#stay tuned for more perhaps.... if people show enough desire to see the full thing in time

[yangus]

I've been trying to collect my overall thoughts on Rufus Shinra in a document talking about how the whys of his personality. I'll likely make a proper video and/or share the full thing when I'm finished, but I figured I'd give a peek as to what my thoughts are, without considering Remake + Rebirth continuity. Wholly from what is revealed from OTWAS: Episode Shinra, as well as some tidbits in TKAA, and a lot of ground covered in Before Crisis. I hope someone out there can get some enjoyment out of someone on here caring about Rufus this much, haha.

Analysis (tidbits, but still substantial) under the cut!

To fully comprehend where Rufus comes from and why he is the way that he is, we have to go back to his childhood. In On the Way to a Smile: Case of Shinra, it’s outright stated that he didn’t see his father very often, and faced neglect. The few times his father did come home, he was typically very angry with Rufus and would tell him to go back to bed, as it was late. Rufus, in all likelihood, had no real parenting from his father. His mother seems to not have been a very present force in his life, either. Given President Shinra’s proclivities and tendencies to sleep around, particularly with his secretaries, as Rufus notes himself, this does not surprise me.

A particular instance that is detailed in Case of Shinra is one where Rufus is five years old. His father has, for once, let Rufus take part in talks about Shinra as a company. He was delighted when his father showed him the blueprints to the President’s office, but here we see the beginnings of a trait that would be a common thread in every action he takes henceforth. He looks at the blueprints and, instead of giving baseless praise, wants to find a way he can improve it. He wants to prove he’s intelligent, and wants to one-up his father in some small way. While here it isn’t malicious, later it would become as such. Here, it’s just a childish desire to seek praise for coming up with something that his father might not have thought of.

This backfires terribly, and Rufus redoubles his efforts to get out of the situation. President Shinra embarrasses him by implementing the idea Rufus had, but not for himself, notably. It’s for Rufus specifically, and it has a mark that Rufus cannot forget. ‘L’ for ‘Loser’. The idea that if he ever needs to run from his battles in the future, that’s a failure, and he’s a loser in his father’s eyes. That’s something imprinted early, and Rufus compensates by being able to be martially powerful, too. He learns to fight as well as the Turks in time, and outright battles Cloud atop Shinra Tower at the end of the Midgar segment of the game in the original.

What is also interesting here is the idea that even at five, Rufus has been told that the position of Shinra Company’s President is not promised to him. While I doubt he was aware of the fact that his father was producing heirs in case Rufus didn’t make the cut at this time, he becomes aware later on. Nothing is promised, and any one of Shinra Senior’s children could have taken Rufus’ spot had he proved impotent. This is highlighted later when one of President Shinra’s children, Lazard Deusericus, is made the director of the SOLDIER division of the military. As well as, when Rufus was around 6 years old, President Shinra had a child with someone more “special”, that Rufus posits was meant to be his replacement if Rufus himself didn’t make the cut, something he did not become aware of until many years later, but something President Shinra did nevertheless. This need to prove himself was drilled into him from a very young age.

---

Something notable within Chapter 9 of Before Crisis is that neither Veld nor President Shinra could fathom Rufus being the traitor. President Shinra wrongfully suggests it’s Veld, and when the activity continues despite Veld’s change in position, blame is then shifted to Hojo. Despite Rufus’ questionable actions thus far and clear resentment of his father, President Shinra still views him as wholly loyal. Whether this is because of some latent trust or whether he believed he “raised Rufus better” is left up in the air. Regardless, Rufus is not suspect yet at this point in time despite his clear questionable actions.

---

Interestingly, this is the first sign of Rufus being interested in the Promised Land as well. While Rebirth made it clear that Rufus has little to no interest in the Neo-Midgar project, I think that Rufus wants to find the Promised Land out of spite rather than any of the reasons his father wants it. He wants to find it before his father does to prove that he’s capable and different. That he isn’t less than simply because he’s younger.

He speaks about a plan to bring Aerith in using military force, talking to his father about the amount of resources and time wasted due to being “careful”. This is a more callous Rufus talking, one that’s more impatient. His father's dallying about Aerith’s situation makes it easy for Avalanche to come in and take what they want. Rufus, obviously, doesn’t actually want Avalanche to succeed. He uses Avalanche as a means to an end, to push President Shinra into action rather than sitting atop his heap of gil and growing complacent. It’s a push to get President Shinra to listen to Rufus about how the company should be run. An attempt to back President Shinra into a corner and get what he wants. Eventually, this turns into Rufus outright asking Avalanche to assassinate President Shinra. To cut out the middle man, so to speak, and give Rufus free reign to do what he wants without having to do these machinations behind the scenes.

---

I think more interesting than any of this though, is Rufus’ complete lack of understanding why Cid would want to fly his airplane before the rocket launch. Cid was meant to be the pilot of the rocket, and would be taking part. But he flew the Tiny Bronco because he enjoyed it, and Rufus can’t wrap his head around doing anything out of enjoyment, least of all with so much on one’s plate. Cid has a great deal of preparation to do before lift off, and Rufus views him as shirking his duties. He can’t fathom doing anything but work at this moment. I think this speaks again to how President Shinra must have raised him. Again, from a young age, President Shinra was trying to drive home how important “working hard” is. Rufus likely took this to heart, and has little time for “play”, as it were. It would do a lot to explain his rigid attitude. He doesn’t understand why you would choose to do something enjoyable or fun when there is the opportunity to work. Having been pushed into this mindset his whole life, he begins to look down on others who do this. Because if he can’t have fun, then no one should be able to, at least without criticism.

The full exchange Rufus has with Cid is enlightening, to say the absolute least, and speaks volumes to both of their values. Rufus tells Cid that he’s firmly against the space program, that it’s a waste of resources and time. That there are more efficient ways to expand business. And Cid, interestingly, says that Rufus is young, but lacks passion. Something, according to Cid, President Shinra has in spades. Whether President Shinra is doing this for the sake of his own dreams is still in question, but it’s interesting that Rufus is already so disillusioned from doing anything simply because he wants to. He views everything in terms of what is the most efficient way to achieve his goals. He doesn’t ever stop to think about things like morale, at least not here. It’s interesting to see how this stance changes later when Meteor is overhead, when he sees a panicked people and finally understands what these big, grand displays do, and what their purpose is. Especially because this is a point in time where trust in Shinra is low because of what’s happening with Avalanche.

It speaks to his immature view of the world that the only thing he has to say to Cid about what President Shinra has done with the company is to not bring his father up in front of him.

---

President Shinra is taken off the spot when Cid outright says he doesn’t care if he dies so long as he can achieve his dream. Rufus’ words once again go unheard, his ideas go ignored. Rufus, in honesty, likely didn’t care whether or not Cid lived or died. He put on this show to try and show how corrupt his father was in front of Cid, so that the rose-tinted glasses he has can fall off, and he can see how callous the president really is. This never happens, though. It’s Cid’s fervent wish to go to the moon, no matter the cost.

Upon hearing this, Rufus changes up his tactic. The immeasurable damage a failed launch would have upon the company. President Shinra is doing this launch for a morale boost and for trust to return to Shinra. Rufus sees this as a needless, pointless expense to keep favor. What Rufus proposes isn’t artificial trust. When he says he wants to run the world through fear, he means it. I don’t think he was truly interested in seeing Shinra succeed as a company. He wants to prove that he can do it better than his father, and that’s it.

Rufus doesn’t have enough experience to understand that ruling with an iron grip, with forcing people to respect and trust you, doesn’t work. This is blatantly evident with Rufus’ actions throughout this game, even. President Shinra ruled Rufus through fear. Raised him with fear, made Rufus afraid of him so that Rufus would, in turn, respect him. This simply didn’t work long-term, though. While it may have worked when Rufus was a child, Rufus is an adult now, and sick of being afraid. He revolts, thrashes, fights back in his own way. Shinra had no choice but to fall under Rufus’ leadership, because he has no idea what it really takes to be a leader. He sees failures, and sees from an outside perspective how to fix them, but without the burden of the public on him, he can’t imagine what it’s like. President Shinra, ironically, has a point with what he says to Rufus in this scene.

Rufus, thus far, has no idea how to run the company. The most efficient way is not always the most effective. President Shinra, during his time as president, understands this and does what he can to keep public favor alive so that the gil can continue rolling in. Actions that Rufus deems frivolous and unnecessary are necessary for the longevity of the company.

---

By the end of the game, the executives are still pushing for the Turks to be disbanded. Thus, they are put on trial in the president’s office, when none other than Rufus comes to put a stop to it and ask that his father reconsider.

While it isn’t wholly an altruistic decision, Rufus still does this because he, on some level, has grown to care about the Turks within the last four years. He knows their worth, knows how valuable they are to the company. He knows exactly how lost Shinra would be without them. He’s seen them work from within their headquarters, has talked to them, strategized with them. By helping them, he has earned their loyalty and respect. He knows that he can depend on them in the future. They’ve made sacrifices for each other, and the respect is mutual. Rufus sees in them a potential that President Shinra is blind to.

This is the very last thing Rufus has to say to the Turks before the end of the game. Trust in anyone is something he’s been lacking all his life. People he can depend on, people who elevate his strengths and can help make up for his deficits. This bond they all share isn’t something so easily erased. As we see, even post-FFVII, the Turks remain wholly loyal to Rufus. Even when everyone has turned his back to him, even when he gave each and every one of them an out, they stuck by him. This bond is something lifelong and runs deeper than blood. It’s beautiful to see a character like Rufus, who is so focused on efficiency and so stuck on what he can do personally, is able to forge these bonds. Of course, he still tries to do most things on his own. But when he can’t, he knows that his Turks have his back.

---

These are just my thoughts after a rewatch of Before Crisis, and I hope it proves enlightening somehow! I want to continue on to talk about how he is in FFVII proper, as well as all the supplemental material in time.

[liusaidh-writing]

So... Going to share this blip of a story/idea I've had for awhile now. It's never been anything but this and maybe a little bit more. It use no names, so isn't specifically OL, but I definitely had Claire and Jamie in mind when writing.

** Fair warning: it's rather dark and depressing, so if you aren't in the mood for that sort of thing, please skip. it involves memory loss in a fictional world. **

Anyway... Enjoy!

***********

The dark was solace. It was peace, all black and gray, except for the stars behind her eyelids. She could feel him next to her, his breathing running through her, his heartbeat a thrum in her own veins. She took a deep breath, glad he was still there and not… 

She scratched an itch on her arm, reaching across with her right hand to touch her left, but instead meeting his fingers, wrapped as they were around her left hand. She hadn't even felt his touch, and it worried her. Was she forgetting already? 

No, not yet, she pleaded. They'd promised one another that when the time came, when the memory lapses came for them, that they'd let the other go, if only to salvage what good was left, instead of wasting away in that decrepit place full of suffering. They could choose to stay together, watch one another waste away until their souls left their bodies, or they could go alone, take the easier way out, a sip of a drink, then eternal sleep.

The thought of either one was terrifying, but she thought perhaps dying alone with her memory somewhat intact was better than the alternative. 

She would never forget his face, she knew, but it was the little things she agonized over. 

The feel of his fingers against her wrist as he felt her pulse, strong and sure; the smell of his hair just after he'd showered; the way he'd hum off tune as he worked, remembering some long ago song. 

This wasn't the life either of them had imagined, all that time ago. The water wars were raging at the time of their first encounter, and he'd shown up bloody and injured at the front gates, begging for help. 

She'd been on duty that night, thank God. Anyone else and he likely wouldn't be alive. As it was, she smuggled his large form back to her house, under cover of darkness, had given him food and water, and tended his wounds. 

He'd been on his own before then, surviving day to day at his farm before it was raided, the belief that he had a hidden well making him the target of an attack. He'd wandered, alone and desperate, finally coming to her, as though their stories were written beforehand, as though she had always known he'd show up one day. 

They'd been waiting for one another, he said later, their hushed voices nearly too much for the quiet room, their bodies slick with sweat and desire, their hearts fiercely entwined. She'd do anything for him, and he her. They survived together, eeking out a life that wasn't much, but the two of them together were simply enough. 

She'd nearly lost him more than once, supply runs giving her such anxiety that she'd beg him not to go, would cling to his middle like a child, shaking and crying, always fearing the worst. 

He'd come back, always. Sometimes injured, but always relieved to see her face as she stood at the gates, her eyes searching for his. She wouldnt fully relax until she had him inside again, survey his body for anything that needed medical attention. 

Years would go by, things would change like the seasons, their hold on their reality getting stronger as things improved. 

Water flowed again, food was abundant, and the small community in which they'd survived had begun breaking off. 

Then came the memory illness. It didn't have a full name, was never researched or examined under a microscope. It was only known to have come from the water - the very stuff that sustained them. No one knew where it had come from. 

Yet, people began forgetting. 

Their names.

Their ages.

Where they lived.

Who they loved. 

They both knew their time would come. That one day they'd look upon each other and see a stranger. They both figured that though their deepest desire was to die together, it wasn't possible, not if they wanted to remember one another even in death. 

So, as she lay next to him on this single, solitary night, she gripped his wrist, tightly; a reminder that they were still together, that all of this was still real, that they would wake up in the morning to see the other, smiling, their skin warm with sleep.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Ik your request is off, but when your request is open can u write dating headcanons with Kazuha ? I like your works so much which is y i send u a request hehe

No rush please take care author-nim :'D

This is a long time coming, but I’m glad to know that you’re still a Kazuha simp even after all this time ahahha thank you for your kind words and I hope you like this!!

Kazuha Dating Headcanons

How it’s like “being with” the fugitive wandering samurai. (masterlist)

Beforehand

The whole dating thing is entirely dependent on when you met or known Kazuha. So for this one, we establish that you and Kazuha are friends even before he became a fugitive.

Your clan and the Kaedahara clan are known to be close, and that’s how you’ve known your childhood friend. You’re always together during the peace time of Inazuma, sometimes getting into trouble due to his wayfaring nature.

Your family tried desperately to help the Kaedahara clan with their financial issues but it wasn’t exactly enough to maintain such a large clan. Soon enough the samurai clan lost its power, and what remains of their abode became foreign as a more powerful clan reclaimed it.

But despite all of that, Kazuha’s happiness is your main priority and you’re relieved that despite the misfortune the young master felt more freer than ever. He leaves the sheltered life behind with the promise to visit you as frequent as he could.

And that he does, even when the vision hunt decree was enacted, even when it’s unsafe to be near the area where many eyes can identify him, Kazuha always kept his promises to visit and spend time with. And thankfully, with the history of your clans, your family are still ever so welcoming to his presence.

You even met his newfound friend (and his adorable cat!) during one of his visits, and Kazuha felt all the heaviness on his shoulders disappear when you two hit it off instantly! And after that visit he received a pat on the back and a thumbs up from his friend, telling him that he got his blessing.

This caused said friend to get smacked over the head by a flustered Anemo boy.

So when the news that he perished after issuing a duel before the throne came to you, the pain was just as bad as Kazuha’s anguish. That night you huddled together in the comforts of your room, weeping over your friend and the danger Kazuha now faces. Somehow all the peaceful times blurred into nothingness, the period of darker times and complications marked that day.

But you despite it all, Kazuha is still the honest man that he is, and he will fulfill his promises to the end: for you, for him, and for his slumbering friend.

Courting

Kazuha is a man of words and custom. Sometimes you think that his passion for poetry and wit were the things that made you fall for him, and he thought it was the best method to confess to someone as honorable as you.

So, yes, it was Kazuha who first confessed through a lengthy, poetic love letter that he left after sleeping over one night, something that he had planned many weeks ago yet kept to himself. Why would you want to be with someone who has nothing to his name? A person that you can’t spend time with freely, who prioritizes his selfish desire to be a vagabond than stay longer with you?

These thoughts stayed with him throughout the week that he avoided coming to your house and still lingered as he begrudgingly trudged up the hill to where your estate is, expecting the rejection at the sight of you waiting for him at the balcony of your room, his usual point of entry.

“YOU!” Kazuha was taken aback by the angry finger pointed at him, he was expecting something else, something sadder or guilty perhaps. Anger isn’t one of them - oh yeah, he did avoid you for a week, didn’t he? “You have the guts to drop this-” the sight of the letter in your hand made him physically recoil, “and then disappear for a week like nothing happened?! Come up here right now or I’m dropkicking your ass!”

Hurriedly, in main concern of your well-being, Kazuha used his elemental skill to jump up to the balcony - where he was met by a tight hug and you reciprocating his feelings. He hugs back in relief, before being smacked over the head for what he did.

Kazuha carries his hobby with him when you started dating, when you told him how nice it was and how you always feel flustered when it’s directed at you. Poetry, haikus, letters complimenting everything he loves about you when he knows it will take a while for him to come back. You have a special box filled with all his notes. And your favorite one:

My love is a butterfly Flies from hither to stay here forever In love and true perfection

On worse days when he’s there, at night he brings comfort by playing with his leaf, a skill of leaf-blowing he picked up from his travels and perfected for your sake. When there are times when you couldn’t sleep properly, he’s always there to pluck a leaf from the trees outside, playing a tune until you find the right comfort to rest. Usually in the company of his arms.

Kazuha absolutely loves cooking for you! When rare days comes that he is able to visit during daytime he likes to demonstrate his cooking skills, always assuring that he gets the freshest ingredients for you to eat. They’re barely a miss, like he knows your taste more than you. He takes a mental note of your favorites, your reactions and of course, your honest feedback.

The next time he comes over, he has enough to feed your family. Sometimes you feel your clan loves him more than you did.

When there are interesting things he’d encountered during his travels, he’s sure to tell you the best of them! These moments are like subtle nudges of him to convince you to join him on his adventures, enticing you with his stories to a life full of meaning and excitement out there.

More often than not at the end of his story sessions, despite knowing that it isn’t safe for you to go out (with or without him) he’ll always have this soft look in his eyes as he looks at you, smile so soft as he looks at you like a daydream, “I can’t wait to be with you out there.”

Kazuha loves it when he gets a reaction from you, whether it be your happiness or relief as he ascends to your home, genuine curiosity over his tales, the embarrassment when he makes a move, or even the worry when he comes back looking a little worse for wear.

Traveling with Kazuha

You’ve always lived a semi-sheltered life in Inazuma due to your protective clan, with your interaction mostly focused with the villagers of your area and the people in your estate. When the decree started, you barely go out now, your people feared that your Vision would be taken away if the Tenryou Commission were to see you.

It was also the main reason why despite Kazuha’s desire to show you a whole new world out there, he couldn’t ever prioritize his own feelings over your safety. It was also one of the main reasons he joined the Resistance: to make a better world for you so that he can be with you in a free world.

However, one day, a clan that’s in the favor of the Vision Hunt Decree snitched on you to the Tenryou Commission. And you were almost captured (as the only Vision holder in your clan) if not for Kazuha arriving at the last minute, fighting them off before escaping with you.

Your family was able to contact him before everything escalated, and decided that it was far more safer for you to be with him than stay at your clan. And so became your current life with Kazuha.

With a favor, Kazuha managed to get you to join the Crux Fleet. And it took a whole month before everyone (including Beidou) to find out about your relationship. This quiet boy? In a relationship with you?! Everyone calmly lost their shit, and there was a drinking party on board (for the rowdy adults).

It was warm, carefree and exciting. Despite your previous worries about the life you left behind, next to Kazuha in the middle of the ocean, somehow things ended up alright. Better even.

You jive with everyone quite well, especially with Beidou - the woman loves you to bits! Teasing you, pulling you around after finding out your backstory, as Kazuha awkwardly follows from behind in silence.

Whenever you’re around, Kazuha’s demure demeanor completely vanishes, from the mysterious kid that the crew didn’t know the name of for weeks turns into a rambunctious teen that’s only purpose is to make you crack a smile or laugh.

He is so down bad, everyone but you notices this, and soon he too became a huge target for teasing.

You’ve realized too that Kazuha smells a lot like the nature around him, sometimes the sea salt from the sea that you spend most of your days on, to the maple leaves of the forest near the docks of the cities you land in, or the musky, earthly scent of the mountains that you both trek.

Kazuha likes to be by your side every second of the day, as long as possible. And oh does he love teaching you things about the outside world, like how to tell the weather, the constellations in the sky, the inner workings of the ship.

He’s like a lovesick puppy trailing behind you. Sometimes he had to be physically removed away from you to help out on the ship, and the unlucky crew member who drags him away during a particularly bad mood gets the worst glare in their life. If they try to tell it to the others, the crew won’t believe him.

Kazuha Kaedahara had always been fascinated by you, and now that you’re here with him, he wouldn’t pass up to spend every second together. Anywhere in the world, with him you’ll be safe.

@zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @coka-cala @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @creation-magician @hanniejji @gojos-baby @gojos-baby @volleybloop @tartuu @sassyglassesbunny @moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @blissmal​ @upsetpotatoo​

[lemonhobgoblin]

A Casual Night

Mothman x human reader (gender-neutral)

Word Count: 7k

(I remember saying I would have a fic done the same week I posted my other fic. Well, that was a lie. After dealing with work, creating new wips, and editing what started as a 2k fic became this long-ass post. I tried to keep this gender-neutral, but if there are any parts thats not gender-neutral, or if something doesn't make sense give me a message and I'll fix it. Anyway hope you enjoy!)

The faint sound of your car running and the sound of the wind whipping against the surface was muddled out by old tunes playing from a random radio station filling the lonely ride home. Your eyes trained on the dark empty road ahead, your headlights on full beam, lighting your way. The subtle notes of a box of cooling pizza wafting in your direction every so often.

You were driving from a city over from where you lived, coming back from a friend’s home who was having a small get-together. It was a great time, unwinding from the stresses of work and life in general, with games, movies, playful banter, and sharing a couple of drinks. As the night progressed, things began to slow down, one of your friends passed out on the couch while everyone else turned to some lighthearted conversation. Leading the host to pipe up if they were willing to spend the night given how late it has gotten and mostly due to how much some people drank.

While everyone was willing to stay the night and continue their night of merriment. You on the other hand as well as one other person had to leave for the night due to work obligations you both had tomorrow morning.

Regretfully, you made your exit not without being offered leftovers for the ride back. But halfway home, you received an email detailing how you were not needed for work tomorrow as you were getting gas.

With this newfound information, you had the choice of making a U-turn back or continue straight home.

Rather than driving back to your friend's home, you were just going to continue your way home. You already said goodnight to them, and you were almost home even though it was still quite a ways to go. Nevertheless, they probably turned in for the night by now, and there was always next time to make it up to them.

So driving down an empty two-way road, with no lights fixture to light the road. With no other cars passing through, keeping you company. Only the trees crowding around the road giving you some sort of haunting looming audience. This was a normally busy road; however, by how late in the night it was, it was understandably dead.

Fortunately, enough, you saw your first signs of life up ahead. It seemed to be a herd of deer passing by. You honked your horn to scare them away from the oncoming danger that was your car.

Except instead of dispersing, they stayed in place, it didn’t seem out of the ordinary why else did they have the saying 'a deer in headlights.'

But what was odd, was the closer you approached the herd of deer they seemed to be floating off the pavement, apparently, they were one entity and not a group and had a pair of red glowing eyes. It stirred an unpleasant feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Promptly, an undiscernible screech erupted all around, jolting you in your seat, feeling a pang of sudden fear washing over you. Convincing yourself it was only the radio going off the fritz, peeling your eyes away from the road you scrambled to shut off the device. During your haste to bring an end to the blaring otherworldly sound, you didn’t realize how fast you were driving.

"What the fuck?!" Seeing a flash of a large dark mass smashing against your windshield - shards of glass flying around and onto you.

Swerving your car over to the side of the road, feeling the right side slope down, the bumps of the grass making you rattle and jostle in your seat. Putting your car to a complete stop.

Frantically, you scrambled to free yourself from your seatbelts, ripping yourself from your constraints, you busted out your car. Not giving a single care to the state of your car or your frazzled state. Only concerned about what or who you hit.

Jogging down, you saw a crumpled figure on the ground, he was a good distance away from where you parked. "Oh my god," You exclaimed.

“I didn’t see you coming, I’m so sorry," you yelled, hurrying to aid the individual. You didn’t get a response or see any movement - he did hit your car pretty hard.

Scared for their wellbeing you slowed down and fished for your phone in your back pocket to call for help. But before you could dial for help, you saw something that put halt to your actions. You starred in disbelief as your phone locked out.

From the figure, a wing stretched out toward the sky before folding back in itself.

What the hell did you hit?!

Cautiously, you crept forward to get a better look, you could see he was wearing a fur jacket. No. He was furry everywhere, dull in color but with an interesting print on what you believed was the wings, the pattern was similar to a moth's wing. A costume perhaps? His legs were a digitigrade structure and his feet are similar to a bird's foot arrangement. The talons of which were scraping against the road like an animal in pain.

"A moth?" Perplexed at what exactly you were looking at, it still seemed human, but it was too large in stature given it curled up on the ground. This had to be some large person in a very convincing costume. Assuming it was someone dressed up, as what you could only think of as Mothman. A random tall person dressed head to toe in an extremely convincing Mothman in the middle of an isolated road, for reasons you couldn't conjure but there had to be a rational reason as to why.

The closer you approached, the more of your rationality began to slip. Carefully you squat down, putting your hands on its back, it felt real. Too real.

The wings felt warm, stroking your hand down, you felt the ridges, bumps, and what felt like a pulse, in the wings. You noticed it had a plush ruff around its neck that could’ve been mistaken for a scarf. And there were antennas on its head, it was featherlike and twitched every few seconds. You had no desire to investigate further, yet you had a gnawing sense of curiosity that compelled you.

Besides what if was someone who was severely injured and needed immediate help. And what kind of person would you be if you just drove off without a second thought, leaving them to die. You couldn't live with yourself if that was the case.

This is too unreal. But all the signs suggested otherwise.

Bracing yourself, you gently turned him over to face you, the moment you caught a glimpse of his face, you felt instant regret surge through your veins. You stumbled backward, landing on your back, trying to push yourself away from the massive creature with your legs.

"MOTHMAN!!" You screamed.

This in turn alarmed the cryptid, flapping his wings erratically in response to your sudden outcry. It was emitting these indiscernible sounds that you had heard earlier in the car, it provoked that familiar immense fear within you.

Except, this was louder than when you were in your car, the sound reverberated through you, chills traveling up your spine. You could feel your heart palpitating within your chest, your trembling limbs growing numb. You felt your senses heightened at an alarming rate it was nauseating that you felt your mind blur. If these disquieting sounds alone could trigger your flight or fight response, without the presence of the monster. It was nothing in comparison to the full show that was in front of you, it was overwhelming in all the senses, inciting you to get far as possible.

"Holy shit!" Pulling yourself from your state of shock, you turned over onto your hands and knees, pushing yourself up and away, making a straight beeline to your car without delay.

The screeching stopped behind you. Glancing back toward the monster curious if it was making a move towards you. But all you saw was a poor incapacitated being, pitifully attempting to lift itself away. One of its wings was flapping while the other was barely moving at all. When it tried to move its stiff wing, it wouldn't fully extend before retracting it back, making what sounded like a pained low screech.

In all honesty, even in your fear-driven state, it pained you to witness this distressing scene. Pondering back and forth between taking the car and leaving, or taking your chances with the monster.

Inching toward the car, all without removing your eyes from the scene. Then you heard a more distressing shrill, stopping you dead in your tracks. You couldn't leave him.

He still needs help.

Inhaling a deep breath, you shakily walked back, each step was challenging you felt so weak in the knees and you felt lighter than usual. Your mouth desiccated of any moisture but persisted in swallowing nothing. It felt as if you were walking down to your execution and it might as well be. You couldn't predict what it would do or what it was capable of doing if you got any closer. Regardless, you tried to push your fears aside and help him, even if it killed you.

"Hold on, I'm not gonna hurt you. Just don’t hurt me please." Easing yourself onto your knees, mindful of not doing any sudden movements to provoke it any further for both of your sakes.

Bringing a hand back to where you had it before, you delicately brushed your hand up and down in small strokes on its wing. Focusing on his state and not his appearance, you saw cuts and scrapes littering its wings and body.

You grazed over an open wound, causing the creature to flinch, silently apologizing to him in a hushed tone before continuing to pet him while avoiding any more wounds.

Its breathing began to slow, quelling its jitters. You took this as an indicator of the creature growing at ease at your presence. “See I just wanna help." You whispered as the Moth creature peered up, gazing into your eyes in a sort of mutual understanding. Ensuring a feeling of reprieve within you and within him, or so you thought. It was soon to be proven wrong. The moment was short-lived when the cryptid began to thrash around again, this time trying to keep you away from him.

"Wait I thought we had an understanding there." Pulling yourself into a ball to avoid the cryptid's violent flapping wing and arms recklessly whipping around. "The eye contact we had! The eye contact!" you screamed after being betrayed by this false sense of amicable trust you thought you both had shared at that moment. But this ineffectively did nothing to fix the dilemma, merely adding more to the chaos.

"Please I want to help you." Reaching your hand out to calm him once more, without the screaming and flailing this time. "This was my fault, I wanna help and then you can go on your Mothman way, okay?" You tried to coax. Once more the monster began to quiet down, its quick shallow breathing slowed. Weary of his soothed behavior, you waited a bit before wrapping his arm over your neck.

"Okay, I'm gonna pick you up or at least try to." You said, guiding him upward into a standing position.

"Christ, you’re heavy!" Bending under the weight, propping him against your frame, so you could get a proper footing and grip on him. You struggled to the car, trudging over, but not without one of your legs giving out from under the weight occasionally. What caught your eye was how his head lulled forward or side to side, he might be disoriented from the blow. Not wanting to move his head much, you trudged much slower than you already were and stopped every few seconds.

Arriving at you your vehicle, you rested against your car, before opening the car door and easing him inside into the backseat. Tucking in any stray limbs and wings fully inside the car. Shutting the door you looked at the heavily cracked windshield. It was damaged pretty well, you summarized that you had to slowly drive all the way home. Wait home.

"Wait, I can't just bring you to my house." You said, bringing a hand to your mouth, realizing a new issue. "Someone's gonna see you." Remembering you lived on a busy street near pubs and shops, and it was Friday night you could only assume there were still people out and about enjoying the nightlife. Peering inside your car, your eyes locked on your jacket in the front seat.

"Maybe I can disguise you, and it is Friday night maybe people would be too drunk to notice."

"As long as we don't draw too much attention." You said, getting into your seat and starting up the engine. But something about saying those words aloud, felt like it was going to bite you in the ass but what’s the worst that can happen, you had him handled.

….

Here you were driving back home with the low-volume melody playing like before. However, this was different, before you were alone and you welcomed the tranquil ambiance you had riding home. But now you were riding back with an elusive creature. Creating an unsettling silence within the vehicle. What was maddening was that you were unsure what he was thinking, making you unsure of what to do besides drive. Maybe you were overthinking this but you felt you had to do something to break this disorienting atmosphere because this was too hard to fathom as reality.

"D-Do you want gum? L-Leftover pizza?" Your voice cracked, quickly clearing your throat asking again in a stronger confident voice.

No response. You tapped your fingers on the steering wheel, sucking in your cheek prompting you to purse your lips in your endeavor of finding what else to say. Flitting your eyes back and forth from the road to looking around your car on what else to offer.

"My coat?"

No response again.

Looking at your rearview mirror to get a glimpse of the cryptid only to be met with its red eyes staring directly back at you. Hastily looking back to the road and sinking into your seat, alarmed. How long was he staring at you? Why was he staring? At least he seemed less disoriented now, but you didn’t need that right now, maybe you could draw his attention onto something else other than you.

"How about some air?" you asked, hoping he would stare out the window or put his head out, anything but him staring at you all the way home. Gliding your left hand over to the window control panel on the side of your door, you pushed down a button making his window rolled down. This captured his attention, redirecting his gaze towards the open window, watching the trees and road signs passing by. O thank god. but just as he turned his head to the outside, he took this as an invitation to spread his wings to catch some air.

"That doesn't mean you can start flapping, put your wings down." Whipping your head back and forth from the creature to the road, drawing a hand at him, swinging it around to get him to fold his wings down. "PUT YOUR WINGS DOWN! PUT YOUR WINGS DOWN!" Veering your car off to the side of the road.

.....

Back on the road, after sorting out the matter. "Okay, no rolled down windows." You remarked. Mothman looking like a perfect angel in the back tapping at the rolled-up window while you were in the front with your hair messed up and arms lightly scratched. You weren't a mother, but you now had a vague idea of what it would be like and further respect and admiration for them.

Needless to say, you rode the entire way back in silence without a single word being uttered.

…..

Steering your car on the side of the street in front of an apartment complex, you placed your car in park. You turned off the engine. Street lamps and other building lights were illuminating the street. The neon signs from the local business started to shut off, looked like some of them are turning in for the night.

You snatched your jacket from the passenger seat before slipping out and making your way to open Mothman’s car door.

"We need to move, quickly." Throwing your coat over him to conceal him in the event of someone walking by. Mothman pawed at the coat and clutching it closer to get a better look and smell of the material. After gathering your phone and keys, you whirled back toward Mothman. Fussing at him to not move the jacket, readjusting it over his head. You surveyed the streets for anyone coming down or seem like they are heading out in your direction.

Once more putting his arm around you, you strode as quickly as you possibly could to the complex without either of you falling over. Mercifully, you got to the door with no problem at all or bumping into anyone.

Until you heard something you’ve been dreading on the way home, something that made your heart sank down into the deep trenches of your stomach

"Holy shit! Is that Mothman!?!" A male voice exclaimed.

You whirled your head toward the stranger who was slowly approaching you two. Fuck!

Where did he come from and what made him so confident that he’s looking at Mothman. You glanced back over to Mothman noticing that the jacket that was covering his face, was now draped over his shoulders. Drastically you scoured your brain for an excuse or some sort of explanation to counter how this wasn't a cryptid. But he beat you to the punch before you had a chance to find a solid response.

"Dude sick costume!" He said excitedly.

O fuck. Relieved that it wasn't the worse, but you were surprised he didn't question any further especially how close he was to you both. Even you would've questioned, the details and just the overall realism of said 'costume'. It didn't take long for the answer to hit you square in the nose. When a waft of alcohol invaded your nostrils, the man was drunk, and you never were more grateful.

"Thanks." You nervously laughed.

"That’s crazy good man, you did this all yourself?” He asked enthusiastically towards Mothman, beholding every bit of intricacy on the creature.

"He can’t talk right now; he drank too much to function." You interjected. “We just got back from a party.”

"I gotcha, but is it okay if I get a photo though?"

FUCK! you blurted internally, but externally with faux delight, you said "Sure!"

" 'Chad' you cool with that?" you sheepishly asked your moth friend with the first name you could think of for him. And why were you asking him? As if he could make a cohesive verbal response. But you were hoping at this moment he could magically talk, alas all he did was blankly stare.

"I'm not hearing a no." You heard the man say and you woefully agreed.

"Gimme a sec." The man pulled out his phone and tapping it unlocked.

"Okay," your heart was racing in your chest and you could feel a layer of sweat beginning to form and pool in places. But by some sweet grace of some higher being, a miracle happened right before your eyes. You heard a melodious chime sweetly ring through the crisp early fall air.

"O dang getting a call, hold on" the man answered the call, turning his back towards you.

Maybe there was a god, after all, a fucking sadist with a sick sense of humor. Either way, you were not about to pass up this chance for a free getaway.

You took this God-given opportunity to jam your key into the lock swiftly to get the both of you inside. Twisting to unlock the entrance, you could overhear the man to what sounded like him wrapping up his conservation. Turning the knob, you ushered Mothman and yourself inside the apartment complex, but not without throwing a quick apology to the stranger. Slamming your back against the door shutting it closed, a wave of relief washed over you.

"Aw man, that was too close." leaning your head against the door, desperate for a quick breath from your ordeal. You hadn't felt this much adrenaline since, since. You were so winded you couldn't even recall a memory.

Peeling yourself off from the door, feeling ready to make the final steps home. Deceptively though your body wasn’t as ready to move just yet.

"Nope wait." still trying to catch your breath. Doubling over, leaning forward, and resting your hands on your knees. Mothman all the while just tilted his head at you, confused. While you were over there feeling like you were going to be sick. The wave of nausea quickly fading away allowing you to straighten yourself out.

"Okay, we're good." You said as you grabbed his hand leading him up the stairs. Unbeknownst to you, the large creature was zoning in at the unfamiliar contact.

During his entire time with you, he was just as wary of you as you were with him. He wasn’t one to present himself to people, only as a forewarning of what was to come or an indication that Mothman will be the very last thing they would see. He trailed and stalked others like you in your car but was never hit, that was a first for him. Albeit though, him getting hit with your car, leaving him cut up and bruised did give him another reason to be extremely defensive and antsy around you.

Yet, you were gentle, loud but gentle with him when he wasn’t. Risking your safety in an effort for him to get mended. Lightly ghosting his thumb over the soft skin of your hand, tightening his hold on you. But you didn't notice, you were too preoccupied with climbing higher up the stairs, vigilant for any neighbors.

"Come on we're almost to my place." Giving a reassuring hand squeeze.

"Try to stay quiet a little longer." Peering back at the cryptid flashing him a quick warm smile, before looking back straight ahead. The creature looked directly at you, then to stairs, and back to you again. He came up with a grand idea to help with your effort. But first, he had to gain your attention and for this to work, he had to disregard everything you told him not to do earlier. The cryptid started to emit his screech directly at you to get your attention. And to you, he was making a ruckus, that was echoing through the entire stairwell and halls.

"What part of stay quiet do you not understand?" Grimacing at the noise. You stopped your movement, aiming to cover his mouth with your free hand, you felt his mandibles tickling underneath your palm.

The creature pulled your hand away and into his own, clutching both of his hands close to himself, bringing you into him. This gesture was unexpected and left you feeling warm in the face by how close he was pressing you into him. But it didn't last long when he began to bend his knee and flap his wing readying himself to fly up.

"Wait don't" Pushing yourself away from him, you freed yourself from his grasp to stop his actions. He was still injured this would only cause more harm to him and to you if he tried doing what you thought he was about to do. In your effort to stop him, Mothman tried to reach out for you again, only for his wing to smack into you causing you to land on the hard edge of the concrete stairs; headfirst. “Shit."

Groaning, "Well, I deserved that." you brought your hand to your head, you winced at the touch. As you yanked your hand away you caught a glimpse of red in your peripherals. Bringing the hand in your line of vision you saw blood smeared on the tips of your fingers.

Mothman immediately brought his actions to a halt when he saw what he had done to you. His antennas drooped down, he came close, giving you a hand up. Gladly accepting the gesture, he brought you up to an upright position, he felt bad for what he had done to you. Tentatively, he brought a hand up, lightly swiping his claws over your forehead making a low pained screech.

“It’s okay, you just wanted help didn’t you.” He nodded in response, you pressed a hand to the wound preventing the blood from dripping down. You couldn’t be mad at him he didn’t know better, and you did hurt him first, it only felt fair. Disrupting this tender moment, you heard yelling and heavy footsteps approaching one of the doors on the floor you were on.

"Let’s go!" you rushed up the stairs, luckily for you both it was the final flight of stairs. Reaching the top of steps in record time when you heard the front swing door open.

"What's with all that commotion!?" A neighbor yelled upward toward the sound of your feet stomping up. Coming to an abrupt halt at your door, you whispered for Mothman to stay where he was, while you dealt with the matter below. But he decided to follow behind instead, not wanting to leave your side.

"Sorry I was just goofing" You admitted, showing your face over the rail, outing yourself to your neighbor.

"Sorry my ass, I got work early tomorrow, you expect me to sleep with this fucking racket outside, and now this." They argued back, and rightly so, who wouldn’t complain about an unearthly ear-piercing screech penetrating through the halls along with banging sounds hitting all around the walls. But you couldn’t help but feel annoyed

"I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, promise." You leaned forward resting against the rail while one leg was kicked up behind you, preventing Mothman from coming toward the railing. You exchanged a few more words with your neighbor to avoid the landlord getting involved. Finishing up, you pulled yourself away calling it wraps on the conversation as the individual below continued spewing profanities at you and about the building.

You unlocked and opened your door “In! In! In!" You shoved the imposing cryptid inside, already getting peeved by the neighbor's continuous rambling. It wasn’t anything new they hated everyone in the building, but it wasn’t something you grew used to though.

"Jesus Christ finally." you sighed, kicking the door behind shut.

Slipping off your shoes, leaving them by the entrance, your feet ached in relief from its constructing confines. Dragging yourself through the small hall leading the way to the main part of your home, it was small but cozy.

"Here we are home sweet home." you chimed, leading Mothman further into the living room, grabbing the jacket from him and tossing it to the couch. As well as turning on a lamp to properly illuminate the room. It didn't take long for Mothman to be drawn to the light fixture like the moth he was. He grabbed the lamp hugging it towards him, looking directly at the bulb. Chuckling at the sight, you could’ve given him a flashlight on the way home if he was going to be this mesmerized. You proceeded to make your way to the kitchen for your first aid kit.

"You can make yourself comfortable, but don’t wreck anything please," you shouted from the room over, but Mothman was unbothered, he was solely transfixed on the soft light, eyes wide and grabbing at the lampshade. "I'm gonna go find my first aid kit to fix you and my cut." You really hoped nothing else gets broken, there was already enough screaming and thrashing for the night.

Shuffling through the kitchen, trying to remember where you last placed the kit. You rested and slid a hand over the cool smooth linoleum counter, looking between cabinets for any sign of a small box. Coming to the last cabinet, you rummaged through before finally pulling out your first aid kit.

But you couldn’t help but stop and think about tonight’s events. It started as a fun night, then filled with pure dread, mothering, and now what felt like taking care of a drunk long-time friend. Except, what really dominated your mind was this odd feeling you started to feel, you recounted back in the hall the way he held you close. It made you feel bashful, to say the least. Up to now, you saw him as a friendly harmless dare you say, an unexpected friend. But that didn’t accurately describe what you were feeling. Shaking your heading, you had other pressing matters to attend to.

"Got it, let's see." And not to your surprise you saw the tall cryptid sitting on the couch, clutching the lamp close to him as if it was his lifeline. You contemplated whether you should take the lamp away. But he looked to be enjoying the light source, hearing faint happy chirps emitting from him. Sadly, you decided to ruin his fun, seeing as there were wounds you needed to tend to on his chest and you needed the light to properly see them.

You attempted to pull the lamp away so you could have better access to examine his injuries. In response, he chittered in objection to his lamp being taken, and nothing was going to separate him from his precious lamp. He was going to soon learn that the lamp was barely holding onto the outlet. Hugging it closer to himself, the plug came out, extinguishing the light. Perplexed as to where his light disappeared to, he presented the lamp towards you hoping you would bring the light back.

“I’ll bring it back, but only until I get a look at you.” He nodded vigorously as you grabbed the lamp and setting back on the mini table, blindingly trying to find the plug and inserting back into the outlet turning on the lamp again. You sat on the couch next to him, motioning for him to come closer so you could get to work.

......

"I don’t see any major cuts or anything broken." Scouting out the state of the injuries, they were honestly not that bad, you guessed it was probably due to the now dried flaky blood around his cuts gave the appearance that they worse than what they were. He got pretty lucky but it was probably due to his build that he was capable of taking on more than a couple of hits.

"Only just a sprain and a couple of cuts, that’s a relief" Thinking to yourself glad it wasn't any worse, you couldn't imagine the stress of trying to keep him at your apartment while he heals, and away from your neighbors’ eyes. The fear of him getting caught and taken away and dissected. Being bombarded by officials and Mothman lovers. And getting questioned or probed, maybe even both. You didn’t know if they would, but you knew deep in your heart they would probe you for answers. Stopping your paranoid-filled train of thought from delving any further. You finished tying up a couple of loose ends and sticking on on salve on minor areas.

"See all better. Don’t move too much, it'll heal quickly that way" Gathering any trash to throw away. Everything is fine now; you don’t have plans tomorrow so you could probably sneak him back out the next night.

Huh.

Letting him go. The idea of it should have given you some relief and yet you couldn’t help but feel conflicted. Would he come to visit again? No that would be reckless. Or you could convince him to stay longer to heal, no that would be irresponsible and selfish of you. He deserves to go back, and you're going to help him get back on his feet and let him be on his way. You walked back to the room.

“Feel much better?” you inquired to Mothman who busy was playing with the bandages on him.

He looked directly at you and nodded in response.

"That’s good, the sooner you get better the sooner you can leave," you told him, seating yourself back next to Mothman who hasn’t kept his eyes off of you. You peered up to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, only to capture him looking directly at you with his head tilted.

Not this again. you thought.

He’s certainly not making this any easier. You looked away trying to focus on anything else in the room before you resorted to looking at the floor.

"You know it’s still kinda crazy, that this is even real. Like I feel like I’m going insane," you jokingly confessed to Mothman, laughing to yourself. But you thought about it more, maybe you were, "O my God is this what a psychological break is?" You looked back at him, having an unfazed look on him.

"Can I?" you asked reaching a hand forward. He stared at your hand for a bit, until he leaned forward giving you permission to proceed.

"So soft" allowing yourself to fully feel him, combing your hand through his dark fur and traveling up his ruff. It was surprisingly plush for how it looked, it felt you were touching a cloud but with some tiny debris within it. You gathered more courage to let your hand wander up to his face, giving a couple of brushes before stopping your motion, cupping the side face. His eyes were a brilliant red color comparable to a lustrous gem.

"You really are real." You muttered, stroking a thumb over his cheek.

Mothman brought a clawed hand to your face in a likewise manner, curious of your own features. Where for him he found them peculiar and to other individuals such as yourself they found it normal. The universe was messed up, making it much harder for you to separate yourself from him when the time comes for him to leave, but you allowed this, forgetting your initial plan.

Feeling a sharp claw gliding up against your skin, perfectly capable of nicking you or doing so much worse to you than you could imagine. But he had no intention to do so, merely entranced by you.

His hand wandered up to your forehead, where your gash was, flaky and dried the blood was chipping at the edges. His antennas lowered and chirped in response, for what he did to you back at the stairwell, he didn't mean to. Even if you said it was alright, it still didn’t make him better, bringing a hand to skim the wound, you flinched at the sharp pain of your forgotten injury, knocking you out of your trance-like state.

Mothman drawing back in his seat, alert and worried thinking he hurt you again.

“It’s okay, you did nothing wrong.”

You reached a hand out to calm him, you aimed for his arm but managed to miss and land your hand on his thigh. Wow, that’s great! you internally cringed feeling a blush rush over you, instead of pulling back you still tried to alleviate him by patting his leg, telling him it was the injury that was hurting you not him.

Instead of defusing his concerned mindset, he only tried to push away from you to avoid causing you any further harm. Hand still anchored on his thigh, you launched yourself trying to stop him from hurting himself more.

Fortunately, with your luck, you ended up top of him, Mothman laying on the couch while you hovered over him, with both of your legs planted on either side of his thigh. Your left knee was alarming close to his crotch if you moved an inch closer you would be bumping your knee right into it. Your hands rested squarely on his chest, finger splayed out as you looked down at him with a similar wide-eyed expression.

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

Maintaining your effort of trying to console Mothman, you coughed to clear your throat and your mind of any dirty thoughts from springing up. “Hey, I know you didn’t mean to, and if you did, I would tell you and- and I’m sorry that I gave you the impression that you hurt me and I’m sorry for hitting you with my car, I feel like saying it doesn’t do justice for what I did.” You panted after your long-winded speech.

“Also, I’m sorry for tackling you down that wasn’t my intention. So, you good? I didn’t hurt you?”

He slowly shook his head, as a response that you didn’t hurt him. Startled yes. Hurt no. Bobbing your head in understanding, you carefully crawled off him.

"Well, I guess I should go get the blood washed off, I'll be right back." You informed the still cryptid who made no effort of getting up, just continued to lay on the couch staring straight ahead in shock.

Walking off to clean off the blood and to regain your composure. You were just going through too many emotions than you should for the night. On your way to take care of your problem, you could’ve sworn you heard something akin to a cat purring where Mothman was. But you blew it off and justified it as hearing the blood rushing and the beat of your heart pounding in your ears.

Striding down a hall and into the bathroom you turned the faucet on allowing the water to flow into the sink and onto your hands. Water pooled in your cupped hands before splashing the cold water onto your face, the water, and dried blood dripping together down around the curves and grooves of your face into the porcelain bowl below. It was a satisfying contrast to your heated face, splashing another round of water at your face but an intrusive memory replayed the moment that happened a few seconds ago. Leaving your face buried in your hands, groaning from sheer embarrassment. Fucking hell why am I like this?!

Unwillingly you slid your hands off and look at yourself in the mirror you looked like the accurate personification of a hot mess. You weren’t going to think too much into this, you are going to pretend what happened didn’t happen, you were going to disinfect and stick a bandage on your cut and not dwell on your emotions around the situation at hand. Allowing him to leave as soon as he is better and not have any other affiliations with him again.

Opening the medicine cabinet for an alcohol wipe and unwrapping the wipe from its small packaging.

"Now for the worst part." Quietly hissing at the contact with the antiseptic. Finishing up on cleaning the wound, you foraged through the cabinet looking for a bandaid. Noting there wasn’t one to be found, you sighed.

Guess I need to go find one.

Turning toward the door to walk out, you looked up and saw Mothman standing at the doorway, watching.

How long was he standing? And how the hell is he so silent for such a big guy and why wasn't he like this before? You were about to question him what he was doing here or if needed something when you noticed he was fiddling with a band-aid in hand. Slowly he brought it up, placing it over your cut.

"Thanks." Laying a hand over the band-aid, feeling not just your cheeks warming up but now a butterfly feeling in your stomach, solidifying your emotions for him.

So much for my plan.

Weaseling past him, before enthusiastically asking him, "Well, we got time to pass, so what do you want to do?"

…..

The sun rays bled through the curtains lightening up your home, the light seeping past your eyelashes and into your eyelids forcing you to wake up. Blinded by the light, you groaned in discomfort, pushing yourself up hearing a couple pops in your back. Rubbing a hand up and down your face trying to wipe away the sleep.

What the hell happened here? Why was there glass everywhere? Looking up you saw your window smashed in with only a few jagged pieces in place around the sides. Turning your attention away you looked around the room, wasn’t there someone else here. O yeah.

But the question was, how did you end up falling asleep on the floor, and where was the large cryptid. Wait a minute.

…

"No, you can't go out, you're still hurt." Trying to hold him back from going through the window. Everything was fine, you both were sitting on the couch, watching whatever, and snacking on fruit, and next, you found yourself asleep but woke up to a ruckus, the tv still on, and seeing Mothman trying to rip the curtain off the window nearby. Jumping to action to stop him, he successfully pulled off the curtains along with the rack, you assumed he was trying to leave even though he wasn’t better or so you thought.

And here you were struggling to hold him back, you thought he was difficult before but now that he fully adjusted and patched, you fully experienced that he was pure indomitable power.

"At least wait till the street is clear." You insisted, noticing some people walking or jogging down the street in the dark early morning. But he didn't listen he was adamant in making his exit. So, you made the decision to let him go.

"Okay, okay at least let me get the window, I don’t want glass on the floor." Racing in front of him to slide the window open. A quick gust of wind whipped against your face, causing you to squint your eyes in response.

"There! AH-!" the last thing you saw was Mothman coming at you and the last thing you felt was his frame bulldozing you down by fast approaching torso.

…

"O right." That explains how you ended up on the floor and the glass strewn all over the floor. More incredibly, even when you opened the window, the creature still managed to break the window in its haste to leave. Your head was pounding, he really is a force to be reckoned with. Bringing a hand to your head, you winced at the contact to your forehead but noticed something else. Delicately raising a hand back to your forehead and skimming along the surface. There was the band-aid from the stairwell and on the other side was another. You didn’t remember adding when did you?

Oh.

……

"My window," you muttered groggily, your vision fading out not before the moth creature gave his assistance to you for the last time and a thanks to you by sticking a band-aid on your sure-to-be bruised noggin as you lulled into an unconscious state.

……

At least bug boy was nice enough to get you another band-aid when he put you out cold, before making his exit. Slowly standing up to get started on assessing the mess and knowing full well that you needed to inform your landlord of the window. You peered out the window, curious of any indication of Mothman to spot, unfortunately, all there was to see the was hustle and bustle of the city around and below.

Turning your attention back to the mess, maybe you could make a fib of some large man drunk man pretending to be Mothman breaking into your home believing it was his. Sighing, you went to grab a broom to clean up the mess, at least you were able to encounter a real living and breathing legend. Made you wonder if other cryptids exist, but you’re pretty sure handling one creature was enough for now after last night.

Finishing up, you gathered all the shards and brought them to the trash. You didn’t have work for today, which gave you the opportunity to get a breather and get things done. Making your way to your room and getting ready for the day.

As you were getting clothes on and getting a good look at yourself in the mirror. There square above your eyes and your right eye was a bruise evident from last night's escapades. Shaking your head, laughing to yourself you weren’t going to be able to cover up the contusion. Bringing a hand to your head, you couldn’t help but smile at the cryptids' cute gesture. Walking out of the restroom deciding to let the shiner shine, ready to do some damage control.

Grabbing your keys, and heading out the door, and yet you couldn't stop thinking of that little moth guy. What are the chances of seeing him again? Probably unlikely, a mere once in a lifetime chance but you were grateful to encounter a sweet bug boy like him.

[aslitheryprinx]

Fake Fic Titles:

You Look So Different When You're Sleeping

Under The Moonlight

Please Don't Leave Me

There's A Monster in the Sky, in the Wood, in the Fields

These prompts are all so good!! Again, I kind of wrote a LOT for this lol. I hope you enjoy!

CW: some fear and panic, sacrifice.

Nothing too dark this time.

You look so different when you're sleeping

A borrower is rarely active during the day. It is much safer to borrow when the humans are asleep, less likely to see you. Ranboo has no desire to borrow during the day. The very few times he's been awake while the humans were have been terrifying. He's never even had a close call; there's just something frightening about watching humans move and interact with the world, even from a hidden position. They're too fast for something so large; too attentive, too intelligent. They are loud and smart and utterly petrifying, and Ranboo will stick to borrowing at night, thank you very much.

But... In the darkness, in the peace and quiet of the night, the humans aren't quite as frightening. They're still and calm while they sleep, expressions lax and breathing deep and slow. It's almost... Peaceful seeing the giant beings so still and gentle.

He probably shouldn't be here, shouldn't be watching the human sleep with such fascination. But he's done everything thing he needs to do... And everything he doesn't need to do. He has no chores to keep him occupied, has enough food stored to last for weeks if it keeps that long. He has nothing to do, and finds himself drifting to the human's room. He climbs the nightstand, only a little nervous at how close he is to the dangerous being, and watches.

It's relaxing somehow, and the human looks much less like a dangerous threat like this. He looks more like a person. Which he is, humans are people, but it's hard to remember that when they walk past and all he can think of is how easily a single step could crush him.

He feels calmer than he has in a while, and watching someone sleep makes him sleepy. He's tempted to blink his eyes shut, but he can't while still in a dangerous place. But he's tired enough he should probably head home.

Ranboo stands up, and is about to start the climb back down the nightstand when the human shifts.

Instantly he's alert, adrenalin flooding his body. He doesn't know whether to run, try to make it to the floor before the human wakes up or to hide on the nightstand and pray he isn't seen.

He's too slow to decide, to frozen with indecision, and the humans eyes snap open. A second later, an eye half his size filled with a terrifying amount of intelligence rests on him.

There's a blink as the human registers his presence, then the human is sitting up, laser focused on him.

Ranboo trembled under the gaze, wishing he could just teleport away to safety. The human had looked much less terrifying when he was sleeping.

Under the Moonlight

Please don't leave me

Ok I'm just gonna bullet point this one lol.

Phil is an immortal with a strange curse

When he's beneath the moonlight, he can move. But when he's no longer touched by the light from the moon, he freezes into a solid statue.

This causes a lot of problems, and he's found out the hard way that's he can't die. If he's smashed to pieces, he'll just wake up beneath the next moon, completely fine.

One night when the moon is not out, a strange man finds him and takes him home.

The man, Technoblade, restores damaged statues, sculpture, and similar art in his free time, and Phil is apparently damaged enough to need restoration.

Eventually Phil is placed by a window. The problem is, the moon only shines through for less than an hour each night.

Phil needs to figure out how to escape outside in that short time frame... Without alerting the human, who seems far too perceptive.

Wilbur should've known better. Really, falling asleep while outside of the fae realm? That was just asking for trouble. Any human, or just a wild animal for that matter could stumble across him and that would be that.

At least he'd had the sense to stay in his insect form. To any passing humans, he just looked like a butterfly. Perhaps his brilliant blue wings were a little unusual, but not enough to draw suspicion.

Unfortunately, his butterfly appearance did not seem to help him any this time. Because when Wilbur woke up, he was in a jar.

He'd been caught, by a human child no less. And according to the natural laws of the world, his magic wouldn't work once he'd been trapped, not until his captor decided to release him.

Wilbur was in quite the conundrum. There was no way the kid was going to release a cool butterfly he caught. But if Wilbur revealed himself, there was no guarantee he'd want to release the even cooler fairy. Still, being in his normal form would at least give him a chance of talking his way out, and he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in a jar.

With a sigh, he shed his insect disguise. As expected the kid gasped, and gazed down at him with wide eyes.

"Woah!!!" the young human gasped, raising the jar higher and staring at Wilbur. He couldn't lie, having someone so much larger than him looking so closely at him was a little unnerving. But Wilbur put on a charming smile to talk to them.

"Hello!" He said, and the human kid grinned.

"Hi!" He replied excitedly. "You're a fairy? I've never met a fairy before! What's your name?"

Did... Did the child not know anything about fairies? Did he not know the power names held? Well if not, Wilbur certainly wasn't going to tell him. He also wasn't going to give him his full name, whether or not the kid could use it or not.

"You can call me Wilby," he said, unable to tell a complete lie. It was a little bit embarrassing to give the kid his childhood nickname, but it would do.

"Wilby," the kid repeated and despite his awkward situation, Wilbur had to fight the urge to coo. The kid didn't say his own name, however, so he decided to push slightly.

"What's yours?" He asked, not an ounce of deception in his voice.

"I'm T- uhhh I mean I can't tell you. The adults say we can't give our names to strangers."

Damn. At least he didn't know why, which meant Wilbur still might be able to get out of this.

"That's ok," he says, showing none of his disappointment. "We'll just have to become friends first."

He's a little startled when tears spring up in the kid's eyes and he sniffles. Oh dear.

"Really?" The kid asks. "You'll really be my friend, Wilby?"

That should have no right to make his heart melt. He was trapped in a jar for fuck sake! He needed the kid to free him, not make him feel soft.

"Of course," Wilbur said. "Could you let me out of the jar first?"

The kid hesitates and he fights the urge to curse. It's worth a try, but he gets the feeling it won't be that easy.

"But... if I let you out, you'll go away," the human says sadly. It's true, but Wilbur refuses to feel guilty for that fact. "And then I won't have any friends at all."

"I can't be your friend if I'm in a jar," Wilbur tries. "Then I'm just a prisoner." The kid hesitates even more.

"How about this," Wilbur hedges. If you promise to let me out, I'll be your friend."

The human lights up.

"You promise?" He asks. Wilbur words his promise very carefully, knowing he'll be held to it by his own nature.

"I promise that if you let me out, I'll be your friend," he says, and the human cheers.

"Now we're friends forever!" He says excitedly. "And I'll let you out when we get home and you can live with me and, and-"

Wilbur tunes him out. He can feel the promise taking hold, which means the kid really does intend on letting him out. Luckily being friends with someone doesn't influence his mind, but he's still in the jar.

"Hey, do you want to play a game?" He asks. The kid brightens.

"Yes! What game?" He nearly shouts.

"We'll play Simon Says," Wilbur says with a grin. The name had become commonplace, but few humans knew the origin of the game.

"Can I go first?" The kid asked. If Wilbur interpreted the question as the kid playing first rather than giving the commands then...

"Yes," he said truthfully, as all fairies must. "But we're going to play a more fun version. You use your own name instead."

"Oh," The human said, disappointed. "But I'm not supposed to tell my name to strangers."

Wilbur feels victory, tantalizingly close.

"Well we aren't strangers anymore, are we?" He asks reasonably. The child's face brightens, and he gasps in delight.

"You're right," he says. "we're friends now! My name is Tommy!"

And just like that, Wilbur has his ticket to freedom.

"Tommy," he croons, testing the power behind the name. Tommy instantly sways in place, eyes glazing over.

"Saemonsae, Tommy," Wilbur says, speaking the true name of the spell that gives him power over anyone who gives up their name. It's the easiest spell to perform; he never met another fairy who couldn't use this spell. Even while trapped, the spell was child's play.

"Open the jar, Tommy," he commands sweetly. Instantly, the child is moving, unscrewing the lid. Wilbur flutters free, heart soaring. He circles the dazed human's head a few times before landing on the lid of the jar.

If he were a crueler being, he could pay back the imprisonment a hundredfold. If he wished, he could make Tommy do anything he wanted. A dark part of him, the part that was the most instinctual part of being a fairy, wanted to. It wanted to trap the silly boy and show him that fairies weren't toys, weren't creatures to be trifled with.

The rest of him knew that Tommy was just a kid. He would make Tommy take back the deal, the one that still bound him to be the child's friend.

But... Tommy was crying. He froze, watching the kid, still under his power sniffle. Maybe he was scared? It was very likely. He didn't have control of himself anymore, and that would scare most adults.

"Wilby," Tommy sniffled. Wilbur was morbidly curious. What would the child say while scared? Would he ask to be spared? To be freed? Wilbur wouldn't hurt him regardless, but he wanted to know. He let Tommy keep talking.

"Wilby, are you leaving?" He asked, and suddenly another part of Wilbur rose up at the desperation in the child's voice. He felt his face soften, and then Tommy spoke the final words that pierced Wilbur's heart.

"Please don't leave me alone," the little human child begged. Not worried at all about Wilbur abusing the power he had and hurting him; just wanting Wilbur to stay. How lonely was this young human, that he became so attached to the first friendly person he met? (And how soft was Wilbur, that he was already attached as well?)

"I won't leave you," Wilbur decided on a whim.

Fairies could be many things. Cruel and kind, gentle and vicious, completely truthful while being manipulative. They were also be selfish.

Wilbur liked Tommy. He was his friend because of the promise he'd made, the one that he could make the child release at any moment. But the human was also lonely and sad, and the fairy decided he was Wilbur's.

"Saemonsae, Tommy," he repeated, and the human would do as he asked. "You're going to live with me."

There's a Monster in the Sky, in the Woods, in the Fields.

It has been centuries since humanity was safe on the surface. When the Endless War of the the gods broke out, at the end of it all, the earth went to the victors. It was only by the grace and mercy of the dual gods of the Underground and Wealth that humanity was not subjugated by the powerful gods above.

The cave Tommy's village lives in is close; far too close to the territories of several very powerful gods. Their village gives sacrifices every year; the best cow in the village, the most bountiful portion of their crops. Yet still, the gods seek unsatisfied. Each year the twisting trees from the woods grow closer, and the wild crops from the field creep towards the entrance of their cave, and the sky peeks more and more through the slowly crumbling ceiling of the cave.

For centuries, the village has increased their sacrifices, giving all they can without starving their own people. Each household gives until it hurts, leaving behind everything they can spare, sometimes parting with sentimental items. It's never enough. Finally, there is only one more way to escalate the sacrifices.

They must give the gods a life to be free.

With great reluctance, the elders choose a child to be sent out. He is innocent, and he is alone. His sacrifice will be tragic, but better a poor waif with no family to miss him then one of the children of the families around. It must be a child; innocence is essential to a good sacrifice and they cannot afford to slight the gods.

The boy's name is Tommy, and he's terrified as he's tied up and dragged go the entrance of the cave. The priests are covered head to toe, so they tread as little on sacred ground as possible. Tommy is barefoot, dressed only in loose robes that fall past his knees.

He shakes as he's placed perfectly between the wild fields and dark woods, open and seen by the sky above.

The priests tie the ropes to the ground and return to the village, muttering prayers as they go. No matter how he tries, Tommy cannot free himself from the bindings. He struggles until he hears a snap of a foot on a branch.

From the woods, he comes. He is the first to arrive, and the sight of him makes Tommy's heart tremble in his chest from the sheer terror.

He is a giant, as the gods tend to be. Towering easily above the trees of his domain, and looking down at where Tommy lays bound with a curious gleam in his eyes. His eyes are a warm brown like sunwarmed soil. Brown eyes should not be able to glow, but rules don't apply to gods. His curling brown hair looks a bit like branches, and he has a crown of leaves braided around his head like a circlet. It distracts him for a moment from the pointed ears that could never be mistaken as human and the razor sharp fangs from a mouth big enough Tommy felt faint with fear.

"What have we here?" The god asks, voice melodic and resonating through Tommy's entire being. There's something almost sad in his voice, and Tommy feels the emotion despite his fear. "A little gift from the humans, I suppose."

"Are you sure this gift is for you?" a deep voice calls from behind Tommy. He freezes, a fresh wave of terror washing over him. He turns to find a second god, standing tall and proud in the fields.

He is meant to be a god of harvest, but the scent of blood fills Tommy's nose. The god looks far more like a king than a farmer, with an intricate crown of gold resting on his head. His hair is a vibrant pink, and Tommy had never found the color so intimidating as when this powerful looking god wore it. His ears and mouth were the same as the other gods, but his eyes were a terrible red, looking like blood might spill from them at any moment.

"After all," he continued, and the powerful sound made Tommy feel like his bones were vibrating in his body, "he seems to be in my field."

"Perhaps," the god of the forest says, and although there is no anger in his voice, Tommy tenses at what must be a growing argument between gods.

"You cannot deny," the Woods continues, "That he is also in my forest. He is partially bound to the roots of a tree."

"And partially bound to the soil of my fields," the harvest god finishes.

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, breathing shakily. It is said gods rarely share. Especially when it comes to matters of power, such as sacrifices, they will not accept others taking what is theirs. Will they fight to have all of him? Or will they tear him perfectly in half, split him and call it even? No matter the outcome, Tommy doesn't see himself surviving, and he whimpers quietly.

The sound of wings fluttering startles him, and he opens his eyes. The two gods must have heard it as well, because they fall silent.

Tommy's eyes catch a single feather, floating down from the sky. Despite the third shadow that is now falling over him, all he can do is watch the falling feather as is slowly drifts down, landing right next to him. It is as black as the night, looks soft as silk... And is twice as long as he is tall. He shudders uncontrollably, finally gazing up at the third god; the god of the sky.

He catches sight of him and his breath catches in his throat. That is not a mere god of the sky.

Wings as dark as death stretch behind him. He is cloaked in dark green robes that cover his hands. Soft blonde hair falls around his face, and an unmistakeable hat covers his eyes and his pointed ears. Tommy has seen his likeness carved into countless statues, painted onto the walls of the cavern, etched into books.

This was one of the Two; this was the Angel of Death, the god over all endings.

"Don't tell me you have a claim on him as well," the forest god says lightly, and Tommy shudders at the idea. The Angel of Death laughs.

"He's been placed equally between Woods, Fields and Sky; I believe we are meant to share him."

The gaze of three gods, one of them one of the two most powerful beings in the universe fall on him, and Tommy's terror becomes too much to handle. His vision goes dark, and he knows no more.

[your-brilliant-lady-m]

Part 5 - Basic Concepts of Miraculous Ladybug: Guardians

Helloooo! Did you think I was done? No!

My PhD thesis chapters were approved last week, so have some celebratory meta. I haven't seen the latest Season 4 episodes, so do forgive me for not being up to date.

Welcome to the next part of my analysis of the basic concepts of Miraculous Ladybug. Today we are talking about Master Fu, Order of the Guardians and how little everything here makes sense. I highly recommend reading previous parts to fully understand this one, but I'll try to quote most parts of earlier posts.

Order of the Guardians

Order is an international and ancient organisation (New York Special showed us the guardian from North America and he was dressed like Su Han). Presumably, Miraculous jewels were created by these people. Guardians are responsible for the preservation of jewels and knowledge about them. They also distribute Miraculouses to worthy people around the world to combat mostly magical threats, but sometimes jewels are used against normal threats too. It's implied that Master Fu used Miraculouses during WW2 when he was in Paris. Perhaps he performed some spywork with Marianne, but the magical nature of his interferences was discovered and he was forced to flee, before returning to France many decades later.

Why does the Order need so many people to take care of a 3 Miracle Boxes? If its only purpose is to preserve knowledge, keep magical secrets and distribute Miraculous jewels then wouldn't it be more logical to have Master-Apprentice system? It's much easier to keep magic knowledge a secret and train a few people in martial arts than doing the same in the self-sufficient temple full of people, keeping in mind that a good part of them are teenagers and children, who are bad at keeping secrets. Also a single person can travel around the world much easier to give out Miraculouses. Imagine that we have a few active guardians traveling the world with Boxes. What do other people at the temple do in the meantime? They teach the next generation about the powers of each Miraculous and Mirakung Fu, but besides that?

Master-Apprentice system gives us more personal conflict between Fu and his mentor and makes his relationship with Marinette and Adrien more nuanced. In this scenario Fu accidentally caused the death of his Master at 14 because he wasn't careful. It makes sense for him to take on only 1 or 2 students if this is how things were done with Miraculous Guardians. This Wang Fu is very cautious and protective, he spent the majority of his life afraid of hurting someone else and never took an apprentice as a result. But now he is ready to try again, since he is not getting any younger and he likes these 2 kids. He wants them to succeed. Maybe Master Fu, becomes the father figure for Adrien in this situation and a guide for Marinette. Just think about it. This way writers avoid the need to develop all these extra characters (Su Han) and traditions related to the Order. All inconsistencies I mentioned before and later in this post are gone now! Hell, even memory loss and the changing of the Miracle Box shape could make more sense. We also raise the stakes post-amnesia, if it happens of course (the whole Season 3 finale didn't make sense, so stay tuned for my next meta). Marinette and Adrien are on their own now, there's no one who can give them answers. It's very fun scenario, which has potential to be brilliant. Any thoughts on that?

The existence of Order of the Guardians is not quite a secret, at least it wasn't in XIX century China. Master Fu in "Feast" says that guardianship was considered "a great honor". It implies that people who lived close to the temple of the Order knew about Miraculouses and what exactly guardians did for the greater good.

The existence of other Miracle Boxes around the world makes sense from a real-life perspective. Writers have the ability to create many stories set in the same universe and use them for merchandise and an almost unlimited amount of content. Judging by the unholy amount of specials in production, this is exactly what the creators are going to do. It probably won't go down well, but who knows?

However, it doesn't work in our main story. The main conflict is Paris-centred. Gabriel's motivations revolve around Emilie's resurrection and Season 4 gives us more reasons to suspect that Adrien's mom wasn't as wonderful as everyone says. Hawkmoth still remains the main villain of the show and most likely it's going to stay that way. There's no point in moving the main story to different places for the sake of introducing more Miracle Boxes from around the world. Ladybug and Chat Noir aren't needed to fight something halfway across the world unless Hawkmoth also changes locations.

LB and CN are centrepieces of this franchise. They brought success and money to ZAG. Creators constantly need to remind the audience that this new piece of media with new characters who will never be mentioned again is connected to Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir. Writers have to come up with reasons to include our heroic duo into the story even if makes no sense.

New York Special had to introduce American Heroes whose names rarely come up in the fandom because people stopped caring about them or their stories shortly after the release of the Special. I barely saw any content dedicated to them. In order to bring LB and CN into the story, you have to include Hawkmoth too. Gabriel suddenly needs to get his hands on the Eagle Miraculous and goes to USA. Marinette and Adrien suddenly have a class trip to New York. Unfortunately, their presence in this story is required only to expand the world of Miraculous and attract fans of the show, so that they could keep an eye on new content related to newly introduced characters.

In the end, it's not their story. Events of the special don't affect main story of the show and the development of the love square is merely an illusion, because Adrien and Marinette are no closer than before. In season 4 LB and CN are growing apart and their test of trust in NY Special doesn't matter. Perhaps, some people don't see it that way and it's their right, but I find it hard to see NYS as a valid contribution to canon. I mean, even people in large portion of the fandom state in the tags on AO3 that "specials are not canon", "specials didn't happen" or "ignores both specials". It speaks volumes about continuity and preferences of your fandom.

Shanghai Special didn't give us more information about the Order, which is located in China, history of Miraculous jewels. We still don't know much about how Gabriel and Emilie found Peacock and Butterfly. Maybe, Marinette's family had connections to Miraculous jewels. Maybe, Adrien does some snooping and discovers research his parents made while Gabriel is away. All of these are relevant to the main story. However, we got something much different in the end.

Marinette chases Adrien across the globe and they make new friends. Fey becomes Ladydragon and now has a direct contact with Marinette through her uncle. Gabriel's desire to get his hands on the Prodigious comes out of nowhere. Apparently, he had been planning this trip for years, presumably even before Adrien was born. It probably happened at the same time as Agrestes found 2 Miraculouses. He bought bracelet-key (which is also a Miraculous apparently, but its Kwami is a Guardian of the Prodigious and they existed separately for a very long time - and let us not dwell on this mess) from some shady mafia boss, who can easily find out just who Gabriel really is (fashion designer billionaire) and use this information to blackmail him. This Special didn't answer important questions, but it gave us a new superhero character.

The real question is whether Miraculous as a project will survive long enough for writers to create content for every minor character they introduced in all specials. This is only a beginning after all.

Miraculous is not a global show and it can't be globalised in a way that makes sense, at least with Ladybug and Chat Noir in the centre of action. Case closed.

Mirakung Fu

I liked the idea of Mirakung Fu introduced in "Furious Fu". It makes sense and things rarely do in this show. Miraculous grants its holder superhuman strength, stamina, endurance and ability to fight. This means that essentially transformed heroes are guided by magic in combat. There's nothing personal in the way Miraculous holders fight. You can predict their moves and learn how to fight this magic guidance, which is what Su Han does.

However, if the holder has any special training, skills or knows any martial art in their civilian life then they become more dangerous opponents during transformation because now their fighting is a mix of magical moves and their personal knowledge, tricks and style. Therefore, Adrien and Kagami as skilful fencers have more chances of winning against someone who knows Mirakung Fu than Marinette, for example.

Memory loss

At the end of season 3, we find out several things:

apparently, now Miracle Box can change appearance to suit its guardian;

when Guardian passes down the Miracle Box to someone else, they lose memories not only about everything related to Miraculous, but also about pretty much everything in their life (Fu doesn't recognise Marianne, instead he experiences the love at first sight)

Master Fu trains Marinette to be the proper holder and next Guardian off-screen. He says that her training as the holder is complete in "Feast" and wants her to become the next Guardian. Fu told her lots of things, and yet, he never mentioned the fact that he would lose his memory after relinquishing the box, nor the fact that Marinette would lose her memory afterwards. She finds out about this from Wayzz after the battle with Miracle Queen and the letter that Master Fu gave her. That's not proper training! How on Earth do you forget to mention this memory loss? How?

Master Fu's amnesia is a convenient plot device that removes him from the narrative almost completely. That's mostly all there is to it. Why? Because it doesn't make sense.

Fu was around 7 or 8 when he started his training. The disaster at the temple happened when he was 14. He stated that his training was never complete, which means that he never passed any magical ritual, never swore an oath or was bound by some kind of spell that made him subjected to the rule of memory loss.

Miracle Boxes belonged to the order, not Fu. Their design reflected their country of origin because these Miraculous were made and kept in China. They were just standing there on the shelves not magically bound to anyone in particular. When Feast attacked, monks just tossed Wang Fu the miracle box and grimoire. No one at the temple lost their memory after Fu took the box with him (Su Han is the proof). Su Han not only remembers Fu and his mistake but everything that happened that fateful day as well. In "Furious Fu" Marinette explains Su Han that Master Fu lost his memory in the very first conversation they have. However, after Ladybug and Chat Noir fight Su Han on the roof and escape with the Miracle Box, the latter searches for Fu and attempts to take his staff from him. In this scene, Su Han acts like Fu knows very well what is going on and who he is.

Su Han should be aware of the memory loss rule as the Celestial Guardian. He remarks on the different shape of the Mother Miracle Box and calls her "incorrect", which means that Su Han should have been able to easily tell that previous Guardian lost his memory and the Miracle Box is now bound to someone else. But he doesn't say anything. Moreover, since Su Han is supposed to know about amnesia, he seemed awfully chill about forcing this 14-year-old girl in front of him to give up the box and her memories. Hell, Chat Noir wasn't on board with this. But we get zero reaction from Su Han.

During the first conversation between Marinette and Su Han, he doesn't ignore what she is trying to say, instead he actively comments on every word. Even if Su Han didn't listen when Marinette told him about Fu's memory loss, than he still should be able to understand that Fu doesn't recognise him, because of common sense and the "incorrect" shape of the box. But nothing of the sort happens. Because writers apparently forgot that "memory loss" is supposed to be known to everyone in the Order. On-screen it looks like Su Han is not aware of the "amnesia rule".

"Furious Fu" makes the concept of memory loss a plothole no matter how you look at it. Just like "Timetagger" and "Chat Blanc", as well as "Kwamibuster" this episode is not consistent within itself. It does not surprise me, however.

Grimoire and Guardian Staffs

Let's talk about the Miraculous Grimoire. Good things first.

There are no illustrations of Miraculouses in camouflage. Kwami can't read its contents, only guardians can. Certain elements are written in riddles as an additional precaution. The book contains only the information people have learned so far, which means that Miraculouses have more unexplored potential ("Mr. Pigeon 72"). It describes powers of each Miraculous, provides information about weapons, has instructions for potions that don't make sense (see previous parts).

Unfortunately, everything is about to go downhill from here.

Guardians are taught how to read the writing in this book. They can read it just like people learn to read texts in a different language. This means that one can read Grimoire like any other book (you don't need to consult some guide to decode each letter or word). Master Fu proclaimed Marinette an almost fully trained Guardian. He should have taught her how to read the Grimoire then (he doesn't know the code very well, but he knew enough to understand the general meaning and content of the book according to "Collector"). He didn't. We don't know why. He shows her powers of every Miraculous but doesn't teach her the code.

Master Fu knows that Grimoire now belongs to Gabriel Agreste. He knows that it's dangerous for someone else to have it. If they knew how to read the Grimoire, they could discover all secrets of Miraculouses and harm Ladybug, Chat Noir and other heroes. It's very important to keep the information about the code top secret because Fu is not the only one with the source material.

What does he do then? Master Fu proceeds to write a French translation of Grimoire for Marinette, a translation that he doesn't even need. He carries it with him at all times on a tablet (without any precautions) just like the Miracle box after "Feast". Naturally, it means that in "Miracle Queen", Gabriel and Nathalie easily managed to get their hands on the tablet and Miracle Box. It allows the plot to happen, sure. But it doesn't make any sense.

"Furious Fu" created another curious plot hole. It will probably be ignored, of course. Su Han has a staff with a magical compass that allows him to find any Miracle box, but not the Miraculous jewels for some reason. How does the staff work? Can it locate the box without the Miraculous? If yes, then it seems useless. What's the point in the ability to locate an empty box? If it can locate the box only with the Miraculous jewels inside, it implies that the staff can track the location of every Miraculous too. So, Su Han could just locate the Butterfly and Peacock without any problem. But he talks about reassigning Ladybug and Black Cat to adults and defeating Hawkmoth like locating the Butterfly is not possible. This situation makes the Guardian Staff a simple plot device that creates plot holes and its only purpose is to explain how Su Han found Marinette.

Also, I have a few more words to say about this. Master Fu had a Guardian Staff that was never mentioned before. I wonder why? That's because the staff didn't exist before "Furious Fu" was written. Writers just went: "Do you know what would be cool? If Fu's cane was really a secret Guardian Staff with a compass all along that he decided to keep even after he lost his memory? It would make people wonder whether Master Fu is faking amnesia, and everyone will definitely call him an awful mentor after this even though we kind of tried to make him a good and responsible person."

Fu didn't give it to Marinette and didn't mention it to her. Why? When he gave up his memory, he should have written about this in his letter at least. Why did he decide to keep it? He can't use it anyway now.

Please note how in the flashbacks Fu didn't take any staff with him when he escaped the temple. Su Han seemed to know how Fu's staff looked like. It means that Master Fu didn't make this staff himself, because it belonged to the Order.

Su Han wasn't even surprised that Marinette didn't have the staff as the current Guardian. Was she not supposed to have it? He never questioned the fact that the former Guardian without memories has the staff. Su Han actually returns this staff to Fu after he is deakumatized and Fu acts like they have never met before. Why did Su Han gave the staff back when he knows what it is and to whom it should belong (to him or to Marinette as the current Guardian)? The staff is useless in the hands of the civilian. Does Marianne know about its secret? We'll probably never find out, unfortunately.

Guardian Staff of Master Fu has a compass too and therefore this also makes it a plot device, just like Su Han's staff.

[meichenxi]

Grimm’s Law and Verner’s Law: part 1 - Indo-European background

OR: how ‘cannabis’ and ‘hemp’ are actually cognates

tldr: sound change is cool and this great series of videos can explain it better than I can: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aal9VSPkf5s. this is going to be the first of a few posts on sound change in German and English. I originally wanted to explain the second sound shift, but quickly realised that it doesn’t make sense without any of the historical context, so please bear with me

What makes a language Germanic? Imagine for a moment that you’re an alien a la Matt Haig, newly arrived to Earth and presented with a sample of the world’s languages - or specifically, part of Eurasia’s. Some languages look very similar to each other; some very different. How would you go about building a hypothesis about which languages were related to each other, and which weren’t? How would you then test this hypothesis? And how, presented finally with data that shows your languages are related, would you explain how these changes came to happen in the first place? 

Before we go on to Germanic, though, let’s talk about Indo-European today. You guys probably all know that IE is a large language family that stretches from Icelandic to Hindi; Germanic is one of the sub-groupings of this wider IE family. Within the sub-family itself, there are divisions: German is more closely related to Dutch, Norwegian to Swedish, Icelandic to Faroese and so on. This seems all fairly obvious to us now. 

Way back when many centuries ago (not that many centuries, and certainly long after the Bible began), the idea of a language family spanning English to Russian to Farsi was a little less obvious. For much of the 17th century, people (esp a bishop dude called John Wilkins) sought to prove that English was related to Hebrew - this was an important endeavour at the time, because it would lend the language religious authority, especially in its translation of the Bible. Fast forwarding to the 18th century, a man named Sir Williams Jones who lived in Bengal realised - on account of his classical education and extensive contact with Indian languages - that there were much greater similarities between Latin, Greek and Sanskrit than anybody had previously realised. He wasn’t the first to think it, but he was one of the first to make such a definitive statement. The following quote is probably one of the most famous in historical linguistics, so I apologise for quoting it in full: ‘The Sanscrit language, whatever be its antiquity, is of a wonderful structure; more perfect than the Greek, more copious than the Latin, and more exquisitely refined than either, yet bearing to both of them a stronger affinity, both in the roots of verbs and the forms of grammar, than could possibly have been produced by accident; so strong indeed, that no philologer could examine them all three, without believing them to have spring from some common source, which, perhaps, no longer exists: there is a similar reason, though not quite so forcible, for supposing that both the Gothick and the Celtick, though blended with a very different idiom, had the same origin with the Sanscrit, and the old Persian might be added to this family.’

He was wrong in a lot of ways - he excluded some languages that do belong in this family and erroneously included others. He also wasn’t the first to come up with this idea. This quote, more than anything, marks the beginning of people’s interest in the ‘common source’: how could such a thing ever be proven, if we didn’t have access to the language itself?  Part of the building ground for Indo-European historical linguistics was the desire to prove that linguistics was an empirical science much like any other, with laws that held universally and hypotheses that could be tested and demonstrably falsified. This rested on two principles both promoted by the Junggramatiker, or Neogrammarians, a Leipzig based group of scholars. Firstly, that sound change - the process by which sounds change, arise and disappear - was a highly regular process that held universally and obeyed certain rules. Secondly, that languages that exist today are structurally and in principle no different from languages that existed thousands of years ago - that is, we have no reason to assume that processes existed in the past that don’t exist today. This is called the uniformitarian principle. 

If both of these things are true, that means that it would be possible to not only determine how exactly these languages were related, but also reconstruct an earlier version of the language once spoken by all Indo-Europeans!! (I hope you agree that this is immensely cool.) 

Reconstructing these rules is important, because it allows us to better understand structural similarities between languages. There are some similarities which are surface deep: it’s easy to compare English cold and German kalt or warm and - well - warm, and say that they look alike. Pfad and path is a little harder, but when you compared Pfeffer and pepper it’s clear, ok, there’s a <pf> / <p> alteration going on there. Leaving the Germanic family behind, though, things get a little more tricky. 

How exactly is venue cognate with come? What about English quick and Latin vīvus? And how can sister and Hindi bahan possibly be cognates??

Some of the most meaningful observations are structural; they are not surface deep, and they’re not immediately available for study. This is because, quite simply, the time depth since Indo-European was spoken is vast; there have been extensive sound changes in all of the languages concerned. 

And that’s exactly what Grimm’s Law is. It’s a sound change that happened specifically in the Germanic branch of Indo-European, so it’s common to all Germanic languages, and nothing else. It’s one of those diagnostic criteria that an alien would use to determine that Norwegian and Dutch were related: it’s present, apart from where further sound change has obscured it, in every Germanic language - and it’s not present, apart from in borrowed words, in any non-Germanic language. That’s what we mean by diagnostic. 

Let’s have a look at some examples! We’ll explain it in more detail next time, but this might whet your appetite. Don’t worry if you can’t read the phonetic description; it’s the consonants that are important at the moment (don’t, please, ask me about vowels. just please don’t).

(nb: where I use an asterisk *, this means that this form is reconstructed, not actually attested: we don't have any records of IE. > just means ‘goes to’ or ‘becomes’ in the various daughter languages. Also <these> brackets are talking about spelling, and /these/ brackets are talking about phonemes, or actual sounds. Also, the little ‘ means aspiration - we’ll talk more about what that means next time)

*p > f (no later shift in German, though /f/ is sometimes spelled v):

Engl. brother, Germ. Bruder (cf. Lat. frāter, Skt. bhrā́tā)

Engl. full, Germ. voll (cf. Lat. plēnus, Skt. pūrṇás)

*t > *þ (Engl. th) > Germ. d

Engl. three, Germ. drei (cf. Lat. trēs, Gk. /trê:s/, Skt. tráyas) Engl. thin, Germ. dünn (cf. Lat. tenuis, Skt. tanús)

*ḱ, *k > h (no later shift in German):

Engl. hundred, Germ. hundert (cf. Lat. centum, Gk. /he-katón/, Skt.

śatám)

Engl. horn, Germ. Horn (cf. Lat. cornū)

*kw > *hw (Engl. wh) > Germ. w:

Engl. what, Germ. was (cf. Lat. adjective & relative quod, Skt. kád)

*d > *t (Engl. t) > Germ. z:

Engl. two, Germ. zwei (cf. Lat. duo, Gk. /dúo/, Skt. dvā́)

BRUH. ISN’T THIS COOL!! AND THERE ARE MORE!

You can see here already by looking at the German and English that both have sometimes subsequently undergone sound changes, like English */hw/ to /wh/ and then finally to /w/, which becomes German <w> or /v/ - these sometimes obscure things. And if you really want to find out why German is different to English, well, we’ve got quite a few sound changes to get through before we get there! 

Melissa, you might be saying, I know for a fact there’s something yucky and not-worky about Grimm’s Law. What about cases where it doesn’t seem to apply? What’s that? Also, I swear some Danish dude had the idea first but just didn’t publish...

Well. You’re not wrong. But this post is long enough already. Next time, we’ll go over what exactly it is, where exactly it manifests itself, and how it didn’t seem to work 100% of the time...and I suppose I still haven’t answered how ‘hemp’ and ‘cannabis’ are cognates...you’ll just have to stay tuned! 

Bis zum nächsten Mal! 

[pawprintsmoon]

Merry Meet Again; love in the time of Salem

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009418

Late October, 1692 found Massachusetts drenched in rain, with lightning reflecting on decaying leaves. Lexa K. Tricruton found herself bruised and muddy after her mare, spooked by the thunder, had bucked her to the ground before running off into the night. The horse would be able to find her way to Lexa’s stables in Salem and Lexa was not lost either. Her house was less than five miles north and though the rain was icy, it was not ice. Certainly she had faced worse. 

That was what she told herself before falling to the ground ten minutes later, her vision going black. 

When her eyes opened, the once roaring sound of thunder was muffled and she was no longer wet. Candlelight glowed against wooden walls as she eased into consciousness. Despite unfamiliar surroundings, the smell of wood smoke and something sweet calmed her as she sat up. Though her body ached, her bones were warmed and she could not feel fear while she looked around. She was in a small cottage -a comfortable hut really. A chimney filled the middle of the room and furs and dried herbs hung from the rafters. There was no staircase and only one door. Looking down she realized she was on a small bed, the only one in the one room home. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” The voice belonged to the most beautiful woman Lexa had ever seen.

“You had me quite concerned. Had you been unconscious any longer… but there’s nothing to worry about. Here, drink this.”

Lexa could only stare as the blonde woman held out a ladle full of steaming liquid. She was no less than angelic and her blue eyes left Lexa struggling for breath.

“If I was going to poison you I would have just left you out in the storm,” the angel said, clearly mistaking Lexa’s speechlessness for mistrust. “Would’ve saved myself some trouble. Now drink up. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

“Who are you?” Lexa asked. She knew everyone in Salem and the surrounding countryside, and there was no way she could have missed a woman like this.

“My name is Clarke,” said the woman. She lifted the ladle once more. “Please.”

The smell was pleasant and the angel called Clarke did not seem to bear her any ill will. Lexa parted her lips and allowed Clarke to pour the sweet liquid into her mouth. It was just cooled enough to not burn her tongue and tasted sweet; like apples, cinnamon, and something strange that Lexa could not place. Absolutely delicious. Instantaneously Lexa’s headache subsided and she felt her bruises fade. Looking at her hands she saw the mud and scrapes were gone.

“What is that? The flavor is not unpleasant.”

“Oh, just a little brew,” Clarke said, turning away to fuss with the fire. “My own recipe.”

“Pray, tell me what is in it?”

“Well I can’t be giving away my secrets, can I?” Clarke’s tone was teasing and Lexa felt her lips twitch up at the corners. Now that she was feeling better, she really ought to be going. This woman was unknown, and though she seemed benevolent it was unwise to trust strangers in such times as these.

“Thank you, Clarke. I suppose I ought to be on my way,” said Lexa. She looked out one of the small diamond shaped windows to see that the storm still raged. A particularly loud thunder shook the cottage and almost covered the loveliest laugh Lexa had ever heard. 

“And what, walk through the freezing cold into town? Absolutely not.” There was something stern about Clarke that told Lexa there was absolutely no way on heaven or earth that she would be allowed back out into the storm. Admittedly this was all very well, as Lexa didn’t have much desire to leave the warmth and this beautiful woman’s presence. Clarke stirred the pot over the fire and hummed a little tune, giving Lexa an opportunity to hide her smile.

“How did you find me?” Lexa asked, accepting that she would stay until the storm died or the sun rose. “Why on earth would you be out on a night like this?”

“Oh, I just had an inkling I might be needed,” Clarke replied, clearing what looked like playing cards and chicken bones off the table and replacing them with the steaming iron pot. “Sometimes I get a feeling about these things. Woman’s intuition I suppose.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes and didn’t respond immediately. Clarke’s explanation was suspicious, but she knew better than to look a gift-horse in the mouth. She accepted another sip of the delicious brew.

“And what were you doing, riding at night through a storm?” asked Clarke.

“I was in Boston avenging a young couple for a witch who had killed all of their livestock. I thought I would be home before the storm hit, but clearly I was too optimistic.”

Clarke only nodded to acknowledge Lexa’s explanation. She changed the topic and said, “I believe you were concussed from being bucked off your horse.”

“But I recovered so quickly?” One of Lexa’s witch-hunters had suffered a concussion the week previous and he had been useless for days.

“It seems so.” Clarke smiled. “Do you feel better?”

Lexa nodded, unsure how such a speedy recovery was possible. Certainly Clarke was mistaken and she had not suffered such a head injury. There was not a trace of pain pulsing in her skull.

“All the same, you ought to lie back down. A good night’s sleep is always the best cure, for I think you may have suffered quite a chill out there as well.” As Clarke said this, Lexa’s body responded to the suggestion. Feeling heavy, she wanted little more than to fall back to sleep but her senses and manners were in good order so she stood up.

“I will sleep on the floor,” she said. Clarke just laughed and took a step toward her. 

“You most certainly will not.” Clarke all but pushed her back onto the bed. “You are still recovering and besides, you are my guest.”

When Lexa sat back onto the bed, she was breathless again at the angel’s close proximity. They were so close now, that Lexa had to crane her neck up to look Clarke in the eye and had to resist looking at the bosom that was at her natural line of sight. She could smell the wood smoke and spices that lingered on Clarke’s bodice.

“You don’t even know me,” said Lexa with constricted lungs. “To give a stranger your home, your bed… I could steal from you in the night.”

“I have nothing worth stealing,” Clarke said, looking down at Lexa fondly. “Besides, you are no stranger, Lexa K Tricruton. The Commander, they call you. You must know that you are the most famous witch hunter in the New World. You are far too noble to be a thief, and have quite an infamous reputation for demanding justice. I know that you are lawful even to the point of cruelty.”

“Justice is not cruel. It is the witch-hunter’s way.” Lexa’s eagerness to contradict Clarke almost made her miss the inexplicable fact that Clarke had recognized her face. She could not recall sitting for any portraits and this woman must be new to the area. Again, Lexa ignored her suspicions as to not offend her gracious host.

“Yes, so I have heard. Blood must have blood.” Clarke nodded. “And yet, I am not sure that a woman’s blood equates to the blood of livestock.” 

“When a farmer loses his livestock he loses his livelihood. This puts his life in danger.”

“There are some good people who question the efficacy of the trials,” Clarke continued. Her manner was mild as she ignored the explanation about livestock’s blood value.

“What people?”

“I could not say,” Clarke raised an eyebrow at Lexa and she realized that perhaps it was the blonde angel’s turn to be suspicious. “These good pilgrims would be unwise to express descent or opposition to the church.”

Lexa took this as a cue to apologize: “I do not mean to accuse you or your good people, Clarke. I greatly appreciate your generosity tonight.”

“Think nothing of it.” Clarke still seemed bothered though, and it stung. She must have sensed Lexa’s hurt however, because she immediately softened. Her delicate hand raised to gently stroke Lexa’s cheek, sending delightful shivers down Lexa’s spine. “You are simply showing your ability to be a brave hero to some and a formidable threat to others.”

‘A hero to a Godly man and a threat to a witch,’ Lexa thought to herself. 

 “I can tell there is great depth to your character,” Clarke continued. “I like it.” 

Lexa’s mouth was dry and she lowered her eyes unable to stand the intensity of Clarke’s enchanting blue gaze.

“Interesting people are often contradictory,” continued Clarke, taking a step back, “and I have a sense that you are more so than most.”

“A woman’s intuition again?” Lexa suggested with a hesitant smile.

“Yes,” Clarke said with a laugh, “exactly. You are infamously brutal, having drowned many witches, and yet you are too noble to take my bed from me. I think you must be ruthless and forgiving; strong and yet soft.”

Lexa swallowed. Clarke was identifying truths that she herself tried to deny. It was uncanny.

“They say you spend your life fighting the Devil’s servants, but you redeem yourself of man’s original sin through committing the sin of murder.”

“You go too far, Clarke.” Lexa stood up quickly so that they were almost nose to nose. This strange woman accused her of murder but yet she ached to be closer to those accusing lips. Full of contradictions indeed.

“I apologize,” Clarke said. They both held their breath for a moment and Lexa was impressed that Clarke did not take another step back. In unison they exhaled and both sat down on the bed.

“Maybe someday you and I will owe nothing more to our people,” Clarke suggested. Lexa wondered briefly who Clarke’s people were if not her own. A grain of wisdom told her not to ask in case it was an answer she did not want to hear. “Someday we won’t live in such dangerous times as these.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you wish it?” The angel’s grin flashed with mischief.

“I might, if wishes weren’t for fools.”

They sat in silence for a beat.

“So,” Lexa said, scanning the room for a patch of floor large enough to sprawl out on. “I will set myself up on the floor.”

“You will not. You will sleep in this bed.”

“I will not take your bed from you.” The fight was growing stale however, and Lexa was growing more and more drowsy. Neither of them spoke for a moment and Lexa felt heavy as if enchanted. The rain on the windows and the crackling fire were a lullaby and all she wished to do was to fall onto the feather filled bed. Gravity won and Lexa was horizontal with her head on Clarke’s pillow. She spoke again as her eyelids started to close. “I wish you wouldn’t be too kind to sleep in your own bed.”

“Oh Lexa,” she heard Clarke’s soft laugh, “you ought to know I can’t possibly say no to a wish.”

“Hmm, are you a fairy?” Lexa murmured as Clarke lay down next to her, pulling the quilt over them both. 

“Something like that.” Lexa could hear a smile in Clarke’s voice and let one spread onto her sleepy face as well. Before she could think another thought she was caught by slumber, her body inches away from Clarke’s on the tiny bed.

***

Loud purring woke Lexa the next morning and something four legged and agile was walking on her shoulders. Apparently Clarke had a cat. Resisting wakefulness she snuggled into the blankets and pressed against Clarke’s soft body that she held in her arms. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes into long strands of blonde hair that she startled and bolted upright. The black cat hissed and jumped up into the rafters, offended by Lexa’s sudden movements. 

How was it that she was cuddling with a stranger though she was usually guided by suspicion of all people? A strange angel who might even question the sanctity of Christ and the trials!

“Yes, your actions do sometimes contradict your beliefs, don’t they?” said Clarke as if reading Lexa’s mind. Lexa’s eyes narrowed as Clarke’s opened. The previous night had been like a dream, and yet here she was waking up to a reality in a strange and beautiful woman’s home.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Lexa said. “I am going back into town now.”

“Of course, I wish you well on your journey. Merry meet again.”

When Clarke said the word ‘journey,’ Lexa’s heart sank. It would be a nearly two hour hike back to town and witch hunter Titus wrote that he had urgent business to discuss. “I wish I still had my horse. ”

“Wish granted,” whispered Clarke, smiling gently from the bed. Her hair was mussed and her eyes glossy from sleep. Lexa frowned, sensing the same danger she had been wary of during last night’s controversial conversations. Her unease was not assuaged by the sight of her horse waiting for her outside of Clarke’s cottage.

***

When Lexa arrived back in the center of Salem she saw Titus waiting outside her large house, his wig powdered and his collar tight against the loose skin of his neck. Lexa had only time enough to tie up her horse before he began to speak to her.

“There is a new woman who lives near town. Led by the devil surely,” Titus said. “The dodgy woman never took a husband and Minister Jaha claims she has never attended a Sunday service. The deviant has a black cat and Miss Alie saw her speaking to her garden plants.”

“You suspect she is a witch?” 

“Without a doubt. The exact profile of a woman possessed by a demon. Incurable, I’m afraid.”

“Well,” Lexa considered the efficacy of the trials, “we’ll have to do a test, of course. See if she floats.”

Titus nodded vigorously and Lexa felt a shiver run up her spine. Much less pleasant than the shivers Clarke had caused the night before. Though the sun shone, the Autumn air was cold. 

“I need a moment to settle in,” she told Titus. “Send for me when you’ve determined whether this woman is a witch or not.”

“Once she fails the test, you’ll determine whether to burn or hang her, then?” Titus checked as if Lexa didn’t alway end up having the last word.

“Yes, yes just come for my command,” Lexa agreed, eager to get inside. “It’s cold. I imagine a fire would help us all to rid ourselves of such a demon.”

He responded in agreement, and went on to tell Lexa about how the woman went against the Puritan code. Supposedly the witch’s coat was awkwardly torn in two places and young Charlotte had tragically fallen off a cliff. Lexa hardly needed more proof than this and she agreed that the people of Salem needed to see justice. 

After giving Titus clear instructions to follow the will of the Law and the Church, Lexa finally entered the safe silence of her home. Her house was too large for one person, and it was only her reputation as a witch-hunter that saved her from the question of why she was still unmarried. And why she owned far more candles than was strictly necessary. All of the New World knew she was a Godly woman.

If only Clarke’s warm cider waited inside her house. She needed a moment to herself, but if she was honest she would have preferred to lie in the bed of an angel once more. Alas, her respite was lonely and brief before she heard the angry crowds outside her house. With a lazy reluctance she left her house and walked toward the town square where her people flocked. As she passed, they stilled to look at her with awe. Their energy was contagious and Lexa’s heart pumped stronger as she looked out to address them.

“The witches have cast a shadow over this town for too long. They’ve haunted us and controlled us. They have instilled fear into our hearts. That ends today.” Lexa’s voice was loud and strong as it spoke these familiar words. Her people had heard them before, but they roared with the same vindication as their first witch trial. Lexa let their excitement fill her with righteous fury, until she looked up at the woman tied to the stake. 

Clarke. 

Blue eyes desperately pleaded with her and the flames flashed lights against her fair skin. Her blonde hair was frizzing from heat. 

Lexa oughtn’t have been surprised considering the obvious magic around the woman but still, it was a nightmare to see an angel tied on the stake like a demon. She had been suspicious the night before but denial was strong. Especially when one is under the charm of a witch. But… perhaps there was such a thing as a good witch? For her charms could not have been satanic.

“Lexa, please!” cried Clarke, voice rough. She coughed as smoke clouded around her beautiful face. “Please, help me.”

Lexa wanted nothing more than to help Clarke, yet her people called for justice. She needed to do what was best for them. Titus had said a young girl, Charlotte, had died. Blood must have blood. The people needed to see Clarke burn.

“Victory stands on the back of sacrifice.” Lexa’s voice carried as though God spoke through her. 

“Please, Lexa. I know you do not wish for me to burn!”

It was true, Lexa did not wish it. If only this was all pretend, that any moment Clarke could jump out of the fire and come to embrace her. She wished they lived in a different time, a different world, one where she was not a witch hunter, one where she was free. Lexa couldn’t declare such a desire out loud, but she could look into Clarke’s flame-lit eyes and try to communicate truth.

“I wish things were different,” she whispered.

Suddenly, Clarke’s panicked expression morphed into a wicked grin. 

Surely it was impossible that Clarke had heard Lexa’s wish above the noise of the fire and jeering crowd? Yet it must have been magic that blurred Lexa’s vision. The world spun around her, her vision went black, and time lost meaning for a second. Or a minute. Or an hour. Or several centuries.

***

The smell of wood smoke still filled the air around Lexa, but the crowd around her had stopped shouting for the witch to burn and had started chattering and laughing. There was the sound of an acoustic guitar playing a song that Lexa didn’t recognize at first. The style of the music was like none she had ever heard before. Though when slurring voices joined in she recognized it as “Wagon Wheel.”

Slender arms wrapped around her waist and soft lips pressed against her own. They tasted like apples, cinnamon, and something familiar that Lexa recognized immediately.

“Clarke?” Lexa opened her eyes to see an angel’s wicked grin.

“Happy Halloween, babe.” Clarke kissed her again and Lexa kissed back instinctively.

“Wait...” Lexa pulled back. Wasn’t Halloween Satan’s holiday? No, she remembered, it was about pumpkins and candy. “Halloween isn’t for another three days.”

“Yes, well this is a Halloween party and it’s Halloweekend. I’ll wish you happy Halloween if I want to.”

Lexa didn’t respond. Her mind felt hazy but she started to remember arriving at the party with Anya and Lincoln before wandering off to find her girlfriend. Yes, that was right. Clarke had to come to the party late, after a med-school study session.

“Have a little too much witch’s brew there, Lex?”

“Witch’s brew?” Lexa looked down at the warm cup she hadn’t realized she was holding. “You’re a witch?”

“Well yeah! You, me, Raven, Emori, and Octavia? We’re dressed as a sexy coven.” Clarke was exasperated but smiling as her fingers intertwined with Lexa’s. With the other hand she gestured down to her skimpy black dress, orange fishnet tights, and up to the pointed black hat on her head. Then she rolled her eyes playfully. “Echo insisted on being a witch-hunter, plastic sword and everything. But she’s just weird that way, right?”

Lexa was speechless and, looking down at her girlfriend’s body, she felt an undeniable hunger. Absolutely nothing contradicted the desire she felt for this witchy woman. Only after she took a deep breath could she ask, “Aren’t you cold?”

Clarke giggled and pulled Lexa close again. “That’s what you’re here for. Wrap me up in that ridiculously large cloak of yours.”

Lexa looked down at her own costume and appreciated her pointy boots and vaguely magical pendant. Then, with a smile she pulled her girlfriend under her thick velvet cloak and they shared a hot cup of whiskey-apple witch’s brew.

[comfy-whumpee]

Ellis in the Tower

@whumptober2020 Day 20: Medieval. Don’t @ me it’s a third Ellis AU.

@lonesome--hunter, @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektricwhump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

The country of the enemy. The throne of that country. The heir to that throne. The fiancé of that heir.

It is a neat, sweet solution to the imbalance of power. It is non-violent, but difficult to counter. They can bargain many things for the return of the young man who is about to marry into royalty. They won’t have to harm a hair on his pretty head. The country will sacrifice much for its heir’s beloved.

These are the promises Lord Engels whispers to his King. As the court’s master of intrigue and information gathering, his opinion is respected and his intentions trusted. He is loyal, and he is indispensible. The rumours that follow him were of little matter. Court tittle-tattle, the King knew.

And so, the prince-to-be is delivered from the safety of his home nation, across the border, and into Alistair’s care.

Of course, he has prepared living quarters for the captive noble. It won’t do to treat him roughly. It is a comfortable little house, with servants, good food, and a lovely walled garden. He is provided with books and paints and games, and his dignity is preserved.

The boy – for he is just a boy, really, young and pretty and scared – nevertheless manages to put up a fight. Deep in enemy territory, without money, status or sway, he bargains. He struggles. He tries, more than once, to escape the pleasant house arrest he had been offered. He nearly succeeds.

There is little else for it. The inconvenience is too much.

When Alistair first takes him there, wrists bound under his cloak and Alistair’s hands holding him in place on the horse, he looks up at the tower with moonlight gleaming in widening eyes. “Surely not,” he says, his accent elevating his vowels. “Lord Engels, you can’t seriously mean to—”

“Be quiet.”

“Lord Engels, honestly! This structure looks ancient, and it cannot be safe.”

“Quite safe, I assure you, Ellis.” Alistair often calls him by his given name, cutting away the title and family prestige he can’t access in this land. “The interior has been improved to a liveable standard. It won’t be the luxury you were offered at my home, but...perhaps we will find this less provocative.”

He practically has to carry the captive up. He is reluctant, feet dragging, body twisting, but Alistair is stronger. Silly pampered boy, interested only in books and stars.

They arrive into the single room of the tower with Ellis locked tightly in Alistair’s arms, both out of breath as Alistair muscles through the heavy wooden door. He tosses Ellis down onto the floorboards, and the boy lands with a winded gasp.

“You stay here, now,” Alistair says, throwing a bag down after him. All of the young lord’s belongings are in there, much good will they do him. “If you’re so desperate to escape, you can jump out the window.”

Ellis barely manages to get back to his feet before the tower door slams and locks.

-

The tower is in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by foliage. Some sunlight still makes it through the sole, south-facing window, and his freckles haven’t completely vanished just yet, but it isn’t enough to feel like he is getting sunshine. There’s never any breeze, either; what wind does blow, blows from the sea in the north. The rain gets in, occasionally, but that’s irrelevant really. He closes the window on rainy days and sits listening to the waves falling down around the roof, pretending they make the tide.

On nice days, he crosses his arms on the sill and rests his chin on it, letting his fine hair fly freely in the slight breezes and gazing mournfully at the horizon. He misses his home and his family, and he misses Nic. He misses grass between his toes and he misses fresh fruit from the gardens.

The food he eats here is tough and old and preserved to high heaven so that it will last between visits from Lord Engels. He eats it slowly, carefully, in case his captor forgets to return.

Lord Engels never does. On a day four weeks after the last, he appears. No matter what time of year it is, he dresses well, gives an air of composure, and brings a jar of jam that appears to be local produce. Alongside this, he brings in a month’s food, firewood and water. He stores them in the pantry for Ellis, knowing his captive is too weak to do so, and then he...lingers.

Some days he talks. He tells stories of what is happening outside of the little tower that is Ellis’s world. He tells of the war, or the ransom negotiations, or simply of the events in the capital. At other times, he tells war stories, seemingly content to listen to the sound of his own voice while Ellis sits, hands folded on his lap, on the bed, and waits for him to leave.

By the sixth visit, Ellis’s tune changes. He doesn’t want Lord Engels to leave at all. He needs the company, needs it so badly that he’ll debase himself to get it.

Lord Engels seems to know this as soon as it happens. At first he simply basks in the attention and tells his stories, but within a few months he changes his mind too, and seems dead set on learning everything Ellis can tell him about a topic. He asks strange questions about Ellis’s homeland: their diet, their rivers, their holiday traditions, even interrogating him politely about his own childhood. Ellis gives him some of the information, but claims ignorance on others, knowing certain details would be too useful in the war. If Lord Engels leaves sooner because of these silences, Ellis tells himself he doesn’t mind. He’s fine for another month of silence and himself. He’s fine without touch. The quizzing is fine, really. He doesn’t mind it, compared to the stories and the mockery.

The worst times, however, are when he plays games.

“Kneel here,” he directs, and Ellis goes down slowly, jaw set defiantly, noble and graceful as a gliding swan. “Now tell me, Ellis. What is your status?”

“My status is nothing, Lord Engels,” Ellis states very calmly, voice betraying no emotion.

“Who are you?”

“I am nobody, Lord Engels.”

“Where are you?”

“I am imprisoned, Lord Engels.”

“Who is coming for you?”

My betrothed, you pompous fool.

“Nobody, Lord Engels.”

And Engels smiles, satisfied. “That’s right. You are most well-behaved, Ellis. I should like to take you out of here.”

Ellis allows nothing to show on his expression. Any hint of desire could be used as a bargaining chip. He will allow this man no excess power over him than what he is forced to yield in his prison.

“But no, it is not possible...” Engels sighs, and then smiles. It is a premature shift, one that gives away his premeditation. “I shall bring the visitors to you,” he decides, happy as can be with his decision. “They should all be so fascinated to meet you, the consort and the captive. It has been so long since you saw anybody but me, too. It must not be good for your nerves.”

Ellis stays upright on his knees, meeting Alistair’s gaze levelly. His nerves have been oversensitive since he was a child. They won’t stop him now.

A cohort of visitors means more people will learn where he is. The more that information spreads, the more likely it gets back to one of their spies. He must endure this gathering, even if it is full of people as abhorrent as Lord Engels. The journeys will not go unnoticed by staff. Staff discuss with other staff. Word will get out, eventually, of Lord Engels’s tower. Hopefully some will tell of the red-haired princess trapped within, like the stories of old.

“That’s a good boy,” comes the praise. Ellis is too lost in thought to do anything more than smile in vague condescension at Engels’s smug face. “I’ll be sending messages to my closest friends for a meeting with you. It will be good for you to see someone other than myself.”

“Of course, Lord Engels,” he replies, polite as a frosted dowager. “You make such excellent company.”

The lord’s eyes flared white-edged for a moment. Then he lets out a breath. “Such wit, sweetheart,” he remarked, using the nickname that made Ellis’s skin crawl. “I do believe you will be grateful for me, in time.”

Only through a sickness of the head, Ellis thinks, but this time, he doesn’t say it aloud. Best not to push. This man’s ego is his greatest foe.

“I will be back,” Lord Engels says, getting up. “Enjoy the peace and quiet.”

Ellis remains where he is, neat, patient, and untouchable. For as long as he can be.

[villainousshakespeare]

A Forest Interlude Chapter 26   An Audience with the King

Summary: Eleonore (OFC) discovers a wounded man in the woods near her home and seeks to heal him. Little does she know that it is none other than the heir to the throne, Prince Hal of England.

Chapter: 26 of 27

Rated E

Warnings: smut, sex fluff, angst, oral sex, fingering, hand jobs

(spoiler - don’t worry, it will all work out okay in the end)

In this chapter: Henry give his verdict on their marriage

Read the entire story on AO3

@nrthmnsplbnd09 ;  @nonsensicalobsessions @yespolkadotkitty@just-the-hiddles @from-hel-i-with-love  livviedoo@hopelessromanticspoonie @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen@dangertoozmanykids101 @kellatron55 @myoxisbroken@thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @vodka-and-some-sass @shiningloki@hiddlesholic @isitmadnessrpg​

It was something of an understatement to say that Hal was not having the best day. Between his embarrassing scene at the palace and his confrontation with his former companions, he was having to take a good, hard look at his behavior, and he was not enjoying what he saw. His youthful indiscretions were fine when it had only been his safety and good name that were at risk; he could fend off any affronts on either flank, he knew. But today those indiscretions had put Nell and their unborn child in harms way, and that he could not abide.

Hal had loved others in his life of course. He still remembered the devastation he felt when his mother had passed away, for instance. He felt a filial affection for Jon and, to a lesser extent, his other siblings. In his own way, yes, Hal loved his father. It was sometimes a bitter, self-mocking love, but it was love nonetheless. He even, deep down where he blushed to look, love that old rascal Falstaff.

None of that had prepared him for the sweeping emotion he felt for the beautiful woman now seated in the circle of his arms on the saddle before him. If any harm should have befallen her, he would have burnt the Boars Head to the ground with all of those thieving reprobates inside. Add to that the fact that she was giving him the greatest gift a man could hope for - a child, heir of his body and product of their love for each other - and that the japes of careless fools had also put the well being of the babe at risk. Hal felt his blood begin to boil again just at the thought.

It was not, all things considered, the state of mind best suited for a second audience with his royal sire. Hal tried to keep to a minimum his interactions with Henry. It seemed best for both their sakes since conversations usually left them both in states of heightened agitation. Two in one day was a disaster waiting to happen. At best Hal knew he could expect a dressing down over his actions earlier that day, at worst... well, just let Henry try to take Nell away from him! He would learn that Hal was not a tame cat to be ordered about at will, but a Lion in his own right ready fight to defend his own.

In this mood he rode into his father's courtyard, helped his obviously anxious wife to dismount, and handed his reins to an expectant groom. Nell looked up at him with eyes clouded with anxiety and he smiled at her, hoping to shield his own worry from her.

"All will be well my love, I give my word," he told her softly, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Tis not the way I hoped the time would come when you and I would once more meet the king," she sighed, giving him a shaky smile.

"Why no? How could we e'er improve on this?" he laughed, brushing her hair back from her face.

"For one, I might perhaps have worn a dress," she groaned.

"You look divine, my goddess, as you always do. Let any man say otherwise to me, and I will teach him better with my sword."

"Aye, that will ease our entrance to the court," she said with an eye roll. "Well, best to face the music and have done. Shall we proceed then to the lion's den?"

"Your bravery doth quite put me to shame. Onward, dear wife, to victory obtained."

Hand in hand, with a silent Renaldo shadowing their heels, they made their way down the twisted halls until they reached the entry to Henry's audience chamber. With a curt nod of his head, Hal signaled to the attendant to announce them. He would not repeat his faux pas of that morning and barge in unannounced. Better to pick his battles.

"His Royal Highness, Henry, Prince of Wales," the man intoned, "And Princess Eleanor to see you, Sire."

Well, Nell had been given her proper title. He supposed that was something. Wrapping his arm around her protectively, Hal sauntered into the room. A quick glance around showed it to be surprisingly empty of functionaries. Henry would of course have had advanced word of their arrival, the court was full of spies. Apparently it was a private audience with his wayward son that he desired.

"My lord and father, health be with you sir," he said by way of greeting, dipping his head in salute.

Nell stayed silent but dipped an elegant curtsy, prying herself free from his arm to do so. Henry slouched on his throne, eyes hooded as he looked over the pair. Renaldo, ever the vigilant servant, quickly dropped to his knee and then, at a wave from the king, took up his place beside and slightly behind the throne. As the silence stretched on, Hal let a small, ironic smile play about his lips, the one he knew Henry hated. His father sought to play power games, fine. He would wait the old bastard out.

"I am most sorry for the trouble, sire," Nell blurted out, stepping slightly forward. "I promise that I had it well in hand, but was yet grateful that you gave Hal help."

One of the king's eyebrows raised itself at her nervous outburst, and Hal closed his eyes briefly, unable to blame her. She did not have his years of sparring with the cold king to draw on. At last his father lifted his head and met Hal's eye.

“I see you managed to retrieve the girl,” Henry groused. “I can’t say that is an unmixed delight.”

"I am as always left quite humbled sir, by your enthusiasm for my joy."

"Presumptuous cub, who gave you leave to speak?" the king snapped as Nell elbowed Hal in the ribs. "Well now you know us guiltless in the crime, who was it then that took the girl from you? Or did she come at last into her wits and seek to fly from you all on her own? Tell me, Renaldo, where you found her out?"

"A drinking house in Eastcheap, good my lord," the guard said, with a quick glance towards Nell and Hal. "It seems the patrons of the public house did seek to make acquaintance of her grace."

"I do suppose it serves no good to ask if this be the same house that often times her loving husband hath been known to haunt?"

"It is the one, my king, I must confess. And that same rascal Falstaff, as he's called, did look to be the author of the prank."

"For which offense, too great for me to bear, I have henceforth exiled him from my life. If he or any of his merry band do seek me out then all that they will find shall be my door shut firmly in their face."

"He told the knight as much before we left," Renaldo confirmed when the king looked over at him, "in terms so stark they could not be misheard."

Henry rose from his throne and crossed to the window, staring out of it for some time. Once again time seemed to stretch on in silence. Hal could tell Nell was getting antsy again, and gave her hand a squeeze. She darted her eyes up to him and he shook his head slightly. He could understand her anxiety, he was feeling it himself. Unfortunately, any attempt to rush the king would only end in pushing him into anger. Finally Henry turned and walked back over, stopping to look penetratingly at Nell.

"For years God knows how I have strove to find a way to free him from the fat knight's sway. It seems instead of guards and royal writs I should have sent a pair of pretty eyes. If it is true that he has turned away from all these gross and undesirable ways, not just myself but all of this our realm would seem to be indebted now to you."

"I did no more than love him, majesty," Nell replied simply, blush staining her cheek.

"And if we are to talk of gratitude," Henry went on, ignoring her statement completely, "it seems mine must not end with this today. I hear from doctor Hobbs that it was you who cared for me when I was last beset."

Ah, there it was! The reason that there were no others in the room. He would not want any more people knowing of his seizures than absolutely necessary.

"I am right glad that I could be of help," Nell said. "Though Dr. Hobbs was not too long absent. I chanced to have seen something similar when I was learning to care for the ill."

"Your mother also, if I be correct, knew much of lore pertaining to the sick."

"She did my lord, and still knows more today."

"She and my younger son do think me blind, that I see not their shameful goings on. But I suppose at least in that one case I need not fear a wedding in the end. Which brings us back to you and the crown prince."

Hal, uncharacteristically quiet up until now, snapped to attention. His father met his eye and held it with an open appraisal. What he was looking for Hal was uncertain, but he seemed to find it at last, as he gave a nod of his head.

"I do not like the way you two were wed, in clandestine a manner gainst my will. I sometimes think your only goal in life is but to mock my wishes and my name."

"Oh do not think it father, tis not so. I seek to bring no shame upon our house, or any other way disgrace our name. I am a man full grown, my will's my own. But tell me, would you wish it otherwise than that the future king of this our realm, refuse to dance to any other's tune?"

"There maybe something there in what you say. When it doth comes to choosing your revolts, I must admit I greatly do prefer you to defy me for noble lass who bringeth out your chivalry and grace than for a brace of mottle pated fools who seek only to lead you into sin."

"Oh fear not sir, for this my lady wife doth lead me into heady sin enough!" Hal could not resist saying.

"Must you vex me thus you willful boy?" Henry growled, eyes flashing. "Tis pain enough to speak what I must say without you making matters harder still."

"And what, good father, is it you would say?"

"That since you have been married in the church, and Lady Eleonor is of fit rank, kin to the royal families of name, and seeing as she has in some small ways been of good use already to our throne..."

"Come, out with it sir! Say what you would say!"

"Keep silent, Hal, and let your father speak!" Nell snapped at him, with a glare to equal Henry's.

"I only hope that there will come a day when some of her wit doth rub off on you. But being as it may, know you my son, that I will to your marriage make no cross."

"Your Majesty, you have my deepest thanks!" Nell said, sinking once more into a curtsy and shooting Hal a speaking look.

"And mine, as well, my father, add to that," he hastened to say, the specter of fear at last lifting from them. "But tell me father, ere your fit did come, do you remember aught of what we spoke?"

"But little Harry, if the truth be told," Henry admitted, sitting back in his throne. "And that I do is shrouded in a haze."

"Then let me tell you once again, good sir. There is another reason to rejoice. For my beloved, clever little wife is even now expectant with our heir. And so you see, the marriage hath been blessed, and God as well as you do smile on it."

"I will not count the days upon my hands that you two have been married under God and in union have conceived this child," Henry remarked dryly. "I only will say that it pleases me."

"It pleases me as well, I must confess," Hal said with a cocky grin, embracing Nell and making her squeal. "And now, if you'll excuse us, majesty, it has been quite the day for my dear bride. If we may have your leave sir to depart, I wish to take her home and tend to her."

Only on the last words did he let his eyes go hot as he looked at Nell.

"Well, do so then. And god go with your both. But one last thing that I would ask of you. The lady is a princess now by right. See to it, would, you, she be properly dressed. The bills for this you may all send to me."

"Why father, there is naught would please me more!" Hal grinned, bowing his exit.

When the reached the courtyard, he tossed her up onto his horse.

"Well, lovely wife, is seems the day is one! How doth it feel to be a true princess?"

"A bit unreal, if I am speaking true. But Hal, how I do wish I'd worn a dress!"

"Think not of that, for I shall see to all," he told her, a glint in his eye. "And when I have a wardrobe made for you appropriate for my own sweet princess, you will not need to fear his grace's ire, for none but me will ever see it worn!"

Nell blushed and he grinned wider, imagining just what he would have made for her at his father's expense.

[wri0thesley]

Hello, Nat! May I request prompt 13 with SDC Dio please?

“You’ve been so good lately, my pet. Don’t make me have to punish you…”

not sfw. non-con/dub-con. yandere. death. blood. afab reader, neutral pronouns. 

Dio cards his fingers through your hair, his perfectly manicured and lacquered nails scratching softly at your scalp. You stiffen where you are; aware that his gentle attentions can turn to ferocity in a moment, and not wishing at all to earn his wrath. You are already being as good as you can be - you are already on your knees, at his feet, head bowed like the perfect little obedient pet you know that Dio wants you to be. Fighting back with him is . . . unwise. Not when you've seen firsthand what he can do to those who do not bow to his desires.

"Come here," he murmurs, his voice low and musical - the kind of voice that would have others willing to do anything for him. For you, his voice merely crawls over your spine like something unpleasant - you do not want to follow his orders. You do not want to be the one those eyes are raking over, the one who puts up with his cruel attentions, the one who he looks at like he wishes to devour you. But you are. "Pet?"

You hear the brief irate note in his voice and you stumble to your feet, unsure of yourself. You feel like you have been folded at his side for too long; your legs do not feel like they belong to you, and with the diaphonous but beautiful material Dio keeps his most favoured pet in, you are even more like a gazelle - afraid of being tangled up in your own adornments. You tug fruitlessly at the fabric, wishing it covered you more - wishing that Dio's eyes weren't drinking you in like fine wine. Wishing his gaze didn't caress the curves of your body you never want him to touch.

"I'm s-sorry, Lord Dio," you whisper, eyes fixed on his chest - you do not look in his eyes. You're not permitted the luxury, for one thing (Dio would see that as impudence), but nor do you want to.

Whenever you have the misfortune to catch Dio looking at you - which is still more often than you'd like - you are reminded that his eyes glow with triumph. He thinks he has bested you; beaten you down to an obedient little bit of fluff and nothing more to the tune of the murder of your family and the slow and inexorable breaking of everything you've ever cared for.

"You have nothing more to live for now than me, pet," he'd said, smirking, his eyes flashing with his victory. He hated that you'd defied him - hated that you'd denied him when he'd wanted to kiss your mouth and your throat until your skin was fair stained with blood. You'd hated the musical sound of his voice and the way other people around him worshiped him like a God, you'd hated the way he could move as if time and space were no object to him. You'd hated his mocking tones and his crawling fingers and his utter disinterest in anything that did not directly benefit him - and he'd hated that you did so.

Your family had been first. Everything you'd cared about in the world. The life you'd tried desperately to build up around you, the little home you'd cultivated, the dreams and secrets you'd shared with those who had gotten close to you - Dio had wrung every single one from you, until you'd been helpless to do anything but fall to your knees in front of him and kiss his luxuriously offered fingers and swear your fealty to him.

"Oh, pet," he'd murmured, honey dripping from every syllable. You'd pretended not to see how his tone sent shivers down the spines of everyone else around you. "I'll take pity on you, for the price of . . . hmm." His lips had curved into a sensual smirk, the slightest hint of sharp eyeteeth showing over full lips. "For the price of you."

What could you have done but agree?

"Here," he says, gesturing to his lap with the lazy self-assured quality of a man who knows that his orders will not be ignored. "Take off your clothes before you come here, won't you?"

Your fingers tremble as they reach for the clasp of the diaphonous, luxurious silk. You are not permitted more substantial clothes - and though the other residents of the mansion look at you and ogle you when you go past, none of them would dare to touch someone (or something) that belongs so completely to Lord Dio. Not when they know that you in particular are a monument to a conquered spirit and a war he considers himself the victor of.

You are his spoils of victory, and he delights in you absolutely.

The fabric slides from your bare shoulders, pooling at your feet, as the cool air makes gooseflesh rise along your bare arms. You feel your nipples harden to tight points in the cold, and fight the urge to wrap your arms around yourself to shield you from Dio's hungry gaze. if he wanted, he could look at you for the rest of his life. You are helpless to him, now - you are helpless to anything he wants, lest he rip out your throat.

Sometimes you wonder if it would be preferable.

In the end, you always acquiesce. The blood of your family is on your hands, and they died trying to keep you safe - you will not allow them to have died for nothing. You stay alive, and you stay the property of Lord Dio, though you hate it every waking moment. Though you wonder if perhaps you'd be better off dead and buried, bleeding from the torn out throat, choking on your own blood.

(You will not die to give him one more meal, you'd told yourself - but sometimes, standing utterly bare before him with the knowledge of how he wishes to use your body, you wonder if your principles are worth the humiliation).

He's slow, lazy, reaching down to rub at his stiff cock through the fabric of the hideous, gaudy clothes he wears. He keeps his eyes trained on you as he touches himself, coaxing himself to even further hardness - and then, even more lazily, he's reaching within the fabric to set himself free.

You have seen his cock a hundred times (you have learnt it by heart with your body and fingers and mouth), but there is always that initial shock at just how big he is. You've heard rumours his body was stolen; that the scar around his throat marks where he'd attached himself. You sometimes amuse yourself imagining him as a spindly, weedy little man - but then, the reminder of what it is he wishes to put inside you comes back, and your humour runs dry and cold.

You're staring, you realise, and you swallow very loudly in the echoing room. Dio cocks his head to one side, regarding how you seem utterly nailed to the spot, transfixed by the way he's toying with his cock.

He murmurs your name, once. Your feet will not move. Your throat feels dry. Your legs are still trembling. He repeats it; this time, almost forceful.

"I'm not a patient man," Dio says, and you almost laugh at the irony. No. Dio expects things to be handed to him on a silver platter; working for things (working for your love, or even more than your hate, had been too much for him) does not even enter his mind. "Come now. You've been so good lately, pet. Don't make me have to punish you."

You think of cool stone under your knees and puncture wounds all over your hips and breasts. You think of the flat of his hand against your ass. You think of bruises and blood and metal; you think of a dry throat and a hand wrapped about it.

It's the punishment threat, in the end, that makes you move. As you gently and carefully clamber onto his lap, your thighs aching at the stretch of being able to stretch over his own, he makes a low noise in his chest that you know is a rumble of satisfaction. One of his hands - so cold - comes up to caress your cheek, disgustingly tender though you know he's hardly capable of tenderness.

"Was that so hard?" He murmurs, mocking. "Take me."

It's an order, not a request - and from the sharpness of his words and the glint of his eyes in the light and the visible fangs, he is not at all in the mood for preamble. You are not really wet enough for his size (looking at him fills you with more disgust than desire), but you know it will be worse if you do not do as he says. You'll be lucky, you try and tell yourself, catching his cock between your soft thighs. After the first few thrusts - you sink onto him a few inches, ignoring the burning stretch - your body will take pity on you and lubricate. He will not hurt you too badly. He hates doing work - once he's inside you, he'll demand you ride him whilst he stares at your face and makes low, mocking comments. You'll have time to adjust.

Dio's claws come to rest, almost gently, on your hips, as your breath catches in your throat as you sink further and further on him, his cock stiff and cool and thick inside you, a thing that makes you feel a burning stretch. Your own teeth bite into your lower lip - you wish you could sink your nails into his back just to do something, but beyond the seat on his cock Dio has not given you permission to touch him.

There. You feel utterly full; rent and open and taken, claimed by Dio in the basest and most primal way. Your breath comes out in a painful whistle as the hot stretch of him becomes almost unbearable inside you.

"Oh, pet," Dio murmurs, shifting so - this time, you can't deadfall the whimper of pain that drops from your parted lips as he takes control. "Did you really think it would be so easy?"

The first thrust of his cock within you is agony. The way your not yet fully lubricated body responds to the rough drag of him inside you, the way he holds you in place with claws that are not truly hands so all you can do is take it, the way that the wail of discomfort and hurt is dislodged from within you and shames you as tears rise to your eyes--

"Take it," he murmurs. "And next time . . ." His hips drive into you fast, ruthlessly, barely the hint of a breathy effort showing in Dio's smooth vowels and consonants. He could be doing anything right now - boredly reading a poem he's read a hundred times before, eating his breakfast, simply sitting and relaxing. "Next time, perhaps hurry yourself a little more urgently."

[star-linedsoul]

Legacy: A Supernatural Fanfiction | Sneak Peek

STORY SUMMARY:

Dean & Sam Winchester have spent their lives surrounded by the evil forces of the world, pushed and pulled and forced to bend in attempt to rid the world of evil and save innocent lives. As such, they jump at the chance to close the gates of Hell, forever removing demons from the face of the Earth. However, a visitor from the future causes the brothers to question this decision as the cost of this endeavor makes itself clear. Raised in a future where demons rule the world, Erica Winchester longs for an escape from the darkness that has destroyed her family. Sending herself to the past to finish the job her father started long ago, she hopes to atone for her own mistakes as much as she hopes to fix her world. As she delves into nigh-impossible trials and ancient magicks, however, she begins to wonder whether redemption is even possible. Perhaps, in the end, destiny cannot be avoided. Perhaps, for a Winchester, the only possible legacy is one of blood and death.

CHAPTER SUMMARY:

After the events of episode 8x13, “Everybody Hates Hitler,” Sam & Dean return to the Men of Letters bunker to find that they are no longer the only ones entrusted with its secrets. A search ensues to determine who or what has compromised the security of their new home.

Well, as definitive proof that I really need to work on my self-control, the writing bug has officially refused to leave me alone when it comes to this WIP. It will probably be awhile before I post any full chapters of this story, but I couldn’t resist sharing an excerpt featuring the first meeting between Dean and my OC Erica. I’m trying a couple new things in regards to a more concise writing style and a streamlined writing process that will hopefully allow me to write faster. Feel free to give me some input/constructive criticism on whether or not you feel it works! I put the excerpt under a read more due to length and mild spoilers for anyone that isn’t caught up on the series!

Legacy Taglist: @wordspin-shares​

As always, my askbox and messaging are always open for discussion or if you would like to be added to the taglist! :D

EXCERPT:

Shaking his head at how ridiculous it was to be playing hide and go seek in his own home—without even knowing who he was looking for—Dean securely latched the door on his way out of the bedroom. No one was violating his space more than they already had. Not if he had anything to say about it.

The hunter crossed the corridors on silent feet, every sense tuned to pick up on the slightest sign of the bunker’s mystery guests. He knew he had finally struck gold as he turned into the hall leading to the garage. Amid the funky rhythm and melodic vocals of what his ears immediately recognized as the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the metallic clang of tools clattering together sang through the air. He knew that sound well. Pressing his back against the wall flanking the stairs that led up into the garage, he quickly texted Sam, letting him know that he had finally found something.

Dean ascended the first few stairs leading into the garage, stopping when he was just high enough to see over the concrete walls of the motorcycle bays flanking the stairwell. Scanning the open garage, he found all of the cars and bikes still in their places, with the sounds coming from the corner workspace at the rear. He ducked back down out of sight as he caught movement between the shelves that separated the work area from the rest of the garage. Bingo.

The hunter not-so-patiently waited until his phone vibrated with Sam’s confirmation that he was on his way before climbing the stairs to fully enter the garage. He kept his gun low but at the ready as quick strides carried him toward the corner, where a single figure was silhouetted behind the shelves. Ready to duck out of sight if anyone else should show up, he stayed close to the vehicle bays.

Several choice curses punctuating Anthony Kiedis’ melancholic crooning through “Californication” had Dean categorizing this particular intruder as female, and he absently wondered if this was the owner of the jacket he and Sam had found in the library. The loud music masked his steps as he approached the gap that left the workspace open to the rest of the garage, giving him a moment to survey the scene without being noticed by the target. This objective was even better served when he saw that the woman stood at the near end of a collapsible worktable, on which rested a shiny, black and chrome motorcycle. Her back was to the hunter as she leaned one shoulder against the bike’s rear tire to hold it in place while she struggled to install its axle with her free hand.

“Come on, girl,” she growled between the dull thuds of a rubber mallet knocking the axle into place. “Stop being such a bitch!”

As if the bike heard her, the shaft finally found its seat. Dropping the rubber mallet to the table, the woman rested one hand on the reinstalled tire, running her other hand through choppy black hair as she muttered, “Finally!”  

Deciding to press his advantage while the woman was still unaware that she was no longer alone, Dean reached over and turned off the small stereo on the shelf next to him. As the intro to “By the Way” abruptly cut to silence, the hunter raised his pistol to the ready position. “Nice bike.”

With a loud gasp, the woman whirled around, swiping the mallet from the table once again and adopting a defensive stance in a single, fluid motion. She froze, however, as she spotted the gun leveled at her chest. Narrowed eyes widened in surprise and a crinkle formed along her brows while her knuckles turned white from gripping the mallet in her hand.

“Who are you?”

“Funny. I was planning on asking you the same thing,” Dean gestured to the woman’s hands with the barrel of his gun. “Drop that mallet and kick it under the table. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

The hunter thought for a moment that the woman was going to try something very stupid. She had the looks of an animal caught in headlights and panicking, seconds away from bolting. He had left her nowhere to run, making him wonder if she might try to charge him. He had her unquestionably outmatched in size, but fear made people do crazy things. Luckily, she proved to be a bit more sensible. Though her body was still taut with tension and her eyes remained glued to him, she crouched and placed the mallet on the floor. She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender as she rose, kicking the mallet away.

Though it was the result that he had wanted, something didn’t sit right with Dean. He couldn’t quite explain what it was. Maybe it was that this was too easy. Maybe it was that the intruder seemed to be trying too hard to appear normal. This woman before him had somehow managed to infiltrate their bunker—which was supposed to be secret and hidden—and yet she was tinkering in the garage instead of robbing the place of its virtually priceless collection. Nothing about her appearance suggested that she was anything other than average. Surely no older than thirty, she wore a simple, black T-shirt, form-fitting jeans, and scuffed biker boots, with no logos or embellishments visible that might be traced back to a store. No charms or amulets decorated her wrists or hung around her neck, nor were any weapons visible that might suggest that she was a hunter. And yet there was something unsettling about her. About how quickly she had picked up that mallet and prepared to defend herself only to disarm just as fast. About how she looked as submissive as possible, wide-eyed and with her hands in the air, and yet her entire body was tensed as if ready for a fight.

Remaining on alert, Dean stepped closer to the woman only for her to back away in equal measure. “What do you want?”

The hunter was sure it was meant to be a demand, but her voice was too shaky for it to have the desired effect. “Hey, you’re the one in my home without permission, sweetheart. I’ll handle the questions.” Before she could protest further, Dean closed the distance between them, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her to turn around. “Keep those hands up.”

His pistol ready in one hand just in case, he quickly skimmed his free hand over the woman’s lean frame. Starting at her torso, he then went down one denim-clad leg, confiscating the switchblade tucked into her boot. On the way up the other leg, he swiped the leather wallet from her back pocket.

“Hey!” she protested, whirling back around and reaching for the wallet. “Give that back!”

Dean dodged her, moving out of reach. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it back so long as you don’t do anything stupid.” He could tell she didn’t like that answer as her hands tightened into fists. Green eyes fixed him with a scorching glare, which he elected to ignore as he flipped open the wallet to check for ID. “Got any friends with you?”

“It’s just me.” Dean glanced up at the woman’s wooden tone, but he found that she wasn’t looking at him, fixed on a spot behind his left shoulder. Then, faintly, “Oh…there’s two of you.”

Turning to follow her stare, Dean found his brother surveying the scene, pistol lowered but ready. About damn time. “Hi, Sammy! I’m so glad you finally decided to join us.”

The younger Winchester answered with a curt nod, glancing between his brother and the woman he’d cornered. “What’s going on?”

“I was just getting acquainted with our new friend here.” Dean made a show of holding up the ID he had pulled from their guest’s wallet, keeping his tone casual. “Meet Erica Jackson from Seminole, Oklahoma. She’s a...let’s see, carry the one, thirteen minus seven…twenty-six year old Gemini and”—he raised an eyebrow, looking at the woman’s choppy black locks—“a blonde?”

She shifted her weight to one leg, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry, is dying hair a crime these days?”

Dean definitely didn’t like that snippy tone. “No, but breaking and entering is. So give me one good reason why you’re in my garage and I’ll think about letting you walk outta here.”

“I-I didn’t know anyone lived here.” Erica had the decency to at least pretend to be remorseful, nervously tucking her hair behind one ear and scuffing one toe against the concrete as she glanced between the brothers. “The place was empty when I found it.”

“And you just decided to move in?” Sam inferred, moving forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Dean.

“No, of course not!” Erica returned, indignant. But then she faltered, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. “Well, kind of, I guess…” She huffed. “It’s a long story.”

[sierrablxckwell]

 –– – Sierra Blackwell. A complexity of paint and subdue emotions. From 18 yonder, the girl had mastered the art of hiding everything below the surface. That she could express her rage and sorrow under the guise of pink and crimson. One had to be close enough to see beneath the layers. To peel back the curtain to see the lonely little girl who lost part of her soul, all those years ago. Her home became the manifestation of her mind, paint strewn walls and a disarray of hopelessness. One that lacks any ability to use words–– she’s always been a soul to express herself through her actions. So whilst she may never tell you, the girl has a lengthy list of her uniqueness internalised in her mind.  Come take a look.

Animals; It wasn't your first love, or your last. but it's a permanent one. something about preserving and aiding life was important to you, helping them to flourish and finding out what was good for them. even just spending time visiting sanctuaries and the study of endangered animals became a heavily important part of your life. to the point where you've debating becoming a foster parent for animals whilst they try to help them find homes. an animal voice is something of laughable but yet you like sitting on the floor with Ripley, giggles echo her lip accompanying a cartoon voice, a toothy grin and love in her heart. 

Painting; it’s not secret or lie that you has a love for expression— for the reaction when someone is told they’re beautiful. finding joy in sketching everyone, in bringing them to life in 50 shades of sunsets and ocean hues. yes, we know you will absolutely ask to draw everyone ; or do it out of memory.

Tapping; have you noticed how she taps? drilling fingers on a bar top of her wooden floor. It’s a peculiar habit–– one that satisfied your inability to stay still. your mother used to bark at you for the persistent noise, and it’s a habit you can’t stop.

Blankets; there was something about being cozy in a blanket after a long days work that was so utterly satisfying. you wouldn't dare tell anyone that you have a closet full in case of the worst situations, a blackout, loss of power. on top of that you did truly believe that a fluffy blanket and hot beverage could solve any problem of the soul, along with a classic movie, such as 'The Breakfast Club,' there was nothing better on a Sunday evening. 

Clothes; two wardrobes. of course, one decorated in various mediums of your work and the other far more polished. oversized jumpers, shirts and various types of jeans, never one for the finer things in life. you could date back most of her clothes to thrift shops and second hand. never one to turn down an item off a friend or using her artistic abilities to turn something drab into something that mimics current high fashion.

Notebooks; pens and paper, you had to write everything down. whether it was grocery lists, notes from work, notes on tv shows that you'd watched and reviewed to yourself. It was almost something that you did subconsciously or a force of habit. It was satisfying to look back through pretty, labeled notepads and seeing reams of colourful, extensive notes to explain everything in life. 

Yoga; a morning ritual no doubt, the next-door neighbours can heard the familiar hum the the tv as you try to find your inner peace. though admittedly we know why you started it, a particular event involving a nameless man and a painful position or two. but we’ll brush over that.

Children; a life long desire of yours. always dreaming of one day painting the spare room in your house, every shade of the rainbows. a toy box filled to the rafters and insisting that Nadia would teach you to cook only the most delicious snacks. a dream that ceased as life caught you on your heels. Albeit, you still relentlessly attempt to bake cookies and snacks. stopping by your best friends house to deliver goods that came out less and less burnt on each attempt.

Languages; a need to learn something new didn’t stop in her artistic abilities. Perhaps it came from the fact you had never left Catalina, but those passing by can heard the familiar murmurs of you chortling haphazard Hungarian phrases or rapping out of tune to yozsefvaros by the  Animal cannibals.

Playlists; there’s one for every occasion. through her happiest blinks. the angry painting and wishing to spur on tears. rain drops on repeat. the soothing melody putting you to sleep; the notion that the rain will come and wash away all the pain— the lingering nightmares. 

Movies; another obsession of the brunettes. one that she blames entirely on Ava, their movie date nights turned into a fascination of binge watching classics and the latests updates. sat on the couch with Ripley at your side and a only the best assortment of snacks became a second favourite pastimes on your nights off. or roping your best friend into spending more time with you, when the latest horror came out.

Football; a sport you never thought you would love. In fact one that was completely and utterly spurred on by ben all those years prior. You were a cheerleader, a good one at that. But it was an activity that soon shifted to screaming at the top of your lungs whilst your boyfriend played. Now, you spent your time is spent getting overly excited, cheering as you watch the game on tv. 

Home; you homes a state in some people’s opinion. An aculmination of love and  colour. But Rory inspired a different side of you. One of complimenting colours and inspiring decor. You room resonates a different energy to the rest of the house, one you’re slowly trying to implement to the rest of the house. 

Their room; all these years later and you haven’t been inside since. Perhaps the stained memory of loss in what happened was so engrained. You tried once, but all you could see was that image. So you closed it, locked the door and hid the key. A hurdle in your life you have yet to overcome. But you will. One day. Until then, you’ll pace back and forth outside the room. Toying with the idea of walking inside.

Chewing; you have an insatiable need to chew on your lips. specifically the corner of your lesser lip. whether it be in thought, anxiousness or concentration. It grounds your sporadic fingers and quells the mind. 

FEAT; @avahalliwell, @roryhirsch, @nadiajcseph, @benjaminconrad

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Even if it hurts (E.D. AU)

Pairing: gangster!Ethan Dolan x lawyer!reader

Summary: When Ethan Dolan, the most dangerous man in New York walks into Y/N’s office in need of a lawyer and with claims of being framed for a crime he didn’t commit, their lives quickly become intertwined and the mutual attraction between them soon becomes impossible to ignore.

Warnings: violence, angst, fluff, swearing, drinking

Word count: ~11.1k

Heart pounding in my ears and chest, I find my breath halt in my throat. A hand covers my mouth, pulling me closer and I find myself unable to fight. Back against a firm chest, another arm wrapping around my waist, my wide eyes look around in panic as my first exhale fights its way to my nose. It clears my mind just enough to stop the lingering scream deep within my being from forming, just enough to recognize the smell that fills my nostrils. I know that smell, the expensive cologne that intoxicated me for the better part of the year.

It's him.

„Stay down and be quiet. Can you do that for me?“ He whispers in my ear, bringing about a chill that spreads down my back and takes over my entire body.

I nod, shakily turning to glance at him. If I were to die, I wanted his face to be the last thing I see.

Even if it is his fault I am in this position.

10 months ago

I've always been goal-oriented, ambitious to a fault some would say. I considered it my greatest value, something that allowed me to be a trailblazer despite obstacles I encountered in life. I've made several sacrifices to get to where I am today and although I have become who I always wanted to be, I had one thing left to achieve.

To become partner.

Being a lawyer specialized in criminal law is daunting, something many avoid for high profile cases, though rare, usually ensure you have a target on your back for the remainder of your life. I found it thrilling. I never expected to get a high profile case, satisfied helping those who needed my help and building my career as the youngest lawyer in New York City.

Little did I know that would all change.

„Y/N, we have a client and no one else is in. Do you mind taking the case?“ Spoke Katherine, the assistant and in a way the only friend I have. I smile and nod, giving her a go ahead.

„Sure, I'm not busy.“ Just as I finished the sentence, he walked through the door.

Now don't get me wrong, I am in no way, shape or size a hopeless romantic that falls head over heels for guys who walk into my office or any guy really, but it's hard to ignore the feeling this man imposed. With his height alone, this man attracted many unwanted looks and attention. He's tall and even under his classy clothes, his muscles are evident. I swallow thickly as my eyes fall to his toned chest and the white dress shirt covering him. The sleeves are pulled up to his elbows, revealing a couple of tattoos on his forearms. His arms fold over his chest, and with such a simple gesture his muscles bulge but that's not what takes my attention. It's a silver, bejeweled ring on his right index finger.

I dare to look up, finding his dark brown hair comely and perfectly tousled as if he spent hours on it, while it probably took a minute and a hand through the silky looking strands. His eyebrows are bushy and unusually arched, framing his deep brown eyes many consider basic, but there's something different in his. Looking into them there is a storm brewing, one that would turn the brown murkier and more dangerous, something many people I defend hold in their hues but none quite like this man. His jawline is sharp and his chin pointy, almost taking the attention off his plush and soft looking pale pink lips many surely lost their heads over.

„Please take a seat.“ I show him to the chair across from mine, just on the other side of my mahogany desk that served as a buffer.

„Thank you.“ The man says politely as he takes a seat, leaning back but his eyes never leave me. Not for a second.

„I am Y/N Y/L/N and I will represent you if you choose to hire me. Now, tell me why do you need my services.“ I have this little speech practiced to perfection, leaving no doubt or possible fear in my voice for clients to detect. I've learned quite quickly that showing fear is the greatest mistake one can make for it will get you either killed or kicked off the case.

I couldn't tell you which option is worse.

„Well, I am Ethan Dolan and I am here because someone is trying to frame me for a crime I did not commit.“ He explains as he crosses his legs, but not the way women do. It's that rest-your-ankle-on-your-knee kind of a way, a wide spread of confidence and yet I always found it to be the opposite. I've learned to look past cockiness.

„And what crime would that be, Mr. Dolan?“ I raise an eyebrow, taking a pen to write his name on a piece of paper for later use. Trust your client is what they teach us in law school, but I find my own background check to be more efficient in the long run.

„Murder.“ His reply is simple and short, passing his lips so effortlessly when in truth it puts my heart to a full stop for a moment before it finds a normal rhythm once more.

„Alright. I'll have to check with senior partners, but as far as I'm concerned I will do my best to acquit you of these charges. I do need more information, Mr. Dolan. An alibi would help.“ I tilt my head slightly to the right, catching a glimpse of a gold chain peering under his collar.

„I have one, I'm just not at liberty to discuss it.“ Ethan's face is stoic, as if none of this touches him. It's as if he's fearless which I'd snort at if this wasn't a business meeting and he my next paycheck.

No man is fearless.

„That's not a problem. It will make my job harder, but it's not uncommon my clients can't divulge their whereabouts. I'll make it work. Anything on the crime itself?“ I try to keep my composure, knowing the intensity of his gaze will start burning holes in my skull if he keeps his unblinking eyes on me any longer.

I'm used to being underestimated due to my age alone, let alone my looks. I'm aware I'm young and I'm sure I am appealing to some, but no one had ever studied me as closely as this man does. This man that doesn't look much older than I am, a man who is perhaps just as driven as I am.

„The murder happened at the docs last month on the 25th of April at approximately 10 pm. A man was killed with a gun and dropped into water. My contacts already warned me the police is building a case against me. From what I've heard, the gun found was mine and they claim to have DNA evidence on the scene.“ Ethan lays out the case with cold precision, his right hand now wrapping around his left ankle that remains atop his right knee.

I nod, scribbling details to check on later, distracting myself from his incredibly good looks. The way he talks is enough for me to know he's more than a petty criminal, but someone high up in rank, probably a gang member.

„I'll check on these myself with the station and a few of my own contacts.“ I chew on the pen cap, narrowing my eyes at the letters written before me. Putting the pen down, I look to Ethan once more.

„Y/N, I'll be honest here. If I would have done this, I'd never be stupid and leave a trace. They'd never find the murder weapon, let alone my DNA. I didn't do this and I expect you to prove it.“ Ethan stands, planting his palms on my desk as he leans forward. The proximity itself would make anyone jump, but I remain calm and in my seat. I face his hard gaze and keep my composure.

I can even see his one inch stubble, a couple of beauty marks and earrings – a stud-like diamond in each ear. There's a faint blemish on his left cheek, one I'd normally never see, but for some reason I'm studying this man as closely as he's studying me.

„Miss Y/L/N.“ I correct him, giving him a curt smile while his lips twitch for the first time since he entered my office, finally spreading into a smile. His smile isn't as cold as I expected it to be, but it's dangerous. Just as his eyes hold a danger I'm unaware of, so does his smile. A part of me thought he never smiles, maybe smirks from time to time, but this was a full, pearly whites on show kind of a smile.

It's alarming how disarming it is.

„Miss Y/L/N.“ Ethan repeats, dragging out my last name like it's the sweetest tune he'd ever heard. I'd like to say it made me melt or allowed a thousand butterflies to shed their cocoons and fly inside my stomach, but it didn't. It made sharks swim inside my stomach and a nauseating sense of discomfort take over.

„Right. So, I'll call you in a couple of days with information and until then...lay low. Lets not give them any ammo to use against you, because I'm sure they're watching you closely. Even a minor offense will be cause for arrest and we can't afford that just yet. So, lay low and wait for me to call. I'll try to make this speedy and get the charges dropped as soon as they're made.“ I stand up, walking around the table and standing in front of him. Each click of my heel made me cringe inwardly, but outside I kept a picture of confidence and peace.

„Lay low...I can do that. I'll be waiting by the phone...Miss Y/L/N.“ Ethan outstretches his hand for me to shake and although everything inside me screamed not to, I knew this might help build a relationship which would ensure his trust and that is always a good thing.

As soon as my hand touched his, his fingers curled around it and encased my hand. Ethan gently lifts my hand up, bending down as well until his lips touch the back of it.

I was right...his lips are soft and plush and oh so very kissable, but they also bring an unfathomable desire to run and hide.

No, I am not afraid of Ethan Dolan. I am afraid of the tingling sensation his lips left on the back of my hand even when they parted, even when his hold on it relented. Even when he smirked and passed by me and left my office. Even as I fell asleep that night.

„Do you know who that is?!“ Katherine whisper shouts, closing the door behind her. It startles me enough to turn around with a gasp, a hand over my chest.

„First: not cool! Second: who?“ I tap my foot as she approaches, nervously looking around.

„I googled him! It's Ethan Dolan, one of the most dangerous men in New York, possibly in the US.“ She speaks in a hush tone, folding her arms over he chest as she nibbles on her bottom lip.

„So? I don't care. My job is to make sure everyone has a fair trial and I'll do that, even for the most dangerous man in New York.“ I state, grabbing my phone to start making calls and get to the bottom of this case.

Sooner I'm done, sooner I can forget him. Even angels have wicked schemes and he's someone who takes devils to new extremes. It's best I'm far from the eye of that particular storm.

**

„You called, Miss Y/L/N?“ Ethan peaks inside my office, only a second after knocking.

I sigh, painting a smile on my face regardless of the disturbance. I had wished for a moment alone to collect myself and properly process the day's events. Ethan didn't know that, so he strolled right inside.

„I've made some calls and talked to a few friends in the force.“ I stand, ignoring the stinging pain shooting from my feet to my ankles, knees and back. Wearing heels all day is a form of torture.

I move in front of the desk and beside the chair Ethan had settled in. Leaning on the table, I fold my arms over my chest and look him directly in the eye.

„I've seen the evidence and it's circumstantial at best. The gun did have your fingerprints, however it's not registered to you. There was no DNA left on the scene, so your guys got that wrong.“ I list, unintentionally throwing in a jibe.

I realize what I said a moment too late. Ethan only clicks his tongue, almost entertained with my sharpness, but chooses to remain silent.

„I've found some things that just don't add up. They didn't use the usual coroner, the body itself might not have been examined right so I petitioned for an autopsy done by a trusted pathologist. They built the entire case on the premise you usually are at the docs at the same time every week and of course, the gun which we can always argue was stolen. I've already gotten a court order to get any video surveillance from the area to prove you didn't come to the docs that night at all, but it will give us a chance to see who did.“ My voice is tired and slightly strained, as if I'm going through motions. I know I'm doing a bad job covering it, which means he might pick up on it.

The way he holds my gaze, I know he's a perceptive man. He's someone who needs to be a good judge of character, to read people quickly and determine if that person is trustworthy or not.

But, so am I.

For some odd reason, I trust him. I believe him and I will defend him. It's ridiculous because this might be the only crime he didn't commit, but I plan on doing my job regardless. I don't know this man, but I think...I think I shouldn't write him off as the bad guy straight away.

„I'm impressed, Miss Y/L/N.“ Ethan chimes in, pursing his lips and I have to force myself not to give into my mind's sudden want to study his lips. They may or may not have some kind of magical ability to make me question my sanity, but I will not be unprofessional and give into what might be a simple case of curiosity.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but I will not let it kill me.

„You seem to have a good handle on the case. However, I do have concerns.“ Ethan furrows his eyebrows, pushing them closer until a single vertical line appears between them. He puts his right, ringed index finger on his chin, lightly touching his bottom lip and cocks his head to the side.

„If you have concerns, I'm always here to help clear them.“ Though I sound overly nice and too eager to please, I have to remind myself this is my job and I'd be the same way with any client, not just Ethan.

But if that were true I'd address him as Mr. Dolan, even in my thoughts.

„Well, you're here way past working hours which is a double-edged blade...I'm grateful you're working overtime to clear my name, but if you overwork yourself this might end up backfiring. I can hear it in your voice. You are tired, Miss Y/L/N and I hope you take the rest of the night and enjoy yourself. I'd be willing to drive you home and even pay for dinner.“ Ethan slyly suggests and I scoff openly. I don't bother hiding my reaction from him this time around and I sense his demeanor change instantly.

„Did I insult you in any way?“ His jaw clenches, his eyes darkening and I step back shaking my head.

„I can't accept any gifts from clients and I definitely can't involve myself personally. It's unprofessional and I expect you to stop blurring the lines here.“ My tired tone has successfully transformed into a stern one, unforgiving and he knows it too.

Ethan stands, folding his arms over his chest and furrowing his eyebrows.

„I didn't intend to blur any lines, Miss Y/L/N. I only meant to make sure you get home safe and have a warm meal. I didn't suggest I'd be joining you.“ His response brings up a volcano inside my head, the heat rushing to my cheeks.

He was trying to be a decent human being and I just bombed his attempts.

„I'm sorry if I got the wrong impression. It's been a long day and I'll keep your concerns in mind. I still don't think anything you suggested would be appropriate, but I do thank you for it.“ I smile softly, hoping to soften his hardened face.

His left eye narrows ever so slightly, like he's sizing me up and determining if I'm worth the trouble or not. But then his face softens and his arms fall by his side as he takes a few sturdy steps towards me. His right hand clenches and relaxes before he pockets it.

„It's alright. Many get the wrong impression. I know the rumors they spread about me. I just hope you can look past them. I make a lot of questionable choices, some many deem immoral or illegal, but I'm not a bad person Miss Y/L/N. I'll be waiting for your next call.“ Ethan sighs, his face falling as he walks by me, our arms brushing against each other and for a moment, in that silence that followed, I swear I heard electricity cackle at contact.

**

It was supposed to be a relaxing night of drinking my favorite wine and watching the latest episodes of my favorite shows on Netflix. It was supposed to be that way, but it turned into anything but.

„Hello? Yes, this is she. HE WHAT? I'll be down as soon as possible.“

That's how I found myself running to my closet to put together a proper outfit as my client, Ethan Dolan, was arrested near the border with almost half a million dollars in his trunk.

I rushed to the station, immediately greeting the officer who gave me a call earlier. We dated briefly a couple of years ago when I was just a law student, but he's married now and I'm still married to my job. We remained friendly and he became my greatest asset in the police force.

„I'm here, you can let up on Mr. Dolan now.“ I smile at Duncan, turning on the charm. Sure he's married, but I know how to read people and Duncan never stopped feeling that attraction he had for me.

It never hurts to put on a nice show, does it?

„Don't worry Y/N. You have him properly trained. The boy barely said a word since we took him in. The only thing he did say is to call you and that's all. I'm surprised you took on such a case.“ Duncan leaned on his desk, his hands behind him for support as a fond smile appears on his face.

I return the smile, cautiously speaking.

„I'm a lawyer. Anyone with a check can hire me to defend them in court. Why not try a challenge?“ I wink at him, pointing to the hall.

„Room two?“ I question, already taking off.

I heard Duncan's footsteps behind me, rushing with his keys jiggling. He surpasses me, managing to unlock the door on the first try. I nod in acknowledgement, walking inside and he closes the door behind me.

„Sorry to wake you.“ Ethan plasters a fake smile on his face, one that didn't hold any charm, only venom. He's pissed.

„I was awake anyway. So...“ I approach the desk, sitting in my designated spot.

„Why take so much money and be so close to the border?“ I ask without beating around the bush. He'll either be honest with me or he'll lie through his teeth. Either way, I'll know the truth and I'll know if he and I will have a good collaboration during the case.

„I can't tell you.“ He says, averting his gaze from me for the first time since I've met him and if that's not alarming on its own, then the bruise forming around his left eye is.

„Who punched you?“ I put a little more pressure, getting a sigh from him.

„Doesn't matter. How much trouble did this get me?“ He counters my question with another of his own and it's my turn to sigh.

„I'm sure you're aware this looks like you're running.“

„BUT I'M NOT!“ Ethan shouts, his usually mellow and calm voice now echoing against the walls.

„Is everything alright in here?“ Duncan opens the door, looking to me for answers. I just nod, letting him know I'm fine.

„I know you weren't running.“ I say quietly, just enough so he can hear me. For the first time ever, I see his poker face dissolve and shock register on his face.

„You do?“ His voice is quiet, but his tone is higher as the surprise passes to his vocal chords as well.

„Yes. You're not that stupid. If you wanted to run you'd probably take a jet and you wouldn't carry that much cash on you. You'd put it in an offshore account. You also wouldn't run when the crime you're being framed for is clearly not your fault.“ I list all the reasons I believe him to be innocent, each of the reasons making his initial hostility disappear and be replaced with awe.

„You're a genius.“ He whispers, his lips remaining parted.

„I just know your way of thinking. I also got more info on the body and I'm sure we can raise enough reasonable doubt for the jury to make the right decision. Ideally, we would have avoided this entire mess of a trial and I would have had the charges dropped, but this arrest made sure we'd see a trial. I'll try to get you out, but you'll have to stay tonight.“ I rest my elbow on the table, using my right hand to rest my head on it.

„You're tired again.“ He states matter-of-factually and I let a smile pass my lips. A true smile, one unadulterated and free of stiffness it's usually accompanied by.

„And orange is not your colour.“ I throw a remark his way, one that widens his eyes and pushes a chuckle past his lips.

„I think I pull it off!“ Ethan's cheery tone isn't lost on me, but I find myself melting in the vibrations his chuckle created inside my heart.

A smile remains on his lips, one I'd usually try to ignore, but I can't. Not anymore. Smiles are supposed to be soft and inviting, but his is charming and deadly. I used to think there is nothing more dangerous than a man with charm until I met him. Ethan’s smile has daggers in it, ones who aim to kill.

Is it so wrong I am a willing victim?

„Keep telling that to yourself, big guy.“ I chuckle too, standing up. I am tired, exhausted even. But I have a job to do and that's to make sure this guy never wears orange again.

„Sleep well, Miss Y/L/N.“ Ethan says fondly and I stop to look at him.

„Don't get yourself killed, Ethan.“ I accidentally say his first name, mentally kicking myself over it immediately. But then his killer smile makes yet another appearance this night and I don't feel so guilty about it anymore.

**

„So I called in a favor and we have a judge willing to listen today. All you have to do is say you're not guilty and let me handle the rest. Okay?“ I know I'm not supposed to coach him, but Duncan was kind enough to let me in for a single minute and I wasn't going to waste it. Ethan nods, quickly following after me and into the patrol car that's taking us to the courthouse.

**

„Not guilty.“ Ethan says just as I asked him to and I hold back a smile.

„As you can tell, my client here only moved his assets to the bank nearest to him. He had no alcohol in his blood at the moment of the arrest. He had no weapon and he definitely hadn't committed a crime. He's a rich man, your honor. If we arrested every wealthy person in New York for handling their own money, we'd need bigger prisons.“ I know the DA had already included the murder charges into the case, using this arrest as a steppingstone to charge him officially.

My goal is to get him out of prison and quickly, because he promised me to survive the night and not cause trouble, but I can tell by the bruises on his face, new ones forming, he had tried his best to do as I asked him to.

„You realize there's more charges brought up against your client?“ The judge raises an eyebrow and I nod.

„I am aware. However, that deserves a trial of its own and I'd prefer my client to wait for that trial in the safety of his own home. One look at Mr. Dolan will tell you exactly why. I'd like him to live to see the trial, your honor.“ I know this argument is compelling, especially because gang bosses rarely survive till trial and the media would be all over the court if Ethan died in jail because they were too stubborn to let him out.

„Fine. Mr. Dolan, until trial you will remain in house arrest with an ankle monitor to make sure you stay put. I also demand you leave your passport before we release you. Bail is set for a 500 000 dollars.“ Judge is about to use her gabble when I stop her, interjecting.

„If I may?“ I can tell the judge is annoyed, but she allows it.

„If the DA is alright with this, I'd like to speed this process up. I'm sure you'd like to wrap the case before the media gets in on it and sooner we get this done the less coverage it will get. Considering the new evidence I left for you this morning, you'll see a lot of bad police-work is involved and I'm sure we'd like to keep that on the down-low?“ I say coyly, looking to the DA and the judge who just furrows her brows.

„You do realize that means picking out a jury that might not be very open to sympathize with your client?“

„Only if he's guilty, your honor.“

„Fine. Jury selection in a week. Now get out of my courtroom.“ She hits the gabble, ending the torture for Ethan for now.

**

„You're really good.“ His hand brushes against mine as we move toward the patrol car.

„I know.“ I smile, nudging him.

„I'll be down to see you next week, okay? I'll have to set up office in your house for convenience. It will help us work faster and more efficiently, get it all done on time. Is that okay?“ I take out my phone to check the address. He lives upstate, while my office is in the middle of the city. It would take too long to travel back and forth, losing us precious time and I needed his input while I worked on the case.

„Of course. You're always welcome to stay, Miss Y/L/N.“ Duncan is the one that pushes his head down and forces him in the car, closing the door behind him. I notice the glare Ethan sends his way, just as I notice how his eyes soften when he looks at me.

„I'll set up his ankle bracelet.“ He states and I wrap my arms around myself for additional warmth as the cold September air begins to chill me to my core.

„Great. Thanks Duncan.“ I give him a small wave, feeling Ethan's piercing gaze on me the entire time.

I watch the car as it drives away, hoping I can get this case done quickly and quietly, ensuring myself a partner spot if I win. I've already had a good two months behind me.

It's been tiring, but I'm determined to win. For myself and for...for Ethan.

**

„You call this house arrest?“ I looked around, twirling in the foyer in shock.

„I've been going stir crazy. Tell me we can get this whole case over soon.“ Ethan walked down the stairs in a pair of shorts, ones that revealed numerous tattoos tainting his skin.

„You do realize a trial can't be over in a blink of an eye. We got you out quickly, but you'll have to deal with this mansion you have for a while longer. This is...this room alone is bigger than my whole apartment.“ I state, frowning and he chuckles.

„You're welcome to stay. I'll have them make you a bed. Loads of guest rooms to choose from.“ Ethan replies, winking and I roll my eyes at him.

„Oh, that's a first. You never rolled your eyes at me before. Are we becoming friends?“ He speaks fast, excitedly and I realize maybe he is going stir crazy.

„I roll my eyes at you all the time...In my head.“ I add the last bit, getting him to burst out laughing.

„That's a good one, Miss Y/L/N.“ Ethan points his right index finger at me, his booming laugh still bouncing off the walls.

„You can call me Y/N. We're not in the office anymore.“ I give him this little inch of ground, one single inch and yet I know he'll take a lot more than an inch.

„Awe, we are becoming friends Y/N!“ Ethan exclaims and I put my hands on my hips, looking up with lips pressed together.

I regret that decision already.

**

As months passed, I've gotten to know Ethan better than I thought I would.

I'd often catch him staring at me, even when he thought he was being stealthy. While he worked at his desk and made calls I pretended not to hear and held meetings I pretended not to acknowledge, I worked on his case in the same room.

I had a bulletin board, every single piece of evidence I could piece together on it and marked in order. I knew we had this in the bag as he'd say, but I needed to be prepared in case they had something new to present me with. I knew I'd have to look into the policemen who did the work as most things didn't make sense.

The footage showed a younger officer was on the job, a single cigarette bud left on the docks and it belonged to the same officer. Those same cigarettes were bought a block away.

Why would a cop be in a shady district he didn't belong in, buying cigarettes, smoking on docks? Why would he commission the autopsy be done by a different coroner?

Once I looked into his records, I found he had gotten his hands on a lot of money recently...Enough to buy a new apartment in Manhattan and a villa in Miami along with a yacht. No cop earns that amount of cash. I don't earn that amount of money!

I hired some help, a detective to follow the officer in question and he already acquired photos of him meeting suspicious men I didn't know.

„I know that one. It's Jacob. He's the head of a rival gang - Black mamba.“ Ethan stopped at my bulletin board, pensive.

„And they're your enemy, right?“ It's a rhetorical question, we both know it.

„Come with me. It's lunch time.“ Ethan takes my hand in his, startling me into a gasp. I don't pull away though, allowing him to guide me outside to the patio as he does every day now.

I know he's growing impatient, frustrated with his captivity and inability to be out there with his men. It's eating him alive that he can't be of help, that his people suffer the consequence.

„You never asked what it is that I really do.“ He states, taking a sip of his orange juice and I do the same, shrugging.

„It's not my business to poke my nose where it doesn't belong. My job is to get the charges dropped.“

„You're not curious at all?“ Ethan cocks his right eyebrow, swiping his tongue across his lower lip and if I wasn't seated already, I'd be swept off my feet for sure.

He has a way with words, his gestures always mean more. He is a charming man, one who is extremely intelligent and knows how to manipulate people to get what he wants. It's impressive how he works his magic on unsuspecting victims, but I knew how to fight him on it.

„I wouldn't say that. I just think you'd tell me if you wanted to. No pressure.“ I reply calmly, folding my hands in my lap as he leans into his seat.

„I'm not a criminal, Y/N.“ I'm still trying to get used to him calling me by my name. It rolls off his tongue like velvet, so smoothly and enriched with undefined emotion.

„I will admit to having a colorful past...I used to deal for money to get my dad proper treatment. But as time went on, I got enough money to buy my way to a better life. I own several hotels and clubs, most do have illegal casinos and fight clubs under, but we don't kill people. We don't allow for criminal activities. In fact, our policy is to let people have fun but not ruin their lives. I've always had a good relationship with the force and the city because of it before, but whoever is framing me had corrupted the police.“

„I killed someone.“ I stop his confession with one of my own. He stops talking, visibly curious and a little shaken up. To be honest, I'm not sure why I'm telling him this. It's crossing a boundary and I know once I do, the lines will no longer be blurred, they'll be erased. But I want him to know I'm not judging him. I know of his past, I just never told him I knew. I know he had a rough childhood...losing his mother and twin the same day he took his first breath. His dad being sick and his older sister taking it hard...He took care of them the best he could at the time. He did what he had to.

So, yes, I will let him know of my past if that means he can trust me. I want him to trust me.

„It wasn't intentional. Self defense and it happened while I was an undergrad student...My parents had always thought I'd marry their friends' son, Lewis. He was charming and could always convince the room he was right. He commanded respect and always seemed perfect...Until he tried to force himself on me. I pushed him off me before he could...“ I trail off, averting my gaze but before I know it, Ethan is crouching beside me, his hands taking my cold ones into his warmth.

„It's okay. You don't have to share anything more.“ He says softly, making me want to continue.

„He hit his head and it was instant death. My lawyer saved me from a lifetime in prison over a crime I didn't meant to commit. My parents cut me off after that and I had to work three times harder to get to where I am today as result. But I am proud to help others escape a fate I almost lived. I hope you know I'm not judging you, Ethan. I will get you out. I will.“

Ethan raises his hand, his fingers brushing my bottom lip gingerly and I hold my breath, refusing to move. My brain is screaming no, knowing this could get me disbarred, but I want to feel his lips so badly that I know should he make a move, I won't stop him.

„I know you will. And I promise to protect you during the process.“ He tugs at my bottom lip with his thumb before stepping back and I finally take a breath, letting out the pent up air flow freely.

That night, Ethan and I laid our souls bare in front of each other. He didn't spare any detail of his life, letting me in on the good, the bad, the ugly. And there was a lot more of the latter than I'd like to admit. But I understood him better, on a deeper level many would never.

Ethan soon began to notice things about me most people never knew. He knew how I take my coffee or if I need to be cut off. He knew when to make me take a break, because my eye would start twitching like I'm possessed. He knew when I'm too tired to make the drive back to the city and made me sleep in one of his guest rooms. He knew which pizza I liked and when I craved it. Hell, I think he even figured out my menstrual cycle as pads and tampons mysteriously appeared in the house a few days before I was meant to start my period.

It was both comforting and infuriating. Mostly because I had come to know the same about him.

He likes his coffee black (as he often jokes is his soul), just like he likes dairy free pineapple pizza we always argue over; I think it should be illegal and he disagrees. He likes to have a sip of whisky before bed to relax his mind, but he also likes a glass of wine with dinner. His favorite car is a Jeep and his favorite hotel is the one he owns in Hawaii. He loves to travel, but is a workaholic. He loves to goof around and yet, his work ethic is flawless. Ethan is creative, even if he hides that side of him. He isn't a playboy as many would believe for he made sure I knew the name of every girl he came in contact whenever I'd see him with one. I never asked him to provide that information, but he was adamant. Ethan likes yellow, although I could argue that's an understatement. His entire mansion is woven in golden colors intertwining with black undertones. Hell, even his socks are yellow if his outfit is black. I find it to be a true testament to his character – despite the darkness looming within, Ethan is the epitome of sunshine.

I've come to see a different side to him, one that had nothing to do with his occupation. When he's focused on work, Ethan is serious incorporated, but a moment away from the job, his true colors shine through and a goofy persona takes over – a man that is loving, kind and accepting. He's open to new things, experiences and people, never backing down from a challenge.

In all the time we spent together I have come to a conclusion: Ethan Dolan is not a bad guy, only a good guy that was put in a series of bad situations and he did the best he could with what he was given.

**

„Are you okay?“ Ethan speaks, breaking the veil of silence that had lingered in his study for hours. I stood before my bulletin board, aware that no matter what happens I'll make a lot of enemies once this case is over. The corruption ran deep and once I exposed corrupt cops, those above them – the very men that paid them to do their biding, those men will be coming for me. It's potentially a very dangerous endeavor and I've become far too aware of it as of late.

I always have a feeling someone's following me and no, this isn't just a woman's instinct. It's not about me walking home alone in the dark nor about the fact that I keep seeing the same man in my close proximity every day. It's about what Ethan told me only a month into this case.

„You're about to make a lot of dangerous people very angry, Miss Y/L/N. I'll understand if you choose to step down.“

„I'm aware of the risk it brings, but I cannot allow these men to continue obstructing justice. I have to believe things will work out for the better.“

„At least allow some of my men to accompany you.“ Ethan pressed, but I waved him off.

„I'm fine on my own. But thank you for the offer.“

I'm not sure I made the best choice, but a choice was made and I don't have a chance to start again. Either way, most my time is spent in his mansion as the case goes to trial tomorrow and we will either win or lose...whatever happens, we will do this together.

„I'm fine, Mr. Dolan. You should get some rest.“ I mumble, barely keeping my words and thoughts coherent. I stare at the board pensively, feeling him coming closer without having to look back. I can feel his presence, even when I'm on the other side of the room. I'm not a firm believer in auras, but if they are real, his is incredibly powerful and magnetic, alluring to the point of hopelessness sinking in when I try to fight it.

Working side by side with a man you're attracted to, not only physically but mentally as well...I'd call it torture. All I want is to press my lips against his, close my eyes and take it in. I'd be willing to let all my previously established beliefs burn to the ground, all for a single kiss and I'm barely holding onto who I was before I met him as it is.

„Ouch...Mr. Dolan. Back to that, huh?“ Ethan's voice is low and somehow still cheery. While he keeps his tone down, the emotion in his voice is palpable.

I think he feels it too.

Sighing, my right hand moves across my abdomen and clasps my left elbow. Turning around, first thing I see is his gold chain and it's much closer than I initially realized. He is so close I'm afraid he can hear my heart beating out my chest.

„Sorry, Ethan. I'm just tired.“ I emphasize his name, hoping it lessens the professional tone that had taken over me.

It's a constant fight really, the lawyer vs. the girl.

„Here's a crazy thought, maybe you should rest too.“ His tone is light and sweet, his arms moving up. With his right hand, he gently tilts my chin up to connect his gaze to mine. With his left hand he strokes my right arm, so tenderly I'm unsure if it's his touch or just a ghost of his touch I feel.

„You're right.“ I whisper, eyes flickering to his lips for a moment and they curl at the corners, forming an impish smile.

„Always am.“ He speaks, wetting his bottom lip. Ethan blinks slowly, reminding me of a cat that's expressing affection. He'd probably cackle if he knew I compared him to a cat, insisting he's a lion and anything but domesticated all the while not realizing he is both wild and domestic, a perfect combination of an adventurous dreamer and a professional realist.

The tip of his index finger remains on my chin a while longer, making me hyper-aware of the closeness between us. I feel my lips tingle, parting in need and his follow suit. Faint smell of whiskey hits me, but I don't find it foul nor do I step back.

Reluctantly, I put my hands on his shoulders and push myself to look into his eyes. In this moment they're anything but ordinary. His eyes are alight with desire and craving he'd been suppressing for a long time, the earthly tones twirling in a pool of lake green until they're hazel instead of his usual brown.

I liked the brown, they comforted me. But the hazel intoxicated me, captivated me.

„You know we can't.“ I whisper the last words my sanity had to offer, hating myself for even thinking about anything except his lips in this moment.

In that split second before his touch every nerve in my body and brain is electrified. It's the anticipation of being together in a way that's more than words, in a way that's so completely tangible.

Ethan leans in, his forehead resting on mine and the tip of his nose brushing against mine. My left hand moves around his shoulder and to the back of his head, fingers grasping at the short hair. He's breathing heavily, his eyes closed. And so I allow myself the comfort of closing my eyes as well. My right hand drifts down his collarbone and to his chest, stopping right where his thundering heart wildly fought the bony confines that kept it in place.

„Once this case is over, I plan on wooing you Miss Y/L/N.“ Ethan speaks suddenly, voice strained and yet filled with determination.

„I'm going to woo you so hard you won't remember why you ever fought this attraction in the first place. Your head will only think of me, your heart will only beat for me. You will crave every moment of your life is spent by my side and you will remember this sweet torture as time wasted...time you could have spent in my arms, in my embrace.“

God he has a way with words and I know I was right...he's a charming man, one I already want in my life, my bed and he knows that too. But he respects me enough to allow me to be who I am, a lawyer who values her principles. A person who never jumps head first, but dips her toes and slowly submerges. A person that measures five times before cutting and a person who needs to be absolutely certain before taking a step further.

It only makes me care for him more.

Painfully slow, Ethan moves back and away from me, walking to the door before casting me a look.

„Goodnight and good luck. I believe in you.“

Fuck, I want him so bad in every way possible.

**

A tight squeeze of his hand in mine is all I need to breathe properly again. The closer we are to the courthouse, the more press you see. Today the jury will be presented with all the evidence and hear my final argument why Ethan Dolan should be allowed to walk out a free man. Today is what the past ten months have all lead to – the intrigue, the longing, the emotional vulnerability we both shared. It comes down to this single day.

„Whatever happens, know that I am grateful for everything you've done for me.“ Ethan gives me a reassuring smile, one I barely return but I make the effort...For him.

The car stops and our hands part, no longer intertwined, no longer comforting.

We manage to get through the crowd, walking inside with a minute to spare. Once inside, we were no longer Ethan and Y/N, but a client with his lawyer.

I presented the findings, the photos, the connections and bank accounts of the officer who tampered with evidence and of course, my own coroner who served as an expert witness...Even Duncan agreed to testify for Ethan and against the cop who clearly sold his soul to the devil.

Expedited trials are always draining, some more than others, but this took a toll on me. Mostly because I couldn't deny a personal involvement.

„The jury will now retire to deliberate. Once they reach a decision, we will call you back.“

The gabble hit and I turned to leave, knowing Ethan is close behind. I kept a stoic face for the crowd, but the moment we walked into a private conference room, I turned around and slammed my body against his, practically jumping in his arms. My arms wrapped around him tightly as did his, sharing a bone crushing hug we both needed. I could feel him shake in my embrace, but so did I.

„You did great.“ He mumbles in my hair, making my heart skip a beat at the sound of his voice.

Ethan sets me down on my feet and I straighten my outfit, dragging my sweaty palms over the fabric to smooth out any wrinkles.

„Now we wait.“ I smile, trying to hide how anxious I am.

We sat in that room for hours, both bouncing our legs and hands, talking about the most ridiculous things either of us could think of. It's how I discovered he was a conspiracy theory enthusiast...ironically he is a part of one now.

„They've reached a decision.“ I look at my phone, my smile falling and I feel myself paling. If I'm this nervous, I can only imagine how he feels. I stand, quickly walking over to him and cup his face. I look into his eyes, trying to find courage to tell him what lies in my heart, but I fail to do so. The words simply won't form. The decision was made quickly which can go both ways: good for us or bad...very bad.

Instead of speaking, we share this one last look and leave the room as we came in – two people who have everything to lose.

If the charges are dropped, I promised myself to let myself love him. I promised to give him my all, even if it hurts. He makes me want to dive in, head first and for that I know I will not change my mind.

We sit, remaining silent as we can be while the room fills with quiet whispers and predictions of the outcome. The air is so brittle it could snap, and if it doesn't, I might. In seconds we will know, we will cheer the roof right off or pain will engulf us entirely.

My mind is closed to all outside influences as I stand, focusing only on the jury entering and the paper with their decision being passed to the judge. I can see, but the sound is off, the only sound being my frightened heart inside my chest.

„Not guilty.“ That's all I hear.  

Next thing I know I'm engulfed in Ethan's arms, swayed left-right as a heavy sigh passes my lips and is absorbed by his well tailored suit. I allow myself a few seconds longer in his embrace, knowing any longer would be suspicious and the last thing we need now is doubt.

The very moment we part, a single step away, that's when a loud shot sounds in the courtroom and panic settles in.

I find myself on my knees, hearing screams around me and numerous shots fired right after.

Heart pounding in my ears and chest, I find my breath halt in my throat. A hand covers my mouth, pulling me closer and I find myself unable to fight. Back against a firm chest, another arm wrapping around my waist, my wide eyes look around in panic as my first exhale fights its way to my nose. It clears my mind just enough to stop the lingering scream deep within my being from forming, just enough to recognize the smell that fills my nostrils. I know that smell, the expensive cologne that intoxicated me for the better part of the year.

It's him.

„Stay down and be quiet. Can you do that for me?“ He whispers in my ear, bringing about a chill that spreads down my back and takes over my entire body.

I nod, shakily turning to glance at him. If I were to die, I wanted his face to be the last thing I see.

Even if it is his fault I am in this position.

Ethan reaches out under the bench, grabbing a gun the guard held in his unmoving, blood splattered hand. Retreating, Ethan takes in a couple of quick breaths before turning to me with a faint smile.

He peaks over the wooden bench behind us, exhaling loudly in relief.

„Come on.“ He grabs my elbow, pulling me up to my feet. Swiftly, his left arm tucks me in his side, his left hand resting on my waist. He looks around carefully, slowly moving forward.

I can feel his heart beating violently fast, matching my shallow breathing. I hold onto him, trusting he'll lead me out safely. I had no doubt in my mind Ethan would protect me just as he promised. I can feel the fear in my chest waiting to take over. It sits there like an angry ball propelling me towards an anxiety I just don't need in this moment for it could be deadly.

„Y/N, are you listening to me?“ Ethan whispers, shaking me lightly to get my attention. I look up with eyes wide, seeing a flash of worry and anger mix in his brown eyes. But there's something else I see...

Fear.

I have never seen Ethan so afraid and I don't think it's his life he fears for.

„Yes.“ I whisper back, my lips quivering as my chin trembles in my own fear that I couldn't hide. Fear for myself...fear for him.

„When I tell you to run, you run. Do you understand me?“ Ethan speaks in a rushed manor, his words clear, but his command isn't.

„You want me to leave you?“ I ask incredulously.

„I want you to do as I asked and run. Okay? Don't look back, don't come back, don't do anything that will put you in danger.“ Ethan lists, cupping my face quickly before pulling us behind a pillar.

I can hear the sirens wailing outside, meaning more police, more help is on the way. Outside is safe, inside isn't. So why is Ethan insisting I run and he stays?

„I can't leave you.“ My voice cracks, even in a whisper. I feel the oncoming tears put pressure in my eyes, trying to blur my vision.

„You can.“ Ethan's tone shifts, becoming sharp and it's clear he's not negotiating with me. Not anymore.

„Do this for me, please. You saved this villain's soul, now let me save your life. It's my fault it's in danger anyway.“ His left eye narrows ever so slightly, almost like an involuntary twitch as his gaze focuses on my face. It feels as if he's studying every line of my face one last time, hoping the image of it stays with him.

„You were never the villain of my story, Ethan. Quite the opposite...You're the main protagonist and you have a role to play still. I'm begging you to come with me. Don't go chasing death when I need you.“ I'm pleading, praying he sees just how strongly I feel for him.

I never loved someone as I loved him. I know now love is more than just a physical intimacy, but a deep need to keep your lover safe. It's about building each other up, growing together and becoming better versions of yourself with someone's guidance. It's more than saying I love you, but showing it.

Ethan never said the words, but I knew. I knew whenever I'd wake up wrapped in two extra blankets in the morning or when he'd try to cook even if he burned everything, even water. I knew when he took my hand in his and kissed it softly, but never when I was awake. His respect for me was deep, so deep he never tried to steal a kiss.

I knew.

„I'll come back to you. I promise.“ Ethan smiled softly, pecking my forehead quickly before moving away from me and away from the protective pillar we hid behind.

„Run Y/N.“ He says sternly and I stumble back, my heart caught in my throat as I see a man on the other side of the long hall slowly approaching us, a man I recognize as Jacob.

„Y/N, please.“ Ethan begs and despite my heart screaming to remain by his side, I do as he asks and bolt for the front entrance. My heels click with each step, echoing in the empty hall. Reaching the door, out of breath and with a heart bleeding for the man left behind, I whip around and cast a look toward him.

Ethan stands calmly, his gun pointed toward Jacob who has his gun up as well. I can hear them talking, but my brain fails to process a single word as I'm grabbed and pulled outside by armed forces, screaming and kicking.

„You have to help him! Please!“ I shout, shaking the man who grabbed me and I quickly recognize it's Duncan.

„They can't enter because there are hostages. Y/N, you know the protocol.“ Duncan tries to reason with me, but the panic inside me rises to critical levels, breaking open every wall I've built to keep my emotions in check.

Gripping my hair at the root, I feel as if the world is spinning around me. I look to Duncan's gun, contemplating taking it and rushing back in.

„Just a little higher.“ Ethan adjusts my stance, his hands serving as support for my own as I clutch the gun in my grasp. His voice rings inside my head as his breath tickles my ear enough to distract me. I take a deep breath, heading his warnings and taking in consideration all the instructions before pulling the trigger.

„I hit the target?!“ I exclaim in question, shocked I have it in me. Jumping, I turn to Ethan who quickly takes the gun from me and puts the safety back on.

„New rule! No jumping with guns!“

I could do it. I could take the gun and if nothing, it will be a good distraction for Ethan to act fast. But it could backfire for it will distract him too.

Shaking my head, I decide to go for it.

In the same moment another shot goes off and I'm petrified, frozen solid with the ice spreading through my veins. I want to move, to run inside or scream and cry, but I can't. I'm stuck staring at the door with a large lump growing bigger inside my throat. I can hardly breathe, my entire body shaking, mind losing focus and time slowing down. I feel as if I'm going to pass out.

And I do.

**

Do you know that feeling where you're convinced your eyelids have turned into led because it's incredibly hard to even begin the process of opening your eyes? A single blink feels like lifting a stone from your eye and your mind just wants to give up, let the weight win and rest for a while longer.

„Y/N, please. I need you to come back to me. I kept my promise.“

I don't have the luxury to rest for a while longer. Not when I hear his mellow voice and the hurt laced in it. I can't rest peacefully when he's calling for me, not even for a moment.

Blinking my eyes open, I groan audibly and enough for his eyes to snap open too and his lips to form a smile I thought I'd never see again. When that shot sounded, I was sure he was gone for good. I was sure I had lost him.

So, how come I'm the one in a hospital bed?

„Why am I?“ Is all I can say, my sandy throat stopping all other words in my throat and I realize I'm parched.

Ethan brings a cup of water to my lips, helping me take a sip to soothe the scratchy feeling.

„You, uh...Jacob was a distraction. You were the target and one of the corrupt cops took a shot at you. A sniper got Jacob, so he's no longer a problem for us.“ I furrow my brows, trying to sit up in my haze. Ethan pushes me down gently and with little to no force as I am too weak to fight him.

„Duncan managed to tackle the guy, but the bullet still hit you. It severed your femoral artery and you lost a lot of blood, but you'll be fine.“ Ethan puts his right palm on my forehead, slowly gliding back and pushing my hair away from my face as my heart flutters.

„Should have stayed with you.“ I state, giving him a half smile.

„I wish I could have protected you. I feel as if I failed you.“ Ethan's head hangs low, but I shake my head a little too fast, finding myself lightheaded even in bed.

„You did great.“ I say the words he usually says to me.

„And I love you for it. In fact, I love you.“ I know it's the narcotics speaking, removing my filter entirely. I wanted to tell him that, but not today and not like this. It was supposed to be more romantic and yet, it brought a smile on his face. A real, genuine smile I'd die to keep steady.

„I love you too.“ Ethan doesn't hesitate to reciprocate, leaning in slowly only to leave a peck on my cheek as I fall asleep.

**

The recovery went well, no hiccups and I was soon released, staying at Ethan's until I was well enough. He took care of me to the best of his ability, hiring help for things he couldn't help me with. He never left my side though. It was his hand in mine and I never wanted to leave. Not ever.

So I didn't. I moved in, or should I say he did. His men did all the work and I just relaxed in bed, healing. We put the romance on hold until I was well enough, focusing on a way to use Ethan's money and influence for something better – to help people in need.

I made partner too.

In the end, the romance part began once more and Ethan insisted I join him for an event.

„You really meant a ball?“ I chuckle, looking at Ethan with a wide smile who held my hand and helped me out the limo. Met gala is the event he chose to debut our relationship and a charity we started together to help troubled youth as he once was.

Sure he didn't completely leave his business, but he tried to keep himself on the right side of the law most of the time. Many didn't understand our relationship, because who the hell expects a gang leader to date the most famous criminal defense lawyer in the state, but that's just it – our love is unconventional, but it works.

I keep him straight and he reminds me to live and not bury myself in work. He is the one that gave me courage and taught me how to truly love and allow myself to be loved. I've seen him cry, I've seen him smile and I know his fears just as he knows mine. I've had doubts, but I love him and I know that with him beside me, life will be full of challenges we will survive together.

„You're my girl. I want to show you off.“ Ethan whispers in my ear as we pose, his lips brushing my cheek before he presses his lips firmly onto mine and I find the world melting away. His hand clasped gently into the back of my hair, pressing in softly. Though his lips are pretty, it is the feel of them that sends my mind into a sensual state of intoxication. They are softness, passion and the promise of the sweetness to come. We pull back and smile. I lay my head on his shoulder shyly and even though I’m still filled with the warmth from the kiss, I shiver. I shiver for he’s been patient with me so far and this is our first kiss as a couple. At first it was his desire for me to get better and be independent again. He wanted me to be in one piece before deciding if I want to be his girlfriend at all.

Little did he know I had made that choice long before I got shot.

„You cold?” he asks but doesn’t give me time to answer. He pulls his jacket off and drapes it over my shoulders.

The cameras around us are flashing, blinding us, but he holds my gaze and I feel safe. He always makes me feel safe, even when a crazy mobster wants to kills us, so this environment is much easier to relax in. The hollow human being I used to be is filled with so much love and stubborn hope for the future and it's all thanks to him.

Kissing my forehead, Ethan and I move ahead with hands clasped together.

„I love you.“ He whispers and I feel my cheeks darken with the heat his words caused. I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing that.

„I love you too.“ I whisper back as he pulls me into his chest and starts to dance like a loon.

„What are you doing?“ I question, swaying with him, giggling.

„Just wanna dance with my girl. Is that a crime?“ Ethan teases, smirking down at me and I purse my lips.

„You're in the clear for now, Mr. Dolan.“ With that, he captures my lips in yet another slow, passionate kiss.

There was a depth in the connection that I was unaware that existed until I fell head over heels with the purity of stillness that arises from living within the internal embrace of this present moment. I gazed upon every inch of my being through the eyes of unconditional compassion and love, feeling as though I’m seeing myself for the first time, finally, loving myself for the first time. It's the moment when you suddenly become whole. Sloppy, lip biting, smiling in between make out sessions. It's knowing everything about them, their goals, future dreams, and what they want to name their kids. It's being there even though it's a forbidden love, and enjoying every moment.

That's love...the real thing. We are people who love fiercely; we are passion and fire - sparks and energy to last a lifetime. I hold my fire for him, but it burns not only in my heart, but in my blood, so it’s there in every part of my being. No matter what happens next, no matter the choices we make, Ethan had become the hero of my story.

A/N - I’m not a lawyer obviously, so it’s not the most accurate thing I’ve ever written from a professional view. Hope you enjoyed it and if so, feedback is appreciated!

Part 2

Tags: @xalayx @fallinginlove-16 @accalialionheart @heeydolan @heyits-claire @notanotherdolantwinsblog

[jeff-stillcoolasazombie]

The Waiter and the Hotel Heiress- Chapter 2

a Kristanna and Eloise at Christmastime crossover event!

Length: 2741 words

Rating: K+ 

Also read on AO3

A/N: I am clearly booboo the fool if I thought I could start and finish writing an entire Christmas au less than a week before Christmas. I’m really busy the next few days, but I have nothing else in my head except for this story right now, and I have it all mapped out. I will have the whole thing done and posted by New Year’s at the very latest. 

Chapter 2: Red Roses

After gently interrogating the housekeepers the night before, Eloise had determined that Kristoff and Anna belonged together. Yes, Anna was engaged to Hans, but Eloise still sensed there was something off about him. And anyway, what Kristoff and Anna had was true love, and what was more perfect and romantic than literal, actual true love?

Still, if she was going to convince them of that, Eloise would need to find legitimate reasons (as if true love needed reason for anything) for the two of them to connect.

But first, she needed to be absolutely sure that Anna still cared for Kristoff. Although Eloise was pretty certain that she did.

Naturally, with the nuptials mere days away, Eloise knew to find Anna in the parlor that morning for a dress fitting. “Hi Anna,” she said, strolling right up to the podium Anna was standing on. “Gosh, fancy running into you here.”

Anna gave the child a polite smile. “Hello, Eloise. What do you think of my dress?” She was wearing an ivory colored satin gown, the flared mermaid hem currently being altered with pins by a parlor seamstress. 

Eloise thought Anna looked divine, but only gave a cursory glance. “Oh fine, I guess. Only I’ve been thinking, and aren’t you afraid that you might be rushing into things a little?” She began wandering around the small section of the room, pretending to be more interested in other bridal things as she spoke.

A confused look fell across Anna’s face. “You mean the wedding?” she clarified. “A couple of days ago you thought it was the most romantic thing you’d ever heard.”

“Well, it is,” Eloise said, trying not to back-peddle. A Christmas wedding was the most romantic thing Eloise had ever heard of, but forget whatever she said or thought. Right now she needed to focus on the task at hand, which was to test the waters and see how deep Anna’s feelings for Kristoff still lingered. Eloise continued, “I mean, when you’re absolutely sure it’s the right thing, because you really know the guy. Like really, really, really know him.” She paused in front of a floor length mirror to look back at Anna’s reflection. “Like you know Kristoff, for instance,” she said nonchalantly.

“You’re quite fond of him, aren’t you?” Anna said, laughing.

“Of course. He’s my best friend,” Eloise answered happily. And she listed off all the reasons Kristoff was so great. “He’s funny and charming and he lets me win every sword fight.” That last one might have been a bit biased toward six-year-olds, so Eloise added, “And no matter how tired he is, he’ll always play me a song on the piano.”

Anna beamed. “Did he teach you the little dances that go with them?” she asked, her face lighting up at the memory of playing music with Kristoff. 

Then right there, Anna hopped off the dress podium (to the seamstress’s dismay) and started tap dancing with Eloise, humming a silly tune before ending in a little surprise twirl. The two girls giggled.

“Oh, he could make me laugh so hard with that,” Anna said full of glee. She lowered herself down a bit to meet the six-year-old’s eye. “Sometimes, I’d sneak down after the parties were over and we’d put on these little shows together, just the two of us. And I remember this one time we—“

Anna stopped suddenly, catching a glimpse in the mirror at herself in a beautiful bridal gown. She was supposed to be preparing to marry Hans, not reminiscing over ancient memories about Kristoff. Her face fell back into a neutral expression at the thought.

“Well. It doesn’t really matter now,” Anna said with a sad smile. She rose back up to the podium. “We’ve both moved on.”

Eloise frowned, for only a split second, before changing the topic. “Yeah. Good ol’ Kristoff,” the girl said. “Only I wish I could figure out who his girlfriend is.”

Anna’s head perked up. “His girlfriend?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Eloise started, playing with some veils to seem distracted from the leading comments. “But this morning I was in the kitchen, and I heard him ordering flowers over the phone. I mean, what else could I think? You don’t just send red roses to just anyone.” She glanced at Anna’s reflection in the mirror again, searching for any hint in the woman’s face.

“Red roses?” Anna herself had received an arrangement of beautiful red roses just that morning. It seemed too coincidental that Kristoff would’ve ordered red roses for some other girl, right? 

Eloise knew it wasn’t coincidence at all. Kristoff hadn’t sent anyone roses; in fact, Anna’s roses were delivered by Eloise herself. But sometimes true love needed a little help. 

———

FIVE YEARS EARLIER, THE SAME DAY

Kristoff wasn’t at all sure which university the Christmas party belonged to, but he immediately found that it didn’t matter in the slightest. Most parties—especially around the holidays—had the same general decorative layout and duties, he learned.

True to her word, Anna was waiting by the entrance of the Gold room at 1:45, just like they’d agreed. She was wearing the same pink blouse from that morning but now with a brown skirt, her red hair in an elaborate braid. At least she had more appropriate clothes on now. She waved at Kristoff giddily when she saw him, and he gave her a polite smile in return. All of the other employees greeted her as she walked past, but other than that no one really regarded her more. It was as if her presence was a natural occurrence and expected without question. She was just another person helping out. 

And yet, every single task she performed with immense cheer, Kristoff noticed. She wanted to help, but more so she was glad to, it made her happy to help. Kristoff smiled every time he looked up to see Anna setting up some table or decoration or another. Her family was so wealthy, she could afford to spend her time doing whatever she wanted, but instead she was helping the waitstaff in the ballroom, because she liked doing it. Because she thought it was fun, she had said. 

Anna was not allowed to stay for the party, however; she was escorted up to her room by a well-dressed older woman Kristoff didn’t know around four, about an hour before the party was set to begin. Despite being the heiress of the entire hotel, Anna would not be allowed the fun excitement of attending the actual party. It seemed that there might be many things, perhaps, that Anna wasn’t allowed to do.

Along with setting up for the party, Kristoff was also expected to serve trays of food and drinks during the evening. Normally, Kristoff was not supposed to work such long shifts, from morning till night, but larger events—particularly during the holidays, when there were so many of them—were more demanding. And considering it was only the third of December, he knew he had a lot of long work days ahead of him. 

The party finally wrapped up around nine, and although Kristoff was exhausted from the mad rush of constantly running to and from the kitchen to provide food and Christmas ambience for such a crowd of people, he was also pumping with adrenaline. It was hard work, and there was never a moment of rest, but it was interesting just being in the same vicinity as such high society. Kristoff wasn’t sure if he would ever desire to be a part of this elite someday, based on some of the conversations he had eavesdropped on; no, just experiencing it by way of waitstaff was enough.

Since it was his first day, a senior waiter named Robert had taken Kristoff under his wing during the event, teaching him the ropes and showing him how to tear down the ballroom afterward. “Almost every party, from set-up to clean-up, goes exactly the same,” Robert told him.

At ten fifteen, they were just finishing clearing off the tables of their floral arrangements when Kristoff noticed someone standing in the corner of the room. He suddenly realized it was Anna, watching the staff attentively but not reaching out to help.

“Does she always spy on the servers after parties?” Kristoff asked Robert quietly, nodding towards Anna.

Robert looked up her subtly. “Not always, but often enough that no one ever acknowledges it,” he said.

She stayed there waiting until finally Kristoff was finished and went over to her where she was leaning against the wall now. “Isn’t it a bit late for girls your age to be down here unchaperoned?” he asked teasingly. He found that the party atmosphere had given him new confidence, and spending the afternoon along side her had made him even more at ease around her.

Her arms were crossed, and she feigned offense at his remark. “Excuse you, I’m not some lost ingenue with no idea of what time it is. My father happens to be the owner of this hotel, and if I am to take over for him someday, I need to be aware of every little thing that goes on.” She gave Kristoff a wry yet encouraging smile.

“Really?” he said coolly. “So then what’s going on at the Plaza for the rest of the night?” Part of him said it to be funny and to hear what crazy excuse Anna would come up with, but another part of him felt his energy waning. Still he humored her. “You’ve only been standing here for the past few minutes, so you must have some kind of ulterior motive by coming down.”

Anna smirked. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking of heading over to the Terrace room, to check on things over there,” she answered. “Would you like to come?”

There hadn’t been anything going on in the Terrace room that day, and she knew it. “What do you want in there?” he asked confused.

“Would you like to join me?” she asked him again. “Seeing as how I’m apparently in need of a chaperone,” she added.

Kristoff blushed. “That was a— I didn’t mean to—“ He stopped talking and took stock in the heiress’s proposal. She wanted to hang out with him. A situation like this could lead into scandalous territory, especially for him as the male and the employee. Still, it sounded like fun, and Anna had promised him that morning that she wouldn’t get him into trouble.

“Sure,” he finally said, giving a small grin. “Just let me clock out.” The least he could do if he was going to sneak around the hotel with the owner’s daughter was to clock out on time.

Anna followed Kristoff into the break area of the kitchen (he had forgotten she was allowed pretty much anywhere) where he punched his card, returned his waiter’s jacket and bowtie, and reached for his own coat. He caught Anna staring at his torso, and he remembered the dress shirt he was wearing was just a bit too tight on him, revealing the tone and outline of his chest. He debated removing the dress shirt in favor of just the t-shirt he had on underneath. Maybe this was actually a bad idea. 

But before Kristoff could change his mind, Anna had grabbed him by the forearm and was guiding him through the kitchen to the Terrace room.

Kristoff had only briefly peeked in the Terrace room earlier, just to familiarize himself with all the ballrooms. The Terrace room was one of the larger event spaces at the Plaza and featured a grand piano in one corner. The lights in the room were dimmed, since there had been no event in there that evening.

“What are we doing here, Anna?” he asked once they got there.

“Can you play piano?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “I only know the guitar.” His aunt and uncle had gifted him an old guitar when he was a boy and playing it became a happy solace when he tired of mountain life.

“Oh, well, guitar and piano are very similar, I’ve heard,” Anna said. “I can teach you.”

She sat down at the piano bench, and when he didn’t immediately join her, she furiously motioned for him to sit to her left.

Kristoff did so but hesitantly. No, she wouldn’t purposely get him into trouble, but they were still two teenagers sitting very close together on a piano bench. As he sat closer to her, he noticed she smelled like lavender and roses. Meanwhile, he smelled faintly of sweat and grilled chicken.

“We’ll play the same notes, but I’ll take the high part and you can do the low,” she said, stretching her hands lightly across the keys. He copied her, focusing on her fingers instead of her face or her scent. 

Anna showed him which keys corresponded with which notes and taught him some simple chords. She then taught him how to play “Jingle Bells”, both just the melody and the full song. 

“How long have you been playing piano?” he asked her after about twenty minutes. Kristoff could tell she was downplaying her own skills to teach him the basics and make him less self-conscious.

“Since I was four,” she said without looking up at him. “I stopped taking lessons when I was twelve, so now I just play for fun.”

He smirked. “Do you do this often? Sneak down here and play for fun?”

Anna stopped playing now and looked at his face. “Fine, you caught me,” she said with a reserved expression. “This isn’t a regular thing for me. But I wanted to get to know you better, and I thought this would be a fun way of letting loose.”

Kristoff tried to hide his surprise at her response. She wasn’t just wanting to have fun after the party. She specifically wanted to have fun with him. Was that also not a common thing? Did she pick an employee at random every once in a while to hang out with?

He studied Anna’s face. She had the biggest eyes he had ever seen, the most perfect shade of robin’s eye blue. He noticed a light dusting of freckles all over her blushed ivory skin. And with his body so close to hers, Kristoff realized just how petite she was compared to him, like he could cradle her entire body in his arms alone. She was so beautiful.

In the distance, Kristoff heard the chime of a clock strike eleven. “It’s getting late,” he finally said, stopping himself from continuing his suggestive thoughts about her. He got up from the bench. “I should be going home, and it’s probably best for you to go back to your suite before your family notices you’re gone.”

Anna gave a small smile and sighed. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “Thank you for humoring me. But at least you have a new skill to practice in your down time,” she said, gesturing to the piano.

Kristoff laughed and helped her up. They walked back together through the staff corridors—the best way, Anna assured him, to navigate the hotel after hours. He guided her to the freight elevator, which she insisted on using. Never mind that the service elevator would be utilized by any housekeepers making their evening rounds.

Anna leaned towards Kristoff as she waited for the elevator. “You did very well today,” she said, “very good work all around.”

He realized that she was grading his work ethic and laughed. “Glad to hear I’m doing a good job at my job.” 

Her eyes lit up with hope now. “Same time tomorrow night?” she asked happily. She did not ask about room service in the morning or setting up for events during the day. Those encounters would be guaranteed. Late night piano sessions were not.

He looked down at her, then past her at a counter with floral arrangements leftover from the university party. Without thinking, he pulled out a rose and gave it to her. Anna cupped it in her small hands.

“See you tomorrow, Anna,” he said. 

And with his first shift at the Plaza complete, Kristoff knew he had many more exhausting days ahead of him. But they would all be worth it if he got to spend just an hour every evening being with her.

[what-you-dont-surrender]

K.E. 2x06 Analysis

The sex scene! I called it! Not going to go too much into this, it was basically what I said to a T so you can read that here. 

I also said the following in a gifset about V watching through the window: 

Okay but, look at her. She’s not crying, she’s observing, she’s calculating. That’s the face she makes when she’s observing and adapting. That slight raise of her head on the last gif, she’s decided her next step. Does it sting? Yeah, probably. And that’s part of her hashing out her feelings for Eve, but she’s also planning. That, to me, is far more important. She did tell him to try it with his wife, it was for a reason. 

The reoccurring theme of "you're not alone" here is perfect. This episode really strives towards letting Eve know that she has Villanelle, they're similar, and only they both understand what the other feels and thinks.

Ew V, brushing your teeth with Eve's toothbrush doesn't count as a kiss, come on. 

V is going out of her comfort zone for Eve! Look at her NOT killing someone, so endearing. And she really does struggle with it. 

V’s apartment:

"Who do you want?" Such a great question to start this episode off on because if there is something V establishes in this episode is who she is. 

She shows Eve all of these people she's been and she can be at will: change her accent, her language, her posture, her demeanor, her life story. But none of them are her and she is all of them. And part of this episode will be about just that, getting Eve to see and understand that V is not one dimensional, she is not just one thing at a time, she is complex and layered; both vulnerable and deadly all at once. 

And then there's the name: Billie - Bill. So is V doing this as her form of an apology or is it a jab? Maybe it's both. 

Eve calls Hugo Kenny, doesn't care for the mistake, is definitely detached from pretty much everyone. 

The Moscow Rules! Apply! To! Their! Dynamic! Too! I love the writing-between-the-lines going on in this episode. 

Villanelle recognizes that Carolyn is also on the spectrum. She can sense Carolyn's detachment from others, her demeanor, and (thought she doesn't know) Carolyn's inability to form lasting relationships. Even claiming she's careful about how much she loves her own son. I wonder if seeing someone like her in a different career, playing a different role, intrigues V. The possibility of a different future perhaps?

Eve are you jealous? You're no longer the "real boss", you're no longer the only one who V knows is like her. Interesting. 

The “us” scene:

Eve chose Niko BECAUSE he is normal; he works as a grounding mechanism. 

She knew when she entered their marriage that he'd never be up to snuff but stayed because she felt the pull of that darker side of her psyche. Eve is now becoming more accepting of it though, she even enjoys it. Hence why she didn't deny V's "us" comment. She's beginning to accept that part of herself. Villanelle, on the other hand, is becoming more insistent and more blunt because she sees Eve's underlying desire to break out of her shell. (Not alone, part 2)

SESSION TIME!

So many layers to this, lets dig in. 

Villanelle using Eve as her background story to spite her is gold, because yes, she uses it to provoke Eve but also because it places Eve as the patient. The counselor's reaction was super telling, expressing that Eve has constantly placed herself as a victim to those who will not comply to her whim. She is far too "up her own arse" per se, to see why Niko wants to leave her. She's focused on getting her way despite of, or even at the cost of, others, choosing to instead play the "blame game". Even better, Eve is forced to hear this herself. She hears a counselor and a group of people who have experienced mental health issues express that she's too focused on her self-pity. And while this angers her it also functions as a catalyst, forcing eve to see more and more how much she has been spiraling and that she is, indeed, part of that "us". 

And what does Eve do when confronted with this? She lashes out. If you ask me, her anger is a bit exaggerated, which tells me she's aware that V is right about her but hates having to face the reality. "...this is over...the first rule is honesty..." These lines feel like they're not about the case at all, but have an underlying meaning for Eve. And it shows given V's reaction: "You asked me to come work for you"/ "How can I be honest...?" She’s just as confused, Eve isn’t making much sense. Until things fall in line: "aren't YOU?" which Eve doesn't answer because, yes she IS, she has been playing a different person her entire life. And then Eve does it, she questions V's abilities and we see the tiniest flinch. I love V's lines here because we see her draw a line in the sand. V has lived her entire life authentically as who she truly is. She embraced her mentality and her darkness from a very early age and was not afraid to relinquish all possibility of a normal life as long as she could be true to who she was. And yet here is Eve, someone who has worked to oppress her own nature, questioning her capacity and her ability to perform something that's such a bit part of her identity. And so V places her boundaries: do not underestimate her, do not forget who she is and what she can do. And that last line. It's a jab of sorts. Eve refuses to accept her own nature, so if she wants to be normal then the only thing left interesting in her life is Villanelle. "We'll try again in the morning," Eve won't shut the door to the possibility of a different life, but she needs time. 

I don’t think Eve misses Niko, sociopathic individuals just don’t fare well with major life changes. He grounds her, she knows that, so she’s scared of what she’ll become now.

Session 2! My! Favorite!

So, once you guys get to read my full meta you'll see the breakdown of how I arrived here but for now just know I've diagnosed Villanelle with antisocial personality disorder. She's also an overt narcissist. With this in mind, let's dive in. 

V admits to an inability to be truthful but most importantly, she doesn't understand the concept of it. The why, the how. Reality, and thus truth, is so boring for her so why would she choose to delve into it more than she already has to? This is also probably why she enjoys her work, she gets to suspend her reality enough and focus on a task, serving as a distraction. She probably doesn't even enjoy her work per se, but finds it’s the only way she can allow herself to be who and how she is, as society has no place for her. 

She finds her life both boring and herself incapable of feeling anything. This lack of emotional response to any form of stimuli is a staple for people who're in the APD spectrum. It has been speculated that some people with APD aren't incapable of feeling but simply feel far too fleetingly and their emotions manifest themselves in very low levels for them to a. sense them or b. recognize them. Villanelle has self-awareness and that's a significant feat in itself. She shows a form of frustration or annoyance/displeasure at her reality. She knows there are things others feel, others experience, that she lacks and this state of not-knowing is something she can’t embrace. So she seeks anything that may arise a semblance of an emotion, however small. Her work, staring at her dying victims eyes, Eve; they're all things she chases seeking a sense of normalcy. 

I want to touch on a few details: while we must remember that V is calculative and thus this entire speech is done with the knowledge of Eve listening in so yes, ulterior motive, it is also based on V's truth. While the tears may be questionable and perhaps mostly there as a form of maintaining her appearance as a normal individual while she's undercover there are a few facial expressions that are classic V. Slight facial twitches here and there and then, what caught my attention the most, her searching eyes. "I wake up and I think 'Again? Really?'" Here her eyes search, moving from side to side, as one does when engaged in conversation. This isn't practiced or rehearsed, to me, this is a glimpse into V's mind, into thoughts she's had about her person. "I have to do this again?" And the steel eyes come in, a sense of frustration, of exhaustion, of mind-numbing boredom, takes over her features. 

Now lets take a look at Eve, she's so in-tuned with what V's saying. For one, it seems she didn't expect V to be candid after their last encounter but most importantly, she seems to recognize the sentiment. She is engrossed listening to all the things V expresses she does hoping to feel something, there is a sense of recognition, of familiarity. And this may very well be why V decided to voice such thoughts, stirring that feeling in Eve. A sort of "see? I feel this and I know you feel it too. Isn't it so dull? Isn't it exhausting?" This move is purposeful but it doesn't necessarily mean it isn't honest. (Not alone, part 3)

And then V kills the bodyguard! 

Because what does V do after she opens up every time? She deflects, she jokes, she redirects the attention to any other facet of her person BUT the tiny crack of humanity she just exhibited. Sure, on one hand it’s her way of dealing with this obstacle, in another its a way of showing Eve that she handles things her own way, and it also tells Eve "I am both. I am that person who just opened up and I am this. Accept me as I am, or not at all." We see how detached she is during the kill, how indifferent, showing how no matter what she does she can’t shake the feeling of nothingness. But let’s take a look at Eve too: there's the initial shock of surprise, the heavy breathing, and then she holds V's stare and she begins to calm. V is observing here, perhaps trying to read Eve, was this too soon? How will she take it? And then when she sees Eve cool and collected, head raised high, determined and daring, she smirks and then returns the gaze. "What if I don't really know how I feel?" Man, the soundtrack nails it. 

Lol Carolyn don't care Eve! She knew V would go rouge sometimes.

The Gemma scene! Pretty obvious its Eve being territorial and her pride being wounded but the most important part of it for me was: "Are you scared?" 

My dear Eve, are you mimicking behavior here? It's a lovely sight. It’s like when a lion cub is learning how to hunt, a bit messy but the intention is there. 

Peel's home 

"If it bored you, you must've studied it, so you can at least detail the argument for it." Interesting choice of words here from Peel, bringing back that idea of boredom. 

We can see V struggling to NOT kill someone and it's so captivating. 

Also, Amber SO loved that smack lol

And here we see Eve as her handler! 

Isn't it lovely? Look at Konstantin directing Eve, telling her to give her space, let her cool off. 

Teaching her how to manage V. 

And then we see the chase scene with the girls. Honestly, I haven't made up my mind about this scene because it feels like it's sort of a transitional scene with the next episode so it's up in the air. V obviously scares them to later show up and get them to lower their guard, allowing them to enter a state of comfort. She has a tendency to do that, manipulate a situation to lull the other person into a sense of safety only to strike or get her way. My guess is she's either going to kill those girls or sleep with them as a way to distract her from the failed mission she just walked out of. 

The previews! I'm gonna hold off on those for a bit. For now, I hope you enjoyed this until I finish the episode-by-episode analysis.