, offer to help them move into their new apartment or... any of the numerous events that took place afterward."

She rested her full weight atop him, batting innocent blue eyes in his face once again.

"Except Kaede," she asserted.

She shrieked when he flipped them effortlessly, a mixture of giggles and screams as he pinned her beneath his body and let her punishment finally commence.

They continued long into the night, along with a myriad of other noises that made him glad he got her hydrated.

TBC

***

A/N: That's SessKag Week! I wish I could have given you guys (and myself) closure on all these stories, but I'm actually pretty syked I managed to post everyday. I couldn't quite make it last year, and I did not think I'd have more than 3 days to contribute when the week began. I was literally writing until the moment I posted on these, so it was pretty exciting! I learned a lot about what I can get done if I really push, and don't worry about perfection (or whatever my version of that is lol) So, I have this story and Greener Pastures to finish, along with another installment to Transparent (Opaque). Which would you like to see first? I'll see what i can do.

And for those of you screaming WTF? FINISH RENDEZVOUS ALREADY! or UPDATE VICE; don't worry! I did not abandon them. I was just trying to get through this week, and then I swear I will get back to those. Sometimes space from a story makes it better, and i think you're gonna be glad i let it settle.

Thanks for reading!  I have a ton to catch up on.

Oh yeah, and Feudal Connection is having their Inuyasha awards rn on Tumblr. So you can go vote for the fics and art you like for a bit longer.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

You can STAY- Part Three

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Lee Felix (side pairing: Y/N x Stray Kids)

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: Language

Genre: Fantasy AU; Scarlet Heart AU; OT8 SKZ

Previous Parts: Part One, Part Two

Summary: Y/N has another unexpected confrontation with Prince Felix. But he’s also not her biggest problem, especially when she uncovers a potentially devastating plot that could completely unravel the royal hierarchy.

Taglist: @angelphantomlove​ @moonlightracha​ @staycarat0801 @jjabbur​ @pinkchcn​ @smolchild-lol @straykidbaby​ @moonnstars90​ @choisaemi @dru-shadow​ @skzooyeet​

It was still early that morning when I woke-up to the sound of someone knocking on the door to my bedroom. For a moment, I was too disoriented to respond, but the sound grew louder with the force of whoever was insistent about coming inside. Finally, I gave in and walked over to answer the door with a nonchalance that I’m sure reflected my drowsiness.

“Jeongin?” I questioned, surprised to see the younger standing on the other side.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said, and it was a timid greeting as he shuffled anxiously in the doorway. 

“Did you need something?” I asked, wondering why one of the King’s sons had went out of his way to visit me in my small dungeon bedroom.

“I, uh, wanted to make sure you weren’t busy today,” Jeongin said. “I'd like to visit the market again and try to sell my paintings.”

The request took me off-guard, and I didn’t know which I was more surprised to hear: that Jeongin wanted me to accompany him, or that the King’s youngest son made trips to the market to sell his artwork like he didn’t already have enough money. “I guess I can go with you,” I said.

“It’s mostly for protection,” Jeongin said. “Cuz’ of your powers and stuff...”

I grinned at his awkward conversation because it was strangely adorable to hear him stumble over his request. “I’d love to, Jeongin,” I said. “Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you outside on the bridge.”

Jeongin nodded in agreement and I gently closed the door to prepare myself for an impromptu trip into town.

It certainly sounded like a better prospect than resigning myself to another day of medicinal experimentation - searching for the cure that would alleviate Ella’s suffering. Ever since my encounter with Chan’s wife, I had been relentlessly searching my manuals and the records kept neatly arranged in the Castle’s library. However, despite my efforts, I was no closer to finding the answers than I had been during our first meeting.

Yet, I could never give-up on something that might help someone else in need, so I maintained my confidence that I just needed to look harder. But one day out of the confines of my bedroom couldn’t possibly hurt, especially since I had experienced an excruciating headache during the previous night after spending all afternoon hunched over my desk.

I nodded in self-determination, swiping my brush through my hair one more time before I left my room, walking upstairs alone with the company of my thoughts as I tried to focus on the task at hand. If Jeongin trusted me enough for protection, then I would do my best not to disappoint him. I had worked hard to fine-tune my powers for any case that might arise while I served the royal family, and I considered my fighting skills to be an enormous source of pride.

“You should feel privileged to walk so freely without care.”

I paused at the top of the staircase at the sound of an all-too familiar voice, and I frowned when Felix came into view while wearing an arrogant smile. “Forgive me, miss,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction.”

“Then what do you consider our last meeting?” I asked him. “If I recall correctly, you insinuated that I would bring ruin to this Castle.”

“Of course not,” Felix said. “It was rather premature of me to base my opinion on a foolish disagreement with Seungmin.”

“I agree,” I said, keeping my tone neutral as I watched him come even closer. “Do you not believe such things anymore?”

“I find you perfectly elegant, Y/N,” Felix said. “You seem to prioritize your morals above everything else, and I can sense a profound loyalty for my family despite only just arriving a few nights ago.”

“Not so much your family,” I corrected him. “I serve the kingdom, and that means honoring those who lead it.”

“How righteous,” Felix said. “Consider me impressed by your character.”

“I wish I could the say the same,” I said, and I was pleased when Felix’s smile vanished.

“Have I done something to offend you?” Felix asked. “I apologized for my actions. Please don’t tell me that you intend to hold a grudge?”

“Consider it more of a casual suspicion,” I said, watching his green eyes narrow. “I’ve learned a lot about you since my arrival.”

“Is that so?” Felix asked, and I could tell that he was not appreciative of my comment.

I nodded as I remembered my conversation with Chan on the same afternoon when I met his wife - how he willingly opened up to me about his red-haired brother in exchange for a tentative promise to help his wife.

“I know that you aren’t wanted here,” I said. “I was told that your own mother tried to kill you when you were merely a child.”

“Where did you hear this?” Felix asked, but his tone wasn’t angry like I had been expecting; instead, he seemed unusually morose while he looked at me with sad green eyes.

“Does it matter?” I asked him. “How else should I look upon someone whose own father hated him so much that he sent him away to another kingdom?”

My words triggered a brief silence between us, and it seemed like they had a great affect on Felix, but I was still stunned when he reached out to grab my wrist - directing my hand over his heart. “Do you feel that?” he asked, and I slowly nodded. “I’m human, Y/N,” he continued. “This opinion you have of me matters because it’s made you forget that I’m flesh and blood like you. And I expected someone with your moral integrity to know better than to treat an equal as lesser, or to believe nasty rumors without understanding the whole story.”

I could feel my mouth fall open in shock, and I looked at Felix for the first time without a single ounce of judgment. But I still couldn’t help but remain stuck on one word in particular: “Equal,” I repeated.

“Do you not consider that accurate?” Felix asked. “As far as I’m concerned, we both live and breath and share the same experiences. And to address your other offense against me, I’d like you to understand that my mother is a wicked woman who has always favored her eldest son. She held him to the utmost regard while I was nothing but a mistake that she always regretted...Yes, my mother did try to kill me, but it wasn’t out of a sense of righteousness to rid this world of a perceived evil. And when she wasn’t successful, she gave me this scar that I hide from the rest of the world.”

I swallowed hard when Felix removed the black mask obscuring the left side of his face to reveal a diagonal line of jagged edges. “In actuality, she would’ve done anything to ensure that Chan had no competition to stand in his way of the throne. But look at how well that worked out for them both. Chan decided to marry a peasant girl and defy our father, and he deserves his lowered status because he needs to finally understand that his actions have consequences that can last for a lifetime.”

He finished his tirade with a heavy exhale before securing his mask back into place. “Look at us, Y/N. We’ve both decreed presumptive judgments of one another, and they’re entirely inaccurate.” He then lowered his gaze when he infiltrated my personal space - far closer than what might be considered appropriate. “Forgive me for all that I’ve done that forced you to seek these lies. Perhaps in the future, we can hold a civil conversation together.”

I closed my eyes, reeling from the onslaught of his confession. “Why are so insistent on defending these perceptions, Felix?”

“Because you came here with no outside bias against me,” Felix replied. “I refuse to see these royals feed you misinformation just for you to turn against me as well.”

“I suppose it almost worked,” I said. “But I’m still confused after listening to an entirely different side.”

“It’s my side,” Felix insisted. “Seek the truth for yourself, but keep in mind that the people in this Castle are all looking out for their best interests.”

“Aren’t you doing the same?”

“Yes, but you’ll hopefully come to find that I never speak untruths,” he said. “My mother is an insane liar, and her clever tongue managed to keep Chan in this castle after his marriage, even though the king decided to deny him the opportunity to take the throne. I’ve seen her behave this way for my entire life, and I once vowed to never be anything like her.”

He finally stepped away, and I was able to inhale without restriction. His grin returned as he observed me. “Despite what you’re thinking, my return to the castle was not predicated on ill-conceived intentions. There’s no reason to doubt me, Y/N, and for the record, I’d like you to know that you’ve fascinated me from the moment I saw you at the choosing ceremony.”

His final declaration rendered me speechless, and I found myself trembling when he offered me a discreet wink before returning in the direction from which he had arrived.

By the time the sun was at its highest point in the sky, Jeongin and I were carefully walking around the outskirts of the market - searching for the perfect place to set up his paintings. “I do this all the time,” Jeongin reassured me with a cute smile that was impossible to deny.

“Okay,” I agreed, admiring the usual bustle of the market as eager patrons searched for the best prices on the goods they required.

“Over there,” Jeongin suggested, pointing to an empty stall, and I followed him with a selection of his paintings secured under my arm. “Let’s organize them,” Jeongin said, and I carefully followed his instructions while also admiring the beautiful creations that he had crafted. 

“These are gorgeous,” I said, and he brightened at the compliment.

“Really?”

“Of course,” I said, tracing my fingertips across the texture of an oil painting. “They look so real.”

“My mother thinks it’s a waste of time,” Jeongin scoffed, gaze hardening for a moment as he stepped back to admire our efforts. 

“I think it’s creative,” I said. “It makes you stand out from the others.”

“Exactly,” Jeongin agreed. “Everyone else already has something that makes them unique, and I wanted my own thing.”

“Well, you certainly found it,” I said, pausing when I noticed an elderly woman approaching our collection.

“How much for this one?” she inquired, indicating a rather gorgeous recreation of the surrounding mountain range.

While Jeongin started negotiations, I took my time perusing the remaining pieces that he had brought with him. I could tell that he had put his heart and soul into faithful adaptations of the most random subject matter: everything from scenic portraits to little drawings of his family members. It was a fascinating dynamic to his character, and I wondered how long the prince had been painting because these looked far too advanced considering his young age.

“Are you serious!?” a hostile voice growled, interrupting my musings with a tone that alerted me to possibility of an impending confrontation.

“What’s going on?” I asked, coming to stand next to a fuming Jeongin as he glared at the man who was holding one of his paintings.

“This little brat thinks he can swindle me out of my money!” the man said. “The cost of this shit is worth more than my house!”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d reconsider the price,” I said, stepping closer when I sensed an opportunity to appease the tension.

“I won’t!” Jeongin declared. “That piece is incredibly valuable!”

“Of course, the bastard thinks that his royal blood makes everything he touches turn to gold.”

“That’s enough,” I said, lowering my tone. “You can look elsewhere if you can’t afford his price.”

“For your information, bitch, I’m looking in exactly the right place,” the man said, and I noticed him reaching for the sword secured at his side. 

I took a deep breath when I noticed that the men he had traveled with were also advancing on the two of us - raising their own weapons into the air. I narrowed my eyes and willed their swords to fly out of their hands - shocking both of his partners. “You might want to reconsider your stance,” I said to the first man, but his accompanying smirk caught me off-guard - like he wasn’t intimidated in the slightest by my magic.

“Maybe you need a lesson in manners too,” the man said, and I could barely formulate a response before I heard Jeongin shriek my name while a pair of arms wrapped around my waist. I could feel the breath escape my lungs, and then there was a hand over my eyes, preventing me from seeing what was happening, and I started thrashing around in the limbs holding me hostage. “Let me gut this stupid girl first,” the man said, and I could hear Jeongin calling for help as the sharp point of a sword teased the side of my throat. 

But the man never followed through on his promise, and I only realized a moment later that he had been compromised when I fell to the ground with a grunt. My hand went to my throat because I could still feel the phantom effects of the sword’s blade, and my eyes blinked rapidly as I saw two figures standing at the front of our stall - waving their swords with impressive skill and growling out insults. Apparently, Jeongin’s call for help had actually been answered, and I was relieved to see both Prince Chan and Prince Felix warding off the opposition. 

“Your business here is done,” Felix said, appearing nothing short of intimidating with his mask and sword.

“They should be so lucky,” the first man snarled, but he knew better than to continue a fight that he was destined to lose.

I watched him walk away before I realized that Felix and Chan were both hovering over me with matching expressions of concern. “Y/N?” Chan asked with a gentle tone.

“Thank you,” I managed to respond, flushing when I noticed that both Felix and Chan had outstretched their hands for me to take. But instead of forcing myself to make that decision, I rose at my own autonomy, glaring at Felix when he chuckled.

“They might not be so lucky next time,” one of the men called back, and he must’ve still been riding the waves of adrenaline when he chanced a step back in our direction.

“Get the hell out of here,” Chan snapped at the burly man who had helped attack us, and he grumbled in complaint but obeyed nonetheless. “Y/N,” Chan repeated, shoving Felix out of the way as he came closer. “Are you okay?”

I nodded while Felix scoffed. “What the hell were the two of you doing causing trouble like that?” 

“We weren’t causing trouble,” I said, and Felix smirked.

“Good,” he said in response. “After our conversation earlier, I would hate to discover that you had lied to me, Y/N.”

Chan frowned at that - glancing between me and Felix with a curious expression. “Let’s just get everyone back to the castle,” he said, and I agreed with one last glare in Felix’s direction.

The next morning, Anna woke me up early with a bright smile. “Good news,” she said, starting for my wardrobe. “The King has requested your presence at the tea ceremony today! They’re honoring Minho for his selection.”

I groaned around the exhaustion holding me captive. “Is this a request or a demand?”

Anna hesitated as she laid a dress across my bed. “Well, I wouldn’t ignore the King.”

“Of course,” I said, forcing myself to abandon the comforts of my mattress. “When will it take place?”

“This afternoon,” Anna said. “You should hurry and get dressed.”

I nodded quietly in easy compliance, watching Anna leave me to my own volition as I forced myself to put on the dress that she had left behind for me. It was fairly modest, but the sleeves had a very delicate lace lining them. I also spent a few moments in front of the mirror to check my appearance, which I never normally allowed, before I left my room to walk upstairs. 

It was suspiciously quiet in the corridors, and I found it strange because I remembered that the King’s wives lived in this area of the Castle. But it was pointless to assume anything, and perhaps they were already waiting at the ceremony with their sons.

However, my senses went on high alert when I heard two voices intermingling towards the end of the passage, and I pinpointed the noise coming from a single bedroom. Subsequently, I paused outside the room, glancing through the space between the door and the entryway to see Changbin and Queen Seo speaking together in low voices.

“You’ll be next to the King,” Queen Seo said, and she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she examined Changbin’s outfit. “Do you remember the plan?”

“Of course,” Changbin replied. “I shall look for the handmaiden.”

“I’ll have her deliver the tea,” Queen Seo explained. “Once Minho drinks it...” She trailed off with a maniacal grin, reaching out to adjust Changbin’s hanbok. “My son looks so handsome,” she remarked. “Like a true leader.”

Changbin sneered at her words. “He thinks that Minho could possibly do better than me?”

Queen Seo shook her head as if she couldn’t believe it either. “Don’t trouble your mind. Tonight, we shall change his perception after we kill that little bastard.”

The promise held dangerous implications, and I stumbled backwards from the door in surprise. It was my sworn duty to protect the rulers of this Castle, and I had barely given the plot any further consideration before I was returning to my quarters.

Because I would ensure Minho’s well-being, even at the cost of my own position.

I was late to the tea ceremony as a result of my efforts, but I only received a stern reprimand from Ms. White before she escorted me to my seat next to Seungmin and Jisung. It also offered me an appropriate vantage point of Minho who I kept within my sights as everyone spoke around me with joyful tones. I had nearly forgotten that it was a celebration, and I found myself narrowing my eyes at Queen Seo and Changbin as they laughed together with the King like there was nothing wrong.

“You seem distracted.”

I slid my gaze away from Changbin - locating Seungmin as he leaned in closer to be make himself heard over the noise. “What did you say?”

“You know, Y/N,” Seungmin said, propping his chin against his hand. “I happen to like this color on you.”

I was surprised by his strangely flirtatious tone. “Excuse, me?”

But instead of replying to my query, Seungmin shot me a discreet wink and turned to Jeongin who offered his brother a friendly smile. The whole encounter was decidedly unusual, and I wondered if everyone in this Castle was startling to lose their minds.

“Don’t concern yourself with him,” Jisung said while nodding at his brother. “He’s a rare breed.”

I found myself smiling at the jest in spite of my concerns. “What can you possibly mean by that, Prince Jisung?”

“It’s his way of impressing you,” Jisung said.

“Impressing me?”

“He’s convinced himself that you only fight with him to hide your true feelings,” Jisung revealed. “Seungmin thinks you’re harboring secret affections.”

“I might’ve helped,” Hyunjin added from across the table, and I grimaced at the idea before reclining back in my chair.

“How remarkable,” I said. “He didn’t seem to like me.”

“Seungmin always acts that way around strangers,” Jisung said. “But he warms up to them eventually.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Hyunjin said. “And try not to hold it against him. He really does like you.”

“But why shouldn’t he?” a new voice contributed, and both Jisung and Hyunjin flinched when Felix suddenly entered the room - pausing at the end of the table. “Y/N is very interesting.”

I turned away from him, fanning my hand across my chest because my heart was doing something peculiar inside my chest.

The King, however, was furious. He stood and glared down at Felix with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Why shouldn’t I come?” Felix returned. “I’d like to celebrate Minho’s ascension to the throne. It’s what a good brother should do.”

“It’s alright, father,” Minho said, and I’m sure his words were shocking to most of the people at the table. “He can sit with us.”

“Very well,” the King relented, but he never took his eyes away from Felix as he sat down next to Hyunjin. “We shall begin.”

The King’s command summoned several handmaidens who brought inside the ceremonial tea for our consumption. Because of what I had discovered earlier, I kept a close eye on the handmaiden who served Minho - it was poisoned tea, and I had taken a potion earlier that should stop its effects. Since the potion contained a powerful chemical that was effective against all the traditional poisons I had studied, everything should be fine.

But there was a small risk that the queen had chosen a poison that could defy my potion, but I doubted that she would go to such great lengths.

“In honor of my son, Minho,” the King announced. “We shall drink to his health and vitality.”

I held my breath when everyone lifted a tea cup into the air, and I chose that precise moment to make my move.

“Your highness,” I intervened, coming around the table to grab Minho’s cup - ignoring the gasps of horror that echoed from the queens. “Shall I try it first?”

Minho blinked in surprise, looking at me like he couldn’t believe that I was standing over him. “I-I suppose.”

“In your honor, of course,” I added hastily before lifting the rim of the delicate cup to my lips. 

I could taste the poison as it slid down my throat, but I emptied most of the glass before wiping the remnants with the back of my hand. I sat the cup back on the table, swallowing hard when I felt the effects swim through my system. Thankfully, they were quickly assuaged by the potion that still lingered in my bloodstream. It worked just as I had imagined, and I reached out for Minho’s chair to overcome a brief bout of dizziness.

Everything was silent around me, but I forced a smile as I bowed to the King who was regarding me with a peculiar look. In the meantime, I was determined to finish the rest of the tea so that I could pour Minho something untainted. But I never anticipated further interruptions:

“I’d like to have the honor as well,” Felix said with a smirk, and I glared at him when he rose from his seat.

“It’s not necessary,” I insisted, but Felix jerked the cup away from me with an acute speed.

“But I insist,” Felix said, and he gave me a knowing look - one that said he was aware of the situation.

“Felix-” I tried again, but he had already lifted the rim to his lips - downing the rest of its contents with a sigh.

“Is this funny to you?” the King growled, and Felix simply chuckled.

“I’ve caused enough mischief for one afternoon,” he said, and he stumbled on his way to the exit. 

“Fool,” I whispered because I knew that Felix could potentially die without treatment. Thus, I bowed once again to the king before running out of the room in search of him.

It didn’t take me long to find him - collapsed in the remote corridor outside of the room.

“Prince Felix!” I gasped, and I ran the remaining steps before dropping down next to his crumbled form. “Are you insane?”

Felix rolled over onto his back, chest heaving, as he fixed me with a familiar smirk. “How is it fair that you get to have all the fun?

“You knew,” I hissed, cradling his head on my lap as I reached into my robes for the extra potion. “Drink this,” I insisted, holding the vile up to his pale lips.

Felix obeyed, consuming the potion before grinning up at me. “Are you furious with me, Y/N?”

“You absolute fool,” I said, resisting the urge to jostle the prince too much while he still fought to recover. “Why would you do something like that? It was poisoned.”

“But nobody would’ve ever known,” Felix said. “I do admire you, Y/N, but is it wise to stop the efforts of one plot when the same person might conceive of a dozen others?”

I sighed when I realized the wisdom of his words. “It’s a complicated matter,” I said, and the Prince narrowed his eyes.

I didn’t like the suspicious gleam in his gaze, especially when he leaned most of his weight against me for a closer examination. “You know who it is?” he asked, and his nose brushed against mine. 

“Don’t do this,” I pleaded with him because I knew that we were teetering precariously over dangerous ground with consequences that went beyond what either of us were prepared to face. It was a personal mattered that involved one of the King’s wives and her son - an issue that would lead to radical conflict.

“You won’t tell me,” Felix stated simply, and I thought I was in the clear until the prince opened his mouth again. “It must be very sinister. I’ll have to assume that it involved someone in that room.”

I swallowed hard and Felix smiled because I had just inadvertently given him the confirmation that he was seeking. “You shouldn’t meddle,” I warned him, shivering when his fingers traced along my lips.

“What I wouldn’t give to see inside that beautiful head of yours,” Felix said, and we both continued to stare at one another in awe.

But the moment was broken by the sounds of approaching footsteps, and I moved away from Felix just in time to see several guards running in our direction. “What’s wrong with him?” one of the guards demanded, and I hesitated because I had also noticed that most of the princes were arriving on the scene. 

There was every opportunity to stick to my original plan and keep everything incognito, but then Felix gave me a meaningful look, and I reluctantly relented. “He’s been poisoned.”

“Poisoned!” one of the guards exclaimed, and there was only chaos that followed. Just as I had suspected. But there were also Felix’s green eyes, and they managed to anchor me to the moment, even amidst all the noise and screaming. 

They were somehow reassuring, and I clung to them desperately when the King demanded my presence in the Throne Room.

It was an intimidating sight: kneeling before the King as he leered down at me from his throne. “Do you understand that you have no right to decide the fate of this Castle?”

I shivered at the underlying threat in his tone. “Your highness,” I said. “Forgive me. I thought it was best to solve this issue on my own as deemed by my duties.”

“Is this an admission of guilt?” The King asked. “Did you know what would happen before stepping inside that room?”

“Yes,” I said, closing my eyes and wondering if this would be my last day in the Castle.

“You knew of this plot but refused to speak up?” the King growled, and I lowered my head before him.

“Forgive me,” I once again requested softly. “I was afraid that revealing the complexities would cause the perpetrator to act out far more rashly.”

“My son almost died,” the King said, and I could see Minho shift in his seat from my peripheral vision. 

“My intention was to save him,” I said. “I wanted to let the assailant know that their plots will never work while I’m around to protect the royal family.”

The King was silent for a moment after my confession, and he considered me with a strange look. “I see,” he finally said. “I cannot punish you mage because your efforts saved Minho, but I must also give you a warning: the next time you learn of something so consequential, you will come to me and reveal everything.”

“Yes, your majesty,” I said, and I stood once more at his command. “I shall remember your words.”

“Very well,” the King said with a dismissive hand. “You may retire to your quarters.”

I made sure to offer him a polite bow before I was rapidly making my way out of the Throne Room - mind working a mile a minute. The brief intervention had allowed the the rare chance to speak to the King without his wives - one of which remained guilty of the plot to kill Minho. I could’ve spoken out against her, but there were far more complications to such an innocuous action.

Who would really believe me over the word of the Queen?

More importantly, would Felix say something about my hidden knowledge? Because he had somehow figured out that I was aware of the guilty party involved, and I had no doubt that he would question me in the future.

Yet, there were also more pressing matters to consider, such as the unexpected arrival of Minho who had somehow escaped the King’s notice. “Mage,” Minho interrupted, stopping me outside the throne room. “Could I have a word?”

“Of course, your highness,” I said, and I followed Minho as he led me further down the corridor to a quiet enclave.

“This is more private for our conversation,” Minho explained, and I was struck by the smile he gave me.

“I’m all ears, your grace,” I said, but Minho surprised me further by laughing, and he crowded me against the wall.

“I know you drank the tea to save me,” Minho said, and I startled when he reached out to touch the side of my face.

“Your highness,” I said, flushing at the unexpected contact. “W-what do you mean?”

“You don’t have to be coy with me, Y/N,” Minho said, and I gasped because it was the first time that he had ever used my real name. “I may not understand love, but I can tell when someone is trying hard to catch my attention.”

I nearly spluttered around my words when I caught onto his implication. “Y-you misunderstand-”

“Please don’t hide anymore,” Minho said, and I faltered at the desperation in his tone. “Perhaps when we get to know one another, I’ll consider bringing the prospect of marriage before my father.”

Marriage!? 

“You’re serious,” I said, and I struggled to form a single coherent sentence following Minho’s passionate declaration. 

“Shall we start tonight?” Minho continued as if I had never spoken, and his fingers burned a trail down the side of my face. 

It was obvious that he was lost to whatever perception he held of me, but I glanced to the side when I heard a noise that had not originated from myself or Minho. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I froze when I found myself caught in the snare of an intimate gaze. But I hesitated when I realized that those green irises belonged to Felix, and the look in his stare was impossible to discern.

[redrobinhoods]

Sticks and Stones | Chapter 5, goodbye to the silence

AO3 Link | 2,300 words (approx) | Chapter 1, Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: Stone grows more comfortable with Riyo's presence as the war draws to a close. 

“Senator Chuchi?” Stone stopped just inside the doorway to Fox’s office. He’d expected the room to be empty, not to find Riyo sitting in Fox’s chair, her feet up on Fox’s desk, with Rys slumped over on the desk opposite her, asleep.

“Commander Stone!” She greeted him. “Fox is off responding-.”

“-to the prison breach.” Stone finished the sentence for her before he made up his mind and stepped fully into the room, allowing the door to close behind him. “I thought I’d just return these datapads without a conversation, but it appears I was mistaken.”

“He asked me to keep an eye on Rys while he was gone.” She gestured apologetically to the sleeping man.

“Right. It’s physical time for the officers.” That meant hypertests. “I should’ve told him to take the day off.”

Riyo raised her brows. “Do clones get days off?”

“No.” Stone laughed. “But we give them anyways. Can do that here, without a Jedi breathing down our necks. And the Chancellor doesn’t care so long as he’s got Thire to run around for him.”

“How is Commander Thire? I assume he’s accompanying the Chancellor on his trip to Naboo?”

“I didn’t know the Chancellor was leaving Coruscant any time soon.”

“He’s taking a week off at the insistence of his aids.”

“Well, Thire has a physical scheduled for next week. He’s not going anywhere with the Chancellor.” Stone drummed his fingers against the stack of datapads in his hands as he contemplated if his next question was worth asking. “Riyo, assuming that the Redrobes are handling everything on Naboo, would you mind if we borrow Fox from you sometime next week?” For a moment, Stone feared that the look upon Riyo’s face was anger, he had seen that look many times before he or his brothers had been admonished by a senator, then she laughed.

“He’s your brother, Stone.” She straightened up in Fox’s chair and threw on her senatorial tone. “I give you permission to take care of Marshal Commander Fox, Commanding Officer of the Coruscant Guard, for the duration of one night in the upcoming week, provided that he be safely returned to a bed on that night.”

“What about early the next morning?”

“Or early the next morning.” She slouched back down into Fox’s chair and changed her tone. “What do you have in mind?”

“To be honest, Riyo, getting him and Thire absolutely piss drunk.”

Riyo laughed again and shook her head. “Fox will enjoy that. And I imagine all three of you need it.”

“We’re going to win this war, Riyo. It’s just a matter of staying alive until we get there.” He had initially been skeptical of Fox’s belief that the war was soon ending, but something was changing in the Senate. In just the past few days, something was in the air that hadn’t been before. The Outer Rim Sieges were coming to a close, and with them, an anticipation that Stone hadn’t felt since his last months on Kamino. They were all waiting for something promised, and something said that the time would be soon.

Riyo smiled up at him, then her gaze flickered towards Rys, who hadn’t stirred throughout the conversation.

“He’ll be alright.” Stone promised her as he made his way to his brother’s side. Shifting his hold on Fox’s datapads, he reached down to clasp Rys’ shoulder. When his brother didn’t stir, an idea came into his head. “Have Jek and Rys ever told you of the rampant corruption in the Guard?”

“No, they haven’t.”

“Well, you see, apparently some of the commanders are too soft to hold their men accountable for things such as betting rings and pranks. Because of this, they’ve gained some confidence in their actions.” Stone let go of Rys’ shoulder and reached for the datapads in his arms. “They’ve stopped believing in consequences.” Using the juts and crevices of the armor, he was able to lay the datapads across Rys’ shoulders without any casualties. “But I have nothing else to do this afternoon. Could you pass me the datapads on the cabinet?”

---

“That was you?” Rys stared astonished across the table at Stone while Jek laughed into the back of his fist. “I thought it was Jek, I’ve been snubbing him all week!”

“I told you I was innocent!”

Stone shrugged and swirled the blue liquid in his glass around. “I saw a chance and I took it, nothing more.

“I just didn’t know you had a sense of humor, Commander.”

“Rys!” Thire protested.

“I just might. Don’t tell the men.” Stone spared a glance towards Fox as he raised the glass to his lips. “At least I’m not the one shoving my men into trashcans. Not that Kilo didn’t deserve it.”

Fox lowered his head in faux shame. “Actions have consequences. I could’ve fit you too, you know.”

“I have too much dirt on you. Thire and I, we’re safe from the garbage.”

“And what dirt does Thire have?”

Thire raised his brow. “Your holonet history. And the stories Thorn told me, but I feel that the holonet history comes off as a better threat.”

“What does the Chancellor’s holonet history look like?” Jek pressed.

“Boring. Now, Mas Amedda’s history…” Thire shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “That’s a whole ‘nother can of joopas.”

“You’re a menace to Coruscant.”

“I’m just enjoying my one free week. I don’t have to worry about the Chancellor, I am a model of physical health, and they fixed the water heater in the barracks so toasty showers are back.”

“That’s the most important thing on that list.” Rys agreed. “Hot showers.”

“The Kaminoans must’ve hated your batch for going through all that hot water.” Stone said.

“Commander Thorn did log a few complaints about his squad using too much hot water on deployment.” Thire gave a weak laugh. “When most of your men are hot water fiends in a galaxy with water rations, beings get angry.”

Fox matched Thire’s sad smile. “That’s why I let him and Stone sweep your batch up.”

“Jek and Rys were forced on me by Thorn.” Stone corrected. “Sorry, you two.”

Jek shook his head sadly. “It’s okay, we know we were unwanted.”

“Don’t say it like that!”

“How else do you want me to say it?”

When Stone laughed, he turned towards Thire to watch his brother’s reaction. With the Chancellor gone, Thire’s headaches had subsided little by little each day, and with them the stress of waiting on the leader of the Republic. Now, surrounded by his fellow commanders and batchmates, he seemed entirely at peace. It only made Stone hate the Chancellor more. As a figurehead, he still had Stone’s respect, and Stone would do anything that he’d asked out of loyalty to the Republic. But Stone was growing to despise the man.

He’d tried to talk Thire out of it. Tried to get him to take on a new duty, fill his time with things that he couldn’t be taken away from. But Thire had refused and Stone would respect his wishes.

The energy that had been in the air before had only grown over the past few days since he had talked to Riyo. He and Thire had talked about it, late at night when the trepidation was too much for them to sleep. The Senate felt different. The galaxy felt different. Even Wolffe, on Cato Neimoidia, had shaken his head when talking to them two days ago and confessed that something felt wrong even there.

Stone wasn’t sure if he wanted the war to end anymore.

---

But as with all things, wars begin and end whether one wants them to or not.

Stone’s heart leapt in his throat as the barrage of tri-droid fire hit the line of riot shields, sending some of his men flying through the air. This was wrong. This was very wrong.

“Hold rank, hold!” He shouted at the clatter of armor that rose around him. “Close the gaps and hold.”

They had never trained for something like this. Sure, they had been trained for riot shields, for city combat, and for aerial strikes. What they hadn’t trained for was using riot shields against aerial strikes. And the Coruscant Guard had never been given any form of battle-ready shielding. Even the legions of men who fought with them didn’t have their field-gear. All of that was on the Venators, and nearly the entire fleet was above the city at the moment. They had nothing.

“We’re going to be slaughtered out here!” Jek yelled above the clamor around them.

“Hold the line, Jek.” Stone growled. “We’re the only cover these men have.”

The open area around the Senate had not been built for war. There was nowhere to hide, which, while good for fending off local crime and providing little to no sniper perches, made it a hard position to hold.

“With all due respect, Commander, this is not a riot. This is not what we’re here for!”

“We’re here to serve and protect the Republic, Jek. With our lives if necessary.”

“And this much death is not necessary.”

“If we lose this battle, there will be so many more dead. Hold the line.”

Another burst of fire from the tri-fighters rained down, and Stone’s grip tightened on his shield in anticipation. It was only a matter of time. While the shields held off the fire of the battle droids before them, they were no match for the tri-fighters. They had no match, nor any means of pushing them off. Anti-aircraft weapons were not supplied to the Guard either.

Stone raised his comm. “Fox, where’s that air support?”

“We’re trying. The Separatists have the airspace; none of our ships can get in.”

Stone watched the group of tri-fighters circling back around. “Tell the admiral that if he can’t get any ships in, we and a good portion of the one eighty-seventh are going to die.”

“I know, Stone. I know.” Fox sounded tired. He had no reason not to be, for all the two of them knew, this could be the last time they spoke. Stone had to give him something.

“If we get out of this, you’re buying me and the one eighty-seventh captain drinks, okay? I’m going to hold you to that, Fox.” The fighters were lining up again. “I’m going to hold you to that drink.” He tightened his grip on the shield once more as the tri-fighters made their run. But this time, there was no fire. The tri-fighters streaked overhead and disappeared into the sky above.

“Stone? Stone do you read me?”

“They left. The fighters left.” Stone rose from the duracrete, keeping the shield before him to deflect the incoming blasterfire from the battle droids. But then that was unnecessary as the droids stopped and began to fall back. “Fox, what’s going on?”

“I’ll call you back.” And the comm clicked off.

Stone turned back to look for the purple-painted captain of the 187th, who he found making his way through the crowd towards him. “What did I miss?”

“I came here to ask you the same. Should we press after them, sir?”

Stone would have preferred the captain made the call, but this was his ground, and he was the commander. “Our objective is to guard the Senate building. This could be a feint to draw us away.”

“I agree, Commander…?”

“Stone.” He extended his hand.

The captain took it. “Law. Pleasure to serve with you, sir.”

“Likewise. This is far more exciting than it usually gets around here. I’m glad to have you and your men at my side.”

“Just glad we can help, sir.” Law’s helmet moved down as the light from Stone’s comm caught his eye.

“Excuse me, Captain Law.” Stone raised the comm back to his helmet. “What do you have for me?”

“Stone, I need eyes on the Chancellor. Thire’s comm is dead.”

Stone froze as his mind ran through scenarios. “They had the airspace.”

“The Jedi aren’t communicating with us. Please, Stone. I need someone to talk to me.”

“I’ll look.” He lowered his comm and turned back to Law. “Hold the line. If they come back, we need to be ready. I’m going to check on the Chancellor.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Law gestured for one of his men to take Stone’s shield, leaving him free to sprint up the steps behind them into the building.

It was quiet, too quiet. But the senators sheltering in their offices were not his concern. Stone took the stairs two at a time, the most his armor would allow, as he ran to the saferoom. The halls were quiet there too, but the sound of coughing and groans reached his ears as he drew closer.

The Jedi that had once guarded the Chancellor were dead. Bodies of the Red Guard, the Senate Guard, and the Coruscant Guard lay around them. Stone took note of their identities to mourn later as his eyes scanned over them until he saw the armor he was looking for, laying helmetless on the ground before a medic. Stone made his way over as fast as he could with the bodies between them. “Thire.”

“We failed, Stone. We all failed.” Thire rasped. Above the collar of his blacks, Stone could see a sharp red bruise around his neck.

“We failed you.” Stone reached down and brushed his fingers across Thire’s hair. “They should have never reached you while we still breathed.”

“One of the Jedi, she ran after them.”

“I don’t know what happened to her, Thire. I’m sorry. What did they do to you?”

“Grievous grabbed me, threw me into my men. I don’t know why he didn’t just stab me.”

“Because you’re the Chancellor’s favorite Corrie. Can’t deprive him of that.” Stone joked, gaining a pained smile from Thire for his efforts.

“I changed my mind. You can be his favorite now.”

“I’ll consider it.” Stone smiled fondly down at his brother before withdrawing his hand. “I need to comm Fox, tell him that you’re alive.”

“I’ll be here.” Thire tried for a laugh, but what came out was a hoarse cough.

Stone reached down once more to squeeze Thire’s shoulder before he rose and made his way out of the room to somewhere he wouldn’t be overheard. He didn’t know what treasonous things he might say if Fox asked.

[masked-buffoon]

Chapter 3: The Sweet Appeals (Part 1)

Warnings: murder, torture, cruelty, parricide

Author notes: I have a single thing to say, which is, do not read if you feel uncomfortable with very explicit violence... Enjoy!

I had taken only five henchmen with me to complete the task. According to my memories of the mansion, there was no need to have more. The domestics would easily be taken care of, not to mention the owners. They would be wiped out immediately, were we all to enter with machine guns. However, revenge, when killing the enemy was implied, could only be done once. It was a moment I had to savour like a once-in-a-lifetime dish, ephemeral minutes which would become a memory as soon as I would be done. I had to do it properly to enjoy myself. Torturing people was supposed to be a job. Killing them as well. Yet, I was heading toward a cold-blooded murder guided only by desire and bloodlust. I would never be able to justify these actions as "working", but I did not care. That would be a unique experience. Besides, shooting at everyone blindly was an option I could not use, not when I had dared stealing a vial of poison in the pharmacy of the Port Mafia. There was something I had to do in that mansion, other than taking lives.

There was a residential area near the harbour. The mansion was situated there and even had a pretty view on the ocean. It could have been a bliss to just climb to the balcony and have tea, contemplating the sun crashing against the horizon in the end of the afternoon, accompanied by the seagulls' cries and the dying rumours of Yokohama. The silence would fall upon the sea, and the night would take over, calm, imposing. And the moon would soon reflect itself along the waves. I glared at the peculiar balcony, darkly. There were some pleasures in being rich I had never experienced. Only the rotten side of fortune had I known and wanted to eradicate. While these people were feasting and enjoying their life of leisure in a mansion where empty rooms were warmed up, hundreds of men and women and kids starved in the freezing cold of winter. It was unforgivable.

I demanded the men to wait for me outside, for I had a plan which would allow me to enjoy these people's last moments the best. In front of the heavy doors which had violently closed behind me a year ago, I swallowed a pain reliever and knocked, calmly, trying to put on my most friendly smile. It was rather difficult; I had long forgotten how to use my facial muscles. The mansion opened only a few seconds after, onto the familiar butler who had taken care of me during my entire childhood.

"Ojō-sama...!" He exclaimed, nearly choking on his breath "I can't believe it... You're alive..."

Emotions took over him and he wrapped his arms around me to pull me into a tight hug. To me, he had been like my own father, and I knew the feeling was reciprocated. I let myself enjoy these seconds of human warmth, having been deprived for so long.

He had almost made me quit that terrifying mission. Almost.

"You must want to see your parents." He said after a moment "You grew a lot...! Although, you don't seem too well, I am delighted to see you again, ojō-sama..."

"Thank you..." I smiled at him.

I was unused to such sincere words. From him, they were even more precious. He had been the one to teach me words and numbers, the one who had secretly introduced me to my little sister, who had brought meals for me, who had used his own money to buy me decent clothes. Everything a normal child could experience, he had given to me, as much as he could have. I felt extremely grateful to him. Even so, none could say for sure I would not kill him. Everyone needed to be eradicated, and although it made me flinch to think about murdering him as well, I had no choice at all. He would most certainly call the police, and to avoid such a disturbance... Why, ending him was the only way.

"Your family is in the living room. Do you want to give me your coat, to make yourself comfortable?" He suggested me.

"I'm not planning to stay too long..." I declined his offer "I just happened to pass by, so I thought I could at least greet them. I hope they've forgiven me..."

"What for, ojō-sama?" The butler frowned "You did nothing deserving of being thrown away. You are part of this family... I, for one, will never forgive the master for abandoning you."

"Thank you... Again..." I felt tears in my throat "You... You've always been there..."

"Of course..." He patted my head "I am not one to turn a blind eye on such a lovely child... Are you sure you won't remove your coat?"

"Most certainly..." I shook my head, regaining my composure "I feel... Safer, with it."

"As you wish, then."

Indeed, removing my coat would reveal my holsters and would deprive me of the precious pain relievers. The elder man went into the room, surely to announce my presence, then the doors opened on my little sister, whose smile made my heart melt. I thought it had been frozen and made hard by my life in the underground organisation, but the little ray of sun she was could have touched it. Tightly, I held her against me. Truly... I could never harm her. She was the only being I would have regrets killing, along with the butler. I wondered if there was a way to keep him alive... But I would have plenty of time to consider such matters. For the moment, reuniting with those people was my priority.

"Onē-chan! I thought I would never see you again!" Ruriko-chan wrapped her arms around my neck "I was so sad..."

"It's alright... I am there now..." I muttered, patting her hair "You've grown... Do you eat well?"

"After your disappearance, she refused food for a month..." The mother approached me, uncomfortable "She was hospitalised and saw a psychiatrist... Fortunately, she could recover..."

"Is that so...? I am sorry, Ruriko-chan..." I gave the woman a meaningful glance.

"Come on...!" The fat pig whose blood ran in my vessels exclaimed "She was merely quibbling and being difficult about food...! Don't be sorry for being abducted!"

Abducted? Oh, so that was the story they had told her to explain why I had vanished from the mansion. What if I told the truth...?

"I was not..." I let go of the twelve years old girl a moment to face the father

"I was not abducted, but tossed out of the mansion. Have you forgotten?"

"Oh... Oh, well..."

"Tossed out...?" My sister asked.

"It means that your father chased your sister away from home..." The woman explained, much to my surprise.

"Why...?"

"Because I was a hindrance." I huffed "But also because I tried to kill him. Well, I suppose I was not completely innocent... Let's be honest, nonetheless; that was just an opportunity to get rid of me, wasn't it? Whatever... It's all in the past now...! I have learnt forgiveness after all..."

"Well... Let's drink to forgiveness, then...!" The man was suddenly quite uncomfortable "Would you like to have tea with us? The chef prepared some pastries, too..."

"With pleasure, then." I smiled, sickly sweet.

We all sat around the table, where lovely cakes were displayed for us to eat. Since I was there, I made myself comfortable and enjoyed the sweetness as much as I could. After all, some sugar would not hurt. And I had not eaten properly for months.

"Is there something you want? I can ask for it." The man suggested.

"I am fine, thanks for your concern." I chuckled.

"Onē-chan, onē-chan! Tell us what you did, then...! I want to know how you managed to live...! Is it like in adventure books?" Ruriko-chan asked.

I wiped away the cream on her mouth with a towel. The woman blemished and darted her eyes from me — as always, anything about me made her uncomfortable.

"It is very different from books, but I'll tell you my story." I said "First, I was very lonely. I didn't know how I could survive, all alone in the streets, without any money, food, clothes... I happened to end up in the slums of Yokohama. It is a place with many homeless people, just like I was, but it isn't somewhere I'll ever take you. There, I met thieves, who taught me how to steal so I could eat."

"That's so cool...!" Her eyes sparkled "So, you can pick up locks like they do in the movies...?"

"I can." I laughed "But the thieves were unlucky... We wanted to rob a jewellery, just like real burglars, but we were caught... And everyone died... The owner of the shop was a powerful mafia, and I was nearly killed, too, but I ran away so fast they could not catch me!"

"Woah...! You're stronger than the bad people...!"

"Of course I am... I am your big sister, after all..." I took a sip of tea, relishing in the parent's horrified expressions.

The father only seemed to realise what had been the consequences of his act, while the mother... Well, the mother was trembling, face down. I could not quite see if she was crying or not. Not that I cared.

"What happened next?"

"Next...? Mmh... I left the shallows to live in the streets. I thought I could pickpocket people, you know, stealing their wallet. That's what I did. Then, I met someone, a very nice man." I recalled.

"Is it thanks to him that you are there...?"

"You could say that, I suppose... He and his wife took care of me for a moment. They were nice people, and they had a little girl who reminded me of you." I poked her nose "One day, they dressed me up, and we left..."

"Where did you go...?" The woman finally spoke up, out of breath.

"All the people you meet in the streets don't bear good intentions... I learnt that when I found myself in an underground auction. It's a place where they sell illegal goods, like pieces of art, slaves... I was sold, too. My new owner was an old man."

"... How did you escape...?" Ruriko-chan frowned.

"At first, I didn't. He tried to rape me in his car, but I threatened him with his gun and forced him to free me. In fact, I killed him and his chauffeur, then put the car on fire and washed in the river." I stated calmly, as though such events were normal.

"You... You killed them...?" My sister sounded less impressed "That's horrible...!"

"Right? It was only the start of the horrible path I chose." I put a piece of cake in my mouth "Afterwards, I met a strange cat, which somehow guided me to a man. He is the one who took me in and gave me a job. His name is Dazai Osamu."

"Is he a good man, onē-chan...?"

"Oh, he isn't. But your sister isn't a good person either. She makes a living by blackmailing and murdering people for the Port Mafia, under the orders of Dazai-san. She does the best she can in order to buy pain relievers which relieve nothing at all. That's the kind of life I have. That's the kind of life your parents gave me." I glared at them "Thank them, for turning your sister into a criminal."

"Yōko, it was never my intention —"

"Shut up." I demanded the father, curtly "Even if it wasn't your intention, you abandoned your then fifteen years old daughter in the streets. It isn't the behaviour expected from a parent... It isn't how you treat your children...! But whatever was done is in the past... Today, I came for one thing; working."

"W-What...?"

"Why, one way or the other... You offended the Port Mafia... Which requires to be executed."

I stood up to lock the door, then shoved the key in my pocket before turning toward them.

"No one leaves this room. Alive, at least." I gave them my most wicked smile.

"How can you — No! Let me out!" The man ran toward me.

I punched his stomach, so hard he coughed and fell down onto his carpet.

"Your wife and daughter were threatened to death and you think about yourself only. Pig." I spat on him, kicking his face harshly "I shall take care of you first."

"Why?! Why did you come??" He cried loudly.

"Why? It seems the Boss is displeased with you. That's why."

"But I didn't do anything!!" He squealed, covering his head.

"Are you saying the Boss is arbitrarily suppressing you?" I snarled "Even he seems more righteous than you. At least..."

I crouched down to pat his cheek, my gestures frighteningly soft. Ah, he was so weak, completely at my mercy. I could break his neck, cut his jugular and ruin his face, he would not be able to do anything. Was this power? Strength? Was that how Dazai-san felt when he looked down at me?

I brusquely slapped his face, taking pleasure in this violent act. I had always, deep inside, dreamt of doing this.

"Thanks to you being a jerk, I will live!!" I cackled, repeatedly kicking and beating him "I will live!! Live!! And you will die, by the weakling's hands!!"

He was spitting blood by the time I was done with him, and his entire face was reddened by the bruises I had inflicted him.

"Why did they send you...?" His ordinarily smug voice was reduced to a murmur.

"They did not." I hummed, rejoicing in seeing realisation in his eyes "I requested to come."

"Yōko onē-chan! Why do you do that?" Ruriko-chan sobbed in the mother's chest.

"Because..." I exhaled, retrieving some of my sanity "I saw and lived things I wish you will never experience... Because of those people's fault. I know what hell is, I know what suffering, yearning is. I hope you will never count the days left to survive."

"That's not true!! That's not true!! Mother didn't want —"

"What did she do when that pig threw me out?!" I barked angrily "This woman was never good at anything but darting her eyes away from my pain!! Don't talk about things you don't understand... When you witness but do not act, it's the same as being an accomplice!"

I suddenly pulled out a gun and shot at the man, who was aiming at me from behind. It only wounded his hands, making him drop his gun. Fortunately, there was no stray bullet.

"Y-You..." His eyes fell onto his missing fingers.

His scream echoed in the entire mansion, and I noticed the other covering my sister's eyes and ears to prevent her from seeing the scene.

"This is troublesome..." The inner pulses of violence came back "I originally wanted to torture you in the crudest ways I know of, but you leave me no choice but to suppress you. Or perhaps..."

A mad idea crossed my mind, and my face was darkened by the cruelest smirk. I walked toward him, and grabbed his valid hand without any delicacy, to put a gun into his hands.

"You seem to value your life a lot more than others'. Perhaps can I let you stay alive if you shoot your little girl? Mmh~?"

"How can you —"

"I may be a monster, but then, you are far worse than the lowest garbage on earth." I glared at him "Besides, thoughts do not betray... If you understand my words~"

"I have to do it! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Absentmindedly, he walked toward his wife and daughter, pointing the barrel toward them.

"Husband, you can't do that!" The woman jumped toward him, taking the gun into her hands without fearing he could press the trigger.

I looked away, opening my box of pills to relieve the forming headache. All this noise, the ruckus and brouhaha, had my head banging loudly, and I, for once, wished I was not there. The woman's behaviour was particularly disturbing; why would she take action for Ruriko-chan while she... To me... I did not understand her, and could not hear her thoughts... Never had I been able to.

"Mother!!" The strident scream of my sister broke my thoughts as a gunshot resonated around us.

As expected from such a situation, the pig had accidentally shot his wife, right in the middle of the chest, as they were fighting. I sighed heavily. One was done.

"Mother!! Mother!!" My sister ran to the woman, whose body had fallen to the ground.

Blood was quickly pouring onto the expensive carpet, and when I realised the same liquid ran through my vessels, I felt nauseous. This was... My attention was drawn toward the man when he disgustingly headed toward my sister, the gun pointed right toward her head. She shut her eyes tightly, but the hit never came. I had taken him down first, with my second gun.

"It is the end befitting you, cowardly bastard." I cursed.

Ruriko-chan was crying, and crying. I could not even distinguish her sobs from her hiccups, and her face was soaked by tears. I crouched down next to her, and took her in my arms.

"No!! Are you going to kill me too??" She fought back, but I did not let go of her.

"I won't." I promised "Now, listen to me, attentively, if you want to live."

"H-Huh...?"

"I am not alone. I have a squadron, and they are waiting for me outside. However, they will kill you if you don't follow my instructions." I pulled out the vial I had stolen "This will stop your heartbeat during an hour or two. You will look as though you are asleep, and they will think you are dead. You are going to hide behind the couch, and nobody will find you there."

"Why should I believe you?!" She protested "How do I know you aren't trying to kill me?!"

"Because you are the only family I've ever had." I admitted, sincerely "I did not come here to kill you, but to kill them. When you grow up, you can do whatever to me, but now, you have to listen to me."

I took her hand and brought her behind the couch, where I made her lie down.

"It is odourless, and colourless." I opened the vial "And painless."

"When I grow up, I'll make sure you rot in jail!" She glared at me and drank the liquid.

"You know..." I stroked her hair as she slowly fell asleep "There is no meaning in this life, yet we can't help going on, desperately clinging onto whatever mean we have to survive. However, if you have a purpose, you can keep going on, more easily..."

"What is yours...?"

"That's the point..." I cracked a gentle smile "I don't have one..."

"It's a pity... Be prepared to be arrested... For your crimes... I'll see that you are..." She whispered, her eyes closing.

"I'm looking forward to that..." I checked her pulse.

None. I stood up, and pushed the couch so no one would be able to see her, even if they entered. Casually, I shot the doorknob to exit the room, forgetting about the key, but on the way out, I heard someone talking.

"Yōko...-chan..."

The woman was still alive!

"Still yearning to live? Your time's up, though." I hissed.

"I will die, anyway... But I... Thank you, for Ruriko-chan..." She feebly said.

"I did it for her, not for you." I defended "The bullet didn't touch your vitals, that's why..."

"Before you kill me... You have to know..." Her hand extended toward me, but I did not take it "The name of your ability..."

"Oh, I've long forgotten it." I huffed "Any last will?"

"It is The Sweet Appeals..." She smiled "I only desire that my daughters... Can have a good life..."

She died from haemorrhage. I lowered my gun, and barged out of the room, angrily.

"Don't say that after abandoning me, you silly woman!" I mumbled, passing in front of the servants' horrified look.

"Ojō-sama, what's wrong...?"

Upon seeing the butler's face, I almost burst into tears, but I held back my need to fall into his comforting arms and pointed my gun toward him.

"I... I did something horrible..." I barely muttered, voice trembling "I... I killed them... All..."

"Ojō-sama..." He exhaled, hugging me nonetheless "It's alright..."

"I-Is that so...? You... Aren't going to call the police...?"

"Of course, I'll have to, but —"

The bullet landing in his forehead stopped him from ever finishing his sentence and he fell down onto the floor. I regained composure. It was the right thing to do, after all. I could never go back now. Once I was out, I whistled, giving the signal to my men.

"No one leaves as long as a soul is alive in there." I ordered and stayed at the door.

The maids were all killed without any hesitation, their screams of fear and agony mixing perfectly well with the noise of the machine guns. Wordlessly, I emptied the box in my mouth, swallowing all the pills I had left, but it did not relieve my headache. However ecstatic I had felt earlier, there only remained a weird emptiness in the pit of my stomach. I could not find the satisfaction I had looked forward to when receiving the order to kill my family, and I disliked this frustration.

At least, I could have erased my past and my regrets to fully focus on my days in the Port Mafia.

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[entropychanges]

Tell me what you’ll do, please

So, Michael, dripping like a wet mop on the restaurant’s tile floor, stood silently as he looked between the sister of the girl whose murder he covered up only two months ago, and his lover who would rather be sent off to war than be with him. Great. He swallowed, figuring he may as well break the silence.

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure if-”

“The kitchen is closed,” Liz interrupted, looking him up and down before saying, “but you can stay until the storm lets up.”

Or, in which Michael gets caught out in the rain while sleeping in his truck, and ends up taking shelter in the last place he wants to be.

also on ao3

title (from phoebe bridger's demi moore) precedes the lyric "I dont wanna be alone" which is kind of a central theme in Michael's mindset in this fic

warnings for mention of Michael's injury, very brief and vague mention of toolshed incident near the end, lots of talk about rosa's death and liz's mourning, michael has self worth issues, michael and alex say mean things to each other bc they’re sad and scared and just like a lot of angst

(3054 words)

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

When Michael woke from his drunken nap, he sobered up immediately at the feeling of his blankets being drenched and the sky being far too dark for his liking.

He knew it was going to rain that night, and had even felt it in the joints of his mangled hand. What he didn’t predict, however, was that he was going to sleep for a few more hours than he intended, waking up in the middle of a storm rather than to the late afternoon desert sun. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” he hissed, scrambling out of his truck bed and attempting to gather his linens. As he piled the soaked pillows and blankets he realized that he’d stupidly kept his bag of clothes beside him as he slept, leaving him with nothing dry to change into. He shoved his belongings into a sopping pile on his passenger seat before rushing to the other side of the truck cab and turning on the ignition with shaking hands. 

Safe from the weather outside, Michael cranked up the heater and stripped off his shirt, huddling against himself for warmth.  He ran his fingers through his curls in an effort to squeeze the water out, but to no avail. He sat like this, shivering and pathetic, for about 20 minutes before deciding that he needed a plan B. He didn’t have enough gas to use his heater for any extended period of time, and he wouldn’t have enough money for a refill until Sanders paid him for his work that week. 

So, he decided to head into town to see if he could find somewhere that would let him stay inside for the duration of the storm without expecting a dime out of him. Normally he would try the library, but that closed at 8 and according to the clock on his radio, it was around 11 pm. Damn it. Hardly anything in this sleepy town was open past 10 on a weeknight other than the bars, and the storm wasn’t helping his chances.

Monsoon season was probably the most detrimental time for his beloved old Chevy that he called home, and tonight was no exception. He could hardly see through his windshield with the mix of dust and rain smattered across it, the high-velocity winds forcing his wipers to barely keep up. He was able to see enough to drive, though, as well as to recognize the signs on the shops and restaurants. They were almost all closed, as he’d suspected, except for one - the Crashdown still had its lights on and as he pulled into a parking space in front of it, he could see two figures inside. Liz Ortecho was wiping the counter as she spoke to the person in front of her, whose back was turned to Michael. 

Only a few months ago, Michael would be too embarrassed to walk into the Crashdown at half-past 11 looking like a drowned rat and ask for a favor from his academic competitor. Now, though, Liz was going through her own living hell, which Michael felt partially responsible for, and had no room in her life to pity some punkass kid that lived in his truck. So, he swallowed his guilt and pride and shame and made his way out of his car and into the pouring rain. Without giving himself a chance to rethink this decision, he threw open the diner’s door, bringing attention to himself far too dramatically. 

And, well, shit. Maybe he would’ve been better off using his fake id to spend his night with the racist alcoholics at the Wild Pony.

The first thing he noticed was that Liz looked rough. She clearly hadn’t been sleeping, as her eye bags were dark and evident, and her skin was paler than usual. She stood stock still at his cinematic entrance, her face full of annoyance and exhaustion. She no longer looked like the nerdy girl-next-door that Max had a crush on. She looked older than her age, and, in a sense, she was. She was going through more sadness than most had in their entire lifetimes, and that thought sent a spike of pain in Michael’s chest.

 It reminded him of that selfish anger he’d been repressing since that night; anger at Isobel for killing the girls, anger at himself and Max for covering it up, anger at whatever entities left the three of them on this planet in the first place. He usually tried to shove those thoughts down before they ate away at him, but that was impossible when the consequence of their actions was quite literally staring himself in the face.

He glanced at the figure sitting on the stool across from Liz and his stomach dropped. Of course, it just had to be the very person Michael had been avoiding for the past two weeks.

He watched as Alex’s face morphed from confusion, to brief concern, and finally an annoyance that rivaled Liz’s. The last thing Michael wanted was to relive the fight they’d had after Alex told him he was enlisting in the air force. 

Alex called Michael a violent alcoholic that was wasting his life. 

Michael compared him to every birth and foster parent who had abandoned him.

Alex said Michael was no better than his abusive father.

Michael said that was funny seeing as he was following in his daddy’s footsteps.

It wasn’t pleasant.

So, Michael, dripping like a wet mop on the restaurant’s tile floor, stood silently as he looked between the sister of the girl whose murder he covered up only two months ago, and his lover who would rather be sent off to war than be with him. Great. He swallowed, figuring he may as well break the silence.

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure if-”

“The kitchen is closed,” Liz interrupted, looking him up and down before saying, “but you can stay until the storm lets up.” 

Michael nodded, flinging water from his hair. He sat in the nearest booth, looking at his hands. He didn’t exactly have a plan for what he’d do if someone were to let him in. Maybe he could sleep? He didn’t think Liz would appreciate having to wake him up to kick him out once the rain stopped, but making conversation didn’t seem like much of an option. 

When he looked back over to see that Liz had bent down to clean below the counter, Alex was still staring at him. Michael glanced back down at his hands, but it was too late. Alex approached the booth and stood over him.

“Hey, Alex.”

“What happened?”

“I fell asleep and when I woke up it was raining and all my shit was wet,” he said, still looking down. 

Alex furrowed his brows. “It started raining around 8.”

“I guess I went to bed early.”

“Is that your way of saying you passed out drunk?”

Michael raised his gaze to glare at Alex. Alex glared right back.

“Can we not do this right now?”

Alex huffed a sigh and sat across from him. Michael leaned back and turned his head, watching the downpour out the window. They sat in silence for a minute until Alex spoke up.

“You need to change your splint.”

For someone that “wouldn’t be Michael’s medicine”, Alex sure liked to act like his doctor. But, he wasn’t wrong. Michael’s splint was soaked, making it functionally useless.

“I have some gauze in the truck, I’ll fix it later,” he replied, still staring at the rain. 

“Just grab it now, I’ll help you do it.”

Michael turned back to Alex. “What? No, I-”

Alex stood up. “Get the gauze and I’ll meet you upstairs.” 

As Alex turned away, presumably to ask Liz if she was cool with him bringing the personified version of a stray dog found in the gutter up into the small apartment she shared with her grieving father, Michael conceded and ran back to his truck to grab the gauze. He could never really say no to Alex. He rushed back in, covering the gauze with his body to prevent any rain damage and, with a quick “bathroom’s on the right” from Liz, he ran up the stairs to meet Alex in the tiny restroom that Liz used to share with Rosa. Used to. Michael shuddered at the thought. He was too sober for this long night. 

Except, Alex wasn’t in the restroom. He was nowhere to be found. Regardless, Michael closed the door gently and began peeling the gauze off his hand, the feeling not dissimilar to applying a strip of wet paper-mâché to a surface. He winced at the pain, which he’d been ignoring until then, and wished he had some acetone to take the edge off. 

He glanced at the medicine cabinet.  Maybe…He opened the cabinet and there it was, half a bottle of kroger brand nail polish. Jackpot. Once he finished his second swig, the door handle started twisting. Shit. He used his telekinesis to put the bottle back in the cabinet and close the door, all while rinsing his mouth to cover the evidence. He didn’t want to think about what Alex’s reaction would be to finding him drinking Liz’s nail polish remover straight out of the bottle. “Seriously, Guerin? Alcohol not enough of a buzz for you anymore?”. Alex always called him “Guerin” when he was disappointed or mad at him. Lately, that seemed to be more often than not. 

Alex peeked his head in slowly, as if to give Michael privacy, which was frankly adorable, seeing as how many times they’d seen each other at least partially nude. When he saw that Michael was decent, he opened the door completely, revealing that he was carrying a pile of clothes and towels. 

“Here, change into these,” Alex commanded, handing him the clothes. His clothes. Michael’s ears turned red against his wishes at the thought of wearing Alex’s clothes. 

“”You always have a stash of clothes at the Ortecho’s, or is this just my lucky night?” he asked, removing his wet t-shirt. Alex turned away, making Michael roll his eyes.

“I would usually come here when things got ugly at my place. Arturo didn’t mind me sleeping on Liz and Rosa’s floor, so I kept some of my stuff here. Tonight I’m here for Liz, though,” Alex explained.

Michael removed his pants.  “You know you don’t have to turn away when I’m changing, right? We’ve seen each other naked, like, a hundred times.” 

Now it was Alex’s turn to blush. “I think a hundred is a little hyperbolic,” he said as he turned around to face Michael. 

Michael ran the towel down his body before finally ruffling his curls dry. “Well there was our first time... “

“Obviously.”

“And the time in the cab of my truck just a few days later…”

“That was just uncomfortable.”

“And then a week later when we had that picnic out in the desert at midnight…”

“Ugh, that was just gross. Do you know how many spiders and scorpions are out there? Definitely wish I’d kept my pants on for that.”

“And then add a few more in the back of my truck and that should add up to one hundred!”

“Still a hyperbole. I’d say that’s 8, total. The rest at least one of us kept our pants or shirts on.”

“Sorry, I forgot to add the ones from my dreams.”

“Oh god, please shut up,” Alex said just a little loudly, making Michael snort and put a finger to his lips. 

“Shh, Alex, c’mon. No need to wake up Arturo by discussing our epic sexcapades.”

Michael was now fully dressed in Alex’s clothes, wearing a burgundy sweater that felt softer than anything he’d ever worn before and black jeans that were just a little too tight. He looked at himself in the mirror and cracked a smile. 

“Maybe I could pull the emo look off, huh? What do you think, darlin?” He added the “darlin” as a test. When Alex was actually pissed, the pet name only ticked him off even more. When Michael was starting to get back on his good side, he brushed it off and pretended he didn’t like it, even though he definitely did. 

Alex suppressed a smile. Score. 

“I think you’re ridiculous. Now lean against the sink and hold this washcloth.”

Michael raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. 

“Here, hold the washcloth like this,” Alex said before gently moving the fingers on Michael’s left hand around the cloth. It hurt like hell, but Michael did his best to hide it. He didn’t like Alex seeing him in pain, especially when he knew Alex blamed himself. Michael didn’t want him to have another reason to feel guilty. 

“It’s good of you to come over here and be with Liz. She seems…” He trailed off, not sure of what he was planning on saying. She seems, what, bad? Exhausted? Depressed? Like she’d just had her favorite person in the world taken from her, and now the entire town was spreading lies about her? He just let Alex finish his thought. 

“It’s just what friends do. She needs support right now,” Alex murmured, wrapping the gauze around Michael’s fingers. “She’s leaving town, too, soon. Which is a good thing, I think.”

Michael stiffened at that. He already knew Liz was leaving, of course. He was just as responsible for that as he was for Rosa’s postmortem defamation. It’s that “too” that hits. Maybe it was the buzz from the acetone or the thrill of Alex watching him undress, but either way Michael was able to forget for a second about the coldness that had been between them just a few minutes ago, and the reason for it being there. That little word, “too”, was a painful reminder that hurt just a little more than the feeling of his disjointed bones being squeezed too tightly by Alex’s makeshift splint. Michael inhaled sharply to indicate this. 

“Shit, sorry, let me make this a little looser.”

Michael looked down and shook his head a tad bit too violently, trying to indicate that he didn’t give a damn about the stupid splint. 

“What? What is it Michael?”

Michael squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he was diving headfirst into the argument he was trying to pretend had never happened. 

“You can’t go.” 

Alex dropped Michael’s hand, which he’d just finished putting the last piece of tape on.

“Goddamn it, Michael, did we really not spend enough time talking about this already? I’m sick of my father looming over me, and, let’s face it. I’m not like you. I can’t just waste my life in this garbage town forever, sustaining myself on whiskey and bar fights.”

Michael opened his eyes back up and realized he had tears welling up. It wasn’t because of what Alex had said, words and insults didn’t phase him anymore. It was that his deepest anxiety was becoming his reality. Michael was going to be left behind, yet again. 

He was used to pushing his fears down, but right now he didn’t want to repress. He wanted Alex to understand exactly how he was feeling, no matter how childish or pathetic he sounded in the process.

“I don’t want you to leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”

He looked up to meet Alex’s eyes. The other boy’s face melted from the defensive hardness he’d held before to something much softer. It wasn’t piteous, it was just… sad. 

“I don’t want to leave you Michael. I definitely don’t want you to be alone. You’re the only reason I’ve ever even considered staying.”

Michael looked down again. His words were sweet, but they held no meaning. It didn’t matter how much Alex cared about him, he was still leaving. 

“You know this doesn’t have to be goodbye forever, right? I’ll be coming back after basic, and then I’ll be coming home on leave whenever I can.” Alex cupped Michael’s face with his hands, forcing him to look up at him. Memories flooded in of their first kiss, when they cradled each other’s faces in the UFO emporium. Michael mirrored the movement and leaned in to Alex’s space, but didn’t close the gap. Instead, he watched Alex closely, reading the earnesty in his eyes. It seemed like he truly believed they could still be together, even through hell.

It was Alex that made the move, pressing Michael into the sink behind him and tenderly kissing his lips. Their movements were slow and gentle, much different from their usual sexual intensity. This was a different kind of intimacy. They touched each other lovingly rather than lustfully, their focus not on rushing to make each other come, but instead on patiently memorizing every detail they could. They were so enraptured with their shared space that the outside world seemed to melt away, including the door that was being pushed open behind them.

“Oh shi-” they heard behind them, shattering the moment. Alex jumped away, terror in his eyes. Michael’s heart was in his throat. Of course, it was just Liz, who didn’t actually care about their romantic involvement, just that they didn’t have sex on her bathroom sink. Still, the last time they were interrupted like this wasn’t a night they wanted to relive. 

“I just wanted to let Guerin know that it stopped raining,” Liz said, her eyes turned to the floor uncomfortably. This was her polite way of saying “please get out of my home it’s past midnight and I’ve been waiting for you to leave for half an hour”, so he took the cue for what it was and headed out the door with a nod.  

“Hey, Michael?” he heard from behind him. He turned back around. 

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving in a week. I’d like to see you before then, to say goodbye.” 

Michael gave another small nod, and headed down the stairs at twice his usual speed, not wanting either of them to hear him cry.

When he got to his truck, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep anytime soon. So, instead, he devised a plan to ensure he wouldn’t be around whenever Alex decided to schedule that goodbye. 

And this plan required Kyle Valenti’s hubcaps.

[jasperwhitcock]

05. FAMILY FEUD

surprise, bitches. bet you thought you’d seen the last of me. why do i update my fic always a month apart. sorry!! i’m always working on it, i just write really long chapters... anyways, here is chapter five of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy​ posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag.

i've incorporated some quotes from midnight sun because obviously this is still something of a parallel to midnight sun & i wanted to stay true to some of the reactions. also, you may recognize a little blurb imbedded here that i've written before about the bookshelf hehe. hope yall enjoy ♡♡♡

The weight of the battle I was fighting within myself was beginning to surpass the previous toll it’d taken on me. Every moment since I met Edward, it seemed I was falling further down into an abyss that I couldn’t climb out of, and every time I felt like maybe I’d found my grip, I only fell further. Again, I was frustrated as I sat outside Edward’s house in Carlisle’s Mercedes, watching the hazy, obscure sun slip further away behind the blackened clouds, leaving me shrouded in the darkness of a midday storm and the cover of pouring rain. I felt partially guilty for not returning Carlisle’s car. He wouldn’t mind running home, but Esme might not be too pleased about the puddles his drenched clothing would leave on her newly installed flooring. Although after today, it might not matter anymore.

I wondered what I’d return home to. Would they have already finished packing up our belongings? Would they be waiting to confront me about the consequences of my actions? Carlisle was forgiving, but would the rest of my family be?

For those reasons, I wasn’t ready to return home yet. But mostly, I was hesitant to drive away because I knew the moment my tires left Edward’s street would be the moment I’d be leaving him behind in Forks. I felt unprepared for the finality of such a moment.

When I heard the soft purr of an engine turning onto the street around one in the afternoon, I sighed, shifting the car into drive and moving forward to the end of the road in case it was Edward’s father returning home. I watched in my rearview mirror as the silver vehicle confirmed my suspicions by pulling into Edward’s driveway. Although the darkness of the thunderstorm’s gloom brewing in the clouds did little to obscure my eyesight, the torrent of rain pounding down relentlessly onto the green earth was too thick for even my eyes to catch a good glimpse of his face.

I could stay and listen – hear the voice of his father and compare it to the quality of Edward’s low, soft timbre, see if Edward’s sincerity in sticking to my version of events was genuine, check if he was truly as alright as he insisted – but maybe I was only looking for reasons to avoid heading home. Or maybe I was just being unforgivably invasive.

I glanced at the digital clock. 1:05. If they had stayed in their classes after the accident, there was still another hour and forty minutes before my siblings would be released from school. If they went home early, then Carlisle still wouldn’t be home for another two hours and twenty five minutes. I decided I’d rather not be there without Carlisle, so I lifted my foot off the break, slammed on the gas, and headed for Port Angeles before I realized where I was going.

As I left Forks behind me, the rain softened to a more consoling pitter patter on the roof of the car, and the clouds, although still grey, were lighter, hinting at the hidden sun. I made it to Port Angeles in under half an hour, luckily finding the roads to be mostly empty.

I drove at an appropriate speed once I reached the city. It was surprisingly beautiful scenery for such a disastrous day. It had snowed the night before here as well, but the melted snow hadn’t refrozen into ice. Instead, the tops of the buildings were covered in a thin layer of fluffy white snowflakes. The clouds above were thick enough to conceal me from the sun but held no implications of oncoming rain.

I located a parking spot near my favorite old brick building and paid the meter for the next few hours. The air was even more wintry here than in Forks as the harbor air brought in fresh, freezing ocean spray. There was a bookstore I liked to go to here in Port Angeles. Even as a child, Forks didn’t have an adequate library or bookstore to satiate my needs. My previous grievances with the rainforest of a city aside, there was always the silver lining of the bookstore.

If there was one thing that I looked forward to when arriving in the otherwise detestable small town of Forks in the rainy state of Washington, it was returning to the familiar mahogany of the sturdy bookshelf in the tiny living room of Charlie’s small, two-story house. It had been a gift – a homecoming gesture – in hopes to put me in better spirits when I was forced to spend my summers with my father. He knew how I had disliked his gloomy town just as my mother had. A friend from the reservation, Billy Black’s, young, cheerful son built the bookshelf himself. Billy had dismissed Charlie’s offers to pay his son for the service, insisting he accept it as a present in return for all the nights Billy stole away to the Swan Residence (Swan, the last name I held as a human) to watch the game on Charlie’s much larger – though not by much – television screen. When he hadn’t been looking, Charlie slipped a small wad of cash to Billy’s kid who excitedly accepted it, eager to save for some other projects.

Over time, the book shelf became a home for some of my favorite classic novels. On his days off, when his friend Harry Clearwater was unavailable for a fishing trip, he’d picked up books of all kinds, hoping I would find at least one I liked in the overflowing collection. The bookshelf was stuffed with paperbacks and hardbacks, lining each ledge edge to edge with books piling horizontally on top of the other books as space began to run out. It was a gesture that moved me in ways I was unused to and ways I couldn’t find the words to express.

When I was in town, Charlie drove me to some of the larger cities surrounding his small town and waited patiently as I perused the shelves of second-hand book stores. Smart as he was, he wasn’t a very articulate man, struggling to convey the depth of his emotions through words. But something in his eyes betrayed the way his heart overflowed with pride and adoration watching his small, gangly daughter enter into a world of her own as she searched for her next favorite story to add to their beloved bookshelf. It was a look I caught that sometimes made me feel embarrassed and shy by the profundity of the love in it, but now a look that I’d always remember. A look that would always make my unbeating heart feel somehow full and empty at the same time. Intense feelings of love and sadness for what I’d once had and since lost. This bookstore was our favorite, and therefore, it would always be my favorite. It still held the aged charm of the past, but they made some modern improvements in desperation for relevance today. I’d made sure to keep the store open with anonymous donations. Too many independent bookstores suffered in such a competitive, unfair market full of large online distributors.

I listened to the familiar hum of the glowing red neon sign in the window as I reached for the door. A bell above let out a peal of rings as I entered, and the clerk behind the wooden counter looked up beneath her large glasses. Her skin was deeply tan with olive undertones and her dark hair was cropped in a perfect line above her shoulders. Her eyes registered shock upon seeing my face, her heart rate picked up, and she stuttered over her words. “W-welcome!”

“Thank you,” I smiled softly, though finding the politeness to be difficult today. I didn’t want to come across rude or threatening, but feigning anything resembling joy was especially exhausting. I kept my voice gentle and even so as not to alarm the woman.

“Let me know if you need any help!” She called after me as I passed the counter, heading deeper into the store.

The shop was unpopulated at this time of day. Only a few people loitered here and there examining the shelves or curled up on loveseats with hot coffee cups to recover from the chill of the outdoors.

I crossed over the entirety of the first floor, finding the concealed narrow staircase that led to the upstairs. Tasting the air, I could tell there was nobody immediately near me, so I flew up the staircase at a more reasonable speed though I was in no hurry. The second floor was a brown labyrinth, the bookshelves placed in a way to create an intimate maze with countless little crevices to slip into and hide away from the rest of the world. Hardbacks and paperbacks piled the shelves and walls from the floor to the ceiling. The air was filled with the scents of crispy paper, aged ink, and the sweet, musky smell of older books. The lighting was warm reddish-orange, dull, and not ideal for reading despite the setting, but a miscellaneous mélange of lamps in all shapes and sizes embellished the spaces tucked between the bookcases, generating enough brightness to read in tiny, personal pools of light.

I weaved a path through the maze until I reached a dead-end corner with a single, wine-colored armchair in a faded leather. An ornate wooden plaque spray painted gold with eroded edges was drilled into the shelf behind the chair, the words “For Charlie” engraved into the pallet. Well, my donations were mostly anonymous.

No matter how many times I rounded this corner, every time my eyes fell on the empty chair hit me like a wrecking ball with nearly unmanageable grief. Any attempt to decipher the thoughts that came with this always led me to simplistic statements because that was all that I could ever handle. It was too much emptiness, too much numbness, too much complexity. It was always simply too much. And that was about all the conclusions I could come to no matter how much gentleness and coaxing Esme, Rosalie, Alice, Jasper, Emmett, and Carlisle comforted me with. It was always easier to push away the thought, to avoid thinking too much than to acknowledge the hole in my chest. Some days I almost forget, and some days it becomes seemingly ever present. It was always easier to ignore the gravity of the grief.

But in this life with the absoluteness of what we are, all we can do is to go on. One next step at a time. As much as I felt so much stronger and accustomed to this life, there was no denying the simple truth – there is so much loss in immortality.

I sighed. Even with all of our physical resilience, the extremities of our emotions in this form was enough to be tiring. I took steps forward and turned to sink into the chair, feeling very small. Looking out at the warmth of the bookcases and the endless array of novels, I thought of what it would be like to be Charlie sitting here, watching his awkward daughter run her finger along all the spines or disappear into the maze only to be found on the floor somewhere surrounded by piles of books.

Sometimes being here I could feel the ghost of Charlie’s love. The intensity that he couldn’t quite always communicate and that I didn’t always understand the extent of. But here, I could feel it. And I felt the same love for him in return. I missed him. His thick mustache, the sudden youthfulness in his warm, brown eyes when he smiled, the endearing crinkles that reminded me of his age. The coffee rings on the table, and the snow chains on my tires. The flush of red under his translucent skin when he was angry or embarrassed. Just like how my skin had been. Like father, like daughter.

I wondered what he’d think of my life now, and what he’d think of what I’d done today. Knowing the circumstances of the secrets I was meant to keep, would he have thought I’d done the right thing as Carlisle had? Or would he have thought I interfered and placed my siblings at risk like the rest of my family might think? I think that despite the consequences, he would have said something like, “you did the right thing, kid.” And maybe he’d even uncomfortably ask me about whether or not this boy was someone he should be keeping his eye on and would be immensely relieved when I reassured him that the answer was no. The thought almost made me smile. So then, I couldn’t bring myself to regret my decisions, and I wouldn’t allow myself to.

I sat there in the weathered leather of the chair for some time, listening to the subtle dragging of pages sliding off of shelves, the whoosh of air and the crispy rustle of paper as someone turned a page, the heaviness of footsteps on dead pieces of floorboard, the twinkle of the bell above the front door, and the whisper of the frozen wind rushing inside. After an hour, I stirred, rising from Charlie’s chair to trace my finger along the edges of the shelves, the action stirring up some dust particles to leap into the air like dandelion seeds, the warm light catching them in astonishing ways as they floated along. I left my little nook briefly to find the right section that would hold the book I was suddenly searching for.

When I located it, I plucked the gently used novel off the shelf, vowing to officially mend my own copy at home since it was the same story that Emmett had destroyed the morning of the first day I saw Edward.

I returned to the armchair, once again sinking down into the burgundy, and flipped through the aged pages until I found the place I left off at.

I’d have read until closing time, but eventually something in the unreliability of initial appearances in Pride and Prejudice began to bother me in a way that it never had before. I gave up on the book and instead sat unthinking – or attempting to, at least– quietly for a few hours.

Again, I longed to sleep. I’d never needed an escape as much as I did now as my mind was becoming too tiring a place to consciously be.

After some time, I heard creaky footsteps on the ancient wood up the stairs and the jingling sound of keys hitting each other. I waited patiently as they approached, imagining where exactly they may be in the labyrinth as they turned corners and hesitated to quietly shove stray books back onto shelves. They drew closer, closing in the distance between them and my little nook, finally rounding the corner.

“Oh!” The clerk from downstairs gasped in surprise, dropping the book in her hand. I stopped myself from saving it to not startle her any further with sudden movements, allowing it to clatter noisily to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, only then rising from the chair to lean down and collect the novel after an appropriate amount of reaction time. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The clerk’s heart boomed loudly in her chest. “No, no, it’s alright!” She laughed breathlessly, a hand fluttering to her heart. “I just didn’t think anyone else was here... We’re, uh, sorry, we’re closed!”

“Oh, I’m sorry again,” I laughed softly as well to relax her, extending my hand to offer her the book she’d dropped. “I must have lost track of time.”

“That’s okay! It happens more often than you think...” she laughed again, her heart rate slowing down to a more regular place, though now that she recovered from the shock, her face was mesmerized by the oddness of my jarringly perfect appearance.

“I’ll leave now,” I smiled politely, pushing the book forward to her hand, careful not to touch her skin. Without processing, she took hold of the book. As I began to pass her, she clumsily turned.

“Oh, uh, wait! I’ll unlock the door to let you out!”

I allowed her to pass me up and leisurely followed her through the maze down the stairs. Her blood had a sweet smell, but it was still unappealing in comparison to Edward’s.

Once we’d reached the door, I could see how much time had passed whilst I hadn’t been paying attention. Through the large windows, night had fallen in a blackened cloak over the port city.

“Here we are,” she shyly chirped in a very intentionally favorable tone – something she probably reserved for customer service – and fiddled with the keys. Her hands shook slightly, and I felt guilty for how it must feel to have her back turned to a predator. Of course, she couldn’t know the difference, but her body recognized the threat. Finally, once she’d found the right key, she jimmied the rusty metal into the lock – missing the narrow fissure twice at first – and opened the door.

“Sorry about that. Thank you so much for coming,” she turned, gesturing with a shaky hand towards the outside world. The bitter wind blew in through the opening, making her shiver.

“Thank you,” I smiled again for her sake. Her eyes were peculiarly light compared to the rest of her features, making them extremely prominent. They were lighter and more hazel, yet the shade of green made me think of Edward again. I sighed. “Have a good night.”

I stepped out into the darkened street, looking down at the strange way the red light from the neon sign in the window washed over and illuminated my skin. Tiny bugs flew around the street lamps up above, casting irregularly moving shadows on the frozen sidewalk.

The heavy door shut loudly behind me, and she clicked the lock. It was unusually quiet, though that could be due to it being a weeknight. The bulbs in the streetlamps hummed and the bugs buzzed in response.

I strolled along the sidewalk, taking my time before returning to Carlisle’s car. I should have paid the meter more generously. It expired two hours ago. I’d received a parking ticket. Oops.

I removed the frozen slip of paper and unlocked the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. I had no desire to drive fast at first, deciding to return home at the speed limit. After about forty minutes, suddenly the anticipation to get the confrontation out of the way overcame me, and I drove 200 miles per hour the rest of the way home. Within minutes, I was turning onto the miles-long driveway.

As I raced for the garage, I listened for any movement from the bright house. There was none. I wondered how long they’d been sitting still, waiting for me. I groaned aloud in greeting.

The garage door was open so I pulled into the blue fluorescence and parked beside Rosalie’s day car. I sighed once before determinedly exiting the vehicle.

I slammed the door a little too hard before catching the handle before it hit the body. Perhaps I’d reached my quota this morning when it came to destroying car doors.

I ran through the small section of woods separating the garage from the house and braced myself for the impact of the meeting.

“Hello,” I said sheepishly. I wanted to sound stronger and more confident, but my nerve wavered as I entered the dining room to see everyone waiting for me at the long oval table. At the eastern head of the table, Carlisle and Esme sat side by side, their hands resting together atop the mahogany. I felt some of the resilience I’d mustered in the last few seconds return upon seeing the intensity of Esme’s golden eyes. They were full of concern and overwhelmingly forgiving. It was reassuring.

Rosalie sat directly opposite from Carlisle, very intentionally avoiding eye contact with me, her arms crossed firmly across her chest. I could feel the tension and coldness emanating from her. I was unused to feeling spurned by Rosalie. She always tenderly cared for me, always taking my side… My actions must have truly offended her today. A twinge of guilt twisted my abdomen.

It was unfair to feel any sense of betrayal considering the danger I’d placed my family in, but still with Emmett wrly seated beside Rosalie, and Jasper standing behind them, leaning against the wall mirroring Rose’s crossed arms, I felt some irrational anger at the lines being drawn. Of course, I should have known better than to think Emmett would have my back as if he wouldn’t undoubtedly support Rosalie.

Alice sat beside Esme, her eyes focused on something other than the room. I wondered if her visions made her support waver, if in all the hours I’d been gone, she’d been moving back and forth on either side of the room. She always chose the winning side.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed. “First, for this,” I crossed to the other side of the table to sit beside Carlisle, placing the parking ticket on the wood and sliding it over towards him. His lips curved into an amused smirk, and I felt encouraged by the expression.

“And more importantly,” I turned to face Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper. “I’m very, very sorry for this morning. It was incredibly selfish, irresponsible, and stupid of me to put any of you at risk. It’s all my fault… I take full responsibility for my actions.”

Rosalie’s exquisite face finally looked up at me, her expression full of hurt. “And what does that mean, Bella? Are you planning on fixing this?”

The implication behind her words filled me with sudden indignation, and before I could calm myself down, I snapped, “not in the way that you mean.”

Of course, something had to be done about the accident, but what was the point of going to such idiotic lengths to save his life only to end it later? Didn’t she realize I’ve been fighting to keep him alive since the very moment I’d met him?

Rosalie took offense to the harsh accusation of my words. “You say that as if I’d advocate for this under normal circumstances.”

“I had planned on leaving before, and I will leave now if it makes things easier.” Rather than keeping my voice calm and even, the words again came out in ways I didn’t intend. Unnecessarily punitive. I knew it was ridiculous to be so angry with Rosalie’s anger towards me when she was entirely right, but I couldn’t tame my passion in defense of Edward’s silly little life.

“Oh, no, Bella,” Esme murmured. “Please, you can’t leave.”

I reached to squeeze my mother’s hand.

“It’d have been helpful prior to this morning,” Jasper spoke up. “Now, it’s irrelevant.”

“Jazz is right,” Emmett agreed. “There’s no point in leaving now. If anything, that’d look more suspicious.”

“I agree with Emmett, Bella,” Carlisle nodded. “For you to disappear, perhaps it’d make the boy more inclined to talk. Either all of us leave or none.”

“Edward won’t say anything,” I insisted.

“You can’t know that,” Rosalie argued.

“I trust him,” I disagreed, surprising myself at how true the statement was. I thought back to the biology lab when he’d jokingly asked if I trusted him. It was in response to his identification of the stages of mitosis, and I had said no. Now, I suddenly entrusted him with the secrecy of my vampire abilities. I was really unintelligent. She scoffed at my words. “Alice, back me up.”

“I can’t see what will happen if we just ignore this,” Alice rubbed her temples before shooting an accusatory glance in Jasper and Rosalie’s direction.

“We can’t ignore this. Bella, I have always supported you, and of course I love you dearly. But clearly, this isn’t some minor mistake. You were right – it was incredibly selfish and irresponsible and stupid! And it’d be even more irresponsible and stupid for us to allow the human the chance to say anything about it. Carlisle, you must see that,” Rosalie turned her attention to our adopted father.

“It’s not like we haven’t left rumors behind before,” I reminded her. “And I don’t recall anyone else’s first offense putting them on trial like this.”

She ignored the second part of my statement. “Rumors, Bella. Today, you’ve provided eyewitnesses and evidence! It’s not enough that you were perfect prior to today. You’re no more a saint than the rest of us! We have to be perfect always! This was a massive mistake!” Rosalie stood up from her chair. “And I know that!” I stood up as well.

“Then you should agree with what’s the right course of action! It doesn’t have to be a big production. So he seemed alright after the accident. Every mortal goes to sleep with the chance of never waking up. Say Carlisle missed something far more serious than it looked. I don’t delight in this, Bella, but the rest of our kind would expect us to take care of this. Technically, you should be the one to clean up after yourself.”

“Rosalie, the Masen boy is completely innocent,” Carlisle gently disapproved.

Rosalie frowned. “It’s an unfortunate consequence to Bella’s mistake in favor of protecting us all, but a consequence nonetheless”

“Rose, I am sorry-”

“Sorry doesn’t matter anymore, Bella!” She interrupted.

“I never wanted this. I never wanted to place you or Emmett or any of us in this position. I know my actions have affected you. But I couldn’t just let him die that way!” My chest sunk at the thought.

“But it wasn’t your place to meddle with fate. You’ve already interrupted his life with your existence alone. Why let him survive? So that you could slaughter him later?”

I winced at her words, but a low hiss escaped my throat as well.

“Rose...” Emmett reached up for her hand to placate her, but she pulled away.

“No, it’s the truth. Our existence and your fixation on his scent posed a threat to the boy. His time came, but you interfered. Now he poses a greater threat to us. So what was the point of that then? You couldn’t help yourself from cutting into his life? It seems the universe provided you with an easy way out, and you went out of your way to make things not only more difficult for yourself but for us as well. I don’t always love this life, but excuse me for taking it personally when you’ve threatened the tiniest piece of happiness I have here! You should have just let him die! It seems you’ll end up killing him anyways!”

The room shifted completely. Suddenly, everyone was on their feet, Rosalie leaned towards me in defense, Emmett uncomfortably but faithfully crouched by her side, Jasper’s stance was more confident and relaxed but poised to strike as well. Carlisle and Esme were both by my sides, holding me in place by my arms. Only Alice remained in her seat, not at all concerned by the change in atmosphere. It took me half a second to realize what had triggered everyone’s response – to process the vicious growl that erupted from my throat and the tenseness of my body as it coiled to spring at my own sister. I was too stubborn and furious to feel any shame yet. I scowled but eased my stance, allowing Carlisle and Esme to gently coax me back to my chair. Everyone else loosened their defensive posture. Emmett made Rosalie sit down, her golden eyes narrowed in a harsh glare of which I was the recipient. Jasper stood straight again but remained stiff. Once we’d all relaxed, Carlisle began speaking again.

“Rosalie, I know you mean well, but every life is precious. To murder a blameless child poses an even greater risk to us. The occasional accident or lapse in control is a regrettable part of who we are, but to bring harm to the boy would make ourselves unworthy of the protection you so lovingly wish to give us. If we make exceptions to protect ourselves, we risk something much more important. We risk losing the essence of who we are.”

I couldn’t help the tiny smile that pulled at the corner of my lips.

“Carlisle, it’s about being responsible when Bella was so horribly irresponsible.”

Being on the receiving end of Rosalie’s inflexibility and anger was not at all pleasant.

"It's being callous," Carlisle corrected softly before repeating himself. “Every human life is precious.”

Rosalie sighed heavily and turned her head to again avoid looking at me, making it very apparent where the two of us stood.

“The question is whether or not we should move on,” he continued.

“The last thing I want is to unroot any of you. I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Carlisle. I feel confident about Edward’s silence,” I insisted again.

Rosalie huffed loudly, and I turned just in time to catch her rolling her eyes.

“Well, we certainly don't have to decide now. Perhaps we wait then,” Carlisle nodded.

I turned to face Alice, searching for some reassurance about the future but instead following her accusatory gaze to where Jasper stood leaning against the wall again. They were having another one of those silent conversations they shared that the rest of us were lost to. It was almost as if they could read each other’s minds.

“What?” I asked.

“Jazz seems to feel he’s above this conversation,” Alice gritted her teeth. “He seems to think he should set things right.”

My eyes flashed between her and Jasper, whose face was expressionless and unmoved. It took me a moment to piece it together.

“Jazz,” I warned as I began to feel irrationally overprotective again. “I won’t let you punish him for my mistake.”

“So he benefits from it then?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I won’t allow it,” I repeated.

“And I won’t allow Alice to live in danger. You can’t understand, Bella. You don’t feel about anyone the way I feel towards her.”

“That’s irrelevant. I’m not just going to stand aside as you murder him,” I hissed. “I will not let you hurt Edward Masen.”

We stared at each other. I knew he was measuring the opposition and sampling the depth of my determination.

“Jazz,” Alice interrupted us, cutting through the tension in the air.

“Don’t bother telling me you can protect yourself, Alice. I already know that, but-”

“That’s not what I was going to say, but thank you for the assumption,” she rolled her eyes. “And it’s true, I can. I don’t need the backup, you overprotective fool.”

She said the last words playfully, her voice full of affection, as she stuck her tongue out. The action was out of sync with the mood of the room. “What I was going to ask for was a favor.”

Jasper’s eyebrows raised at what was seemingly an inappropriate time to make any requests. My eyebrows knitted in confusion at where the conversation was heading.

“I know you love me, but I would really appreciate it if you didn’t try to kill Edward. First, we all know how headstrong Bella is, so you shouldn’t doubt how serious she’s being right now. I don’t want the two of you to fight. Seriously. Secondly, Edward is my friend. Yours too. At least, he’s going to be.”

“What?” Jasper gasped. Even though we were all very much accustomed to Alice’s ambiguity and the bizarre certainty she spoke with about things only she had seen, this was not a statement that could so easily be digested. I couldn’t tear my attention from Alice, staring intently at her face as if the meaning behind her words would suddenly be written on her forehead. What had she seen in that little odd head of hers?

“I’m going to love him–” as she said this, I nearly choked on the air whistling down my throat “–someday, Jazz. I’d be very put out with you if you don’t leave him be.”

I was locked into place, my eyes still boring deeply into my sister’s face. I could feel the pucker on my forehead etched into my expression as I tried to make sense of what she was saying. I kept expecting Alice to explain, but every time she opened her mouth she only confounded me more.

“Ahh!” Alice sighed, smiling brightly. “See, there’s nothing to worry about! Edward won’t say anything at all.”

I could not see.

“Alice,” I whined impatiently. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know, Bella. I told you something was changing in your future.”

“In my future? What did you see?”

“Hmm… I don’t think I should share quite yet,” Alice locked her jaw, and I growled, exasperated.

“Oh, clearly, Bella can’t be trusted lately to not act on her impulses! You should give her whatever warning you’re hiding,” Rosalie sighed, annoyed.

I was still feeling illogically irritated with Rose’s resentment, but I couldn’t disagree with her. “She’s right, Alice.”

“I really don’t think-”

“Who votes that Alice shares what she knows?” I asked restlessly. “Raise your hand.”

It was juvenile, and this was not how we came to decisions ever. Of course we’d discuss differing opinions, but never so bluntly did we vote in this manner. The way I approached the subject was rude, but still unanimously, six hands shot into the air including mine.

“Fine,” Alice huffed, scowling. “But I’m not obligated to share anything just because the rest of you voted. That’s silly. I’m only sharing because I can see that Bella won’t let this go.”

She paused and we waited, staring. It was as if we were awaiting the results of a reading from some fortune teller at a carnival, anxious to see which tarot cards she had pulled. Anxious to see what this would mean for my life.

“My vision keeps becoming clearer. At first, it was just hazy, and I couldn’t make sense of it or of who I was seeing. Every minute it’s like Bella’s more decided,” Alice began. Six pairs of eyes flickered to me, but I had no idea what she was referring to, nor did I know how this related to the boy. Alice frowned a little as if she knew what she was about to say wouldn’t be received well. “It seems there’s only two ways left for Edward now. Either Bella will… end his life or… he’ll join us.”

Esme gasped as my mouth dropped open.

“Join us?!” I choked out once I recovered. “I…. I have not made a decision anywhere in that realm at all. That has never ever crossed my mind. Why in the world would I turn him?”

“Maybe you don’t. Maybe I do it because I love him too or at least, I will. I don’t know.”

“Love him, too?” I gaped, convinced Alice’s abilities were broken somehow. “What does that even mean? Who else are you talking about?”

“Who do you think, Bella?” Alice rolled her eyes again, impatient at my lack of clairvoyance. “Clearly not Rosalie.”

“Love him!?” Rosalie questioned incredulously, eyeing me as if I’d completely lost my mind. Maybe I had.

I then realized what Alice meant as I watched Rosalie’s face and processed the other baffled pairs of eyes.

“You mean me!?” I gasped.

“Woah! What the hell...” Emmett almost laughed in surprise, then decided it was indeed actually funny and broke out into real, booming laughter. “Damn! That’s rough. Of course, Bella would fall for a human!”

“Fall for a human?” Esme asked, completely astonished. “Fall in love? With the boy she saved today?”

“Nobody is in love with anybody,” I stood up. “That’s completely absurd!”

“Ooh, touchy subject,” Emmett snickered. I glared daggers at him.

“What exactly do you see, Alice?” Jasper asked.

“I already told you. It depends on Bella’s strength. Either she’ll kill him herself which would really destroy you, Bella, not to mention how very irritated I’d be with you–” she gave me a stern look through narrowed eyes as if I’d already committed the murder then returned her attention to the rest of our family “–or he’ll be one of us someday. There’s not much else to say; the visions are finite but not detailed. It will require a great deal of self control…”

As she continued to muse, I was still frozen in place on my feet, completely numb and completely bewildered.

“...Greater than even Carlisle’s capability maybe. I wouldn’t have put it past her prior to this, but now… It’ll be extremely close as to whether or not she kills him. The only thing she’s not strong enough to do is stay away from him. That’s a completely lost cause.”

The room was entirely quiet.

“Well, this complicates things greatly,” Carlisle murmured.

After another moment of silence, Rosalie piped up. “I can’t believe it. In love with a human-”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Rosalie!” I snarled, returning to some clarity.

“Girls, please-” Esme began to plead.

“Ooh, she got you there, babe,” Emmett interrupted, chuckling as Rose growled at him.

“Emmett,” Esme warned sternly. He held up his hands in surrender but winked at me, grinning widely.

I couldn’t even appreciate the realliance. I was still too lost in the sudden upheaval of my entire life.

“I suppose the plans remain the same, though," Carlisle said thoughtfully. "We'll stay and watch. Obviously, no one will...hurt the boy.”

“Of course not,” Jasper agreed, nodding his head once. “If Alice only sees two ways, then it’s unnecessary to take matters into-”

“Shut up, Jazz,” I said numbly.

Everyone’s eyes flickered over to me.

I was just loving being the center of attention these days.

If Alice only sees two ways...

“You’re wrong,” I whispered. For the first time in my life, I was betting against Alice.

My psychic sister opened her mouth to protest but stopped after seeing either in her head or on my face that I wasn’t finished.

“I hardly know Edward. I don’t see how it could be possible for me to… develop any kind of… feelings for him. That’s entirely ridiculous. I mean, he’s… human! The only scenario that could potentially ever happen – which again, it’s absolutely implausible – would be if I were to accidentally change him. And even then, I mean, why would I-... He’s so… Ugh, just nevermind! That would be a complete mistake. A mistake greater than the one I made today. And I’m very sorry to you all for how I’ve mutilated the future with my actions, but I’m going to fix it. I’ll leave-”

“You can’t,” Alice and Esme interrupted at the same time. My sister’s tone was one of annoyance while my mother’s was one of concern.

“You’re right,” I nodded, but my agreement wasn’t for the reasons Alice meant. I wasn’t considering my capability to leave based on my own will power against leaving the boy behind. That was something too complicated to unpack here in front of my family. Something that’d be better dealt with on the floor with my arms wrapped around my knees. I wouldn’t leave because it’d be more crucial for me to stay now. The responsible thing to do. “But I’ll try to...I will stay away from Edward–” suddenly, I felt a desire to begin to distance myself from him and referring to him by his name felt too deeply personal, so I corrected myself, “–from the boy, I mean. It’s not right to condemn him to either fate. I won’t allow that to happen.”

As I spoke, Rosalie’s face softened and she materialized by my side, taking my hand.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve behaved today, Bella. I only spoke out of love for our family. But you’re right. It’s not right. And I’m glad you’re choosing to do the right thing by staying away. I still don’t feel as though trusting him is responsible, but if what Alice has said is true-”

“I’m sorry, too,” I cut her off quietly, not wanting to hear the rest. I was feeling sorry for so much more than just how I spoke to Rose.

Esme appeared behind me as well, placing her hand encouragingly on my shoulder. “We are here to support you, Bella.”

“Thanks,” I murmured unenthusiastically.

Nobody moved again as they waited to see what I’d do next. I felt like a zoo animal.

I sighed, releasing Rose’s hand and shaking off Esme.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to be by myself.”

“Of course,” Carlisle responded.

I crossed behind the west side of the table. Emmett let out a low, cartoony whistle of relief to break the tension, and I punched him on the arm as I passed. As I exited the room, Alice called, “wait!”

She was by my side in an instant.

“This is from the accident. It’s Edward’s. I thought maybe you’d want to return it to him.”

I looked down as she pulled my unresponsive hand away from my body to place the thick, chestnut journal I’d seen Edward reach for in his backseat right before the accident. I stared at her, impassive, so she sighed and wrapped my fingers around the worn leather to force it into my grip.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, turning and disappearing out of the house into the forest.

As I ran, I felt the weight of their eyes on me.

[camillemontespan]

ten years from now [AU. drake walker x camille montespan] [part twelve: impact]

A/N: Liam took over in this chapter. I kinda love him now?

Big thanks to @dcbbw​ for being my sounding board; she is the best at writing Liam and so helpful. We brainstormed a lot and got very excited. 

Spring Street, Soho, is a real street in NY. I google earthed it. It looks awesome.

Master List

@moonlightgem7​​​​​​​​​ @jovialyouthmusic​​​​​​​​​ @mskaneko​​​​​​​​​ @ibldw-main​​​​​​​​​ @katedrakeohd​​​​​​​​​ @pug-bitch​​​​​​​​​ @gooddaykate​​​​​​​​​ @princessleac1​​​​​​​​​ @burnsoslow​​​​​​​​​  @loveellamae​​​​​​​​​  @pedudley​​​​​​​​​ @oofchoices​​​​​​​​​ @emichelle​​​​​​​​​ @simplymissjulia​​​​​​​​​ @dcbbw​​​​​​​​​ @sirbeepsalot​​​​​​​​​ @rainbowsinthestorm​​​​​​​​​ @notoriouscs​​​​​​​​​ @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore​​​​​​​​​ @addictedtodrakefanfic​​​​​​​​​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​​​​​​​​​ @nomadics-stuff​​​​​​​  @gardeningourmet​​​​​ @marshmallowsandfire​ @kingliam2019​ *********************************************

Drake woke up hungover. He felt like microwaved shit, no sugarcoating it. Bleary eyed, his eyes adjusted to the harsh light and he took in his surroundings. 

‘Fuck..’ he groaned.

This was a new low; he had gotten drunk and blacked out on the jetty by the lake. He had spent the night there. Dragging himself up, he closed his eyes and exhaled, trying to get used to the lightheadedness.

He looked up to find Bianca and Savannah standing over him.

‘FUCK!’ he shouted.

‘How classy,’ Savannah said with thinly veiled sarcasm. 

Bianca sighed and sat down beside Drake. ‘Baby, Sav told me about you and Camille. Talk to me.’

‘I’m fine,’ Drake said. ‘I need to get back inside-’

‘What happened?’ Savannah asked. ‘What’s the latest development? You fuck her again?’

‘Sav, please just stop..’ Drake muttered, done with his sister’s shit.

‘No!’ she shouted. ‘I am watching you tear yourself apart over her! Ever since she came back, I could see you looking at her, building your hopes up.. I just want you to be happy but this isn’t the way. Drake, I’m sorry, I like Camille but this is the worst situation to get yourself into. She’s engaged, she’s not going to leave Liam, it’s not going to happen-’

‘Yes, it will!’ Drake burst out. He clambered to his feet unsteadily, aware that Bianca was now gripping his arm. He turned to face his sister with wild, bloodshot eyes. ‘We are far from over! I was an idiot but I can see it now. I’ve grown up. I’m going to get her back.’

Bianca and Savannah’s eyes both widened. Bianca’s fingers dug into his skin. ‘Drake, think about this. Please. She has a life in New York, she has Liam. She is getting married in less than three months. You can’t just throw a spanner into the works, it’s not fair on her.’

‘Mom..’ Drake whispered. ‘I love her.’

‘You fucking what now?’ Savannah asked incredulously. 

Drake looked at Savannah with a steady gaze. ‘I love her,’ he repeated. ‘Always have, always will.’

Savannah stepped back. ‘I thought.. I thought you were being reckless.’

‘I know and I was,’ Drake murmured. He smiled weakly. ‘But we’ve got history. We ended in the shittest way and that’s all my fault, but damn it, I’m not letting her get away twice. I want to bring her back to Texas. I want to marry her. I want to have babies with her. I want to celebrate the 4th of July with her. I want to wake up beside her every single morning and go to sleep beside her every single night. I want to make her happy. I want to love her. I know I was an asshole before but I’ve learned from this. I need her back in my life, Sav.’

There was a long silence. Bianca broke it.

‘I do like Liam..’ she said quietly. ‘And I don’t want Camille to be even more confused. But, I’ve never heard you say that you love someone. Never.  Ever since Camille left, you’ve always been closed off to every girl you’ve been with since. Every girl you've been with since have all tried to break through and get to know the man underneath this.. this armour. They couldn't because they weren't Camille, whether you knew that or not.'

Drake opened his mouth to speak but Bianca kept talking.'I know it’s her or nothing for you. You’re never gonna be happy until you try to get her back. And I really wanna see you happy, baby.' 

Bianca wiped her eyes that were filling with tears. Drake sighed and pulled her in for a hug. His eyes met Savannah’s; she rolled her eyes and quickly hugged Bianca and Drake too; a Walker sandwich.

‘You stink of whiskey..’ Savannah muttered.

‘Love you too, Savvy,’ Drake replied dryly. 

*************************************************

Camille arrived back in New York feeling as if she was a ticking time bomb ready to go off at any moment. She knew she had to talk to Liam and be honest. Quite frankly, she was utterly terrified. 

It was late afternoon when she got home. When she opened the front door, she was welcomed by the scent of cooking and the sound of jazz music playing from the kitchen. Leaving her suitcase by the door, Camille padded through to the kitchen to say hello to her fiancé.

Liam was standing at the stove stirring pasta. He turned when he heard the door open. His face broke out into a wide smile. 

'Darling, you're home!' 

Camille smiled weakly and kissed him softly on the cheek. 'Hey you.' 

'Okay, so I'm making your favourite - spaghetti alla puttanesca,' Liam said quickly, practically dancing back to the stove he was that excited to see her. 'Got your favourite wine chilling in the fridge and we can watch one of your romcoms!' 

Camille bit her lip, feeling awful. How was she going to tell him? How? 

Liam stopped talking to give her a sad smile. 'I feel terrible for not being able to go to Texas with you,' he admitted gently. 'I wish I could have been there to support you. How is Gisele? Is she on the mend?' 

His earnestness and kindness broke Camille's heart. She strode over to him and threw her arms around his neck, clinging on for dear life. His hands gently held her. 

'Darling, are you okay?' he murmured into her hair. 'Shh, it's alright.' 

Tears spilled down Camille's cheeks as she held onto Liam. She could feel the crushing guilt in the pit of her stomach, the bile in her throat and the throbbing headache that was beginning to pulse. 

'I'm so sorry,' she whispered, her voice cracking. Her lips brushed Liam's neck and her arms stayed tightly around him. 'I'm so fucking sorry.' 

Liam gently pulled back to examine her face. His eyes widened with alarm as he realised the distress that she was in. 

'Camille.. Why are you sorry?' 

Camille clutched onto his shirt and prepared herself to tell the truth. She had no idea how she was going to approach this.

Liam's hands were shaking now. He could tell something was very, very wrong. 

'Camille.. Tell me,' he murmured. 'You can tell me anything. It's me.'

Camille closed her eyes and braced herself for impact. She could feel herself now hurtling to earth, the wind out of her sails, her balloon deflated. 

'I cheated on you with Drake,' she said, keeping her voice steady and her eyes on his. She was going to force herself to watch his heart break in front of her. She deserved to see the consequences of her actions. 'I cheated on you with Drake...several times. I'm so sorry. I know there is nothing I can say to take it back but I wanted to be honest -' 

'Please stop talking,' Liam croaked. His eyes were looking over her shoulder into the distance, far off and glassy. 'Please.'

But Camille couldn't stop talking. She was panicking. And as usual, her panic was turning into word vomit. 

'He was my best friend growing up and we also dated,' she continued, her voice increasing in pace and volume. 'I lost my virginity to him. I loved him. But we ended with no closure and I hadn't seen him for ten years until now -' 

Liam had moved away from her and was gripping hold of the kitchen counter, his knuckles turning white. He wore a grim expression on his face and his jaw was set, the pressure point throbbing from his tension. 

'Camille, please stop talking.'

'At first it was fine, we didn't do anything but then we had sex at the Beaumont Bash and kissed in the maze-'

'I really don't want to know the details,' Liam tried to cut in. His voice was thin like paper. 

'And then he visited me here, in the city, and we slept together again!' Camille burst out. 'But I told him that I needed space and I came straight back here to tell you the truth. I can't keep lying anymore, Li. I need you to know. You're so kind and so good -' 

'Then why did you sleep with him then?!' Liam suddenly burst out, picking up a plate and throwing it to the floor, making it smash and Camille jump out of her skin. 

Liam whipped around to face her. His eyes were wild and his chest was rising and falling rapidly.

'If I'm so kind and so good, why the fuck did you sleep with him?' he repeated. 'Why go behind my back? We're engaged, Camille! We've got everything all planned, our whole future! And you're throwing it away to be with some guy you dated ten years ago?!' 

Camille rushed towards him to take him by the hand but he shrugged her off. 'Li, please!' she cried, tears pouring down her cheeks. 'I'm so sorry! I didn't mean for it to go this far, I was an idiot-' 

'Hindsight is a fucking beautiful thing, isn't it!' Liam shouted, pushing past her. He stormed out of the kitchen, with Camille close on his heels, and through to the bedroom where he flung open the closet doors. Camille saw with horror that he was taking out a suitcase. 

'What are you doing?' she asked, panicking. 'Can we talk about this? I want to fix this, please -' 

'You've done enough,' Liam said gruffly. He was throwing his clothes into the case, not even bothering to fold them. 

'Liam, please let me explain,' Camille pleaded. 'I need to tell you that I made a mistake.' 

Liam closed his eyes and stopped putting clothes into the suitcase. With his hands spread out on the bed, he slowly brought his face up to look at her. 

'When you told him you needed space,' he whispered, 'did you tell him it was over?' 

Camille blinked. 'Uh..' 

There was a horrific, heavy silence. Camille realised that she hadn't. She had told Drake she was taking the space he had given her. But she hadn't told him it was over. She thought she had implied it but thinking back.. She hadn't. Yet again, the door was left open for Drake Walker. 

Liam shook his head and went back to packing. With tears blinding her vision, Camille rushed to unpack everything in the case. She grabbed his socks and pulled them out, casting them to the floor. 

'Camille, no!' 

'I need to explain!' 

'Just stop it!' he shouted, taking her by the arms. His eyes bore into hers. 'Please, Camille,' he begged quietly. 'Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be.' 

Camille detached herself from him. She watched as he packed more of his things. His ironed shirts. His trousers. His pointed shoes. His ties. His cotton check pyjamas. 

A sob escaped Camille's throat. She clapped her hand to her mouth but her sobs came out thicker and faster as she realised how badly she had fucked up. 

Tears were trickling down Liam's cheeks too. He kept his head down as he cried, his hands clenching the sides of the suitcase. 

'I did everything in my power to make you happy,' he choked out. 'That was all I wanted, Camille. Just for you to be happy, preferably with me.' 

He wiped his eyes and zipped up the suitcase. Camille watched as he pulled it through the room and out to the hallway. He shrugged on his navy coat with the brass buttons, his favourite coat, and he unlocked the front door. 

Camille watched with bated breath. Liam closed his eyes, stopping at the threshold. 'I thought I knew you,' he whispered. 'But it turns out I never did.'

'Li..' she croaked. 

Liam opened his eyes and turned to look at her properly now. He looked defeated. 

'I deserve to be with someone who gives a shit,' he told her. 'And that person is out there for me. But it's not you.' 

Camille was about to rush to him again but stopped when Liam shook his head. 

He looked at her now. 'I'll be back to pick up the rest of my things,' he whispered. 

Liam took his suitcase and opened the front door, leaving the apartment. Camille stood in the hallway feeling hollow and empty. 

She wandered aimlessly into the kitchen where the spaghetti Liam had been cooking was now burning. She quickly turned the stove off and silently gazed down at the counter, not really looking at it. 

The sound of Liam's jazz music continued to fill the room. Camille turned the music off, needing utter silence to process what had just happened. 

*******************

Drake obtained Camille’s address from the back of Gisele’s calendar. He didn’t feel good about it but Bianca had a key and Drake needed to know where Camille actually lived so he could tell her how he felt. Sure, he could call her but he needed to tell her in person. That was what you did when you were in love, right? You made grand gestures. You let yourself be open to vulnerability. You laid yourself bare to the other person and just hoped that they would return your feelings. If he didn’t do this, he would spend forever looking backwards.

He flew to JFK and hailed a taxi as soon as he was out of the airport. ‘136 Spring Street, Soho, please,’ he instructed the driver.

Drake gazed out at New York as the taxi navigated the busy streets. As they reached Spring Street, Drake felt out of his depth; while it wasn’t the fanciest street, it was full of independent bakeries, designer shops like Burberry and Chanel, and Italian restaurants. Of course Camille and Liam lived here.

Liam.

Drake had accepted the fact that Liam may be at home. Not ideal but then he needed to know the truth too. He needed to know all the facts. 

Drake leaned his forehead against the cool glass and closed his eyes. He was delusional. Driven to madness. If Liam was home, Drake would slink back into this taxi and never appear in Camille’s life again.

********************************

He pressed the intercom button and waited with bated breath. His heart was pounding against his chest; he was sure he was close to having a heart attack. 

‘Hello?’

Camille’s voice. Distant, small.. Hopeful. 

‘Camille,  it’s me!’ he said. ‘It’s Drake!’

There was a long silence. Drake closed his eyes. ‘Camille, please..’

‘You’re at my home,’ she whispered, her voice crackling through the intercom. ‘Why? What the hell has possessed you-’

‘I need to talk to you,’ he burst out. ‘Please.’

‘We’ve done enough talking,’ she replied. 

‘No, you have!’ Drake shot back. ‘But I haven’t!’

Another silence. It was excruciating. 

‘Please, Camille..’ Drake whispered. 

The intercom buzzed, letting Drake enter the building.

[vermilionskiinmorning]

𝕺𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕷𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑𝖙𝖞||TLK Fic|| FinanxOC||Three

AN: Hey! I just want to give a big thanks to everyone who has left feedback and read so far! Sorry that there’s not a whole lot of Finan in this chapter. I’m trying to bridge the gap between the end of Season Two and the beginning of The Burning Land here. I hope we're all staying safe and healthy :)

Taglist: @lauwrite1225  let me know if you wanted to be tagged for updates!

||Masterlist||

Summary: Tove chose to surrender rather than be killed, after Sigfried was defeated at Beamfleot, giving herself up to the mercy of the Saxons. Thanks to Finan’s intervention, her life is indeed spared and she is brought into Uhtred’s service. With the sting of defeat fresh on her tongue and her new life fighting for the Saxons secured; Tove is left wondering what tricks the Gods have in store for her next.

chapter warning: minor description of ancient medical practices

Words:2471

-----

It turned out Finan was correct in his thinking that the bandages had been wrapped too tightly. In the morning, her side ached something fierce and the bruising had darkened to a near black. It was impossible to say whether the healer who had wrapped the wound previously had simply made a mistake or if their actions had been motivated by general hatred of the Danes. Either way it was of no consequence because when Finan came with Uhtred to check on her they both agreed; she would need further treatment. What neither of them spoke out loud was their uncertainty as to whether she would be able to travel with them in a few days’ time.

Tove sat half propped up by pillows when the healer Osferth fetched was led into her room. Even with the war paint washed from her face, the expression of frustration on Tove wore was intimidating as she fixed her gaze on the short man. In addition to a healer, he was also apparently a priest which was denoted by his robes and the sizeable wooden cross which hung around his neck. A short and wiry man he became uncomfortable under the weight of Tove’s gaze. Wringing his wiry fingers nervously, he could not meet her eye. Instead his watery eyes flicked from his clearly displeased patient to her Lord who stood leaning against the far wall arms crossed.  

“W-what appears to be the issue, my Lord?” he inquired in a painfully squeaky voice, his question was not directed at Tove but the Lord Uhtred.

“Am I the one lying in a sick bed?” Uhtred responded flatly, though it was clear he gleaned a certain amount of amusement at furthering the healer’s discomfort.

“O-oh no, no of course not my Lord.”

Hesitantly the healer turned and approached Tove’s bedside. He hovered there for a moment. Until finally, with a dramatic sigh Tove rolled up her tunic to reveal the dark bruising that painted the side of her ribcage. As though woken from his nervousness suddenly by the sight of her wound, the healer drew closer to examine it. Her eyes followed his every move as he probed around the edges of the bruise and hummed thoughtfully to himself. Every prod of his fingers caused her to tense with pain though she made no sound.

All the while, out of the corner of her eye Tove could see Uhtred and Finan waiting patiently against the far wall. Uhtred merely watched with interest as the healer examined her. Meanwhile, Finan seemed somewhat tense at the sight of the damage he had caused. No one spoke until the healer sat back on his stool with a determined expression on his face.

“Well?” Tove asked expectantly.

“Well…,” began the healer earning an unimpressed look from Tove. Though, despite it he managed to push on. “I do not believe the bones are broken, Praise God. Though, it does appear the wrapping has served to deepen the bruising…causing blood to collect under the skin. Minor bleeding and holy water may alleviate your pain and aid in the healing.”

The squeaky quality of the healer’s voice and his heavy accent caused her to furrow her brow in confusion.

“What?” she asked.

Uhtred cut in though before the healer could attempt to explain himself further.

“He wants to bleed you,” Uhtred said in Danish. “And pour their Christian magic waters over the wound.”

Tove’s eyebrows shot up. “Magic waters?”

“Yes, they say it is blessed by their God.”

The healer waited as Tove considered the treatment. When she finally nodded her assent, he reached into a satchel and brought out the necessary implements. A small flask filled with clear water, a knife, and some cloth.

Bleeding, though unpleasant, was not an unusual treatment for such a wound. So, with that agreed upon the healer ushered Uhtred and Finan from the room to do his work. Despite the routineness of the procedure it did take some time to complete as all the bad humors had to leave the body through the blood. The healer made two medium size cuts across the bruised area and allowed the blood to flow until it was little but a trickle. Then he splashed the area with his magic waters said a prayer and pronounced the treatment complete. Though she was dubious of the effectiveness of the waters Tove gave a nod of thanks to the man as he rewrapped her ribs.  

When he was gone Tove allowed herself to fall back into a light sleep which lasted for several hours before a knock came at her door. In her grogginess she only managed a grunt in reply. Though it was clearly enough for the door opened a moment later to reveal Lord Uhtred with a pitcher of ale and a platter of food.

“My Lord,” she said, attempting to push herself up into a seated position.

“Rest,” Uhtred said simply indicating there was no reason for her sit up. “I am only here to bring you some food.”

“Thank you.”

“And to discuss our impending journey to Lunden,” he added.

Her stomach sank.

“I will be well,” Tove said firmly.

Uhtred looked at her for a long moment.

“The healer does not advise you to travel on horse back for some weeks,” Uhtred said finally.

“My Lord!” she began to protest.

“So, I’ve arranged for you to ride in a cart. As I imagined you would not like to be left here until you were fully healed?”

Tove’s eyebrows rose in surprise. It was apparent the Lord had anticipated her fear of being left behind. A wave of gratitude swept through her causing a smile to spread across her face. Traveling by cart was certainly not ideal and indeed a tad frustrating for a warrior, but better to concede than to not be allowed to travel.

“Thank you, my Lord!” Tove exclaimed vehemently. “You are a good man.”

Uhtred chuckled. He patted her shoulder lightly and then made to excuse himself. At the door he left her with the firm order that she should take as much rest as she could in the following days.

-----

Their journey to Lunden was longer than the one to Wintenchester and though Tove would have rather enjoyed it from horseback she felt somewhat grateful for the cart. Her ribs had begun to heal properly after the intervention of the healer’s treatment, but she was still sore. The cart jostled somewhat along the road at times though the driver did his best to keep from going over any great bumps. Overall, it was a comfortable and relaxed journey.

As they rode, she heard about the fate of the Lord Odda and learned about what they would be doing in Lunden. Apparently, the Lord had decided to take his own life rather than allow himself to be executed. It was speculated by some of the men that the Lord had done it as a kindness to his friend the King. He had not wished Alfred to be forced to order his execution. She found it somewhat sad. An opinion that was not shared by some of those in their party. They explained to her that Christians believed to take one’s own life was a sin and that the Lord Odda would now be burning in hell for this sin. Like the crime he was to be sentenced for this made little sense to Tove; it seemed Christians loved to punish themselves.

What a strange God these Christians have.

The topic of their duties was however much more interesting to her. Since arriving in Britain she had spent much of her time at Beamfleot where the Lady Aethelfled had been held. She knew the Thurgilson brothers had held Lunden briefly and used their advantage there to capture the Lady, but Lord Njal’s crew arrived too late to see that city. It was said that the place thrived with trade and life even more so than Wintenchester despite having switched several times between Saxon and Danish hands.

Half the place was built by an ancient people called the Romans who had, similarly to her people, invaded Britain hundreds of years ago and that their buildings were made of the same great stones as the palace in Wintenchester. Though, as Uhtred put in much of the stone was in decay and Saxons did not often inhabit the Roman buildings for fear of their ghosts. Much of the population lived within the old Roman walls but had instead decided to live in their own wooden structures.

It would be Lord Uhtred’s job to see to the security of that city. Now that it was back in Saxon hands, particularly Mercian hands, Alfred wished for it to stay that way. So, he had given the city to Lord Uhtred which was interesting to Tove as Mercia was supposedly ruled by a Lord of Mercia -Aethelred. Regardless she was pleased to be there and excited for what awaited them.

When they arrived, they were met by a Saxon called Bishop Erkenwald who did not look overly pleased to be receiving them. The Bishop greeted Lord Uhtred begrudgingly and led them into the city. Inside the gates another man, a priest by his look, was instructed to show the household warriors to their lodgings. All of which were situated in the Roman quarter of the city near their Lord’s home that looked out onto the river Temes. It was late afternoon when they arrived, and they were left much to their own devices as their Lord attended a meeting with the Bishop.

That suited Tove well enough as she was eager to settle into her new home. It was a small place, but that made no difference to her. She did not need a lot of space and a larger home would have made her miss her family too much. During their journey she had had plenty of time to think about her family and it saddened her to do so. Kåre’s child had likely been born some time ago. She wondered if it was a boy or a girl. But thinking about that only led her to wondering how Inga was doing and whether her sisters were helping which left her with a deep ache in her chest. It was likely that after not returning she would be eventually presumed dead since she had no way to send word to them.

So, instead of allowing those thoughts to seep in she cleaned the new place as best she could. There was still some mild pain in her side that made stooping difficult, but she managed to sweep the floors of dust and organize her meager possessions. When all that was complete the sun had sunk fully below the horizon. Despite her desire to explore the city, Tove decided she would have an early night and went to sleep after a small meal of bread and hard cheese.

A few weeks after their arrival, Tove was finally allowed to join the men in the training yard. After having been stagnant so long she was eager to get back to what she did best. It had been enjoyable getting to know the wives of Uhtred and Sihtric, but housework was not for her. She was a shield maiden.

“Don’t go easy on me,” Tove said firmly to Osferth as she tossed him a sword.

Admittedly she had been looking forward to sparring with Finan since the battle at Beamfleot, but he was not there. Apparently Uhtred had required the Irishman’s presence on some errand elsewhere in the city. So, Osferth would be her sparring partner for the afternoon.

“Yeah Osferth. Best not let yerself be beaten by a girl,” Sihtric jeered.

“Careful Sihtric or you’ll be next on my list for humiliation,” she joked.

Sihtric snorted. She turned back to Osferth who held his practice sword at the ready. A small smile played at Tove’s lips as she surveyed him. Osferth was too good of a man. Many others would have taken advantage of her distraction to begin the fight and so catch her off guard, but not Osferth.

“When you’re ready.”

Tove did not wait. Immediately she went for the opening she saw in his guard, but Osferth parried knocking her blade away. Gritting her teeth, she went in again and again she was parried away. Five or six strokes in Osferth began to make his own attacks which Tove parried with just as much practiced ease. It went on like that for some time. Both their faces glistening with sweat, grunting, and becoming tired with the speed and intensity of the fight.

Until she saw it. The same opening Osferth had shown when they began -except this was not so intentional. The young monk knew where his weaknesses were, and he had shown them to her to draw her in. But now he was tired, and she was wagering he would not be able to react so fast as before. So, she went for it lunging blade first she poked him in the stomach with the dull tip of her blade just hard enough to make him double over.

“Dead,” Tove proclaimed with a heavy exhale and a wide grin on her face.

-----

Up on the balcony of Uhtred’s house stood Finan and the Lord himself surveying the training yard with interest. They had had an errand to run earlier in the morning, but on its completion Uhtred asked Finan to observe the training yard with him. Uhtred knew it would be Tove’s first day back to train and he was interested to see how good she was -as the only direct witness he had to her skill was Finan. Though, he did not want her to know he was watching thus the balcony.

“Seems you were right,” said Uhtred as they watched her ‘kill’ Osferth.

“Seems Osferth still needs work on that guard Lord,” Finan added mildly.

Uhtred nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he was watching Finan watching Tove. Back in top health, Uhtred would not deny that Tove was a beauty. Had he not been so deeply in love with Gisela he might have wanted her, but nothing could turn him from the love of his wife. Still, he recognized the gleam of interest in Finan’s eyes and he had seen his friend’s discomfort at the sight of her wound back in Wintenchester.

“What made you spare her at Beamfleot?” Uhtred asked suddenly.

Finan’s brow furrowed at the question. Turning his eyes away from the training yard below, he only managed a shrug.

“Ya wouldn’ have killed someon’ who yielded would ya Lord?”

“No,” Uhtred said. “Still, you couldn’t have known if she would give her oath.”

“I had a feelin’ Lord.”

[laughing-with-god]

Pen Pal I

Summary- As a lonely person, the idea of exchanging letters with someone apart from society was actually quite appealing to you.  In a random act of charity and desperation, you sign up for a pen pal and get paired up with an inmate named Jungkook.  The letters were meant to help him cope with prison life, but little did anyone know it was actually driving him more mad.  

Warning- Yandere/Prisoner Jungkook x Reader.  Mature themes.  Mention of mental disorder/

Words; 5.3k

‘Solitude, isolation are painful things and beyond human endurance’- Jules Verne 

“Don’t be nervous.” 

The older man kindly smiled at you, age making a brief appearance in the form of the wrinkles that graced his eyes when lifting his lips into an expression of sympathy.  

Pure fear clawed itself within your stomach, your eyes watering on their own accord and your limbs quivered with panic, the tremors shaking through your entire being.  You ducked your head, not wanting anyone to see your moment of weakness, but also knowing that you couldn’t bear having your unfiltered emotions put under these strangers’ microscopes for them to cruelly dissect for their sick entertainment.  

Your throat felt all too dry, the esophagus was almost trying to strangle you into silence with the way it began to feel parched and scratchy without reasonable cause.  Your chapped lips pursed themselves, another form of your body attempting to quiet you without consent of the owner of said body.

You took a deep breath, although your lungs seemed to have shrivelled up and stubbornly denied any new oxygen.  A choking noise escaped you as you briskly tried to obtain ownership of your missing voice.

“I-I...don’t know where to start.”  

Your voice was bleak and raspy sounding even to you. When the vibration of your own tone pierced your ear drums, you ducked your face even further away from peering gazes. It was the sound of an utterly defeated woman, a broken shell and a foolish imp who is just now suffering her consequences as life finally chose to let the weight of her naive actions crumble her weak frame.  You didn’t deserve any sympathy. Shame dusted your face ruby red, and a hot tear trailed down your pale and fear-stricken face.

“Well, the beginning is always a good place to start any story.”  The father-like man soothed, his voice sounding like thick honey, not too deep or domineering but also thick enough to fill the room with his message.  

You shuddered one last time and gulped down any last fantasies you had of completely running away from this gladiator-like platform into the safety of your humble nest, away from anyone who wouldn’t understand you.  You couldn’t let him win.

“I-I….I have a-always been afraid of the world.”

--

You weren’t sure why you weren’t like most people.  

You didn’t know which one of you guys got it wrong, you or them.  

A case could be made that you were the mentally fucked one that desperately needed treatment to solve this ‘condition’.  After all, what kind of weirdo is so afraid of society that they instantly get panic attacks when forced outside? Surely you had a mental issue, a couple screws loose or a very fucked up past.  

But on the other hand, you were all too willing to side-eye the ‘them’ category with a few questions and judgements in hand.  

Why would anyone want to be so vulnerable in the outside world?  An outside world where people are robbed, beaten, raped and killed daily.  A world that’s so loud and cruel while being the epitome of unforgiving. A world where people only look out for themselves, ready to backstab anyone if it meant that they would get an advantage.  

What kind of sane person would choose that world over the comfort of your own home?  

Your home was your safe-place,  perfectly designed for your needs.  And you never saw any reason to leave it.  

It was heaven to you.  A cloud of maternal comfort that enveloped you like a hug just by being inside it.  Your favorite scented candles would smother your apartment in the pleasurable essence, all the books you were oh-so fond of were waiting for you to retrieve them from their loyal stations on your bookshelf, all of your cherished songs could be heard quitely playing from your record player and your go-to movies and shows were always just a click away.  You indulge yourself in this safe-haven you had created, never wanting to leave it.

Your therapist (who used to make home visits) would say that she was certain you had Agoraphobia; deathly fear of leaving one’s home.  

She went on to tell you that this phobia almost always had a triggering point, no one was just born with such mindset.  

And this is when your past came into play.  

But could anyone blame you?  

Watching one’s sister get ran over by a car when you two were supposed to meet up for lunch, was enough to traumatized anyone.   

But, you digressed.  

You didn’t like talking about your sister, or the hectic driver who couldn’t handle the complex city streets and thus ended up murdering an innocent bystander because he wasn’t paying attention.  

You’d like to think that you have always hated the outside world.  Even from the age of 7, you’d fake sickness to avoid having to go outside with the other kids to play at recess.  Your mother had always told you that you were her little homebody. While other kids wanted to go to parks or have water-gun fights, you begged your mom to just give you some hot-chocolate while you catch up on the lastest Junie B. Jones novel.  

It was your sister who was the free spirited social butterfly.  

She was only two years older, but looking at the two of you together, people always assumed that you were the wisest and mature one, incorrectly pinning you as the older.  

Your sister would make mud-pies and bike race with other kids from the neighborhood.  She would come back from an afternoon in the backyard, skin freshly sun-kissed from her adventures and shove a bug in your face, telling you to say hello to her new ‘pet’.  She would puff out her chest and order you to point out the kid who told you that you were ‘weird’ before marching up to them at the park and yelling at their face, warning them to never come close to her little sister ever again.  She would sneak into your mother’s makeup bag and half-hazardly paint your guys’ faces, telling you that she wouldn’t mind giving you tips on how to get the perfect blush.

Even as you two got older, she continued her fiery ways.  

She was the first girl to not mind boldly showing off her bra-strap during middle-school.  She was the first girl of her grade to makeout with someone, being the initiator. She was the first girl to throw a highschool party in your neighborhood when your mom left for one weekend.  

She was the one to always step out of into society and declare the world as hers.  

You admired her for that, always wondering how she found it within herself to never give a fuck what anyone thought of her.  How is it that she never crumbled even in the most unfortunate situations? Her willpower outweighed any self-doubt, meanwhile you were the direct opposite.  

You have always been a deep-thinker, drowning yourself in ‘what ifs’ and made up scenarios that would likely never happen.  You were very tender-hearted, but also very intelligent. You couldn’t solve the puzzle that was the human behavior, and this is why you sheltered yourself from the selfish and greedy enigma that was civilization, knowing it would only baffle your mind and hurt your heart.  

It wasn’t like you were always a crazy hermit, a sad recluse.  

You were just reserved and quiet, but you still managed to have a job and go out from time to time.

It wasn’t until you saw what the outside world could really do that you made the leap to go with what your gut has been telling you all along and fully disassociate with the public.

Being way out there could only get you like your sister; splattered on second avenue while cars just honk and speed by, too bothered with the afternoon rush to give the tragedy a second glance.  

Thus, you haven’t left your apartment in a grand total of six months.  

You got your groceries delivered, any new clothing or purchases were shipped directly to your door and you had someone take away any garbage for you.  

You had no reason to leave the cozy retreat of your apartment.  

Even the therapist that your mother had forced upon you had to come directly to your apartment in order to talk to you.  

Life was going perfectly fine, until one day you woke up...off.  

You laid face up on your cushiony mattress, eyes simply observing your plain white ceiling as the sound of pattering rain rang from outside.  

It was like a gaping hole was torn into your chest overnight.  

You felt yourself desperate for something...you weren’t quite sure what.  A craving that was clawing from the inside out. You scrunched up your face in confusion at the foreign and indescribable feeling.  Your attempted to find the words to decipher what your emotions were, hoping this would lead to an answer. After some investigation, you identified the feelings of emptiness, hollowness and somehow very forlorn.  

This puzzled you because when you live alone in your own home without any outside forces at play, very little could cause you discomfort.  

It wasn’t until you got up and began making a bowl of cereal while a show played in the background that a conclusion finally dawned upon your anemic and foggy brain.  

You were lonely.

Without any consent or knowledge on your part, you felt your eyes water up as they watched the pixelated screen in your living room, glassy orbs drinking in the playing scene with a look of yearning.  

It was a sitcom; two friends were simply bickering over a stupid debate, but the banter was witty and humorous, causing the outdated laugh track to ensue at the perfect times.  

You...wished you had that.  

You wished you had someone to communicate with.  

Someone to exchange thoughts, ideas or jokes with.  You weren’t the most social person, but you were still human.  And isolation only hurted you in the end.

It was tiring to have the walls as your only friends.  It was pathetic to feel the sheer excitement of reading or watching something so good and wanting to talk to someone about it, only to realize you couldn’t.  It was borderline soul crushing to conclude that you could drop dead in your own home and it would take weeks for someone to recognize your absence of life.

But….you still couldn’t bear leaving your home.  

The harshness of reality was still fresh in your mind’s eye, the corpse of your sister laying in the street while the buzz of city life continued all around you, the only witnesses being the in-sensitive assholes who held up their phones to capture the bat-shit crazy scene before bouncing.  

Part of you was very well aware of how absurd and self-pitying your lifestyle and reasoning was, but you couldn’t help but cling to the warm cocoon that was your home.  In your mind, this was a way of grieving. Many people mourn differently, and this just so happened to be your version of grasping with the death of a loved one. At least it wasn’t as self-destructing as other people’s ways, like drinking too much, spending yourself into debt or relying on drugs.  

You just wanted to be alone, safe and comfortable.

What was so wrong with that?  

However, an outlet for some form of communication was needed.  

This is when you pulled out your laptop, beyond grateful that you lived in the digital age where the internet was good ole’ reliable.  

‘Making friends Online’  you typed into the search bar and waited patiently for the results to load up.   

‘FriendMatch- an online service to help you make friends within your area!’ You cringed at this, not liking the idea of said person being very close to where you lived.  The possibility that they could push to meet you was too troublesome.

‘Why You Should Never Make Friends Online.- Scary true stories.’ Not what you were looking for.

‘Flirt.com- Make friends or possibly more ;)’ Again, not what you were looking for.  Looked like a hookup site disguised as ‘friendly meetups’ to hide the fact it was basically a one-night stand program.  

‘Omegle- Chat to strangers via webcam or chat’

With a sigh at the realization that this was probably the best you were going to get, you clicked on the omegle website.  You knew how it worked, given that in middle school many kids would use it to chat with strangers for fun at their lack-luster sleepovers.  

You waited to get set up with a random stranger, reminding yourself that this was just a temporary procedure to brush up on your rusty social skills.  

Your webcam was turned off, but the incoming stranger had his on.  

It was a middle aged man, sat in a dirty and eggshell tank top on a bed with his hand reaching down and out of camera.  You scoffed to think what this fucker was up to.

‘F or M?’ The man typed with his free hand.  You canceled out of that chat.

The next one was a girl, she was laid on her bed wearing a red lingerie set with her makeup and hair done to perfection.  

“Buy my premium snapchat.”  She purred into the camera, you scoffed and exited out of this chat as well.  

The next stranger also had their webcam off.  

You waited for them to type anything, but the chat was dead silent.  It was obvious that they were waiting for you to make the first move.  You inhaled a deep breath and prepared yourself for the first interaction you were going to have with someone who wasn’t your mom or therapist in half a year.  

‘Hi.’  You lamely began.  

You saw dots appear on the screen.  

Then disappear.  

Then the dreaded ‘the stranger has ended the chat, click here to start a new one!’

You wanted to throw your laptop against the wall.  

You almost forgot how sex-crazed and self-centered people were.  All you wanted was a nice conversation but common decency was not an etiquette for the internet.  

You felt embarrassed that you worked up all this nerve for nothing.  It wasn’t a big deal, and you knew that, but it still was a form of you putting yourself on the line to communicate with the very thing you feared- humans.  Only for your fear to be proved significant once again.

You sighed and exited out of the site, back to the search page.  

You scrolled past the results, pouting at the lack of websites that could fulfil your needs.  It wasn’t until you saw one thing that made you pause your scrolling.

‘Why Getting A Pen Pal Is The Best Thing I’ve Ever Done- Quora ’  

Hesitant but curious, you clicked on it,

‘To be honest after years of being a stay at home mom, I never got used to the emptiness of the house after my sons went to college.  I really wanted someone to talk to, just on friendly basis and a good once-a-week type of deal was good enough for me. I watched a true-crime documentary and that’s when the idea of being a pen-pal really hit me.  There are tons of lonely inmates sitting in a cell block of a prison and with no one from the outside world to talk to. I signed up for the program and it’s been a godsend. Me and my pal (George) really just connected and I try to get him through his week as he tries to help me through mine.  It’s a nice bonding experience and very eye-opening. 100% would recommend to anyone feeling a little lonely. It’s a kind thing to do and everyone could use an extra friend!”

A pen pal.

You first thought that anyone who would write letters to prison must’ve been family or friends with someone who actually was in prison.  Why else would they take time out of their day to send a letter in an age where everything is done electronically?

But the more you thought about it, the more appealing the concept became.  

An inmate was someone whom was completely removed from society, someone who most likely felt as isolated as you.  Someone who knew how harsh and cruel the real world was (hell they were evidence of such statement) and someone who you wouldn’t have to face or run into, unless you gone out of your way to see them.  

It was almost a perfect answer to your problems.  

You quickly looked up a pen-pal program to join.

--

‘Dear Mr. or Miss. Prisoner

How would you feel if I told you that someone knowingly locked themselves up in their own jail cell?  

Because I have.  

I haven’t left my apartment in six months, haven’t talked to anyone in about seven.  I never step foot outside my home, petrified by what the outside world holds for me. I don’t know why I’m so afraid of society, all I know is that when I muster the courage to step out; I break out into hives and a panic attack begins to brew.  Thus, I have locked myself up in my own home. A pathetic recluse terrified by a fear that’s completely made up in my own head. Please, tell me what you think of this.

I can imagine that an inmate forcefully locked up in a cell against their own will would read the above and scoff.  Why would someone who has freedom at their fingertips so readily deny it?

I don’t know….but there is a downfall in my strategy of locking myself away from the rest of the world; I’m so lonely.  So lonely, that I decided to sign up for a pen-pal in prison who is probably wondering why such a mentally unstable person had reached out to them.  I just need some interaction, I’m starved for comradery.

What’s your name?

What’s your favorite food?

Please….anything.  

-Regards, Y/n ‘

--

A week later, the familiar knock at your door signaled the incoming of mail.  

You made your way over to where the envelopes were hastily pushed through the slot on your door.  

Bills, coupons, flyers and…...a letter.

You suddenly got flashbacks to when you put your heart onto a college-ruled paper with sloppy handwriting and a self-pitying passage onto a faceless inmate who without a doubt had better shit to worry about.  

You honestly didn’t expect any response, knowing that it was more about you just writing down what you felt more than it was about getting a response.  You didn’t know what to expect when you would open the letter. Probably a ‘you ungrateful bitch, you have everything I want and you lock yourself up for no reason?!’

Or at least something along those lines.  

But, a buzz of excitement still ran faintly through your veins.  Someone was going to be conversing back with you.

With shaking hands, you carefully opened the envelope.  

‘Dear Y/n,

Well, I would feel rather….accepting.  

I think you must be a very wise person to keep yourself far from the wretched claws of society.  The world is fucked and you would have to be a fool not to know that. When I get out of prison, I’m going to keep myself as far away from the public as possible.  I don’t think you’re pathetic, I think you’re just someone who is too fragile for this crazy hell-hole.

I’m lonely too.  Perhaps we can help each other out in this arena.

To answer your questions;

My favorite food is lamb skewers.  

My favorite color is red.  

And my name is Jungkook.  

Please tell me more about yourself.  What triggered you to hide yourself away from the world?

Is it too much to ask for a picture?  I hope it doesn’t sound creepy but it would be very nice to put a face to my new friend.

~Love, JK’

Your heart leapt.

It was a very short letter, but the contents meant the world to you in that moment.  

He called you his ‘friend’.  

You hadn’t had one of those in years.  

He acknowledge your paranoia, giving it reason and not making you feel like a freak.  For the first time in your life, you felt understood at face value. You didn’t need to defend your lifestyle with him. Instead of trying to convince you that your fear was irrational and to try to get you to get out of your comfort zone, he embraced your reasoning and accepted it without a harsh line of questioning.  

Stunned, you took the letter over to your bed to analyze once more.  

His handwriting was very neat and careful, you wondered if that reflected back into his persona at all, or if he was just someone who naturally had very good penmanship.

He had asked for a picture, and an unfamiliar feeling of anxiety plummeted your stomach.  

What if he thought you were too ugly?  

Or what if he was just some freak who wanted some jerk-off material?

But….you couldn’t deny that you also wanted to see the face of the guy who you would exchange letters with.  You supposed it was natural to want to have a clear image of whom you were communicating with. Afterall, it was kind of intimate the things you shared.  

You smiled and got excited to write another letter.  

But first, you had to find out to make yourself presentable for a photo.  

--

Dear Jungkook,

Words cannot express how thankful I am that you answered my pathetic call for help.  Seriously, it’s been so long since I have talked to anyone so openly and some might say that a random inmate it a bad choice for such companionship but I disagree.  Call me crazy Jungkook, but I think we can understand each other very well. I nearly cried when you called me your friend. I’m afraid I’m not a very interesting person to get to know.  My favorite color is (color), my favorite food is (food), I am (age) and I’m (height) tall. Very bland, I know.

To answer your question on why I hide myself...well it’s a long story.

People tell me that I have a phobia, a disorder of the mind that I should see a shrink for.  To be honest, I think I’m the sanest person I know. I have always had a general fear of all things concerning the public.  It wasn’t until I saw my sister ran over in front of me and how the city just kept moving on as if nothing happened that I realized how little the outside setting cares for me, and how little I shall care for it.  My home is heaven on earth and I see no reason to leave it for the chaos that lies outside.

Here is that picture you asked for, I’m sorry I’m not much of a looker.  But hey, when you hole yourself up for months on end, why feel the need to be prettied up for someone?  I don’t know if this is allowed, but is there a way I can see what you look like? I think it’s only fair.  

Much love, Y/n’

--

‘Dear Y/n,

I thought you were a very smart person but obviously not.

‘Not much of a looker’ ….what a fucking joke.  

You’re by far one of the most breathtaking things I have laid eyes on in a long time (in or out of prison).  It’s a good thing you chose to stay indoors, men are pigs and they wouldn’t hesitate to eat you up the moment they got the chance.  

On a more somber note, I’m very sorry to hear about your sister, Y/n.  The world is a very sinister place and you shouldn’t have to witness such a tragedy in the midst of some city bastards who have their heads too far up their asses to notice anything else.  

Your home sounds lovely, I’m sure it’s a very homey and comfortable place.  I bet you’re the type of person to make any guest feel right at home. I also don’t see why you’d want to leave it.

I understand your pain, Y/n.  It’s almost as if we’re kindred spirits.  When my mom passed away, no one gave a shit.  They all just were just focused on throwing me in jail, labeling me a criminal without knowing my story.  

I do not think your first letter was a ‘pathetic cry for help’.  

I think we were meant to find each other.  

I think that we have a lot in common.  When two people find each other under unconventional circumstances and have such mindsets and tragedies in common...well, that’s has to mean something. Right?  I await your letters now with great anticipation. It’s the highlight of my days.

Here is a picture of me.  

Quite the ladies man, am I right? :)’

--

Dear Jungkook,

…..I guess you’re not the worst face I’ve seen.

Just kidding, you are very handsome.  Surprisingly young looking too. How old are you?  I was half expecting a 40 year old man to be on the receiving end of my letters haha.

Thank you for the compliments, although I’m afraid I’m average looking at best.  My sister was the better looking one between us two.

If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mother?  

I understand if you don’t wish to talk about it in greater detail.  When my sister first died I was very annoyed at the people who would pry.  Isn’t it funny how when someone dies everyone suddenly becomes interested? Humans are fucked I swear to god.  My mom had to hold me back at her funeral, some people really came in and had the audacity to make it about themselves.  

As for your stance on us being connected in some way, I have to say the evidence sure is stacked.  When I attempt to explain my fear to people, they all look at me like I’m crazy or try to convince me it’s all in my head.  I think my fear is very rational. I think you were the first person I’ve ever encountered to just accept it and even agree with it to a certain extent.  I’m very happy that you enjoy my letters. I enjoy yours too. You’re the only person I communicate with and you seem like marvelous company. How do you spend your days in prison?  Walk me through a day in our life.

Love, Y/n

P.s Jungkook, you never told me why you’re in prison’

--

My Dearest Y/n,

You can’t deny this face, Y/n.  Many women have tried and failed.  

I’m 21 years old, sorry if a middle aged man was what you wanted.  

And I doubt that your sister was better looking than you.  Darling, you’re kind of my dream girl if I’m being real with you.  Your face is so cute and round, your eyes are very wide and innocent, your nose is so tiny and cute, your hair looks very soft and forgive me but your lips are too pink and soft to be allowed.  I would hang your picture on my wall, but I don’t like thinking that m cell mate could get his rocks off on your image, so I keep it folded neatly under my pillow. I apologise if this is too forward but it’s your right to know just the effect you have on me.  I am a man in prison, afterall. I’m very lucky you stumbled upon the pen-pal program.

As for my mother, well she got very sick with terminal cancer.  She died about a year ago. Around the same time your sister died if my calculations are correct.  Odd how intertwined our tragedies are...

I don’t do much in this barren wasteland.  Get up, get breakfast, shower, outdoors time, then I usually draw or catch up on letters to you, lunch, recreational time, workout then dinner and lights out.  Very boring. How about you? Walk me through your day-to-day.

-love, Jk

P.s. You’re really adorable, you know that right?  It’s nothing too bad, don’t worry. Just robbed some places because I was desperate to get the treatment for my mom.

--

Dear JK,

My day to day is also lifeless, I’m afraid.  

I basically read books all day or watch old movies.  Throw in a couple meals, naps and showers in there and you got a day in the life of Y/n.  

Today, something scary happened though.  My mom showed up to my apartment all drunk and belligerent, hollering that I’m a fuck up that needs to live in the real world and get out.  She even said that she sometimes wished it was me instead of my sister who got ran over.

...I don’t think I’ve ever felt such shame than in the moment.  

I really wanted someone to protect me from her...from what she represented.  She was a symbol for the unstable and wild whirlwind that is what lies outside my door.  I felt violated, my cozy home no longer safe. But, I suppose she was right. I am a disappointed.  Drunk words are sober thoughts.

Jungkook, why am I like this?  

Perhaps you can show me your drawings sometime, I’m sure they’re excellent  I get the sense that you’re an artistic soul.

And I’m very angry on your behalf that the justice system failed you.  I’m sorry that you were just trying to save your mom.

With love, Y/n.

--

My Dearest Y/n,

Your mother is an idiotic drunk who wouldn’t know common sense if it slapped her in the face.  With all disrespect, what does that woman know? How dare she come to your residence and berate you for being the ‘fucked up’ one?  She’s the one who attempted to find a solution to her problems at the bottom of a bottle...how hypocritical.

What are your favorite books and movies?  

I didn’t read or watch much when I was free, I was too busy with my mom.  I still drew a lot though, even as a free man.

Here is a few pieces of my art.  I hope you don’t mind that I used you as the muse.  I think I got your face down pretty well though, didn’t I?  I practiced it so much, I may know it better than the back of my own hand.  

You know….we may want to upgrade our letters into actual phone calls.  Tell me what you think of this idea. Call it weird, but I can picture your voice so delicately in my head when I read your letters.  I bet it’s very sweet sounding, a gently sculpted face has to have an equally dulcet voice.

Love, Jk.

--

My Dearest Y/n,

I’m sure you must’ve gotten busy, why else haven’t you written in a week?  

Or maybe your doing your best to start calling instead of writing.  

Please send back a letter though, as soon as you can,  In this cell, the only thing I have to look forward to is your letters.  

Love, JK.

--

My Dearest Y/n,

Where have you gone?  You haven’t forgotten about me have you?  

I thought you said you were like me, afraid of the world and unwilling to be bare to it.  I thought we were the only ones who understood each other….

Please, stop this silence.  

Love, JK.

--

Y/n,

This isn’t funny anymore.  

I need to know that you’re okay.  

Please, even if it’s a letter cussing me out...I just need to know you’re fine.  I’m locked away and couldn’t do a wellness check if I wanted to.

What happened to my friend?

Love, JK.

--

Dear Jungkook (or should I say Easter Bunny?)

I know what you did.

I know that you lied to me.

I know you’re a murder.

Friends don’t lie to each other, Jungkook.  

I think it’s best if we find different Pen Pals.  

All my best wishes, Y/n.

--

My Dearest Y/n,

I see you found out about the nickname the hideous press gave me.

Well….I think this type of revelation is best talked over in person.  

I’ll see you soon.  

--

I honestly think this chapter is trash and I’m sorry it’s not better.  It’s such a new concept that I honestly have very little experience doing a framework like this.  I wanted it to be focused on the reader bc it’s vital character development for later chapters that will be way more intense.  I hate filler chapters but there will most likely be a 1.5 chapter to help you guys understand wtf just happened.  Please lemme know what you thought of this trash chapter.  

[falling-pages]

Worth it: Mori x reader Part 3/4

What up y’all, it’s your favorite caffeinated mess here with part 3! This chapter actually really threw me for a loop and it was a lot different than I had planned, but here we go. plot twists galore. angst galore. also, I made an executive decision to make this into four parts, just because the original trilogy just couldn’t fit everything in like I thought it could. 

Parts 1 and 2 here in case you missed them. Enjoy, comment, engage!

“Absolutely not.”

You throw down your fork and spring out of your chair, backing away from Kyoya. Pressing your hand against your chest, your heartbeat surely registering as a panic attack, you can’t tear your eyes away from your fiancé. He is like a magnet; something about him draws you to him. Not in a romantic way. More of a dark way, where you could feel his brain sucking you into a trap. 

“Well.” Kyoya stays still, his hands clasped behind him. “That is not the way I had intended on introducing myself to my future bride, but it will do.”

“We’ve met,” you chew out. As your eyes narrow in on the man sitting beside Etsuko, it all comes flooding back: he was her ex-fiancé, the boy chosen for her before she came out. And you were never alone in your playroom--you remember a sullen-looking boy scribbling something down as you ignored each other for the night. Kyoya must have been your playmate.

The velvet in your dress draws sweat, and the high-neck collar almost constricts your breathing. Slowly all the pieces fall into place. The woman who walked in must be Mrs. Ootori, and the young men her sons. The man who looked so familiar must be the patriarch. As one of the most powerful men in the country stared at you hard enough to burn, you suddenly saw his resemblance to Kyoya.

“Gina, be civil,” your father chides. Below the table his hands curl into fists. Your parents had never beaten you, but you had a feeling they would start tonight. 

“The third son to marry the third daughter,” Mr. Ootori broke in. “It only makes sense.”

Set on causing your parents another embarrassment, you shake your head. “No. Mr. and Mrs. Ootori,” they look at you, the wife’s mouth trembling, the man’s brow furrowed, “I am sorry you came all this way. I will not be marrying your son.”

“Outrageous!” your father roars. He slams his fists on the table as he stands to face you. A wine glass falls to the floor and shatters. “It is not your decision!”

“Yes it is!” you yell right back. “You’re selling me off like cattle to win favor with people you hate! I am my own person, and I get to chose who I marry!”

“Gina, you’re an embarrassment,” your mother mutters. She strokes the rim of her wine glass, taking a draught of the dark red liquid.

“Just like Etsuko, right? Eleven years ago?” Your sister shoots daggers at you while the man beside her squirms. Her sexuality wasn’t the issue: your parents were fine with that. What had embarrassed them was the time in which she chose to announce it, and that in doing so, embarrassed your family in front of the Ootoris and blemished your name in those social circles. They couldn’t survive round two.

You looked at Kyoya, who still hasn’t moved. Like a statue, the mouthpiece you never could be, he absorbed the verbal blows. But then you looked into his face, startled to see his dark eyes catch yours, even more startled to see the sad impassiveness inside. He had a good poker face, but you knew he wanted this engagement just about as much as he did.

Out of his Ouran uniform, he looked like a different person. You had seen him in class, the cruel, calculating, manipulative showrunner of the grade. Now dressed in a tuxedo, the light glinting off his glasses, he gave you a small, cold smile befitting a fox before a lamb.

This marriage? They could forget about it. You didn’t see how a boy who saw everything as a transaction to be gained from could ever feel love. Besides, with all that time he spends with the Suoh heir, you always thought he was of a different persuasion. 

“May I have a moment alone with my fiancée?” he asks, respectfully consulting your father. You start to protest, but Kyoya flashes you a look that pleads with you to go along with it.

At your father’s nod, Kyoya reaches out, grabs you by the wrist, and drags you around the corner to the guest bathroom, presumably from where he had just exited. Though your hands were slicked with sweat, his clammy palm pressed against yours, further emphasizing what a mismatch you were for each other. 

Kyoya shoved you in and bolted the door behind him. With his face to the door, shoulders heaving with an emotion known to no human, he possessed all the power of a desperate man watching his life slip through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. But then he turned around, and no trace of emotion remained. In his eyes were only a shred of moroseness. His lips were quirked, chest relaxed. Almost like nothing had changed.

What creature could endure such metamorphosis? The afternoon events led you to believe there was no God. This panicked escape, though, had taught you that if He existed, he was this boy in front of you.

“Kyoya,” you whisper, not actually knowing what to say. The hatred in your chest was never directed at him. You two were only pawns that had the unfortunate desire to act out.

Your fiancé looked at you. Really looked at you, not at your chest or like he looked at the girls in the host club. He looked at you like a partner, an equal, and it just confirmed everything you always knew.

“You’re forced into this, too,” you mumble.

The Shadow King nods. “Gina, you know people like us don’t get the luxury of love in a marriage.” He swallows, the words soaked in bitterness. “Maybe once or twice we can love outside these borders, but marriage? A ploy. A contract.”

As he paces the room, stopping to study the soap collection, you, too, look at him for the first time. 

“You love someone else?” you ask.

“Yes.” It takes him a moment to answer, and his voice is guarded.

“Well, so do I!” you exclaim, a grin stretching across your face. Maybe a solution is easier than you thought. “Just tell them you’re not on board, and they’ll call it off. They can’t force us to get married when we’re both opposed.”

“That won’t work.” Kyoya straightens and pushes up his glasses. “I need to marry you and have an heir to get my inheritance.”

You scoff, throwing a middle finger up at him. That’s what it all boils down to? Some sad rich boy getting Daddy’s money? “Frankly, I don’t give a damn about your inheritance,” you say. “I’m sure there are flocks of heiresses wishing to spend their fortunes for a future with you. Go marry someone else.”

“How easily you say that.”

At the smug tone you almost punch him. But then he looks at you again. His eyes trail up your body, not creepily, as some men do, not adoringly, as Takashi does. But knowingly, coldly, flicking his eyes at you nonchalantly as you understand.

Oh. 

“What was his name?” you ask softly.

Kyoya bends over the sink, resting his wrists on the counter, staring straight into his own worst enemy in the mirror.

“Tamaki.”

His tone is adoring, but he speaks each syllable like his tongue is wrapped in barbed wire. So your suspicion was right about him and the headmaster’s son.

“I see,” you say, your fingers curling around your opposite arm for comfort. “Does your family know?”

“They found us together,” Kyoya says, still locked in a staring contest with the mirror. From the brutal look on his face, you wouldn’t be surprised if he punched through the glass right now. “My parents’ marriage is one of diplomacy. They’ve never known love or passion,” he continues. “They do not understand the love within themselves. How could they understand what he and I had?”

Maybe he wasn’t as evil as you thought. Maybe he was just a boy with a broken heart projecting what he experienced at home.

“So they barred you from seeing him?” you ask. The sadness rolls over in your stomach, and you feel empathy wash over you. 

“They made sure that if I ever contacted him again, there would be consequences.” He finally looks at you. “You are aware of his heritage?”

You nod.

“Then you know how easy it would be to pay off a scientist to taint a paternity test that would send him back to France.” He clenches his fist. “With a dying mother, no relatives, and no inheritance. I couldn’t do that to him. Here at least he has his father, friends, an education. He is still the Suoh heir; he would be safe.”

You swallow. If that is what they would do to a boy of noble birth, you shuddered to think of what they were doing to Takashi.

“And you love a commoner?”

You were surprised at how quickly he moved on from his own heartbreak. “Yes,” you say, moved by his own circumstances to share your own. Though knowledge and rumors of the Shadow King’s manipulative strategies remained in your thoughts, you felt a strange trust in him, built on sympathy. “Takashi Morinozuka. I just know they’ve already done something to him. My family’s guards killed one of my sister’s old boyfriends, and I couldn’t bear it if they killed him!”

The absolute terror of finding Takashi’s dead body finally washes over you. Could you even bear watching his funeral, knowing that your impulsive love was his demise?

Kyoya cocks his eyebrows at the name. While you weep, he walks to you and lightly rubs your shoulder, an action that nearly makes you stop crying out of shock. Maybe you two could be friends, in the end. With an arranged marriage, that was the most you dared to hope for. 

“No, they haven’t hurt him,” he says, softly squeezing your shoulder before letting go. 

You rub your nose with a tissue, grateful for the reassurance. “You think so?”

“Of course not.” You lift your eyes to Kyoya’s and whatever hope of friendship you had dissipates at the glint of his glasses. “They didn’t know his name.” He stands up straight, giving you a cruel, tight-lipped smile. “And now they do.”

Before you can say anything, he walks out the door and slams it behind him. The click of the lock tells you you’re trapped in here, but that fear is only a little prick compared to the wave of betrayal crashing over you.

“You bastard!” you scream as realization sets in. You fling yourself against the door, pounding your fists hard enough to bleed. He really was a slimy, manipulative Shadow King who only views everything as a transaction to be gained from. 

And in trusting him, you just sent your beloved Takashi to his death.

I know. Don’t kill me, I’m crying too. Final part out soon! What do you think of all of these plot twists? What do you think Gina’s family is going to do to Takashi? Will Kyoya find his conscience and help, or will he end like a traitor? Come back next time to see! Parts 1 and 2 here in case you missed them.

[pennywisesbarbie]

Ajá, bueno(?). Mi pedido era un Arthur/Joker x lectora, donde la lectora sea una enfermera en sus veintialgo en arkham asylum, o en algún hospital random donde Arthur haga sus rutinas de payaso y, bueno, algún otro paciente esté acosándola frente a él. Si quieres

This blog moved to @little-lily-w​

Translation: So my request was an Arthur/Joker x Reader in which the reader is a nurse in her twenties in arkham asylum or in another hospital where Arthur does his clown routines and another patient is harassing her in front of him. If you want. 

A/N: I changed the patient for a doctor. 

Afternoon is not over yet and sweat is already running down your forehead. Why do you always have to end up like this? Trapped in the corner of the room by the disgusting colleague who is always making slightly (well, he thinks they are slightly) movements towards you, turning you uncomfortably nervous. It has become an unbearable situation that you feel forced to endure, him being the chief of pediatricians section, you are in no position to complain. And even if you reported it, nobody would take you seriously and you would certainly lose your job. The 25 years old? The fresh doctor a victim of the honorable 60 years old eminence? Come on, she probably flirted with him to get a better payment or a promotion. And you can already visualize the titles in the newspaper “Infamous young pediatrician: a Gotham´s daughter”.

But you´ve already contemplated quitting and honestly, If it weren´t because of how you love the children and the joy you see in their faces every time you visit the hospitalized ones, you would have done it long before. There is, besides that, another reason that you sometimes find hard to admit: the clown. That cute skinny clown who visits the hospital twice a week to make a silly show for your beloved children.  He is not exactly what you´d call “good at his job” but he has such a tender mien that he usually makes you forget about the stalking situation you have to deal with day by day. You never talked to him but you use to find yourself smiling from the corner at his clumsy routine.

And today he has arrived twenty minutes ago and has managed to earn a nice smile from a little boy as soon as he gifted him a dog shaped balloon. Despite that, you couldn´t contemplate the bright in his eyes as much as you´d have liked it because again, the chief is taking advantage of the nice situation to put his arm around your waist, pretending to be hugging you and threatening to make you ashamed if you say something in front of everybody.

What you don´t really know in fact is how Arthur´s life has started to change the last couple of days, how he has bought a gun and how he has been well aware all this time about the disgusting man and his actions towards you. And today is not like the past time where he would be also scared to lose his job.

-Well, well, well – he claps three times getting the children´s attention – Who knows the story about the big bad wolf?

-Meeee! – the boys and girls exclaim with enthusiasm.

-Oooh! How silly of me! Now I have to think of another story…! Oh, yeah, I know one! But for this one, I´m going to need these doctors here.

The children start applauding and cheering you two to get in the center of the scene and despite the bad mood of the chief because he is “interrupted”, he has no choice.

- So there was a nasty old man… come on, doctor, you have to make the pose of the nasty old man – Arthur tells him and the pediatrician is forced to follow his game adopting a bending posture – So there was a nasty old man who lived in a dark cavern and he always loved to trap princesses in his dark place to make them sad before he released them. One day, he trapped a beautiful princess – Arthur takes your hand to kiss it and then proceeds to make you do a turn earning a smile from you - and he was so enraptured by this beautiful princess that he just decided to keep her in the dark cavern. The poor princess was getting sadder and sadder day after day.

-Nooo! – the children whine in a sad complaint.

-Wait, wait, wait, here is the funny part. What this nasty old man didn´t know is that the princess was being looked for by a prince who came for her from a far far away kingdom. So when the prince found the cavern, he heard the princess crying and getting on his tiptoes he walked to the old man and surprised him. KABOOM! – he exclaims taking out the gun from the back pocket and putting it against the doctor´s neck.

The chief is frozen and you gasp at the situation but the children haven´t noticed that the gun is real so instead of creating silence in the room, they start to yell animating the scene to continue.

-AAAAAND?  - the little voices insist.

-Oh, and the prince was so gentle that he spared his life but he made him promise that he would never ever ever hurt a princess again or he would suffer the consequences. Isn´t that right, nasty old man? – Arthur´s ask, jaw tighten, and the chief nods eagerly. He puts the gun back in his pocket and lets the claps fill the room.

The chief exits the room running but you stay there, surprised but at the same insanely captivated at what you witnessed, at that clown’s transformation. Arthur is ready to run away too knowing perfectly that the police is going to come for him but you stop him for a second grabbing his hand.

-          What happened to the princess?

-          She walked away with the prince.

This blog moved to @little-lily-w​

[blue-jay-life]

“She’s a woman.” The Coronel gasped in outrage; as if Yun’s being female was the epitome of his worst nightmares coming to life.

Yun bit her lip and looked down in what could only be shame, her posture rigid even when her hands were shaking as she held the blanket against her chest. She looked miserable; Owl's heart twisted at the notion of the bravest person he knew breaking under something so silly as the sex they were born with.

“That she is.” He arched an eyebrow, silently asking ‘what about it.’

The Coronel blinked at him, stunned. The rage returned very fast, tho. “That she shouldn’t have made it over Sergeant Major! And she wouldn’t if not for the lies she sprouted! Is a grave offense to lie to a superior officer. She should be martial courted at once!”

“...so basically, you’re offended because you are a misogynistic bastard that can’t take a woman lying to him. Aren’t you?” Owl’s dry asseveration made the other officers choke and the Coronel sputter and go purple on the face.

“H-How dare you—!”

Owl sighed and took off his jacked, tired of this nonsense. Captain Charis deserved more dignity than what these brutes allowed her; he put the jacket over her shoulders. Then raised his chin and glared at the still incoherent Coronel as he positioned at her side, keeping his hands at his back in the resting position.

“If you really don’t want her, then I will be more than glad to take her.” Owl added; The Captain and him were...well, not friends, but surely comrades after serving together under the Coronel for the last six months.

So surely, standing there like a dunce as she loosed all her achievements as a consequence of this, wasn't the right thing to do.

Furthemore as Imperial Alchemist he could start taking men and form his own division if so he desired. Until now, he hadn’t been interested. Taking people in as subordinates put a halt in his goal of becoming a Coronel himself but…

But it may be worth it to keep such a talented snipper at his side.

“Major Veska!” The Coronel barked, veins throbbing at his temples. “You can’t possibly—”

“Oh, but this says I can, Coronel.” Owl said, showing his ring. Maintaining the smirk out of his face proved difficult, however. “You see, I have just realized that I must have someone so talented watching my back as I continue my research. You can’t possibly deny me that request, now can you? What would his Excellency think of you getting in the way of progress?”

Imperial Alchemists were a national treasure; rank of major or not, they held a lot more influence than normal soldiers. Their talents are out of the norm and so they are treated carefully, their researches are always well founded and their voices always heard.

The Coronel was shaking with rage as he closed his mouth with an audible clank.

Owl nodded, satisfied.

“Captain Charis.” This was probably something most of the soldiers here would never do, but Owl wasn’t in the mood to stumble all over Yun’s rights. “Would you accept to work under me? It may be a little different from what you’re accustomed to, though. Alchemy research is unfortunately a lot more boring than serving in central, I’m afraid.”

Yun raised her chin, her face a mask of determination. “I will be honored, sir.”

“Excellent.” Owl returned his at the Coronel, “Expect the papers on your desk by tomorrow morning, Coronel Tatch. Now, gentleman, I must insist that you all need to retire so my subordinate can rest from her injuries.”

“Yes, sir.” The three soldiers saluted and excited the room in a hurry, probably thankful for the chance to leave this uncomfortable situation.

“Keep the bitch, Veska.” The Coronal said poisonously, not even bothering masking his hate. “I’m sure her pretty face will serve you well.”

Owl’s hand twitched as he tried to not punch the horrid men’s lights out, forcing to limit his reaction to showing the Coronel the ugliest smile he was capable of. He was satisfied at seeing the way the Coronel paled; it seemed that he still had his touch. Good to know.

“I must apologize, Captain.” Owl said, looking back at Yun. “That perception will follow us for a while. But let me reassure you, I do not have those intentions. I can appreciate your talent as a sniper and that is what I want. Nothing else.”

Because apparently you could only think with your dick when a woman was involved, how very sad. Unfortunately, the military was like that in Alynthi.

Ugh, how he hated medieval mind-sets! Women were as capable as men, dammit. He should know! Crown was the best example of that, after all. But Owl hadn’t been impared the times he had awoken as a girl either.

“Don’t worry, sir.”

Owl sighed; Yun didn’t seem very reassured. If anything, it seemed that his words had made her feel threatened if the way her eyes narrowed were a tell.

Well, fuck.

“Ah,” Owl ran a hand through his dark looks; his face illuminated when he reached a way to ensure that Yun didn’t feel cornered. “Shoot me the moment that you feel my actions are out of place.”

“Sir?!”

“That’s an order, Captain.” Owl looked right into Yun’s eyes, wanting her to see how serious he was with this. “If my actions ever seem like I’m trying to overstep the superior-subordinate dynamic, I want you to shoot me. Understood?”

Yun’s mouth was open and her eyes had gotten really big.

“Understood, Captain?”

“...yes, sir.”

“Good.” Owl nodded to himself; if Yun ever felt the need to shoot him, then he deserved to be shot at. “Now, I will let you rest. Good afternoon, Captain.”

“Goodbye sir.” Came the automatic response.

“Ah. Don’t worry about the paperwork and concentrate on getting better, alright?” Owl said as he crossed the threshold.

“W-Wait, sir!”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Your jacket!”

“Oh.” Owl blinked, walking back to the bed. “Silly me. But— Are you sure you don’t want to keep it? The hospital staff is still part of the military, they may not be the most...open minded about your situation.”

Yun’s hands frozen over the jacket.

“...I’m going to keep it if you don’t have an issue, sir.”

“That’s fine, Captain.” Owl nodded.

The white uniform is unmistakable among the blue ones of the rest of the army; and there weren’t many soldiers who wanted to fuck with the Imperial Alchemists. The only ones are probably another alchemist and they had better things to do that mess with a girl that was a few ranks up than she should