#so in my case taking the gre is a good idea if I can do really well

[raskies456]

GRE today…..

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Never Let You Go

Inspired by this post; in the same universe as this and this and this

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Sam Wilson

Summary: you run into an old face as you try to build a new life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Richard, hi,” you approach the table on the cafe patio. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” 

“Oh, don’t fret, I’m always impeccably early,” he stands to greet you and offers his hand, “so good to finally meet in person.” 

“Yes, finally,” you smile. “I really appreciate you coming all the way down here.” 

“I’m of a mind to try new things,” he says. “Especially local places. They put a touch more care into their food.” 

“Have you ordered? They have a great curried egg salad.” You suggest as you claim the seat across from him. He sits as well. 

“Just a coffee,” he says. 

“Sounds great,” you reply. “Could use one as well but if you’d rather just get to business--” 

“Go on, I can wait,” he assures as he checks his watch. “Our meeting is still ten minutes away, technically.” 

“I’ll be quick,” you get up with the promise. 

You head for the door and dip through to join the queue. You’ve been looking forward to the snickerdoodle latte all day and yet Richard spoiled that by being even earlier than you. It’s a good sign at least. It means you’ll probably get the commission. 

You wait your turn patiently. You sway back and forth. You greedily ogle the desserts in the case, your restraint at battle with your sweet tooth. Your eyes are drawn to the paper taped to the glass. ‘Under New Management. Fun changes coming soon!’ 

You come here a couple times a week and you had no idea. You suppose you didn’t ask. You’re always in autopilot; you get in, get your coffee, and go. 

Your turn comes and you step up to order your latte. The snickerdoodle is discontinued. Oh. You get the vanilla bean instead. No use being picky, much more important things to tend to. 

As you pay, a familiar tone catches your ear. It can’t be. The timbre flows through the open door to the back. You take your coffee and go. 

It’s all in your head. You’re not paranoid, just a little... cautious? It’s been months. You’re in a new neighbourhood, you cut all your former clients, well, the ones he didn’t chase away, and you have a new favourite coffee shop. Things are looking up. 

You take your order and return to the table. Richard looks up, smiling over his cup. 

“The coffee is great. I understand they have a new supplier,” he says. “I was chatting with the new owner, he said it’s hand-roasted.” 

“Oh, wow,” you smile. “I didn’t even know it was sold,” you push your shoulders up and set your cup on the table. “Did you want to see my mock-ups?” 

“I certainly would,” he says. 

You bring your bag into your lap and slide out your tablet. You flip back the case and scroll through your folders. You open his file and turn the screen towards him. 

“You can look through,” you say. “I used the pictures you sent me and I applied the changes digitally. I even have an invoice with an inventory of paints, flooring, fixtures. The furniture is separate for ease. And if there’s anything you want to switch out or change or keep, we can do that as well.” 

“Ah,” he takes the tablet. He drags his thumb across. You watch him as he focuses on the screen. “A talented editor too.” 

You turn your head. You don’t want to pressure him. It’s normal for clients to have feedback. You had your initial consultation online and you got his general ideas but it’s different when you can see it. 

“Did you have any alternates? I think this dove grey is immaculate but I’m curious. If we could do around the fireplace in a different colour perhaps?” 

“Oh, I could do something else. I did have another idea for that but it was entirely different. Rustic. The brick was red clay and the walls hardwood.” 

“Interesting, you have that?” He wonders. 

“Sure, it’s in my drafts.” you reach across.  

You take it back and shuffle through to your drafts. You return it to him and he clucks. “I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake,” he remarks. You wince. “I’ve now brought myself to stalemate. I’m not sure which on I prefer.” 

“Oh,” you chuckle in relief, “well, it’s easier when you see swatches and materials. That could be the deciding factor.” 

“Probably best,” he agrees. 

He gives you back the tablet and you return it to the other file. You offer it again and he continues to browse. He hums and lowers it again. 

“I know one thing for sure. You’re hired,” he grins. “When can we begin?” 

“As soon as you like,” you try to repress your excitement. Admittedly it’s been difficult since your break-up. Relocating destroyed much of your existing client-base. 

“Wonderful,” he says. “Not to rush out but it is such a nice day and I think we are agreed. If you don’t mind, could you forward those images? I could offer more specific notes?” 

“Sounds good,” you take the tablet. “Thank you so much.” 

“Not at all,” he stands and grabs his cup, draining what’s left in the porcelain before setting it back down. “Have a wonderful day.” 

“You too,” you smile. 

He leaves and you watch after him. You’re ecstatic. You don’t have to dig any further into your savings. 

You sit back and grab your cup. You haven’t even tried the latte. It's not bad. Not the sort of vanilla that’s too sweet. 

“Is it good?” The voice startles you. Not only because it’s unexpected, but because it’s familiar. The same one you were sure you didn’t hear inside. There’s no way... “I changed the recipe. Upgraded the machines...” 

You look up and put the cup down. You gape at Sam as he steps closer and puts his fingertips on the wooden tabletop. “Lot of changes, huh, honey?” 

You gulp. “What?” 

“It’s a cute place but the management was a disaster. Tanking. But I made an investment--” 

“Sam,” you croak, “how...” 

“You blocked my number, yeah, I know.” He smirks. 

You blink. You know better than to argue. Disengage. You put your tablet in your bag and stand, abandoning the latte you’d looked forward to all day. 

He as quick as ever. He catches your wrist over the chair. You tug and look around, “Sam,” you hiss. 

“Shh,” he hushes you. “You know what happens when you make a scene.” 

He calmly sits and draws you closer. You try to resist but he’s too strong. You peer around. No one else seems to notice the tense encounter. If you cry out now, it will be just like that night you broke up with him. For the fourth time. 

He forces you down, onto his lap. Now that might catch a few glances. You shift and lean away from him, your hip pressing into the table. 

“Let me go,” you plead. 

“So, you moved on quick.” 

You wince. It’s been almost a year. 

“New place, new coffee, new... man,” he grits the last word. 

“He was a client.” 

“Oh, I know how you are with your clients,” he sneers. “All bubbly. You were never like that with me, baby.” 

“I tried. Sam, you know it’s over.” 

“I never agreed to that,” he snarls. 

“Sam,” you warn in a flat tone. “Let go or I will scream.” 

“You changed a lot,” he ignores the threat. “Your mom didn’t though. She’s still in the brownstone.” 

“Sam,” you repeat. 

“I really did miss hearing you say my name.” 

Your eyes wet with helplessness. How did it come to this? How did that charming, funny man you met all those years ago turn into this? You mourn what you thought he was more than the relationship. 

“You should finish your coffee,” he leans forward, crushing you against the table as he grabs your cup. “Go on.” 

You stiffen as he lifts the cup to your lips. You sip as you feel him watching. He snickers and pulls it away. He presses against you again to put it down. 

He tuts as he sits back, “ah, you got something...” he wipes your lip with his thumb and purrs. 

“Why are you doing this?” You whimper. 

“Because you’re mine,” he growls and runs his hand up your back, gripping the back of your neck, “you better not forget that again.” 

[shivunin]

Ferelden Silver

(Arianwen Tabriz/Zevran | 2035 Words | AO3 Link | CW: blood, implied canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort)

“I say the name and what it means until the meaning blurs. The wind blows through the goldenrod like death flows through a crowd. Nothing is accomplished and the world is changed by it.” —Ian Parks, “Goldenrod”

“Honestly?” Zevran said, resisting the urge to clutch at the awful ache in his shoulder. “I’d rather take my chances with you.”

The Warden crouched before him, twisting a bloody knife between her knuckles. Zevran could not tell if her goal was intimidation or if she was simply thinking. He was hoping for the former, to be honest. It would be somewhat flattering if she still saw a point in trying to intimidate him after she’d stabbed him in the chest and knocked him to the ground. 

“Can I expect the same loyalty from you?” she asked, voice disinterested. 

Silver, red, silver. The dagger and the blood coating it flashed in the merciless sunlight. He wondered whose blood it was, then decided he’d rather not think too hard about it. The Crows lying dead in the Ferelden dust around them had not been his friends. Rivals, perhaps, if even that. No—Zevran did not care whose blood coated her blade, her cheek, her armor, so long as it was not his. 

How odd, to realize on the edge of a knife that one did not wish to die after all. 

What to do, what to do? The Warden���the woman, the one clearly in charge here—had not so much as blinked at his offer to warm her bed, nor any of the other things he’d offered. She had to want something. Didn’t she? Everybody wanted something. 

“I happen to be a very loyal person,” he assured her, “up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing.”

She cocked her head, eyes suddenly intent on his. She had looked like that before she stabbed him, he seemed to recall—like a cat who’d seen a bird on the other side of a window. Braska. 

“That’s not a fault, really, is it?” he went on, pointedly not looking at her dagger as it flashed end over end between her fingers. “I mean, unless you’re the sort who would do the same thing. In which case, I…don’t come very well-recommended, I suppose.”

Too much; he was talking too much. He had been told plenty of times that he did not know when to shut his mouth, and this was no exception. 

Except—except she spoke almost before he’d finished his sentence. 

“Very well. I accept your offer.” 

“What?” the other Warden asked, rounding on her. 

The one who’d been speaking stood slowly and met the man’s eyes as he spoke. Even then, the dagger twisted on between her fingers

“You’re taking the assassin with us now? Does that really seem like a good idea?”

“We need him,” the woman said. 

Zevran might have said she sounded disinterested again, except there was a layer of steel beneath the words that made him want to sit up straighter. Need him, she’d said. Well—there were worse things to be than needed. 

Zevran hauled himself to his feet while the second Warden went on grumbling. He tried to dust himself off to little avail. Ferelden dust did seem to enjoy clinging to one’s skin and clothing, to say nothing of the blood caked onto his skin. When his boot scuffed the earth, she turned to face him at once. 

He did not miss the way her fist curled tight around the blade she’d been playing with. One little noise and she was already prepared to fight again. He would remember that, he decided, and recalled the way her eyes had sharpened when he’d spoken of loyalty. Perhaps this was something Wardens were especially interested in, being mysterious fanatics. He had been looking for leverage, for something to move her with.  

“I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you,” he told her, managing only the slightest of bows given the wound on his shoulder, “until such time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation.”

The Warden looked sharp again, no longer removed from the situation. Her eyes, he realized, were neither brown nor green, but neither and both at once. Zevran decided that she was not like a cat at all. No; she reminded him of nothing more than a wolf peering into the night, the flash of gold in the shadows that let one know that the hunter was allowing itself to be seen. She looked like a warning given hands with which to fight and teeth with which to bite. He needed to be very, very careful if he was to turn this into something better than the Crows had been. He needed leverage, every piece he could grasp, if he was going to make it out of this in one piece.

“This I swear.”

One of her hands drew a cloth from a pouch at her belt and ran it over the blade quickly and thoroughly. Nobody else said anything at all.

“Come on, then,” she said, sheathing the dagger at her belt. No words of acknowledgement, not so much as a nod. Zevran hardly knew what to think. 

“Wait,” he said, when he companions turned to follow her. The Warden half-turned, red and white cloth held in her hand. 

“Having second thoughts?”

“No—no, of course not,” he said. It took more effort to be charming right now, when the throbbing in his skull had spread to the knife wound in his shoulder. “I wished only to learn the name of the lovely Warden I’m to be traveling with.”

One dark brow arched at the words. He rather got the feeling that she was unimpressed with him. Ah, well. He supposed he couldn’t win everyone over in ten words or less, and truly he was not doing so poorly when she’d been on the verge of killing him at first. 

“Arianwen,” she said, and her knife made a soft snick when she slid it home in her belt. “Tabris. Not that it matters. Come on, Crow. We’ve miles to go yet.”

|

“If I had realized what lengths it would take to get you back to my motherland, I would have gotten myself captured years ago,” Zevran informed his lover—no, his betrothed now, impossible as the epithet felt. 

Arianwen cast him a look, which he chose to interpret as harangued adoration. Despite the amount of healing that had been applied to his body, moving still hurt a great deal. For now, he contented himself with lounging against a pile of pillows and watching her. A dagger twisted between her fingers now, flashing silver in the noontime sun. She sat on the windowsill and had done so for the past half hour, watching the street outside. Zevran knew that she was watching for any pursuers, but he saw the faint smile at the corners of her eyes now and then. She liked it here. He was certain of it. 

“Or you could have asked,” she told him. 

“I could have,” he allowed, shifting on the pillows. Something tugged beneath his ribs, but he hid the wince behind a smile. It did not help; his Warden was far too canny to miss his discomfort. The knife slid back into its scabbard soundlessly. She slipped from the windowsill, landing almost soundlessly, and prowled closer. 

“But it would have spoiled the fun of watching you drop from the ceiling like some sort of vengeful wraith,” Zevran went on, moving the sheets aside so she could check the bandage around his ribs for the hundredth time today. “Truly, you were like something out of a tale.”

“How flattering,” she said flatly. She checked his bandages nimbly, neatly dodging the worst of his hurts. “Have you ever heard of flirting, Zevran? You might give it a try sometime.”

“Bah,” he said, glancing down with disinterest when his wound was bared. “You fell for my charms eventually, did you not?” 

“Please,” she muttered. Her hands were sure on a jar of salve, careful over the place where the bruises were darkest on his chest. Zevran waited, brows raised, and she cast him an irritated glance. 

“It wasn’t charm at all. It was you, you fool.” 

“Ah, but I am your fool,” he told her, wincing when he leaned forward enough for her to wind a fresh bandage around him. Her breath stirred his loose hair when she reached around him for the other end of the gauze.

“And I am yours, it would appear.” 

Zevran coughed around the thickness in his throat and settled back onto the pillows when she’d tied off the last of the cloth. She lingered, one hand resting on his shoulder. All at once, there was something horrible in her expression. Zevran recognized it—had turned the same on her more than once, had seen her like this only a day before when he’d woken. 

Mortal fear—the gripping conviction that that which one held most dear had almost been lost in an instant. Yes, he knew it very well indeed.

“Do not, mi vida, do not,” he said, and his hand found hers over his shoulder. “I am here, yes? And I will remain your fool for some time yet, as long as you will have me. There is no need to storm through the streets of the city again, I promise you that. ” 

Zevran thought she would tear herself away, would dart back to the windowsill and put herself out of his reach. Instead, she took a sharp breath and bent to him until her forehead pressed against his. 

“I’d do it a thousand times over,” she said, her voice low. Their hands twined together. “I’d do worse to keep you safe.”

“I know you would,” he told her, all joking set aside. He lifted his arm, ignoring the pull at his wound, and rested his hand over the curve of her skull. “But I am perfectly safe. I am here with you now, yes? Come—let me show you.” 

“You are not well enough for that,” she said sternly. Zevran laughed until it hurt too much to keep doing so—not very long at all, if he judged correctly. 

“I ask only to hold you,” he told her. “You have my word.” 

She unfolded herself from the edge of the bed and rested against him for a time, her breathing even. He could feel the attentiveness in her body even as he began to doze. Always alert, his Arianwen. He could not think of anyone he’d rather watch over him while he was incapable of protecting himself. She would do worse than fell a building of Crows to see him safe and she wouldn’t regret it later. Zevran knew this without needing to ask. 

“Arianwen?” he murmured, when he could no longer ignore the tug of sleep. 

“Hmm.”

“I am going to be the best husband. I swear it to you. You will see.”

The Warden snorted. Her head rested more fully against his shoulder. Usually, she would wrap an arm around his waist or simply lie atop him. Zevran already looked forward to feeling this again, when they had been apart for so long. As soon as he was healed, he reminded himself, fighting a yawn.

“Do not laugh. I have made a…most solemn oath.”

“Not yet, you haven’t.” Her lips were cool when they pressed against his neck, but they warmed him nonetheless.

“I have,” he dragged his eyes open and tilted his head to look down at her. “I will again. I hereby pledge—”

“Shush,” she said, untangling their fingers to press a finger to his mouth. Zevran kissed it. “Go to sleep. You need to rest.”

“I am your man,” he told her, half-smiling when she growled in response. “Without reservation.”

“And I am yours,” she said. “Yes, yes. Save it for the ceremony. Go to sleep, Zev.”

His limbs felt heavy, but Zevran lifted his hand to find hers again. She caught his palm and kissed it, exactly as he’d wanted. Safe—yes. He was safe so long as he could feel her there. Without reservation indeed; the years had stolen any that might have remained to him. There was nothing left but trust as deep and integral as his bones. If she was here, he was safe; he knew that as well as he knew his own hands, his own heart.

“If you insist,” he murmured. “My Arianwen.”

(For Zevwarden Week Day 3: Fear and Safety. Thanks again @zevraholics for organizing this!)

[hitnran]

OBSESSIVE EX (gender neutral! reader)

how they deal with you having an obsessive ex

includes: ran, rindou

CW: obsessive behavior, cursing, stalking (ran), phone harassment (rindou), the haitani brothers lowkey kinda scary here (not to the reader) 💀 but i’m just trying to make it fit within their character

— RAN HAITANI

Getting into a relationship with someone like Ran, half of the charismatic brother duo that ruled Roppongi, almost means guaranteed safety wherever you go. His title itself is one that is feared when murmured. Whenever you two leave, he always has an eye and a hand on you. Ran knows well that even if he is feared, he can also be challenged and the last thing he wants is for you to get involved — you would make an easy target for his enemies.

You two were out together on a stroll around the city. Although there was nothing neither of you needed, Ran’s favorite thing is showing you off. Sometimes you start to feel similar to his younger brother, thinking that you’re just a shadow and only known as ‘Ran’s partner.’ But Ran’s intentions were opposite. He wanted everyone to know that it was him that belonged to you and it is him that people would have to deal with if you were ever tested.

As you two are walking, Ran noticed your eyes consistently checking itself to the side. He took note of that and eventually brushed it off since you stopped. But then he noticed that you were being especially keen and scanning the whole area.

“Are you okay, love?” Ran slightly hunches down, getting your attention as your face turns his way. He lightly smiles at you. “Did you see something you liked?”

You swallowed down hard. You could’ve sworn you saw a familiar face, but after trying to scan the area numerous times for the past few minutes, you thought it was just you being paranoid. The last thing you wanted was to worry Ran and cause a scene.

“I’m okay,” You shook your head, returning a light smile. You grabbed on his arm, this time a little tighter. “Let’s turn into this corner.”

Ran knows when you’re lying. He knew something made you uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to force you to tell him. Instead, he’ll make it his own problem too and deal with it himself.

This area was his territory and everyone knew it. It was almost as if Roppongi, a city known for liveliness, calmed down ever so slightly if one or both of the brothers were out. Everyone’s gaze wound be kept low and their conversations would go mute as they walk by.

At that moment, Ran could feel a pair of eyes staring your way. He won’t make it obvious though.

“Love,” Ran called out to you. You looked up his direction and he placed a hand against your lower back. “Rindou’s gonna throw a fit if I don’t bring back food for him. How about you go into the restaurant and order first while I call him and ask what he wants?”

You felt at ease hearing that you two were finally going to be in somewhere indoors, but it made you nervous that he would be separated from you for just a little while.

“Don’t wanna bring something back he won’t like and have him complain,” Ran lightly laughed, trying to ease your clear discomfort. He placed a hand over your head. Taking out his phone to add to his act. “I’ll be quick.”

After some hesitation, you gave in. It was a public space after all, so it shouldn’t have been anything to worry too much about. He watched as you entered the place before turning around, sending chills to the person who had been following you two around this whole time.

“Would be a shame if I left them alone for too long, wouldn’t it?” Ran gave off a sinister grin, slowly walking towards the person. “Wouldn’t want anyone to take them away…especially someone like you.”

Ran knew who this person was. He was an obsessive ex of yours that just would not leave you alone and accept the separation despite it being years passed. He gulped hard, nervously stepping back, not thinking that he would get caught.

“You were so bold to even follow us in the first place, why so shy now?” Ran smirked, hiking up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “This is the first time you’ve heard of me or something? I should introduce myself to you well and hard then.”

Almost ten minutes had passed since you’ve been waiting for Ran. You sat patiently and waited. Your best guess as to what’s taking him so long revolves around Rindou. Maybe he was complaining about how he wanted food from a different place or being picky about menu opinions. Just as you were about to raise yourself from your seat to check up on Ran, you saw him enter.

“Did I make you wait too long?” Ran appeared, seating himself in front of you. The worse case scenario you had in mind was that he got into a fight, but in front of you, he looked just as how you last saw him. “You know how Rindou is.”

Your chest became relaxed and you gave a small smile, shaking your head, “What did he want from here?”

“I didn’t even listen to what he said,” Ran teased, opening up his menu and leaning back against the chair. You felt his legs sandwich your calves from beneath the table. “He can order it himself. All my money is going to you today.”

And that was how Ran liked it. Although Ran wanted everyone to know that he belonged to you, he knew how important it was for others to know that you belonged to him too. The image of the face of your ex is burned so clearly into his brain — face all bloodied up, mauled almost, as he failed to even whisper for forgiveness.

“I think there’s only one way I’m gonna let you outta here alive,” Ran kicked his body down with force, hearing something shift in his jaw. He couldn’t give half a damn about it. “Do you know what that is?”

Your ex was visibly beaten and weak now, barely able to even blink or properly form a sentence. Though, with his adam’s apple slightly moving from fear, Ran took it as a response.

Grabbing him by his hair upward, Ran bent down, looking straight at him, “You’re gonna leave them alone and never show your goddamn face again. If it wasn’t fucked already before, it sure is now. I promise you I’ll know if you’re even barely visible or a mile away, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Ran thought it was so disgusting how someone like you could ever have your time wasted on someone low like this ex of yours. Even if Ran saw him and his brother above everyone else, he always put you above him.

“Maybe even after this, I’ll send one of my men to go and beat the shit out of you every day so you could suffer for as long as you’ve tried to bother Y/N.”

— RINDOU HAITANI

Rindou can’t even remember what it took for you two to even reach this state of your guys relationship. He convinced himself that it was Ran, his older brother who wouldn’t shut up about how he was going to take you if Rindou didn’t make a move.

It genuinely surprises himself even whenever he looks your way, observing every detail and soaking in the idea that you are someone he can call his.

You two were watching a movie, or rather, supposed to. Rindou was too focused on side-eyeing you every now and then. You caught him a few times, but he would brush it off with comments like “this movie is boring” or “I’m just checking to see if you fell asleep.”

He would snap himself out of a trance after hearing your phone ring beside you. You eyed it once, looking at the caller ID and ignoring it. It wasn’t enough to cause Rindou to worry - it’s not his problem if you just didn’t wanna answer a call, it was your guys’ time anyway.

But then it rang once more again. Your ringtone dragged itself out halfway through before Rindou slightly raised his hand from your hip, pointing to the phone on the side of the couch.

“You not gonna answer that?” He asked.

You shook your head, eyes focused on the TV, “It’s fine. It’s an unknown caller ID.”

Rindou shrugged, ignoring it once again, but after a few more calls and your phone receiving back to back text messages, it was starting to irk him. He was close to just grabbing your phone and answering the call himself, but you were quick to act before him, just shutting it off.

“It must be spam or something,” You sighed, sitting back down.

“Yeah, well whatever it is, good thing you shut that damn thing off. That shit was annoying,” Rindou sighed, curling his arms around you again. “Let’s change the movie too or something. This one is boring.”

One thing about dating Rindou is that he seems uninterested in absolutely everything he does. Although you avoid thinking like that when it comes to your relationship with him, you always remind yourself that Rindou is someone who deeply cares for you. He shows it very differently compared to others, but you know.

He can recall a memory from a few weeks ago where you kept getting calls in the middle of your guys’ date. It annoyed him, but not as much as it annoyed you. You’ve pressed the red decline button at least five times now, stressing over it and spilling out everything about your previous ex.

At the end of your rant, Rindou grabbed your phone, picking up the call and saying words as simple as “leave them alone.” It was so simple, but for the next few weeks, it was silent. You finally thought you were free of harassment thanks to your boyfriend, but recently, they’ve been coming back as unknown caller IDs and more frequent than before.

Halfway through the movie, Rindou felt your body become more loose and relaxed beneath him. Your breath became slower and more steady. You had fallen asleep. He thought it was ironic to have someone as angelic as you in the arms of someone like him - a gang member always involving himself in trouble, even just for fun.

He stared at your phone just a reach away and then back at you. The last thing Rindou wanted was for you to be uncomfortable, or really, anything that isn’t where you aren’t happy.

When you woke up, the TV was shut off and you felt a blanket drape over your body. You realized you had fallen asleep from earlier, but you were expecting to find your boyfriend with you as well. That was when the door swung open and you were greeted with Rindou.

“Rindou?” You slowly let out, still adjusting from waking up. “I didn’t know you left.”

He raised a bag up midway in the air, it’s a bag from a bakery you often bought from, “You kept murmuring about it in your sleep. Didn’t want you to wake up all grumpy.”

“I don’t wake up grumpy!” You protested, watching as he took his seat next to you and unpacking all of your favorites.

“Yeah, okay,” Rindou joked. He listened to you puffing out before wrapping yourself around his arm.

“Thank you though,” You murmured out of embarrassment - maybe he was half right.

“It’s nothing,” He replied, softening his face into a grin. “Must’ve been hungry though if it got you talking in your sleep and drooling on my arm.”

You didn’t even know about half of the things he does for you, but he didn’t mind it, because if you were happy, then that was all that mattered.

It made Rindou feel guilty to turn on your phone and look through it. It wasn’t something that he ever felt the need to do - he trusted you and it felt wrong if you weren’t aware that he was using it. Though, at this time, he felt like it was for the better.

While you were silently sleeping, he browsed through your texts. It’s that same person - your ex back again to bother you. Rindou scoffed, making sure it wasn’t loud enough to wake you up, but he was angry. He clicked his tongue whilst composing a message.

Rindou knew you would never be so stupid as to meet up with someone like this, especially not after already experiencing it once. It was a good thing that it was just Rindou posing as you though. How delighted your ex felt to have finally received a response to you - ‘Let’s meet up here.’

Rindou thought it was so pathetic. This guy had no idea what he looked like, let alone that you even had a boyfriend. So when Rindou’s immediate reaction upon seeing him was to throw a punch, he was shocked.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Your ex cried out, trying his best to dodge his attacks but failing in between his words and attempts.

“Me?!” Rindou snapped, pushing him to the ground and twisting his arms. “Speak for yourself.”

The man beneath him screamed in pain, “I-I’ll call the cops on you and have you arrested!”

“Yeah? You think they’ll give me less time if I tell them I was just trying to teach a creep a lesson?” Rindou pulled back on his arms a little harder, tendons and muscles stretching themselves out of place.

“T-The hell are you talking about?!” He stuttered out.

“Don’t bitch around. Might end yourself up in there if you keep this act of yours up - I’ve been once before,” Rindou smirked, pulling back more and more on his arms. “It was fine for me. My big bro and I even got some respect while in there, so what’s gonna happen when they hear about your name from me? You’re fresh meat to them.”

“W-Who even are you?!”

Rindou scoffed, “The same guy who warned you once to leave Y/N alone. I should’ve honestly went to find you myself personally and beat the shit out of you, but I hate wasting my time.”

Your boyfriend let the man go. If his arms weren’t all bent out of place and dislocated, he’d be crawling away by now. It was a sight that Rindou would laugh at. Upon seeing that his phone had fallen out of his pocket, the same phone used to consistently harass you, Rindou stomped down hard, breaking it into bits and pieces.

“Don’t waste my time again. Next time you do, call the cops, I promise you I won’t care if they catch me killing you,” Rindou turned his back around.

[agentsoftie]

morning meetings

summary: on vacation spencer rekindles an old love which brought him greater joy then he remembered

authors note: wow, this is my first fic in a while. hopefully it’s good. but yeah. i got this idea today too so i’m so sorry if it’s hella cheesy. but yeah

warnings: none! pure fluff

word count & pairing: spencer r & fem reader : 1.9k

remember to like and reblog!

The wind was blowing exactly 15mph and Spencer Reid had just arrived in Seattle. His job, as a profiler, took him all across the US. And his mind took him everywhere else. Although Seattle was different, Seattle was special. See, when his mother and father were still together, they took him here every summer. Because every summer they would come here, just to eat at Marge’s Hideout.

Today although, he wasn’t there because of his job. He was there on vacation. Or any form of that for him.

After checking out of his hotel and going for a walk on the pier, there was only one thing on his mind, coffee. Coffee from Marge’s.

So he picked up biked and went along the trail. Not using GPS, not since he had an eidetic memory, but since he knew the path by heart. Every good memory he’s had in his childhood always took place here, in Seattle. More specifically, on Louise’s Trail that goes straight through the town, and leading right to Marge’s Hideout. Although full of cobblestones and vines, it truly felt like you were at peace. At least for him, it did.

He knew he was coming to a stop on his wobbling journey as soon as he smelt croissants and pancakes. Stumbling and tipping over on his bike as he tried to get off, someone opened the door. And in through the door, he heard a laugh. The same laugh he had heard almost every day in his early 20’s. It couldn’t be, could it.

Quickly floundering to the door while trying not to trip over his own shoes, he kept thinking to himself. Or more though, all the memories washed over him. All of the ridiculous, joyful, and heartbreaking moments washed over him.

Finally getting inside, he heard it again. The same laugh. The same laugh he had heard all those years back. “Y/N?” He spoke causing a woman with rich brown hair to turn around.

“Spence,” she breathed out.

They both looked at each other until she finally broke the silence.

“Hi.”

He went over to her seat. Trying to maintain an appropriate distance you would have with a stranger. Although she wasn’t a stranger. She was his last love. And his only love.

Y/N and Spencer had dated for 4 years. It was her first day of orientation when she met Spencer though. He was assisting the class she was in, and she couldn’t help herself but to ogle at his clumsiness and awkwardness. So, she asked him out for coffee, strictly platonic though.

Of course, at first, he was quite conflicted to take up her offer, but he did anyway. Because she seemed nice, and he would never not take up an offer if it involved coffee. So they went there. And then again. And again. And again, and again, and again, and again, and again, until he couldn’t take it anymore. So, he asked her out on a proper date. And after that, they both had fallen helplessly in love with each other. Although, after year 3 of them being together, things started to fall. He had gotten accepted into the BAU under Agent Hotchners authority, so he was barely he had moved to Virginia which meant long distance. At first, they thought they could do it, and they did, but that was until she had started finally her first year as an intern.

They started seeing each other less, and less, and less. And so they called it off. And although on the call, they kept everything reserved, it was all waterworks after. Y/N didn’t talk to anyone for a week and Spencer developed a drug addiction. Although at first, he thought it was because of what had happened with Tobias Hankel, he soon concluded that it was also powered by the breakup.

Of course, though, time passed. She started to see other people, and he started getting help. She started to really plan out the future, and he started to enjoy the moment, and live now, not in the past. She started to become him. And he started to become her.

“Ugh, how are you? Long time no see.” He said awkwardly as she kept on looking down.

“Good, good. How are you?” Her sweet angelic voice, which might have been silkier than before.

“Better.”

They both stayed in awkward silence for a couple of seconds which truly felt like decades.

“Here,” she said while moving to an empty booth, “sit.” And so he did. Him playing with his feet and her looking out the window until she suddenly asked a question. “So, are you still working at the BAU?”

“Yeah… Yep, still working there.”

“That’s nice.” She mumbled.

“How’s your work?” He asked, trying to start up a conversation as he pulled up a menu.

Suddenly something changed in her tone. She became more joyful. Happier. She straightened her back and moved the hair on her shoulder back. Spencer had noticed this. This was exactly what she would do when he asked about anything relating to what she was learning in college. She truly loved what she did, and for that, he was happy. “My work is great! I just got my first solo surgy, and that was fun! I mean, of course, it’s exhausting, but I truly love it. And Macey. You remember Macey right?”

Of course, he remembered Macey. Anyone who knew Y/N in college would remember Macey. They were the best of friends, absolutely inseparable. There wouldn’t be a time of the day where they weren’t together. All, except coffee time. Because that was strictly reserved for Spencer.

“Yeah, of course, I do. Who wouldn’t?” She simply laughed.

“Yeah, well she just got engaged!”

“Macey? Macey Williams? Married! She couldn’t keep a guy for more than 2 weeks.”

“I know! But a little after we broke up, she met this guy named Brian and they were just good together.”

It got a little quiet after she had mentioned the breakup. Spencer looked back down to his menu as if it was a foreign topic and Y/N frowned while grabbing a menu for herself.

Although her initial plan was to grab a coffee and go. Just like she always does, she decided to stick around today, knowing she wouldn’t get a moment like this again.

“So, what will you two lovely people want today?” The waiter chipped while walking up to them.

“Oh, I’ll have 2 buttermilk pancakes: blueberry. Scrambled eggs, and a coffee.”

“And I’ll be having a strawberry mango crepe, 2 croissants, and one coffee.”

“Great! Will that be all?” They both looked at each other then nonned. “Amazing, we will get your orders out as soon as possible!” And with that, she skipped away.

“So, besides work, anything fun happen to you?” Y/N questioned Spencer while toying with her bandaid.

“Well, I mean not much. I have an incredible team though! They are truly some of the most important people in my life. And my mother also of course. Although she hasn’t gotten better, I still write her a letter every day. And see her at least once every other month. And I’m a Godfather now!”

She always loved how excited he had gotten whenever he was talking about the BAU or his team. For such a messed up job, he truly loved it. And that’s all that really mattered.

She laughed, in pure and absolute joy. “Wow! That’s amazing,”

He laughed too. “It is! Isn’t it! What’s going on in your life? Besides works, please.”

“Well, besides work, I’m gonna say my life is going pretty well. You know, I have some friends, and I have this little town. My boyfriend and I broke up, but honestly, I’m glad we did. He was really holding me down. And I mean, without him ever breaking up, I would have never moved into this little paradise. Plus, I mean, it’s closer than my old home. But, I too am a godmother! My sister, Eleanor, don’t think you ever met her, but she had my niece. A true angel honestly. But yeah, my life has been going. Smooth and steady.”

“Well, I’m sorry that your boyfriend broke up with you, but his lost, right?”

“Well, it wasn’t mine, that’s for sure.”

Soon enough their food came, and conversations continued. A couple more coffees were ordered and so was another crepe. Spencer and Y/N sat in that booth for what felt like hours. Just listening to each other. Whether that be laughing or reminiscing about old memories. Spencer couldn’t help but look at her hair. How he was a sucker for that hair. Always was. And her laugh. Whenever she laughed, he smiles just a little more until it turned into a full-on grin. A grin full of happiness and joy. And for her, every time he would say anything remotely smart-assy, she would start laughing. Every single time. Because, no matter how much she used to love him, he couldn’t stand the fact that he knew everything. Except, of course when she needed to study for a test.

They soon though, had to carry on with their lives. Apart from each other. In a realm where they will never see the other again.

“Can I walk you to your car? I’m gonna bike around the city, and I don’t think I would feel safe knowing you were driving with me on the same road.” He teased.

“Ha ha okay, I get it. I suck at driving. But, to your case, I have, actually, gotten really good at driving.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever will you happy.” He teased her as she looked up at him and scoffed. Pulling out her keys from her clutch. “Well, this is my stop.”

“Alright. Well, then I better get going. It was marvelous seeing you again.”

Y/N now had a choice to make. 1: Go after the man she once loved and go on a date, knowing that the chances of a happy ending are few to none. Or 2: Leave this incident be and carry on with her life.

“Wait!” She called out. He immediately stopped. So she caught up with him. “Do you wanna, um, I don’t know, possibly just, maybe, go out? Whenever you’re next free on your stay?”

Unlike making such a big of a deal out of it like he did last time she asked him out for coffee, this time he immediately said, “Yes.”

“Really? That’s great,” she spoke in disbelief that he would say yes. “Well, when are you next free?”

“I’m free for the next week and a half.”

“Great see you on Wednesday!” She said whilst getting in her cars. But before she left, she asked him, “Wait, Spence, do you need my number? It hasn’t changed from the one you had so-”

“Nope! Edition memory, remember?”

“Who could forget.” She turned on her engine, and before heading out of the little town that was oh so special to him, she yelled something which he vaguely picked up. “Call me!”

And with that, Spencer set off. Aiming for the sunset on the once in a blue sunny day. And going to them there was only one thing he could think about, her number. Because, of course, he had the eidetic memory, so he was never going to forget. But that’s not the reason he remembered her phone. I never was, never will be.

tagging: @criminalmindsmoodrn, @marshmallowtraver, @himarisolace

[volturiwolf]

The Volturi Princess - A Felix Volturi x fem!Reader Story (part 3)

No of Words: about 5313

Mentions of: Abandonment, Abortion, Anxiety, Blood, Bruises, Coma/Comatosed State, Death Emotional Abuse, Emotional and Physical Pain, Gaslighting, Greece/Greek Language - with translation, Heartbreak, Italian Language - with translation, Manipulation, Murder, Pain, Panic Attacks, Pregnancy, Suffering, Suicide/Suicidal Thoughts, Swear Language, Throwing Up/Puking, Witches/Wizards/Witchcraft

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part 1 part 2

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"The Volturi Princess " Tag List (reply if you want to be tagged or removed):

@felixvolturisprincess @singerj2002 @mrtony-stank1 @ikissedthescarsonherskin @alecvolturiswifeforever @hshehdyhd

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Felix’s POV:

We have been traveling for over a year now, Demetri tracking Carlisle and us following behind him. Demetri located him across the Atlantic, so we swam across the ocean to reach him. Almost a year and a half after leaving Volterra, we tracked Carlisle while he was working as a doctor somewhere in the northern United States. He was surprised to see us, but we kept our austere facade to maintain our sovereignty towards him. He welcomed us gladly in his small house.

It was a two-story building, and it smelled of old wood and mold, but I guess that was the best he could do for now. The living conditions around here did not seem to be ideal. Apart from the Volturi and the Egyptian coven, no other vampire lived comfortably, in castles, mansions, or even big houses; most vampires were nomads, traveling around and living by hunting whenever they could. So, Carlisle actually living in a house, even if it looked like this, was way better than living the nomad life.

“Jane, Alec, Demetri, Felix. To what do I owe this pleasure? Can I offer you anything?” Carlisle had always been one of the kindest of our kind, too compassionate for a vampire.

“No, Carlisle, thank you, we’re good. We are on a mission, and we have a few questions for you.” Jane took it up to herself to start the conversation.

“Please, sit down so we can talk.” Carlisle offered us to sit around the table that was in the middle of the ground floor. We each took a seat at the table. “So, may I ask what it is all about? I don’t think I have personally acted in a way to upset the Volturi.”

“No, indirectly, you haven’t.” Jane continued. “We wanted to ask you a few questions regarding (Y/N). We think that you may have heard by now that she has left Volterra.”

“Yes, word came around. I met a few nomads from Europe some time ago, and they told me that (Y/N) left Volterra, probably permanently.”

I tried to suppress a sob that was fighting to leave my throat. Carlisle knew that (Y/N) left, everyone knew that (Y/N) left. They didn’t know she left her mate behind, and they shall never find out that she was my mate. I didn’t even want to think about the possibility of (Y/N) being in danger if anyone found out that we were mates. I had too many targets on my back to risk anything happening to her.

It was my turn to intervene. “Have you seen her? Has she ever come around here?”

Carlisle turned to face me. “I did. Once. She stayed with me for about a year; that was about 6 or 7 years ago. She tracked me through her memories. She has become quite skilled at that.” Demetri and I looked at each other confused. (Y/N) could track as skillfully as Demetri now?

Carlisle continued. “Anyway, she seemed concerned. She told me she had been traveling for quite some time, but she felt like she was missing a piece of herself, of her past. For a few months, she wanted to learn more about me, my job, how I was doing with the whole “animal blood” diet, simple curiosity really. She had been training herself to abstain from human blood, so it was easier for her to go hunt with me. She told me..”

Carlisle turned to look at me now. “She told me about your bond, Felix.” So, she has felt our bond, too! “She told me that she was scared for you, for your safety within the Volturi. She was worried about all of you, but particularly you, Felix. Being her mate means you are basically a target for anyone who wishes to harm (Y/N). She told me she ran away to protect you. As long as no one knew of your bond, you were safe. The traveling and meeting the world was just an extra benefit for her and her gift.”

“Her gift?!” We all exclaimed in unison. (Y/N) never claimed a “gift”, so how could this be possible? Did she lie? Did she even know about her gift?

“Before you say anything, she didn’t even know what her gift was. It is way more complicated than you think. I guess she’d appreciate it if I gave you an idea about it.” Carlisle paused for a few moments. If my heart was beating, I swear it would have stopped by now.

“You know how, for example, Jane, you can induce mental pain, or you, Alec, can restrict anyone’s senses?” The Twins nodded at Carlisle. “Well, (Y/N) can do both, and so much more.” We were kind of shocked. No one has ever had a gift similar to the Twins; that’s why they were in the Volturi. Because they were unique.

“(Y/N)’s gift is copying others’ gifts. That’s why she could also track me; she had copied Demetri’s gift.” Carlisle pointed at Demetri, who looked utterly shocked now.

I would lie if I said I didn’t feel the same way or scared even. I was not scared because of (Y/N); I was scared for (Y/N). This newly-found discovery meant she would be way more important to Aro than we ever thought. He wouldn’t just let her go - not that this was his intention before, but now, she would be even more precious to him and his cause; she would now be the perfect weapon for him to use against other vampires. I had to find her and warn her.

“Do you know where she is now?” My voice came out more stern than I intended it to be.

Carlisle nodded his head slightly. “I may know where she is now. Before she left, she was trying to find out as much as she could about her parents. I assume that was the “missing piece” she was referring to? Anyway, she may be after her parents. I mean they do know her nature better than any of us does. Don’t forget that (Y/N) is half-witch. No one could ever teach her how to be one; only her father could be the one to do so. So, if I stand corrected, she is looking for them. And there’s only one place that (Y/N) has ever linked to her parents.”

“Greece.” Demetri stepped in. Demetri was the only one who could understand (Y/N)’s connection with Greece; it was their birthplace, their origin, their true home.

“Exactly. If you find her parents, you’ll most likely find her. Even if she’s not with them, it will be easier to track her if you have her parents’ assistance.”

We nodded and we stood up. “Thank you for your help, Carlisle. You were most helpful.” Jane spoke for all of us.

“It was my pleasure.” Carlisle led us to the door, but before we left, Jane turned to him one last time. “We think we can trust you that this conversation stays between us.”

“Of course, Jane. Have a safe trip and take care of yourselves.”

“You too.” Alec smiled at Carlisle.

What Carlisle said at the end had me worried for (Y/N). “I hope you find her soon. Her parents never had the best reputation around.” What kind of people was (Y/N)’s family anyway?

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Tracking (Y/N) proved to be way more complicated and debilitating than we thought it would be. We assumed that the closer we were to Greece, the easier it would be for Demetri to pick up her tenor. We were wrong; we were going around blindly, not a clue about (Y/N)’s whereabouts. Even when we finally set our feet on Greek ground, we still didn’t know where to start looking for her. Nobody had a clue where she could be; we didn’t even know her birthplace.

Demetri took it upon him to start his research in a place he knew well enough: Athens. Athens was the capital of Greece’s civilization for many centuries, but, at the time of Demetri’s birth, during the Byzantine times, Constantinople emerged as the center of the Eastern Byzantine Empire, while Rome remained the center of the Western Byzantine Empire.

Athens was not regarded as highly as it used to, during Pericles’ “Golden Century”, as the 5th century BC was known. It still was an important and historical city, but it has lost its title as the “capital” eons ago. The city was taken advantage of by both “allies” and Ottomans and seemed to have lost part of its previous glory. Still, it was beautiful; I may have been quite “old” myself, but I could still admire the history around me.

It reminded of (Y/N)’s stories and books; knowing Ancient Greek history was one of the first things she took an interest in. The fact that she was able to travel to Athens, with or without Aro, quite a few times also developed her fascination regarding the Ancient Greek arts, philosophy, and overall way of living. Of course, it wasn’t easy being a woman then, or ever really, but she was more financially privileged than the average Athenian - vampire wealth had always been an actual thing, and Aro always prided himself to be a “collector” of wealth (and talented vampires for the matter).

We arrived in Greece at a transitional stage; the country has been experiencing a war against the Ottomans for a few years now, and it was evident around the city of Athens. There were many casualties during the war, many damages around the streets, the houses, and there seemed to be a climate of misery and decline.

Yet, the country had recently elected a prime minister, who declared Nafplio, a city in Peloponnese, as Greece’s capital. That was our next stop, as we couldn’t find anything in particular that could indicate (Y/N) being in Athens. Apart from the poor living conditions, the country was experiencing a plague pandemic wave, which killed even more people, but authorities worked hard on containing the cases, and it seemed to have been working.

Still, without a single clue about (Y/N)’s location, the only thing we could do is go around searching for any possible information. We could only travel at night, and hide during the day; Greece, just like Italy, had always been blessed with sunny days, for the majority of a calendar year.

It wasn’t ideal with us being vampires, but Volterra was an ideal strategic location for the Volturi to travel across the vampire and human world, rule, and impose their laws whenever it was needed. Just like always, we now also had to be secretive about our existence.

I thought about how lucky (Y/N) was in that situation; being a non-fully vampire, she didn’t “glow” in the sun like us. She had a more healthy-skin-like glow, a healthy and subtle glow that made me even more attracted to her - if that was even possible. That basically meant that she could technically go anywhere and everywhere; the weather did not affect her, the sun did not affect her.

I started getting frustrated and disappointed. It wasn’t only (Y/N) I had in my mind; apparently, during the years of the Greek Revolution, many vampires, Greek or non-Greek, started secretly fighting to claim territories for themselves.

We knew that it wasn’t part of our duty, but it wouldn’t hurt if we could actually claim Greek land for the Volturi. Having both Italy and Greece under our control could mean more power, more resources, more blood. It only seemed natural; the three Volturi kings were born in Greece, all three of their wives were born in Greece, Demetri and Chelsea were born in Greece. (Y/N) was born in Greece.

Greece could easily become an extension of our territory - Italy was already ours in its entirety - and it would only be the start. It would be easier to control and deal with any possible riots from other covens - the Egyptians and the Romanians in particular. We didn’t fear either of them, but the Romanians have been holding resentment towards the Volturi for a couple thousand years, so anything could be expected from their side at any moment.

I shared my thoughts with the Twins and Demetri. They all agreed that it was a plausible plan; it would show others that the Volturi are still as powerful as they have ever been, and should be feared. Besides, we knew that just the four of us would be able to subjugate any vampire that crossed our paths. With the Twins’ powers, Demetri’s tracking skills, and my strength, it would be impossible for others to resist or challenge us.

We started interrogating any vampire we found wandering or hunting at night; none of them worthy enough to fight us or even gifted enough to join the Volturi. It was quite easy to find the leaders of these “newly-made” covens, or alliances, as they seemed. Because none of them inspired loyalty to each other; none of them was a coven in the sense the Volturi were. They were more like vampires who came together to fight for territory control; I doubt if they would even manage to stay together for one more day. They did not only lack loyalty towards their "leaders", but also discipline, principles, and basic rules of survival and solidarity towards the other members.

It was quite easy to take over any “coven” in Southern Greece, including the island of Crete. We started moving north, taking over the territories of Thessaly and Epirus, something which the Greek humans did not manage to acquire from the Ottomans yet. We were to take over Macedonia and Thrace next, but we were met with an unexpected obstacle.

Every vampire we would interrogate regarding these two territories would say the same thing: none of them knew who owned them, but whoever tried to claim the territories never returned back, dead or alive. The mystery that surrounded the person or people behind the leadership of these areas made their skin crawl; they all refused to “help” us any further, no matter how much Jane, Alec, and I tried, which made me kind of worried, or more like curious, but I didn’t want to show any weakness or let them question my effectiveness.

Every one of them was just a “normal” vampire; we were better, stronger, gifted, and we have proved that we can bring results every single time. No other vampire has ever dared go against us; we wouldn’t allow them to question us now either.

We continued traveling up north, determined to face whoever it was behind the territories there. I didn’t pay attention to the slight pain in my guts as we were traveling through the country, but it was becoming more and more intense as we continued going north.

We didn’t know how we would find the vampires behind this “operation”, so our plan would be to act in any way possible to provoke them into coming out of their “hiding spot”. For a few days, we were rummaging any small village we could find, killing the villagers and draining them of their blood - not a very “Volturi tactic" may I say. We were supposed to hide our existence, not challenge our luck by killing so many people; yet, this was the only way we thought that could possibly lurk the vampires out of their “comfort zone”.

As we were traveling through Macedonia, we came across a rather developed town, compared to the villages we have seen before. The city was surrounded by tall stone walls. There were a few rivers on its western side, forests and mountains on its northeastern side, and swamps and marshes on its southern side. We couldn’t hunt freely here, at least not during daylight; there was no way we would go unnoticed if we started hunting anywhere in the area. We decided to run through the forests, see if there was a place we could stay for a while; if there was a human or more we could feed off of; if there was a sign of the vampires or (Y/N).

During the last few weeks, I’ve been thinking that our mission has been more about expanding our power and influence, and not as much about locating (Y/N). Actually, it felt more like locating (Y/N) was more of an afterthought now. We lost the purpose of our mission; the reason we came together all along.

It wasn’t as if we would actually be directly benefiting by the territories we claimed; we were still working on behalf of the Volturi. We didn’t ask the kings to claim Greek territories; yet, we did, because we felt obliged to consider their own good once again, this time at the expense of finding (Y/N). Once again, we became the victims of the influence they had on us, and we played their game.

“Why are we even doing this?” I yelled frustratedly. My friends turned to look at me.

“What do you mean, Felix?” Jane seemed slightly annoyed. “We’ve come here to claim the territories, to show these savages who the boss is here.”

“No, Jane, they are not savages, we didn’t come here to claim territories, and we don’t have to show them “who is the boss”. They already know that the Volturi rule the vampire world. No. No. We came here to search for (Y/N). Not to “claim territories”. Not to “show them”. We came here for (Y/N). We..We lost our purpose. We lost the true meaning of our mission. We just started claiming the land for the Volturi, for Aro. We..We forgot about her.”

My eyes were stinking with venom. I felt weak, I felt as if I betrayed her. I promised to myself that I would bring her back home, that I would protect her. It’s been so long and we still haven’t found her. We just kept wasting time on things that shouldn’t matter to us. We should not care about expanding our influence, our territory, our power. We should care about bringing the Princess back.

Jane lowered her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Felix. I didn’t know you felt this way. I have to admit it though; we did lose track of time and we forgot about the actual purpose of this mission. We once again forgot that (Y/N) has always been way more important than any power in the world. I’m sorry. We all are. I promised you we’ll start searching for her right away, okay?”

I nodded affirmatively. We had to find (Y/N) as soon as possible. We were not only running out of time but also out of hope that (Y/N) was in Greece or anywhere else, that she was alive. We got so distracted by our conversation that we didn’t notice we were being watched until we all started screaming in pain. I fell on my knees, the pain on the back of my head unbearable, and that’s when I blacked out.

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I didn’t know how much time passed being unconscious. It felt like a new sensation to me; being a bit over 2000 years old, I haven’t lost my senses once - except for the times Alec liked to play games on me. I didn’t feel like myself; it didn’t feel right. I didn’t like being restricted of my senses, especially now, especially here, in an unknown place. My mind was blurry and I couldn’t see anything distinct around me; I couldn’t see almost anything. I tried to move my hands around but I couldn’t as if the tightest rope in the world was holding me in place.

“No need to fight, sweetheart.” I heard a woman’s voice. “There is no way to escape.”

“Who are you? Why am I here? Where are the others?”

“Felix? Is that you?” I heard Demetri’s voice on my right.

“Demetri? Is that you? Where are Jane and Alec?”

“I am here.” I heard Alec’s voice on my left.

“Me too." Jane replied.

“Alexandre, please, I cannot start with this again.”

Suddenly, I could see again. I was still physically restricted, but my eyes could see them crystal clear and my mind was in order once again. The woman in front of me was very imposing, though of average size. Her long, curly hair framed her face beautifully and her piercing red eyes were piercing through my soul. The man standing next to her was only a few centimeters taller; he had short, straight hair, and his eyes were looking between the four of us sternly. Who were they even? Why were we even here? Why us? As if she read my mind, a woman spoke to me.

“Oh, deary. We’re not going to tell you who we are. But you are going to tell us what you, Volturi guards, are doing in our territory!”

“How do you know who we are?” I exclaimed. Of course, everyone knew the Volturi as the authority of the vampire world, but not all vampires around here have ever met us specifically, or any other member of the coven for the matter.

“Your crest, dear. I have known that crest for far too long. Way before you were even born. I see that dear Aro never changed it. He does like to remain in his same, old ways after all. Never changing, never moving forward, still imposing his “laws”, I’m assuming?” The woman seemed to know way far about the Volturi and Aro. She became a danger for our coven, from the moment she and the man abducted us. She should have never done that; they both would be punished for their actions.

“Dear, I won’t get punished..for anything. You, on the other hand, are in a pretty difficult situation. You see, my husband and I are not going to let you get away until you tell us why you are here.”

“Pain.” I heard Jane saying. The woman turned to look at her but she didn’t even flinch. I heard Jane screaming in return.

“Oh, sweetheart. Your powers won’t work on either of us. You see, I am a shield, so don’t even try to hurt us. On the contrary, WE can hurt you just as much, if not more.” The woman smiled evilly, while Jane was writhing in pain.

“Please, stop hurting my sister.” Alec pleaded, unable to use his gift against the couple.

“So, you are the “Terror Twins”. Alec and Jane, I see.” The woman knew their nickname? “Oh, yes, I do, dear.” She turned to look at me. “You see, I was once part of the Volturi. Technically, still am. However, I left, way before any of you joined the coven. To put it into perspective, I was there when Didyme lived but I left way before she was killed. Dear Marcus has never been the same ever since. I still feel somewhat of a connection to the coven, though I am able to make my own decisions because I managed to escape them. We were actually passing by Volterra a few times. I wonder how you never noticed us, though our powers would practically make us mentally invisible from Demetri, over here, or any other vampire, really.”

She knew Demetri, too?

“Felix, dear, I know all of you and about you. You see, my dear daughter has a special connection with all of you, a kind of friendship neither my husband, nor I quite understand. It wasn’t easy for her to keep her memories secret; though she is an amazing shield - which makes me so proud, she is kind of “vulnerable” when she is sleeping. And my husband’s magic is quite strong and easy to penetrate her mind and memories when she does eventually sleep.”

Her daughter? Could that be…?

“WHERE IS SHE?” The question slipped out of my mouth without even thinking about it first.

My anger could not be controlled right now. I was pushing myself to my limits to break my fetters, to no avail. Were that woman and that man (Y/N)’s parents? I started making some connections here and there; they looked similar to (Y/N), though so different at the same time. Their immortality, their red eyes, their confidence, and their aggression did not remind me of (Y/N). She had a pure face, a face of kindness, she was not like them.

“You think so? Alexandre, can you please call (Y/N), agapi mou?” The woman turned to the man, and the man started moving his fingers in front of him, creating some sort of a wave around him.

Within a few seconds, the door burst open and the first thing I saw was a red silky fabric flowing around the air. When the fabric settled down slowly, I saw her for the first time after so long. She has changed..a lot. Her (Y/E/C) eyes were replaced by piercing red ones, with a slight hint of (Y/E/C) around the pupils. Her eyes apathetic and stern; her facial features more defined; her hair reached a little below her shoulders, straight and shiny, like her father’s. She still looked as beautiful as ever.

She stared at us, focusing her eyes mostly on me. Her heartbeat sounded steady and strong. I was relieved; she was still human, they had not turned her fully vampire yet. She took a few steps farther into the house, her feet bare but surprisingly clean, no dirt, no grass had stained them. She stood right beside the woman, who I now knew was her mother and Aro’s daughter.

“What are they doing here?” Her voice came out stern, yet it was music to my ears.

I missed her voice so much. I missed her so much. Our mate bond, weakened by the distance and time spent apart, slowly started forming again. I felt it; I felt my existence becoming meaningful again. I felt my breath hitching in my throat, her presence provoking so many different feelings and emotions inside me. However, she still seemed cold and distant, and I couldn’t quite read her face. Did she not feel the same? Has she forgotten me? Does she hate me now?

I saw her gaze getting softer, even compassionate? She approached me and bent down slightly, placing her left hand carefully on my right cheek. She stared deeply into my eyes and I closed mine, leaning on her touch. It was the purest moment I have experienced in my 2000 years of life.

I opened my eyes and stared at her. I saw golden flakes scattered in between the red in her eyes. Once again, she took my breath away. It felt as if I fell in love with her all over again, a unique feeling of refreshment. We were lost in our own little world. She smiled slightly at me, the first time she did after such a long time.

“Enough! (Y/N) get away from him, now!” (Y/N) was forcefully removed away from me by her mother. She was looking at me pleadingly and then turned to look at her parents with such hatred. I’ve never seen her like this ever again, not even with Aro.

“YOU. WILL. NOT. TELL. ME. WHAT. TO. DO!” If looks could kill, (Y/N)’s parents would be dead by now. Her hands started lighting up, bright purple flames rising up. She was trying to intimidate her parents, but neither of them looked concerned in the slightest. She turned to us and with a dance-like move of her hand, we were finally freed of our fetters.

It was her father’s turn to speak. “(Y/N), let’s take this outside.” With a jerking motion of his hand, we all found ourselves, outside, in their house’s front yard.

“They’ve come to take you back to Volterra, back to Aro! Don’t you see it? They don’t care about you! They just want to please their master.” The words came bitter out of her mouth. She had a clear resentment towards the Volturi. “I will not let them take you away from me! Not again!”

“I know, mother, I’ve read their minds, too. Yet, I don’t see why YOU seem to think that you can make the decisions for me. I am my own self. I can make decisions for myself. And I get to choose what I do with my life.” (Y/N)’s voice was certain, powerful, in control. “They are not bad people, mother. They just have to follow orders, just like you followed Aro’s orders, just like I followed yours. That’s not going to happen anymore. I am taking control of my life!”

The sweet, little girl I got to see my whole life was becoming a strong, powerful woman right in front of my eyes. She was radiating power; she was taking control of her life. She was..my everything. She was becoming independent, her own self. To say I was proud of her, would be an understatement. She has always been special, but this newly-found power has clearly given her way more confidence and trust in herself.

She would finally be able to rule the Volturi. If she decided to come back to Volterra, she could definitely take over the coven. No one would be able to resist her or her gift. My thoughts were quickly interrupted when her dad started shouting in Greek.

Demetri, who was standing right next to me, saw the look of total confusion in my eyes. “I’ll translate for you.” I nodded at him. “So, her father says: Enough with this nonsense, (Y/N). Your place is here, with us. You owe us; we taught you what you needed to know about your magic. We taught you how to use it, how to develop it. You didn’t know enough to defend yourself back then.”

“Now, (Y/N) says: I don’t owe you anything. Yes, you did teach me how to use my magic, which I inherited from you. But, you gave me away to Aro. You couldn’t defend me or yourselves against him. You just offered me to him, as if I was a present for his birthday or something.”

“Now, her mother says: You, at least, owe it to yourself to get away from these tyrants. You know they don’t deserve you, so why are you still defending him? It’s that man, isn’t it? Now, (Y/N) says: That man has a name. Now, her mom says: You know, his name means “lucky”, "happy" in Greek. Yet, he hasn’t been that lucky or happy at all, has he? We read his mind, (Y/N), he’s not worthy of you.”

“Now, (Y/N) says: Guess what? I have also read his mind, and I have also read the two of you, as well. Don’t you think that it is only you who can read my mind while I’m sleeping! I’ve been reading your minds any chance I get! I know how you’ve been planning to use me, as a weapon against the Volturi! Guess again! I’m not going to let you manipulate me anymore! And that man deserves EVERYTHING in this world!”

“ENOUGH!” Her father shouted and threw a dark red glowing sphere, hitting (Y/N) and knocking her on the ground. My heart dropped at the sight, but she quickly stood up and gathered so much energy in her own hands, attacking her father with a powerful hit.

He got wounded, his face slightly cracked from his forehead to his jaw, yet he didn’t give up. He was about to attack her once again when his wife stopped him. She was looking at me and nodded to her husband. I heard (Y/N) screaming, but I didn’t make out what she was saying, as I started screaming myself and felt myself getting tossed in the air. Then, everything went black once again.

[margridarnauds]

Things I Wish I Had Known About Being A Celticist (Before Becoming One):

1. If you’re North American, you’re going to have to work twice as hard to get the same level of respect as your peers from Europe. Get used to that now, because it won’t get any easier as time goes on. You’re also going to very likely be in classes with people who, while not FLUENT in Gaeilge, have at least some background in it. This can be a blessing and a curse - The curse is that you have less of an idea of what’s going on, the blessing is that the professors will focus a lot of the tougher questions on them, at least at first. 

2. “So, do you have any Irish family?” You will be asked that question. All the time. If you’re North American or English. Unless you have, say, a grandma from Tipperary, the safest answer is always “No, not at all! I just love the literature/history/language/etc.” 

3. Love languages? You’re going to! On average, depending on your program, it’s likely that you’ll at least be learning two languages. At enough of a level where you can get pretty in-depth when it comes to the grammar. Most Old Irish experts are expected to know Old Irish, Middle Welsh (at least enough for comparative purposes), and German, with Latin often being brought in. You’ll also be expected to be able to comment on the development of Old Irish, Middle Irish, Early Modern Irish, and Gaeilge - It’s essential if you’re going to date texts. There are also multiple other Celtic languages (Breton, Manx, Cornish, Scottish) that, while they might not be ESSENTIAL for whatever you’re doing, are still going to be cropping up at different times for comparison purposes - I’d be lying if I said I knew them WELL, and most people tend to stick fairly firmly to their area, BUT you will probably be learning at least a little of them. (Personally, no one asked me, but I honestly think that I couldn’t call myself a Celticist if I just knew one Celtic language, it’s why a longterm goal of mine is to build up as much knowledge of the others as I can.)  I’ve seen quite a few scholars go in thinking that the linguistics part won’t be important, only to be slammed by the program early on. Even if you just want to do literary analysis, you’re going to have to explain the meaning and development of individual words, as well as situating it in the broader scope of the development of your language of choice. (IE “This is a ninth century text, and we know that because it has intact deponent verbs, the neuter article’s dying out, and no independent object pronoun. Also everything’s on fire because Vikings.”)

4. You’re very likely going to have to move. This applies mainly for North Americans who want to do it (unless you happen to live directly in, say, Toronto or Boston, in which case ignore what I said and, Bostonians, polish off your GREs and prepare to listen to Legally Blonde the Musical on repeat because you’re going to be applying for Harvard). There are very few Celtic Studies programs in the world and, in general, most of the major programs, sensibly, are in Celtic-speaking countries - So, if you want to study Scottish, you go to Scotland, you want Irish, you go to Ireland, Welsh in Wales, etc. If you already wanted to move to Europe for a year or two while you’re doing your MA, then great (and for EU students this doesn’t apply, since they can relocate much easier...unless they were planning on going to the UK in which case.....my condolences), but if you didn’t have any sudden plans to move, keep it in mind. From an American perspective, it was literally cheaper to move to Ireland and do my MA there than to deal with the school system here, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other inconveniences associated with moving to another country. Even if you’re European, the field is fickle - An Irish scholar might find themselves moving to Scotland, an English scholar might find themselves moving to Ireland, etc. etc. These things happen when you have to take what you can get. 

5. You don’t need Old Irish to go for your MA in Celtic Studies. You do not need Old Irish to go for your MA in Celtic Studies. When I first applied for my MA, I thought I didn’t have a chance because I had a general Humanities degree and didn’t have any formal experience with a Celtic language, least of all Old Irish. As it turns out, most programs do not expect you to have a background in this sort of thing beforehand, and quite a few have different programs for those who have a background in this stuff VS those who don’t, so don’t feel, if this is what you REALLY want to do, like you can’t just because of that. Show your passion for the field in your application, talk a little about the texts you’ve studied, angles you’re interested in, etc., make it the best application you can, and you still have a shot even without Old Irish (or, for non-Irish potential Celticists, whatever your target is.)  

6. It’s competitive - Just because you get your MA, PhD programs are fewer and farer between. Academia in general isn’t known for its phenomenal job security, but Celtic Studies in particular is very fragile, since we generally are seen as low priority even among the Humanities programs (which, in general, are the first to be axed anyway.) If you focus on medieval languages as opposed to modern ones, you might very well find your program ranked lower in priority than your colleagues in the modern departments. Especially since COVID has gutted many universities’ income. I found that getting into a MA program was significantly easier than planning on what to do afterwards, since, for a PhD, you generally have to go someplace that can pay you at least some amount of money. Going into your PhD without any departmental funding is a recipe for burnout and bankruptcy, and there are very few Celtic Studies programs that can pay. Doesn’t mean you can’t try, and, when paid PhDs become available, they tend to be quite well publicized on Celtic Studies Twitter/Facebook, but keep in mind that you’ll be in a very competitive market. Networking is key - Your MA is your time to shine and get those treasured letters of rec so that you can get that sweet, sweet institutional funding for your PhD. 

7. You’re very likely not actually going to teach Celtic Studies. Because there are so few teaching positions available worldwide, it’s much more likely that you’ll be teaching general Humanities/Composition/etc. This doesn’t mean that you’ll be giving up Celtic Studies (conferences are always going to be open, you don’t have to stay in one department for your entire life and can snag a position when it becomes available, and, even if you go outside of academia, the tourism industry...well, it was looking for Celticists, before The Plague), it just means that if teaching it is what you REALLY want to do with your life, it might be good to check your expectations. A few programs even have an option where you can essentially double major for the sake of job security. (So, if you always wanted to be the world’s first French Revolution historian/Celticist/Gothic Literature triple threat......................the amount of reading you’d have to do would likely drive you insane but................)

8. Make nice with your department. Make nice with your department. Celtic Studies departments tend to be small and concentrated, so you’re going to be knowing everyone quite well by the end of your first grad degree, at least. You don’t have to like everyone in it, but they aren’t just your classmates, they’re your colleagues. You will be seeing at least some of their faces for the rest of your life. I can say that my MA department remembered students who left the program a decade ago. Your department is supposed to have your back, and they can be an invaluable source of support when you need it the most, since they understand the program and what it entails better than anyone else can. You’ll need them for everything from moral support to getting you pdfs of That One Article From A Long Discontinued Journal From The 1970s. I’ve seen students who made an ass of themselves to the department - Their classmates remembered them five years later. Don’t be that guy. Have fun, go to the holiday dinners, get to know people, ask about their work, attend the “voluntary” seminars and lectures, and do not make an ass of yourself. That is how you find yourself jumping from PhD program to PhD program because your old professors “forgot” your letter of rec until the day after the deadline. Also, since your departments are small and concentrated, it’s a good idea to prepare to separate your social media for your personal stuff vs your academics as much as you can, since it won’t be too hard to track you down if people just know that you do Celtic Studies. 

9. Some areas of the field are more respected than others. If you want to do work on the legal or ecclesiastical aspects, excellent. If you want to focus on the linguistic elements, excellent. If you’re here for literature.....there’s a place, though you’re going to have to make damned sure to back it up with linguistic and historical evidence. (There’s less theory for theory’s sake, though theoretical approaches are slowly gaining more acceptance.) But if you’re here for mythography or comparative approaches...there is a PLACE for you, but it’s a little dustier than the others. There are fewer programs willing to outright teach mythology, mainly because it’s seen as outdated and unorthodox, especially since the term itself in a Celtic context is controversial. Pursue it, God knows we need the support, but just...be prepared to mute a lot of your academic social media. And, really, your social media in general. And have a defense prepared ahead of time. With citations. Frankly, I think my Bitch Levels have gone up a solid 50% since getting into this area, because consistently seeing the blue checkmarks on Twitter acting like you’re not doing real work while you’re knees deep in a five volume genealogical tract tends to do that to you. If it ever seems like I go overboard with the citations when it comes to talking about the Mythological Cycle, this is why - I have to. It’s how I maintain what legitimacy I have. I’d still do it if I’d have known, but I would have appreciated the heads up. (On the plus side - It means that, in those few programs that DO teach mythology, you’re golden, because they want all the serious students they can get.) 

10. If you really, really love it, it’s worth it. After all this, you’re probably wondering why anyone would sign on for this. The work’s grueling and often unrewarding, you might or might not get respect for what you do based off of where you were born and what your interests are, and you’re subject to an incredibly unpredictable job market so you might never see any material compensation for all of it. But, if you can check your expectations of becoming rich off of it, if all you REALLY want to do is chase it as far as it can go, then it’s worth it. There’s a lot of work to be done, so you don’t have to worry too much about trotting over the same thing that a dozen scholars have already done. You might get the chance to be the very first person, for example, to crack into a text that no one’s read for over a thousand years, or you might totally re-analyze something because the last person to look at it did it in the 19th century, or you might get to be the first person to look at an angle for a text or figure that no one’s considered. If finding a reference to your favorite person in a single annal from the 17th century makes you walk on air for the entire day, then you might very well be the sort of person the field needs. 

[operationcavill]

Untangled - Part 3

Does Henry finally get Y/N number? Does Y/N remember to ask for his? Keep reading to find out!

Inspired by: Butterflies // Kacey Musgraves

Y/N - Your name

S/N - Sisters name

B/I/L - Brother-in-Law

Part 1 | Part 2

The über driver jumps when he hears someone shout as they slam his door, “You didn’t give him your number, AGAIN?”

“I panicked, S/N!” She puts her hand to her forehead, “He didn’t give me his number either.” The elevator to their room is silent, mostly due to the fact that her brother in law looks like he might lose his drinks any second.

Making sure they got in safely she hugs her and checks the time. Her sister has hit her needy buzzed phase of the night, “You sure you don’t wanna stay for a bit? We could watch Drag Race.

Not wanting to invade on them any longer she shakes her head, “Nah. I’m gonna head home and hopefully sleep through this storm. I really don’t want listen to B/I/N vomit again anyway.” She gives her sister a peck on the cheek as she shuts the door to their room. Y/N walks down the hall toward the elevator, praying she doesn’t get stuck inside of it if the power goes out.

The ding brings her back to reality, “Hello there.”

What is it about a man with an accent, “Oh, hi,” She bites her lip.

“I didn’t know you wanted to run into me so soon. You following me, Darling?”

The way he says, ’Darling’ puts her on her toes, “My sister is staying here. Are you following me?”

Henry crosses his toned arms, “Just a very nice coincidence.”

“I take it this isn’t your floor?” She enters the elevator, pressing the lobby button.

He lets the doors close, “No, but I don’t mind sharing a ride back down,” He takes note of the sound of her boots on the laminate floor.  He liked to see her in nothing but those boots. They were tall, black, cutting off at her knee and letting just enough room to show a bit of her thigh. They reminded him of something 60s, go go boots and all that. She was dressed very well but looked so comfortable. A simple dress with what she would later call ‘a fun cardigan, not a sweater,' “How’d you know it was gonna rain like that?”

She looks at him, smudged eyeliner making her look even more endearing somehow, “Hmm?”

“How’d you know it was gonna rain?”

She shrugs, “It’s just one of those weird things.” She taps her toes while the elevator beeps, still paranoid about getting stuck in the small space.

“Is it terribly forward of me to tell you how cute you are?”

“No,” She looks as if she’s embarrassed to be complimented, and he can’t understand why.

Henry moves closer, “Well, Y/N, I think you’re lovely.”

They approach the lobby, “I, um, need to catch my Uber.”

He licks his bottom lip, “What a shame. Can I wait with you?”

She tries to hide her smile but it quickly falls as she notices the rush of people coming from outdoors, “Ugh. Frickin’ rain."

“Don’t like storms?”

“I don’t mind them. I live in an older building so when it storms, we usually lose power for the night.”

“Ah, I certainly hope not. It’s surprisingly cold tonight.” He would love to keep her warm on a night like this.

“It is. Getting stuck in the rain didn’t seem to help,” Oh, what a playful look she gives him.

He laughs, “I admit I was wrong.”

“Shit.”

“Everything ok?”

“My ride cancelled on me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” His hands find themselves in his pockets again, “Um, well I can give you a ride if you like.”

“Oh that’s super nice of you but the bus runs—“ He almost rolls his eyes, the bus?

Henry hates the idea of her riding a bus alone at night, and in this weather? She could get sick. He couldn’t have that, “Please, I insist.”

He receives a quizzical look, “Are you sure?”

“Of course,”

“Ok, well, I’m telling my sister you’re giving me a ride. You know, just in case you turn into a psychopath or something. No offense,” Y/N laughs nervously.

“None taken, car’s this way,” He returns the smile, hoping she’s not too bothered.

She follows him to the cold garage, “I hope you have heated seats. Should’ve worn jeans,” She wouldn’t say it out loud but the wind was making her butt so cold that she could have worn it was going numb.

Henry grins as he opens her door, “You’re in luck.”

“Thank you.” Her sweet smile.

“So, where am I headed?”

Y/N suddenly get a bit more animated, waving her hands about, “Outside Squirrel Hill, when you pull out, go left, “ She points, ”and pop on Irvine.”

“Alrighty.”

“And at the second light, make a right.” She zoned out on his hand on the gearshift, he has very nice hands. They look soft, but not too soft.

“So, how’s your legs?”

She was too preoccupied by his hand movements to hear what he said,“Hmm?”

“Your legs were cold?”

Thank god its dark in this car, she blushing and wants to jump right out of the car, “Oh, yeah, the heated seats, they’re fine. “

“Good, it is rather cold. I should’ve brought a jacket.”

“Extra cold for the beginning of October,” A loud clap of thunder makes her gasp, “Oh!

He jokes with her, “Not scared of storms, huh?”

She sighs, “Took me by surprise is all,” The rest of the ride is quiet, a soft song playing and the rain violently hitting the sun roof.

——————————

He parks in front of the brick building and gives a sympathetic groan, “Well, I’d say your electricity theory was correct.”

She sighs, “Listen, would you mind walking me up? There’s a creepy guy on the 3rd floor that I wouldn’t exactly like to meet in the dark.”

His stomach drops, is she safe here? “Of course. Are you ready to brave the rain?”

No.“Count of 3?”

“1-2-3,” They both open their doors and bolt.

“Uh,” Y/N feels the icy cold drops hit her thighs as she runs.

He grabs her hand and encourages her run faster, “Hurry!”

“Oh my god,” She’s shivering now, and she notices the thinness of his shirt once more and the body underneath it, and that he’s still hold her hand.

Regrettably, he lets go to shake the water off his arms, “I think we might make a puddle in the lobby.”

She shivers, “Right. Steps are over here.”

"What floor are you on?”

She groans, “I’m on 5.”

“Well, you know what they say. Never skip leg day.” Henry huffs and gets a head start leaving her to skip to catch up.

As they reaches the 3rd floor, the creepy guy is waiting just as Y/N thought he would, “Who’s ya friend?” She moves so that she’s walking beside Henry, “You gotta name?” They continue on, rightfully ignoring him.

He goes wide-eyed, “Jesus. He is creepy.”

Y/N sighs and shrugs, “He makes everyone uncomfortable.”

“I can see why. Those emergency hallway lights aren’t exactly doing him any favors either.”

“So, here I am.” She’s suddenly very aware of her lungs. Her chest feels tighten as she looks at him.

‘Here you are.” If she was in a movie, this is what they meant by calling men ‘Dreamy’. His thick eyelashes and soft lips, even his stupid scruff is beautiful.

“Thank you for the ride. And walking up here with me,”

“No problem, it was good to see you, again, so soon.”

Another loud boom of thunder rips through the night, “God!”

He tries not to laugh, “I think you might be a liar about hating storms.”

Her voice falls, showing her shyness all over again, “I think this one just has me particularly jumbled.”

“Oh really?” Henry moves closer, mere inches from her face.

She swallows, “Yes.”

He’s so close to her face that she could feel the warmth of his breath, “Why’s that?”

“You’re just—,” Y/N is distracted by movement in the corner of her eye, “GET OUT OF HERE!”

Henry watches the creepy man from the third floor descend the stairs and looks back toward Y/N, “Does he do that a lot?”

“No, I’ve never seen him up here, “ She looks startled and he instinctively walks back to her with large strides, briefly touching her arm, “Do you care to come in for a second? I don’t really want someone eavesdropping on me.” He nods, shuffling inside with her.

She eagerly shuts the door, locking it, but bumping into henry as soon as she turns back around, “Oh, sorry. It’s really dark.”

“It’s ok. I have some candles and stuff. You want some tea? The good thing about these old buildings is that they always have gas ranges.” The light from her phone helps her navigate and see Henry standing there with his wet clothes, looking ridiculously attractive. She awkwardly takes her boots off before kicking them to the side.

He can’t contain a chuckle, which earns awkward silence from her, “I don’t mean to laugh, you looked very cute struggling.”

“That’s a weird compliment, you know?” He shrugs with his hands in his pocket. She motions at him even though they can barely see, “Take off your shoes, please. With my luck, I’ll probably slip and fall on a single drop of water. Come on, let’s make that tea.”

Henry walks behind her very closely, making Y/N’s heart race in the best way, ”Thank you for letting me come in.”

“I guess knowing a superhero came in handy.” She laughs, “So, tea?”

“That’d be great.” He watches her look through drawers, sifting through things with her aid on her phone light.

“I think I put all the candles in the hallway,” She hums before speaking,“I don’t have anything warm to offer you besides the tea. Unless you want to wear a robe with little gold stars on it.”

His mind goes off with how adorable she must look about of the bath. Her skin all flush and warm bundled up in a robe, “Ohh, sounds very fashionable but I’m ok. Thank you, though.”

“I’m going to dry off and change before I turn into an ice cube. I’ll be right back.” Henry looks around her kitchen and tries to make out all her knickknacks from the barely there light of the small window above the sink. She returns in a sweater and leggings, and a towel in her hand. Soft. Y/N bumps into him a second time, “Sorry, I can’t really see. Got you a towel,” She clears her throat, “Got the candles.”

He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy her body against his, “S’alright.”

She finds a lighter and joyfully announces, “Let there be light!”

“You are an exquisite hostess.” He rubs the towel in his hair, leaving it a curly mess.

“Thank you. I do try,” she searches her cabinet after filling the kettle, “black tea, green tea, or um, more black tea.

Henry looks offended, “I’m British.” He sits down in one of the wooden chairs in her small kitchen, somehow looking right at home.

Y/N puts on her best fake accent, “Oh, my mistake, Mr. Cavill.”

He attempts to wink, “Cheeky.”

“So, you’re in my kitchen and I barely know you. I’m either very stupid or very smart and pulled the hottest man in the world inside my apartment.”

“Should I say thank you?”

“Probably.”

“Thank you.”

Y/N plops the tea bags in the mugs, “Let me know if I’m keeping you. I didn’t really mean to just drag you in here. That guy is just such a weirdo,” She fills the cups, “I kind of panicked.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

“Sugar?” Sweet like her.

There goes those thoughts again, “Yes.”

“I, um, dont usually invite strange men into my house. So, I hope you’re not a complete crazy-pants.”

“Please, if you’re uncomfortable I can go. I don’t want to over stay my welcome, or make you think I’m a crazy-pants.”

“No, it’s ok. I actually like having someone here tonight. He’s never came up here before, and I like talking to you.”

“I like talking to you, too,” he sits up straight, “and I like your flat. Cozy, it feels like a home.”

“Thank you. I try to make it my little hideaway.”

“It’s nice. Especially in this storm.”  

“I can’t believe how bad it is. I don’t think it’s rained this hard since the beginning of summer.” A bolt of lightning and loud clap of thunder shakes her, “Jesus!”

“Whoa.”

A buzzing noise comes from the counter, “Well, my phone is on 3% and there’s a flood warning.”

It’s then that he remembers his phone is in his car, “That’s cheerful news,” he watches her in the dim light. She picks at her sweater, seemingly avoiding his gaze and the glow of the candles make her all too alluring. Even when she isn’t speaking, she says a lot. Y/N’s body talks, and he wants to answer. “Ok over there?” She grants him pleasant smile with a nod.

She grants him pleasant smile with a nod, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” He can barely handle the few seconds of anticipation.

“Do you mind staying — would you want to stay here for a little bit?”  

He hates that he gets excited by these words, because maybe she’s too scared to be alone or maybe he’s misread the situation entirely, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t like the thought of you driving in this, or being responsible for Superman’s death. I’d feel better if you’d stay until it lightens up. It looks like there’s a bit of a blackout, I can’t see really see anything out there.”

He smiles widely, “Well, I’ll stay and chat if you’ll have me.”

Before they know it, two and a half hours pass by. They share their favorite books and what music they like. They both agree that they could eat gnocchi for ever meal. He struggles with jet lag and Y/N has never been overseas. She misses her niece and mentions how she’s always loved to paint, too. Henry finds her passion for her craft and love for her family endearing, and it’s something he can understand. He always misses his family when he’s away, but his drive to work is practically unstoppable.

“What time is it,” she stretches, accidentally giving him a glimpse of her stomach. He wants to touch her skin.

He pulls up his sleeve to expose his no doubt expensive watch, “Oh, it’s just past 1,” He shrugs, “time flies when you’re having fun.”

She yawns, “It does.”

“You’re cute.”

“Stop it.” Y/N sits up straight, ready to argue for no reason. She’s bit grouchy when she’s sleepy and not even Henry’s good looks and charming accent can beak that seal.

“No.” He can tell she’s holding back a smile.

Ok, maybe Henry’s charm can break her out of it, “Yes.”

He shifts forward, resting his elbows on the table, “Your cute sweaters and your stupid cute mugs.”

She gasps, “They’re not stupid!”

“Yes, they are, they’ve got blue frogs on them. Your cute smile and your cute sleepy voice,” She leans back against the chair, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

They stare at each other, the candle light flickering between them.

“Do you always pout at compliments?” He enjoys that she cocks her said to the side, gearing up to return the banter.

“No, In fact-,” A knock at the door cuts her off.

He shares confused glance, “I take it you’re not expecting anyone?”

Y/N gets up but stops to grab his forearm, “Come with me.”

He doesn’t hesitate to grab a candle and guide her, but her hands are so cold he can’t help but clasp his hand over hers, “Your fingers are freezing!”

Y/N is too worried to appreciate the sweet gesture, “Shut up and see who it is!”

“It’s your apartment!” He guffaws and rolls his eyes.

“Henry! Just look through the thingie.” The way she’s said his name could leave him melting right in the narrow hallway.

“Fine.... I don’t see anyone?” He tries not to show his concern in order to save her from worrying even more.

She squeezes his arm, “What?

“No one is-,” Another knock comes from the hall.

[Tagged: If you’d like to be tagged, just shoot me a message!]

@igotkatiepowers​ @xxxkatxo​ @lunedelorient​ 

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

the future of work: the good, the bad and the ugly

I keep thinking back to that recent debate about the "good" of automated labor replacing jobs – both the jobs that are replaced, and the ways that automation changes the nature of work.

It got pretty fevered there in the discussion, and I do still feel like I didn't really wrap my head around the full implications of that change – what it means for workers, for society, and for the economy as a whole.

(Relevant facts: unemployment is presently very low, and dropping; there is also very slow job recovery and frankly, no reemployment in a lot of the sectors hit hardest by automation; lots of the displaced workers are in precarious situations and have to spend a lot of time searching for new jobs while maintaining current living standards; the bulk of automated productivity gains have gone to corporate shareholders in the form of increased returns on invested capital, not labor; robot companies do actually pay people jobs, so you can't build a moral case for rejecting automated labor on a very abstract, theoretical level)

If our economy becomes less labor-intensive, and we don't do anything else about it, lots of important things about the nature of work will probably go away. Working hours will tend to drop, as will wages (at least in the "labor" end of the process). We'll return to an equilibrium where most people work (but not all) and have to rely on incomes from sources other than work (so they're less stable, less predictable, etc.) Fewer people will be able to fulfill the role that "middle-class lifestyle" has come to represent, even among the working class. The "full-time working class" will shrink, while the numbers of part-time workers looking for full-time positions will rise; the share of people with "labor income only" as their major source of income will increase; even the share of households in bankruptcy will go down; etc.

This is all pretty much guaranteed, as far as I can tell. The question is only whether – and how – the shift to a more automated, less labor-intensive, less "middle-class lifestyle"-focused economy will happen in a smooth, gradual, "non-traumatic" manner, or in a way that will cause a lot of disruption. To figure out the answer, we don't just have to look at the economy – we have to look at workers' jobs – and where they fit in that process.

My point is that we have very little idea how any of this is going to go down. The robot stuff is disruptive in predictable ways, but in the long term disruptive technologies almost always result in more jobs, not fewer, often in the context of a "tech boom". This seems like an important oversight on the part of any journalist seriously interested in covering automation. (At least TUOC pointed that out when she wrote about the potential gig economy effects of autonomous vehicles.) Even if robot sales don't quite take off (some kind of "second industrial revolution"), it seems likely that the shift to automation will result in lots more demand for workers in the sectors where automation is occurring.

And yes, the above is "speculation" based largely on the effects of other technological shifts with similar potential for reduction in the demand for human labor. I'm not claiming it's 100% certain. But it's further from "there's nothing to worry about" in any direction.

We'll know the shift has truly happened only when we have a widespread social technology for not needing human labor. This may or may not look like a future of full automation, even a world where many tasks are still done by humans. It might look like a future where humans have largely stopped working (and we might still live in such a state due to various "post-scarcity" beliefs), but the important thing is that it's a future where humans would not have to work, either in the sense of being engaged in paid labor or in the sense of having any of their wants/needs satisfied by economic processes. If you want gasoline, it will be produced (in a greenhouse, with solar-powered electric engines, maybe – it needn't even be in a factory); if you want clothing, it will be made (perhaps with 3D printers, or even with very simple automated knitting machines).

If the demand for labor really collapses in the way it seems likely to do within our generation, it will not literally be the case that nobody needs to work for the basic necessities, but the difference is one of degree and not kind. The shift to automated labor would not cause a literal "drop in the bucket" in terms of the total number of jobs needed, any more than earlier labor-saving innovations caused major contractions in the labor market. Even in our current, greatly changed world, 6% of American workers have "low-skill" jobs and 37% have no worthwhile educational attainments. As noted above, we are quite far from the "labor force participation rate" conceptually – this is a "rate" in the same way that 100% minus 3% is a "rate," not an absolute – but the low-pay, low-skill jobs are a large portion of US jobs. They're not even close to being the majority of jobs, any more than knitting machines were close to being a majority of jobs pre-industrial. And the economy could well make room for many more, perhaps a majority, of such jobs. The only question is what percentage of total jobs, and how those job numbers scale with changes in the structure of the economy that can be induced without making room for more such jobs.

There are a lot of people pointing out that the robots are coming for blue-collar and low-skill jobs pretty much full-stop, and that

[jhalya]

AnS Fic Rec Bingo - BLACKOUT

The only regret I have is that the bingo board did not have enough squares, even with me cheating a bit! So, for your reading pleasure, behold the awesomeness:

Under 1000 words

Title: scarves, cat eyes and apple hair

Author: limonium

Rating: K+

Reasons for rec: I love me some early Obi. The snark, the pining, the finding out of his own true feelings. It’s a delightful pill of old school AnS and early gang feelings.

Action packed fight scene

Title: Domine, da mihi castitatem et continentiam (sed noli modo)

Author: @bubblesthemonsterartist

Rating: T

Reasons for rec: okay, so this may be crack, but Obi and Kiki sparring? You wish you were that hot. That’s it. That’s the fic. We, as Shirayuki, are just the jealous audience.

Contains my favourite headcanon

Title: The View From Here

Author: @sabraeal

Rating: T

Reasons for rec: Tall Obi is like my favourite headcanon. I mean the Toll x Smoll dynamic is just my jam, man. And this snippet delivers on the goods.

First AnS fic I read

Title: Smoke and Sunshine

Author: @infinitelystrangemachinex

Rating; K

Reasons for rec: I can’t exactly remember what the first AnS fic I read was, but I distinctly remember that this was the first AnS fic I loved. I just ADMIRE Andy’s lyrical style so much. It hurts me in the best of ways.

Rare pair

Title: What the heart wants

Author: @sabraeal

Rating: G

Reasons for rec: Mukaze / Haruto is the pairing I never knew I needed. It has inspired me so much. Also, half of the appeal of this pairing is how everybody else reacts to it. Priceless!

A fic that got you involved in fandom

Title: Each one a world we never met

Author: @sabraeal

Rating: E

Reasons for rec: by the time this fic came out, I’d been a lurker in the fandom for some time (a year or so?). I love this fic because I think it brought the fandom together in such a cool way: there are at least two smut sequels that members of the fandom wrote for it and I love this so much!

Gen fic

Title: Catch

Author: @puffdragongirl

Rating: G

Reasons for rec: I love the domesticity of this fic and also Obi’s brand of loving snark is so on point. It would almost be fluff without it :D

Wept real tears

Title: Remnants

Author: @xaphrin

Rating: E

Reasons for rec: this fic no longer exists except for in Xaph’s wonderful mind, but I sometimes think about it and cry. Like, the first time I read it, I had to stop and walk around for a bit. I can still feel the sting of Shirayuki’s slap. I just wanted to let you know, @xaphrin, that THAT was some genius piece of writing and if you ever want to end me, know that you have the means to do it.

Favourite minor character

Title: A slip of the tongue

Author: @sabraeal

Rating: G

Reasons for rec: Ryuu is one of my favourite characters, just because it’s still so hard for me to get his voice right. One reason this fic makes me smile is that Ryuu is all of us: imagine living and working with Obi and Shirayuki and not call them THAT?

AU I took a chance on and now love

Title: Ex gratia

Author: @vivianvivi1

Rating: E

Reasons for rec: I will admit, I’m not a big fan of friends with benefits or legal AUs, but damn, did this get me hooked. There are scenes from it that are burned into my memory forever. Some of them I can’t even talk about in polite company, but that’s why I love my girl, Anna. She gets my brand of smut :D

Made me laugh out loud

Title: Away from it all

Author: @claudeng80

Rating: T

Reasons for rec: I had the pleasure of beta reading this and OMG, was it flawlessly funny. It has just the style of writing I like and the punchlines are hilarious. I’m laughing still as I’m writing this. Flawless, flawless, I tell you.

Missing scene

Title: The Automaton Heart

Author: @infinitelystrangemachinex

Rating: T

Reasons for rec: again, this is an early obiyuki piece, but every missing scene in here is just perfection. If you want your heart ripped into tiny tiny pieces. Love, love, love.

Free space 1

Title: Stumptown

Author: @bubblesthemonsterartist

Rating; M

Reasons for rec: there’s cute and then there’s this. Like it is so sweet and hot and sweet and hot and Shirayuki wants Obi to be her boyfriend so bad, and Obi wants to go on the best dates with her and they do and yet they remain...CLUELESS!

Free space 2 (because I can)

Title: I should be in bed

Author: @thelionshoarde

Rating: E

Reasons for rec: okay, okay, so werewolf Obi and witch Shirayuki? In a stable relationship? With great sex? But also lovely pre- , during and after care? You have NO IDEA how many times I’ve read this fic. Like once a month since it came out.

WIP

Title: WFB

Author: @sabraeal

Rating: E

Reasons for rec: listen, when this came out, I was having a horrible fight with my SO - or he was having one with me. This series kept me sane throughout all that. Also, the smut is gre-nine!

Favourite trope

Title: Diplomacy

Author: @xaphrin

Rating; E

Reasons for rec: fake marriage with a dash of mutual pining? Sign me up! Obi and Shirayuki go do their diplomacy stuff at the beach? Having to share a house and wear skimpy clothes? Listen, like this is all my fantasies in 16 glorious chapters.

Favourite trope reversal

Title: An Earthly Knight

Author: @claudeng80

Rating: T

Reasons for rec: the damsel is not in distress and she would like her Fae bodyguard back, yes, please and thank you! The world that Sarah creates is lush and mysterious and I love it so much!

Canon divergent

Title: The Daisy Chain

Author: @sabraeal

Rating: E

Reasons for rec: sometimes, when I read fics, there are scenes that stick with me for a long long while. The start of this fic is so innocuous, just happy family feels and then it takes a sharp plunge into angst and a happy, smutty ending that I just love.

Favourite man made OC

Title: A man’s duty

Author: @sabraeal

Rating: T

Reasons for rec: You get the Lyrias crew but this time it’s Obi’s Lyrias crew. And some of them have a bad case of hero worship. It’s hilarious.

Canon compliant

Title: Murder in the Pharmacy

Author: @claudeng80

Rating: T

Reasons for rec: canon compliant? Well, it’s set in Lyrias! And the rest is history as Obi and Shirayuki embark on solving a murder mystery.

Fic that gave me a new OTP

Title: 5 inch heels

Author: @bubblesthemonsterartist

Rating: E

Reasons for rec: listen, I’m not a threesome enthusiast, but this is the best Obi / Kiki / Shirayuki smut I have ever read. Like, I don’t even need to say more.

Fic that made me friends with the author

Title: Misdelivery

Author: @vivianvivi1

Rating: G

Reasons for rec: I think I had been a lurker of Anna’s work for a good while before we exchanged the first messages and this fic always brings me joy when a notification pops up in my inbox. I mean, there is a whole section here in which Izana is being a whole ass mood and it is wonderful!

Steamiest kiss

Title: Is this a booty call??

Author: @thelionshoarde

Rating: E

Reasons for rec: where to begin with this? It is the funniest, steamiest, most adorkable smut fic in existence. I read it when I’m feeling down, it’s that good.

AU that made me find the source material

Title: Last best hope

Author: @claudeng80

Rating: T

Reasons for rec: I had seen Babylon 5 a long long time ago, so I did do a quick refresher course on wikipedia. The show is awesome, but you don’t need to know a lot about it, because Sarah will take you on an unforgettable ride around space, secrets and feelings.

One shot

Title: Life eternal

Author: @ruleofexception

Rating: T

Reasons for rec: Angel and Demon AU? It doesn’t get better than this. Also, the mythology is fantastic!

Pre-canon

Title: Seven Spirits

Author: @sabraeal

Rating: T

Reasons for rec: the Obi backstory that has nestled in our collective fandom brains and lives there rent free. The world building alone is masterful. And the twist is unexpected.

[destroy-the-cannon]

Title Pending Olivia x MC Fic, Chapter two

Hellooo! I’d like to start off with a quick apology. I had a bunch of family drama this week, so I’m aware that this chapter is a bit lackluster. I swear  that it’s not just a lack of talent! That’s only like ten percent of the problem! Anyways, here it is! 

Warnings: Sexual language, cursing.

Story Tags: (Eventual) lemon, slow burn, enemies to lovers, angst.

Taglist: @kingliam2019 , @kamilahsayeet2063

“Woah.”

Maxwell was craning his neck to inspect Paige’s outfit from where she stood on the steps. It felt strangely like a grown-up prom, gliding down the stairwell with all eyes on her (well, Maxwell’s eyes). She gave a little twirl, showing off her devastatingly expensive gown. The gown she’d had to buy herself. You’d think that riding with a noble would mean that they’d be willing to shell out a dime or two, but alas, she’d spent her own damn money on this. Not that she was bitter or anything.

She’d gone with the angel outfit. A glittery, cold shouldered bodice gave way to heavy skirts of layered tulle and silk. A delicate lacey mask fit over her eyes, and a fluffy little halo floated above her head. She felt genuinely angelic, like she could float right around the room.

“Man, you look amazing! You’ll definitely get the ladies in court talking.”

It was the night of the first ball of the season. Just a day ago, Paige had hopped on a plane and flown out to Cordonia. She was staying in the palace with all the other nobles until the tour started up. They were set to move all around the country to the various duchies of the various suitors. In the meantime, Paige was staying in a fabulous room in the back of the palace she’d spent all last night marveling at. Now, she was marching down to the introductory ball with Maxwell by her side. It was a masquerade event, hence the angel outfit. She was set to make an excellent first impression, something that was crucial to building the flawless reputation she was determined to possess. According to Drake, she was about to walk into a room full of bloodthirsty snobs, so it was important to look the part of a future queen. Her wardrobe was her armour, Hana had said.

Hana. That was the name of the girl Paige had met in the dressing room, who happened to be the fourth of those five people who would one day change her life. The two had gotten dressed and acquainted, and Paige was hoping to run into her at the ball. She had been sweet, helpful, informative, and gorgeous. What was it with the people there? She had never seen such a consistent concentration of ridiculously hot people in her life.

“Okay. It’s time.” They stopped in front of the ornate golden doors. Maxwell turned to her, adjusting his mask. “Before we get into the actual ball, you’ll need to give the herald your full name when we go in. Since you’re with my family, you could technically be considered a Lady. You’ll give him your name, and he’ll announce you as Lady Paige…?”

“Langley. Lady Paige Langley.”

“Hm. Not exactly traditional, but regal enough.”

With that, he pushed open the doors, and they strolled in. Paige gave her name to the herald, and stood as straight as she could on the steps. Maxwell gave her a quick, reassuring smile, and she felt slightly better. He was good at that.

“LORD MAXWELL PERCIVAL BEAUMONT, AND LADY PAIGE LANGLEY!” The herald’s voice boomed through the enormous room. At the sound of an unfamiliar name, heads turned to watch Paige strut down the stairs. Little gasps and murmurs rippled through the room as they stared at her. She resisted the urge to tug at her hair or adjust her halo. Any move that betrayed how self conscious she was feeling would definitely get her noticed. People like those could sniff out an insecurity like blood in the water. The second a confident exterior faltered, they went in for the kill. Paige kept her back straight and her eyes ahead.

“Okay. I gotta go talk to my brother. You stay here. Mingle. You can do that, right? Just mingle.” Before she could respond, Maxwell was gone.

Paige turned, looking around desperately for someone she knew. She spotted Drake, looking vaguely angsty and annoyed in a corner, still in his basic denim. She decided she might as well try her luck with him. She walked over, trying her best to step slowly and gracefully.

“Well, well, well, aren’t you looking pretty.” He sized her up. “You fit right in.”

“Well, you’re charming as ever.”

“Ha! Compared to most of the nobles here, I’m your best friend.”

“God, Drake.” she rolled her eyes. “Everyone here’s been perfectly nice so far.”

“Sure, to your face. What do you think goes on the second you leave the room? The people here will jump at the chance to shove you as far down the totem pole as they can.”

“Well, let’s take a look at some examples of their behavior, shall we? They’re letting you attend an extremely high-brow event for free, in your day clothes. You have access to expensive foods, interesting conversation and a bar full of fancy foreign cocktails. And instead of being grateful, you choose to badmouth these people whenever you can, complain, and act like you’re being some big hero by being here. You’re not even wearing a mask!” She hadn’t realized how annoyed she was, but she found herself surprisingly worked up on this. At the sight of her pissed-off expression, Drake softened slightly.

“Look. I swear I’m not trying to be a dick, just trying to be honest. It may look glamorous here, but these people are completely two faced. You’re the newbie, and without someone like me looking out for you, you’ll get clobbered.”

His explanation didn’t exactly soften her up. “If your way of helping is to stand in the corner and bitch about this place, then I’d say you’re doing an excellent job.”

Drake looked like he was going to respond, but he stopped suddenly. He went stiff as a board and completely pale, his eyes fixed right over Paige’s shoulder. Before she could ask what was wrong, she felt a warm hand on her arm.

“Pardon me, but I must steal her away.” The voice was warm, seductive, completely unfamiliar. Based on the alarmed look on Drake’s face, it must not have been a friendly one.

“Um, I’ll just…” He all but sprinted for the opposite end of the room. Paige turned to face the intruder.

Oh. The tiniest of gasps escaped her lips as she gazed into a pair of emerald-green eyes.

If you were to take the moment she first saw Liam, and multiply it by about a thousand or so, you’d have some idea of how Paige felt. Her heart threatened to beat right out of her body as her stomach swooped dramatically.

The woman before her was like no noble Paige had seen before. Where some, like Hana, chose to present themselves as a sweet, soft sort of beautiful, this woman was more sexy. An edgy, almost dangerous sort of drop-dead gorgeous that made heat pool in Paige’s core.

She realized, dazedly, that the woman was wearing the devil costume Paige had almost bought. Little horns peaked out from her pile of crimson hair. The red velvet of her gown clung to her rounded hips, and the neck of it fell as far down her chest as courtly etiquette would allow. She gazed down at Paige, her lips slightly parted. She seemed surprised, as though the other woman had caught her off guard somehow, and Paige wondered distantly what that meant.

“I am Lady Olivia Vanderwall Nevrakis, Duchess of Lythikos,” she murmured. Paige fought to keep her eyes from flickering to the duchess’s candy-painted lips.

“I’m-”

“Lady Paige Langley. Yes, I heard the herald announce you. That’s why I’m here.” She shook her head slightly. Her gaze became sharper as she smiled at the other woman. “I make it my business to know every name at court, and I’ve never heard yours before. Perhaps you’re from one of the humbler duchies?” She didn’t give Paige a chance to respond. “In any case, since you’re the new girl at court, I thought I might give you a bit of advice. You’re not from here, I take it? Cordonia, I mean.” Paige could only nod.

“Well then, let me give you a little tip.” She leaned in with a conspiratory smile, and Paige could feel Olivia’s warm breath on her skin. Her legs grew unstable beneath her, as though she were about to faint.

“When you go up to see the king, bow and kiss his right shoe. It’s a sign of ultimate respect here.”

Could that be true? Unlikely as it seemed, Paige did recall reading about a similar custom from somewhere else in Europe. She frowned. “Really?” She made a mental note to ask Maxwell about that later.

“Oh, of course! It’s lucky I was able to tell you, otherwise you would’ve looked like a complete fool!” She gave a light laugh. As soon as she heard it, the waitress wanted to do whatever she could to hear that sound again.

“Paige!” Maxwell ran up from out of nowhere. Paige did her best not to be annoyed with him for cutting her time with Olivia short. “Liam’s-” he cut himself off as he noticed the Nevrakis. “Um, I mean, Prince Liam, whose title I am always sure to use, because of my deep respect and admiration for him, is coming out to see everyone.” Olivia rolled her eyes and walked off to join a small cluster of ladies.

“Are you ready to see him again?”

Paige tried to paste on a convincing smile. “Totally. I’m totally ready for this.”

“Cool. Let’s go!”

The pair ran off to join a gathering of people at the side of the room, Paige resisting the urge to check over her shoulder for Olivia.

“There he is!” Maxwell pointed. And there he was, the prince himself. Liam stood at the end of the room, making conversation with a star-struck young woman clearly trying very hard to keep cool.

“Do you think he’ll be happy to see me?” Paige whispered.

“Only one way to find out, I guess. But first, you gotta meet the king.”

“Wait, what? You didn’t tell me that I’m meeting the king first thing! What do I say to him?

“Calm down. It’s easy. Just follow what the other ladies do, and you’ll be fine.”

“Wait, wha-”

“LADIES OF THE COURT!” An announcer’s voice boomed across the room. “LINE UP TO GREET THE KING!”

The women rushed to form a line leading towards the front of the room. Paige caught a glimpse of an older man taking a seat upon one of the gilded thrones at the front of the room, flanked by two guards. Hitching up her skirts, she hurried over to take her spot in the growing queue. She watched as each woman made her way up to the king, curtseying and-

And nothing. The bulk of heavy skirts and the towers of gelled-up hair completely blocked her view. It was impossible to tell if any shoe kissing had taken place. She tried her best to steal a glance, but the women in line seemed to take her rustling for attempted line-cutting. She received multiple dirty looks as well as one quick jab to the ribs.

The line was shortening quickly, and Paige was beginning to get panicky. She was already a commoner. She couldn’t afford to broadcast the fact that she also knew pretty much nothing of Cordonian culture. She’d be laughed right out of the court, right out of the country. She leaned to the side again, trying desperately to see what was going on. Nothing.

Finally, there were only two women left in front of Paige. She had given up on trying to see what they were doing, and was instead just trying to not let her nerves show. Elegant smile, straight back. She caught a glimpse of Liam standing across the room, making polite conversation with those who had already met the king. Out of his sweater and into his official suit, he looked so much more… official. That air of nobility that had seemed out of place at the bar suited him perfectly here. He looked so quintessentially prince charming, the poster boy for all that was good and wholesome. It was easy to see why so many ladies were here. In addition to the many gold diggers that Paige was sure were lurking about, many of these women probably actually liked Liam. She watched as a dark-haired young woman laughed a little too hard at a joke of his, slapping his arm lightly. Her eyes sparkled as she stepped closer to him. Her lips parted, as she pre-

“Shitshitshit!” She hissed under breath, before praying that nobody heard her. It was her turn to greet the king.

“Good evening, milady.” The king smiled kindly at her as she took a step closer. He was clearly expecting something.

“Good evening, your majesty. I am Lady Paige Langley, of House Beaumont.”

She dropped into a low curtsey. Her face was inches from the king’s shoe.

She risked a glance back at Olivia. The duchess was watching with not a look of hope, or excitement, or malice. She was looking on with a very clear expression of guilt on her face.

Paige stood from her curtsey, smiled once more, and left the line.

  * * *

“Hey! Where'd you go? I was looking all over for you!” Do you know how hard it is to find a pretty girl in a nice dress in a ballroom choked with pretty girls in nice dresses?”      

“Sorry. I got caught up talking to Hana.”

After the thing with the king, Paige had felt strangely paralyzed with anxiety. Well, maybe it wasn’t so strange. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that a total stranger had tried to humiliate her like a schoolyard bully. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that said stranger was gorgeous and intimidating and sexy and Paige had wanted for her to like her so, so badly. She knew that a trick like this alone wasn’t a big deal, but it hurt that much more coming from someone whom she had so desperately wanted to be some angel. So, instead of joining the growing crowd of women mobbing Liam, she had gone out to the balcony for a moment to breathe. That was where she had found Hana, and the two spent the next half hour talking. It had been nice to just talk to someone, with no expectations or rules. Hana was quickly becoming one of her favorite people at court.

“Wait, you know Hana? Actually, nevermind, we’ll talk on that later. In the meantime, you have to get in there with Liam. You’re one of the only people he hasn’t talked to yet.”

“You think he’ll be freaked out? We only knew each other for like a night before I decided to come out here, and now I’m trying to marry him? Isn’t that weird?”

“Ha! You think a night is too weird? That’s practically a year in royal time. He’s meeting some of these women for the first time tonight. If anything, you’ve got a leg up. He both knows and likes you.”  

“If you say so.”

“And I do. Look, I think he’s free. Go, go, go!”

Maxwell nudged her forward, and she strode across the room to meet Liam. He was finishing up a conversation with someone, and he turned to look at Paige as the woman walked away.  

“Hello, Lady-” He stopped short, his eyes going wide. “It’s you! Paige!”

“It’s me.” She smiled at him, hoping this was a pleasant surprise. Her hopes were confirmed when he broke out in a huge grin.

“Oh, Paige, I thought I’d never see you again! How are you even here?”

“The morning after I met you, Maxwell found me. He offered to take me here so I could represent House Beaumont and… become queen.” Though it was the truth, the thought of saying “marry you” out loud turned her stomach.

“That’s amazing! I’m afraid we don’t have too much time to talk, but that’s incredible news. For the first time all night, I’m actually enjoying a conversation.”

“Does this mean that you’re happy to see me?”

“Happy? I’m ecstatic. I truly like you Paige. I think we have something, and I’m glad we’re getting the chance to explore that together.”

Guilt stabbed at her insides. Liam looked so happy to see her, and yet she couldn’t say the same. She kept thinking back to the moment she saw Olivia. They had barely spoken, and still she had sensed more chemistry in those few minutes than she had after a whole night with Liam. He wasn’t the one she wanted, not even close. But he had deep, personal feelings for her. If she nailed those challenges, she had a real shot at being Liam’s wife. It was a thought that would have made so many of those courtly ladies cry tears of joy, but succeeded only in filling Paige with dread. He actually liked her. He wanted this.

“It’s a lot of pressure, isn’t it? All this, I mean. How are you holding up?” She hoped he wouldn’t notice how she changed the subject.

“I’ve known this was going to happen for some time now. It’s certainly not ideal, but perhaps it won’t be quite so terrible with you here.”

God, he really wasn’t making this easy on her, was he?

“Are the ladies here really that bad? Most of the people I’ve spoken to have been nice enough.”

“It’s not that the ladies themselves are bad, not at all. It’s the process I don’t enjoy. The whole thing is ridiculous and exhausting to all those involved. I know most of the women here, and they’re all incredibly smart and accomplished. And yet they’re being lined up like members of...of…” He paused. “What’s that american dating show? The one with the roses?”

“The Bachelor?”

“Yes! That’s it! This whole thing is one big episode of the bachelor.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through all of it.”

“Don’t be. It is my duty to serve my country however I can. If this is what I must do, so be it.”

Before Paige could respond, the guard behind Liam stepped forward to clear his throat. The prince winced apologetically at Paige.

“I’m afraid we’ve got less than a minute now. Before you go, can I give you a warning?” She nodded.

“This place, these people, are different. We’re not in New York anymore. There are codes, rules, that you’ll have to learn but never be taught. You’ll make friends and alliances, but be careful. Someone like you, here, can’t be too trusting. I don’t mean to scare you, but I care about you. I couldn’t stand to watch you get hurt.”

“Liam, I-”

“Ahem.” The guard coughed. “I believe it is time to move on, your grace.”

“Thank you, Bastien.” The prince turned back, looking regretful. “I’m so sorry, but I must move on. Shall we speak later?”

“Let’s.” She shot him what she could only hope to be a reassuring smile, curtseyed, and strode off, spotting a familiar figure by the drinks.

“Hey, Paige! It looked like that went well.”

“I’d say it did. He seemed happy to see me.”

“Of course he was! I told you he would be.”

“He was weirdly cryptic, though. He kept talking about how much of a drag this whole thing is, and how I need to make allies, and gather people I can trust, and watch my back-the list goes on.”

“Huh. That doesn’t sound like him. Are you sure you weren’t talking to Drake?”

“Unless Drake suddenly owns a body guard and a non-denim item of clothing, then no.”

“Hm. I’ll talk to him later. It’s probably just the pressure of everything getting to him. He’s not wrong, though. It’s good to form alliances with the other ladies. Most of them are outside right now. Go join them, grab a drink, socialize. Make some friends.”

“Got it. Any tips before I go? Who’s nice, who’s boring, who’s a snobby-ass bitch, et cetera.”

“Well, first off, save the cursing for later. One F bomb in here can and will get you kicked out. But to answer your question, Hana’s probably one of the nicest that you’ll meet. Friendly, not a known schemer. Penelope Ebrim is probably one of the more boring ones here, but she’s nice enough. Easily manipulated, but you didn’t hear that from me. Kiara Theron’s pretty interesting, but she can be sort of condescending, snobby. And if you want to talk about-” He paused.

“If you’re looking for witches with a b, then watch out for Olivia Nevrakis. She would kill, and I mean that literally, to become queen. She’s ruthless, cruel, and a known saboteur. Be on the lookout for her.”

“Oh. Good to know.”

“You’re welcome. Now get out there!”  

Hiking up her skirts, Paige strode out into a moonlit garden. The women were talking amongst themselves as they grabbed flutes of champagne. She was scanning the crowd when she felt someone come up behind her.

Turning, she found Olivia glowering at her, her friendly smile from before replaced with a pissy sneer.

“You seemed awfully friendly with the prince earlier, hm? You didn’t say you knew him personally.”

“It’s none of your business how I know Liam.” Paige savored the way the duchess blanched at the way the other woman skipped Liam’s title. “And can we get back to the way you lied to me about the shoe-kissing thing?”

“Yes, yes. Come on, even you have to admit that was funny.You’re the new girl, you’re going to get tricked.” Perhaps this would have been more bothersome if Olivia had been able to look the other woman in the eye, or stop fidgeting with her gown.

“Well, it’s done. You’ve gotten in your dumb little joke, and now it’s over.” At this, the duchess’s head snapped up, her mopey exterior suddenly vanished.

“It’s over when I say it’s over.” She took a step closer, her eyes blazing. Her voice had gone low and dangerous, and Paige hated the way it made her shiver. She tilted her chin, trying to look unfazed.

“Listen to me. I know you’re used to getting whatever you want from people, but that’s not how this is going to go. I’m not your servant, I’m not your follower. Whatever you may believe, you’re not entitled to Liam’s hand, and you’re certainly not entitled to my respect, fear, or loyalty.”

Olivia stepped back, surprised. Some of the women actually gasped as they watched the whole thing unfold.

“Excuse me? Clearly, you’re delusional. I grew up with Liam. I know him better than you ever will. Maybe you made for a fun distraction, but you’re nowhere near wife, or queen, material. The women here have been trained since birth to marry a prince, and if you think that you can just waltz in here and steal that from us, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Not a threat.” She was close, too close, and Paige wanted desperately to grab her even closer.

“A promise.”

[pseudospectre]

Had a conversation recently with some friends about how stories with a heaven/hell dynamic love the idea of fallen angels, but I’ve never seen anything that goes the opposite direction. So I wrote one.  It’s been a long long time since I’ve written anything so please forgive the quality, it was just a quick bit of fun. :)

Rise

I fell for a reason. I burned for a reason. I remember so little of my previous life, so many years, even centuries ago, but I remember that much.  I have no tragic story of innocence betrayed or manipulated, no heart-wrenching tale of self-sacrifice or loss. I was just, as they say, a bastard. That’s all I can tell you, all that survived the fire, so to speak.

They’ll tell you, gleefully, about the hopelessness, when your soul arrives after judgment and they offer you a position. This is all there is left, they say. You are lost, you are evil, this is all you deserve for eternity. Most damned souls don’t truly understand, in my experience. Everyone believes, to some degree, that they were at least all right, in the end. And they fight the idea of damnation and punishment, think somehow that resisting the new temptation and heading to their torment is somehow going to prove that, or help. As if they can weasel out, eventually, if they aren’t contracted. It always seemed remarkably shortsighted; of course you can’t. I already enjoyed the cruelty, I knew what it meant, so the opportunity to spare myself the pain in return for causing it? Well, what is a demon if not selfish? I was fine with the requirements, already there and unsaveable, it’s not like it can be worse? You can either suffer or be a part of the system, and I made a damn good demon. A little hell humor. And that’s supposed to be all there was, the end, fin.

Turns out, they don’t quite give you all of the information

What you need to understand is that there’s a lot of misinformation out there about how all this is set up. Most beliefs have some concept of punishment or reward, but strictly speaking, we’re not really associated with any one in particular. Funnily enough, it has more to do with your social beliefs than whether or not there’s a god. Nobody gives a fuck who’s name you take in vain, for example; it’s all about balance. And there are absolutely folks that fill the roles of what you’d call god or the devil, make no mistake. The cultures that talk about weighing souls have that part the closest, although it’s a hell of a lot more complicated than that, ha. Not that I cared at the time, but actions, with very few exceptions, cannot be good or bad in and of themselves. Something you do nice for someone could in fact have a negative result for someone else down the line, unintentionally or unknowingly. All of that has to be carefully picked apart and scrutinized to truly reach a conclusion, and I’ve even seen a net “loss” overall be rewarded and net gains get descended, based on factors even I don’t understand. Wasn’t my job; I didn’t judge, I just turned the screws on the ones they sent me. But as with any large-scale operation, it’s not infallible. I know it seems like it ought to be, but here we are. Hell, here I am. The thing is, it’s a lot easier to correct an accidental reward than an accidental punishment, because everyone down there wails their innocence. No one believes them, of course, they all think that. There’s no point in following up, usually. Mostly, souls I worked on were one of two things: screamers (self explanatory) or talkers. Talkers are the ones who still think they can wheedle their way out, or want to share their life story again, hoping they can find a loophole or something to get them out. Some of those souls had been there longer than I had, sometimes; pitiful. Didn’t matter to me, I was having a gre- well, it was a time. And then I was passed a recent acquisition for punishment; not that uncommon, although by then I usually mostly had the old-timers who needed the skills of someone who really knew their stuff. But this soul? 

Completely silent.

Really. Didn’t make a sound. Threw me for a huge loop, centuries as a literal nightmare and suddenly, no begging, no crying, nothing. Not even if I taunted, not even when I got started. And in that moment, it became the worst day of my afterlife-me, a piece of shit human voluntarily gone horrifying demon. Because I felt something. First mistake. If I’d stopped there things might have gone on without changing, but I was never what you might have called smart. Average is probably being generous. But I was so bowled over by that little spark of whatever it was-I couldn’t even recognize that it was an emotion, isn’t that sad?- that I made my next mistake: I asked why. Turned out I’d been handed my first actual misjudgment, this poor thing never protested a single action since they got here, never once defended themselves. They’d convinced themselves in life so completely that this is what they would deserve, that they just didn’t have any desire to try to fight it. I asked what they’d been judged for, and they just looked at me, and said they were ready. But when I pushed (at that point I was panicking over whatever was happening in my brain and figured I could count more questions as emotional manipulation or baiting or something) they didn’t list a single thing I had ever heard of stacking up to damnation. Someone at the gates really fucked up, in other words. Someone came in shortly after that and whisked them off, everyone had a good laugh over it for weeks after, jeering and asking me how much I got to put them through before they got picked back up. It should have been easy to join in- before this I would have been in the center of the mockery, but something was wrong, that flare was still inside me and I was having trouble handling it. You ever have a secret and you’re just sure everyone knows what it is just by looking at you? It was like that. And eventually I figured out that’s all it was, just a little bitty emotion, but that almost made it worse because it wasn’t supposed to be there; from what I even knew how all this demon shit worked in the first place, I was pretty sure it wasn’t even possible! But all I had to do to go back to my routine was ignore it, suppress it, reject it. Easy peasy, I’m a goddamn senior demon.

Except, to my shame, I couldn’t let it go. Does that even make sense, a demon feeling shame? Pretty sure that’s what it was at that point. But it was like having a little secret treasure that no one else could see. I would hide it, and then in little moments alone or whatever, bring it out and feel. I didn’t have the context anymore at the time, but now I can compare it to having lived in the dark and suddenly feeling a moment of sun. I had felt sorry for the soul, for just a moment! And the thing about emotions, they can grow the more you think about them. And I started thinking about it a lot. And then I started feeling happy (the horror!) that the mistake was caught and they got to leave. In case it’s unclear, feeling stuff like that for non hell-related reasons makes it pretty hard to do demony things. And if you remember, I’d never felt a whole lot of that kind of thing even before I got here. I literally tortured the souls of the damned, how do you do that when you start feeling sorry for them? But that little crack of light inside me, the shard of humanity, started bring back memories, or at least concepts, from when that’s all I was, and I suddenly started recognizing them as lost. And it hurt? And for the first time, I was mourning. After all, damned is forever. A demon is forever. So I was some weird fluke who caught some feels somehow, it couldn’t change that. But, you know, when your work starts to suffer, people start to notice. They started to talk. And they were right, my game was slipping hard. I felt bad! After a while I couldn’t just not say anything to the ones who just barely tipped the scales! As secretly as I could, I was giving them comfort. And I had to defend myself from my superiors over stuff I couldn’t stomach anymore but had to keep up with, or risk getting kicked back down. The wildest part was, my first thought about losing status wasn’t to save my own skin, of course not….now I was thinking about what the folks I got to talk to would do without those brief moments of respite I’d been passing out.

Point is, I was a demon who didn’t want to be a demon anymore, after centuries of not giving a fuck, and knowing full well that I was solidly fucked and that this was only going to get worse. I was miserable, but I still couldn’t put away the way the tiniest good feelings and I hoarded my experiences like someone who’s drowning clings to a raft. Except this raft was ruining my afterlife, and I didn’t really care for some reason. But I wanted to do my best, and not in the way I was used to. I had no idea what was going to happen but it probably was never going to get better.

But then, the crossroads.

Not the regular demony kind of crossroads. Oh no, I got stuck with the moral kind, although I didn’t realize what it was going to mean at the time. It had gotten bad enough for me that I was back to working under supervision, just like old times, the bad ones from when demons are just getting started. It was hard to do much that way but I’d figured out that even just smiling helps some people apparently? Or at least, once I first figured out how to smile so that they knew it wasn’t a threat. You ever seen a demon? I was not precisely what most people would prefer to look at with any expression. But it was already a hell of a day (more jokes!) and I was apparently near a limit I wasn’t aware of, and we got assigned a new soul. A new soul who didn’t say a word, just like where all of this began. And my supervison grinned at me, and snarled, and raised an arm, and I didn’t even have time to register that I had stepped between them to take the blow. Cheesy, I know. But there was a sound like one of those big industrial light switches snapping off, and it felt like time stopped or something. Maybe it did, I’m still not sure. But the literal, actual judges showed up. I was relieved someone got there so fast before anything else happened, I hadn’t even thought about what was going to happen to me yet. Proof positive I was completely broken by then, hadn’t even thought about my own skin yet. A couple of the judges took the soul away, and I waited for my bosses to show, but the judge still standing there was just watching me. After a moment, they said “Are you coming, or not?”

What.

I don’t think I was processing yet, but I think that’s probably all I actually said. So they gave me a look like you give to the dumbest guy in the room (I’m familiar with it) and said “Are. You coming? You have work to do. Unless you really think you’d prefer to stay?”

“Coming to what? You already picked up the error, it’s not me. Why would they let me leave, anyway? Not that I’m in a hurry to get my asskicking for this.”

There’s that look again. “Then don’t stay for it, they have no claim at the moment. Your balance tipped. Your call, stay, or take your out and rise.”

First time I’d ever heard that word. “……Rise?”

“Yes, rise. I suppose they wouldn’t want it to be common knowledge around here; then again, it means the few cases we get tend to be pretty solidly legitimate. Angels can fall, after all….why couldn’t a demon rise?”

“Sorry, got brimstone in my ears or something, are you telling me, of all creatures, that I’m heading upwards?” I definitely laughed. Demon laughter is very unpleasant. Recognizing this when you’re the one laughing is not fun.

“Something like that. As I said, your call. If you still prefer all of this for eternity, by all means, stick around.”

And that’s how I found out risen demons are a thing.

It’s not easy, no longer being of hell but not being of heaven, but it’s probably easier than you might expect. People think about heaven and hell in terms of punishment and reward, and while this is mostly true, like I said before, it’s really more about balance. The slate’s not wiped clean, but it’s not like I have some impossible restrictive rules that set me up to fail, it’s not like one tiny slip will shoot me back to the inferno, but I have bosses who check in now and then, keep tabs. And they’re here to help me, I’m not just stranded to make my own way. I’m not human, but I’m probably closer to that than I am to angel or demon anymore. And I gotta say, I look a whole lot better. I still put most people off at first, at least a little, but I’m way less spiky and you know. Fewer teeth, fewer arms, that kind of thing. But I guess you could say I’m doing pretty well now, dragging my way back to something I’m not sure I ever was, to be honest. I’m grateful for the chance.

And I’m looking forward to seeing who I can drag along with me, and that part feels pretty good.

[devourer--of--books]

if you’re not the bride (deluxe version)

So you may be wondering why is it you're seeing this. Hello, it is I again. If you're here, maybe you're familiar with the original "if you're not the bride', which I posted about three years ago. In case you're not, then, hello, welcome, when I was 15 I wrote a story under this same title. Then forgot all about it. But every so often someone would come across this story and I was reminded of its existence. Then, back in september 2019, I decided to read it again, correct some grammar and call it a day, you know, just so I could rest assured I hadn't written something horrible. Turns out, it got a bit out of hand and I decided to rewrite the whole thing. However, due to the fact that college is the worst, I never finished it and, well, forgot about it, again. Now, as quarantine came around, I found my rewrite from 6 months ago and since I got the time why not, right? This is now more than double the size of the original and has a lot more of backstory than intended. You can still find the original with some corrections here on AO3 and , and the cursed unedited version somewhere on tumblr for the sake of nostalgia. Warnings: There's cursing, some drinking and good old make outs. July 2020 edit: here I am, re-edting this thing again. This all said, welcome folks, to the deluxe version:

"You're going to what?!" Agatha raised her voice, tightly holding her phone to her ear. Surely, she must have heard Sophie wrong. Her friend did have a reputation for being over the top, but this was beyond absurd.

When people said that being friends with Sophie was…an exotic experience, they weren't completely wrong, per say. Being friends with Sophie could be a lot like being friends with a hungry animal. She was ruthless, dangerous and not trustworthy about 60% of the time. Sophie would do most anything to get whatever she wanted and absolutely would step over you in the process (sometimes for no reason other than because it amused her to do so). It wasn't personal, mostly. It was simply her nature.

For her, there were two kinds of people: her friends and her enemies. It was very easy to go from one category to another and anything in between simply couldn't be processed by her brain.

Sophie was a difficult person.

Agatha could tell you in more detail, she would know. Being Sophie's best friend wasn't exactly a dream come true. It had its perks of course, and when all was said and done, Sophie was an okay-ish person and a mostly good friend, but you gotta give it up to Agatha; it was no task for the weak-hearted.

They had been friends since kindergarten and were as different from one another as it gets. Had they met later in life, Agatha is certain they would've never become friends at all. Sophie was a loud, gorgeous (and kinda mean) blonde bombshell and Agatha was a grumpy, average-looking mostly nice girl (she wouldn't call herself kind, really, her niceness was more of a subproduct of her aloofness than anything else). The two of them disagreed in most anything and had not that much in common. Yet, it somehow worked. They argued a lot, as in, a lot, but it was always fixed within a weeks' time, in a coffee shop, over a good old vanilla latte and some black tea.

An odd pair, to say the least.

Which was fine by them. Sophie… was a work in progress. She was trying.

Nevertheless, every once in a while, something like this would happen. Because Sophie was still Sophie and her head worked in mysterious ways.

"I'm getting married, Aggie," Agatha could practically hear the blonde rolling her eyes on the other side of the device, "people do that all the time. It's, like, a thing."

"Sophie, you're not even done with college yet! Getting married with what money? As far as I know, your modeling barely pays your rent and don't even get me started on your student loan and credit card debt! And getting married to whom? Last time I checked, you weren't even going out with anyone!" She tried to cool her head, catching her breath while trying to recall any possible groom Sophie could have taken. "Unless… Are you marring Hort?"

A disgusted groan was heard.

"Ew, no. Not Hort, for God's sake. What do you think I am? Desperate?"

A bit, but Agatha didn't dare say it out loud.

Hort was a guy who lived at the apartment just below Sophie's, in a tiny complex downtown. They've known each other for quite a long time now. It was practically common knowledge that Hort acquired the biggest crush on her the moment he first laid eyes on her. It was all the old ladies from 1A and 2C ever talked about.

Over the years, he became quite easy on the eyes, even Sophie had to admit it. No longer the scrawny awkward kid that helped Agatha drag Sophie's couch upstairs (while Sophie flirted with the trucker, trying to get free shipping for her mattress, which, by the way, she got), but a fully formed man, completely jacked, and with a growing bank account to match, due to his fitness-program-thingy taking off. Agatha didn't really know the details of that, but she knew it was going well, mostly because Sophie told her so.

Anyway, he claimed to not want anything to do with her friend nowdays.

Yeah, right.

Agatha felt bad for him, she really did.

Loving Sophie was like loving a hurricane. Violent, brutal and downright painful.

She had initially assumed it would go away with time, that he would eventually see that they weren't compatible and let it go.

However, it was a bit more complicated than that, as most things in life tend to be.

She knew he and Sophie had hooked up, in fact, she knew that they did so often. Sophie hadn't told her, but she didn't need to. Agatha knew. The aftermath was never good, and for the sake of keeping things short and lighthearted, Agatha shall spare you the angst and just say that, as mentioned above, Sophie was fantastic at getting whatever she wanted and disregarding other people's feelings.

Honestly, Hort could say he wasn't into Sophie all he liked. At the end of the day, he was still living at that shitty apartment (even though he could probably have moved somewhere better a long time ago), hadn't seriously dated anyone since meeting her and was responsible for at least half of Sophie's modeling gigs, which were her friend's main source of income. Agatha had warned him, several times, mind you, but all you can do is all you can do. The heart wants what it wants, she presumes.

"If not Hort, who then?"

"Oh, you don't know him yet," She could practically see Sophie twirling a golden lock on her fingers, a mischievous smirk on her face.

"Clearly," Agatha rolled her eyes and put her phone on speaker to be able to look around for her keys more comfortably. Reaper, her cat, had a bad habit of hiding them in the weirdest places. "Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone last time we went out for coffee?"

"Because I wasn't seeing anyone at the time," the blonde-haired woman sounded a bit annoyed, seemingly not understanding why Agatha was having such a hard time believing her ludicrous story.

"Sophie."

"Yes, Aggie?"

"That was literally three weeks ago."

"It's true love, Agatha. I can feel it. This is my real-life fairytale. I found the perfect guy for me. He's so different from anyone I've ever met…" Agatha tuned her out, finally realizing what was going on.

For Sophie, everyone she dates is her one true love. She was intense like that. There were lots of "perfect guys" on the list, too many, and eventually Agatha grew tired of counting them. Neither did she remember their names. Why bother, when Sophie would grow tired of them soon enough?

Her friend's drug of choice just so happened to be was serial dating with lots of love-bombing on the side.

Parents got divorced? Look at this cute basketball player that will probably cheat on me.

Bad day at a shoot? Oh, that barista is so sexy, bet he'll hook up with me anyway.

I have no idea where my career is going and hate my major? Why not call Hort up, right?

But getting actually married? That's new.

Agatha sighed, picking up her keys from the pot of her balcony plant. Time to be the be the grown-up. Again.

"Sophie, are you 100% sure you want to get married to this guy? Can't you wait a few months at least? How about you guys move in with each other first?" If Sophie doesn't tire of him, that would terrify the poor thing into ending this madness. Again, Agatha would know. She had to stay at Sophie's for a few weeks once, back when she had split with a partner whom she had been living with; it was hell on earth.

"Weren't you hearing, Aggie? We. Are. Soulmates. He is very serious about me. He's so in love with me, he would never hurt me, and I need to tie him down before he runs away. Isn't this what people always say?" Her friend's voice was getting snappy. Oh, no, not good.

"Sophie, I just think you should be more careful and reasonable…" Agatha tried to pacify, tiredly.

Did she not own any clean jeans? Damn. Why does she keep forgetting to do her laundry? The blue skirt she wore to work would have to do.

"It's always reason, with you, Agatha! You never listen to your heart! I thought you would be happy for me! You're always telling me just how much potential I have! He brings out the best in me! What do you even know about relationships anyway, you always end up ru-"

"SOPHIE!" She interrupted, before her friend could say something she'd regret and crush whatever good mood was left in Agatha's body. "I'm just surprised, that's all. Tell me about this guy…?"

Fuck it, she decided. Agatha was in currently in a hurry and this could be solved later. She wasn't going to be able to win Sophie over the phone. Maybe she could sit her down on sunday, have one long talk about red flags in relationships, again. Convince her to stay engaged for a bit longer, just enough for her to get bored and then call it all off as soon as the new whats-his-face walks through the door.

Now was not the moment to be arguing, especially if she wanted to be on time.

"…And he's so great and wonderful, he's tall, has these hypnotizing eyes, they're so intense, it's like they suck you in, Aggie! His hair is just wow, it's a very uncommon shade of blonde, the undertone is beautiful, so expensive-looking... but it's natural, he swears. And his skin is so soft, you wouldn't believe, his name is…"

Agatha tried to listen. She really did. However, all she could hear was "bla, bla, bla, perfect, bla, bla, bla, handsome". Lord, not this again. Did it get worse every time...?

The brunette stuffed her wallet in a handbag, grappling to close it (it had been a present from Sophie, and as such, probably hardwired to annoy her and look good at the same time), and gave herself a look over in the mirror, before frowning. Oh, time for her limited make-up skills to be of use.

Damn, she looked rough. She left in hurry that morning, so her bare face stared back at her in its full sleepless-racoon glory.

It has been a long week of nothing but late nights trying to get her workload done. She couldn't believe she was saying this, but she missed college. At least back then she didn't have to worry about rent. Oh, to be young, broke, dead-inside and living on a dorm. The wonders, truly.

Concealer, blush, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. There. Done.

Kinda?

"… So, are you up to it?"

What.

"… Hm, sure?" She responded, still trying to evaluate if her liner was acceptably symmetrical. It wasn't. It never was, but it wasn't always this bad. Really, not her best work. Maybe she could fix it, somehow?

"That's amazing, you'll look so pretty, the dress I picked is perfect for your undertone, you'll be the best maid-of-honor ever!"

Oh, god, no. No way. What has she done?

Should she do that red-flag-talk now?

"How… nice of you to say that," Agatha replied, barely contained horror coming across in her tone. Not that Sophie paid her any attention.

"I set the date for the engagement brunch-party for tomorrow around 10am. At the terrace. And speaking of dates, I must introduce you to someone, he's great, Aggie, and I think you guys could…"

No. No. No. Agatha is drawing the line here.

"Oh really, cool, hey I have to go, callyoulaterbye-"

Agatha throws her phone on the bed, groaning loudly. Reaper stirs in her pillow, but is otherwise unbothered by the conversation, unlike his owner.

Of all things… getting married. Agatha was now her bridesmaid. Engagement brunch…?

Sophie, why. Why?

Agatha was now an accomplice of this crime against good judgement, wasn't she? Should she call Sophie again…?

Ugh, you know what? She'll sort this out this later. Sophie could wait a few hours, Agatha earned this night out.

…This totally is going to come back to bite her, isn't it?

Well, too late, Agatha's leaving. Because, unlike Sophie, who clearly had too much free time in her hands, Agatha had things to do and couldn't just waste her precious friday nights on this kind of bullshit.

.

.

.

"You're late," is the first thing Hester says to Agatha, not even lifting her gaze from her phone as she approaches their table.

It was the usual one, right by the wall, perfectly placed so it was far enough from the dance floor but close enough to the bar, so it was still socially acceptable to be seated but not too "loser-zoned", in Hester's own words.

Hester herself looked the same as always. Dressed head-to-toe in black and showing off an impressive number of tattoos per square inch of skin, she made quite the intimidating sight. The only tip to her actual day job was the discarded white blazer and sleek suitcase lying on a chair beside her. Back in school, Agatha used to find it hard to picture Hester being anything but a witchy-biker or a badass-tattoo-artist, but she supposed scary-lawyer suited her friend just fine.

"Nice to see you too, Hester. I've been well, thanks for asking," Agatha sits down, annoyed. She knows she's late. She missed the "early-comers, free entrance" time, and damn if the isn't pissed that she's now 15 bucks broker then she already was. "Anadil, Dot, it's great to see you guys too"

Both women acknowledge her presence quietly: Anadil nods,before getting up from her spot and leaving to god-wishes-he-knew-where and Dot hugs her briefly, headed to the bar.

Hester rolls her eyes and repeats herself.

"You're late."

"Shut up, I'm here, aren't I?!" Agatha snaps, before she bit her lip and propped her elbows onto the table, head in her hands.

The gesture makes Hester lift her eyes from the phone, finally.

"Well, someone's had a bad day."

"Look, I'm sorry. It's been one looong horrid day. Have you ordered any drinks? Or are we going for beer tonight?" Agatha asks, going over the familiar menu, even though she has every beverage price there already memorized.

"Okay, slow down," Hester yanks the menu out of her hands. "Have you eaten? I'm not going to take care of you if you didn't."

Yes, she would, but that's not relevant.

"Yes, mom," Agatha rolled her eyes. "I'm tired, tomorrow is gonna suck, let's drink."

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow's saturday, loser, sleep to your hearts content," Hester reminds her, but at seeing Agatha stare back at her in misery it occurred to her what, or rather, who, this was about.

"Blondie has been texting me non-stop about brunch. At 10. What's up with that?" She lifts a brow, her judging eyes scanning Agatha's expression. Agatha in turn, lets her elbows drop and bangs her head onto the table, harder than originally planned, a whimper leaving her lips.

Hester sighs. She loves Agatha to the death, but when it comes to Sophie, she has always been way too forgiving. Agatha was not Sophie's mother, she shouldn't have to look out for her and bend over backyards to help her. Personally, Hester and Sophie didn't get along very well.

Which lead to: Sophie never invited Hester anywhere, unless she wanted to rub something in Hester's face.

"...Apparently, she's getting married in, like, two weeks?" Hester's brows lift in surprise. "...To some guy I don't know?" Higher. "...And I'm a bridesmaid?" Almost disappearing into her hairline by now.

Awkward pause.

"Okay," Hester breathes in and out, "what the actual hell?"

"My words exactly."

"She'll be over it in a week," the tattooed woman deadpans.

"No doubt," the other replies.

Three more seconds go by, and it's far too long for Agatha, whose leg starts to twitch under the table.

"You're doing it again," she states.

"Doing what?" Hester asks, crossing her arms, lying back at her chair.

"That thing."

"What thing?"

"You know," Agatha vaguely gestures at Hester's face, "that thing your eyebrows do when you're being judgy."

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"I so need a drink right now," she tells her before leaving the table.

.

.

.

At the bar counter, Agatha sits down on a stool and waits for the bartender, Chaddick, to show up, ignoring Hester's glare on her back.

Now for some unnecessary backstory, in case you're interested: Agatha and Chaddick had a bit of history (read, beef) long before this club, The Woods, opened and even before Agatha and Hester started to have their monthly night-out there.

Chaddick was a jock whom Agatha went to school with, all the way from sixth grade to senior year of high school. To be brief, he was the worst ™. He made fun of her, tormented her days, spread rumors about her (including one that she was witch, which lasted for years) and even stole her stuff once. In senior year, he had even developed this habit of showing up with his friends at the tea place her mother owned, where she had worked a few shifts from time to time, ordering not a single drop of fucking tea, being loud and annoying for hours and only leaving when closing hour neared.

Agatha was sure that if you googled 'jackass', his picture would turn up. He'd been so full of himself, all because he had some cash, was athletic and was "cute", you know, in that white-upper-middle-class-way that most school-aged popular boys tended to be. But then, flash-forward: Chaddick now worked wednesday to saturday as a bartender at Agatha's favorite club. Apparently, his parents went bankrupt or something during college. Agatha felt kinda bad for him, but not really? She supposed he wasn't as terrible of a human being nowadays, but she was not about to go ahead and call him her friend, no matter how many times she had to make small talk with him for the sake of bar etiquette.

"So what's it gonna be today?" The bartender asked, not quite politely, but she lets it slide, for she could tell he was as thrilled about this conversation as her.

Chaddick, too, looks the same, to no one's surprise. He looked more tired, but still douchey enough that Agatha didn't feel too horrible of a person for not feeling as sorry for him as she probably should.

"Surprise me. I've had a very bad day."

"Is Sophie actually up to something then?" He asks while grabbing some bottles, "I hear there's going to be a brunch-party tomorrow…?"

"Who told you? Reena?" Chaddick dismisses the name casually with his hand. "Gisele?" 'no', he denies with his head. "Beatrix then?" he nods, uncharacteristically shy, and Agatha nearly felt pleased, before she remembered what they were talking about before. "Bingo. But yes, there's a brunch-party tomorrow. An engagement brunch-party."

He hands her a cup, wide-eyed, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Engagement? Do I even wanna know w-"

"You don't. Trust me on this," Agatha cuts him off, taking a sip of the beverage. She doesn't recognize its taste, which makes her wary. She knows her alchool. "What did you even put here?"

"It's a secret, tonight's special," he winked mockingly, before hurrying on to the next client.

Agatha briefly wonders if she should drink the rest of it, eyeing the cup curiously. It didn't smell bad and she kind of liked the taste. Should she trust Chaddick? Probably not. Then again, Agatha needed a drink tonight.

It would be fine. She is no lightweight, Hester is here, tomorrow's saturday. Right?

Another thing that would probably bite her later. So, she braces herself and downs the cup in a few large sips, heading back to her table.

Bring it on.

.

.

.

Two other cups of who-knows-what and an hour later, Agatha was back at the bar, now sitting in different stool, as far from Chaddick as she possibly could be, when a body drops on the sit next to her.

It's Dot, giggling loudly like a high school girl on heavy drugs.

The giggling persists for quite some time.

... It's kinda creeping Agatha out.

"Penny for your thoughts…?" She tries, taking a sip of her drink.

No response.

Giggle.

More silence.

"Hm, Dot?"

She continues to stare at her joyfully, still smiling like a madwoman.

Agatha found Dot adorable and friendly, which was a surprise since she was one of Hester's best friends. The two of them weren't really that close themselves, but she did enjoy her company. Being friends with Dot was as easy as it was harmless.

"Don't look, but there's a really hot guy right by the pool table who hasn't been able to take his eyes off you for the last fifteen minutes."

Agatha's eyebrows shot up in Hester-like fashion and she fights the instinct to turn around and check if Dot isn't messing with her.

She knows she is not the most attractive female in the room. Agatha tends to think of herself as more of an acquired taste, truly. Yet, every blue moon someone would come over to try their luck with her. Sometimes they're cute, sometimes they're funny and sometimes they're just desperate. So far, "hot guys" haven't really been her target demographic.

"So what? What's the big deal?" She tries to keep her nerves out of her voice, mostly succeeding, but Dot's smile only grew more and more mischievous, as if seeing right through her.

"Turn around. I dare you not to remember him. Pretty sure Sophie told you about how she met him again a few weeks ago, at that event she went to? The one sponsored by Camelot International?"

…Okay, so Agatha might be a bit of a bad friend. She didn't listen to 90% of Sophie's rants about guys or modeling events, so most likely she had told her about him as Agatha did something else. Something important, really.

…Like playing games on her tablet.

She worked a lot, okay? Can't have people hogging all her free time. Even if it was Sophie. Her best friend.

Shit.

Agatha's face must have betrayed her because Dot laughed even louder than before.

"You seriously don't?" she managed to ask between giggles, as Agatha blushed, frowning.

"I should?"

"Most likely yes. Sometimes you're way too funny, you know?" Her smile was dangerous. Stop smiling at Agatha like that, woman.

It was at times like this she could see why Hester and Dot were such good friends.

"Thanks, I think?" Agatha eyes her companion carefully "How hot is this guy any…"

"Hot enough for you to talk to me, I hope," a male voice announced behind her, seemingly amused.

Not her day. Definitely not her day.

"He's right behind me?!"

Dot giggled loudly a final time before walking away to Hester's table. Very helpful. Forget what Agatha said about liking Dot. She didn't. Dot was a horrible person.

Agatha turned on her heels, facing the stranger with a sheepish smile. She was not ready for what was about to bite her.

Oh damn, please do.

…Figuratively, fuck. She meant in a figurative way.

Before we go on, Agatha would like to clarify that she blames any less than pure thoughts on Chaddick, because who knows what he put into her drink.

(Yeah, it's totally Chaddick's fault)

Amen, praise Jesus, okay?

Embarrassingly, her first instinct is to say that yes, he was totally hot enough to talk to her. Or come home with her. Or marry her (too soon for this joke, scratch that). That's not what she did, however. Oh, no, she stood there, in silence, and stared for quite a while before her brain rebooted and she finally gained control of her own body again.

Agatha is the first in line to advocate on why you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but she had eyes.

He was tall. As tall, if not taller than her, and Agatha was a tall woman. His jeans looked expensive and his light blue social shirt was tight on his chest, almost as if it were a size too small, the top buttons open, defined muscles visible to even the most casual observer. The shirt was paired with a grey-ish tie that hanged loosely around his neck, a bit too effortless-looking to be unintentional. His features were sharp, sculpted even, a certain California-sunny-surfer meets Adonis-next-door quality to them. Soft blond locks had an unnatural shine under the club's lights, as if they were made of gold.

And his eyes, my god, they were so blue Agatha felt like sinking and drowning in his arms right then and there. Unfortunately, she couldn't. Because you see, she is a grown woman and had a little thing called dignity.

Not that she didn't want to though.

Focus.

He did look kind of familiar. Had they met before? Agatha doesn't think so. This man looked like he just walked out of a Calvin Klein ad, and she sure as hell didn't know many people who look like that. One of Sophie's model friends? If so, she certainly hadn't introduced the two.

Yet, the way he was looking at her right now indicated the reality that she should probably know who he is. Maybe he was from her old gym, back when she let Sophie talk her into going for a few months? No, there were no hot guys there, just old ladies and teenagers.

Okay, so, plan B, say something smart.

"Hm…"

Say something.

"…So…"

Anything!

He doesn't look very impressed by her articulate conversation skills, but Agatha can't place where she had seen him before. Maybe they had been neighbors at some point? She moved quite a few times in these last years and keeping track of all of them was impossible. But that didn't seem quite right. A friend of one of her exes then? Did they meet at pride or something?

Seriously, who was this guy! Acting all smooth, as if she should know who he is! He's good looking enough to be memorable sure, but clearly not memorable enough.

Hell, did she sleep with him? He must have been the worst one night stand ever for Agatha to somehow forget him. Maybe he was so bad that she forgot about him completely...?

"I give up, I can't remember you."

He looked a bit offended. Maybe he was indeed a Calvin Klein model.

"The name's Tedros…?"

Tedros, Tedros… Tedros?

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell," she concludes, "but, I'm, hm, Agatha?"

"I know," he responds, curt and firm, nearly glaring at her.

"Neat."

"Nice."

"Good."

"Great."

"Awesome."

"Amazing."

"Extraordinary."

"Now, that's a big word," he mocks. Agatha suspects he just didn't know any bigger ones to keep up. Part of her wishes to strangle him with his own tie and part of her wants to call him out on his shit. He approached her, okay? She is under no obligation to recognize him.

Her eyes narrow and she sips on her fourth cup again.

"Do you need for me to tell you what it means?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine."

The passive-aggressive-ness of this conversation is starting to exhaust her and kill any buzz she had, but she can't just let Mr. everyone-knows-who-I-am-and-I-look-like-walking-sex win. He needed to go down (on her). What.

"Hm, Tedros, you're going to order something or what?"

Chaddick cuts the stare contest between brown and blue and Agatha makes a note to leave him a nicer tip tonight.

"What's the special of the day?" Tedros' tone is amused, as if he and Chaddick are old friends. Ugh, of course he would. He sounded douchey enough. Maybe he went to school with her? That sounded about right, she could picture it. Pretty-boy-Tedros, walking down the hall wearing a football jacket with a cheerleader or two on his arm.

"Nice little things I've put together," Chaddick wiggled his eyebrows. "Want some?"

"Is it safe?" Tedros asks him, cautiously.

"Well, Agatha here is still fine at four, I would say so."

Soon enough Tedros is downing his second cup, sitting on the stool next to hers.

.

.

.

Agatha wasn't sure how or why, but things went from point A to point B very, very quickly.

Point A being sitting beside Tedros at the bar and point B being heavily making out with him in a corner.

Agatha wishes she was joking. She wasn't. It just…somehow…happened?

Fuck.

It all started when Tedros eventually caught up to her and from there on they held a little amicable drinking competition.

("I bet you can't do more shots than me." "Oh, you're so on!" "You drink like a fourteen-year old, dude." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah.")

Then, they paid for their drinks. Well, Tedros did.

("Did you just... pay for me?" "It's called having manners." "Excuse you?")

After that, Chaddick kicked them out to the dance floor, something about the two of them 'grossing him out'. Agatha is not much of a dancer, so she tried to go back her table but Tedros said something (she can't quite remember what it was) that made her realize that she kind of didn't want to. Leave, she means.

They danced for a bit before she stepped on Tedros's foot, or maybe he stepped on hers first?

("Ouch." "Get out of my way!" "Make me.")

From there on it was incomprehensible screaming over loud music for a while and they somehow ended up being way too up in each other's personal space. Agatha eventually just lost it, and grabbed him by his collar, bringing him down to place a forceful peck on his lips, before backing away, partly horrified, partly proud.

It took two mortifyingly long seconds of silence and pure embarrassment for Tedros to grab her by the waist and kiss her roughly.

They stumbled to a more secluded corner, until Agatha's back hit a wall, but she was distracted from the pain of the impact by Tedros licking her bottom lip, seeking her tongue, a small sound escaping her once he found it. What the hell is she even doing, this should not be happening. And yet, she cannot bring herself to care.

This is a wild, passionate kiss and not at all Agatha's expertise. She always considered herself more of a slow-vanilla-soft kind of girl. But out the window with that, Tedros was nowhere near close enough, no matter that they were already flush against each other. Maybe this is why Sophie thinks every guy she meets is her soulmate. As cheesy as it sounds, she feels somehow connected to this stranger, almost as if they were meant to be or something.

Ha, as if.

Any thoughts, of soulmates or otherwise, are forgotten when Tedros' hands start to wander, one goes from her waist to her hip and the other moves to explore her tight, squeezing it deliciously. Agatha retaliates by pulling on his hair, not as lightly as she probably should've, but is rewarded with a husky groan and a bite on her bottom lip.

(She does it again because that might be her new favorite sound.)

What. Is. Going. On.

Her last braincells are on fire. She was on fire.

Okay, young lady, de-attach yourself from the handsome male slo…

Oh God.

She's pretty much breathless when he decides to break the kiss, her lips chasing after his for the slightest second as he pulls away. Her heartbeat has never been this loud and she has no time to overthink, as, suddenly, his lips are on her neck. Agatha lets out a quiet, but embarrassingly needy, whine (as quietly as she could, but it didn't really matter, he heard her anyway) when he nips on her ear and then trails down to suck at her pulse point. Her hands snake their way from his hair to under his shirt's collar and Tedros shivers once she drags her short nails lightly on his upper back and shoulders, but she can still feel his very attractive smug smirk against her skin.

She felt drunk. She doesn't feel like that often.

Not the completely-trashed-I-just-had-countless-drinks kind of drunk and certainly not this don't-care-keep-going-my-blood-is-on-fire kind of drunk either. Like she wanted to keep touching Tedros for the rest of her life (the idea doesn't sound half bad), as fireworks danced around them and… God, if Sophie knows this guy how she could not marry him on the spot, because fuck…

He's leaving quite a few love bites along her collarbone, teasing, attempting (and succeeding) at drawing tiny sounds from her and Agatha can't take it anymore. She drags him back up to her mouth and somehow pulls him even closer. She did not like feeling weak, but to her surprise, Tedros seemed to possess the superpower of turning her completely boneless in the best kind of way.

Wait.

Agatha is making out with Tedros.

Tedros is making out with her.

Agatha's eyes open in late realization and the two of them stare at each other for a few seconds.

So, this happened, huh?

"I… hm… have to go. Out of here. Home. Alone. Yeah, that," Agatha makes way around paralyzed Tedros, whom looks very confused and disoriented. His lips are tainted with coral lipstick, he's panting for air, his bright eyes dark with desire, clothes looking disrelished, pants looking a bit too tight, and he just looks throughfully kissed.

No, Agatha does not feel even a little tiny bit of pride by seeing him look like that because of her, what are you talking about, not sexy, not sexy at all.

… Maybe he could come along?

No. No, no, no.

She doesn't run away from him exactly, but she sure as hell wasn't walking. As she passes Hester and Anadil, the two of them raise eyebrows judgingly, but Agatha does her best to school her expression into neutrality.

If she waited a bit longer, she might have heard Tedros saying:

"Until tomorrow then."

.

.

.

Agatha regrets every single life choice that led her to this point.

She's sitting on a ridiculously shaped chair at Sophie's apartment building's terrace, brooding silently in the corner, with a big headache, while eating some diet cake that tasted like foam, listening to violin versions of bad pop songs, probably dying of heatstroke, and if that doesn't kill her soon enough, can someone please end her misery…

Hester and Anadil are not here after all. Agatha doesn't blame them. It might be for the best, because Agatha doesn't need to deal with Hester's judgy eyebrows right now. Dot is down in Sophie's apartment, at the kitchen, most likely trying to steal some wine and she is pretty much the only person here Agatha can stand.

She partly wonders if Hort will show up but decides she does not care. She's running on aspirin, her head feels like it was smashed against a wall multiple times, and it's too hot here, okay?

It's a hot sunny day and the limited shade would not be enough to cool Agatha down even if she wasn't wearing a scarf. Agatha hates this scarf. It was another one of Sophie's gifts, and Agatha hates it because it's an evil scarf that pinches her every five seconds. However it's the lightest scarf she owns, and she can't it take off.

Otherwise, someone might notice the dark mark on her neck, which her shirt could not hide, as was the case for the other ones, lower, in her collarbones.

Tedros freaking marked her. The nerve.

She's not nearly as pissed as she should be, because honestly she's kinda into it.

Taking off the scarf would lead to too much teasing and questions, she had no turtlenecks available (damn you, past-Agatha, for not doing your laundry) and if only she had the skills to cover it up with makeup. Not only was the scarf evil by itself, it made it impossible for her to not think of yesterday, therefore, making her even more irritable.

She is not the kind of person who kisses people at the club. She sure as hell wouldn't bring a guy she's just met, at the club of all places, home. What if he'd been a psycho? She doesn't know him. He'd know where she lived. She wouldn't go to his place either, that sounded even more irresponsible. But she wishes she had at least gotten his number, you know, instead of freaking out and running away. Well, he knew Chaddick, so maybe she could ask him?

No, that would be humiliating, and Agatha is trying to hang on to whatever dignity she had left.

Also, it had been almost an hour at this damned terrace party and she hasn't seen a single trace of Sophie's fiancé, but the blonde assured her he would be there soon. He's the late-type, hm.

Okay, so Agatha hates him already.

She has been to this terrace quite a few times, it was the one pro of Sophie's building, aside from cheap rent. But she was running out of both will and things to point out in small talk with all these models and small influencers. If she hears "Sophie has such a lovely terrace" one more time…

Suddenly, there was clank, signaling that someone pushed the terrace door open. As Sophie lit up and moved to greet the newcomer, Agatha felt the cake climb up her throat.

Holy hell, is that Tedros?

What is her life, really.

Agatha gets up from her chair quietly, observing the scene from behind a plant, trying not to be too obvious, just, ya know, casually chilling in the middle of the scorching sun. Sophie hugs him tightly, placing a kiss on his cheek, grinning as she laces their fingers together and starts walking in Agatha's general direction, pulling the handsome man behind her.

Hm, no.

Agatha resists the urge to pace in circles as she tries to gather her thoughts. It might be the hangover or the diet cake but seeing the two of them together made her wanna barf. Not because they didn't look good together. They did. In fact, maybe too good. Sophie's long soft hair was a shade or two lighter than Tedros', but other than that, they might as well have been made in the same Instagram-model-facility. Like a set, Barbie and Ken.

What is this feeling?

Oh no, she can see them approaching. Abort mission, leave, get out, hit the road…

"Aggie, darling!"

Agatha forces herself to fake a confident smile, as if she could always be found casually hanging out behind plants on saturday mornings. It turned out to be more of sheepish grin, especially when compared to her friend, whose pretty smile is almost too big for her too pretty face.

Sophie looked particularly gorgeous in her pastel green summer dress and peep-toe heels. Her tanned skin glows under the sun, the light catching in her green eyes on that special way that made photographers all around the industry want to work with her despite her inexperience, the grace within her movements creating an allure Agatha doesn't think she'd be able to recreate even if she were to be born again.

This is not good. Leave, abort mission, repeat, abort miss…

"Aggie, this is Tedros, you know, the one I was telling you about yesterday," she winked. "Teddy, this is my bestie, Agatha, you remember her, right?" Sophie nudges him lightly using her elbow.

Tedros looks even better now that she can see him in natural daylight. Which should be illegal, truly. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, his hair made of pure gold looked just messy enough to not look too try-hard, yet something about him looked weirdly… staged? Agatha couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"I surely do," Tedros lets go of Sophie's hand, shoulders tensing, and Agatha thinks he might be blushing. Is he nervous? "We-"

"Nice to meet you," Agatha interrupts him, grasping his hand on a firm handshake and letting go just as fast, as if touching his skin would burn her. "Sophie told me a lot about you."

Play along, please. I beg you.

"Oh, hm, it's very nice to meet you too?" Tedros responds, confused, but not calling her out. "Nice scarf," he adds, his lips curling upwards, so very slightly she might have missed if she wasn't micro-analyzing his every movement. Smug bastard. She is all too aware of his gaze lingering on her neck, a hint of pride showing in his bright eyes, the teasing in his voice making her want to pull him down by the collar, whether to choke him or to kiss him she couldn't tell.

"Oh, isn't it cute? See, Aggie, I told you that color looked great on you!" Sophie cuts in, reaching to touch said scarf. Agatha steps back self-consciously, making an effort to not scratch the back of her neck as not to call more attention to it.

"Quite the bold fashion statement for the summer, may I add," Tedros continues as he casually leaned one elbow on Sophie's shoulder. Subtle enough that Sophie wouldn't read too much into it, but Agatha could see right through his shit. "But I like it. You look very pretty, Agatha"

How dare he, truly. No sham-

Wait.

"So, I need to get going, work emergency you see, but I'll make it up to you, Sophie," Agatha excuses herself, quickly. She tells herself it's just the heat that it's bothering her, but her brain is going 300 miles per hours and she needs to leave. Now.

"Aggie, tomorrow we'll be having lunch at the country club, don't be late!"

"Yeah, be there, alright."

Agatha sprints down the complex's stairs as discreetly as she can, which is not much. By the time she's at her car, the weight of her realization hits her full force.

.

.

.

"I'm getting married, Aggie"

"Not Hort"

"You don't know him yet"

.

.

.

"Aggie, this is Tedros, you know, the one I was telling you about yesterday."

.

.

.

"That was literally three weeks ago."

"I dare you not to remember him. Pretty sure Sophie told you about how she met him again a few weeks ago at that event she went to? The one sponsored by Camelot International?"

.

.

.

"…Oh he's so great and wonderful, he's tall, has these hypnotizing eyes, they're so intense, its like they suck you in, Aggie! His hair is just wow, it's a very uncommon shade of blonde, the undertone is beautiful, so expensive-looking, but it's natural, he swears, and his skin is so soft you wouldn't believe, his name is…"

"bla, bla, bla, perfect, bla, bla, bla, handsome"

.

.

.

"He's so different from anyone I've ever met…"

"She feels somehow connected to this stranger, almost as if they were meant to be or something."

.

.

.

"Acting all smooth, as if she should know who he is!"

"He looked a bit offended."

"The name's Tedros?"

.

.

.

"God, if Sophie knows this guy how could she not marry him on the spot…"

"Sophie hugs him tightly, placing a kiss on his cheek, grinning as she laces their fingers together and starts walking, pulling the handsome man behind her."

.

.

.

Agatha is a very bad friend, isn't she?

She bangs her head on the wheel.

Then, she regrets doing so, opening the car's door, so she could vomit some diet cake and last night's alcohol on the parking lot's floor before driving away.

.

.

.

By a miracle, Agatha survives the drive home and makes it back home in one piece.

As she walks into her own apartment, she does not feel half as guilty as she thought she would be. But she was very, very angry. Furious, actually.

At herself for being both a dumbass and a bad friend, at Tedros for being a player, at Chaddick for being a dick in general, at Sophie for being Sophie, at Dot for not warning her and even at Hester for not being at the party today so Agatha could at least not freak out by herself.

She can't do anything for the rest of the day, because trying to work, read or sleep is useless, since she can't focus with all the internal screeching her mind is doing. Her existence now doesn't make any sense and Agatha is about to tear her hair out, lying down in her bed, staring at the celling.

(There's a long crack on there and for whatever reason, it reminded her of a river. Probably because it didn't look like anything else.)

She contemplates calling Hester and telling her everything but ultimately decides against it. She can't bring herself to explain this out loud, least of all hear any possible lecture Hester might give her. Is this how Sophie feels when she decides hide things from her-

Oh my God, Sophie.

Tedros was engaged. To Sophie. He was Sophie's fiancé.

Agatha is not freaking out at all.

.

.

.

At last, ten long hours of sulking later, Agatha is feeling a lot guiltier, still very much pissed and just confused as a whole.

She made out with Sophie's fiancé. Should she tell her? Yes. Would she? To be decided.

Maybe they wouldn't even get married. Come on, a few weeks? There's no way Sophie will keep up this insanity. Telling her about the club incident would only hurt their life-long friendship over a guy who wasn't even gonna last two months. Years of companionship out the window. She had no intention of doing it again so, did it really matter? What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel, right?

She hadn't even known he was Sophie's fiancé!

But then again, Sophie had told her all about him. She didn't listen because she was a bad friend! Was she really gonna play the "I didn't know" card...?

It was the truth!

But no one would believe her. Fuck, if Agatha were Sophie, she wouldn't believe herself. Agatha was a smart grown woman, godamn it. What kind of dumb bitch even-

This wedding wasn't happening. No need to worry, right?

For now, Agatha has two long weeks of supposedly weeding-related bonding moments with Sophie to survive, without accidentally letting slip that, oh, talked, drank, danced and made out with Tedros.

Well, shit.

.

.

.

Even if one ignored the fact that the guilt was starting to eat Agatha alive from inside out, the next day would still have been a long, tortured journey of nothing but cringe and regrets. Yet she bore it, because she, even if accidentally, brought this on herself.

Agatha got up early on a sunday (name a bigger crime) to try and get something done, since she would probably have little time to work in the following weeks. Then, she went to have lunch with Sophie at a fancy country club (that Sophie couldn't afford by the way, which earned her a lecture on credit cards and personal finances) hoping to have that "red-flag" talk.

It did not go well.

Sophie had invited him along. Of course, she would. Apparently, since she was getting married soon, Agatha should be used to have him around. And, of course, Sophie would have decided to tell her he was coming the moment he walked in, headed to their table.

This is Sophie's fiancé. Do. Not. Stare.

What kind of cosmic karma is this? He isn't even her type.

WHY-

"Afternoon, ladies."

Sophie greeted the blonde with a smile and a hug, as Agatha merely nodded his way, scanning the room for the closest exit.

"Hi Teddy!"

"Tedros."

Lunch is awkward as hell and at this point Agatha is just waiting for a waiter to come and stab her. It ends up being both not so terrible and the worst lunch ever because she does talk quite a lot with Tedros, against her better judgment.

She learns that Tedros did go to her school, for three years. Sophie asks him if he remembers Agatha, and from Tedros' silence, Agatha assumes he doesn't want to admit to having been part of Chaddick's... shenanigans.

Her friend then talks astrology, and Agatha learns that he is a leo (because of course he would), is kinda proud of it but says he doesn't believe in astrology, prompting Sophie to start a discussion on why he wouldn't believe in astrology if he believed in tarot. The way he blushes and stammers is cute and makes Agatha feel horrible for thinking so, but she asks him about tarot anyway. She's just being polite, okay?

He mentions he'd turned 26 a while ago and recently moved back to the city, as he moved away to go to college in Avalon. She tells him she almost went there, but her scholarship did not include a dormroom and she knew no one there to share an apartment with. His answer is a blunt "I know", which both confuses and pisses her off.

Tedros offers her no further info on it, but they engage in conversation again after he mentions he is working at Camelot International.

("As one of the main executives on the board," Sophie adds, "it's one of the most powerful companies in the country.")

They quickly bond over their massive workloads (Agatha may not be a main executive of a huge corporate empire, but damn if being head finance director for SGE Enterprises didn't keep her busy enough), until Sophie slips that he must be very lucky to be the sole heir to the Pendragon Group.

Oh.

Tedros Pendragon. Are you kidding? Agatha remembers seeing his family's name being all over the news back in school and she feels dumb for not remembering that Tedros and 'that Pendragon boy' were the same person. Hadn't his parents had a huge cheating-divorce-scandal that caused the stock for the company to plummet a few years ago?

Tedros frowns at Sophie before saying that, "Yes, indeed, he's very lucky."

The blonde doesn't seem to notice the way his hands grip the fork tightly as he pronounces the last word, but Agatha does.

It adds on to the list of things that keep her awake later, after she does her damn laundry and stress-cleans her entire apartment. She curses as she turns and tosses on her bed, because it's 2 AM, work starts in a few hours and she needs to sleep.

.

.

.

The next four days are not much different, the routine is pretty much the same, except they have dinner plans instead of lunch. Work, eat, work, do bridesmaid shit with Sophie and Tedros somewhere, avoid his gaze, talk for a bit over something like choosing the best flower arrangements, and then hightail out of there, only to come home and be restless.

She was still very confused, because honestly, Tedros didn't seem bad at all. The more she talked to him, the least she wanted to stop talking to him. He definitely had some family issues and was doing some overcompensating, but nothing that made him, like, a total trash human.

And yet, he was still the guy who hit on her (fucking made out with her), knowing exactly who she was, while being engaged to her best friend.

She always thought herself a good judge of character.

Anyway, she did her best to act aloofly polite and if he ever seemed to hint at the night at The Woods, Agatha cut him off before he could. It was a good plan. Wait it out. And it really was working just fine.

Until the dress store.

For some reason she cannot wrap her head around, Tedros is there too.

(Isn't there a tradition against seeing the dress of your bride before the wedding or something?)

At some point, Sophie struggles to get into a particularly complicated dress at the dressing room, yelling at the poor employees like a harpy on a rampage and Agatha is about to intervene when he manages to pull her aside, his grip firm but with a certain gentleness that made her skin burn.

He semi-drags her across the store through a sea of sparkly white dresses and into this small nook between sections. Agatha does not want to admit that the main reason why he is able to do that is because she allows him to.

Things only go downhill from there.

He has her cornered, her back nearly merging with the wall as he stands close to her, his posture tense, moving slowly, like one would in presence of a startled animal. He doesn't look like he is trying to purposely intimidate her, and she doesn't feel particularly unsafe. No words are spoken between them and the silence allows Agatha's senses to pick up on a deliciously rich smell. Is that Tedros' cologne-

Agatha forces down the rash that is creeping up her neck and tries to focus on doing what she does best, aka, running away from her problems. She looks anywhere but his face, but he is not making ignoring him an easy job.

"I don't get you."

What.

"Excuse me?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Agatha scoffs, arms crossing in front of her chest.

"I truly don't."

Her response seems to annoy him, which she counts as a win, but Agatha might have declared victory just a bit too soon. Tedros, who was a couple of feet away has managed to get way too close (yet again). His hand raises her chin and forces her to look into his eyes. Her resolution to run away falters and she's scared he might hear her heartbeat speed up.

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Agatha. One second you don't like me, then you do like me, then you don't again… I don't understand the game you're playing here… So, I'll make this simple, you won, congratulations, now stop playing games, now you know I'm interested."

Agatha blinks. This is… not the conversation she thought she was going to have.

Of course, during her nightly overthinking sessions she thought about what she'd say if he confronted her about the previous friday, even if she didn't think he'd have the balls to actually do it. But she seems to have been reduced to this dumpster fire nonsense. Tedros never did what she thought he was going to do and it was short-circuiting her braincells.

She's way too aware of the hold he has on her, the compromising situation they're in. One of his hands cages Agatha in, placed on the wall behind her head, while the other keeps her from adverting her gaze from his. Tedros is too close, he smells too good and his mouth looks too inviting.

She hears him, but she doesn't really hear him, his presence fogging up her senses.

Agatha briefly entertains the idea of giving into temptation and kissing him. How nice it would be to grab his collar, invert their positions, slam him against the wall and kiss him senseless, so he could feel just how helpless she felt having him corner her like this. Kiss him and just leave him there, wanting, begging, and…

What. Wow, fuck. Stop.

A new thought hits her like a ton bricks.

This guy is an asshole.

Tedros looks irritated and Agatha wants to punch him.

So she does.

She's strong enough to give him a black eye, but she (unintentionally, Agatha swears) holds backs and aims for his chest. However, she can tell it hurt a lot by the way his eyes water and he backs away several steps. She hears Sophie yelling their names across the store and giving Tedros one last glare, she turns around and walks away.

The nerve.

Why would anyone marry him?

Sophie needed a wakeup call. And fast. Because while Sophie could be a nightmare, she did not deserve to be played like that.

.

.

.

Agatha was not a superstitious person.

If she forgot her umbrella at home and it started raining when she left the dress shop (Tedros and Sophie both offered her a ride but she would rather choke, honestly, and said no, forgetting that she rode here with Sophie in the first place), it's not fate, it's bad luck. If she gets sick and loses her voice (and therefore can't go do neither her work or her bridesmaid duty), it's not conspiracy, it's simply a coincidence.

Well, call it fate, call it bad luck, call it conspiracy, call it coincidence. The case is that Agatha has lost her voice and has both a running nose and a fever. She considers texting the whole story to Sophie but changes her mind when she imagines the blonde woman's reaction.

Agatha, you're such a slut.

She is going to tell Sophie about this… this… this individual. Yeah, she was going to come clean and expose Tedros. No wedding.

Why was Tedros marrying Sophie anyway? She could understand why Sophie would go for Tedros. He did seem like her type. Young, rich, successful and handsome.

(Not really what she herself looked for. Agatha tended to go for witty, responsible people and who did not mind her blunt nature. Never in the history of ever, had Sophie and Agatha been interested on the same person.)

Anyway, he would give her lots of exposure, would look great on her Instagram feed, would be able to save her from her terrible apartment, student loan and infinite credit card debt, and would open up the world of fancy designer shoes and pretty gowns Sophie always dreamed of.

But why would he do that?

Tedros was, again, young, rich, successful and handsome. He hardly expressed any special affection towards Sophie or had the usual lovesick look most of Sophie's victims sported when they found themselves bewitched by her. They didn't really agree on much, from what Agatha gathered on their conversations, had no shared interests, lived completely different lifestyles, had different moral values and overall didn't seem to have the grandiose connection Sophie spoke of at all. Maybe he was with her because she was pretty? But again, why. There werw thousands of pretty girls willing to date young rich men, why Sophie in particular?

Something about this seemed off. She needs to talk to Sophie.

…When she recovered.

.

.

.

Alright, maybe it was conspiracy. The wedding was in two days.

Two days.

She supposes time does go by quickly when you're procrastinating something you really, really don't want to do. Nearly two weeks gone by in a flash. And, as she should, Agatha finally gets herself together. She is going to tell Sophie.

Well, she was going to tell Sophie. The blonde and a few of her friends were at The Woods for a last girl's night out. Meaning:

Sophie was currently drunk.

But maybe she wasn't?

She probably was though. Sophie was the most lightweight person Agatha knew, likely because she was so skinny. Girl could not hold her alcohol and drunk-Sophie was messy-Sophie. Unwilling, untamable and unimaginably difficult to have a coherent conversation with.

But, maybe she wasn't drunk? Agatha was not going to risk it.

She forces herself to hurry. She doesn't change out of her work outfit (merely discarding the suit's jacket), stopping by her house to feed Reaper and leave some important documents. Agatha even nearly forgets to lock her front door, calling a car to the club, hoping it might not be too late to come clean. But she was late anyway, as proven not only by the 15 bucks that left her wallet (for the second time this month) but by-

"Aggieeeee! You're better! Have you taaaasted this? It's amaziiiing!"

Agatha glares at Chaddick, who has the decency to look away. He knew the amount of alcohol Sophie was capable of processing, namely: none.

"Yeah, I have…"

"You should have seen, Sophie; the other night Agatha was so wasted she ma…"

"Chaddick, don't you have somewhere to be? As in, not here?"

The ex-jock walks away with a smirk, knowing he had some nice blackmailing material on her. Could this get any more horrible?

Now what? Should she just take Sophie home? Sober her up, tell her everything then beg for forgiveness? She couldn't. Then what to do, what to do…

"Sophie, I have to tell you something, it's really important, you see…"

"Oh Aggie, I'm sure you can tell me laaaaaatteerrrr! I've been so stressed lately! Time to let it goooo! Come on, I'll even pay your first drinkkkk!"

Her friend lifted a glass of what looked and smelled like a vodka and gin disaster waiting to happen.

"Sophie, what is even that?"

"Not sure…but Chaddick told me it was good."

Agatha sighs. She should tell the truth, right here, right now, shouldn't she?

"… Alright."

And she would have if she were a better person. But to her shame, she downs five more after the first and suddenly she can't remember why she came here on the first place. Something about a guy?

(Lies, Agatha knows exactly what she is doing, but for a few more hours she gives herself the benefit of the doubt.)

Whatever, she'll just deal with it later. She hasn't said anything for the past few days, surely it can wait some more, right?

.

.

.

Said and done, five hours later Agatha concludes she is a horrible human being. She should just quit. Leave the job of human being for people who will not mess up. Like Hester. Hester never messes up shit. Yeah, great plan.

Sophie is knocked out cold, sleeping with her face in a table, drooling, besides said Hester, who has her usual judgy face on, glaring at the blonde woman, like she was some kind of disgusting creature.

Agatha doesn't think she could feel worse.

She should have just told Sophie the truth right away. The moment she found out Tedros was, well, Tedros. Instead she had gone along with a wedding that was sure to be a fiasco, because not only was the groom a liar and a player, but Agatha was therefore his accomplice, and her silence was probably the greatest betrayal of their entire friendship.

She picks up her phone to call a car, so she could at the very least wallow in misery at home, but before the app even loads someone snatches her phone.

Turns out she can indeed feel worse.

"We need to talk."

His voice sounds as it always does whenever she's around, half-annoyed and half-something else Agatha doesn't dare name. As usual, he looks nice. His tight shirt and tie are still in perfect place, unlike the last time she saw him here, signaling he too probably came straight from work.

"This is girl's night; you're not allowed here."

"Oh, I'm not?" Tedros mocks her, but she can tell his heart isn't truly in it. "Then please do tell me the circumstances in which I can talk to you, because you sure don't make it easy."

She is so tired. Trying to avoid him is hard enough, trying to avoid him knowing that she doesn't really want to is impossible. She has always read people so well, and he always seems so genuine. It makes her wanna believe he is not the bad person she knows he is.

"…I've been… avoiding you. It's not that I don't want to talk to you. Is just… that I shouldn't," she hesitates but ends up answering honestly.

Tedros' expression softens at her candor, peering at her with concern.

"Are you drunk?"

"No. Maybe."

He sighs, then digs his car keys from his pocket, still holding her phone hostage on his other hand.

"Look, I'll give you a ride home. I really just wanna talk. We have…unfinished business."

Agatha considers. All this wedding-baloney made her poor, Tedros is so pretty, he looks so wholesome and honest, and she just wants to sulk at home for the next few hours. Maybe he could stay for a day or two. That shirt of his would look great on her floor…

No, bad idea.

"I don't wanna get into a stranger's car," she blurts out the first excuse her mind can manage. In retrospect, that was some obvious bullshit, seeing as they had talked for hours last week and he had already given her a ride before. Granted, it had been Sophie's car and Sophie had been there, but still, that didn't make much sense.

"Oh truly?" he holds up her phone, the ride app now open, "You're gonna pull that one on me?"

It's Agatha's turn to sigh.

"Okay don't go using logic on me, mister. For all I know, you could be planning on kidnapping me and selling my organs on the black market," or worse, actually talking to her.

"Can never be too careful, can we?" he looks partly amused and partly annoyed. "Look, I'm serious here, okay? I'm not going to do anything to you, we can talk to Hester on our way out, I'm sure she'll hunt me and string me up upside down at her soundproofed basement in case I even dream of harming you. Alright?" Tedros's eyes never leave her face in the twenty seconds she takes to decide, and it's really distracting, but she manages to answer:

"Okay, fine."

They talk to Hester, rather, Tedros talks to Hester while Agatha avoids her gaze shamefully. Why does Tedros know Hester? Did they ever talk during school?

Agatha doesn't know and she doesn't ask. Her gaze lingers on Sophie's drooling face and she feels her chest tighten.

The two of them walk into the parking lot awkwardly, in mortifying silence, and enter a silver Porsche. Agatha notes that it looks very out of place, since most cars belonged to employees and looked rather humble next to the silver beauty. Why was Tedros here? He came in his car, so he was not here to drink. Did Sophie tell him to pick her up? Or was he here to see Agatha?

Her heart skips at beat at the thought and she doesn't ask him any of this either.

"Nice ride," she offers instead.

"Thanks."

Tedros drives in silence, with Agatha occasionally telling him to turn on certain streets. She keeps her gaze on the empty roads, but she does catch quite a stunning sight of his profile when she forgets she's not supposed to look at him at all.

To avoid getting too in her head, she decides to turn on the radio. The song that starts playing is familiar and she guesses the radio must be on CD mode. The letters in bold red on the visor tell her she is correct, and this is indeed the song she thinks it is.

"You're into this kind of stuff?"

Tedros grips the wheel, almost defensively.

"They're really good, okay? I've been listening to them for a few years and so far, they're my favorite band. I know their sound isn't for everyone and-"

"I know."

"…It's not what most mainstream artists are doi- you what?"

Agatha blushes when she feels his incredulous gaze on her face, and it occurs her that this is the first time he looks directly at her since they got into his car. She hopes he'll attribute the redness on her cheeks to the red light they're currently stuck at and hesitates before answering, in a quiet voice, meeting his stare:

"They're my favorite band too."

"Oh."

The rest of the drive is less awkward, one would even say comfortable if not for the leftover tension. They sing along quietly to the vocalist and Agatha is sure Tedros stopped himself from doing the guitar once. Not cute, not cute, not cute.

Eventually, they get to her apartment building. She reaches over and turns off the radio, the deafening silence almost too much to bear.

Agatha tries reaching for the car door, but it's locked.

"I did tell you we needed to talk."

Usually, she'd be scared if a guy trapped her in his car in the middle of the night, but Agatha's frustration just comes back at full force and topples over anything else.

"What's to talk, you're clearly into someone else."

Tedros' eyes go big, and Agatha can't help but think he must be the world's greatest actor. Oscar nomination performance. The academy is shook-

"What? Did you, like, not hear anything I sa-"

"I'm not that kind of girl, Tedros," Agatha interrupts him firmly, "I don't hook up with anyone who's in a relationship, especially in a relationship with my best friend, no matter how stupidly short said relationship may be."

"I… Did Sophie tell you-"

"She didn't need to? You guys are engaged, and I am not going to get caught in between, okay? Please, please leave me alone. Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Don't give me rides when I'm drunk."

Suddenly, Tedros' confused expression is gone and his eyes are gleaming with what looks like joy. He looks like he might kiss her and Agatha is not sure how well her defenses will hold in case he does.

"Agatha, I think you got this all wrong, I'm not-"

"What, you have amnesia? Or, let me guess, it's your twin brother who's engaged to her?"

Tedros burst out laughing and he sounds like an angel, throwing his head back, and Agatha forgets for a second that she's mad at him. But eventually reality brings her back and she pushes him, with just enough force to get his attention.

"Leave me the fuck alone, dude."

…Asshole.

This time when she reaches for the door, it's unlocked.

She glares at him from the sidewalk one more time, before entering the building.

.

.

.

Agatha doesn't hear a word from him after that.

It's for the best, she tells herself. Agatha spent so much time wishing he would just go away and take these weird feelings he gives her with him that she didn't even consider that once he did go away for real, new, stronger, and even more angsty feelings would appear. She only knew him for two weeks. He wasn't even hers. She has no grieving rights.

She goes out with Sophie one more time, and now it's just the two of them. It would be the perfect time to tell her. She has no excuses. No drinking, no sickness, no Tedros-

Agatha doesn't.

.

.

.

Today is the day.

It's a clear summer night, which is unfair with how angsty and conflicted Agatha feels. Hollywood lied to us all, hasn't it?

Agatha is dressed in a silky blue dress Sophie chose for her. It suits her and she thinks she looks quite pretty. Someone who actually knew what they were doing did her make-up, and for once she managed to tame her hair into submission, putting it into a fancy-looking up-do youtube taught her how to do. She's wearing her best shoes and her fanciest earrings. Agatha is looking and smelling like a daydream outside the main room of the church, but her hands are shaking and she's terrified.

She's not ready. Far from it really.

The rules were simple. If you're not the bride you don't wear white, you don't overdrink, and you never, ever, under any circumstances, fall in love with the groom.

No matter if they were hot, if they smelled good, if their eyes made you feel weak at the knees, if they shared common interests with you, if their taste was impossible to forget, if they went out of their way to get your attention or if they felt like they just might be the one.

You just didn't okay?

Shit, this was messed up. Still, Agatha brought herself to breathe deeply, trying to contain her anxiety.

The ceremonialist tells her it's her cue and she's soon walking down the aisle, clutching a small bouquet of pink carnations like a lifeline, looking around the church.

The place is crowded. Their entire social circle and their grandmother seem to be here. People from their childhood neighborhood, people from school, both of Sophie's parents, her stepmother and step siblings, quite a few models and influencers and a bunch of people she had never seen, probably Tedros' friends, family and co-workers.

The flowers and decorations look as amazing and beautiful as she would have expected from Sophie and she might have seen Hester, Anadil and Dot on a row somewhere, but that's not what made her almost freeze, nearly stumbling on the red carpet.

The groom.

He's wearing an expensive-looking white tuxedo, his hair is an unnatural platinum blonde and his eyes are disturbingly intense. He's tall, sharp and everything about him screams fancy. He's attractive in the way some snakes are attractive, beautiful and deadly, but the big deal is:

Agatha has never seen that man in her entire life.

She goes to her spot standing by the side, her brain running a marathon, tons of data just being tossed aimlessly on her mind as she tries to wrap her head around what the actual fuck is going on when her eyes meet someone else's.

Seating on the third row on the left, Tedros' blue eyes are shinning in complete and absolute amusement, his hand is over his mouth in a barely controlled laugh. The music seems to be on his side, because no one hears him. Agatha schools her expression into anything other than the overbearing wrath she feels, but she's not sure if she's doing a good job.

She's somewhat aware of the chaos that seems to be unfolding around her; the ceremonialist's screeching, the groom's rage, the crowd's confused mumbling and Sophie's absence. But it does not matter.

Agatha really wants to choke Tedros with his tie.

.

.

.

Turns out, Sophie's groom was named Rafal. Not that Agatha would remember his name a few days from now.

He is the current CEO of Two Brothers, a huge company, often associated with the mafia for fucks sake. Known playboy and womanizer, with a criminal record for drug dealing, as well as physical and sexual assault. Also, partially involved on the illegal leaks of information that caused the media scandal around Tedros' parents' divorce all those years ago, she later learns.

Great guy, Sophie. 10/10. Husband material right there.

At least she didn't follow through, Agatha argues to try and calm herself down. Oh yeah, Sophie ran away from her own wedding. No one was surprised honestly. Maybe Rafal. He looked very, very angry. Agatha didn't really blame him, after knowing that he was the one paying for the wedding, after party and honeymoon, no matter how horrible of a person he seems to be.

By now, Sophie should be in Paris, enjoying her honeymoon tickets and reservations. Through text, she tells Agatha how lonely and sad she is and how she'll tell her everything that happened in complete details on their next café meeting in a about month and a half. Agatha suspects she is not as lonely as she claims to be because Hort's Instagram stories tell her he is currently in Europe as well, if not in Paris. But then again, she will not concern herself over this matter. "No wedding" was good news enough to keep her in a great mood for any of Sophie's shenanigans for the next following weeks.

And since the reception was already paid for, everyone just decided to come enjoy it.

Yes, when she says everyone, she means everyone.

"Hey, you."

Oh, Lord, no.

Agatha doesn't lift her head to look at him, continuing to type a half-assed reply to Sophie's whiny texts. She won't give him the satisfaction. Instead she downs whatever is left of her whisky, because that's what one does when courage lacks.

She's sitting at the main table of the ballroom, by herself, mostly because it's where she's been assigned to sit, but also because she's not up for the questions the other guests will probably feel entitled to ask if she were to sit with them. Hester is nowhere in sight, but Agatha is sure she's making herself scarce on purpose. She saw Chaddick back at the church but they politely ignored each other and Dot had been missing for quite a while.

"Not speaking to me?"

"No."

"Come on, it was pretty funny."

"No, it wasn't," she finally looks up at him and he must have sensed true resentment in her perfectly lined brown eyes, because his smug, perfect façade crumbled, and he looked very awkward suddenly. Tedros pulls up the chair beside her and she notices it has his name on it. Sophie was not being subtle on her matchmaking at all, was she?

God, Agatha was so dumb.

"Well, it wasn't very funny to me either then, but I do laugh quite a bit now," he offers, sipping on champagne, trying to keep busy.

"I'm glad my pain amuses you," she's quiet for few seconds, considering what she's going to say. "Tedros?"

"Yeah?" he looks up from his flute of champagne, hopeful blue eyes shining in the half light of the candlelit ballroom and keeping her from saying what she was actually going to say, so instead she blurts:

"I'm not sorry for punching you."

"I didn't expect you to be," his smile is friendly and contagious. He downs the last of his champagne and extends a hand to her. "Okay, let's start again. I'm Tedros, I'm so single it hurts, and when we were in high school, I had a crush on you."

The way he says this so openly, his voice so even and clear nearly drowns out the vulnerable look on his face. Agatha herself can barely register his expression because she's pretty sure her brain has short-circuited. Again.

"No, you did not."

"But I did."

Tedros proceeds to tell her all sorts of things.

He tells her about how he first saw her as a rival because of her grades (she never really paid any attention to the scoreboard, she thought it was bullshit, but in retrospect she does remembers his name was always under hers), and about how sorry he was that he laughed and partook at Chaddick's antics during junior year, mostly because he the felt like 'the new guy with a big name and no friends' and felt she was a threat.

"That's some real introspection and self-awareness right there, hm"

"I'm just fortunate enough to have had a really good therapist," Tedros responds, "Merlin is like a psychology-wizard. He was the one who kinda sorted out that maybe part of my teen angst was repressed attraction to someone who fed the cats behind the library"

"Oh, then you've been my stalker for quite some time then."

Tedros blushes and Agatha is both flattered and embarrassed at the same time.

He then explains about how shit blew up on his face during his parents' divorce, how his grades dropped, how he got kicked out of the football team and how he started to spend a long ass time sulking at the library. Which just so happened to be Agatha's favorite hangout spot at the time. Tedros tells her how he thought she was cute, how she was one of the people who hadn't changed with him (even if unintentionally) and how he wanted to get to know her.

What.

"I just… wasn't sure how to approach you? I always dragged Chaddick to your tea shop when I didn't see you at the library but then chickened out and-"

"...I take neither of you were huge tea fans?"

"Yeah?"

"That does explain a lot," Agatha mumbles.

"I was going to talk to you about Avalon when I heard you were going there, but… Since you didn't tell me that, I kinda found out when Chaddick took your math notebook to be my 'wingman', I didn't think you would have…appreciated.

"Wait, that was Chaddick playing your wingman?" Agatha burst out laughing.

"The plan was that I was supposed to casually hand back to you something you forgot, but he kinda grew tired of waiting for you to actually forget something," Tedros chuckled. "If you thought Chaddick was bad then what big word is Miss-best-in-class going to use to describe Sophie's take on playing wingwoman?"

"Horrendous," Agatha deadpans and now it's Tedros turn to laugh.

Silence sits between the two. It's not uncomfortable and kinda welcome. Agatha digests the last forty minutes of enlighting conversation as they eat the main course of the night. A waiter comes to pick up both of their plates and she decides she still has some questions.

"Well, do you still do?"

"Do I still what?" Tedros questions, his head slightly inclined, like a confused puppy.

"Have a crush on me," Agatha mumbles, her cheeks burning.

Tedros' expression goes from 'confused' back to that mischievous look he had back at the church, leaning towards her ever so slightly.

"Maybe."

"Good," she offers her hand, as he had before, "I'm Agatha, I jump to conclusions, but I am very interested in getting to know you."

Tedros however, doesn't shake her hand as she had his. Instead, he takes it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles, relishing in the shocked look on her face before she can school her expression back to unaffected aloofness.

"Are you free at six next friday?"

"Late meeting, but I'm good at seven. Pick me up?" she asks, an unspoken challenge laced in her words.

"As the lady wishes." Challenge accepted. "Any preferences?"

"Anywhere but 'The Woods'. But make sure to text me first if it's somewhere fancy," she smiles. "You know what? I still don't have your number."

Tedros confidently stands up, his hand yet to release hers.

"A number for a dance?"

Agatha told him that night at 'The Woods' that she isn't a very good dancer but again, he insists. It's fine, because they don't dance for long anyway. By the time Tedros gives up, fumbling with his phone to call a car, his hair is already a mess, Agatha's broke free from her up-do and there is lipstick everywhere.

I'm not sorry This was so much fun to revisit. I forgot how fun SGE was. I kinda fell out of touch with the series. I did read QFG, I just can't remember what happens in it? Idk. I felt the series should have concluded on TLEA. If possible before the whole Agatha and Sophie baloney stunt, because I never bought that. Please leave me comment and share your thoughts with me! Hope you are all safe during this quarantine, friends

[thoughts-n-paper]

When people speak of fairies, they often think of the wise fairy Godmother or the tiny passionate Tinkerbell, but let me tell you the truth, fairies can be as vicious as any wolf you might encounter in the woods. Take my mother, for example, I am about to fail a class and might not be able to graduate but here she is shouting at the principal, questioning his competency and making things worse. To be honest, I should have known this would happen. Ever since I was a toddler, my mother was ready to fight the Alaskan giants if she felt that they insulted me, although that seems a lot better than calling the man, an imbecile elf.

I had never been good at school, I was not born to do this. I cannot do magic, cannot fly. I do comparatively good at empathy, but that is probably due to my human side. All my teachers earlier were very understanding in cutting me some slack, but the new guy doesn't want to bend the rules and my mom just doesn't understand that.

As we entered the house from a tiresome argument with no conclusion, I watched my mom sink in her bed as she tried to push her tears back to space behind her eyes. On the side table there stood three photographs, one of her with her husband on her wedding day, one of her holding her baby and one of me and her on my first day of school. The one with her baby was the only one facing towards her pillow so that it is the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes. I was never jealous of him, but I did feel that my mother's life would have been easier if she never interchanged us.

I wound up the music box, placed it beside her and tiptoed to my room as the lullabies of her ancestors brought her calm.

I often wondered what the other me would be doing right now, my brother from another mother and raised by my own. And just in case, miles away he wondered that too, I started keeping a journal where I would write everything that happened on the day. I would walk him through every road that I mapped, what conversations mother and I had and what kind of jokes she laughed at. Just in case if he ever plans to return, he would never have to feel out of place because he had me to guide him, and just in case if I ever went back, I think I would have the same.

A knock broke my nap. As I looked outside the tiny round window, I could make out the prettiest face I had ever seen. We were in the same class but it was incomprehensible that she would be standing outside my window. And then it hit me, I looked her in the eyes and said firmly, "You don't fool me."

"Not fair. I need to practice my deception spells." saying that, the figure in front of me transformed into my childhood friend, Jaadu. One of the rules of bending spells, if the target of the trick sees through the rouge, the trickster has to come clean.

"It was good. If not for my trust in my status as a loser, you would have convinced me."

"Ah! I should study the target more. Will keep that in mind. Are you coming?"

Jaadu and I always went to the edge of the forest in the evenings. With the sun coming down and night beginning to rise, you can watch the shadows of all the travellers passing by. Some of them would sit and have their meal or set up camp, completely unaware that we are hiding behind the tree mere steps away, watching them. But the most exciting moment is when you see someone go from one realm to another. Sometimes you can see their shadow change shape or colour or sometimes nothing changes, it is always a surprise how the inter-realm travel reacts.

Jaadu enjoys it because it is something he might never do, he was to be part of the administration, like the fairies of his family before him. This was his way to vicariously travel through these evening rituals.

For me, it was the time I had felt closest to my mother. Although her husband was a traveller, she only planned one journey in her life. The one to save her baby.

In a way I had already travelled from one realm to another, I was just unaware of the magnitude of it. I sometimes think of going back, maybe visit my birth parents, might even bring my mother's son back. She would be delighted beyond belief, and maybe then, she wouldn't regret taking him. But I would always push the thought back, too afraid of the unknown.

The next few weeks were spent retaking and retaking the test until I was cleared to graduate school. There are three categories of fairies, one that is naturally gifted in all arts, whether it is music, the science of medicinal plants or chants and jinxes, they are fluent in all. Then there is the average category, the ones that work hard and learn and the last are the week students, ones who work even harder. And then there is me, the human among magical beings. I am the only one around like me, earlier there used to be a lot of us but with the danger of exposure and the spiritual fabric between realms weakening, it is just me. Potions are easy and I am good with plants and animals but I can't cast spells, at least not the high-level ones. So, it took a lot of convincing the new principal to test me only on the spells that I can do, but I finally succeeded.

Later that night, my mother organized a celebration for me, every house within a mile was invited, distant relatives came too. Some families brought a dish of their choice, some helped clean up space and some brought with them the sweetest water of different streams. But with all the gifts and praises, come the whispers too, how I was not one of them, what an achievement the real son would have been. When I was younger, my mother would often cast a filtration spell on my ears so that I wouldn't hear what they said about me but as I grew older, the spell weakened. She never herself told me the story, would always insist that I was hers just born with different abilities or as I see it, no abilities.

From what I could gather, my mother was with the child when her husband died. The grief was too much for her and the baby and so he was born with defects. A shaman told her that the milk of a human could cure him and so she left him in the first crib she could find and took me from mine as her own.

"Oh my son, come sit with me." my great-grandmother called me."How are you feeling? You are a big fairy now?"

"I am not a fairy Gre-ma." I sighed as I sat beside her.

"Oh, it doesn't matter what elements bind you. Tell me, Elven, how, do you think, is your mother?"

"She seems fine. I think she is alright."

"She is strong, but separation and loneliness often mould us into something much fragile. She has lights of sorrow surrounding her, you must make her happy. Bring her joy before the black lights swallow her."

After the celebration ended, I kept thinking about the words my Gre-ma said to me. She was the most powerful empath in the town, nobody could dare take her words lightly, especially if she said something like that. This was serious, I had to do something to cure my mother.

The next day, when I and Jaadu were sitting in the woods, relaxing as the shadows disappeared around us, I told him what Gre-ma had asked me to do. "Getting a good position in the council would cure all the sorrows of my mother." Jaadu joked.

"I am afraid, that doesn't work for mine."

"I know! My point is, only you know what will make her happy."

I thought about it for a while and by the next morning, I had an idea of what to do. I made up an overnight camping trip with some friends from school, which in retrospect, how mother agreed or believed any of that is beyond me. I checked in my bag to confirm I had the fairy dust with me that Gre-ma had given me the other night, without it, I would not be able to cross over. The plan was simple, follow the map she used years earlier and just knock on the door. Jaadu came to see me off, he wanted to see how my shadow will react.

I, on the other hand, just felt a slight current run through me, and on the next step, everything changed.

It took me at least five minutes of coughing to get used to the air around me. The map was magical, which meant that it would alter according to the destination desired and the time and space which surrounded it. But there still was no magic that can help me introduce myself to my birth parents or tell me how I am supposed to walk when each step is followed by a loud noise and a beast flying past me in a blink of an eye. The first thing I noticed was humans were tall, back in woodland, I was the tallest there, here I barely come up to the shoulders of some of these giants. And they all had different feet, different colours, shapes and textures. And walking for a few feet made me understand why. After walking a small distance, my feet were coloured black, they were damp and a new pink coloured flower had found a way between my toes and was now stuck to my skin. But ignoring it all, I marched ahead.

A few yards away stood the blue gate I had dreaded all through the journey, a million thoughts ran through my mind with each step till I lifted my arm to knock.

I looked around the house as I waited for them to make sense of everything that I had just finished telling them. Surprisingly, it was not that different from my house. it was filled with photographs except for the giant black frame in the middle of the room, which stood empty. Lamps were hanging from the walls, but there was probably some human magic that made it not look like fire. There weren't as many windows, or plants, outside or inside. We all sat on cloud-like cushions with brown milk in front of me.

When I introduced myself, I showed them my infancy photograph which my mother had taken with her. Then I told them about fairies and woodlands. I told them about magic and music, potions and pirouette. And then I told them about my mother, my fairy mother.

"So, you are ours?"

I nodded.

"And, you were kidnapped?"

"Exchanged!" I nodded

."And you live among fairies?"

I nodded.

"And, our son was a fairy?"

I began to nod and then stopped midway, "was?"

"He died ten years ago. Road accident." said the human mother and started sobbing.

My father stood up and came towards me with open arms, "We want to believe you, but we can't, at least not without tests I hope that is alright with you."

"Oh, I can't stay. I just came to take my mother's son back to meet her. I really should go now."

"NO!" my human mother shouted and holding my shoulders requested me to stay.

"I suppose I could stay for another day."

"Wonderful!" the mother smiled and ran to the kitchen mumbling recipes to herself. "She is going to make his favourite food," Father said to me. His eyes followed me suspiciously as I sat back down in my spot.

"Hey Dorothy, Can you do me-." A stranger walked into the house and stopped mid-sentence to stare back at me. "Family member?" she said while pointing at me.

"How can you tell?" mother came out of the kitchen.

"Well, he looks so much like Steve."

"Doesn't he?"

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We still have to run tests."

"What do you mean, Steve?"

"Yes, what do you mean, Steve?"

"Uhm, I am just saying..."

"Wait, but who is he?"

"Oh! It's a miracle from Jesus. My son has returned."

"Jesus! Dorothy, honey."

"Your son, the one whose funeral I helped organize."

"No, you see, he was exchanged, Uhm kidnapped."

"Jesus! Dorothy!"

"And now he is back, back at home."

Finally, silence fell. I looked up and all three were staring at me. "Hello," I said in a low voice. "I come from the woodlands. My mother who is a fairy..."

"Well, he is still processing his trauma." Father interrupted me. "Don't worry, we will have him checked shortly." Saying that he led me upstairs to a closed-door with the picture of a masked man on the door.

"This is your room. I will call you when food is prepared."

I had just turned back to stop him, he shut the door to my face. I tried to open it but it seemed locked from outside. I sat down on the small bed, trying to process whatever happened in the last few minutes. And then I remembered the word funeral being uttered. Their son's funeral.

My mother's son. The one I came to take back with me.

I had to get out immediately.

I stood in front of the door and chanted a simple admission spell. I tried to open the door again but it stayed locked. I tried the spell again, but it was all in vain. Casting spells in a new environment is always difficult, even for skilled casters. You have to be able to borrow magic from your surroundings. Often before any major spell, fairies perform cleansing and calming rituals to make the elements around them aware of their intentions, and once the fairies and every particle around them are in agreement can they cast the spells successfully. I did not know anything about those rituals, nor have I ever performed magic in an unaccustomed environment. Being human and bad at magic did not help either.

I sat back on the bed and waited for the door to open from outside. I looked around the room, there stood various balls of different colours all around the room, on a shelf placed in the corner, there were several miniatures beasts like the ones I encountered on my way. On the walls, there were drawings of different humans in various attires and figurines made of cotton and stone of different animals. I lied down and my eyes sparkled as on the roof I could see the sun and the moon and all the stars that the roof could fit, it was the only thing that reminded me of home. I could look at it for hours like I did back in the woodland, I smiled at the memories, glad that I could find at least one familiar thing.

A few hours later, the father came rushing in and closed the door behind him.

"Hey, buddy! There are a few people who want to meet with you. They are super nice and very friendly. They will ask you some questions. You don't have to worry, just nod when I answer those okay?" It was a question he did not wait for an answer to. I was held from my arms and pushed into the front room. There stood the two women from earlier, a man with an unusually shaped head and another woman with a toy in her hands. They all had their mouths in a curve and their teeth were exposed, I think they were trying to smile. The father sat me down and placed himself beside me.

The woman nodded and pushed the toy towards me.

"Hello, I hope you don't mind introducing yourself once again. Your father had already told me about you."

"Uh...my name is Elven."

"His name is Simon. He thinks his name is Elven and he was kidnapped by fairies. He is still recovering from the incident." The father interjected.

"Okay." The woman looked at the man and then back towards us. "Can you elaborate on the fairies that abducted you?"

I looked at the father he gestured me to go ahead. "I wasn't abducted, I was exchanged. My mother, my fairy mother gave birth to a weakling which could only be saved by human milk."

"We believe that the kidnapper left her disabled child with us in hopes to raise a healthier child, obviously for her benefit." The father looked towards the woman, and they both nodded. Like they agreed to not believe anything I said.

"Do you think drugs were involved?" The man asked the father.

"Well, listening to the absurdity, I am certain that the woman herself took drugs and gave my son some too. That seems to be the only explanation for his conviction."

They kept saying the word "Drugs", I didn't know what it meant, but I could conclude that it was bad. And if they think my mother gave them to me, they would never let me go back to her.

"Look," I stood up, "I should go, my mother would be worried."

"I think that should be enough for today, I will answer the rest of the questions." The father said as he directed the mother to take me.

"Oh, just a picture of the family would be great." The woman stopped me and the mother.

All three of us stood side by side as the man took out a small metal from his pocket and a light flashed towards us. I couldn't see for a while but I could feel being steered somewhere.

I was sitting on the tiny bed again, while my human mother was sobbing with her head in my lap. I looked up at the painted night sky and dreamed of the real one.

The next day I woke up to the sound of a crowd of humans in front of the house. A lot of them were holding the same toy as the day before, some had big boxes on their shoulders and behind them was a long queue of the white beasts. The father came in with a gentle smile and said, "Son, how are you? Breakfast is ready. And you remember yesterday, the people in the front have the same questions. Whenever you are ready, we will talk to them. Is that alright?"

I could simply nod. It was very clear that I did not have any choice in that.

The mother came in afterwards and asked me to take a bath, but when I asked for the stream nearby, she started crying again. The father came in and showed me to another room where twisting on a knob I could make it rain inside. He laid down a drying cloth, top and bottom covers and coverings for my feet. It was a strange feeling to not have my feet touch the earth. For fairies, it the only consistent relationship between them and the ground. Although it did feel better to not have my feet be dirty or cold. For breakfast the only thing that looked familiar was fruit, so I picked a red apple and bit into that, while the father and mother stood in front of the black frame, only this time it had a man talking in it.

"We have something like that in woodland too, motion paintings. It is a very complex spell though. My mother's uncle is famous as the most proficient in a 1000 step radius."

They both looked at me and the mother ran out of the room looking like she was about to burst into tears again.

"Hey, why don't we stop talking about woodland in front of mom." He gave me that non-smile again.

The whole day was just sitting in front of strangers and nod as the father told lies. And every time I tried to stop him or correct him, it was blamed on trauma, another word they kept on repeating. According to them, I had a trauma because of drugs and my mother was a criminal and she should be locked up. I did not most of the words in that sentence. They asked me to do magic to prove my story but when I failed, they simply smiled. When I first showed them my journal, they scanned through it within minutes and gave it back to the father. Mid-way through the day, I gave up. I might have been naïve in the human ways but I knew what a lost battle looked like.

They kept asking to take a picture, after a few I gathered they were just still drawings of us. Out of the corner of my eye, I would often catch someone pointing at me and chuckling with his or her friend. The mother spent most of the time crying and repeating that she was just glad to have her son back and she loved the other one too just like her own. In between taking pictures and answering questions, some would come up to me or the father and offer their condolences.

Everything resembled the kind of community I had left in woodland, but that was all it was, a resemblance, a mirror image. People offered help and sympathy but always from a distance. Some neighbours brought their children in hopes I could make friends with them but whenever I tried to talk to them, they pushed me out of the circle and talked amongst themselves, mostly in gibberish I might add.

I missed my mother, I missed Jaadu and Gre-ma. I missed the smell of freshly bloomed flowers in the morning and the lullabies of the moon as it sang us to sleep. Out here all I could smell was something burning, constantly. The food was like eating mould and every variant of the juice I was offered did not taste like its name. I wanted to see the real night sky and not the fake colours on the roof.

By midnight, the father and mother had fallen in deep sleep. And that was when I slipped out, fairies were of course famous for being light feet and my mother had taught me a few tricks early on. I decided to leave my journal with them, in case they ever wanted to visit. Although they would have another day of asking and answering and crying over my departure, I did not feel bad. I realized they were not my parents and this was not my world, my only link was my brother. He was supposed to be my guide, and without him, I had no purpose but to get lost.

I stood at the gates in the woods and waited for the sun to go up and night to fall. And when the moment came, as I stepped through the fairy dust, into the realm of my home, I could make out a figure that I was much too familiar with. And as I inhaled the blossoms, I could see Jaadu smiling at me. And I smiled back.

[erintoknow]

not okay

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

You can’t even be in the general proximity of The Rangers without being dragged into their garbage, can you? Tw: past sexual abuse [That Kind Of Girl]

[Read on AO3]

Argent working with vigilantes is a new development. Not an entirely unwelcome one if it makes the Rangers look even more unreliable. But it begs the question as to what the hell is going on in that damn building? Is it worth trying to ask? Ariadne is just Ortega’s retired friend. Nothing suspicious about a friend checking in on another friend. Right?

It’s been a couple of days since the bridge fight, so it’s not like it’s too suspicious. Plenty of time for all kinds of details to filter out into the wild.

Walking down mainstreet you stop to buy a newspaper, flipping through the pages. One article in the celebrity column gives you pause. Herald and Argent have broken up?

Huh.

You might not even need to do anything to get the Rangers to fall apart. Just push at the right moment and they’ll do the work themselves.

Once they're on their own, picking them off one by one will be a lot easier – your stomach twists into a knot at the thought. Do you… really need to do that though? As long as they aren’t a threat to the plan, that’s all that matters, right?

It’s an hour of wandering around before you find yourself standing in front of the Rangers HQ. You haven’t set foot inside since the morning of the Gala. Wonder how small Chen’s frown would get if he knew his advice helped push you down this path. ‘Commit to a choice, and stick with it’ huh?

Well it wasn’t your choice that marked the Rangers as your enemy. You just stopped pretending otherwise. Fuck. Fuck this. What were you thinking? You can’t just… walk in the front door.

Can you?

You don’t belong there.

You turn around, trying to modulate your speed so you aren’t straight up running away. Because you aren’t. There’s nothing to run from. Don’t be stupid.

It’s the change in the crowd that tips you off first, people pointing upwards. What’s the big deal…? Oh. You hunch your shoulders, picking up the pace. Nope. This isn’t happening. Not today. You’ve got places to be.

“Ariadne!”

You groan, freeze midstep.

God fucking hell.

Shading your sunglasses with a hand you turn around and peer upwards against the sun at Herald hovering in the sky like violating the laws of gravity was a completely normal thing to do. Lucky fucking bastard.

He dips down lower. “Sorry, sorry. I saw you from the window, and, well, I thought I’d get a chance to talk to you inside but then you didn’t come inside and well, I’ve been meaning to talk and we haven’t had a chance and–”

“Wonderbread for the love of god, stop babbling.”

His smile is frantic and anxious. “Can we talk?”

Oh this’ll be good. You raise an eyebrow. “No one’s stopping you.” You glance around. Herald is drawing more and more attention. Ugh. It’s only a matter of time before it occurs to someone to ask who he’s talking to. “Actually – Can’t we do this, um, somewhere more private?”

He brightens up. If that was even possible. “Yeah! Yeah of course! I know the perfect place.”

“Gre–fucking shit!” The ground drops away from your feet as Herald scoops you off your feet, soaring into the sky. You might have screamed. You flail your arms and legs trying to get free but Herald’s grip is worryingly tight, pressing you against his chest.

“Put – put me fucking down.” You're up too high now. You’ll fall. You’ll fall and die. And hands on you, holding you tight fuck why is it so bright, the light piercing around your sunglasses and shit shit fucking hell god dying would be better than this let go let go let go let go

Five years later and your feet touch solid ground. You shove him away, swinging your fist straight for his face. The asshole cries out in surprise, falling backwards onto his ass. Scrambling away you fall on your butt as well, pulling your legs to your chest. Breathe short – can’t get enough air. Fingernails digging into your knees.

“Sidestep – uh, Ariadne…?”

You swing a fist at his arm, batting him away. You bury your head in your knees. Try to stifle the sob in your throat. You’re not there. You’re not there. It’s just the sun. There’s no walls. You’re safe. You’re not there. You press your wrists against your eyes, pushing your sunglasses out the way.

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

Crying. Tears. Not like this.

Fuck. Fucking. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

It takes another two years before you finally have control again. Stagger to your feet. Rub the back of your hand against your face. Don’t care if it ruins the foundation. Herald stands there. Awkward. Worried. Watching. Always fucking watching. You storm over to him, and he takes a step back, raising his arms. He opens that damn mouth of his and before he can say a single goddamn word you slap him across the face, follow it up by slamming your knee between his legs. He wheezes, collapsing to the ground, clutching his privates. “Don’t. Ever. Fucking. TOUCH ME. Again.”

Cold fury fills you as you stand there, hands on your hips watching Herald squirm. Eyes watering. Fucking Asshole. Should have broken his other leg too.

You deepen your frown, and stick a hand down to him. Help him stand back up.

“S–sorry…” He rasps, bleary-eyed.

“What the fuck?”

He winces, stepping backwards from you. “I just… you wanted somewhere private so… I didn’t – I didn’t think.”

“You can’t just–just–just… abduct random women off the streets.” You fold your arms against your chest. Fuck. You did a number on him. That eye is going to bruise.

“Random…?” He frowns. Doesn’t get it. “But – you’re Sidestep.”

“Would Sidestep have just beaten the shit out of you?”

“Uh.” He coughs. “Probably.”

You frown at that. “Just… I don’t know. Warn me. Ask first. Something. You don’t…” What someone has been through. What they still dream about. You hug yourself, suppress a shudder.

Herald looks away from you, face flush. Embarrassed. Contrite? “You’re right. I just… I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while. And I got excited and…” You can see it in his head, clear as daylight. Never imagined you could have reacted like that. That’d you be vulnerable like this.

Weak.

This isn’t real. You can’t be real.

“Well, y–y–you deserve worse.” You glare at him. Already the panic and anger are slipping out of your fingers, sliding somewhere else. Escaping you the harder you try to cling on. “What’s the big idea?”

“I… just,” Herald groans, a hand massaging his cheek. “Ariadne, are you okay?”

“I’m just fucking fine, asshole.” You spit back. “And don’t – don’t tell anyone about this.”

Herald blinks, alarmed thoughts swirling in his head. “What?”

“Look.” You straighten up, put out your hand to stop whatever is about to come out of his mouth. “Ortega’s already… breathing down my neck. She’s gonna be on – on both our cases if she finds out fucking boy wonder gave me a panic attack.”

Shit you named it out loud.

Herald’s expression looks absolutely wretched. “Sidestep–”

“Ariadne.” Even as you insist on it, it doesn’t feel like yours.

“Ariadne,” He corrects himself, “I’m – so, so sorry.” He’s about to take a step towards you – sees how you tense up and thinks better of it. “This is… not how I wanted this to go.”

“No shit.” You cross your arms. Cling to anger. You have a right to be angry now. Don’t you? That’s what you’re feeling right now. Has to be. Stay in control. “So what’s the big f–f–fucking idea that’s so important you–you–you needed to abduct me like a discount flying saucer.”

“Well… I wanted to, uh, ask why you retired but…” Herald sighs. Can practically feel the clouds storming up his head. Shit. He really does feel bad.

“Is it… really a mystery?” You force yourself to stay standing. To not curl up. Stay in control.

“Heartbreak.”

“Yeah.”

“But…”

“What’s the big fucking idea anyway.” You glare in his direction, avoiding his eyes. “What? Did you think you’d be the big hero? Convenience Sidestep to come back where everyone else had failed?”

“I… no!” Herald grimaces, “Well. Maybe? I mean. I… I know you and Ortega have… uh, history. I thought that maybe I could…” He trails off, at a loss for words. “I just… You were Sidestep. You never gave up.”

“And then Sidestep died.” You turn away from him, frowning. For the first time it occurs to you to take a look around. Where the hell did Herald put you? A roof. High up. A sudden sense of vertigo rocks your legs as you see the distant buildings against the horizon. Tiny roads running up and down the hills.

Oh.

You’re up high.

Little tiny toy cars running over their tiny toy roads. You swallow, mouth suddenly dry. How high up are you? High enough to kill, probably. Would Herald catch you? He’d try. Unless you stopped him.

Save you from one jump just to give you a second. That would fix him.

Herald – he’s standing – floating there. Watching you. “Ariadne?”

“Just – just get me down.” You can’t stop staring at the horizon. “I… I just want to go home. P–please.” Ugh. That sounded pathetic. Hate this. Hate how vulnerable he’s forced you into being.

He hovers closer, keeps his distance as if he’s afraid you might hit him again. Good. Sometimes that’s the only way to learn. You know that from experience.

Herald fidgets with his hands, “Um… Is it okay? If I…?”

You blink.

Oh.

Right.

He… he has to carry you back down.

You watch yourself nod. Obediently lift out your arms so Herald can awkwardly pick you up. The flight down is direct. Almost painfully slow. Like a human elevator. And then there’s cement under your shoes again and metal stretching into the sky hiding the mountains like it’s supposed to and not a single damn motherfucker pays more than a cursory glance to the mockery of the human understanding of flight that is Herald.

You take a breath, rub at the bridge of your nose.

“Again,” Herald’s voice filters in from the next planet. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think. I…” He falters. “I’d guess it’d be a little insensitive to say I’m not at my best right now.”

You glance over at him. God, you're so tired.

“Look. Side–” He winces,  “–Ariadne. I… I know I really screwed up and you probably hate me now, but…”

Oh god. “Just… spit it out, Wonderbread.”

“Look. I don’t know who else I can ask at this point and–”

You step towards him, and he floats backwards. “Spit it out. Wonderbread.”

“I need help. For training. I mean for training. I need help for training, is what I meant.” He raises his hands defensively. Ready to catch another swing at him. It’s tempting to oblige but you restrain yourself.

“You’d really think… I’d ever help you? After today, Herald?”

He drops his gaze to the ground. “Look, I… I know I messed up. You’ve got every right to be mad at me. But…” He trails off, thoughts linger on the Gala. His fight with you.

Oh.

Oh no.

Herald looks up again, embarrassed. “I really got trashed in that last fight. My…” He puts a hand to his knee, the one you broke. “I can walk on it again, but it, well. It still hurts like hell. Chen’s got me playing spokesman for now, but… what good am I if I can’t fight, Ariadne? I can’t fail everyone like that again. I can’t.”

Herald is your enemy. He’s a self-absorbed asshole who abducted you from the middle of the street and gave you what might be one of the worst panic attacks you’ve had in months. How fucking dare he make you feel bad for breaking his leg.

You should tell him no and punch him again for good measure.

He takes your silence for hesitation. Flares hopeful. “I can still remember, uh, growing up. Watching you fight. How you zipped around the whole place. Made use of whatever you could grab. I… know our uh, our ‘talents’ aren’t the same. But… I think that’s what I need to learn to do.”

No. No you are not seriously considering this. This is stupid as hell. You don’t feel guilty. You don’t feel anything. You’re beyond feeling. “Ortega’s a better fighter than I ever was.”

“I… think trying to learn how to fight like Ortega would probably kill me.” He laughs, runs a hand through his hair in a bid to burn off anxious energy.

You nod. “Yeah. That’s fair.” You don’t know how fighting like Ortega hasn’t killed Ortega.

Fucking hell.

You squint your eyes at him. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”

It takes him a moment. Then his whole face lights up.

You’re…

You’re going to get something useful out of this, right?

[thorne93]

Upcoming...

Hey everyone!

Thank you so much for enjoying, liking, reblogging, and commenting on The Stars Made Us - there are several more chapters to this roller coaster ;D

Here are some updates for the blog!

Personal Update:

I have a few WIPs, but I’m very busy because I graduate college in a few weeks, I’m taking 16 credit hours, applying to grad school, and doing the GRE. So I have a lot going on, but I thought I’d update you lovelies!!!

(Super side note, that I think y’all will appreciate. I was standing in line at a restaurant the other day with my husband, and I have always said he’s like Peter Parker because he looks just like Tom Holland, he’s a photographer, he’s smart, he’s into technology, his parents didn’t raise him, and he helps to fight crime. This woman in line was talking to him for a second and said, “Hey you look like Peter Parker! You even move like him and talk like him, you have the same mannerisms.” I thought it was great, but it got better, when later she turned around to us in the line and said “Hey, Peter Parker, and MJ, do y’all come here often?” Now I def wanna cosplay Spidey and MJ (or possibly Gwen) for a con or Halloween, lol)

Stories to come out after The Stars Made Us:

Long Lost Love - Clint Barton x Reader

This takes place during the gap between IW and Endgame - A pretty angsty fic, that I think everyone will like.

History Repeats - Hayden Christensen x Reader

Hayden and you share in the ideal of misery loves company, but what happens when the misery in your life is caused by the company you keep?

Love Locked In - Stephen Strange x Reader

Being married to Stephen can be extremely trying, but lately, it’s too much for you, and you’re ready to leave him - for good.

(To be named) - Loki x Reader

This was inspired by Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift. This story will follow the lovers for a year, from the moment they meet until....

This is where it gets interesting - for the first time ever from me, YOU choose the ending. This story will have multiple alternative endings. At a point in the series, I will ask you to choose Loki’s choice, and you will get to see how it plays out. It will essentially look like this: Loki chooses to do X (which will link to one ending/series), or Loki chooses to do Y (which will link to an entirely separate ending/continuation of the stories). Even within the alternative endings, there will be choices to make.

I’m extremely excited for this, and I think all of you will enjoy it. As an FYI, I am still writing this.

(To Be named) - Henry Cavill x Reader, RDJ x Reader, Tom Hiddleston x OFC Friend

You are a celebrity photographer, working freelance as well as for big name magazines. Through your time with two of the most gorgeous and sweet men you’ve ever met, you end up falling for both - the bad thing is, they fall for you too at the same time. Your heart has to decide who it wants more... or does it? (This may be a poly, this may be a love triangle, but it definitely will not be a cheating fic - still a WIP).

(To be named) - Witcher Fic! Geralt x OFC Shannon, Jaskier x OFC Lexi

This fic is a collab between me and my bestie @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​. This concept is the idea that there is a new button out that allows people to press the button and the fictional character you choose comes to life in our world, in reality, and they love you and only you. You don’t have to fight for their attention or anything else. The button goes wrong though, sucking the OFCs into the Witcher world instead, where they deal with magic, fighting, love, loss, and fate. One caveat, is that it is up to the button owner to decide how the character shows affection for you -- i.e. maybe you don’t want romantic love from a character but platonic friend love, or you want them as your best friend, or you want them as a guardian/caregiver/godparent type figure - it is up to YOU. This fic is a WIP, but we’ve gotten quite a bit done and we are nearly finished.

Based on the following image:

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Tagging and The Stars Made Us

I’m apologize in advance if you asked to be tagged in The Stars Made Us (or possibly other stores). A lot of times, I queue up stories, and it’s a little time consuming to go back and retag - but I do try to make time for this. I sincerely apologize if you ask to be tagged in the next part and it takes me a bit to get to it. I will try as hard as I can to get you all added to the list when I can. Again, please refer to the note above that I have a lot on my plate right now.

Requests:

In case you ever want to know if I have gotten a request - I have. I do keep them, and I refer to them if I feel like I want to write something new. I try to write those. Don’t ever think I’m ignoring them. If it is an idea I don’t think I could do, or I’m not interested in, or don’t understand it, I will tell you, I will respond. I am working on these, slowly but surely. Hopefully after I graduate, I can dedicate some time to your interesting requests. I like them all (again, unless otherwise stated), and I do have them saved, just bear with me and be patient, please!!

THANK YOU!

Anyway, thank you to every one who has stuck around, thank you to everyone who is going through my masterlist, thank you to everyone who is new, thank you to everyone who is liking, reblogging, and commenting on any and all of my stories. You da real MVPs.