#so many bands have mentioned discomfort of that shit

[custercarnies]

Unfriendly reminder that introjects are not here for your entertainment. Dm'ing an introject you're "dating" the ghost/dead person of their source is disgusting and if you think you're genuinely dating a dead person who never even met you - seek help. I am so tired of people treating me like shit for my sources. Respect people's boundaries and learn some fucking decency for the dead.

[alicerosejensen]

Heyyyy hope you’re doing well!!

Please can you imagine Leon (re6) loosing his shit because they kidnapped his girlfriend and he’s like trying everything to get her back? Imagine him crying as soon as he gets to hug her again!😭

I'm fine as long as I have a laptop connected to the internet and food)

In fact, this is one of my favorite plot tropes, when someone is kidnapped, and the main character is ready to burn the whole world to the ground, but to find an expensive person.

Leon, despite his moral principles, I think he could have made many sacrifices. In particular, he would definitely lose his temper if he grabbed onto any thread to find his beloved. At least he didn't stand on ceremony with Patrizio.

Thus, there will be little left of the scoundrel who kidnapped his girlfriend.

Something constantly happens to the poor girl of Leon (either she runs away from him, or she is stolen from him). Sorry, I just love their relationship and Leon, who is ready to kill for his loved ones :D

I still know shit English, but enjoy it if you're interested.

Please read with extreme caution! There are mentions of physical violence, kidnapping and a maniac!Yandere

Leon is a little paranoid when it comes to protecting his loved ones, so most likely he will insert some tracking device into your phone or earrings to be sure that his beloved is safe.

He tries not to violate personal boundaries, but understands that his beloved is in potential danger in relation to him. Therefore, you are under additional invisible protection.

All you need to know is that Leon is not abusing his position as a federal agent. There is no surveillance on you, it's just that if something happens, he wants to have time to prevent it before the irreparable happens (or he goes on a binge again).

His heart sinks at the thought that he may lose you for some reason. Any encroachment into your personal space by outsiders who create discomfort for you make Leon enter the defender mode (aggressive if necessary). You should be safe.

Since Leon is known to a minimum of people about Leon's love interest, the risk is minimal that you will be harmed. At least Leon considered the threat from various corporations and bioterrorists. He didn't even think about the fact that there is some bastard stealing your things.

It was some little things: pencils, hair bands, a pocket mirror, lip gloss. Yes, you said something to him about it, but maybe you just dropped them out of your backpack?

He was calm exactly until you became too nervous. It seemed that you were afraid of something and called him a couple of times with a request to meet on the way home. Leon is not one of those who will refuse, but your behavior worries him.

And when you were walking home, Leon felt your painful grip on his arm.

His main priority is your well-being. "So tell me, pretty girl, what's going on with you?" Don't think I haven't noticed this nervousness.

He will be wary when he hears that someone is following you and dragging your things. Of course you could have lost them yourself, but the chiffon scarf that Leon gave you was the last straw. In addition, you showed him the abnormal love notes that someone constantly threw into your purse.

Outwardly, it did not affect him in any way, but the stingy "I'll deal with it" means a lot. The anxiety level has increased and Leon is worried that some kind of psycho might hurt you.

He often calls and asks if everything is in order and when you need to be picked up from college. However, when you don't answer the phone, everything dies inside him.

The moment he realizes that you have been taken away, a monster wakes up in him, which can bring down hell on your abductor.

His emotional state constantly fluctuates from constant fear for your lives bordering on panic to Ustanak whose task is to find you and finish off the son of a bitch who dared to take you away from him.

"No god will help this son of a bitch when I find him."

It's sad that you lost your phone on the day of the abduction and did not put on earrings. But a nice little bracelet will save you.

are a fucking goddess.

When you wake up, of course, you will be scared. However, you will try to intimidate the criminal by saying that he is so obsessed with you in vain. "Seriously, my boyfriend will come after me and gut you" You don't think Leon will kill anyone at all, so maybe your words don't sound too confident when the kidnapper's hand is stroking your head.

Do you panic when a fucking psycho says it's some kind of date? No one here hears your screams, you can't run away because you're handcuffed. You can't even go to the toilet on your own only under his control, and this causes you a deep psychological trauma. He brings you a fucking lilac, weaving thin twigs into your hair.

"Why me?" - This is the only question that is spinning in your head when you are hysterically pulling out purple flowers, throwing them away from you. - "Am I going to die here?"

You literally go crazy from the smell of dampness and lilac. Constantly shout Leon's name as if he can hear you and immediately breaking into a loud cry, banging on the walls and the locked door.

You're clearly getting claustrophobic.

While you're suffering, Leon is trying to track the fucking signal on one of your trinkets, but he's afraid that you left that day without any jewelry at all.

Claire is definitely one of those people who can talk some sense into Leon while he's looking for you. Considering that the bug gives a bad signal (or maybe your bracelet was damaged due to the fact that you constantly pull it from nerves) from the basement and your location is difficult to track, Leon has already yelled at Chris

You feel like a frog in formalin or even some kind of toy when your abductor brings you clean clothes, which you throw back to him. It's risky to make him angry like that and you really regret it when brute force is used to force you to change clothes.

Yes, then they "take care" of you, but you are already a cornered mouse. The purple marks on your skin and the marks from the handcuffs are now a reminder of who is in charge here.

And you hate that bastard more and more. Unfortunately, you have absolutely nothing to even hit him with. The food that he brings you in plastic dishes, as well as cutlery. You try not to eat, fearing that he might have mixed something in there, but you are forced by force.

It's been three days, and Leon hasn't found you. You feel like you're starting to go crazy until you hear a muffled noise from somewhere above.

All your belongings (including the bracelet) were seized and probably thrown away, leaving you in one long T-shirt, the smell that causes you to have a gag reflex. You literally have nothing on but this rag and underpants

All your belongings (including the bracelet) were seized and probably thrown away, leaving you in one long T-shirt, the smell that causes you to have a gag reflex. You literally have nothing on but this rag and underpants

Has anyone ever told you that you are not the luckiest person?

You tried to attack from behind when they stopped stroking you. It was risky and you failed because the kidnapper reacted before you swung to strike.

You were very painfully punished, left lying on the damp floor in a terrible state, all in tears and without an evening meal.

It's been four terrible days in your life. All because you fiddled with your bracelet too much, which turned out to be thrown away quite far from the place where you were, forcing Leon to go on a false trail.

You felt terrible. It didn't take long to break you. You no longer hoped to see daylight or your loved ones, so you crawled into the farthest corner curled up in a ball and cried.

Having lost track of time due to another fit of hysteria, you did not want to pay attention to the opening door and hurried steps in your direction.

Preferring not to pay attention to your enemy, you became even more hysterical when he tried to turn you around to face him, affectionately calling you "angel".

That's what infuriated you. But when you opened your eyes in another attempt to attack, you froze in disbelief at your own eyes. Have you already gone crazy in this place? So fast, or was Leon really in front of you?

His light blue eyes were dark. Not as bright as usual, but maybe it's because of the lighting… Strong hands carefully examined your body for the number of bruises.

You looked away in the direction of the open door - your freedom, but you felt Leon's fingers gently tracing over your split lips.

You've never seen such quiet hatred before. You were shivering from the cold, feeling that tears were still flowing down your cheeks, and tried to snuggle up to Leon in search of protection and warmth.

But Leon himself pressed you to him, slightly lifting up his T-shirt, checking for underwear. You flinched, and then you heard a single question when you grabbed his back with both hands, pressing your head against his chest.

"That son of a bitch…" - Leon gritted his teeth, still looking at your stolen things on the floor. - "I'll kill him"

The fuse clicked.

Leon took off his jacket, putting it on you (with great difficulty, because you did not want to interrupt close contact with him), and then easily picked up in his arms, like a small child, carrying out of this basement. You closed your eyes just to not see anything else. Leon's scent worked better than any strong sedative, and you wanted him not to let you go anymore.

So small. Defenseless. Bruised all over. He will kiss you on the temple, looking at the sprawled bastard with such a look that it will be clear how it will end. Leon will hand you over to Claire, despite your growing hysteria over the loss of hugs, and do what he has planned.

It's going to be pretty bloody. He expressed some regret about Patricio, but Leon will never forgive someone who hurt you, leaving a scar on your soul. So he'll empty the whole clip on him.

Because of this, he will have some problems, but you are the priority. You will undergo a full examination at the hospital, where Leon will be reassured (partially) that your violence ended with beatings. In general, there are no physical injuries, but both Leon and Claire understand what condition you will be in.

He will take care of you. Try to do everything so that you don't remember that four-day nightmare. He will find a good therapist, but if your brain decided to erase these memories on its own, a kind of protective reaction to stress, then it will even calm him down.

Leon understands the reason for your detached behavior. He is glad that you are not afraid to let him near you, thereby subconsciously making him your shield. he's ready to be one before you start trusting people again.

No one heard it, but Leon was really crying quietly when it was over. You were sleeping after taking a sedative dose, and he was sitting in the bathtub thinking only that he could not save you faster.

He won't touch you once again for fear of triggering some kind of trigger, but in your head it is Leon the hero savior. Therefore, if you are looking for protection in him, then it's even good, because this is how he hopes to redeem himself before you.

In the end, you are faced with dissociative amnesia. You realize that something terrible has happened, but you have a lapse in memory. Leon will be the one who will start distracting you from your memories by persuading you not to remember. He really considers it a gift of fate and will go out of his way so that you don't touch this moment of life at all, leaving him behind a black curtain.

And yet one day he burst into tears clutching to his chest. While you sleep next to him feeling completely safe, Leon will need to hug you tightly and come up with better ways to protect you. He feels guilty that he did not save you and this feeling of guilt will gnaw at him for a long time.

"I'm sorry… sweetheart, I'm so sorry… - what you hear in your sleep. - "Never again…no one will hurt you. Never."You don't remember a damn thing, but you're scared because Leon is crying kissing the top of your head.

He won't let anyone else take you away.

[schismusic]

WOLVES IN THE BALLROOM — Yellow Eyes, the LGBTQIA+ community, and the eldritch horrors of isolation

After biding my time for a really long time, these last few days I've been giving Immersion Trench Reverie a go. Yellow Eyes have, in a small capacity, appeared on this blog — possibly on the Redecorating post? — with their latest record, Master's Murmur, which is slightly different from the rest of their output. Basically imagine drawing out one of those intros/endings from their usual stuff, add the usual screaming vocals from Will Skarstad and twelve-string guitar and you're golden, except it works surprisingly well. Like most of you know, my relationship with metal is usually fairly rocky (haha), or at least it usually is, minus a couple of exceptions. Today we take a look at one of the exceptions.

A while back I attended my first kiki. For the uninitiated, a kiki is a ballroom event (in the LGBTQIA+ way, not in the eighteenth-century way) where people new to the discipline can begin showing — and potentially honing — their skills in a completely free manner. This last part, specifically, I did not know, and admittedly I didn't even know the kiki was supposed to be just a rehearsal space of sorts, and like most scenarios like that it brought back old memories of breakdancing and having a remotely positive body image, which made me (gasp!) want to dance. And so I did! I mean, it's not as simple as that, I just did some runway and even a couple seconds of sex siren because I am a showoff — and thank God there is no video evidence of that, I am really bad at being sexy — but still, I put myself in front of what might have been some two hundred people and did my thing, potentially getting some people hyped in the process. Crazy shit, right?

I realize there is some inherent irony in mentioning gay people in a post about black metal*. But it's also the most recent situation that allows me to discuss a certain element of discomfort, and the ability to overcome it. The reason why the kids over at KikiBolo were able to make me dance has to do with generating a good, safe, welcoming environment that still has the elements of performance and an edge to it. Their own rights are a political playground (to call it a "battleground" would imply that politics and politicians, at large, care about people instead of simply using issues as propaganda bullet points and electioneering buzzwords, but this simply isn't the case in Italy anymore — assuming it ever was anywhere, which is debatable), their own existence is more or less directly endangered every step of the way, and yet they dance and fight and live alongside one another to see another day, every day. This shiny surface — the dancefloor, the realness, the being extra and the celebratory openness and transparence of presentation displayed by all of these performers and attendants — has profound roots in incomprehensible discomfort, alterity, danger, inhospitality: eldritch beasts looming behind every corner that simply have to be taken into account when discussing all forms of resistance, whether strictly artistic or not, in situations like these.

Yellow Eyes' main songwriting duo is brothers Will and Sam Skarstad, with contributions from bassist Alex DeMaria. Drummer Mike Rekevics completes the lineup. As it turns out the Skarstad brothers were the children of violinmaker Brian, from whom Will took up the mantle running Skarstad Violins to this very day, and a composer who was routinely exposing her children to all varieties of musical traditions. Incidentally, Will's girlfriend (as of this 2016 Vice interview; in another piece, from 2017 and once again on Vice, she's referred to as "[his] wife Natasha") is from Siberia, and Immersion Trench Reverie admittedly takes a lot of inspiration from the Siberian landscape. The formative metal experience of the duo was with bands like Opeth, which led to this signature style that not many in black metal seem to adhere to: the two guitars interlock and weave into and out of each other repeatedly, forming a violent assault that still somehow manages to retain a very twisted, wistful melodicism. The harmonic richness of the matter never seems to go into auditory overload, incredibly, which might be one of the most surprising aspects of the whole ordeal, and the band display a keen sense of atmosphere throughout. To be fair, this is not uncommon to black metal bands in general; it's just that Yellow Eyes seem very conscious in some application of that idea, not just in their famed intro and outro sequences often sampling field recordings the band made themselves or even non-Western forms of music of all sorts (most notably Russian Orthodox chants and bells of all sorts) but in the songs' structural cores and tout-court arrangements as well.

In reading a Metal Injection interview done around the release of Rare Field Ceiling, the Skarstad brothers mention Arvo Pärt as a point of reference for their arrangements, and in a very ass-backwards way, it actually makes a lot of sense. We've already mentioned bells (aka tintinnabula, just to be clear for everyone), but pastoral aesthetics sometimes pop out in the mix as well: acoustic guitars and organ drones, sure, like in the very ending to Ice in the Spring, but also tremolo-picked guitar parts rigged to ring out into each other and provoke interesting acoustic phenomena that give the impression of bagpipes, launeddas even. The thrashing impact of the drums, more often than not simpler than you would expect in a black metal band, and spectacularly intelligible yet unintrusive bass guitar round the compositions off. The effect is actually much closer to a deviant, dark, perhaps inverted Pärt-like tintinnabula arrangement than you would expect given a general description of the band's sound. But, realistically, no one really gives a shit about harmonic analysis of a black metal band. What got me hooked on the band was precisely the cold and loneliness radiating from even their busiest moments.

A while back, must have been last October going off the top of my head, Yellow Eyes announced they would release a new record in this current year; as an appetizer, they released an EP titled Master's Murmur. A full-band electric version of the title track has been played by the band live in their latest live appearances. But that's not even the point, really. Master's Murmur plays like a placidly twisted amalgam of all the sensitivities the band have displayed over their last three records, but takes an approach that would leave most somewhat surprised: the aggressive vocals are essentially left unaltered, and so is the odd black metal all-out assault (as testified by the electric version of the title track the band have been playing lately), but at the same time the record is on average much more oriented to acoustic guitars, especially twelve-stringed, and the signature guitar interplay slows down, becomes more granular and understandable. This leads to absolutely stunning results like the intro to Tremble Blue Morning, where the extended instrumentation gives out a sense of sun rays breaking through thick layers of grey clouds. Or even the stunning sense of wonder radiating from that sudden guitar harmony in Garden Trick, closing off the record with an unexpected pang.

This is it, I think. This has got to be it. For the longest time I thought of my body as an obstacle to some sort of "purer" form of existence. Something out of a Star Trek episode, almost, one of the more psychedelic ones so to speak. It's a weird feeling, I wouldn't necessarily call it body dysmorphia, it's more the idea that existing on the physical plane is an immense shame to me and everyone else involved. I don't usually delve too much into lyrics for some reason — I guess I was always attracted, first and foremost, to music that makes the most of its timbral properties, the way sounds trickle and flow or hammer and stab or compel to physical movement… — and yet at the same time I can still feel that sense of reality bending, individual perception failing, deep longing if not mourning that the songs seem to recount. Forms of asceticism find their way into these Brooklynites' sound. They find a way to speak to the most isolated.

Back to the kiki metaphor: in preparation for this article I've been doing some research concerning ballroom culture, which of course led me to the Pose series. Major props to the actors for that and set designers for this, but it's hard to look at some of these characters' faces and not be immediately overwrought with despair for the frankly horrifying state their world — and the world at large, if we have to consider records like Deceit, Holy Money or even Prince's 1999's outlook — is in. The AIDS epidemic, a matter so big it has profound yet painfully tangible repercussions on the LGBTQIA+ community to this day, was only a drop in an ocean of day-to-day uncertainty that ranged from, potentially, simply having enough money to put some dinner on the table to international superpowers playing a DEFCON game of chicken with one another. Unsurprisingly, forty years later, we are not that far off from that point: apartheid states receive almost-worldwide support by virtue of monetary interests; racism and homophobia roam the streets of mass information just as much as outright war propaganda trying, more or less openly, to tell us about how "inevitable" a conflict is (not so surprising, ultimately, to realize how no one in the news broadcasting business has ever read Asimov); the climate of the planet still suffers from what inconsiderate consumption of resources happened between the 1970s and the 1990s — and as most of you might have gathered by now, Exxon knew all along: so fuck right off with your individual carbon footprint bullshit. And yet these people dance and fight and live alongside one another to see another day, every day.

Looking back at the earliest black metal bands we see a lot of punk inspiration (Tom G. Warrior of Celtic Frost even going as far as to mention Discharge as a main source of inspiration), or how some of the most renowned names in the genre hail from notoriously problematic geopolitical areas (consider for instance Sarcófago, from Brazil, or Rotting Christ, from Greece — a country which, might I remind you, was less than fifteen years out of a military dictatorship at the time of the band's inception). Black metal is, at heart, a music of discontent, fast and loud, played on instruments being taken to (and beyond) all reasonable limits by people who are often by their own admission not professional musicians, nor do they ever plan to be. A friend of mine liked to joke that "blackened" punk simply didn't work because black metal already is a subgenre of punk, and upsetting the delicate balance simply fucks everything up. Very clearly, Yellow Eyes are able to, if not feel, at least conjure that element of despair and inadequacy in a bold, stark, powerful manner. Theirs is a flirtation with the borders of mania, a dance on a frozen quagmire of madness that lets so much method, and care, and beauty shine through for those willing to spend the time getting acquainted with it, combing every hair of it to find the live flesh under it.

*It should be brought to the reader's attention that the LGBTQIA+ community still holds the very concept of metal quite dear to its heart — regardless of the unfortunate situations that take place in some of the worst circles in the genre. This, necessarily, brought its own wave of metal artists tied more or less directly to the community, and I would love to delve deeper into the topic, but I've been going on for god knows how many characters at this point. That's gonna have to be a different post, I think.

[lesbiangallagher]

ahhhhhh just a little rambling 💛😭😶‍🌫️

one of my old besties from high school messaged me this morning being so absolutely sweet 😭😭😭

he was a pretty quiet kid in school. we had some mutual friends in freshman year but all i remember mostly about him was that he was pretty quiet.

anyways he was in my homeroom. my homeroom was fun lol. we technically called it “advisory” and we would learn about international current events and do some college prep activities. we would be made to read a lot lol so my teacher (who i love and adore now) loved a quiet classroom. i am not a quiet person.

god now all i want to do is talk about homeroom. but main characters are these 2 class clowns who made everyone laugh constantly. we would have advisory after lunch so the good vibes never stopped lol much to my teacher’s chagrin. but yeah, she would make us have quiet time and it was impossible to control with teenagers as amazing as my classmates were lol we had so much fun. i remember advisory so fondly.

that being said, i am a huge chatterbox. i love to talk and ask people questions. i hated being bored bc then i would have to sit and think about the Dark Thoughts in my head so i would deflect and have fun instead. Fun>discomfort am i right

because i kept talking with everyone in the class and being a general disruption, i was moved to sit to the quietest kid in class. lol my teacher was so exasperated and i would always get phone calls home and my mom would always be like wtf are u even talking about constantly?? my manic energy like 👁️👄👁️

back to my wonderful friend though. i thought he was realllllllly shy at first but all of the sudden after a few days of my pestering, he opened up and i found out he was one of THEEEEEE funniest people ppl i met in school. bro HE ended up getting a phone call home for the first time EVER and it was because of me lol so for the next 3 years, we were the classic silly friends who hung out in different circles but would always embrace when passing one another in the hallways as two long lost friends would do 🩷 sometimes he would surprise me at lunch with a snack and i would meet him at his locker after school to walk to the bus stop and shoot the shit. we went to europe together for that exchange program i hated doing and he was a major support for me. i remember our friendship so fondly and now that we are adults, i can appreciate how much that formative friendship meant to me.

i remember him a being so genuinely sweet and kind. one of the only guys i met in school who was cool being friends with me 😭 we have so many inside jokes that still make me crack up to this day if i think about it. yall i graduated in 2014 and here i am talking about HIGH SCHOOL fondly. bro i couldn’t wait to graduate lol so funny how things work in hindsight and now i have strengthened the critical thinking skills hahah not to mention the TIME to ponder.

we lost touch after graduation bc he joined a band and worked a lot and i worked a lot and made college my priority. we have always kept up with each other like on social media but we haven’t had a good conversation in years. so i think we are attempting this now. we are reconnecting. i found this extremely cute pic we took at our senior prom and i sent it to him and now we are sharing pics of our lives, past and present. and im just. :)

i always feel so guilty for how i lost touch with so many important people. like first, how do i describe my mental illness to people?? i figured out how to do it with myself and mick like 2 years ago. it’s STILL HARD but they understand. i can put up boundaries at work with nebulous language about how stress is bad for me. it’s STILL HARD but they understand. but how do i look my personal friends in the eye and say hey im sorry i promise i wasn’t trying to be selfish but i had to take care of myself and my unstable ass for years and i was so tired from working so much and i didn’t know how to depend on people so i think i accidentally ended up pushing away those friendships that pulled me through my first bouts of depression as a teenager but im an adult now and i understand that my actions have consequences and although not an excuse to have seemingly poofed myself out of your life without much warning or explanations i still hope you’d allow me to continue supporting you and i would love nothing more than to hear about you and your life and everything you have been up to because you continue to be the wonderful person i always remember you were

sighs i guess i have to just do exactly that. i don’t expect a friendship in return i just want it to be known how much love there is in my heart and how important people are to me. but it would be nice to have those friends back as an active fixture in my life.

i won’t let myself ruin this one. i refuse. i will work hard and continue to actually LIVE LIFE and let people in. it’s so scary oh my god but i have to! i want to. so i will.

if you made it to reading my ramblings this far, thank you. i’m figuring it out. it’s hard but im figuring it out. i promise. i’m a major work in progress but i am working it out.

[cloudpools]

Blythe was completely enrapt, bright emeralds boring into Gurin as he explained the layout of his home. A clam. They were inside a giant clam! How did that even work? Was it still alive? If they were inside the mollusk then where was the mollusk nestled? Her jaw drops to ask her ever-growing pool of questions, but she hesitates as he continues after a brief pause.

It had been obvious to Blythe that mentions of their first meeting brought him a lot of discomfort. Even just her presence (regardless of their current predicament) seemed to make him uneasy. The memory hadn't been pleasant for her either, but she didn't carry any scars from that night other than a deep anxiety to never have Zeyrfial yell at her like that again.

Veril also remembered that night well. He'd found Gurin crumpled, pierced, blood pooling around his hanging form. Gurin cursing as Veril cleaned the wound, used what little healing magic he knew, and bandaged him up. The grumble of thanks as he limped him back to his quarters. Veril hadn't asked any questions that night, but the pieces were slowly falling into place now that he'd met the cause of the incident.

The red-skinned demon's smile grew more as he watched his friend flounder. It was so odd. Normally Gurin was so suave with women, whisking them away with a wink and silver tongue. Gurin didn't need to tell Blythe anything about this place, but it seemed that he was doing so to put her at ease. Not because he wanted to seduce her, but because he wanted to assuage any worries she may have. To give her reassurance that he had a plan, and everything was going to be fine.

And then the elevator doors opened.

Blythe doesn't move right away, in awe of the main hub, but when she notices the crowd coming for them to take their own elevators to their own destinations, she gasps, scrambling behind Gurin and latching on once again. Veril is quick to reactivate the necklace with the snap of his fingers, hissing as other demons pushed past. "Yea, Brenn! Watch it!" Trying to position himself in a way that would keep Blythe safely nestled between the pair (which was rather difficult now that she was invisible), their merry(?) band made way for the thick of the crowd. How unfortunate that they'd have to pass through in order to make it to the main lifts.

Blythe stays completely silent, using all of her concentration not to trip or bump into anyone, while simultaneously eavesdropping on all the passersby. Veril quirks a brow, throwing a look at Gurin. "Is it a holiday or somethin'? Why's everyone scrambling around? What's the hubbub all about?" If Veril would take five seconds to listen in, like Blythe, he would hear the whispers of his coworkers.

"...Ukolai came personally...." "... breach in security..." "....his whole guard..." "An inspection?" "No no! A celebration?"

"Shit." Veril's curse startles Blythe, and she looks up to find his gaze trained on a formally dressed, bespeckled demon. "Dravok's here.... which means...." Dravok was a large demon, and an even larger asshole. You had to be when you were the head of an archdemon's honor guard... He was doing his job, scanning the perimeter when his eyes fell on an unusual sight. The glasses he was wearing were special. Expensive gems cut thin that allowed those who peered through to dispel any magical tricks or disguises. You never could trust anyone.

Especially those who were invisible...

"VERIL." Reflexively, the portly demon stiffens, and all eyes shift to what most would see as just a duo. "What in the hells are you hiding this time?! How many times have I had to have a talk with you about using counterfeit gems?! You better have a damn good explanation this time or else." The crowd parts, allowing the blue-skinned guard a path directly to them, the rest of the guard filling the gap around Ukolai. And it's only now that Blythe realizes... Dravok is staring right at her.

Panic sets in. Should she run? Should she hide? Maybe she was overreacting? Maybe it would all be fine? She begins to quiver as the guard stands before her, towering, muscular. Blythe is swallowed by his shadow, and there's no mistaking it. He's looking down on her. "And who might you be? A new pet?"

Blythe contemplates answering, but instead ops to tug on Gurin, shaking only getting worse. She was caught! What would happen to her now?!

These depths and tunnels didn’t allow conventional sources of magic to function as they should. This mine was, after all, not unlike an oyster- long dead, tunneled through for its precious pearls of stone deposits. Lost geodes of congealed … hells know what. Gurin had the vestiges of understanding the rules and laws of the creation of these stones but the inner workings went above him. That made it all the more bizarre how Blythe had made it in. But at least, for now at least, the localized spell that Veril had utilized would do what it needed to.

…right???

In the safety of the elevator, it’s revealed its not quite as steadfast as one would hope. As if Gurin hadn’t already felt pangs of anxiety with how it flickered when one were to touch the little lady. Something that was bad enough already. Shit. It’d almost be easier to dress her up as a demon than whatever this was. Coulda woulda shoulda. Who the fuck is Gurin kidding? He didn’t have anything on him to put on airs or disguises like that.

“Seriously. Keep the regular job, Veril. That’s all I'ma say on that. You’re lucky the damn spell hasn’t dropped her through the floor. Or worse.” He heaves a sigh, feeling more and more like a chaperone or something. Between the helplessness of Blythe (not really her fault) and the foolishness of Veril’s (quite the opposite) he felt like the only sane person present.

Or the one who didn’t have other ideas in mind… he… didn’t have any himself? Did he? Another glance at Blythe, has him uncertain. A forced half-smile as he lifts his chin.

“Oy. You’re holding up alright for now, aren’t you?” Another breath. “Don’t worry… this place is confusing to get around, but when you know what you’re doing it’s quick work. We take this elevator back to the main body of the mollusk. We were down like a… a vein. That last place we met, where the ball was being held. Its not far from where we’re going.” An involuntary memory sends a small shiver through Gurin. An impulsive touch to where the lances of ice had pierced him. It’d taken no small effort to get those healed up. “Uheh. We’ll be taking another lift from there to get out to the transport circles- seeing as none of us know any magic that can take you out from that point.” Once again begging the mystery. “In the meantime, or rather once we get out of there you best– !!!”

The doors decided this was the perfect time to reintroduce to Blythe the crown of the mine. The sanctuary yielding unto the three the full bustle of the premises in which Gurin and Veril worked under Ukolai.

It was, for better or worse, much more open than previous areas. Though it was still dotted around the edges with crystals- these were left as decoration having little use as magical foci or structural need. Pretty, barely, and that was about it. Various carved stone walkways spread out place to place like boardwalks across a shallow marsh. Stairways. Balconies. Larger yawning holes of carved stone that lead down deeper pathways. Some leading to offices. Others to barracks.

Blythe is afforded a single generous moment to take in any new sights, before the presence of moment demanded they move. That’s a lot of people looking to get past them onto the lift they just came to. What the hell?!

“Hey. Watch it, you trying to push me over? Good grief, Brenn.” At the very least, Gurin was quick to adopt a more postured image, as he usually did. Locking gaze with the offending demon (one his equal in height) and shifting past. Hopefully giving time for Blythe to slip around and hells please have the magic put back to work. “Hell of a day for things to be this busy… and what’s going on down there now?”

Gurin can’t help but observe a crowd of various demons down near the main lifts, and others watching from afar… but from where they were standing it couldn’t be made out just yet just who or what had attracted attention. And even worse, they’d be learning one way or another if they wanted to get out.

[yuzukult]

dissonance (teaser) || jjk & reader

title: dissonance pairing: jeon jungkook x reader genre: angst, eventual smut (but teaser is smut free baby), fluff, rockstar!jungkook, gradstudent!reader teaser wc: 1,277 | full fic wc: tbd summary: something that first seems out of reach becomes a reality for him. screaming adoring fans, billboards with him and his band plastered on it, and touring across the globe with venues sold out. he has everything... but all he's missing is you. a/n: back at it again !! i honestly didn't think i'd come back with another jungkook fic but... i've always written series' for him so maybe this time lets dabble in a one-shot. :) enjoy this little teaser!

He loves it here. It’s his dream to be here, on the stage, with the feeling of the music rumbling underneath the soles of his chunky boots, the sea of fans screaming and hollering out his name with his self-produced songs booming through the speakers of the venue while his band stands by his side, just as passionate for this as he is.

It’s his dream; he reiterates this constantly as a reminder that this isn’t something everyone gets the chance to breathe the opportunity of. He’s been manifesting this scenario his entire life, wishing and praying to the potential Gods to help make his aspirations become a reality. He’d work his ass off to make ends meet, be able to afford the necessities all while chasing this goal that many claimed to be unrealistic or unattainable. But he’s here right now, supporters that flood the building to the brim for a concert that’s been sold out in thirty cities so far. He has everything he could ever want. Girls, money, music…

But why does he feel… like there’s something missing?

Another pair of panties gets thrown at the toes of his boots—it’s probably the sixth one that night but he’s grown used to this already. In some performances, girls would throw themselves at his feet instead of undergarments, yelling at the top of their lungs so ferociously that the security guards had to hold them back in fear of what they’re capable of. And sure, if he really wanted to, he could ask them out or invite them back to his hotel room for a quick bang, and it was what he’d been doing for the first couple years, and maybe they’ll make him feel a little less like this.

Albeit it doesn’t quite hit the same way anymore.

He’s left with this feeling of emptiness when he says his goodbyes and shuts the door behind them; there’s a gap in his chest like he’s forgotten something, yearning for it to be filled but those girls aren’t the ones to do it. His dreams used to be able to—but what are accomplished dreams when you have no one to share it with?

His friends/band mates are great, supportive and understanding, he’s admitted that he’s gotten lucky in that department, but part of him believes that it’s not friendship he’s lacking.

It’s love.

It sounds sappy to the ears of strangers, especially because ideally, you’re not supposed to depend on love to have that stuffing to the brim emotions in your chest, to feel complete and whole because a pretty person fell for you and vice versa. But to Jungkook, being in love had been something he thought he could toss under the rug for another day when he’d given up the girl he’d be infatuated with for this unobtainable aspiration, yet instead, he finds himself back in the same spot years later. Missing it.

He loved the chase—he’s a hopeless romantic kind of guy. After all, how would all of his songs be so full of raw emotions like that? It’s because Jungkook lives it—or well, lived it because everything he knew about love had been left on a shelf to collect dust. And he’d try to convince himself that he didn’t need someone, but he’d grown… lonely.

And quite frankly, finding someone genuine has proven to be difficult.

Don’t mention Tinder, Jungkook has already tried that. It promptly made headlines the moment he logged into that app with a selfie he’s never used before, and still then people actually thought he was catfishing, and wasn’t the real Jeon Jungkook. He should’ve known. But in all fairness, Jungkook isn’t much of a ‘future thinker.’

Then there was trying to date a staff member—worse idea yet. That noona ended up pissed at him when he realized that this isn’t what he wanted (he’d learn she was quite the control freak) and she flipped shit to the point that his managers fired her on the spot then informed the security that she was on the “do-not-enter” list.

After that, Jungkook just thought maybe he was going about this wrong.

Maybe, women weren’t actually of his interest.

Possibly, he was into men.

So, he tried. He ventured out a little, got a little taste here and there. Jungkook even found someone who fit him perfectly. His name? Kim Hyunwoo.

It worked out for a little, Jungkook admits, because Hyunwoo was overall a great boyfriend. He looked out for Jungkook, treated him well and they shared the same interests overall.

But… that was the problem.

They got along very well. As if they were best friends.

He found himself getting a bit uncomfortable when things got a little too serious—don’t get him wrong though, he honestly wasn’t embarrassed to be dating a guy. Hyunwoo was the definition of a model; handsome, tall with these sharp facial features. He’d been stopped and recruited several times during their dates, and truthfully, it made Jungkook feel a little awkward. He was the celebrity here, yet standing beside Hyunwoo only makes him feel small.

And in all honesty, he shouldn’t feel this way about the success of his significant other. But it wasn’t even just that. He found himself unable to pass first base with the guy—something about the action itself made him feel… discomfort. But he’s attracted to Hyunwoo. So why can’t he push himself to kiss him?

Jungkook learns maybe he finds men appealing but he can’t have more with them.

So, he goes back into the dating game. Met girls all over during his tour stops; he met a foreign girl named Lily, a gorgeous girl with pretty blonde hair and pale skin. But they didn’t click. He oddly felt like they weren’t ever on the same page. Then he went to dinner with a gal named—okay. He forgot her name. But the way her dress hugged her ass made his mind go blank, so could he really be blamed? (The answer is yes.) Oh! What about that girl whose name is similar to a hurricane? She had long, dark hair that matched her lengthy lashes that fluttered over her supple cheeks when she sucked his—

Nonetheless, it’s a dud again. He’s still lonely, he sadly confesses, but all of this is too much for him to process. He’s tired of getting his heart broken. He’s exhausted from meeting girls who first claimed that they’re not obsessed then actually are. He’s worn out of the ones who don’t love him for him, but love him for his fame.

Jungkook just wants to be loved for being… Jungkook.

And when he encounters you, some graduate student who spends majority of her days in between the activities of face dug into a textbook or eyes glued onto a computer screen, he thinks he’s back to where he was before this lifestyle. Jungkook finds himself swooning, desperately wishing for your touch and kisses, but there’s just one thing he doesn’t quite know.

Do you like Jungkook for Jungkook? Or do you like the ideal version of him that sings on stage, tossing off his shirt with his abs flexing while the crowd screams his name once more, all while the veins in his neck pop when he reaches that high note?

Or do you like Jungkook, the one who still doesn’t understand the difference between an orange and clementine, the one who still has trouble knowing when a potato is thoroughly cooked, and why his socks came out of the wash in this weird pinky shade when they definitely went in as white.

So… which is it? Which Jungkook are you interested in?

[ghoulish-fiction]

Hello! I was just wondering if u had any hcs on what powers the ghouls might have? You’ve mentioned it briefly before (dewdrop conjuring flames, mountain being able to cause earthquakes, etc) and I was just wondering if you had anymore thoughts on that? If not that’s totally cool too though. Thank you :)

I'm so glad someone finally asked!! Thank you!! I can see you've been reading one of my favorite WIPs lol. I have a lot of opinions. Like a lot. So this is cut for length. PLEASE talk with me further about ghoul magic I beg you.

Mountain can cause earthquakes and can do some manipulation of the earth but he has to be touching it. So like no earth bender throwing rocks shit. More like splitting open the earth, or mending a crack, making a path across a stream, or raising up a hill from the flat ground. Mountain in particular is an extremely powerful earth ghoul capable of filling canyons and making new islands rise from sea and more, but he doesn't use his powers often simply because he loves and respects the earth too much. He does not want her to bend to his will, he wants to admire her natural beauty. Mountain is also very in tune with plant life. He can grow anything.

Rain can summon water with the moisture in the air and he can manipulate water that he is touching in much the same way that Mountain can manipulate the earth. Water ghouls are very talented swimmers who are capable of holding their breath for very long periods of time as they dive into deep waters and swim against powerful currents. Ghouls already have excellent night vision, but water ghouls even more so because they like to explore deep waters. Rain has all of these common features of water ghouls. He loves to explore any body of water he can while the band travels. Rain loves to manipulate the water while he is swimming to swim faster and do tricks. Nothing on earth or in the depths of hell makes Rain happier than being in water.

Aether has healing powers, can manipulate emotions, and he can ease pain and discomfort, but again he has to be touching the person. Aether is a gifted healer, but he doesn't use his powers often because it leaves him feeling exhausted. He doesn't like to manipulate people's emotions on moral grounds, but he has done it for what he believed to be the greater good. Aether is able to ease pain and discomfort easily without causing much stress to himself. He will often cure headaches, pains related to heats and periods, muscle aches, etc. His favorite way to use his powers is to massage a lover, rubbing away all their aches and pains and tension both physically and magically all while setting the mood.

Multi ghouls are jacks of all trades. Not all of them are able to use literally all powers, but most of them can use two or three, and their powers are generally fairly weak in comparison to a ghoul of that element. Swiss has fire, water, and healing powers. His fire powers are his strongest, followed closely by his healing powers. His water powers are very weak, but he is able to do little tricks that make Rain laugh.

Dew always has a literal fire burning in his chest and he is able to summon flames on his skin and in his mouth. He likes to light cigarettes, candles, incense, etc. with his fingers and tail. Dew does have some water powers as well, but they are not nearly as strong as his fire powers. He is an above average swimmer and he is able to manipulate small bodies of water. He can conjure very small amounts of water. No more than a few tablespoons. Despite Dew having water and fire powers he is not a multighoul. He has all the characteristics of a fire ghoul, which means he is a fire ghoul, he just happened to inherit water powers from his father as well. This is a rare occurrence but not at all unheard of.

Cirrus and Cumulus are essentially air benders lol. They will use their powers in many little everyday ways such as dusting something off, cooling hot food, drying something that is wet, blowing out many candles at once or from a distance. They can summon powerful windstorms when they are angry. They've also been known to use their powers to mess with other people such as a puff of air on the back of someone's neck when they think they're alone or endlessly blowing papers off of somebody's work space. They can make objects seemingly float, including themselves. I see a lot of fics with them having wings and I think its cool as fuck but I haven't adopted that into my writing. I might. I can't seem to make up my mind lol. Cumulus also has some healing powers that she inherited from her dad in the same way that Dew has water powers.

All ghouls practice magic. Their glamors are just one of the many ways they use magic. They are able to cast other illusion spells as well. They can grant protection, ward off negative energy, summon each other, and more that I haven't thought of yet lol. Cumulus loves practicing magic and making spells for the humans at the Abbey.

[bluejeanbaby]

"oh my god isn't it? i ran into so many of our old friends who are still hanging out in allies getting all sorts of fucked up and fucking around. it's exhausting honestly. i'm too tired for that now." frankie chirped back, shaking their head and grinning. still, there was a part of them that wished they could be like them. yet frankie had a knack for ruining everything the second they got their hands on any narcotics. it was a talent. the blonde couldn't help the grin that spread across their face at vickie's suggestion. "i am, i promise. the ladies are pretty helpful." they pointed with their thumb back to their own tour bus. "it's fun just being able to experiment. i feel like i've been making better music than ever." that wasn't saying that they were selling the most records, but the fun mattered most, right? "i mean yeah of course the whole social media thing helps, i get that. but i don't even have a twitter and look at this shit." frankie glanced back to the arena. "i mean we do have age and fame on our side but i think the business will adjust. people will get tired of listening to the same three shitty songs sped up 2x on tiktok." they hoped. maybe they were being an optimist. yet it pushed them, they always shouted out any young artist they knew of, often bringing along an unknown as an opener. frances could feel the bitterness ebb from vickie. a soft annoyed laugh escaped them. "i mean i should hope it was easier for you. you're not the one who had to publically divorce him. or deal with his smear campaign. i could go on." they reminded, fingers tightening around their own arms to rest balling fists up. even just the mention of the man could put them on edge, something therapy had not been helpful with. that wasn't vickie's fault though so they did their best to back down, shaking their head as a silent apology.

they stared at the hand held out to them, staring at it for a moment. "truce." frankie agreed, taking her hand and shaking it softly. they had plenty of friends, they loved their new band, they were in a completely new chapter of their life. yet, they couldn't help but want vickie's attention at all. despite all of the discomfort, frankie had missed having her in their life. craziness and all. "oh my god." they started excitedly, holding their hands up. "we need to plot something then. come up with the most egregious lie and tell them and i'll back you up." they practically giggled. "it would be so fun!" though after a moment their face fell just slightly. "you mean you didn't want to tell them how obsessed i was with you then, hm? i'd never shut up about it if the roles were reversed." frankie tried to keep a joking tone to their voice. "i'll be okay for a little while, i don't want to bug you for too long." the blonde shrugged when asked about a jacket, though shivers began rolling through their body shortly after. @gothwives

"and some people don't change a single bit even over five years... i dunno which is worse." even if it was somewhat like talking to a stranger, vickie was glad they'd both managed to transform themselves over the years. it was a necessary change, and one that hadn't been easy for either of them. "jazz is kind of the original punk rock, if you think about it. classical folks thought it was just unskilled players making noise... you should dabble a bit more, see where it takes you," she suggested as she ashed her cigarette, feeling more comfortable when discussing music than when it came to their personal lives. "the industry just isn't what it used to be, is it? everything's changed now... no one gives a fuck about record sales, or stage presence, or writing ability, it's all about getting your shit to trend on tiktok and landing a brand deal with fucking... cheetos, or something." it made her feel old, witnessing the shift in what it meant to be a successful artist, but she was also glad their band was able to make a name for itself before the height of the social media age. who knows if they would've been able to make it out of the garage had they gotten started now. "it's easier for me, 'cause i never fucked him, but i can see how it'd be harder for you to rewire your brain. all that history between you two..." she tried to keep the bitterness from her tone, but a little bit seeped in anyway.

"don't worry about it." the sentiment of her actions wasn't lost on vickie, but she just couldn't stomach the apologies. didn't want to have to be confronted with the weight of all frankie had done wrong throughout their relationship, or begin the gnarly task of full forgiveness. she'd rather just forget about their most painful moments, because there were some things that she just didn't think she'd be able to forgive. "and i'll do the same. truce?" holding out her free hand, vickie waited for them to shake it and agree to the terms of their working relationship. "sometimes they make me feel like a... like a wikipedia page, or something. not like an actual person. i mean, they're great, but it can be a bit much." fame had never been her goal, anyway, so to be known more for her band's messy exploits than the music they made had never sit well with her. all she'd wanted to do was make art and share it with the world, but somewhere along the road, her life had begun to feel like a reality tv show. "i usually keep it vague, or sometimes i even make shit up... it's kinda funny to fuck with them. i just want some things to stay between us, y'know? they don't need to know everything." having taken her last drag from her now spent cigarette, vickie tossed it to the ground and snubbed it out. "you cold? i've got a jacket on the bus."

[jungleslang]

I'm sorry, but I cannot understand people who say that Elriel shippers hate Lucien and want to cause him pain or are advocating for him to experience pain and ultimately be unhappy. I understand that the mating bond is a huge deal in fae culture, and that it's more difficult to deal with for the male than for the female. But shipping Elain with Azriel despite this does NOT mean that I hate him. The opposite is actually true. It literally makes zero sense.

I've seen this argument too many times throughout the years, and I saw it again today, so I've decided to address it. I'm going to discuss why Elriel doesn't equal Lucien being unhappy, as well as some Elriel and Vucien foreshadowing, and why this could lead to Lucien's happiness. Be aware that I'm obviously biased, and this is in no way meant to hate on Elucien or Elucien shippers. I'm just addressing this specific argument. All ships are valid, and we don't ship shame in this house. This is just my personal opinion, and I know that what I ship might not be endgame.

Also this is gonna be pretty long, don't say I didn't warn you.

I want to start off by saying that a big reason why I don't ship Elucien is honestly BECAUSE I love Lucien. Elain has consistently shown not even an ounce of interest in him for the past three books. Lucien himself also says that Elain was "thrown at him," while Jesminda, his past love, chose him. Elain has never used or shown her appreciation for any of the gifts Lucien gave her (which is her right). She has clearly stated that she does not want a mate. She also currently has feelings for Azriel, and it's been said that Elain "shrinks" in Lucien's presence, her newfound boldness suddenly gone. I'm sorry, but why would I want this for Lucien?? Why would I want Lucien to be with a woman who does not love him and currently has feelings for another male? A woman who literally shrivels up when he is near her? Lucien deserves to love and be loved wholeheartedly. And of course, Elain does, too.

Additionally, Lucien's words about Jesminda highlight that having a choice and being truly chosen are things that matter to him. And who are the people that Lucien has actively chosen to be with? Jurian and Vassa. Lucien is a centuries old fae male, with experience in multiple courts, and he's chosen to shack up with two humans in the human lands. That means something, and it shows that Vassa and Jurian are the people he feels comfortable with, the people he trusts, and most importantly, the people who make him feel wanted. Wanted enough to literally live with them after all of his trauma, after being barred from his home in the Spring Court by Tamlin, a person he loved cherished more than anyone else. And Jurian and Vassa have also chosen him.

As someone who absolutely loves Lucien, THIS is what I want for him. For him to be with people he chose and who in turn chose him. I want what's best for him, and so far, the text has indicated that Jurian and Vassa are what's best for him. I mean come on, the three of them literally created a name for themselves, the Band Of Exiles. The one time we saw Lucien actually laugh in ACOWAR was when he was with Vassa at the end. He blushes at the mention of her and has a "spark" in his eyes when he talks about her. Let's also not forget about this part in ACOFAS:

Lucien says that he's not living with them, the manor belongs to all of them. And even Feyre remarks how he's more comfortable around them, two humans, than people of his own race. I feel like this part is so overlooked. To me, it really demonstrates that Lucien has indeed found a home with these people, a home that belongs to all of them, and that he feels he truly does belong with them.

Additionally, it bothers me when people imply that rejecting the mating bond automatically equals unhappiness while accepting it guarantees love and happiness. Elain and Lucien rejecting their mating bond does not mean that Lucien is doomed to be unhappy and in pain for the rest of his life. And accepting it does not mean they'll be happy, either. We literally have proof of this in the books, and it comes in the form of Rhysand's parents. Rhys says that his parents were wrong for each other, and that his mother eventually came to hate his father, only staying with him because she was grateful to him for saving her wings. That is not a happy relationship.

Also, something that is one of the biggest hints toward Elriel for me, is the fact that every single mated couple we see in the books that actually ended up together had feelings for each other BEFORE the mating bond snapped into place. Rhys had feelings for Feyre while they were under the mountain, and Feyre fell in love with Rhys before she knew they were mates. Nessian's mating bond also didn't snap into place until after they already loved each other. And we also have Kallias and Viviane, who were in love before they discovered they were mates. These relationships all had solid foundations before the mate bond came came into play. Romantic feelings were established before the bond. For Elucien, this was not the case. Their mate bond snapped into the place the day they met each other, which directly mirrors Rhys' parents, whose mate bond snapped into place the moment they met and who also weren't right for each other. (Coincidence? I think not.)

We also have to remember that we have never been inside Lucien's head, with the exception of that one scene where Feyre infiltrates his mind while he's talking to Elain. That one glimpse alone mainly deals with the feelings he has for Elain due to his instincts because of the mate bond. It's also where he says Elain had been thrown at him. We don't actually know the extent of what he feels or doesn't feel for Elain. We don't know if he has romantic feelings for her outside of his instincts because of the bond, which we know is important based on what we discussed above. Yes, Lucien gives her gifts and clearly wants to get to know her, but we don't know whether he's just doing this out of obligation because the bond is so important in fae culture. Which might also be the reason Elain hasn't formally rejected him yet.

I think that there is a decent chance that this is the case based on what we've seen in the books. I also get the feeling that Lucien might be pursuing Elain out of obligation because Elain hasn't given him the time of day, and they've had no meaningful moments/conversations up until now. He doesn't really know her. How can you have feelings for someone you don't know and haven't spent any real time with? There are also these scenes from ACOFAS and ACOSF:

In ACOFAS, Feyre says that Lucien doesn't seem to have a real interest in bridging gap between him and Elain. In ACOSF, Cassian says the words "my mate" drip with discomfort when Lucien says them. This indicates that he's not so comfortable with calling Elain his mate / having her as his mate.

I also think this part is important because the level of comfort the characters have with each other is a distinguishing factor of the ships. Lucien is more comfortable around Vassa than Elain, while Elain is more comfortable around Azriel than Lucien.

As I stated before, this is the only time we see Lucien laughing in ACOWAR. Additionally, his shoulders are loose, indicating that he is not only comfortable but also relaxed, which is a rare thing for Lucien in the recent books with all the shit he has going on. In contrast, there's always a tension underlying his and Elain's interactions. Based on the fact that Vassa is chatting with him "animatedly," I would say she's likely comfortable around him, too.

There are also these two passages from ACOMAF, which I'm sure every Elriel shipper already knows lol.

We can also see that Elain has been at least somewhat comfortable around Azriel from the start, even when she was afraid of the fae and engaged to a fae-hating man. She even engaged him in a genuine conversation about flying. These two excerpts also show that Elain is somewhat attuned to Azriel as well. She notes his body language and uses it to gauge the situation. This also indicates a certain level of trust in him. And this has only increased as the story progressed. He's content to just sit beside her in the garden, she tells him about her plans for the garden, and they stay up late talking to each other. Their interactions signify how at ease they are with each other, which I think is big thing for Azriel, who's always described as cold and filled with an icy rage. Rhys says it took Mor centuries to get Az to loosen up, but he eased up around Elain in a remarkably short amount of time for someone usually so closed-off.

So, the conclusion here is that Elucien is not the only ship that guarantees all characters' happiness as some people say. Lucien is completely capable of being happy and finding a home without Elain accepting the bond, and the evidence is in the books. The fact that Lucien actively chooses to live together with Jurian and Vassa, and that Elain has constantly chosen to be around Az while showing no interest in Lucien is the reason while I will always stan Vucien and Elriel over Elucien. It's all about choice for me, which is something that's also emphasized in the books and seems to be important for both Elain's and Lucien's arcs.

And all Elriel shippers absolutely don't hate Lucien. If I'm being honest, I actually like Lucien as a character more than Azriel. While I am a diehard Elriel stan and I adore Az, Lucien is a more interesting character to me. He was raised in the Autumn Court, lived in the Spring Court, and ended up becoming part of the Night Court, as well. Then we find out he's the heir to the Day Court, and now he lives in the human lands with Jurian and Vassa. He has connections to so many places, and yet struggles to belong. He was lost, and found a home with two other lost people. The Lost Queen Vassa, and a human who was resurrected in a world that moved on without him.

This is also why, in my opinion, Vucien / The Band of Exiles has so much more potential than Elucien. I don't want another story about mates ending up with each other. Give me the found family trope that is the Band of Exiles.

If you've made it through this whole thing, thank you. As always, I'd love to hear your opinions!

[stellarstarwarsimagines]

Something You Like

Pairing - Poe Dameron x Reader

Summary - While doing it in a dirty cantina bathroom wasn’t something you particularly loved, you were pretty sure that the cocky, flyboy Poe was going to make it worth your while. 

Word Count - 2,918

Warnings - Smut, 18+, Unprotected Sex, Language

From the moment that you saw him at the other end of the Cantina, you knew that there was something about him that you liked. Despite the reputation you might have had around various Outer Rim worlds, you were rather picky when it came to the men that you gave your attention to, and over the past few years, you noticed that you had a type. 

Cocky, handsome and driven as hell. 

While you didn’t know anything else about this man, you knew he at least met one of those qualifications. His hair was dark with curls that looked so soft you could already imagine running your fingers through them. His strong jawline with the slightest hint of stubble, had you biting your lip. Then there was that adorable smile he flashed as he whispered something to the bartender, slipping her some credits. 

Oh yes, he seemed like just your type. 

“One Yub Nub.” Pulling you out of your thoughts, the same bartender you had watched the man flirting with moments ago set down a drink in front of you. 

You raised your eyebrow at her. “I didn’t order that.” 

She nodded her head towards the end of the bar. “He did.” 

Turning your head in the direction she indicated, you found that adorable smile directed to you, one eyebrow raised as he stared at you as if to say, ‘your move’. 

Well, you had never been one to shy away from a man. 

____________________

While you had already done it in a cramped cantina bathroom, it wasn’t your favorite place to have sex with a guy for the first time, but both of you were running short on time. 

And there was no way that you were going to pass on having sex with Poe. 

The name, along with several other of his features, had been seared into your memory from the moment it left his charming mouth. It turned out the man was exactly your type. He was a few years older than you, a pilot, which probably should have been a red flag, and very confident in himself. 

Within five minutes of talking to him, it was clear where this night would be headed. 

Which was right here, on top of a sink in your shirt and underwear with Poe between your thighs, him kissing you with, what you will admit, is some of the best technique you had ever had the pleasure of experiencing. It seemed that he could do more than pay compliments and smooth talk with that mouth of his. It made you wonder how good he was with that mouth elsewhere . . . 

But you knew you wouldn’t have time for that. If your ride got back, and you were in the bathroom, there was no doubt there would be a lecture waiting for you. Not to mention a definite threat of bodily harm. Reluctantly, you pulled away from the kiss, a brief smile flickering across your face as his lips attempted to follow yours. “I don’t have a lot of time.” You murmured, your hands tugging at his shirt. 

His large, warm hands gripped your thighs, squeezing them for a moment. “Guess I should get to work then.” He replied with a smirk as his fingers moved up to find the band of your underwear and tugged them down your thighs with a little help from you. 

For a moment, you were disappointed, thinking for all the high hopes you had, Poe was going to shove it in there and be done . . . Then you realized that he was getting on his knees in front of you. 

Maybe you did have time for that after all. 

If you had thought that his mouth was talented earlier, it was nothing compared to now. His tongue moved with an expertise you had to admire, sliding up and down your slit before diving in. He didn’t make good use of just his tongue either. Poe let go of one of your thighs to find that sweet spot inside of you with his fingers, making your hips arch right into his mouth. 

Maker, he was good. You were struggling to keep still as your hands found their way into his hair, running through them like you had imagined earlier, and you were pleased to find out it was as soft as you thought. You closed your eyes and tilted your head back against the mirror, focusing on all the pleasure that Poe was giving you with his mouth. 

Most men did not want to do what Poe was doing right now, and the fact that you hadn’t even had to ask for it with him was already giving him so many bonus points. It made you disappointed that you couldn’t stick around to find even more out him. Especially when he switched his tongue so he could slip a couple of fingers inside of you and curl them. “Fuck!” You gasped out, your ass jumping off the counter for a moment while your fingers tightened in his hair, giving it a little tug. 

Poe let out a groan, and backed his mouth off of you, raising an eyebrow up at you. “If you do that again, Sweetheart, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for a round two.” 

Sweetheart? If you weren’t careful this man was going to get you in a lot of trouble. Breathless, you glanced down at him, your hips moving in time with the pumps of his fingers. “I’m not your Sweetheart.” You told him, biting your bottom lip. 

“You aren’t?” He replied with a smirk, curling those fingers inside of you in a way that had your toes curling and a gasp leaving your lips. 

Oh fuck, he really was your type. He was a cocky little shit. 

But so were you. Remembering the reaction it had gotten moments before, you tugged on his hair, guiding his head until it was buried back between your thighs. “Why don’t you put that tongue back to good use, hmmm?” You asked. 

For a moment, you could have sworn that you felt him chuckling against you, but were distracted from that thought as he got back to work, tracing that little button with his tongue as he added a third finger inside of you. 

At the pace he was going, you knew it wouldn’t be long until you came apart. Your toes were already curling, your heart was pounding with pleasure, and you started grinding your hips against his face while you held his head by his curls. As you got closer and closer, you started clenching down on the fingers inside of you, and knew that you had to tell him. “Poe, stop, or I’m going to come on your face.” You said breathlessly. 

Poe pulled off of you long enough to say, “good,” and then dove right back in. 

Oh Maker,  he was fantastic. 

When he started back, it was almost as if he had taken it as a challenge to see how fast he could make you come undone. He picked up his speed with his fingers as well as his tongue, and within moments you were right on the edge. That’s when he used the tip of his tongue against your clit, and that was all you needed. 

You let out a low moan, your head falling back once more against the mirror as your hips stuttered and puslated on his fingers, pleasure so intense it had you shaking as he continued to work you through your orgasm until you had to shove him away. 

When you opened your eyes, once your breathing had calmed down a bit, you found him staring at you, licking his lips which were coated in what you had left behind. The confidence he stood there with, the proud look in his eyes simultaneously made you want to shove him and suck his dick at the same time. 

You decided to go with the later. 

Hopping off the counter in the small space, you tried to maneuver yourself down on your knees, but before you could so much as get a button of his pants unbuttoned, he was pulling you back up and shaking his head. “No time, remember?” he said, hoisting you back on the counter and making quick work of his pants himself. 

So . . . Poe wasn’t selfish. Surprising? Somewhat. Were you going to complain about it? Of course not. You reached forward and began to unbutton his shirt now, eager to run  your fingers over his skin, but froze when you saw the ring hanging around his neck. “You aren’t married are you?” Kriff, you knew he was too good to be true, and now you were going to feel like a piece of bantha crap for not even thinking about this possibility - 

But Poe was already shaking his head. “It’s my mom’s. We’re not ruining any relationships here, are we?” He added on as an afterthought, looking at you for your answer. 

Yeah, you should have both gone over this already. “No, we’re not.” You replied with a grin, grabbing him by the necklace and tugging him back between your legs, letting out a moan as you felt him, hot, hard and oh so thick against your thigh. “You better hurry up, flyboy. I’m not feeling very patient.” You told him, leaning forward and tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth as your hand wove back into those dark curls. 

“Hmm, why do I get the feeling patience isn’t your thing?” He asked, a smirk on his lips as he slipped his cock up and down your folds. 

Deciding to take matters into your own hands, literally, you slid your hands down his chest, gripping him and enjoying the way that he twitched at your touch. “Because, it really, really isn’t, Sweetheart.” You replied, trying to imitate the way he had said it as you slipped him inside you the slightest amount. 

That was all it took. He gripped your hips so hard you thought there might be bruises, and tugged you against him until you were sheathed all the way inside of him. 

If you had thought that him eating you out had felt good, it was nothing compared to how he felt inside of you, hot, warm, and filling up every inch. He was so thick and hard you couldn’t help but let out a moan, grabbing a hold of that necklace once again to keep him close. 

It seemed you weren’t the only one enjoying yourself either. Poe let out a groan himself, nipping at your jawline, while his grip on your hips tightened even more. “Maker, you feel so good.” 

Damn if he didn’t too. It was almost as if he was made to fit inside of you. He was the right length and width to make you feel full without causing you any painful discomfort. Your body was already filled with so much pleasure, you couldn’t wait for more. “You do too,” you murmured, then gripped his chin between your fingers and made him move his head until he was looking at you. “Of course, you’d feel even better if you’d move.” You replied, though some of the bravado was taken out of your voice as you rolled your hips against him, eager for more. 

He let out a chuckle as he met your lips in another kiss, pulling out of you slowly, only to slam back inside with enough force to make you whimper. 

You were no stranger to sex, and you didn’t feel any embarrassment to admit that. It was natural, and you liked how it felt. As long as you were careful, you didn’t see the harm indulging. Because of that, this wasn’t the first time you had sex in a cantina bathroom, but you could already tell that it was going to be the best. At least so far. 

Not that you were going to tell him that. 

Poe’s pace was relentless now that he seemed to be done with the teasing. Every thrust inside of you sent jolts of pleasure through your bones, and you found your hands in those soft curls again, tugging on them and groaning every time he bottomed out inside of you. His lips were once again busy on your neck, until one particularly hard thrust where he bit down on your skin made you let out a loud gasp of his name. There was something about the slight pain combined with the pleasure that had your heart pounding as you raced toward the edge. “Poe, kriff, I’m close.” You told him, and as soon as you said the words, his hand reached down stopping right above where you needed that extra pressure. 

“Do you want me to touch you here, Sweetheart?” He asked, leaning his forehead against yours and latching onto your gaze while his hips kept up their pace. 

You wanted to make a sarcastic comment, be your snarky self, but damn if he didn’t have you desperate for release right now. You were so, so close, and he felt so good, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about how pathetic you might sound. “Yes, please, Poe, touch me.” You gasped out, tugging at his curls once more. 

“Mhmmm, there’s a good girl,” he murmured in your ear as his fingers rubbed at that little nub that made sparks explode behind your closed eyelids, and you kinda hated and loved how that phrase made you clench down on him. “You can let go anytime you want.” He added. 

And as if your body had been waiting for permission, you did, grinding down hard on him as he thrust up into you again, heat filling your body from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Your hands tightened in his hair, holding him close as he groaned low in your ear while you pulsed around him, gasping in pure, unadulterated pleasure. 

It took you several breaths to recover from the high, and you knew by the time you did he was close. Your hand reached down between the two of you and you gripped the base of him. “Kriff,” Poe groaned at your actions, his hips stuttering. “I’m going to - where do you want me to-?” 

Surprised and pleased that he was even asking you, you pushed him back a bit with your hands until he was out of you. You slid back down to the floor, looking up at him with a smirk, and then took him inside your mouth. 

His reaction was immediate. He made such a pretty moan in the back of his throat, his head falling back against the wall as you tasted him with your tongue. His hands slid into your hair this time, guiding you up and down him, always careful not to push you too far which you appreciated. When you sucked on his tip, you heard him grunt, and felt his hands tighten in your hair while his warmth filled your mouth. 

You drank all of it down, licking him clean and watching him the whole time. It sure was a sight to behold, being able to make the attractive and cocky man come apart like this. Once he caught his breath, he pulled you back up to your feet, and began helping you put your clothes back on while you did the same to him. Both of your hands lingering in some places, mostly each other’s chests and asses, until you looked somewhat presentable again. 

Of course, all it took was one look at each other, and you found yourself in another lip lock with the man, arms wrapped around each other and messing up the clothes you had just fixed, and for once, you found yourself desperate for more time with the stranger.

At that exact moment though, a loud growl echoed through the cantina. 

You pulled away from Poe reluctantly, trying to ignore the way his lips followed yours when you did so, and gestured your thumb out the bathroom. “That’s my ride,” you informed him, biting your bottom lip as you looked at him. 

Poe didn’t try and hide the flash of disappointment in his eyes, but he nodded, his hands giving your hips one final squeeze. “I’ll see you around, Sweetheart.” He told you, his lips soft against your cheek. 

“Maybe,” you replied, a smirk on your lips, tugging on his shirt one more time as you turned the knob on the bathroom, unlocking the door and heading out into the main bar once more. 

There your ride stood, tall and menacing compared to the other patrons who were watching the Wookie warily. When he caught sight out of you, he let out an annoyed roar. 

“Calm down, calm down,” you told him, patting him on the arm. “I’m ready. We can get out of here.” 

The Wookie grumbled at you, but started leading you out of the cantina. You took a quick glance over your shoulder to find Poe leaning up against the bar, watching you leave with a grin. 

You shot him a wink, and turned back to the Wookie at your side. “So did Dad get the goods, Chewy?” You asked. 

Chewy’s responding growl told you that yes, the Rathtars had been secured on your borrowed ship. So now all you had to do was hope that getting them to the buyer would be simple, but knowing your Dad, you doubted it. 

With Han Solo, nothing ever was.

[saphie3243]

First Solstice

For my Secret Snowflake @tomtenadia

Nesta spends her first Solstice sober in Illyria, unable to bring herself to brave the inner circle celebration for a second year in a row.  

Word Count: 5500+

Read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297182

There  was something soothing about a room being so crowded it became hard to breathe. Better still when the music was so loud you can’t hear yourself think. Best when bodies are grinding, booze is flowing, and something to smoke is being passed around. Everyone was here for the same reason, everyone wanted a distraction. Amren had made several comments that she couldn’t believe Nesta got males to go home with her when she smelled like sweat and a distillery. She apparently didn’t understand that everyone smelled the same at places like this. 

The band was better than usual. The music was… actually good. Maybe that’s why the bar was extra packed today. Or maybe it was because Solstice was tomorrow and no one wanted to think about all the ways they’ve disappointed their families this year. 

Disappointing. The male she dragged into the bathroom was just that. He wasn’t even worth the time she wasted not getting another bottle of wine. She didn’t even let him finish before booting him out and stumbling back to her favorite stool. The bartender knows her by now and has mulled wine waiting. 

It’s warm and more mulled than wine. She nodded to him. They know how to take care of her here, she certainly spends enough. Leo is decent enough to warn her off of the less than savory types that might be interested in more than even she was willing to give. She sighs back into the glass. Why she felt the need to judge herself when tomorrow she was going to get 5 times over from Feyre and insipid little family was why she needed another glass. 

She turned around in her stool, facing back out, watching the crowd move in a formless mass. This band had changed over. The new one wasn’t nearly as good. Several months haunting bars and clubs to all hours in the morning had provided Nesta a proper sampling of Velaris’ bands, and, in her mind, gave her a liberty to criticize as she saw fit. This crater-faced crooner was pitchy and couldn’t move a room if he winnowed them. That earlier one had a woman out front. She was unusual for a Fae. She was beautiful, yes, but she wasn’t the wispy waif most fae women were. She was tall and built, covered in a layer of extra fat that filled out wonderful curves and jiggled when she danced. But that wasn’t what made her remarkable. Her voice took your heart by the ears and pulled you into the emotion she wanted you to feel.

“Weird compliment, but I’ll take it.” 

__

“Lor-Cass said you weren’t going home this year,” Emerie placed the breeches she was folding into a pile of identical wares. 

“I didn’t go home last year, either,” Nesta swished the black liquid in her cup as she reviewed the ledgers. Last Solstice only served to remind Nesta how much of a stranger she was to her own family, to Feyre’s new one. She would never be able to call that debacle “going home.” This year, however, she could avoid Velaris. Being banned from the city meant Feyre no longer had the ability to force her into attending farcical family meals, no matter how pissy she was about it. 

She closed the books with a sigh and placed them back into a drawer. “Numbers look good.” 

Emerie moved her pile of pants over to their shelf. “Thanks for looking over them, I haven’t had anyone to check my math since dad.” Nesta nodded and pulled out the books and notepads Emerie kept hidden with her accounting ledgers. 

She leafed through to the furthest marked page. “You didn’t get much further last night,” she commented. 

“Ah, no time, had to process a big shipment.” 

“It’s fine,” Nesta muttered. 5 words underlined. Not the most, not the least. She reviewed the best-guess at the words definition in Emerie’s notebook. Most were correct. She added pronunciation guides next to some. “Macabre means bloody, gruesome.” 

“Why is there an R in it?” 

“Because the gods are cruel.” She heard Emerie’s answering laugh. “You’re doing well though. We can probably move on to actually writing.” She didn’t really think it would be that hard for Emerie to learn to read and write. She ran this business - she was clearly whip-smart, just uneducated. It could easily be remedied.  

“In the meantime, can you answer the orders?” 

This little arrangement worked out nicely. Nesta lended her books and made her literate, meanwhile she would help out with store correspondence and would review the books. Reviewing the books was less about checking Emerie’s math - that she had a natural understanding for - and more about making sure each transaction had sufficient notes. 

She took another sip from her night-black liquid. The best part of Illyria, in her mind, was this coffee thing. It didn’t grow locally, needing a warmer climate for the source plant to thrive, but it had become a staple in the tribes as a way to keep troops moving with minimal sleep. Hot and bitter, it really shouldn’t have been as pleasant to drink as it was, but she found herself unable to stop. 

“When does Lo- Cass head down south?” 

“He should be meeting everyone Solstice morning and be back the day after.”

“What are you going to do?” 

Stare at the liquor bottles he filled with water to tease me.  Drink my weight in coffee and stand outside Devlon’s house at 2 am sending waves of power over the door to fuck with him until some asshole walks by and works up the balls to ask me back to their place - or die of exposure. Whatever’s first. 

“Not sure, why?” 

“Would you… I don’t know… want to spend tomorrow with… me?” Emerie had approached the table, tapping her fingers with each phrase. Nesta looked her up and down. If it was anyone else, she would have thought Cassian put her up to it. But she was also alone for the holidays, and Nesta knew that was probably a much bigger deal for the Illyrian than it was for her. She had mentioned once that she didn’t have many people since her father died. Adding in that Emerie didn’t do anything she didn’t want to do... If she was asking, it was because she wanted to spend this day with Nesta. 

She smiled at her friend, “Come over whenever.” 

___

Dinner was hot and ready when she came in. Cassian always made sure that their meals were piping. His own way of combating the awful wet cold of Illyria. She had to wonder if part of it also had to do with keeping the fires low in the house.  

Nesta kicked off her boots by the door and carried them to the fireplace. She set them down next to Cassian’s - the secret to warm feet, he’d said. Their coat rack was also by the fireplace for similar reasons. She gently felt the socks left hanging there- warm, thank the Wall. She pulled off her damp knits and left them in a pile on the floor while pulled on the fresh clothes. They went up to hang immediately after.

“Do you need to take every peg? Emerie’s store is only 5 minutes away,” Cassian called from across the house. He was standing in the kitchen with two bowls of stew. 

“Five minutes flying, 25 walking,” she turned to him. “Through a foot and a half of snow.” 

She pointed to the bottom of her dress and the crust of ice that had formed there. He grimaced. 

“I would have picked you up if you asked.” 

“Unnecessary.” She pulled the dress over her head and left it to hang on the coat rack. After months of living together, they had long overcome the initial discomfort with mild nudity. Not that she was anywhere near naked. She still had the chemise that ended at her knees, her wool sleeves, her knitted belly warmer, and a double layer of wool hose. She was more covered than either Amren or Morrigan on any given day. Finally in only dry clothes, she marched over the kitchen and took the bowl from Cassian. 

Four months of living with Cassian in Illyria was… surprisingly easy. The mountains were peaceful, simple. The way of life here is more similar to the human society she grew up with than the magical speed of Velaris. Emerie was a pleasant discovery. She still wanted a drink, desperately, but the biting cold had a similar numbing effect if you stood out in it long enough. The worst part was being dragged out of bed at dawn for “training”. Though her training was less about learning to fight herself and more about standing around the training rink terrifying males while Cass tried to teach little girls to throw a punch. 

Coincidently she hadn’t gotten laid in 4 months either. 

“As much as I love seeing you in your underwear, you do have very nice, very warm leathers.” 

“Bite me,” she said as she shoveled food in her mouth. She had made it this long avoiding putting those damn things on. She wasn’t going to cave now. No matter how much imagining the fur lining made her whimper. 

He smiled down at her, making a point of flashing his teeth. “Gladly.”  Whatever mischief was running through his thoughts cleaned itself up as he changed subjects. He was the other surprise. The animosity between them was turned down to a polite simmer. Oh they still bickered, and they flirted. They never said it, and God willing never would, but any edges of disgust in their banter had long been smoothed by fondness. “Az will be picking me up at 7 tomorrow. If you change your mind about coming with me, be ready to go then.” 

“I won’t,” she answered, choosing not to tell him that she would be spending the day with Emerie. 

Surprisingly, he didn’t push. 

“Oh good, you’re up. I’m making breakfast, if you want.” 

__

Nesta woke up in a bed that was far too clean to be her own. Her head ached, her throat was dry, and she was naked. She sat up and took in her surroundings. This room was not hers. She had less furniture and more piles of shit everywhere. She was trying to figure out how she got there when the door opened and a woman came wandering in. 

Nesta recognized her as soon as she spoke and finally recalled the night prior. She was the singer for that band. They chatted each other up at the bar for hours, getting progressively drunker. By the time the bar closed they stumbled home - going to hers because it was closer. They jumped each other as soon as the door closed. It was a new experience for Nesta, being with a woman. And it was good. The singer sounded as lovely when she came as she did when she belted. 

Staying for breakfast would be nice. Something real in her stomach to soak up the alcohol was very needed. And if she played it right, there was a chance for as lovely a morning as there was a night. 

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Nesta waited until her partner had left the room before she pulled on her dress and snuck out the window. 

Lovely wasn’t what she deserved. 

___

No training didn’t mean that Nesta didn’t wake up at first light. It just meant she didn’t need to get dressed. Part of the initial torture of first arrival was learning that Cass put her in an east facing room with larg windows on the walls - and refused to let her have curtains. Privacy apparently wasn’t as important as making sure she didn’t have oversleeping as an excuse.

She swore at the sun, as she did every morning, and felt around in the bed next to her. Before getting out from under the covers, she pulled on her fluffy robe. This little trick she learned back in the hut. Sleep with the clothes you’re going to wear if you want them to be warm in the morning. 

She trudged out to the main room and kitchen, beginning the process of preparing breakfast. Another rule of the house, if you are up first, you cook first. Same for dinner and coming home. Lunch they were on their own. There was a housemaid when she first arrived, but… she didn’t last long. She found the tea kettle and set about making hot water while she poured oats into bowls. From their icebox - a box they just left sealed outside to let winter keep cold - she pulled out a package of cured bacon. The kettle whistled, and she used the entire batch to steep the coffee. The next round of water was for the oatmeal.

The shadows between the windows grew and darkened. Before he even stepped out, Nesta greeted him. 

“I’m making coffee. Get a cup if you want some.” 

“Thank you. I’ll take bacon, too, if you don’t mind.” 

“It’s Cass’s money,” she answered, adding three more pieces to the griddle. 

Azriel was the only one from Velaris that visited with any sort of regularity, mostly due to how closely he needed to work with Cassian. He would come up about once a week for updates or meetings or to winnow Cass somewhere. He had begun to make a habit out of arriving early to chat with Nesta. Sometimes he just came up to hang out with them. He probably only came up to spend time with Cassian, but since she was usually around, they included her.

No one else from the Inner Circle bothered to visit. Rhysand and Feyre came up once, but that… did not end well. Elain felt too guilty to come see the sister whose banishment she had consented to. Morrigan wasn’t even on the island, so it wasn’t a surprise she didn’t stop by. And Amren… Amren was keeping her vow to not speak to Nesta until she apologised to Morrigan. Something Nesta still didn’t think she needed to do. 

Morrigan spent 4 nights a week at a gay bar. How the fuck was Nesta supposed to know she wasn’t out? 

“Elain asked me to bring this,” he conjured a set of books and hand-knitted socks into existence, placing both onto the table while pouring himself a cup. The books were tied together with ribbons and decorated with small bows, clearly meant to be her Solstice present. The socks - well, Elain had taken up knitting sometime in the last year and had Azriel deliver a pair every time he visited. 

“Why didn’t she just ask Cassian to bring it back with him?” Nesta scooped some brown sugar into her oatmeal. 

The ever so slight blush on his cheeks told her what his answer did not. “She wanted to make sure you had a present for the holiday.” 

“Because she knows how much I care about holidays,” and it had nothing at all to do with you leaving from her room this morning and it seeming convenient at the time. They wanted to be discrete, and Nesta accepted that - no matter how bad they were at hiding it. She poured in the hot water into her breakfast and stirred. “Any messages with that present?” 

“The bacon looks done.” 

“Azriel.” 

He sighed. “No.” 

Nesta tightened her jaw and moved the bacon from the stove to a plate, allowing him to have a piece. She wasn’t sure if she was more pissed that he didn’t have a message or that she was still hoping he would. Either way she was going to play it off. “I’m surprised they didn’t have you hock me about going, too.” 

Az cocked his head. “Cass made it pretty clear you weren’t ready for that.” She snapped up at him. 

“And what was his barometer for knowing if I was ready?” She sneered. 

But Az only shrugged, well accustomed to playing referee for Cassian and Nesta by now. “You not wanting to go.” 

__

Nesta was still thinking about Azriel’s answer by the time Emerie came over. She couldn’t decide if Cassian was being a presumptive ass or if he was being genuinely considerate. He had a habit of being both interchangeably. Like when he finally made his way to the kitchen, fully dressed and demanding breakfast. He added in some last minute jabs about coming back early if she got lonely as Az winnowed away with him. And even through the mocking tone, the message was clear. “If you don’t want to be alone, just say the word and I’ll come back.” 

He still didn’t know she was spending today with Emerie then. 

“Do you not own any decorations or do you just not like them?” she asked, looking around the room. 

“What decorations?” Nesta strained in her thoughts, there was a lot of extra shit in Feyre’s living room last year… 

“Solstice decorations.You know, candles, holly, garlands,” Emerie explained. It sounded like what Feyre had up - and what most of Velaris had up -  but in all honesty she was not sober enough last year to make the connection that it was for the holiday and wasn’t just some seasonal nonsense. Emerie squinted at her and placed a wrapped box on the table. Presents! 

Fuck. That’s right. Fae exchange presents on the Solstice. 

“I honestly don’t know.” 

Emerie squinted at her. “What do you mean you don’t know?” 

Nesta shrugged. “Humans don’t have holidays.” At most they had festivals, but they were distinctly not holidays, just an excuse to drink and dance with as many strangers as possible. The closest thing they had to a formal holiday was Treaty Day, and even that was not the intimate affair this seemed to be. She hadn’t even heard of a Solstice dinner until Feyre asked her to go last year. 

“How do you not have holidays?” she asked. 

“Holidays used to be very dangerous days to be human.” There were plenty of horror-stories around the suffering of human slaves on religious days. Whether they were being traded as gifts or killed as sacrifices...  even if the stories were exaggerations, it led to whole-sale rejection of everything religious by human society. 

“So you know nothing about solstice?” Emerie placed a hand on her hip. 

“It is the longest night of the year.” 

Emerie made it her mission to instruct Nesta on the finer points of an Illyrian solstice. First and foremost, every 5 years it was the last day of the Blood Rite. The theme of doing battle still continued in the other years, most tribes had hunts or tournaments for the men to mark the occasion. Women were expected to work the day to prepare for the night. The night of the Solstice was the only true peace Illyria ever saw. Solstice nights were for feasting, music, and dancing. Fighting after dark was strictly forbidden. Gifts were expected between families, friends, and especially rivals. It symbolized an acceptance that though Illyrians may compete with one another, they were still members of one army. 

“Does this tribe have a tournament?” Nesta asked. Cassian hadn’t mentioned anything about it, or a feast afterwards, but he might not have thought her interested. Or ready, she thought ruefully.

“Devlon hosts a melee tournament. Puts all the entrants in the ring together and waits to see who comes out. The large feast at the end is prepared by entrant’s families,” Nesta knew she meant women in those families, “For the entrants and their families. Dad didn’t enter, so we would just watch the tournament and then spend the night at home.” 

“Do you want to watch the tournament this year?” 

“Yeah but you’re still in your pajamas,” Emerie laughed. 

She watched by the door as Nesta dressed in her warmest clothes. Watching men fight on her day off wasn’t exactly Nesta’s idea of a good time. But Emerie wanted to go. And Cassian had tried to make the decision of whether or not she should go by not telling her about it, so that in and of itself made her want to go. Because neither were entering, and certainly neither were cooking, they wouldn’t be able to attend the feast after. But that’s just as well. A night back at the house with hot drinks and Cassian’s pantry seemed just fine to both of them. 

The tournament took place in the training rings. Normally the 5 or so rings were roped off from one another, allowing different ages and skill levels to train separately. But today Devlon had taken down the separators, providing an obnoxiously large space for his melee. But it was needed. It seemed every one of Devlon’s soldiers signed up for the tournament. About 200 competitors, ranging from small boys to grown men. There were even some father-son pairs helping each other warm up in the ring. 

Outside the rings, there was yet another crowd of voyeurs. Women and girls taking breaks from their preparations to watch, the merchant families - like Emerie’s, and the men too old and frail to compete anymore. Standing at the head of it all was Devlon, a poor-man’s Cassian. He caught wind of them walking up and immediately flared at the sight of Nesta before turning back to the tournament. Being a witch in Illyria had certain perks. Devlon’s apprehension being only part of it. The crowd parting for them, allowing them to stand at his side and have the best view, was another. 

“Soldiers!” Devlon called as he stepped forward. All 200 men turned to him at attention, well trained by now. “You know the rules. No siphons, no weapons, no flying, no killing. You fall, you’re out. You yield, you’re out. You get knocked out of the ring, you’re out. The last men standing at sunset wins.” He raised his arm in the air, making it visible to all. He took one last look around the ring, took a breath, and dropped his arm and stepped back as he bellowed, “Lay on!”

The chaos was immediate. One of the younger kids, there without a father to hold them up, fell immediately. The rest were at each other's throats, kicking, punching, wrestling. Part of her was worried that the battle-royale would be too similar to the war. But without the clang of steel and the geysers of blood, she found this was more similar to the crowded dance halls in Velaris. Devlon, now standing next to the girls, kept his eyes on the mock-battle as he spoke. “I thought you’d be with Cassian today.” 

“And miss a battle royale? Honestly Devlon, do you know me at all?” She smiled at him, relishing how he flinched at her grin. “Can’t help but notice none of the girls are competing.” 

His jaw tightened. “The Solstice melee is not training. It’s tradition.” 

“Now you said the same thing about the girls training, too, did you not?” Nesta had no interest in ever learning how to fight herself, and didn’t really care if girls trained or not. But there was a difference between choosing not to do something and not being allowed to do something. 

“If Lord Cassian wants to insert his views here as well, he should be here to do it himself.” The harsh words were undercut by the bead of sweat racing down his cheek. He wasn’t wrong. That was part of the reason Cass was stationed up here full time. Changing the rules around women required full time intervention. In Nesta’s mind, it also required more input from the women, but that was a discussion for another time. 

“Maybe next year,” Nesta yawned. She watched the battle progress. After the initial early eliminations, they had plateaued into a minor stalemate. Some alliances also became clear. Groups of friends or families fighting together, watching each other’s back, catching each other before they fell. She didn’t cheer as the crowd or Emerie did. Rather, her and Devlon seemed to be the only calm people there. 

Then… something odd happened. One of the teenage boys fell suddenly. He didn’t seem to get hit particularly hard, for one. And secondly, he didn’t get back up. Both Devlon and Nesta leaned forward, looking closer. She saw it first, sniffed it out. Blood. The boy had been hit in the side and was bleeding from the wound. 

“Devlon,” she said very carefully. 

“I know, I didn’t see who did it.” 

“We need to get him out.” 

“His friends will get him out.” 

She held her breath, watching. No one came. She hadn’t been watching him particularly, but she didn’t remember him teaming up like the others. The way they walked around him… “He doesn’t have friends,” she snarled. Even Emerie gulped as Nesta’s anger stirred the well of her power. Cass told her stories. Back when the shakes and cold sweats were unbearable, he stayed up with her and told stories, trying to distract her through it. Trading one dark truth for another. She told him about watching her mother die, he told her that he was alone for years until Rhys. A bastard that was left to fend for himself, potentially to die if he wasn’t strong enough. From the way they walked over this kid, he was the same. She needed to get him out of there. He was bleeding out and no one was doing a damn thing about it. 

“We cannot interfere with the melee,” Devlon said, “it’s against the rules.” 

“So is weapons, but someone clearly has a knife,” she spat. Devlon didn’t say anything to that. He just kept scanning the make-shift battlefield, searching. “There!” he shouted, and his green siphon flashed. Another teenager was plucked into the air by his wings. He kicked and thrashed, a small knife in his fist. Devlon pulled the kid to him, releasing his magic’s grip and decking as asshole as he got in range. The boy went down with just that one hit. 

But the first boy was still out there. He was still bleeding out. Alone in a crowd. He was going to die. He was going to die in this little mock battle where killing was strictly forbidden. Was this why Cassian didn’t tell her about it? Did he have holidays like this? Did older boys gang up on him and try to kill him without anyone noticing? Was he left alone to bleed on his own? 

“Nesta!” 

Emerie’s voice was farther away than it should have been, and muffled by a crowd of idiots fighting with one another. She wasn’t entirely sure how she got here, but Nesta was standing over the fallen boy. As they registered her presence, one by one the soldiers stopped. “The witch.” “It’s the witch.” “Why is the witch here?”  She ignored them all, kneeling down to the injured. He was pale and grimacing, having lost a lot of blood - still losing it, actually. The knife had gotten him just below the ribs, catching who knows which organs. Without another word she picked him up, allowing his head to rest against his shoulder and his body to rest on her torso. 

She turned back to Emerie and Devlon, one watching with concern, the other pissed as hell. She stepped towards them, slowly, carefully. She didn’t want to jostle the kid’s injuries more than necessary. No one came near her as she walked out of the ring. At first she thought it was the same as the audience, that they were simply afraid of the witch. But a glance around gave her a different answer.

Her power extended around her in a sphere, creating barriers of ethereal flowing silver. The grass around her withered and died, and no man here wanted to see what would happen if they touched the walls of silver flames. When she got to the edge of the ring, the rope touched her power and rotted to nothing. She didn’t know how this boy still lived in her arms, but he was still breathing- barely. She spoke to both Devlon and Emerie. 

“He needs a healer.” 

“I’ll find Marta and have her meet you at the house.” 

Nesta nodded to her friend and turned to walk the familiar path to Cassian’s house, her power dying down as she crossed the threshold.

__

Marta arrived at the same time she did. They set the kid down on the kitchen table as the old woman got to work. The boy did get stabbed, but only in the liver. It took longer than Nesta would have thought, certainly longer than the battlefield-healing she remembered from the war, but Marta was able to stabilize him and stitch him up. She left them with instructions to make sure the boy didn’t get infected or pop a stitch in the night. 

“Not how you planned to spend the Solstice, I’m guessing?” Nesta asked. 

Emerie tilted her head, “No but seeing every warrior in the village piss himself is worth it.” She slumped down on the couch. “We have a moment, want to open your present?” she gestured to the box on the table. 

“Y-yeah, just let me grab yours.” Nesta ran back to her room. She grabbed the stack of books Elain bought her, still wrapped from this morning. Definitely a faux paus, but she would never know. 

Nesta came back out with the present and set it in front of Emerie. “Happy Solstice.” The look of awe and excitement was worth it. As Emerie began to untie the books, Nesta began to unwrap her present. Under the paper was a long, thin box. She unlidded it to find a set of leather and wood hair pins - Illyrian style hair pins, made to not get cold in winter. 

“Thank you,” she said, still admiring the etching on the leather thong. 

“I’d thank you but, I think mine goes to Elain.” 

“What?” Nesta whipped her head up to see the first book open on the table and Emerie holding a hand written note. She was clearly reading it but let Nesta snatch it from her anyway. 

“So should I let you borrow the books or-”

“Shush.” Emerie laughed and paged through the first novel as Nesta read the note. 

Dear Nesta, 

I know you are still upset with me, and with Feyre, for sending you away. And you are right to be upset. You were there for me, after the Cauldron and after Grayson. You held our family together after Feyre left. And when you needed us, needed me, I didn’t know how to help. 

I don’t know if it is the power or just my own knowledge of you, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I knew that if I tried to help, I would only fail. And that is not an excuse. Fear of failure does not make not trying ok, but it is what I did. And I am sorry. 

I know putting this in a letter hidden in a book is still the coward’s way, but I don’t think I could face you if I didn’t apologize first. I hope to have Azriel take me for a visit after the Solstice if you would have me. 

Your sister, 

Elain

___

They stayed up most of the night, playing cards, reading, and watching over the boy. Nesta had planned to stay up the full night, but using her power that day and waking up at 6 am had taken its toll. She found herself drowsing into her cards. Around 3am, Emerie sent Nesta to bed, agreeing to stay up and keep watch. Nesta’s head barely hit the pillow before she was out. 

She woke in darkness. Not odd for her. Waking up in the middle night was fairly common. But when she looked to her window, she saw that it was not night. There was sunlight shining behind the makeshift curtain someone had thrown over her window. She pushed herself up. Who? 

“You’re up.” 

She turned her attention to the chair on the other side of her bed. Cassian sat there, watching over her with an indecipherable expression. She sat up.

“When did you get home?” 

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was down and knotted, unusual for him. There were bags under his eyes. “Last night, before dawn. Az brought me back,” he brought his hands together and looked at her. “Emerie told me what happened. You lost control again.” 

“How’s the boy?” 

“Petros is fine. I moved him to my room to sleep off the rest of the potion the healer gave him.” 

“That’s good.” 

“No, you couldn’t,” his hands gently reached out and lifted her face to look at him. “Why couldn’t you?” 

Cassian moved to the bed, sitting next to Nesta. “You lost control for him.”

“I-I couldn’t just let him bleed out,” she explained, staring at a spot on the bedspread.

Because he reminded me of you. She didn’t know if she said the words out loud or not. But Cassian’s answering kiss was so soft, so gentle, so sweet, she didn’t care. She responded to his kiss in kind, her hand cupping his face, finally feeling those perfectly chiselled cheekbones. His tongue passed over her lower lip and she opened for him, inviting him deeper. She met his tongue with her own and wrapped her hands around the back of his head, pulling him closer. He grinned through the kiss, gently placed his hand on her shoulders, and pushed her back down on the bed. 

It was the first time Nesta stayed for breakfast after.

___________

Tagging potential readers:

@perseusannabeth

[aion-rsa]

A Clockwork Orange at 50: Malcolm McDowell Revisits Kubrick’s Film

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“I think I’ve always been my own kind of person, and you know sometimes to my detriment,” says Malcolm McDowell, chatting to Den of Geek via Zoom, 50 years after the release of A Clockwork Orange.

“I’ve never really played the Hollywood card, I’m not really an insider, that’s just not my thing. And I like to be able to say no. And that’s it.That’s not probably a politically correct thing to do. However, too bad. I’m still here 50 years later.”

McDowell is talking to us from LA, his accent a soft mix of Yorkshire, where he grew up, and California where he has resided for much of his professional life. He is funny and charismatic, with a hint of the mischievous, he says people still find him “a little intimidating” – traits which he brought out in spades for his breakout roles, first as rebellious school boy Mick Travis in Lindsay Anderson’s If… and then as violent delinquent Alex Delarge in Stanley Kubrick’s bold, blistering and controversial satire A Clockwork Orange.

Watching it today it seems hard to believe the movie is 50 years old – it’s lost none of its power. Set in a futuristic dystopian Britain, McDowell plays gang leader Alex, who with his band of ‘droogs’, gets high on ‘milk plus’ and commits a horrible home invasion and rape, and later a murder. Apprehended by the police, Alex agrees to participate in a new kind of aversion therapy which makes him physically unable to commit crimes, causing pain and nausea at the very thought, in exchange for a reduced sentence.

Alex is robbed of freewill, becoming the Clockwork Orange – an organic thing with a machine inside – of the title. It’s a movie of big themes, of totalitarian governments controlling citizens and left wing dissidents exploiting individuals, it’s a discussion of goodness and evil, of youth and authority, which is visually striking and often shockingly so. And to many it’s a masterpiece.

Kubrick’s film is an adaptation of the novel by Anthony Burgess, which like the movie uses a language Burgess called Nadsat (from the Russian suffix meaning ‘teen’) – a mix of Russian, English and Cockney rhyming slang. 

McDowell recalls his first meeting with Kubrick which took place at Kubrick’s house in Boreham Wood, during McDowell’s lunch hour filming Bryan Forbes’ Long Ago, Tomorrow. Kubrick said he’d seen If.. four or five times and it had made a big impression on him.

“We had a very nice chat but he didn’t mention anything and at the end I said ‘Well, I’ve got to get back to work. Was there anything you wanted to talk to me about in particular?’ And I could see his discomfort, at having to actually tell me that, yeah, he was thinking of making this book into a movie. And anyway, he begrudgingly gave me the title, gave me a copy of the book and told me to read it and call him,” McDowell smiles.

He describes the book as “a damn difficult read on the first go” but by the third go he was convinced. “I read it and I went, Holy crap, what a part! Oh geez!”

No kidding. Alex is front and centre of the entire film, he’s the narrator and charged with delivering difficult lines about ‘ultraviolence’, ‘weepy young devotchkas’ and how the treatment is affecting his ‘gulliver’.

Burgess was a linguist and his decision to make a new hybrid youth slang was a practical one. He wanted the youths in this world to feel ‘other’ and separate from the grown ups but felt if he’d chosen to use contemporary slang that the book would date quickly. It was a shrewd move that Kubrick stuck to, helping the film have a sense of timelessness.

Then there were the iconic costumes worn by Alex and his droogs – removed from any particular era of fashion they were simple but immediately intimidating. The look came about via a moment of serendipity between McDowell and Kubrick when Kubrick asked his star what he had in mind for the costume himself. 

“I said ‘Futuristic, I don’t know!’” McDowell laughs. “He goes, ‘What have you got?’  I went ‘What have I got? I mean I’ve got jeans and a T-shirt and I’ve got my cricket gear in the car’. He goes, ‘We’ll put it on. And then ‘What’s this?’ I went, ‘Well, that’s the protector’. He said ‘Wear it on the outside’. And that’s the iconic costume, right there, boom.”

McDowell says he had around six months of prep time where he got to know Kubrick really well, where Kubrick grew to trust him which he describes as being really fun. That trust between the two was important – McDowell had heavy lifting to do physically, including the indelible scenes of the ‘Ludovico technique’ which saw his eyelids pinned back (he scratched a cornea) and the humiliation scene, after his conversion, (he cracked several ribs). McDowell plays this down, “Most of the time it was fun to do. I had a couple of injuries but they weren’t life threatening. They were fairly painful, but it was really a small price to pay.”

On a rewatch these moments still standout, though there are others too – an extended sequence where Alex is being drowned in a trough by his former friends knocks the breath out of you. 

“To be honest with you, it’s a complete cheat,” says McDowell of the scene. “There’s one cut right at the beginning. That water was cold and they coloured it with Bovril. I mean can you imagine beef extract? It stank to high heaven, it was absolutely like shit! And it was cold because we shot it I think in November. So they couldn’t heat the water because it steamed. I could only literally last three to five seconds before I had to come up for air. And so he put a tank of oxygen in there with a mouthpiece, and I spent my time trying to find the mouthpiece, which was bobbing around. It was harrowing.”

Not to mention he was being beaten with a billy club at the same time. 

“Admittedly, it’s rubber, but it still hurts,” McDowell recalls. “You can still feel it, and you feel like you’re in a nether world, you’re underwater, you’re sort of like drowning, but not quite. It’s a pretty good shot though.”

As well as the language, the soundtrack, the costumes and McDowell’s performance, the movie is also remembered for the controversy surrounding it. Allegations of copycat crimes as well as death threats sent to the director prompted Kubrick to pull the film from UK distribution in 1973, making it difficult to see in Britain until after Kubrick’s death in 1999. McDowell says the withdrawal didn’t especially affect him at the time, since he was in another country filming, and the movie had already been shown for a year. “It wasn’t like he pulled it at the height of its success so people couldn’t see it.”

Though it remains tough to watch in part, McDowell says younger audiences seem more comfortable with the comedy and satire elements of the film, a strand that was always intended.

“It is a black comedy and that’s how it was made. And I would have to say that that element of it has caught up, and kids when they see the movie now just roar with laughter and that makes my heart sing because that’s what I thought when I made it,” he says. “When it first came out, my god! It was total silence in the cinema, nobody moved out of their seats.”

When we ask McDowell what he hopes new viewers coming to the film today might take from it he’s typically candid: “I really have nothing to say about that. You know they can take whatever they want.” Though he says he thinks it’s amazing that the film is still relevant which he attributes to Burgess’s book even more than Kubrick’s adaptation.

Then after a beat he follows up with an anecdote.

“Well, actually I did go to a screening for the 40th anniversary at the Egyptian, I also gave a bit of a talk. At the end I was walking towards the bathroom and a young kid passed me, and goes ‘Oh my god! Clockwork right?’ I went, ‘Yeah!’ he goes, ‘Which part?’ I went, ‘The old guy’. He goes, ‘The old guy! Oh!’ I went, ‘No! the young guy! It’s 40 years old!’ he went, ‘Oh!’ he didn’t even connect,” McDowell chuckles. “I don’t know what he was smoking.”

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To mark its 50th anniversary, A Clockwork Orange Ultimate Collector’s Edition is now available to own here and includes the feature film on a Ultra HD Blu-ray™ disc in 4K with HDR and a Blu-ray™ disc with the feature film and special features. Fans can also own A Clockwork Orange in 4K Ultra HD via purchase from select digital retailers.

The post A Clockwork Orange at 50: Malcolm McDowell Revisits Kubrick’s Film appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[spaceskam]

day 3 of @alexmanesappreciation: legacy but I took a lot of liberties (also a follow up to the fic i wrote for day 2)

warning: memory loss, teenager-esque jealousy, mentions of Caulfield & 2x12

ao3

Alex knew he must've misunderstood something whenever Maria got there.

Michael caught her by the hand before she could run up to Alex and he pulled her to the side to have a word. But Alex wasn't stupid. He saw the way he touched her and the way she touched him and how close they stood while speaking to one another. It made him more uncomfortable than the fact he was standing half naked and letting Kyle and Liz prod at his body like he was a science experiment. Maybe he was.

Alex watched them until they finished their conversation. Michael squeezed her hand before letting go and she nodded simply. Maria turned to him with a big, cautious smile and came closer. With permission from Liz to touch him, she wrapped him up in her arms. He wanted to be happy to see her, but he couldn't take his eyes off Michael. What were they keeping from him?

"I'm so glad you're okay, I was worried sick," Maria said sincerely, squeezing him. Alex hugged her back easily and tried to stop looking at Michael. Just because he'd lost 10 years of his memory and it was super important to find out who and why didn't mean they could leave out massive plot points like Maria and Michael touching each other like that. But if they left it out and Michael kissed him, maybe he was looking into it too much. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired and sore," Alex answered. His whole face was throbbing and it hurt to use his crutches because of the bruising on his ribs.

But Kyle got Isobel Evans of all people to stop by his house and get something they called an iwalk. It fit around his not-leg and was sort of a substitute for a prosthetic so he could stand up without irritating his leg more. He hated it.

"I bet," Maria said, "But you still look hot despite all the bruises, so take it as a win."

"Yeah, I will," he said, eyes going back to Michael who was standing over her shoulder, "Can I put my clothes back on now?"

"Oh, yeah, of course, sorry," Liz said, rambling as she had been, "I just need to take a blood sample, but you can have your clothes on for that."

Michael came over to him then as if it was his job to help him get dressed. He grabbed the pair of sweats and the t-shirt he’d brought for him so he didn’t have to put back on the ones he’d been wearing the whole time he’d been allegedly kidnapped. Alex carefully sat down on the stool and started unlatching his thigh from the iwalk thing. Michael’s hands instinctively went to help.

“Stop it,” Alex said, catching his chin in his hand and pulling him into a kiss. Michael smiled into it and so Alex dragged it on as long as he was allowed, deepening it without concern for who might see since everyone could see. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t peek to see if Maria saw. And she clearly had because she looked away.

“Whoa, okay,” Michael laughed, pulling away. His cheeks were red and Alex was obsessed. It made all the bad things happening a little bit better. “Let’s get you dressed, huh?”

They took the straps off his thigh and Alex used Michael as leverage to pull the sweats over his hips. He pulled the shirt on carefully and slowly due to his face and ribs while Michael tied off the hanging end of the sweats. The whole process took, like, five whole minutes. So long that Alex had to pull him back in for a kiss when they were done.

“Alright, we get it,” Liz laughed, nudging Michael out of the way. Alex reluctantly let him out of his grasp. “After I take a blood sample, do you want painkillers?”

Alex felt himself relax a little at the offer. “You have some?”

“Yeah, do you need them?”

“I would prefer them,” he admitted. It was easy to push aside his discomfort when Michael was kissing and touching him. But he couldn’t have that forever and he was still hurting. Hell, he couldn’t even see out of one of his eyes.

“Okay, let me take a sample so I can start getting to work and figuring out how to fix this,” Liz said, wiping down a spot on his arm with an alcohol pad. He’d had so many of those on him in the last hour that he was surprised he wasn’t getting drunk through his skin.

“Didn’t you say someone else had this stuff in them too? Didn’t you try to find a cure for it then?” Alex asked. Liz looked up at him, face a little grim.

“Well, with Cam, we didn’t really know who or what to expect to find in her memories. She had a much weaker dose and it only erased what she saw when she was taken. She wasn’t exactly super excited to remember those weeks,” Liz explained, trying to force a kind smile, “You know, it’s a little weird seeing 29-year-old Alex’s face, but with 19-year-old Alex’s voice and eyes.”

“What are you talking about?” Alex asked just as she pushed a needle into his arm. He didn’t even wince.

“You look older, but... you carry yourself a bit lighter when you were young,” Liz explained, “Before everything.”

It was a small suggestion, but it had Alex’s mind reeling. Before everything? Was she insinuating things got worse? Or maybe she didn’t know about the shed. Maybe she had no idea what she was talking about.

Alex looked to Michael for some type of elaboration, but his eyes involuntarily went for his hand. It was all wrapped beneath a bandana, but it hid... nothing. He jumped at the sight of that, frantically looking up to Michael’s face.

“Whoa, stay still,” Liz said, “Still drawing blood.”

“What happened to your hand? I-It looks fine. I don’t understand,” Alex said, panic building in him again. Maybe this wasn’t just a weird time-jump, maybe he was in a different universe all together. “Wait, did... did my dad still...”

He didn’t know how to ask the question. And, apparently, no one knew how to answer.

The air got heavy and everyone around them stilled while Liz slowly pulled the needle out of his arm and replaced it with a band-aid. Alex’s eyes were stuck on Michael who shifted uncomfortably at the topic.

“Yeah, that still happened,” Michael said softly, clearing his throat as he looked to Liz, “I was thinking that maybe they took him to erase all of the shit he knew to make him less of a threat.”

Everyone noticed the drastic subject change, but didn’t address it. Alex, however, wasn’t as easily subdued. He wanted to know. He opened his mouth again, but he was cut off by Kyle handing him a couple pills and a water bottle. After he took that, he was again cut off by Michael stepping in close. Alex took his hand since clearly he wasn’t going to get much in the way of an explanation.

He ran his fingertips over the unscarred skin while his adult friends talked around him.

“But what’s the point of that? I mean, he obviously already had an attachment to you,” Isobel chimed in. Alex made that even more obvious by resting his head against Michael’s chest. His heart was pounding so hard he could barely hear their conversation. How was his hand so smooth again? How had he gone so long without noticing?

“Maybe they were trying to go further and failed,” Michael suggested, “Or maybe they just wanted to erase the alien thing to try and warp his position.”

Before Alex could even ask what the hell he was talking about, his mind blurred.

“Do you want to know who I am, or do you wanna know what I am?”

“Yes.”

Alex gasped and clutched Michael’s hand, looking up at him with wide eyes. Michael looked at him in concern and they just stared for a few minutes. Alex could feel that familiar buzz under his skin, contentment of being with him mixing with that tumultuous fire of arguing with him. Because apparently they did that a lot... they argued.

“What? What happened?” Michael asked, his hand laying on Alex’s neck and using his thumb to hold his chin up. Alex looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“My dad was the reason I know,” Alex murmured, “He told me. I’m not gonna sway on my stance no matter when I find out.”

Michael stared at him for a moment, eyes flickering over his face as he tried to process what he said. Then he pressed a kiss to his forehead and Alex let himself relax back into Michael. He hated this, hated not remembering everything. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Something about him made it easy to make him not remember. Trauma really was a bitch.

“Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the goal,” Michael said, “Maybe they were just trying to take out our biggest threat.”

“But then why would they give him back? And why would they drop him off at your place?” Kyle asked.

“Well, he was asleep when I got there. Maybe he still had his memories and he escaped and my place was the closest, but the drug activated whenever he passed out,” Michael suggested, his hand rubbing up and down Alex’s back.

“Do you really think he’d be able to escape on his own after getting beat up that bad?” Maria asked. Michael huffed a small laugh.

“Yeah. Especially if he still had his memories.”

They kept talking, kept brainstorming, and Alex kept feeling more and more exhausted. The painkillers dulled his nerves enough for him to focus on the fact that he needed sleep and trying to remember more than one offhanded conversation and the vague context of it was making him suffer even more. He turned the good side of his face into Michael’s chest and closed his eyes. He felt safe there.

“So, what, we think he got taken and his memory erased to fuck up his role in dismantling a legacy? Wouldn’t they have taken me too?” Kyle asked.

“No offense, but you haven’t exactly been hands on lately,” Liz said as kindly as possible. Kyle scoffed. “But from what I can tell, it’s definitely Butyricol. Same grimy little cells lurking in his blood.”

“Gross.”

“Absolutely. But I’m thinking if I can extract it I can work with it enough to see if I can make something that, you know, brings back memories, sort of like a human-equivalent to the alien antidote I made. Otherwise we’re stuck with him getting maybe one or two every once in awhile,” Liz said.

“How long do you think that’ll take?” Michael asked, one hand still rubbing his back and the other cupping the back of his head. Alex was more at peace than he’d been in awhile despite the fact they were all talking about him. 

“Long enough for you to let him take a nap, but not so long you should leave and risk running into more trouble,” Liz told him. Michael nodded.

“Okay, then we’re just gonna go lay in Kyle’s car.”

“No fucking in my car.”

“Obviously.”

Alex reluctantly sat up and grabbed his crutches. He hated this whole missing leg thing. He wanted his memories back if only so he could be used to it again. If that version of him was used to it. Would he ever be?

He gave an extra look to his friends. Liz and Kyle were already getting to work. Maria gave him a kind smile. Isobel was... there. And Michael was watching him, ready to catch him if he needed it. 

It was a slow and irritating process making it over the messy halls and desert terrain to get to the car, but they eventually found themselves cuddled up in the backseat of the car. Alex basically laid on top of Michael, trying to get some sleep. But he couldn’t, not quite. Not until he asked the question bothering him the most.

“We’re not together, are we?” he whispered. Michael was quiet for a little while, his thumb never stopping the smooth circles he rubbed into his shoulder.

“No,” he answered, “We’re not.”

“You’re with Maria,” Alex filled in, “I saw the way you guys touched each other.”

Michael took a deep, slow breath and it made Alex rise with him. He just waited for an explanation of how Maria, if she really was his girlfriend, was letting him be so hands on with Alex. Of course, Alex wasn’t mad about it. He missed Michael. Both with and without his memories.

“We’re... over. We were sort of in the middle of a breakup before you showed back up because I spent the last week ignoring her and tearing the world apart trying to find you,” Michael said, “She wasn’t mad that I was looking for you or anything, I guess it just finally clicked that... It doesn��t matter, we agreed we’d talk later, but right now it’s all about making sure you’re safe and comfortable.”

Alex lifted his head a little to look at his eyes. He was gorgeous. Sadder and rougher than Alex remembered, but gorgeous. 

“But you still like me?” Alex wondered. Michael huffed a small laugh, his hand carefully combing through his hair.

“Alex,” he said, his eyes flicking around his face. Alex noticed the moment he decided on what he wanted to say and he said it with confidence. “I love you.”

Alex’s mouth felt dry and his not-swollen eye widened. Love. That was new.

Again, before Alex could find his words, his mind blurred again.

“They’re my family, Alex!”

“Alright, maybe! But you are mine!”

Alex came back with another gasp, trying to ground himself again as Michael stared at him. The two second memory flooded him with residual gratitude that he was here. He was alive. He was his.

“I don’t look away, Guerin,” Alex told him. Slowly, a smile showed on his face and it might’ve been the most beautiful think Alex had ever seen.

“Was that just one memory, or...” Michael said, a hopeful little tinge to his voice. Alex hated to let him down, but he nodded.

“Just one,” he whispered. Michael’s smile didn’t fade any as he nodded.

“Then I want you to know I loved you then and I love you now. When you remember all the bullshit I’ve done to you, remember that I loved you through it all. I never stopped, okay? If they erased your memory to fuck with your place in your family’s legacy, than I’m gonna go ahead and use it to fuck with ours too. We were meant to be together and to be happy. I know that for a fact and I know people died to make it so. So, I’m saying it now. I have always and will always love you, Alex Manes,” Michael told him. 

Something akin to giddy laughter bubbled out of Alex at the words he was hearing, his whole system flushed with love and appreciation. He knew once he got his memories back, he’d probably feel different. From the way Michael was speaking, he knew he would feel different.

But right now he felt like he was on top of the world.

“I love you too,” Alex said, moving up to kiss him, “And I’m really upset we agreed not to fuck in Kyle’s car.” Michael laughed.

“You’re hurt.”

“Yeah, but I’m 19 and sleeping with a guy in Kyle Valenti’s car sounds like the best kind of revenge.”

Michael laughed again, pressing another kiss to his lips as he said, “Yeah, well, your body isn’t 19 and 29-year-old you might have a problem with me letting you get bent like that when you probably haven’t done your PT in over a week.”

Alex raised an eyebrow.

“Bent? That sounds like a challenge.”

“Go to sleep,” Michael told him, still grinning as he led Alex’s head to the crook of his neck, “I know you feel good right now, but this is just the beginning to a whole slew of bullshit that’ll come whenever we figure out who took you and what happened over the last week.”

Alex rolled his eyes, but agreed. It was hard to sleep with the adrenaline pumping through his system at Michael’s I love you, but eventually his fatigue caught up with him.

Later, he woke up to Liz excitedly telling him that she was sure she found a way to reverse it. They injected him with it and they waited. 

It didn’t happen immediately. In fact, they had to deal with a lot of stuff before he really got those memories back. They had to deal with his father, namely, and Crashcon. It was difficult trying to act like he knew what all these people had become and trying to assimilate just a little bit at a time. Even with Michael it was hard. There were pieces missing that made things different.

It all came to a head, though, when Alex found himself staring at his brother standing between his father’s gun and Michael Guerin.

“I know what he means to Alex.”

And suddenly Alex did too.

(ps if you want a fic where they actually bang in kyle’s car, check out @prouvaireafterdark‘s fic here because what am i if not slowly becoming a lynne fanpage)

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 7

AO3

Helen learns about the hit that’s been ordered 

John addresses the guilt that’s holding him down

John packs up quickly, filling the car pretty much to the brim, holding on to the knowledge that he really doesn’t know when he’ll come back.

By putting a contract out on Helen, it was no longer a matter of killing DeLuca and ending this. The contract was open. Whether he was dead or alive, people would come for her.

And while dead was the only way John wanted to see Mateo DeLuca, the fact remained that only he could remove the bounty on Helen. DeLuca, he thinks, or the High Table.

But the High Table wasn’t going to give a shit that Helen Kingston was a civilian. That she hadn’t done anything.

A hit was a hit.

He isn’t sure how he’s going to fix this.

John goes back down to the basement, to his workshop, and found a book hidden among the masses. It’s a newer book that stands out among his bookbinding collection. Larger than most.

He selects it and heads back to the main floor. John lays it open and takes out his phone to prepare to send the message.

As technology got better, so had hackers. Even phones issued by the Continental were subject to being hacked or tracked. He, Marcus, and Sofia had set up a failsafe years ago.

Even if the phone was hacked, it would take years to crack the code they came up with.

He opens the book and finds the first letter he needs, capitalized. He types in the page number, followed by the line that the word is located on, and finally counts out how many words into the line it is.

John hears Helen’s footsteps on the stairs and spares a glance upward. She has a tower of books piled into her little hands. He withholds a smirk and instead, shakes his head. “Just those?”

“This is as many as I can safely carry.” She replies, walking towards him and setting the books on the side of the table, “But rest assured, I’ll be back to steal more.”

He says nothing to that because he can say nothing. Every plan he’s had is screwed up now. His original thought, to separate himself from her, is in shambles now that every assassin in New York knows her name.

She peeks at his phone, “Is that an Ottendorf cipher?”

John feels himself inhale sharply. Why does she have to know that?

It’s such a small thing, really, but she says something like that and his heart starts to stutter in his chest, making him all the more aware of just how much he loves her. He loves her and he can’t have her.

But she says that and he’s lost.

“Yes, but modified. Do I want to know how you know about Ottendorf’s?” John asks, instead.

“I was a paranoid child.” She says, glancing over the book he has chosen, lifting the cover without closing the page to better assess. “All my childhood diaries were written in some kind of code.” She glances up at him, a small smile on her face, “I made up my own cipher when I was eleven to pass notes to my friends in school.”

It occurs to him that she’s never mentioned her own childhood before. Of course, he knows a bit. Between his actual stalking and the time spent on the Continental database, finding every piece of information on Helen Kingston, he was bound to find some things.

Like citations from Elementary school where she got her class to mutiny against a teacher or the handful of detentions she got for backtalk.

But they’ve never talked about her early life before.

Their lines had always been blurred but this was one they hadn’t crossed.

John glances back to his book, “Quite the little rebel.”

She shrugs, “We talked about it last week. What are rules in the face of meaninglessness?”

“And here I thought we were stepping away from nihilism.”

“You’re stepping away from nihilism.” She corrects, “I’m quite content with the idea that there’s no plan or grand design.”

His lips twitch, “There’s still some food left in the kitchen if you want to grab something before we go.”

She hoists her books back up, “Alright. I’m going to drop these in the car first.”

John nods, continuing to compose his message. The Ottendorf cipher was difficult to crack because not only did you need the right book, you needed the right edition, the right printing. It was also a bitch to decode because it required time and accuracy. He, Marcus, and Sofia even took it a step farther by using the first letter of every word rather than using the word itself and often wrote in shorthand.

That said, it was a bitch to put together.

He manages to type out the address of his safehouse and hits send.

John types up a quick message to Winston that he was going off the grid until further notice as he goes back up the stairs. He changes quickly, forgoing the suit for something more casual. Jeans and a t-shirt are oddly discomforting but a three-piece suit would stick out in the middle of nowhere.

Once changed, he checks his phone one last time before powering down.

By the time he finishes, Helen is outside, leaning against the car, eating an apple.

He makes a mental note that they’ll need to stop and pick her up some new clothes because the sight of her dressed in his makes it hard to breathe.

“Ready?” He asks.

She nods, pushing off the car and opening the passenger side door. “Do I want to know about the matching holes in the windows?” She asks as she climbs in.

“Probably not.” He admits.

Helen shoots him a smirk as she buckles in. He’s grateful when she dives into one of the books she had brought rather than asking him questions. He’s still not sure how to broach the subject.

She knows something is wrong, he’s certain, but she hasn’t asked.

Not that he’s offered information. He wants to keep it from her, to protect her for just a little bit longer but he can’t. It’s not fair to her.

Every so often, he catches her looking up from her book, checking road signs and overhead passes that give off locations, directions.

Her curiosity is palpable but, even now, she’s playing the therapist. Not pushing, just waiting for him to get there on his own.

It’s not right. She shouldn’t have to do all the work for them. He tries to bring it up, pushes himself to say something, anything, the next time she looks around curiously.

Half an hour passes.

Then an hour.

Then two.

He gives himself until the clock on the dashboard hits the hour mark. Then he watches as that arbitrary deadline passes, too.

At quarter past, she looks up at one of the signs and he forces himself to choke out the word, “Vermont.”

Helen looks over at him, an eyebrow raised. “Vermont?” She repeats.

He nods, “I have a safehouse there.”

She looks back at the road ahead of them, “Are you ready to talk about it?”

No, he thinks. But it doesn’t matter. They need to talk about it. She needs to know what’s going on.

What was the expression she used? Quick, like a band aid?

“DeLuca put a hit on you.”

He glances over, gauging for a reaction and is met with a simple nod. “How much?”

That, John thinks, should not be her primary concern but he answers anyway, “Four million.”

That makes her head shoot up, repeating the number while staring at him, “Four million dollars?”

He nods, once.

“Jesus.” She mutters, shaking her head, “For four million, I’m tempted to turn myself in.”

John’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.” Helen rubs at her temple, “Fuck.”

That about covered it, John thinks.

He waits. She’s kept it together this long but news of a bounty on her head has to be enough to snap her out of the idle calm she’s been sitting in. He waits for her try cry or get angry or scream but, no. She shakes her head and looks back to the book on her lap.

He can’t help himself. “Seriously?” He asks, looking between Helen and the road, “You have a four-million-dollar bounty on your head.”

“Yes.” She agrees.

“There are hundreds of assassins looking for you right now.”

“I gathered.”

“Helen…” he cuts himself off, before he says something stupid.

She closes the book and leans back, facing him the best she can in the moving vehicle. “Do you think it would help?”

“What?”

“Do you think it would help if I broke down right now? If I started crying, do you think it would help either of us? Freaking out will not help me handle everything that’s going on. And it won’t affect the guilt that you’re clearly experiencing from something, and I can’t emphasize this enough, was beyond your control.”

He flounders for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as he searches for how to respond to her, “You’ve been kidnapped.”

“Mhmm.”

“Held hostage, sedated, been forced to play mind games with mobsters,”

“Seems like it was only yesterday.”

“And now you have a four-million-dollar hit out for you and you’ve barely reacted!”

She shrugs. She fucking shrugs and John wants to pull off to the side of the road and fucking shake her just to see if that sets her off.

“We all process things differently, John.”

“What have you processed?” He asks, unable to keep the frustration from his voice, “You’ve been eerily calm this entire time!”

She waves a hand, “I started processing it before it even happened. Maybe, if it had been completely out of the blue, I might have had a more visceral reaction. But let’s be real: this was going to happen at some point or another.”

“You were going to be kidnapped at some point or another?” He asks incredulously.

“Given the circumstances, it isn’t a large jump.” She points out. “You’re the Boogeyman. You might not understand all the fear people have when it comes to you but you recognize it. Fuck, I saw firsthand how terrified of you DeLuca’s men are. But you don’t present with a lot of exploitable weaknesses. And, regardless of how I entered the picture, it’s easy to see we have unhealthy boundaries.”

It takes him nearly a minute to process everything that she says and, when he does, he’s shaken.

“You’re saying you knew you were going to be kidnapped because we supposedly have unhealthy boundaries?”

Another shrug, “I wasn’t blind to the possibility that I could be targeted as a way to get to you. And there’s nothing supposedly about it. Our therapeutic relationship has been fucked since the beginning.”

John does a doubletake and looks over at her. “No, it hasn’t.”

Helen snorts, “One month in, I told you to forgo Tarasov V. Regents. A single phone call from you and I could have had my license revoked and my practice disbanded.”

“Isn’t trust the basis of a good therapeutic alliance?”

“There’s trust and then there’s putting my career in your hands. But if you don’t think that’s enough to indicate our God-awful boundaries, we could talk about your late-night stalking habits.”

John’s head flies to look at her.

“Traffic, John.”

He swerves and narrowly misses driving off the road.

His mind reels. She’d never mentioned it before and neither of them has ever brought it up. He operated somewhere between the assumptions that she didn’t know and that she would never mention it if she did.

He asks gruffly, “What did DeLuca tell you?”

She snorts at that, “Please. DeLuca doesn’t see nuances. He’s just convinced we’re sleeping together.”

“Then how--?”

Helen glances over, her voice softening, “Give me some credit here, John.”

He swallows, “How long have you known?”

“Five months.”

Since the beginning.

He watches the road, suddenly hyper-aware of the pounding of his heart, the hairs on his arms that are standing on end, and the tension filling his body.

He’s unable to look at her. He wonders if he’ll ever again be able to look at her, knowing that she knew. This whole time, she actually knew.

How many times had she asked him if he was planning for a late night, supplying him with coffee, all the while knowing that his late night was going to end sneaking into her home and watching her sleep?

And she had known? For five months?

And no, John Wick wasn’t the kind of man you took a restraining order out against, but she knows him better than anyone. One word from her and he would have disappeared.

Morbid curiosity and confusion get the better of him. “You never said anything.”

“You would have stopped.”

It really isn’t fair, John decides, that she can read him like a book despite his prevarications and evasions. But she answers him, and he can barely understand her.

“And that would have been a bad thing?” He can’t keep the incredulity out of his tone.

“I weighed the pros and cons.”

Now John can’t help but look at her. Calm as ever, her eyes remain kind and non-judgmental. “You weighed the pros and cons.” He repeats.

She nods, once, and John really isn’t sure what the hell kind of pros she came up with to sit back and just let that happen.

“Do you really want to have this conversation right now?” She doesn’t sound exasperated, only concerned. “I’m pretty sure you’re about to pull the steering wheel out if we keep going.”

He considers it, but John is pretty certain that the only thing worse than talking about it would be to stop. He wasn’t certain he’d be able to sit in his anxiety now that it was known.

“Yes.”

“To having the conversation or to yanking out the steering wheel?”

He shoots her a look but is a bit relieved that she’s still making jokes. She gives him a smile.

“I figured it out fairly quickly, I think.” She admits, “I woke up one night and just had a gut feeling that I wasn’t alone. Saw your reflection in the window but it was the middle of the night, and I was tired, and so I just went back to sleep.”

“Probably shouldn’t have been your first instinct.”

He doesn’t even have to look to know that she is rolling her eyes again, “You really want to start talking about instincts and poor decision making?”

She has him there.

“Anyway, you were gone when I woke up. At first, I thought it might just be a one-off. You’re a paranoid bastard. It made sense that you wanted to see where I live, gain a little bit of perspective. Trust that I wasn’t some sort of sleeper agent out to kill you or some shit. But then you came back.” She looks back to the road, almost thoughtfully. “And you kept coming back. So, I sat down and thought out a list of pros and cons.”

“And the pros outweighed the cons?” The disbelief is apparent in his tone.

“Yes.”

This, John thinks, has to be the most surreal conversation he’s ever had in his life. Casually talking about the pros and cons of stalking his therapist, with his therapist. Only for said therapist to decide that there were more pros than cons.

“What possible pros did you find?” He asks more out of interest than validation.

“What would you have done if I addressed it in session?”

He blinks at her answering his question with a question. Truth be told, he’s not sure what he would have done but walk out and never come back seems like the most likely.

“You would have run.” She says, matter-of-factly but somehow still manages to make it sound nonjudgmental. “Which, given your history of disorganized attachment, is perfectly understandable. But, it would have been a drastic step that would have pushed you farther away from the healing process.”

“After all this,” John bites, “You still think I can be healed?”

“We've talked about this before, John. There is no "perfect healing" when it comes to trauma. Things can and they will come back up. But I think that you can get to a point where you can let go of the things that have haunted you for so long.” She lets out a breath, “But nobody can get there on their own.”

John shakes his head, “And healing me is worth having your space violated?”

She huffs, “Believe it or not, it isn’t all about you, John.” He glances over and she shrugs. “I— I sleep better on nights you were there.” Helen pauses, then adds, “You keep the nightmares at bay.”

Her words cut him like any knife, but he feels it so much deeper than any cut.

Nightmares.

His thoughts seem to erupt in too many directions at once for him to even follow?

Nightmares?

She’s known for so long.

She sleeps better when I’m there.

What does she have nightmares about?

How the hell have I never noticed that she has nightmares?

Not like she would’ve fucking told you. She’s your therapist.

But she says I keep the nightmares away…

She know; she knows; she knows.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He can’t handle it, can’t process it right now. Especially while driving. He needs a moment. Or a few thousand.

How can someone’s presence simultaneously sustain him and destroy him?

They pass a highway sign advertising food, gas, and lodging.

It wouldn’t hurt to fill up the tank. They still had hours to go.  And she needs food. Real food, more than just an apple.

“Can you eat?”

She smirks knowingly at the abrupt change in conversation, “Yeah. Probably should.”

He nods to himself, pulling off on the exit ramp. Focusing on finding food, on providing, was much easier than letting himself sit in his own thoughts.

But even as he switches focuses, keeping an eye out for one of the places advertised, he can still hear her in his mind.

Your abrupt change in subject indicates that you’re afraid. Are you afraid, John?

They both knew the answer to that. He was fucking terrified.

He catches sight of a diner and pulls into the parking lot. They’re far enough from the city that he isn’t too concerned that anyone from his world will see them, but he hasn’t put it out of his head that he could have been followed. Even watching the rearview constantly hadn’t helped to ease the paranoia that came after having Helen taken.

John puts the car into park and Helen shoots him a grin, gesturing to her outfit. She’s still wearing his shirt and sweatpants, drawn tight. “Hope you don’t mind that I’m hard-core scrubbing it.”

He blinks, “I don’t know what that means.”

She rolls her eyes and gets out of the car, “Come on, John.”

He follows her into the diner, which boldly advertises breakfast all day. He keeps his eyes peeled and steps directly into the space behind her as he assesses the patrons.

A few bikers, a teenage group of friends, and two couples. It was late enough that the actual dinner rush had died down.

“Stay close to me.” He mutters and she shoots him a look over his shoulder, as if to say, seriously?

He nods.

Helen rolls her eyes but murmurs, “Fine.”

“Two?” A waitress asks.

“Yes.” Helen replies as John nods once, adding, “The back booth, please.”

She gives him a look, as well, but grabs two menus and gestures with her head for them to follow. Helen starts to sit on the near side of the table but John gives her a tap. She sighs quietly but goes to the far side, against the wall, and scoots into the booth. John sits next to her.

“You want anything to drink?”

“Just water, please.”

“Coffee.” John says.

The waitress walks away and Helen leans into the corner, “We’re hours away from your place; hours from the city. Do you really think we’re going to run into trouble here?”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

“I’d roll my eyes but if I keep doing that, I’m afraid they’ll get stuck.”

He shoots her a look and pushes the menu towards her. Helen only grins in response but takes the menu and looks it over.

He peruses it idly before turning his attention back to the people in the diner.

The teenagers looked normal but he had been trained to kill when he was their age. No one blended in quite like a teen.

The bikers had plates from South Dakota. He had checked all the license plates on their way inside. How many assassins lived a nomadic lifestyle?

Fuck, there had been a time where John, himself, had lived like that. Riding under the hot sun, funding his travels by killing at night.

The couples seemed inconspicuous but there was nothing to indicate that it was anything more than a cover. How often had he posed with Sofia as a couple on complicated cases?

The waitress comes back with his coffee and her water and he’s sick to his stomach, thinking of a thousand ways they could be poisoned.

“Know what you want?”

Helen orders first, offering a kind smile to the older woman.

She’s so trusting, he thinks, and that terrifies him.

“And you, hon?” She asks John.

“The southwestern hash.” He pushes his and Helen’s menus across the table and the waitress takes them, eyeing him.

Was the waitress a part of the Underworld? A spy for people leaving New York?

Had he made a mistake by choosing some place only a few hours out from the city?

But she turns and walks away.

Everything else has him on edge.

He acknowledges that he’s paranoid as he picks up his coffee and swallows it down. The burning almost helps to alleviate the frustration.

Over the course of the weekend, he’d lost her. He’d lost the woman he loved to an unknown enemy; had clung to the idea of finding her to keep him going. And Helen had managed to save herself. And things weren’t fixed by getting her to safety, but they were better.

And now, DeLuca was pulling this new shit.

While most of the older, more disciplined assassins were smart enough not to go up against him, he wasn’t naïve to think others wouldn’t come.

He had been a young, stupid assassin once, after all.

He’d made his share of stupid decisions trying to make a name for himself.

And what better way to make a name for one’s self than to go up against a renowned assassin?

He remembered his training well.

The Director had beaten it into their heads: it only takes one bullet.

One well-aimed bullet, one perfect blow with a knife and even the best would fall.

John would die for Helen, happily, a thousand times over. But things were fucked and dying for her wouldn’t be enough to keep her safe with a bounty on her head.

And he didn’t know where DeLuca was.

He didn’t know what it would take to remove the bounty and—

Her hand lands on his thigh and he nearly drops the coffee mug in his hand. Quickly, he sets it down, glancing over to her.

Her hand is on his thigh.

Fuck.

“Tell me five things you can see.” She says and he knows better than to ask questions when she’s using that sort of tone.

He blinks, swallowing as he looks around, “Uh, there are thirteen people in this room, aside from us. There’s the exit sign. A clock. An old license plate on the wall. And you.”

“Four things you can feel.”

“The seat we’re on. The scratch of denim. The air circulating. Your hand.” He tries to keep his voice from breaking at the last. Her hand is on his thigh.

“Three things you can hear.”

He listens, intently. “Murmur of conversation. The sounds from the kitchen. Coffee being poured.”

He can tell what she is doing. Simultaneously distracting him from his paranoia and grounding him in the moment.

“Two things you can smell.”

John breathes in and stutters on the exhale. There are many scents in the diner that he can distinguish, but none more powerful than her. Bathed in his shampoo, his body wash from her shower. She smells like he does and it makes his head go a little fuzzy when he thinks too much about it.

He swallows, deciding he is not going to say that. “Uh, I smell the grease from the kitchen. And my coffee.”

“And one thing you can taste.”

“The coffee.” He says, before he can start to think of what he wants to taste.

“Good,” Helen praises and she squeezes his thigh, “Are you with me?”

“I’m here.” He wonders if he’s flushed.

Helen had, once again, pulled him out of his head. Stopped him from going down a darker path and it wasn’t right, he thinks, that Helen is having to calm him down.

“Are you?” She asks, raising her hand from his lap up to his face. She cups his jaw and turns his head to face hers, “Because you look like you’re still lost in your head.”

“I’m sorr—”

“Don’t be. You have no reason to be sorry, John.”

He doesn’t deserve her. Not her love, not her friendship. Not even her help. She’s too good for him, but now, neither of them have a choice. He got her into this mess and now she won’t survive without him.

“This is my fault.”

“I’m not exactly blameless, John.” She removes her hand and he immediately mourns the loss of her touch, “I kept you on as a client even after knowing what you do. I knew you were sneaking into my house at night and I didn’t do anything to stop your or dissuade you. I’m positive that I don’t have the best security at my house.”

“It’s not the same th—"

“John.” She interrupts him again, “Look, we can go back and forth for eternity about where the blame goes. But it’s not going to do us any good because, ultimately, it lies with DeLuca.”

Helen pauses, giving him a moment to ingest what she has just said, before she adds, “I know you’re not used to being scared. And I know it feels like a lifetime since things have been out of your control. But everything is going to be okay.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can. Because no matter what happens, no matter what horrors and traumas we face, no matter what loss we experience, we still get up in the morning. We figure things out, we adjust our tactics, and we do what we have to.”

He almost believes her but his fear lingers.

He offers a small smile, “Is that how you managed to stay so calm when DeLuca had you?”

She smiles back, adding teasingly, “I figured you’d be stressed enough for the both of us.”

John relaxes his posture, still on guard but no longer feeling fight or flight instincts that had been drowning him since their arrival.

Their waitress walks over and Helen calmly smiles, thanking her as they’re passed their dinners.

John waits until the waitress has gone to respond, “I’ve had missions go south, but not being able to find you, not knowing who had you…” he shakes his head.

“You crave control.” Helen says understandingly, “With your life, in general, of course. But primarily, over your emotions. So you ignore them until something sends you into overdrive.”

“What’s the solution there?”

She reaches over with her fork and snatches a bit of hash from his plate, “No easy fixes, unfortunately. We’ve already talked about rational verse irrational thoughts. The next step would be directly talking about your reactive attachment but I don’t think you’re fully ready to address that.” Helen tells him as she pops it into her mouth.

“What the fuck is reactive attachment?”

She swallows, “One day, I’ll let you read your file.” She takes a sip of her water, “Okay, attachment crash course: attachment is, basically, the bond that develops from person to person. It starts when you’re a baby and the relationships that you have in your early years tend to be large indicators for the rest of your life.

“Babies have needs that have to be met: being clothed, being fed, changed, and cuddled. When these needs are met by a consistent caregiver, babies start to develop trust. They can recognize their caregiver, they feel secure in knowing that, even if their person leaves them, they’ll come back.

“But, these needs aren’t always met. And, when kids don’t form secure attachments, it effects their relationships growing up. If not addressed and treated early, it transitions into adulthood.”

John couldn’t remember that far back but he still remembered the tribe. The orphans were taken care of. They weren’t abandoned but they sure as hell hadn’t been loved, either. He remembered, not too long before he was sent to live under the Director’s care, being in the orphanage and telling one of the little ones to stop crying.

Nobody cared.

It was best to learn that lesson early than to waste tears on someone who would never come.

“And what does that look like?” John asks.

“Being withdrawn from social interaction; not asking for help when you need it because you don’t trust anyone to come through for you; feeling like you don’t understand the world around you, like everyone else is in on something that must have skipped you; not seeking comfort; avoidant behaviors; a tendency to shy away from intimate relationships.”

John exhales a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Jesus.”

“When kids with RAD—reactive attachment disorder—start to form connections, they typically go one of two ways. There’s the disinhibited, where the kid with RAD ends up becoming overly emotional. They search for affection in anybody who pays them the slightest bit of attention.”

That didn’t exactly describe John so she continued, “There’s also inhibited. Those kids avoid any emotional bond, they reject kindness and relationships because they don’t trust it. Even if a kid likes someone, they eventually reject them before they can be rejected.”

John swallows. Just that morning, he had been thinking about how to disentangle himself from Helen. He had justified it by telling himself it was to protect her. From him, from his enemies.

But Helen was still there; still sitting by his side. Still trusting him with her life despite everything.

“When kids with RAD grow up, relationships—even friendships are strained. There’s a fundamental lack of trust that’s based in fear. You avoid close relationships; avoid personal relationships, period.”

“I didn’t avoid you.”

She inclines her head, “Yeah, well…” She takes another bite of her dinner.

“Well, what?” He’s almost afraid of the answer with the look she’s giving him.

“It isn’t unusual for someone with RAD to over-attach themselves to one or two people in particular. Those relationships tend to be a bit obsessive.”

And now, he needs a drink. He preferred to savor bourbon, but he was ready to down a bottle to avoid this particular conversation again.

He can’t help but wonder if she knows just how far his obsession for her goes. If he told her he loved her, would she say that she already knows? After all, she knows everything else about him. Or would she smile sadly, empathetically, and tell him that she cared for him, but not like that?

He wasn’t sure which would be worse.

John had accepted a long time ago that he would love her forever. That he would never feel for another what he felt for her.

A part of him is… almost angry. He loves her but it isn’t because of his trauma.

She’s kind and good and so damn empathetic. But she’s more than that. She’s clever and unyielding. Smart and funny and so damn beautiful, inside and out.

And he isn’t sure he can give a reason why he loves her but he doesn’t want his feelings for her, his obsession, his love for her to be tainted by the abuse he had suffered.

“I don’t want to be defined by that trauma.” It slips out before he can think better of it but Helen takes his words in her gentle way. Her head tilts to the side.

“Do you feel like you are?”

“Sometimes. At least, that I’m a product of it.”

Helen nods, thoughtfully, “You are… distinguished by your trauma. It has shaped you, just like every other experience you have been through, you are changed by it. But you are far more than the sum of your past, John.”

John shakes his head, “The things I feel… they’re not normal.”

Again, her little hand finds his, resting atop the back of his hand. She squeezes in comfort.

“That doesn’t mean they’re not real.”

Ultimately, John thinks, he’s still fucked in the head.

But it’s a little easier to live with that fact with Helen at his side.

[ill-skillsgard]

Tasting Pain - Kasper Nordin

Title: Tasting Pain

Warning: 18+ sex/angst/suicidal themes/cheating/cock-worship/mentions of depression/mentions of hospitalization/AU shenanigans. Please read at your own discretion.

Characters: AU Kasper Nordin (Funhouse) x ambiguous female OC

Note: I had this potent idea pop into my head and had to get it down before it left me. That’s really it—I didn’t want to overthink it, or spend hours editing a lengthy piece. It’s been a while since I had the immediate inspiration to write something I just felt like writing. I hope you enjoy this one-shot and consider giving it a like/reblog/comment. I really appreciate all support. Much love and hugs/fist-bumps!

The fish tank bubbled in the corner of the living room. It was the only sign of life. The spotted Mollies flittered around their plastic anemone, darting in and out of ceramic castles looking for food. She crossed the living room, found a jar of fish flakes and tossed a pinch to the hungry creatures.

She knew the layout of the apartment well enough. With only one bedroom, one bathroom, and an empty kitchen, it was no challenge to find the home's resident. A bar of dull blue light leaked from under a closed door at the end of a short hall. After a moment of hesitation, leaning close to the door to pick up any movement, the girl knocked softly.

There was no answer.

She knocked again. "Kasper?"

Again, her greeting went unanswered. Huffing, she placed her hands on her hips and came an inch away from the wood.

"Kasper, I'm coming in. So, if you're doing anything weird, wrap it up. And if you don't want me coming in, you better say something!"

More silence followed her demand. She twisted the handle and pushed open the door to find the tall man lying on his bed, palms pressed into his eyes. The blue light came from an LED strip glued to the perimeter of the room. He wore a plastic bracelet around his wrist, half-covered by the sleeve of his cardigan, blue jeans and grey socks.

"Kasper," she whispered, sitting beside him on the bed. 

The man refused to answer her. She tugged his elbow and tried to make him look at her, but he rolled onto his side, facing away.

"Why'd you ask me to come over if you intend to ignore me?"

"Sucks being ignored, huh?" He finally answered.

She sighed and touched his shoulder. "Nobody is ignoring you."

"Nobody is ignoring me now."

"Did you ask me over just to run the guilt train on me?"

"You didn't visit while I was away."

She shook her head. Kasper always tried to tug on her heartstrings in the most callow of ways. But she remained patient. He'd gone through hell in the last few days, and she didn't want to prolong his suffering.

"Please don't put this on me. Nobody had visitors. It's against the rules now."

"Whatever," he muttered.

"I know you're hurt, darling, but alienating me right now won’t help you feel better."

"Nothing will make me feel better."

She flinched away, then sighed and squeezed his broad shoulder, tugging him onto his back. Kasper covered his eyes, but it was too late. The blue light caught the tears on his lashes. He crushed them away with his fists, whimpering and turning toward her, curling around her crossed legs.

"Darling," she cooed, thrusting her fingers through his soft blond hair. "I'm here for you."

"Don't say that," his voice cracked. "You know that's bullshit."

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I? And if I'd have known you were already home, we would have gotten together sooner."

Kasper tightened his body around her, nuzzling into the loving sensation of fingertips stroking his scalp, parting the strands, and swerving around the shell of his ear. When he closed his eyes and sighed, the icy hold on his heart began to shutter. Kasper knew the feeling was temporary, destined to fade as soon as she left. Making the best of what he could get, Kasper pulled her closer.

"I'm sorry. I've never felt this way before. It's scary."

"I know, I know," she soothed. "It's frightening to feel like you have no control over your emotions."

"It's not my emotions. It's the sense of failure following me around. No matter what I do, it's never enough. I'm never enough."

She frowned, though he didn't see the remorse tugging on her lips. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, she leaned over and kissed his temple. 

"You are enough. More than enough."

"Not compared to them."

She clicked her tongue. "Stop. Stop saying that."

"Stop telling the truth? Do you want me to lie and say I'm just as good as them? That I'll make it to their level? Fuck, I'm almost twenty-five. Do you know where they were at my age? Travelling the world, instant recognition no matter where they went. More fucking money than they knew what to do with."

"You don't realize how much luck plays into that type of success, Kasper."

"It's true what they all say... I'm a second-rate version of him. Not even. Third-rate."

"Enough. I won't have you belittling yourself. It stops now. These aren't things you should be striving for if it's your passion and in your blood. Money and recognition are fleeting. It has no bearing on reality or your talent."

"Why does it matter to you? Nothing I say about myself hasn't already been said by the public. I'm shit. I'm nothing, and I'll never be him."

Anger touched her nerves, flaring under her skin and opening a wound of guilt in her heart. She'd had enough of Kasper flaunting his pain to spite her.

"Take your clothes off," she demanded.

"What?" Kasper stuttered. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to show you you're more than enough."

"Fuck off," the blond man muttered.

She climbed over him, straddling his hips while undoing the buttons of his sweater. Kasper allowed this and lifted his arms when she pushed his t-shirt up, revealing his bare torso. Smooth skin under the blue light tantalized her eyes. When he looked up at her, pouty lips opened slightly, she leaned over and smothered his mouth with hers.

"You're beautiful, Kasper."

"You are," his retort was light, noncombative.

His tongue met her bottom lip, eliciting a bare whimper. She framed his face and kissed him hard while his large hands roamed the curve of her hips, journeying upward to her breasts.

"You're all I want," Kasper said.

"Sh. Don't say that. You can have anything you want in this world."

"But, I want you."

"No, you don't. You want what he has, but you should be out there searching for your own prizes—not even giving a thought to what anyone else has."

She rocked her hips against his, denim shuffling against denim until the nudge of his swelling member drove between them. With a smirk, she shimmied down between his legs, tugging the metal button on his jeans, then the zipper. Kasper's hardness tempted her through the soft cotton of his boxer briefs. Leaning over, she nipped at the tip of the bulge, barely contained under the elastic band. He let out a quiet sigh as she teased him. The appendage continued to grow and thicken, twitching as blood swirled in his groin. Her mouth inched down the clothed shaft until she reached the base, then swapped her lips for one hand. 

"You're bigger. I've never seen a cock like yours before. It's so perfect, and thick, and... God, I dream of it all the time."

Kasper's scarred eyebrow shot up. "Oh, yeah?"

"When I touch myself, there's never a time I don't think of you and how good it feels when this big cock is inside me." She kneaded his balls until he writhed.

"Fuck me," he whispered.

"No, not yet. I'm not done worshipping your cock."

"Worship it with your pussy." 

Covering his mouth with the same hand that had been trifling his balls, she kissed and nibbled his thigh until he kicked. "Hush. Let me do this the way I want to."

"You always tease me so much," came Kasper's muffled whine.

"I know, but it's worth it to see you shoot those massive loads of yours."

His pride tickled, Kasper shifted his hips, parting his legs with a sly look. She uncovered his mouth. "Yeah, you love taking all my cum."

"That's right, baby boy."

The indignation returned to his face, pulling his eyebrows together. "Don't call me baby boy. I'm a fucking man."

Unbothered by his demand, she snickered against his thigh and took up massaging his cock through his underwear once more. "Sorry. You're right. I mean, it's true, I've never been with anyone as hung as you, Kasper."

"Come on, touch me more."

"In due time. No more commands. Just lie back and let me play with you the way I want."

"What about the way I want?" He scoffed.

"You don't want me to work you up? To savour it?"

Kasper winced as she squeezed his girth gently. "Is that what you do to him?" He asked.

"No," she said.  

"Yeah, right."

"Believe it or not. You're still thinking about him when you should be thinking about me... And yourself."

Kasper pressed his tongue against clenched teeth, fighting back another retort. With long, even strokes, she caressed his shaft. He shuttered and nudged his hips upward. She was right. There was never a time he allowed himself to live in the moment, to enjoy the present without invalidating it with envy and regret. One too many people had held him to impossible standards, and though he was accustomed to acting around his discomfort lately, the feeling beat him with a heavier hand.

"Don't go soft on me, Kasper," she said.

Kasper surfaced from the black hole he'd tumbled down, remembering the sweet pressure around his manhood and the beautiful woman doused in blue light, orchestrating his pleasure. He moaned and tried to push his boxers down.

"Fine. Since you're so eager," she said, undressing him. 

She hoped to dangle him over the precipice of orgasm for as long as he could handle. Attention always seemed to soothe him when he got into his foul moods. Although this time, it wasn't a simple display of temper— it was a genuine cry for help. She had to be delicate.

"You know what I love about your cock? This one thick vein on the top. When it swells, I know you're really turned on. It's just like your pretty eyes. You give yourself away. But when you realize it, they turn to stone, and I can no longer read you."

"Why are you saying all this? Don't you just want to fuck?" Kasper asked, still enjoying the heated grip circling him.

"Is that all you want? Don't you care what I have to say about you? Does everyone else's opinion matter but mine?"

Kasper's chest caved in as his lungs released piling tension. "I'm sorry. I'll shut up."

"Say what you like, but you know I'll challenge you," she said.

Kasper didn't speak again until her lips met the tear-shaped slit at the tip of his cock. Smoothing her lips around him, she ran her tongue up, tasting the salty residue of arousal. When she dove deeper, Kasper groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes as though he couldn't bear to watch. He changed his mind and propped himself on bent elbows. 

He caressed her head, then cupped her chin and pulled her off. "Stay with me tonight."

Before she could protest, Kasper flipped her onto her back and worked her clothes off like she had done his. 

"Kasper... That's not a good idea."

"Neither was downing a bottle of pills. But I did it, and I'm still here. And you're still here, no matter what you do or say or think. You always end up in my bed."

"I'm worried about you," she murmured.

"Don't. I'm fine now," said Kasper.

"Says the guy I found crying in his bedroom."

Her reminder tore a hole through his flimsy lie. Kasper winced but continued working his way between her legs in hopes burying himself might help hide the shame he harboured.

"What were you saying about how much you love my big dick?"

"That's not all I love about you, Kas," she said as he pushed inside of her opening with care.

The fullness dulled her thoughts, but only for a moment before he rocked against her. She reached up to stroke his face, smiling.

"You're beautiful. Everything about you, not just the large parts."

Kasper laid his head on her shoulder while he withdrew himself and thrust back into her with a grunt. "You make me feel beautiful."

"Good. You deserve to feel that way, darling."

He kissed up her neck, snaking his tongue out to lick the spot he intended to suck. But she pulled away. Kasper chuckled.

"What? You don't want him seeing marks on your skin? I suppose you can't wear a scarf in the Summer."

"Don't be naughty."

"You're one to talk. Coming here, toying with me after you promised you wouldn't."

"I told you I was worried," she defended.

"Yeah, worried you'd never feel me inside of you again, right? You got here quickly."

"Why are you saying all this?" She mimicked him. "Don't you just want to fuck?"

Kasper sneered. "Yeah, that's all I want."

They coupled well into the night until it was too late for her to leave. Kasper got his way and anchored her to the bed with his arms around her. Exhausted from the romp, and hacking away the tendrils of depression coiling around his limbs, Kasper fell into a deep sleep. She did not drift off as quickly as Kasper did, but his calm breaths tickling the back of her neck placated her racing mind for a few hours until the sun came up.

The girl slid out of bed, hoping Kasper might stay asleep while she gathered her clothes from the floor and dressed. Looking over the naked man, she held her breath and hoped it wasn't the last time she'd see him this way. Before her departure, she went to the side of the bed and smoothed his hair back until his lashes fluttered.

"I love you, Kasper. Don't leave us."

Kasper did not move. She bent over to kiss his shoulder, nodded, and turned to leave. 

Creeping away, she turned back to see his head rise from the pillow. Kasper rolled onto his back and smiled.

"Leaving so soon?" He asked.

"Yes, darling."

A touch of darkness tainted his grin. "Tell my brother I said hi."

+

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[statticscribbles]

Misread: Dark

Summary: Kurtz/Reader; You start at Riverdale High and people get the wrong impression of you and Kurtz

You’re not surprised when your cousin Sam and your uncle are standing outside the fence. “Heyyyy Y/N. You have a good time at camp.” Sam winks and you roll your eyes stepping past the barbed wire fence of Centerville Correctional Center. “You got out early. We have time to grab breakfast before school if you want.” He smiles and you laugh nodding.

“I’d kill for a burger.” Sam holds his hands up. “You did according to the yard gossip right?” He barks laughing when you smack his shoulder. “I know, I know, it was a joke for Christ sake. We need to thank that lawyer by the way; what do you think we should give her?” You shrug. “I can think when I’ve had food.”

Sam’s decent enough not to comment on your clothes, what you had been brought in wearing; a painfully short skirt and an almost see through top. “You’ll have to change before school. Well at least grab a sweater or some shit. Pretty sure Kurtz left one in the car you can steal.” He nods to you and you tug over the half stack of pancakes he ordered. “Those are mine!” He smacks your hand and you pull one over drowning it in syrup as you push the rest of the plate over. “I think I might puke looking at that.” He snorts as you finish it, dipping the sausage into the leftover syrup. “I haven’t had anything besides prison eggs for breakfast for almost four months. I would drink that entire bottle if I wouldn’t puke from it.” Sam nods. “Come on then, school time, you’re gonna sugar crash if you have more of that shit.”

You weren’t surprised when Southside High shut down; although you were surprised both you and Sam had been transferred to Riverdale; he’d said something about the rest of the Ghoulies being in Greendale. You avoid walking with the other Southsider’s, who move from Pop’s; you avoid the buses and slip into Sam’s car. “You know he’s going to kill me right? For not telling him you’re in town.” Sam scowls as he pulls into the parking lot. You roll your eyes. “He won’t; he’ll be too distracted with me. Don’t worry. What class is he in now?” “English, you have math with me. Come on, I’m sure the teacher’s going to love you.” He smirks and you grip onto Sam’s arm. “Hey; you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” You nod settling next to him as the teacher isn’t in. No one moves to greet you but you tap Sam’s arm. “What?”

“Nobody here knows I got in trouble right?” He shrugs. “Most of them don’t know who you are. And really ‘trouble’ you could at least hint at the whole criminal vibe you’re oozing, you look like you rolled off a prison bus an hour ago.” He says as the teacher comes in and starts the lesson. You catch a few people looking at you, but you reason it’s either the fact you’re new or that it looks like all you’re wearing is an oversized hoodie.

“Lunch now; he usually sulks around the Serpent’s.” You nod and Sam’s hand tugs your shoulder. “He might not be to happy to see you.” You turn frowning at him. “Why?” “Because of what happened.” “I didn’t do anything!! He knows that!” You stomp your foot and Sam snorts rolling his eyes. You snarl shoving him, before he shoves you against the wall. “Try me Y/N. I dare you.” You see someone’s hand push against Sam’s shoulder and you’re confused as he lowers his arm.

“You’re new right?” The Serpent turns to you smiling. “Yes. Sorry about Sam, my cousin has a bit of a short temper; he hasn’t given you any trouble?” You ask. “No Kurtz is more trouble.”  He laughs half shrugging. “How?” You tilt your head and Sam smirks. “He tried to kill me. I’m Fangs, pleasure.” You nod side stepping Sam and Fangs. “Would you like a proper apology?” You ask Fangs as he walks with you and Sam towards where ever he eats lunch. You’ve already spotted Kurtz in the student lounge.

“I don’t get why you’re so uptight about the stupid rules, you’re not even the official leader you still have to-“ Kurtz trails off and you know he’s spotted you. “I heard you tried to kill him. What happened?” “No it wasn’t like that we were-“ “What happened?” Kurtz swallows you look unimpressed as he stays quiet. “I dropped him from the second floor.” “Did you apologize, at the least?” “No I-“ You arch an eyebrow and he swallows cringing. “I’m sorry Fangs.” “That’s not a proper one.” You arch your eyebrow again and he scowls, sighing as he stands, you whack at the back of his knee and he kneels after he stumbles, glaring at you as you nod to Fangs.

“Please forgive me. I’m sorry for trying to kill you.” Fangs nods as Kurtz stands, his hand brushing against yours. “I missed you.” He says and you roll your eyes as he pulls you into a hug, face against your neck. “I missed you too.” He sighs against you nodding, and you look expectantly at him. “Well who’re these Serpent’s you’ve cozied up with; I can’t just name them based on how they look like you used to.” You smirk as they narrow their eyes at Kurtz. “Ooh look it’s neck boy; you’re right he is tall enough to climb like a tree. Not bad looking either, you didn’t tell me they looked like a boy band.” “Sweet Pea.” He holds his hand out and you smile.

“Y/N, pleasure.” You name each of the serpents, they seem to take their nicknames in stride and welcome you into their group as Kurtz had been. You meet Jughead’s friends Archie and Veronica and his girlfriend Betty; as well as Josie and Kevin. You sit draped half on the chair half over Kurtz, his hand running through your hair. They watch you oddly and you assume it’s based on the fact you’re a ghoul. Kurtz smirks seeming to enjoy there discomfort and you wait for an explantation that doesn’t come. You notice his hands linger on you more when someone’s watching. You joke about him being a voyeur and Jughead visibly gags. You can’t help but laugh joining Kurtz in whatever odd game he’s playing with the Serpents. Your favourite is when Betty caught you kissing him and tripped over the trashcan when she tried to leave. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen her look so disgusted and it makes you dissolve into a fit of giggles every time you picture it.

“Y/N Walters.” You raise your hand, you can tell someone is watching you but you ignore it. “They’re siblings, I swear. I think Y/N took the fall or got transferred out or something to do with jail, but they’re siblings.” Betty hisses as you walk by. You try your best to keep a straight face, but you text Kurtz to let him know what his friends seem to think. He meets you outside, sliding into the back of Sam’s car with you. Sam glares fixing the mirror so you know he can see both of you. “You’ll have to tell them.”

“But it’ll be funny to watch them guess. I bet it’ll take a week.” “I’m still surprised they haven’t caught on, you think the rings would be a dead giveaway. I really think there’s only so many times they can catch us making out before it boils over.” “Well to be fair they’ve seen me wear mine for months without mentioning you.” “Ooh what about necklaces?” “No that’s too hard they’re Serpent’s remember, dumb as a sack of bricks.” Kurtz laughs. “Yeah they gotta be dumbasses to let you in.” You grin when he smacks your shoulder. “That’s it, no welcome home meal.” You laugh more. “And you knew I was coming today?” “Well you’re not going to be now.” “Will you two shut up about-“ Sam glares from the front seat. “You know what they say about people who get out of prison right Sam?” “I swear if you-“

“They’re incredibly sexually frustrated.” You have tears in your eyes at the disgust on Sam’s face. “She’s my cousin Kurtz, I don’t want to hear anything involving my cousin again.” “You do know she’s my wife right so we’ve-“ “Shut it!” Sam slams the breaks on and Kurtz gets shoved into the back of the front seat grumbling. “Fine, Y/N’s a god damn virgin, you happy?”

You’re not trying to hide it but still the panic that shoots through you when you hear some clear their throat is unavoidable. You know you weren’t being discreet, curled on Kurtz lap in the student lounge tongue in his mouth was about as public as you could get besides going at in the middle of class, which was something you had shot down when he suggested it. You shiver slightly watching as Jughead glares at the two of you. Kurtz nudges you behind him and you peer from around his shoulder, his arm snaking around your waist. “What Jones?”

“You two are related.” He states nodding and you can see the rest of the Serpents and his other friends gathering around. You roll your eyes. “We really taking advice from Mr. I’m dating my half sister?” Jughead narrows his eyes. “Charles shares one of our parents and-“ “He’s your sibling, so you’re dating your half-sibling. Not to mention didn’t your parents fuck when your dad was off being a serial killer?” You comment and both him and Betty glare. “We’re not actually siblings, unlike you two.” You assure them. “You two are brother and sister! You have the same last name, and you call your dad, well dad! The same dad!!”

“Kurtz do you want to tell them? I think they’d get a kick outta you saying it.” “Say what?” Jughead eyes Kurtz warily. “When I say dad, I mean my father in law.” “We’re not siblings, we’re married. You idiots” You chime in and everyone stares, as you hold up your ring, waving it slightly. The Serpent’s stare; turning to Kurtz. “You’re married!??!” “Yes? Why do you guys think I never dated anyone..” “You’re psycho! No one would want- Why? How would you even-“ “You go down to the court and sign the certificate? We both had parental permission; totally legal. Also I love her, it’s not that hard to think or do.” He shrugs at them and you loop your arm in his. “Why is that so surprising?” He asks and Jughead shrugs. Sweet Pea speaks up.

“Just never thought you’d find someone so well normal.” “Oh they don’t know; Sam was right.” “Right?” “I spent my summer in the Centerville Corrections Center. Wrong place, wrong time and all that.” you smile at them and they hesitate. “Why was it the wrong place at the wrong time.” One of them asks. You turn to Kurtz and he shrugs. “Your call.”

“I used to be a runner, not track, I got caught up on a pretty big job near Greendale, didn’t make it out at the right time is all.” “So you went to jail?” Jughead states and you nod. “Basically. I mean they let me out pretty quick, just gave me tons of community service. Which I still have to do, so that’s how I’m spending my summers.” “Y/N; you can’t just tell them that. The full story.” You glare rolling your eyes. “I was in the wrong place and the wrong time, with a knife; and one of the other runners got stabbed at the same time, it was a really weird coincidence.” “Oh my god?” “Yeah I get it I stabbed someone and-“ “You married Kurtz, like you actually chose to marry him? Him of all people.” “You’re insulting me in front of my wife after she just admitted she stabbed someone? Jesus the Serpent are dumb as fuck.”

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