#that maybe even had her own memories meddled with

[roughentumble]

@hale-of-stiles-heart musing to myself what wouldve made x-men origins wolverine better, and obviously the answer is "scrap it entirely and write the movie over again" but like. would kayla have been a more interesting character if she were genuinely aligned with the villains? if she'd genuinely been using her powers to influence logan's opinions and feelings? i feel like that would just make her more one-dimensional and people would get mad at the femme fatale type character, but sometimes a one-note villain is more fun than a one-note love interest..... idk.

[pretzel-box]

STREAMER AU MASTERLIST HERE

CHAPTER 6: I AM RIGHT AND I HAVE WON

tags: I don't know how to tag this? Painter exposes Allison?

words: 4k

authors note: I am not happy with how I wrote it, I blame the lack of a laptop.

In the span of three weeks, moved five individual people in five individual places.

Sebastian was the first,

After Allison had exposed his roommate a week ago, he was confused, angry and somewhat surprised. The man found himself glancing at everything that was connected to you, the bedroom door, the empty work desk, the chinese takeout shop and most importantly the second helmet for his bike.

This particular helmet wasn't really yours but you wore it so much in the past that it was basically owned by you.

Those little things conflicted him dearly, since he was sure, even with your weird love-hate friendship, did you both co-existed pretty well.

Yet, even as those small reminders tugged at him, Allison's words kept looping in his mind.

They set you up, you know that, right? she had said, her voice laced with feigned concern. All this time, they’ve been playing you—just so they could stay close to Solace. You're just a pawn.

Sebastian couldn't shake it off. The idea that you, the person who had shared his space and a fragile, weird friendship with him, might have been using him gnawed at him. He hated how much it made sense. Allison had laid it out perfectly—too perfectly, in hindsight—but in the chaos of everything, it sounded believable.

The constant replay of that accusation left him uneasy, and now every memory was tainted with doubt. The late-night laughs, the casual banter, even the tension that always bubbled beneath the surface. Was all of that staged? Was your connection to him just a ploy? He didn’t want to believe it, but Allison’s words had already planted the seed.

And then there was the part that unsettled him the most.

According to Allison, you loved him, in a way that bordered on obsession. She had claimed that every time you looked at him, it was with a deeper attachment than he’d realized—something beyond friendship, beyond even the regular crush. It was an unhealthy fixation. He was the center of your world, and it had all been hidden behind the mask of your chaotic yet comfortable interactions.

Sebastian felt conflicted. He hadn't noticed anything like that before. Sure, you had your quirks, but it never crossed his mind that it went that deep. Maybe he missed it because he'd never seen you in that light.

But that’s where the real problem lay—what he didn’t know was that Allison’s words were a lie, carefully crafted to make him doubt everything. You didn’t love him in that unhealthy way, and you’d never set him up. But the damage was done. The seed of doubt had been planted, and Sebastian was starting to wonder if everything between you had been a game all along.

Sebastian only found comfort in a single person right now, his best friend.

He swung his leg over his bike, secured his helmet, and drove off to visit his friend once more.

The second was Mama Solace.

Sebastian’s mother had finally found the time and money for a much-needed vacation, and it just so happened to be close to her son. A coincidence? Perhaps not. She loved Sebastian fiercely, more than life itself, and it was time once again to remind him of that with one of her unexpected, affectionate visits.

The last time she had dropped by was when you first moved in, becoming Sebastian’s roommate.

Oh, how she adored you from the moment she laid eyes on you. You had all the qualities she dreamed of in a partner for her son—sweet, caring, and just the right amount of fierce. She saw the connection between you two right away, even if Sebastian refused to acknowledge it. In her mind, you were already the perfect match for her precious boy. You had no idea just how often she'd drop hints, trying to nudge Sebastian toward you, much to his exasperation.

But that was Mama Solace—she loved to meddle in the most loving way possible. This visit would be no different.

She sat in the comfort of the plane, ready to depart from her home country to meet you two again.

The third person was Allison.

She darted around a local clothing store, her father’s credit card clutched in her manicured fingers like it was a divine gift. Her gel nails clicked against the plastic as she browsed the racks, the shopping spree a temporary balm for the simmering rage she felt toward you. Her irritation with you had long passed the point of tolerable, and only the thrill of buying something new could calm her nerves.

How dare you disrupt her carefully laid plans? All you had to do was stay in your lane, accept your role, and everything would have gone smoothly. But no—you had to get in the way, threatening the perfect web of control she thought she had spun. The plan had been flawless, but now, with every step you took, you were messing it all up.

Sebastian, thankfully, was still in the dark about everything. He was too distracted, too wrapped up in his own confusion to see the truth right in front of him. But that was fine with her. Allison believed she held all the cards. She had you, Sebastian, and the whole situation under her control—or so she thought.

She smiled to herself, picking up a striking red dress—perfect for her next date with Sebastian. The fabric would hug her in all the right places, showing off her figure. In her mind, it was only a matter of time before he saw her the way she pretended to see him, and this dress would be another step toward that.

As she stepped up to the cash register, her confidence faltered when the cashier swiped her card and it declined. Her father was still furious with her, apparently. She gritted her teeth in frustration, but quickly smoothed over her expression. She wasn't about to let this minor inconvenience ruin her day.

Without missing a beat, Allison pulled out her phone, her fingers dancing across the screen like it was second nature. She knew exactly how to handle this.

"Hey, handsome," she texted, her words dripping with flirtation. "Mind helping your favorite girl out?~"

It was easy—too easy, in fact. She had gotten used to manipulating situations to her advantage, and she was confident Sebastian would give her money. He always did.

Then there was Painter.

While Allison paid with Sebastian’s help and strolled out of the shop, Painter quietly entered his own—at the other end of the city center. Today, the usual sleek black suit made from expensive cotton was left in the closet. Instead, he wore a casual outfit: thrifted brown pants, a simple white shirt, and a green checkered vest that his mother had picked out for him years ago. He never liked it at first, but eventually, he came to admit—green was definitely his color.

Dressed like this, Painter looked like any other trendy, laid-back guy. You'd never guess he was the heir to Urbanshade, one of the most powerful companies around. His father had been grooming him for years to take over, especially after Painter managed to graduate from Yale with top honors. He was the pride of the family—a model Ivy League student, exactly as his parents had always hoped for.

But unlike his friend Sebastian, who lived by his own chaotic set of rules, Painter was always one of those people who excelled in everything, effortlessly. To the outside world, he was the golden child, the genius destined for greatness.

Yet for Painter, it was all a curse. His intelligence, his success—it only weighed him down, shackling him to a future he didn’t want. His heart was never in the world of business, but his family couldn't see that. To them, he was the prodigy who would continue the legacy. To him, it was a prison. The more success he achieved, the more trapped he felt.

It was why he enjoyed days like this—disappearing into the city, blending into the crowd where nobody knew or expected anything from him. Just for a little while, he could pretend to be someone else, a simple tech shop owner that tries to raise his own money to open up a small art studio instead.

While he worked, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the keys of his laptop, his thoughts inevitably drifted to you. He had seen you a few times with Sebastian in the city, always from a distance. Yet, despite never formally meeting you, he knew more about you than you could have imagined. Sebastian had talked about you often, and though Painter stayed in the shadows of your life, observing from afar, something stirred in his chest whenever he thought of you.

It was ironic, really. He was so familiar with the details of your existence, while you didn’t even know he existed. You were unaware of the person quietly watching your story unfold, aching from the sidelines. There was something about you that captivated him—perhaps it was the way you seemed to bring a kind of life to those around you, or maybe it was simply how you existed in Sebastian’s orbit.

But there was one thing that bothered him more than anything: Allison.

It pained him to know how she had manipulated your life, how she had sunk her claws into Sebastian’s world and, by extension, yours. Painter had known for some time what Allison was up to, and unlike Sebastian, he could see right through her facade.

Just like Allison, Painter had developed his own plan.

But his wasn't born out of selfishness or jealousy. It was something else—something more complex. While he hated to admit it, he wanted to find a way to cross paths with you, to help you in a way that would loosen the hold Allison had over you. And maybe, just maybe, he'd get closer to you in the process.

Though Painter’s mind was sharp, his heart was tangled in emotions he didn’t yet fully understand.

The last person who could understand Painter’s feelings was you.

You were navigating the city streets, your hands busily typing on your phone, trying to figure out where exactly you needed to go. With your streaming account temporarily banned, you had decided to get your laptop fixed—the keys were loose, and the screen was slightly cracked. The device had been with you for years, but it was clearly on its last legs. Maybe it was time for a new one, but for now, fixing it seemed like the easier option.

Eventually, you spotted it: a neat little shop with good reviews online. It seemed like the right place, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.

Immediately, the smell of coffee greeted you. The shop had a warm, comfortable atmosphere, far cozier than you’d expected for a tech repair spot. There were shelves lined with new devices, a small selection of popular games, and a table for waiting customers. Despite the welcoming vibe, the place seemed empty—except for a young man at the counter.

He caught your eye right away, dressed in a casual yet stylish outfit that seemed effortless. His name tag drew your attention next, and you noticed something curious: an elegant name had been crossed out with a dry black marker, replaced with a word scribbled hastily over it—"Painter."

You weren’t sure what to make of him, but something about him seemed different. And without knowing it, the moment you stepped into the shop, you had walked into his world.

"Uhm, hi?" you greeted, your voice breaking the silence.

The young man behind the counter stared at you, caught off guard as if you had walked in at the worst possible moment. His eyes lingered on you for just a second too long, making the situation feel a bit awkward. There was something about the way he looked at you—almost like you had thrown him off balance. The way his gaze fixed on you, wide and a little too intense, made you wonder if you’d interrupted something.

"Oh, h-hello! Welcome, greetings. How can I help you today?" he stammered, clearly flustered. His response was a mix of polite and awkward, as though he hadn’t expected anyone to walk in. Maybe he wasn’t used to customers, or perhaps he was just an intern still getting the hang of things. Either way, he seemed utterly unprepared.

You smiled politely, deciding not to dwell on his awkwardness. "I’m here to get my laptop fixed," you explained, pulling the device from your bag and setting it on the counter. "It's been acting up—some of the keys are loose, and the screen's a bit cracked."

He nodded, though you noticed his hands were a bit shaky as he reached for the laptop. "Right, of course. I’ll take a look."

As he started inspecting the device, you took a moment to glance around the shop again, feeling oddly comfortable despite the rocky start to the conversation. There was something about him, though—his nervous energy, the way he seemed to be trying so hard to maintain a professional front. It was endearing in its own way.

What you didn’t know was that Painter wasn’t usually like this. Normally, he was calm and collected, able to handle even the most difficult situations. But the moment you walked in, something shifted. He had seen you before, from a distance, but never this close, and he wasn’t prepared for the rush of feelings he hadn’t even realized were there.

A small, unspoken crush had quietly crept up on him. He didn’t know why, but there was something about you that drew him in. And now, standing there with your laptop in his hands, he was doing his best to keep it together.

"I can take a look at it later. I’d say you can pick it back up… in like a week?" Painter offered, casting a polite smile your way. His expression was calm and professional, but beneath that exterior, his heart was racing.

You nodded, accepting his answer. After settling some details, you left your beloved laptop in his care, trusting him with the task. It felt strange to part with it, but the shop seemed reliable enough, and Painter—despite his awkwardness—seemed competent.

As you exited the store, you had no idea what you’d just set in motion.

For Painter, this wasn’t just a simple repair job. When you left your laptop with him, you unknowingly handed him exactly what he needed—the tools to execute the plan he’d been carefully crafting. Allison had been manipulating both you and Sebastian for far too long, and now Painter had the opportunity to expose her for what she truly was.

Your laptop would be the key to unraveling her schemes, and he was determined to set everything right, even if it meant crossing a few lines along the way.

Five people had already been moved. Now, it was Painter's turn to move them again, or at least some of them.

He had you exactly where he wanted. You left the shop, your laptop in his possession. That was step one. Now, he had to breach your digital privacy. He’d never done anything like this before, and the thought of doing what Allison had once done left a heavy weight in his gut. Yet, as soon as you left, he got to work. The laptop was old, practically ancient, but logging into your profile was easy—there wasn’t even a password. Your naivety was almost charming.

Everything was there—passwords, emails, data, and every digital memory. It was essentially Jelly’s—no, your—entire identity, captured in one place. He could call Sebastian, expose the laptop, and reveal his nasty girlfriend’s secrets. But no, Painter was above that. He preferred to play god.

His personality was usually against it but he will gladly bend the rules for his best friend…and his own potential crush.

Step two was breaching the streaming website to reclaim your account. A task simple enough for a Yale student with the right tools. Allison thought she'd been 'Jellycatfished,' but now it was Painter in control.

The account was exactly as you and Allison had left it. He couldn’t resist clicking on one of the stream recaps, your voice filling the room through the laptop speakers. There it was—undeniably yours.

He snatched his phone off the counter and dialed a number.

“‘Delia, bring the camera and the good microphone. We’re shooting something at the shop.” Cordelia, another worker in the store and a small-time content streamer, was known for her quirky charm. He knew she was the perfect partner for what he had in mind.

“Painter? For what?” she asked.

“We’re about to make someone a star.”

Cordelia didn’t hesitate. She was on her way, gathering the equipment for a hidden camera setup along with a quality microphone."

Next, it was Painter's turn to text Allison. He still remembered her number from when he’d seen it on Sebastian’s phone. A plan began to form in his mind, one that required precision and just the right touch of manipulation.

'Hey, Allison, right? Sebastian left a gift for you here. Here’s the address.'

He included the shop’s address, carefully typing it out before hitting send. He imagined the moment her phone would buzz, her eyes narrowing at the unexpected message. Would she hesitate, wondering if it was real? Or would her curiosity get the best of her?

Painter smiled to himself. Everything was falling into place. He wasn’t just setting a trap—he was weaving a performance, a story in which Allison would play a crucial role. Now, all he had to do was wait for the show to begin.

It was evening, and the store had long since closed, lights were out, though Painter had left the door unlocked. Everything was meticulously arranged—candles flickered softly, casting a warm glow around the room; a bouquet of red roses sat elegantly on the counter. But the centerpiece was Painter himself, dressed in an expensive, perfectly tailored cotton suit. He had spent hours preparing, adjusting his tie, combing his hair, making sure every detail was flawless. As he caught his reflection in the window, he almost didn’t recognize himself. He had never looked better.

Then, the door creaked open, and Allison stepped in. She wore a tight red dress that clung to her in all the right places, her hair perfectly styled. She carried herself with an air of confidence, as if she expected something grand—but her eyes betrayed her surprise as they scanned the room. The soft candlelight, the roses, and finally, they settled on Painter.

For a moment, there was silence as their gazes met.

"Let me introduce myself," Painter began, his voice calm and formal, though inside, the sweetness of his own tone made him sick. He forced a charming smile, the kind that was too perfect, too practiced. "I’m Painter—it’s a nickname," he added with a soft chuckle, as if trying to break the ice. "And I’m the heir to Urbanshade Corp."

He let the weight of his words linger, watching her reaction. He could see the curiosity in her eyes, the slight confusion.

"You’re probably wondering why you’re here," he continued, his voice smooth and rehearsed, like this was a well-orchestrated play.

This wasn’t just a conversation—it was a performance, and she had walked right into his scene.

"Painter? What’s going on? Where’s Sebastian?" Allison asked, her voice laced with surprise, though Painter could see she was already caught in his web.

"He’s not here. Sorry, I lied," Painter admitted, his tone smooth, but with a playful hint. He took a slow step toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. "Can you really blame me for wanting to be alone with someone so beautiful?"

He took another step, closing the distance between them.

"So... funny."

He was closer now, almost brushing against her.

"And intelligent?" His voice dropped to a whisper as he stood chest to chest with her, his breath warm against her ear.

Allison's eyes flickered with realization. The heir to Urbanshade Corp, standing so close, so eager—was he asking her out? Maybe it wasn’t so crazy to consider. A man of his status, his wealth... she could have a little fun on the side. A side fling wouldn’t hurt, right?

She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the crisp fabric of his suit under her fingers, catching the scent of his expensive aftershave. "You’re quite charming yourself," she said, her voice laced with a fake giggle designed to make men fall at her feet. But Painter played along, his smile widening.

"Oh?" he murmured, his voice dripping with charm. "Maybe you’d like to show me just how much?"

Allison leaned in, rising onto her toes to meet his height, her lips brushing close to his own, not touching yet. The tension between them was thick, charged with unspoken possibilities. For a brief moment, Painter thought he had her, that she was playing into his hands.

But then she stopped.

His lips hovered just shy of her skin as he whispered, "How much... you’re lying."

The playful edge in his tone had vanished, replaced by cold calculation. He would love to slap her, simply for cheating on his best friend. But now was hardly the time, not like this.

“You are not supposed to be his girlfriend. You are not Jelly and you don't deserve him.” His words caught her in surprise before she seemed to laugh.

“What do you know? They stole my identity! Ask Sebastian! I am the victim!” It was a poor try to defend herself.

“A victim? Another brilliant lie, congratulations. You officially make me sick.” The words were enough to set off her rage and she raised a hand to hit him, a hand that he caught in the middle of the action. “Don't you dare.”

“You know what? Fine, to hell with you. I am NOT them but it doesn't matter because everyone believes me anyways. I HAVE PLAYED YOU ALL. I GOT THE ACCOUNT BANNED. FUCK YOU, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU STUPID IDIOTS. SEBASTIAN IS MINE AND I WON. I AM RIGHT AND I HAVE WON. I STOLE THEIR IDENTITY AND BECAME JELLYCATFISHED.”

Suddenly, the ceiling lights blazed to life, flooding the store in harsh white light. Allison blinked, momentarily blinded, as Cordelia stepped out from behind the shadows, a sly grin on her face.

"And that’s a wrap!" Cordelia announced, her voice dripping with amusement. "Great work, everyone. So authentic, Painter." She shot her boss a playful wink.

Allison’s eyes darted from Cordelia to Painter, confusion overtaking her. A second ago, she had been in control—or so she thought. But now, the anger and seduction drained from her face, replaced by a wide-eyed, flabbergasted look. She felt like a deer caught in headlights, utterly lost.

"You see," Painter began, his voice smooth but laced with triumph, "43 thousand people just witnessed your grand confession. Live and in full HD." He let the weight of his words sink in, a twisted smile forming as he saw the realization dawn in her eyes. "You’re a star now, Allison. Just like you always wanted to be."

Cordelia had filmed it all—the near-cheating, the manipulation, the confession—and streamed it live on Jellycatfished, the very platform that had become Allison’s downfall.

Painter took a step back, admiring his work. His plan had come together beautifully, every detail falling into place like a carefully painted masterpiece. He couldn’t help but applaud himself mentally for the sheer brilliance of it all. Soon enough, the lawsuit would hit Allison—public shame was only the beginning.

Outside the store, Sebastian stood frozen, just out of sight but close enough to hear everything. His phone was clenched tightly in his hand, his knuckles white with the pressure. He had seen the signs but ignored them, convinced he knew the truth. But now, as the reality of what had unfolded hit him, it was clear.

He had been wrong. And he had lost.

[lloovvv]

A Forgotten Bond

Wanderer x Fem!Y/N. fluff, a sprinkle of angst, reunion, will have three parts, proper capitalization this time

decided to feed y’all bcs i don’t want to be gone this long

words: 1,215

sypnosis (this’ll be kind of long): Wanderer, after getting his memories from the past back after erasing himself from Irminsul, avoids you at all cost. why? because back when he was a harbinger, you were a close friend, or maybe more, and you endured all his breakdowns, harsh treatment, venomous words, all while not abandoning him. after getting the electro gnosis and running away from the Fatui to become an archon with dottore’s help, he abandoned you without a word, only muttering about Sumeru. therefore, he thinks that you don’t deserve meeting him again. but Nahida, our dear archon, has other plans in where she’ll push him to meet you again at any chance she gets. due to the Irminsul erasure, memories of him are gone from you completely, meaning this leads to a fresh start.

——————————————————————————————————

Wanderer stood alone, his back pressed against the stone wall of the quiet Sumeru courtyard, watching as the gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the trees above. It had been days since the event that brought him back to his true self, the moment when his memories returned like a flood—memories of his past, his anger, his pain, his love, and his loss. Most of all, he remembered her.

You.

He closed his eyes, gripping his hand into a fist, the memory of your face—the kindness in your eyes, the way you always put up with his cruel words, and yet never once abandoned him. How you stood by him, even when he treated you like a pile of mud, how you loved him when he believed he wasn’t worthy of love.

But that was before. That was before he made a choice to sever the last strings of his humanity, to take the Electro Gnosis, to run from the Fatui and his past, and to rise above it all. He had chosen power over everything else, and in doing so, he had abandoned you—left you behind with nothing but the echoes of his betrayal.

Now, after losing all that, after everything that had come back to him, he was ashamed. Ashamed to face the one person who had always been there, the one person who had stood by his side when no one else would.

He didn’t deserve you.

But fate, also known as Nahida’s meddling, it seemed, had a different plan.

“Hey, Wanderer!” Nahida’s voice broke his thoughts, light and insistent as always.

His eyes snapped open, his heart racing at the sound of her voice. She had found him again.

“You’ve been avoiding her,” Nahida started, her tone casual, but the glint in her eyes told him she knew more than she let on. “You know you can’t keep running forever.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wanderer said sharply, turning to face her. He tried to mask the pain in his voice, but Nahida saw right through him. She always did. Even without reading his mind. She’s not the Goddess of Wisdom for nothing.

“You think I don’t understand?” Nahida crossed her arms, her expression softening. “You think you can just forget everything, including her? You think it’s easy to erase something like that? You can’t outrun your past, Wanderer. Especially not when it comes to her.”

“I’ve already made my choices,” he muttered, his voice heavy. “I don’t deserve to see her again, not after everything I did. After all the hurt I caused her…”

Nahida’s eyes softened. “[y/n] doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember you as Scaramouche or Kunikuzushi, thanks to Irminsul’s erasure. But she’s still forgiving, Wanderer. And you’re still deserving. You deserve a chance to start over. Maybe this time, you can do it right.”

His chest tightened at the mention of your name, a part of him angry, a part of him scared. “I don’t deserve her forgiveness. Not after what I did. She deserves better than me.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Nahida said, her voice sharp, the authority of an Archon present in her words. “She’ll find her own path, but you have to face her. At least give her the chance to make her own decision. Otherwise, you’ll never know what could’ve been.”

Before he could protest, Nahida was already gone, vanishing into the wind with her usual quiet grace. Wanderer stood there, alone again, his thoughts swirling like a storm.

He had been running from his own past for so long. But now, there was no escaping it.

——————————————————————————————————

It didn’t take long before Wanderer found himself near the bustling market square, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound of the crowd, the merchants haggling, the smell of sweet pastries filled the air, but his mind was elsewhere. Somewhere in that crowd, you were waiting, oblivious to the person he once was, to the pain he had caused you.

He could see you now, standing near a stall, bargaining with a merchant. Your laughter after you won the bargain, light and carefree, rang out across the square. You looked the same — your smile, the way you held yourself, the joy in your eyes.

But you didn’t know him. Not as he was. Not as Scaramouche, or the one who had left you broken and abandoned. You knew nothing of the boy he had been, the man he had become, and the pain he carried.

He wanted to turn around, to leave before you could see him. But something inside him — the part of him that remembered the warmth of your touch, the softness of your voice, the way you have always believed in him — held him in place.

Wanderer took a deep breath and stepped forward, his heart heavy, his mind racing.

You turned at the sound of footsteps, your eyes landing on the stranger who had appeared before you. A man, with, honestly some striking features, his indigo hair in a jellyfish cut and a giant kasa hat on his head. There was something… familiar about him. The way his eyes held a weight, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders, and the way he stood, almost as if waiting for something.

For a moment, you two simply stared at each other, the air between thick with unspoken words.

“Do I know you?” you asked, your voice indifferent, feeling confused at the stranger staring at you.

Wanderer swallowed, his throat dry. “I… I don’t think so,” he replied, his voice low, almost too quiet.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. You didn’t know why, but you felt… drawn? to this man, like there was something you were supposed to remember. But it was fleeting, slipping away before you could grasp it.

He took a step back, as if realizing something, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m sorry,” he said, his words heavy with regret. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Before you could say anything else, he turned to leave, his back already retreating into the crowd.

But something inside you stirred—an impulse you couldn’t explain. Without thinking, you called out to him, “Wait!”

Wanderer stopped, his body tense, as if caught between two worlds.

“Do you…” you hesitated, the question lingering in the air, your hand fidgeting as a sign of nervousness. “Do you need help with something?”

Wanderer turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers again. The briefest flicker of recognition passed between the two, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again, the words unspoken.

“I… I think I’ve made a mistake,” he whispered. “Goodbye.”

With that, he vanished into the crowd, leaving you standing there, your heart racing, a strange sense of loss tugging at you.

——————————————————————————————————

Wanderer didn’t know what he was running from. But as he disappeared into the streets of Sumeru, away from you and the fleeting chance to right the wrongs of the past, he realized something: no matter how much he tried to forget, he could never escape the truth.

He didn’t deserve you, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make it right.

[roger-that-cap]

seven summers

bradley bradshaw x fem! reader

this my first fic in what feels like a century for a completely different fandom. i have been gathering up the courage to do this again, and i've been sitting on this for about two months now. take it easy on me y'all i feel like a sixty year old veteran re-enlisting right now and i have NO idea how to reload my weapon

warnings: absolutely none! well theyre a little sad for a minute but nothing that tumblr can't handle

word count: 5.9k

Loud spaces weren’t really in your list of favorite places. You could tolerate bars more than you could do clubs, though, and your best friend took that into consideration when she planned the night out for you two. The music was loud and the people were starting to get rowdy, but at least no one was grinding on you or begging for a dance. That was always when you would wrap it up for the night, shaking your head at even thinking that it was a good idea. 

“Thank you,” you told the bartender, an exceptionally gorgeous older woman who always seemed to have a meddling look on her face. Her hair was lightly waved around her face as she looked you up and down for a second. You thought she was going to say something, but she just nodded at you once with a small smile before you turned away again, facing the crowd of people you were about to delve back into. You were just leaving the bar top with a soda (you were the DD, as always) when you tripped over someone else’s huge shoe. 

“Oh, shit,” a manly voice said as you tripped, and hands caught your arm before you fell over all the way. You looked up and saw a blond man in an achingly familiar navy uniform looking down at you, and your eyes narrowed as his eyes grew wide. “I’m sorry.” 

His uniform nearly brought you to a scene of painful flashbacks. You knew you were bound to run into attractive men in uniforms so close to a base, but there was an air about this man that made you feel like you were almost running right through the mist, right through the shadow of a man that you once knew, and a man that wore that very same uniform as he walked away. 

You loved Alexandra, your friend you met through other friends. The only downside was that she was in the Navy, and that meant that you were almost always surrounded with memories of your ex boyfriend when you were with her. Him and that stupid uniform that stole him away. 

“No worries,” you said after a few seconds, smiling at him. “It’s crowded here.” 

“Oh, nice tattoo,” he said, and your hand immediately went to your collarbone, where the one tattoo you had rested. It was a nicely done tattoo of a honeybee, a mark of your past. Something you probably should have gotten removed, but every time you tried to convince yourself, you gave another reason to not get it removed. Deep down, you knew why you couldn’t go through with it.

“Thank you, I got it a while ago.” That was all you could say as memories flashed in your mind, but you managed to smile. 

“You look really familiar,” he said, and you noticed that he also had an air of confidence to him as well as familiarity. He was an attractive man, almost too perfect. And he had a smile that you knew lured girls in far too often to be completely innocent. 

“I’m kinda new to the area,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Maybe we’ve run into each other at the grocery store or something? Or if you’re a frequent flier at the hospital.” That happened a lot. People you had never had as your own patients would sometimes recognize you, especially if they were often there. 

“Yeah, maybe.” He looked you up and down one more time, almost like he was genuinely trying to figure out what his own mind was trying to remind him, before he nodded his head at you with a small smirk and a toothpick between his lips and left just as quickly as he came. And then your friend was taking his place, jabbering on about something as you tried to clear your own head. 

You never wanted to be one of those people that lived in the past, and for the most part, you weren’t. You lived in the moment. You loved to make new memories, find new things to do, and meet new people. You loved meeting new people. However, the problem with meeting new people, especially men, was that there was that one guy from that one specific relationship that you had gotten yourself in that made it feel like everything was all for nothing. 

Bradley Bradshaw. 

You didn’t even know exactly what it was. You had been in plenty of summer flings that were passionate and fun, but you got over them easily enough. You had met so many people, loved and lost, and they all stuck with you in different ways that all felt sweet in one way or another. But Bradley? There was something about him that stayed with you in a different way. The thought of him kept a lingering taste of something distinct on your tongue. 

In a way, he was the biggest waste of time you had ever spent your life on. There were two years that you shared being officially together, but it felt like forever. You should have known he was trouble the second you saw that military-grade mustache, and the confident walk he always had. You should’ve known he would cause you some pain the second his eyes and his smile proved to be a deadly combo. You poured so much love into that man in a short time in the grand scheme of things, and looking back, it was as much of a waste as it was a privilege. 

For a while, you prayed for his return. He had broken your heart right before he left for his deployment, but that didn’t mean that you wanted anything to happen to him. You prayed for a while for him to come back safely and then come right back to you, and then that progressed into you praying to never see him again. You wished for his safety, you always would, but you never wanted to hear anything about him ever again unless it was saying that he landed safely back on US soil. After that, you wanted his name to be gone with the wind and buried with the dust of time. 

Either way, he was in your thoughts forever and always, regardless of how many summers passed or how many people there were after him, how many you had met to pass the time. And as you stood in the middle of the bar with Alexandra, you were frozen in shock as you realized that you probably manifested the very fighter pilot in front of you.  

He had seen you first. He was surrounded by attractive people in uniforms that you knew had to be his friends, and when you caught the eyes of the very blond man that you fell over before pointing at you with the angle of his head, your jaw dropped a bit. The man from earlier looked at you and slapped Bradley on his back, giving a blinding smirk before saying something to him that you couldn’t hear. 

You were sure you looked silly standing there, freezing up the second you recognized him with a pool stick in your hand. You felt all the tension in your body work together to keep you as straight as a board. You blinked when your friend nudged you, completely oblivious to the mini panic attack you were about to have, and you swallowed and looked away like it didn’t nearly hurt you to stop looking at him. 

You felt like you were drowning. 

“You’re not tapping out or anything, right?” Alexandra asked, narrowing her eyes at you. “We’ve barely been here an hour, and you already have that uncomfortable look on your face.” 

“What look?” You managed to murmur, completely aware that he was still looking at you. His gaze felt as familiar as it had back then.

“The one where you’re looking for escape routes,” she teased, even though she was starting to look concerned. “You do it all the time. Hey, are you okay?” 

“Yeah!” You said, way too loud to be normal. “I’m good.”

You prayed he didn’t approach you. He had plenty of distractions on his side of the room, lots of friends to talk to even though it was obvious they were trying to get him to go over to you. You were hoping that he would never come up to you or look your way again, but you were sick to your stomach when you realized that him walking away would mean he didn’t care nearly as much as you did. 

You closed your eyes for a moment as you tried to understand that none of what you were seeing was a dream. 

“Hi!” A woman’s voice from behind you said, and you turned around. You saw a woman in uniform smiling politely at both you and Alex, and you assumed that she knew her, but then her attention was on you. “I’m sorry, I just had to come over and say I love your dress.” 

You were a simple creature, and one of your fatal flaws was that you were exceptionally friendly. That easily, the tension left your body as you spoke to the woman. You smiled kindly at her. “Thank you! I got it at a thrift store, but you can check the back to see where it’s from if you want!” She grinned at you, and then you saw her eyes wander to your hand. 

“Oh, your ring is pretty, too!” The woman said. “When’s the wedding?” She joked, and you laughed. You wanted a big wedding, back then. Back when you could see the groom in your head, imagine the words he would say, and even imagine your first name combined with his last: Bradshaw. But that was nothing now. 

“Thank you! You’re so sweet. It’s from my mom though, she gave it to me a few years ago.” She gave it to you, her big, shiny ring that her first husband had bought her just as a gift. Instead of pawning it, you begged her to have it. It had no sentimental value to you at all. It kind of looked like an engagement ring, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. It warded off men for the most part, and it was a piece of her. 

“Aw, that’s so sweet. I’m Nat! Most people around here call me Phoenix.” 

You grinned at her and shook her hand before telling her your name, and you knew right then that you liked her. She was extroverted, but very polite. Just your type of person. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” 

“You too!” She smiled at you before she continued her walk to the bar, and you didn’t think anything else of the nice girl in uniform.

The next few minutes went without any issues at all, and you felt like you could ignore the situation at hand and have a good rest of the night with Alex before it was time for you guys to head home. 

“Hey.” 

You weren’t hearing his voice. You just weren’t. You made your next shot in the game and ignored him. 

You could feel him get closer to you, so close you could smell his cologne. Your eyes watered when you realized it was the very scent you picked out for him all those years ago. He still wore it. 

You heard a very manly throat clear from beside you, and you realized that he wasn’t going to give it up. “Hi,” he tried again, and you breathed through your nose and finally turned around, looking face to chest at him before you looked up. 

He was smiling down at you. He was smiling down at you as if nothing had happened, and no time had passed. You smiled back at first like muscle memory, but then your face dropped to a frown almost immediately. His smile fell, too. He nodded at your friend in acknowledgement, but she was too busy eyeing him up and trying to decide if he was a threat to you or the night to know that he was being friendly. 

“Bradshaw,” you said, and his frown got deeper when he realized you called him by his last name. He hated that. You weren’t in the Navy and you had been together, you and he always insisted you reserved the rights to using his real name. Not his call sign, not his last name, but the one his parents had given him. “It’s been a while.” 

“Bradley,” he corrected gently, almost like he thought you genuinely forgot, or like you threw out his first name from your personal dictionary. As if you could ever forget a detail about him. That was the blessing and the curse that he left you with. “You look-” he stopped talking for a moment, and you could have sworn that you saw an ocean of fondness in his pretty eyes that shouldn’t have still been there. “You’re still so beautiful.” 

Your words felt caught in your throat. You wanted to tell him that his tan made him look beautiful. You wanted to say that he had filled out so nicely, and that his scars still fit his face perfectly. You remembered kissing them while laying in the summer sun and you remembered kissing them under the tiny Christmas tree you guys had bought together and plugged in. You were both so broke it only had about ten ornaments on it, but that never mattered. Never to the two of you. “You… still have that mustache.” 

“You always liked it,” he said, a small smile coming back into his expression, but you didn’t give one back. 

“So you’ve kept it growing in hopes to run into me?” 

“Maybe I have,” he answered, and you blinked at him. He had always had a flirty personality. 

You just blinked. “Uh, yeah. That’s nice.” Was it? It was opening every old wound you had ever had. Every wound that was partially healed by another person’s fleeting kisses was being torn right back open by one sighting of Bradley Bradshaw. 

“It’s- it’s amazing to see you, how have you been?” 

You were becoming more and more confused. How in the hell was he being so chipper? Maybe chipper wasn’t the word, he was being polite. Or, maybe it was that he wasn’t falling apart like you were. How? How was he managing politeness when you were hardly breathing? The thought that he would walk away from the conversation like it never happened made you irritable and defensive at the same time. “Why do you care?” 

His brows furrowed, and he was looking at you as if you were saying all the wrong things. “Because I care how you’ve been.” 

“Why?”

He took a look at your friend, who was still staring him down. “Uh, can we talk for a second?” He asked, and you pursed your lips together. 

“No, she’s good right here,” Alexandra said, and you gave her a small smile. 

“No, it’s okay, he’s fine. He’s big, but he’s harmless.” You saw his chest puff up in just the slightest at the mention of his physique, and you rolled your eyes. “We can step outside, but I’m not going home with you.” 

“Okay!” He said, a little too loud for the setting, and you fought back a smile at how excited he was just to talk. You squashed the fondness down. “Okay, uh, come with me.” 

The second your foot hit the gravel outside, his fingers were touching yours. The touch was innocent, but you still yanked your hand away. He backed away understandingly. “Force of habit, sorry.” 

And it was. You remembered his little quirks. You were always pretty independent, and he had always been touchy and protective, so the compromise back then was that he would lay off while you were inside of a building, but he would hold your hand and guide you all he wanted to the second you walked outside. 

“I- uh, I wanted to talk about us.” 

“The past?” You said, crossing your arms. 

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” he said slowly, like he was just then realizing he was treading on very thin ice. 

“We knew each other,” you corrected, fully aware of your friend piecing the situation together by the expression on her face, and you gave her a look that held promises of filling her in. 

“Don’t be like that,” he said, coming a little closer, and you felt your eyes burn when you smelled his familiar scent even more. Your tradition of buying men cologne that matched their personalities had died after Bradley. It was something you didn’t really understand why you did it yourself, but it was fun, and Bradley loved it. He was the fourth guy you had done it with, and he was the last. It just didn’t feel right with anyone else, and it was simply something else you kissed goodbye when you and Bradley went your separate ways. 

“I’m not being any certain way.” 

“I would definitely say that we know each other,” he said, a short chuckle dying on his lips, and you could hear the hurt in his voice.  “We were together nearly every day for two years. We’d sit on the river and on the beach and talk about everything for hours. We road-tripped cross-country. I remember everything you ever told me back home, and I remember the last summer we had together like it was yesterday.” 

You looked back up at him with eyes that you knew had to be full of sadness. “That was four summers ago.” 

You saw it set in with him how much time really had gone by. You watched his eyes widen and his lips poke outwards as he breathed out. “Wow.” 

Had time really not passed for him as slowly as it did to you? 

All you could do was swallow and turn your head away from the breeze. “Yeah.” 

“Do you have a boyfriend now?” 

Part of you was so thrown by his question and his lack of tact, especially because he had been such a good flirt back then. Maybe time had changed him. “I’m married.” 

Immediately, he shook his head with a small smile. “You’re not.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, even though you were enjoying the back and forth. It felt so familiar. “How would you know that?” 

“That was the first thing I checked before I came over,” he admitted, and you cocked your head at him. “I looked at your finger and saw the ring before you even noticed me. And then I asked Phoenix to go over to you and make sure it was what I thought it was, and I was right.” 

You gasped. You should have known that that stupid nickname was a damn callsign, the glaring beacon of a person that meant that they were a pilot. And pilots were… they were hard to love. 

“I knew that if I came over to you, there would be no way I could hold my tongue from trying to win you back, so I had to make sure you weren’t married first, at least. But I’m not even sure that would’ve stopped me,” he muttered under his breath, and you rolled your eyes. 

You were still a little bitter over him sending one of his friends to talk to you, and how well he knew you. He knew you never would have responded to a random man the same way you did Phoenix. “How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?”

“I’m praying.” And then he sighed. “I don’t have anyone either.” 

You would have laughed in his face if you weren’t so gutted. “I find that hard to believe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Considering you broke it off so you could run around and meet other girls, I would be very shocked if you didn’t have one with a ring on her finger by now.” 

His eyes widened to a size that was almost comical. “What?” 

You rolled your eyes at him. “Before you deployed. You know, when you broke up with me so that you could go talk freely with other women.” 

His facial expression was so shocked that you almost bought it. He looked genuinely thrown in a loop by your words. “I didn’t break up with you to meet other people, Bee.” 

You nearly caught whiplash at hearing your old nickname pouring like straight up honey from his mouth. No one called you that in a long time, mostly because ‘Bee’ was reserved for Bradley after a day he met you in freshman year of college, and you did an entire presentation on conservation of bees with passion that none of the other students had in their slideshows. It was what had drawn him to you in the first place.

 “That’s what it felt like.” It still felt like that, four years later. 

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head slowly. You hated how handsome he looked even when he was confused.  But he had no right to look confused. “That’s not what happened at all.” 

Your tone said it all for you as you crossed your arms. “Um, that’s what I remember, Bradshaw.” 

He ignored what you called him, but you saw it in his eyes that it still bothered him. “I cut it off because I felt awful that you were going to be forced to wait for me,” he said, taking a step closer, and you saw his sad brown eyes begging you to listen. “We were still so young, you were even younger than me. It wasn’t fair for me to ask you to keep waiting for me, especially because I kept going on dangerous deployments.” 

His words were bouncing around in your head. You calculated what he was saying, narrowing your eyes and trying to make sense of how it was changing your entire perspective of what happened, second by second. 

“Are you fucking stupid?” You blurted, but he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he looked relieved. You never really made a habit of swearing, not even while arguing, but when you rarely let a word slip, it meant that you cared a lot. 

Bradley wasn’t quite sure which way you cared and if it was in a good way or a bad way, but he was determined to change the passion to a way that would benefit the both of you. 

“If you want me to be,” he rasped, and you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Did you just say you didn’t want me to wait for you?” 

He blinked. “Yeah. You were what, twenty three? Your whole life was ahead of you. It wasn’t fair for you to have to wait for me to come home when you… you’re full of so much life. You had just gotten your dream job at the hospital, and you were so happy. If you were to stick it out with me gone, you would just have to decide between your job and me anyway when I got home. I ended up getting stationed somewhere else not too long after I came back home, just like I knew I would.” 

“Bradley, I told you I wanted to travel, anyway. That job was not my forever job.” 

“But-”

“I was prepared to wait for- for forever.” It was his turn to look shocked. “I really would have, Bradley. You just never even gave me the chance to. You pulled the rug out underneath me. You didn’t even ask me.” 

He ran a hand over his face as the weight of the decision he made for the both of you settled heavy on his chest. “Oh, god.” 

“I assumed you were deploying and you wanted to meet new people. I mean, I know that a lot of… you guys are cheaters. The stereotypes are true a lot of the time. I just figured you were sparing me from the cheating and cutting it off before it could get to that point.” 

“Oh, god, no.” He shook his head. “You- thought I was cheating on you?” 

“Well- what else was I supposed to think?” 

“I would never,” he said, using his hands to make a broad “no” gesture. “You’ve always been it for me, ever since we met. There couldn’t have been anyone else, and there hasn’t been this whole time.” 

You tried to mask the way you were falling into a puddle at his feet. “You’re so dumb.” 

“Is it dumb of me to think you’ll hear me out a little more?” 

You rolled your eyes at him, but your skin felt like it was on fire being so close to him again. “You’re plenty dumb, Rooster.” 

“You never called me Rooster.” 

“Well, I don’t know Bradley anymore.” 

“I- why are you saying that?” He asked, and his face grew even more distraught. “You do know me. Nothing’s changed. Nothing is different at all besides the time. I still- there’s nothing that has changed about the way I feel for you.” 

“What do you want me to say?” You couldn’t confess your love to him again. You loved him, a part of you always would, but you couldn’t handle him coming out of the blue and telling you everything you had secretly been wishing he would say to you for years. He was coming in like a dream. It was far too good to be true. “We got lost in translation four years ago and there's nothing we can do about it. Unless you and your pilot friends have been smart enough to build a time machine.” 

“I would build a thousand time machines if it meant that I could change what I did, I was stupid. I was so stupid.” He stepped closer. “But I never stopped loving you. Not even once.” 

A tear ran down your face, and that’s when you knew it was time to go find Alexandra again. “I-I gotta go, Bradley.” Before you could even turn around all the way, he took you by your hips and turned you back around, both pairs of your eyes wide mirrors of the other. 

“I have been haunted by the thought of you for four years now,” he said, voice as soft and gentle as the breeze, but the grip he had on your hips was so desperate it almost made you sob. “I haven’t even- I’ve tried, but there hasn’t been anyone else. Not emotionally. Not even close, Bee.” 

You couldn’t say the exact same. You tried and succeeded for a time, but they were never complete fixes. Just when you thought you were happy with someone else and free of the clutches of Bradley Bradshaw, he snuck right back. He ripped that rug out from under you every time without fail without even being present. That was your problem with each “relationship”, you were looking for a remedy and closure for a relationship that the next person had no idea about and no obligation to make better. 

But you had definitely been haunted by the lack of Bradley Bradshaw. He was there all the time with you in your mind, whether you wanted him or not. 

“This,” you said, shaking your head, and judging by the look on his face, he knew he was losing you. “This is a lot.” 

“Wait, don’t walk away. I just got you back.” 

“I’m not back, Bradley.” 

“You’re back in front of me,” he said, and you stopped turning away from him. “That’s all I could ask for. Even if you want nothing else to do with me ever again, I just want to stand here and look at you for one more minute. Please.” 

You put your hands over your face the second you felt your eyes start to burn and overflow with tears. You could feel his energy before you even felt his true touch, and the second you felt his arms around you, you broke down. 

“I thought- I thought you were so nervous a few days before you left because you were going to propose to me.” 

You couldn’t believe the words that were leaving your mouth. You had been so humiliated about jumping to conclusions that you hadn’t even told Alexandra about that part. You never planned on telling anyone that was the reason why you were so hurt, especially not the man who caused you all that pain. It had been sitting heavy on your chest, the humiliation and the sadness alike, for all four summers. You never planned on letting it loose. 

But you had already said it. 

“You boys get married so fast, and honestly, I was ready. I thought you were nervous because you were going to ask me to marry you, not because you were breaking up with me.”

 “Oh.” 

“It gutted me so bad when you broke it off. I thought it was going to be the opposite- I thought we were going to start our lives together and then you just…” you looked down at the ground as you tried to swallow back down the memory, even though everything was coming back so strong. “It was gone, that fast. And I realized I loved you a lot more than you ever loved me, obviously.” 

“That's not even close to being true,” he said, shaking his head rapidly. “You can ask any of the guys I shipped out with. I was fucking miserable the whole time. And I know you don’t know the new guys I’m with, but this new squad even knows that there’s nobody else. You’re the one that got away.” 

“You let me go,” you corrected, and he smiled sadly. 

“Because I loved you.” 

“That’s so fucking dumb,” you said, but you couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer to him. “That’s for fairytales, stupid.”

You felt yourself leaning into him, and he was letting you. His body language was inviting you in. You could see it in his eyes and you could feel his hands trembling as he moved them from your waist to hover over your back, like he was ready to pull you into him the second you gave in. You knew it was only a matter of time before you did give in, and the longer you felt his hands hover over you like you were stained glass, the more you craved his familiar, burning touch. You felt the pull to him like you were magnets. Like he was the sun and you were Icarus. You were the moth to his enticing flame, but he had always seen you as a butterfly. You were terrified to get burned for the second time, and fall from grace all over again. 

“That one pilot said he recognized me,” you blurted, and you felt his eyes on you even though you couldn’t look at him. “I’ve never met him before, have I?” You might have. You used to know a lot of his old friends. He shook his head. “How did he know me?” 

Without hesitation, his answer came. “I have pictures of you in my cockpit.” 

That was what threw you.  “What?”

“Most pilots keep photos of important people in their cockpit. It reminds them to fly safer. In the worst cases, it’s so that they can see a glimpse of family before they go down.” 

Your heart was soaring so high that it was breaking with the pressure of it. “You have a picture of me in there?” 

He had absolutely no shame about it as he nodded his head firmly. “Yeah, I have pictures of you. In my cockpit and in my locker.” Were you his screensaver, too? You didn’t know. 

But you were in his locker. It made your heart flutter and it sent you right back to highschool. “More than one?” 

“I have so many that my squad recognized you without me even saying anything. Hangman was the one who told me you were here.” 

“Oh.” 

He kicked the rocks underneath his foot, and then he was squinting back down at you. “You thought- you thought I was going to ask you to marry me?” 

Just like that, your soaring, cracking heart plummeted again. “You don’t have to rub it in, Bradley.” 

“No, it’s not that at all. I just- you would’ve said yes?” 

“Of course I would have said yes, stupid.” You ignored how his eyes lit up and turned your body away with crossed arms. He was always so expressive, even when he didn’t want to be. “But that was a long time ago.” 

“Not too long,” he rushed, and you shook your head. 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, especially because it was mostly to get the tears away. “It was a while ago, Bradley.” 

“There’s no amount of time apart that would make me not want to be with you, Bee.” 

Your head swiveled to him upon hearing your nickname from him again. “It- it doesn’t just work like that, dude.” 

“Why not?” 

“We were stupid back then. We lived off of blind faith and a whole lot of hopes. It doesn’t work that way anymore.”

“We make our own rules, that’s the glory of being adults.” He took your hands and you faced him, and the hope in his expression nearly floored you. “Who said we can’t pick up where we left off?” 

You scoffed, even though you weren’t even close to laughing. “You’re crazy.” 

“Crazy about you, but you’ve always known that,” he said with a smile. “You’ve always known how to work with it, too.” 

For a moment, you felt a glimmer of hope and you felt the whisper of a smile come onto your face. And then you crashed again, and he must have seen it all over your face because his own smile went away and was replaced by concern. Before he could even ask what happened that fast, you threw your face into his chest and wrapped your arms around him. 

He held you back just as quickly, and you knew he had been waiting for you. He smelled like home and he even felt like it, and when you opened your eyes all you could see was that stupid, loud Hawaiian print. 

“I-if we do this again you- I can’t handle it if you leave me again. I couldn’t take it. Please, Bradley.” 

“Don’t you even worry about that,” he said firmly, holding you so close that it felt like the two of you were physically molding together. “If you give me the chance, I want a shot at forever.” 

You pulled your wet face away from his shirt and looked up at him as your heart raced in your chest. “Huh?” 

He stared down at you for a moment, and you could see in his ever-expressive eyes that he was thinking about saying something to you that was about to change everything. “I fully intend to become your husband when we’re ready, if you let me. Just the way you wanted, and the way I’ve always dreamed about. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The logical part of you knew that he was being ridiculous. Bradley was nothing if not overzealous, nothing if not reaching for goals that were just short of being unattainable. He was the version of Icarus that always managed to get back to earth safely by the skin of his teeth. He always put the cart before the horse, but somehow he always managed to get there. 

So, you knew he was being serious. As crazy as he sounded, he was. 

“Do you really mean that?” You didn’t have to ask that question. In fact, the words felt like acid on your tongue, but your heart pressed you to ask it anyway. 

“Nothing could get me to leave you again, especially not my own stupidity.” He was holding you even tighter. “I promise.” 

You were going to hold him to that with the same intensity that he held you with. 

*****

oh boy.

so this one i’ve been sitting on forever and i’m tired of looking at it, but i have nothing but love for this fic that is pulling me out of a writing slump. i wrote it out of pure love for rooster though so i felt like i had to share it!! also- this comes from two main things;

two songs (“7 summers” and “ ‘98 braves” by morgan wallen) and then me being dumb enough to get involved with a military man of my own. he’s been gone for a while so i’m manifesting he comes back soon. anyone who is thinking about getting with a person- especially man- in the military (i can only speak for the united states military bc that’s where i’m from), you better be tough. i know they look good. i know they have this energy to them- trust me i’ve been obsessed since i was like 15. way before top gun maverick. but if you’re gonna be stupid, you better be tough 💀💀💀 and if you need any guidance to being stupid, i’m always here!!!

if you’re new here thanks for stopping by and checking it out! if you’re from an old fandom of mine but read it anyways i love you so much, it means a lot. 💕💕💕

[naturesapphic]

Is it possible for a lady dimitrescu x reader where Alcina has a lover in the past before the cadou but died and years later she meets reincarnated reader when she saves reader from a crash (aircraft or vehicle etc.) and the three daughters meddling thinks that reader will be their new parent?

Reincarnated

Lady dimitrescu x fem!reader

Warnings: little bit of angst, cussing, fluff

- the crash was horrible, there was many cars involved and only few survived

- you were one of the survivors

- the ambulance and cops were surrounding the whole area

- you were in and out of consciousness

- when you came too, there was someone carrying you to the ambulance

- when you woke up, you were in a hospital bed with a tall woman standing over you with three people behind her

- she introduced herself as alcina dimitrescu and her three daughters were daniela, Cassandra, and bela dimitrescu

- for some reason those names and how they look looked so familiar to you

- the lady must have felt the same because she kept looking at you and was always with you

- you always did wonder why she saved you and not the other people, why did she care for stranger so much?

- after you got out of the hospital the lady and her three daughters wanted to keep in touch

- you agreed because she did save your life and they did seem very nice

- even though you had a gut feeling that you knew them, maybe from a past life or something

- it’s been around a year and you have developed feelings for the lady and has grown fond of her daughters as well

- when you left the hospital a year ago, she invited you to stay with her until you rested up

- you didn’t live far from her so you decided to take up on her offer and now you are living in her castle

- sometimes you overhear her daughters beg and meddle her about how the two of you need to get together

- you thought it was cute and actually wondered if alcina felt the same way you do

- so one night you came into her office and you told her the truth about how you feel about her and the deju vu feeling you’ve always had with her since the first time y’all met

- she was very understanding and had the same romantic feelings you have for her which made you relieved and so happy

- she even showed you a photo of her old lover which looked a lot like you and she explained that you may have been reincarnated and came back, that’s why you look the same and the extreme deju vu you’ve been having ever since you’ve met her

- you were shocked beyond belief and everything suddenly came back to you

- memories of you and her started flooding in and you starting sobbing which caused alcina to worry

- but you quickly reassured her that they were happy tears and that you were so happy that the universe brought you back together

- you both enveloped each other in a tight embrace and share many kisses that were lost throughout the years

- after the two of y’all shared a special moment, you both decided to go tell her daughters

- they were absolutely ecstatic and were so happy

- they knew they had a good feeling about you and told them that you died before the cadou and before they were born

- a few months later you got married and you had your wife and her children now with you

A/n: sorry anon that this took so long but I hope you enjoyed it and I hope the rest of y’all enjoy it too! Requests are still open for all of my characters including of course Rhea ripley/Demi Bennett. I have my own buy me a coffee page! You can give me a dollar and it will help. I also have some different commission types I will do so here's my page to look into it :) https://www.buymeacoffee.com/naturesapphic Requests are open for yeehaw!wanda, country!wanda, and any other southern variants of Wanda or Natasha! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! I love y'all!

[batsvnte]

𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 • 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚

Pairing(s): Miguel O’Hara

Warnings: spoilers for ATSV, cursing (both English and Spanish), ooc maybe, spelling mistakes

Notes: black fem!reader (she/her pronouns). All platonic throughout this. Also some bits of reader also speaking Spanish due to them learning from Miguel w/ translations at the end of this

You snatch your mask off as your pace quickens into the control room that you were situated in. Huffing under your breath as you ignore every attempts of Miguel trying to get your attention. You didn’t have the time for this and neither did he. All you can do is keep walking away with little hopes that he’ll back off. Even if you’re currently walking on the ceiling just to get away from him.

“(Name)! Ven aquí ahora mismo!” Miguel’s voice echoed throughout the room. Well aware that his words were clearly heard, but you didn’t bother to listen. “Stop walking away from me!”

“Then stop following me.” Without using your webs you easily climb up onto another pillar to separate you from his sight.

Unfortunately he was quicker. You caught of glimpse of a bright red web enclosing around your wrist. Preventing you from advancing anywhere. You suddenly found yourself on the ground, thankfully landing on your feet. You stood up properly to see Miguel taking a few steps towards you. That stoic look that you always saw was nowhere to be found. It was a look of frustration that was all directed to you.

“What were you thinking? Going out there and to help Miles go back to Earth-1610— didn’t I tell you not to meddle in with other peoples business!?” It was unfamiliar to you to have Miguel scolding at you.

“He just wants to save his dad!” You were quick to defend yourself with the thoughts that has been plaguing your mind the moment you heard about it. “You never told me what was going on. You never do!”

“I’m doing what I can to keep everything under control, hija.”

‘Dont start with that’

“That mean keeping me in the dark while you go out fighting? What kind of good will that do, Miguel!?”

Miguel has narrowed eyes, the dark circles under his eyes darkening. Either from the lightening of the dimmed room or his attitude changing. “The kind of good that will keep the multiverse from shattering.”

A scowl itched onto your face as you nearly hissed at him. “Bullshit!”

In response he pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He loathed getting into arguments with you. Especially if it was about what he does. You could hear little snippets of him muttering incoherently in his native tongue. It was a few short moments before he raised his voice to his normal volume.

“Hija,”

‘Stop calling me that’

“You know how dangerous it is to disrupt cannon events. It happened to your own universe, (Name),” You nearly wince at the mention of that with recalling memories to that situation. “I’m not going to risk another one being destroyed.”

Your posture straightens as Miguel’s gaze focused back on you. “But none of us knows how it’ll effect Miles’s universe. It might not be the same thing as what happened—“

“Might not be?”

You pause at your own words being echoed back to you. You had your own morals to this situation and you didn’t want to back down now.

“It still won’t be as bad as what happened to my universe.” Your tone was lowered. You didn’t realize how loud you were before during this entire argument.

Miguel shakes his head. Remembering the events of what happened when you accidentally disrupted the cannon events. How he found you in the state that you were in at that time. He takes in another deep breath to calm himself down from continuing the shouting match between you two.

“There are still risks that he’s taking that you took as well. It’ll just be the same outcome,” Miguel says as he hopes that this was the end of the argument. “Ya sea que termine destruyendo todo un plano de existencia o afectando a la minoría.”

Your eyebrows furrow down into another scowl. “The first one risk was keeping him confined but look at where you are now.”

“I’m trying to keep the multi-verse safe!” Miguel was quick to snap back without any hesitation. “Trying to keep you of everyone safe after what happened! Your universe needs you safe, mi hija, I need you safe—“

“Llámame una maldita vez más!”

A deafening silence fell over the two of you. The familiar stoic look returned back onto his face. You were unable to keep your thoughts from forming into your mouth. Little part of you was surprised at how sudden you blurted it out. Though only Miguel can stare at you with an unreadable look. You didn’t know what he was going to do or say. It felt like it was going to go on for eternity.

“You’re staying here until I get back.”

Red fills your vision in a matter of seconds. Before you can fully react there was already a force field encasing you with little to no room to move around in. You banged at the shield as you watched Miguel turn his back to you.

“Miguel! You can’t do this! Let me go!” Your words fell deaf upon his ears as you kept your eyes on him. It felt like time was going to quickly as you watched his form becoming smaller from the distance.

Miguel didn’t bother to give you one last look as he left the room. Hearing the door shut behind him and covering your shouts for him to let you go. He kept his focus on what’s ahead of him. His mind instantly becoming centered on finding the one Spider-Man who was going to disrupt everything that he had worked so hard for. But there was one that he had forcibly pushed away.

‘I’m not about to risk loosing you again, (Name).’

Lmao reader got put in timeout corner-

Trying to get back into writing after finishing exams and bring back my motivation until I run out of it again. Promise that there’s gonna be some more works soon from the requests slxosmd

1. ‘Ven aquí ahora mismo’ - ‘Come here right now!’

2. ‘(Mi) Hija’ — Kid / Daughter

3. ‘Ya sea que termine destruyendo todo un plano de existencia o afectando a la minoría’ — ‘Whether it ends up destroying an entire plane of existence or affecting the minority’

4. ‘Llámame una maldita vez más!’ — ‘Call me that one more damn time!’

[onceazzie]

i've found hope in a heart attack

“Come on, Anya!” Daisuke laughs, already kicking off his shoes, tossing the bags of groceries to the side. In the moonlight he looks almost younger, Anya thinks. “Live a little!” She wants to protest. Anya has barely had time to live, let alone survive, let alone even think for so long— Curly is waiting for them, Swansea is waiting for them, for the groceries too— but the boy seems so…happy and carefree, that the argument dies in her throat. “Oh…alright. Just for a while, okay? And then we—” “—have to get back or else Swansea will grouch, yeah, yeah,” he smiles, holding his hand out. “Dance with me, Anya?” (3 times daisuke asks anya to dance with him.)

LINK TO THE FIC HERE!! chapter 1 under the cut :))

chap 1: beach

It feels almost like a long, never-ending dream.

Anya doesn’t really process any of it. It goes faster than time on the ship ever did, and every single day is a blur. For some of it, she wishes she had gone down with the ship.

“It’s normal,” Swansea says, somewhere in the meddle of her memory, “to feel a little sick, girlie— just hol’ on for a moment longer, yeah?” He had held her with one arm and Daisuke with the other, a hand on each head, his voice gruff from overuse. One of Daisuke’s hands was splayed against her back. The position was slightly uncomfortable, but even so, it was the best comfort she’d felt in years, and she wouldn’t let go for the world.

Both Daisuke and Swansea were elated to return home— to their families, even if the latter refused to show anything other more than a smile at the thought— but Anya? She had nobody to come home to. Hell, the ship was the only home she’d known for so long, and even then she never truly felt safe within its walls.

Neither did Curly. Curly, who Anya didn’t quite hate. Curly, who Anya almost loved. Curly, who was so close to death and yet she held, in a sick way, a resentment towards him— not a fear, she never truly feared him like she had Jimmy— almost like a grudge, or as close as one as she could get. It felt too cruel to call his state a retribution or even something as violent as revenge, it hurt her to see him like this, but it was…

…she wasn’t sure how to name it. But, Anya wasn’t expected to. Curly had been taken to a hospital. She had been taken to Swansea’s and told to rest.

~

It brought them around to where they were now. Daisuke and Swansea, still living with their families, helped move Anya and Curly— Anya from Swansea’s daughters’ room and Curly from the hospital— to a close by apartment. For safety, Swansea said, but Daisuke said it was because they would miss being with the two of them if they were too far away. The thought made her smile. The notion of being loved was simply so strange.

The apartment was about as good as good got. She had her own room (with a lock! Swansea had pulled her aside gently, a hand on her wrist, and made sure she knew), as did Curly, slowly recovering and regaining what little voice he had left. The speech tablet had been brought from the hospital and remained fixed to his wheelchair.

Daisuke brought a few old posters he had lying around, Swansea brought kitchenware, and before Anya knew it— it had become home. Home, a word so foreign before, familiar now. It was a beautiful thought.

Even Curly thought so. She spent her days at work—a new job as a nurse at a nearby hospital that saw nearly no patients, but it was enough to keep them going— and she spent her nights at home, with Curly, in the excruciating journey to give him back his autonomy. There was an irony to it, she thought— that the two of them had their own bodies taken from them, hers with the marks stretching across her stomach from one agonising night on the ship, and his with the skin and flesh that had been torn from him— but also a beauty, maybe. They would survive together.

~

“Ah, look how pretty it is!”

Anya, shaken from her thoughts, glances up to where Daisuke is pointing. Swapping the grocery bags she’s holding to her left side, she rolls her right shoulder to relieve its tension. Moonlight sparkles over the distant ocean, and the shore glows silver under the night. “Oh…it’s a beach.”

Daisuke, holding onto the second bag of groceries to fill Anya and Curly’s fridge, grins and pulls her with his opposite hand, tugging her towards it. “It’s so pretty! I’ve never seen it at night.”

It was quite pretty, she had to admit, as the hard cement beneath her feet slowly turned to sand. Anya had never actually been on a beach before in her life. It was considered a luxury when she was young, and remains as faraway and unfamiliar now as it had then.

“Come on, Anya!” Daisuke laughs, already kicking off his shoes, tossing the bags of groceries to the side. In the moonlight he looks almost younger, Anya thinks. “Live a little!”

She wants to protest. Anya has barely had time to live, let alone survive, let alone even think for so long— Curly is waiting for them, Swansea is waiting for them, for the groceries too— but the boy seems so…happy and carefree, that the argument dies in her throat. “Oh…alright. Just for a while, okay? And then we—”

“—have to get back or else Swansea will grouch, yeah, yeah,” he smiles, holding his hand out. “Dance with me, Anya?”

Anya always believed that a person’s worst moments didn’t define them as a person. A monster didn’t do one bad thing that branded then as such. That then leads her to the conclusion that a good moment in someone’s life didn’t mark them as a good person, either— that this moment here, the wind in her hair, the scent of salt drifting from the ocean, Daisuke’s laughter ringing out for miles, wouldn’t define her, as beautiful as it was. A

s much as she wanted to think of herself as good, it was difficult. One good moment wouldn’t define her. A thousand bad ones would.

But…it was about time that Anya learned to live.

“I don’t know how to dance,” she says meekly, pulling off her shoes and placing them next to Daisuke’s. It was true. She was anything but a dancer, but it didn’t seem to deter Daisuke, who still incessantly tugs at her hand.

“It’s fine! You don’t need to know— just follow how I do it!” He makes it sound so easy. He makes so much sound so easy, this young boy, this young man. This kid who had barely seen the beginning of his life. Daisuke beamed with the age of the sun and the joy of the sky, barely a scar— physical or mental— from their time on the Tulpar. Anya bore the marks of something that haunted her across her stomach, eyebags from countless sleepless nights, and he bore nothing but a bright smile.

Anya tries. She tries to follow his movements, follow the beat— he hums and sings a song unfamiliar to her, grinning and laughing between the words— and he takes her hands and guides her along. “How do you do this?” She says breathlessly as he spins her around.

She could be talking about anything— about grief, about tragedy, about living and laughing and breathing, or about dancing on a beach— but all he does is grin and finally finishes his dance with a dramatic flourish.

“Well, that’s the thing, Anya,” Daisuke brings her in for a tight hug. Months after everything, she’s finally comfortable with being held, and Anya sinks into the embrace. “We just keep going.”

~

“Took you young’uns long enough,” Swansea huffs, when the two of them make it back to the apartment. There’s sand uncomfortably wedged in her socks, but a smile on her face, one that Curly seems to notice as his face stretches and he smiles back at her. “What kept ya?”

Daisuke grins and takes Anya’s grocery bag from her, piling them both on the counter, much to Swansea’s chagrin, who starts picking up the groceries and putting them away. “We stopped at the beach! Anya’s never been, did you know? It’s so pretty at this time of night!”

Anya nods, before moving to Curly’s chair. Coming out of recovery, he is no longer as restricted in voice and movement as he had before. She’s glad— he had always loved expressing himself.

“We should all go together one day!” Daisuke laughs, tossing the milk carton in the air and catching it again. “Maybe if we renovate Curly’s wheels, so he can come too. Real big ones for the sand. What do you think, Captain?”

Curly wheezes out a laugh and gently wheels himself towards the kitchen. His voice is hoarse, but it becomes stronger by the day. “Sure, Daisuke, if…you stop calling me captain. Do…you need help at all, Swansea?”

“Wheel your ass back over there,” Swansea scolds him. “You’re on bed rest. I s’pose we could pay the beach a visit one of these days…if Miss Anya’s up for it.”

Daisuke tilts his head, smiling. “You in, Anya?”

“Yeah,” Anya smiles, thinking of moonlit waves and silver sand. “That…sounds like fun.”

chap 1 (here) | chap 2 (coming soon)

[separatist-apologist]

Fuck Me Up, Florida

Summary: Elain has some regrets- she'll bury them in Florida.

Read on AO3

Before:

Elain stood on the edge of her cottage, arms crossed over her chest. Maybe they’d taken things too far this time but there wasn’t room for this interloper, this stranger from an even stranger land. She and Lucien had lived in the swamplands for centuries—they would outlast the so-called witch seeking to take their territory.

But Lucien’s face…oh. He knelt beside her, head bowed as blood crusted over his golden skin. “You should go—”

“I’ll kill her,” Elain replied calmly, drawing forth the magic pulsating against her fingertips. She might lack Lucien’s ability to shift himself at will, to take on the terrifying form of the alligators that guarded the waters, nor could she rip out a throat with her teeth.

Elain could merely gaze into the future and reshape it to her will. 

The witch—Amarantha, they called her—was from another place with crueler, colder rules. Her magic was just as old, but twisted and dark and wholly out of place in the warm, sunlit paradise. Elain had seen how it ended, saw the witch crumble to dust, though when she tried to see how, the future shifted wildly into a kaleidoscope of color. 

The witch could be defeated. She would be defeated, if only for what she’d done to Lucien.

So Elain waited, dagger hidden beneath the cool material of her skirt, while Lucien continued to kneel beside her. He wanted to leave while they were still intact, but Elain refused. This was their home. She’d give it up over her dead body. 

“Is that so?” Amarantha purred, stepping from seemingly thin air. Everything about her set Elain’s on edge. She was bone pale, with eyes so black they seemed to bleed against the whites of her eyes. Her hair was the same shade of freshly spilt blood and around one long, spindly finger she wore a ring made from a real, moving eye.

Her dress slithered against the mud, silencing the once lively world. “You’ll leave over your dead body?”

Lucien’s head snapped up, tasting the iron tang of magic mere seconds before Elain did. Amarantha pointed at Elain, eyes burning with deathly amusement. 

“No—!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Amarantha purred. Elain was frozen, trapped in a swirling mass of air. “She’ll be back.”

“Don’t,” Lucien pleaded. “I’ll do anything—”

“I want nothing from you. Only her and her meddling sisters. Let’s play a game…just to make it fair. I won’t kill her, little demon. She’ll be reborn and given one mortal lifespan. Bring him an offering of flesh as a sign of our bargain…and in return, if you can convince her to tell you she loves you, I’ll return her memories.”

Elain wanted to scream at Lucien not to take the deal. It was a fools errand—to rob her of her memories, to make her think she was mortal and then present her with a male who looked so inhuman no human would ever stand to be in his presence.

Say no, she tried to plead with her eyes. Feyre and Nesta would avenge her. Lucien looked up at her, face still freshly scarred, and shook his head. He knew it was impossible—a fools bargain. And still.

“It’s a deal.”

Elain took a breath.

And then she was gone. 

Now: 

She didn’t know how it happened. 

One minute Elain Archeron had been listening to Graysen go on yet another tirade and the next…the next her hands her bloodied and Graysen was laying there lifeless, eyes glassy and tilted toward the vaulted ceiling. If she wanted to be honest with both herself and God, Elain would have admitted that she’d simply lost her temper.

He wasn’t yelling at her. Not this time, anyway. Instead, Graysen yelled about immigrants, he yelled about his politics, he yelled until his face was red and he realized that the only person left to yell at was her. And Elain was simply tired of apologizing.

She’d wanted him to just stop. To give her a moment to think, to settle her galloping heart. Even when she slept it was never peaceful, never deep. She tiptoed through her own life, making herself small and sweet so as not to draw his ire.

She’d always been that way.

What had been different, she wondered? 

But she knew the answer to that, too. Two years of marriage—and two years of infidelity. She’d discovered it the week before when his phone lit up at three am, just in time for Elain to get up and use the bathroom. She couldn’t say what was different about that night, too. Maybe it had been the Georgia heat. Or maybe her body knew something her brain did not. Elain had spent the night scrolling through hundreds of love sick messages, and a hundred more that painted her out to be a frigid, standoffish wife who didn’t care about her husband's needs.

Any woman dumb enough to believe the tired story of the neglected married man deserved whatever she got. Which, in Elain’s estimation, was a man who yelled about everything all the time. He didn’t yell at that other woman, though. 

He called her beautiful.

Elain could still remember when Graysen had talked to her like that, too.

So when he started yelling, Elain’s patience was already shredded thin. There was simply no more good will left. She’d picked up a heavy crystal face and smashed it over the back of his head. Graysen had pitched forward, forehead slamming against the sharp edge of their coffee table, rendering him dead before he ever connected with their hardwood. 

She’d intended to turn herself in. That was the reasonable thing to do. Nesta was a lawyer, Feyre was married to old money—she figured she could spend a decade or so behind bars, even if orange did wash her out. 

The world worked in mysterious ways. As Elain was picking up her phone, 911 already dialed, her phone dinged a warning.

Hurricane Elaine scheduled to make landfall on…

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

Elain burst out laughing. Hurricane Elaine? Really? Surely it was some cosmic joke and yet…

“Hello?”

“Sorry,” Elain said, still laughing like a lunatic. “My daughter, she…sorry.”

The annoyed operator on the other end huffed out a sigh, assured Elain it happened all the time, and ended the call. 

Hurricane Elaine.

Elain was on the Florida-Georgia line, just far enough from the worst of the coming storm. It was a six hour drive to Destin, risky considering Elain had moved her husband's dead body to the back of his truck. If anyone noticed or stopped her, it was all over.

But if they didn’t…

Oh. But if they didn’t.

Graysen had a timeshare in Destin. It wasn’t much, though he was proud of it all the same. She’d never liked it, truth be told but in that moment, standing beneath a starry Georgia sky, Elain used their points and booked a week. It was the kind of thing Gray would do. He never wanted to evacuate, never took these kinds of threats seriously. Elain would dump his body in a swamp and then say the water simply swept Graysen away. 

Maybe it would take her, too.

Elain didn’t have a preference one way or the other, truth be told. She merely thought getting away with his murder was another outcome she could live with right alongside being swept away by the sea. She thought about all of it as she drove in the dead of night, amazed by the traffic trying to leave Florida as Elain tried to enter.

Every couple songs on the radio warned about the impending storm. She didn’t care. Eain was giddy by the time she pulled into the resort, careful to hide Graysen’s body beneath a tarp. It couldn’t stay in her car for long without risking being caught, not with the Florida humidity. She simply needed to check in to make her story believable, and hope no one bothered checking the security cameras.

“You’re brave, checking in,” the cheerful woman at the front desk told her. 

“Or stupid,” Elain replied with an easy smile. “My husband thought we’d have the pool all to ourselves.”

“Ocean, too,” the receptionist said before handing Elain the keys. “We aren’t required to evacuate but if things get any worse, you should.”

“I will,” she swore like a liar. All she needed was that key and a plausible alibi, after all. She’d been here, not committing any murders. Was it a crime to be stupid? No, especially not in Florida.

They could suspect her all they like, Elain didn’t care. She was free of Graysen without the mess of a divorce.

Would she feel grief once the dust had settled? When Graysen was nothing more than a few picked over bones at the bottom of a swamp would it all hit her? Would relief turn to misery? Would she lie awake in bed missing the warmth of his body?

Climbing back into her car, already warmed from the Florida heat, Elain decided she couldn’t let herself care. Not right then, anyway. Besides, if Elain was honest with herself, she was having a disturbing amount of fun.

Rolling down her window, Elain let the wind ruffle her hair like an affectionate parent as she grinned, cheeks pink from the humidity. If a hurricane was on its way, the world gave no sign of it. Though, Elain had turned from Destin to make her way toward a swamp that would become Graysen’s final resting place. 

Good riddance, she thought. This was where she’d bury all her regrets, her mistakes, her ghosts. Maybe herself, too, though it was too early to make that determination. Maybe once Graysen had been dumped and Elain was alone in the resort, hurricane winds pounding against the roof. 

Maybe. 

Truth be told, Elain didn’t want to mourn or miss him. Her whole marriage felt like she’d been grieving a man who’d died the day she met him at the altar. He’d once been kind and sweet, had looked at her like she was the sun and he was merely a frigid planet begging for warmth. He’d been the one who’d changed, who’d embraced cold so brutal no light could penetrate his rotted heart. 

Killing him had been an extreme course correction and yet…and yet Elain couldn’t find the empathy people had always praised her for. Couldn’t find anything but the knob of the radio and then her voice singing along, loud enough to be heard over the rush of the road. Nevermind that there was a dead body in the back of her stolen truck—the songs were all bops as palm trees became cypress and  mangrove. 

The air was thicker somehow, as if charged with magic. It was tempting to think that was just Florida itself and not her own delirious joy seeping out of her. She was nearly finished with the whole debacle. Her heart pounded as she pulled off the main road, tires betraying her in the mud as she crept deeper into territories unknown. 

This was the hard part. As Elain cut the ignition, she considered for a moment the absurdity of her plan. If it worked, it would be sheer luck and nothing else. There was blood in her apartment, tire treads in the mud, and a hurricane on the horizon. She ought to go back to her original plan and call her older sister for help. Nesta would know what to do, would be able to get her out of serious trouble.

Elain knew if she dumped this body, there would be nothing Nesta could do to soften that blow. There would be no painting Elain as a victim but the aggressor, the abuser—everything Graysen had been before she took his life and made him part of the Florida ecosystem. 

Elain took a breath before deciding fuck it. She’d come this far, hadn’t she? Might as well see it all the way through. Elain hopped from the cab, flats sucked into the mud so deeply she thought she might need to abandon them altogether. Managing to get her feet out of the mud, Elain pulled the tarp she’d half wrapped Graysen in from the back of the truck until his body slid to the ground.

The Florida heat was getting to her. Or, maybe it wasn’t the heat that was making her feel a little manic but the humidity—whatever it was, Elain let out a soft laugh before grabbing Graysen by his limp arms. She tried hard not to look too closely at his gray skin, eyes trained on the path ahead. Just get him the water, she told herself.

Television hadn’t prepared Elain for how heavy a dead body was. Graysen didn’t look like such a solid man but right then, Elain wanted to scream as she inched him forward, sweat dripping from her nose.

She was leaving DNA everywhere—if she didn’t get caught it was simply law enforcement refusing to do their job entirely. As she dragged him toward the murky water, Elain considered that she was merely digging her own grave, too. She ought to climb in after Graysen and let the alligators have her, too.

In the end, Elain kicked Graysen into the water with a heaving breath of air. He plopped into the green tinted water with a heavy splash that silenced the insects, if only for a moment. Shoulders aching, she braced herself against the sticky bark of a leaning tree, eyes closed.

It was done. She’d done it. There was no going back now. She could have turned back anytime before Graysen sank to the bottom of the swamp but now…now there was no way in hell Elain was getting in that water to try and drag him out.

She needed to leave. Spend the week in the timeshare at the pool until the hurricane hit and then…she didn’t know. She had no plan, no idea how to go about things and she was terrified to google any of it. 

Elain opened her eyes, surprised to find she wasn’t alone. A man was coming toward her as he pulled thick, auburn hair up off his face in a messy bun.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes gleaming. Three long, vicious scars cut down one strange, gold eye that didn’t match the brown of the other. 

Elain nodded her head, heart pounding in her throat. What had he seen? Mouth dry, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, Elain could do nothing but wait as he came toward her. He wore light clothing that looked far more comfortable than her own, the white cotton of his shirt sticking against the muscular contours of his chest. 

“What are you doing so far out here?” he pressed, eyes sliding from her to the water just beneath her. There was no evidence of what she’d done if he ignored the path she’d carved through mud and vegetation dragging Graysen’s body. And if he walked just half a mile toward the gravel road, she’d find Graysen’s truck parked, the doors flung open and likely filled with mosquitoes. 

“I like nature,” she told him. It wasn’t even a lie—Elain worked for the botanical garden back home and maintained her own in the backyard she’d once shared with Graysen. “I’ve always wanted to see a swamp.”

“Could have taken a tour,” he said, eyes twinkling. “The alligators are real aggressive out here.”

“They can’t be that bad if you’re out here,” she shot back, unsure why she was being so combative with this man. 

Something green glimmered beneath the collar of his shirt, inked against his skin. What kind of tattoo was it, she wondered? 

“I practically live here,” he replied as he came closer, hands jammed in his pockets. 

“You work in a swamp?”

He only shrugged. “It’s a living, right?”

“Well, if you’re not afraid of gators, neither am I.”

He came closer still. “There’s worse things in gators out in the swamps.”

Elain froze. There she was, in the middle of nowhere talking to a stranger who had appeared seemingly out of thin air. Her hair curled in the humidity, her face slick with sweat and yet he seemed serene. Unbothered by the heat, the heavy air, or their surroundings. Elain took a step backward.

“Right. Well I uh…should be going.” He didn’t try and stop her, seemingly amused as she made her way back up the path. “Watch yourself, Elain. There’s a hurricane coming, you know.”

She only nodded, turning her back on him to rush back to the car. She was too stressed to deal with the stranger in the swamp. Elain didn’t let herself think about him until she was back in the room at the resort standing beneath cool shower water.

Watch yourself, Elain.

Had she told him her name? Elain genuinely couldn’t remember. The stress of everything was getting to her—maybe she had. In that southern kind of way, a greeting that included letting him know who she was so he knew she was no threat at all.

Why not tell him what she’d done, too? Hi, I’m Elain Archeron and I murdered my husband. 

Make it easier on the police when they went looking for witnesses. She could have given that man the murder weapon had it not been shattered in hundreds of pieces on her living room floor. Still, Elain replayed that parting sentence over and over in her head. Elain, Elain, Elain. Why had she told him her name? Why hadn’t she asked for his? 

Should she have done something more? Assured him she was just a normal woman lost in the heart of a swamp she had no business being in? Had he watched her drag that body and merely waited to see what would happen? She was more concerned with getting caught than what she’d actually done, which also worried her.

What kind of person murdered their husband? 

She did, apparently. Elain didn’t think she was a bad person—just sad. Mad, too, that things hadn’t worked the way she’d wanted to. Angrier still that she’d loved him the way she had and in the end, it hadn’t even been good enough. She still remembered insisting to Nesta that Gray was her soulmate and their love was the thing of legends. It was love so pure, so perfect, so timeless that one day people would write books about it.

She supposed she hadn’t been wrong about that last one. Some true crime junkie would pick up this story and write about her. Would they call her a Black Widow? No, she decided as she laid there in the dark listening to the wind. She had no intention of remarrying, after all, and certainly wouldn’t kill another man. But they’d come up with some other offensive nickname for her, labeling her without really knowing her heart. 

Elain fell asleep easier than she’d expected to, though her dreams were confusing and vivid. She was back in that swamp, wading deeper and deeper into the water as something made its way toward her, gold eyes reflecting the moonlight onto the water. Blood—no, hair—fanned out behind the creature and when he raised his head to smile, teeth sharpened to a point.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his voice cutting through the still night. Elain couldn’t move, frozen in place as he came further and further out of the water. The green on his neck, she realized, wasn’t a tattoo but scales and behind him, a tail propelled him forward just as surely as his legs did.

She couldn’t scream. Trapped in mud, Elain could only stand as he came closer and closer, water dripping from his bare chest. The opaque water obscured his bottom half which was for the best—she was certain she didn’t want to see it. 

He reached out to touch her, golden skin somehow glowing in the moonlight, and—

Elain woke to the sound of thunder, sheets sticking to her sweat soaked skin. The doors to the balcony attached to her bedroom were flung open and though it wasn’t raining yet, puddles of water pooled on the tile floor. Elain sighed loudly, palm pressed right above her breast in an attempt to silence her screaming heart.

It was just a dream. A nightmare, truly, borne of her guilty mind and her fear she was going to be caught. Elain forced herself to get up, grab a towel from the bathroom, and wipe up the water. This time, she made sure she locked the balcony doors so the wind wouldn’t blow them open before she crawled back into bed.

The nightmares were the same, though. 

And when she woke, the doors were opened again.

Unwilling to take it lying down, Elain went down to the front desk to ask if she could be moved. Her doors, she explained ruefully—if there was a hurricane, she didn’t want to deal with water flying in. The person at the front desk was far less sympathetic to Elain’s cause and though they didn’t say so, it was clear they thought she and everyone else still at the resort was an idiot.

She tried not to let it bother her. 

She needed to just stick to her plan. It was a terrible plan, admittedly, but it was too late to back out, now. Elain spent the day sitting outside by the pool holding a book in her hand, too nervous to read even a page. She kept waiting for the police to descend on her, led by the man haunting her nightmares.

There she is, he’d say with open accusation. There’s the woman who murdered her husband and thought she could get away with it. 

They didn’t come. Frantically checking the news every couple of minutes, Elain found more warnings of the tropical storm about to descend on them, found other stories of murder, but nothing about her. No one had called to check in on Gray—not even the woman he was having an affair with. Elain had his phone sitting on her bedside table, monitoring it for anyone who might be worried about him.

No one was. 

It was almost too easy. 

If it hadn’t been for the nightmares, Elain might have just turned around and gone home. Maybe that would have silenced her nightmares. Elain dreamt of the man again, noting the way the green scales seemed more repetilian than those of a tattoo. This time, as Elain waded into the swampy water, she found her voice again.

“Who are you?” she asked, white nightgown floating around her.

He offered her a truly terrifying smile, those teeth tinged red in the moonlight. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he told her again, his voice a haunting melody. 

“Why?”

He was close enough she could smell the earthy scent of him. It was familiar, somehow, though she was certain she’d remember if she’d seen him before.

He merely cocked his head, standing to his full height. Water sluiced off his body and though she knew this was merely a dream from her stressed out and panicked brain, Elain’s eyes dipped between his legs all the same. Now she knew it was a dream because men should only have one appendage…and this man had two. What was wrong with her? 

He didn’t seem concerned with her gaze—not amused nor offended. Instead, he stepped forward, reaching for a long curl between two long, strong fingers.

“Mate,” he whispered, reaching for her before she could stumble back. It was just a dream, she told herself…and yet it felt real. Elain swore she could feel the sharpened claws against her back just as surely as she could feel the warm water enveloping her.

“What about alligators?” she breathed, earning a soft chuckle from the creature holding her.

“You don’t need to worry about anything harming you,” he said, dipping his head to run his nose along the shell of her ear. 

“Because this is a dream,” she said, eyes closed.

Another laugh drew shivers up her spine. “Whatever you say.”

But it was a dream, even if it felt real. She knew she’d wake up and the door would be open because subconsciously she wanted to get caught. “What’s your name?”

“Lucien,” he replied, running a finger over her cheek. How long had it been since someone had touched her like this? Like she was special, cherished—loved? 

“Why are you waiting for me?” she questioned, deciding if it really was a dream, maybe it didn’t have to be a nightmare. Maybe she could enjoy herself in the privacy of her strange fantasies. Maybe the scales, which she found softer than she expected them to be, were representative of something. 

“You’re my mate,” he murmured. Hadn’t she just read a book about that? The men hadn’t been so strange looking—merely more handsome versions of humans, their ears a little pointed, their teeth a little sharper. Elain relaxed in his arms as she realized she was merely trapped in a strange dream about the men she read in books.

“Of course,” she said, amusement lacing her tone. He cocked his head, wet hair plastered to his bare shoulder.

“You don’t believe me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Elain declared blithely, kicking her feet gently in the water between them. “I think I left a body in here.”

“He’s gone now,” Lucien informed her. Oh, how Elain wished that was true. “Who was he to you?”

“My husband,” she said mirthfully as she inclined her head toward the moon overhead. “He yelled a lot.”

Lucien’s grip around her body tightened. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not in the ways that matter.”

“They matter to me,” he said, and of course they did. Elain loved herself and this man was merely an extension of her own mind. Still, pretend or not, it felt good to have someone care about her. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she told him, turning to look him back in the eyes. It was here she found those scars again and wondered what had caused them. Would her mind fill in the gaps for her? “Who did this to you?”

He chuckled, catching her wrist to press a kiss to her open palm as she tried to run her fingers over the grooves. “Another male was interested in my territory. He tried to take my eye, I took his throat.”

“How very vicious of you,” she teased. “Are you half alligator, then?”

“Simply put, I suppose,” he said, the amusement in his gaze sharpening to something she didn’t recognize. It was almost desperation that stared back, a plea to know something she had only forgotten. Elain felt the strangest rush of deja vu, though it faded into the night before she could grasp it, a balloon whose string was just out of reach. 

“What are you? Can I ask that?”

“You can ask me anything you like,” he told her, his voice dropping an octave. Elain felt a rush of want as he waded further into the water, clearly unconcerned with the lurking danger. 

“I am…” he trailed off, clearly trying to find the words before he turned to look at her again. Elain was tracing the scales adorning his shoulders and neck like tattoos, trying to remember the last time she’d touched anything reptilian. “Old, I suppose.”

“How old?”

“Old,” he emphasized. 

“You don’t look old,” she said, half laughing at how predictable her daydreams were. 

“I age slowly,” he informed her solemnly. “You did once, too.” “Oh? Before what?”

Skimming his hand over the top of the opaque water, he said, “You’re my curse, now.”

“How do you break the curse?”

Those strange, reflective eyes found the same glassy water they were floating in. He didn’t say, but Elain knew because this was her dream, her fantasy, her imagination. “It’s love, isn’t it?”

He looked so hopeful as he met her gaze. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. 

It was a dream. “You seem like you’d be extremely easy to love.”

Pressing his forehead against her own, Lucien exhaled softly. “Let me show you.”

Lucien brought them to the opposite end of the swamp, unconcerned with his nakedness or the fact that she was openly staring at him. Well, not at him so much as what was slowly rising between his legs—two appendages, one longer than the other by a good inch. Elain didn’t need him to explain how they worked, though she was curious as to the point. Surely, from an evolutionary standpoint, one was enough? 

Taking his hand, Elain let him lift her from the water, well aware he was just as fascinated by her form which was no longer hidden given the way her nightdress clung to her body. 

“What are you going to show me?”

Lucien didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her, sharp teeth grazing her bottom lip. Elain let him, reflecting that even though this man was a monstrous figment of her imagination, it had been a while since someone kissed her like they meant it. Like they wanted her. Maybe, she thought, this was some kind of weird metaphor. The only man who could ever love her was a monster, after all—just like Graysen.

Or maybe she was the monster.

After all, she was the murderer. Lucien was just a man she’d seen in the swamp that would one day testify at her trial while she remembered how they’d had sex in a dream. Elain kissed him back, surprised to find he tasted warm and sweet—like a warm, summer day. This was the type of dream she liked—the sort where she could feel pleasure without the endless guilt that seemed to fill her. 

She could taste blood in her mouth, slipping back into her throat as his tongue chased after it, kissing her with a frenzied hunger that Elain wished was real. The trick was not waking up before she came—Elain had never quite mastered that 

She knew it was a dream for sure when he lifted her nightdress, swatting her hand when she tried to touch his bare skin. 

“Just you,” he breathed, scales glinting in the moonlight. No man would ever, she decided as Lucien ran his own hands down her now naked form. It was almost like touching herself, forcing an awareness of her body that Elain rarely had. She didn’t pay attention to how it felt when someone's fingers teased her breasts or the way cool skin felt against her own. Or, she hadn’t in so long she’d forgotten what true pleasure could be like and he hadn’t really done anything. 

“What do you like?” he asked through a heavy breath of humid air. 

“I…” Elain was suddenly too embarrassed to tell him. Everything felt real—Lucien sank to muscular knees, his thick tail curling around the pair of them.

“Do you like this?” he asked in a husky voice as his forked tongue traced shapes against her upper thigh. To keep balance, Elain slid her fingers into his thick, silken hair. 

“Yes,” she admitted while he lifted her leg up off the ground, hooking it over his broad shoulder. Little ridges adorned his spine, flexible when her toe brushed up against one. Elain was fascinated with his form—more man than creature, but not human at all. She might have demanded an answer had that tongue of his not licked up the length of her.

Elain nearly toppled over, but Lucien wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulling her closer while cupping her ass in one of his large, strong hands. He groaned with pleasure, the sound drowning out the screaming, watchful cicadas in the background.

“And this?” he demanded, licking again.

“Yes,” she breathed, head thrown back so she could look up at the stars. If she’s been more articulate, she would have told him that she liked it too much, and Gray had never wanted to do it. It took too long, he’d complained which of course only made it take longer. Elain was so self conscious every time he did go down that she never finished and often just counted to two hundred, faked it, and let him move on. 

“I need to taste you,” Lucien informed her, pulling her so close against him she wasn’t convinced he could breathe. She would have told him he was already tasting her if she’d been braver and less afraid that at any moment she was going to wake up and realize the whole thing was just a really weird, yet really good dream. 

Because it was her dream, Elain didn’t have to worry she was taking too long. In fact, Elain wanted to drag her pleasure out. His tongue was just rough enough to provide the smallest amount of friction while his mouth was otherwise soft and warm. Perfect, she decided with a sigh. 

She wanted to spread herself out. Maybe Lucien knew it, or maybe the ground merely hurt his knees. All she knew for certain was in the span it took to draw breath, Lucien was on his back and she was straddling his face, staring down the length of his rigid, muscular body. She wanted to touch him and so she did, spreading her legs as wide as she could get away with so she could lean against him.

Lucien moaned when she pressed a kiss against his stomach. Distracted, she half forgot what he was doing with his mouth. It was just…well, two cocks were endlessly fascinating to her. Why? What was the point? Elain reached between his legs and took the thicker, larger one in her hand. It was ridged, she realized with wild desperation. What would it feel like? Would her mind even know? Was she imagining this because she’d been shopping for vibrators a month earlier and stumbled upon some truly strange looking dildos? 

“Fuck,” Lucien panted, inclining his head away from her swollen pussy to look at her. “You don’t—it’s fine, just…just come here—”

Lucien put his mouth back on her with a vengeance, determined to distract her so thoroughly she couldn’t pleasure him, too. It was a game now, trying to get him off even as waves of pleasure began to build in her chest, threatening to drown her at any moment. Had anything felt better? 

Lucien writhed beneath her, prompting Elain to reach around for the second one and grip it, too. He gasped, breath warm against her throbbing cunt, before returning to licking circles around her clit. 

They came within seconds of each other—though Elain didn’t get to see any of it. Body throbbing, the sound of thunder crashing pulled her from her dream, body still roiling from her orgasm.

“Christ alive,” Elain swore softly, pushing the blankets from her body to close the balcony doors again. She knew she’d locked them before bed, had pulled the handles to be sure they were firmly locked.

Water was pooled on the floor again, her bare feet splashing in puddles as she made her way back to the ensuite bathroom. All Elain could think about was the man—the stranger she couldn’t stop dreaming about and his strange, inhuman features.

She’d nearly forgotten why she was dreaming about him. It was only after Elain had cleaned everything up did she recall that oh, right. She’d killed her husband and her brain was apparently trying to decode this information in the form of giving a strange swamp man two penises. 

Elain was going insane. Seeing things that weren’t there, manifesting her own downfall. Was this what if felt like to be haunted? Only, there were no ghosts—only her own guilt tormenting her while she slept. 

Elain shoved a chair against the balcony doors before she went back to bed, forced to lay on the opposite end because the mattress felt wet, too. Sweat, surely.. And the swamp man didn’t return, though when she woke the chair was back in its original place beside the window and the doors were open again. Outside, the world had gone red, the sky tinged with blood. Elain felt as though she’d manifested it herself, though that was pure arrogance to think she had any affect on the weather. 

Her phone was screaming at her to get out, pinging emergency instructions from the resort on where to go when the hurricane made landfall. Elain planted herself in her bedroom determined to see this lie through. It was the kind of thing Gray would do, besides—he never too much stock in the hysterics, as he called it. 

And she was so pathetic that she would have sat beside him and waited to die. Elain told herself she’d be fine, even as fear skittered up her spine. Sirens blared just outside and when she stepped toward the window, Elain could see the storm on the horizon. She took a breath, intending to go sit back in bed and try and read her book. Elain would have, too, had she not seen him coming out the sea itself, eyes trained on her bedroom window. He was merely a dot, a doll walking so far below her Elain was positive he couldn’t see her. 

And yet she knew he could. Wind whipped around him, blowing his hair this way and that though he didn’t seem bothered by it. Elain watched, mouth half open, as a palm tree was shoved violently to the ground as though a giant hand had pushed it there. But the man didn’t budge, kept walking as though it were a perfectly normal day.

Oh god.

Elain rushed to the door, locking it before making her way out of her bedroom. Where was she going to go? She turned, standing in the living area, eyes trained on the beach. The man was gone and for a moment, Elain consoled herself that she was just crazy. He didn’t exist, her mind had merely snapped and when this was all over, she’d check herself into an asylum. 

Elain looked away for a moment, turning toward the little kitchenette she hadn’t used. “You’re okay—” The glass shattered, sending Elain flying to the floor, arms thrown over her head to avoid getting hit by debris. Unable to hear her own thoughts over the wind, Elain tried to recall what she should do in the middle of a hurricane.

Cool fingers curled around her upper arm, hoisting her up into the air. Elain turned her head, horrified to find herself cradled against the half naked skin of the strangely scaled man. “You,” she accused, certain all this was his doing.

His smile was grim, eyes wide and round. He looked scared. “Me,” he murmured, his deep voice cutting through the noise. “It’s time to go home.”

“I’m not going—” the wind screamed as water pelted the pair of them, stinging her skin with each new assault. He didn’t seem concerned at all, ignoring the glass crunching underneath them as he walked her toward the bedroom. 

“We’re going to die—”

“You’re going to remember,” Lucien interrupted, tail swishing angrily behind him. He looked catlike in the stormy dark, eyes glowing like sunlight cutting through shadow. 

“You’re not real,” she breathed as he ripped her night dress in half. He certainly felt real.

“You know me,” he breathed, staring down at her. “You love me.”

“You’re a monster,” she replied.

Lucien grinned, betraying two rows of sharp teeth. “I’ll show you a monster.”

She tried to push him away but Lucien knew better. Knew he could have her if he wanted her—had already touched her, tasted her. Her protests were weak, silenced the moment his mouth was back on hers. He was real—they were real. She almost forgot about the screaming wind rattling the windows and pushing glass around the living area. 

“You brought me an offering,” Lucien panted, hitching her leg up around his now bare waist. When had he taken off his pants? “Tell me you love me.”

“What offering—”

“The body. Your husband,” he spat, eyes darkening at the memory. “Tell me you love me.”

“I hate you,” she replied as he wrapped both hands around her bare thighs and wrenched them open.

“Wrong answer,” he replied. Elain kicked at his chest as Lucien lined himself up not just with her pussy, but her ass, too. 

Their eyes met. “Does this feel real, now?” he whispered, inching himself forward just enough to punch the lungs from her breath. “You know me.”

“I don’t,” she replied as something metallic lodged itself in her nose. The world was ending in an explosion of air and water and yet a strange bubble seemed to exist around them. Words, just on the tip of her tongue, if only she could remember them, begged to be released. To finish a spell long since cast.

Lucien waited for a heartbeat, his hope etched over his features. When Elain said nothing, Lucien pressed himself closer to her, cocks intruding on her body like an old, familiar friend. Elain swore she’d never felt anything like it and yet her body stretched on instinct to accommodate him. Even when Elain wriggled, trying to create some resistance, her body simply allowed him to slide easily inside.

“Why two?” she panted, gritting her teeth to adjust to the feeling of being stretched to capacity. 

“I can’t impregnate my mate if she doesn’t feel pleasure,” he replied breathlessly. His hair fell like a sunlit curtain between them, his eyes bright and earnest.

“Lucien,” she breathed, nails cutting against his biceps. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you—but who are you?

“Yes,” he managed, pulling himself out of the sticky wet that was her body. Spitting in his hand, Lucien lubricated his shaft now halfway buried in her ass before he thrust himself back in and

Elain was forced to admit that it all felt good. Her back arched of its own accord, eyes rolling upward in her skull. The ridges lining his cock made each new thrust sharper, the pleasure brighter. 

“Our bond goes beyond marriage,” Lucien told her as colors filled her vision. “What we have is stronger than love.” His fingers stroked between her legs, rubbing tight circles around her clit until Elain was panting and writhing. She was going to come right alongside the hurricane bearing her name and then what? The windows would give way and the world would one day know of the woman who died because she decided fucking was more important than evacuating.

She didn’t care. Elain pulled him closer, running her hand over the flexible spines running the length of his back until she found the tail protruding just above the swell of his ass. 

“Please,” she begged, wrapping her legs around his waist. Lucien whined in response, sweat dripping down his forehead as he ran his nose along her own.

“I can’t stop,” he told her, pressing a kiss along the corner of her mouth. “If you don’t say it, we start all over.”

“I love you,” she said, half meaning it. What did hurt, she decided? He was so obviously insane and maybe so was she, because she was still fucking him, wasn’t she? Maybe this was what she deserved. 

Lucien’s pace quickened and with each new thrust a new memory came flooding through her awareness. A cottage on the edge of a swap, a cauldron filled with bubbling liquid. A male half hidden in the water, gold tinged eyes looking for predators as his red hair fanned out behind him.

Amarantha.

Her horrible bargain.

Elains vision.

“Lucien,” she said, fisting his hair so he had to look back at him. He recognized her words, the look on her face.

“You’re back,” he whispered, still thrusting into her though his rhythm slipped into wild, animalistic thrusting. 

“You feel exactly as I remember,” she told him, dragging her nails down his back. “What took you so long?”

“Let a man wallow for a century or two,” Lucien replied, kissing her again. “Come for me. Now.”

She did, though not because he told her to— because she was already desperate and close and Lucien was pushing every button she had. Elain tightened around him as Lucien babbled unintelligibly about how wet and tight she was. Some things, she supposed, would never change. The world would.

But not them. Never them.

Lucien came loudly, roaring over the wind she’d forgotten about. Was there a hurricane? Had she been afraid of it? That seemed almost laughable to her now. Turning her head as Lucien buried his own in the crook of her neck, Elain stared out the window coated in violet raindrops. 

For a moment, the storm was the only sound between them. 

“You borrowed my magic,” Elain accused once his breathing steadied. She could feel his come leaking down her leg, slipping between the spaces his cocks occupied.

“You didn’t know how to use it,” Lucien replied with a sheepish grin. 

Elain poked him in the ribs. “Is she dead?”

“Not yet,” he told her, gaze darkening. “Feyre drove her out a century before.”

“Let's finish it, then.”

“In time,” Lucien promised, withdrawing himself so he could offer her his hand. “Home, first.”

Elain grinned. “Home, then.”

[langfield]

do you think vinh was actually in love with safi? i know he starts doubting that he ever was in chapter 5, but if he wasn’t actually in love what do you think his true feelings for her were? emotional attachment maybe? on safi’s side, i think it’s interesting how even after knowing about vinh’s statement about maya she still decides to hook up with him for a time (only to eventually stop sometime prior to the game?? maybe they had another falling out idk). their relationship in general is just very fascinating to me lmao.

god, the safi-vinh dynamic is certainly one filled with intrigue because of all the intense emotions attached to the people within it ; aimed at each other and also at the bystanders whom haunted around their not so defined relationship. there’s just so much baggage attached to them, you know? mostly painful things and a general sense of betrayal or regret, creating a potion of this general wishy washy bullshit that’s hard to parse through … more so in safi’s case than vinh’s, but i’ll touch upon that later! as for your question about vinh and his true feelings, well.

maybe he was in love with safi once upon a time. maybe the fact he believed that he was in love with her is really all that matters. i suppose it depends on what your definition of romantic love and utter devotion is. it’s undeniable he cared fiercely for safi, enough so to become jealous of max ( safi’s object of obsession ), swear off serious relationships in hope she’d want him back, and to engage in a general meddling within her life to make sure she comes out of situations as unscathed as possible. i mean, he schemes to steal a cow skull and then proceeds to throw it through her windshield in an attempt to save yasmin’s and safi’s relationship … it is very extra of him to do, in fact it’s a literal crime, and the game has both max and safi acknowledge the intensity of said action in episode four. we see the memory of the hedgehog he proudly displays on his desk, the carelessness in which safi treats it, her ‘i’ll buy you another one if it breaks’, and how vinh simpers beneath that offer because he doen’t want a new one, he wants this one, the one safi gave him : a gift that was likely unprompted, some sort of surprise maybe, given to him on a whim and cherished better than any other possession he owns. we also see how he breaks it when she dies. then there’s photos upon photos of safi on his phone and it’s implied he takes pictures after they sleep together and -- that isn’t even touching upon how he practically gives up on himself after her death. the mask drops, he starts trying to branch out and find acting gigs elsewhere, wanting to leave caledon forever, and there’s a sense of raw anger and loneliness he feels when she’s gone. he stops hooking up and pushes everyone away besides max, whom he clings to, and it’s a lot, right? there’s love there. obsession, probably. in many ways he’s still the ‘puppy’ following safi around like gwen said, only without maya this time. he waits and stews and he wants, certainly, for her to love him … but was it purely romantic love? who’s to say!

i think vinh wanted safi as his girlfriend before, maybe when things weren’t so tense, and he still believed that fiercely even when he stopped wanting it. i don’t think he knew where his feelings started to dwindle into something less excited and more resigned, or when he started looking for someone else. his priority remained with safi and with yasmin and thus there wasn’t a lot of time to dissect his heart, a rather vulnerable act he already struggles with anyway. he’s a repressive sort of man. he doesn’t do a lot of introspection because he has an act to maintain, a reputation to follow. but i do believe that by the time double exposure takes place, vinh’s love for safi has indeed shifted because his attraction to max veers on something that isn’t purely sexual. there is an undeniable interest, both in dead and living world, that he’s either embracing or squirming away from … i do not think vinh had many crushes at all when he was in love with safi. i don’t think he allowed himself that luxury, because he didn’t want to move on from her, or put himself off the market in case she wanted him again, in bed or in some profound, loving sense. lots of waiting. lots of surrendering, ‘she’ll come around, we’ll make up’, and hoping despite himself. so his romance with max proves to me that vinh is somewhat right in saying ‘or i thought i was’ when talking about safi and being in love with her, because he was before, but he isn’t exactly in love with her now, if that makes sense? i’d say an emotional attachment is a good title for what they have by the time of the games events.

( i do not wish to diminish vinh’s feelings, but i also think there’s a case to be made that he was rather desperate when he thought himself in love with safi ; there was a lot of insecurity within him back when he was a student, weighed down by the fact he was poor and not your standard run-of-the-mill white man … as an adult he scoffs at his acting abilities and wields his power as head of abraxas with a rather tight fist, as though it’s the only control he’s ever had before. it’s rather clear his only two friends were safi and maya and that vinh hasn’t had any since them -- was desperate to stay on their heels despite the fact he was never really apart of whatever they had. it’s not a stretch to speculate that vinh was, perhaps, a cocktail mix of loneliness and desperation rather than strictly in love with safi. maybe confused his all-consuming need to be around her as desire, or maybe just enjoyed feeling wanted by safi enough to mix his wires. after all, why was it safi he was in love with and not maya? vinh also uses sex as a means of coping, as seen by his rather active sex life in game via hookup apps and reggie, so maybe his sex with safi was just that. coping. in it’s own way. regardless, he did love her, or so he thinks so, and to me i think that’s enough, speculation aside )

safiya’s side of things is much more difficult than vinh’s, who is more obvious about his feelings towards her than he thinks he is. there are some brief contradictions, like how it’s stated that safi doesn’t care for vinh ( which is true ) and yet she also acknowledges that when she split apart and lost herself, all that was left of her was moses, lucas, gwen, and vinh. we know that moses and gwen matter to safi, or mattered, and that at one point safi might’ve admired lucas … so where does that leave vinh? if she doesn’t hate him like gwen or lucas now, and if she doesn’t cherish him like moses or max, why is he still apart of her? what does that mean? is it just a metaphor for their times with maya, and how safi will always be connected to that past with vinh because of her love for the caledon’s personal dead girl? was her sleeping with vinh about maya too? or did she actually care for vinh once, albeit weakly and casually, and did that fleeting moment of affection count when she vanished into everyone who’s ever thoroughly affected her life? and, as you said, it’s so fascinating that she hooks up with vinh at all post maya death … it feels strange and odd and unlike her. even in their intimate picture together after fooling around she is nothing but angry, disinterested, her underwear and bra are already back on ( if they were ever off at all? ) and while that’s on account of safi just hating photos, i also think it’s a testament to how irritable she finds vinh’s presence when stuck in it. it’s not a happy photo really, even vinh’s expression is a little red-eyed, forced, like he was likely wasted the night prior. i wouldn’t be surprised if safi was only able to be with vinh if she was … you know … literally out of her mind drunk or high or what have you.

though, that’s just speculation of course. my vague take on things is that safi went to vinh whenever she was partied out or if she was feeling particularly destructive that day ; choked with self loathing over her mom or maya and so sex with vinh was a means for her to feel even worse. some sort of self harm, some sort of outlet where she could be particularly cruel and evil without consequence, because vinh would take it and roll over -- could even be her way of controlling things too, like vinh with abraxas, because we know vinh has no issues with being led around in the bedroom, so that’s some food for thought. i don’t think she thinks about it after or remembers it much … she really doesn’t think about vinh unless it suits her or if she needs to. i always notice how, in episode four, safiya immediately knows what max is talking about when she asks if safi’s ever transformed into amanda, gwen, or lucas. she owns up immediately, confesses, and understands intimately what situation max is referring to. but when max asks about vinh and the phone, there is a brief moment where safi just stares blankly at her -- like she’s thinking about it, like she doesn’t even remember, before it finally clicks after a beat. either she wears vinh’s metaphorical skin a lot ( which, to be fair, she does pretend to be vinh a lot in game ) or she literally thinks of him so little she’ll forget everything about him in minutes. both are likely! she doesn’t even recall what type of alcohol he likes, calling it bougie japanese brandy ‘or whatever’ … and can’t be assed to remember his phone’s pin number exactly, only vague details about a magician scientist that she clearly thought was boring and lame when vinh told her said story, if her hostility and complete forgetfulness is anything to go by. for me, it’s easy to get caught up in a ‘safi did care! she had to!’ angle about vinh, although the game repeatedly shows you over and over again that she does not. she doesn’t even care that max kissed him really, if anything, she’s more jealous of vinh being with max given some of her remarks :

( i know, technically, safi’s ‘come again?’ is more nervous than jealous per se … but there is a certain air to it, especially given the ‘i can be your new boyfriend’ comment as seen above lol. if she loves max and doesn’t care for vinh, i can only imagine how she’d feel about their romance in particular! )

and, of course, there’s that part in episode four where safi can disguise herself as vinh in order to tear lucas a new one. i enjoy that part for many reasons! seeing how safi feels so much more comfortable in someone else’s skin than her own is fascinating and makes for good foreshadowing … but there is also the reveal of her opinions on vinh, unabashed and shameless, when she is finally giving him an ounce of thought :

it’s interesting! she doesn’t care for him, really, doesn’t loathe him like lucas or gwen or her own mother, but there’s a level of vitriol regardless. she thinks him fake. she thinks him a coward. she thinks he’s scared of facing consequences and that he only acts in his own self interest and she hates every bit of that. while safi can confess to doing maya wrong and hating herself for it, she never allows vinh that same courtesy. even says as much to max, claiming that only she had the humanity to regret her choice while vinh apparently didn’t. and yet … she doesn’t hate him? doesn’t feel strongly towards him? he’s still apart of her, a large part, and she can get along with him fine on crosstalk if she so pleases and she can hate his guts but, when the raw truth is revealed, she apparently feels nothing towards him at all? it is fascinating to think about is all. how she doesn’t wish him dead but doesn’t care if he’s alive either despite everything they’ve been through, even though she hates gwen and lucas and her mother more. it’s rather mean, though that’s what makes it so complex and interesting. it shows that safi only ever cares ( and oh, does she care fiercely, obsessively ) for a very slim group of people, and that when push comes to shove, everyone else can fend for themselves for all she cares. she would protect moses and max in a heartbeat, without thought, and the piece of her within them tries valiantly to keep them safe by locking them away from the world ( another thing to dissect, certainly! ), but she doesn’t really extend such empathy towards the innocents caught in her crossfire. she may be tormenting lucas and gwen specifically, but everyone else was going to be collateral damage and safi was fine with that. at least a little bit. vinh falls in that category of inevitable damage, i think, despite their closeness and despite their history, and you can tell that’s what really wounds him at the end of things. safi couldn’t even torment him, didn’t have the want or energy to do so, he was valiantly apart of her and safi didn’t even care about that. very interesting! it’s also heartbreaking in many ways to see two people who should’ve been able to lean on each other, who should’ve loved one another, be nothing but strangers at the end of things. an example of how tragedy doesn’t always bring people closer. sometimes it drives you worlds apart from the one you should be grieving with, which can be seen in other life is strange games, most notably with chloe and joyce, i think.

anyway! tldr : it’s complicated and worth exploring. there are many ways you can interpret their relationship and i highly encourage everyone to find what angle is most interesting to them! and i don’t blame you for finding their dynamic fascinating because it’s easily one of my favorites in double exposure … i don’t think of it often, but it’s always lingering in the back of my mind. regardless, i hope this word vomit is helpful! if i brought up more questions than answers, i do apologize. but thank you so much for such a fun question <3 it was an absolute blast, and tickled my brain enough to pump this out asap.

[evenhisfacewasanalias]

After Hours

Lady Jane Grey/Guildford Dudley

Rating: Teen

Modern AU - Jane is an overworked medical student at Cambridge who is in dire need of a date to her sister's engagement - all in order to keep Lady Frances from setting her up. She decides to bring the worst guy she can find and make her mother regret her meddling. Guildford is playing in a rock band at the local pub, and Jane of course picks the man she was always going to.

Really just an excuse to give Guildford a little earring.

“She’s gone completely off her rocker!”

Susannah shakes her head at her friend’s histrionics, and Jane knows she’s being ridiculous.  They were supposed to be at the pub to unwind and catch up. The loud band playing in the corner isn’t helping much, however. They’re nearly shouting to be heard over the screeching guitar and excessive drumming.

“I would have thought having one daughter getting engaged might soothe the savage beast?” 

Jane practically chugs down the second half of her pint, “Oh no, not Lady Frances Grey - if anything this has only sped up her timetable for having me married off. I need another drink.”

“You’ve had two already. Isn’t alcohol poisoning something you learned about at that fancy medical school o’ yours?” Susannah laughs, pulling her friend back to the small table.

“My fancy medical school is half the reason I drink,” Jane sighs. “The other half is Mum’s new threat to set me up with Lord Dudley's son.”

“Stanley Dudley? That's cruel, even for Frances. Besides, I'm pretty sure he has a thing for your mum.”

And that part is probably true. She thinks she caught Stan attempting the boombox move from Say Anything outside her mother’s window on winter break. Only her window was four stories up, and an mp3 speaker didn’t have quite the same impact. She’s been trying to forget the memory of it ever since. She often tries not to think too hard about her widowed mother’s love life.

“Not Stan, at least. Apparently Lord Dudley has another son we've never even heard of - some Oxford dilettante off gadding about.”

“Oooh collegiate rivalry, could make for some great shagging.” Susannah is little better than her mother at times with the way she fusses over the lack of men in Jane’s life, but at least her best friend isn’t trying to marry her off to some vagabond Lord.

“My mother’s taste in men tends toward the vapid.” So does Susannah’s, but in the name of friendship, Jane won’t mention this.

“He doesn’t need a doctorate to be good in bed,” Susannah shakes her head at her friend. “Though I feel like I should have an honorary one in the subject, at least.”

Jane laughs at her friend’s ego, though secretly she can admit she admires her confidence. “He doesn’t need a doctorate, but he should at least be able to manage his end of the conversation.”

“I forgot that a lively debate was practically foreplay for you.” 

Jane snorts out another laugh. She’s not even getting that much lately.

“So then what else is on ‘Jane’s list or a shaggable man’ - other than his oral skills?”

Jane’s face heats at her friend’s joke. It really has been too long if she’s blushing over some double entendre. Single entendre, really.

“I can’t even think about men with studying for exams this month.”

“Or last month, or the one before it. Find a hot enough bloke and you’ll make the time.”

“Well I’m certainly not going to find Mr. Right in this pub.”

She looks around at the crowd - it’s mostly secondary students and couples at the bar and tables, with a few grungier looking guys gathered around the stage. This isn’t really the sort of venue where she’d hope to find a worthy suitor.

“I’m only talking about Mr. Right Now,” Susannah teases.

“That doesn’t exactly help me with the engagement party situation.”

“It’ll help you to relax a little about the engagement party situation,” she winks.

And ok, maybe Susannah has something of a point - she’s survived her mother’s nagging for twenty four years, it usually takes a little more than a set-up to wind her up like this. But still, the threat of it remains her most pressing concern.

“It won’t help me much unless it gets my mother to back off.”

“Why not just bring some random guy as your date then?”

It’s not as though she hadn’t considered it. She’s not exactly attending a convent, she could have just invited one of her fellow med school classmates. “Because then my mother still wins.”

“And we can’t have that, can we?” Susannah is no fan of her mother either, but she can never resist mocking what she calls Jane’s ‘contrary’ nature. “Well then, make Frances regret it. Bring someone she’ll hate.”

Susannah has her own spiteful streak as well. It’s why they’ve always been friends, even when Susannah stopped working for her mother.

“So any man without a title, then?” Jane suggests. 

Her father had been a Duke and her mother refused to entertain anyone lower in rank than a Viscount. Her sister Katherine was already pushing it, marrying the Earl of Hertford.

“Worse.”

“A man without a trust fund?” 

“Worse,” and then Susannah’s eyes are shifting over towards the makeshift stage, to where the band is still wailing to the world’s smallest mosh pit.

Jane chuckles at the idea - it would certainly make her mother’s head spin. The members of the band - The Affliction, apparently, very fitting - look to be about her own age, but they’re about as far away from her social class as they could get (a characteristic Jane preferred and her mother detested). Definitely not a title or trust fund to be found among the lot of them - not with the sorry state of their clothing and instruments. They’re all decent looking enough, in a tattooed and leather jacketed bad boy kind of way. If you were into that sort of thing, which Jane most assuredly isn’t. Or at least she had never considered herself to be - she didn’t care to be so predictable. But objectively, they’re an attractive bunch. They’re what loosely might be called a rock band, but they’re playing in this shithole of a pub so clearly they’re not very successful. And most importantly, her mother would be livid at the sight of any one of them.

That, plus the two pints in her stomach, has Jane actually considering this mad gambit of Susannah’s. What if she did bring some wannabe rockstar to the engagement party? Katherine wouldn’t mind - at least not much. And she’d certainly forgive Jane when she saw her engagement gift: a minibreak stay at a B&B in Chipping Campden to escape their mother’s wedding planning. Her mother, however, would never forgive her. Jane might even get uninvited to several events she’s been dreading. She smiles at the thought.

However, Jane doesn’t want to be uninvited from the wedding entirely, so she does some quick research before she even begins to truly contemplate this madness. Susannah laughs at the sight of Jane googling, though she hadn’t laughed when Jane used her powers of research to perform recon on her friend’s sketchy tinder dates. She doesn’t want either one of them getting axe-murdered by some random guy - a fact which Susannah usually appreciates. And even though she wants to piss off her mother, she’s not about to bring some registered sex offender to her little sister’s engagement party. 

The Affliction has a facebook page, and a soundcloud, but nothing professional. That’s good news on the unsuccessful front, neutral on the ‘is one of them an axe-murderer’ question. She looks at the band members individually. It turns out the bassist is actually a woman, with a very cute pixie cut and great bone structure - Jane briefly considers the possibility of giving her mum a heart attack by bringing home a woman, but is quick to realise she’s already married to the lead singer anyway. There’s two options out, leaving the guitarist and the drummer. A drummer would maybe get an extra rotation on the head spinning front, but in both the facebook photo and up on stage now Jane can spot a cigarette in the guy’s mouth. Gross. She’s seen too many textbook images of what the tar does to your lungs to think of anything else whenever she sees someone smoking.

Which leaves the guitarist. If she’s honest with herself, he’s the one she would have been drawn to out of all of them. Floppy brown curls, mouth curved into a devilish smirk - but thankfully no more than a spare pick pressed between his lips. A good jawline, with the barest hint of stubble. Warm brown eyes and surprisingly nice hands. She gets a little distracted watching strong fingers wrapped around the guitar's neck and deftly plucking at its strings, stacked rings only drawing more attention to his hands - though none of that really matters since she’s not actually looking for a real date. What does matter is the rips on his jeans, the way the sleeves are cut from his t-shirt to show off his many tattoos, and the glint of an earring she can spot even from back here. He’ll drive her mum batty. 

His name’s not listed on their facebook page - there’s apparently another guitarist who should be here tonight - but this guy’s in a few of the older photos. Including one at some kind of children’s charity fundraiser event, so at least she knows he’s not on any registries. And he’s probably not a criminal or anything if they’re doing philanthropy shows. There’s a newer shot with the entire band, plus him, all cuddling animals at what is apparently a shelter rescue gig. Another point in the not-a-serial-killer column. Still no name but there’s a tabby curled around his neck pawing at a pair of necklaces she realises are the same ones he’s wearing tonight. She’s always thought cats to be good judges of character. They’re certainly good judges of cheekbones, she thinks as she looks back and forth between the photo and the man on stage.

Someone tosses a glass bottle his way in between songs - to give it to him or to critique the music, she can’t be certain - but he catches it easily, tossing it back up again with a little spin before flicking off the cap to take a drink. Jane’s a little caught up in the line of his throat, those ridiculous necklaces. He leans over to the micromobile, and she hears his voice for the first time. 

“‘What I like to drink most is wine that belongs to others,’” he unexpectedly quotes Diogenes, and she falls a little in lust.

“Do you think he’d agree to it?” She asks Susannah, who follows her line of sight and grins at her choice.

“Do I think he’ll say yes to a date with a hot girl?” She gives Jane a look that implies she’s an idiot.

Jane waves away the compliment, and the word ‘date’. “It wouldn’t be a real date, just to get my mother off my back for a bit.”

“Then do I think a grown man playing Clash covers in a pub would say no to pissing off someone’s parents?”

“Good point.” 

The idea is left to simmer in her brain for the rest of the band’s set. They switch their conversation over to Susannah’s troubles. Things with the new guy are going well, but her best friend is currently working as an au pair for a family that doesn’t pay her anywhere near well enough to put up with their nightmare son. But she refuses to let Jane use her connections to get her a better job, or at least better pay, though Jane is slowly wearing her down. Or at least the Bradfords’ son is. Jane wishes she had something better to offer her friend for her repeatedly kicked shins than some paracetamol, but it’s all she has on her. She jokingly offers some anaesthesia whenever she finally gets her medical licence. 

“For me or for the wain?”

“Your choice. I think it’s better if I have plausible deniability on that one.”

“Ditto,” Susannah laughs, and directs Jane’s sight back towards the front of the pub, where the band is finally starting to pack it in. Susannah is no fan of Jane’s mum, but she definitely doesn’t want to get on her bad side. It had been hard enough wheedling a good reference out of her when Susannah had left. And this plan will definitely get someone on her mother’s shit list.

Jane has sobered up a little from earlier, but the idea is still the best one they’ve got. If nothing else it’ll irritate her mother, and spare her having to talk to some Tory-supporting wanker she’ll inevitably be set up with. She knows next to nothing about music, but she’d still rather hear about that than some guy’s stock portfolio all evening, or the endless name-dropping she was so often forced to endure. And he’d certainly be easier on the eyes. It only takes a little persuasion, and one good hard shove, from her friend to have her beelining towards the stage. 

She mentally assesses her own look tonight on the way there - heeled boots and a short-ish skirt that made her legs look longer, and a sweater that was more cosy than sexy but not utterly disastrous. She tugs her hair free of its messy bun and hopes her curls were behaving for once. Even though she was only asking for a fake date, she hopes a good first impression might tip the scales a little in her favour.

The pub isn’t overly large, so it only takes a few steps to push through the small gathered crowd to where the guitarist is pounding back the bottle he caught from earlier. She waits for him to set it down before she tries to introduce herself.

And he promptly belches in her face.

“You’re perfect,” she smiles. 

Normally, the rudeness would have her ready to tear into the man, but the entire point of this was to send her mother into a conniption fit. Bad manners was just the icing on top of a very offensive cake.

“I take it you’re a fan of The Affliction, then?” His grin is both lazy and arrogant, another point in his favour - or disfavour, as it was. It’s not even remotely as charming as he seems to think it is. 

“Oh no, your music is atrocious.”

“Then what is it I'm perfect for?” He seems a little taken aback by the dig at their music, but then he’s grinning again. “Or do you just have a thing for devilishly handsome guitarists?” 

Might as well rip off the bandaid. She takes a deep breath. “If I say yes, could I borrow you for a few hours tomorrow? I’m Jane, by the way.”

He takes her outstretched hand automatically. His hands are warm but the rings he wears are cool, and she can feel the calluses along his fingers as he grips her hand firmly.

“For like a gig? I’m not really…” He looks even more confused now considering she’s professed not to be a fan.

“Something like that - my sister’s engagement party is tomorrow and my mother is threatening to set me up if I don’t bring a date.”

“So you’re asking me on a date, then?” The grin is back in full force, and he keeps holding her hand.

“I’m asking you to rescue me from my mother for a few hours,” she answers flatly.

“You know what I find works best with parents?” 

The fact that he’s still smiling at her is troubling, but her curiosity wins over her good sense and so she asks him just what he thinks will work.

“Telling them to fuck off.”

“Yes, well I would love for you to swing by Saturday and tell my mother just that.”

He actually throws his head back and laughs at that. 

“Not that I don’t love telling off busybodies, but is there some reason you can’t just bring a real date to get her off your back? Surely your talents for flattery could win some undiscerning man over.”

Jane finally pulls her hand away to cross her arms in front of her, “If you wanted flattery then you shouldn’t have named your band ‘The Affliction’. And for your information, the reason I don’t have an actual date is because I’m currently too busy with my studies at the School of Clinical Medicine.”

He looks unimpressed. “Oh, is that like a local further education school?”

“It’s at Cambridge University, you halfwit.”

That grin again. “I’m fully aware, it’s called a joke - perhaps you’ve heard of them?” 

“This whole conversation is a joke!” She nearly shouts, half in frustration with the man in front of her but mostly with herself. Why she ever thought this was a good idea is beyond her.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re cute when you’re angry?” 

His nose scrunches a little when he says the word ‘cute’ and Jane can feel the rage rushing white hot through her veins.

But he keeps talking before she has the chance to tell him off. “Alright, I’ll come with you to your little party. If your mother’s half as easy to wind up, it might even be fun.”

And she’s annoyed at both him and herself for falling into his little trap, but she’s stuck on the fact he’s agreeing to come with her. 

“You’ll actually come?”

“Sure, why not?” 

Not giving him a chance to change his mind, Jane quickly lists off the party address and the time they should meet, typing her number into his mobile and texting herself with it. She neglects to tell him the dress code, half hoping he’ll wear this exact outfit again. The t-shirt is practically in tatters, which will infuriate her mother, but the arms they reveal are quite nice to look at - tattoos and all. She’s not usually into that sort of thing, but the designs there curve around the musculature in a way that scratches the part of her brain that’s been pouring over anatomy for the past three years. She imagines herself tracing the lines, listing off each muscle group in Latin. 

Jane shakes her head to shut down this line of thinking immediately. This is not a real date because she has no time for dating. She barely had time to come out tonight with Susannah, and she’s only in town at all tonight because her mother insisted on a small family dinner before the big event next weekend. She hands back his mobile.

“And what do I get out of this?” The guy asks, tucking his mobile back into his pocket.

Jane narrows her eyes. “What do you want?”

She sees him looking her up and down. And even though it sends a pleasant little zip down her spine, this is so not what tonight is about.

“Not that.” She states clearly and firmly.

“I didn’t even ask for anything,” his nose is scrunching up again, crinkling the skin around his eyes as well which threatens her resolve to keep this clean and simple. 

“Not that,” she repeats.

“How about 100 quid then?” 

“So you’re an escort now?” 

“Student loans, you know,” he shrugs. And she’s a little surprised to hear he is - or was - a student, but considering he’s quoting Greek philosophers in random pubs it makes some sort of strange sense. “Actually, I have a better idea - you said School of Clinical Medicine, right? So you’ve got medical training?” 

This was never a good start to a conversation, in her experience. “You’re not about to ask me to commit medical malpractice are you?”

“Is it really medical malpractice if you’re not even a doctor yet?” 

“Yes. ” 

“Well this isn’t that, I promise. It’s just a run of the mill bad idea.” 

It’s not at all as assuring as he seems to think it is. “And just what exactly is this bad idea?” 

“I have a friend that needs a doctor.” 

“And does this friend know about the National Health Service?” 

“They can’t help her.” 

Jane hopes his friend is just not a full UK resident or something, rather than some shady thing they’re trying to hide from an actual doctor.

“And you think I can?” 

“I think that you are in luck that I’m nearly as desperate as you are,” his eyebrow arches.

It’s a fair point.

“Alright then, where is this friend? And I’m not making any promises.” 

“All I’m asking is that you try. Just take a look and see if there’s anything more you can tell us. I’ll drive us there.” 

This halts her. “You’re not driving me anywhere - I’m not about to step into whatever van with blacked out windows you have back there.” 

“It’s a motorbike, actually.” 

And of course he drives a motorbike too. “That's even worse. Besides, I have my kit in my car.” 

“You have a medical kit in your car?” 

“It’s also a first aid kit, everyone should have one. Especially people stupid enough to drive motorbikes. And I know this may shock you, but sometimes people find out I’m in medical school and start expecting me to treat them.”

The insult has him raising his brows. “So you do this often then? Lure men into dates in exchange for medical advice?”

“No! I don’t lure anyone into anything. I’m certified in CPR and first aid, and I help people for free.”

“So I’m getting massively overcharged then?” He chuckles.

“You’re not risking your future medical licence, so I’d say you’re getting the better end of the bargain here.”

“Touche. But I’m not risking my life when you’ve been here throwing back gods know how many pints, so we’ll fetch your kit and then I’m driving us.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t been drinking?”

He holds up the bottle he’d been drinking out of - it’s just a soda. “Sober as a nun. I don’t drink when I’m playing.”

“I want you to know I’m taking a lot on faith here, pal.”

“It’s Guildford, actually.”

Guildford, of all names. She thought she had left the posh wanker names behind with this plan.

“It suits you,” she tries.

“I can hear the derogatory tone in your voice, but it’s a family name.”

“It would have to be, who would name a child that in the twenty-first century?”

“Perhaps the same sort of people who would name a child after a eighteenth century spinster?”

“And one of England’s most famous authors.”

He glances somewhere behind her.

“Well you certainly live up to your name, my Lady Jane - your chaperone over there appears greatly worried about your virtue,” he nods back to where Susannah is watching the two of them like a hawk. She signals her friend over to make the awkward introductions and explain the exchange.

“I highly doubt she’s worried about my virtue, just my common sense,” she clarifies before Susannah reaches them. “Susannah - Guildford. Guildford has agreed to come with me tomorrow to deal with Mum, but first he needs my help with his friend -”

“Winifred,” he supplies.

“Winifred, really? Your parents never even gave you a chance, did they?” She turns back to face her friend, “I’ll just grab my med kit from the car and you can drive it to your place or I can call you a cab.”

“No need, Archer’s already on his way. I figured when you two were chatting for so long.” Jane’s not loving the insinuation in her friend’s voice right now. “I just need to real quick -” and then she’s lifting her camera to snap a photo of Guildford, “hope you don’t mind.”

But Guildford just smiles for the photo. “I know the drill, I’ll give you my info in case you need to look into me first.”

He takes Susannah’s mobile from her and pops his info into her contacts. 

“This is almost suspiciously easy,” she stage whispers to Jane, but she smiles at whatever she sees on her mobile.

“Need me to verify anything?” He offers, handing back the mobile.

“Nope!” Susannah says, a little too quickly, tucking her mobile back into her purse. “You two have fun. All my love to Winifred!”

And then she’s out the door before Jane can so much as wave goodbye.

“Well that was weird,” Jane remarks to the empty spot her friend was just standing.

“Are you going to let my friends look you up now so I can make sure you’re not a fake doctor or something?”

“I never even said I was a real doctor, and it looks like your friends have already ditched you.” He glances back over his shoulder at the stage which is now empty. “Did they steal your guitar too?”

“That one’s just borrowed, I would never let my girl out of my sight like that.”

Jane resists the urge to roll her eyes at this - she imagines he’s even given his guitar a girl’s name, like “Lucille” or “Theresa”. She won’t give him the satisfaction of asking about it now, she’ll save that for when her mother is there to hear it. 

They manage to grab her kit and lock up her car with only a minimum of teasing from Guildford about her Prius. She expects to give him back the same when finally sees his motorbike, anticipating either some souped up American monstrosity or a barely-held-together dirt bike. 

It’s neither. It’s an older model, British-made by the logo, but it looks to be in good repair. It’s surprisingly tasteful, considering its owner. She still can’t quite believe she’s agreed to ride on it, however. Like some heroine in a novel racing off at the first sign of someone in danger, or a princess jumping on the back of a dragon to rescue an ill villager. She wonders what that makes Guildford. He’s certainly no knight in shining armour. A knight in shining leather jacket?

Only he’s handing that leather jacket to her. “I have two helmets but you should take the jacket.”

She presses it back towards him, “you don’t even have sleeves.”

Guildford pushes into her space and throws the jacket over her shoulders, “and you’re not wearing trousers. I run hot, especially after a gig, I’ll be fine. The drive isn’t that long.”

And then he turns away to pull out the spare helmet for her, tucking her kit into the boot, and she’s forced to accept the jacket. She slides it over her arms and realises that even though he’s not that much taller than her, she’s practically swimming in the leather sleeves. She shoves them up over her wrists and ignores his grin at the sight. 

Jane does fight to adjust her own helmet, drawing the line at letting him put it on her like she’s his girlfriend or something. She’s only doing this because some woman out there is in need of medical attention, and is apparently unable to find it anywhere else. Jane had considered the possibility that this was all some cheap ploy to get her back to his place, but there were much easier schemes, and even easier women. Had he had better manners, she might have been one of them. 

No, between his rude behaviour and his refusal to elaborate on the situation, she assumed it was probably just something embarrassing - for Winifred or for Guildford, it didn’t matter. Either  was fine by her, she would just build up her portfolio of funny medical stories a little earlier than most. And if things got too weird she could simply call a cab. 

She wasn’t chickening out yet, though. Even when Guildford straddles the bike and gestures for her to take the spot behind him. Jane had forgotten the fact she was wearing a short skirt.

“Eyes forward, mister.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” he laughs, but turns to face the other direction so she can primly lift one leg over the bike, keeping a few inches of space between their bodies.

But Guilford has other ideas. Warm, gloved hands reach back behind her knees to tug her forward, pressing her flush with his back. Her skirt rides up a little in the process, but none of it matters because there’s not so much as a centimetre between them for anyone to see anything. He draws her arms forward to wrap around his middle. 

And he really hadn’t been lying about running hot. She can feel the heat of him radiating everywhere they’re pressed together. Her face is right at the nape of his neck, the curls there damp from exertion and peeking out from underneath his helmet. He smells faintly of sweat and soap and leather, but mostly he just smells really nice. She resists the urge to lean in further, and her helmet thankfully stops her from doing something as embarrassing as pressing her face into his shoulder.

“Alright then, feet on the pegs,” he explains, and she scrambles to get her heeled boots locked on the second set of pegs, “arms tight around me, and lean with me around any curves. I’ll try and be gentle since this is your first time.”

She can hear the smirk in his voice and she wants to hit him, but he’s revving the engine and they’re rolling forward and Jane can’t do anything but hold on. 

He doesn’t peel out, however, and she’s forced to realise he actually does seem to be taking it easy on her - keeping just under the speed limit and avoiding any sharp turns. The wind whips a little at the bare skin of her legs, but otherwise it’s surprisingly…pleasant. Not that she’ll ever admit it. And with Guildford unable to open his mouth and say anything obnoxious, she’s allowed to simply enjoy the feel of her arms wrapped around a firm waist, her legs pressed against warm, solid thighs. 

He takes her further out into the country, to where the manor homes of her former life were surrounded by the less familiar farms and cottages. She starts to envision Winifred as some elderly relative or neighbour who doesn’t trust the NHS, but might allow someone of Guildford’s acquaintance to take a look at her. He turns off at one of the wide green pastures and the picture becomes even clearer. She’ll probably be offered tea and biscuits the moment she arrives.

****

“Winifred is a horse .”

“Yes, that's why you'll notice I brought you out to the stables to help her,” he says as if this is a completely normal thing to spring on a person.

“She’s a fucking horse.” 

“You catch on quick, you know that?”

“She’s a horse, and I'm not a vet.”

“Oh I'm well aware of that - her owner keeps neglecting to pay his bills on time and so no vet in the Tri-County area will come and take a look at her.”

Jane wonders at why Guildford cares so much about a horse that isn’t even his, but perhaps he’s a part time groom or something. Part-time musician, part-time student - she hated that she was actually starting to find him interesting. Most of the people in her social class did so little of anything - including not paying their vet bills. She wasn’t sure exactly who’s estate she was on right now but she wasn’t far from her own ancestral home, so she probably knew its owner. She decided against asking, however, not exactly wanting to give away her own position. Jane didn’t want to be lumped in with Winifred’s owner, even though she couldn’t pinpoint why she cared so much about Guildford’s opinion of her.

But he’s not looking at her right now, his full attention is on Winifred. His hands are stroking at her face and sides, quieting her where she’s startled a little bit at the lights and the presence of a stranger in her stall. 

“She’s been fairly agitated these last couple weeks - restless even, doesn’t want anyone near her except Rupert and me. And she’s been picky about what she eats. We thought she might have hay belly but Rupert’s been buying her the good stuff himself.” Jane has no idea what hay belly is but at least it’s already been ruled out. “There’s a broken fence post out there though and it’s possible she might have gotten a nasty splinter or scratched herself on a nail or something. Could she have tetanus?” 

“If she had untreated tetanus for a few weeks she’d be dead by now.” Jane might not know horses but she knew tetanus, and horses and sheep were even more susceptible than humans.

“Great bedside manner you have there,” Guildford finally looks back at her with a withering look. 

“They don’t teach bedside manner until year four, and besides, I’m telling you it’s probably not tetanus. One would think that would be good news.” 

He goes back to whispering sweet things to the horse, apologising for Jane’s words as if she’s the rude one here. She ignores the way her heart softens a little at his concern for the creature. 

Just in case, they work in tandem to check Winifred for any sign of splinters or scrapes. Jane shines her small torch along her limbs while Guildford carefully lifts Winifred’s hooves for her inspection. For as tough as he looks, he’s exceedingly gentle with her. It’s annoyingly attractive.

The buzzing of his mobile startles both girl and horse, and Guildford is quick to end the call and turn off the phone, looking annoyed at the caller ID. 

“Who’s calling you so late?” Jane has never been one to let her curiosity go unsatisfied.

“My father has somehow figured out I was going to be in town this weekend.”

“What happened to telling your parents to ‘fuck off ’?” Jane attempts to mimic the smugness of his earlier words.

“I think the nine declined calls sends the same message.” 

“The fact that he just called you again tells me it doesn’t.” Jane can commiserate, but she also can’t resist the urge to tease him a little after all his bullshit about not standing up to her own mother. 

“Once he gets something into his head, he’ll never let it go. He’s been nagging me to settle down for years.” And doesn’t that sound familiar.

“A commitment-phobe, how original. Well, I’d offer to show up as your fake date and return the favour, but I’m only in town this one weekend.” 

He snorts at the thought of it. “It’s probably not a good idea anyway - if I told my father I was bringing home a date he’d be booking the chapel and priest the second I hung up.” 

“He wants you to get married that badly?” 

“He wants me to live his life.” 

It’s like looking into a mirror of her own parental relationship. She can’t tease him about that one. “My mother doesn’t understand why I’m spending my youth getting ‘distracted’ by medical school, or my need for independence.” 

Frances Grey couldn’t understand why Jane needed a regular job at all, with no real power or influence, but she was still determined to do it on her own terms and with the full freedom of being unpartnered. It’s weird that this perfect stranger gets it better than her own mother does.

Guildford frowns a little at this. “Does that mean I need to convince her I can take care of you or something, because I…” 

A laugh forces itself out of Jane at the very idea. “Oh no, you just need to be yourself. Don’t change a single thing.” 

“...Alright?” 

Jane doesn’t want a knight in shining armour - especially not tomorrow. She wants the crass, barely employable tattooed guitarist to shake things up with her mother. She just hopes there’s no cute animals around tomorrow to soften his image.

She gives Winifred one last look over and pulls out her own mobile. “I can’t find any cuts or signs of swelling around her joints, maybe we should do a more general look at her vital signs?”

“Are you googling ‘normal horse temperature’?”

Jane looks up from the webpage. “I told you I’m not a vet. It’s not like I know off-hand what temperature a horse is supposed to be.”

“37.5 to 38.6 celsius,” he states, as if it’s common knowledge.

But he’s not the one with the infrared thermometer in his medkit. 

“37.8, as healthy as…”

“A horse?” He groans.

“I was trying not to say it. I can listen to her heart and then I can check her nose and ears,” she tells him as she pulls her stethoscope from her bag.

“Don’t you need to look up a normal heart rate for a horse?” She can’t tell if he’s mocking her or offering an honest suggestion. Jane already saw the rate range when she looked up the temperature question. She’s got the normal respiration rate range too, if needed. She may not be a vet, or even a full doctor yet, but she can memorise text with the best of them.

“Don’t you know it off hand?” She volleys back, half mocking herself. But also a little curious if he’ll know it.

“It doesn’t feel off.”

Guildford has his broad hand on Winifred’s chest, just behind her foreleg. Jane presses in beside him, sliding her hand and the stethoscope beneath his palm. He doesn’t move his hand immediately, but Jane tries her best to focus on counting the beats in time with her watch. 

32 bpm, another normal reading. She moves down to Winifred’s lungs, checking her respiration rate, and listening for any signs of obstruction. Normal again. Guildford is running his hands soothingly over her mane. Gods but his hands are nice. She checks her belly next, listening for the normal gurgles and peristalsis. She hears something else instead.

“Guildford?” She looks up to see the instant worry on his face. 

“How bad is it?”

Jane smiles.

“Winifred isn’t sick - she’s pregnant.”

He looks a little surprised by the news so she hands him the headset and guides the diaphragm back into place so he can listen to the second heartbeat himself - still faint but clearly distinct from its mother’s.

Guildford’s bright smile at the sound makes him look a bit like a kid at Christmas, and it melts Jane’s heart a little to see it. He still seems a little perplexed at the news, however. 

“But how? It’s all mares and geldings in here?”

“You said something about a broken fence?” She reminds him, and sees the exact moment when the thoughts connect.

And then he’s hugging her, lifting her in the air and spinning her to celebrate. Jane feels a little lighter too, oddly glad that she could deliver some good news after all. Guildford sets her back down slowly, keeping her still within the circle of his arms. Jane doesn’t try and break free immediately either. His eyes flick down to her mouth and she wonders if he’s about to try and kiss her. 

Jane realises she wants him to. His bare arms are warm around her sides and his lips look incredibly nice when they’re lifted by a real smile instead of his usual smirk. She tilts her face up towards his, and lets her eyelids go a little heavy. She watches as his tongue peeks out to run across his lips and she’s this close to just sliding her hands into those dark curls and dragging him down to kiss her. But then Winifred is butting her head against Guildford’s side, and the moment swiftly passes them by. Jane reluctantly pulls away.

“She’ll still need a real vet to come in now, if you can maybe find one that doesn’t know her owner’s a deadbeat. I could…” Jane catches herself before she starts offering to find a vet or pay for Winifred’s care herself. She knows that if Guildford actually shows up tomorrow, she’ll probably cave and offer anyway. 

“No chance you’d be willing to pop by for regular checkups?” He half teases.

“I’ll be back in Cambridge after the engagement party tomorrow,” she reminds him.

“...Right,” he accepts, clearly disappointed by the answer. He knows she isn’t a real vet though, and it’s not like she carries around equine ultrasound equipment in her kit. Unless he just wanted an excuse to see her again? But he’s already shifting away, “I guess I should get you back to town then.”

Before she even has a chance to work out if he wants her to stay - if she wants herself to stay - he’s walking out of the stables and expecting her to follow.

It’s a different kind of awkward, this time, climbing in behind him on the bike. He doesn’t make any allusions to her motorcycle virginity - or lack thereof, at this point - but he drives even more slowly than before. Jane gives into the urge to rest her chin on his shoulder, and allows her hands to splay a little across his stomach. Guildford relaxes a little at the gesture and she knows she made the right choice. The rest of the ride is pleasant, and she’s thankful she asked him to drop her off at her sister and William’s slightly more modest flat in town - all the easier to pick up her car tomorrow, and fewer questions about coming home so late - rather than her family estate, which would have been a far shorter ride and led to a great deal more questions.  

Even still, they arrive at her door far too soon, before she’s managed to figure out if there’s a way to recreate the moment from earlier. She takes off her helmet, and is pleased to see him do the same - this makes it much easier, if she can work up the nerve to get closer. She starts to unzip his leather jacket where she’s still wearing it, but he halts her.

“You can give it back to me tomorrow,” he tells her, taking the pull from her hands and zipping the coat back up.

Jane's eyes flick between the ringed hand at her chest - so dangerously near, but not taking any ungentlemanly liberties - and his grinning face above. Apparently she didn’t need to put in any work at all to revive the tension between them, it’s been simmering there the whole time. But since Guildford made his move with the zipper, she figures it's her turn to be bold. 

She reaches up to grasp at those tempting curls and finally pulls his face down to hers, kissing him with a certainty she doesn’t one hundred percent feel right now. Guildford is quick to catch on at least, and returns her kiss with equal fervour, lips sliding warm and plush against her own. 

The kiss quickly turns heated. Guildford’s clever tongue slips between her parted lips and he groans into her mouth when her fingers tug at his hair. His own hands have slid down to where her sweater and his jacket have ridden up a little, and she shivers at the rasp of callused fingers and leather half gloves at the bare skin of her back. 

Jane breaks their kiss only to run her lips over his lightly stubbled jawline, making her way towards the little silver hoop in his ear that’s been driving her crazy since she first noticed it. She delights in the choked off little gasp that tugging it with her teeth draws out, and the full body shudder when she catches the lobe between her lips. She can’t hide the squeak she lets out when he reaches down to palm at her ass, and pulls her in even closer to his overheated body. 

Jane realises this kiss is getting a little out of control for standing out in a fully public street, but his lips have made it to her throat and this is exactly how kissing boys who drive motorbikes is supposed to be. But in a strange way it’s also so very sweet. One of his hands goes to protect the back of her head when he pushes her up against the doorway, and he keeps peppering in these softer kisses under her chin even as his teeth scrape against tendons of her throat. 

He steps in closer and she can feel the solid heat of his thigh as it parts her own, and she wants so much to wrap her legs around his waist and tear off that stupid cut off t-shirt. But this is all a bit much for standing outside on Park Lane, and there’s not much privacy to be gained upstairs either. She reluctantly presses him back, smiling a little at the slightly dazed look on his face, lips flushed and kiss-bitten and his hair sticking up in wild tufts from where she’s been tugging at it. She imagines she looks equally a mess, panting into the space between them. Guildford reaches up to brush back her hair into some semblance of order, apparently also realising things have gotten a little out of hand, but grinning at whatever state she seems to be in right now. She’s already considering whether she’ll need to hide the evidence on her neck from her mother and sister’s eagle eyes tomorrow.

“My sister and her fiance are upstairs,” Jane tries to come up with a nice way to say ‘I’d love for you to come up but I’m apparently a teenager again who can’t escape my nosy family being in my business’.

Guildford seems to catch on to her meaning though, stepping back and taking her hand to press one last kiss to the back of her wrist.

“Until tomorrow, then.”

And then he’s driving off again, leaving her with her med kit in hand and lips still tingling.

****

Guildford isn’t outside when she arrives the next afternoon, as she had expected him to be from his earlier text. His jacket is still tucked into the crook of her arm. She looks down at her mobile, hoping to find some answer there. She had realised earlier she never actually learned his last name, so she had filled in his contact as first name: Guildford last name:Shit band from the pub, but thought better of it and went with the slightly kinder moniker of Guildford/Horse guy. And Guildford Horse guy has apparently just messaged her that he's already inside.

She hurries in, not wanting to miss the look on her mother’s face when she sees him there. Her hopes are dashed when she spots him already talking to her. Only she doesn’t look the least bit upset, which probably has to do with the fact that he’s traded the ripped jeans and leather jacket for a cashmere sweater and pressed trousers, stubbled cheeks and wild hair for a clean shave and cherubic curls, and he’s handing a bottle of Poggio Antico with a bow around its neck to Katherine and William. Just who the hell was this stranger? He somehow transformed into a mother’s wet dream! Only the sight of his ever present necklaces in the v of the sweater and the earring nearly hidden behind his artfully tousled curls give any indication this was the same man from last night. 

Lady Grey signals her over with a pleased look, and Jane walks over as if to the guillotine. Her mother barely pauses the conversation as Jane nears them.

“I was just telling Guildford here how you work much too hard at that school of yours and it’s so difficult to find anyone of quality there. And it seems your date for the party never showed -”

Her mother’s eyes go to the empty space at her side and Jane tries to interrupt her, “but…”

“ - though I thought, isn't it just perfect that Lord Dudley’s son also happens to be here, and also happens to be single.”

Lady Grey is smiling back over Guildford and Jane finally understands just how spectacularly her plan has backfired on her. 

“There you are, my boy!” Lord Dudley wanders over to join the farce, patting Guildford on the shoulder. “I see you’ve finally met Jane Grey - and here I thought you weren’t listening to any of your voice mails.”

​​The look on Guildford’s face when he too realises they’ve done exactly what his parents wanted almost makes up for it. 

Jane can only hope he was kidding about his father already planning their wedding. 

[somethingvicked]

True love of mine part 10.

An Eddie Munson story

Stranger Things AU (no Upside-Down)

warnings: female reader, angst, mentions of sex, weed and death of minor character, fluff.

Chapter 9.

Now

Y/N

You were lying in Eddie’s arms, both of you damp with sweat, the comforter kicked down to your waists.

You two hadn’t spoken since he rolled off of you, only the sounds of him stroking your skin was heard in his bedroom.

You could feel his spent running out of you and down your thighs and made an effort to sit up but he held you back.

“But… I’ll ruin the sheets,” you told him and he shook his head.

“Don’t care. I can’t let you go when I finally got you in my arms again, even if it’s just for a moment.”

You smiled at that, lying down and letting him hold you again. You ran your fingers over his tattoos and he played with your hair.

“It’s shorter,” he commented and you nodded.

“Yes. When you… after you left… I cut it off and kept it short. It just hurt every time I saw it and remembered how you used to love playing with it…”

Eddie had tensed up when you brought that up and you could feel your own muscles go taut from the stress of bringing it up.

You realized though that sooner or later you two should talk about everything. You didn’t know if Wayne had told Eddie that you knew, but you needed to talk to him anyway.

“Eds?”

“Hmm?”

“We do need to talk about it,” you told him softly and he closed his eyes, his face looking pained but he nodded.

 “I’ll start. Wayne… he came to see me the other day. He’s the one that gave me the ticket to your concert.”

Eddie’s eyes widened and he shook his head. That wasn’t what he had expected you to bring up when you said that you needed to talk. The little reprieve from the hard memories, even if it was just a second, made him smile. “That old man… always has to meddle. But… I’m glad he did.”

“But… he also told me some other stuff. Why you left all those years ago,” you carefully continued and you heard Eddie inhale sharply.

“… he told you?” he whispered, so quietly that you could barely hear him.

“Yes.”

Eddie was quiet, but you could feel that his skin underneath your fingertips had gone ice cold and that the tenseness of his muscles had turned into tremblings. You wrapped your arms around him.

“I killed her,” he whispered, his face suddenly wet with tears. “I didn’t mean to, but I killed her.”

“No!” you exclaimed. “It was an accident, Eddie. A horrible accident that never should have happened, but an accident nonetheless. If she hadn’t gotten the pills from you she would have tried somewhere else. And… don’t forget she overdosed and mixed them with other pills. Had she taken the recommended dosage she would probably still be alive. I’m not saying it was her fault, but it wasn’t yours either!”

Eddie still trembled and cried, but you could feel he was listening to you.

“I don’t understand… if you knew… why did you show up tonight, follow me home? I was going to tell you, I was but… then I got so caught up in seeing you again and then�� don’t you get it? I would have led you on if Wayne didn’t tell you! I’m a pig.”

“Eddie… I don’t think you are a pig. I wanted this as much as you did. My goal tonight was talking everything out with you, but I got caught up in the moment too. We still love each other and we haven’t had the chance to show that to each other for eleven years. It needed to happen.”

“So you mean, if I had slept with you and then dropped the bomb half an hour later, you wouldn’t have felt disgusted?”

You sighed. “Not disgusted, no. Shocked, maybe. And incredible sad, both for your sake and Chrissy’s. But I wouldn’t have felt taken advantage of. I don’t know if that makes me insane, but… Eddie, I don’t think any different about you! I’m just… so sad for your sake, that you had to go through that alone. I wish I could’ve been there for you but… I know why you felt you had to protect me. Protect us. I can’t even imagine how you feel about what happened, but… you did your time. Isn’t that what the society should really be about. You pay your dues and then… you should be given another chance?”

Eddie couldn’t help but snort at that. “In theory perhaps, but we both know that in ninetynine cases out of hundred it doesn’t turn out like that.”

“It did for you,” you pointed out. “You have made your own success after this. And… Wayne told me that you have stayed away from drugs and alcohol completely?”

Eddie nodded. “Yes. There were so many times after I came out of prison that I was tempted to take a joint, take a pill, drink myself stupid, just to forget… but after what happened to Chrissy I swore I would never go near any drugs again, neither to sell them or take them myself. And… even though I wanted to forget it all I also wanted to remember it. Maybe to… torment myself, I don’t know. But the main reason was that it happened around the same time I had you; if I forgot that… then I would forget you too.”

You felt tears run down your face. “Oh, Eddie,” you whispered, hugging him harder.

“My first album was about drugs, but not to honor them, more like to spread awareness. I made one song in honor of Chrissy on that one. But I felt bad about that too.”

“Why?” you wondered, stroking his cheek.

“Because it was in honor of her and not you. And that felt wrong as well, because she died. You were alive, but… you are my true love, the only one I ever loved. Yet I didn’t dare write about you in a way people would understand, or you would understand if you heard the songs. I…”

You ran your fingers through his hair, leaning in to kiss his nose. “I actually never listened to many of your songs. It hurt too much. But… when Wayne had told me everything last night I looked online and listened to the songs of your first record. It all made sense.”

It had. You remembered the name of the songs clearly.

That was the record where Eddie had made a remake of Metallica’s Master of Puppets, which had earned him his title in the music business. Metallica themselves had even said the song belonged to Eddie, even though they had written it.

The rest of the songs followed the same theme, all of them having some kind of connection to drugs.

Crack of the whip

Mother’s little helpers

Thy will be done (You had understand that that was in honor of Chrissy and her nickname as being the ‘queen of Hawkins high’)

Soaring on the dragon’s wings

Toasting with demons

Dark (Mary) Jane

Dead men tell no tales

Break the habit

“I know what Jason told you,” you said, returning to the conversation at hand, wanting him to know you understood his actions back then. “But that was a long time ago. He wont hurt us now, would he?”

Eddie shook his head. “He may still hold a grudge agianst me, but he’s a loser who peaked in high school. I’m not the defenseless freak I was back then. I can protect us both now. For the last years, my biggest fear in reaching out to you has been that you… you would see me as a killer. Then… then I heard through the grapewine that you had met someone else and I figured… you had moved on and it was time to let you go. It was only when I got your letter I understood that you couldn’t move on. Just like I couldn’t.”

“I didn’t,” you agreed, shaking your head. “Brent was… he was a good man but he never made me feel like you did. I still thought about you for at least thirty seconds every day and I realized that wasn’t right to him. That’s when I decided to write that letter to you.”

“I’m glad you did. I’m just… I’m sorry that I hurt you so badly. And everyone else. But I was terrified that Jason would come after you. Anyone of you. He had more power as a teenager than he does now, now that his old man is dead.”

You nodded. “I understand. It doesn’t mean I’m still not upset about it. I wish… I wish you could’ve just talked to me. But I also understand that you felt the need to protect more people than me – Wayne, for example. He needed that job, he barely made ends met even with it.”

Eddie pulled you close, kissing your forehead.

“That was why I started to sell drugs in the first place, you remember?”

Of course you did.

Then

Hawkins, 1984

Eddie

Eddie was concerned. He had turned eighteen a few weeks back, but he had also understood that he would have to repeat his senior year, because his grades hadn’t been good enough to graduate. In a way he was almost glad about that – it meant he would spend the next year with Y/N and they would graduate together.

He had another problem though; it was clear Wayne was struggling with bills. At first he didn’t understand but then it hit him. The child support. The one his dad was paying – or more accurately, his lawyer, since his dad was in prison – had dried up because now he was legally an adult.

Eddie had tried to find a part time job for a long time, wanting to help Wayne in any way he could. But no one wanted to hire the town freak.

That’s why in desperation he visited his dad’s old pal, Reefer Rick, and wondered if he needed another hand with his side business.

He felt ashamed of himself, even before he made the suggestion. Eddie had never wanted to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Wayne had done so much for him already – and technically he had no obligation to support Eddie after he had turned eighteen. Especially since Eddie wouldn’t graduate high school this year and at least have a diploma to show for it when he looked for jobs.

No, he needed to pull his own weight, and who knows – perhaps it would even give him enough money to help Wayne, pay him back for everything he had done for him?

Rick was symphatetic. “I could need another seller. Nothing hard core, I take care of that myself. Just weed. The occasional prescription pill. Maybe K . Ketamine,” he clarified when he saw Eddie’s confused glance.

“You buy it from me, half price. Sell it on your own terms to your customers, keep the difference.”

Eddie nodded. He had no choice.  

“Okay,” he said. “Would… would it be okay if I pay for this batch later?”

Rick smiled again. “This one’s on me, kid. I know how hard it is when you can’t pay your bills. Why do you think I am where I am?”

Eddie couldn’t help but snort. “Seems you’ve gotten it pretty good from where I stand.”

Rick had a nice house, a boathouse connected to the house, filled with fishing gear and even a boat. Didn’t seem like he was struggling.

Rick barked a laugh. “And I am how old, son? I’ve been in this business for years. The pay off will come, just not immediately.”

“Well… if I’m lucky I won’t need to continue this until I’m your age,” Eddie say, accepting the bag with the pot as he got up.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Rick told him with a shake of his head. “That’s what I did. But sooner or later, this becomes your glue.”

“Glue?”

“Yes. Like the glue from tape you can’t scratch off. There will always be something you need, some bill that can’t wait, some favor your owe… and the drug trade will never disappoint. Because there is always the poor bastards that needs the wares, just like we need the money.”

Never, Eddie thought as he left Rick’s house. Yes, he would do it for now. Until he and Y/N graduated and they could leave this dump of a town that had been stuck in time since the 1950s.

He was just worried about how Y/N would react to him starting to sell drugs.

Eddie hadn’t need to worry though. No, Y/N wasn’t thrilled that he was going to sell drugs but she also knew that life wasn’t the rainbow fairy tale it was made out to be. Sometimes you just needed to do what you could to survive.

“As long as it isn’t any hard drugs, those that can kill people easily and get them addicted from the first batch,” she begged him and he agreed.

And he had kept that promise. But as he was to find out two years later, circumstances could be more powerful than promises.

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[queenmuzz]

A Prince of Hell: Chapter Two

Find it HERE on Ao3

The only thing that could be heard in the great demonic hall was the constant drumming, echoed and amplified by the obsidian black walls.  The hellfire torches seemed flickering in time to the ever increasing tempo.  Aside from that the hall was silent, despite that it was filled to the brim with demons of every stripe, from the ever alert Shadow, their red eyes peering from the darkness, to the hulking Goliath.

None made a sound, lest they draw the ire of the source of the drumming, a man in brilliant blue who lounged impatiently on his throne, his fingers restlessly tapping on the cold wrought Hell iron armrest.  It wasn’t usually like this. Vergil usually accepted discussion, argument, and occasionally outright fighting when it came to how the domain was to be run. All that was required was that in the end everyone accepted the superiority of the Sons of Sparda.

Hence his disquiet.  The hellhound pack had returned, their howls of victory the only sound that had been heard in the past hour.   And yet… they had returned without their leaders.  Drusilla, the Packmother, one of the first demons that had allied (and possibly befriended) the new arrivals in Hell.  Even though he had been confident at his chances, he hadn’t quite realized how difficult it would be to dethrone the monster that had murdered his mother and stolen his childhood.  Had it not been the Hellhound’s devotion, her strength, her utmost ferocity, there was a good chance that Vergil would have never completed the goal he so desperately desired, attaining enough power to be worthy of his father.  He would be loath to admit it publicly, but he owed her a great debt.  Her absence was beginning to worry him.

The only other being he might value higher than her was Dante, his erstwhile little brother.  If Drusilla had been the key to unlocking Mundus’s fortress and bringing other demons to his side, Dante had been the hand that turned the key, and kicked the door open.  His brother had been his greatest champion, his most steadfast supporter, and possibly the sole reason they both sat upon thrones, for he had needed every ounce of both their power to take down Mundus.  Vergil was secretly thankful to Dante for accompanying him, especially as he suspected that Dante was always feeling out of place in the Underworld.  He was too much like their mother, preferring being in the human world, with all its flaws and foibles. His younger brother wasn't very interested in ruling Hell, and while it made ruling the place much simpler, (it eliminated the chance of factionalism with no competition for the throne), it left Vergil feeling… isolated.  

It was strange, when he thought about it.  He had everything he ever wanted now.  He had his father’s power, he had his revenge. Demons submitted and cowered at his approach. He controlled the entire Underworld and made sure no human child would ever experience the same flames and pain as he had once did.  Hell, he even had his annoying little brother at his side at last.  He should be buoyant with pride!  And yet… he felt like something was missing.

Perhaps it was these recent attacks on THEIR realm that had soured his mood.  The sigil on the cloak of one of the human bodies was far too familiar to him. 

Fortuna…  

Years ago, he would have ordered a retaliatory attack on that meddling island, to teach them not to interfere with powers far beyond their ken.  A massacre or two among the populace would suffice.  But he hadn’t.  To Dante’s (and his own) surprise, he’d only demanded that the Order be intimidated into backing down.  No killings.  Perhaps his little brother’s humanity was rubbing off on him, or maybe his vow to himself not to mirror Mundus’s actions, or else… perhaps it was a memory of a woman, shrouded in scarlet that stayed his hand.  She’d been a lovely young thing, a few weeks of sun kissed bliss on that island, but they both had mutually parted ways.  He, on his never ending quest for power.  She, to a noble family that would have glowed incandescent with rage if they had found out she was dallying with some ‘Mainlander’.  Still, he could not deny that it would be a shame if she got hurt if he had let his hellhounds off the leash.

So, he’d let Dante take command.  Let his little brother get to be in charge of something that he couldn’t POSSIBLY screw up.  The last thing Dante would want was to get anyone hurt.  He was a complete soft-hearted fool.  But at the same time, both of them knew that no human should be allowed to interfere in the affairs of the Underworld.  Besides, Dante and Drusilla worked fantastic together.  Vergil had the utmost confidence she would keep him in line, there would be no chance of failure.

Except… as he mentally calculated how many hours it had been since the pack had left, doubts were creeping into his mind.  He didn’t doubt Drusilla’s command of her pack, the raid must have been successful.  Dante, on the other hand… had his little brother at last tired of the Underworld?  Had he gotten tired of being a ruler?  Had he gotten tired of Vergil?  The thought slithered down his spine like ice cold poison.  It was incredibly plausible that Dante had decided to head back into the welcoming and familiar realm they had once had called home.  And Drusilla, seeing him as one of her own pups, wouldn’t just let him leave her sight.  Their bond was incredibly tight, so perhaps she had followed him…?  Vergil suppressed the tinge of jealousy that tainted that thought.  Drusilla had come to HIM, Vergil first, offering her aid.  She cared for both of them.

A deep rumbling sound echoed through the hall, but it wasn't signaling the arrival of the victorious stragglers.  No, it was a lumbering brute, Goliath, no doubt fed up with the silence.  Vergil could see it in the way his multiple eyes blinked in an increasingly rapid pattern, giving him the impression of a school of agitated fish.

“I KNEW IT…” he attempted to mutter, “THE HUMAN AND THE MONGREL FAILED.”  Vergil’s irritated tapping stopped and he tensed up.  He had heard the malice and disdain in that one word: Human.   Despite everything he and Dante had accomplished, there were those who still didn’t respect the twin rulers, just because of their mother’s blood that flowed through their veins.  And yet strangely… he no longer had the same disdain and shame for that word as he once did.  Still, he needed to nip this insubordination in the bud, before it became contagious. “He has not failed,” he responded in a clipped tone, and Shadow’s ears pricked at the brittleness of it, “You would be a fool to think a Son of Sparda would fail at such a simple task.”  Yes that was it, exude an air of confidence, while reminding everyone who exactly they owed their fealty to.  Yet Goliath wasn’t cowed.  

A hiss of steam exuded from between the teeth on his stomach as he turned to face Vergil.

“IF YOU HAVE SO MUCH FAITH IN HIM, WHY DIDN’T YOU HAVE HIM GO AND SLAUGHTER THOSE PUNY HUMANS?  SURELY THAT WOULD BE SIMPLE FOR A ‘SON OF SPARDA’ TO DO.”

A squawk, followed by the disgruntled flutter of wings cried out.  “Hey Buddy, did your tummy teeth take a bite out of your brain?   You know who you’re talking to, right?  The one guy who rules pretty much all of Hell?”  Griffon’s brilliant yellow eyes glowed in defiance.  Not the most brave of birds, but a notorious asskisser.  If he had Vergil’s back, that was a good sign.

“SILENCE, OR I’LL USE YOUR TALONS AS TOOTHPICKS!” Goliath roared and then attempted to lower his voice in a faux respectful way, but only managed to go down a few decibels, “WE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO STAND FOR THESE LITTLE WEAK HUMANS CRAWLING INTO OUR REALM. SUCH INSULTS SHOULD BE ANSWERED WITH BLOOD, NOT PLAYING PEEKABOO.  IF I WAS SITTING ON THAT THRONE-”

This was not good.  Goliath was now overtly implying a threat to Kingship. Vergil had to play this carefully.  He couldn’t let this slab of barely sentient meat get away with such blatant insubordination.  And yet, acting too rashly would give him an image of insecurity, not to mention the hypocrisy of him shutting down an implicit, but not yet overt threat.  Goliath was uncharacteristically clever in this situation, staying in a gray zone that Vergil was unable to retaliate without looking like the tyrant he had replaced.  All he could do was glare weakly at the brute, hoping he’d make a mistake and go too far.

A howl from outside cut through the tension, its victorious boom signaling that the Packmother had returned, distracting the entire court and a wave of relief washed through Vergil, although he hid it well.  Drusilla and Dante hadn’t failed, or worse, ran off.  And yet, as the giant doors of the throne room creaked open by scrabbling unseen imps, there was something… different.  Drusilla’s presence was regal, as she strode in, her head held high.  She gave an aura of untouchable ferocity, although Vergil knew better.  At times, she was no different than a lovable regular dog, begging for pets and treats, but in public, she had the sense to keep up an image of wild majesty that was loyal to the twins.  Which made her more intelligent than even Goliath.  Not that that was hard to do.  

Following her was the unmistakable confident energy of Dante.  He walked with a deliberate slow swagger, as if he was forcing himself not to sprint down the corridor, torches blazing unholy purple as he passed.  That light reflected his Cheshire grin, something Vergil hadn’t seen in a while.  He paid no attention to the demons that backed off and bowed in obedience, his eyes stared straight ahead, directly towards Vergil.  It was quite unnerving, he hadn’t seen that expression from his little brother in quite a while, usually all he saw was a mask of faux contentment.

As he got closer, Vergil noticed that his swagger wasn’t just due to well earned confidence, it was actually because he carried something, a dark bundle at his hip, some sort of fabric?  Whatever it was, it exuded a sharp presence of its own, sharp and hot, like Yamato herself in a forge.  Usually, something like that would cause Vergil to be on guard, such an aura almost certainly was a threat.  And yet… there was something about it, added with the fact that Dante didn’t seem threatened by whatever he carried that made Vergil relax.  No doubt his little brother was about to put on a show, and Vergil couldn’t deny that he too looked forward to the theatrics.

Drusilla clambered up the steps, causing Goliath to back off, and took her place on Vergil’s left side, mirroring Shadow, who sat up straight, their ears flicking back and forth.  There was a rustle of feathers above his head as Griffon landed upon the back of the throne.  Seems they too had sensed something was going on.

Dante did a flourish when he bowed, his free hand sweeping around to encompass Vergil and the hall.  His other arm remained at his side, still holding that bundle.  And did…it move?  

“Apologies for the delay, my dear brother. But,” he cut off Vergil’s impending cutting remark even before Vergil had even formulated it in his mind. “Before you get all hot under the collar, I’d like to announce two things.” Vergil nodded at him to continue, biting his tongue.  Dante better have made this little show worth it. “First, our attack was successful, Dru-... Drusilla,” he caught himself using his affectionate name for her, “The Grand Packmother and her brood have hopefully sent the message this time that the Hells are off limits.  And,” he beamed, “I’m happy to announce all of them came back in one piece.”  No wonder the hellhounds adored him, always looking out for the under..dogs of the underworld.  “In fact, our dearest Dru,” Vergil noticed he hadn’t bothered to correct himself this time. “Has brought home a very, VERY, special gift.”  Out of the corner of his eye, Drusilla turned her head towards him, her eyes shining bright, panting breathlessly, and he could feel her tail hitting his throne as it rapidly wagged.

There was a blanket of anticipation as any demon who had somehow been too distracted by other things to watch Dante’s theatrics were now drawn to the man in red.  Vergil was confused.  He had specifically ordered that nothing be taken, neither lives or property.  This was to be a deterrence mission only.  If Dante had taken something from Fortuna, and the damnable Order attempted to break through yet again to retrieve it, he would stab him… repeatedly. Dante’s face didn’t seem to care, or didn’t even comprehend what a disaster he may have set into motion, and set down the bundle in front of him.  To Vergil’s surprise, the small dark cloth made a…’oof’ sound… before standing up on two feet. Did his idiot brother just kidnap a child!?  Does he have any idea what he’s done!?  When he’s done with Dante, there won’t be enough to feed a single hellpup-. “I present to you the newest addition to Sparda’s legacy!’

Wait… what?

The cloth rustled once more, and a child’s head popped out.  His white hair shone brilliant in the torchlight, just like the man behind him.   A set of piercing silver blue eyes stared straight up at him, full of terror, and yet defiance.  There was no mistaking where those eyes had come from, Vergil had seen them in the mirror many times. But it was the shape of the nose, the way his nostrils twitched, that gave away something else.  SHE had done that, anytime she was agitated, irritated, or flustered, by her studies, her family… or by him. And the way the boy’s hand trembled, Vergil knew exactly why.  The child was using all his willpower to resist the urge to rub his twitching nose.

Just like she once did.

“Yeah, Drusilla took one sniff of the kid and she just knew.”  Dante droned on, but Vergil didn’t listen to him.  He just stared down at the child, a child that three minutes ago, he would have never suspected existed.  And yet,  he didn’t need Drusilla’s sense of smell, or even a set of eyes to see the resemblance.  Deep within him, he knew.  He couldn’t explain it, maybe he didn’t need to explain it.  

This boy WAS his son.

Did she know, all those years back, when they had parted ways?  She hadn’t seemed different than usual, he tried to recall.  But if he was being honest to himself, he hadn’t really been paying attention, so focused on his next steps to claiming his father’s power.  Maybe if he had been more alert…

He felt an arm slung over his shoulder.   Somehow Dante had managed to saunter over, without him even noticing.   “Well, I never knew you had it in you to make something so adorable.  Bit of a handful though, fought me the entire walk to the castle.”  How had Dante seemingly teleported to his side, or was he just so out of it?  “You gonna talk to the tyke?  Or are you just gonna stand there with your jaw hanging down at your kneecaps?” Vergil, clenched his jaw hard, wanting to glare at his brother, but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t turn to face him, his eyes were locked on the child in front of him.  He tried to think of something to say, something that wouldn’t reveal the turmoil within him, but wouldn’t scare off the child in front of him.

“What is your name?”  God, what a lame first set of words. Not for a King… but for a father to his newfound son. The boy looked like he wanted to bolt, to run straight out of the throne room into the dangerous unknown, but to his credit, he stiffened and forced his muscles to obey and overpower his understandable terror.  Vergil was impressed.  Such self control was a virtue, and this boy had more of it at his age than Dante ever did in his entire life..  Those eyes bore into his, as if he was trying to intimidate the King of Hell into backing down.  Of course, Vergil was more amused by the attempt than threatened.  He merely waited, continuing to recognize more and more features.  Those eyebrows, those definitely came from his grandmother.  He’d seen them so many times when she had to deal with the twin's misbehavior.

After what seemed like a lifetime, his lip quibbled, his nose twitched one last time, before he blurted out one word. “Nero”

Vergil frowned inwardly.  That wasn’t the name he had expected.  Surely she would have named him after her father, grandfather, or anyone of her illustrious forebears.  She had joked that when her family had called her by name, they had to address her with her middle name, just to differentiate her from a gaggle of family matrons.

Secondly, the boy had only given his first name.  Didn’t mean much, considering the situation, with Nero (his mouth tasted each sound of the word, from the swell of the N sound, like an cresting wave, the ER sounding like the crash as it hit the shore, and the O sound as it receded.  Yes, he liked the name.) being surrounded by perceived enemies.  But surely a noble borne son would be taught to proclaim his family name proudly? “Your last name….?” 

Now for the first time, Nero broke eye contact and looked down at his shoes, a pair of well worn sneakers that looked like they had been worn by more than one pair of feet.  Perhaps it was the light of the torches, but it seemed that there was a tinge of red flushing his cheeks.  And barely audible over the ambient sounds of the court of demons trying their best to remain silent, he heard the boy mumble… something.. “-ito” “Pardon?”

Nero’s face shot up, his hands balled into fists, as he glared at Vergil. 

“Esposito!” It didn’t take much for Vergil to put two and two together.  That was not HER family name, nor was it any of the noble family names she may have married into.  In fact, if you translated literally, it meant…’placed outside’.  A strange name for any family in Fortuna, but considering the reaction of barely suppressed shame, it would not be a stretch to assume that Nero was left at an orphanage doorstep.

“Ah…” was all he could say.  For a brief moment, a storm of rage swirled within him.  How dare SHE just drop HIS son off like an unwanted pet?  How dare she forsake someone with the blood of their Savior coursing through his veins?  Unconsciously, his thumb went to Yamato’s tsuba, ready to flick the blade to… do what?   That brief pause to contemplate his future action was enough to re-evaluate his perception.  He hadn’t known about the pregnancy, and he highly doubted she had.  And when he had left, she was the one who had to deal with the burden with pregnancy, the stigma of being unmarried and pregnant, and with a MAINLANDER'S child of all things.  Had her family given her an ultimatum: Give up the child or be cut off from them forever?  He knew the feeling of being alone, and could understand the lengths a person would go to keep their family.  Or worse, had she fully intended to keep the child, but had…complications?  That icy cold thought smothered the flame within him, and the tension seeped out of him like air out of a deflating ball.

“You seem to be displeased with it.  If you do not like that one, I can think of a much more fitting one for you… Alighieri.” The boy  looked up at him, perplexed.  

“My mother’s surname.”  A pause.  “YOUR grandmother’s surname.”

Nero’s eyes widened at what that implied, as Vergil continued, “Your Grandfather didn’t have a surname to pass on, being a demon, so we took our mother’s name.” “Wait… a demon?”  These were the boy’s first words that weren’t a response to a question.

“Yes, you like us, are a Son of Sparda.” The boy’s jaw dropped at the revelation.  There was no way he didn’t know about the concept of his grandfather, although how Fortuna perceived their ‘Savior’ was markedly different from how Vergil remembered him.  “And as such, you share this,” he waved over the court, over the various demons, both large and small, the abominations, the eyeless sockets of skulls watching how this was playing out with tentative curiosity. “The control of all the Hel-”

“ UNACCEPTABLE” a voice boomed out, and all those demonic eyes swung to the source, to the hulking mass that stirred, standing to its full height.  “I ACCEPTED YOU AS RULERS BECAUSE YOU DEFEATED MUNDUS, EVEN THOUGH YOU’VE GOT THE BLOOD OF HUMANS IN YOUR VEINS. BUT THIS-” one clawed hand pointing to the boy, who to his credit, only flinched a bit at being confronted by a thing 12 times bigger than himself, that could probably swallow him whole as a nice light snack.  “THIS PUNY THING IS MORE HUMAN THAN DEMON!  A DISGRACE TO HIS GRANDSIRE!   TO ALL DEMONS!  AND YOU,” he swung over his arm and pointed accusingly at Vergil, “ARE GOING TO JUST HAND HIM THE KEYS TO THE KINGDOM!?”

The temperature in the throne room dropped several degrees, and Vergil sensed the slight movement of multiple entities.  Drusilla sidled up to him, a low rumbling growl reverberating through her chest.  Shadow slowly got up from their sitting position, and a ripple of crimson flickered through their fur.  Even Griffon cocked his head, as his multiple beaks clicked together, and his feathers began to fluff up, leading to the familiar sound snap crackle pop of static electricity.  Vergil’s thumb went back to Yamato, but other than that, he made no other movement.  Dante just stood there, silently observing with his arms crossed, and a dumb grin on his face.

“Are you questioning my judgment, Goliath?”  His voice was icy cold, sharp as Yamato, yet quiet.  “Do you deny this child his birthright as MY SON?”  He raised his voice at the end of the question, the verbal whiplash ought to be enough of a warning, but the brute was overly confident, or just plain stupid to take the hint.  

“THIS IS TOO MUCH!  TOO LONG HAVE YOU AND YOUR MONGREL BROTHER THOUGHT YOU CAN JUST ORDER US AROUND!  FEASTING ON THE REMNANTS OF A TRAITOR’S NAME!  MUNDUS WAS RIGHT, YOU ALL SHOULD HAVE BEEN EXTERMINATED FROM THE VERY BEGINNING BEFORE YOU BEGAN TO BREED!” He made a move, not towards Vergil, but towards the small child.  He took one step.

He never took another one.

There was a ZAP of electricity, accompanied by a cawing cackle.  That was enough to stun him for a moment.  Shadow was next in line, turning into a spinning saw blade and embedding themselves into his chest.  Goliath let out a scream as demonic ichor spewed forth.  He began to stumble backwards.  Drusilla now took point, leaping up, her momentum knocking him onto the floor.  Snarling in a way he had only seen her when they had faced off against Mundus, she silenced Goliath’s screams with  a savage mauling of his throat.  

Only then, did Vergil act.  The brute wasn’t even worth unsheathing Yamato, so he did what came naturally.  A ring of summoned swords hovered over the prone body, and after giving Goliath a generous moment to recognize what his final fate was… and then they plunged into his belly.

There was one final anguished cry….and then he was no more.  A cloud of ash billowed out, sped along by an expanding bubble of hot air.  Other demons fled from the blast radius, cowering behind pillars.  Vergil stood there stoically, his relief that finally, Goliath had taken that final, fatal step.  Dante grinned with satisfaction as he stepped up to stand side by side with his brother.  He regretfully put his Ebony and Ivory away, neither one having seen action, before turning around to face the stunned crowd that had silently watched the whole thing that had played out.  This gave Vergil a prime opportunity to assert his-no THEIR domination.

“As you know… We have kept a rule that humans call an ‘Open Door Policy’.  We accept discussion, debate, and even criticism on how this kingdom is run.” He faced the silent mob, and slowly strode toward Nero, who was watching him with bright “But… know this.  There are limits to our generosity. And matters regarding MY son” He stepped down the throne stairs to stand right beside Nero, almost placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, but resisted the urge.  “Are off limits.  PERMANENTLY.”  That last word echoed down the hall, causing the flames to flicker in time with each syllable. He lowered his voice to the sound of frost growing on a window, and yet loud enough for everyone to hear him. “Have I made myself clear?” 

Silence was the response, save for the sound of Drusilla letting a quiet growl of authority.  Despite outnumbering their overlords twenty to one, none dared to be the first to rebel, none was willing to risk the same fate as Goliath.  That was two hurdles to get over, both dealing with the treasonous brute, and cementing yet again the fact that the  Sons of Sparda were the True Rulers of the Hells.  And yet… there was even a larger, possibly almost insurmountable challenge standing right beside him.   His son would undoubtedly have many questions, with quite a few Vergil being unable to answer.  Likewise, he had many questions for Nero, with little hope of answering many of them.  He found himself swallowing down a feeling he hadn’t felt since he and Dante had overthrown Mundus: Fear.  He wasn’t sure he could handle what couldn’t be answered.  Or worse, the ones that could be answered.  But for now, that could wait, as he watched the audience to the latest execution slowly slink away, no doubt to spread the message about the new addition to the Sparda lineage… and the price of defiance.  He turned back to Dante.

“Find a room for my son. We can probably convert one of the guest rooms near mine.” He noticed the questioning raised eyebrow from his brother. “I believe both he and I need some time to… acclimate to the previous few minutes' revelations.  I promise I shall be there shortly.”  He took a deep breath, expecting a snarky reproach from Dante. So imagine his surprise when his little brother smiled, and then placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, while ruffling the child’s hair with his other hand, and Vergil realized that Dante had connected him and Nero physically for the first time, acting as a conduit.  And somehow, he had the suspicion his brother knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.  Honestly thought you would probably stab me for being late before I explained the situation”

“That wouldn’t do, brother.  I can’t allow the rabble to think there's any division between us.  I would have at least waited until we were in our private wing, and out of earshot of the court” He chuckled for a brief moment, before noticing that the child looked at him in horror.  He kicked himself for that careless remark, his son obviously had no idea about his newfound father’s and uncle’s ‘unique’ family dynamic.  Yet another thing he would need to talk to the boy about.  Dante took that moment of opportunity to scoop Nero up and carry him towards his new room…. His new home.  Drusillia followed behind him, her tongue wagging as much as her tail. An unfamiliar feeling coursed through Vergil.  The feeling of the uncertainty, of entering a room that was not lit.  He had no idea what was beyond that threshold.  As to what his first step would be, he thought as he stood watching the last of the demons slink out of the court, the torches extinguishing themselves one by one, that can wait until after the boy was settled down.

*************

Credo flipped his pillow over for what seemed the thousandth time, before blearily checking the clock on his nightstand.  It was a quarter to midnight, and despite going to bed almost two hours ago, he’d not gotten a wink of sleep.  Emotions had been high all afternoon and evening, with tears, sobs, comforting hugs that comforted no one, and the overwhelming weight of guilt. 

His emotions had been in turmoil ever since he had first heard of  the demonic invasion and had raced along with the other squires to help evacuate the civilians while the ‘real knights’ did the work of combatting the demons.  His excitement, (and slight annoyance that he’d been relegated to support) to participate in an actual live situation, instead of a drill, had vanished when he first heard, and saw his wailing sister.   It had taken all of his teenage discipline to break rank and focus on only her.  At first he thought she had perhaps been injured, but he soon found out that just like the rest of the populace, she hadn’t been harmed.  

No, what had caused all of her tears was the sole casualty of the attack: Nero.  

He couldn’t make out what she was blubbering between sobs and wails, save for her best friend’s name, and he wisely waited until he was given permission to leave with her, and then escorted her home.

That’s when he discovered what had happened in the park. It hadn’t been some gallant knight that had saved her, hadn’t been a brave squire, it hadn’t even been a protective older brother. It had been a young boy, her best friend who had saved her at the cost of his own life.

And so, the entire evening had been spent trying to calm her down.  His mother bounced between comforting her, and bustling in the kitchen to make kyrie’s favorite pasta dish.  His father, after being begged by her, had gone out, in the slim hope that he’d find Nero wandering the piazza in a daze, unaware that he had been presumed dead.  Kyrie had a way about her with her father, that no request, no matter how ridiculous and pointless it might be, would ever be refused by the man.

That left Credo on full time big brother comfort duty, something he felt completely inept at, but he did his best.  He hugged her, sang songs to her, and eventually she calmed down, although he suspected that the aroma of his mother’s homemade marinara sauce was the real reason Kyrie's emotions had settled down.

They were just about to sit down to eat, when their father came home with a resigned look on his face. In his hand, he clutched two items. One, Nero's well-worn knapsack, which had been a gift from their family to Nero, something he could claim for his own, not some hand me down.  In the other, a broken ruler, the unmistakable lettering on it making his blood run cold:  

-ero.

That set off Kyrie again, and she resumed wailing at the fate of her best friend, and what he’d done to protect her.  She barely touched her supper that night, only managing to get a few bites between sobs.

It took hours, but eventually they were able to coax her to bed, tucking her in, with Credo reading her favorite story about the Saviour storming the castle of Fortuna to overthrow the evil Demon King that terrorized the humans of the island.  That settled her down enough to fall into a fitful sleep, followed by his emotionally exhausted parents, who only overheard a few whispered worried sentences about how badly this had affected her, and making plans to keep her home for the next few days.  And soon enough, going by the sound of his father’s snores, they were both completely passed out as well.

Which left Credo alone, wide awake, watching the crescent  moon slowly make its way across his bedroom window.  No doubt his captain, his comrades, even his father would have commended him on keeping his cool, of doing his duty.  But the bitter taste of guilt ate at his chest like a bad case of heartburn.  He had wanted to follow the family tradition of Knighthood, but how could he call himself an aspiring squire if he couldn’t even protect a child?  In a way, Nero was a better example of a knight than him, risking everything to save someone.

And what gnawed at him the most is that aside from his family, the boy wouldn’t be missed by anyone.  The child, with his unnatural hair, his uncertain parentage, was a pariah in Fortuna.  Sure, in the next service, there’d be some half hearted prayers for the boy’s soul, but within a few weeks he’d be just a tragic nameless statistic.  The only thing Credo could hope for was that there were no other casualties in these ever increasing attacks.  He wasn’t stupid, he’d heard whispers from his  barrack brothers about there being ‘incidents’ in Fortuna, but up until this time, never in the city proper.  He’d wanted to ask his father about it, but he’d never found the time nor the place to be discrete.

A slight creak to his left caused him to whip his head away from the window, towards the slowly opening door.  It was very dark, with only the distant lamp in the front room illuminating the home, but it wasn’t hard to figure out who that small figure that stood there at the doorway. “Kyrie….” he sighed as he swung his legs off the bed and tried to not flinch at how cold it was outside of his blanket, “I thought you were sleeping…”

“I tried…” came the small, almost whispered reply, “but everytime I close my eyes, I keep hearing those horrible howls… and I…” she attempted to stifle a whimper.  “Can I sleep with you tonight?  I know I’m supposed to be too big for that, but… I.-” Credo scooted towards the head of the bed, and patted the mattress beside him, and she scurried across the room to sit beside him.  He placed his arm around her, and couldn’t help but feel her trembling.  They both sat there in silence for what seemed like an hour, but was probably no more than a couple minutes.  Neither of them needed to say anything.  Despite the age gap between them, they shared a bond that was more reminiscent  of twins.  But eventually, one of them had to speak.

“Credo?” she softly asked as he stroked her hair,  “Can I tell you something?  Something that I don’t think anyone would believe, not even mom or dad?”  He hummed in the affirmative and she shifted and turned to face him.  There was a strange look on her face.  Not of sadness, or fear but…something determined. 

“When the big demon grabbed Nero, it didn’t rip him up like we get taught that demons like to do to humans.  It was strange.  It picked him like he was a squeaky toy… no… “ she closed her eyes momentarily and furrowed her brow trying to pick the right phrase. “You know how mama cats pick up their kittens?  It grabbed him like that, before leaving with him.”  She saw the skeptical look on his face, “I mean it!  It had sharp teeth the size of Nero’s practice sword, but it never chomped down on him!  It almost looked… gentle?   Which is really weird for a demon.”  

Abruptly, she gripped his hand.  “I have a feeling that Nero’s still out there.  Alive! Scared and lost, but not hurt!  And if he is…” she fixed him a pleading stare that he couldn’t rip his eyes away from.  “You’re part of the Order.  They have all kinds of tools to fight demons!  And they got that really smart guy who talks funny!  He might know a way to get to… wherever they took him!  You could rescue him!”

A bunch of his thoughts were on the cusp of being voiced.  That Lord Agnus, despite being a personal friend of his father, would never allow a lowly squire access into the Order’s deepest secrets.  Yes, there were rumors that there had been some sort of ‘scouting mission for powerful artifacts’ which he had found odd because the Order had already scoured the island and almost never went to the mainland, so where were they going?  But it wasn’t his business.  He was a lowly squire, who always followed his superiors orders.  Besides, there was next to no possibility that Nero was still alive.  Whatever had snatched him had undoubtedly only kept him alive as long as it needed him for a fresh meal.  To follow that path would lead him to the same fate.  No he couldn’t.  He wouldn-.

“Please Credo!?  You’re the only one I know who cares about Nero as much as I do, and is strong enough!”  She now gripped his hand even harder, forcing him to look into her pleading eyes.  They were wide, glassy, and the moon light streaming out of the window reflected off of them.  And Credo realized he wasn’t much different than his father.  That no request from her, no matter how impossible it might seem, could be refused.

“Alright… I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try-” He never finished his sentence as she launched herself at him so hard that they both nearly fell off the bed together.  Her arms wrapped around him in a big hug, and he heard her muffled squeal into his pajamas.  It took him a moment to steady himself, and then he tentatively returned the gesture, holding her almost as tightly as she did him

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!  I knew you’d say yes! I knewIKNEWIknew!” She squealed as he tried to shush her.  “Shhh… don’t yell!  You’ll wake mom and dad!”  And yet, he didn’t let go of her, just allowing himself to slowly lay back down in the bed, with her resting on his chest.  It seemed like that the hug drained out the tension in his body, the anxiety, and most importantly, the guilt. He suddenly felt tired, and his eyelids seemed to weigh heavier than his superior’s armor that he was always assigned to clean.  He didn’t even push his little sister off of him, her thumping heartbeat against his chest seeming to lull him into the realm of dreams. Still, he remained awake and conscious enough to decide that no, he wouldn’t send his little sister back to bed, as she seemed to relax, and after a minute or two of silence, he realized she had completely passed out.  But unlike last time, where she was forcing herself to fall asleep, now she was completely relaxed.  Did she have so much confidence in his ability to rescue Nero that she could now be at ease?  She wasn’t wrong, he cared as much for the boy as she did, doubly now that he had saved his little sister. He would do anything in his power to find Nero.

As to what his first step would be, his last coherent thought passed through his mind as he slipped into a restful sleep, that can wait until morning.

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which Cullen has accidentally become invested in.

Supplemental material for Unwanted, from the perspective of Cullen. In this addendum, Cullen needs some help, and he isn't going to get it.

(Masterpost. Addendums. Words: 791. Rating: all audiences. Warning: Addendums may contain spoilers for Unwanted and are best read after finishing the story entirely.)

Chapters 48, Addendum

The War Council gathered, summoned by its Inquisitor. Advisors surrounded the war table, to plot the demise of the Venatori incursion at Adamant—should the Champion report it true.

“I have been gathering our troops,” Cullen informed them, “and I will survey their readiness once they have assembled. If the Wardens are truly lost, then they will march on your order, Inquisitor.”

“Good,” said the Inquisitor, “then that will be all.”

The Council dispersed, Inquisitor marching from the room. Leliana followed, her own business to get to, and Josephine attempted the same. Cullen stopped her.

“Josephine, I wondered if I might ask you a favour?” he said.

She prepared herself to hear it, politely inviting him to walk the corridor back to her parlour. “What may I assist you with, Commander?”

“It’s about… Arcanist Trevelyan,” he murmured. “Would you be able to, perhaps, arrange one of our walks, or—maybe something else? I don’t know. But if you could…”

Josephine stopped, and stared at him. “Now you want me to meddle in your personal affairs?”

“Only to ask her—”

“No, Cullen.” Josephine shoved open the door to her parlour, and marched to her desk. Cullen hurried after her. “I am not going to interfere with anyone’s romantic prospects again! Unless, of course, it poses some political advantage to the Inquisition—but, when it comes to my friends, I shall not matchmake.”

“Then… what am I supposed to do? How do I… ask?”

Josephine chuckled. “Really, Commander? Have you never asked someone to spend time with you before?”

“No—yes! Of course, I…”

“Meetings don’t count.”

Cullen sighed. “Well, it’s… it’s been a while,” he said, in strict competition for the understatement of the Age.

“Then allow me to refresh your memory,” said Josephine, with a perky smile. “All you need to do is go up to her, and ask. Simple as that!”

If only it were as simple as that. But Cullen’s palms became sweaty even just thinking of it. He was so skilled at making an absolute fool of himself in front of the Arcanist; he could hardly imagine he would resist the apparent temptation to do it again.

“What if she says no?”

Josephine shook her head. “Then you accept her answer, take it on the chin, and move on.”

The first part was perfectly fine. The second and third were easier said than done. Hard to carry on with his day when his heart was crushed into tiny little pieces.

“Perhaps... if you just do it this once—”

“No!”

“But I’m afraid I’ll do something wrong and ruin it all again.”

Josephine gasped. “Oh, in that case? Still no.” Though biting in her tone, she saw him shrink, and softened. “Cullen, she agreed to walk with you when she despised you. I can think of no reason now, when she holds you in greater regard, that she would not answer in the affirmative.”

Cullen wrung his hands. “She has no reason to pretend to like me any more.”

“Indeed,” said Josephine, tapping a sheaf of documents into a neat pile. “So given that she has not yet set you on fire, I think we can assume she is done pretending.”

Fair point. Especially as she now possessed the arms to do so rather efficiently.

“What time do you think best to ask?”

“Honestly? Right this moment,” Josephine suggested. “She will have been working all morning, and may be glad of the break.”

“All right,” Cullen said. “All right.”

Josephine smiled. “There. Not so hard, is it? Good luck, Cullen.”

Taking her advice, he absconded almost immediately to the Undercroft, hurrying so that his mind had not the time to convince itself how bad an idea this was. He almost stumbled down the stairs—but best to get that sort of thing out now, before he saw the Arcanist.

He emerged into the cavern, that mess of forges and machines. People buzzed about, an absolute distraction to the eyes of he who searched for a particular individual.

Though, somewhat fortunately, Cullen was at least gifted with the curse of being utterly mesmerised by the beauty and vivacity of Arcanist Trevelyan. It was through this afflicition that he saw her, eyes ever-bound to seek her out. She sat at her a workbench near the cavern’s maw, documents and materials littered across it. Herzt hovered at her side, taking instruction and aiding her research.

Cullen did not wish to disrupt them. He was fortunate, then, that Herzt happened to look in his direction. With the meeting of eyes, he seemed to understand, and promptly came to where Cullen stood, tucked by the entrance.

“Commander,” he said, “may I help you?”

“Yes,” Cullen replied. “May I speak to the Arcanist?”

[iris-sistibly]

I thought episode 7 was gonna stress the shit out of me again, but surprisingly it really didn't (?)

📍Yes, it was painful. Hong Hae-in was absolutely livid, and she has every right to feel upset about this whole divorce fiasco, but I hate that they aren't okay 😭😭. Anyhoo, like one user said, as much as it pains me to see them like this, it's absolutely necessary. They had to distance themselves from one another to make them realize how much they mean to each other.

📍When Hyun-woo had to hurt Hae-in more than he already did to bring out her fierce side so she'd have a reason to fight and live. He was willing to take all of her wrath just so she'd keep going, babes my heart can't!!!

📍I feel like it's only a matter of time until Da-hye finally realizes that even if Soo-cheol is immature af, she'll see his sincerity towards her and their son and eventually come clean about Eun-seong and co's revenge plot.

📍I'm actually quite relieved that Hyun-woo had foreseen some bumps along the way during his investigation with the wild boar incident, and this whole embezzlement...or whatever that shit is. He's lucky grandpa Hong didn't kick his ass out of the house (well to be fair, Hae-in warned her own family not to meddle).

📍Hae-in's father was more concerned about Hyun-woo divorcing Hae-in than their family business crumbling down, it just shows that he really cares about his daughter. I believe that he sees Hyun-woo for who he truly is and he might even be seeing him as his own son, I hope he'll be one of those people who would help these two to find their way back into each other.

📍Eun-seong is kind of an idiot for thinking that Hae-in will divorce Hyun-woo in a heart beat. Like, do you see that she's STILL wearing her wedding ring despite her marriage going through a rough patch? Bitch my queen maybe hurting but she isn't the type of person who would throw herself at someone else.

📍Ha! So one of the fans' theory is correct. Eun-seong and Ms. Mo are mother and son, but I still want to know why they hate the Hong family so much, I mean a part of their back story was already revealed but I'm interested to know how did the family got involved?

📍Hyun-woo realising that Hae-in was losing her memories, that he was slowly losing her will never not be painful to watch. It's kinda scary because at one point she's hallucinating, and the other is not remembering things. He knew that her health was declining and there's not much he can do 💔💔

📍I don't know how long will this show plan to drive us crazy, but at least they ended the episode on a lighter note thanks to the epilogue. It's funny that Hyun-woo actually believed that there was a racoon hiding in the garden. Hae-in smiling at the thought that he thought the racoon was real, she still finds him adorable, and again, the fact that Hae-in keeps rejecting Eun-seong and the fact that they are still wearing their wedding rings even if they are on the verge of divorcing is proof that deep down they still want to stay married. They just really need some time, but bitch we're almost halfway through the series so I hope the succeeding episodes will be about mending their relationship and figure out the snakes that lurks in their house, and also find some miraculous treatment so Hae-in will get better 😭😭

[quicksilver-castiel]

Everybody wants to go to Heaven

Pairing: Kate Milligan/Mary Winchester

Archive warnings: None

Length: 4k

Rating: Mature

Summary:

After Mary first came back from the dead, she thought she remembered everything there was about her previous life. Now that she has died a second time and the meddling God has been defeated, she realises that her memories might have been a little skewed.

That's not the only unexpected discovery awaiting her, though. Not when the pretty woman she meets in that new Heaven Jack made turns out to be the mother of one of John's children, too.

Read on AO3 or below the cut

Heaven was different here, Mary decided as she surveyed the rolling fields, straining her eyes to make out a building of some sort in the distance. It was less bright here than in the other place, she thought even as she shaded her eyes from the sun, the colours less washed out. Everything seemed more real, somehow, and if Cas’ words were anything to go by, at least the people were real. Not just memories of those she had known in life, but actual, breathing- well, maybe not breathing, or living, but definitely existing humans.

Speaking of Castiel, he stepped up next to her, hands in the pockets of his trench coat, which billowed slightly in the breeze.

“What do you think?” he asked, taking it all in himself, even though he must have seen it a thousand times by now.

“Well, I haven't seen much of it yet. And the others... you said everyone here is a friend of Sam and Dean?” Mary asked, trying to hide her anxiousness, but feeling herself biting her lower lip.

After a moment of consideration, Castiel said: ”Mostly, yes. They've never met Bill Hargreeves, but we could hardly exclude him when his wife and daughter are here.” He stopped again for a moment, glancing at Mary before facing away again. “He's one of those who are only tangentially connected with Sam and Dean. And we've been thinking of bringing more people here. When we have more open plan Heavens, everyone can choose where to go, but for now Jack wants to give everyone who he has met or heard of before a preview, so to speak.”

Mary smiled. “He's a good kid.”

Again, Cas looked at her, but this time his eyes didn't leave again. “You do remember what happened, right?”

“You mean how I died?” Mary sighed. “Yeah. I should have backed off, shouldn't have crowded him like that. Should have known he wasn’t himself, that he couldn’t control himself.”

“It was orchestrated to happen, I think,” Cas said, looking sad.

Right. Because his father – the actual God – had meant for it to happen. Because he had toyed with everyone's lives, most of all those of the people surrounding her sons.

“That's over now, right? Free will actually means something?” Mary shifted uncomfortably. Ever since dying again, she had been remembering more and more about her own life, especially about those first few years with John.

He hadn't been sweet on her, as she’d always told herself. Not at first.

She hadn't been sweet on him either.

As of yet, she hadn't asked anyone to confirm, but she wasn't stupid. If she and John had to have children in order for them to be perfect vessels or whatever, it stood to reason that Heaven would have interfered in case of any hiccups.

Like the two destined people not liking each other.

“Yes, it's over now,” Cas said gently.

While he could be quite blunt at times, which she also appreciated, Mary had come to find that Cas could be very sweet when dealing with people he liked. Mostly, she'd seen it directed at Jack. Sometimes at Dean or Sam.

It felt a little odd to be included in this intimate circle. Not that it felt bad, but did she really deserve to be looked at by him like that?

Perhaps he was just extending his gentleness to her as a favour to Sam and Dean.

Just like everything in her life, and even her after-life, was connected to Sam and Dean.

But there would be time enough to chew on that. For now, all she could do was step forward, and see where it would take her.

Literally.

She started walking towards the building in the distance, leaving Cas to contemplate the field.

The building turned out to be a bar called The Roadhouse, a somewhat ramshackle wooden place, but with a homey feel to it. Its inhabitants seemed to be varied – there were the Hargreeves, a family of hunters, and Bobby, though not the one Mary knew. But there was also a young man named Ash, who talked like a hippie and was apparently some kind of genius regarding computers or the internet or something.

Then there was a man named Rufus, who would gripe at Bobby, and he would in turn roll his eyes and gripe back.

From what she was told, not everyone had known each other in life, though everyone knew at least someone there, except for Mary.

Then someone else walked in. A blonde woman around Mary’s age, a little smaller than her, with a petite frame. She was accompanied by Jack, who gave Mary a somewhat sad smile, but proceeded to introduce the mystery woman.

“This is Kate. She's Adam's mother.” When no one said anything, Jack frowned. “Oh right, you probably don't know who Adam is.”

“Wait,” Bobby said, stepping forward. “Adam as in... John's other kid?”

Mary froze. John's what?

Kate's face grew clouded. “He's my son. John...” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Was anyone going to tell me that John had other children?” Mary asked, and regretted the sharpness in her voice when Kate looked at her with wide eyes.

“I only know about the one. And last I checked, he was still in Hell,” Bobby muttered.

“He was where?” Mary gaped at him, and Bobby looked away.

“He came back. Together with Michael,” Jack started explaining, but hesitated when Mary turned to stare at him. “Not that Michael. Another one. A... better one. Kinder.”

Bobby huffed. “'Kind' ain't a word I'd use for him, kid.”

Jack contemplated this. “Maybe he wasn't like that when you met him. And maybe you need the comparison to the other Michael to use that word, but... He's been helping. We wouldn't have come so far without him.”

Mary shook her head in disbelief. This other Michael really must have been very different from the one she'd met.

“Whatever. But you said...” Mary turned towards Kate. “Your son is John's...” She couldn't continue that sentence.

Kate looked at her curiously. “Yes, John is his father.” She pursed her lips. “Even if he barely deserves that title, after what he pulled him into.”

“He didn't do it on purpose,” Jack said cautiously. “He couldn't have known what role his sons were meant to play in Heaven's plans.”

“No, but he could have told us that monsters exist. He could have been there and protected us.” The bitterness was evident in both Kate's voice and on her face. “But of course, he couldn't be bothered. And we paid the price for it.”

Mary looked at her for a long moment. Another woman disappointed by John. Another son he had failed to raise properly, who he had not been there for.

This one, he had apparently messed up by not making him a hunter.

“It's difficult,” she heard herself say, “to know what to tell your children. Or your spouse. If you tell them, life as they know it will be over. The world will suddenly be a dangerous place full of monsters.”

“The world has always been a dangerous place,” Kate said coldly. “And the monsters were there anyway.”

“Sure, but what do you think the world becomes when you tell a five-year-old that the monsters under his bed – or in the closet – are real?” Mary had to take a deep breath and force herself not to think of her own dad.

She couldn’t quite keep the image of a blade shining in the glow of her night light out of her head.

But Kate was having none of it. “Adam wasn't five. And neither was I! Hell, John never knew Adam when he was five. He was eleven by the time he got me to cave and call his dad. And John... what? Forgot to tell us he was hunting monsters instead of being a truck driver? He lied to us.”

“He was protecting you,” Mary said softly.

“Bullshit,” Kate said sternly.

Behind Mary, Bobby snorted. “Now I know where the kid gets it from.”

“Well, I think we can all agree,” Rufus said, getting up from his chair and drawing everyone's attention, “that John Winchester was kind of an ass.”

Ellen Harvelle made a sound of protest while Jo laughed in disbelief. Bobby glared at Rufus.

“You never even met him,” Bobby said gruffly.

“Yeah, but from what I heard, he was a real ray of sunshine.”

Mary sighed. Bobby and Rufus were starting to remind her of those two old muppets. She couldn't currently remember their names, but Dean had loved them as a kid.

“Well,” Bill said, “Rufus ain’t completely wrong.”

Ellen swatted him with a dish towel and shook her head, but she was smiling.

“John was a lot of things. Complicated. Stubborn.” Mary heard her own voice hollowing out on the next word. “Angry. Righteous. Easily obsessed.” She let out a mirthless laugh. “I guess he fit right into the family.”

When she shook herself out of her reflections and looked around, everyone was giving her pitying looks.

Great.

“Anyway,” she muttered, turning back to Kate. “I'm not trying to defend John's character. But not drawing your son into the hunting life... that definitely wasn't one of his worst decisions.”

“Yeah,” Kate said, but her eyes were cold. “I bet the monsters that ate Adam and me thought it was a great move.”

Mary had to close her eyes as she winced. “I'm so sorry.”

When she opened her eyes again, Kate was giving her a calculating look. “You were his wife?”

“Yeah.” Mary hesitated. “For a few years. And then I died.”

Kate weighed her head. “This might be insensitive, but you don't look that much younger than me.”

A weak smile appeared on Mary's face as she tried and probably failed not to show her sadness. “I was 29 when I died the first time. But when I came back... well, let's just say I suddenly had a lot more back pain than I used to.”

Kate stared at her, mouth slightly open until she managed to close it. There was pity in her eyes, now, too, and Mary gritted her teeth and turned away.

“My boys,” she said. “John turned them into hunters. Monster killers. They lost their home when I died and instead of finding another, John dragged them from motel to motel. He went where there were monsters to kill, and he took Sam and Dean with him.”

When she glanced at Bobby, he looked like he wanted to say something. But the moment their eyes met, he looked away.

“They deserved better,” Mary continued. “They deserved to be kids.”

Kate's face was unreadable.

Behind her, Jo sat a bottle of whiskey down on the bar. “This sounds like a topic for drinks.”

Mary didn't know how they had gotten there, but a couple of shots in, Kate and her started talking about their kids.

“You should have seen the look on Adam's face when the coke reacted to the Mentos. He was so convinced that it was magic, and that I was somehow the most powerful magician in the world.” Kate giggled. “And when I told him it was science... I ended up having to tell him all about molecules.”

Mary smiled, and sipped her whiskey. “How old was he?”

Kate snorted. “Six.” She shook her head. “I didn't even know the word molecule at that age. But Adam had no problem understanding that the world was made up of particles so small that we can't see them with the naked eye.” She sipped her drink. Mary had already forgotten what it was, but it was blue and had a little umbrella in it.

“Sounds like you raised him right,” Mary said.

Kate's smile became sad. “I tried. But he mostly raised himself. Next to my work, I barely had enough time or energy to even take care of the house, much less him.”

Mary frowned. “Where did you work?”

“Hospital. I was a nurse.” Kate looked at her sheepishly. “That's how I met John. He came to the ER. Guess I should have known back then that he was lying when he talked about having fallen out of the door of his truck. But...”

Mary felt the corner of her mouth lifting up. “But he was charming,” she said. “And you wanted to believe him.”

“Yeah.” Kate glanced at her again, seeming surprisingly sober now. “I guess you know what that's like?”

The smile on Mary's face was sad, and she took another sip of her whiskey to hide it. “My fingers and toes aren't enough to count how many times he promised me he'd pull himself together. That he wouldn't get angry at every little thing, and wouldn't vanish again for days on end.” She swirled the amber liquid in her glass, then put it back down on the bar. “I wanted to believe him too.”

“You're not defending him anymore,” Kate said matter-of-factly.

Mary shook her head. “I never meant to imply that he's done nothing wrong. He definitely has, and not too little.” She grimaced. “He screwed up my boys. But then, I screwed them up some more.”

“It's hard, being a mother.”

“They saved the world,” Mary said, pride and sadness warring in her voice. “Is it bad that I wish they could just be safe and happy?”

“That's what every mother wants for her kids.” Kate put a hand on Mary's back. It was warm, even through the layers Mary was wearing. Maybe it was because they were souls here, and didn't have actual bodies.

“The worst thing is that I understand it.” Mary picked up her whiskey glass and Kate dropped her hand. The spot on Mary's back where it had laid instantly felt cold. “John's actions, I mean. Not so much the revenge, but... The demons came after me, what stopped them from coming after Sam and Dean? They needed to learn how to protect themselves.” She drained her glass in one big gulp. “Even if that meant putting a knife in a five year old's hands.”

She smiled at Kate, but she could feel that her eyes were dead.

“Don't get me wrong. I can understand it – but that doesn't mean that I can forgive it.”

Kate weighed her head. “They might have died if they had led a normal life. Like Adam. Maybe not at his age, but eventually.”

Mary thought about it. Heaven had had an eye on her boys since before they had been born, she was pretty sure. They wouldn't have gotten away.

Kate was right. They would have just gotten dead.

“I guess it's useless to dwell on it,” Mary eventually said.

Kate raised an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, well, I'm still going to punch John if I ever see him again.”

Mary couldn't help it – she laughed.

It might have been hours later, or maybe days. It was difficult to tell time in Heaven, Mary thought as she kept drinking with Kate. Sometimes, Ellen joined them for shots, and Mary talked to Bobby and Rufus for a hot minute, but mostly she and Kate sat together in what was sometimes companionable silence and at other times animated conversation.

And then John walked into the bar.

Mary might not even have realised it, if everyone around her hadn't progressively grown silent. Bobby grumbled something under his breath that sounded like a curse while Ellen looked calculatingly between John, Mary and Kate.

When John's eyes fell on Mary, they widened. He took a step towards her, a smile forming on his face - and then he saw Kate.

“What-”

“Hey John,” Mary said, and downed the last of her whiskey in one go. The sound of the glass hitting the wood was loud in the silent Roadhouse. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” John said, his eyes flitting between Mary and Kate. “Mary-”

“What, you think it's awkward because Kate is here? Don't worry about that. I was dead, it's not like you cheated on me.” Mary shrugged. If they were going by that, she had also cheated on him, with Ketch and those others.

She had thought that having sex would help her feel better. No, that wasn't quite right – she had thought that it would help her feel young again.

Of course, it had done quite the opposite. It had just shown her how different her body was to what she’d remembered.

John smiled again, though a little more timidly, and took another step towards Mary. He stopped when he saw the expression on her face, and his eyes flitted down to where she had her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Sweetheart?” he asked, his smile wavering.

“Don't 'sweetheart' me,” Mary hissed. “You made my boys into hunters, John.”

John's eyes widened for a moment, and then he frowned. “How do you even know-”

“Never mind how I know. You put a gun into Dean's hand when he was a little boy. He never got to be a child because of you!” Mary felt tears stinging her eyes as she spoke, and tried to will them away. Maybe she was being hypocritical, using this against John when Dean had hurled it at her.

It had been her fault that she had died, after all. She had made that deal with the yellow-eyed demon, and she hadn't been strong enough to fight him when he had come back.

But it had been John's decision to go down the path of revenge, and to take his two small children with him.

“Mary, after you died...” John trailed off, closing his eyes, then tried again. “We had to get the thing that got you.”

“And then what?” Mary shook her head, and took a step back when John tried to come towards her again. “You made my sons into killers. They're never going to have a normal life, and that's on you. You did the same to them that my father-”

She broke off, and had to look away.

A warm hand laid down gently on her back as Kate stepped up next to her.

“You made those boys into soldiers, John,” she said with an authority that made her seem tall, even though she was half a head smaller than Mary. “And you failed to even tell me or Adam that there was danger out there.”

“Kate-” John started, but she took a step forward, interrupting him.

“Nineteen, John. That's how old my boy was when he was ripped apart by-” Kate was audibly holding back tears. “-by those monsters.”

John's face fell. He hadn't wanted any of this, that much was clear. Who would?

But that didn't excuse it.

“Kate, listen. I just wanted him to grow up feeling safe, grow up normal-”

“Well, he didn't! He didn't grow up at all! Feeling safe is all well and good when you are safe, but not when there are monsters out for your head because your father killed one of them before!” Kate was seething again. By now, Mary knew that she hadn't personally witnessed Adam's death, but she had certainly heard about it – and all that had followed his death.

He was doing fine now, or at least he seemed to think so. It was difficult for Mary to wrap her head around the whole thing with him and that other Michael, but then Kate wasn't doing all that better on that front.

“Kate... I didn't know,” John said, and took a step towards her.

She shook her head, her pretty blonde hair flying. “No, you didn't. And that's the point. You thought you knew better than anyone else, that you had the right to keep these things from us, to do whatever you wanted. Well, guess what.”

Kate positioned herself right in front of John. Even though she was small and petite, and had to look up at him, he instinctively cringed back.

“You're not the arbiter of who gets to live in innocence and who doesn't,” she hissed.

John squared his shoulders. “Kate, with all due respect, but you don't know anything about what it means to be-”

He never got to finish that sentence, because Kate's fist collided so hard with his face that his head was thrown to the side, and he stumbled and fell to his knees. Now Kate was standing over him, all righteous fury, her fists trembling.

“With all due respect, John, but you're the one who doesn't know anything. You barely even knew us, but even you should have realised that neither Adam nor me are some kind of delicate flowers who need you to protect us from harsh truths. All you did was put us in danger by association, and not even tell us about it.”

Mary walked over while John struggled to his feet. In the back of her jeans pocket were the brass knuckles which were one of the first items she'd bought on Earth.

Just as John had stood up again, she punched him right in his stupid face. He went down like a wet sack of potatoes.

“That one was for Dean's childhood,” she said coldly. Then she kicked John's head. “And that one for Sam's.”

John didn't move. The Roadhouse was silent.

Finally, Jo said: “Is he... dead?”

“We're all dead, kid,” Rufus answered, and noisily slurped his whiskey.

Kate crouched down and felt for his pulse. “He's alive – as much as any of us are,” she said. Then she glanced up at Mary. “What should we do with him?”

Mary shrugged. “Let him lie here, I'm sure he'll wake up eventually.”

Kate nodded, and stood. “Sorry for the mess,” she said to Ellen.

“No worries. Bobby, Rufus, why don't you help the ladies get him outside, huh? He’ll just be in the way in here.” she said.

“What do they need our help for?” Bobby groused. “They handled him just fine so far.”

“And I'm sure they're quite out of breath from it, so go make yourselves useful.”

Bobby and Rufus grumbled about it, but heaved John's body out of the door, and threw him off the porch.

Kate winced when she saw it. “Now I almost feel bad for him.”

Mary raised an eyebrow at her.

“I said almost.”

Mary smiled, and put a hand on Kate's shoulder. “Do you know if we got houses around here?”

“Oh, yes. Mine isn't far, just behind the forest. Jack showed it to me before he brought me here.” One of Kate's hands came to rest on top of Mary's. “Would you like to see it?”

“I would love to,” Mary said, and was surprised at how soft her own voice sounded.

“Then come.” Kate took her hand and pulled her outside, past John's still unmoving form, and towards a patch of woods which Mary hadn't noticed before.

There were fairy lights hung between the trees, and mushrooms littered the floor that looked like little houses. Mary wouldn't have been surprised to see a Smurf popping out of one of them, or a fairy flying by among the trees.

“I love my house here. It's everything I've ever dreamed of,” Kate told her as she led her through the forest, still holding her hand. “I suppose it's kind of childish, but... it looks magical, there are nooks and crannies everywhere, and it even has a little tower in one spot. Oh, and there's a conservatory. Perfect for sitting in it on a nice day, which seems to be most days here. Or even on a rainy day, really, since it's always warm enough in there. You know, I can imagine…”

Kate broke off, a light dusting of red on her face.

It was utterly adorable.

“You can imagine what?” Mary prompted.

“I can imagine, uh… sitting there naked. Could be very freeing, being without restraints, you know.”

Mary squeezed her hand. “Maybe we could do that together some time.”

“Yeah?” Kate asked, turning towards her, and squeezing her hand back.

“Yeah.” They had stopped walking now, and Mary leaned in a little so their breaths mingled. “I'd love being unrestrained with you.”

Kate's eyes flicked down to Mary's lips, then back up to her eyes. “I have to warn you, though.”

“Hm?” Mary made, barely able to keep her hands – or mouth – to herself.

Kate leaned in further, so she was whispering against Mary's ear: “I bite.”

Mary shivered, and grabbed one of Kate's shoulders, as if holding on for dear life.

Being unrestrained inside a conservatory sounded like a lot of fun.

But then, the ground out in the forest also looked rather soft and inviting.

[feolnir]

TToFaË: Wandering and Woe (4)

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An entire day.

That’s how long it took for Fëor to climb the Falls of Mithrafëol.

Though the image of him standing victoriously above the valley would have been ideal, the truth was…quite different. 

He was prostrated on the ground, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

He eventually flipped over, facing the sky above. The soft pink and orange hue of dawn was now a distant memory as the deep red and purple veil of dusk made way for the stars. It wouldn’t be long before Lua rose in the east, offering light back to Eldás before sharing it with Rëálna through the night.

“This…is going…to take…forever…”

Crawling his way to a nearby stone, he managed to sit and slump as he looked back beyond the falls. A great shadow stretched over the trees below, shrouding them in its cold embrace. The hopeless part of him yearned for it, especially as his eyes continued to wander eastward to where he assumed his home would be.

It was so far away.

The fire driving him towards Ërna was now a wavering flame, the warmth therefrom dwindling in the coolness of his growing despair.

But before the cold could reach his heart, he considered how Ërna must be feeling, alone in a hostile land. While it was true that Fëor never wandered far, Gälenor was still his home. Despite defying the will of the assembly, this land and its people would still welcome him over her. His empathy, the feeling of sorrow beyond his own, helped rekindle his dwindling spirit.

There was something he could still do.

He could get up.

He could go on.

“But first…”

He pulled a pouch off his belt and opened it up, revealing seeds, nuts, and berries that he had been gathering along the way.

“Dinner.”

And naturally, beady eyes watched him as he ate.

“Do spirits like you even eat?” Fëor huffed as he tossed a river-berry to the gylfëa begging him for food.

They didn’t need to eat, of course, but the squirrel-shaped spirit nevertheless felt left out without something to hold. Thus they sat together, munching and mulling things over before beginning the next part of their journey together. That is, until—

Snap!

Craaaack!

Whip!

—their peace was disturbed by the sound of snapping twigs and bending branches upriver. Fëor jolted, twisting around to look behind him.

Ching, chiiing.

Hoooofffff.

“Eeeasy, boy. Easy.”

Voices?! Fëor thought. So far, he hadn’t run into a single (non-spirit) soul since leaving the assembly—a fact he found…unsettling. Though antisocial by nature, he had still hoped to find people along the way to ask for clues, if nothing else. Comfier shelter would have been nice, too. Night was coming up quickly, after all.

Maybe I can finally get some help…and a proper rest.

The spirit-squirrel squeaked frantically, drawing his attention.

Naive! Fool! Caution!

That’s how he interpreted the behavior, and rightly so. Reprimanding himself for not learning his lesson after Tálnos’ meddling, Fëor frantically looked around for a place to take cover. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

It was a risk, but the best place he could find was a thicket just upriver from where he had been sitting. Despite being in the same direction as the sounds, he spotted a massive, moss-covered trunk sprouting with mushrooms there. It had fallen to its side and smelled like damp earth, but that was a source of comfort for him. Tucking himself inside, he watched through gaps in the wood and foliage to see who (or what) would come.

“They’re watching us, but haven’t made a single move.”

“I know. It’s infuriating.”

“I was prepared to fight, but this? This is exhausting.”

“How many days have we been going now? Ten? Thirteen? I can’t remember.”

“I’d rather they confront us already. How far must we go?”

“Stop complaining.”

Their armor gleamed through the grove as Eldás bestowed Her final blessing for the day—but upon them, marching through Gälenor with sword and spear, Her light seemed fell not fair; for they bore not art nor poetry, but weapons of war and plunder. Hence the hylëa of light was, in fact, distraught as the company before him distorted Her blessing to an ill end.

“Baiting them into ambushing us is secondary. Don’t forget that.”

“Yes, sir! Of course, sir!”

It didn’t make sense, but Fëor didn’t bother to understand. His shock and awe was more than enough to occupy him. Whether this troop from Pelría was overly confident or completely insane was, for him, not a concern. The thing bothering him most was…

That one. His aura. It’s…almost like Ërna’s.

Leading the troop with a white horse in tow was an Eldásr more splendid than the rest. He wore silver-blue armor made from a metal that Fëor had no chance of knowing to be cold-iron, a rare ore found only at the peaks of mountains surrounding the Meadow of Mýrás; and indeed, embossed upon his breastplate was Mýrás Herself.

It was his wind that Fëor questioned.

But…why is it so cold?

A chill ran down his spine as he beheld the self-made splendor of that company. How could a troop so fair, bathed in the blessings of light, be foul? Was it not a similar light that opened his eyes to the warmth of the world beyond? Perhaps these folk were like Ërna. Perhaps their wind was only cold from suffering, just as Fëor had himself to make it this far. Perhaps, then, they could be reasoned with. Perhaps they could even help him find Ërna. 

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps—

Before he knew it, he rose to his feet.

His gylfëa guide vanished.

The wind shifted.

There was no going back now.

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