#the first eight chapters are all up on ao3 but i'm finally posting them on here as well

[banana-cheese-cake]

Freak Show - Chapter 1

Ch. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 23, 2077

A crisp autumn breeze blew through the quaint Massachusetts neighborhood, rustling fallen leaves and swaying plastic Halloween decor as it went. Children’s laughter filled the air as last minute decorations were lovingly placed, small faces beaming with excitement as the sweets centered holiday inched ever closer. Shining silver in the early morning sun, the pip-boy cuff adorning your left arm was a stark contrast to the funeral wear that made up your day's attire. A soft nudge against your right shoulder brought you back to the present, back to this new reality, back to a world without her in it. Turning to look at the familiar face beside you, the face you'd seen everyday since birth, you came to a realization. Everyone else's worlds would keep spinning, would continue onward as if the chasm that now consumed you didn't affect them, because it didn’t, this grief was to devour you and leave the rest of the planet be. 

“Hey, talk to me, Sis, what's goin’ on in that head of yours?” 

Her voice altered your realization ever so slightly, it wouldn't affect just you, because it's never been just you. A twin is another part of you, and yours would shoulder this grief as well, her world stopped with yours. Looking into her dark, nearly black eyes, a weight was lifted off of you. You would never be alone, not in grief or joy or terror. She would always be there for you, as she's always been. A sad smile tugged at your lips as you finally spoke, “I miss her, Lottie.”

Lottie. She always insisted everyone call her that, “Charlotte is too formal, Lottie is perfect,” she’d say, and you didn't agree, but always told her you did just to see the triumphant smile that lit up her face. Charlotte was a beautiful name, and it suited her perfectly, but then again- everything suited her. She radiated confidence and oozed self-assurance, everything suited her and her name was no exception. Though today, grief clouded her usually confident demeanor; her voice was soft as she said, “I do too, but the funeral is over. Now… Now we just have to try to pick up the pieces of our life, find a way to keep going without her.”

Find a way to keep going. That felt about as easy as trying to bottle up the ocean, but with Lottie by your side you might actually be able to do it; to reach some semblance of normal again. As you walked side-by-side you tried to take in the view, the street you grew up on had hardly changed in the years since you and your sister had moved to California to pursue higher positions in Vault-Tec. The little houses stayed mostly the same, new coats of paint adorning some and freshly planted trees decorated the yards of others, but they were filled with people neither of you recognized. You wondered if your mother had gotten to know any of them in the years you'd been away, but then again, if she'd become close with any of them then surely they'd have shown up to her funeral.

Your mother's funeral had been eerily quiet, only you and Lottie in attendance, staring numbly at a small urn that seemed like it couldn't possibly contain all that was left of her. A woman as head-strong and confident as her, a woman who commanded attention and respect, a woman who was now mere ashes in a jar. She was the reason you were so successful, the reason you had the confidence to speak your mind and reach for goals you never thought obtainable. In her early life, she had been a single mother raising twin girls while working as a receptionist for Vault-Tec. After your father had left her, she decided to prove to herself, to her girls, and to the world that she could do it all alone and didn't need a man to get her there. 

Clawing and fighting her way up in her career, she eventually made her way to the top ranks of Vault-Tec, getting high-paying jobs for you and your twin, and securing the three of you a spot in Vault 4 located in California; a vault fully operated by scientists like you and Lottie. Lottie preferred physics, and you biology, but your mother had insisted you both focused your studies on radiology, no matter how much you protested against it in favor of focusing on your passions. But Mother was never one to lose an argument, always saying, “I'm paying for your schooling, I choose what you major in, end of discussion.” So here you were years later with a masters degree in radiology, a dead mom, and not a shred of passion for your job. Lottie, on the other hand, found herself falling in love with the life your mother had chosen for her and flourishing in her career. You envied how she could adapt to any environment she was thrown into, not unlike a weed sprouting through cracks in concrete, finding a way to not only survive but thrive.

After the funeral, during the walk back to your childhood home where your mother had spent her final days, you were stopped by two strange men in suits. Their serious faces made you stop in your tracks, both intrigued by these men and deeply suspicious of them, something about them put you on edge. After quickly flashing their Vault-Tec badges, they merely handed you and Lottie each a holotape with your names on them, an invitation to Vault 111 for later this afternoon, and then walked away, ignoring the questions you both threw at their backs. The small tape held in your hands had your name on it, written in your mother's handwriting, and a message taped to the back that read: “My final message to you. -Mom.” 

Neither of you listened to your messages, instead choosing to sit in your mother's dining room until it was time to head to Vault 111, wondering why you were invited to visit it today of all days. As the time passed in comfortable silence, you took in the state of the house you grew up in. The coroner had determined that your mother had been struggling with this cancer for months before losing her battle earlier this week, though you hadn't believed it until entering the house. Mold covered dishes were stacked all over the kitchen, even more shoved into the small sink. Over a dozen bags of rotting trash were leaned against the back door, it seemed she had been too weak to drag them any further than that. This house that once had been so beautiful, beaming with life, had silently fallen into disarray the further along your mother's illness progressed. You tried not to think of her final days in this house, how she must have suffered, how awful it must have been for her to die alone surrounded by the rotting remains of her once lovely home. As tears filled your eyes, you felt Lottie grab your hand before she spoke, “Let's head out a bit early, I think Vault 111 could be a good change of scenery for us, what do you say?” 

You squeezed her hand and looked up at her through watery eyes, “Yeah,” you mumbled, “I think you might be right.” Walking out the door and down the overgrown driveway, you looked back at your old home fondly, trying desperately to fill your mind with memories of joy-filled evenings laughing with Lottie or winters spent cuddled with your mother by the fireplace. Every time you tried though, your mind was filled with the image of her at the morgue, of her pale lifeless corpse on a metal table. No matter how many attempts you made, these images kept flashing through your mind. So instead, you looked away from that house, staring desperately ahead trying to find something, anything to focus on that didn't remind you of what you'd lost. Looking down the street, attention drawn to the clear blue sky above, you did end up finding something else to focus on: a mushroom shaped cloud far, far in the distance, followed by the sound of sirens blaring and glass shattering all around you. 

. 

.

.

Sharp, blinding pain burst across the side of your face as glass tore your skin, the shockwave knocking you and Lottie to the ground. Knees and palms burning as the rough asphalt tore through the dark fabric of your pants and shredded the soft skin underneath. Ignoring the hot liquid pouring down your face and blurring the vision in your right eye, you frantically reached for the crumpled form of your sister. She was dazed, but had no visible injuries besides a few scrapes on her hands and knees that matched your own. 

“Hey, hey,” you snapped your fingers in front of Lottie's eyes, drawing her unfocused eyes to yours, “we need to run, Lottie, can you do that?”

No words escaped her, just a swift nod of her head as she grabbed your hand and stood on shaking legs. There was no time to let her adjust, screaming families were flooding the previously quiet street, all running towards the same place: Vault 111. You tightened your grip on Lottie's hand, letting the flash of pain across your palm ground you, then began to run. Dozens of panicking people were blocking the street, you would have to take a different route if you wanted to make it in time. There was no guarantee you would be let into the vault, no guarantee you'd even make it to the gate before the next bomb dropped, but you had to try.

“Our shortcut, through the woods. C'mon.” Your sister's voice sounded far away as she tugged at your hand and pulled you to the trees behind the now windowless house you'd just exited, towards the shortcut you two always took to the park after school.

Vault-Tec had bought the park a few years back, stating it was the perfect place for their newest vault, given how close it was to the neighborhoods full of potential customers. At the time, you had grieved the loss of your favorite childhood playplace and cursed your employer for destroying a beautiful thing in the name of profit. Now, however, as you sprinted down the familiar hidden path to the park, you thanked whatever god would listen that Vault-Tec was so greedy. Their greed meant your salvation, your only chance of surviving the end of the world. 

Bursting through the overgrown bushes that marked the end of the trail, the towering chain link fence and armed guards at the entrance to the vault let you know you'd made it. There were a dozen people at the gate, some screaming at guards, others on the ground, tears streaming down their faces as they begged them to let their children in. You couldn't think of them now, you had to think about Charlotte, about yourself, you needed to try to get into this vault. Pushing through the crowd, you made your way to the guards blocking the gate. 

“Excuse me, please, you have to let us in, we work for Vault-Tec we-,” your voice was cut off by the guard. 

“Doesn’t matter who you are if you aren't on the list.” He didn't even look at you as he spoke.

“Well then check the fucking list.” Your voice was harsh as you gave him your names, harsher than you had ever heard yourself speak. 

“And we have this,” Lottie's voice was firm even as her hand shook, a hand holding up the invitation you had received earlier that day. 

“Shit.” The guard cursed as he ripped the invitation out of her hand, showing it to the other man who stood watch beside him. 

The other guard didn't speak as he waved for the gate to be opened and raised his gun, pointing it at the crowd around you, a silent warning to anyone who might try to rush in. He nodded at you and Lottie, signaling you to go inside, a new guard waiting to escort you to the vault entrance. You wasted no time, dragging your sister with you as you ran through the gate and towards the concrete vault door. As the gate rolled shut behind you, you heard a man let out a roar as he rushed forward, followed by three gunshots and the sound of a body hitting the ground. Lottie gasped beside you and covered her mouth with her free hand. Keeping your eyes forward, even as your whole body shook, you kept pressing on until you were standing on a platform with six other people, some being neighbors you had seen decorating with their children earlier this morning. 

“These are the last of ‘em, send it down.” A gruff voice yelled from behind you, just as you saw another mushroom cloud forming in the distance, much closer than the last. 

The platform you stood on shook as you were sent down into the vault, still clutching your twin's hand in yours, looking at her terrified face now streaming with tears of relief. “We made it,” she whispered as she squeezed your hand, “we actually made it.”

You tried to smile at her, but the act made you wince with pain, the gash across your face making its presence known again now that the adrenaline was wearing off. It didn't matter though, as you reached the bottom of Vault 111 and were met with the smiling faces of the Vault-tec employees, you finally felt safe. Two-hundred feet beneath the surface and surrounded by individuals like yourself who had been trained for this very event, you were in the safest place on the planet. 

“Welcome to Vault 111,” a cheerful young woman in a lab coat said as she helped you off the platform, “please head this way to change into your vault suit.”

You, Lottie, and three other women were ushered toward some changing rooms. While there, you were relieved to finally be out of your funeral clothes, which were now ripped and covered in dirt and your own blood, and into the blue and yellow vault suit provided to all vault residents. The familiar company colors brought a sense of normality, the colors you'd seen nearly everyday you went to work for the last few years. As you exited the changing room, the same woman led you and the others to rows and rows of strange pods. Each pod resembled a glass coffin, standing upright and attached to complex machines you didn't recognize, but Lottie did. 

“What's going on here?” Lottie's voice was commanding, full of suspicion, as she demanded an answer from the scientists surrounding us. 

“These are just your sleeping chambers, there's nothing to worry-,” the woman was cut off by your twin. 

“These are cryosleep pods, so what the fuck is actually going on here?” You froze at these words, cryosleep? That wasn't right, these vaults were made for people to live in until the radiation levels above were safe enough for everyone to return to the surface. Cryosleep pods hadn't even been tested yet, this didn't make any sense, this had to be some sort of misunderstanding. 

“I see,” the scientist mumbled before turning to two guards you hadn’t noticed before, “get her into her pod, please. We don't have time for distractions.”

The guards grabbed Lottie by her arms and lifted her towards the pod, all while she kicked and screamed at them to let her go. As you rushed forward, begging them to just let her go, they closed her into a pod and activated it. You watched her scream and bang on the glass until she finally froze, her terrified expression frozen to her face. Then, the guards turned to you, grabbing you the same way, dragging you to the pod across from Lottie's. You and Lottie were twins, but you were far from identical, she believed people deserved kindness, no matter how they treated you or others. She had fought those guards, but she only fought to be free, to get away, not to hurt them, so they expected the same from you. You, however, always fought to hurt, to get revenge on those who had wronged you. So when they grabbed your arms and started to drag you to the pods, you leaned back and bit at anything you could reach.

You latched your teeth on one guard's Adam's apple and bit down as hard as you could, twisted your head to the side and pulled back, your mouth filling with the copper taste of blood. He let go of you, reaching for his bleeding throat as you punched the other guard and ran. You made it to the platform you'd arrived on before the guard you'd hit grabbed at you again; you kicked and screamed, scratched and bit, but it was no use. He had a job to do and though he'd much rather kill you and move onto the next vault dweller, he had strict orders and an injured, if not dead, coworker to attend to. Your head smacked against the cushioned headrest of the cryopod as he threw you in and sealed the glass door, your fists banged so hard on the glass you felt like your bones would crack. Frozen air filled the chamber around you, causing you to panic even more, your screams reaching a new octave as your banging slowed down, your limbs becoming frozen and sluggish. The last thing you saw as you were forced into cryosleep was your sister's terrified frozen face across from you. 

.

.

.

Blurry, dark shapes moved in front of you, your limbs feeling sluggish and your mind a thousand miles away. Memories came rushing back to you as your vision focused, your mother’s funeral, bombs dropping, Lottie being forced into a cryopod, the taste of blood. Panic flooded your veins, eyes frantically searching for a way out, but they quickly came to a halt as you realized what the blurred shapes were. People. There were two people in the vault, two people who weren't put into a prolonged sleep, two people who were opening your sister's cryopod. 

“Hey! Hey, what the fuck are you doing? Let me out of here!” You screamed as loud as you could, but they paid you no mind.

Lottie woke up, and you were flooded with relief; she was alive, she was free. As she groggily took in her surroundings, one of the individuals in front of her reached forward and injected something into her neck, causing her to lose consciousness. Staring in horror, you watched as the one who injected her simply picked her up and started carrying her towards the vault's exit, leaving you and everyone else behind. 

“Where are you taking her? Let her go! Listen to me, assholes!” Your voice became shrill and frantic, but the remaining stranger turned to you.

As you took in his face, you cataloged every single detail you could see. He was a bald man with a scar going down from his forehead, through his eye, and down the left side of his face. The clothes he wore were strange and dirty, like nothing you had ever seen. “At least we have the backup if that twin doesn't work out,” he said over his shoulder to the person carrying your sister.

As he reached for the controls to your pod, you slammed your fist against the glass, bringing his gaze to yours. “I don't know who you are, but I promise you, I will be the one to kill you. I'm going to get my sister back, there is nothing in this world that will keep me from her.” Your voice was even, laced with venom as you hurled your threats at this man.

He laughed then, laughed, before he said “I'd love to see you try,” and reactivated your cryosleep pod. 

Watching him and his partner walk away with your unconscious sister, you imagined how you'd kill him, how his blood would look gushing out of his throat, how you'd relish in watching the light leave his eyes. As cryosleep forcefully dragged you back into a dreamless sleep, you took solace in knowing his death would be by your hand. 

[bangtanshelves]

JJK Fanfic Recos

Hi. These are some of the fanfics I've read.

I've read A LOT but I'll only be including the ones I really enjoyed reading.

I'm in the process of recollecting them, please bare with me.

I'm also updating this post often, so whenever I end finishing a fic I like I just post it here. hehe

💓 - Fluff ❤‍🩹 - angst 🥵 - smut 🚨 - violence/drugs 🤪 - crack ⭐ - fav 🎣 - latest addition to the list

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚. SERIES ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

My Love is Here - @/solemnreads

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹 (so much angst, I love it), 🥵 summary: "You didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s not like you purposely woke up one day and thought “Hey I’m going to fall in love with my best friend!” No, that is not at all what happened."

Knife's Edge - @/readyplayerhobi

Completed ✅

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵, 🚨 The Jeon Clan is Family, built on blood and loyalty. It’s been an unspoken fact that one day you will marry the heir to the Clan, Jeon Jungkook. You would be a fool to deny that you love him, but what happens when you meet a blue haired man who offers you a chance at normality?

Four Seven Eight - @/jiminrings

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹 (fic made me cry) ,🥵 you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you.alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

Close to you - @/muniimyg

Completed ✅ ⭐

genre: 💓, 🤪 It should've been easier than this, right?In which oc and Jungkook sleep together and he can't get over it.

Falling Skies - @/fortunexkookie

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her brother, Jungkook, was something else entirely. Once upon a time, she had called you her sun and him her moon; it was fitting, given the constant push-and-pull between you two. You used to consider him a friend, but then he had gone from endearingly frustrating dumb boy to card-carrying fuckboy so fast it had given you whiplash.

Please Love Me - @/ahunderedtimesover

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 As the only unmarried Jeon and Kim children, your families propose a union to symbolize your unbreakable bond that spans generations. But despite developing an affection for Jungkook growing up, he never returned it; he never seemed to like you, actually. You’re okay with the proposal, but surprise surprise, he isn’t.

Lowkey - @/xpeachesncream

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹, 🥵 In order to pass organic chemistry and pay off your car damages from an accident, all you have to do is help the nerd, Jeon Jungkook, with a few things: pretend to be his girlfriend and teach him the way of dating.

Hotter Than Hell - @/chateautae

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: ❤‍🩹, 🥵 Jungkook, Lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he's unsure of. Embarking on his journey for the answers should've been easy, if it weren't for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. Kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover Lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and Jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

An Ode to a Broken Heart - @/smoochkooks

Ongoing... ✍

Genre: ❤‍🩹 (bro I've been crying over this fic for days), 🥵 (future smut)  you’ve watched jeon jungkook slip out of your reach your entire life. now it’s time for you to finally move on, bury the past and open a new chapter. however, you’re doing it in your own, unconventional way - by publishing anonymously a novel about your miserable relationship.

Mutual Help - @/personasintro

Ongoing... ✍ (this is also posted on AO3)

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 (damn... that's all i can say)  in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

Way Back Home - @/solemnreads

Ongoing... ✍

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹 (please i really love angsty fics, fite me), 🥵

"Please tell me this isn't what I think it is" he asks you with tears in his eyes. You look down at the sight of your son with an oxygen mask on his face while your daughter is sleeping on the couch near the wall. You look into his eyes, broken, and sad. You've dreamt of this day for years, wondering how he would react. But here you are, hoping he could've meet the twins under different circumstances. "Yes... they're your children."

Strawberry Kisses - @/pixieknj

Ongoing... ✍

Genre: ❤‍🩹, 🥵 (Chapter 1 has been posted, but its something else) Jungkook is notoriously known as a f^ckboy who doesn’t eat p^ssy, until he finally gets alone with you…

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚. ONE-SHOTS or TWO-SHOTS ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

The Right Choice - @/honeytae

Genre: 💓 for as long as you've known Jungkook, you would think that you're witnessed all sides of him. But when you notice the way he's looking at you right now, you think you may be wrong about that.

Rainy Days - @/rklve

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Your life choices left not only yours, but Jungkook's hear broken in pieces. Now you're back in town, and just like Pluto, even if its cold and dark he tends to orbit around his sun forever.

High Demand - @/bunnyhugs77

Genre: 💓, 🥵, 🚨 A modern day Romeo and Juliet

SOJU - @/hoseoksluna

Genre: ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jungkook gives you all that he has—his feelings, his dominance and his cum.

Lost & Found - @/kooktrash

Genre: ❤‍🩹 (if you squint), 🥵 your college years have never been something you dwelled on for too long. you didn’t want to think of all the chances you lost and that’s why when the guy you had a crush on moves back to town, you try not to let it affect you again. but then he brings up old memories that didn’t go the way you thought they had and you’re thrown for a loop. you’re stuck between finding something new with him and falling back into old habits of never standing up for yourself. it probably doesn’t help that he dated your best friend, where everything seemed to go wrong.

Bottle Up Old Love - @/wintaerbaer

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

Pink Sapphire - @/jiminrings ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹(please I'm a sucker for this) ,🥵 Having Jungkook as a husband is great as far as arranged marriages could go; he's easy to love. Your relationship's perhaps become so easy that Jungkook doesn't think sometimes— and that's what makes it the easiest for you to hate him.

Will it fit? - @/jeonsweetpea

Genre: 💓, 🥵, 🤪, ❤‍🩹 (just a little bit) So what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can't exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom...

Break up with your Boyfriend - @/spideyjimin

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jungkook, the campus fuckboy, has decided to make you his next victim, but you're far from being like any of his previous hookups. You're not single. You're actually in a very long-term relationship with Baekhyun, the man you consider the love of you life, but it's for sure something that won't stop Jungkook. He wants you, and he's going to do absolutely everything to have you, even falling in love.

Paint me naked - @/gimmethatagustd

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 After the mysteriously hot guy in your university class starts taking an interest in you, should you really trust that he's not like all the other college fuckboys? Especially when his best friend is the guy who broke your heart?

I hate you, I love you - @j/ungblue 🎣

Genre: ❤‍🩹,🥵 You hated him at seven, warmed up to him at twelve, and liked him at fifteen. Now the two of you are twenty years old and inseparable best friends... and you're absolutely in love with him; he's in love too—just not with you.

How to Get a Guy - @/taeshobipop 🎣

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹, 🥵 Star basketball player Jeon Jungkook has a reputation as the ultimate fuckboi. He's loved by everyone. Everyone. And you would have followed suit if he had not broken all your strict Roommate Rules™ within the first week of his stay. Jungkook, on the other hand, thinks you're absolutely bizarre. But there's a silver lining— Mr. Fuckboi here knows basketball captain Min Yoongi, your dreadfully clueless crush. He strikes up a deal with you: he'll teach you the ways of flirting if you lessen your load of rules (so Jungook can continue persuing his way through the ladies on campus). Yet the longer Jungkook spends with you, the more he realizes that maybe he doesn't want to tbe the campus fuckboi anymore. The problem is, how does he prove that to you?

[cj-ghostemoji-destielpie]

⚠️⚠️⚠️PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS IN THE ABOVE SCREENSHOT BEFORE CONTINUING!!! ⚠️⚠️⚠️

This is my fic btw 💖 it'll only get worse. Chapter two will be posted soon and it's... F-d up.

Royal Tastes, by Dragonborn_Eldenlord on AO3.

Chapter 1: The Young King, The Cannibal Knight, The Dead Knight:

Sir Hannibal Lecter. A knight, ruthless and merciless in his quests. Or hunts, as he calls them.

Hannibal was infamous among many kingdoms as the Cannibal Knight, or Hannibal the Cannibal, that ate his enemies as a show of strength; not a popular habit. Most Knights hated or reluctantly accepted their jobs, but he reveled in the bloodshed. The scars, the agony, the screams, the light fading in his victims eyes, blood gurgling from their mouths or dripping from shallow wounds til they slowly bleed out… He saw beauty in it all.

Hannibal was visiting a kingdom he hadn't visited in a good twenty years or more; the Ophiuchus Kingdom, named after the serpent constellation due to the multiple snakes that infest the forests. Ophiuchus was infamous. The past rulers were known for their vicious and violent tactics, for their greed and gluttony. The only reason Hannibal was coming here in the first place was to and get in the good graces of the new ruler, as they had recently had their coronation if rumors were to be believed.

Walking into the throne room, Hannibal noticed the grandiosity of the palace. The new King is obviously doing some remodeling since there's multiple portraits stacked in a corner, many of which are torn. Hanging on the walls in their place are tapestries, animal hides, and furs, making the throne room have more of an animalistic, wild, and feral vibe.

Hannibal noticed the lack of the King as the throne was momentarily empty but he knelt anyway, the dark gray metal of his armor scraping against the expensive tiled floor; dark inky black tile with gold outlines and occasional intricate designs. He kept his head hung low, and soon he heard the footsteps of who he presumed to be the new King.

“Sir Hannibal Lecter, at your service, my Lord,” He greeted, head still positioned towards the dark ground.

"My apologies, Sir Lecter, but I'm not exactly... Educated on the proper etiquette of societal expectations for how I'm supposed to act and talk so I hope you'll be patient with me. Stand. I'm Lokka La’Rose, new King, blah blah blah. Killed the last King because he was a dick, so on and so forth," Lokka says casually as he perches on the arm of the fancy throne, not even looking at Hannibal as the Knight stands, instead he's briefly frowning in distaste at the gawdy throne before finally looking back at Hannibal with curiosity, golden eyes slowly taking in Hannibal's armor clad body and handsome face.

Hannibal stood, looking at the new King now fully. He seemed young. At least, younger than most rulers. If he's an adult it's just barely. His outfit—well, it lacked any form of royalty. Wearing something like that in court would make him the laughing stock of all the nobles. He's dressed in simple hunter-like garbs; a simple dagger on his hip, faded animal hide trousers and shirt. His curly hair is messy but pulled back in a low ponytail to keep it out of his face.

There's an old ugly scar running across his face that somehow danced between both eyes without harming them. And his eyes are peculiar as well; unnatural gold, reflecting all light, and feline-like with slit pupils.

"No worries, there's nothing wrong with not knowing etiquette. You’ll learn, it’ll feel like second nature in no time at all, Your Highness,” Hannibal studies the scars on the young King's face, "May I ask how you got those?”

"The scar? I was eight years old, a starving orphan, tried stealing from some noble man and he actually noticed and decided to teach me a lesson. Left me with a scar so I'd be reminded of the consequences of theft. Instead it just reminded me of the power imbalance in the Kingdom and the greed of the rich.”

Hannibal stayed silent for a moment, his eyes locked onto the other man. He studied the scar again, as it ran across his face in a jagged line. It had clearly scarred over years ago, but it still looked quite prominent. He knew the old King, and he was a greedy man, for sure. He thought the entire Kingdom was a piece of him to flaunt around. And many of his nobles had the same mentality.

"I see. You didn’t deserve that, child," He said the word in a somewhat condescending tone, though his facial expressions didn’t change from their almost emotionless state.

A small quiet huff of amusement escapes the King, “So, what are you here for? You requested an audience with the King. I know I'm not probably who you expected but I suppose I can still hear your piece and possibly assist.”

Hannibal smirked at his slight amusement, finding the King somewhat amusing. He began to circle around the throne, eyeing the golden details. He then came back to the front of the throne, locking eyes with the young King who'd allowed the Knight to pace and circle around him, looking entirely unthreatened.

"I didn't expect y ou , no," He paused for a moment, "Though I heard that you killed the last King. Tell me, was it worth it?”

Lokka tilts his head in thought, ".... worth it for the people....perhaps not for me though. I didn't want to be King. I just wanted there to be change. But no one else had the power to do it.”

Hannibal nodded slightly, silently admiring his slight vulnerability. He seemed to have thought about it a lot. He crossed his arms behind his back, shifting his weight to one foot. He seemed to look him up and down again before speaking again.

"You did this for the people, not yourself. That’s very admirable, Lord La’Rose.”

"Thank you, but please, just call me Lokka. I'm still not used to that title… and you're interesting enough to keep around and befriend.”

"Very well, Lokka ."

The way Hannibal says the King’s name makes the young King shiver and his cat-like pupils dilate.

Hannibal tilted his head downwards slightly, his arms behind his back casually and nonthreatening but somehow still imposing. The boy seemed somewhat shy, but somewhat confident, at least for speaking to a Knight that was feared by many for his bloodthirsty killing. He took a few steps closer to the throne.

"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?”

“17,” The young King states simply.

Hannibal nodded as an indication of acknowledgement, slightly impressed that he had managed to kill a man—let alone a King—at that age. There was clearly a lot of determination and courage, perhaps some foolish bravery as well. He took another few steps, now being a few feet away from the throne.

"Ah. Young and full of life," He teases.

Lokka gives a small playful smirk, "I've heard of you, Sir Lecter. Hannibal the Cannibal . The Cannibal Knight . Are you here to add another man to your diet or are you after something else? I'm not easy to kill so I'd think twice if I were you,” His tone isn't threatening, just playful but with a hint of promise.

Hannibal chuckled dryly at Lokka’s comment, his hands still behind his back. Hannibal seemed amused by Lokka, intrigued even. Lokka was a curious thing.

" You're smarter than you look, kid ," He paused for a moment, looking into his odd eyes, before continuing, "And you seem a tad bit cocky for a young Lord.”

“Fake it til you make it," He says with a simple shrug, a hint of insecurity in his strange eyes.

Hannibal chuckled, noting a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. He tilted his head to the side, studying him a little closer.

"You're not confident, are you?" He teased him, finding a way to get under the new king’s skin.

Lokka shrugs, unperturbed, “No, I'm not. But I'm stubborn and spiteful so I'm planning on sticking around as King for a long time. At least until I find a suitable heir."

Hannibal hummed in acknowledgement, somewhat impressed by Lokka's determination and stubbornness. He seemed like a boy filled with ambition and power…and yet so vulnerable. So…breakable.

He'll be fun to break . Hannibal thinks to himself with a secret smile.

" And when you find that suitable heir, will you simply pass the throne over to them without a fight?" Hannibal asked, taking a small jab at him.

"I'll train them, have them educated on the life of the nobles and the poor, make sure they have decent morals and a support system, and then I'll peacefully step down, give them the throne when they're ready, and perhaps stick around as an advisor or something if needed.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows raised slightly, impressed by his thought-out plan. He had clearly thought it through for a while, which he respected.

"So you already have a plan in mind, that's quite…ingenious." He paused for a moment, "And you're sure they’ll be fit enough to rule your kingdom?”

"I've no idea. Haven't met a suitable heir yet. Enough about that though. What is it you wished to accomplish with your audience with the King, Sir Lecter?”

Hannibal chuckled at him, slightly amused. Lokka was clearly done talking about the subject for now, which Hannibal was willing to respect. Sometimes you have to play the long game when playing with a new toy you wish to enjoy breaking.

"Ah. Straight to the point. I like you, Lokka." He commented, now towering over the shorter man, "I simply came to offer my services to you—to the kingdom, I mean.”

Lokka gives Hannibal a small playful smile, not bothered at all with Hannibal towering over him- most Kings would've had Hannibal thrown out for the attempt at appearing imposing or threatening, instead Lokka just peers up at Hannibal in amused interest, "You wish to be my knight?" He basically purrs sweetly.

Hannibal found Lokka's lack of fear for him amusing, almost down right hilarious. Most rulers would be intimidated by a man like him, but the boy didn’t even seem slightly bothered by it. Hannibal found it quite interesting.

"Yes, of course," He said, somewhat amused. "I am the best in my field. You’d be unwise to decline my services, kid.”

Lokka chuckles, "Most would be practically begging or at least respectful when offering their services to a King, even a young and naive King enjoys respect instead of being called a kid," Lokka says with a playful smile, casually crossing his legs as he remains perched on the arm of the throne.

Lokka studies Hannibal for a long few moments, golden cat-eyes piercing and intelligent as he takes Hannibal in, like a wild cat studying its prey. Slowly he returns his gaze to Hannibal’s.

"Ask again." He says, a small smirk tugging his lip, “maybe with a pretty please ?" He asks, basically taunting Hannibal.

Hannibal was taken somewhat aback by his request, his eyes widening a slight bit. He had expected him to be polite and shy in his response, not demanding and confident. Hannibal’s smug expression soon faded away, the slight teasing look still in his eyes.

"My apologies," He began, his expression almost blank by now, "I'll be respectful , like you'd like."

He took a deep breath, knowing he was going to hate it.

"May I please be your Knight, Your Majesty, Lokka ?”

Lokka giggles in honest amusement, golden eyes lighting up with joy before he schools his expression.

"hm...no," He says before smiling again. "I'm not going to waste your services as a common Knight. If you'd like to work for me, I'd rather you be my main security. Top knight, Housecarl, or whatever the fancy noble terminology is. I've heard of your skills and I'd love to see them in person. I've had multiple attempts on my life within just a week so I imagine you'll get a chance to prove yourself interesting . If you grow bored of being a bodyguard, then I suppose I can send you out to play with the other Knights. Does that sound appealing enough to you, Sir Hannibal Lecter ?”

Hannibal’s eyebrows shot up at Lokka's words, surprised. He was expecting to be a regular Knight of the castle, which was just fine. But security for the King? That was unexpected, but he was very much intrigued by the offer. And it would make it easier to toy with the King and slowly break him.

"That sounds very appealing," He commented, his smirk returning once again, "I agree to those terms.”

"Good. Splendid. Hope you don't mind explaining the seemingly stupid noble jargon the people here keep expecting me to understand. Do you understand the purpose of so many forks for one meal?" He asks, tone switching from the teasing playful to genuinely open and curious

He chuckled at his question, amused by the King’s clear lack of knowledge of the social rules.

"Of course. And I know the noble jargon.” He explained. "And it’s stupid, honestly. There’s so many rules for a simple meal. A commoner would eat an entire turkey with their hands, while Kings and Queens have to use specific forks and spoons for specific items of a meal. And don’t even dare to use your hands; you’ll be chastised by the etiquette police.”

The King sighs dramatically as he lays across the throne, "Everything has so many ridiculous rules and yet the commoners are more concerned with surviving, which is more understandable. Why so many forks when hands work just fine? It's stupid…”

"I think I'm going to like you, Sir Lecter." The young King says, rolling his head where he lays across the throne to look up at Hannibal.

"Perhaps I may say the same," Hannibal replied, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He studied him for a moment, admiring his confidence, especially for a young king like him.

“ Goddesses ! I need to get rid of this throne !" He jumps off of it dramatically, a good three feet in the air before landing on his feet in a squat like a feral cat before slowly standing like a normal human, "that thing is so ridiculously uncomfortable. And such an eyesore . Like, we get it! This is a throne! But if you're going to show off wealth you may as well use it for something comfortable . Especially if you're expected to sit in the evil thing for days on end and play nice with other nobility.”

Hannibal was surprised by Lokka's sudden outburst and unexpected agility as he jumped from his throne, not expecting him to be nearly as physically adept as he was for a King or a human. He let out a dry chuckle as he stood next to him.

"Most nobles and royalty don’t care about what’s comfortable. They just care about what looks good and makes them look better than everyone else," Hannibal replied dryly.

Lokka huffs and crosses his arms, glaring at the throne like a petulant child who was just told that he has to eat his veggies before dessert, “Well I'm not most kings. If I could have that replaced with a recliner I would... I suppose I'll just settle for having this fancy throne melted down to coins and donated to the commoners, maybe the orphanage. Then I'll just feckin' carve a nice throne from some cherry wood perhaps and get some nice comfy- but I suppose fancy fabric- cushions to line it with."

Hannibal chuckled at Lokka's…rant, finding his determination for a more comfortable throne quite amusing. He tilted his head to the side, studying the younger man.

"A cherry wood chair," He repeated, a single brow quirked, "With plush velvet cushions," He added dryly with a slight tone of mockery. He was clearly holding back his laughter.

The King huffs and throws his hands in the air with dramatic exasperation "Ye have better design ideas, Sir Lecter?”

Hannibal let out a few dry chuckles at his dramatic actions before replying with a smirk.

"Maybe. I was thinking something a little more… aesthetic ," He said, thinking over the design in his mind, "Dark oak. Gold or a dark material for the trimmings. Soft light fur as a cushioning.”

"....I might actually be able to work with that...I'll sketch something up and have you look it over,” the King says after actually seeming to seriously be pondering over Hannibal's words.

Hannibal hummed, finding him quite amusing. Who would’ve thought a newly crowned King would ask for his input on a throne design of all things? Hannibal had to hold back his smirk at Lokka's eagerness.

“Of course. I’ll look it over once you have it sketched up, Lokka.”

"....so," Lokka clasps his hands and rocks slightly in place, "I'm supposed to play nice and be all Kingly for a few more hours today. One of the servants told me that there were a couple different knights and messengers from different kingdoms coming today- aside from you. I was even warned that at least one messenger is going to try and get me to marry some King's daughter from a neighboring kingdom," he says, looking disgusted but hides it mostly, "Are you ready to play advisor/bodyguard today or do you wish to have a servant show you to your new quarters and start tomorrow?”

Hannibal could sense Lokka's disgust in his voice and almost chuckled but contained himself. It seemed he disliked the prospect of having to listen to someone ask him to marry someone’s daughter for political purposes. He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest once again.

"I’m quite ready. And if any messenger does decide to try to convince you to marry an ugly daughter, I’ll be your bodyguard and advisor.”

"I'm not concerned with their looks , I'm just opposed to marrying some girl I don't know nor wish to know ," He says simply, reluctantly sitting back on the throne, though properly this time. He glances at the grand fancy clock across the throne room, "The next person should be here soon. Don't remember if it's a knight or some noble, or a messenger though.”

Hannibal watched as Lokka sat back down on the throne, this time properly. He still found the throne to be a little gaudy looking, no amount of proper sitting would change that. He took a few steps closer to the throne, positioning himself on the right side of him.

"Well, whoever this next person may be, I’ll be right here," He replied, referring to his position beside Lokka.

Lokka gives Hannibal a small smile, "Good boy," He says playfully, but praising, and before Hannibal can snark or react, a servant enters and announces the arrival of another visitor; another Knight.

Hannibal’s smirk quickly faded in surprise with Lokka's playful praise, his cheeks taking on a slight red hue. He was not expecting him to say that, but he quickly shook it off. He refocused his attention back towards the entrance to the throne room as the servant announced the arrival of another Knight. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the Knight carefully for his mannerisms.

The Knight was mature in age, probably around Hannibal’s age. His armor was shiny and well-polished; he's probably rather stuffy and hasn't actually seen many battles. He entered the room rather arrogantly—like most Knights were—and began to speak in an overly cocky tone.

“Your majesty, I am Sir Charles,” The Knight said, standing in the middle of the room, not bothering to take a knee or bow or show any respect, making Hannibal curl his lip in distaste.

Lokka tilts his head, studying the man, "Sir Charles... I'm Lord La'Rose. What have you come here to ask of the new King of Ophiuchus?" Lokka asks, all previous playful energy gone, in his place is now a serious calm intelligent King.

Hannibal noticed that Lokka even used his title this time, instead of being casual like Lokka had been with him. The change was sudden. Happened as soon as Sir Charles entered, only a brief moment of Lokka sniffing the air prerequisites his personality shift when Sir Charles entered.

Sir Charles was taken aback by Lokka's sudden and unexpected shift into a completely different person. From a giddy, happy, young King to a stoic, serious individual in a matter of seconds. He paused for a moment, almost intimidated by the change, but eventually responded.

"Well, your majesty, I have come to… congratulate you.” He replied, the word ‘congratulate’ sounding almost bitter coming from his lips.

"hmmm... Is that so? You could've just sent some gift like most of the others singing my praises lately," Lokka doesn't sound cocky despite his words, he actually seems uncomfortable with the thought of being praised for what he'd done, "So, what else is it you wanted from me, Sir Charles, aside from wasting my time?”

Sir Charles was once again taken aback, clearly not expecting the King to brush off his praise and assume he was just there to waste his time. He stood silently for a few moments, almost shocked, before speaking up again.

“I wasn’t just here to give my congratulations, your majesty.” He replied, his tone somewhat snarky and somewhat irritated now. “I also came to request something.”

"speak, no need to dawdle.” Lokka says when Sir Charles doesn't get straight to the point, making Hannibal fight a proud smirk.

Sir Charles let out a snort, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a few steps closer to the King.

“If you’d be so kind, Your Majesty, I was hoping you’d send a few of your troops to help us in a little battle we’re having.” He explained, the tone in his voice still demanding.

"A little battle?" Lokka asks, a single brow raised, "Why? Plead your case, Sir Charles.”

Sir Charles let out another snort, his arrogance seemingly taking control as he spoke again.

“My kingdom has been at war for over a year now. We just lost a significant amount of soldiers and are requesting backup.” He said, as if the reason was obvious and simple. “It would be immensely appreciated if you would send whatever soldiers you can spare.”

"...you have yet to explain why you're even at war or why I should be inclined to help. Perhaps I'd rather help your enemies, hm? What say ye to that?"

Sir Charles stood silent, shocked, for a few moments. The arrogance on his face now faded into disbelief. Obviously, he hadn’t expected the King to be so indifferent and ask for a reason to send soldiers to help.

“The reason for our war…” He repeated, “Why- the reason is…”

He paused for another moment, trying to come up with a reasonable response on why they were at war and why they needed his help. A good reason. One that wasn't seeped in greed.

Lokka chuckles, darkly, in amusement, before speaking with a light disturbingly kind tone despite his words, "Give me a good reason, Sir Charles, before I send you back to your King without a head.”

Sir Charles almost staggered backward in shock, horrified by the King's response. His dark amusement and the threat of beheading him if he can’t come up with a good reason was enough to nearly make Sir Charles piss in his armor, but he managed to stay composed. Mostly. He swallowed thickly before replying again.

“We’ve been at war with our neighboring kingdom for years now. A war we can’t win without you. If you do not help, Your Majesty…” He paused once again, his voice wavering slightly, “We will be overtaken and lost.”

"Still," Lokka says, casually standing from his throne, and slowly walking down the steps of the platform to the main part of the throne room, gesturing with one hand casually for Hannibal to stay, back for now, "You've yet to explain why you're at war. Just that you are and that you're losing." Lokka's tone softens to an almost teasing seductive tone as he nears Sir Charles and raises a hand to gently caress the taller older man's cheek and tilts his gaze to meet his eyes, "so... Explain to me, Sir," Lokka practically purrs, "why," he traces his fingers over the Knight's pulse point, "you need me?”

Sir Charles froze as the King suddenly approached him, his hand gently caressing his cheek and moving his head to face him. The sudden shift in his tone and attitude to something more seductive and playful shocked him, his heart almost stopping as he felt his slender fingers tracing over his pulse point.

He inhaled deeply, unable to find the words to respond. His words got caught in his throat, but he eventually began speaking despite the dryness in his throat.

“I- We…” He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"ooh, has a cat got your tongue?”

Sir Charles tensed his shoulders, his cheeks turning a slight pink at his words. It didn’t help that Lokka was so close to him, his slender but firm and calloused fingers still gently caressing his pulse point. Sir Charles swallowed again, his words stuck in his throat like a frog for a few moments.

“N-no.” He managed to stutter out, cursing himself for stuttering like a boy with a middle school crush.

The King chuckles playfully, dancing around behind the large Knight and draping his arms over the man's shoulders from behind, wrapping his arms around the man's neck and resting his hands teasingly on the man's chest armor.

"hmmm..." Lokka hums in thought, glancing over to Hannibal, "Sir Hannibal, what do you know of Sir Charles and his Kingdom?”

Sir Charles tensed more as the King began to dance around him, jumping slightly as he suddenly draped his arms over his shoulders. He immediately tried to look at whatever Hannibal’s reaction was to the King’s action, his stomach twisting into knots at the King’s forward and almost…flirtatious behavior.

Hannibal’s eyes remained fixated on the pair, his head tilted to the side observing the King’s behavior, and Sir Charles’ reaction. He noted his tension and how he seemed almost afraid of the small young King.

The boy continues to surprise me…

"Don't tell me a cat's got your tongue too now, Sir Hannibal," the young King calls out playfully to his Advisor and Knight, "Do you know of Sir Charles or his Kingdom? Feel free to speak your mind, Sir Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s eyes flicked over to the King as soon as he spoke up, his eyes narrowing for a moment before his normal, calm demeanor returned to him. He raised an eyebrow, a little surprised with the King’s almost childish behavior. He took no issue with it, it was almost…endearing…

Hannibal glanced back at Charles for a moment, observing his behavior further, before speaking up in his usual polite but crisp and composed tone.

“I know of his kingdom and his cause. I also know of his king.”

"Hmm," Lokka hums, teasingly nuzzling his face into Sir Charles' neck from behind, though from where Hannibal stands, Hannibal can see the way Lokka curls his nose in disgust at whatever he smells, or just disgust for the Knight Sir Charles in general.

“Continue to speak your thoughts, Sir Hannibal. What's your opinion? Since you know of him and his King. Should we help them? Why are they in a war?”

Hannibal noticed the way the King’s nose curled in disgust as he nuzzled into the Knight’s neck. That was interesting. Clearly, there was more going on than a simple plea for help. Hannibal kept that thought in the back of his mind for now as he continued to speak up.

“They’re at war with their neighboring kingdom because of a fight over land.” He explained, “Their King wants to expand his kingdom and is willing to take it by any means necessary, even if it means going to war.”

"Hmm...." Lokka hums, tracing his hands teasingly in a sexual manner over Sir Charles chest armor from behind as he continues to nose Sir Charles' neck, "pathetic," he hisses out before suddenly biting down and tearing into Sir Charles' neck, tearing out a large chunk of his flesh and causing blood to gush from his artery.

Sir Charles drops dead to the ground, a few brief gurgling noises before he dies. Lokka is now covered in Sir Charles' blood but looks unbothered. More annoyed with the blood on the beautiful tile throne room floor than anything else.

Lokka whistles out a sharp note and a servant enters.

"Maria, darling,” Lokka says sweetly, almost apologetic, and it seems genuine, “Can you have the gardener get rid of this one like they did with the King? You and the servants may sell or keep whatever he has on him. I'll need someone to clean this blood out of the floor. Again."

Hannibal’s eyes widened in utter shock the moment the young King suddenly bit the Knight’s neck. He stood speechless for a few moments, unable to speak or form any words or coherent thought. Everything about this moment was so…unexpected..

And strangely attractive.

Hannibal watched as the King called in a servant named Maria, almost stunned as he listened to what the pair said. He was still trying to process what just happened, and it almost felt like he was dreaming.

Maria nods and quickly fetches a few other servants. Soon the dead Knight is gone- a handsome but awkward looking man, the gardener presumably, fetching the body and carrying it out- and there's a servant cleaning the blood up. Lokka walks slowly back up to the throne and stops a few feet in front of you.

"Do you still want this job?" Lokka asks, unknowingly licking the blood on his lips.

Lokka's mouth, jaw, neck, and the front of his shirt is soaked in blood from Sir Charles.

"I promise to play nice and let you leave without harm if your answer is no. Though I will be sad if you do choose to leave.”

Hannibal’s eyes remained fixated on the bloody, almost gorey scene before him, unable to tear his eyes away from the blood on the floor.

He stayed silent for a few moments as he finally registered his question to him, his eyes snapping up to meet his gaze. His usual stoic features were now replaced with slight shock and awe. He wasn’t sure how to feel about any of this, it was all so…unexpected…

“I…I do still want the job, Your Majesty.” Hannibal says with a small stutter, surprising even himself. It's not fear though that makes him stutter. Something about the way Lokka looks with blood dripping from his chin is just… delicious. Maddeningly so.

"hmm... Very well then," Lokka turns and looks back at the servant currently cleaning the floor, "Maria? Sir Hannibal and I will be gone for a few minutes. If any guest comes, please apologize for the wait and have them guided to... I don't know where, just somewhere nice and keep them entertained and fed til I return. Understood, doll?”

Maria, a young, brown-haired, and freckled servant, looked up as the King addressed her. She paused for half a second before nodding her head. She didn't seem afraid of him despite the gore and violence.

“Understood, Your Majesty. Will do.” she says simply.

"Good." Lokka says with a soft smile to the girl, though the blood on him ruins the attempt at a kind image.

He turns and gestures for Hannibal to follow as he leaves the throne room and heads for his private chambers.

They're not the original King's Chambers- far too casual and not as overly decorated. There's still nice furniture and a sitting area but it's also decorated with multiple books filled with notes and scribbles in the margins, animal hides and leathers tossed everywhere, half finished crochet and wood carvings and leatherworking projects everywhere.

Lokka leads Hannibal in and practically ignores his presence as he goes to his wardrobe and pulls out a nicer but still not exactly Kingly clothes; simple black pants and a long sleeve black shirt. He changes and washes the blood from his face at the water basin before finally turning to look at Hannibal, not caring that he'd stripped down to his boxers and undershirt in front of the other man since the boxers and undershirt hid the parts of himself he likes to keep hidden from everyone who doesn't need to know his secret.

"So, any opinions or questions as to why I killed that Knight? You're allowed to speak freely. I won't give you the same side of me I gave him.”

Hannibal took the invitation to speak his mind, taking a moment to properly organize his thoughts before beginning to speak.

“You’ve clearly got a distaste for people who you see as weak, a person like the late Knight.” He began, keeping his voice and tone calm, and his words precise and careful to avoid sounding disrespectful. “Perhaps the Knight said something, or you simply got…fed up with him.”

The King chuckles softly, "hm, good theory but not quite, Sir Hannibal," He says as he sits on one of the couches in the sitting area of his private chambers, "I was going to kill him the moment I smelled him- I'm not a normal human if you haven't noticed yet."

Hannibal tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing for a moment as he fully assessed the king now, taking in his unnaturally keen sense of smell. This kid was far more than he seemed. He slowly walked over to the same couch and sat down a few feet away, keeping his usual polite composure still.

“You’re a werecat.”

Hannibal stated, not asking but saying it like it was factual.

“Precisely," the King says with a chuckle.

This was a very interesting development, to say the least. Werecats were relatively rare. Hannibal noted that Lokka's eyes resembled that of a cat. Sharp, unwavering, and almost predatory in a way.

“I assume you could smell that he was a coward…” Hannibal mused out loud, pausing for a moment as he noted more differences about the King.

“I did not kill him for his cowardice. But rather what I smelled on him- what he'd done- before he'd dirtied my Kingdom with his presence."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, intrigued to know what he smelled on him. He never would’ve expected such a young king to be so…violent. The death was so vicious and sudden, and not to mention messy. And it was all over a particular scent.

But God, was it beautiful…

“What did you smell on him?” Hannibal questioned, his curiosity getting the better of him.

A murderous snarl tugs Lokka's lip, but not at Hannibal, rather the Knight he'd killed, "He smelled of children, suffering children, at least two. Two whose scents were far too different from his to have been his offspring. And scents that reeked of fear and pain. He'd harmed them. I dare not dwell in what ways."

Hannibal’s eyes momentarily darkened as he listened to the kid’s reply. Child abuse, a particular weakness of his. His hatred for it was almost as strong as his cannibalism.

For a split second, Hannibal suddenly felt a pang of…admiration. The kid had a sense of justice, in a way. A strange moral sense of delivering justice but still. He wasn’t a normal royal, that’s for sure.

“Is that why you killed him the way you did?” He questioned, masking his previous internal admiration and remaining composed and polite.

"Yes.”

Hannibal didn’t know how to feel about the King being so…unapologetic and straightforward about his violence, yet he found it almost refreshing and…charming. Usually, nobles danced and tiptoed around the subject and acted disgusted or horrified when acts like this were brought up.

“A brutal, yet justified death.” Hannibal muttered under his breath, speaking his thoughts out loud by accident.

"I'm glad you think so," Lokka says softly, head tilted slightly as he looks up at Hannibal.

Hannibal noticed his head tilt, taking in the small action further. He couldn’t help but find it…cute. The little King was clearly not an ordinary King, especially for his age. He was young, wild, and violent, and yet there was an almost endearing quality to him. Almost like that of a small, feral creature.

Hannibal's eyes drifted to the King's lips.

Soft and stained a faint red from the blood that he'd just washed off.

Lips that had parted to kill a man.

Lethal but beautiful lips that Hannibal wants to-

------

The gif of Hannibal covered in blood belongs to @bloodydancy ☮️💖

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Twenty

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen

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Author's Note: Happy Anniversary to Maiden! I'm so happy to those of you who've been on the journey from the start and those who have found this story along the way. We are in the final few chapters of this Arc! And to celebrate, I bring you amazing plot twists! All my love and thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend for holding my hand and being with me every step of the way, and @darkwolf76 who loved this story first.

If you're reading here on tumblr, I'd love to hear from you! My inbox is open and I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

CHAPTER TWENTY - I'm In Over My Head

We finally arrive at Harrenhal, where you cannot escape the ghosts.

It was a fortnight by horseback and only six hours by Sunfyre to Harrenhal, but the royal progress along the Kingsroad took a moon. The people needed to see them, the queen had insisted, refusing to let them stay and ride out on dragonback. Instead, Helaena would stay, Ser Criston at her side, and the sworn sword would fly with the princess in a month’s time. Baela would fly out with them on Moondancer, Jace on Vermax, and Aemond would accompany the royal progress without Vhagar.

Harrenhal could only house so many dragons.

Abby was ready to be done with it all; her body felt like it would never stop jostling even when she was out of the wheelhouse. The days on horseback were better, but even those had left her aching from her inexperience. Aegon had whispered in her ear that it would be good practice for her, and how precious she looked bowlegged. The ribald flirtation had sent a rush of heat and anticipation through her, as well as frustration with him for making light of how uncomfortable she’d been. For his cheek, she’d bundled herself in the wheelhouse with the Crane twins, Merei Thorne, and Floris, the latter of which had her hold her tongue to keep from ranting.

She missed Wylla.

Wylla, she knew, would loop her arm through hers and recount all the wonderful ways they could make Aegon miserable. Jesting, of course, though the pair regularly snipped at one another.

Guilt roiled in Abby’s gut. After the betrothal announcement between Aemond and Floris, Wylla had taken the opportunity to flee to Stone Hedge to witness her brother’s nuptials to Lady Alys Bracken. It had been good that she did, Abby thought. She would be able to see her mother and other brothers, who had come down in order to attend her wedding, and Wylla did not know when she would see them next. Karhold was further north than Winterfell and her friend was giving up a great deal to come live at Harrenhal.

That said little of the other reasons why Wylla had eagerly left for Stone Hedge, and Abby thought of Helaena’s words all those months ago. ‘And I’ll be left alone while you and Aegon are busy making babies together!’ She felt like a poor friend and and even worse sister, unable to deny that as the weeks had passed, her focus had been less on duties she’d taken so seriously, of being there for those she cared for, and more focused on the making of her wedding dress, of the stealing time with Aegon with a desperate heat and wanting, of responding to well wishes and organizing a household… when she had promised to always be there for Helaena. When she had begun to foster a love and friendship with Wylla that had grown into its own sisterhood.

Jace had so easily comforted Helaena during her difficult days when Abby was pulled away or otherwise occupied. And Wylla had not even told her of the budding romance between her and Aemond - now brutally cut short in the wake of politics beyond their control. So consumed she’d been with Aegon, with everything else, things that, selfishly, were for her and her alone, and so easily she’d forgotten those she vowed to care for.

Abby would do all she could to make up for it. She would ensure that Wylla did not feel forgotten, that her and Helaena could indeed visit often. She would write, she would-

“Lady Abrogail?”

Desmera’s voice cut through the swirl of guilty words flitting through Abby’s head and she looked up at the Crane girl. Desma, Abby corrected herself. Desmera preferred Desma. She was holding the wool kirtle in her arms, the shade of green as lush and dark as the fields they passed through with red weirwood embroidery along the arms. The surcoat carefully folded on the table was half red and half blue and edged in silvery rabbit fur, among the other parts of her heraldic dress. She would not be in the wheelhouse as they came into Harrentown, and the parade that announced their arrival would be a large one. Already they had seen an uptick of traffic along the Kingsroad and the tents in the fields, the small inns filled to bursting the closer they were. With only a few hours until they approached the town, it was almost like they were approaching King’s Landing. Merchants were setting up along the way to hawk wares and Abby knew that the crowd would be thicker the closer they crept

The distant call of dragons echoed outside the tent and Abby and Desma poked their heads out the flap to crane their necks to look up.

“I can’t believe Ser Criston is riding dragonback with the princess,” Desma murmured, and Abby laughed. He had stayed behind with Helaena, and Abby knew it was to keep an eye on Jace. What Abby would have given to see the look on the knight’s face when he was told that he would fly with Helaena. Not even Queen Alicent had flown with her children, despite both Aegon and Helaena’s offers.

Abby knew how big dragons were, having been around them her whole life, but this was different. With no expansive sprawl of King’s Landing or the Great Sept to compare, they seemed even larger. Past the many tents of the camps, the moors of the Riverlands was all there was. No buildings, no great mountains or spires or monuments. Just the green, rolling hills surrounding the Kingsroad and the forest beyond.

Dreamfyre’s bulk was impressive, the blue and silver of her scales standing out in the morning light, her call warm and low, melodic in a way that was surprising for a dragon. Two smaller dragons were flying about, answering the calls, scales in shades of jade and bronze and silver as Jace and Baela danced around the great dragon.

There was another familiar call, the trilling echoing across the moor like a song. Abby’s heart swelled, hearing Aegon’s happy shout from somewhere inside the camp as Sunfyre gleamed as bright as the morning sun. How she missed him, how she missed being free in the air where nothing else mattered.

Desma tugged on her elbow, laughing. “Come back here, Abby, you’re still in your nightgown.”

Abby allowed herself to be pulled back in the tent, and was soon joined by Merei Thorne, who came bearing a plate of cold meats and bread and warm cider to break her fast.

“I’m ready to be done with all this mud,” she groused, dark hair loose and free about her shoulders, her swarthy skin flushed from the cool morning air. “Ser Rickard says the crowds up the road will be thick by the time we reach them.” Merei’s uncle was a member of the Kingsguard, and Abby was grateful that she had sought information before arriving.

She let herself be tugged out of her nightgown and a fresh chemise pulled over her head before Desma got her into the green kirtle and Merei shoved a piece of bread with ham into Abby’s open mouth. “Wylla’s sent word this morning with the rider.” Merei waved the scroll around. “Your rooms have been made ready, and Lythene and Sarra are settling in, so all you need to do is arrange things to your liking.”

Abby eagerly reached for the scroll as the girls laced her into the kirtle. It was a short message, but Wylla’s handwriting was comforting and familiar.

“Is Alys another one of your ladies?” Merei asked, moving the surcoat out of the way while Abby sat to eat. Desma opened the box of combs and ribbons and hairpins to get to work on her curls.

Wylla’s letter had mentioned help from Alys Rivers, and Abby shook her head before Desma pinched her to keep still as she carefully worked Abby’s curls.

“No, she’s a member of our household. A healer and sometimes ladies maid. She helped my mother when she was pregnant with me, but declined to come to the capital with us.” Her memories of the woman were fuzzy whenever Abby tried to look at them more closely. Dark haired with large grey eyes, Alys had been a fixture when she had visited Harrenhal over the years. “It’s good that she’s helping Wylla. I know Aunt Mya has her hands full with everything and my cousin, Deidre, is there to help.” Deidre, the future Lady Smallwood of Acorn Hall, had grown up at Harrenhal and would prove helpful in this busy time of preparation. Deidre’s younger sister, Cassana, lived at Runestone and would be arriving with Lord Yorick’s party soon.

Desma’s hands worked quickly to pull Abby’s curls from her face, winding a knot of braids along the back of her head, the rest curling down her back to her waist. It would be hours of riding, but also hours of being seen by the people who looked to Harrenhal, who looked to her family, as their liege lords. Merei pulled a delicate net of silver dotted with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds and pinned it around Desma’s delicate knotwork.

With her mother’s carnelian necklace around her throat, Abby shoved her feet into her riding boots and grabbed a last chunk of bread and ham before ducking out of the tent as her ladies oversaw the packing of her things.

The sea of black and red tents felt like a field of Targaryen poppies as she made her way through the camp. The ground was not as muddy as Merei complained, but Abby was nonetheless grateful for her sturdy boots. Already the grass was churning into a muddy mess in various places and she carefully stepped around them. Servants paused to offer quick bows and curtsies, which Abby felt awkward about. They did not need to pause in their duties to acknowledge her, but at the same time, it was strangely satisfying to be recognized, to be deferred to in some small way.

Abby was not sure how to feel about it, so she pushed the confusing feelings away and shoved the rest of her bread in her mouth.

She found Aegon where the horses were stabled, tethered to temporary posts and being fed their morning grain. The morning light turned Aegon’s curls a soft gold, his gray linen shirt tucked into a pair of high waisted, black riding pants, stripes of red embroidered with gold scales down the sides into a pair of tall, shiny black boots. He was without his own surcoat and she knew that it was just as ostentatious as her own heraldic gown: black and red and scaled as was the Targaryen way. She licked butter from her thumb as she approached, gaze raking over him appreciatively and the opened neck of his shirt, teasing the lightly freckled skin that she longed to kiss.

Kostōba was as brilliant as ever, pawing happily at the ground and rooting his nose against Aegon, clearly looking for more treats. His cream colored coat shone as golden as his master’s hair in the sun, brilliant against the caparison of red and black taffeta for House Targaryen. Aegon was busy stroking the snout of another horse, focused on checking the buckles of the halter and bit. The mare was a brilliant chestnut, so red that it matched her hair, it’s mane only a scant few shades darker. It pawed the ground beside Kostōba, nickering and also looking for treats.

“What’s this?”

Aegon turned, eyes wide as if he’d been caught, a sleepy smile on his face. She was no longer mad at him, of course, but the forced distance over their travels was frustrating, in addition to the misery of frequently having to sleep outdoors, no matter how comfortable the tents were. It made tempers shorter, and the stress of everything that was to come was fraying at her.

Aegon closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands, and the touch immediately had her shoulders relaxing and she sighed as he kissed her. Chastely, but it was Aegon and his teeth snuck in a quick nibble before he pulled back. She did her best to hide her pout, tasting the wine he’d had that morning on her mouth. Abby licked her lips, blushing at the look he gave her.

“Happy nameday!” he declared, gesturing to the mare. Abby blinked at him, owlish and momentarily confused.

“Nameday?” What day was it? Time had become an endless blur of bumpy roads and the creaking wheelhouse. He raised an eyebrow at her, taking her chin in hand and tilting her head to look up at him.

“It’s your nameday,” he repeated slowly as if she hadn’t heard him the first time.

Oh! It was, wasn’t it? She sputtered softly and he chuckled, pressing another brief kiss to her parted mouth.

“Happy nameday,” he repeated more slowly this time, snickering at her lapse of memory and dropping her chin to caress her shoulder and turn her towards the mare. “She’s from the same stock as Kostōba. Six years old and well trained. She’ll be gentle with you and give a hoof to the face of any who should try to pull you from her.” His grin brightened as he went on, lilac eyes crinkled in excitement as he glanced back at her. Abby could see the hope in Aegon’s face, the nerves and question of if he’d done well with the gift.

Kostōba snorted at Aegon’s shoulder, nudging at him more insistently. Aegon huffed and pulled another piece of carrot from the pocket of his black riding coat. Abby reached up to gently stroke the velvet soft nose of the mare and took the second carrot that Aegon offered. She eagerly took it with greedy teeth, and Abby giggled as the velvet nose tickled her palm.

“She’s beautiful,” Abby said, giddiness bubbling through her belly, swooping at the thoughtfulness of the gesture, and surprise at how exciting it was to be given a horse of her very own. “And she won’t buck me off?”

“Well you’ve proven to be a good rider already, on dragonback no less, though it’s different with a horse, obviously. And I think as long as you keep petting her and speaking to her sweetly as you do, provide plenty of carrots, maybe even some apples? Oh, I think you’ll be just fine.”

Abby scoffed, but her smile was bright. “Endless supply of carrots and apples and oats. Understood, my prince. I will endeavor to bond her to me.” The mare huffed softly as Kostōba’s head came near hers to bump it.

“They look good together, don’t they?” Aegon asked softly, casually.

“They do,” Abby agreed with a soft laugh. “She matches my hair.”

“Exactly. That’s why I picked her.”

“And your horse matches your hair.”

Aegon shrugged, cheeks flushed pink as he scratched around his stallion’s nose. “I have good taste. Do you like her?” There was a furrow now between his brows as he pointedly asked her, her words not doing enough to convey her thanks. It was a guileless thing - Aegon wasn’t trying to tease a deeper showing of affection from her in his usual, playful way. Abby handed him her gathered skirts and he took them, confused, and she reached up to cup his face with both hands, his skin warm against her perpetually chilled fingers.

“I love this gift, Aegon. No one else has wished me happy nameday, but you did, and provided me a thoughtful gift that I love very much,” she reassured him, teeth catching on her lower lip as the words visibly washed over him. She could feel the tension vibrating through him, as if he couldn’t quite believe she enjoyed the gift, or was waiting for something to drop, or a dozen other things. She felt him shudder and relax into her and Abby hummed, thumbs stroking along the apples of his cheeks. The furrow eased, the tension in his shoulders relaxed, his gaze grew softer as he turned his head slightly to nuzzle against her touch. Her belly was warm, fingers toying with the softness of his silver hair, affection surging through her. Abby pressed up on her toes to press a soft, innocent peck to his plush mouth. “I love you, Aegon.”

“I love you,” he whispered shyly as his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. Satisfaction and ease seemed to fill him as she pulled away and took her skirts back from his hold. He cleared his throat, tossing his hair back from his face and reached up to stroke the little white star on the mare’s forehead. “Now we can go riding together - properly have a good race.”

“You want to race? Well then, we’ll have to come up with some good wagers then, won’t we?” The prospect excited her, the planning for things they’d do once the wedding was over and they could just get on with the rest of their lives; away from the Red Keep, away from the politics and the eyes that constantly watched them, away from everything that chased them in waking and in sleep.

Another bright call sounded above them and they both looked up to see Sunfyre circling, his chirps and clicks echoing down to them. The mare snorted and backed away, shaking her head at the closeness of the predator. Two of the stableboys came hurrying over to help calm her. Abby backed away, not wanting to be too close should she rear up, feeling foolish that she was unable to calm her horse, let alone understand how.

“He missed you,” she said, and Aegon laughed, bright and happy as he always was when it came to his golden boy.

“He’s a smart one, isn’t he?” Aegon grinned. “I was…” He trailed off, uncertain, and Abby pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“He would not abandon you. That menace broke out of the dragon pit to get to you, remember?” Not that Sunfyre had caused any damage outside of freeing himself from his chains, and would not return until Aegon had gone to retrieve him before they were dragged back to the Red Keep all those months ago.

“He would most certainly not.” Confidence returned to Aegon’s voice and he cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting words of Valyrian and gesturing north.

Abby’s gaze drifted from the sight to look out past the horses to the rolling moors past them. The mist still hung heavy along the ground, slowly burning away as the morning grew, lending a murky sight of the forest that obscured the sight of the God’s Eye.

A twisting sensation spooled through her chest as she watched the trees. There were oaks abundant along the road, and as they drew north, there were pines dotting the landscape as well. But the great, dark forest beside them was different. The oaks here were giant things. Once, as a little girl, she’d ridden out with Harwin into the Red Wood. There were a few red oaks in the Harrenhal godswood - massive things that shot past the great height of the walls. Here in the forest surrounded by them, it felt like another world. The trunks of the trees were as big as the family dining hall in the Kingspyre. Uncle Simon said that the great round table had been cut from such a trunk.

Ancient trees that had survived the great heart wound of Harren the Black. Spirits lived in the weirwoods; she remembered those stories, and the ancient sentinels remembered too. They were here long before and would be there long after -

“Hey!”

Strong, warm hands gripped her arms and shook her. Abby blinked slowly, feeling tired and confused. Aegon was looking down at her; face pale, confused, annoyed. “What’s gotten into you? I was calling for you, Abby.”

“But…” As she meant to say she had not moved, Abby realized that she could not hear nor smell the horses, and that the sounds of camp were softer than they had been before.

“You kept walking and I thought you were going to show me something but then you stopped speaking,” Aegon went on, but his voice sounded odd - strangely muffled and then clear. She reached for him but her hand missed his arm and he reached for it, tugging her to him. “Abby, you’re freezing.”

She was always freezing.

The crowd was deafening and the drum beats of the parade only added to the din. The chestnut mare, now named Stranger, trotted smoothly beside Aegon’s stallion as the royal procession made its way through Harrentown. The scouts and messengers had not lied.

The crowd was large, not only the townsfolk but filled with those who had traveled far and wide to witness the festivities and hawk their wares. As they approached her family’s castle, the fields field with colored tents sporting the banners of the noble houses that had made their way to the God’s Eye.

Harrenton was not an exceptionally large town although little was when compared to King’s Landing. It was a trading post, a crossroads at the mouth of the Riverlands. Trade and travel that came south from Darry would stop here, as well as the trade from the south at the capital. The buildings were white stucco and plaster with the red oak timbers from the Red Wood, tiered three stories tall with steeply pitched, clay shingled roofs. Many of the ground floors were made from red bricks. Mud was in abundance here, and pottery and bricks were their foundations of trade.

Abby tilted her head up to the banners hung across the thoroughfare, the tri color streamers of House Strong interspersed with the black and red ribbons of House Targaryen. Those who could not find space along the red brick road hung out from the leaded windows, waving flags and banners, throwing out handfuls of flower petals from the winter flowers in swirling dances of pinks and purples, whites and yellows. Young children on their parents shoulders, too disinterested in whatever people were on display, giggled and reached to try to catch the petals. The people yelled for House Strong, they yelled for the name of her father, they yelled…

They yelled her name.

‘Lady Abrogail! Lady Strong! Princess Abrogail!’

Her cheeks flamed, her grin both shy and beaming, unused to the attention being paid to her. Abby glanced over at Aegon, who preened beneath his own attention, the petals that were thrown about the air catching in his silver curls.

‘Prince Aegon! House Targaryen! Lady Abrogail! House Strong!’

His lilac gaze found her, his grin broadening, all teeth and bright eyes, dimples creased in his cheeks. The breeze caught in her curls, fluttering the delicate silver veil around her face. The flower petals drifted and swirled between them, caught in his hair, in the silver and red manes of their horses, and everything felt like a dream.

Now they left the main thoroughfare and made their way up the switchback to where the castle loomed, and as they made the turn, the world dropped out as the vast, glittering expanse of the God’s Eye filled the horizon. Abby’s breath caught in her throat and beside her, Aegon audibly exhaled, momentarily halting his horse beside her to take a look. Behind them, Abby could hear Daeron’s exclamation of wonder.

The God’s Eye ate the entire horizon, glittering like an aquamarine gem beneath the cloudless blue of the sky. The only thing that interrupted the site was the distant, hazy sight of the Isle of Faces, obscured by the haze and distance.

“It’s bigger than the Whispering Sound,” Daeron breathed. “Uncle Gwayne-”

“Aye,” the elder sounded just as surprised, just as awed. “Large enough for the eye of a god, isn’t it?”

Seagulls called along with other birds along the banks and Abby could just make out a few fishing boats tiny on the water. She rose up in her saddle to take a better look, vowing that she would never tire of the spectacular sight.

“I didn’t realize how I missed this sight.” She laughed, unsure if she might cry from grief or joy.

“It’s the color of your eyes,” Aegon said softly, his gaze firmly affixed to the sight before them. He wasn’t even looking at her, just caught in wonder. It was a new expression for Aegon, and Abby was loath to draw him from it. She reached over and he must have seen her, or maybe he’d been reaching for her hand at the same time. “It’s endless, like the sky.”

He squeezed her hand and with a gentle command, their party continued.

Harrenhal was a scar against the landscape, the black stone stark against the green and blue of the landscape. With towers shooting up higher than the tallest of Maegor’s Holdfast, Harrenhal loomed as its maker always intended: Ominous and impossible to ignore. The twisted, melted stone that capped the towers were vicious reminders of the violence in the past, but life bloomed amidst the ruins. Sentinels and oaks, vibrant and lush, shot past the tops of the stone walls from the large godswood that butted up against the shore. Harrenhal held a small household guard and several called out from the gatehouse.

Making the final turn, their party was greeted by the half shattered statue of Harren the Black, only his legs and rearing mount left above the bridge. It started with stone and then switched to thick ironwood that spanned the dry moat beneath, and, as if to welcome them home, Sunfyre of all things perched above the gates like an enormous, golden hawk, calling out and declaring that this was now his domain. Stranger whickered nervously, hesitating in approach until Abby urged her on with a gentle hand against her neck.

“Seven hells,” Aegon muttered, barely caught over the sounds of the hooves on the wooden bridge and the creaking of the carriages behind them. Whatever else Aegon said was drowned out beneath the sound of Sunfyre’s trilling. The golden dragon was singing and it was a haunting tune that echoed along the stone like water over river rocks. The sound of it sent dozens, maybe even a hundred or more, bats bursting from the ruined tops of the tower. Distracted by the creatures that took to the sky, he pushed off the gatehouse, the horses rearing as stone debris fell in their path.

Abby looked at Aegon, eyebrows raised. “He can’t keep doing that.”

He frowned, half-offended and mildly concerned. “It’s not his fault the stone is crumbling,” he said, but the defense was half-hearted as he eyed the broken stone being pushed out of the way.

Aemond and Daeron, Ser Gwayne and a few of the Kingsguard followed them, the guards taking a station at the gate until the king passed through. The rest of the party in their wheelhouses were held back until the stone was removed.

The gatehouse was a great thing cut through the thick, black curtain walls. The way was lit with torches, the echo of the horses’ hoof beats giving an uncertain cacophony as the sound bounced around the tunnel. Abby’s gaze drifted up, the ceiling of the tunnel shadowed but she remembered Larys telling her the frightening tale of the dozen murder holes where they would drop oil and poisonous spiders and venomous snakes down onto those who tried to breach the castle. She’d had nightmares for weeks.

Aegon said nothing beside her, and the look on his face was one of bewildered interest. She bit her lip, a smile playing. He had only ever known King’s Landing, after all.

Tears pricked her eyes as the strange longing sensation that had harbored for so long in her chest eased. It didn’t go away, but she could feel the hooked edges of yearning, the grief, the feeling that she did not belong, that something was missing, smoothing out into something bittersweet. Beyond the great walls of the castle, Harrenhal was full of life. Beneath the great shadow of the ruined towers, a reclaiming had taken place over the years, and the notion soothed that bramble within her.

As the party passed through the gatehouse into the outer bailey, Abby’s eyes darted over the crowd that had begun to gather. Over the years, some of the ruins had been dismantled and turned into proper staff quarters. A new granary, the stables,meant to house a thousand horses, had partially been converted to a barn. Before them, the Hall of a Hundred Hearths loomed, rebuilt through the reclaiming of the ruined Tower of Ghosts, now only a few stories tall.

The focal point of the hall was the ornate, stained glass window above the colossal entrance. Along the top half of the circle, a weirwood tree was carefully placed, the red leaves a border around the top, the cream colored branches reaching wide, and the sun behind it sported the tri-color stripes of her family’s sigil. Below the roots was a mound with seven circles - each portraying the sigil of each aspect of the Seven.

The Andals had spread their faith when they had conquered, but here in the halls of her family’s seat, and through the Riverlands, folk noble and small alike found a faith made their own - to mourn the loss of the weirwoods in their subjugation, and the comfort found in faces old and new alike. Especially here, on the shores of the God’s Eye, where the last of the southron weirwoods still thrived, where whispers and tales of the Children of the Forest outside the North clung like moss to the stilts of the houses along the riverbanks.

Fluttering fabric caught her eye and Abby looked up to see the banners of their house strung between the towers, interspersed every two with the black and red House Targaryen, and every ten with the blue and red fish of House Tully, their immediate overlords. In the front of the hall, where the crowd was thickest, the short, white hair and broad frame of Uncle Simon stood out; he was clad in a rich, black coat, Aunt Mya beside him, her dark curls thickly streaked with silver, her gown red. Her cousins were there too; Garret, with his strawberry blonde curls, not much older than herself, holding his three-year-old daughter, Gwenys, just as ruddy gold as her papa. His father, Ser Edric, leaned heavily on a cane on the other side of Uncle Simon. As she went down the line, she caught sight of Wylla, clad in Abby’s colors in a gown of deep blue with a sash of green and red, beaming brightly beside Alyn Hull, who looked dashing in a jerkin of deep, blood red and black pants tucked into shiny, polished boots.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, Your Grace,” Uncle Simon greeted Aegon before his warm gaze found hers. “Welcome home, Lady Abrogail.” The title address to her felt odd, but this was a formal occasion. Two stableboys glad in House Strong livery reached for the bridles of the horses, Aegon dismounting easily as Abby frowned in slight annoyance at the yards of fabric of her surcoat. She’d shifted to side-saddle before they’d entered the town in preparation for an easier dismount but it was still daunting.

“Allow me, my lady.” Alyn was there, grinning at her, his green eyes soft and Abby returned his bright expression with a relieved one of her own.

“Thank you, Mister Hull,” she said, grateful, and let Alyn help her from the horse and set her safely on the ground. She caught Aegon’s brief annoyance at being denied his gallant moment and she patted Alyn on the shoulder. “We have some things your mother and a Miss Bri had sent up to the castle.” Alyn’s friendly expression moved to a grateful surprise, and she could see the red coloring his tanned cheeks.

“And I thank you, my lady. I am most appreciative.” Abby felt a giddiness at making a good impression with Aegon’s friend, and she left Alyn to embrace her great-aunt and uncle, uncaring if it was improper. This was her family, and even though she’d only seen a few of them not long ago, this was different.

This was a homecoming.

The warmth of her Uncle’s hug made her chest ache further, and Abby tucked her head beneath his chin, squeezing him tightly, eyes shut and for a moment, allowed herself to pretend that there was no pomp and circumstance and that it was her father who embraced her. Uncle Simon would never replace him, but he reminded her so much of him that she would not feel guilty for clinging to the memory. He seemed to understand, for she felt him squeeze her extra hard before releasing her with a paternal kiss to her forehead and then allowed Aunt Mya, who exclaimed, “A chroí! Tá cuma álainn ort,” before she was wrapped in a cloud of softness and the smell of lilies from her aunt’s perfume. Her hands, shaking slightly with her arthritis, carefully touched the veil she wore and the carnelian necklace around her throat. “You’ve got that Westerland poise to you,” she observed, and though the words might have been taken as a slight, there was a fondness there. “Like your mother and that Lefford blood, but oh, you’ve got the wild river in you, don’t you.” Her hands gently cupped her face, and Aunt Mya’s dark eyes shone with tears. “They haven’t taken that from you. Good.”

“It’s good to finally be home,” Abby said, her voice thick with emotion. Joy, sadness, grief, relief, and a swirl of other things she could not identify. She cleared her throat, turning in her Aunt’s embrace to gesture to Aemond, Daeron, and Gwayne who had dismounted. “May I present Prince Aemond and Prince Daeron, as well as the queen’s brother, Ser Gwayne.”

“Ser Simon,” Gwayne said, sketching a bow. “I hope you do not mind my squire and I joining the household.” His grin was bright and disarming, his hand coming to clasp Daeron’s shoulder. “My sister hopes for us to keep an eye on my nephew, but I think it will be a good opportunity for my squire to also learn from a renowned knight such as yourself, Ser.” Abby bit her lip to hold in her laugh, appreciating the look of surprise and pride on her uncle’s face. “And Lady Mya, these are for you.” He produced from his green leather riding jacket a carefully wrapped package. “Your lovely niece shared with me how you once loved lacemaking. While this could not compare what you’ve made, I do hope you find use for this.”

“From the lacemaker who made my wedding dress,” Abby chimed in as her blushing aunt took the carefully wrapped package of lace. Aunt Mya’s features shifted into amusement.

“Oh, I like this one, Simon. You can sit by me at dinner, Ser Gwayne.” Uncle Simon rolled his eyes while Daeron stepped forward, sending a look at his uncle.

“And I brought this for Lady Gwenys,” Daeron said, not to be outdone by Gwayne’s flirtation. He produced a doll from his own coat, made from soft linen with carefully made brown yarn hair, and painted blue eyes with a felt crown on her head.

“Thank you very much, my prince,” Garret said, shifting Gwenys in his arms. “Can you say thank you to Prince Daeron?” Gwenys’ eyes were large in her face, gnawing shyly on her lip as she snuggled into her father, unsure of what to make of all the strange people. Daeron held the doll up higher, taking the little hand to wave at the child.

“Hello, Lady Gwenys,” Daeron said in a silly voice, blonde hair falling into his blue eyes, his own cheeks pink at all the attention. “Will you be my new friend?”

That drew the little girl out of her shyness, bubbling with giggles and reached for the toy with grabby little fingers. “Fank you!” she shouted, squealing as she clutched at the toy. Abby felt Aegon at her back and shivered as he leaned down to brush his lips against her ear.

“Was I meant to bring a gift?” he asked, his whisper harsh with anxiety. Abby pressed her lips firmly together to hold back her giggle and turned into his hold, a kiss brushed to his cheek.

“You’re fine. There’s plenty of time. I think it’ll have more meaning after the wedding.”

Abby’s gaze briefly took in the arrival of the carriages that held the king and queen, and the small council absent Ser Tyland. He’d left court with her grandfather to Castamere where his wife, Elayna, was ready to give birth to their children. Twins had been born, according to the raven that Abby had received from her cousin, and Elayna was sorry she could not bring them, but it would be nice to see her. Lady Elayna preferred the freedom of Castamere, and Abby could not blame her, not when being here among the half ruin of Harrenhal had revitalized her in a way she could not describe.

The crowd all lowered themselves in deference as the king was helped from the wheelhouse. Travelling had been difficult for him, and the progress had taken as much time as it could in order to keep him comfortable. He clutched his cane, squinting in the afternoon sun, the light catching upon his golden crown. The expression on his pale, mottled face was difficult for Abby to read, and she wondered if he was thinking about the last time he was here, when the lords of the realm declared him king over Princess Rhaenys and her son.

Larys appeared from the next carriage with Lord Jasper Wylde and the Grand Maester, a placid smile on his own features. “Uncle, you’ve outdone yourself,” he complimented. Abby noticed then that her uncle’s smile tightened, no longer meeting his eyes as he regarded Larys.

“It has been some time since our house has something so wonderful to celebrate. Not since Abrogail’s birth, I think. After so much tragedy, these halls benefit from the festivities.”

“We are looking forward to them, Ser Simon,” the queen smiled, her hand fluttering to the king’s arm. “It has been a long journey, and the king needs rest and recuperation. We shall reconvene for supper?” It was not a request. Alicent Hightower could command with a smile, and all the authority afforded to her as the mother of the realm.

“Of course, your graces,” Aunt Mya said with a smile. She clapped her hands and there was a flurry of activity, the king’s wheeled chair being brought out while Uncle Simon explained they had easily accessible rooms for the king so his time here would be comfortable.

Then there was a flurry of raven hair and blue wool as Wylla’s decorum barely kept her from completely barrelling into Abby and she clutched her friend, embracing her tightly and burying her face into her shoulder. She smelled of cinnamon and spice, familiar and comforting.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” she cried, Wylla giving her a tight squeeze.

“I’ve missed you too! You look beautiful.” Abby pulled back and Wylla pinched her chin with a playful look on her fox features, the little scar along her mouth pulling at the smile on her face. She pushed her hand away with a shake of her head, hooking their arms together.

“As do you! Is this a new dress?” Wylla hummed in the affirmative and led the way across the tightly packed gravel. Aegon and Alyn fell in behind them, and behind them, the rest of her ladies followed. The king and queen and the rest of their immediate party were being led into the closest tower - what was ominously referred to as the Tower of Dread.

It was where Athair and Harwin had died.

As she watched the king and queen enter the tower, something ugly curled in her chest. ‘Good’, she thought savagely, though altogether unlike her. She hoped the ghosts that slept there would haunt them. The queen would not treat her so unkindly if her father were still here. The king? Well, he deserved a good haunting. Let the ghost of Lord Maegor Towers terrorize him during his stay.

The main hall at the foot of the Kingspyre Tower was a bustle of activity. Servants in the House Strong livery hurried to and fro from the small kitchens beneath the tower, sending out refreshment to the new arrivals.

“As soon as we had word of your arrival, I had a bath readied,” Wylla said. “There’s the bathhouses, of course, but I thought you’d like some private time.”

“That does sound nice,” she sighed, heading up the staircase. The next floor above the hall held the galleries and the library. Precious things that her father had loved, and his father before him.

‘What if fire seeks to claim me here? As it had them?’

The fear was ugly and painful and squeezed the breath from her lungs with its sudden onset. Wylla’s voice was muffled in her ears as she stood frozen in the stairwell.

“In the black of night, the dragon did rise.”

“What?” she choked out, turning to look through the open doors of the gallery. It was not Wylla’s voice. Abby could not even be sure it was a woman’s voice. She tugged away from Wylla’s hold to the open archway but a firm grip on her arm tugged her back. Aegon stroked her cheek, drawing her attention back to him. Abby’s cheeks colored. “I heard… I thought…”

“It’s just the wind,” he told her.

“Unfamiliar sounds,” Wylla chimed in, coming to her other side, although her eyes narrowed at her friend’s discomfort. “Come, we’ll get you settled into the bath and you can lay down. A lazy lie in.”

Abby nodded, mouth shut as everyone stared at her with worry and confusion. Catching the brief look Wylla and Aegon exchanged, Abby tugged away. She felt judged, as she had felt that morning when Aegon had shaken her out of whatever haze had taken hold of her. It was one thing to have such a lapse in front of him, but now here she was in front of their household, so many eyes on her, confused and curious. Gathering her heavy skirts in her arms, she soldiered forward, desperate to get out of her gown. If she could, she would have stripped from the surcoat in the stairway itself, but she would have gotten tangled in the fabric and likely tumbled down the stairs.

What an auspicious start to the festivities; a tragic bride felled by a broken neck.

She ignored the call of her name behind her, climbing past Uncle Simon’s apartments and office to the landing of what had once been her mother’s rooms. They were rooms that might have belonged to Rhaenyra Targaryen in another life, or Sabitha Frey or Alysanne Blackwood, or any dozens of young women in the Riverlands her brother could have taken to wife.

None of this should be hers. This castle, these lands, were not her birthright.

They were drenched in ash and screams and the knowledge of this was grasping her tighter with every step she took before she burst through the doors of her apartments. Afternoon light streaked through the large doors that opened out onto the multilevel balcony that went from her rooms up to Aegon’s chambers. Beyond would be the beautiful sight of the God’s Eye, but for now, it was the brilliant blue sky and the roses that crept along the stone and woodwork. Low couches littered the space, plush rugs faded with age, and before the fireplace and its merry flame, was the large tub draped in linens and ready and waiting.

The shadows beside the fireplace moved and Abby stilled, fear freezing her limbs until the face of the shadow appeared. The woman was older, older than the queen, mayhaps, with inky black hair that hung to her waist, a square face and storm gray eyes. In her hands, she held a woven circle of twigs, and Abby looked at the stick figure coming to shape in the center of it.

“Lady Abrogail,” she greeted, her accent like Wylla’s, like her Aunt Mya’s. “Did you leave the rest of your chattering ducklings behind?”

Buzzing filled her ears and Abby pressed her hands to her chest, fingers knotting into the fabric. “I… I… I can’t breathe.”

“If you could not breathe, you could not speak,” the woman pointed out, discarding her wood weaving on the chair. She closed the distance and grabbed Abby’s hands. “You speak, therefore you breathe. I hear your gasping. So keep doing that.”

Hands joined the woman’s to help her out of the surcoat and work the laces on her kirtle. Her vision was dark and hazy around the edges and she continued to heave and gulp for air. She swooned and arms caught her.

“What did she say, Alys?” she heard Wylla ask.

“A tincture from my chest,” was the answer. “The one in the blue bottle. And the smelling salts.” Alys River tsked and her face shimmered before her as she backed Abby to the low couch. “If we shove you in that bath now, you’ll faint and are liable to drown. A bride felled by her bathwater. What a tragic end.”

Abby blinked, her mouth dry. “What did you…”

“Alys likes to be cryptic,” Wylla’s voice drifted to her through the buzzing in her ears. She let herself be shuffled around and moved as if she were no more than a ragdoll onto the chaise, her legs propped up higher than her head on a pile of cushions. Time passed in a haze as the dizziness and the rushing passed. Alys sat on the couch beside her, holding a goblet to her mouth and Abby grimaced at the strangely sweet and medicinal taste of the thin, red liquid. Her limbs tingled and the drunken feeling gave way to a more relaxed sensation. Alys’ large, slate-gray eyes filled her vision and the elder woman tilted her head, appraising her.

“I cannot call you Little Lady anymore, can I?” she asked, but Abby didn’t think it was much of a question. “Although, you are still littler than me, wee beast.”

“Oh, so she calls you that as well?” Wylla’s voice drifted from somewhere behind the couch. “Do you feel like you can get in the bath now?”

Alys helped her up and held the goblet to her mouth once more, feeding her the strange liquid. “Someone should tell the princeling that his lady is all right, I can hear him pacing.”

“Hear him?” Sarra Frey’s voice chimed in, confused. Abby smiled wanly at Wylla as the elder girl helped her out of her chemise and into the tub. The water was still plenty warm, but not the scalding, steaming heat that it had been from when she first came into the room. “But he’s so far away.”

“You’re just not listening close enough,” Alys said and passed her the goblet. “Make sure the coinín beag drinks all of this.” The door shut behind the woman and Abby settled against the back of the tub, Wylla’ pinning her hair up.

“Doesn’t Aegon call you little rabbit as well?” she murmured against her ear.

Abby did not answer.

The confused look the servant gave Jace when he asked where the family crypts were was not something that would normally bother him, but there was no reason that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should be asking where the family crypts of his host were.

The look in Ser Simon Strong and his wife’s eyes upon seeing him still stuck with Jace, and he tried not to keep looking over his shoulder as he strode down the gravel pathway through the family gardens. Torches were lit along the pathway, servants and guests still milling about, and the gardens were beginning to bloom as the seasons shifted. Lady Celeste’s mountain roses crept like a great, dark beast, along the outside of the Kingspyre tower, up to balconies above. Jace stole a glance up there, at the distant, flickering light behind the windows.

Abby should be here. She should be with him. This was more her family than his. Did he even have a right?

Jace straightened.

He did. He did have a right. Ser Harwin was someone in his life he cared for, who cared for him and his brothers. He had been gentle and kind - to them, to their mother.

Ser Simon looked at him as if he’d seen a ghost.

Goosebumps bloomed beneath Jace’s black tunic. Perhaps he was one.

The Sepulcher of House Strong was largely underground, but the entrance to it was a stone gazebo, just over a story tall, with seven stone pillars carved to mimic the twisting boughs of the weirwood trees. The branches held up the circular roof, the torchlight casting long shadows over the carvings of strange creatures. There was no door, simply smooth stone stairs leading into the torch lit crypts beneath.

At the foot of the stairs were a pair of doors, heavy ironwood etched with more of the weirwood motifs and little creatures that Jace realized from this close distance were meant to be the Children of the Forest. They were different from the drawings he’d seen in his books. These were spindly things, some with fins in place of ears, with large eyes and sharp little teeth. He reached to undo the latch but the door was partially ajar. Had Abrogail come down to pay her respects? Should he leave and return another day?

His mother would be here on the morrow, and as soon as Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen set foot in this place, Jace’s chance to come here would be lost.

The door made no sound as he pushed it open to slip inside and he blinked as his eyes tried to adjust to the deeper gloom. Braziers affixed to the pillars were spaced out every few dozen feet or so and as he quietly walked the path his ears could just make out the distant sound of rushing water, though he had no idea where it was coming from. Stone tombs were erected every few archways, and he paused in front of the tomb of Maegor Towers before he caught sight of the dragon relief nearby.

Targaryens were not entombed, they were burned on pyres, back to flame and ash from whence they came. But Harrenhal’s last lady was honored here.

In the stone alcove, a beautiful carved relief of Dreamfyre stood, raised on her legs, wings spread and her neck arched to call out to the sky. At her feet was a pedestal with an urn in the shape of a dragon egg.

Rhaena Targaryen, Queen of the Rising and Setting Sun. Mother of her beloved Aerea and Rhaella. Beloved by Prince Aegon, where their souls meet once more.

To always Chase the Sun.

The crack of a cane hitting the stone echoed violently along the walls and Jace choked on dusty air, panic taking over. The next tomb was that of Lord Osmund. There was just enough room to duck behind it and Jace crouched behind, his heart pounding in his ears.

“You are kind to accompany this night, Your Grace. I confess, when I extended the invitation, I was not sure you would accept.” The low voice of Lord Larys drifted through the quiet ghosts, otherworldly beneath the earth himself. Your grace… was grandfather also down here?

“Lord Lyonel was a good man,” the king rasped, his voice shaky with emotion. “The best of us, I think. No better servant to the realm than he.”

“Surely you yourself are the realm’s greatest servant, my king.”

“Mmmm, Lyonel offered good counsel. I did not listen to him as much as I should have.”

“My father served the realm with all the wise counsel of a Grand Maester and the knowledge of one of your vassals, my king. In the end, however… Even beneath his great wisdom, matters of succession were well out of hand.”

Heat burned along Jace’s neck and rushed into his cheeks. He pressed his face against the cold, stone tomb but it did little to calm him.

Driftmark. It always came back to Driftmark. It came back to screaming and blood. It came back to his words. Yes, the words of a child, but his words that he knew, without question, would prevent punishment.

‘He called us bastards.’

With such a simple sentence, Jace watched, clutched in his mother’s arms, as the king’s ire went from Aemond’s wound to the accusations that had chased Jace and his siblings all their lives. Words that he knew were cruel, that upset his mother, yet words that spoke true. Lord Lyonel had stood, struck and silent beside the Driftwood throne, and Ser Harwin had lingered by the door, unarmored and disheveled given the late hour it had been. As old as he was now, Jace knew. He knew. He knew.

Ser Simon had looked at him as if Jace were a ghost.

Jace reached up and gripped the edge of the tomb of his blood, feeling the burn of Vermax inside of him with every beat of his heart, loudly thumping in his ears.

“I did not want it to happen that way, Larys,” King Viserys finally spoke, his voice mournful and heavy.

“I know, my king. Only a Targaryen can truly master the dangers of flame. Mere mortals such as those who strove to follow your wishes could only wish to wield such understanding.” The sound of scraping metal grated on Jace’s nerves. He hit his head against the tomb and had to shove his fist in his mouth to keep from crying out.

“Only Ser Harwin-” the king began and then stopped. Jace could see the long throw of their shadows along the stone floor. They weren’t moving.

“Whatever tragedies befell, they have brought us here, my king. Have the wounds not healed as you had hoped? Your daughter and brother arrive here with their children after their long absence. Our houses will be joined in only a few days. The match you and my father discussed so many years ago is now far more advantageous, as is right, for the King’s first born son, given the unusual circumstances.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Lord Larys.” The scrape of two canes now. Jace pressed himself as far into the shadows as he could, straining to listen as the two men made their way back up the corridor beneath the eyes of the dead. He dared not breathe, he dared not make a single sound for fear of what might happen were he discovered. It felt like an eternity before the door shutting reverberated through the quiet.

Jace sat on the cold ground, frozen and still as Dreamfyre’s statue. His heart continued to pound in his ears as he tried to process exactly what he had just heard. King Viserys, a peaceful man, so afraid of any confrontation that his mother fled to Dragonstone to hide than maintain her presence at court. She’d sent him to do it for her.

He couldn’t escape the catacombs fast enough. His feet slipped along the damp stone as he raced towards the entrance. Ser Harwin would forgive him, he was certain. Now? Now, he needed to get away as fast as possible. He tripped hard up the stone stairs, his left knee and shin screaming in agony before he made it up and forced himself to slow down so as not to attract attention. What would it say to see the king’s heir racing through the gardens of Harrenhal? Jace’s lungs ached and he kept trying to remember to breathe. All he knew was that he had to get away.

How could he hold this? Should he tell his mother? What would she do? Nothing. She’d do nothing, forbidding them - forbidding him from speaking of Ser Harwin. Did he tell Abby?

It would destroy her.

Should he - Jace slammed into a figure, sending the two of them sprawling to the gravel.

“What the fuck, Jace!” Aegon snapped, aggressively shoving him off. He too was dressed for night in his own gray linen and breaches, dark circles beneath his eyes. It struck Jace, hard between his ribs, how much Aegon looked like Jace’s own mother in that moment. How much he sounded like his own mother. Jace’s palms scraped against the gravel and he heaved a breath. “What?” Aegon repeated.

Another breath and Jace felt the words strangling him, and could feel the tension in his face as he looked at his uncle, his childhood playmate, with wide, lavender eyes. Aegon stared at him and whatever annoyances were on his tongue fell. His brow furrowed. “What is it?” he asked again, less sharply this time.

Jace gulped once more for air and heard Aegon mutter something about panic attacks before the elder manhandled him up to his feet and towards one of the benches. “Get your head between your knees before you pass out,” he snapped, hand on his back to push him forward. In spite of Aegon’s annoyance, his touch was gentle, if firm.

Also like his mother.

“Breathe, you idiot,” Aegon said and sat down beside him, hand between his shoulder blades. Jace did as he was told, falling into the way things once were, where Aegon led and Jace happily followed. They could never return to those days, and Jace did not wish for it, but Seven Hells, it had been easier.

He did not know how long they sat there, listening to the lowing of dragon calls outside the walls and the shrieking of bats, the distant sound of water fowl amid the rushes outside the castle walls. He breathed in the cold air, let it ebb at the fire in his blood. He spat on the ground and finally sat up, aware that Aegon’s hand did not leave him until Jace settled against the bench.

“You said something but I couldn’t understand,” Aegon ventured with his brows raised in exaggerated curiosity. The quiet of the night filled the space between them, the gaps left when things had reached such a breaking point.

It always came back to Driftmark.

“The king…” Jace whispered, heat burning in his eyes. “T-the king, he… ordered the deaths of Lord Lyonel and… Ser Harwin.”

So... that was an ending. As always, I love that you're here, but the only way I know you're reading is if you comment! Comments let me know people are reading and are actively interested! So I'd love to hear what your favorite part of the chapter was, what your theories are, OR If you have no idea what to say, drop a tree emoji to let me know you were here <3 I promise, I'm glad you are. ALSO! I would LOVE to hear how you found this story! Was it through the AO3 search? Tumblr? Did someone recommend it? (if so, where?) (we might end at 24 chapters. I'm not quite sure yet, I'll have to see how the next few chapters go for pacing as I don't want to inundate y'all) Shoutout to @queen--kenobi for allowing me to borrow the lovely Elayna Reyne! Baby girl is here!

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[pink-sparkly-witch]

The Widow - Chapter Eight (Finale)

Chapter Eight

Summary: Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: "Family Don't End with Blood," takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her, is what happens when she falls in love again?   

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F!Reader (past) | Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, feelings, heart-to-heart, fluff, kissing 

Words: 2,641

A/N: That's all folks! Thank you all for reading and for coming on this journey with me. I appreciate all of you more than you know! 💖 I'm sure going to miss these two, but it was fun getting them to where they needed to go.

Huge thank you again to my gorgeous beta: @negans-lucille-tblr I’m not sure this would’ve even been posted without your encouragement, and thank you doesn’t seem like enough 😘

Now… go and grab those tissues!!

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

Y/N’s POV

The first few minutes in the car are spent in awkward silence and it kills you. The relationship you have with Dean has always been easy and to think it’s been damaged beyond repair makes you sad.

“So…” Dean finally breaks the silence between you when you stop at a red light. “Good lunch?” He glances over at you and you scoff.

“That’s where you wanna go here? How was lunch?” You laugh, but it’s not the humourous kind.

“If you don’t mind, I’d much rather we get to the point and just agree that last night was a mistake and won’t happen again. So let’s do that, let’s pretend it never happened, not talk about it ever again and try to go back to the way things were.” You finish and turn your head to look out the car window.

“Before we do that, I need to say something. Last night meant everything to me,” he looks over at you and waits until you turn back towards him and meet his gaze. “Everything, Y/N. I don’t know when it happened, but I do know when I realised I was in love with you.”

“Dean…” you mutter. His words shock you, that’s about as much as you know right now, and you’re glad Dean ignores the interruption and continues talking, because you have no idea how to respond.

“It was when your car broke down on the hottest damn day of the year,” he chuckles at the memory, “and you called me for a tow. I was driving down the road you were stopped on, and I saw you sitting on the hood of your car, and you looked so beautiful. I swear you were glowing in the sunlight. It was like you had a goddamn halo or something! And my heart just stopped, and I thought ‘shit, I’m in trouble here,’ since then, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the first thing I think of when I open my eyes in the morning and the last before I fall asleep. Fuck… I tried to stop, I swear I did…

“I know this is hard for you to hear and it’s probably the last thing you want to deal with right now and that’s okay. But, I need you to know you were not a mistake, sweetheart. I don’t regret what we did and I never will. I know we have something that could work if you give us a chance, because you can’t fake the kinda connection we had last night. But if you want to pretend last night never happened and go back to how things were, then I’ll do that for you… but if I’m right and you feel something more for me, please, tell me.”

You remain silent and take in his confession. He’s right, you do have feelings for him, the trouble is, you don’t know if you can trust yourself. Are they real feelings, or are you mistaking them for the comfort and familiarity Dean gives you?

And then you ask yourself where this can even go. He’s your husband’s brother; people will talk. And it’s not that you care what they’ll say necessarily, there are other factors involved here. Including how John will feel, and the impact such a “scandal” could have on the family business. More importantly, though, you don’t know if you can do that to Sam.

“You know what? Forget I said anything. Your silence says it all, Y/N. Let’s just sweep last night under the carpet and chalk it down to bad judgement,” you know Dean is hurt because his voice comes out weak and defeated and you despise yourself for it.

“It wasn’t,” it’s barely audible, but at least you got something out.

“Wasn’t what?” Dean asks.

“Bad judgement,” you clarify. “And I do feel something for you, I just…” you sigh, and let your thoughts hang in the air as you try and decipher what this all means and what the best thing to do is.

“Alright,” Dean nods his head. “When we get home, we’re going to talk about all of this, okay?” Dean fixes his gaze on you and you nod in agreement. “We need to lay our cards on the table and hear each other out. It’s the only way we’ll be able to get past this, whatever this is, or ends up being.”

Again, you know he’s right. You need to get it all out in the open and be completely honest with each other because it’s the only way you’ll be able to keep Dean in your life.

“Okay,” you agree with a nod.

You go back to spending the journey in silence, but it’s not quite as heavy and suffocating as before, and you have the tiniest glimmer of hope that everything will work out just fine.

Sitting on your sofa next to Dean, you hand him a tumbler with a decent measure of whiskey and untuck the bottle from under your arm to place it on the table. In a bid for more time, you take a long sip from your wine glass as you desperately try to figure out what the hell just happened and how you ended up in this position. Dean speaks first and you sigh in relief as you’re at a complete loss for words.

“I just wanna start by saying I meant what I said,” Dean begins. “All of it,” he adds before you can question him. “I have fallen in love with you, and last night did mean the world to me.” With that, he downs the whiskey in one gulp and refills his glass. Now, at least you have your first question.

“So why didn’t you stay with me? Why did you get up and drink all night?” you ask quietly.

“We got so caught up in the moment, and neither of us even stopped to think,” he looks down at the floor and you can see and feel the shame radiating from him in waves.

“When we were finished and you were sleeping in my arms, it was like everything came crashing back to reality. I felt guilty for doing that to Sam, I felt ashamed for taking advantage of you when you were upset, I knew I’d ruined things between us and I knew I had no one to blame but myself.

“I didn’t mean to stay away all night,” Dean says, looking at you for the first time since he’d started to explain himself. “I only intended to have one or two to help me sleep, but I got upset and… two became four, and well… you saw me this morning.”

“You know you didn’t take advantage of me, right? That if I didn’t want it to happen, it wouldn’t have?” you ask him, reaching a hand out to cup his cheek and pushing gently to make him look at you. “Dean, I swear to you, I wanted it too…” you begin, but a scoff from the green-eyed man next to makes you frown.

“So this morning was what?” He looks at you pleadingly, like he was silently asking you to tell him that he hadn’t been a mistake.

“One big miscommunication, apparently,” you chuckle sadly. “Dean, when I woke up this morning, the first thing I felt was guilt for doing that to Sam. And when I turned over to seek you out, to get some comfort and to be told we didn’t do anything wrong, I was met with a cold bed.

“Fine, I thought, maybe he feels some of the guilt I do and was awake early, or couldn’t sleep… but when I came downstairs and saw the empty bottle and the bloodshot eyes, I went to the worst thing I could think of. Regret. And I went on the defensive, and for that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left without talking to you.”

“And I should’ve never left you alone. I’m truly sorry, sweetheart. Not once did it cross my mind that you’d feel the way you did. You know, knowing that makes me feel worse than the guilt ever could.” Dean’s words are full of sincerity and you nod, believing everything he’s told you tonight.

“Okay, so we both agree we did nothing wrong and that it wasn’t a mistake, but I still feel like we haven’t resolved this,” you say looking up at him. Dean nods his head in agreement, but remains silent, staring at you intently. You know this part is up to you–he’s already told you how he feels–but you stall by taking a few more sips of wine.

“I know Sam is gone, and no matter how much I want it, he’s never coming back. I know he’d want me to be happy and to find someone to love and who loves me,” you glance up at Dean and see hope in his expression. “But I feel like I’d be cheating on him or something if that person is you. And,” you continue quickly, wanting to get everything out at once, “I don’t know if I really feel what I feel for you, or if I’m confusing your familiarity with Sam for real feelings.”

Dean nods and reaches his hand out to stroke your cheek. “I understand that, sweetheart. I feel the same way, but you’re right, he’d want you to be happy, and if that ends up being with me, then we’ll get through it together. And if it isn’t with me, then I’ll help you get through it.”

You think about what Dean said, your heart filling with hope that no matter what, he’d still have your back. “How do I know if what I feel is real?”

“Well, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “I can’t help with that, that’s gotta be all you. Only you know how you feel and what’s real or not.”

Placing your wine glass on the coffee table, you shift closer to Dean and tentatively place your head on his shoulder. You smile as you hear him sigh happily.

“C’mere,” he opens his arms and lets you cuddle into his chest before putting his arms around you and kissing your forehead. The warmth and safety of Dean’s embrace spreads over you like you’ve just lay down in a hot bath, and it makes you hum in pure contentment.

His arms squeeze you tighter into his body and you find yourself raising your head to look at him. Really look at him. His bright green eyes show you nothing but tenderness. You scan your eyes over the freckles that dust his face like a beautiful, undiscovered constellation; he truly is a stunning man.

Dean licks his lips, bringing your attention to them and your memories drift to last night and how those lips felt on yours and your body. Slowly, you tilt your head and move closer to him, gently pressing your lips to his.

Hesitantly, Dean opens his mouth and you take him up on his invitation, deepening the kiss and moaning as your tongues meet. The kiss is gentle and slow, neither of you in a rush to be anywhere but right here at this moment.

With your lips still attached to his, you straddle him and settle down in his lap. Feeling the beginnings of a bulge in his jeans, you grind your core into it, smirking at his groan.

“Y/N, sweetheart.” Dean is breathless, and you find the effect you have on him intoxicating. “If you want a repeat of last night, I’m all yours, but I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you, Dean.”

Six Weeks Later

“Hey, handsome,” you smile. “It’s been a while and I’m sorry for that,” you say as you sit cross-legged at Sam’s grave. “I’ve had some things going on that I needed to work out,” you pause and pick at the strands of grass around you. 

“Something happened that I never thought would. I fell in love again. He makes me happy, Sammy. And I know he’s a good man and he’ll treat me right. If he doesn’t I’ll kick his ass,” you chuckle. “Then I’ll come here and beg you to haunt him!” your smile quickly turns to a sob.

“It’s Dean, Sam. I fell in love with Dean but I didn’t mean to. It just happened. And I need you to know that I never…” you need to stop talking to make way for the tears that won’t stop falling.

“I never felt that way about him when you were here. And I need you to know that. This is new and unexpected for both of us. I’ll always love you, Sammy, and I miss you. So fucking much every goddamn day! It’s just that I love him too. And I hope you can forgive me.”

You sit in silence for a while, just being. You know you should leave soon. Dean and John are waiting and you know they’ll be starting to worry about you. Movement catches your eye and you turn your head to see a butterfly fluttering nearby.

It lands on Sam’s gravestone and you smile, feeling a childlike joy at seeing the red admiral so close and so late in the year, even with the mild fall.

It remains perched and unmoving for a while longer before it flies over and lands on your knee. That’s when you know that this beautiful creature is a sign, and that Sam is with you.

You can feel him next to you, and you have the overwhelming feeling that everything is going to be alright and that he approves of you and Dean. The red admiral takes flight once again and circles your body.

You don’t know if it’s a laugh that erupts or if it’s a sob–maybe it’s a mixture of both–but it’s something, and you feel at peace with yourself and everything around you as you sit by his grave.

All too quickly, the butterfly takes off and flutters back into the nearby shrubs.

“I love you, Sam. Always and forever,” you say as you kiss your fingers and place them on his headstone before standing up and brushing the dirt from your jeans.“I’ll be back soon. I promise not to leave it so long next time.” 

Walking away, you feel lighter than you have in a long time, and you know that finally, you’re at peace with your husband's death and with the path that has led you to looking forward to a life with Dean.

“Hey, sweetheart, you good?” Dean asks as you wrap your arms around his waist and hug him tight. You can’t bring yourself to speak, so you nod against his chest and once more you let the tears fall, knowing that this time, they’re happy tears.

“You’re alright, Y/N, I’m right here.” Dean murmurs, and you feel another hand stroking your back.

“Sam would be happy, you know that, don’t you darlin’?” John asks. “For both of you.”

Pulling away from Dean’s embrace, you wipe your tears away and smile, “I know he is.”

You saw a red admiral at every big life moment after that day at his grave. You saw one the day Dean proposed, and again at your small, intimate wedding. One flew in the kitchen window on the day you found out you were expecting your first child, and one appeared on the day you found out about the two that came next! On every birthday and holiday, on the day you gave birth to each of your children, and on their first days at school.

It gave you immense comfort, and though at first Dean, John, and Jody put it down to coincidence, after the first few times it happened, they started looking for the butterfly on the special days too.

THE END

@deans-spinster-witch @muchamusedaboutnothing @kazsrm67 @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @leigh70 @waynes-multiverse @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @chriszgirl92 @stoneyggirl2 @marilynnlew @ilovedean-spn2 @deans-baby-momma @acitygrownwillow @xxsovereignsarayaxx @frozenhuntress67 @lacilou @rach5ive @iprobablyshipit91

[becauseanders]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

ahhh hi thank you! (finally answering this!) 🖤

It Took the Night to Believe: chapterfic, complete, 100k. dragon age ii, anders/male hawke. pacific rim au. i am honestly really fucking proud of this fic, like i thought it was great even though it didn't do super well kudos-wise and i did notice that i definitely did lose readers as it went on. i truly have no idea why, this fic is fucking great. it's got angst, it's got comfort, it's got near death experiences, it's got fluff, it's got kaiju—what's not to love??

No Wound as Sharp as the Will of God: chapterfic, complete, 99k. dragon age ii, anders/female hawke. canonverse, post-da2. it took me seven years to post a second chapter of this and a total of eight years to finish it, and the whole time i was writing it after i picked it up again i was so unsure of it, but turns out i really like it. very heavy content, please do mind the tags. takes place while hawke is with the inquisition. anders positive, justice positive. a very intense, very deep, very affectionate friendship between anders and fenris is an extremely important part of the story. like, seriously, the platonic fenders is just as important as the romantic handers. a lot of angst, like so much angst, but the hurt/comfort is real. the b-plot pertains to my theory that justice cures anders of the taint. cole is there. the emotions are high and you can feel them strongly in the writing. again, be careful, but this is a good fic.

A Thing With Feathers Now, Elevate: one shot, 11k. dragon age: origins, alistair/female amell. canonverse, takes place over the course of da:o. this fic is a fucking masterpiece. another that didn't do well numbers-wise but this is easily one of the absolute best things i've ever written and is quite possibly one of the best fics on ao3. i am so fucking proud of this one. the prose, the metaphors, the handling of trauma, the found family—this one deserved way more love than it got. like, i'm serious, this fic is amazing.

It Means Tumult: chapterfic, wip, 349k (yes, you read that right). dragon age ii, anders/female hawke. modern au. okay, obviously i've got to mention this one. i have been working on this fic for eight years and i am very sorry to everyone who saw this go from updating multiple times a week and asking me how the fuck i write so fast to three years without a single update and then i think only one more in the past two years. i'm working on the penultimate chapter, i swear i am, i'm just super stuck right now. this fic is…this fic. i'm not going to lie, i don't really know if this is any longer some of my better writing, but the premise is fucking solid and i have been told more than once that it's clear this is a labor of love and that this is endearing. au where the obvious metaphors are made reality: the circles are psychiatric institutions and being mentally ill is a crime. a lot of angst, but a lot of love. pay no mind to how much better of a character and person aveline is when i write her. i also do admittedly use this fic to deal with my own demons frequently. an andrea gibson poem helped me write one chapter and i later got to tell them about it and they hugged me. this is also very heavily centered on music and has a lengthy soundtrack. please ignore the fact that when i first started writing this i used british english when i typed because i thought it looked better, as i had started doing as a teenager, which tbh i still kind of do but i also realized that's just fucking pretentious to do when you're american, and it was already so long by the time i stopped doing it that there was no way in hell i was going back to editing all of that (as i actually did do with nwasatwog). so that's just the way it is. but yeah, there's a lot of feelings happening here. also the only fic on this list that has an original title instead of song lyrics despite being the one with the most music involved, lol.

Through the Fall and the Feel: chapterfic, wip, 52k. dragon age ii, anders/male hawke. modern au. this is the one i'm working on most right because that's just where the brainworms are. hawke is a teddy bear doctor and anders goes to see him because instead of a pillow from his mother he has a stuffed cat, and she has seen much better days. this fic has a very wholesome premise but has gone into some pretty heavy angst already and i did not mean for eating disorders to be as important to the story as they have become, so be mindful of that. but this fic has a lot of heart and it's absolutely tanking, so if this piques your interest maybe go give it a look? this is also my second foray into m!handers and i am again having fun writing them. but yeah, i actually like this fic a lot and i do recommend it.

[achaotichuman]

Do you think you could write about dehlia in this context: https://www.tumblr.com/praetorqueenreyna/737196004108058624?source=share, hopefully featuring deadbeat at first mom feyre, horrified stepdad rhysand, tired of it all tamlin and a supportive lucien/eris.

This has been sitting, marinating in my drafts. But it is finally complete. I am fully aware I fucked up the timeline here, but I'm not rewriting all of this, so we're gonna pretend that fancy Fae tests can reveal a pregnancy at four weeks instead of eight like the post said.

And disclaimer before anyone calls for my head, for this fic I am also rewriting Ianthe's character, because she is too interesting for me to just write off as a sex offender and never think about again. Also, it is very interesting to see her as a genuinely morally grey person with good intentions. So, in this fic, she never SAs Lucien, but she does get a cool plot twist so stay tuned for that.

Basically, I have turned this into a rewrite of Acomaf and Acowar. A lot of the events were written from pure memory, and asking Tumblr, so forgive me if some scenes from the OG series were left out or written significantly differently. We mostly got Feyre's version of events anyway, so I'm not too worried.

This will be split into several chapters. Three being for the Mist and Fury rewrite, and then two for the Wings and Ruin rewrite. And if I have time, I'll do an Acofas rewrite. I'll be uploading all three of the Mist and Fury chapters today, and linking them in this post. You can also find it on SquidgeWorld here, and Ao3 here.

Anyway, here is the long-awaited fic, anon. And @r-biter, thank you for the original post, I hope I do it justice. Also @praetorqueenreyna who reblogged the original post.

Also, did I turn this into a Tamcien fic? Yes, of course I did.

A Field of Dahlias

“Are you alright with this?” He asked, it may have been the hundredth time he asked, Feyre gave him the same exasperated eyes she had given him all night long. 

Everything pointed to her being more than alright with this. Him pressed into the sheets below her, their clothes forgotten on the floor, her eyes glazed with lust. The rush of new hormones in her head no doubt fuelled the arousal that was now pressed against his wet slit. She leaned down, teeth a touch sharper than normal. She kissed his neck, dragging her canines along his fluttering pulse like he would for her. 

She ran her now larger hands down his slightly smaller than normal frame. Hands finding his breasts and squeezing relentlessly, pinching his nipples, her rough fingers, calloused from years of work from before she had been turned fae. Tamlin bit down on his lip, not wanting the whimper that pressed against his vocal cords to be released. A part of him still didn’t understand the switch in the power dynamic and begged to flip her over, to shift them both back to normal and continue this the way he knew well. 

But he didn’t, he remained underneath Feyre. Her chest flatter, set a touch wider, her shoulders broader. Her hips, now more narrow, rocked forward ever so slightly, as if on their own accord, as if her body was begging to bury the length now resting between her legs into the tight warmth before her. 

“I’m fine, more than fine, like I’ve said a hundred times already.” She added an eye roll to the last part, Tamlin countered it with his own. 

“Fine, but if you want to stop at anytime-”

“Are you okay with this, Tam?” She asked, hands becoming more gentle, roaming his skin like she loved it, like she cared. 

It was still new, the loving and the caring, the likes of which Tamlin hadn’t felt in years. 

“I’m okay.” Tamlin said, forcing his voice to remain steady. He loosened a breath, then spread his thighs wider. 

“Well?” He asked, adding a grin to his words, “Lets see how sloppy your form is, wicked creature.”

Feyre gave him her own wild grin, eyes filled with that lust and love. Something caring and devoted in her face, she leaned down and put her face into the crook of his neck, licking at the skin in a careful, deliberate manner. 

“Let’s see how well you hold up, Faerie Lord.” 

***

Tamlin shuffled a few papers on his desk. Briefly glancing over all of them before sorting them into piles and picking up the one closest to his left. With nimble fingers he paged them apart and began to read each complaint. A sigh escaping his throat. 

He tried to ease the worry sitting low in his belly but it wouldn’t relent, as the pile of complaints grew higher, the headache pounding behind his eyes tightened. 

After he was done reading the letters, he moved to open a drawer in his desk. Then the feeling of his stomach lurching overwhelmed his senses. Nausea made his legs shake, he retched, then quickly slapped his palm over his mouth before winnowing to the nearby bathroom. 

He had all of about three seconds before he was bent over the toilet, vomiting until he was shaking so badly he could barely stand on his knees. He dry heaved for a minute before finally his body relented and he slumped back, panting heavily, beats of sweat gathering on his forehead. 

“Gods dammit.” He cursed, forcing himself to his feet and quickly cleaning up. 

As he rinsed out his mouth, a pain shot up his spine and the sickness returned with a festering wrath. Tamlin groaned, a low sound from the back of his throat, he gripped the sides of the sink. 

***

It didn’t relent, the sickness came and went throughout the days. Tamlin thought he could handle it. Thought he could make it through the seemingly endless hours without anyone knowing something was amiss. 

“Two of you will head for the south border and I will send another group towards-” Tamlin was cut off by bile rising quickly in his throat, burning him from the inside out. He couldn’t get another word out before he sprinted back inside. Leaving five very confused sentries outside. 

He rushed past several servants, all of which stopped to stare in concern. Tamlin ignored all of them. 

It was Alis that didn’t stare. Rather broke into a sprint after him. The Summer Faery found Tamlin practically doubled over while he emptied the contents of his stomach. Alis snapped in a gasp, then quickly ran over to pull back his hair, sticking to his face from sweat. 

“Tam…” She murmured. 

Tamlin could barely see, the world tipping from one side to the other. 

“Why are you staring?” Alis shouted at somebody, or somebodies at the door. Tamlin had enough sense to look back over his shoulder. He saw several servants who were loitering at the door, wondering what exactly was happening. 

“Leave this instant, go back to your duties.” She shouted, then quickly slammed the door, everyone scattered as quickly as possible. 

Tamlin panted as he sat back on his heels, tilting his head to the ceiling, “Gods.”

“Tamlin, are you alright?” Alis asked, helping him onto his shaking feet. He wanted to shove away from her and insist he was fine, but he was still getting his bearings back and the world was too bright, and he had a headache. 

She led him to the sink and coaxed him into washing up. Tamlin splashed his face with ice water, and rinsed out his mouth. Then he looked up to see the mirror. 

Gods, he hadn’t realised how little sleep he had been getting until he saw the deep purple under his eyes. The gauntness in them, along with his too pale face, made him resemble something of a ghost. 

“I…” 

“Tam.” She murmured. Putting a hand to his forehead, the rough bark of her hands rubbing against the soft skin. She furrowed her eyebrows, “You don’t have a temperature. 

“I’m fine, Alis.” He said. 

She breathed in deeply, face carefully controlled, “You need to see a healer. I will call for one-”

She turned to leave, but Tamlin took hold of her wrist. The light shining from Faelights in the bathroom too bright, he was so tired. 

“I don’t need a healer, Alis. It’s nothing.” He told her. Ignoring the image of himself in the mirror, ignoring that fact he knew very well that he did not look fine.

Still Alis wouldn’t go against his orders. She sighed, shoulders slumping slightly, her eyes cast downwards, “Just… fine then. Just please see one if this gets worse.”

Tamlin bit down on the inside of his cheek, but nodded all the same. 

***

It got worse, and there wasn’t anything he could do to hide it from anybody too close. 

So he locked himself in his study or his room, and tried to focus on anything else. Anything other than the constant headache pounding behind his eyes. The never-ending wish to lay in his bed and sleep until his days ended, and the constant vomiting. 

It didn’t relent, instead it worsened. 

Alis found him again. In the bathroom in his room. When she spotted his hair, dirty and tangled, eye bags even darker and skin paler than ever. She narrowed her eyes, but quickly tied back his hair. Once he was done, she told him, “We’re getting a healer.”

Tamlin wanted to protest again, but he was so tired. So he said nothing, instead he slumped against the nearest wall and closed his eyes. 

Why was this happening? Now of all times, when he needed to be alert for his Court. For the people who were still recovering. 

“It’s just stress.” Tamlin told Alis as she put a dampened cloth to his forehead. 

“I would still like for you to see a healer.” 

‘I don’t believe a word you say’, is what that meant. Tamlin chuckled, but the sound was hollow. 

“Alis, I-”

“Hush now, child.” She murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face as she sat down beside him, “I’ll call a healer, we will figure out what is happening.”

It felt too familiar. Like the days spent in his childhood when he and Alis would sit on the ground in the gardens, whilst she sang him songs in a language he didn’t know at the time. A language she had taught him, so he could sing with her. 

It was too nostalgic. He didn’t deserve to feel that love again. That deep rooted, innocent love, it belonged to the child that hadn’t been stained by the world. 

It belonged to the kid that hadn’t been ruined in every sense of the word. 

Alis didn’t seem to care in the slightest. She took in her hands three strands of blond hair and began to weave a braid. 

“It’ll be okay.” She assured him. 

Tamlin scoffed, he felt her fingers pause in his hair, so he mumbled, “Nothing seems okay now.”

Alis tilted her head slightly, to see his eyes better. Her brown irises rose to meet his green ones. Alis reached out, her rough fingertips caressing the side of his face ever so softly. 

“It will.” She whispered, “It will get better, Tam.”

***

The healer that he saw was named Heilda, she was a short sweet-faced lesser Fae with fluttering mosaic wings and short near white curly hair. Her eyes were all black and her teeth were sharpened. Tamlin was sitting in her office, in a small cottage in the middle of one of the busiest villages, close to the Manor. One of his hands rubbed his temple while the other tapped his leg. 

Lucien had dropped him off at Heilda’s residence before leaving to inform Alis he had indeed gone to the healer and not run off. Tamlin had then insisted he didn’t need to, but the headache came back, and Tamlin was powerless to stop the determined redhead. 

“How long has the vomiting been happening?” Heilda asked. 

The High lord bit the inside of his cheek, quickly thinking back on the past few months since they left the Mountain, “Give or take a month and a half.”

She quickly jotted that down in a leatherback notebook in her hands, then asked, “I’ve also been told you’ve been experiencing severe headaches? How long has that been happening?”

Tamlin shrugged, “I’ve had them all my life, just recently they’re occurring more and more.”

Heilda nodded as she jot notes down in her leather book, before turning to a variety of medicinal herbs and bottles of strangely coloured liquids. 

She rifled through a few before taking a mortar and pestle and began to grind a mixture of dried plants and herbs, asking questions as she did. 

“Have there been any recent changes in diet?” 

“No,” Unless Alis was slowly poisoning him, but he didn’t think her the killer type. 

“Drinking water regularly?” 

“Yes.”

“Have you been sleeping properly?”

Tamlin almost answered yes, then he remembered the nightmares that riddled his sleep, “...No.”

“Alright, that could be one cause, but from the extent of your headaches I’m inclined to believe there could be something else.” She took the herbal mixture and went to a fireplace where a small cauldron bubbled incessantly, “I’d like to run a few tests, my Lord.”

“Whatever you need to do.” He said. 

She took a blood and urinary sample. Tamlin waited for what felt like hours as she put them through several tests, mostly mixing strange things together and watching what happened. Occasionally noting reactions. Tamlin was bored out of his wits, staring at the ceiling, Heilda had given him some strange purple tea, it eased the pressure in his head and the nausea in his stomach, thankfully. 

There was a light rapping on the door, followed by a very familiar voice, “Lady Heilda, I was sent by Alis.”

“Come in, Lord Lucien.” Was all Heilda said, not looking up from her work. 

Lucien opened the door, his eyes immediately drawn to Tamlin and the drink in his hand. He nodded to it, a silent question, Tamlin just shrugged and jutted his head in the direction of Heilda. 

Lucien sat down in a chair beside Tamlin, “How are you doing?”

“Better since drinking this thing.” He said, showing Lucien the painted mug. Lucien nodded. 

“What's happening now?” He asked. 

“Heilda’s running tests, hopefully we’ll know what’s causing the nausea, we can fix it, then be on our merry way.” Tamlin said, drinking the last of the strange tea.

That was when Heilda clicked her tongue, “I don’t believe this is a problem we can simply fix, my Lord.”

She spun around in her chair, “I believe this problem will be a bit bigger than originally considered.”

Lucien and Tamlin furrowed their brows, glancing at each other before eyeing the healer worriedly. It was Lucien who asked, “And what is the problem exactly?”

Heilda took in a breath, seemingly steeling herself, as if on instinct, Lucien took Tamlin’s hand in his own. Holding him tightly. 

“My Lord,” She said, addressing Tamlin, “Have you shapeshifted into a female form, sometime within the last five or six weeks?”

Tamlin was taken aback by the question, he blinked at her, hand tightening in Lucien’s, “I mean… yes, but I’ve done it before, I don’t know how it could cause any issues. Especially not…” He counted the weeks since that night with Feyre, “Six weeks later.”

Now Heilda snapped in a deep breath, “This may be an uncomfortable question, but did you have any penetrative intercourse whilst in female form?”

“You’re right, that is an uncomfortable question.” Tamlin said, blinking at the healer like she had grown a second head, “That shouldn’t have anything to do with my symptoms.”

“Just trust her, Tam.” Lucien said, squeezing his hand in an assuring manner. 

“I just need a yes or no answer.” Heilda said gently. 

Tamlin sighed deeply, eyes squeezing shut, “Yes. Feyre is a shapeshifter as well.”

Heilda nodded, then leaned back in her chair, “Did you use any contraceptives this night in question?”

Now Tamlin gritted his teeth, “What does this-”

“Tam.” Lucien said gently. Tamlin looked over at his friend and sighed. 

“No, we did not.”

Heilda nodded, then she rubbed her hands together. Wringing out her fingers and cracking the knuckles as she crossed one leg over the other, “Okay. What I’m about to say may be shocking.”

“Just spit it out.” Tamlin said, finally and fully fed up with these riddles and strange questions. 

“Alright,” Heilda looked between Lucien and Tamlin, Lucien tightened his grip on Tamlin’s hand. 

“Congratulations, Lord Tamlin Fairburn, you are pregnant.”

One heartbeat, then a dozen. Tamlin stared at Heilda like she had two heads and a tail. Lucien had gone completely white, the fire lord looked as though he was about to pass out. 

Heilda looked between the two, she smiled, then clapped her hands as she wheeled her chair away, “This is what happens when you don’t take contraceptives.”

Tamlin laughed, he laughed hard, nearly falling off his chair. He gripped Lucien’s hand so tightly he could feel his bones grinding under his fingers, Lucien didn’t pull away regardless. The Fox remained silent whilst Tamlin fell into hysterics. 

“No!” Tamlin said, pushing himself back into his chair, “No, no, no. I am not- I am not at all. That is wrong!”

Anger now pressed through the hysteria. Heilda sighed like she expected this reaction, turning around she looked over at Tamlin, “Listen, you were in a female form and you-”

“I am not now aren’t I?!” He shouted, standing up from his chair. His sudden motion snapped Lucien from his daze. He quickly stood up and wrapped an arm around Tamlin’s chest. He made to wrap his free arm around his stomach, but suddenly didn’t. When Tamlin looked at him the Fox was breathing deliberately slowly, staring at his abdomen with an unreadable expression. 

It only served to piss Tamlin off even more. Heilda, unlike the two before her, stayed calm, her voice soft and gentle when she replied, “No, but you can still retain a womb in this form if your magic allows it.”

“I shifted back the morning after!” Tamlin shouted, “This should’ve never happened! You are wrong!”

“I’m not, and I think you know I’m not. Spring thrives off of fertility magic, your magic protected the foetus growing in your womb.” Heilda replied. So casual as if this happened every other day. 

Tamlin stammered and stuttered, trying to figure out someway around this. Some loophole or information that would directly challenge this. Like if he wished hard enough he could prove her wrong. Like if he managed to get angry enough, he could make this go away. Tamlin eventually looked to the floor. Beginning to process the information for what it was. For exactly what it meant.  

“I recommend shifting back into the form of a female, it will make this more comfortable.” Heilda said, her voice still so gentle. It stopped making him angrier, and as the initial shock and denial wore off, the world began to tip from one side to the other. Lucien held him up. The red-head’s fingers intertwined with Tamlin’s. 

“Is there anything else, Heilda?” Lucien asked, his voice a soft murmur behind Tamlin, yet a dull vibration in the face of the ringing in his ears growing with each passing second. 

“Bring him back for some more tests once he’s processed this.” Was all Heilda said. Tamlin was caught between wanting to wake up from this as if it were a dream and wanting to rip her throat out for being so casual about this. 

Only Lucien murmured his thanks. Tamlin considered cursing out the healer, but his sudden lack of energy made that impossible. 

In the future he would thank Heilda for being so calm, for now, he hated her for it. 

Lucien and Tamlin were silent as they left the healer’s office. Lucien kept his hand on Tamlin’s, gently leading the way as Tamlin was still reeling. Barely thinking, he couldn’t hear much besides some of Lucien's gentle murmurs and promises that they would figure it out. 

But as Lucien made to winnow them he suddenly stopped, eyes wide, face pale, hands shaking. Tamlin furrowed his brow whispering, “What?”

“Can-Can I winnow you? That won’t hurt…” Lucien bit his lip as he made a quick gesture to Tamlin’s belly. 

Tamlin snarled, his fangs a flash of white. He ripped his hand away from Lucien’s and marched in the general direction of Rosehall.

“Tamlin!” Lucien called out, quick to follow him, “Tamlin you can’t just storm off!”

“Watch me!” Tamlin turned around and screamed at him. Lucien stopped dead in his tracks, his nose scrunched as he furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Don’t scream at me, I’m only trying to help!” Lucien told him.

“I don’t need your help, Lucien! I don’t need you!” It was a dirty lie, because Tamlin needed Lucien more than air. Especially now. He felt his legs shaking, he wanted to fall to the ground. He wanted to sleep for a thousand years. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and rage and throw things. He wanted to get angry. He wanted to go back to this morning when this didn’t exist to him. 

Tamlin didn’t wait to see Lucien’s reaction to his venomous words, he turned around and continued to storm away. 

He didn’t get far. Lucien appeared behind him and picked him up. Holding him in bridal carry. Tamlin yelled and thrashed, spitting curses at him, some of which he had forgotten he even knew. 

“Put me down!” His voice was drawing attention from passersby, but Lucien didn’t put him down, just waited. 

“Lucien fucking Vanserra let go of me!”

“Stop being a dickhead and I will.”

“You-”

“Tamlin.” Lucien warned. The tiniest hint of a growl in his voice, something about the way he said it made Tamlin stop squirming. The glare of death in the High lord’s eyes never left but he gritted his teeth and stopped moving. 

“Good.” Lucien said, putting him back on the ground, but keeping two hands on his shoulders. 

“Tamlin, we need to deal with this.” Lucien said, his eyes hard, his face unforgiving. 

“I know-”

“No, you will try and ignore this until you are physically unable to any longer, and then we will be unprepared. You and I are going to talk about this, and form a game plan.”

Tamlin’s eye twitched, “Then can you wait until we get back to Rosehall?”

“We will walk back.” Lucien said as he let go of Tamlin and plucked a paper and pen from the space between realms. The red-head scribbled something down before sending it off. Tamlin knew it would be something to Alis to say they would be returning later than expected. 

Tamlin’s hands once again curled into fists. He took in a deep breath, “I have shapeshifted, a little magic will not hurt.”

Lucien’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath, “We don’t know that Tam.”

Tamlin laughed quietly, at what he didn’t know. The world was going so fast, at the same time it came to a complete halt.  

“What the fuck are we going to do?” Tamlin asked quietly. 

Tamlin stared at nothing, vision slowing like a haze was settling over his bones, a dark mist that made everything seem so far away. 

“Hey.” Lucien murmured, taking the High lord’s hands in his, “We’ll figure it out.”

They walked. Over the rocky cobblestone paths and through the blooming gardens abounding through Spring, the smell of pollen wafted through the air, mixing with the scents of sweetened coffee and baked goods. The sun was speckled over the ground by the constant clouds passing overhead. Gentle breezes caressed the delicate petals of roses, lilacs and lilies. 

Tamlin resolutely stared at the ground ahead, each footstep deliberate and careful. He could feel whenever Lucien’s watchful eyes flicked to him. The High lord wrapped his arms around himself, releasing Lucien's hand, and made sure to not so much as flick his gaze to his emissary. 

Eventually it felt like Lucien got the message and looked ahead as well, the clicking of his eye never directed in Tamlin’s direction. Finally Tamlin looked at him, to see Lucien with his head held high and facing straight ahead. His red hair a banner behind him in the breeze. His stride never faltering. 

Tamlin felt like a newborn foal next to him, not so graceful and elegant, more clumsy and foolish. 

Then a sound filled his ears, one that made him stop dead in his tracks. Tamlin quickly snapped his gaze to his left, looking across a nearby field, filled with a plush blanket of white, purples, pinks and reds, there he saw a gaggle of children. Some lesser Fae, others High Fae. All blowing on dandelion fluff and laughing until they fell to the ground. Two boys with purple skin and big black eyes, chased each other with worms on sticks. A girl with delicate fluttering wings carefully placed a flower crown on a girl with pointed ears, freckles and ginger hair. 

Another two girls threw mud onto each other, ruining the delicate lace of their baby blue dresses. And one boy, much smaller than the rest, with wispy brown hair laughed until he fell onto his back. 

“Tam?” Tamlin didn’t look at Lucien as his eyes were captivated by the children of his Court playing without a care in the world. 

One hand scrunched in the fabric of his trousers, strands of blond hair were picked up by the wind, fluttering over and around his face. 

Lucien walked back to stand beside Tamlin as he saw what had halted him. The Fox of Prythian reached his hand out and wrapped Tamlin’s in it. 

“It’ll be okay Tam.” He whispered. 

“Dahlias.” Tamlin rasped, voice breathy and shaking. 

Lucien hummed in confusion and Tamlin pointed to the field, “The field its… the flowers are all dahlias.”

A heartbeat of silence passed them by, floating along like a butterfly on the wind, Lucien squeezed his hand ever so slightly, “A field of dahlias.”

***

The rest of the walk home was less exciting. Mostly Tamlin stayed caught in silence whilst Lucien broached the harder topics that would later need more discussion. The complications of having an Heir of not just Spring, but of the Cursebreaker, so quickly after Amarantha’s reign had come to a completion. Even Feyre was not completely settled into her new body as a High Fae, and certainly not settled into her new role at Court.

Tamlin wouldn’t dream of putting a singular extra duty on her shoulders that she didn’t need to have to stress about so soon after all had been said and done. But he had to admit they needed more publicity, something for the rest of Prythian to see that Feyre Archeron was the Lady of Spring, the saviour of the Mountain, and the Warrior who sent Amarantha to her grave. 

He didn’t want her to be a show pony, only to be paraded to see her achievements. She had said it herself on a number of times that she wanted a quiet life. But if a baby was now on the way-

No, not thinking about that. 

He didn’t want to think about ‘it’ , he wanted to think about how to get Feyre properly settled. Then how to stabilise the Court, and regain what had been stolen and lost to Amarantha. He needed to focus on the Court right now. 

The sight of Rosehall came into view and Tamlin felt a heavy weight settle over his shoulders, he spoke to Lucien while his eyes examined every detail of his home. “Organise dinners, celebrations, prepare for the upcoming holidays. Pay special attention to the farmers, whatever they need, send it to them. The doors of Rosehall are completely open to the public and any that come in seeking refuge from other Courts. And Lucien.”

Tamlin stopped and Lucien halted as well, his brown eyes meeting green, “Make preparations for the tithe, we need to get it back up and running. We are barely holding on as it is, with everything Amarantha has done we cannot afford the losses that have hit us.”

Lucien nodded, Tamlin went on, “Most of the money and jewels from the treasury were stolen and until we send people back under the mountain to retrieve what they can we are on a tight budget. Every coin goes straight into the refugees, the farmers and the villages that have lost their homes.”

“Of course, but Tamlin-”

“The people are in low spirits and the magic will sense that. Spring thrives off of fertility and celebration from the Fae. I haven't even seen the wisps since before we went under the mountain. Until the native creatures of the land return we are in emergency mode. I want a list of everyone we lost to Amarantha, I need a spreadsheet of the damages and the costs necessary to return everything to its former glory, until we are back to normal we will not rest-”

“Tamlin Kali Fairburn!” Lucien eventually yelled.

Tamlin blinked, then he blinked again. Lucien gritted his teeth, the light hitting the emissary in just the right way that his skin seemed to glow with his frustration, “You are stressing yourself out for no reason.”

Tamlin gawked at that, “There is a reason, our Court is still half in ruins-”

The fire lord marched forward and put his hands on his shoulders, “And I will help you to restore it. But you cannot try and handle everything yourself.”

“I am not trying to do everything myself-”

“You are thinking of everything at once, when you need to calm down.” Lucien’s head fell, he took several deep breaths, “Listen, Tam. Like it or not we… you are now responsible for another life.”

Tamlin bristled at that, fangs starting to point through his teeth. Claws pressed against his skin, threatening to burst through. 

“Tamlin.” Lucien said slowly, “I know you don’t want to think about this, but that doesn’t change the fact that Spring is…” Lucien took another steadying breath, like he was falling apart at the news himself, “Spring is having an Heir.”

There were the words that crushed Tamlin even more. This… it wouldn’t be just another baby, but an Heir of Spring, a possible successor. A potential future ruler of the Spring Court. 

They had no choice but to think about this. 

“We will take this one step at a time.” Lucien moved his hands down to clasp his friends, thumbs rubbing the backs of his palms. 

Tamlin stared down at the dark fingers massaging gentle circles into his skin. He closed his eyes, the headache pounding harder. He was so fucking tired. 

“This is awful.” Tamlin whispered into the space between them. 

“I know Tam.” Lucien murmured, his voice near drowned out by the sounds of laughter in the distance. 

He felt like he might collapse. A headache pushed into his temple. He noticed a flicker of movement, and then saw that it was in fact a butterfly, small and blue and clueless. Making laps around their heads. 

“It’ll be okay.” Lucien reassured him. It was false, they had no idea if it would be okay. 

***

It was not okay. 

It was absolutely not okay. 

He had a headache all the time and sleep became a luxury he apparently could not afford. All of a sudden complaints pushed from all sides as bandits began to infiltrate the Southern and Western borders. Seeing quick money and easy blood to draw. 

Many of the servants and sentries had left the grounds for other Courts in order to visit family after the Curse’s conclusion. With quickly hired, inexperienced staff, the grounds began to descend into chaos. 

Not to mention how everyone was coping. That being barely. 

Nowadays even into the dark hours of the morning, every hall was lit and not a single room didn’t have some form of a faelight and an open window. No one wished to be forced back into darkness, and everyone needed the reassurance of open, blowing air. 

The second Tamlin had stepped foot back into his office he was thrown back into work. Now, days didn’t end until he was near passing out from exhaustion and they started the second the ray of first light hit his face. 

He wasn’t the only one. Lucien he barely saw anymore, as much as the Fox of Prythian attempted to check on him, they both lost all sense of time. Unable to keep up with their workloads and desperately attempting to pull the Court back into order. 

With everything going on, Tamlin had yet to tell anyone about… it. 

Alis had tried to push for answers, but even with all her stubbornness, the female knew when she had to back off. The quick snappish answers and flare in temper were enough to tell her, it wasn’t time for her to ask what happened that day with the healer. But Tamlin could tell she was worried. 

With everything happening. Tamlin had forgotten the last time he even so much as laid eyes on Feyre.

He was sure he saw her during the nights at some point, but as everything merged into a dazed blur of work, work, work, he couldn’t be sure. 

That wasn’t even including the constant strain from symptoms. 

Vomiting, and headaches were just the start of it. At times he could barely keep his eyes open even after hours of sleep. If he stood too quickly, all blood rushed from his head and black spots filled his vision. Random outbursts became more prevalent, everything setting him on edge. 

"Dear Gods," He cursed, rubbing his temples. Elbows planted on his desk. Tamlin screwed his eyes shut as yet another wave of throbbing crashed over him. 

There was a light rapping at his door. Tamlin didn't need to look up as the door opened to know who it was. The scent of cinnamon spice was enough telling. 

"Tam." Lucien said tenderly. 

Without opening his eyes, Tamlin said, "Lucien Vanserra, if the next words out of your mouth aren't, here is a giant cookie and hot chocolate, I will toss you over the border and back into Autumn."

There was a heartbeat of silence. 

Tamlin wouldn't throw Lucien back into Autumn, Tamlin quite liked Lucien. 

He would very possibly steal and hide all of his left shoes. Lucien was fully aware of that. 

Lucien left the office, and when he returned, he opened the door saying, "Here is a giant cookie and hot chocolate."

Indeed, he was carrying a tray with a giant chocolate chip cookie and two mugs of steaming hot chocolate that made Tamlin's mouth water when he saw them.

Lucien is a smart man. Everyone should be like Lucien, Tamlin thought. 

Setting the tray on the dark wood coffee table by the empty fireplace. Lucien sat down on the green velvet lounge. 

Tamlin left his desk and joined him. Settling into the soft fabric and hands immediately reaching for said cookie. Lucien smiled softly as he took up his mug. 

"Heilda said it would be more comfortable to shift to female form." Lucien said as he absentmindedly toyed with the handle. His voice was soft as he broached the subject, not wishing to provoke anger. 

Tamlin bit into the cookie and nearly moaned. 

To shift into a female form. To stay like that. It would raise eyebrows and suspicions. And good Gods, when he started to show-

No, not thinking about that. 

"So?" Tamlin asked. He knew he had to listen, he had to take into account the possibility of having an Heir for the Court. 

Gods, an Heir so soon. They just came out from Under the Mountain. It was all still fresh, too fresh. He could still see her eyes above him. Pushing him down into the sheets-

No. 

Not thinking about it. 

"So..." Lucien traced the rim of his cup with his finger, "Perhaps you should think about listening to her."

Tamlin's eyes snapped to Lucien's to find the fiery male staring right back. He lifted a perfectly groomed red eyebrow and waited for a response. One leg crossed over the other and head held high. 

Lucien didn't back down for anyone, not Beron, not Amarantha, and certainly not Tamlin. 

"Or perhaps I won't." I am a grown male, and I will make my own decisions, did not need to be said for Lucien to get the gist of it. 

"She is the professional, Tam." He hummed. 

"Don't call me that." Not now. Don't be gentle with me. 

Lucien put the mug down on the table, it banged as his hands didn't bother to control his strength. 

"Alright, this has gone on long enough." Lucien said, "We need to do something about all of this."

"What do you want to do exactly?" Tamlin snapped, temper flaring. 

"Gods above." Lucien rubbed his temples and Tamlin wanted to throw something. 

"Come up with a goddamn game plan, Tamlin. I want to know what the next moves should be. I mean, have you even told Feyre?" Lucien bounced his knee up and down. Tamlin thought that at any moment he might get up and start pacing. 

"Well I- there isn't anything that can be done Lucien!" Tamlin shouted, finally beginning to snap. He hated this. He wanted to be done with it. 

And he hadn't told Feyre. He didn't want to. He didn't want to talk about it. 

Like if he refused to so much as think about it, it wouldn't exist. 

Lucien opened his mouth, eyes blazing and preparing to yell. Then he cut himself short and snapped his mouth shut. Face falling back into carefully crafted blankness and eyes losing any emotions at all. 

Tamlin's claws nearly shot through his hands. Fire blazing through him, not just because of the subject at hand, but because of how easily Lucien put his mask on. Hiding his true thoughts so well. 

Tamlin wished for the courtier mask, but no matter how hard he tried there was nothing he could do to hide himself. 

Fuck this all. 

"You need to tell Feyre," Lucien said, crossing his arms. Relaxing back into the lounge, as nonchalant as ever. Tamlin hated it. 

"I don't need to do anything." Tamlin hissed. 

Lucien chuckled and claws finally pierced to the surface. He dug them into pillow beneath them, slowly counting back from ten. 

"What is so funny?"

Lucien picked up his mug again as he shook his head, "Sure you don't need to do anything Tam."

"Get out!" Tamlin shouted. 

Lucien rolled his eyes, he put his mug down and slid off the lounge gracefully. A swagger in his step as he left the room, as he passed through the threshold his hand caught the door. He tossed a seething smile over his shoulder and said, "Figure it out on your own then, but figure it out, Tam."

Lucien slammed the door shut before Tamlin could yell at him. 

***

Feyre wasn't happy. She didn't know when she started feeling this way, when the total weight of how she felt finally settled into her bones. Like mist in the morning, it descended slowly until she was consumed by it. 

She couldn't look the Fae around her in the eyes anymore. Not without seeing the Faeries she had stabbed. The boy's screams filled her eyes at every ring of a bell or snap of a tree branch. 

And dear God, the girl who had prayed before she had ended her life. The words seemed carved into her skin, she heard them in the laughter and song of the Priestesses that came in groups for lunch after long days working in the Temple. Every time those swishing robes passed her by, she remembered that prayer. 

One of the Priestesses had taken a special interest in her. One of the twelve High Priestesses. Feyre knew little of how religion worked in the Fae Lands. The idea of Gods and such had never interested her. She had worked for too long back in the cabin to spend her time thinking of them. 

And if they did exist certainly the Mother was laughing at her.

As of now, Feyre stared out at the gardens. She was sitting by a small table on the porch, watching dahlias sway in the wind. The grounds were covered in them, they had been a flower Elain had grown back at the cabin and then at the new manor they resided in now. One of the only plants Feyre could pin-point. 

"I thought I might find you here." A voice said, breaking the silence. Feyre looked back over her shoulder and despite herself a small smile graced her lips. 

"Good morning Ianthe, shouldn't you be at a ceremony or such?" Feyre asked.

Ianthe chuckled, her voice and sweet face reminded Feyre a little of Elain. But her overall demeanor and strange stoniness reminded her of Nesta.  

"No, the girls are handling everything this morning. I have a break." 

Ianthe strolled over to where Feyre was sitting. She pointed to the chair opposite of her and asked, "May I?"

"Please." Feyre said. 

Ianthe gracefully slid into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. She did not wear her robes this morning. Her body still completely covered. However, the layers of her dark blue dress were lighter to account for the warmer weather this morning. A pale blue silk scarf covered her head so only a few curling blonde hairs fell around her face. 

"Did it hurt? The tattoo I mean." Feyre eventually asked. The tattoo of the phases of the moon, they interested Feyre. Whilst she now had a swirling tattoo along her arm, that one had been stained magically. 

Violet cruel eyes. Taunting hands and a laughing voice. 

No. Not thinking about him. 

Ianthe watched the swaying gardens as she answered. Her face was not cold, but it wasn't warm either. Like a stoic mother, Feyre thought. 

"Yes, but it was worth it to be given this honour." Ianthe answered. 

Feyre hummed, "Did you always want to be a High Priestess?"

Ianthe chuckled, finger tracing her knee, "My, my, many questions this morning."

The Archeron sister stiffened for a moment, "You don't need to answer if it makes uncom-"

Ianthe lifted a slender hand, she turned her full eyes back to Feyre and smiled, "I am teasing Feyre."

"Oh."

"As for your question, I always knew I wanted to be part of the Court. I worked well with the others. And I knew I could help this Court, the way the former High lord ruled he..."

Ianthe cut herself off as a darkness filled her eyes. Her mouth twisted into a straight line. Feyre furrowed her brow, concern beginning to creep in, "He...?"

Ianthe quickly shook her head and straightened, pulling herself from her thoughts, "He just... He wasn't a good male and I knew I could do something to help. As for becoming a High Priestess specifically I-"

Now a soft smile adorned her face as she lifted her eyes to the white sun's rays. 

"I have always had an affinity for the Mother and her creation." 

Feyre turned her own eyes back to the dahlia flowers. Blooming prettily as if not just months before the Spring Court had been ravaged and left in ruins. 

"The world is going back to normal." Feyre noted. 

Ianthe laughed suddenly, and Feyre snapped her eyes back to her. 

The High Priestess shook her head and murmured, "Nothing will ever be normal again."

"You weren't even here for the fifty years," Feyre pointed out, recalling what Lucien had told her before. How Ianthe's father had sent her and her sisters to the continent right as the curse was hitting. 

At her words Ianthe balled her dress up into her fists, "You don't know my story."

"Then tell me." I will listen, Feyre wanted to say. 

Out of the corner of her eyes, Ianthe watched her. Blue eyes like sapphires in the light, "You won't understand."

"Try me."

A shake of her head and an amused smile, "Count the blessings you have flower, appreciate them. For at any moment, they can all be taken."

Feyre blinked. Then her face fell into deadpan. 

What was it with Fae and their riddles?

Ianthe threw her head back as she laughed at Feyre's confusion, "Flower just know not to take the word of Faeries at face value."

Ianthe leaned back into her chair and Feyre asked, "Can you guys just... tell me what you mean?"

A sly smile and glinted eyes, "Now where's the fun in that?"

***

She hated her reflection. She stood in front of the mirror as Ianthe carefully placed a crown of daisies and dahlias in her hair. 

"Why dahlias?" Feyre had asked.

Ianthe had shrugged, "You seemed to like them."

They had gone through enough dresses to last Feyre a lifetime. She had never liked dresses and today did not change that. She longed for something she could move in. Felt like restricted in. But she sucked it up. 

Ianthe had brought in a myriad of different dresses for her to try. To find one she liked best. 

"Do they all have to be so..." Feyre had gestured to large puffy sleeve and Ianthe had snickered. 

"For the record these were the former Lady of Spring's dresses."

Feyre had gone very, very still at that. Guilt shocking through her at how she hadn't liked the look of them. 

Ianthe had then rolled her eyes, "Do not fret, child, the Lady hadn't particularly adored them either. But it is tradition to wear the dresses of the former Lady. This were the Lady of Spring's before hers, and before hers. Now they will be yours."

Ianthe had then reassured Feyre, "Just for today at least, then they'll go back into a bag and into the closet to sit for the next several centuries."

Feyre had laughed suddenly at that, and the knot of anxiety welling in her stomach had begun to ease. 

Feyre had then rifled through the atrocious amount of fabrics. And eventually her hands landed on one particular dress. It was the biggest of them all, with an atrocious amount of tulle, lace and puffs. It was beautiful, Feyre could admit as much as that. But it was... so much. 

Feyre had bit down on her lip, trying not to laugh. Then she had looked at Ianthe whose eye was twitching as she pursed her lips, desperately keeping her own laughter down. 

They met each other's sights and were helpless but to fall into hysterics. 

The dress had been laid on the bed, but Feyre had decided on a far simpler one. Long, green silk simple sleeves, and a high neckline that opened just above her cleavage. The corseted part of the dress was embroidered with gold designs and tightly hugged her waist. Her far too small waist. As Ianthe had tied the back her eyes flicked up to Feyre in the mirror, hands still on the strings. 

Feyre had looked down, Ianthe continued and neither spoke of just how frail she had become. The High Priestess occasionally opened her mouth to say something, just to snap it closed. Ianthe didn't appear to know how to comfort, how to reassure. So, she didn't try. 

Now the look was complete. Feyre watched herself in the mirror. The long green skirts of her dress swirled as she moved. 

"There." Ianthe said. Feyre met her eyes in the mirror. 

"Are you ready?" She asked. 

Feyre didn't answer. She thought back on that day in the field when Tamlin had proposed to her, how happy she had been. How in so long the memories of Under the Mountain hadn't haunted her. 

Yet after all was said and done, it all came back. All had asked to show them the ring and expected her to gush about the future wedding and her engagement. Yet all enthusiasm had drained from her. Like the second Tamlin was not directly in front of her she no longer felt that passion any longer. 

It was just nerves. Nothing else. Once this day was said and done it would no longer bother her. 

"Yes."

Ianthe nodded, her eyes firm and set on Feyre through the mirror. A heartbeat passed and Feyre said, "We best be going then."

As she moved to leave. Ianthe put her hands on Feyre's shoulders, "One moment, my Lady."

The Cursebreaker furrowed her brow but remained still. Ianthe didn't break eye contact as she swiftly pulled a necklace out from underneath her robes. It swung from her neck, a beautiful green emerald that shone in the light. It was small and hung from a golden chain. 

Feyre blinked, opening her mouth to ask what was happening. But Ianthe answered her question, as she unclasped the necklace and swiftly placed it around Feyre's throat. 

"Ianthe-" Feyre started. 

"Take it, Cursebreaker." As she let it hang from Feyre's neck she murmured, "You may need it."

"Need it?" Feyre whispered. 

Ianthe just smiled, "Trust me."

"You said yourself not to take the words of Fae at face value." Feyre countered. 

"I did." She stated. 

Before Feyre could once again point out the blatant hypocrisy, Ianthe said, "Try to see past the person, Feyre. Try and see what may lay underneath."

***

He hated his reflection. Standing in front of the mirror whilst Alis fixed his hair and jacket burned a flaming rage deep in his core, but there was little he could do. Other than stand still and allow the Summer Faery to do her work. 

"You look very handsome." Alis smiled up at him as she stepped back, admiring her handiwork. 

Tamlin tried to give her a smile back, but he could only manage a weak nod as he stared at himself. 

Shell of a person. Eyes sunken from lack of sleep, skin unnervingly pale, gaunt, hollow. 

At least the suit was well made, tailored, green with whites and golds. Alis had braided flowers through his hair and dusted his face with just the slightest of makeup, she told him it was for the look to come together perfectly. But he knew it was to coverup the deadness in his face. 

The lesser faery opened and closed her mouth. Eyebrows furrowing. Tamlin nearly groaned. 

"What is it, Alis?" 

"Are you sure you're okay?" She asked, brushing away a speck of lint from his shoulder. Tamlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

"I am sure." He said, finally turning away from that godforsaken mirror. He faced the door of his bedroom. Lucien stood there. Dressed to the nines in green. Far more understated than Tamlin but just as gorgeous. 

"Ready?" Lucien asked. 

Tamlin shifted under his piercing gaze. The Fox scrutinized every inch of him, he was on display, wholly and completely. 

"I'm fine." Tamlin settled to say. He wouldn't admit how he felt sick to his stomach and the fluttering of anxiety was threatening to send running to bathroom to throw up once again. 

He held strong. He wouldn't be made weak. No matter how weak he truly felt. 

Lucien didn't believe that for a second. But he said nothing as he moved from the doorway and said, "Well then, the wedding is on in less than five minutes."

Feyre hesitated from her place at the end of the aisle. 

Her eyes agitated, hands shaking. Tamlin held his breath. She looked beautiful, but Feyre was always beautiful. A ring of flowers adorned her head, her eyes held the wedding venue before her. 

Ianthe was the one she watched; Tamlin risked a glance at the Priestess who watched Feyre closely. Slowly she raised a hand, and with a soft voice beckoned, "Come, Lady of Spring."

Feyre loosened a breath, her chest rising and falling with measured, calculated breaths. She took a step forward and Tamlin's chest constricted. He sucked in a breath, and she took another step forward. The knot pulled tighter and tighter. 

He remembered when she had been dragged in by Attor. Tossed to Amarantha's feet. 

Panic had filled him. He had nearly fainted. Surely, she wasn't there, because he had sent her back. She was back in the human lands there was no possible way for her to have come Under the Mountain. 

Yet there she had been.

The image faded in and out. Shifting from Feyre's perfect, unmarked face to the bruised snarling face she had worn that day so many months ago. 

She took a step forward. 

He was going to throw up. 

Then she took a step back. 

For a second, for a fleeting moment, the knot in his chest loosened and he felt like he could breathe again. 

Then she took another step back. The knot tightened once more. 

Eyes widened, and whispers erupted in the crowd of Fae. 

Fuck. 

No. 

Like a rope pulled him forward, Tamlin took a step towards Feyre. The world slowed to one moment in time. She stumbled further back, shaking her head. And Tamlin stepped further into the aisle. 

Something snapped in her gaze. She turned on her heel and sprinted. 

There was a gasp, and hot white rage flew through the High lord. Filling his veins, breaking something that had been pulled taut for too long now. 

He nearly launched into a run after her. 

"Tamlin." Lucien hissed, as he lept forward and pulled Tamlin back. 

Tamlin turned around to snarl at him, but in a second they were gone. Winnowed. 

Tamlin shouted into the darkness that enveloped them. And by the time they landed he was screaming curses at the red head. Lucien didn't seem to care. 

They were in his study. The window were open and sunshine was pouring in. Yet the house was empty as the grounds descended into chaos as the groom and bride had each disappeared. 

"Why did you-" Tamlin shouted, but Lucien snapped. 

"She was running away, what were you going to do?! Grab her and force her to marry you!" Lucien shouted, whilst pointing a finger into Tamlin's chest. 

"You-"

"Don't start with me Tamlin! We will find her, but for now calm the fuck down!" 

Tamlin blinked, initial rage simmering into something else entirely. 

What just happened. 

In the span of a few seconds, he had gone from jittering at the altar, watching his bride, then watching her run from him as he attempted to go after her.

He must have looked as shocked as he felt, because Lucien put a hand on each of his shoulders and guided him to the lounge. 

"Sit." Lucien ordered, Tamlin obeyed. Staring into nothing, mind horribly blank. 

Eventually one smaller thought came to mind, "I thought I wasn't allowed to winnow."

"You can in short distances, I spoke to Heilda. But she recommended it be someone else doing to actually winnowing."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Lucien sat down on the arm of the lounge. 

"What do I do now?"

Lucien stared at him and for the first time said, "I have no idea."

***

"Feyre!" 

Feyre didn't respond to the call. She crossed her arms and pressed further back into the trunk of the tree she was sitting in. Her knees bent, keeping her curled into the branch and just out of sight. 

"Feyre oh sh- Mother lead me." Ianthe hissed as she caught herself from cursing, "Where is that girl?"

Feyre craned her neck to look down. She saw Ianthe holding up her pale blue robes in one hand and her shoes in the other as she trod through grass and mud. 

"Feyre! I know you're out here somewhere!" 

Somewhere indeed, currently right above her. 

Ianthe screwed eyes shut and sighed deeply, "Couldn't have run somewhere inside, no we had to go out into the forest."

Despite the guilt and shame, the anxiety and hurt knotting and writhing in her stomach, threatening to make her lose her breakfast. Feyre chuckled. 

Bad decision, as Ianthe straightened, her fae senses alerting her to the sound. 

Ianthe whirled her head back and forth, "Feyre?"

Feyre had the muffle her laughter with the palm of her hand. But it wasn't enough to escape the hearing of the High Priestess. 

Finally, Ianthe furrowed her brow and looked right up. Her confusion fell into deadpan as she saw the Cursebreaker nestled in a branch. 

Mouth pursing, Ianthe gripped her robes a little tighter then asked, "Flower why are you in a tree?"

It hit her again. 

As she had walked down the aisle. Seen the people, the faces staring and waiting. Seen Tamlin watching her. Then had seen Ianthe. 

Permanant. Permanently stuck here. Permanently with the memories. Seeing everyone watching, like they had watched Under the Mountain. 

That prayer had rushed through her head again. And she saw their faces when she stabbed them. 

"Feyre?" 

Feyre looked back down to Ianthe, but gritted her teeth and did not answer. 

"Feyre." Ianthe said, deadpan, "Do not make me climb a tree."

Still Feyre remained silent whilst she brooded on her branch. 

Ianthe's eye twitched. And finally she sighed heavily, mumbling something about the Mother punishing her. 

"Fine! Fine." She said, dropping her shoes and letting her robes down from her hand. 

Then Feyre watched as the pristine, tidy, and uptight High Priestess of Spring, grabbed onto a branch and planted her foot into the trunk. Climbing the tree. 

She nearly slipped and fell, a curse nearly falling from her lips before she caught herself. 

Her robes got caught on a sharp piece of bark and there was a ripping sound. Ianthe made a disgusted sound, before she climbed up higher and higher. 

Finally, after clumsily forcing her way onto a branch right beside Feyre, she sat down. Panting heavily. Then she checked the small hole made in the hem of her robes. 

She gritted her teeth but ultimately let it fall away as she faced why she came out here. 

"Feyre, lovely spot you have here." Ianthe said, sarcasm lacing her voice. 

"Thanks, picked it out myself." Feyre snapped. 

The High Priestess sighed, "Feyre, you have to come down."

"Yes, I have to go down. And I have to go back to the wedding, don't I?" She snapped. 

Ianthe observed her for a moment, before shifting uncomfortably. Stoic face seemingly trying to figure out what the best course of action was. Thinking logically, no doubt just wondering what the quickest way to get Feyre back to the wedding was. 

It struck her that Ianthe didn't actually care what Feyre was feeling. She was doing as she was told, no other reason. It made Feyre feel all the more alone. 

Back in that dungeon, with nothing to keep her company but her will and a bargain. 

"Do you... Do you not wish to marry him?" She asked. 

Feyre gritted her teeth, she screwed her eyes shut. Darkness pressed in and she remembered the Attor dragging her into the throne room. 

She wanted to scream. She wanted to forget anything that ever happened. She wanted to go somewhere none of it ever touched her again. 

"Feyre-"

"Just go away Ianthe I don't want to speak to you!" She shouted. 

Ianthe bristled, "I am just trying to help-"

"Well you aren't!" 

Now, her face iced over. Stone cold and fed up, "We have to go back, now either we can go willingly together, or I will get the sentries and they will drag you back."

A tremor ran up her spine at the threat, "I don't want to go back, Ianthe."

Ianthe loosened a tight breath, "Feyre, let's go home now."

"No."

"Archeron-" Her tone was warning. 

"I don't- I don't want to go back." Feyre insisted. 

Ianthe scrunched her nose slightly, eyebrows furrowing. Then her face evened out and her voice sweetened, "Feyre, we must go back."

The sudden change in tone, in face, a lure. An attempt at false comfort. The Priestess held out her hand. 

Feyre looked at the pale hand before her. 

Then at the ground. 

Back to the pale hand. 

Feyre reached out and Ianthe smiled. 

The Cursebreaker batted her hand away with enough force that Ianthe shouted but nearly fell off balance. Giving Feyre enough to time to jump to the forest floor and bolt. 

"Feyre Archeron!" Ianthe clung to the branch as she watched Feyre's form disappear further into the dark forest. 

Slowly she took inhaled, before releasing her breath. She closed her eyes and asked the sky, "Why, why, why, why, why?"

Feyre ran and ran and ran. She lost a shoe but she didn't care. The feeling of dirt underfoot somehow comforting. Reminding her she was still there and breathing. In the wind, in the open space. Not in that cave, not Under the Mountain. 

Yet still there. Always there like it followed her. A ghost of those months looming over her head. 

She reached a clearing of grass and wildflowers. She fell to her knees. Legs unable to hold her any longer. 

She shook, trembling hands and arms. She should've been able to run faster and far further than that. 

But looking at her arms, they were spindly. Her legs which were sticks compared to what they had once been. She felt her cheeks, her face which was hollowed out. 

Her fingers to skinny, her organs pressed against the skin of her torso. 

When was the last time she had eaten? Had felt the urge to eat anything?

She licked her lips, her throat dry. The air was suffocating. Pollen that was sickeningly sweet. Air open, without any end. 

A part of her wondered whether she had ever come out from Under the Mountain, feared, dreaded that at any moment she would awaken. 

She heaved a sob, cries racking through her too fragile bones. Like she was made of glass she trembled. 

Feyre felt like she was made of glass. Like at a single touch she might crack and fall into a thousand pieces and never be able to be put back together again. 

'Make it stop.' She cried in her mind, sniffling, 'Someone make it all stop.'

'Take me away.' She pleaded with nothing. 

There was the sound of stick cracking underfoot and Feyre's head snapped up. 

But instead of Ianthe or sentries, violet eyes shone down upon her. 

"Hello Feyre Darling."

"You!" Someone shouted, Rhysand and Feyre looked up to see Ianthe panting as she pointed to Rhysand. 

Feyre had never seen her quite so dishevelled. But rage lined her features. 

Rhysand however, simply smirked, before grabbing Feyre's arm as she screamed. The Night Lord lifted her tattooed hand and pointed to it. 

"Don't mind me, pretty Priestess, I am simply collecting."

And just like that. 

Rhysand winnowed them away. 

***

"What do you mean she's gone?" Tamlin asked, voice near breathless. 

Ianthe's eye was twitching relentlessly. She looked as though she had been dragged through a thorn bush. Then again if she had run after Feyre she may have been. Stick and leaves were stuck in her hair, some parts of her robes were torn. And dirt smudged her cheek. 

"I mean she was whisked away by the Night Court." Ianthe said, "Our worst fears came true, and Rhysand made good on his word."

"Bastard son of a bitch." Lucien cursed from behind Tamlin. 

Tamlin said nothing, unable to move. His eyes turned to Alis by the door who looked between the Priestess and the High lord with sympathetic eyes.

Slowly it lapped at his core. Rage that made his eyes start to black out. His hands trembling by his sides. 

Chest rising and falling quicker. 

Ianthe looked him up and down, then said to Lucien, "I'll leave you two to deal with this. I am going to have a six-hour long bath."

In a second the Priestess was gone. Alis following after her.

"Lucien, get out." Was the only warning Tamlin gave him. 

Lucien's eyes went wide, and he sprinted out the door, slamming it closed. 

And Tamlin's magic exploded in a second. 

The High lord screamed as his magic ripped through him. flooding his veins with uncontrollable, overwhelming power. He screamed and fell to his knees. A ringing filled his ears, his vision went white. 

When it resided, a sob wracked his body as shaking overtook him. His skin heated, getting hotter and hotter until his clothes were soaked with sweat. Trembling, Tamlin tried to pull himself to stand, but he suddenly doubled over and threw up. 

The door flung open and Lucien shouted something he couldn't hear. The world was a swirling, dizzy haze of nothing. 

Someone gasped and Tamlin looked up to see Alis sprinting for him. The female cupped his face, and Tamlin blacked out.

Link to chapter 2 is here! Link to chapter 3 is here!

[their-destinys-writer]

Akuma Flashpoint - Chapter 1

Art by @carolgpr (thank you so much again for this fantastic work)

Rated: M

Chapters: 1/?

Summary: It was over. Gabriel was in jail, the butterfly miraculous had been recovered, Emelie was in recovery and the heroes knew their identities. All that was left was the sentencing of Gabriel, and they could finally, after eight years of superhero work, close that chapter of their lives. But when Gabriel escapes for one last hurrah, and akuma, things didn't resolve quickly. One ill-timed wish warps reality around Marinette, and she suddenly finds herself in a world where nothing is right, and Hawkmoth is winning.

Canon compliant up to Season 3, Episode 'Ladybug'. Miracle Queen never happened. Canon divergent from that point forward, but might borrow a few details from later seasons. Very loosely inspired by DC's Flashpoint Paradox (the animated movie). Updates on the last Monday of every month.

Ao3 | Wattpad

A/N: I'm super happy to be sharing this story, finally! For the record, I already have up to Chapter 10 of this story written, so it's not one that's going to suddenly be abandoned. I already have the end of it and everything, and if I manage to get a few chapters further ahead, I might consider posting more than once a month. But that will depend on how it goes. Enjoy what I hope becomes a wild ride for your feelings!

Next

Distorted Reality

It was over. After years of fighting, of struggling with knowing the truth, it was finally over. Hawkmoth was defeated. But at a price.

Team Miraculous never had intentions of releasing Hawkmoth’s identity to the public. Ladybug gave him the chance to quietly return the butterfly miraculous and let him move on with his life. But Gabriel Agreste was tougher than the smell of dog excrement under a person’s shoe. Even after Nathalie betrayed him and Adrien begged him to give up, the man refused. And soon enough, law enforcement intervened.

Gabriel was then arrested and made to wait for the justice system to do its work.

It was a bittersweet ending for the team, but it didn’t stop them from having a small get-together the day before he was convicted. Everyone arrived at Marinette and Adrien’s apartment as a team, for what they hoped would be the last time. There were kwamis flying about. Teammates who had never interacted befriended each other. But for Adrien, it was inevitable to hear forms of condolences, as if he had lost his father.

“It’s not like he was ever there,” Adrien complained at the end of the night, when the most trusted team members where the only ones left sitting around a coffee table. “How can you lose someone you never actually had in the first place?”

“They’re just saying what they think is respectful,” Luka sighed, pulling back the few bangs that had fallen down his brushed back hair. “They don’t know what else to say, and they don’t want to be rude to you by saying what they really think.”

“I’m sure that whatever they think, I’ve already thought of it.” Adrien took a sip of his glass of wine.

“Yeah, well, they don’t know that,” Nino added, giving his best friend a light pat on the shoulder. “But what matters is that you know and helped put his stiff ass in jail.”

Adrien snorted.

“They have a point,” Marinette said, cozying up on his other side, holding a glass of her own with both hands. “Besides, we gave him a chance. It’s not your fault, or any of ours, that he didn’t take our offer.”

“Ridiculous,” Chloé said under her breath, before taking a swig of the bottle she was holding. “Utterly ridiculous.”

“How much of that have you had?” Alya asked, as she took the bottle from the blonde.

“Clearly, not enough, if I can still understand all of you.”

“Half of that bottle and two glasses earlier,” Kagami responded instead.

“Snitch,” Chloé scoffed. She tried stealing the bottle back, but Alya gave it to Nino to keep it away. She huffed before standing up and heading to the kitchen.

“I still can’t believe this is real,” Marinette sighed. “After eight years, I was starting to think we’d never get those miraculouses back.”

“Hear, hear.” Nino lifted the bottle.

“It’s only too bad he didn’t give it up willingly,” Adrien muttered, slightly sinking into the chair. “Would’ve been nice if he had shown at least one last shred of humanity before getting taken.”

“Screw your pops,” Nino said after taking a mouthful of wine. “He doesn’t deserve your pity or good wishes. You said it yourself when we found out his identity. The dude’s irredeemable.”

“Alya—”

“Got it.” Said woman pried the bottle away from her fiancé.

“Hey, I’m not Chloé level buzzed yet,” he complained, beanie slightly askew.

“Pah-lease,” the blonde in question said as she entered the room with a new bottle. “You wish you had my alcohol tolerance.”

As if the universe wanted to contradict her statement, Chloé missed the sofa by an inch, her butt falling to the carpet instead. She cleared her throat and wiggled about, trying to play it off as if planned.

“Smooth,” Luka commented.

Kagami, on the other hand, rolled her eyes as she got up from her chair and took the new bottle away. Chloé protested, but her drunken state made her a pathetic fighter.

“The hearing is in less than twenty-four hours,” Kagami stated. “Do you all plan on being hungover tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Nino shrugged.

“Guys, Kagami’s right,” Alya said dejectedly, placing her own glass on the coffee table. “We gotta be responsible for one more night. Marinette, I expected better from you.”

Marinette gasped. “How dare you. I’ve only had two glasses—”

“Two and a half,” Adrien corrected.

“Shh.” He chuckled at her antics. “I am the most responsible woman in this group. I am Ladybug: Queen of responsibility.”

“Until you become Lady Noire: Lady of puns.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I’m on the side of truth tonight. That’s Kagami’s.”

“Traitor.”

The rest of the group groaned as Marinette and Adrien playfully bickered. Although they were used to it, Marinette knew it was still slightly annoying for them. But she didn’t care. She enjoyed these moments with Adrien. It reminded her of all the reasons she said yes to his proposal. Of why she had moved in with him and often imagined just running off to city hall, instead of waiting for the wedding they were planning.

“I swear, if you two don’t stop—”

But Nino didn’t get to finish his sentence. There was a sudden collective emergency alarm resounding around the room, coming from all their phones. A sound that had not been heard for three months already. Everyone quietly checked their notifications, hoping that it was not what they thought it was. Only to be sorely disappointed.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Adrien breathed.

Kagami was the first standing to grab the remote. When the television turned on, they were immediately greeted by Nadja Chamack on the streets, reporting their worst fear.

“Police suspect that Agreste had help in his escape from prison. Unfortunately, they’ve yet to find his whereabouts at this moment. In the meantime, an akuma calling herself The Genie has been terrorizing the city, demanding Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses—”

“TIKKI!” Marinette called towards the kitchen. It only took a second for seven kwamis to zip into the living room.

“We heard!” Tikki said, worried. “We have to stop and find him!”

“Wait!” Chloé intervened, struggling to stand up. “How are we supposed to stop him when we’re in this state?!”

“I’m-hic-with Chloé,” Nino hiccupped.

“Just when you think it’s safe to drink,” Adrien lamented.

“Okay, who drank the least?” Marinette asked. Kagami, Luka and Alya raised their hands. “Okay, you three and I will go on ahead. Adrien, you get these two something to lower the buzz and come as soon as you’re ready.”

“You really think that’s safe?”

“We have to move before he gets away,” Marinette reasoned. “We don’t have time to waste.”

Adrien’s features hardened, as he nodded in understanding. Several magic phrases later, Ladybug, Rena Rouge, Ryuko and Viperion were running through the balcony doors and jumping over the rooftops. After several blocks, they arrived at the source of the commotion.

From their vantage point on top of a building, what they saw could only be described as bizarre. Some people were running away from what looked like giant versions of cute things, like dogs, cats, hamsters, and a snake. Others seemed to be… happy crying? That, while holding either objects or people.

“I don’t understand,” Ryuko muttered, her eyes scanning across the street.

“Talk about weird,” Rena Rouge agreed.

“What’s our move, Boss?” Viperion turned to Ladybug.

“We need to find the akuma first. Let’s split up, and whomever finds it first, call the rest.”

The team nodded, immediately running to separate directions. Ladybug, on the other hand, couldn’t help but search in the direction of Master Fu’s massage parlor: where they had last seen the butterfly miraculous. She had to know if the old guardian was okay, if Gabriel hurt him in any way to get the miraculous back.

When she entered the building where his parlor was, the first thing she noticed was how the door was ajar. Ladybug took a deep breath, holding to her yoyo tightly as she neared the entrance. She slowly exhaled.

BAM

Ladybug kicked the door fully open, just as it was illuminated by lightning from the window. The place was a mess. There was dirt everywhere from the plants. But most importantly to her, at that time, was the small old man unconscious on the ground.

“Master Fu!” Ladybug slid to her knees and took him in her arms. There was a drip of blood flowing from his temple, seeming to be caused by a blunt object. “Please, wake up. Master!”

There was a low groan, allowing Ladybug to release a breath of relief.

“The box,” he croaked.

The superheroine frowned, her eyes quickly scanning the room. While the phonograph was splayed across the floor in two pieces, the compartment containing the miracle box seemed intact.

“The box is fine. Whoever did this didn’t—”

“No.” Master Fu started checking his pockets. “The box. With the butterfly miraculous. It’s gone. Nooroo is gone.”

It was true then. It really was Hawkmoth out there. Whoever broke in must’ve entered when Master Fu was in the middle of one of his therapy sessions with Nooroo. The poor little thing had been through so much.

“Do you remember who did this?” she asked. “Was it Gabriel?”

“I don’t—I don’t remember,” the old man said groggily. “I can’t think straight.”

Ladybug immediately opened her communicator and called emergency services, giving the address they needed to send an ambulance. While they waited, she took several blankets to rest his head. She looked around the room, hoping to find any clues on the perpetrator.

Had it been Gabriel, or whoever broke him out of jail? Or both? Who could have such a connection with him to want him free? It couldn’t be Nathalie. She had left for Tibet once her testimony was given to the authorities. She was in charge of overseeing Emelie’s recovery in the Guardians Temple, thus had no reason to help Gabriel.

Neither Mrs. Bourgeois nor Mrs. Tsurugi wanted anything to do with them, much less when they knew it could damage the strained relationships they already had with their daughters. The Gabriel company cut all ties with him, and none of his employees remained loyal. Who else knew him well enough to feel sympathy for him?

* * *

Ladybug was back swinging on the rooftops during light rain, after the ambulance took Master Fu to the hospital. Normally she would have gone with him, but Mr. Raincomprix of the Police Department promised to have guards keeping an eye on him. So, for the moment, Master Fu would be under the authorities care.

With one less problem to worry about, Ladybug was able to go back into the real battle. Following the tracking device in her communicator, she ran towards her team’s signals as fast as she could. She jumped down the building right next to Rena Rouge’s mark.

“I’m here!” she announced, turning to the fox heroine. “What’s the…status.”

Where a superheroine was supposed to be standing, instead there was a woman in a big, puffy wedding dress. Fighting off small dinosaurs.

“This is ridiculous!” Rena Rouge complained, using a bouquet as if it was her flute. Petals flying everywhere. “Let,” swing, “me,” swing, “pass!”

Without skipping a beat, Ladybug used her yoyo to beat away the little critters. Meanwhile, Rena Rouge growled, as she tried to lift her pompous skirt.

“This akuma is annoying,” she said through gritted teeth.

“How did this happen?” Ladybug placed her weapon back on her waist.

“The Genie happened,” Rena huffed, kicking off a pair of high heels. “She showed up, and all she did was look at me and say: Your wish is my command. Next thing I know, I’m walking around in this.”

She gestured towards the dress. Ladybug tapped her lips with a finger.

“So, she probably grants wishes,” she thought out loud. “We need to find Ryuko and Viperion.”

“I think they were around the corner.”

With a nod, the two women ran in the direction they hoped their teammates would be. However, just as they turned the corner, several large toys invaded their path. Before Ladybug could do anything, they took Rena Rouge, yelling ‘Our Princess’ over and over. Ladybug was about to go after them, when she heard Viperion’s distinctive voice yelling reassurances.

She turned to see Ryuko floating upwards, as Viperion did his best to keep her grounded.

“Don’t let go, Viperion!” Ryuko yelled.

“I swear, I won’t!”

“I will kick your ass if you do!”

“I know!”

“What the hell is going on?” The voice of Chat Noir said beside her. Although she was relieved to hear his voice, her attention was on the floating heroine.

“They’re…getting wishes granted,” Ladybug answered absentmindedly, her head tilting.

“Ryuko wanted to float?”

Ladybug squinted.

“With her powers, that doesn’t make sense,” she thought out loud. She placed a hand on her chin. “Maybe it’s about how—”

“LOOK OUT!”

Chat Noir slammed his body against hers, sending them both several feet away from a dog shooting lasers out of their eyes.

“Why would anyone want a dog who shoots lasers?!” Ladybug yelped.

“Some kid out there has been watching too many cartoons,” Chat Noir commented.

“You okay, dudes?” Carapace’s voice said from above. Ladybug looked up, but instead of wearing the green hoodie outfit, he was dressed in a tuxedo of the same color.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “I was on my way here, and next thing I know, I’m dressed like I’m going to my wedding.”

“Wedding?” Ladybug scanned the area for Rena Rouge. It seemed she had gotten away from the giant toys and was now still trying to fight in the orange wedding dress, the bouquet looking more like a bunch of dying weeds. She looked back at Ryuko. And then back to Carapace. Her eyes widened. “The akuma is called Genie, right?”

“Yeah?” the men said in unison.

“And we can assume her power is granting wishes, right?”

“What are you getting at?” Carapace frowned.

“I don’t think Ryuko wished to float, and I’m a hundred percent sure the last thing Rena wants is to get married during a battle.”

“Meaning…?” Chat Noir squinted.

“We have to be careful what we wish for,” Ladybug concluded. “We can’t wish for anything. Not even in our minds, just in case.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Carapace shrugged.

“That’s what you think,” a voice behind them said.

In an instant, Ladybug and Chat Noir rose to their feet, making a battle pose. In front of them was what looked like a character from the animated Aladdin movie. Her skin was completely blue, and she wore a bustier with baggy pants. Her nose and mouth were covered by a belly dancer veil. Only her purple eyes were clearly visible under her bangs.

“I’m not a pushover, like other champions,” The Genie declared, slowly pulling her arms back. “I will get what I wish for, and not even you will stop me.”

“Isn’t there a rule that genies can’t grant wishes for themselves?” Chat Noir quipped.

“But I’m not a regular genie, now am I?” the villain then rested an elbow on her hand, fingers under her chin. “Once I have your miraculouses, I can get any wish a genie could want.”

“Miraculous wish?” Ladybug parroted. She and Chat Noir exchanged gazes, hoping they hadn’t arrived at the same hypothesis. Before they could say anything else, Carapace had placed a hand on her bicep.

“You’re not making any sense,” he said. Ladybug frowned, but noticed his eyes glimpsed to somewhere behind Genie. “I still don’t understand how your wish could come true with the two miraculouses.”

“It really isn’t clear,” she joined, trying not to give away Queen Bee sneaking behind the villain, ready to strike Venom.

“I think you’ve been given some false promises there, Genie,” Chat Noir mocked, using his staff like a cane and leaning forward on it.

“Hmph.” Genie closed her eyes. “You really think I’m that stupid.”

With a split-second movement, Genie was facing the other way, squeezing Queen Bee’s wrist. The superheroine screamed in pain, her weapon clattering on the floor.

“Bee!” Ladybug, Chat Noir and Carapace shouted in unison, as they ran to her aid. However, before they could get to her, Genie swung her towards them. All four landed painfully on the ground, as the villain vanished in swirling smoke.

“Where did she go?!” Ladybug panted, sitting up. Not a second later, a chilling laugh echoed in the air, with no point of origin.

“Bug,” Queen Bee grunted. “I think she broke my wrist.”

“That’s not good,” Chat Noir whispered, taking off his belt to wrap it around the injury.

“I can’t remember the last time one of use got seriously hurt in an attack,” Carapace commented, holding Queen Bee’s arm steady through her hissing.

“I shouldn’t have asked you two to come,” Ladybug lamented. “Not only are we a little rusty, but we’re clearly not in condition to be fighting.”

“This was my choice,” Queen Bee retorted, burning her eyes on their leader. “We had won. I am not letting stupid Gabriel get away with this. Not after everything we’ve been through. After everything we achieved. Everything I achieved…”

Ladybug’s face fell. “Chloé,” she said quietly, placing a hand on the blonde’s shoulder, “He’s not getting away with it. We beat him once. We can do it again.” She looked at Carapace. “Keep her safe, while Chat and I go after Genie.”

“Sure thing, Ma’am,” Carapace nodded, placing an arm around Queen Bee. “Kick that akuma’s ass for me.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Chat Noir gave his best friend a two-fingered salute.

The original duo stood up and walked together to the middle of the street, where they stood back to back. Alert, waiting to see where Genie would show up.

“Just like old times, huh?” Chat Noir commented, loud enough for his fiancé to hear.

“Don’t we always say that, every time it’s just the two of us again?” Ladybug quipped back, while scanning the area.

“And it never gets old, Bugaboo.”

Ladybug chuckled. ���You always know how to break the tension, Chaton.”

“One of my many talents.”

“ENOUGH!” A voice echoed angrily in the air. There was a puff of blue smoke, and the next thing they knew, both were sent flying in opposite directions.

Ladybug landed hard on the concrete. Suddenly very thankful that the suit protected her from scrapping any skin against it. She raised her head, to see Genie standing where she and Chat Noir had been only a moment ago. On the other side of the street was her partner, almost on his feet.

Unfortunately, the second he was up, Genie disappeared from where she was, to reappear right behind him.

“Chat Noir!” Ladybug yelled. But it didn’t matter. He still got hit on the back of the head, with enough force to make him fall on his knees. Genie raised her arm again, but Ladybug swung and wrapped her yoyo just in time to stop her.

Gotcha, she thought triumphantly.

Genie’s head snapped towards Ladybug, sending a chill down her spine. Nevertheless, she kept her grip firm on the yoyo. The problem was that so did Genie. The villain grabbed the string and started pulling on it. Meanwhile, Ladybug did her best to stand her ground, but the akuma was surprisingly strong.

“Come here, Little Bug,” Genie hissed as she yanked the string hard enough to drag Ladybug several meters forward.

The superheroine gritted her teeth as she attempted to do the same to the akuma. With little success, only managing to anchor her feet where she was.

“You’re so annoying,” Genie huffed.

The next second, she was gone again, making Ladybug fall backwards. Chat Noir had regained his balance enough to run to her side, to make sure she was all right. He had just helped her back to her feet, when she was pulled back as if from an invisible rope around her stomach. Once again, sent flying across the street.

“Why don’t you fight us head on, you coward?!” Chat Noir yelled, any trace of playfulness gone.

A chilling chuckle resounded in the air.

“As you wish, pretty boy,” the disembodied voice of Genie said.

There was another puff of blue smoke, and the villain hit his chin upwards with the palm of her hand. Chat Noir staggered backwards, attempting to raise his staff. The next blow he managed to block with is weapon, but Genie immediately followed it with a hard kick to his stomach.

All the while, Ladybug slowly stood up, trying her best to ignore the pain on her ribs. This akuma was of the kind they rarely ever saw. It was almost like she had purposely allowed herself to be akumatized. Much like Catalyst on the first Heroes Day.

If there was anything she had learned from these type of akumas, it was that they were far more powerful than the regular brand. Mainly, because they weren’t aimless. Not only was their goal clear, but they collaborated with Hawkmoth to create a more coherent plan.

Ladybug breathed heavily, her arm over her torso. She looked around at her incapacitated team. Viperion had even turned back to Luka, for his five minutes were wasted as he kept his hold on Ryuko. How did it get this bad so fast? And why did it have to be Adrien fighting his father once again?

She could see it in Chat Noir’s eyes. Yes, he made jokes and insulted his father all the time, but he was still hurting. And at that very moment, his heart was simply not in it, if the way he was fighting was anything to go by. Why couldn’t Adrien be freed of such pain?

Genie puffed out again, to appear right in front of Ladybug. The heroine didn’t even get a chance to move, before a hand grabbed her neck and pushed her into the wall. Ladybug struggled, trying to both focus on the villain and on freeing herself.

“You’re so predictable,” Genie whispered, with a menacing grin.

Ladybug could feel her consciousness wavering, as her eyes focused on the glowing necklace on Genie’s chest.

“You’re wish is my command, Little Bug.”

And there was a glowing purple light…

* * *

Marinette’s eyes snapped open. Above her was a plain, white ceiling she didn’t recognize. With a gasp, she bolted into a sitting position. She gazed around the room, still not recognizing anything of it.

There was a desk topped with fabrics, a mannequin with several hats on it, papers scattered on the ground, a floor length mirror. And she was lying on a full-sized bed she didn’t recognize. Marinette shuffled out of the bed towards the mirror, hoping she hadn’t been transferred to someone else’s body.

To her relief, she was still her. And yet…not. Her hair was much longer than she originally had it. Gone was the pixie cut and now her hair almost reached her waist. Under her eyes were heavy bags she hadn’t seen in a long while. Like she hadn’t slept in days.

But what struck her most were the scars around her bare arms. When did she get those? Did she have them all over her body? Marinette dared to lift the shirt from her stomach, to see three more scars. As if leftovers of a battle.

From the reflection, she saw something move behind her. Marinette snapped her neck towards it, luckily to see a familiar little blob of red burying herself in the fabrics over the desk.

“Tikki,” she whispered called, scurrying towards the kwami. “Tikki! Wake up!”

“Shh,” the small being said.

Marinette’s brows furrowed. It wasn’t like Tikki to be lazy. With gruntled determination, the woman poked her little friend, calling her again.

“No,” Tikki responded.

“This is important,” Marinette whisper-yelled. “Something is really wrong, and I need your help to figure it out.”

“Talk to the tail,” Tikki mumbled, turning enough to point her tiny butt towards her charge.

Marinette gaped. “Since when are you this rude?”

“Since when do you not let me sleep in?”

“Are you really Tikki?”

“How much did you drink last night?” The kwami snapped back.

“You know very well I only had two glasses and a half.”

“And you know very well that I wasn’t there!” Tikki finally turned to Marinette, her eyes with a fury she had never seen.

“What are you talking about?” she said. “You were all in the kitchen. You were there when I divided up the team before going out to fight.”

Tikki looked at her like she had grown a second head.

“You’ve finally lost it.” With that, she turned and collapsed in the fabrics.

“Lost what?! I have no idea what’s going on or—” Marinette’s eyes widened. “Adrien.”

“Wait, what?”

“Of course!” The woman rummaged through the room until she found a cellphone, a jacket and a pair of pink flats to wear. “I need to find Adrien. I need to know if he’s okay, what happened to him, if Plagg is acting the same way—”

“Plagg?!”

“—maybe he’ll have answers. Hopefully he remembers what happened last night, when we fought The Genie.”

Ignoring Tikki’s sudden interest, Marinette yanked the door open and crossed what seemed to be a small living room to get to what she hoped would be the exit. Once in the hallway, she started inspecting the phone that luckily had no lock.

“Ugh.” She grimaced at the background picture of a ridiculously revealing dress. “Whosever phone this is, they have terrible taste in clothes.”

Marinette continued tapping on the screen, ignoring a mutter from Tikki nearby about the phone. Looking into the contacts, she had to admit surprise when she saw Alya almost at the top of the list. Without waiting any second longer, she called the number.

Once. Twice. Three times. No answer.

“Dammit.” The voicemail came through the speaker. “Hey, Alya, it’s Marinette. I need you to call me to this number as soon as you can. Something very weird happened. Call me back, please!”

She hung up and continued scrolling through the contacts.

“Huh.” She tilted her head. “This phone is the same model as my old one.”

“You’ve had that phone for three years already,” Tikki said loudly. Marinette stopped on her tracks. She glanced at the kwami peering from under the jacket, and back at the phone.

“You’re not making any sense,” she resorted to say.

Yet her mind started racing as she ran down the stairs. The phone was clearly not hers, if it didn’t have the background picture of Adrien and her on their engagement party. Then again, things had been pretty bizarre already that morning.

Once in the ground floor, Marinette powerwalked towards the exit. Hopefully, she would find some answers once she stepped out of that door.

However, it wasn’t much help.

Stepping into the blinding sunlight, Marinette only realized she was an arrondissement away from her apartment. She was suddenly tempted to transform, to reach her home faster. But with Tikki’s mood, perhaps it was best to walk.

As the woman marched, she scanned her surroundings. From the looks of it, there was no sign of The Genie. As if it had never happened. No giant pets, no reanimated toys, nothing strange at all. She checked the phone again, which was very unhelpful when it barely had any contacts. Tikki said it was her phone, so if that was the case: where were Nino and Chloé? Was it even safe to try other numbers?

Marinette sighed, her head starting to hurt. Just as she looked up, she noticed a blond mop of hair she would recognize anywhere.

“Oh my gosh!” she breathed, breaking into a run, eyes trained on the man exiting a café. “ADRIEN!” she yelled.

Said man raised his head in bewilderment, almost apprehensive. She called several more times until he looked to her direction.

“Marinette?” He barely said her name, when she threw her arms around his neck, almost making him drop the brown bag in his hand.

“Adrien!” Marinette sighed in relief. “Thank goodness, I was worried something may have happened to you.”

“What?” the man questioned, brows furrowing.

“I’ve been so worried, and so confused,” she pulled back, grabbing on to his biceps. “I woke up this morning and I was in a strange apartment, and you weren’t there, and Tikki wasn’t talking to me, and I couldn’t get a hold of Alya, Nino or Chloé, and everything feels weird, and—”

“What are you doing?” Adrien cut in, shrugging his arms away from her. “Did you hit your head or something?”

“Huh?” Marinette frowned. “W-well… I don’t know! Adrien, nothing feels—”

“Why are you talking to me?” he snapped when her hand had reached out again.

The woman slowly straightened, staring at her fiancé dumbfounded.

“Chaton?”

“Chaton?” Adrien parroted. “You really have lost it now, haven’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” Adrien rolled his eyes, before checking his watch. “Look, I don’t have time for this, I have things to do. So, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Wait, no!” Marinette grabbed his wrist desperately, only for him to roughly shake it off.

“Listen here,” he said, pointing at her menacingly. “I swear that if you come at me like this again, I will be forced to get a restraining order—”

“Restraining order?!”

 “—against you. I don’t want to, but you know very well I can’t be seen with you. Or do you forget I’m a public figure?”

“Why are you threatening me? Are you under an akuma spell?”

“Marinette, it’s been two years!” he shouted, rendering her quiet. He let out a defeated sigh. “And here I thought we were past this. Just… I’m with Lila now, so just deal with it.”

Without a second look, he walked past her shell-shocked form. The words slugging through her mind, wondering whether they had been real or not. Two years? Two years of what?! Since when would Adrien threaten her with a restraining order? Since when does he not recognize his own nickname?

But most importantly… Since when were they not together?

---

Next

[farmerlarrry]

Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)

masterlist | chapter eight | chapter seven | read on ao3 | playlist

story summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos.

a/n: If there's any mistakes, I'll be updating over the course of the next few days. I worked on this for HOURS today and just wanted to get it posted. Also I'm sorry I suck a writing dialoged, I am trying to improve. I hope you enjoy! :)

word count: 6850

if you want to be notified when I post new chapters, follow @farmerlarrrylibrary and put on notifications! If you'd rather be tagged, just let me know.

Chapter Nine

The two of you stare at each other. You’re still stuck in your fit of rage type daze and Joel is focusing intently on you, a hint of concern is clear in his expression. He begins to slowly tap his fingers on his glass one by one, patiently waiting for you to say something in response. You’re thinking of what you should say, should you even tell him? Surely you couldn’t tell him the truth. No, no. That’s a crazy idea, you think.

“Yeah, you know,” You try to say coolly, but end up not sounding very convincing when you finally speak up. The anger and annoyance slips its way out of your mouth, pushing its way through your teeth with each word. You force yourself to swallow against the lump that has formed in your throat, starting to pick at the grain of the wooden bar top again. Joel is still staring at you. You can tell he is unamused, seeing right through your poor attempt to cover up how you’re really feeling. 

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, watching Joel in the corner of your eye as he brings his glass up to his lips, slowly drawing in the liquid before setting it back down. 

“I saw you over there with Nessa and her friends. Were they mean to you, or somethin’” His voice is smoother than usual. It takes you a moment to process what he said because you can barely hear him above all the talking and music.  

“No, I-” You shake your head abruptly, looking away from him completely and shakily drawing in some air. What should I say? How do I even justify the emotions I felt when they started talking about him? Telling anyone, especially him, would be a window right into what you’ve started feeling, something you haven't even begun to come to terms with or understand yourself. “I- I don’t know. It wasn’t about me , but…” 

You let your voice trail off, not knowing what else to say and bring your hand up to your forehead, cranking your neck toward Joel. His eyes dart off to the side before bringing them back to you, taking another slow and long sip of his drink. 

“They say somethin’ about me to you?” He says without any fluctuations in his tone, as if it was the most normal thing he has ever said. The way you look at him must have given away the answer because he slowly nods his head, looking past you and narrowing his eyes at them. You turn your head and see the crowd parted in such a way that Nessa and her friends have a clear line of sight of both you and Joel. You immediately notice the redness of both Heather and Aimee’s faces who are whispering back and forth to each other, laughing and pointing in your direction. Nessa must have said something to them, perhaps scolding them, because they quickly drop their smiles and round their posture. You and Nessa make eye contact. She looks remorseful, her eyes hold a certain sadness in them. 

“Is that really what’s got you bothered?” The sound of his voice makes you turn back to him. He scoots his barstool closer to you, your arms brushing up against each other. Your heart begins to beat deeply as you feel his warmth radiate off of his skin onto yours. “Not the first time they’ve done it. I hear what they say when I walk past ‘em.” 

You don’t say anything, focusing on slowing the beat of your heart. You quickly flick your tongue over your lips.

Joel nudges your arm, leaning in closer to you so you can hear him over all the other noise. This isn’t going to help, you think, your heart thumping again.

“Hey,” He says softly in a genuine tone. “If it doesn’t bother me… don’t let it bother you, okay?” 

You can feel a calmness come over yourself as he speaks, the tightness in your chest from early quickly dissipates. You give him a shy smile and a single nod. Joel retracts his body and adverts his gaze to his glass that is now cradled between both of his palms. 

“They’re just bored, nothin’ else to their lives other than community duties, gossiping, and getting shit face drunk a few times a week. Especially that one with blonde hair.” He gestures toward Heather by jutting out his chin and staring at her with dead eyes. “She is just about as desperate and petty as one can get.” 

You let out a small laugh, his comment slightly catching you off guard. Joel reacts to your laughter with a hint of a smile, one that slowly fades.

“She’s all talk, no bite.” He sucks in some air through his teeth before cocking his head toward you, bringing his brows together. “Anyway, not sure why you care about an old man’s feelings.”

There’s a sense of hesitation in his voice as he speaks. You give him a puzzled look. 

“You’re not that old, I mean…” You lightly tap on his forearm with the back of your hand, causing him to look at you. His lips are slightly parted and the intense look in his eyes causes your heart to skip a beat. You completely forget what you were going to say.

“Hm?” Joel leans in closer once again, directing one of his ears to you. 

“What?” You quickly let out. “You aren’t old, that’s all.” 

He pulls back, sitting up straighter than before, slowly nodding his head with a smirk. You let out the air you had been holding on to just as Joel goes back to tapping his glass with the pads of his fingers, staring straight ahead of him at the wall behind the bar. Metal signs are nailed to the wall. The one hanging directly in front of you is severely rusted and says: ‘Happy Hour Club! All Hours Of The Night (And Day!).

“You want something to drink?” Joel asks, raising his hand for the person working the bar to come over. The bartender nods her head, putting up one finger to let him know she’ll be over in a moment. 

“ No, I’m fine,” You drag out the first word. Right now is definitely not the time to drink, not while your stomach is still in knots.

He looks at you with a softened gaze before lightly slapping the top of the table and pointing at you.

“That’s right, you don’t drink because of…” His eyes shift up as he thinks. “Because of… something that happened before , yeah?” 

“Correct,” You give him a shy smile. He remembers, you think.

“Speaking of that, you know Nessa from before as well? I saw the reunion on that first day.” Joel follows up with.

“Didn’t everyone,” You slightly cringe at the thought of everyone watching you, Joel lets out a small laugh. “But, yes, she was… is my best friend. We went to school together, and were practically inseparable.” 

“That’s gotta be some sort of fate, or something,,” His tone is dry, borderline monotonous. 

Joel goes to say something else, but the bartender comes up just as he’s about to speak. He orders another glass of whatever he’s already drinking, asking the worker to pour a little bit more when she goes to hand it to him. You see her grudgingly smile, turning around and pouring the tiniest bit more. Thanks, Joel responds sounding slightly embarrassed by his request. 

“I saw you coming back from outside the walls the other day. Nessa told me you help with doing patrols, that’s pretty cool.” You slide your chair a little bit closer to him, the two of you are now nearly shoulder to shoulder. “It must be nice to get out of here sometimes.” 

He narrows his eyes at you, concentrating on what you’re saying as he takes another sip.

“It’s alright, it can be dangerous, though most of the time it’s okay, sometimes boring. But, yeah, I guess it’s nice to get out,” Joel responds, talking slowly and ending his sentence with a slight nod.

“Dangerous?” You shoot back almost instantly, looking at Joel with wide eyes.

“It can be dangerous,” He emphasizes his words. “There used to be a group on the other side of the dam, they’d stir up trouble every once in a while, but they haven’t given Jackson any problems recently. Who knows if they’re still even there.” 

There’s a long pause before he continues, as if he’s contemplating something. He looks at you hesitantly.

“What?” You ask curiously, wanting to know what’s on his mind.

“Would you want to come with me? Tommy used to go with me, but he’s busy with Maria, and with his leg…. We’re supposed to go out in pairs anyway, for safety.”

You perk up at his offer, straightening your slouched shoulders. You can feel the corners of your mouth slightly turn upward. Joel is darting his eyes over the different parts of your face, anticipating an answer.

“Tomorrow?” You finally say with a smile. He flashes you a quick smile before turning his focus ahead of him.

“I’ll stop by your house in the morning then,” Joel says. 

-

Shortly after Joel leaves, you decide it time to head on home as well. Joel told you that he likes to get out decently early and you want to be sure you get a good night's rest. Originally, you thought about going back over to Nessa and her friends now that you feel better after talking with Joel, but couldn’t stomach the thought of the type of ridicule you may face from Aimee and Heather. Fuck ‘em, you think. 

As you begin to push open the front door, you hear your name faintly being called. Turning around, Nessa is trying to squeeze her way between a large group of people, waving her hand up in the air to flag you down. You subtly roll your eyes, still annoyed by her comment she made. As she catches up to you, you hold open the door for her and she follows you outside. She’s carrying a regretful expression with her. 

“I honestly expected this night to go completely different,” She gushes as the door comes to a close, you remain silent. “I’m so sorry about that back there. They were just joking, I swear.”

“And what you said? Was that just a joke too?” You snap back, placing your hands on your hips. Nessa apologetically smiles.

“Listen, I obviously don’t know everything that happened out there, if you two–”

“It’s not like that,” You firmly cut her off. She looks at you with wide eyes, shocked at your harshness. You can see her throat bob as she forces herself to swallow; she nods and continues.

“ I’m sorry. Joel is just… he’s not that great of a guy, okay? He’s hurt Tommy more times than I can count, and that’s just since we’ve been together. On top of that, what other people have said… he’s just kind of a loner, there’s something off about him. Drinking by himself, going off in his own, leavin’ and comin’ back…” She continues as you walk down the steps, heading in the direction of your house. She’s trailing behind you, desperately trying to catch up. 

“Is that a crime? Because he keeps to himself? I don’t get it.” You call back to her without turning around, causing the random groups of people lingering outside to look in your direction. The unwanted attention doesn’t faze you though. “If people were as shitty to me as Heather and Aimee and whatever the fuck the other guy’s name is to Joel… I’d keep to myself too.” 

Nessa lets out a huff of air, causing you to turn on your heel and face her. She looks flustered. Your chest is rising and falling quickly as you breathe, a mixture of frustration and anger rushing its way through your veins. 

“ His name is Drew, ” She says under her breath. “Maybe you got a different side of Joel, I don’t know. But… Can we just drop this? I told the others to not talk about it anymore.”

She crosses her arms, the string lights hanging above illuminates her face and you can tell her cheeks are flushed a deep red color. Something that only happens when she is deeply bothered by something. A part of you doesn’t want to drop it. You stare at her expressionlessly as you contemplate, she’s staring right back at you with pleading eyes.

You reluctantly nod, chewing on the inner flesh of your left cheek, trying not to push the matter any farther. The two of you walk back to your house in silence.

-

The following morning, a knock at the front door wakes you up. The strong aroma of coffee instantly overwhelms your senses. You let out a low groan, taking the pillow you were hugging and covering your face with it. Don’t worry about it, I can get it, you faintly hear Nessa call out from the kitchen in your still half asleep state. Who could be coming over at this hour? She follows up with. Removing the pillow from your face, you shoot up from the ground into a sitting position,  remembering your plans with Joel. You turn your head as she opens the door, and before you can say anything, you see the dismay on her face when she realizes who it is.

“Hey, Nessa,” Joel greets her equally as surprised. 

“ Joel, ” She responds. “What can I help you with?” 

You pull yourself up from the ground, walking around the couch and coming up from behind Nessa. Joel looks nervous. He shifts his eyes to you, causing Nessa to turn and look at you with a condescending expression. She steps out of the way, letting you take her spot. The three of you stand at the entrance awkwardly. 

“I’m here for her,” He gestures his hand towards you, his tone sounding uptight. Nessa shoots you a look of disapproval and disappointment, making you want to immediately disappear. She purses her lips as she places her hands on her hips. So much for dropping it, right Ness? You think to yourself as you look between the two of them.

“ Uh, yeah. Joel offered to take me on his patrol today,” Your voice comes out shaky. A nervousness rises in your belly, like you’re telling your mother you’re hanging out with a boy for the first time.

“ Hm, ” She simply lets out and returns to the kitchen.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts before turning to Joel, widening the door for him. 

“I’m so sorry,” You say as you step aside. “Come in, I just need to change, I’ll only be a few minutes.” 

Joels hesitantly enters. You see him look around, first to the living room and then to the kitchen, taking everything in. 

You glance over to Nessa before heading up the stairs. As you jog up the steps, you hear someone trailing behind you. A quick look over your shoulder confirms who you would assume it to be — Nessa. You enter the master bedroom that still remains to be untouched except for when you need to shower or change your clothes. Silence follows the sound of the door shutting behind you.

“What is it?” Your annoyance slips its way into your tone, you turn around to be met by a disapproving Nessa. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, rubbing your sweaty palms over your thigh. Nessa begins to shake her head before she even begins to speak.

“ So,” She starts, raising her eyebrows. “It’s not like that?”

She looks betrayed. 

“It’s not,” You respond sharply. Nessa scoffs in response, looking off to the opposite side of the room and begins to pace in front of you. 

“I don't know what else to tell you to get you to listen to me…” She slightly raises her voice, you can feel your muscles tense up.

“I don’t need you to parent me, Nessa. I can make my own choices,” Your heart is beating fast. Confrontation has never been your strong suit, especially not with Nessa. 

“Fine, whatever. But I’m going to warn you one more time. Don’t get attached to Joel. He’s not the type to stick around and I don’t want to see you get hurt. I’m just trying to be a good friend,” Hearing that makes your heart sting, a part of you knows she’s telling you this because she cares about you. But another part of you, the part that you cannot explain, is telling you to not listen to her. 

“Okay,” is all you can muster up. You get up from the bed, walking past Nessa over to the small white dresser and begin to dig through the drawers, grabbing a clean set of clothes. 

She doesn’t say anything back. The sound of the door closing once again alerts you of her departure. Looking over your shoulder to where she once was standing, you let out a deep sigh. 

-

When you get downstairs, Joel is sitting at the dining table; he looks relaxed. His legs are outstretched and he is leaning back in the chair with his eyes closed and arms crossed. Nessa is nowhere to be found, and you aren’t surprised by that considering what just went down upstairs. You stop at the bottom of the stairs, just to look at Joel for a few moments longer. You’re in awe. The calmness in his face, the way his chest slightly rises and falls as he breathes, the tautness of the sleeve over his biceps. Suddenly, he lifts his head, his eyes quickly flutter open. When he sees you, he clears his throat and straightens up. 

“Nessa left after she came down,” Joel stands up, tucking the chair back into the table and retrieving his backpack from the floor. “ Uh, yeah, she doesn’t like me very much, but I’m sure she’s told you.”

He says the last part quietly. You give him a sympathetic smile as he straightens out one of the backpack straps. Oh boy did she make it apparent, you think.

“I don’t know what she told you, but–” He continues with a wary tone.

“She just told me that she needs to get back to Tommy… check up on him and stuff,” You cut him off. Again, he very obviously sees through your lie, but you continue before he can say anything. “She’s been spending so much time with me, I feel bad for taking her attention away from him. You want a cup of coffee before we head out?” 

You turn away from him and head toward the stove. Nessa must have put it on with the intention of you and her sharing the pot. Part of you now feels bad that you didn’t tell her you’d be going out for the morning.

“One shouldn’t hurt,” He says, dropping his bag back onto the ground. You look over your shoulder at him, flashing a short lived smile. 

You have to open a few cabinets up before locating the coffee mugs. After pulling two matching blue, speckled mugs out and setting them on the countertop, you wipe them out with a small rag in case any dust had settled in the bottoms. As you go to retrieve the steel coffee pot from the base of the stove, the overwhelming sense of Joel watching you causes butterflies to form deep in your stomach. In turn your movements suddenly become awkward and clumsy. 

You feel a presence come up next to you; the same warmth you felt last night radiating onto your bare arms. Glancing off to your side, Joel is now only a few feet away from you, extending his hand out towards one of the cabinets. You follow his hand with your eyes.

“You hung it up,” He’s now leaning his hip against the smooth edge of the countertop, thumbing at one of the torn edges of the poem you found at the factory. You suck in some air as you shakily pour some coffee into the first mug. When you look up, he’s staring at you with intense eyes, his arms are crossed and the light is hitting his face in such a way that makes your heart flutter. 

“I did,” You shortly say, sliding the full mug toward him. He mutters a small thanks under his breath, blowing on the steaming beverage before cautiously taking a tiny sip. “I like it, I guess I sort of resonate with it. New beginnings and what not. I don’t know, I'd like to know how it ends though.” 

When you look up from pouring your own mug full, Joel is looking down at his feet, you notice his eyebrows are furrowed. 

-

“You know how to ride a horse?” Joel grunts as he lifts up the saddle to place on the back of the horse. You’re leaning up against the stable door watching him. The morning air is cool and damp, dense gray clouds quickly came in and it began to drizzle not too long after the two of you embarked from your house to the stables.

“Yeah, I learned at school,” You respond, walking up to the horse and running your hand around its snout. It pushed into your touch, making you smile. “What’s their name?” 

“School? What kind of school did you go to?” Joel sounds shocked, stopping what he’s doing to look at you, his face twisting in confusion. His expression makes you chuckle. You drag in some air before responding, debating on how much you’re willing to tell him. 

“Boarding school,” You finally say before narrowing your eyes and letting go of your breath in a huff. “Long story.” 

“Hm,” Joel initially hums. “Her name is Lucky.”

Lucky.

While Joel finishes suiting up the horses, you wander outside in front of the stable, eventually taking a seat on a damp rock under a tree. The occasional rain drop slipping through the leaves, dropping on the base of your head. As you stare out into the community in the distance, you can’t help but think about your disagreement with Nessa. A sadness overcomes you. This isn’t how things were supposed to be, you think while rolling a rock around in your hand.

“You ready?” Joel asks, emerging from the stable with Lucky trotting behind him. You push your upsetting thoughts to the back of your mind as you stand up from your spot on the rock, a bit of excitement taking its place as Joel hands you the guiding reins. 

Putting your left foot into the first stirrup, you push off the ground with your other leg with all your might. You get about half way up, attempting to throw your leg over to the other side of the saddle, however you fail to pull yourself upright. Letting out a small frustrated groan, you try again, feeling slightly embarrassed. The same thing happens and you fail to pull yourself up. You suddenly hear Joel laughing as he comes out from the stable, already on top of his horse. You meet him with an annoyed glare, narrowing your eyes at him, but quickly exchange it for a quivering smile. 

“What?” You try to straighten out your smile. He slides off of his horse and walks towards you. “Are you laughing at me, Joel Miller?” 

“Let me help you,” He says, still slightly smiling. 

For a moment you think about playfully refusing, however you ultimately decide not to and just move off to the side to allow him to position himself. Joel bends down on one knee and laces his fingers together, just as he did before to boost you through the window at the factory. Steadying yourself by placing one hand on his shoulder and the other flat against the top of the saddle, you put your heel in the center where his hands meet. One, two, three, he says under his breath, pushing you up on three. You get to the same stage as when you previously attempted to get up by yourself, nearly sliding back off the side. Joel quickly gets up, grabbing the back of one of your thighs and pushing you the rest of the way up. An electric volt shoots down your spine, and there goes your heart again; beating as fast as ever. Just as the two of you lock eyes, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and Joel slowly drops his hand, clearing his throat in the process and looking off into the opposite direction of you. 

“Thanks,” You breathily say, dropping your head and grabbing onto the reins. He pats the side of the horse, responding with a barely audible mhm. You steadily watch Joel as he mounts his horse and notice him glance back at you before urging his horse to move onward.

-

When you first set out past the gates, neither of you talk much. The extent of the conversation is Joel telling you where the two of you are heading. At the start, he stays quite a considerable distance ahead of you before realizing how much distance he unintentionally put between the two of you and urgently slows down, letting you come up on his side. He doesn't say anything, just giving you a look of acknowledgement before focusing on the land ahead. You don’t know what to say to him, or even if you should say anything to him. You’re still stuck on the way his hand felt around the back of your thigh, unable to focus on anything else.

In the distance, you notice what appears to be another barn type structure. It’s much smaller than the one inside the community and is considerably more worn down. One side of the roof has completely collapsed inward.

“It’s easier if we leave the horses in there and walk the rest of the way and then circling back,” Joel breaks the silence, the sudden sound of his voice causing your stomach to jump. You acknowledge him with a nod. He turns his head so he’s looking directly at you, looking like he wants to say something. He wets his lips before continuing. “Are you from Texas?” 

“No, just went to school there,” You reply, trying to figure a way to navigate the conversation from before without actually opening up about it.

“And where you learned how to ride a horse, but not how to mount one?” 

“Hey, what the fuck?” You shoot him an offended look accompanied by a boisterous laugh. Joel shrugs, licking his lips in an attempt to hide his smile. “Let me guess where you’re from…” 

“I’m from Texas,” Joel says, hopping down from his horse. You roll your eyes at him.

“And where's the fun in guessing if you’re just going to tell me,” You say in one complete breath, acting as though you’re offended. Joel walks over to you and Lucky.

“Tommy already told you. Do you need help getting down?” He sounds focused, boarding serious now. Without saying anything, you swing one leg over and hop down. 

“You’re no fun,” You shake your head, kicking at the moistened gravel.

“You’re just now figuring that out?” Joel shoots back, his tone lighter than before. 

-

“So, where did we leave off?” Joel is holding an overgrown bush back to clear a path for you to walk through. “So, your school was in Texas where’d you call home?”

You can feel the blood drain from your face as soon as the word home comes out of his mouth.

“Home … um, well I guess Texas became home after a while,” You keep your head down, watching the ground as you walk past him. Your mouth is dry and you can feel your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. “I never really left the school grounds, so. ”

“I-I’m,” Joel began to stumble over his words. He lets you pass in front of him. 

“Tommy said you guys worked together before this.” The only thing you can think to do is change the subject, your mind now feeling heavy. A distant memory of your actual home trying to push to the forefront of your mind. 

“ Shit,” Joel mutters quietly to himself, coming up behind you. “Yeah, we did construction and contracting stuff, at least when he would show up. It wasn’t a bad gig, paid the bills, you know? By the way, the dam isn’t much farther, I just need to check the control buildings, make sure everything is still okay since the last time the guards checked them.” 

His voice carries a softness as he speaks. You don’t say anything in response. The two of you walk side by side, you keep your eyes fixed on the ground.

On your way up to the dam, Joel explains how patrol typically works. There's several groups of guards that get rotated around to different checkpoints on the outer perimeter of the community. The dam gets checked at least once a week, the fencing gets checked daily, there’s some old hunting sheds farther out that are supposed to be checked periodically, however Joel said he’s positive he is the only one who actually checks them out. He went on and on about the different parts of patrolling, but you eventually tune him out, already preoccupied by your own thoughts.

When you reach the dam, your feet are tired and your knees feel numb as your body has already become unaccustomed to walking such rigorous terrains. Joel leaves you at the first control building, stating it would be safer if you stayed back, just in case, in his words. In the meantime, while waiting for his return, you try your best to regain mental equilibrium. Trying to shake the feeling that has remained since home was brought up. It’s a simple question that you know you should be able to talk about, but you have a much more complex relationship with that topic than you think most would be able to understand, even in today’s world. 

Joel returns after a half an hour. You’d be lying if you didn’t admit  you were starting to get worried. Seeing him come up out of the fog in the distance was a relief for you, and you almost nearly completely forgot how you felt when you first arrived. 

“Sorry, that took longer than I expected,” He calls out as you meet him in the middle. Before you can say anything, he walks past you, continuing to cross the dam to the other side. 

-

“What kind of stuff were you into?” You question him, racking your brain for normal questions to ask while you guys walk to whatever the next destination is. Joel lets out a huff of air, taking your question in.

“As in hobbies?” He says slowly, steadying himself on a tree as he passes through a narrow spot on the path. You give him a confirmative nod. “Honestly, not much. I watched movies when I had the time, I used to play guitar in my younger years, but as I got older… I got too busy.”

“With Tommy?” You turn to look at him and see his jaw tighten. He gives you a curt nod.

“Yes, with Tommy and all of his bullshit ,” His voice sounds much darker now. “Your house looks nice, by the way.”

“Thanks, I just got done going through everything inside. It was weird going through other people’s stuff, but, you know,” You confess to him. 

“It’ll take some time, but before you know it, it will feel like home,” He responds in a low tone.

“Maybe,” You say, not convinced anywhere will ever feel like home again. “Did you and Tommy live together before everything? From what he told me, it seemed like you guys have always been really close.”

“No,” Joel shook his head. “He usually spent the night in jail, or he’d stay with whoever he was fu– whoever his girlfriend was at the time.”

“Then you lived alone? Or did you have someone else?” You could hear Joel choke on air, resulting in a quick draw of air. You turn around, thinking something must have happened, maybe he tripped, only to find him in a standstill, both of his hands on his hips, and his face stained red. I just fucked up, you think while starting to panic. “That was stupid to ask, I’m… so- sorry.”

He’s biting down hard on his lip, his chest rapidly rising and falling. It was nearly silent, the only sound was the rustling of the leaves in the slight breeze that took over the rain. You drop your head, reprimanding yourself for not taking a moment to think before you spoke. As you’re staring down at your feet, not knowing what to do, Joel rushes past you. He’s walking fast and you immediately begin to follow behind him keeping your distance and your head down.

The rest of the morning is completed in complete silence, a thick tension lingers between the two of you. You feel awful about bringing up an obviously sore subject, but part of you is curious about his past, how it affects who he is and how he acts. Nessa’s voice suddenly appears in your head, he’s just kind of a loner, there’s something off about him. Drinking by himself, going off on his own, leavin’ and comin’ back… Why is he always running away from Tommy? Why does he always want to be alone? Surely you can’t forget the way he treated you when you first met. You can’t stop your mind from wandering while Joel does his patrol duties. 

Before you know it, you’re already circling back to the barn where you left your horses a few hours earlier. You’ve been so stuck in your own thoughts, you haven’t even realized how much time has passed. 

As you approach the worn down structure, you grab Joel by the wrist, immediately stopping him in his tracks. He doesnt pull away but you feel the tendons in his wrist tighten as he balls his hand into a fist. You pull him back towards you and he doesn’t resist. Before you say anything, you try to get him to look at you, but he’s actively avoiding your gaze. Hooking your finger under his chin, you turn his head towards you, he flinches under your touch, tightening his jaw. Joel relaxes his hand and finally turns to look at you. His eyes are full of sadness.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, I- just for a moment, I don’t know, Joel.” Your tone becomes quieter as you talk. There’s no excuse as to why you asked, it just came out, you weren’t thinking. As you let his wrist slip out of your gasp, he gently grabs your fingers, lightly holding them in his grasp, and he’s rubbing the cold pad of his thumb over your knuckles. You can hear his shallow breathing, and you look up at him with wide eyes, your heart beginning to deeply beat. 

“It’s fine,” He finally says in a whisper, his eyes melting into yours. “It’s just something I can’t – I don’t want to talk about.” 

The two of you stand across from each other, the air is still and everything around you is quiet. Joel returns to actively avoiding looking at you, however remains softly running his thumb over your knuckles. 

“Let’s get you back, I’m sure Nessa’s waiting for you,” He finally says, letting your hand slip out of his.

-

When the two of you reach your porch, neither of you say anything. You don’t quite know what to say, a feeling of tenderness and embarrassment lingers from earlier. Joel brings his hand up to his chin, rubbing it like he’s trying to think of something to say. His eyes are glued to the ground. 

“So, tomorrow?” Joel finally says, clicking his tongue at the end. He’s looking at you inquisitively. 

You’re slightly caught off guard. After your slip up earlier you were afraid he might have completely written you off, never to speak or look at you ever again. 

“Tomorrow,” You confirm with a single nod. A sense of relief overcomes you and you have to force yourself to not smile.

“Okay, good,” He says, taking a step backward. “I’ll stop by in the morning. Have a good… rest of your day.”

Joel slightly smiles before turning away. You watch him as he walks down the pathway leading away from your house. He brings his hand up to the back of his neck before giving a quick look back to you, to which you turn away, not wanting him to catch you, and enter your house. Upon entering, you quickly close your front door and stand with your back against it; you can’t help but smile, this time you don’t try to hide it. This peace and contentment. It’s new.

It’s barely the evening, you aren’t sure what to do with what’s left of the day. You’re not sure you even want to do anything, not after spending your morning with Joel. How is anything going to top that, you shamelessly think. Taking a seat on your couch, you tilt your head back, now staring at the plain ceiling. You let your mind wander, the only thing you can think about is Joel. The sense of calmness he brings you, the way you melt under his touch, the way he looks at you. What are you going to do about him? Nessa’s suspicions were right, you just didn’t want to admit it because you knew she was right about getting close to him. You know that out of anyone, Joel should probably be the last person you want to get involved with, but you can’t stop. Not now. You feel like everything that you’ve developed for him was not of your own doing, it was something deep down inside of you, it just sort of happened, slowly but suddenly. This past week, when you weren’t within his proximity, you thought you had it under control, that you could stop yourself from thinking certain things, and feeling a certain type of way towards him. All of that went away as soon as he talked to you, scratch that, as soon as he looked at you last night. 

You suddenly get up and jog upstairs, going into one of the kids’ rooms you swore you would never enter ever again after you initially went through it. Rummaging through the desk, you’re looking for something very specific; something to write on and something to write with . 

After going through several of the drawers, you finally come across a notebook, it looks like it had previously been used for school, but that doesn’t even register with you in the moment. After a little more rummaging you finally find a stubby pencil. Your head is racing with thoughts as you run down the stairs, planting a spot at the dining table. Flipping over to a blank page, you begin to write:

I feel like there’s no point in telling anyone anything that’s happening inside of me, particularly this one thing. Who knows, maybe a year down the line I’ll look back at this and laugh at myself, but for right now, what I’m about to confess is very real. I don’t know exactly when or how it started, but I’ve come to a realization and I’m truly conflicted on what's right and what’s wrong. It happened so suddenly, before I even realized it happened. Now, I’m afraid it might be too late. The first time Joel looked at me, it felt like everything was burning around us. For a split moment, Tommy wasn’t there; it was just him and I. Now, every time I think of him, it's with the uneasiest tenderness. If I’m being completely honest, it scares me. I’ve been asking myself, how could I have let this happen? Not only with how the world is, but with who he is as a person. A complex man. I don’t know how to explain it but everything is easy when I’m with him. It’s like suddenly everything becomes quiet. I might sound insane, I haven’t known him very long, I can’t formulate any explanation that would make this make sense. I supposed at this point it's pointless to even try to pretend that what I’m feeling isn’t real.

You take a final look at the page, letting out a deep sigh; you feel as though a weight has been taken off your shoulders. You get up out of your chair, looking out the window toward his house at the end of the street. As you place the notebook in the far back of one of the kitchen drawers, you can’t help but to think more about your confession. You fully become aware that no matter what you do, at this point you are already too far gone.

read chapter ten here!

painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings

[esta-elavaris]

Part Seventeen [3,977 words] ~ James Norrington/OC

An AU of my completed, 400k+ word fanfic Catch the Wind [AO3], in which Elizabeth, not James, is the one to discover Theodora Byrne after she crash-lands into the world of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Page breaks by cafekitsune.

Also now on AO3 and FF.net.

Masterpost - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen - Part Fifteen - Part Sixteen - *Part Seventeen*

Tag list [let me know if you want to be added!]: @teawithshakespeare @missfronkensteen @dancerinthestorm

!! Not a new chapter -- I'm just stupidly late in posting this one here.

With the adrenaline and the shock coursing through her, it was impossible to feel the impact of James landing atop her. Yes, she was aware of the shoulder that drove into her chest, and the elbow that dug into her ribs, but there was no pain. Only impact, and breathlessness.

He recovered quickly, rolling off of her to the left, but then he lay as she did, flat on the ground, face tilted up to the heavens, breathing heavily.

Reality came back in gradually, but not yet fully – dripping in with small details, here and there. The stone beneath her, digging into her back and her tailbone. A slow, persistent throbbing sinking into her ribs where his elbow had landed, thrumming in time with her racing heartbeat. And the cold. It was so, so cold. She hadn't been this cold since she was last at home.

Sitting up was a challenge in itself. Her limbs impossible to feel and refusing to comply. The last time Theo lacked control over her body to this extent, Elizabeth found her washed up and fried to a crisp on the beach. Arms trembled and vibrated as she pushed herself up to sit, her lungs worked overtime regardless of the fact that it felt like she wasn't actually getting any of that air at all, and speaking was up there with flying in terms of feasibility. Even her legs, splayed before her, trembled and twitched like she'd just ran a marathon.

One of James' hands clasped hers – gently at first, and then when he seemed happy enough that the tremors were just that, and not an attempt to shake him off, his hold became firmer. She hadn't even noticed he'd sat up, too, until then. His hair fell about his face in dark wet curtains that he watched her intently through, bringing her palm to the sodden chest of his shirt.

"Breathe with me," he instructed.

She would. She'd have to, if she didn't want to pass out. But there was something more pressing first.

"Y-y-y-you…" she had to pause then, gasping for breath and stealing herself to force out the other two words. "…ju…you j-j-jumped…in."

At that, his expression changed – more unguarded than she'd ever seen it, his eyes painfully vulnerable as he sucked in a breath of his own, one that she felt stutter beneath her hand, before he finally responded.

"Of course I did."

Even if she'd been capable of speaking properly, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to find the words to respond to that. The fact that she trembled hard enough to trigger earthquakes saved her from having to try.

When he began to move, it took all of her willpower to stop herself from clinging to him, not yet wanting to be alone for even a single fleeting second. Instead, though, she forcibly loosened her numb hands, and let him draw back, fixing her gaze upon her knees. The water had rendered her nightgown transparent, she realised, and were it not for her modern clothing beneath, she'd be entirely on display now.

Rather than standing up, as she'd expected, or leaving, as she'd feared, James pulled away just enough to reach for the coat he'd discarded before diving in. Dragging it towards them, he pulled it about her shoulders, eyes fixed firmly on the ground behind her while he did so, until she was covered. Despite that, though, she detected no trace of embarrassment on his face. His refusal to look at her was out of respect, rather than his own discomfort.

Once it was about her shoulders, he dipped his fingers beneath the collar, under her hair, and dragged it out from beneath the coat so that it wouldn't remain dripping down her back. As he did so, his own hands twitched against the back of her neck, proving he wasn't so calm as he might appear.

"Y-you should…it's your c-c-coat-"

One firm look silenced her suggestion. Then, however, his features softened, and he took one of her hands in his once more. When it trembled in his grasp, but she didn't pull away, he paused. She expected him to return to their little guided breathing exercise, but instead he lingered a moment, smoothing his thumb across her knuckles. Then, before she could react, he brought it back to his chest, and they breathed.

They stayed out there on their cliff for what felt like mere minutes, as well as an eternity. But soon, as their ability to piece thoughts together in a coherent manner, it became obvious that they had to move if they didn't want to be seen – because being seen would lead to having to answer questions. Theo got the sense that he was in as much of a mood as she was for an interrogation.

As he retrieved her Docs from the beach, she slowly and shakily rose to her feet, pulling the coat tightly around herself and trying to stop her teeth from chattering. When he returned, they walked in a silence that was more dazed than uncomfortable, although he did frequently turn his head to take stock of her, visibly fighting back any offers he might've been tempted to make that would see him carrying her back to Elizabeth's home.

Only when they reached a garden path that was very much not the gates to the Swanns' mansion did she pause, no longer mindlessly following him.

"Your house," she said, her throat dry and words raspy.

"I cannot send you back to sit, alone, in the Governor's mansion after this."

The fact that he knew her well enough to know she'd return and do just that – sit alone, refusing to wake anybody or discuss what had happened – sent a pang through her. Although a pang of what, she couldn't quite place. So she nodded silently, and followed him into his house.

Something about stepping into a house, any house, made everything real. Or, at least, it brought reality back, making all that had occurred that night feel like a strange nightmare that she was now in the process of waking up from.

And that made way for something she didn't expect. Awkwardness.

Evidently, she wasn't the only one feeling it, either. Beside her, James scraped his still-wet hair back from his face, appearing to find the first few steps of the staircase fascinating for a few moments, before he cleared his throat.

"Clothes."

"What?"

"Clothes. Dry ones. I shall…I shall find something for you to change into. If you would wait in the sitting room, the fire should not have died out – in fact…"

Had she not been warring with approximately five-hundred-and-seventy-four of her own emotions, she might've found it funny. How endearingly awkward he suddenly found himself being. Instead, she was just left finding it, well, endearing. She followed him into the sitting room, her boots dangling from one hand and his coat still hanging about her shoulders, and watched as he quickly and efficiently built the fire up enough to last them through to the year of her actual birth.

Then he left the room with all of the speed of someone being hunted for sport. Looking about her, she decided not to risk spoiling his furniture and huddled on the floor by the hearth instead, after depositing her boots in the corner.

Her brain still rebelled against most coherent thought, exhausted by what had happened while still feeling painfully on edge. As she sat, she brought her knees beneath her chin and curled her arms around her legs, almost as if she feared that the shark had decided to follow them onto dry land, and her limbs were still at risk.

When he returned, it was with a white bundle and a blanket, and he blinked when he found her on the floor.

"I didn't want to spoil the furniture," she said quietly.

Whether it was the responding look on his face that had her realising how ridiculous it sounded, or just hearing it out loud, she flushed and looked away.

"Hattie is abed, so I could not ask if she would lend you some of her clothing…"

She was relieved at that. He was doing a good job at pretending what had just happened wasn't as horrifying as it truly was, but she suspected his maid – or anybody else for that matter – would not achieve that feat so easily. If she had to speak to someone who appeared shocked or appalled by the whole thing just now, she'd risk losing her own composure.

"…so I had to select some of my own clothing. It's hardly ideal, but you should at least be warm and, er, decent…"

Theo nodded slowly, wishing she had any idea what to say. Even Miss Manners herself would've been hard-pressed to write down what the exact etiquette for circumstances like these were.

"Thank you," she said – and that would have to do.

"It's no matter. I can…I can fetch us tea. While you change. After I've done so myself."

"I'm all right, thanks."

It appeared the offer was as much to give himself something to do as anything else, seeing as he winced and then replied.

"Whisky?"

"God, yes. Please."

That did a little to break the ice. He smiled tiredly, nodded, and took his leave. Theo rose shakily to her feet, and then paused for a few seconds – mostly to make sure she'd be able to remain standing. She felt a little lightheaded, but her knees held up. And she could at least be grateful that she was too shaken to feel the full brunt of the awkwardness just yet.

After closing the curtains – because the last thing either of them needed were rumours of her kicking about his sitting room in nothing but wide doe-eyes – she turned to what he'd brought. A nightshirt, and a thick blanket. The latter to offer her something resembling modesty rather than warmth, she suspected.

She peeled off the nightgown, and then her sports bra and denim shorts, breathing a sigh at the latter, because denim soaked in seawater was incredibly unforgiving. Parts of her thighs were already rubbed red raw and angry, but given the injuries she'd escaped on this night, she didn't really have it in her to sit and cry over something as minor as that.

Her saviour's height was a double-edged sword as far as the nightshirt was concerned – for while it fell well down to her shins, but this only meant that the chest fell scandalously low, having her looking like something out of a tediously racy period drama before she tightened up and tied the drawstrings there as much as possible. That took her a minute, too, her fingers clumsy and uncooperative.

By the time James returned, she was back on the floor, her clothing folded and set aside. He regarded the bundle with a flush; if she'd had her wits about her, she'd have hidden the shorts and bra underneath the nightgown. Still, the blanket was big enough for only her head and her hands to be visible, as well as her hair, which tumbled in damp waves down her back. Back home, this was the sort of look she'd go for if she was ready for a Netflix binge. But there was a strange sort of comfort to being in this state now. There were few comforts from home she had access to now, and while she doubted he was about to whip out a laptop and ask if she'd prefer Gilmore girls or Downton Abbey, it was something.

Then he presented the bottle of whisky, along with two glasses, and she decided she liked that far better than Netflix anyway.

He'd changed into a dry shirt and breeches, but his hair was still down, combed back from his face in a rather marvellous homage to the wet look. The whisky bottle and the glasses sat atop a tray, which also boasted a roll of bread with a thick golden crust, and a jar of what looked like jam.

At her confused blink, he explained.

"The sugar in the tea would have helped. This is…improvisation."

"You don't have to do this, you know."

"I want to do this," he said firmly.

"…Thank you."

"Please stop thanking me."

The weight of the request was lessened in how he kept up a swift pace of activity as he gave it. Carefully lowering himself to the patch on the floor opposite her, he set the tray between them, then opened the jar of jam, before turning his attention to the bottle.

He poured her glass first, and then one for himself. Theo downed hers in one, only realising he was doing the same when she set her empty one down again. He caught her eye, coming to the same realisation, and there was a moment where – god help them – they snickered. He didn't even lock up afterwards, as she'd expected. Instead, he poured them another helping each.

This time, she made no move to take up the glass again. The only way this night could get more mortifying would be if he had to carry her back to the Swann's mansion because she got too pissed to walk. Instead, she cleared her throat, lowering her gaze.

"I thought they only hunted at dusk and dawn," she explained weakly.

"I believe your knowledge refers primarily to great whites. The one we encountered tonight looked to be a tiger shark. They swim inland at night, in order to hunt."

There was no reproach in his voice. Merely factual observation.

"…Oh."

The one we encountered. At this point, she was fairly certain she'd feel less shit about the whole situation if he'd stood on the shore and shouted encouragement at the shark. The only thing she knew about tiger sharks was that they were one of the most deadly, too. Her face paled further – her nose going numb for how quickly she could feel the blood rushing from her features.

"I'm…" she had to stop and clear her throat. "Captain Norrington, I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry?"

"My stupidity had you jumping between me and a tiger shark on the hunt tonight, obviously I'm sorry!"

"You did not ask me to jump into the water."

"I know-"

"In fact, I recall you rather vehemently insisting that I should not."

"But it didn't stop you!"

"Nothing could have stopped me, Theodora."

For a few seconds, Theo did nothing but stare at him. And he did nothing but stare back. Then, finally, she spoke.

"Of course you did."

Judging by his expression, there was no need for her to clarify that she was echoing his earlier words. Instead, he watched her. Intently.

"Of course you did," she repeated again, "because…because I live here, and you would do the same for any resident of Port Royal? As…as a duty…sort of…thing?"

Nobody could ever accuse her of being eloquent. As she spoke, James lowered his gaze to his lap, fiddling with the blanket he'd brought. Had she ever seen him fiddle before? Silence hung between them, and even though he wasn't looking at her, she could see the response formulating in his face. But then he did look at her, and it all fell away, leaving just one word.

"No."

Part of her – the part that didn't dare trust what was directly in front of her…along with the part that insisted this, every single bit of it, was a terrible idea – was tempted to start searching for more reasons why he might've done what he did. That he was a fan of grand gestures when it came to winning over the pals of the woman he actually was into. That he was practising for his Jackass audition a few centuries early. That he had a fetish for tiger sharks that hadn't made the final cut of any of the movies…although it would've made his stint on the Dutchman a more exciting time for him, if true.

All of those theories died when she saw, when she really saw, how he was looking at her. That was explanation enough.

"That you should sit here thinking it is you that owes me an apology…" he breathed a tired, humourless laugh, shaking his head.

"You saved my life tonight. I'm not exactly in a position to give you the cold shoulder."

"I don't wish for your forgiveness."

"…Oh."

God, but he was the most confusing bastard in this hemisphere and century both-

"No," he rushed to clarify. "I mean, I do wish for your forgiveness. I…I wish for it very much. But not on those terms. Not if it might only be bestowed because you think my actions tonight mean that I am owed it."

"Don't they?"

"They do not. The only reward I sought for what I did was your wellbeing. Your life. Had I been able to sleep tonight…had I not chosen to go walking…" he shook his head as if he hoped that doing so would shake him free of all of those perilous what ifs, "…I will not sit here and offer excuses and justifications for my behaviour that night, not least because you're hardly in much of a state to listen to them, but you must know that my intention was never to embarrass you."

It took Theo less time than he'd probably expected to accept that much from him.

"All right."

"All right?" he echoed disbelievingly.

"Petty crap like that never seemed like your kind of thing."

Which was partly why the move had sent her reeling to begin with. Too bone-tired to dress up her words in eighteenth century speak, she expected them to draw in at least an eyebrow raise, uncouth as her phrasing had been. Instead he huffed a laugh, smoothing a hand tiredly over his face.

"I'm not sure I deserve even that shred of good faith."

Feeling charitable – and mostly not having any heart for an argument – she stayed silent. He took that silence as an opportunity.

"Conversations such as this are hardly within my realm of comfort…" he admitted slowly.

"Crack a joke and avoid the situation, it works glowingly for me," she mumbled, taking a sip of her drink.

Apparently he wasn't content to give that a whirl.

"I am sorry, Theodora. Truly. For the pain and embarrassment that I caused you that night, and…"

He faltered then, pausing to clear his throat, the glow of the fire making it difficult to tell whether he was flushing or if it was just a trick of the light. Theo set her glass down on the tray between them – which he then slid aside, finally meeting her eye again.

"…and for giving you the impression that I do not enjoy your company. Greatly," as he spoke, she knew she already looked like she was doing her best owl impression, but he wasn't done. "If you wish to leave Port Royal, I will do all in my power to see it done…however, unfair as it might be for me to say…I have no desire to see you go."

Something that felt very much like adrenaline returned to her, pushing through the fatigue, but doing nothing to clear the fuzzy static from Theo's head as she stared at him in disbelief. Only after ten solid seconds of that staring did she accept that she really had heard him properly. And that she wasn't reading too far into his words. Because she'd given ample time for him to cough and clarify 'because if you don't, Elizabeth will be pissed off at me' or something along those lines.

When those ten seconds threatened to stretch into thirty, he bowed his head and took a swig of his own drink, having to reach for the tray where he'd pushed it aside. It was that sudden bashfulness that had Theo plucking up the courage to make a confession of her own.

"I've spent the last few weeks trying to rid myself of any feelings I had for you, and all the time beforehand denying completely that they even existed."

"Had?" he echoed, his face only just betraying a hint of downcast as he returned his glass to his tray.

"Does it matter?"

The weakness in her voice gave away that her use of the past tense hadn't been entirely accurate. Despite her best efforts, these last few weeks. Even before that, really, for every very good reason she'd listed to Elizabeth as to why she should not and could not get attached.

"Why would it not?" he asked.

"Because of the very beautiful, clever, brilliant, societally-approved woman up the hill who you'll soon be proposing to," she pointed out drily, before adding belatedly. "Or so I'd guess."

"That guess is mistaken," he replied, voice gentle.

When she stared at him then, he returned the gaze evenly…and softly…and hopefully.

Logic screamed at her to be dismayed. Because this changed everything. Not just on a personal level, but on a grand-scheme-of-things, world-ending, the plans-of-ancient-sea-goddesses scale. And that couldn't be good. Could it?

But Christ, she was tired. And scared. As well as lonely. And she was hearing that the man she had feelings for actually returned them – despite everything she'd been telling herself since her own feelings started to grow. It was difficult to know whether to laugh or cry. Ordinarily she'd have flat out refused to do either, but in her present state (and much to her own horror) she didn't have much say in the matter. So she did both.

A small mercy came in the fact that it wasn't extreme. She wasn't pissing herself with laughter while also sobbing herself into a fit of hyperventilation. No, her eyes misted up, and she breathed a few disbelieving laughs, but they were cut short when faced with the heart-rending sincerity on his face.

"Are you mad?" she asked. "Surely this is…this is what just happened talking, or…or…"

"I am thinking more clearly, as far as this matter is concerned, than I have in months," he insisted.

As he spoke, he leaned forward and clasped one of her hands in his, squeezing gently. The increased proximity that brought about seemed to dawn on him at the same time it did her, and he shifted as if tempted to back up – worried, maybe, that her decision to name him a madman had been a rejection.

But then Theo squeezed his hand back, and he shifted forward rather than back. At first he moved painstakingly slowly, as if to erase any doubt of his intention and leave her time to put an end to it. Instead, her eyes instinctively fluttered shut, one tear slipping down her face thanks to her earlier flurry of emotion, and then his lips were on hers.

By modern standards, the kiss was tame. His lips slotted over hers, one thumb coming up to wipe away the tear that had just fallen, but he did not deepen it – nor did he try to cop a feel, or move the kisses downwards, towards her jaw and neck. None of that surprised her. The way that it knocked her off her feet (or would have, if she'd been on them) did. A sign of the times or of the man, she didn't know, but the way she melted when he drew back a little, only to lose composure and kiss her again - like he was powerless but to do so - could not be ignored.

For it was so very, very dangerous. And she couldn't bring herself to care about that fact.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

I Was Enchanted To Meet You: Part Three

A/N: It's still Wednesday and thus still Day Four of @elucienweekofficial somewhere, right? So we can pretend I'm totally not the worst and super late posting this, right? Aha? In my defense work was a bit crazy and then I went to see the Lion King (the musical) soooooo whoops? I hope everyone still enjoys?

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Lucien

“Alright, you need to leave.”

“What?” Elain asks, blinking those wide, brown eyes of hers and tilting her head.

“I’m sorry, but you need to…” Lucien’s voice trails off, his gaze flitting from the new dress Elain has on to the curtains hanging over the windows just behind her shoulder. What’s left of the curtains. “Did you use my curtains to make a dress?”

“Yes, isn’t it lovely?” Elain answers brightly, not an ounce of shame present in her tone as she twirls around in place. “I just love the pattern.”

Lucien can do nothing but gape at her, can do nothing but blink slowly as Elain continues to smile sweetly like nothing is amiss at all. He’s gone insane. He’s suffered some sort of psychotic break, and this is all just some absurd hallucination. It’s the only explanation.

Lucien closes his eyes and takes a deep, heaving breath. He can feel a hysterical laugh tickling the back of his throat and threatening to burst free. Can feel fires beginning to spark and threatening to spread through his veins, and it takes all of his willpower to douse them. When he opens his eyes again, unsurprisingly, Elain is still there, still smiling sweetly up at him. He hates how much that sight extinguishes those final fires like a soothing balm despite her being the cause of them in the first place.

“Look,” Lucien begins, keeping his voice calm and clutching back to his anger, to the look on Nesta’s face as she left, desperately. “I’ll help you get a car or a bus or a train or hell, even a plane back wherever it is you need to go, but you need to leave, okay? You’ve clearly done enough.”

Elain’s smile starts to slip at that, but Lucien doesn’t have time to hear what she might say in response. He turns on his heel and stalks down the hallway, calling out to inform Willow they’ll be leaving in ten minutes as he passes by her room. When he’s finally behind the safety of his closed bedroom door, Lucien slumps down onto his bed with a sigh and rakes his fingers through his hair. He swipes his phone off the nightstand and dares to send a text to Nesta, but of course, there’s no response.

It’s barely eight in the morning, and already, he’s sure that it’s going to be a long day.

~ * * * ~

When the elevator dings and the doors slide open, Lucien all but herds Elain out of it and toward the glass doors that lead into the offices of the Vanserra firm. Vassa’s head perks up as they step inside, her eyebrows climbing practically to her hairline as she takes in Elain walking beside him.

“Vassa, this is Elain. Elain, Vassa,” Lucien offers when they’re standing in front of the reception desk.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Elain greets, reaching her hand out to shake Vassa’s.

“Likewise,” Vassa answers slowly before turning a bewildered expression toward Lucien, a thousand questions blazing through her eyes.

“I’ll explain later,” Lucien dismisses with a wave of his hand. “Listen, I need you to help Elain get back home. Whatever you need to do, just book her a ticket. Okay? Okay.”

Before Vassa even has a chance to agree, Lucien offers her his best winning smile and walks away, ready for his first meeting of the day. He’s sure Vassa will get him back later, but perhaps Elain’s personality will win her over and ease the sting of the last minute request a bit. He just prays that whatever transportation Vassa books isn’t too expensive, since he’ll clearly be the one paying for it.

Lucien pauses in front of the door that leads into the conference room, taking a moment to gather himself and clear his mind of all thoughts of Elain and his crazy morning. Squaring his shoulders and letting out a quiet huff, he pushes open the doors, ready to take on another round of arguments and hopefully negotiations around this case.

Three hours later and Lucien feels like they’ve finally made some headway on this case. At the very least, there’s less arguing between the couple in question. He and the other lawyer shake hands and agree to draw up their respective papers before leaving the conference room and walking back toward the front lobby of the office.

Elain is still there, sitting on one of the sofas arranged in the seating area and staring at the different fish swimming in the aquarium they have set up there. When Lucien turns his attention toward Vassa, raising an eyebrow in silent question, the redhead merely gestures with her head to encourage him to step closer. Her expression doesn’t seem to promise good news, and it has Lucien frowning. Vassa gestures again with her head, more urgently this time, so Lucien turns and offers a final goodbye to his client, her soon to be ex-husband, and his lawyer.

“What?” Lucien asks when he finally steps over to the front desk. “What is it?”

“Where did you find this girl?” Vassa shoots back instead, chancing a glance toward Elain. “This place she allegedly comes from? Andalasia? It doesn’t exist.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, Lucien, I’m lying,” Vassa says sarcastically with a roll of her eyes. “I called every travel agency I know. Nothing. And when I tried to get more information out of her, she just started talking about a chipmunk that fucking talks.”

“Great,” Lucien sighs, dropping his head down onto the desk in defeat. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Return her where you found her?”

“Very funny. Maybe I can get some more information out of her,” Lucien offers before turning his head back toward Elain and raising his voice. “Elain? Come on. Let’s go get some lunch.”

With a wide smile in his direction, Elain jumps up from her seat, practically floating over to him. He settles a hand on the small of her back to lead her out of the office, pointedly ignoring Vassa’s sarcastic good luck remark as he leads them to the elevators. They step out into the afternoon sunshine and across the street to the park there, Lucien guiding them toward the line of food trucks he knows always set up camp on the other side. He can feel Elain’s eyes on him as they walk, like a brand tingling along the skin of his cheek, but he keeps his own gaze pointedly forward, hands clenched and stuffed deep into his pockets.

“You’re still upset,” Elain notes, finally drawing Lucien’s attention back to her. “Is it about Nesta? She seemed lovely.”

“Well, considering she’s still ignoring my texts…” Lucien comments with a sigh, reaching a hand up and pushing it through the strands of his hair. “I was planning to propose to her, you know, and now I doubt she’ll say yes.”

“A proposal?” Elain practically squeals excitedly. “How romantic. So, Nesta is your true love then?”

Lucien can’t help but laugh at that, at the absurdity of this woman. “True love? There’s no such thing as true love.”

“Yes, there is,” Elain argues, and when Lucien glances toward her, she’s actually scowling. It’s the first time he’s ever seen a negative expression on her face. It’s almost adorable. “Cassian is my true love.”

“Is that so?” Lucien asks dryly. “Tell me about him then. How long have you two been together?”

Elain sighs almost longingly, pressing a hand to her chest. “About two days.”

“You mean it feels like two days because you know each other so well?”

“No, it’s been two days. And tomorrow, it will have been three days.”

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

“Fucking?”

“You can’t be serious. And you’re going to marry this man?”

Elain stops walking abruptly, crossing her arms across her chest. “I told you. It’s true love.”

“So you say,” Lucien mutters, slowing his own steps to a stop as well and mirroring her stance.

“I do say. And how long have you known Nesta?”

“About five years.”

“Five years? No wonder she’s upset. I’d be upset if you made me wait that long for a proposal too.”

Lucien’s mouth drops open in shock at the quip before he recovers himself and scoffs. “Because you know everything, do you?”

“Exactly. I do,” Elain tells him primly, continuing walking down the path through the park. “Although, I’d be surprised if Nesta even knew how you feel about her.”

“Trust me, she knows,” Lucien argues, falling back into step with Elain.

“But how?”

“How?”

“How does she know,” Elain begins to sing, twirling in place with her arms outstretched. “You love her?”

“What are you doing?”

“How does she know, she’s yours?”

“Please don’t sing.”

“How does she know that you love her?” one of the buskers in the park jumps in to join, his musical companions playing the tune on their respective instruments.

Lucien frowns, blinking in surprise at this turn of events. “He knows the song too?”

“How do you show her you love her?” Elain continues to sing.

“How does she know that you really, really, truly, love her?” Elain and the busker sing together, much to Lucien’s shock and confusion.

His bewilderment only seems to grow with every passing minute. Despite his best attempts to keep Elain walking through the park, it does nothing to stop her continued singing, and it does even less to deter the other buskers and general park goers from joining in. It seems everyone but him is familiar with this song, and by the time they reach the center of the park, it’s practically an all out, large musical number complete with singing and choreography. If he thought his morning was insane, it clearly has nothing on this.

“That’s how you know he’s your love,” Elain finishes the song, standing atop the ledge of a fountain with her arms reaching up toward the sky.

Lucien can do nothing but stand there and stare as everyone around him breaks out in cheers. Elain hops down from the fountain and flits around, thanking almost every single person individually, a kindness and openness to her that has warmth thrumming deep between Lucien’s ribs, has a smile tugging up his lips as he watches her.

“There’s no way this is real life,” Lucien mutters to himself.

~ * * * ~

Elain

Despite Lucien’s words about her needing to leave earlier in the day, Elain finds herself back at the Vanserra apartment that evening. Though she’d never admit it aloud, she’s quite happy with the turn of events. She’s certainly happy for the opportunity to spend more time with Willow, but even more than that, there’s something about Lucien that’s burrowed deep beneath Elain’s skin, and she’s not sure she minds.

“I found it!” Willow declares loudly.

Willow clambers out of the kitchen pantry, the bag of brown sugar clutched in her hands. She walks back over to Elain, a big smile pulled across her face while she hoists the bag up in offering.

“Perfect. Thank you,” Elain tells her, taking the brown sugar and setting it down beside their other ingredients.

Willow climbs back atop her kitchen stool beside Elain, watching with wide, enraptured eyes as Elain continues to measure out the ingredients they’ll need. Elain lets Willow hold each measuring cup steady before dumping the ingredients into the large mixing bowl, and when everything has been added, she hands over a wooden spoon for Willow to stir it all together.

“Now, we sprinkle some flour on our hands to keep the dough from sticking,” Elain explains, pulling the bag of flour closer again.

Willow holds her hands out expectantly, so Elain picks up some flour and dusts it over the little girl’s hands. She does the same for her own hands then rubs them together to make sure they’re correctly coated, Willow mimicking the same movement. She demonstrates to Willow how to pick up some of the cookie dough and roll it into a ball, and it doesn’t take long before they have lines of cookies ready to be baked on their cookie sheet.

Carefully, Elain pulls open the oven door and slides the cookie sheet inside. Willow hops down from her stool and presses her face against the closed oven door, excited to watch her cookies bake. Elain smiles at the adorable sight, turning to meet Lucien’s gaze in hopes of sharing in the feelings at the little girl’s joy, but instead she finds Lucien watching her and not his daughter. His smile is soft, russet eyes practically glinting beneath the kitchen lights.

“What’s that look for?” Elain asks, her heart suddenly stuttering in her chest.

In the blink of an eye, Lucien’s face smooths out as he shakes his head. “Nothing. Just… you’re good with kids.”

“You say that like that’s surprising.”

“In a way it is. Unfortunately, there are plenty of people who take… issue with having a kid. Especially when it comes to dating.”

“Dating?” Elain questions, sliding into one of the spare kitchen chairs beside Lucien.

“Something us normal people do, instead of marrying after twenty four hours,” Lucien teases, earning a fond eye roll from Elain as she knocks her shoulder against his. “You do some sort of activity, just the two of you. Usually, you go to dinner, but other things work too. And you talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“Anything really. About yourself, about your likes or dislikes, about your hobbies. That sort of thing.”

Elain hums quietly as she thinks about it. Dating. This place she’s ended up certainly is strange and yet so intriguing at the same time. It had been quite startling at first, but, Elain has to admit that she’s slowly grown quite fond of it, grown quite fond of this little family that has shown her such kindness. Perhaps, she’ll figure out a way to bring this dating back to Andalasia.

Perhaps, she can figure out a way for the Vanserra’s to visit Andalasia.

“I think the cookies are done!” Willow announces, turning to peer at Elain and Lucien expectantly.

“Let’s check on them, then,” Elain tells her, standing up and walking over to the oven.

She grabs the set of oven mitts and carefully pulls open the door, the sweet scent of chocolate pouring out and swirling around the kitchen. Elain pulls the grate out and grabs a spatula, lifting up one of the cookies and checking that the bottom is the nice golden brown she’s looking for. With that confirmation, she gives a decided nod, pulling the cookie sheet fully out and placing it atop the stove top to cool.

“Are they done? Can we eat them now?” Willow asks, pressing up onto her toes and trying to see the cookies.

“We have to let them cool first,” Lucien jumps in to say, undeterred when Willow turns her head to pout at him.

“But I want to eat them now.”

“We don’t want to burn our tongues, though,” Elain reminds her placatingly. “Just twenty minutes and they should be good to eat.”

“Fine,” Willow concedes; although the whine to her voice suggests otherwise.

“How about we play a game while we wait? It will make it go by faster,” Lucien offers.

The suggestion has Willow lighting up with a smile again. She goes running out of the kitchen, and when she returns, she has a small box clutched in her hands, setting it down on the kitchen table with a decided thunk. Elain steps closer so she can read the words on the box, black block letters declaring Uno.

“Don’t worry,” Lucien promises, clearly having noted Elain’s expression. “It’s an easy game to learn.”

Thankfully, his assessment of the game is correct, and Elain picks up the rules and how to play quite quickly. She also finds herself excited as they go around and around for each turn. Every time she proudly puts down a wildcard, every time Willow giggles when she puts down a plus four card that Lucien has to deal with, lightness fills Elain all the way down to her toes. She can’t stop smiling, can’t stop that warm, comforting feeling that blooms in her chest and sets up roots in the space between her ribs. Here, in this kitchen, with this little family, it’s so easy, so comfortable, in a way Elain can’t explain yet can’t get enough of.

Elain gasps as Lucien all but slaps down a plus two card, his second of just this round. “You’re cheating.”

Lucien laughs, light and easy, the sound skittering across Elain’s skin until goosebumps flare in its wake. “I am not.”

“How else would you have two of the same card like that?”

“You’re the one that shuffled.”

“Uno,” Willow declares loudly, breaking up their good natured arguing.

“Clearly, it’s not me we need to be worried about,” Lucien teases, earning a giggle from Willow.

Despite Elain and Lucien’s best attempts to thwart her, Willow wins the round, and she decides her prize should be the now cooled cookies. Lucien organizes and packs up the cards, while Elain makes a plate of the cookies. When that’s finished, all three head into the living room, settling on the sofa there with Willow in the middle and the plate of cookies poised on her lap.

“How do they taste?” Elain turns to ask Willow while Lucien turns on the television.

“Yummy,” Willow informs her around a mouthful of cookies.

“Take that, you foul, metal beast!”

Elain’s whole body freezes at the sound of that voice, at that all too familiar voice. She snaps her attention toward the television, just in time to see Cassian. He’s standing atop a bus, his sword stabbed clean through the roof. Elain can do nothing but stare, a niggling ringing starting to take up home in her ears. She barely even registers the shocked sound that escapes her.

“What?” Lucien asks, the concern clear in his tone. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Cassian.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog​ @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias​ @kookskoocie​ @unlikelypersonalknight1 @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone

[frogletscribe]

Until It Doesn't Hurt

Prologue - Into the Cold and the Dark

Summary: 20 years since the RDA was pushed off of the moon of Pandora, they are back once more. The RDA thinks their only problem is the traitor Jake Sully and his family, but as it turns out, Jake wasn’t the only ‘problem’ left behind 20 years ago. Anthe was a child soldier, stolen from their home and forced to learn the ways of the humans, erasing any of their connections to the Na’vi from before. Finally free from the RDA’s hold after being trapped in cryosleep, and they're about to make themselves everyone's problem.

_____________________________________________

Pairing: Aged Up!Neteyam X Nonbinary!Na'vi!Reader/OC (OC and Neteyam are both around 20)

Warnings: Mentions of Past Violence, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mild Claustrophobia, No Use of Y/N

WC: 1779 words AO3 Link Here

A/N: So I have never posted fic to tumblr before (just AO3), but seeing as i almost exclusively read avatar fics on here, it feels right to post this here too! This piece is fairly short right now, as I'm just getting started, but i hope people like it? I have this and the first chapter already up on AO3 and will get the first actual chapter up here too as soon as I can :)

Next

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It felt like a dream, or perhaps it was more accurate to call it a nightmare.

Everything was chaotic. Alarms blaring loudly and lights flashed an ominous red overhead as Anthe sprinted down the The Ambassador Program headquarters never ending maze of hallways. An order had gone out from the head of the program, John Mercer, himself: Kill all the Na’vi students, leave no evidence that TAP had ever existed. Their teacher had stepped in just in time, shooting down the soldier poised to kill Anthe and their friends, their family, and leading them somewhere safe. That somewhere was a cryo-bunker, out of the way of the rest of the facility. Someplace no one would think to look for the group of Na’vi students. 

Teacher ushered each of the Na’vi into pods, promising to come back as soon as it was safe and free them again. Anthe felt a stab of panic then. What if something happened to the teacher? What if she wasn’t able to free them? What if they became trapped in the small pods? The space was already too small, feeling tighter by the second, glass fogging up under their panicked breaths. But they had no time to voice their concern as the cold and darkness of the cryostasis pod whirred to life around them, sending them into a deep and dreamless sleep.

In the end they may have been right to panic. Teacher had thought she would be able to free them, truly, but she never did make it back.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Anthe woke with a jolt, gasping as they choked on the stale air. They were dimly aware of some mechanical whirring and beeping alarms as the door to their cryo-pod slid open with a loud hiss. Anthe groaned as the artificial lights blinked on, blindingly bright as the Na’vi tried to open their sensitive eyes, their joints and muscles stiff and aching as they tried to move. 

They tried to move out of the pod, scrambling to get out of the too tight space, their legs immediately crumpling under them as they pushed themselves out into the greater room. They panted heavily on the ground, shaking slightly as they waited for their eyes to adjust and breathing to even out once more. The room was quiet save for the whirring of machines. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, making Anthe cough as their movement disrupted its settled state. 

Again, they tried to stand, their whole body feeling weak and strung out. Looking around the room, it was as they remembered when they first entered the cryo-bunker. Eight cryostasis pods lay dormant against the wall. Three of them, including the one Anthe had just tumbled from, sat open, waiting for new occupants. The rest remained closed and dark. 

Anthe staggered towards the nearest closed pod, wiping the dust and grime from the adjoining control panel, pushing at it for any kind of reaction. They could not remember who was in which pods, only that there were five more pods in need of opening. The control panel beeped angrily under their three fingered touch, bright red letters lighting up the LED screen: [ERROR]. Anthe tried again, trying to find an emergency eject, only to be met again with the angry red error message. They moved to another darkened pod, wiping away the dust and grime to try and see who was inside. They were met with only darkness and more error messages. Perhaps the others had already escaped and just hadn’t had time to wake them? But then why were only two other pods open and not all of them? 

Frustrated, Anthe moved to search for something to pry the pods open. They wobbled on weak legs, coughing as they kicked up more dust in their search. Eventually, Anthe was able to find a rusting cro-bar, using it to try and pry at another of the closed pod doors. The metal groaned in protest but did not give. Anthe felt their limbs straining with effort, exhaustion sinking into them much more quickly than they were used to. They took instead to trying to smash the clear cover of the door, hoping they did not accidentally hurt whoever might be inside. They brought the metal bar down hard, which in their current state was not nearly as strong as they had hoped. The cro-bar bounced off of the cover, slipping from Anthe’s hands and clattering to the ground, not so much as a scratch left behind. They tried again, and again, clawing prey at the pod doors, banging on them with all their might. Still nothing gave, the pods held fast.

“Fuck!” Anthe hissed in frustration, dragging their hands though the hair coming loose around their face, their tail lashed being them, agitated. They tried to take a calming breath, inadvertently inhaling more dust and letting out a sputtering cough. They moved towards one of the other open pods, looking for some kind of clue. The pod sat silent, its open door stained as gray and dusty as the rest. The inside was much the same as the inside of Anthe’s pod, a padded bed-like area, but unlike Anthe’s pod, there was a thin layer of dust laid across the padding, as if whoever had been in this pod had left some time ago. Anthe checked the last open pod, similarly sheathed in dust, and then their own pristine pod. Whoever had gotten out had done so some time ago, and it seemed no one else would be getting out any time soon. 

Anthe swallowed hard as reality hit. They were alone. Whoever made it out before  must have tried the same things Anthe did, and found it pointless. They had left, and now Anthe had to leave too. They took a shaky step back, slowly moving towards the door to the bunker. The five remaining dormant pods sat unmoving and silent.

It took some time for Anthe to find their way back to the surface level of the TAP headquarters, not only from their weakened state, but the confusing twist of passages. After what felt like hours, they found their way to an exit, groaning as they pushed heavily into the fresh Pandoran air. Immediately, things felt crisper and cleaner to Anthe, the stale air no longer threatening to suffocate them as they inhaled deeply. It was even brighter here, forcing the Na’vi to squint in the new daylight. It must have been close to midday, the sky a clear and cloudless blue. 

It was then that Anthe noticed the noise. Not the noise of loud machinery, gunfire, and human chatter they had become accustomed to in their years living in the TAP facility, but the noise of the forest. Wind in the trees, birds singing, animals chittering. Anthe looked across the concrete quartyard that laid before them, once a large empty black scar in the middle of Pandora's forest, now littered with cracks and greenery. Moss and vines crawled along its edges like fingers trying to claw their way back to the surface. The building beyond was similarly overtaken by nature. Plants and vines climbed the tall gray walls, trees had sprouted where previously there were none. Anthe could barely recognize it. 

Anthe took their time exploring the area, moving cautiously just in case anything hostile remained nearby. Or anyone, they thought with a grimace. They had no weapons and no real familiarity with the area anymore. If something attacked them, they were completely vulnerable. It wasn’t long before they found the first body, well, less a body and more the crumbling remains of a long dead skeleton. It was an RDA soldier, judging by their size and military gear, with a massive feathered arrow protruding from its back. Further ahead, Anthe could see more bodies with more arrows. Na’vi had been here, attacking the facility. Anthe bent down, wrenching the arrow free, it was better than nothing at least. 

Anthe moved on, picking up any arrows as they went. They would have liked a knife, or even a gun, but none of the weapons left on the RDA bodies were large enough for the Na’vi to be able to comfortably use, so they would have to make do. Instead, they moved towards the Na’vi Training Wing, where any supplies they could use would hopefully still be there. With the grace of a dying hexapede, they managed to pull their tall form through a broken window, collapsing onto the floor of the Na’vi sleeping quarters.

Like the bunker, much of the room was layered in dust and detritus, having been untouched for some time. Vines had crawled their way into the room through the window, dominating the walls and most of the ceiling. Anthe pushed themselves up with a grunt, their five newly acquired arrows, still clutched in one hand. They would need a better way of carrying them. On tired hands and knees, they searched the room for anything useful. A backpack, small first aid kit, duct tape, a utility knife, an empty canteen. It wasn’t much, barely the basics, but it would do. They would need to see if the shooting range had anything useful laying around. With any luck their favorite sniper rifle might still be laying around.

Anthe shoved the gear into the backpack, strapping arrows to the side of the bag for later and testing the knife in their hands. It was Tenak’s, their oldest brother. It was laid out on his pillow right where he’d left it when they’d been called to lessons for the day. He had been the eldest child taken for The Ambassador Program, and the unofficial leader and big brother figure to the rest of the children. When the humans had stripped them of all their connection to their clans, their clothes, their charms, their songcords, Tenak had been the one to soothe them. When they had been forbidden to speak their mother tongue in favor of English, Tenak had kept it alive in secret. Anthe had been proud to be his second in command, proud to call him brother. Absently, Anthe wondered if Tenak had been in one of the open pods in the bunker, or if he was still in there, waiting to be freed. Anthe stood, shaking the thought from their head as they saddled the bag onto their back. They had no idea what had happened, how long they had been asleep, or even if there was anyone in those pods anymore. Right now, they needed food, a safe place to shelter, and clean water, and they were not going to spend another second trapped in an RDA prison.

[oohnotvery]

I’m enjoying Wherever is Your Heart, but can’t find chapters 6 and 7…can you help me out? I’m fairly new to tumblr.

Oh, hi! I'm so sorry. I may not have posted those, oops. Here they are. You can also find my whole story on AO3. Thank you so much for reading!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52337698/chapters/132400432

Chapter 6

Scully’s not answering her phone. It’s half past five on New Year’s Eve and he’s kicking himself for not making official plans with her, for assuming she’d be free on one of the busiest nights of the year.

But he has to try. Their reservations are at eight, and if he wants any chance at making them, he’s got to see if she’s even home.

When he pulls up to her apartment, he can tell she’s home because her lights are on. That makes him frown a little because he’s called her house phone four times since this morning. When he’s walking up the steps into the building, he spots her car in her spot and his frown sinks deeper. He wonders why she’s avoiding him. They’ve barely spoken over the past few weeks; Jesus Christ . . . what if she’s mad at him?  

At her door, he listens for a second to see if he can hear whether she has company. Maybe her mom came over and that’s why she’s ignoring his calls.

Hearing nothing, he knocks rapidly—shave and a haircut.

A few seconds pass and nothing happens, so he knocks again, this time louder.

More time passes. He’s starting to get impatient and considers opening the door with his key, but that seems rude for a first date. He tells himself to be polite and knocks once more.

“Hey, Scully! It’s me, open up!” he shouts, hoping her neighbors are away.

That seems to do the trick, because seconds later, he hears the padding of feet across hardwood and then the lock clicking in the door. He straightens himself slightly, suddenly self-conscious of his well-to-do outfit, and plasters on a small smile.

Scully looks shocked to see him, and he can’t help the way his jaw drops upon seeing her. She is wearing the tiniest pair of white satin shorts he’s ever seen, coupled with a very thin matching satin camisole, through which he can clearly see her nipples.

For a moment, they just stutter at each other, two pairs of cheeks turning bright red. Finally, Scully manages to open her mouth.

“Mulder, I wasn’t expecting you,” she says thickly, nervously swiping a strand of hair behind her ear. He’s just now noticing that her hair looks rumpled and unkempt, like she’s just woken up from a nap.

“Are you feeling okay?” he blurts out, cocking his head. “Are you sick?”

She blinks. “Sick? No, Mulder, I feel fine.”

He clears his throat awkwardly. She’s blocking the doorway with her body and hasn’t yet invited him in. This is it. This is what he practiced. “I was wondering if you had plans tonight,” he starts. “I tried calling, but you didn’t answer. I guess you’ve been sleeping. But if you don’t have plans, I was thinking we could—”

His sentence peters out as a figure emerges from Scully’s living room. Whoever it is passes behind her quickly, but not so quickly that Mulder can’t tell that it’s a man. A half-naked man. There is a half-naked man walking around Scully’s apartment.

His eyes dart to hers in confusion and she dips her head, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I have company,” she says quietly, glancing up at him very quickly. Her skin is so red it looks sunburned.

He feels all the air leaving his lungs, like he’s been punched in the gut. It all comes crashing down around him.

“I . . . see,” he finally says, his voice cracking under the pressure. “Ah, never mind then.” He needs to dip out gracefully, he realizes. He needs her to not cotton on to the fact that he’s wearing a nice suit, that he has a fresh shave, that he’s wearing his most expensive cologne. He needs her to not realize how desperate he was to make this night happen. He needs to get out.

And now.

Chapter 7

It’s Tyler.

She’s dating Tyler. Agent Tyler Meyer, who might possibly be the most handsome federal agent in D.C. He’s got thick, glossy dark curls and sharp bright blue eyes that match her own. They are beautiful together, radiant, even.

Mulder catches them kissing in the lobby one afternoon when he steps out for coffee. With Tyler, Scully seems to glisten. Her smile as he presses his lips into hers is the real deal. She shows her teeth as she steps back from Tyler’s embrace, a very rare thing in his world.

She hasn’t mentioned Tyler to him, hasn’t ever brought up New Year’s Eve. Whether or not she realized he was planning to take her on a date isn’t clear to him either. For all he knows, she just thought he was there to drag her out on some mindless casework again.

A few days after her birthday in February, he notices that she’s wearing a new ring. It doesn’t appear to be an engagement ring, and it’s thankfully not on her left hand, but it’s a ring nonetheless. Silvery, sparkly, with some sort of green gemstone in the middle. In all its audacity, it looks nothing like what Scully would choose to wear, but here she is, wearing it.

A heaviness hangs low in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Tyler giving her a ring. They’ve only been dating for what, two months? Three? Who moves that quickly? Hell, he’s known Scully for years and has never given her a meaningful piece of jewelry. Well, apart from a keychain.

The ring eats at him all day.

That and the fact that she’s moved on from him so quickly. Did he not move fast enough? Hell, he tried to take her out on New Year’s Eve—just a short week after the Christmas party. He isn’t quite sure what more he could have done.

All hell breaks loose when she tells him she’s too busy to go out to a field site with him on a Saturday morning.

“I have plans with Tyler,” she announces firmly, avoiding his gaze. 

He blinks. “I didn’t realize Agent Meyer had earned a spot at the top of your priorities list, Agent Scully.”

She scowls but doesn’t bite.

He shifts around in his seat uncomfortably, stuffing papers in his briefcase and trying to ignore the quick upwards shift of his blood pressure.

“So, when were you planning on telling me?” he finally asks.

“Telling you what?” she asks without looking at him.

He glowers. “About you and Agent Meyer.”

Scully sniffs. “I assumed you already knew.”

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and studying her from a distance. She looks prim and unbothered, but he can tell he’s riling her up. Underneath that pretty, polished façade sits an anger writhing to get out. It makes him angry too. Goddammit, why is she doing this? 

His stomach clenches painfully as he thinks back on the night of the Christmas party. “Isn’t Agent Meyer the same man that tried to take you home at the Christmas party, Scully? Cause he seemed pretty intent on getting you into bed with him.”

At that, she shoots him a warning glare, her bright eyes flashing. “What if that’s what I wanted, Mulder? Someone who actually wanted me that night?”

He sucks in his cheeks, feeling his blood pressure rising.

“Wanted you enough to take advantage of you when you were three sheets to the wind? Gee, that doesn’t sound like a very strong foundation for a budding relationship.” He jumps up, coming to loom over her. He can tell he’s about to make a bad decision by the way his chest constricts. Below him, Scully’s spine stiffens. “It seems like you’re moving on pretty fast for someone who wanted to jump into bed with me that same night. Or did I get that wrong?” He leans down into her space, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her perfume. “Or was it someone else begging me to fuck me, Mulder, please, fuck me that night?”

Her mouth drops open in disbelief and a red flush shoots down her cheeks and chest. He half-expects her to stand and yell at him or maybe even shed a tear or two. Hell, he knows he’s overdue for a slap to the face. At this point, he’s just desperate for some reaction. Something that will get her to talk to him about that night.

But she doesn’t do any of that. She barely reacts at all. Instead, she stands very slowly. The only tell that she is angry at all is the nervous tremble of her hands as she gathers her briefcase and collects her things.

With the slightest nudge to his arm, she moves him out of her space, just enough so that she can pass by. Her eyes don’t even rise to meet his.

And then she’s gone, and he’s left with an indescribable self-hatred in his chest.

[twobraincellkentwell]

A Game Called Revenge

Clio's revenge has been planned out perfectly ever since the words existing victors left the president's mouth. Nothing will go wrong and everyone she will finally get what they deserve. For revenge is a dish best served drenched in the blood of those who try to stop you.

Book One of Five - COMPLETED

Follows Clio and Cato in the Quarter Quell, with the subsequent books to acting as prequels to follow them in their separate games, and the war they never wanted to be involved in.

This may also be posted on my AO3 and wattpad accounts under the same username: twobraincellkentwell.

READ ON AO3 HERE. COMPLETED

MASTERLIST PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE PART SIX PART SEVEN PART EIGHT PART NINE PART TEN PART ELEVEN PART TWELVE** PART THIRTEEN PART FOURTEEN PART FIFTEEN PART SIXTEEN PART SEVENTEEN PART EIGHTEEN PART NINETEEN PART TWENTY PART TWENTY-ONE PART TWENTY-TWO PART TWENTY-THREE PART TWENTY-FOUR PART TWENTY-FIVE PART TWENTY-SIX

RELATED WORKS

Prequel (74th Games) Prequel (73rd and 72nd Games) Sequel (76th Games ;) onwards)

IMPORTANT SERIES INFORMATION

The timeline has clearly been altered for this series. Cato wins the 72nd and Clio wins the 73rd. A side relationship with Luna and Finnick is also featured.

This story is mainly set in the Quarter Quell arena but obviously involves some chapters and scenes in the relevant districts. I'm using some canon and it will largely follow the plotline of both the Catching Fire book and movie, but I'm going wildly off script given that the books aren't written from Katniss' POV and since she isn't the most reliable narrator when it comes to things outside of District 12, I've given myself lots of creative freedom and created lots of relevant district lore.

This book started out as a short fic but ended up turning into a whole series. I am planning on having five books revolving around Clio and Cato so you'll just have to trust the process a little. Yes the order of having the Quarter Quell in the first book is a little unusual, I promise it will all make sense in the end ;).

[sailorsplatoon]

Chapter 5 of a Dedf1sh fanfic I wrote

I meant to post this yesterday, but its fineeeee. This one might be simultaneously my favorite and least favorite chapter.

Also, a little announcement! I have an ao3 account now, so if you would rather, you can read this fic on there. Here's the link! I will likely post all the chapters on here, along with on there. I may or may not also make edits on the version on ao3. (The storyline itself will not be different, so don't worry! Also, this has a title now! It's This Forgotten Melody!)

Also, remember how I said this fic was super short? Yeah, this is the second-to-last chapter. I apologize if you were hoping for a longer story, but I hope that you can still enjoy it!

First

Previous

Next

Read it on ao3

Chapter 5 below!

(TW: memory loss, vomiting, mention of blood, mention of medical procedures, swearing, also I'm not sure if sanitization counts as major character death but I thought I'd put it here just in case)

Pop! Ahato shot as many balloons as they could. They’d been struggling to beat this test for a long time, but they were certain they could finish it today. They’d been taking a short break— maybe a little over a week?— and they were ready to try again. They leapt over the washers as they approached. Jump, splat, dodge, swim, almost there. The last few crates were coming up, they’d never made it this far before. And… BAM! Ahato finally completed the test! They super jumped back to the station platform to receive their mem cake. 

Ahato’s hearts sank into their stomach. No. Not this memory. Anything but this memory. They ran back to the train, hiding the small spongey figure in their hand so they didn’t have to see it. They couldn’t do this. They didn’t want to have this memory anymore, it hurt too much. Ahato took a seat on the train, refusing to make eye contact with Iso Padre.

“Ahato, is something wrong?” He asked, worried for their wellbeing. They didn’t answer. They could barely hear him with how loud their thoughts were. 

The train pulled into the central station and they stood up, dropping the mem cake on the floor behind them. It showed a young octoling wearing a beanie with a similar symbol as Ahato’s hat.

1 watch the tears roll down your face.

1 w1sh 1 could do th1s with grace.

You learned that 1 must leave th1s place.

Their little brother. They’d vaguely mentioned him, but it seemed like they missed him desperately. It was only then that Iso Padre realized why they were at the central station. He shouted, “Ahato wait!” But the doors closed before he could reach them.

Ahato’s boots clunked along the station platform. They had left their duffel bag on the train, full of all their stuff. Shit. It was fine. No going back now anyway.

“Get rid of these memories, please. I want to just focus on my music and nothing else. It’s been eight days, right?” Ahato faced the telephone, their legs tumbling. Were they really making the right choice?

“Awesome sauce. The doctors will lead you to the right room.” The phone’s manner of speaking sounded unnatural for its monotone, electric voice. Two green octolings seemed to appear out of nowhere to escort Ahato to wherever they were supposed to go. These octolings were dressed differently than the ones they’d met in the tests. Rather than the military uniforms Ahato was used to, they wore white masks and lab coats. 

They walked in eerie silence. Ahato’s body trembled, but they couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or fear. They were ready to not have the emotions and trauma holding them back, but at the same time they couldn’t help but think of Iso Padre’s warning. No, they were going to do this. They had to stop being such a coward. They were always such a coward. They were too scared to fight, too scared to leave the army before Marina did, too scared to try to find their family, too scared to do anything. They didn’t want to be afraid anymore. Ahato had been so lost in their thoughts that they hadn’t even noticed they’d arrived at a train. This one had just one car and looked nothing like what Ahato had ridden on before. It was a grey monochrome and devoid of the graffiti that they’d become so accustomed to seeing on the trains here. Ahato had expected to walk in and be greeted by another sea cucumber conductor, but the only other beings in the car were the octoling escorts. The train slowly began to move, despite the fact that Ahato hadn’t seen anyone operating it. 

Just a few minutes later, there was a loud screech as the train came to a halt. The doors slid open to reveal a another large set of doors just a few feet away from the train. Surrounding them were concrete walls, the only light being the lamp posts carefully placed in the  corners of the concrete prison. A scanner near the door beeped as one of the octolings placed an ID badge near it and the lock clicked open. They held the door for Ahato as they slowly trudged through. All three of their hearts were beating so loudly they could cause an avalanche. They walked through yet another set of doors. It felt as though the passageways themselves were telling Ahato to turn back. They entered what looked like an operating room for an autopsy. There was no cot, just a large metal table that one of the octolings gestured for them to lay down on. It was cold and uncomfortable, even the barracks in the army were better. 

“Hey is there any chance that I could get a more comfortable-”

“Don’t flip your wig already, [SLANG NOT FOUND]! You won’t even know the table’s there once we start this process to the max!” The phone’s horrible use of slang interrupted Ahato’s request. They thought it was still at the station, but lo and behold it was sitting at the other end of the room. Maybe it was similar to how there were multiple C.Q. Cumbers? “Now just chillax while the docs prep for your sanitization.”  

There was a sudden sharp pain in Ahato’s arm as an octoling jabbed them with an IV tube leading to a bag full of some strange liquid. It was a vibrant blueish-green. Ahato had never seen anything like it before. It was so beautiful. They felt dizzy the instant it entered their arm. The cold table met their back before they’d even noticed they fell over. The burning was intense, as if their skin was going to melt off, but miraculously, it didn’t hurt. They knew they were in pain, but it wasn’t painful. They welcomed it. In return for their cooperation, they were rewarded with instant relief. Ahato had no clue what the liquid was, but it was extremely relaxing. They felt the tension in their muscles release and their hearts begin to slow. The shadow of the telephone blocked out the florescent lights as they let sleep fall over them.

***

A blur sat over the world like a thick fog. Ahato kneeled on a floating platform in a vaporware abyss, vomiting. But rather than the contents of their stomach being old food and gastric acid, it is a continuous flow of small spongey mem cakes. Each one that poured out of Ahato’s body pulled a new pain out with it. Some they recognized, and some entirely new. As they spewed from their body, they dissipated in some different, more violent form than the next.

A pair of scissors.

A routine ha1rut, no b1g deal.

Snip my tentacles w1th your steel.

Create a new Ach1lles’ heel.

Ripped in half.

The ghost of an octoling.

For my f1ngers, your blood a sheet.

1 stress to keep your heart a-beat.

But soon 1 must adm1t defeat.

Falling down down down through the floor.

An inkling with long green tentacles dressed in a bright traffic vest.

A squ1d, 1nkl1ng, my enemy.

1s 1t fun to hurt so many?

For th1s you w1ll face penalty.

Cackling as they superjump away from piles of corpses.

A young octoling wearing a beanie with a symbol on it that Ahato knew they recognized, but couldn’t quite figure out from where.

1 watch the tears roll down your face.

1 w1sh 1 could do th1s with grace.

You learned that 1 must…

Leave.

1 must…

They crushed this one with their own fist.

1 must let myself forget.

***

“Don’t give them too much, we want a DJ not a dead fish,” the mechanic voice slowly pulled them back to consciousness. It wasn’t speaking how it used to. It used some new dialect that they didn’t recognize, but could still somehow understand. 

They couldn’t move. They couldn’t speak. Even coherent thought was difficult. 

“Twelve,” they managed to force some noise out of their mouth. Why twelve? They didn’t have time to fully consider why that was the word they chose because the thought had already been pushed away to make room for the blissful emptiness once again.

“They’re awake,” the monotone voice continued and their eyes slowly began to focus on the telephone. “How do you feel?”

“Four,” was the only thing they were able to make themself say.

“Get to your turntables, and get to work,” the phone instructed. They slid off the metal table, their boots clunked along the concrete as they made their way to the train.

***

They pulled the headphones over their ears and began to toil at the turntables. They worked fast. No distractions, no mistakes, no emotion. It was perfect.

#0 shell - for what they were before

#1 progress - for what they made

#2 ripped - for why they did it

# 3 [ERROR] - f̴̦̼̉̾̃̔ȍ̸͕̞̰r̷̨̠͉̆̃͜ ̸̤̝̻͂̏͘ẉ̶̳̽͗̋ḩ̷̹̀ả̴͍ţ̷̃̂͝ ̴̛̻͔͊͒̊t̸͓̘́̕͠h̴͔̰̹̞̋͑̌̈́è̴͉̣͎̲͂̅͒y̴̺̫͂̈́͌͝ ̵̨̝̳͒ḷ̸̺̣͊͊͘o̶͕͂s̷̼̀̊̉t̸͔̞̃̇̍̐

#4 dunno - for how they felt

#5 thirsty - for its lust for more

#6 frisk - for what they missed

#7 [DATA LOST] - f̴̣̎̽ȍ̷̙͓̰̔r̴̮͈̯̼̃̈́̀͠ ̵̜͖̽̄̕w̷̻̖̿̂́h̵̼̰̽õ̵͉̩ ̴̫̅̇̽ţ̶͈̇̒ḩ̵̅e̷̞̿̔͜ý̴̭ ̴̰͓̲̈́̋l̶̺̽̾ë̸͙̼́̒̒f̸̱̽͒t̷̞͈̑ͅ

#8 regret - for their rare thoughts

#9 party - for the chaos of their dreams

#10 [ACCESS DENIED] - f̴̫̥̬͆ó̸̜̏̽r̸̙̣̦̔̃ ̵̧̛̳̟͕̊w̸̨̠̩̮̍h̷̥̝̄͜a̶̮̼̦͛̕ṭ̵̬̻̐͑ ̷̰̎c̵̢̜̼͝ơ̵̙̅̉̔ͅū̷̠̀̕͠l̵̡͍͎͌d̶̦̩̃̈́͂̏ ̷̗͓͐̾h̵̗̹̟͆͂̈́͠a̴̡̝͔̽̏v̸̦̼̈́e̷̺̼̊̐͂̾ ̷͖̈́̄̚b̶̗̒́̐͠ẹ̵̗̈́́͌͘e̸̺̋̽̇n̴̥̞̄̋̓

#11 above - for where they wish they stayed

#12 awake - for what they are

# 13 shade - for their death

#14 crush - for their life

#15 [SLANG NOT FOUND] - f̵̰̒̄̀̔ö̸̯͇́r̴̪̠͝͠ ̴̡͙̠̞͗t̴̠̭̯̋ẖ̸̈́̐̽ͅe̶͔̟̞̲̔̈i̸͙͉͔̋̓̓r̷̦͍̪̄ ̴̟͔̾m̴̧̭̻̈͌́́͜i̸͉̰̲͓̊s̴͈͘͝ṯ̵̢̩͈̌a̵̡̫͆̿̉͝ǩ̶̡̖͕͂͝e̸̫̔͆ś̴̖̙̬͛̃

#16 salty - for their fights

#17 [INSUFFICIENT ID] - f̴̠͗̑̇̑o̵̙͑͛͒r̶͇͋̈́̐̑ ̵̻͌t̶̡͍̟͙͝h̶̘̺̖͒̓͗̀ỉ̷͕́̆̄ȅ̵̻̑r̸̫̓̏͐ ̷͉̑ṕ̸̖̒̕ŕ̸̳͍̳̦͗͊ĕ̸̛̮̩̯͠ͅd̵͕̱̻̐e̵̮͔̰͋͂̉̈́c̴̭̯͈̃̈́͘e̴̝͇̠͍̾̌s̶̨̨̜̊̕͠s̵̮̭̉̊͝o̷͇̐r̷͔̜͎̙̆s̵̨̢͆͆̌̔

#18 [FILE DELETED] - f̵̟͕̙͗̀̾̃o̷͕͖̊r̷͍͔̾͝ ̴͕̽̉ẃ̸̹̳͝h̵̤̭͈͚̒͑͆a̵͛͜͝t̵̨̼͈͊̅͝ ̵͉͇͙̌͒̍͐ͅt̶̡̬͍̞̏͌̌̀ḣ̶̛̰̼̞͉e̷͓͍̐y̸̥̎̏ ̷͖̀ĝ̴̱̫̊a̴̧̓̑͝î̷͈̱͜ń̷̢̝̬̃̄̚ȅ̵̗̻̞̠͐̋d̸̺̰̹̼̅

#19 bless - for how they should be

Splattack! (Octo) - for who they are

It was finished. Their album. Their magnum opus. Created by-

Created by… They’d forgotten their name. What had happened that caused them to forget their name? They weren’t particularly broken up about it. They needed a DJ alias anyway. DJ Dedf1sh. It seemed right. They wouldn’t have any luck thinking of something else anyway, they could feel the thought already being washed away. It suited their music. Simple and perfect and empty. DJ Dedf1sh.

[pipermca]

Writing Year in Review - 2023

I have to say, 2023 was an odd year for me.

I finally made it to TFCon again (after taking a long hiatus during the pandemic), and it was absolutely lovely to see everyone. I got to meet some new folks face-to-face, and meet up again with people I'd met in 2019. Spouse came with me this time, and he had a pretty good time (despite only being a TF fan via osmosis).

We did no other travel, though. Part of that was because we got a new cat, so we're back to needing to make kenneling arrangements before going anywhere. And as much of a joy as our cat is, that has made travel a little more inconvenient.

I had some major disruptions at work this year, completely upending the end of my summer and start of fall. As a direct result of this, the coming year is going to be extremely challenging work-wise as I get caught up on some things. Hopefully by late summer 2024, the pressure will be off and I can relax again (back into my usual level of work-related stress).

I also had my first round of Covid in 2023, which absolutely sucked. F minus, not recommended. I came very close to going to the ER during the worst of it, and the aftermath continued to kick my ass for months. The fatigue and brain fog was real, but the other health issues that it produced are still with me. Thank god for vaccines; I don't know how things might have gone if I hadn't been vaccinated.

In the coming year, I am going to try to focus on being kind to myself, both mentally and physically. Part of that is going to include the expectations I'm setting for myself for writing.

In December, I wrote 5,500 words, most of it in the story I've started posting, A Matter of Propriety. The story is still being posted (and I need to finish writing it!!) and I'm hoping to keep up my once-a-week posting schedule. If I can't make good progress on the next chapter this week, I'll probably drop into an every-other-week schedule instead, just so I can maintain my chapter buffer. (The story will likely have eight chapters total.)

For the year, in 2023 I wrote 62,502 words. Most of that was on A Matter of Propriety and Again and Again and Again (my TF Big Bang fic). However, I only posted 24,184 words to AO3, split between 4 completed works. (A Matter of Propriety will finish in 2024, so its stats will eventually count for that year.)

Most months I didn't set a specific word count goal, and that's ok. But possibly as a result, my output was all over the map. The two major peaks are in April (when I did the bulk of my Big Bang fic writing), and July (when I got a smutty fic idea and banged (hah) it out really quick).

Like always, my average words per hour is pretty consistent, although not as much as in previous years. Still, it shows that when I do sit down and write, I get consistent work done.

As I mentioned, I didn't make specific writing goals most months, but when I did, I never reached them. That tells me I am setting my goals too high, and I need to be more realistic.

As for the goals I set for myself for 2023, I did pretty awful. 😅 Again, I think I was just setting expectations too high for myself.

Finish Sun and Moon (working title) Nope. I barely worked on it at all.

Finish one Sparkr story (any of my bunnies or WIPs!) In progress? Call this 50%.

Write two comic scripts for practice Nope.

Make more progress in IDW2 reviews Nope, 0% progress made.

Finish The King and the Bounty Hunter Barely worked on this, either, so no.

Rewrite/repost stories that I took down. Call this 50% done.

When chatting about this with a friend last night, I realized that THREE of my goals were basically "finish this longfic." Considering how much brainpower longfics take, it's no wonder I failed. So as part of my "be kind to myself" vision statement 😅 I'm going to focus on do-able goals, with one "stretch" longfic goal.

Write two comic scripts for practice

Finish reposting taken-down fics

Write and post three one-shots

Start posting Sun and Moon (working title)

My rationale for these is: I really want to practice scriptwriting. I really want to finish getting those old fics back up in a better format. I LOVE the instant quick gratification of getting a short story written and posted. And the stretch goal is to start posting Sun and Moon. If I'm starting to post it, that means I am confident about finishing it. ✨

Behind the cut is the first sentence of each of the stories I posted (sans the reposted fics, since those were all backdated to their original posting dates), and the month it was posted in. I wish everyone a happy and safe 2024!

August. Sharing is Caring. "That's it… There you go." The words were whispered into Bluestreak's audial.

August. Plans in Plans. The tiny dot in the distance grew in size as it approached, until Megatron's optics were able to resolve it into the shape of a Seeker.

September. Again and Again and Again. Create log file.

November. A Nice Set of Wheels. "So who is this guy, again?" Mirage asked, slipping between a box truck and a van.

December. A Matter of Propriety. Orion picked up his comm pad for approximately the thousandth time since being shown to his table, and checked it for messages.