#the most impressive thing is that none of them woke her up

[journey-to-the-attic]

Ik lost baby teeth what are everyone's reactions

in a world where demon bodies don't do anything adjacent to that: lucifer and satan have already done their research and were prepared, and then everyone else freaks the FUCK out

kids lose their first teeth at around 6-7 i think? at this age ik is just about starting to speak regularly, so she'll have told at least zhao about the wobbly tooth, who would then have told lucifer, and probably also solomon and simeon at one of their mum-cafe-dates

the other brothers were not told about it. lucifer is peacefully doing work in his office when the other five burst into his office in varying states of distress (beel is mildly concerned, levi is acting like she's about to DIE) and it takes way longer than it should to calm them down

from what lucifer can glean, the sequence of events was as follows:

belphie gave ik an apple and the tooth fell out when she tried to bite into it

belphie freaked out and yelled for beel, and also attracted asmo and levi because it's the most frightened any of them have heard belphie sound in years

belphie, at this point, was holding ik's entire head in his hands and trying to figure out what's going on, and ik was just standing there calmly with blood gushing out of her mouth

(it's actually a very minimal, normal amount of blood for a baby tooth that's been pulled out, they're just that stressed out)

the sound of the others panicking and shouting over each other summoned mammon and satan, the former of whom promptly lead the charge to lucifer's office, and the latter of whom quickly freed ik from belphie's vice grip before he could haul her off with them

while the communal chaos is going on in lucifer's office, satan calmly gets ik cleaned up, but is surreptitiously avoiding looking at or touching the loose tooth the entire time because it really freaks him out

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Finale!

summary: the Christmas Party is finally here! … and you and Negan are not on good terms

tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Flirting, Kissing

word count: 7.1k

A/N: this is the final chapter! thank you to everyone who's read this and left comments!! For some reason, I always hesitated doing multi-chapter fics because I didn't think my writing was good enough to keep people captivated for more than one chapter but this has given me a serious confidence boost! and that's thank to all of you!

Merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy!!!

Negan doesn’t know if you can be pussy whipped when you’re not getting any pussy, but damn that’s exactly how he feels with you.

He’s always been a fan of temporary pleasures, quick fixes for the emptiness that gnawed at him. He wasn’t interested in long term or relationship—at least, not in the way most people understood it. Love was something people with hope clung to. 

And Negan? He had lost hope a long time ago.

He’s had women, plenty of them, but none of them have ever meant more to him than a night of fleeting connection. Negan never made a fool of himself ice skating for some pussy, nor has he ever wined and dined them.

And he would say he still hasn’t, mainly because that would mean referring to you as just another piece of pussy. And no matter how hypocritical it may be, he doesn’t like that.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you can penetrate the walls he’s spent years putting up. You’ve never been impressed by his bravado or his flirting. 

No, instead you’re the sweet type. You like the little moments, the playfulness, the cheeky texts neither of you should be sending during work hours.

Negan’s known it for a while now. He doesn’t want you like the others. He doesn’t want a night away or a quick fix. He wants the ice skating, the banter throughout the work day, the hot chocolates and dinner dates. 

Fuck, all you’ve given him is a kiss and Negan’s smitten. 

Waking up the morning after your sweet kiss, you’re the first thing that pops into Negan’s head. More specifically, it’s you in his truck, his leather jacket over your shoulders and eyes crinkling at the corners as you laugh at some dumbass joke he made. 

He woke up alone, having gone home the night before and spent an hour on the phone to Mark Smith. 

Negan couldn’t believe he actually sat on his couch and willingly listened to his colleague talk about some upcoming market by where he’s staying in Jamaica. Negan even asked Mark how his wife and kids were doing– voluntarily!!

He didn’t recognize himself anymore. The pain, while still there, isn’t as strong. Negan can’t find the strength to harness that resentment he had at the world and himself. 

Because how could he hate himself when he’s had your sweet lips on his not even 24 hours earlier?

But his Thursday goes downhill from the get go. Negan has a pep in his step as he leaves his house, quickly locking the door behind him before heading for his truck. A part of him hopes the smell of your perfume will still be lingering in there.

Aaaand that’s the start of a very bad day. Negan never gets to his truck, instead stopping a few feet away when he sees someone else parked behind him. 

His lips twist downward in a slight sneer. It’s the kind of look that says, “I don’t like you, and I’m not hiding it” without needing to say it aloud.

Sherry has her car parked directly behind Negan, purposefully blocking him in. She stands outside, her arms crossed as she tries to keep warm. 

“Hi…” she says plainly, trying to ease into this. 

When he speaks, it’s deliberate. His voice is dry, almost bored, but the weight of his words hangs heavy. "This is private property, ya can’t park there" Negan’s tone is laced with the kind of casual authority he’s so used to. 

It’s not a request. It’s not even a command. It’s a fact, something he’s not even sure needs to be said, but he does anyway because she’s standing there like this is some kind of game. 

Starting for his truck again, he only stops when she says his name.

Sherry huffs, rolling her eyes. Of course he won’t make this easy. “Negan,” her tone is firmer now “I want to cash in that I-owe-you. Now”.

His hand rests on the truck door but he doesn’t make a move to open it yet. Instead, he turns his body slightly, pivoting so he’s facing her fully now. Negan’s posture tightens, shoulders squared. 

“And you think that means you show up to my home at…” he makes a point of bringing his wrist up to read his watch “seven forty five in the damn morning?”.

“I said whenever and wherever,” she shrugs “and I remembered where you lived, so…”. 

Now it’s Negan who rolls his eyes. Because, yes, out of everything, he needs a reminder that he brought her home once upon a time ago. 

Seeing his little cooperation is shrinking, Sherry cuts to the chase “You have a motorbike, right?”.

“Used to” he corrects her vaguely. Medical bills are a hell of a hit to the balls… and bank account.

“Ok, good,” opening the passenger door to her car, Sherry begins to walk back over to the driver's side “well, get in”.

Negan doesn’t move. “This is kidnapping” he states.

Sherry tries not to lose her patience, nibbling on her bottom lip so she doesn’t let out a string of curses. “No, it’s the favor you owe me,” she corrects “and it’s for Christmas, so c’mon”.

Despite every fiber in his being telling him not to, Negan takes a step closer. “Unless you’re gonna drop me off at the school, we’re gonna be late” be points out.

With the wave of her hand, Sherry dismisses him and gets in. “It’ll be fast” is all she says to assure him.

Glancing back to his truck one last time, Negan sighs before reluctantly getting into Sherry’s car.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

By the time Negan gets to work, he’s pissed off, late and hungry. You’d think as the head cook of the cafeteria, Sherry would’ve had some snacks hidden away in her car but nope, Negan had to starve.

Negan tries to stay positive. He reminds himself that once he knocked out a few more classes, he would have time to do something he’d been looking forward to—setting up the Christmas tree with you. 

But as the day drags on and the hours tick by, his phone remains suspiciously quiet. He sent you a few texts, nothing crazy, just simple check-ins asking when you’d be free to hang out later. 

A casual message, nothing too pushy. But now, after getting through some classes, it has been hours and there still isn’t a reply.

At first, he figures you’d just busy, maybe caught up in teaching or managing your unruly students. He knows you have a lot on your plate and he didn’t want to be that guy who expecta instant responses. 

It’s fine. He’s patient. You’d get back to him when you have the chance.

But as lunch rolls around and there’s still nothing, he can’t shake the nagging feeling that something isn’t right. It’s subtle at first, just a flicker of unease, but it grows with every passing minute. 

He finds himself glancing at his phone more often, tapping his fingers against the desk, trying to focus on his work but getting distracted.

Something is off.

Negan gives the little pumpkin statue on his desk a quick rub, as if the small gesture might bring him some kind of luck. 

He doesn’t know why he’s so worked up. It’s not like he’s a clingy guy. But the silence between you two today? It’s not like you and it’s starting to eat at him.

First stop is the teacher’s lounge. Empty. He checks your classroom next— locked. No sign of you. Then, he heads to the sports hall, hoping you might be there, finishing something up. No luck.

Hell, he even hangs around the women’s toilets for a minute. It’s stupid, he knows, but he figures if you’re dealing with that time of the month, you might need a minute. 

He leans against the wall, trying not to look too out of place, but when Sasha passes by with a raised brow, he realizes how ridiculous he looks.

“Shit,” he mutters, pushing away from the wall.

He’s not the clingy type. He knows that. But by the time lunch comes to an end, he’s sent you a decent amount of texts. 

Negan: you ready for the tree?

Negan: it’s in the hall

Negan: u ok?

Negan: is this hide and seek? Where are you?

Negan: hellllllllooooooooooo? My messages are going through so I know you don’t have me blocked

More classes pass and Negan’s patience wears thinner with every passing minute. He yells at a group of rowdy students, his voice echoing through the sports hall as he orders them to watch out for the cheerfully decorated tables as they do their jumping jacks. 

He checks his watch, the second hand ticking a little too loudly for his liking. It’s almost the end of the school day and Negan can feel the weight of his frustration pressing down on him. 

He hasn’t heard a damn thing from you, not a single text, not even a “Hey, I’m busy.” Nothing.

And the silence? It’s driving him nuts.

By the time he’s checking the teacher’s lounge again, he’s about ready to give up… but then it happens. Just as he’s walking by Ms. Peletier’s classroom, the door clicks open.

You step out.

It’s like a moment of clarity hits him and for a second, all his frustration melts away. There you are— looking like you’re trying to escape something. 

You’re not your usual self. There’s something different about you today, something… timid. You’re not holding eye contact, your shoulders are a little hunched like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

“Holy fucking shit,” Negan says, his voice full of relief “I was about to send out a search party, where the fuck have you been, doll?”

He expects a smile, some kind of warmth in your eyes. But instead, you tense. For a heartbeat, your body locks up, like you didn’t expect to see him. 

He watches, confused, as you quickly gather yourself. For a second, he thinks you might be walking toward him, like you’re about to talk, to explain yourself.

But then, just before he can take a step forward, you say it.

“Fuck off”.

Negan’s a man that likes to curse. He likes to throw in a few fucks, pricks, shit balls, whatever he feels in the moment. 

But this is different. 

The curse slices through the air, harsh and bitter. The venom in each syllable sticks in his chest like a jagged piece of glass. 

Negan’s stomach drops. He watches you walk past him, not even sparing him a glance and strut down the corridor without breaking stride.

For a moment, he’s frozen. The anger, the confusion— it all hits him at once. He isn’t the kind of man who gets easily thrown off, but right now? Damn right he feels uneasy.

“Woah, sweetheart, what’s that for?” Negan calls after you, confusion and hurt twisting his words. 

He takes a step forward, instinctively wanting to follow you but before he can move another inch, a voice calls his name.

“Negan.”

He turns, annoyed, ready to snap at whoever’s interrupting him but when he sees Carol standing in the doorway of her classroom, he stops dead.

“Let her go,” she says, her tone calm, but firm.

His brow furrows. What the hell is this?

“What?” He takes a few strides toward her, his voice rising. 

Carol raises a hand, palm out, silencing him before he can continue. “Let her go,” she repeats, her expression unreadable “She’s not interested”.

Negan’s chest tightens. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut but it’s the way she says them so matter-of-fact that makes him freeze in place. He opens his mouth, but the words don’t come. 

He looks at her, searching her face for some hint, some sign that this is a misunderstanding. But Carol doesn’t flinch. Instead, she just watches him, her eyes steady. 

“She’s not interested,” she repeats, softer this time, but still unyielding.

The truth stings. It settles over him like a weight, heavy and suffocating. The realization that everything he thought he knew about what was happening between you two—what he thought was real—might have only been a quick flash in the pan.

Negan stands there for a moment. The hallway around him feels too quiet, too empty. His chest tightens again and he can’t tell if it’s from anger or hurt or pure disbelief.

He looks back down the hall,�� where you disappeared, then back at Carol. With a sharp exhale, Negan turns away, heading in the opposite direction without saying another word. 

What else is there to say?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Friday feels like damnation, and not just because of the party. You purposely come in earlier than usual, not wanting to run into Negan as you set up the last remaining decorations for the gym. Even Joey isn’t in yet.

You can still feel the rush of anger, the way it surged through you when you saw them together, Negan and Sherry. You wouldn’t say you’re a jealous person but to see them arriving together, after everything?!

After Sherry warned you away from him, the dates that weren’t dates you went on with Negan… the kiss. You wonder if you didn’t move fast enough for him and if he went straight to Sherry’s after dropping you home that night. 

You’re pissed—so fucking pissed—but more than that, you’re hurt. The way he acted around you was like you were something special. It was as if maybe, there was something more between you two, more than banter and attraction. 

But now? Now it feels like a fucking joke. He’s out there, probably flirting with whoever is next on his hit list while you’re here, stewing in your own mess of feelings and sticking wreaths on to tables.

You want to punch something just to feel like you’re doing something to get rid of this ache in your chest. 

Your mind races—did they sleep together? Was it just another one-night thing for him? Did it mean nothing? 

The thought of it gnaws at you, each question digging deeper. The betrayal, the feeling of being tossed aside, his voice when he called after you yesterday, the knowing look on Carol’s face when you told her what you had seen… It's too much. 

You wish you could cry but you’re too damn mad. So you keep working, head down, fighting the sting of tears that are just waiting to break through. 

The good news is the sports hall is finally done, besides the Christmas tree that was never put up. 

The high, vaulted ceilings are draped with thick strands of sparkling tinsel in gold and silver, catching the light from the overhead fluorescent bulbs and making the whole room shimmer.

Long rows of tables are now covered in bright red and green cloths, each one bordered with tinsel and a wreath hanging off the front. Paper snowflakes some of the students made dangle from the walls, swirling like an indoor blizzard.

Around the room, there are signs that read things like “Merry Christmas!” and “Season’s Greetings!” in big, bold letters and decorated with holly.

Even the basketball hoops are dressed up, with thick, red ribbons tied in bows around the rims, and a few oversized ornaments dangling from the netting. 

Everywhere you look, there’s something to bring a smile to your face— and yet that’s the one thing you can’t do. 

“Well, hello there,” you don’t tense when you hear the masculine voice. 

It doesn’t have that deep drawl Negan’s does. Nor does it make you want to shiver and purr at the same time.

“Hi, Joey” You don’t even glance at him as you say it, your eyes fixed on the twinkling lights that are tangled up in tinsel, casting a soft glow across the sports hall. 

“The place looks great!” he says, his voice a little too bright as he walks deeper into the room, clearly trying to make conversation.

“Uh-huh,” you reply, your voice flat and distracted “It’s basically done now. Just have to run home after school to grab the drinks, and it’ll be ready”.

You don’t want to engage much more than that. The last thing you need right now is small talk or having to deal with anyone else. 

“And the food?” Joey presses, his tone a little too chipper.

You force a tight-lipped smile, your jaw set as you turn toward him briefly. “Can you let Negan know that’s his shit to sort?” you ask, trying to keep your voice neutral, though it comes out cold.

“Uh—sure! Yeah!” Joey nods quickly, probably sensing the shift in your mood but not wanting to push it. 

Without waiting for another word, you head toward the door, not bothering to look back. The last thing you want is to stick around the hall in case Negan shows up unexpectedly. 

You can feel the tension already creeping up your spine at the mere thought of seeing him, of dealing with whatever’s going on between you two.

So, you leave, eager to put some distance between yourself and the mess you’re caught up in.

The school day drags, yet somehow, it feels like it’s slipping away too fast. The hours blur together— teaching feels more like a flurry of words and half-attention from your students as they count down the minutes to the end of the day.

You try to keep them engaged but it’s obvious they’re all just as eager for the holidays as you are. 

The morning feels slow, like every minute stretches just a little too long. You try to get through your classes but every time the clock ticks, your mind drifts back to the party— back to everything that’s been weighing on you. 

By the time you hit the afternoon, you’re caught in this weird mix of excitement and dread. Each class passes, each bell that rings to signal the end of a period feels like a countdown to something you’d rather not face.

The students, for their part, are bouncing off the walls. They’re eager to get out, to be free from school and homework and whatever else hangs over them. 

You watch them, their chatter almost deafening and you can’t help but feel a sense of urgency in the air. It’s almost like the whole school is vibrating with the countdown and the seconds feel like they’re slipping through your fingers.

The lessons go by in a haze—you’re teaching, but you’re not fully there. You’re running through the motions, reciting your notes and trying to keep your class on track but you know that the closer you get to the end of the day, the closer you get to the party, to seeing Negan again, to dealing with whatever awkwardness looms between you two.

Finally, the last bell rings, the sound cutting through your thoughts like a knife. You breathe out a little too heavily, a mix of relief and frustration swirling inside you. 

It’s over.

The school day’s done. 

The holiday break is here and the party is just around the corner. You grab your things quickly, eager to get out of the classroom but the thought of facing the party, of facing him, slows your steps.

You want a moment of quiet before everything kicks off but you can only have such a luxury when you get home to quickly dress into something a little nicer and bring all the alcohol back here to the sports hall. 

The noise in the hallways is deafening, students filing out, chatting excitedly about the break. Your thoughts, though, are already on the evening ahead. 

You rush home, the quiet of your place a welcome relief after the chaos of the day. You head straight to your room, pulling off your teaching clothes and slipping into something nicer for the party—nothing too fancy, but enough to feel put-together. 

A soft sweater and dark jeans, something comfortable but still festive. You grab the bottles you’ve set aside for the party, having to make multiple trips to your car before they're all loaded.

A quick glance in the mirror tells you that you’re ready but the knot in your stomach tells you the opposite. You grab your keys and head out the door, locking it behind you before making your way back to the school. 

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It’s almost half six when the first few people trickle in and you’re glad to see their faces. 

For the past forty minutes, it’s just been you, Joey and Negan in the hall, stealing plates and cups from the home ec room and putting all the drink on display. And in that forty… long… minutes, you and Negan exchanged a total of seven words.

“Where’s the tequila?” he basically huffed at you.

“Still in my car” you retorted, giving him the same energy.

You got a grunt in response and he yelled at Joey to go out and grab it as Negan left to get more plates.

But now the sports hall is buzzing with that awkward in-between energy—everyone’s showing up but the party hasn’t fully kicked off yet. There’s a nice hum of conversation, teachers hesitantly reaching for liquor and some commenting on the decorations.

Every time you cross paths with Negan, you veer the other way. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between you two, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. 

You’re doing your best to keep yourself busy— lining up glasses, making sure the food table’s stocked thanks to the newest light in Negan’s life, Sherry (you swear you’re not jealous)—but it’s hard to ignore the tension, the way Negan moves around you, not quite looking at you but not completely avoiding you either.

In one corner of the hall, you see Aaron head towards the large speaker that sits silently waiting.

After a few seconds of fumbling with the speaker, the opening chords of ‘Last Christmas’ filled the room, too loud at first, making everyone glance at each other nervously, unsure if they were meant to sing along, dance, or just pretend it wasn’t happening.

Some teachers head over to the food. Thankfully, you haven’t run into Sherry yet, nor is that something you wish to do. But to give credit where credit is due, the food smells delicious and it’s not as plain as the food usually served at the cafeteria. 

Fingers quickly grab skewers of chicken satay or tiny puff pastries as the music loops on, providing a kind of strange comfort. 

"I swear," Morgan says as he fills his plate, laughing awkwardly as he nudges a colleague "I only came for the pigs in blankets".

Everyone chuckles the first real laugh of the evening and suddenly the awkwardness seems to melt away, if only a little. Yet it’s enough to kick off the night.

As the evening stretches on, the awkwardness begins to fade into something more familiar, a sort of communal ease that only happens when you’ve spent enough time around people you mostly like, but don’t quite know how to relax with. 

You stand back and watch, nursing your drink. 

A few teachers have found their rhythm, wandering between the buffet table and the cozy clusters of conversation, laughing a little too loudly and talking shop just enough to remind themselves they’re not too far from the classroom.

Jesus walks up to you and a few others, gesturing towards one of the empty corners. “Where’s the tree I gave you guys?” he asks curiously, no annoyance in his tone.

Taking a deep breath, you struggle for an answer “We uh, ran out of time to put it up”. 

Jesus gives a quick laugh and a nod, taking your answer for what it is. “And you still have the extra baubles I donated too?” he clarifies, taking a sip of his drink.

You nod and hesitantly explain “Yeah, the tree and baubles are uh… they’re under the bleachers. We didn’t have the space in the storage room”.

Looking around at the other teachers listening, Jesus smiles “Well then, who’s game for putting up a tree?”. 

Before you have time to process that, there’s a burst of energy. 

Jesus and Morgan help bring out the tree. Tara takes the box of baubles, standing with her hands on her hips as she looks down at the box. 

Aaron, ever the optimist, picked up a string of lights and began untangling them with the patience of a saint.

You stand there with a surprised look plastered on your face. Even the people who aren’t helping, stand by and watch. Michonne snaps a few pictures before typing on her phone, no doubt sending it to her husband or Carl. 

Jesus, who has already taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, grabs the tree stand. 

“The tree’s the easy part,” he tells the crowd “the real challenge is making it look intentional when you know it’s probably just going to be… well, a mess”.

Eugene, who has been quietly inspecting the box of ornaments with Tara, looks up at the group. 

“I must admit, I find the idea of a decorated tree somewhat... quaint. But I’ll go along with the sentiment if it makes the rest of you happy,” Eugene says, picking up a candy cane ornament “Plus, I believe we can all agree—Christmas lights are critical”.

Aaron chuckles “Of course you’d have a whole theory about the importance of lights”.

With Eugene’s help, the tree is quickly set up and anchored in its stand, though it wobbles slightly, as if unsure of its purpose. 

“No, no, no, it’s leaning to the left!” Gregory tries to direct them. As you all listen to Gregory and Sasha bicker whether the tilt gives the tree character, you notice a figure lurk closer to you.

Out the corner of your eye, you see Negan. His every movement seems charged, as if he’s on the edge of saying something but never does. And you? You’re not sure what to say either. 

So instead, you both continue this dance, each of you pretending that the other isn’t right there, just a few feet away, caught in the kind of silence that screams everything without a single word being spoken.

“And where’s the tinsel?” Rosita rummages through the box of ornaments. 

“I think there’s some old tinsel in the storage room,” you call out, wanting an excuse to get away from him “I’ll go get it!”.

Negan lowers his head, watching through his lashes as you hurry off to the storage room. He suppresses a sigh, wondering if it’s really that hard for you to be around him.

Do you seriously prefer the cramped, shitty old storage room compared to him? 

This should have been fun. You two should be celebrating! Fuckin’ finally! You’ve made it and now the others are having the time of their life by willingly doing a team building exercise! 

Right now, you should both be teaming up to haggle Michonne for a raise, not barely looking at one another.

And yet Negan can’t do it. He can’t find the words to say this to you. And so he stays in his spot and listens to the others make the task of decorating a Christmas tree seem impossible.

Ten minutes pass. 

Still nothing. No you. No shitty tinsel. Just a whole lot of avoiding. 

Negan can’t believe this. You’d rather hang out in the storage room? Or quietly slip out early? All that hurt and tip toeing around each other starts to bubble in Negan, slowly reaching it’s boiling point.

With a sharp turn, he makes his way through the crowd and towards the storage room. He figures he’ll check in there first and then check the parking lot to see if your car is still here. 

His hand comes straight out as he opens the door with enough vigor to make it fly open. Not that he’s thinking about the door when he sees you, just standing there.

“Are you really gonna hide on me?” He starts, boots slamming against the messy floor as he leaves the doorway and walks deeper into the room, closer to you.

For a split second, you freeze. But as you see your opportunity for escape closing, you rush forward. 

You don’t pay any attention to his question, trying to get past him as you blurt “Wait! Stop! Don’t let the door—”.

But before either of you can reach it, the door slams shut with a resounding thud, cementing back into its frame. Negan’s anger falters when he realizes what just happened.

He doesn’t know how many times he warned you about the old storage room door being hard to open from the inside, yet here you are— and now him, victim to the heavy door.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me…” His voice drops to a low, venomous growl as he steps back to the door. He tries to yank it open once, twice, thrice! And yet it stays in place.

With the click of his tongue, Negan looks to you “You seriously got yourself locked in here?”.

You don’t appreciate the mocking tone and so you bite back “Yeah and now you have too!”.

With a sigh, Negan leans up against some of the boxes. His anger is gone and now he’s just unsure what to say to you

You step up and try the door again. You yank the handle again, twisting it violently but the door stays still. 

“Dammit!” You mutter under your breath, before you get a new idea and begin banging on the door. 

“Hey! Hello? We’re in here! Help!” you shout, your voice rising with each strike. 

Unfortunately it’s still not enough compared to the loud thumping of bass and jingle bells from the Christmas music blaring in the adjoining room.

Negan watches you with a mixture of bemusement and annoyance. He chuckles lowly, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, that’s one hell of a performance,” he comments with a grin, the sarcasm dripping off his words. Stopping for a moment, you throw him a glare before continuing again.

“You’re bangin’ on beat with that Christmas nonsense. Hell, they won’t hear you over the jingle bells and whatever crap is playing” he points out, taking no notice of your glare.

You stop, staring at him with an annoyed look “I don’t need your commentary right now, Negan”.

He shrugs, uncaring “Just callin’ it like I see it. Looks like you’re stuck with me. Again”.

Ignoring his comments, you listen to the party outside. Laughter. Chatter too loud that it drowns out your shouts for help. The occasional cheering as they continue to decorate the tree. 

“Sounds like they’re having fun” you grumble.

Negan waits a moment before replying, his tone losing his sarcasm “So should we”.

There’s a tightness when he says that— but not the good kind. You’ve always been one to blurt things out, Negan should know that better than anyone. 

Although hearing you quietly mutter “Yeah, I’m sure you and Sherry should be having the time of your lives”, throws Negan’s head in a tailspin. 

“What? Sherry?” The edge is back in his voice as he asks, making you go quiet again. 

You shrug in response.

He narrows his eyes as you stay silent. When you don’t say a word, Negan shakes his head “Fuck, I thought we were gettin’ somewhere, and now? Now this shit?”.

Negan takes a breath before deciding to start small. “Why’re you bringing up Sherry?” he lets the question hang in the air.

Eyes flickering to the ground, your voice feels tight as you reply “I… I saw you with Sherry, arriving to work with her, and—”. You stop yourself, biting back the words. 

It doesn’t matter that you stopped anyways as Negan interjects with a slightly sarcastic laugh “You thought I’d what? Sleep with her?”.

He steps closer, trying to get you to look at him.

“Doll, she just wanted to cash in that I-owe-you,” he says before deciding you’ll need more of an explanation “she wanted to buy her boyfriend a motorbike for Christmas but she knows fuck all about bikes… I, however, have had my fair share so I went with her to get give her my expert opinion. Nothing more. I just spent the morning looking at shitty second hand bikes”.

You nod, eyes still down as you process his answer. But now it’s Negan’s turn to get some answers.

“You really think I’d kiss you, then go and sleep with someone else right after?” his voice is firm but tinged with hurt “Is that how little you think of me?”.

That makes you look up, eyes wide before they soften with regret “No! I don’t— It’s just, you didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to think. You didn’t tell me anything about her or what you were doing”.

You hesitate, realizing how much you’ve misinterpreted “I should’ve talked to you first. I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t want to make a fool of myself”.

A few hollers can be heard in the sports hall as Negan pauses, letting out a slow exhale.

“You don’t have to apologize for giving a damn. I get it, though, how that would’ve looked,” he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself “I mean, Sherry and I, that was a one time thing that neither of us want a round two of”.

You nibble on your bottom lip, unsure whether you’ll like the answer to your next question but needing to ask nonetheless. “So… what did happen? Back then, between you and Sherry?”.

His posture shifts slight as if he’s physically as well as mentally letting down his guard. 

“Sherry and her man were on a break, she wanted a distraction…” he trails off, letting you fill in the details “and then when they got back together, she had to really prove to the guy that she wasn’t interested in me anymore so she went from thinking I was good enough to fuck, to straight out hating me”.

“Huh… I kinda presumed you just cut contact with a lot of them after the deed is done” you reply, not expecting to hear that Sherry hated Negan anyways, whether or not he ghosted her.

“Oh I do sometimes, other times it just fizzles or it’s decided beforehand that it’s just a one night kinda thing” he explains “We both get something out of it”.

“A two way system” You call it.

Negan tilts his head as he thinks, “‘I wouldn’t exactly call it that. It’s just… mutual benefits.

A faint smirk ghosts his face “A two way system is you arguing with me, me arguing with you, you taking me on a date, me taking you on a date, me flirting with you, you flirting with me”.

You can’t help the smile at that, rolling your eyes teasingly, any annoyance you had for Negan melting away.

He continues, poking his tongue out of his mouth “Me kissing you.. you shoving your tongue down my throat”.

“I did not do it like that!!” You exclaim with a laugh.

He chuckles, his own annoyance gone now too. “You’re right, you’re right,” he concedes before thinking up a better way of saying it “you… oh so subtly slipping that dainty tongue of yours into my mouth all sexy like”.

“I didn’t use tongue!” You declare, throwing your hands up before the playfulness fades into a somber silence.

“I am sorry,” you reiterate ”I guess I should’ve trusted you more. I should’ve asked, instead of assuming.”

He gives you a look you can only describe as tender. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the talking-about-feelings kinda guy and I kinda thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” he tells you, his voice a gentle hum “But if you’re asking— I want this. I want you. No more games, no more misunderstandings. Just… us. Alright?”.

A small, relieved smile tugs at the corners of your lips, tension easing. “I think that would be nice” you agree, trying to drown out the loud Christmas music during your intimate moment.

There’s a quiet between you both, no more words needing to be exchanged. Negan begins to move again but instead of heading towards the door, he briefly disappears to the back of the storage room.

“Negan?” You call out.

He strolls over to one of the old boxes and starts to look through it. The musty smell of forgotten storage fills the air as he pulls out a dusty, crinkled piece of tinsel, its once-silver strands now dulled and faded with time.

“If we’re all good now…” he says as he stops and reaches down into the box “y’know what we gotta seal it with, right?”.

His mouth twitches with a hint of amusement and as he steps back toward you, dangling that goddamn piece of old mistletoe in front of you. 

His expression is half-mocking, half-playful, as if he’s trying to make light of getting stuck in here. 

You look at the mistletoe and then back up at him. “Well, it is tradition…” you tilt your head up, expecting to see that cocky expression of his but instead it gives way to something more sincere.

Before you can say anything, he’s lifting the mistletoe above your heads, positioning it just right. 

Not being one to waste time, Negan presses his lips to yours, the kiss soft at first, just a light brush but as if giving into the moment, you deepen it. 

His lips are warm and steady against yours. The taste of him lingers as it becomes more heated. Negan drops the mistletoe, both of you each other instinctively pulling closer.

His lips press more urgently against yours, like he's unable to hold back anymore. His hand slides from your waist to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you into him with a force that makes you gasp into his mouth.

That gasp seems to push him further, the heat between you intensifying. His tongue sweeps against yours in a coaxing manner. Backing away, you pull him with you until your back is flush against another stack of boxes. 

There's nothing tentative about this anymore; it's a powerful, consuming kiss, raw with hunger and desire.

Negan’s hands slide under your festive sweater, skin on skin. The contact sends a shiver down your spine, heightening every sensation. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, needing more of him, more of this. 

His body presses against you, hips aligning with yours, and the pressure builds as you feel the weight of him against you. His breathing becomes heavier, his chest rising and falling in sync with the erratic make out session.

The words around you fall on deaf ears, neither you or Negan paying attention to the Christmas music or the mumbling of Gregory outside saying “It’s in here, you say? Oh Christ!”.

Suddenly the music is clearer and another light source shines across your face. “Mm?” You question, although it’s hard to get the words out with Negan’s lips still on yours.

Pulling away, you see a look of shock and disgust on Gregory’s face.

He clears his throat, trying and failing to regain some semblance of control. “This… this is—uh—what is happening here?” his words came out in a disjointed jumble, bringing the other’s attention to the storage room.

“They’re together?!” you hear Rosita’s voice.

“You didn’t know about them?” the voice of Michonne reaches your ears “Carl told me they were a couple ages ago!”.

Suddenly you realize you’re like a deer in headlights, just frozen and watching. That is until Negan takes you hand in his and yanks you out of the storage room while the door is still open.

You follow his lead, letting him bring you out to the middle of the sports hall until he turns to face you again. His hands find their home on your back and he begins to sway to the slow Christmas song.

“Are we… dancing right now?” You question, clasping your hands around the back of his neck. 

The others stare for a few moments before carrying on with whatever it is they were doing beforehand. Some drink, some stuff their faces and chat, while others grab a partner and dance too.

Negan doesn’t answer with words, instead giving you a little spin before finding you back in his arms.

“So… you still spending Christmas alone?” Negan says it casually, though there’s a subtle trace of concern in his tone.

You inhale before replying, shifting slightly in his arms “Yeah”.

“You sure about that?” He leans in a little closer, his face now just inches from yours, as though trying to read between the lines. 

There’s a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head, showing you’ve already made peace with the decision as you sigh “I think it’s for the best I don’t change plans now and go spend it with my family”.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I was kinda trying to crash your plans, not suggest you skedaddle out of town” Negan’s grin widens, and he gives you a playful nudge

“What?”.

His smile deepens as he watches your reaction, fully aware of how bold he’s being. “Well, you’re spending Christmas alone, I’m spending Christmas alone,” he explains “we get on like a house on fire, you’re hot, I’m hot”.

“Negan!” you exclaim, a mix of embarrassment and amusement flooding your chest.

“I’ll bring the mistletoe” the offer hangs in the air, and you can feel the moment shifting, building toward something neither of you is fully ready to name, but both are undeniably feeling.

“… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you were there too” you slowly admit “but you have to bring me a present!”. 

Negan chuckles, keeping his hands on the small of your back as he looks up and pretends to think. “Hm… I might be able to do that” he says. 

He tries to act as though he’s debating the condition, as if he hasn’t already bought you things.

A cinnamon candle.

A pumpkin statue to match his own.

A winter coat that will actually keep you warm (that may have some leather accents so you’ll match his own jacket).

Some snacks he’s been picking up whenever he’s out.

And a list he’s made himself of the corniness Christmas movies he could find on the many streaming services that are around.

“Maybe I could do with that mistletoe now,” you tease, showing off your actual flirting skills.

Negan smirks down at you, one of his hands trailing up your back as you both sway to the music.

“Darlin’ I think we are way past mistletoe now,” he quips back before he leans down.

Despite being in the sports hall that made you and Negan go at each other’s throats. Despite being surrounded by your colleagues …

You kiss him.

[adventuringblind]

Oscar the Matchmaker: Part Two

Oscar Jack Piastri x Reader x Max Verstappen

Genre: series

Summary: Oscar struggles with the aftermath of Alpine and a rough start of the season

Warnings: Toxic work place

Notes: I’m using alpine drama as a plot point. Also they call Oscar Jack because lord it’s such a cute nickname he has.

Previous <-

Masterlist

The fact that two rookies are enjoying the luxury that comes with being a world champion is completely ridiculous.

Max loves to spoil them. Mainly because is makes them shy as they try to turn down his offers. He’s stubborn though and usually gives them no other choice but to relent.

Now he’s spoiling them with sleep. They all love sleep. All the time. It’s one of their favorite activities.

Max however, is not sleeping, just resting. His mind moving but his body remains stationary.

Oscar shoots out of the bed faster then Max can register. The Aussie is practically silent as he does it.

The Dutch is quick to follow him. Gently kissing the forehead of the girl still asleep before leaving the room.

Oscar is pacing back and forth, his hands tugging at his hair. He looks to Max as if he’s trying to seem productive and yet not getting anywhere simultaneously.

“Jack?”

He jumps at the sound of Max’s voice. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I was already awake, just to lazy to move.” Max drags him over to the couch. “Wanna talk about what’s going on in your head?” If there is one thing Max has learned about the Australian, it’s that he’s calm and collected outside and a whirl whine on the inside.

“I just panicked. It’s Tuesday.” He sighs.

A sleepy eyed female walks into the room and drapes herself over them. The two males practically use her as a blanket. “Tuesdays are Alpine meeting days.” Her voice may be sleepy, but the venom in her voice doesn’t go unheard. Max threads his fingers through her hair that is splayed messily across his lap.

"So muscle memory?" Asks the confused Dutch.

Oscar starts fumbling around with his words. "Well - no, it's just that- Alpine weren't the best to me, I guess." His fingers find his hair and run the back if his neck raw.

The confusion turns into concern as Max goes wide-eyed. He knows all the drama that happened. There were countless nights on the phone with Daniel about it. That was Max's first impression of the rookie. The fact he apologized to Daniel for taking his spot and being a hindrance to him.

"He'd gotten in trouble for over sleeping once, and it was absolutely hell. I had half a mind to report them to the FIA." The girl on their lap is flushing with frustration now, her knuckles turning white from her fist tightening around nothing.

Max could see the memories flooding the Australians eyes. He leans over to him and kisses the top of his head. "It makes sense now why you avoid them like the plague."

"They are the plague."

The witty comments sometimes shock the two. The girl is usually quiet around people she doesn't know and is kind for the most part. However, she's also protective.

Max and Oscar chuckle at her antics. Watching her carefully drift in and out of sleep.

~

The next race weekend, they walk in together. It's not uncommon since her and Oscare are practically attached at the hip, but Max is new. They just tell people it's a coincidence.

Oscar has always walked her to her garage. Currently, it's towards the end of the paddock. Meaning they have to pass Alpine to get to it.

Max takes not of how Oscar refuses to look anywhere but the ground. He can't see the female since she's on the other side of Oscar, but he can hear her seething.

The Australian visibly relaxs when they are past.

It sucks saying goodbye to her. They woke up this morning, and it felt perfect. The morning rays leak through the window, limbs tangled up in each other. None of them wanted to get up or leave.

Now, the first had gone off to work, and Max and Oscar were left to walk back down.

Max makes it a point to walk on the side closest to the hospitality entries. He doesn't say anything as they near the door. Some of the guys in charge meandering around right outside.

"I know what you're doing." Says the Australian.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Max looks at him and winks. Somehow, the action calmed Oscar's overreacting brain.

Max waved off Oscar as he jogged to catch up with Lando. The Brit shot him a few confused glances. The ones that said he has questions.

Lando may he an idiot, but he's not as oblivious as everyone thinks he is.

Max leaves that for another day.

~

She knew something was off with the Austr as soon as he entered the room. They're all exhausted from the race, but he was completely void of life.

There's no goofy smiles or sarcastic jokes. Just Oscar, sitting on the bed staring at the wall. She can see him processing something. Whatever it is, it can't be good.

She looks at Max. The Dutch just stares at her with confusion. She'd learned that his upbringing made him mildly clueless when it came to dealing with emotion.

With that in mind, she sets off to Oscar's side. She sits down next to him and takes his hand in her own. "Jack, you gotta talk to us." She signals Max with her eyes to sit on the other side of him. Good thing she's not clueless or they would be in trouble.

"It's stupid drama stuff."

"It's not stupid if it's making you upset." She puncuates with a kiss on his cheek.

"Stupid Alpine and their stupid comments. Apparently, I am not the most expensive but terrible rookie to ever be signed." He sighs. They can hear how he tries to pass it off, but they both know he's lying.

"Lies and slander. You're the best rookie this season. You're driving a tractor right now for fucks sake." Max says.

"Logically, I know that. Emotionally, I don't."

"And you're not required to know that yet, technically speaking." She counters, causing the Australian to roll his eyes.

Max chuckles to himself. “I could crash my car into their garage if you really want me too.”

“As funny as that sounds, I would rather you win if neither of us can even get close.”

“…at least you two are consistently in the points!”

~

Tuesday again. They all lay asleep in bed together. Max opens his eyes for a moment and catches the females gaze.

She places a finger over her lips and points at Oscar. The Australian breathing evenly, sound asleep.

[not-magdi]

Period

Summary: Well it‘s that time of the month again 😑 Luckily this time you‘re not alone 😁

Warnings: None

Words: 1.1k

A/N

As someone who currently is experiencing the same thing I would like to say that I also want to be babied at some point, but who is there for me? Nobody 😑

(A short moment to appreciate how frigging cute that boy looks!❤️)

Since Y/N woke up today she knew something was off, everything in her body ached and her head hurt like crazy. She had no clue what was going on, but whatever it was it should better stop sooner than later because she some things to do, her boyfriend Pablo for example.

Y/N and Pablo have been boyfriend and girlfriend for about a month now, everything was going great, the chemistry between them was awesome, and they were still really deep in their honeymoon phase.

Still, they need to get used to each other, not wanting to scare the other one off they try to do everything that involves the other as perfectly as possible.

Now Y/N was about to get out of bed when she felt a stabbing pain in her lower abdomen, rushing to the bathroom her fear was confirmed, she got her period.

"Oh come on ... you're a week too soon" complained Y/N cleaning herself up and reaching for a tampon.

Coming out of the bathroom she felt horrible, her abdomen was punishing her with the worst cramps she felt in a while and her head was killing her. Going into the kitchen she starts to boil water for her heating pad as she turns around to open the fridge she sees the red circle on her calendar.

Today her and Pablo were supposed to go to this new nightclub that opened last week, he wanted her to meet a few of his friends today, but knowing her body she was going to feel horrible for the rest of the day.

Feeling really guilty she thought about what she should do, calling Pablo and telling him how horrible she felt and him probably being very disappointed, or her still going but most likely not enjoying the evening and making a bad impression on his friends, which then again leads to Pablo being disappointed in her.

Sighing she presses Pablo's contact calling him.

"Hola amor what's up" Pablo answers after two rings.

"Hola bebé I think I need to cancel today, I'm feeling really sick today and I don't want to ruin everyone's evening," she says while sitting down on the couch rubbing her abdomen.

"Oh no ... you want me to come over? I could look after you", Pablo asks with genuine concern.

Wanting nothing more than be cuddled up in Pablo's arms while he looks after her she still declines, "No baby you don't have to it's not that bad" She winces at the end of her sentence as a really bad cramp surges through her.

"Are you sure, you do not sound good ... are you in pain?" not convinced by her statement he asks her.

"No! ... well yes, kind of. It's just ... I'm on my period and everything kind of hurts" Convinced he is going to be disgusted she mumbles the last part.

"Oh poor thing, I'm definitely coming over ... I've seen how much my sister suffers from that. I'm not leaving you alone in your misery ." He exclaims with an affectionate tone.

Touched by his statement she cuddles herself deeper into the couch hearing him say he is going to be there in thirty minutes, as he has to do a few things before he can come.

Unbeknownst to Y/N Pablo called his sister asking her what he should do now because, to be honest, he had no clue where he should even start.

Being utterly confused why her brother was calling her out of nowhere asking what girls like on her period she tells him a few basic things everybody enjoys, chocolate, heated blankets, ...

After getting a few ideas from his sister he drove to the nearest store and bought a few snacks for her and a pair of fluffy socks he knows she loves so much.

He bought everything he thought she might need, and nearly emptied the whole sweets section. He drove to her house gently knocking on the front door.

"It's open!", he hears Y/N yell, and as he opens the door he sees a pale-looking Y/N cuddled under her favourite blanket all in all looking pretty sick. The sight breaks his heart, placing the bags from his shopping trip beside the couch. He kneels before her kissing her head.

"Oh amor ... you really don't feel good, do you?" stroking her head he sees her shaking her head groaning as another cramp hits.

Lifting the shopping bags he exclaims softly, "I brought you some snacks, I didn't know what to get you so I just grabbed a few of my favorite comfort snacks"

Smiling softly Y/N looks into the bag seeing lots of different types of food from sweet to sour everything was there.

"Thank you that's perfect" being really touched by his actions tears start to form in her eyes.

„Hey Bebé ... it's ok no need to cry" wiping the tears away with his thumb Pablo kisses her nose earning himself a teary giggle.

„I'm sorry it's just that ... you're like the sweetest person I've ever met. Nobody ever brought me snacks while I'm on my period or cared for me like that"

„Well then it's time we change that ... scooch over I want some cuddles."

Scooching over Pablo climbs behind her so he's sitting up and she has her back to his chest, hearing her groan in pain again he asks;" Is there anything I can do to help you with the pain?"

Thinking for a short while Y/N answers, " Yes there actually is." Taking his hands she brings them to her abdomen, "Just hold your hands there please, your warmth will ease the cramps."

Nodding Pablo holds her abdomen with his hands starting to massage it after some time, hearing Y/N sigh he smiles to himself looking down and seeing her cuddle herself deeper into him.

"You comfy?" he asks her with a smile. Looking up at him with an adorable little smile she nods wrapping her arms around his.

"Don't you have to go soon, otherwise you'll be late to meet up with your friends." looking up at him Y/N  asks Pablo.

"I said they can go without me, I'd rather be with my girl anyways." kissing her head he answers.

"Really? ... Awww you're so sweet when you want to" she exclaims, gasping Pablo looks at her. "What's that supposed to mean!?"

Giggling Y/n gives Pablo a kiss before cuddling herself into him again, falling asleep not much later, in the safety of her boyfriends' arms who she grows to love more and more every day.

[hozierandco]

Callum Turner x Reader - The match-maker (Pt. 2)

AN: Second part to a fic I published yesterday in which Callum Turner and Reader meet through Austin Butler, a friend they have in common. Requested.

If you have any requests, feel free to send them to me xx

TW: none. Kinda fluffy, no smut.

If you're interested in pt. 3, lmk. Ok, byeee

Arriving in New York was a surreal experience for Y/N and she was glad to be met by Austin and Kaia. The two of them looked like lovebirds and it would have made Y/N sick with sentimentality if it had been anyone else than them. She was longing for a healthy and stable relationship and was only glad her best friend had found the one.

Y/N knew she had one shot of making things right and that she was not allowed any mistake during the Gala. Not only for her career but also for her friend’s reputation if she failed him. Austin knew that Y/N was capable of great things and only had to trust herself. If anything, the Gala was her baptism by fire and a great way to give his friend the confidence she had lost in herself.

Plus, he knew that she was about to meet Callum and was beyond thrilled to see them together. He was certain it would be a match. 

“Alright, I need to prepare myself for the big day tomorrow”, Y/N declared after having spent most of the day in the city with Austin and Kaia. Together, they had been to the Guggenheim, Central Park and the Brooklyn Museum. It had been an exhausting but satisfying day and Y/N was now more ready than ever to craft her portfolio.

She woke up the next day wishing she could have slept longer but since it was Met Gala day, lots of things were to be done before the evening would arrive. Thank God, Austin had thought everything through to make her the most comfortable possible and had secured a spot for her in the first rows of the red carpet. She could then afford to arrive later at the Metropolitan Museum.

She fixed her many cameras, making sure she had battery and film rolls tidied up nice and clean in her bag when Austin texted her. 

Her phone showed her what the guy she had saved as Orange County Boy in her contacts had to say: 

7:21 am - “Ready 4 tonite?”

Him too had woken up early to get ready.

7:21 am - “Readier than everrrr. What about you two?”

7:24 am - “You bet we r! Kaia and I r having a party afterwards. You should come”

By sending that, Austin prayed everything he could pray on that she would accept as Callum had already let him know that he would join in.

7:32 am - “Yeah, sounds good. If I’m not dead with exhaustion or fangirling by then”

7:34 am - “Haha, even half-dead, you better get there!”

Once she had everything she needed sorted out, Y/N exited her Airbnb on the 11th Street to get some breakfast. In a few hours time, she was going to see all the celebrities she had dreamt of seeing. There would be Anna Wintour of course but she was mostly daydreaming of taking pictures of Jessica Chastain, Blake Lively and Alicia Keys. The fact that she would be first row was a golden opportunity.

By 2 pm, Y/N headed to the Metropolitan Museum and found her spot. She was escorted by people who were talking and acting as though she was the new Annie Leibovitz. Was it her Givenchy dress that she had borrowed from Kaia or her self-assured walk that gave the impression that she was famous? She could not have said but it sure felt good.

And then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye (though that was a couple hours in fact), the first people grazed the carpet. People from Vogue at first, and then a handful of random models before the A-list made their way. 

Y/N noticed Vanessa Hudgens that she had known very well a few years back but had grown distant since. Vanessa reached out for her and greeted her amicably as she recognised her in the cloud of photographers which made a huge impression amongst Y/N’s peers.

When Austin and Kaia entered the scene, Y/N was beyond excited and could not stop taking pictures of them. The night followed that way and soon enough, all of her cameras were full. The batteries could not take any more picture which coincided with the end of the night.

The photographers were asked to leave and Y/N thought of getting a drink somewhere with some other photographers she had met while waiting for Austin and Kaia’s party to begin.

“Girl, you were on fire tonight!”, a 30-ish year-old woman told her as the photographers started debriefing about the evening and voting for the best-dressed celebrity.

“Yeah, who are you even working for?”, another guy around 25 asked.

“Uh, well, no one in fact. I’m trying to make my way up”

“And you got into the Met Gala? Damn, that’s impressive”

Y/N had made her promise to herself never to mention her friendship with Austin as a safety net towards her friend and because she did not wish to be known as the “friend of”. So she decided not to reply. 

It was fun to be surrounded by peers who had so many anecdotes to tell about working in the industry. Y/N surprised herself laughing along with them and she made up her mind that Blake Lively was the best-dressed when she noticed it was 11:18 pm which meant the party had started about 20 minutes ago at Loeb Boathouse, a restaurant in Central Park that Austin and Kaia had privatised. 

Y/N called it quits on the photographers and walked her way to the restaurant. She instantly regretted choosing the Givenchy dress Kaia suggested for her. Straight from the Spring collection of 2018, it was a long black dress with a wide collar and a bow in the back. It was absolutely magnificent but not the most practical thing to be wearing, especially at night and in a gigantic park.

She arrived by 11:30 at the party, much to Austin’s relief that was wearing a tuxedo and a large grin on his face, far too happy to be hosting both a party and a surprise for his best friend. She greeted him and his girl for the second time of the evening and was shown to a table where food had just been served.

Coming back from the bar, Callum was trying to find an available seat when Austin reached out for him and indicated where he could sit. Right next to Y/N. He noticed a beautiful woman he thought he had seen somewhere before. He had to know more about her. 

She was looking like a Celtic goddess, he thought with her hair descending and shimmering as the light crashed on it. With her classy black dress, he could only presume she was a celebrity too and he then tried to force his memory to remember a name, to no avail. The woman seated next to her was so splendid in fact that, though he was craving to talk to her, he felt himself blushing like a schoolboy. Being an actor and not knowing your pick-up line, you could not make it up! 

Y/N made space for the man sitting next to her, recognising him in the blink of an eye to be Austin’s friend and colleague he had talked so much about. Though she never truly listened to Austin’s attempts to set the two up together, she was much obliged to admit that he might have been right to even try match-making.

Callum Turner was indeed a very elegant man besides being good-looking. His aquamarine eyes had something of a malicious air which made her imagine him to be a kind soul and considering he had become a good friend to Austin, he must have been this kind-hearted being. She felt immediately some comfort in his company, which she had not felt in ages while surrounded by men. 

She did not feel intimidated by his 6’1 stature nor his assured walk as they were balanced by a gentle and wide smile on his face. She dared starting a conversation as she could catch a glimpse of him eyeing her.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. You must be Callum, right?”

“Hi, that’s right! So nice to meet you. You were in a film, weren’t you?” 

Y/N chuckled at the idea of being an actress and even more so of giving the impression of being one. “Oh no, I would be a terrible actress. I’m a photographer and also a childhood friend to Austin”

Callum laughed along at the confusion “Gosh, I’m sorry. It’s just the dress and you look, well, drop dead gorgeous” And the blush appeared back on his cheeks and was soon followed by the same tint on Y/N’s. After having said that, he realised who she was and why she was so familiar. Austin had talked about her earlier and had even shown some pictures of them at prom and other moments of their early adulthood.

She was even more of a beauty than what the photographs made it to be, he thought.

“You’re not bad-looking yourself”, Y/N commented after a few seconds.

From afar, Austin looked at the two introducing themselves, knowing the deal was closed.

“So, tell me, what drove you to photography?”, Callum inquired while not being able to take his eyes off Y/N. 

“I guess I’ve always wanted to show another version of nature and people than what could be seen in magazines. Having someone pose for you or waiting for a certain light to come up in a forest does not interest me. I want to capture what makes a person different from another or why a certain setting is going to move you or not. Well, tonight was a little different than usual but it was fun somehow”

“You took pictures tonight? What photographs did you -”, Callum stopped mid-sentence, connecting the dots between the after-party he was a part of and Y/N’s activity and had to ask as Y/N seemed to nod at him “No way! You were on the red carpet?”

Y/N nodded once more, still not down from the experience she had gone through that evening. 

“Wow, that’s amazing! Congrats on that! How was the whole thing?”

“Exhausting”, Y/N admitted, which Callum could only relate to. Himself was not the biggest fan of red carpets, nor after-parties. But at this instant, he did not regret attending Austin and Kaia’s get-together and laughed along with her. How long had it been since he had not laughed and had genuine fun with a woman?

“But I guess you’ve got plenty of things to say about red carpets for yourself”, Y/N hinted. She loved his London accent which was music to her ears and her laugh was the purest thing she had heard in a while. 

“Tell me about it! I’m a real mess when it comes to those. There was this one time I nearly tripped on Judi Dench at the Bafta ceremony. I was running late which is something I’m really good at. So I’m running for my life to get on that carpet, right. Well, I saw the cameras and all but I did not see Dame Judi Dench and I just lowkey rushed into her as she was getting in the theatre”

“Stop, you mean you had a pile-up with M from the James Bond films? How did she even react?”

“She was the nicest about it. Mind you, I was 24. It was one of my very first award shows. I think she just noticed just how silly I had been to even try running on a carpet. I was unable to stop apologising to her but she was an angel”

After having discussed for over 30 minutes, interrupted here and there by the dishes served, the guests were taken to another room without tables and with enough space to dance the night away.

A playlist made of Taylor Swift, Marina and KC and the Sunshine band started blasting in the room, soon enough filling it with dancing actors and singers. Callum suggested Y/N and he could enjoy the tunes too. He took her hand and the two of them got to dancing. 

With the light emanating from the stroboscopes, Y/N was a shooting star. Her black dress twirled so nicely as she moved her body to the rhythm given. Callum could not stop looking at her while dancing along. 

Callum had this look of having done that all his life. He moved so lightly on the floor, with a composed pace and glistening eyes. 

“You look amazing when you dance”, Y/N whispered in Callum’s ear as the song ended, morphing into a new song.

“And you look amazing overall”, Callum replied. “You’re so beautiful I think I could kiss you right now”

Of course, it was mostly the alcohol speaking as Callum said that and he instantly regretted having said that outloud. As he was wishing she had not heard what he had just said, he felt a warmth on his lips. The warmth was a soft kiss placed with all the tenderness in the world.

After the shared kiss, the two of them went back to their dancing but this time, they got closer. Y/N’s sensual moves rushed Callum to grasp her waist and joining in, echoing her moves with his hands on her wiggling body. With the soft fabric of her dress under his hands, Callum felt like kissing her once more and in her ears said “I really want to kiss you right now, would that be okay?”

“Callum, we’ve just made out in front of everyone. Of course, I’m okay with that”

More kisses added up to the list and the song ended once more. “Let’s go somewhere more quiet”, Y/N suggested and the two of them got back to the first room where they had met. 

In that room, Callum was all hands on Y/N, not being able to resist the tension anymore. “Would you like to see the pictures I took back to my place?”, Y/N questioned, feeling like the end of the night could well go somewhere unplanned but nice.

[oosleepyfaeoo]

The Lady of Snow

Chapter Two

A. Targaryen x Stark!Albino!Reader

Summary: Aemond is much like his uncle in one thing... has a thing for ladies with white hair. (sorry I'm bad at summaries)

Warnings: None in this chapter, eventual smut, reader is a female and also described with white hair and skin Words:2k A/n: English is not my first language.

Previous chapter

Masterlist

You couldn’t sleep that evening. Your mother's words echo through your head over and over. 

Our kind Queen said she will take you as one of her ladies in waiting.  

Your worst nightmare finally comes knocking on your door. Going to the South to be around snobbish people and forced to take some high Lord as your husband.  

You knew that you would have to take a husband one day although you always thought that would be some Lord from the north, one of your father's bannermen. Someone closer to home. 

But no.  

You will accompany the Queen to the south and let her choose the perfect husband for you. Some Lord who doesn’t even share the same Gods as you since most people from the southern lands praise the faith of the seven. You will not have the chance of saying your vows before the weirwood tree in the godswood.  

Also, the dance with the one-eye Prince was still vivacious in your mind. His warm touch made your eyes flutter, his large hand squeezing the softness of your hips gently. His musky scent made you feel so at ease even though you only met him for a day.  

His purple eye shined with curiosity and hunger as his gaze locked to your lips. You could swear that if the music hadn’t ended and brought you to your senses, you would have kissed him.  

“How inappropriate of me.” You giggled softly, a soft smile emerging on your lips. The thought of your mother's mortified face as everyone sees the young Lady Stark devouring the one-eye Prince's mouth. 

Sighing tiredly, you finally let sleep take over your body. 

/// 

You woke up early in the morning, dressing in simple hunting clothes. Dark leather pants, and a loose blouse with a tight black corset around it.  

After your handmaid braided your hair, you met Helaena at the gardens. You promised to take her to see the weird, colorful creatures that inhabited the trees.  

The young Princess couldn’t stop cooing at the colorful worms, saying she must take some of them to Kings Landing. Putting them in her garden. 

Everyone was already in the yard ready for the hunt when both of you arrived from the woods. You quickly spot Aemond, standing beside your brother as his gaze locks on you. Examining your outfit choice, clearly enjoying how your pants hug your legs perfectly.  

“Good morning, dear brother.” You announce cheerfully, bowing gently to Aemond. “My Prince.”  

Cregan puts his hand on your shoulder, smiling widely. “I was thinking that you would miss the hunt, sister.”  

You huff and punch him gently. “I would never!”  

Cregan waves his hand to his squire, who quickly runs to his side, with a beautiful bow and a quiver in his hands. Your brother took the weapon from the young boy’s hands and give it to you. 

“Since your practicing bow is getting old. I decided to order the blacksmith to make you a new one.” You admire the beautifully well-carved bow in your hands. Noticing the small detail of your house symbol, the dire wolf head, carved on the grey wood. 

Smiling brightly, you hug your brother. “Oh! Thank you! I will use it carefully, I promise!”  

Cregan chuckles and looks to Aemond. “My sister's archery skills can put almost every man in Westeros to shame. She never misses.”  

“Really? That’s an interesting... skill for a noble Lady to have.” Aemond hums, clearly impressed by it.  

“The Ladies from the north can be completely different from the Ladies from the south, my Prince,” You say with a smirk on your lips.  

The guards sounded the horn, signing everyone to mount their horses. Your father rode beside the King while your brother accompany the Princes.  

As Aemond makes himself comfortable in his saddle, petting gently the brown horse, he looks down at you, who was petting happily Onyx.  

Confused by the lack of a horse, he asks. “Doesn’t your sister has a mount?”  

Cregan laughs and nods in your direction. “Oh, she does but it isn’t a horse, my Prince.”  

Aemond and Aegon gasp in shock as you climb into Onyx’s back and trot happily past them, the other dire wolves following you close behind. 

“The Targaryens ride dragons and some Starks ride their wolves.” Cregan laughed, commanding his horse to trot faster. Leaving behind the two shocked Princes. 

/// 

The hunt goes surprisingly well, everyone got their fair game. You, of course, have more than most every man in the party. Which made some King’s men give you an annoyed glare. 

Through the remaining days of the royal family in the north, you and the Targaryen siblings got really well. You are a little closer to Helaena than the young Princes. Finding her sweet and very open-minded, enjoying her little riddles.

You and Aemond continue your little staring contest, stealing each other looks during meals or whenever you both run into each other in the halls or in the gardens. 

Sometimes your brother would give you a side eye, not liking the way you and the dragon Prince can’t stop staring at each other. But you would just give him a sweet innocent smile and resume your conversation with Helaena, noticing in the corner of your eye Aemond still looking at you. 

Tonight there will be a great feast since it’s the last night the royal family will be in the north but it’s also your last night in your home.  

Your mother couldn’t stop the tear running down her pale cheeks as she helps you braid your hair. Telling you how much she will miss you but it will be for your own good since you will have a wealthy husband that will cherish you and protect you.  

“But I want to be here... with my family.” You mumble eyes cast down. Trying to contain the tears from falling. “I don’t want to marry some Lord who wouldn’t cherish my Gods or my freedom. Hells, he wouldn’t let me have my sweet dire wolves, Mother!”  

Your mother sighs and cups your face with her delicate hands. “My sweet child... I know very well your fear.” She kisses your head. “I myself experienced when I came to the north to marry your father. And I accepted your father’s Gods and his love... He gave me two wonderful children, who I love so much, and you will soon experience that love.” 

You sigh brokenly and nodded, standing up to leave your chambers to where the feast was. 

“But!” You look back confusedly. “If your future husband puts his hands on you or forces you to do something without your consent. I will order every House in the north to march to the south and kill every person in your husband's House.” She says with a sweet smile on her lips but her eyes shined with wrath.  

Everyone in the north knew to never provoke Lady Stark since her wrath could be worse than a dragon. 

Smiling brightly and feeling much better, you hug her tightly. “Thank you, Mother.”  

/// 

Laughter and the strong smell of ale hovered by the great hall. The music rang loudly as people danced lively in the center of the room, one of them being your brother and Helaena.  

It’s clear that the both of them had a crush since they were almost eating each other with their eyes. 

Giggle softly, you sip on your wine. Enjoying the way your brother blushed at something Helaena had whispered in his ear. 

“What’s so funny, my Lady?” Aemond’s voice sounded beside you, making you jump a little.  

You put your cup down, cleaning away some wine drops from your chin. “Nothing, my Prince. Just remembered a joke that my brother told me.” You lie.  

Aemond hums and takes the seat beside you. “Excited to travel to King’s Landing?”  

You sigh and look at your hands, playing with your ring. “If I may be honest, my Prince. No, I'm not excited to travel to the south.”  

Aemond was taken aback by your response, not quite sure of what to say. “And why if I may ask?”  

“I do not wish to marry some snobbish southern Lord.” You look at him, noticing his eye fixed on your lips. “I hope to not offend, my Prince. But southern men tend to be weak, not only physically but mentally too.”  

Aemond chuckles at your words. “Oh you are completely right, my Lady. Some are extremely idiotic.” He smirks. “But not all of them are like that. And maybe with your stay at the Red Keep, you might notice that.”  

You give him a side eye, seeing his smirk widen as he notices your confusion. “Would you like to dance, my Lady?” He stood up and offer you his hand. 

Still eyeing him suspiciously, you take his hand and let him guide you to the center of the room.  

Wrapping his warm hand on your waist, his other one cupping gently your hand, he begins guiding you through the dance. You couldn’t move your gaze away from his, seeing the hunger beginning to form in his eye.  

More people start dancing around you two as the music begins to speed up, squeezing you two into each other. Aemond’s hand on your hip twitched, squeezing your softness a little which made you gasp lowly.  

“I can’t take it anymore.” He growls 

You frown gently, confused by his words. “What-” 

He crashes his lips against yours, making you whimper in surprise. His lips felt like heaven against yours, firm and soft. You wrap your arms around his neck, your hands grabbing his soft silver locks and pulling them gently. Earning you a growl from him.  

He gently bites your lip, trying to invite his tongue into your mouth. As you were about to grant him that, a deafening yell echoed through the large room halls.  

Pulling away from each other, your pale lips swollen and reddish from the passionate kiss that you and Aemond shared. You look around, seeing guards pushing people away, trying to get to the group of men fighting by the ale barrel.  

A hand wraps around your arm, pulling away your attention from the fight.  

“Mother order you to get to your chamber quickly.” Cragan appears beside you, eyeing Aemond skeptically.  

Nodding gently, you begin to walk with Cregan. “Thank you for the... dance, my Prince.”  

Aemond nods and smirks, putting his hands behind his back as he watches you being dragged by your brother. 

“The pleasure was all mine, Ñuha ziry zokla.” (My she-wolf.)  

Tag list: @cryptid-l0ver @saelwen @saelwen-shy-elf @papichulo120627 @yentroucnagol @chittakii @iiamthehybrid @azaleapotterblack @tssf-imagines @justmonikaonly @marvelescvpe @gknj9495

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[themadlu]

A Star's Purpose

Part of the Spelljammer challenge by @spacebarbarianweird!

Astarion is happy, truly happy, in the safety of his lover's affection. The troubles of the Underdark have no sway on his mood as he relishes simply existing with his Zélie.

Until a call for help takes them to the depths of the Astral Sea on a Spelljammer vessel, and he'll be damned if he lets his maddening hero face the dangers of interplanar space on her own.

TW: None, I think. Maybe a smidge of self-worth issues? And end-of-game spoilers.

Not beta read and minimal editing, sorry for any mistakes!

This is mostly non-canon to Zélie and Astarion's story (I think).

@amywritesthings, in case you wanna check it out!

A year and a half has passed since the Netherbrain’s defeat. Zélie stayed in Faerun with Astarion, who’s now confined in the shadows due to his vampiric nature. They have settled in the Underdark, after concluding it was their duty to guide the 7,000 spawns towards a semi-functional society and a second chance at life. The lovers live in the magic tower near the sussur tree and have made it their own haven. A home, Zélie would say, but she is home to Astarion, and where they are matters not. 

He just wants to keep falling into reverie with her warm body tangled in his, keeping his demons at bay, and welcome the day with her wild, owlbear-esque hair all over his face. To live in the comfort of each other’s embrace, as nauseatingly cliche as it sounds. Not that she would allow it on most days, his precious, maddening woman. They have responsibilities, she says. Obligations. To the hells with them, he thinks, as he walks with her towards whatever bothersome issue they need to attend to next.  

So what happens when a message comes from a dear friend asking for their assistance in the cold void of the Outer Planes? Astarion knows. His steadfast hero will do what heroes are expected to do: run to the rescue, even if she’d rather not risk their lives again so soon after…well, everything. “You don’t have to come, Astarion, really. Actually, I think it more appropriate for you to stay here, now that we are making progress with your siblings.” As if. Aurelia and Leon can make themselves useful for once and hold the fort on their own. The pale elf is no hero and never will be, but his heart beats in her chest and her soul is his own, so he’d be damned if he doesn’t follow her into this new, gigantic mess. She (“We, Astarion”) already slayed a Netherbrain; what’s a lich queen in comparison. 

______________________________________________________________

Well, that’s impressive.

Astarion examines the raiding ship that Lae’zel somehow managed to secure. The very thing that is going to sail them into the cold, deep astral sea. The technology is clearly Illithid—since he woke up inside that fleshy pod, he’s become familiar enough with their tentacled technology to recognise it when he sees it. But the Githianki’s influence is evident: the large, fan-shaped sails stand proud against the moonlit sky like a dragon’s wings, ready to take their riders towards their next conquest. The front of the ship has what he can only describe as teeth; fanged protrusions, not unlike his own, ready to swallow whole whatever unfortunate creatures they’ll meet. A silent but unavoidable promise of war echoes off the vessel. It makes Astarion antsy. 

He has no issue with violence–he still revels in it at times, the need to own, to consume and not be consumed, so typical of his kind, exasperated by the horrors he suffered. But his bouts of spite and aggression have been fading since her. 

He turns to look at Zélie only to find her staring at the ship with eyes so wide they mirror the moon perfectly. Her mouth is the slightest bit agape in wonder, the closer her stern face can get to a surprised expression. Perfect thing. Gods, over a year together (A year, five tendays and eight days.), barely leaving each other’s side even in dreams, and his little hero still leaves him speechless with the smallest quirk.

(The way she smiles at him when she thinks he isn’t looking makes him want to scream, weep, beg her for forgiveness—for all he has to his name is a used body—and ravage her for days. At the same time.)

You’re a gift, my love. Let me keep you. 

Astarion isn’t worthy of her devotion and mercy, no angry huffs and puffs from her will convince him fully, but gods below he wants to be. He’ll do anything, become anything to keep her safe, happy, looking at him as if he were some miracle of the heavens. 

(Do it. I dare you, he thinks to the silent gods, Try to take her from me. See what happens next.)

“Seen something you like, darling?” He jests in an airy tone, both because he likes to prattle and because her attention scalds him kindly, completely, like the sun never could. Insufferable woman, making him feel so alive. 

Zélie flips her head towards him, frizzy curls bouncing wildly. “Oh Astarion, this ship! I know we’ve been on a mindflayer vessel before, but this is incredible!” She takes his hand in hers and he burns in the best way possible. 

Precious thing, so enamoured by technology, human or otherwise. He pulls her into his arms so he can feel whole one last time before he has to share her with their friends. Astarion kisses her softly, a grin on his lips at her inexorable embarrassment. She is not one for public displays of affection—most of the time.

(Part of the reason he prefers it when it’s just the two of them, so he can worship her properly in the temple of their home.) 

Fuck. 

He is getting hard just thinking about it. He needs to distract himself or else he’ll end up with a wet patch on his trousers that Lae’zel will ridicule until the end of days. 

Jealous prick. Green suits her.

The pale elf grips Zélie tighter, his familiar hardness pressing into her stomach, and her already wide eyes become impossibly larger, paler. (He so wishes he had a reflection in times like these.) 

“I stand by my point, my sweet. Size does matter, it seems.” Astarion winks at her and the woman’s flustered expression turns unamused. Oh, he so adores riling her up, his fierce hero. 

It seems he has underestimated the effect he’s had on her since they met—he can’t believe it’s almost as deep as the one she had on him—because suddenly she presses into him, burying a hand into one of her coat’s pockets so she can grab his length without being seen. Astarion hisses under his breath with poorly concealed pleasure. It’s his eyes that widen and darken now.

“You, cheeky, little pup,” he murmurs, rattles, heat spreading through him so that he would surely combust if he weren’t a cold corpse. 

“Mhm. I guess you do have a point, my dear,” Zélie says, face still unamused as she looks at him and gives him a gentle squeeze to emphasise her statement. 

(It takes all of his self-control not to buck his hips into her hand.)

“Although size doesn’t mean quality. Both are necessary. What good would such a huge ship do to us if it couldn’t sail properly, don’t you think?” She whispers the last few words in his sensitive ear and Astarion almost whines, the desire pooling in his underwear threatening to stain the fabric.

 If it were anyone else touching him like she does, Astarion would rip their throat and limbs out or die in the attempt. But it’s his Zélie and, gods and hells, he wants her, this, all of it, desperately. Her hands are so gentle to him, always, as if he would break should she press a little harder. He thought it was her relative inexperience at first, or worse, pity. The idea that she could be so tender with someone like him purely because she wanted to was unfathomable; now, he has no interest in living without it.

Only she can come to him unannounced. She can do anything she wants with him. 

(He trusts her more than he trusts himself.)

“T’chaki, you two never cease to be revolting,” a cutting voice calls out from behind them. Ah, right. Lae’zel is here. And a few dozen other Gith warriors loyal to Orpheus, all looking equally disgusted. 

Astarion scowls at them while his love-addled brain quickly sobers up at their most untimely appearance (Thank you very much, Lae’zel.) 

Only then, he notices the strangeness of his predicament: it’s his usually stony Zélie who’s all but moulding their bodies into one, it’s her smaller frame in his arms and her fingers caressing his still-hard length. 

Oh? You’re more worried about this journey than you let on, aren’t you, darling?

He recognises the signs from their last life-threatening adventure, her need to have him close to her so she could keep him safe. Impossible thing, always shielding him so fiercely, he is starting to consider his centuries of captivity as a due price for having her to himself. 

(A mortal human protecting a vampire should be laughable, but she saved him in every possible way already.)

Astarion snarls in warning at the burdensome company that ruined what could be the last moment of private intimacy with his person in a long while. “With all due respect, Lae’zel dear, go fuck off for a bit, would you?” 

Lae’zel’s warriors look just about ready to use him as a practice target (They can try.) when the woman in his embrace clears her throat, “It’s all right, Lae’zel. We’re revising last-minute arrangements for the journey. We’ll board in a moment, thank you.” 

The Gith does not look happy, but she and Zélie share a close friendship (And a stick up both their backsides, Astarion used to think.), so she listens to her and heads to the ship with her crew, cursing some pretty mild threats. Small mercies. 

“Oh,” Finally alone, Zélie realises she is still gripping Astarion’s length, colour draining from her face in mortification. “I’m so sorry Astarion, I got carried away,” she tries to move her hand away but he grabs her wrist, keeping her in place. 

“You don’t have to apologise, love. I know I’m simply irresistible!” His attempt to lighten her mood is met with a sceptic glance. Silly, precious thing, always caring for his well-being. Let me help you. “Truthfully, my sweet,” his next words are the truest ones he’s ever uttered, “you know I’m yours.” 

Zélie raises an eyebrow, “you are your own person, Astarion. We went through this, multiple times in fact.” 

He laughs, “To you, with you, darling, it doesn’t matter. As you can clearly see,” he squeezes her hand around his dripping cock.

His stubborn woman studies him carefully, searching for any of his masks and finding none. “Very well,” she concedes. She turns to her left as noises filter from the ship. “Last chance, Astarion. If you want to remain in the Underdark, you must tell me now. Lord knows how long this expedition will last, and I reckon your siblings would benefit greatly from you being there to—”

That’s what it is, then. She worries for him still; and it still unravels him. 

Let me care for you, idiot.  

“Hush, you,” Astarion places a finger on her lips to shush her, “I am where I belong.” 

(Something inside him tears at the thought of being separated from Zélie. Of her alone in the face of danger.)   

His hero’s stance softens, finally relaxed. Her relief makes her look so much younger. “Oh, well, in that case,” she leans into him and kisses him. Truly, fearlessly, savouring all of him. Astarion barely suppresses a noise of surprise before responding in kind, fangs grazing her lips, never hurting her (Never.), devouring her. 

Zélie quietly moans into him. Astounding, how she is still pleasured by such a simple act when they have been entangled into way more complex scenarios during the last year. (As if he were not close to coming already.) If the Gith are watching, he’ll gauge their eyes out.

A tremble of the earth signals that the ship is ready for departure. Zélie detaches from him and this time he does whine at her loss. She gives one last gentle squeeze to his length, making him narrow his eyes at her. The cool night air flows between them.

“The moment we are alone, I will bury myself into your perfect little body so deeply they will have to pry me from you, love.” 

(There’s no holier sight than her tender ecstasy as she shatters around him.)

He expects her embarrassment but not her smirk, “Careful. Promises must be kept, Astarion.” 

She pecks him on the lips again, fully extricating herself from him to climb the steps to the main deck. 

Cheeky, maddening pup.

Yes, Astarion decides, he will make her shout his name so loud Vlaakith herself will hear. 

______________________________________________________________

The Astral Sea is not what Astarion expected. Not that he expected much of anything since he didn’t really want to come here in the first place.

Zélie is leaning against the taffrail in front of him, a multitude of celestial bodies surrounding them. She is so eager to examine every part of the vessel that she stepped onto the outer deck the moment the ship slowed down to pick up some more crew members (As if they weren’t cramped enough already.)

“Don’t you find it uncanny, Astarion? This works very much like a regular ship, and yet it doesn’t. The Astral Sea functions like any material sea, until it doesn’t. And those strange helms—” 

“A pinnacle of technology, taken from the Ghaik and immensely improved by the Githianki so that our empire may conquer and prosper,” comments Lae’zel. Her queen’s betrayal hasn’t quelled the admiration for her own people; if anything, she seems more determined than ever to see a worthy leader at the helm of Gith society. “With a spelljamming brig such as this, you can travel anywhere, anytime. Time passes differently in the Astral Plane. Open a gate into one of many material planes to plunder and pillage to your heart’s content!” 

Gods, intense as always I see. Good. 

A formidable trait in war; fearsome in a foe, welcome in an ally. 

(So Lae’zel can protect Zélie on the battlefield while he keeps her safe from the shadows.)

Zélie’s attention shifts to the mechanism supporting the sails as she speaks, “The travelling part sounds delightful, Lae’zel. The plundering and pillaging less so, for my tastes.” 

The Gith begins a rant about the istik’s inherent weak nature. She even dares to say his Zélie should have chosen her as a partner, back when she proposed, so her martial skills would not have been dulled by the puny vampire. 

Excuse me?!

“I’ll let you know, Lae’zel, that I can keep our dear leader on her toes just fine,” the elf interjects. Astarion is about to add a snarky remark (He was chosen after all.), but Zélie speaks first, “Oh Lae’zel, I would have just been an impediment and you know it. I would have slowed down all the conquering and deadly fighting you enjoy so much. Besides,” she turns to Astarion, a playful glint in her eyes. If he weren’t so attuned to her, he’d miss it.

 (He wonders how many silent gestures he has missed at the start of their travels.)

“I am where I am meant to be,” she concluded. The tips of his ears definitely do not blush at those words. 

(She’ll be the end of him and he wouldn’t have it any other way.) 

Astarion shoots his darling a winning smile, which morphs into a cocky grin as he looks at Lae’zel. 

There. Don’t be sour, you heard what she said. 

Lae’zel is unimpressed. “T’chk. Suit yourself, Zel. Your loss.” 

She marches off towards the helm of the brig when Zélie interrupts her, “Wait. You mentioned that time here passes differently, but how so?”

The Gith sighs, “Ignorants. It’s not the time itself, but its effects. They come to an almost complete halt; no hunger, no ageing—you’ll see when you won’t recall the last time you ate.” 

“Oh”. Oh. 

No ageing is almost as good as—

Immortality. 

Astarion has heard about the Astral plane before, but it seemed so out of his reach he never bothered to learn more. He pickpocketed a book or two about it from some of his liaisons, but they were confiscated immediately and he was handed to Godey for his insolence. It’s not as if Cazador ever had any interest in entertaining his spawn’s curiosity. 

Time is of no consequence to him, but to know that Zélie’s limited lifespan (Because of course the impossible woman had to be human, of all things.) could also be endlessly extended— 

Astarion faces her, her eyes already on him, lit up with the same realisation. He doesn’t dare to hope it’s going to be that simple, but gods, if anyone deserves eternal life is her. And he deserves some happiness without such a dreadfully finite time limit, he fucking does. 

He sees how Lae’zel looks at him, then Zélie, and sighs loudly. She stomps off, shouting, “Boarding is about to be complete. I suggest you two get inside soon enough, if you don’t want to end your dull lives swept away by the astral winds.” 

Astarion nods as she passes by him—her people-reading’s skills have improved enormously since they met. The moment she is out of earshot, he speaks, “Darling, did you—”

“I don’t know—” Zélie says, at the same time. 

The elf lets out a shrill, small laugh, “You first, my sweet.” 

She smiles, a “I don’t know what to think, Astarion. Being immune to the effects of time, it all seems so impossible, so…” He knows what she is thinking, that it’s unnatural, that it’s not how things, people, are supposed to be. When he thought ascending was the right choice for them, when he failed to convince her to embrace becoming his eternal bride, she recoiled, attached to her mortality. 

She doesn’t understand. 

He would outlive her even if he were not a vampire because he is an elf and she, holy as she is, is human. There is no facet of reality where she won’t leave him behind and go where he can’t follow—

“I think we should try,” Zélie stands taller, back straight, like a general making an important call, “After we help your siblings and all the others settle down. Who knows, maybe we can even get our own astral skiff. Do you think dogs will be fine here? I wouldn’t want to leave Scratch behind.”  

She talks faster, excited, and Astarion’s breath catches, head spinning even though he doesn’t need air. He darts forward to cage her between himself and the taffrail, causing her to let out the most adorable little breath. 

(Perfect.)

Zélie composes herself again, “And if we can travel between material planes, there may be a chance to find mine…to find my family. Even if just to tell them I’m well and to introduce you to them.”

Astarion feels like he’s falling, so he catches himself with centuries-old sarcasm. “To—what? Love, you can’t be serious. Introducing a vampire spawn to your oh-so-proper family is a moronic thing to do, even for an impossible woman such as yourself.” 

They would scorn you my sweet. 

She speaks of her family, her planet, sometimes. The image of stern faces, so similar to hers, twisted in fear—or worse, disgust—at the monster their precious Zélie is in love with leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He isn’t fond of children, but even he wouldn’t want his daughter to have anything to do with something like him. 

Zélie exhales in offence, “Of course I want you to meet them, ridiculous elf. I have nothing to hide. I am proud of you, all of you, infinitely, and I know they would be too. You complete me, and for that they would welcome you with open arms.” She stares him down in challenge. 

Astarion studies her expression as he presses his forehead to hers. He seeks for unwillingness, for embellishments of the truth—because lying is a sin to her— and finds none. 

You mean this. Gods.

“Yes, love. We can bring the pest. We can even ask Halsin for the owlbear if you’d like. We will travel through every single material plane if we need to. Anything,” he kisses her parted lips, “Anything,” pecks her cheeks, “Anything,” her forehead, “Anything,” her nose, “Anything you want.” His grip on her tightens. 

She smiles at his onslaught, “All right, all right. We’ll find out how to make it work. For a while!” Zélie points her index finger at him in mock sternness, “I don’t think an unchanging eternity wandering the Astral Sea is something we should limit ourselves to, even if I want to. What purpose would it serve?”

“Purpose?” Astarion snarls the word as if it personally offended him, “We are purpose enough, stubborn woman.” He lifts her up and she clings to him on instinct. He strides inside the ship, ignoring the disapproving looks of the Giths. 

“Astarion! What are you doing?!” 

He whispers, fangs grazing her ear, “I’m finding a private space on this overcrowded thing, darling, so I can fully demonstrate how purposeful I can be.”

Zélie pales and flushes at the same time, and Astarion can feel himself basically purring at the thought of what he’s going to do to her—

“I’m glad you learnt to keep your promises, Astarion,” she murmurs, the outline of a smile into his neck.

Oh love, you have no idea.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Make the Fire Burn

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

Kira had gone through a phase, during her apprenticeship, where all she read were swooning, brainless romance novels. Her days, after all, were spent filling her mind with magic, learning symbols and their combinations. The silly stories of beautiful women and handsome men were the only things she’d found that held off the worst of the headaches. 

She had traded the precious few copper coins she had to spare for these tales, damsels in distress or troubled lovely lads with torn bodices and breeches rescued by the strong prince or princess, knights in gleaming armor sweeping them off their feet. The blood that must have stained them during the floridly described battles against wicked villains was never mentioned but implied, somehow deliciously implied. She’d stayed up too late many times reading by candlelight and magic the way these heroines would come undone and then… well, she would usually stop reading before the final chapter.

She often lost interest before the books could make it to the happily ever afters. The final cooing happiness was so much less important, to her, than the breathless ways they got there.  

Now, though, Kira was beginning to realize the books - many of which featured captivity, thrilling references to bonds both real and magical - had left out one very important truth. Perhaps the most important descriptor of them all.

None of them had ever made it clear how deeply, achingly, excruciatingly boring being held captive would be. 

This room, with its portraits of the dead who had suffered her fate before her staring down at her from the walls, was a very pretty cage, but it wasn’t a very entertaining one. The servants brought her meals but refused to answer her questions, only giving her sad smiles. Occasionally she woke up in horror to find herself wearing different clothing than she had gone to sleep in. At least there had been no more breakfasting at the dining table - melting the silver in her hands despite having had her magical tools taken from her had apparently made an impression on the loathsome Lord Wentworth.

That, she had to admit, was a little satisfying.

Still, she hadn’t been able to make it happen again, and so she was trapped here in this room torn between hours of lying on the bed and staring sightlessly at the ceiling and frantic attempts to discover some sort of secret here she could use to free herself.

So far… no such luck.

She had found some dust-covered books shoved between the back of the bed and the wall, but they appeared to simply be old primers for some long-dead child learning to read. The pages, scrawled in childish loops and swirls, had nearly crumbled under her fingertips. 

In the wardrobe there were out-of-date dresses, ribbons for her hair, even shoes that didn’t fit. She had… eventually tried on the shoes. It was something to do, it used up at least a few seconds of her otherwise eventless existence.

No wonder the damsels in her romances had been so desperately grateful to their dashing rescuers. She’d rip her bodice off herself just to have someone to talk to.

She wasn’t even entirely sure how long she’d been trapped here. It had to have been a month, right? The full moon had come and gone, waned day by day back to a sliver of itself lit like silver, with the rest only barely implied in the shadowy sky.

The sliver was widening again, working itself back to fullness. Perhaps six weeks, then, and had no one come looking for her? Did Kiraya Losna’s life matter so little, in the scheme of things, that not even her landlady had come looking for her when rent was due and she was gone? Had they sold off her clothes and books to make back a little bit of what she owed, or simply tossed it all in the gutter with the trash, to be torn apart for any hint of value by strangers?

Her heart twisted if she thought about it too long.

Her diaries might make an entertaining night’s read for some scoundrel who wanted to amuse himself with the pain of a girl who must learn on her own how to make herself a woman, when her body wasn’t correct without some help. The life of a girl with too much magic but no mother must make for quite the tale, indeed, for someone who did not care about the real person behind the pen-marks on the pages.

Would whoever had found her diaries in the refuse laugh over her joy when she had unlocked the secrets to the spell that made her reflection match her inside and out? Would they mock her dreams, even if they’d been fulfilled?

It didn’t matter. Not really.

She was never getting those diaries back. Hells, she was never even going to leave this place, and she knew it. She would be held here, and then die here, and have no choice in how it happened. Guilford Wentworth had declared her the betrothed to himself - or his son, she still didn’t quite understand - and her fate was to be the tame magician-wife for a lord whose demands would be great. And still, another would have to be taken to bear him children, which Kira could never do. 

So even in her captivity, she would damn someone else to the same fate. She felt very like the siren, in that way - trapped as a way to trap others in her same prison, this labyrinthian hell. If only she could have spoken to him again, she might have felt less lonely, more able to bear the boredom.

Some nights, at least, her restless attempts to sleep were broken by the siren’s mournful song winding up through the walls, a mourner’s wail of wordless melody, but he didn’t try to talk to her again, or even to control her.

He was trapped in his own lovely prison.

Although, honestly, at least he could have a swim in his.

Kira had resigned herself to her third read-through of the only genuine book she’d found in this room - hidden under some lovely scarves in the wardrobe, it was a story about pirates that absolutely had been written by someone who had never so much as seen a ship or an ocean and was more or less simply inventing how it might work as they wrote. It was absolutely worthless, and yet it was the only thing she thought might be keeping her sane here.

At some point, she blinked out of her stupor and realized she could hear the sound of horses’ hooves, the rattling of carriage wheels. Kira shot to her feet, the book dropping to the floor immediately and thankfully forgotten. She raced to the window, curving her fingers around the cold iron bars, listening.

She couldn’t see much from here, but-... yes, that was definitely a carriage. Had someone come to look for her, finally? Had someone realized she was still here?

Had someone noticed she was gone?

There were voices she didn’t recognize, pitched just too low for her to hear. Men’s voices, maybe one woman. She pushed her face between the bars, listening as hard as she could. Babbage was definitely one of the voices, and Wentworth, but she didn’t know the others. Wentworth and Babbage seemed perfectly chatty and friendly, setting Kira’s teeth on edge, but there was something to the other voices that didn’t sound the same.

The voices faded and were replaced by the stablehands moving the carriage horses to the stables, she assumed, and she slumped against the window, staring down at the topiary maze that led to a small fish pond below. Her heart had briefly raced - now it shuddered back to its usual slow beat. Even her heart could not find a reason to either fear or hope in this endless repeating nothing.

How long she stayed like that, she didn’t know. Her brain and body seemed simply to… pull away from the larger world around them. She was here and not-here, despair and absolutely nothingness warring within her. 

She had been an idiot to feel even that single bright spot of hope.

She had gone back to pick up the pirate book when there was a knock at the door. It wasn’t time for any of the meals brought to her, nor was it early enough to be the washbasin needing refilled. Kira swallowed, slowly standing up straight. She kept her eyes on the door as she slowly backed up, until she bumped into the wall and nearly knocked down one of the portraits that watched her sleep.

She said nothing.

They would come in or not - she knew by now it had nothing to do with whether she wanted it to happen. At least she would be awake this time. She lifted her chin, crossed her arms in front of her, and tried for all the world to look like she could do anything at all if they decided to drag her down to the siren and rob her of her mind right here and right now.

The door swung open, and there stood a man she had never seen before, but she knew immediately just looking at him that he was Guilford Wentworth the Fifth, here in the flesh. He had the same sort of look to his face, but so much younger, with a thick head of hair and wider eyes he must have gotten from his mother. He was tall and lanky where his father’s waistline had thickened over time. The family look was there, yes, but the young man was clearly his own person, too.

The lord himself stood behind his son, with a hand on his shoulder. “Here she is,” Lord Wentworth said, his voice thick slime as he gestured, stepping inside and pulling the younger Wentworth with him. “Your bride.”

Kira lifted her chin just a little more, so she had to look down her nose at the two of them. “We will see about that.” She kept her posture loose, unbothered, even as she felt her fingernails dig into her skin and her heart start to race. “I have my own thoughts on that,” Kira said, voice flat. “And you are…?”

The younger man swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly as he shifted, working himself out from under his father’s hand. He turned cold eyes on her. “Guilford Wentworth the Fifth,” He said, hostile and sharp. Only when the lord shoved at his back did he stumble forwards, brushing imaginary wrinkles from his waistcoat and pants before reaching out for her hand, bending forward at the waist with a straight spine.

He intended to kiss the back of her hand.

“Absolutely not,” She said, and did not move an inch.

The young man dropped his hand, one lip curling in a sneer. “Rude.”

“Oh, I am ever so, especially when held against my will. You’ll find my impolite instincts much harder to suppress without the siren to silence me.”

The young man snorted. “You find yourself terribly clever, don’t you?”

“Maybe. Could anyone think more of themselves than your father? Doubtful. Now, is there anything I can call you besides your father’s son?” She asked, tipping her head to one side. Her hair fell slightly against her cheek - she hadn’t bothered putting it up in at least a week and it hung in a riot of tangles down past her shoulders. She tried not to feel the Lord Wentworth’s eyes as they moved over her, and focused instead on the clearer, cleaner feel of his son’s dismay and hostility. “You must go by something, and I assume only the one man allows himself to be known as the lofty lordship here.”

To her surprise, she caught a slight twitch at the corner of the young lord’s mouth, as if he very nearly smiled before he got himself back under control. He had to duck his head just a little so that his father didn’t see it. “Ford,” He offered her, voice softening - just a little. “I go by Ford, where I live in the Colonies.”

He offered his hand again.

“Ford, then,” She acknowledged, hesitantly. This time, she allowed him to take her hand, felt his warm, dry lips press against her knuckles. She wiped her hand on her dress when she took it back, and watched his mouth twist again at the sight. “I am Kiraya Losna.”

“I know,” Ford said, and his eyes flickered towards the looming, smug presence of his father and then back to her. There was something to the look on his face she struggled to read. “I have been… told about you.”

“In preparation for our wedding, I imagine,” She said, dryly, and then turned abruptly away to look outside again. “For the sake of honesty, I should say I don’t intend to go through with it.”

“It won’t matter,” He answered, and she glanced back at him, eyebrows furrowing a little. He didn’t sound smug, like his father, but instead a little… battered. Perhaps he had witnessed rebellions before, or at least their aftermath. She wondered if he had ever rebelled, himself. “I will be… kind to you, Miss Losna, if I can-”

“I think that’s enough,” Lord Wentworth said, and clapped his hands together, just once. Ford flinched at the crack of palm on palm, even though Wentworth was all the way across the room. Her chest went cold as she saw how he hunched over himself, and then just as suddenly straightened his spine and set his shoulders back, jaw locked at a harsh angle. “Come, Ford. You and your sister need to see to your rooms, unpack your things… get settled in. The twins will be here within the week, as well, after all-”

“The twins?” Ford’s head shot up, and he turned on his heel, moving back to his father with a sudden burst of energy and speed. “The twins are away at school, Father, why-”

“For the wedding,” Guilford said, smooth as a snake’s belly soundless along the ground. “I thought you were fond of them, Ford. Was I mistaken…?”

“No, not mistaken, just-... I wouldn’t-... want to interrupt their studies, is all-”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. In any case, Miss Losna, you’ll be joining us this evening, won’t you?”

Kira’s eyes moved from one to the other. “I… suppose that’s… your prerogative, Lord Wentworth,” She managed, her voice seemingly speaking with perfect polite without her consent. “I will… see you at dinner, I suppose, Ford.”

“Right.” Ford rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. As he walked out the door, he slunk past his father, his steps hurrying him past the man as quickly as he could go. “At dinner, Miss Losna.”

He was gone. 

Guilford lingered in the doorway, looking back at Kira, his eyes moving over her body in a way that held entirely too much possession. It made her want to show up to dine with a bag on her head, draped in the comforter until no piece of her could be seen at all. Not that she thought it would make any difference. He would lust over what was beneath whether he could see it or not. 

She wondered if she could melt his bones with the wild magic that had worked on the silver, if he hurt her badly enough. If she only could become angry enough. It was only with effort she kept her voice calm and seemingly careless. “Will you be sending Nadette to help me prepare, Lord Wentworth? These dresses here were made for a woman with servants, I cannot do them up myself.”

He smiled at her, and it brought no warmth to his expression whatsoever. Only seemed to freeze her further. “A lovely image to hand to me, my dear.” 

“I am not your dear,” Kira sneered, leaning back against the wall, her hands pressed against its gentle texture, her palms somehow freezing and burning right to the tips of her fingers. Her heart raced within her, trying to run from the confines of her imprisoned body. “And I will never be your anything. I will not be your son’s, either. No matter how he must hate you.”

Wentworth paused, framed by the door, and chuckled, shaking his head. “You will, Miss Losna, be the loving wife to my son at the end of the next month. You will adore him wholly and utterly. And the both of you will adore me just the same.”

She pressed her palms back harder. The feeling of the wall made them ache but it was the only thing that kept her voice steady. “And his feelings on this marriage? He didn’t seem to agree-”

“What does that matter?” Wentworth blinked, as if surprised by the question. “My children do as I bid them, Miss Losna. They always have, and they always will. Or they cease to have a reason to be alive. Much like you.”

He closed the door and left her there.

The key turned in the lock.

She could hear him humming a jaunty tune until his voice faded entirely, and she was - once again - alone in her gilded prison cell. 

Kira stepped away from the wall, panic making her nerves spark and muscles jump under her skin, with no way to run, nothing to run away to. She took one step, and then another. Somewhere down below, the siren began his song again. There was no magic in it. He was only crying, in the way of his kind, and his despair echoed hers.

Kira ran, flinging herself onto the bed and burying herself beneath the heavy covers, pulling her pillow over her face with its lavender scent and screaming into it until her throat was raw. Her lungs burned for air and her throat ached, but still she kept screaming. 

At some point, screams became heaving sobs, hot tears that soaked into her hair, her pillow, and seemed to boil their way down her cheeks. 

She wept until there were no tears left. Then, she lay in silence and simply waited for the next step in what felt like an inexorable slide off a cliff into the darkness below. The siren's song rose higher and higher, slipping underneath her skin.

Sleep, He must have sung to her. Sleep now and dream of better things.

She drifted off, and knew only that his voice felt not like chains, now, but like a hand on her head, arms around her, the way her mother had once held her after nightmares.

If only this had been one.

If only she were able to wake up from this.

Where she had been standing, two handprints had burned black into the wall. Magic smoked, sparked embers, and then faded to soot unseen.

-

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee

[geniemillies]

Yearning For Spring | Ch. 7 | Tamlin x Oc

◇ — Chapter 7 - I Want To Live

A/n: Sorry I took so long, the world conspires against me. I cannot get anything done. But- Velaria's POV the whole chappy. As promised, some explanations after chap4. I enjoy writing her 🫶 Also a sprinkle of Hybern world-building bc I may or may not be obsessed with making stuff up about the place 🧍🏻‍♀️

✧ masterlist

<<Ch.1 <<Ch.6 ||◇|| Ch.8>>

Velaria || Flashback ||

It wasn't my choice to stay in Hybern. At first.

That night at the Illyrian camps will forever be seared into my memory. I remember how the thick air hung heavy with the acrid stench of fire and blood – my mother's blood, as her screams echoed in my head, desperately begging me to flee and save myself. I'll never forget feeling powerless, hearing her cry for me as he took her wings. Even when I was barely conscious I heard it.

And I keep hearing it from time to time when nightmares find me in my sleep.

I remember being so sure that I'd never wake up again.

But I did. I woke up with my wounds healed, my wings still on my back, in a place I didn't recognize. I woke up in a room with my bed surrounded by little children all too eager to see me well and awake. And I've never been more confused.

The Lighthouse, they call the place.

Then she came through the doors like a ghost in midnight, her silver hair caught in intricate braids, her eyes a deep shade of blood red. When I first saw her, I might've thought she was the most beautiful thing I've ever set my eyes on. Like the pale moonlight rising above the dimly lit dusk, she seemed to light up the room when she appeared.

Mother, they called her. Yet none of the children glowed the same. She introduced herself as Niamh and told me I was to stay in Hybern until it was safe enough for me to return to Prythian.

Hybern. I've been brought to Hybern of all places. Then I was sure I was set on an even worse fate than I'd ever imagined.

I cried, complained, and begged her to bring me back home immediately. I was so ready to fight her and escape the place if not for my damaged wings still healing. I was certain the children were slaves or brainwashed because Hybern is not a place for them to flourish. I saw them, their frail tiny wrists encircled by golden cuffs they said were unremovable. I was certain that she had them in some sort of trance and the place concealed sinister secrets yet to be exposed.

Surely…

So it shook me to my core to see them just wandering the place and playing in the courtyard. Like.. normal children. The female in charge of the house comes and goes and to my horrified surprise, whenever she is present at the house, she either does nothing but sit and sip tea all day or cook for the children. Like the House of Wind, the place did not have servants. Instead, they have her handling everything.

She did not speak to me at first, perhaps because I gave her the impression that I didn't wish to talk to her unless it was to discuss my return to Night. The children spoke to me. They were very well-mannered and overly curious about Prythian so I told them about the Night Court all the while they listened in awe to my stories. The elder children handled the chores when the female was away, serving as the responsible older siblings for the younger ones.

When I asked them about the seraphim in charge of the house they told me everything they knew and hid no secret. And the way they spoke of her.. debunked all my speculation of the female. They spoke of her not by blind devotion or controlled words but with sheer admiration and love. Familial.. love, even. They spoke about Hybern and how every third child born into a family is to be brought to the King as a gift, a sacrifice, so that they may be thrown into military training as soon as they hit the age of five if not the age they could begin to walk. She saved them from such fates. And yet, despite her efforts, she couldn't save them from the golden shackles now etched onto their wrists. They said that everyone in Hybern wore the cuffs, as children as young as infants are immediately branded by the Lady Justiciar, or whomever it was.

And now, instead of being child soldiers, they are normal children confined in a small portion of land by the southern cliffs, in a home where they're surrounded by other children they call their siblings, and a female who they could call their mother.

The oldest child living in the house was different though. Mannan. He wore no golden cuffs, nothing that binds him to the King. Instead, there is a faded symbol of a crescent moon above the pulse of his wrist. A strange birthmark, he said it was. While others were found by Niamh at an age where they could talk and speak and comprehend the world around them, Mannan was not. He told me his parents were dissenters from the territories in the North that no longer exist. He told me he was cut out from his mother's womb, his birthmother's dying wish as she begged the princess to spare her son's life and give him anything but the fate of death.

She apparently did, sparing them from the dungeons and death. But both parents died an unusual death. A respectful death, where they were buried underground at a place he calls the Sidhe. He is the only child she's raised since his birth, having cut him from the womb to save him. Maybe that's why he is more attached to her than any of the others, always by her side whenever she’s around, why he doesn't join older children who I’ve been told has left the house.

I would think it was odd if it wasn't so.. endearing in a familiar way. My mother took Cassian and Azriel in and treated them just as she cared for me and Rhys.

The children of the Lighthouse reminded me of that kind of love.

And I say ‘children’ loosely. Most are grown, maybe a few centuries younger than me save for the actual faelings recently welcomed to her home.

Often I would see her accompanied by Manann, as he would diligently prepare tea for her. Manann, along with Rhodri, has a fondness for alchemy. Dreas and Lachlan enjoy playing the piano and other instruments. Blaithin takes pleasure in sewing. Isolde is skilled in painting. Some late nights I find her with younger fae: Eimhear, Eriu, Fia, and Duna in their little.. book club? She'd even cook for them.. us. She does this thing where she can split herself into clones that do her work while she sits on a chair with a book.

Blood Witch, the children told me, was a title the entirety of Hybern apparently calls her. Save for them. The name is ironic to me. Despite wielding dark magic, she devoted her powers to performing the most mundane of tasks. Cleaning, baking..– chores.

The children are always taken with her and she makes no attempts to hide the fact that she enjoys their company. I found it strange that they loved her so much, even tried to convince myself that surely it was all a facade. At first, I thought her weird and.. strange. Intimidating. She exudes an air of confidence, a strength that seems to emanate from within. Her silence is comforting, daunting– eerie all the same. She was scentless and yet there was a faint smell of wildflowers mingling in the air around her as she goes. I rarely catch her with her hair down, her ashen blonde strands always neatly tucked and styled in one singular braid that snakes down her back or several intricate braids that tie together, often by a green fabric.

Something about her was just so strange to me.. Because she's the daughter of a tyrant King people tell stories of to scare children. And yet there she was, his spawn, taking care of children like she birthed them.

She is an enigma that never ceased to confuse me more than I'd like to admit.

And one day, I finally gathered the courage to approach her to speak. Almost a week passed when I finally decided I needed to demand to be brought back home again.

“The children say you wish to speak to me.”

“You've been ignoring me. Pretending I do not exist ever since you brought me here.”

“I'm under the impression you do not want to speak to me. So I left you be until you were ready.” She set down her cup, her entire demeanor, from her tone to her posture, embodied the dignified grace of a noble princess. “Are you ready? To ask your questions?”

I fought not to swallow the lump in my throat. It was the first time I’ve had a conversation with her since my arrival. “Does he know..?” I asked.

“Does who know?”

“The King? That I am here..?”

There was a pause as she shook her head. “No. I haven’t gone back to the palace since that night.”

"Why not?"

"We had.. a disagreement."

“How long am I to stay here..?”

“I'm still trying to find the 'permission of leave'. Until then I'm afraid we're stuck here.”

“Permission of leave? What does that mean? And what do you mean by.. we?”

“We as in I also cannot leave Hybern borders.” She flicked her wrist, her gold cuffs flashing a dull shine. “It is how the shackles work. We cannot leave. Not without permission. Permission granted in a tiny jewel, often on a ring."

My eyes narrowed at her revelation. What a horrible curse to inflict upon your own people. I knew the King was a tyrant but.. “But you are the Princess of Hybern. Surely you have authority.”

“I assure you titles hold little significance around here, for none possess the rank of King. We do not work like Prythian Courts. Our King is law and his rule is absolute. Everyone else… well, we’re merely just thralls.”

“And yet this place exists. And he remains ignorant of the children you've safeguarded here.”

“This place exists because I fought for it. And I fought for it to remain secluded from the rest of the kingdom. In Hybern, if you want something you take it by strength and force. I'm sure some of the children already explained why I own the Lighthouse now.”

They did. “You risk your life for children that aren't even yours. I don't understand your motives.”

“Does one need motives to protect children? They may not be mine. But they are still my people. Princess of Hybern I may be, but that doesn't mean I agree with our.. politics. Nor do my ideals align with my Father's.”

My eyes narrow at her words. There’s a subtle change in her expression, a slight furrowing of her brow, and a barely perceptible roll of her eyes, indicating a certain tension in her regard for the King.

“You do not get along with him?”

A brief pause fell upon us, and she shifted her weight in her chair. “Is there any daughter who gets along with her father?” She asks as if she was directly asking me the question.

I look down to my lap. “I guess not.”

I heard her stand and kneel before me, taking my hands in hers before I could get the chance to recoil. Her every gesture, from the slightest movement to the most subtle shift in her gaze, was imbued with a gentleness I still couldn't accept was real. As she took my hands, her warmth enveloped me, holding me captive with those eyes that blaze like the fires of a ruby-red sunset. A shade of red that is both brooding and resplendent. I felt like I could be at ease with her.. even when I didn't want to.

There is innocence in her movements, a kindness I never found in most fae less expect from a fae born in Hybern.

“I'm sorry for what happened to your family, and to you. It was never my intention to bring you here. Hybern is a dreadful place, I'd never wish for anyone to step foot here. But not once do I regret bringing you here to escape your horrid fate in Spring.”

I wanted to stand up and push her away, to remind myself that she was the spawn of a tyrant and she shouldn’t be trusted. And yet she’s been nothing but patient with me. She saved me, saved the children around me. I wanted to believe it was all a farce. And yet, nothing about her felt like a lie. She was unapologetically honest, sincere, laying everything bare for all to see.

“How were you there..?” I ask, tearing my eyes from hers.

“Hybern is allies with Spring's Lord. The King sent me to retrieve something. Only for a short while.” She paused, perhaps hesitating to say everything that she wanted to reveal as her face grew slightly bitter. “He lied to me.”

“You saved me.”

“I didn't. I took you. It was Tamlin who saved you. Tamlin who.." She seemed to soften. "..Could not finish the job.”

“You two are friends?”

Another notable pause. “We are.. acquainted.”

“Why did you help him?”

“You rather I let him kill you and gut out your wings?”

“No.. But you had no reason to help him. He is not your friend and neither am I. You're a foreigner princess from another land and yet you still brought me here. Is taking strays a hobby of yours?”

She released my hands as she stood, giving me room to breathe. “Perhaps. If the alternative is leaving them in worse hands, I'd rather the former. I do not take in children as a means of recompense. Nor do I take them in because I plan to brainwash them for sport or any other horrors you might think of me. And I did not take you here because I had ulterior motives or I wanted something from you.”

“What do you want?”

She paused for a moment, her response coming reluctantly like she hadn't quite formulated an answer for her reasons yet. As if saving me.. was a spontaneous decision. "I wanted," she began, her voice soft but firm, "For you… to live. Any other motive you might think of I'm afraid there's none. People of Hybern have a horrid reputation so I can understand why you may choose to mistrust me. But I am not your enemy. If you wish to leave, that is your choice. Just know that out of any authority in Hybern who will encounter you, you will find that I.. am the better alternative.”

My arms went stiff at my sides. “You threaten me?”

She answers me with a subtle shrug. “I tell only the truth. North of my small territory are the Ruins of Magh Meall. Barren lands belonging to the monsters of Hybern that lurk about, unbound to anyone, even the King. Manage to pass its borders and you'll find yourself at either N-amhrán or Saol Nua. And I assure you, none of the Bishops will take kindly to an outsider wandering about their territory.”

“Am I to be your prisoner then?”

“I bear no prisoners. Anyone who wishes to leave my house is free to do so. I give only a warning. Beyond the wards of this place, no one is safe. All the chilling tales you've heard about Hybern are truths that await. One step outside, and you will find yourself face-to-face with those brutal realities. And trust me when I say, my treatment has been infinitely kinder than what you might encounter out there..” She took a breath as she looked at me, a look of concern on her face.

“Do you not.. feel safe in my home..?”

“I didn't say that. But I don't belong here.”

“No. You don't..” She sighs.

“I will return you to the Night Court, Velaria. But I need you to know I am caged here as much as you are... My authority does not go further than Hybern borders. My place is here. I am bound to him. As we all are.” She takes my hands once more, her voice seeping with vulnerability. “I offer my sincerest apologies if you ever feel trapped here. It is not my intention to cage you.. or any of those who live under my roof. This is..”

“This is the best I could do..”

— —

Not even a day after that conversation, she finally returned to the palace after whatever squabble she had with her Father. Only to return to find out from the King that the High Lord of Spring is dead. She confirmed that my mother indeed died that night. And an attack on Spring was personally brought forth by my father in retaliation for her death. Tamlin’s family was killed. As was my father. My family.. is dead save for my brother. My brother who.. became High Lord shortly after I was brought to Hybern.

I felt the entirety of my world crashing when she told me. I couldn’t eat or sleep or bring myself to talk to anyone, not even the sweetest of children who wished to comfort me. I locked myself in the room they gave me, where meals were discreetly delivered, and comforting words were offered yet ultimately failed to soothe my heart. Then Manann told me that Niamh hadn’t returned to the Lighthouse for days, desperate to search for an excuse to be given the ring that would bring me back to the Night Court..

I cried for my father despite our strained relationship, despite I was no more than a spare, the shadow behind my brother. I cried much for my mother who snuggled beside me to pry away nightmares. And I cried for my brother who did not deserve to become High Lord with such little preparations.

At least he has Azriel and Cassian and Mor.., At least, I hoped he wasn't alone entirely.

I wasn't alone either. During the period of my mourning for my family I was surrounded by gifts and sympathy by the people of the Lighthouse. Despite being fae way younger than I, they understood my grief well as they are, well.. orphans. Either by having dissenter parents killed by the King or parents too poor and unable to provide, leaving them to fend for their own in the streets. Or they were rejected by the Lady Justiciar, who deemed them unworthy to become soldiers.

And most of all, it was Niamh who stood beside me. It was her hand behind my back, soothing me in silence as I cried. It was she who offered her greatest sympathies as held my hand and wiped my tears away. She told me she couldn't hope to understand my pain because her mother was dead long before she could even form memories and her father was evil personified. And yet she comforted me either way and fed me reassurances, promising me that she was working hard to get her hands on an excuse to have that ring.

She came and went, day after day, returning to the estate with her face riddled with regret and shame that she couldn’t convince the King to give her permission to leave.

So she tried again and again.. and again.

— —

Months passed by quickly, and she still hadn’t been able to obtain the jewel. Though sometimes, she returned to the house looking defeated– breathless, reeking of magic and chemicals unknown to me. Then she’d be locked in her study. Manann wouldn’t tell me what was wrong with her. The first secret he has tried to keep from me. But the other older children told me that the King was unkind to everyone. His own daughter was not spared from that, it seemed.

I made it my mission to pry everything out of that mysterious female. She may have treated me well but she undoubtedly had many secrets to hide. I just didn’t expect her to give them so easily. And all I had to do was ask…

“You think it will work?”

“Hm?”

“Your little rebellion. Do you think it will work?”

There, on the tower of the lighthouse that overlooked the empty sea, our legs dangling down the railings, she revealed to me her every secret.

There was a relaxed smile on her pale face as she leaned against the railings. “I can only hope.”

I couldn’t believe her, even now with her secrets known to me. Her growing rebellion. The schemes for a coup. The underground Sidhe. She’s managed to formulate such schemes away from her father’s watchful eye for years all the while serving as one of his most trusted Commanders.

The Princess of Hybern. A traitor..

Yet.. even with all that she revealed to me, she still wouldn't tell me the reason why she reeked of magic every once in a while when she returned to the house.

“What will you do when you're caught?” I figured I'd just let it go. She doesn't pry anything out of me. If her grand secrets are easy to reveal, secrets greater than even her plans to betray her father are.. darker still.

“A lot depends on me. I won’t. I worked too hard to get caught. Let alone think of the possibility.” She smiled as she looked at me.

A huff escaped me as I shook my head. “I cannot believe you're planning all this. It's.. an impossible thing.”

“If you think something is impossible, it'll remain that way. I saw the opportunity to do something and I took it.” She looks at me. “People of Hybern aren't what people say they are. Some may be cruel, vicious, angry.. But that's only because they know nothing else besides the want for war. But I assure you most of us yearn for something better than being subject to an eternity of tyranny. Most of us want a better tomorrow.. But most of us do not even know what it means to want. Children are born and they’re already burdened with a purpose. To serve and obey. And when you’re taught nothing else but those two rules how can you learn to need or want for anything else?”

My heart felt heavy at her words and something seemed to stir within me as she stared at me with those red eyes.

‘When you’re taught nothing else but those two rules how can you learn to need or want for anything else?’

I felt guilty and.. I didn’t know why.

My eyes shifted down to where I noticed her gently rubbing the smooth sheen of her golden cuff with her thumb. I find that she often does that. A nervous habit or what, I do not know..

“And then..? When the war is fought and the King is dead, what will you do?”

“I'll free my people.”

“And after? Will you assume the throne and name yourself Queen?”

There was a pause. As if she was taken aback.

"I do not wish to be Queen," she replied quietly. "I have no desire to rule."

“Then what do you want? You spend a great deal thinking about what you could do for others, so they may have something better. Freedom. A home. Someone to call mother. What do you want when it's all done and over, Niamh?”

“I..” Her gaze dropped as a soft smile touched her lips, her nail now gently scraping at the skin beside the etched gold on her wrist.

“I suppose I haven't planned that far ahead.” She admitted quietly.

The Mother herself must mourn the irony of such a situation. How could a place steeped in cruelty birth a soul as gentle as hers? I couldn't believe she was the King's blood daughter. The King is a cruel tyrant, a dark wielder, a slaver. And his commander daughter who looks nothing like him, strolls the courtyard, reads books, and plays with children in her downtime.

The apple fell so far from the rotten tree it's not an apple. It's something entirely different..

I look up at the murky night sky obscured by an eerie fog that obscures its usual beauty. Honestly, I never thought the sky could be so dull and lifeless, so void of stars to dream on.

“In the Night Court.. stars are plentiful in the night sky.”

Niamh turned her head up to look while leaning back. “I could imagine.”

“The skies are so clear that every once in a while, you can spot a shooting star up above.”

She looks at me. “Shooting star?”

I nod. “Mhm. It’s a bright trail of light that passes by quickly. When you see it, you make a wish.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the stars are sure to grant it.”

She paused, “Stars cannot grant miracles.”

“They could.” I felt myself smile even when I hadn’t intended to. “‘If you think something is impossible, it'll remain that way’, right?”

She looks at me. Then at the sky.

“There are no stars in our sky, sadly.”

“No. There are not..”

And yet, despite the fog, the soft glow of the moon defiantly glinted through the haze, casting a faint silvery light to reach us.

“There is still the moon.”

Her face falls flat. “The moon is not a star.”

“It's still bright, nonetheless. Always watching over you.” I shrugged, tipping my chin upwards. “Go on.”

“Go on what?” She looks at me confused.

“Wish.”

“I..” She looked back and forth between me and the moon once more, a clueless frown present on her face. “It is not the same.”

“Just wish. Clasp your hands like this, and close your eyes.”

Reluctantly, she did just that. Niamh set her elbows on the metal railings and looked at me as if searching for instructions. “What.. do I wish for?”

“Anything you want. It’s only for you to know. Only for the stars to answer. In this case- the moon.”

She was silent for a moment, pondering well and hard what she wanted to ask the moon for.

Then she breathed in and closed her eyes, the air was silent for a good while as she quietly wished. And I observed her face as she did, feeling my heart heavy again at the fact that she didn’t know how to wish upon stars because she had never seen them, proving that everything she said was true. People of Hybern don’t dream. Aren’t allowed to dream.

That pesky fog was most likely the King’s doing, to prevent the stars from answering dreams. To prevent there to be any dreamers at all in the first place.

It was definitely his fault. His. So how was I feeling.. remorse?

I shrug all those thoughts away when Niamh opens her eyes.

“What did you wish for..?” I asked, my voice no more than a whisper in the wind.

But she only smiled as she usually does.

“It’s only for me and the moon to know.”

— —

I never anticipated finding myself in Hybern, let alone making friends with a Hybernian princess. But I did. I stayed in Hybern for a while longer then we... became friends. I trusted her enough to show her my wings and Niamh trusted me enough to show me hers. In many ways.. she is my mirror contrast. While my wings are made of membrane, hers are fluffed with pale feathers. While I wore night black, she was bright like moonlight. I was lighthearted, entirely unserious most of the time, and Niamh.. Niamh was Niamh. She was.. almost too blunt in a very.. innocent way.

Questions were often asked. Too many questions. About the Night Court, Prythian, and the rest of the world beyond this prison she calls her kingdom. And I was skeptical of her at first, I thought she was trying to garner information to prattle to the King. Those suspicions were honestly shortlived because Niamh asks the most basic of questions that even children would know about.

‘Does it hurt when stars fall during Starfall?’ ‘What does holding them feel like?’ ‘Are they not hot? Is it not weird that there is only a line that separates Prythian Courts?’ ‘If I extend my arm to Winter while my body’s still in Autumn, would I feel hot or cold?’ ‘So do animals just hibernate all the time in the Winter Court?’ ‘There are- how many- libraries in the Day Court?!?’ ‘What’s a pumpkin?’ ‘What’s.. chili?’

And I answer all questions very seriously. Because that poor girl needs to know! And of course, I asked my fair share of questions. And more often than not, her answers were less than.. pleasant.

But she did not hide many things from me. She told me of her glamoured appearance and the mask she dons when she visits the King's castle. How, at an early age, she was forced to put a bag over her head so that the King couldn't see her mother's eyes on her face. She was instructed to glamour her hair to black so she could look more like him if not shave it off entirely so she could be an eyesore that no one would look at her. Yet, it wasn't enough and she had to put on a mask that could cover her face entirely to fit his preferences.

She managed to work around restrictions and had her masks made just for her, having them designed to fit her or Court aesthetics. Often a mask depicting a raven’s head, its surface intricately designed with traditional patterns, bedazzled with dark jewels, feathers, or chains. She has collections of masks she hides away in her study.

Those revelations often had my jaw hanging wide open. Most fathers are cruel. That much is true. Mine wasn't perfect. Mor’s father was terrible as was Azriel's and Cassian's. And once I would’ve thought those males were evil incarnate. Until Niamh told me everything about her father and surely then, he takes the title for worst father. Even better, he takes the title for being the worst person ever.. Because what kind of father is that?! Forcing a mask on such a beautiful face is crime worthy enough.. But at least she can drop the facade whenever she returns to the Lighthouse.

Still, with each story I’m told, my hatred for that wretched old male grows more and more.

She’s nothing like him.

Months passed and with my incessant pleading, I eventually managed to convince Niamh to come with her to the Palace. Maybe it was boredom from the house that drove me to ask her for something so stupid, but another part of me wanted to see for myself the very heart of the kingdom. So she did, she took me and glamoured my appearance to make me look like a servant, a shadow behind her at all times.

She showed me how the place worked, how the Court functioned. Everything reminded me a lot of Hewn City but infinitely more.. dreadful. The servants appeared almost devoid of individuality, compelled to carry out orders without question. But whenever we crossed paths with them, there was a spark of hope in their eyes as they regarded Niamh. Princess, they call her, her title whispered like a desperate prayer. Some come to her for protection in secret and she tries her best to help them whenever she can. Treating their wounds or punishing their abusers behind closed walls then erasing their minds, willing them to act differently. Yet not even her acts of kindness are remembered. Most of the time, she is compelled to erase them from people’s memories.

Because the King abhors compassion taking root in any of his subjects. Especially Niamh. Not a word of her compassion, not even a whisper, not even a mere thought can be allowed to circulate because the palace crawls with daemati..

So during my visit, I had to keep my mental shields in check just as Rhysand taught me. Even then, I feel my mind protected by a magic greater than my own. Niamh had me shielded the whole time.

It wasn't difficult to notice that the King failed to make an appearance at court whenever they held meetings that overlooked military and economic concerns. He cannot be bothered, I guess.. Instead of him, it is Niamh who sits at the head of the table, and.. sometimes, it is she who sits on the throne. Much to Amarantha's dismay. I realized early on that the two have a rivalry so intense they cannot stand to be in the same room as each other. So intense that Amarantha's presence alone was a key factor in why Niamh moved out of the palace in the first place. To the other side of the island.

Besides Amarantha and the eerie-looking Lady Justiciar.. the Court held Niamh in high esteem, listening intently to her words and heeding her commands like puppies would their owners. They.. rely on her. Almost desperately. Like she's the sole cog of a rusty old machine, holding it all together because the actual sovereign is too busy nerding out in his dark towers doing Mother knows what. I stood watch during one or two of those council meetings and found myself admiring Niamh's confidence. How she seemed to have solution to everything even when others deemed it questionable.

I admire the very air she carries around her when she walks and people bow their heads in reverence.

Less out of fear. But more of awe and respect.

Niamh often reminds me of my Father in Hewn City. How admired he was amongst his people. How he thrives when he rules a place like that. Niamh is very much the same.

When she sits on that throne.. she's the very image of a Queen the people seem to crave for. And she says she has no desire to rule...

But my view of that respect and admiration for her turned differently one day. Because people did not only respect and admire her.

They pitied her. Like they pitied themselves.

— —

“Your Grace!!” A veiled servant just as I came running to us while Niamh was showing me through a tapestry hall.

It was my third visit to the palace. It was a miracle that I blended right in thanks to Niamh's glamours.

“What is it.”

“There is.. a problem. In the throne room. Princess Brannagh and Prince Dagdan have.. taken stage.”

Niamh stiffened. Even with the mask, I could tell her face was one of dread. Because her immediate reaction was followed by her wrists where gold and skin met beneath her gloves.

“A fault in a mission at the Black Lands. Failed to persuade the Queen or so I've been told. I thought you may want to know–”

“Thank you for telling me.” Then she turned to me, the hollow eyes of the mask boring into my soul. “You have to go. Iole, take my servant and keep her in a room, far, far away from the throne room. I'll retrieve her once I'm done.”

“Yes, my Princess.” The servant bows.

“Niamh, wait—” But I couldn’t even speak as she held her hand in front of my veiled face.

“You. Stay. I've shown you enough horrors. You will not see this one. Stay with Iole.” She commanded me with a voice she's only ever used with her courtiers.

When she left me with that servant, I felt my heart race as it sunk in my chest. The air felt so heavy, so ominous in that palace without her beside me.

She had promised to show me everything and yet she couldn't show me.. that. There was a pit inside my stomach. A part of me was scared to know what she so desperately wanted me not to find out.

But I couldn't stay put. I couldn't. And so that night..

That night…

I finally found out the reason why she covered her arms with gloves, why her hands were ash and black beneath the silk fabric.

The atrocities in Hewn City could not compare to his twisted experiments. Not even a fraction of his cruelty has been properly represented in the stories I've heard of him. And I watched, in frozen agony as my friend screamed in pain at the center of the throne room with every court member present. They watched with hidden terror the horrors done to her, as every vial of glowing liquid was injected into her veins while she cried, screamed and clawed at the floor until her nails ripped and broke and the black of her skin extended further up her arms.

It was her cousins’ mistake, a fault on a mission I wasn't privy to. She took the blame and their punishment. And as I looked around in hopes that someone, anyone, would dare help her off the floor no one moved. No one flinched, but their eyes were bloodshot and guilty. It is not the first time this has happened. And besides shame and remorse, there is something else that plagued their hearts. It is fear. And it ate them inside out.

They stood watch as the princess they respected was mutilated on the floor, vials of glowing liquid injected into her veins, tearing at her mind and body, transforming her, changing her. Yet she willed herself to persevere through it all.

Even Amarantha, as cruel and despicable as she was, couldn't suppress a wince as she watched. For all the evil she harbored, it was clear that even she had once been in Niamh’s place. In front of the dais.

Everyone has.

His experiments extend to all. And not everyone survives the results. Some are mutilated, turned to stone. Some simply become husks of themselves. And some are transformed into the Attor, if they're lucky..

It was not just awe and respect. Not just reverence or fear that made them bow their heads to her. In many ways, they are the same. Equal under the King’s thumb, all potential targets for his heartless cruelty. The respect shown to Niamh was a mixture of admiration and understanding born from shared suffering.

I am told it's not the first time she’s shielded them. Not the first time she protected her people from experiments by taking them herself.

Even with all that she endured, with those dark roots and veins growing up her arms, willing to corrupt her.. she perseveres. She survived where most crumbled and broke. Another reason why they bow when she walks by..

And when it was all over she stood on her trembling feet with her head held high. Despite her cries and screams that echoed just moments before, she makes a spectacle of herself willingly, unrelenting even in her own pool of blood, her uncovered face showing the very image of triumph as the black roots spread ever so slowly up her arms.

The King seemed to revel in the sight of his daughter victorious like that. There, in front of his throne of bones, he stood, a twisted smile wide on his face. Pleased. Proud. As if there was joy to be had to watch Niamh in agony just for the sick pleasure of watching her fight through it.. I fucking hate him. He’s a monster. And I could’ve sworn, I wanted to throw my dagger to his face then and there. I was so close that I felt the hilt hot around my fist.

He didn’t offer servants to help her get cleaned. He didn’t as much as walk to her to see if she was well. He just stood there, praising her for enduring, his voice was loud, echoing against walls as he boasted about his greatness for he and his power are on the path to create perfection itself in Niamh.

His pride and ego blind to the fact that while he spoke, everyone eyed him with hatred, a hidden grudge held inside everyone’s hearts.

And when I looked at Niamh, I wanted to run to her, hug her, offer her something to cover up- anything. But the intensity of those scarlet eyes made me feel compelled to stay in place. To watch just as everyone did. And for a moment, I might’ve understood the reason for her sacrifices..

Her eyes were determined, filled with purpose yet desperate all the same. She’s willing to sacrifice herself to inspire ire within her people. Towards the male she calls her father. The monster they all called their King..

‘Feast upon the horror I've been made to be in your stead.'

'Be angry. Be angry for me.’

‘Be angry.. for yourselves.’

And it was.. working.

— —

It wasn't my choice to stay in Hybern. At first... But when an opportunity to return me back home was given to Niamh, she took it without hesitation. She stole a ring that granted permission to leave Hybern just days after that experiment. A Raven was given the jewel, to search for allies in the Continent. Niamh killed him and snatched the ring. She gave it to me and it opened a portal for me to return to the Night Court.

She told me her goodbyes and promised she'd bid farewell to the children for me. Then she hugged me and hoped that perhaps one day.. we could cross paths again and I could show her Velaris to celebrate Starfall together. Like I promised.

I.. promised. I promised her a lot of things..

When I stood before the swirling portal I felt my stomach twisting with it. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to envision my beloved city, just a mere step away, on the other side of the portal. I imagined the vast expanse of a thousand stars in the night sky, a sight I craved so desperately to see once again. I pictured my brother's familiar face, waiting to welcome me home. All the things that would make me want to leave like I always wanted. Like I planned.

So why..?

“I don't want to leave.” Those words came out of me before I even thought of them. And when I turned around I saw her faint surprise before she smiled softly.

“You would regret it if you don't leave now. I do not know when the next chance I'd get to steal one of these rings–”

“I'd regret it if I left you here.”

“I'll be fine.”

“Will you? I saw what happened in that throne room, Niamh, I saw what they do to you–”

“It does not concern you. Many suffer to entertain him. I am one of many if not thousands subjected to his experiments. You.. do not have to worry about me. I can handle it. I can handle it more than others.”

I shook my head in disbelief. This girl..

“It doesn't mean you could just volunteer yourself like that!”

Her shoulders slumped and her smile faltered slightly. “Brannagh and Dagdan are my cousins. If I don't shield them from him, any more experiments and they'll break…” she trails off. “They're the only blood family I have..”

“How many more experiments until you break?”

She smiles. “I do not break easily, Vel.”

“But you will. You will eventually and who will be there.. to catch you and piece you back together?”

“I am capable of that just fine.”

“But you don't have to!” I snapped at her and she flinched. I haven't raised my voice at her since I first came here.

“Your family needs you..” She spoke softly.

“My family thinks I'm dead!”

“Your brother. Your cousin. Azriel and Cassian. You say you miss them all the time.”

“I will miss you more if I leave now. If I leave now, I will never see you again.” My eyes stung.

“That's not true.”

It was. That's why when I asked her what she wanted to do after the war was fought she couldn't think of anything, she hadn't even allowed herself to think of anything. And something tells me that's because she couldn't see herself alive and breathing after a battle. Or Mother forbid, before it even begins. She plays a dangerous game where death lingers at every corner, waiting patiently.

She can fool her father and his court but death is just around the corner. And it cannot be fooled.

The girl before me will sacrifice herself to the very marrow of her existence until nothing is left but dust.

“I don't want to leave..” I said, my voice fading.

“You must, Velaria. You must.”

"I can't–"

"It is not worth it." I see her smiling. Smiling like everything was fine.

"It's okay, Velaria."

I shook my head again, my eyes heating up.

“You are much like my brother. Stubborn. You know nothing but sacrifice.” I hold her hand. “But unlike him, you have no support. "You shield those in your home, refusing to reveal your struggles, to protect the image they hold of you. Brave, fearless, always noble. Do not think you fool anyone. While you take care of them, who takes care of you? And don't say you're capable of doing that! I know you are! And it pisses me off that you think that's enough when you're being mutilated by your father, attending his court, raising his armies, and doing his every bidding. How much more torment could you take until you realize he's killing you slowly? And when you're dead, who will take care of the Lighthouse? The Sidhe? And how will I mourn you when the sea separates us!!”

Words elude her as she stands there, processing my words like she couldn't believe them.

Has no one shown her even a sliver of kindness in this wretched place..? A century is long. Five of them feels like a lifetime. I couldn't imagine living five centuries of torment under that tyrant's wing, enduring his every whim and wanting for nothing in return.. And I couldn't imagine my sanity, let alone my kindness to prevail through such horrors.

You are something else, Niamh of Hybern.

“Vel..”

I hugged her. “Don't push me away, Niamh.” I hugged her close and tight without the intention of ever letting go.

Stars seemed to shine in her glassy eyes when she looked at me just then. And yet, her dreams go unanswered.

“I have a thousand reasons to stay but only one matter..”

“I want you to live..”

“I want you to live so I may show you Velaris, Dawn, Day, Winter, Autumn, Summer, Spring– I want you to live because you've never.. ever.. even begun to live.”

I pull away and cup her face. Only then did she crack for the first time and a singular tear escapes her. It was the first time I had ever seen her so vulnerable, so broken and overwhelmed by even the smallest gesture of sympathy and affection. She's a soul full of love and devotion, and yet when I reciprocate she doesn't know how to handle it. In her eyes, there is a faint flicker of hope. The plucked up courage to yearn. For something more. Or anything at all.

“I want to..”

“I want to live..”

— — Present

My heart warms at the sight of her, her pallor melding with Winter's glow, her footsteps leaving trails behind her as she sank down onto the land with every move.

I want to live.

A stag nuzzles into her gloved hand, his mouth opening to bite the fruit she graciously offered. Then she petted it as it ate, her hand ever so gentle.

I want to live. Her voice rings again from that night she tried to persuade me to return to the Night Court. Her trembling voice still echoes in my head, her arms shaking beneath her gloves, like the very idea to live, was such a treasonous thought. I will forever loath the King for what he does to his subjects, to what he does to Hybernians, to his nephew and niece. And especially to his own daughter. That label alone makes me want to vomit.

He's no father of hers. There's nothing that ties Niamh to that tyrant other than blood. It means nothing.

And now I watch as she walks about the winter-covered forests with me in tow, her pace slow, snowflakes falling all around us, each unique pattern fills her eyes with pure fascination, and I couldn't help but feel happy at the sight when I've never spared much thought to the winter weather before.

Do you feel alive now, Niamh..?

It's been nearly two hundred and fifty years since my death. Two hundred and fifty years since I chose to stay with her with no affirmation that I'd ever return home to my family. And the only thing I regret about all this is not regretting leaving behind everything I've ever known.

My eyes have been opened to abuse and horrors beyond anything I've seen. The King of Hybern doesn't only enslave mortals. He enslaves fae. He enslaves his kin. No one is free from the golden shackles he binds people with. Niamh wanted to make a stand in the shadows to stop him from spreading his blight anywhere else.

And there are many like her. Hybern is a dreadful place but amongst the people who crave for nothing but blood and war, there are those who want for peace. A better ruler. People just like her who could only imagine what it's like to feel the caress of warm sunlight on their skin or the cold of freshly fallen snow. Fae who are void of any hatred but yearn to be able to want and feel and live.

People of Hybern do not dream. They are awake, living a nightmare every single second of their existence without any knowledge of how to wake up.

Hybern is a field of dead flowers with their King seeping life off of the land. Niamh often reminds me of a bird in a cage, a flower amidst hellscape. A beautiful tragedy. I admire her for her resilience, for her sheer yearning for freedom for herself and the people of Hybern. She cares a lot for them. She cares a lot to a fault. Her father may think it's a weakness but I believe it's precisely what makes her strong. So strong that it's the very force that drives her to act. Taking care of kids. Saving me- saving those Prythian children.

But even the strongest can reach their breaking point. Her cousins' fates serve as a grim reminder of the toll that unceasing torment can take and now.. there's nothing left but husks with no soul. Any more and Niamh would've suffered the same fate. The black of her arms are indication enough that she is.. wilting.

The Mother could see her now and weep, how full of hope she is even in the cold of Winter. There is child-like wonder in her as she wanders about foreign lands, animals seem to flock around her like metal to magnet. Animals she has never even seen before.

If I'd left to crawl back to the safety of Velaris when I had the chance I would've regretted it all my life. Knowing that she's suffering at the hands of that tyrant while I spend my remaining days daydreaming and waiting for war to happen.

I couldn't.. Not anymore.

We'd return to Hybern eventually and the magic will end. But even then.., just this once, I am happy that she could catch a glimpse of the world outside her cage. A glimpse of the life she's fighting for. It is worth it if only for a moment I could see her with her mind at ease, her pretty face void of troubles.

It is worth it.

And perhaps one day.. I could make a change in my own Court. Back in Velaris, I spent most of my time idling away. I never partook in any politics, never got involved in anything outside matters that concerned the city I'm named after. I was the second child, the spare, it was not required of me besides the occasional appearance here and there.

Mother often took me to the Illyrian camps. She fought tirelessly with father to make a change in the longstanding system he had inherited from his forefathers, to better the lives of Illyrian females. That's why she was always there, always looking after the camps. But what could Lady of Night really do? What authority did she really have when not even father supported her ideas?

That Illyrian female no one even chose for themselves? ‘Lesser fae.’ Only Lady of Night in name.. just because she was my Father's mate. What sway did she really have then?

I will never forgive myself for never caring even when the problem was right in front of me. How they stared at me and Mother with disdain and envy even when we were Illyrians all the same and yet.. entirely different. Because we were different. We lived in a secret City they knew nothing about. While I sang and delighted in the finest theatres of Velaris, females of Illyria were treated as mere broodmares. While I had the ability to hide my wings, they had theirs clipped and broken. While I dined in the most lavish meals in the House of Wind, my kin lived in tents and trained until they exhausted themselves into oblivion.

Mother wanted to share Velaris. Father didn't want to. And I..

I didn't care. Because I didn't care about anything at all.

When did I start caring?

Was it when my mother's wings were torn in front of me?

When I heard the tear and crack of flesh and bone? Her screams as she told me to fly away?

When mine were so close to being stripped from my back?

I accepted that there was nothing we could do for the Illyrians. Nothing to change in Hewn City. I accepted it all until the problem was right there when my wings were so close to being stolen from me when the problem was served right in front of me in Hybern. When Niamh's people reflected my own, suffering in the hands of a tyrant King who only sees people as weapons for war.

I dreamt and dreamt for menial things that didn't fucking matter when people around me suffered and I was made to think that there was nothing we could do when we held the power to change and act. To allow.. to dream.

I wanted to sing and dance at the golden theatre. I wanted to fly to my heart's content above the Sidra every midnight to see the stars sparkle in the night skies. I wanted and wanted..- and more often than not I always got what I wanted. But above all, I secretly wanted to be just like my brothers. Proud Illyrians, battle patterns inked and etched onto my skin. To wield a sword and be warriors who fly into battle.

And before I didn't think it was possible. Until Niamh showed me. And now.. now I delighted in flying into the dead of night in the haunted lands of Hybernian territories, stealing away dissenters, recruiting them, and bringing them back to the Sidhe. I shine most when I clash blades with Arin and Nimue, when I discuss schemes with Clíodhna. I find my heart race when I dig my blade into the hearts of monsters in Reaper’s Grove, when I slash the throats of Hybern Bishops.

I find it exhilarating. To be one with the shadows and night itself.. I am alive.

Now.. I find myself wanting to be just like Niamh. To bring the light of hope to those who have only known darkness.

Because Niamh is no more different than my people in Hewn City. And Hybern is no more different than the Court of Nightmares. No more different than my people in Illyria. Because of her, I grew to realize that in a land of torment, people are more inclined to dream and yearn.

I realize that now. I'm wide awake now.

I look at Niamh and see the culmination of everything she believes in, everything she's fighting for. Everything I've begun to believe and fight for. Equality. Justice. Freedom.

Her Father will wreak havoc sooner than late. And once war has subsided, I will return to the Night Court. Until then I could only hope that at least Rhysand has made changes just as our mother wanted.. I want to help and make up for everything. For my absence. For my silence. For everything I've done that made me part of the problem.

The peace ends when we hear movements in the snow from a mile away followed by an echo of a scream.

“Vel.” She utters out, her voice no more than a whisper, her head snapped towards the direction.

“On it.” I spread my wings and fly upwards to the tall dark branches of snow-covered pine trees.

And there, in the distance, I hear the horrid wail of the Naga.

— —

A/n: Oh, they are found family fr 🥺😌...kinda giggled a little at writing 'i hope rhys made some changes while I'm gone.' Girl, he's not doing anyythiiing🧍🏻‍♀️this is her wakeup call, I'm so going to make her change Night Court..😔 The girl named after the Court of Dreams is very much awake 🫣

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.21

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - Sentencing

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, adult language, period typical misogyny, condescension, adult language, feelings of shame, feelings of guilt, mentions of alcohol, mentions of choking, manipulation, benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2k

Hi sorry for the delay! Work is still slammed.

Shanda woke with a pounding headache as her handmaiden shook her awake.

“Hurry up my lady, they are all waiting for you.”

It was the third time the woman had shaken her and she groaned as she pulled herself upright. The room around her spun ever so slightly and she felt so terribly nauseous as if she were aboard a ship. She allowed the handmaid to pour her into a gown not bothering to care which it was the woman had picked for her.

“We haven’t the time to bathe you, oh dear.” The woman fussed with her hair and Shanda regained the hiccups.

She waved her off. “It doesn’t matter too much. Just throw it in braids and we’ll be off.”

Her hair was certainly the least of her worries at the present moment. Keeping her feet firmly on the floor was enough of a challenge, she hoped Lord Elmo would make this a quick affair.

Once she was dressed and presentable, Shanda was swiftly led into the great hall by the Tully guard that had been outside her room. She wondered when the guard had shown up and what schedule they were following. It certainly wasn’t a very good one by her own accounts. It was a worrying problem across the riverlands. It shouldn’t be so hard to source non wandering guards.

Inside the great hall she found most of the people in a similar state to herself, grimacing and looking half green. There were a fair few though who appeared haughty though and smirked at the rest of them who had been less successful at handling their spirits. Shanda wished those people would choke on their dinner as she made her way to the Blackwood table. She sat beside Alysanne who seemed better off than most and more put together than the rest of the table combined.

Lord Elmo sat impatiently on his chair at the front of the room, his fingers tapping along the armrest.

“Right, now that we’re all here we can get started.”

He gave Shanda a very pointed look but she did not feel bad at all for being late. In fact she was mostly angry she had to get up at all. Must she be present for this? It didn’t matter if she was here or in bed, the outcome would be the same.

“I’ve allowed you all to say your peace. I’ve heard the arguments from both sides and I’ve got years of experience dealing with this under my belt now. I think we can all agree we’ve explored this as far as it can be.”

No one protested his words, not a single murmur went up when the Lord paused. Shanda was under the impression he could say quite a bit without earning the crowd’s ire tonight. They didn’t have the energy. And a good portion of men was missing from just about every house. The fight had been wildly successful in that everyone had gotten involved. None of the men who had been escorted out for fighting had ever returned and she shuddered to think of what Lord Elmo was doing to them.

“Ultimately this dispute boils down to the same thing it always has, stubbornness, nosiness, and a lack of discipline. Dispute it as much as you like but that’s what it is. You don’t have enough to concern yourselves with so you spy on your neighbors and start something there instead. No matter, we’ve all been victim to this squabbling behavior. But no more.”

Now murmurs did go up and Shanda looked for Martyn across the room. He would not meet her eyes though and it seemed he had not gotten up to any drinking last night. Her eyes then darted to Royce’s, who were bloodshot and droopy. They were a predictable trio, she thought grinning.

“Let’s move to the first order of business. I should think that this will not be a surprise to anyone, Benjicot Blackwood and Shanda Bracken are to be married.”

Shanda nearly rolled her eyes when the Lord looked at her. She could still remember the way his gaze had burned into her blushing face during the questioning.

“Has he mistreated you?”

“Threatening death and holding me prisoner are great offenses.”

“And yet you seem perfectly comfortable holding the man's arm, curious isn’t it?”

Shanda had cursed Benjicot a thousand times for escorting her into the courtroom but it was plain to see they did not despise each other. The look Lord Elmo pinned her with now said the same thing. It was accusing and it begged for her to protest so he could drag the show out. But she was not in the mood for the theatrics and had mentally prepared herself for this outcome already. She would not give the lord the satisfaction of a public fit about it.

Everyone else in the room seemed as equally unmoved by the announcement as she was, not even a whisper echoing at the words. Taking that as a collective agreement from them all, Lord Elmo continued.

“One marriage isn’t enough though is it to fix this mess? No, of course not. We’ve done that before as has been pointed out to us.”

Now she did scoff when his eyes landed back on her, a mischievous twinkle in them.

“Alysanne Blackwood and Martyn Bracken will be married as well.”

Shanda gasped and all over the room more muttering broke out. Alysanne was stiff as a board beside her, and for a moment Shanda knew she had stopped breathing. Lord Elmo called them all back to attention.

“Lady Marcelle Grey and Ser Colmar Mallister. Ser Joth Piper and Lady Bellena Mooten. Ser Harry Fisher and Lady Violet Smallwood. Ser Wendall Wayn and Lady Darla Keath. Ser Rebecken Grey and Lady Elyana Darry.”

In quick succession he rattled off a list of names and Shanda was shocked at how many there were.

“All to be married. The riverlands will stop this division at once. Now we move on to the betrothals.”

The list of names was twice as long this time but the only one she was listening for came last.

“Royce Bracken and Lady Lyla Blanetree.”

The hall was complete and utter chaos at this point with houses screaming at each other and others champing at the bit to start throwing punches. Tully guards crowd in around the tables keeping the men in their seats while Lord Elmo cackles from his spot up on the dais. Shanda watches all of this in a detached and tired manner. It’s too loud and too exhausting to tune in with her full attention, so she watches with a far off fascination. She knew this was only the first bit of whatever horrible plan Elmo had laid out for them, it was a waste of energy to get upset this early. She wanted to hear out the rest of his ideas before judging.

It took a while for Lord Elmo to get a grip on himself and call the room to order but in time he did. In all he had proposed seven marriages including hers and fourteen proposals that were to take effect when the couples were of a marrying age. He had promised, once they were all silent again, to keep ensuring riverland betrothals were of the utmost importance in the years following. Insisting that they had let their own connections die in favor of trying to foster with other parts of the realm.

“But we must all live beside each other and not our northern or southern allies. It’s time we fixed the problem in our neck of the woods before trying to worry about anywhere else.”

Shanda agreed with him there and knew this would be a popular point among the river lords. A lot of lucrative deals would be brokered in the shadow of these marriages and that would only ultimately benefit them all. It paid to reinvest in their own lands even if that meant dealing with your annoying neighbor. She hoped it would be enough this time.

“My next order of business is regarding court. I propose we meet every sixth moon to hash out any recurring grievances that cannot be solved without an outsider perspective. It will also allow us time to spend together like last night. We can organize tourney’s and dances, and all sorts of events. The bottom line is, we will stop fighting each other.”

Shanda adored this idea and listened in hot anticipation as the various lords squabbled over the details. It was decided at last that they reconvene every nine moons as some of the houses further away did not relish the journey so close together. Shanda would’ve given them twice that amount of time if they wanted it. It would be nice to see everyone on a semi-regular basis as opposed to nearly never at all. And under pleasant circumstances instead of fighting or some petty drama.

“And for our last order of business, we shall hold all of the weddings here before any of you depart. I don’t mean to give you the room to undermine me. And silence yourselves!”

Lord Elmo at last let the easy smile he’d been wearing slide off of his face to reveal his frustration at the arguing lords.

“For too long the river lords have tried to put the authority of their warden in a back storage room. Pulling it out when it suits them to boast and storing it when the attire doesn’t suit their narrative. Now we’re going to put my narrative to work and see if we can’t obtain a better outcome.” Elmo eyed them all one by one, his face promising pain for any voice that dared grumble now. And none did, the room was quiet as a tomb and half as welcoming in the present moment.

Beside her, Alysanne was taking deep and measured breaths. Her fingers were anxiously twitching through her hair and Shanda wagered she was itching to get her hands on a bow string. Below them a Blackwood called out.

“We marry by the old gods, we’ll be in the godswood.” A chorus of Blackwood men rang out their approval.

It was now that Shanda froze on the spot, a rush of hot fear and anger washing through her as she considered the real consequences of this marriage. She did not hold by these old and foreign gods. The room around her was filled with buzzing voices and the torchlight was annoying her eyes. Could she be held by a marriage sanctioned by the seven? Surely there was some precedent for the matter. She wasn’t the first woman to be wedded to a man with a differing religion. Everyone was suddenly sitting too close to her and she anxiously threw glances at Lord Elmo hoping he was soon to finish.

“Aye, we’ve a heart tree for you to swear your vows under. The rest of you are open to using our own sept…”

Without really thinking or waiting to be dismissed Shanda grabbed Alysanne by the hand and pulled them up. She half dragged Alysanne along as she fled, the woman seemed in shock. But Shanda was mostly concerned that the woman was plotting Lord Elmo’s downfall and believed she had the means to orchestrate it. They needed some air and some time to think. Whatever else the Lord intended for the riverlands could wait until they had both.

Once they were out of the great hall, no one but the outside guard had bothered to watch them leave, Alysanne took over. She led them outside within minutes and once there, the lady screamed a horrible war cry that echoed off the castle walls and disrupted the neighboring birds. Shanda watched her pant and pace furiously muttering to herself. She wondered if the lady’s anger would turn on her, for being partially responsible for this whole mess.

“My dear sweet nephew is the biggest fool in the entire realm.”

Smiling despite herself, Shanda replied. “Why not dream bigger? Biggest fool in all of the world.”

Alysanne let out a bitter laugh, and the wind picked up. Blowing her dark curls in the breeze, slowly it began to drizzle around them. Across the moat of water a herd of deer flee through the thickening trees.

Shanda quirked an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “So what are you plotting?”

[starkstruck27]

I headcanon that today (June 14th, but I might not get it posted by midnight because time management is not my strong suit lol) is Steve's birthday, and we just had a book signing at the bookstore I work at tonight, so I was inspired to write this. It's modern day, and slightly aged up characters, but not by much. Enjoy!

Steve couldn't believe his luck. It was his birthday, and it seemed like everything was going just right today. First, he woke up before his alarm and actually felt energized, then Robin had promised to take him out wherever he wanted to go later on (even volunteering to drive so she could show off her new license and car), then his favorite coffee place gave him a discount and a free pastry since it was his birthday, and to cap it all off, he had gotten back a test from one of his most difficult classes, and he'd passed it with flying colors. All in all, it was a good day. But then, he saw a sign outside the campus bookstore, and it went from good to great.

The sign was advertising a book signing with a local author, who just so happened to be Steve's favorite author of all time. The guy's name was Ronnie Fitconi, a mysterious man who never had his picture in any of his books. He didn't write much about himself in the little "about the author" section of his books either, the only things he said was that he was 23, just a year younger than Steve was, he lived somewhere in Indianapolis, he preferred tea over coffee, he loved the beach, he was a cat person, and he was gay (which was pretty apparent from the books he wrote, but whatever).

The book that he was promoting with the signing was his fourth, pretty impressive for a guy so young, but Tik Tok had managed to make him blow up practically overnight. That and how secretive the guy was. Seriously, if you looked the guy up on Google, it was like he didn't even exist. There were no pictures of him, and no record of him except that he was a writer that blew up after his first book was released three years ago. This was the first book signing he had ever done, and it was only to the local college bookstore and a few others in the area, but all were small, and none were at big chain stores, only locally owned.

As soon as Steve saw the sign, he took a picture of it, then immediately called Robin as he rushed back to his car.

"Dingus!" She answered, her smile evident in her voice, "Happy Birthday! What's up, buttercup?"

"Hi, Robbie. Thanks for that. But also, you know how you said you'd take me to do anything I wanted tonight for my birthday?" He asked, practically vibrating out of his skin.

"Yeah. Did you finally decide what you want to do?" She asked.

"Yes, and I know it's probably not going to be the rip-roaring time you were planning, but just hear me out, okay?" He said, "How would you like to come with me to meet Ronnie Fitconi?"

"That author you like?" She asked, "Yeah, of course! I told you, anything you want to do, I'm down. So, what's the plan? Are we breaking into his house?"

"What? No! You are seriously so weird. He's doing a book signing at the campus bookstore, I was gonna bring my books and buy his new one and then I get to meet him and get his autograph! No breaking and entering required."

"Well, that's a lot less fun, but I'll be there. What time does it start?" Robin asked.

"6:30 tonight," Steve replied.

"Let's get there at 6:00, we don't want to have to wait forever, so it'd probably be better to get there early."

"Good thinking. In the meantime, we have a couple of hours, and my classes just ended for the day. Will you meet me for dinner and help me pick out what to wear so I don't look like a total idiot?" Steve asked, already heading towards his dorm.

"Of course. I'll bring tacos. I'll be there in ten."

With that, Robin hung up the phone, and Steve drove off towards his place. As soon as he got there, he went to his desk to get his copies of Ronnie's first three books. Steve would probably never admit to liking them as much as he did to anyone but Robin, because the guy wrote only romance novels, but he really did love them. He didn't read much, and when Ronnie's debut novel came out, he didn't have much interest in that, either. But then he read the second book when it came out, and he was hooked. He read the third one when it came out and only got further hooked, and finally he buckled and read the first one, too. He hadn't expected to like it, but he found that he couldn't put it down, and now that another one was coming out, he couldn't wait to read it, too.

The first book the guy had written was called "Kings of the Lost World", and it was a dystopian sci-fi romance. It was about a young man who thought he was king of all he saw, but just as he's settling into the position, the apocalypse hits. The king gets taken down a peg, having to team up with the same guy who had been in his position before, but got kicked off his throne before the new king had taken over, but now, they have to learn to lean on each other to survive. They have a rocky start at first, but eventually, it turns out that they fall in love, and they manage to find a place where they are safe and get to live out the rest of their lives in happiness. Steve honestly didn't think he'd like the book, since he typically hated both sci-fi and dystopian, but he ended up loving the book when he finally read it. It almost reminded him of when he was in high school, when Billy Hargrove came and kicked him off his throne for good, all except for the romance bit.

The second book the guy had published and the one that had gotten Steve hooked on the guy's writing was probably his saddest one, called "Blood of the Innocent". It was a noir thriller set in the 1920s, about a gay man who sang in speakeasies as a drag queen who got accused of murdering a bunch of young men that went to the clubs he sang at. The detective in the story, who was closeted himself, fell in love with the guy while trying to clear his name and solve the case, but after they'd started their affair, they were found out. This book didn't end up as happily as the first, with the two of them being able to run away together, rather they were both killed for their relationship and the original case was mostly forgotten about and covered up, only to go cold and remain unsolved. When Steve read it, he could not put it down, and when he got to the ending, he would be lying if he said he hadn't flat-out bawled over it. He had finished it around two in the morning one night, and Robin was not exactly happy about having to wake up to his call at that time to listen to him rant to her about it, but she read the book later at his insistence, and she soon forgave him once she got to the end.

The third book the guys wrote was called "Don't Fence Me In", and was a cute, sweet, rom-com kind of book about two young men who worked together on a horse ranch. The one man had lived there his whole life and who's father owned the place, but was getting too old to run it, so they hired a farmhand. That's where the other man came in, a handsome guy from out of town who had just been looking for work anywhere, and who the first guy thought was much too prissy and posh for the kind of manual labor that was expected of him. He had come from the city and was the son of a rich businesswoman, so why he wanted to run from that cushy lifestyle just to work on a rinky-dink ranch, the first guy didn't know, but he teased him about it relentlessly. But where he expected the guy to get offended and ditch his position, the other guy just took it lightly and met it with laughter, until they became friends, and eventually, even more than that. At the end of the book, the first guy's father, who, once he found out about the relationship supported it 100%, gave up ownership of the ranch to his son and his boyfriend, and the two were married on their land with the help of a fat check from the second guy's mother, who also supported them completely. Steve had gushed so hard over the book that when he was reading it, he found himself lying on his stomach with his legs kicked up and a permanent smile on his face as he twirled his hair. It was probably his favorite of all three books.

And now, as he held each book in his hands and placed them in his favorite tote bag to take with him to the signing event, he couldn't help but wonder what the next book might be about. That was another reason he loved this author so much, he always kept you guessing on what he might do next. Most authors picked one or two genres and stuck to them, but this guy was all over the place. And yet, everything he wrote was absolutely amazing, and had Steve captivated within a few pages. He could not wait to see where things would go this time.

After a few minutes of thinking about it, he heard a knock on his door, and he knew Robin was there. He went to let her in and immediately, the two of them set up the tacos on his desk and ate while Steve threw practically every piece of clothing he owned around his room, trying to find the perfect outfit. There was still an hour and a half before they had to be at the bookstore, but Steve refused to leave the apartment until he knew he looked perfect.

"Seriously, is it really that big a deal? I mean, you're gonna see him for like, five minutes. If that. You don't have to be in a tux or anything for that," Robin said as Steve continued to fret over whether he should wear his blue sweater or his green button-down as if the fate of the world depended on it.

"Yes, Robin, it is that big a deal! I don't want to look like an idiot! I'm already gonna look like a creep because of how much I love his books, and if I blank on him and say something stupid or can't speak at all, I want to at least look my best so he can't gossip about that to people, too!" Steve said, finally deciding on the sweater, but then having a whole new meltdown over which pants would go best with it.

"Okay, point taken, but also, you're selling yourself short. I'm sure he won't think you're an idiot, and he'll probably be flattered that you like his books so much. I mean, he wrote them for people to read and enjoy, right? And if you freeze up, I'll be right there with you to bring you out of it, so you really don't have anything to worry about. And go with the brown pants, the gray ones don't look right." She said, finally deciding to be helpful.

"Okay, I guess you're right. Now, which shoes should I go with? Dress shoes would probably be too formal, right?" He asked, holding his selections up to himself in the mirror.

"Yeah, just wear your converse or vans. We might still get stuck in line since this guy is so popular, so you should wear something comfortable. And wear your white dress shirt under your sweater so that the collar and cuffs stick out. It'll give you that cute academia look with your glasses and make it less weird to think of you as a bookworm." Robin said, helping him pick out the final few things and then leaving to give him privacy as he changed. Not that he needed it, they've both changed in front of each other countless times, but still. She also had a surprise for him, and she needed an excuse to count her cash without him seeing.

Finally, he was finished, and after he was finally satisfied with his hair, they put the leftover tacos in the fridge and Steve grabbed his books. They hopped in Robin's car, and got to the bookstore right at 6:00, ready to go inside with the others already on their way. The bookstore employees were apparently already checking people in, so Steve was anxious to get in there and get a good spot in line, but before he could jump out of the car (and his skin), Robin grabbed his arm.

"Wait, you're missing a few final things," she said, rummaging around in her little backpack that had the little video game character Kirby all over it.

"What?" Steve asked, his heart beating hard enough already. What could he have forgotten? Was his breath bad after the tacos? Did he have something on his face or in his teeth? Had his hair gone flat?

"One, a breath mint, just in case," she said, opening her pack of Altoids and giving him one. "Two, your inhaler, also just in case. We don't need you hyperventilating in front of your hero. Three, some lip gloss, just like back in our scoops days to really complete the look and make you just that much cuter."

She handed him a tube of her favorite lip gloss, strawberry banana flavored, the same kind she used to lend him way back when that made his lips pink and full. He slathered on a layer and handed it back to her, then popped the breath mint and slipped his inhaler into his pants pocket, fixing his hair and taking one last deep breath before turning to her and smiling nervously.

"You think I have everything?" He asked.

"Almost," she said, "You still need one more thing."

With that, she reached into her bag again and pulled out her wallet, handing him forty dollars in cash with a big smile on her face. Steve stared at the money, dumbfounded, trying to hand it back on instinct.

"No, keep it. You need it if you want to get his new book. Besides, it's your birthday present. You don't get to argue, I'm paying for it. Now let's get inside before they sell out!" Robin said, smiling widely at Steve's confused spluttering.

"Robin, you don't have to pay for me. Thank you, but you really don't-"

"Shut up your face, Dingus! I want to. Besides, like I said, it's your birthday present. Now, let's go, for real. We don't want to be the last ones in line, do we?"

Finally, Steve relented, climbing out of the car and meeting Robin at the front of it to give her the tightest hug he could muster before they walked in. They may be strictly platonic, but Steve loved her more than he ever loved anyone before, and he had to make sure she knew that.

Finally, they walked into the bookstore, where they were greeted by an overly chipper employee who already looked tired, and the event hadn't even started yet.

"Hi! Are you guys here for the book signing?" She asked, her customer service smile and attitude something the two of them were all too familiar with.

"Yeah, we are," Robin said, grinning widely at her.

"Great! Do you have your tickets already or do you need to purchase a copy of the book now?" the employee asked, covering her mouth against a yawn.

"No, we need to buy a copy," Steve said, holding tightly on his tote bag straps.

"Okay, that's perfectly fine. Just go on up to the front registers, Gigi will be there to help you out, and then just keep your receipt and you can jump in line. Have fun!" The employee smiled, then greeted the next people that came in behind them.

Steve and Robin went to the counter and did as instructed, asking the girl there for a copy of the book and paying for it before getting in line and waiting for it to start moving. As they did, Steve was practically on pins and needles, and Robin took the opportunity to examine the cover of the new book. It was called "Court of Royal Rivalries", and the pun was evident when you saw the cover. It was two boys playing basketball, one a brunet in a green and white jersey and the other a blond with not shirt on, just green shorts.

"Hey Dingus, can I see your book for a second?" Robin asked, and Steve handed it over.

"Sure, why?" He asked.

"I just want to read the back and see what it's about," Robin said, flipping it over.

"Ooh, read it out loud, I want to know, too." Steve encouraged, and Robin began to read.

"Seth Haner is the king of his high school, with everything his heart would desire. He's got money, he's got looks, he's got charm, and most of all, he's got his peers groveling at his feet for even a scrap of his attention. But after having been dumped by his girlfriend Natalie seemingly out of nowhere, he realizes that what he really wants, a love that will last, is the one thing he doesn't have. Enter Ben Holden, a new student transferring into the sleepy rural town from California. Suddenly, Ben is the hottest commodity in the school, easily dethroning Seth and taking over his court. Seth can't stand the guy, and is dreading it when he finds out that they'll be playing basketball together, the one things Seth has left after losing practically everything. Ben is a monster on the court, and Seth feels like he's losing basketball, too, when the coach tells them to work out their differences or they'll both be nixed from the team. Can Seth and Ben put aside their differences to find their similarities? Or will the blood of the two kings be spilled as they fight for the crown on the court?"

Steve stared at her as she finished reading the blurb, his jaw hanging open as she finished.

"Okay," he said, debating whether or not he needed to use his inhaler, "Either this is one hell of a coincidence or... Well, no, that has to be it! That's so fucking weird."

"I know! I mean, that's like your high school career in a nutshell. And look at the cover! I'm willing to bet my life that the brunet one is Seth and the blond is Ben, because this is too fucking uncanny. That is the creepiest shit ever. It's like a glitch in the matrix or something!" Robin agreed, handing the book back to Steve.

"Wait a second, hang on, I want to see something," he said, pulling out the other three books from his bag as the line began to move. He flipped them each open to the title pages, and Robin watched as he found what he was looking for.

"Okay, wait, look at this," he said, showing her the first one, "This book is dedicated to his sister, apparently, who 'taught him what it was like to live through the end of the world'. Then this one," he opened the second book to the same page, "This one is dedicated to his mom, who 'kept him safe until things got hard and then left him to the wolves'. And this one," he opened the third one, "is dedicated to his father, who 'should have supported him like Mr. Montgomery supported River'. So I wonder..." Steve said, then opened up the fourth book, and his heart nearly stopped when he read the dedication.

"What does it say?!" Robin insisted. They were only a few people away from meeting the guy, but Steve felt like he knew him already, and it only raised more questions that he couldn't figure out the answers to as he handed the book to Robin to read for herself.

The dedication read, "To my Pretty Boy. You know who you are. This is the way I wish our story ended up. I'm sorry."

Robin finished reading it and her eyes went wide as she looked up at Steve, the both of them utterly baffled. This was just impossible. Neither of them could believe it, and neither of them knew what to say. They were both trying to come up with some way to explain it, but before they could, another bookstore employee, a man about their age with dark hair down to his shoulders, ushered them through the backdrop screens that were set up to keep the interactions private and told them to have fun.

Steve and Robin didn't know if it was more or less confusing when they stepped up to the table and saw none other than Billy Hargrove sitting in front of them, a sharpie in his hand and his blond hair tied up into a knot on top of his head. He had a slight beard now and more tattoos now than back in high school, in fact, he had a whole sleeve on one arm and a few standalone ones on his other arm. He was wearing a short sleeve button up, but unlike back in school, all the buttons were done up, except for the top two, exposing the pendant he still wore and just a sliver of his still golden skin. His eyes were still the same sparkling blue, but they were partially hidden behind a pair of round brown glasses. He still wore his dagger earring, but he had a few more piercings up around the shell of his ear and a stud in his nose now, too. Overall, he looked fantastic, he took Steve's breath away, but he was still completely floored that he was sitting there in front of them.

"Hi, how are yo-" Billy said, finally looking up at them and seeming to choke on the words, literally. He began to cough as his face went red, and the manager of the bookstore ran to get him a bottle of water while another employee, the dark haired man, came over to make sure everything was okay.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine, thanks," Billy said, waving the man off, "Just wasn't expecting to see any familiar faces today."

The manager finally returned with the water, and Billy drank it, and once he caught his breath, he finally seemed to get himself collected. At least, collected enough to turn on his charm and start acting like he hadn't just choked at the sight of two blasts from his past.

"Well well well, Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley. I never expected to see you two around here. How've you been?" He asked, motioning for Steve's books and readying his sharpie.

"Um, fine, I guess?" Robin said, "Wow, sorry, it's just a trip seeing you here. I honestly thought you were dead or something."

"Aw, I wish!" Billy joked, smiling as Steve finally handed him the books and he began to scribble in them. "But no, seriously, it's a trip to see you guys, too. I never expected to see anyone from Hawkins ever again once I moved out here. I'm not surprised you thought I was dead, I tried to bury my old self. That's why I don't let anyone take pictures and why I write under a pen name. I didn't want to be found."

"Jesus, what, are you on the run?" Robin asked, Steve still speechless beside her.

"No, just living happily by myself for once and not wanting anyone to find out and ruin it for me. I guess you guys know, but the fact that you're here means you're fans, so I don't think I need to worry too much about you posting my yearbook pictures all over Twitter as long as I ask you really nicely." He grinned, and Steve nearly lost his breath all over again.

"Well, Stevie's more of a fan than I am. It's his birthday today, so I told him we could do whatever he wants tonight and since he loves your books we ended up here, but either way, my lips are sealed." Robin said, finally stepping back and pushing Steve forward to make him interact with the other guy.

"Y-yeah, no, I wouldn't tell anyone. I mean, after all you've gone through to make sure no one knows who you really are. Like, I couldn't even find you when I googled your name, and you can find anyone on google." Steve rambled, hoping that Billy couldn't hear his heart beating practically out of his chest.

"I appreciate that," Billy said, his smile big and bright on his face. "So, how've you been, Stevie? I hear you're a huge fan. What did you think of the last one?"

"I-I loved it. 'Fence' is probably my favorite of them, but I love all your books. You're a really talented writer, I never would've thought- Wait, no, that came out wrong! Jeez, I hope I didn't offend you, I just meant that you always seemed more street smart than book smart- shit, I didn't mean that either, I just meant- Oh, hell," Steve stammered, his face going as red as Robin's t-shirt, "This is coming out all wrong, I didn't mean that, I hope I didn't just piss you off, because I really do like your books and I'm just nervous cuz it's you and you're like, the last person I expected to see here signing them. I'm so sorry!"

"Hey, calm down, Stevie Boy. It's fine, I get it. No need to be sorry for anything. And anyway, I'm the one who choked when I first saw you," Billy chuckled, finally finishing writing in the last book and capping his sharpie before he handed them back to Steve to put in his bag. "I'm glad I got to see you guys again. I think I needed some familiarity. It was starting to get a little lonely being a ghost. Hopefully I'll see you again sometime soon."

And with that, he stood up, gave them each a quick hug, and then motioned for the dark haired man to bring in the next group. Steve and Robin left through another set of screens and to the door, the both of them seemingly in a daze until they got to Robin's car.

"Well, that was... certainly something," Robin said, staring straight ahead, just like Steve, both of them still trying to wrap their heads around it.

"You can say that again. I mean, Billy fucking Hargrove? I never would've guessed in a million years." Steve said, his eyes still wide.

"Neither would I." Robin agreed.

"And to make matters worse, he was so fucking hot! Like, that was not fair for the universe to make me look like such an imbecile in from of him!" Steve ranted.

"Okay, it really wasn't that bad, you were just star-struck, I'm sure he gets that all the time. And besides, he looked happy to see us, especially you," Robin replied, then she seemed to remember something, perking up and turning to look at him. "Wait, what did he write in your books? He wrote for a long time, it couldn't have just been his signature."

Steve nodded his agreement and took the books back out of his tote, starting with the first one and flipping it open to the page that Billy had written on.

"What does it say?" Robin asked, trying to lean over to see, but she couldn't read the cursive Billy wrote in.

"It says, 'Pretty Boy, since you're a fan and you already know, here's some more tidbits you might not have guessed about...(1/4)' then his signature." Steve opened the second book, and read on, "This one says, 'First off, my pseudonym is a joke. I always liked the name Ronnie, and Fitconi is an anagram of the word 'Fiction', because it's a fake name. Clever, huh? (2/4)'. Then his signature again." He flipped open the third book, his heart pounding in his ears as he read, "This one says, 'Secondly, and probably most importantly, all my books-'"

Steve cut himself off as his heart got caught in his throat, but he swallowed as he started over, "'Secondly, and probably most importantly, all my books are about you and me, and the way I wish they'd been for us. (3/4)', and his signature again."

"Holy shit!" Robin said, practically lunging at him as she begged him to read the last one.

"And finally, this one says, 'Lastly, I'd like to see you again. Maybe I can elaborate what I mean by all this, because I really want to. Enjoy this book, and even if you don't let me know your thoughts. Don't be giving this out to people, but-'"

Steve cut himself off again and slammed the book's cover shut, his face flushing even worse than before as he hid his face in his hands.

"What?! What did it say?!" Robin demanded, her hands waving around as she got more excited.

"He gave me his fucking number!" Steve practically screamed, pulling his hands away from his face as he looked at her with a weird smile. "Then he wrote happy birthday and signed his name again! Fuck, I don't know whether to scream or to go back in there and kiss him right on the fucking mouth! This is fucking Twilight Zone levels of insanity and I don't know whether to be happy or terrified!"

"Let's go with happy for right now, he wants to see you again! And all his books are about you! That's so cool! And he wants to see you again! This is definitely a win! I think you should call him tomorrow." Robin said, trying to hype Steve up.

"I don't know..." he said, picking at his sweater sleeve, "What if I make a fool of myself again? I wouldn't even know what to talk about with him. I'd just look dumb."

"I highly doubt he would think so. He practically lit up like a light bulb when he saw you!" Robin said.

"He choked on air when he saw me." Steve deadpanned.

"Yeah, but after that, he lit up! And he told you that his books, which are all romances, are about you! Seriously, you should call him. At least once you finish the book, that way if you don't talk about anything else, you can talk about that!" Robin argued, and Steve reluctantly agreed.

He was finished with the book by that time the next day. He loved it, every word, and he knew from the beginning that it was about him, but it was honestly both weird and heart melting to read his own life (albeit with a different outcome) written down on paper. He remembered the dedication in the book, how Billy said that the happy ending he wrote for Seth and Ben was how he wished things had gone for them back in high school, and finally, Steve buckled.

He called Billy.

[princesssarisa]

Character ask: Charlie Bucket (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory)

Requested by @comma-after-dearest

Favorite thing about them: What a kind, loving child he is. Even though he gets just one candy bar a year, he offers to share it with his parents and grandparents; when the family is starving, he refuses to let his parents give their food to him; and when he finds money in the street, he uses just a small portion of it to buy chocolate for himself and plans to give the rest to his mother. Little details like this make him truly deserving of his eventual good fortune.

Least favorite thing about them: Well, he is a bit of a bland character, and in the book he effectively earns his happy ending at the factory by doing nothing. His main purpose is to be a self-insert for child readers. It's no wonder that the 1971 film makes him slightly more flawed and allows him to make a mistake at the factory (sampling the Fizzy Lifting Drinks), only to make up for it in the end (giving Wonka back the Everlasting Gobstopper). Or that the 2013 stage musical makes him (or her, in some performances) an aspiring inventor who impresses Wonka with his/her creativity as well as goodness. Even though I haven't seen that musical yet, just read about it, I especially like that idea.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I love chocolate.

*I adored my grandparents when they were alive.

*I eat a lot of cabbage soup (for the health benefits, though, not because of poverty).

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I'm not a little boy.

*None of my grandparents ever lived with me.

*At his age I was never quite as well-behaved or unselfish as he is.

Favorite line:

From the 1971 film, when he's trying to be brave about not finding a Golden Ticket:

"You know, I'll bet those Golden Tickets make the chocolate taste terrible."

brOTP: His parents and all his grandparents, especially Grandpa Joe, and eventually Willy Wonka.

OTP: None until he's older.

nOTP: Any adult.

Random headcanon: As the new owner of the chocolate factory, he'll get in touch with another suddenly-famous boy, James Trotter from James and the Giant Peach. (In the latter book, before the giant peach lands in the ocean, it crashes through a famous chocolate factory and sends a flood of melted chocolate into the streets: I think we can safely guess that this was the Wonka factory.) James and his insect friends will raise money to cover the damage the peach did to the factory, and Charlie will create a peach chocolate bar to commemorate their adventure.

Unpopular opinion: I don't think I have one.

Song I associate with them:

"Cheer Up, Charlie" (even though it's sung to him, not by him)

"I've Got a Golden Ticket" (even though he only sings part of it)

Favorite picture of them:

These assorted illustrations:

Peter Ostrum in the 1971 film:

Freddie Highmore in the 2005 film:

This boy actor from the 2013 stage musical:

These little girl actresses in the most recent UK tour of the musical. I know some people complain about this "woke" casting, but I like the fact that this tour had girls alternate with boys in the role and let the character be a tomboyish girl in some performances. "Charlie" is a unisex name, after all, and Charlie’s gender is irrelevant to the story.

[travelingparties]

11 Grasping

Prev | Next

*(Solo TTRPG Journaling based on Wanderhome by @jdragsky)*

*text under readmore in case you can't read my tiny handwriting*

Today, the girl and I set out on our journey. I woke her up before sunrise, to make our escape before the city became full of life. Too many dangers.

She’s afraid, I can tell.

I found an old map among my things to take with us, it should prove useful. If I’m correct, it’ll take us a little less than a day to make it to the next town over, where we can stop for the night. I’ve also broken into my savings jar in order to hire a local peddler to act as a caravan, at least for now. It’s easier than traveling on foot. I fear, though, that I may need to find odd jobs to do in each city we stay in, in order to keep paying for his services.

His name is Tiberius and, while I do not consider myself a cruel sort, he is particularly ugly, inside and out. Most peddlers tend to be; obsessed with their wares and their coin and their numbers. He is a unique sort, though. One of those cats with no fur, who has to overcompensate by wearing pounds of bumble wool. The girl keeps asking him where his fur went.

I am urging her to stay silent, but it is difficult with Tiberius around. He refuses to cease his endless yapping. He asks about me, and her, and where her parents are, and why we hired him, and for how long… I have half a mind to steal his beetle myself and kick him out of the caravan, but I remain silently seething.

If there is one piece of good to come out of his inability to not speak, it’s that song he keeps humming. The girl seemed fascinated by it, tapping her fingers to the beat. When he noticed, he asked her if she would like to learn it and she said yes. It’s an old aria, he explained, from his ancestors, passed down through generations. I think that sounds like a load of hogwash, peddlers have a tendency to make nice lies, but the girl loved the story and the song. It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since I met her.

I decided to start calling her Aria. Maybe, if she can smile along and believe in Tiberius, perhaps I should start trying to believe in her as well.

I always did want to name my daughter Aria, but the chance always passed me by.

We’ve arrived in town, now. And we’ll be staying here for two days before taking off again. I have the money for two nights in the inn, but I’ll need to find work in order to pay Tiberius for passage to the next town. Though, if I can find my own wagon, I might not mind leaving him behind.

It’s been a long time since I stepped foot into this town. I attended university here, once, when I was still young and hopeful. Perhaps it’s the one thing that saved me from Her wrath all those years ago. I wonder if any of my old mentors are still here. It would be nice to see at least one familiar face.

Finding work was difficult. The markets are always full of vendors, but none willing to hire for a day's work. Aria seems overwhelmed by the noise. I nearly had a heart attack when I realized she had run off somewhere. Tiberius found her by a pen of rather impressive bumbles for sale, petting them gently. I had to apologize to the owner. I don’t know how to punish a child that could kill me.

The local shrine was a bust as well. Aria found old food offerings, ones that had already gone bad, and couldn’t help herself. I snapped at her and now I feel guilty. Does she even know who she is? Do I?

I’ll buy her a nice meal tonight to apologize, but I worry our funds are dwindling. We’ve barely even started our journey and it could be over by tomorrow night. Tiberius finally took pity and offered me a job. A small delivery job to the university. The teachers there purchase a fresh order of textbooks every semester. He said he’d give us free passage to the next town if we delivered them for him tomorrow.

I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to keep this up, but I’m going to keep up my optimism and hope that we’ll make it through.

[theowritesfiction]

How’s it going @theowritesfiction ?

I know you posted it a while ago, but I wanted to give a review for chapter 18 in Azula’s kitchen nightmares. I hope it is okay to use an ask as the medium for the review.

I’m sorry that I hadn’t given a review before now, I’ve been listening to a fan audio book of the Worm web serial on Spotify. What can I say? The Queen of escalation has captured my imagination. Today though, I only had one class at campus, so I had more time to get caught up to date for Azula’s kitchen nightmare. And I’ll be reading the other chapters promptly.

Now onto the review!

I really enjoyed this chapter. Jealous Katara who wants Azula all to herself is my bread and butter.

I also loved Azula just being flattered that Katara was stalking her and Katara being flabbergasted that she was cool with it all. The talk about Azula becoming part of the Northern lights family between Azula and Katara was sweet. June was absolutely right, Azula and Katara are “adorable”.

I also enjoyed Katara internally panicking when she realized that she was paying too much attention to Azula and none to June during the conversation.

Of course June then just throws Azula under the bus, that Azula thinks her co workers (Katara, Yue, and Suki) are the most sexy people she has worked with. Katara grinning at Azula and teasing her about it made laugh and smile myself.

Azula and Katara complimenting each others outfits and unabashedly eyefucking eachother made me grin.

Azula disappointment and Katara’s jealous reactions too June saying “anyway, maybe you two want to finish your drinks and we can get out of here” made me smirk. Those two are goners for each other already! My smirk only widened when June clarified that all three of them should leave together for June apartment, only for both Azula and Katara to turn into blushing messes.

And I laughed at June’s “their’s only so much of you two fucking with your eyes that I can take”. Ain’t that the truth. June got a first face impression of Azutara’s mural obsession with each other. From stalking, to being okay at being stalked (so long as it was Katara), to staring dreamily into each other’s eyes while they should include June in conversation. Not gonna lie, this line made my Azutara heart flutter.

The morning after the Daisy chain” was a fun read as well. June being guilty shocked at seeing Azula “so into someone, it’s disgustingly cute” was sweet. Katara just has that effect on Azula. If neither the OG show, nor the Netflix recreation weren’t cowards, Katara would have definitely seduced Azula to the good guys. But I digress,

Katara immediately denying the (obvious) truth and saying that June was “exaggerating” caused me to grab in unison with June in exasperation.

I burst out laughing (again) when June (knowingly) replied “I woke up in the middle of the night and it took me a moment to realize that you two were going for another round” and since neither thought to wake June for it, I have to concur that Azula and Katara are “both seriously into each other”. Azula and Katara thrusting for another and secretly going for “another round” kind of lends credence to my belief that Azula and Katara mostly focused on each other (mutual obsession and all that) during their “encounter” with June. Though the two would have made sure that June had nothing to complain about. Azula and Katara are both gentlewomen after all.

Azula and Katara being bitter and “sounding stiff” when agreeing to heel things professional and just “being friends” is making me roll my eyes. Ladies the two of you are obviously ready falling for each other! So just cut out the middle man (Ozai), screw each other’s brains out (again), and get together.

Of course, we wouldn’t have your awesome fic @theowritesfiction , if it was that easy. And half the satisfaction of seeing Azutara finally start avoiding the idiot stick and getting together, is the journey there! (With all its ups and downs!)

These lines made me laugh out loud too

“It was… defined some next level fun, compared to I’m used to” -Azula (which is either a hilarious commentary on Katara’s skills in the bedroom, or the lacking showing from Azula’s “usual hookups”, or both!)

“Katara didn’t exactly regret the act itself because it had been the best sex she’d ever had” -Katara (both Azula and Katara giving glowing reports about the other gorgeous women’s (who they are totally not falling for[sarcasm]) bedroom abilities… just admit your feelings girls!)

“As good as sex with Azula had been (also June was there too, Katara supposed), Katara still intended to apologize to Yue and Suki” (This was funny. Azula and Katara really are obsessed with each other. To the exclusion of everyone else (sans Suki and Yue of course). And I love that for them. Let’s go Steam(y) Queens!)

I’ve got a feeling that it’s going to take a while for all the idiots (affectionate) to figure it and get together. Particularly for Azula and Katara. And I am here for it!!

I loved chapter 18, and can’t wait for the next update. Well done @theowritesfiction !!!

On to the next chapters!

Hey, no worries, I’m always happy for reviews, doesn’t matter when 😉 And sure, using ask is totally fine!

I have heard about this Worm web series before – I read a brief synopsis of it somewhere, but I’ll be honest, while some parts seemed like something I would really enjoy, I could tell that some aspects would annoy me too much. 🤣

This chapter was a little different because it was almost pure Azutara throughout, and I haven’t had any chapters with such heavy emphasis on them. There are always spicy moments between them, but this was a really big escalation, and I hoped that Azutara diehards would love it. Seems I wasn’t wrong about that. 😊

Yue and Suki will remain in the picture for a good while longer, even if we all know that Azula and Katara are the endgame. But hey, it means more jealous Katara, so hopefully that’s fine. 😊

You’re exactly right that Azula and Katara made sure that June had no grounds to complain about the threesome. 😉

Azula and Katara falling for each other is just the first step to them actually being together. We wouldn’t want to make things TOO easy for them, would we? Pining is part of the fun, too!

Lol Azula and Katara both giving each other glowing reports and high scores 😉 I didn’t intend that to be a diss on their previous partners. Especially in Azula’s case, it’s probably that for maybe the first time she was with someone who she has genuine feelings for, and that adds a lot.

Tiny spoiler, but I am currently working on a chapter that is a big next step in Azula’s relationship with Katara, but also Yue and Suki. 😉 Unfortunately, it’s going to be slightly delayed because of the live action remake distractions, but it’s still coming along nicely and you’ll see it soon!

Anyway, thank you so much for this review, and I’m glad you’re excited to read more! 😊

[b-afterhours]

Avenue of Sins: Neon

A Sequel to Avenue of Sins

SUMMARY: ‘90s. It’s the aftermath. Jaded, Bill and Alma navigate their new lives as they try to drag themselves out of the dark debaucherous trenches they had once ensnared themselves in. It’s easy to forget their evils when a silver lining introduces itself into their lives but can they create a less hedonistic life that would be just as satisfying?

WARNINGS: adult content, mature readers only.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the last chapter (it's a long one), but an epilogue and a one-shot helping to fill some gaps should come shortly. Thank you all who have read this story, commented, and stuck to it over the years. Writing part two of this story has been so fun and a wonderful character study to do. Enjoy and again thank you all so much! 

Chapter Twenty-five

September 1993

Ruth Anne’s Bar was a cement block-built establishment. The faded robin egg blue exterior paint was flaking and chipped. The standing marquee sign by the door advertised: Wet Your Whistle Wednesdays! 25¢ BEER. 

Unfortunately, they had missed that by a few days. Only a few used cars were outside the gravel parking lot, which eased them. It was true they didn’t want to run into anyone they’d known from ages ago, but it was inevitable. Still, the less, the better. It was still early enough that the weekend crowd hadn’t started crowding the place. 

There was a slight stench of light beer-induced vomit permeating under the scent of menthol cigarettes when they walked into the incredibly dim, sticky, smokey bar. When the door slammed shut behind them, the patrons inside sat and stared them down, and they stared back with the same scrutiny. Bill felt Alma squeeze his hand once everyone conceded by turning away and resuming conversations over the country music playing loudly on the jukebox speakers.

“I’ll find a seat for us,” Alma said, looking up at him. “I’ll be okay,” she said when he looked apprehensive about letting her go alone. He kissed her before she went on her own, just so that any eyes remaining on them could see who she belonged to. If it hadn’t already been made obvious. 

He had only been to Ruth Anne’s twice, underage, with his old friend Scotty. Alma would visit occasionally when she came back from New York. Even her dad warned her about getting too drunk and joked that he didn’t want a call to be picked up before they left. Alma explained on the car ride that she was on a bender after her mom passed and that the last time she’d been, Antonio picked her up. That following morning, she woke up on the bathroom floor of her old home with scraped palms and skinned knees from tumbling on the gravel parking lot.

The patrons of Ruth Anne’s were mostly blue-collar, as were most of the people in town. Even if Bill and Alma stood out, someone knew someone—who knew someone—who knew they were local, so they were left alone.

When Bill approached the bar, the bartender wore a white halter top and straight red hair that covered her fully freckled back as she grabbed a bottle of Wild Turkey from the sparse liquor shelf. As he scanned it, there wasn’t much to choose from besides different tiers of whiskey. None you’d consider top shelf, though. Once the bartender fulfilled a burly, long-bearded man's order a few feet down the bar, she turned to Bill.

“Julia?” He was surprised to see his apathetic pre-teen neighbor, who was never impressed by his whole punk thing, was now a woman in her mid-twenties.

“Billy,” she smiled as she chewed on a wad of gum. “What do you want? Need to use the phone?” 

“Just the same, I see.” He muttered under his breath. “Uhm, this is all you have?” He leaned on the bartop and pointed at the liquor shelf. 

“Yup.” She punctuated with popping her gum. 

“That’s shitty.” 

“That’s what people drink, so that’s what we buy.” 

“You don’t have tequila?” He asked, and Julia just shook her head impatiently. “Fine. I guess I’ll do two Jack and Cokes then.” 

“Never heard of it.” She winked. 

Bill peered over his shoulder and saw Alma putting quarters on the dart machine to secure a turn. His eyes followed her, and she sat down at a high-top table right against a wall, unbuttoning the first few buttons of her sleeveless top. She felt his eyes on her, and looked at him, giving him a little wave. 

“Here you go, killer.” Julia grabbed his attention by placing the drinks down in front of him. 

Bill’s eyes flashed dark when his gaze met hers for a moment. She didn’t even react to it in the slightest; she just continued to chew her gum, unimpressed. She was always so weird to him. He felt as if he were made of glass in her presence. She just saw right through him, but it seemed she had no idea she was doing so. 

“Wanna start a tab?” She raised her thin, pencil-filled brows at him. 

“Uh, sure...” 

“Wanna tack the outstanding tab your brother ditched onto that?” 

“Which one?” 

“Alex.” She smirked. 

“I don’t know who the fuck that is.” He scoffed, quickly grabbed the drinks in front of him, and walked off while she laughed. 

“It’s Jack,” he warned, setting the drink in front of Alma before sitting across from her. 

“Thanks. No tequila here.” She giggled, stirring her drink with the thin cocktail straw.

“No wonder you were calling your dad,” he lightly laughed, putting a coveted cigarette to his lips. 

“Whatever,” she smirked, taking a sip of her drink. “One drink of whiskey is fine. Anyway, what were you and my dad talking about for so long?” 

Bill took a deep drag on his cigarette. She had asked him just before arriving, but he accidentally missed his turn, which saved him, but it also didn’t provide enough time to think of a good lie.

“Mm. He was just asking about the whole record shop acquisition. It’s long and boring having to explain, but he was interested.” He shrugged, blowing smoke above him as he leaned back in his chair. “And I was telling him about the zoo.” 

“The zoo,” Alma sighed, grabbing the cigarette pack on the table and fiddling with it, indecisive about having one. “That was fun for a little while, at least. You know—I know I was being a bitch about coming, but… it hasn’t been so bad.” She admitted. “It’s been nice to see our family, and everyone’s been so, kind.”

“I told you,” he said with a pointed look. “For me, it’s just nice knowing we aren’t coming back.” 

“Aww, you’re too city now.” Alma playfully joked.

He raised his brows in amusement and was glad Alma’s general attitude had turned around. With that confession, he felt he had done his job well. He had created a good boundary around her and their daughter, in which they didn’t have to worry about anything but enjoy themselves. However, it was a job he hadn’t expected to come with so much emotional labor from him, but that he could face later in private if he could help it. Being in Strathburg was certainly draining him, but he was glad Alma deviated from their plans for him to enjoy a much-needed drink and a smoke. 

After all, he had accomplished what he came to do. He had gotten Antonio’s blessing, and that deserved a little private celebration on his end. He laid his hand over the one she kept twisting the pack with, feeling her anxious energy, and passed his lit cigarette over for her to take a drag from. 

“Mm,” her gaze fell, blowing smoke. “Do you think my dad will actually come to Seattle? He never said yes or no.” 

Bill took the cigarette she passed back and put it to his lips for a deep puff before stamping it out in a teal plastic ashtray on the table. He wasn’t sure what to tell her. She had told him how Connie revealed that she and Alma’s father had visited her family in San Antonio during dinner. Alma was upset on the car ride, telling him about it, especially knowing they had gone three times now. 

“Uh,” he sighed, scratching his brow with his pinky. “I don’t know, love. But he knows the door is open.” 

“Yeah.” She looked a bit sad, but then sat up, picking up her drink, and they tapped glasses. 

As they played darts, the bar began slowly filling up. They shared a look and decided that after their game they should leave. From behind, Bill pulled her body flush against him to steady and guide her aim, but to no avail. Being against him was the only fun Alma was having because she was losing. She couldn’t use the excuse that she couldn’t see well, since she wore contacts now. It was rare that she ever won games when competing against him. As Bill's score quickly hit below fifty, Alma gave up since her score was still in the hundreds. 

They were putting the darts up for the next players and ultimately decided to have one last beer before leaving, as they still had a little time.

“How come you never speak Spanish to me?” He asked, pulling her chair out for her to sit down, and he decided to lean on the tall table facing her. 

She lightly laughed. “Are you going to speak it back?” 

“Si,” he smirked. “I know, un poquito.” He said, pinching his thumb and pointer finger close. 

“Un poquito? Por que tienes un chiquito pito?” She laughed loudly and took a sip of her beer. 

“Ah, okay,” Bill began to laugh as well. “I don’t know much, but I know what that means. And that’s not what you tell me in bed.” He said as his hand slid up her thigh. “Es muy grande. You even scream it.” 

“Alma!?” A female voice exclaimed, disrupting their laughter.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, looking past him now and begrudgingly setting her beer glass down on the table. “Tarilynn!” 

“Oh my god! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you!” She said, approaching with her arms out for an embrace. She was wearing short cutoffs and a camo tank top. “What are you doing here?!” 

“Oh, you know, visiting family...”

“Of course. What else, right? And,” she turned her head and gave Bill a disingenuous smile. “Bill… wow!” 

“Hello.” He tightly pursed his lips and gave her a nod. 

“You look,” she looked between the couple. “Well, you both look great! You, especially Alma!”

Alma complimented her back. Bill didn’t agree with Alma’s flattery, but he just minded his business by taking a drink of his beer. Time had not been kind to her. Before they both even knew it, Alma was getting dragged into a dart game with her, despite several protests, until she begrudgingly gave in to get her to shut up. Tara had always been very pushy since grade school. The first time Alma ever kissed a boy was because of Tara’s incessant peer pressure in the form of a dare at the 8th grade formal. She remembered it being an oddly humid kiss. 

Bill looked at his watch and informed Alma of the time when she asked. She looked up at him apologetically, but he wasn’t upset with her—just Tara, who insisted that he buy her a beer. 

“For us, girls.” She smirked at him, with her fading fuchsia-covered lips. However, she was just subtly strong-arming her way into getting a free drink from him.

While Bill ordered, Julia shook her head at him, noticing what had happened. “She’s going to expect you to keep buying her drinks if you don’t cut her off after this.” She warned. 

“Felt like she does that a lot.” 

“She’ll find someone else right after you with no problem.” She said, which made Bill chuckle. 

People were filing in through the door behind him as he waited for the drinks, and suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, which made his body stiffen and his jaw tense. In his peripheral vision, he could make out the stature of a man similar to his own. 

“I can’t believe this shit!” The man hollered excitedly behind him. 

Bill turned his head, and his stern look fell when he saw his old friend Scotty. They embraced each other happily, both surprised that their paths had crossed again. Their connection and correspondence had been lost over the years. The last he ever heard from Scotty was that he was living in St. Louis with a girlfriend. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Bill said, still shocked to be in the presence of his old friend. 

Scotty looked cleaned up, but he still had a cool flair about him. He had nicely kept wavy chocolate hair just above shoulder-length, tucked behind his pierced ears. There was a hoop through his nostril now too. He was wearing a tee shirt with the Joe Camel cigarette mascot on a motorbike, which he cut the hem off. So it sat right at the waist of his jeans, revealing skin only if he moved ever so.

“I could ask you the same, dude! Look at you! You look legit in this polo, man!” He playfully dusted off Bill’s shoulder. “I knew I’d bump into someone here, but I didn’t expect to see you!”

“Eh, yeah… Visiting family, whatever,” he muttered dismissively. “Just decided to drop in with Alma since we’re in town.” 

Scotty grinned. “Same here! She lives with you in New York, right? You finally locked that down, or what?” 

“Eh, well, basically.” 

Scotty rolled his eyes and excused himself to quickly buy a drink, and they both walked back to the table and stood beside it rather than sit down. When Tara took her glass out of Bill’s hand without so much as a thank you, Alma looked over after shooting her darts, and her eyes widened, surprised to see Scotty as well.

“Hey, Scotty! It’s been a long time.” She said, walking into his lanky arm embrace. 

“Since, uh… since that basement show that got busted!” He said, snapping his fingers, recalling when they had serendipitously run into each other in St. Louis. “A pleasure as always, Alma.” He said with a little bow.

Alma laughed. “Yeah! Are you still with Ki’?” 

“Kiara, eh, no.” He lightly winced, pulling a cigarette from his pack of menthol cigarettes. “We–” 

“Alma! It’s your turn.” Tara interrupted, which made Alma's lip curl in annoyance. 

She apologetically excused herself and went back into the game, one she was winning this time, but she couldn’t care less.  

“Boy! She will just always be pretty, huh.” Scotty winked at his friend, tapping each end of his cig’ on the pack. “Been here for a week now, and there’s nothing left to look at here if you get me. You ending up with Alma is like getting the last chopper out of fuckin’ ‘Nam, man!” 

Bill laughed. “And what happened to your girlfriend? I remember you living together.”

“Ah yeah.” He paused to light his cigarette. “We did that off and on, bullshit. And then, we had a daughter. So we were good for a cool minute and then broke up again. Straight done-zo. But it’s fine; we’re better as friends. And sometimes we’ll still hook up, so I’ll take it.” He said, taking a drag from his cigarette. 

“Oh. You have a daughter?” Bill was happy to hear that. 

“Yeah!” He smiled, pulling on his wallet chain. “Her name is Jasmine Marie. We call her Jazzy, though.” He unfolded his weathered red leather wallet and showed him a picture of his child. She was cute, with a cappuccino complexion and hair braided back into two poofs of curly, dark hair. “She’s three here, but she’s five now.” 

“Yeah, she’s cute, man. Alma and I have a daughter too.” He smiled. “She’s almost two; her name is Echo.”

“No shit? So you finally did it! Good for you, man!” He laughed, tucking his wallet in his back pocket. 

Bill laughed. “At least once.”

“Ha! Well, at least you made it fuckin’ count!” 

Bill dug into Alma’s purse—pushing tampons and a tube of cherry chapstick away from her pocketbook—to show him a picture of his child. One Alma had taken. Unfortunately, his wallet didn’t have any room to add a photo of her. He’d need to get a new one. 

“Dude!” Scotty said, snatching the pocketbook from Bill to look at the photo closer. “Hell yeah, man! She’s adorable, but of course, you’re cute, dude.” Scotty teased, passing the wallet back. Bill noticed some guy in a trucker hat glance, overhearing his friend. Scotty was only joking, but you couldn’t make comments like that in a place like this. 

“Have you heard anything about Jones?” Bill inquired before he took a drink of his beer.

“Jones?” He sat his beer down after taking a sip. “Mm. Not much. Last I heard, he lives in Tulsa and is in the military. Uh, Air Force, actually. Has a family and all that. So yeah, it sounds like he’s doing alright to me. And you? Still running that place in New York?” He suggestively wagged his brows.

“Yeah. But I’m on to something else now.” 

“Oh?” 

“I bought a record shop. It’s a venue too. But it’s in Seattle, where I’m living now, too. And yeah, it rains a lot.” He said before he was asked. 

“Well, no shit, Bill. But for real? That’s legit, man! You have to tell me the details of that. I’m managing a Chicago band. We just did a short East Coast tour last month! They're good. No bullshit!”

While they spoke, filling in the gaps of missed time, Julia approached, grabbed empty drink glasses, and took an order at their table. Her swiftness and her memorization skills were quite impressive to Bill. Alma was still beating Tara at darts, and it was the only thing entertaining her because all the trivial trauma dumping that Tara was doing was just fucking ridiculous. Anytime Alma tried to get a word in with her, it fell on deaf ears, and she turned the conversation back on herself. It was by a miracle that she recognized a bar patron when they entered.

“Roger!” Tara shouted. Suddenly, she seemed uninterested in the game and Alma altogether. “Uhm, I think I’m done playing.” She said to Alma, placing her darts in her hand.

“Sure. You know where to find me…” She trailed off because Tara unceremoniously walked off, effectively ditching her. While Alma was grateful to be free of her, it still felt shitty. 

She joined Bill and Scotty, who were cracking up about something. 

“You fuckin’ dog!” Scotty laughed, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, yeah…” Bill said, amused when his gaze found Alma’s. “You finished your game?” He asked, reaching out to her and putting his arm over her shoulder. 

“Fuck that game. She was…” Alma groaned, a bit flustered. “Something else.” 

“That girl you were with?” Scotty pointed behind himself with his thumb, and Alma nodded. “Looking at her made my dick itch. Excuse me, I know she’s your friend.” He raised his hands, meaning no harm. 

Alma laughed. “No, she’s not. So, where are you living? What’s been going on with you?” 

“Capone’s old stomping grounds.”

“Chicago?”

“Yes ma’am. I just got done telling Billy this, but Kiara moved there with our daughter Jazzy about two years ago to be close to family. And I followed. My old man took off when I was a kid, and I didn’t want to do the same shit.” 

“Yeah, of course! I love hearing that you have a daughter, too.” She genuinely smiled, happy for him. “How long are you here for?” 

“I take off in the morning with my little sister. But, uhm, Billy told me I’d have to talk to you about booking the band I manage.” 

“Oh shit!” She raised her brows. “Well, yeah… but you should also come see us too. Fuck working.” 

“Oh, for sure! I’ve been wanting to head that way, actually. Just give me the word!” 

Bill subtly took a glance at his wristwatch while they spoke. If they were younger and on a date, he would have gotten Alma home at the hour she was expected. That rite of passage had passed them by, though. However, they left their daughter with two elderly people, who were most likely up past their bedtime to watch her. Echo may have tucked them into bed herself by now, for all he knew. 

“Uhm,” Bill spoke up regretfully as he interrupted the laughter they shared about some tour mishap that Scotty experienced. “I think we have to pick Echo up now.” 

“Ah, no worries, man,” Scotty said understandingly, taking another cigarette from his pack. “I’m taking the first leg of the drive in the morning, anyway. I’m just going to burn one more and head out after. ” 

“Maybe we can wait until you finish,” Alma said, looking up at Bill. She felt it would be rude to leave him behind since he arrived solo. 

“Fuck it, I’ll have one too,” Bill said, and then he suggested that they could smoke outside. 

He briefly stopped by the bar to pay his tab, while Alma and Scotty waited by the jukebox. They were snickering mischievously while looking through the catalog to play obnoxious pop and hard rock tracks they knew the patrons would hate. Bill waited for Julia to personally pick up the generous tip he left for her. 

“Thanks, Billy!” She hardly took a glance at the cash but could tell just by handling it that he left her something substantial.

“I left my business card under the clip too.” She furrowed her brows questioningly. “Do you want to bartend here forever?” 

“Well…” 

“Think about it. I have a place with a bar in New York City where you’ll get tipped three times more than what I just left with you.” 

“Really?” Julia said, tilting her head with intrigue. 

“I wrote my business partner's number on the back. Her name’s Bianca. Tell her you know me; she’ll expect your call whenever it comes.” He knocked on the counter with his knuckles and said goodbye to her before she could fully process his proposition. 

Bill lit his cigarette once out of the bar on the warm, muggy night with Alma and Scotty. The men walked behind her, speaking some before parting ways. They reached his car in the backside gravel lot, and they paused to say goodnight. Alma stood back, letting them have a moment after hugging him and telling him how nice it was to see him.

“Stay in touch this time, fucker!” Scotty said, flicking his cigarette down and stomping out the ember. “Seriously though.” 

“Yeah, for sure. I’m in a better spot now, so.” 

“I get you, man. Life, right.” He sighed. “Well, it was good to see you, brother.” He said before they embraced tightly. 

Alma took Bill’s hand again when he joined her again. “Have a safe trip, Scotty.” She said, waving.

“Thanks, Alma.” He said, putting a hand to his heart, appreciatively. “Don’t forget, I’m gonna hit you up! Business first, party later.” 

“Lame.” She teased, making him chuckle, just before he got in his car and drove away. “What time is it?” She asked Bill when they entered their SUV, a few parking spaces away.

“Your dad’s going to be fucking pissed!” He exclaimed, feigning alarm, before he chuckled. “It’s almost eleven.” 

“You wanna make out before we leave?” She cheekily asked, reaching over to brush the side of his hair. 

“Get in the back.” He said, nudging his head towards the back seat.

“Bill… the car seat, and I’m on my period…” 

“Excuses.” He tutted, putting the gear in drive and hitting the gas pedal, causing the car to lurch forward enough to pin Alma’s back to her seat for a moment. 

“Hey!” She glared at him, displeased. “Fine.” 

Bill bit his lip to keep from laughing, especially when she crossed her arms. As he drove to Alma’s father’s house, he turned left onto an old, dusty country road. Before she could ask where they were going, she quickly remembered there was a secluded enclave where teens and young adults would go to hook up, which fell on the very lonely road they were on. She remained silent in fear that he’d change his mind and turn around just to mess with her further. 

The lover's cove was anything but inviting. The moonlight struggled to illuminate the area. The moonbeams that broke through the tree canopy gave the area an eerie green glow. The cicadas and nocturnal wildlife could be heard skittering and cooing in the surrounding brush. The headlights had long been cut off when they parked next to a tree with a thick trunk and away from the other two cars parked. They’d look abandoned to the flora if they weren’t mildly rocking.

Bill stepped out of the car without a word to open her door, but he paused with his hand on the door handle, kicking dry twigs and garbage away. An unusually cold breeze struck Alma once the door opened. 

“Make it quick.” He said, leaning in to kiss her before she could pout. 

Though he was mostly joking, there was some seriousness behind it. Car sex was difficult enough with his height and long limbs, but now there was a car seat in the way. It wasn’t sexy to have to pause the passion that they were currently sharing while making out by having to uninstall it. Most importantly, it wasn’t wise to overstay their welcome. It wasn’t worth getting harassed by the menacing pack of feral dogs that seemed to appear at the most inconvenient times, or worse, harassed by bored small-town police. Bill wanted to enjoy himself despite these obstacles because, while he had never been here with Alma until now, he knew that if things had gone differently they’d have ended up in this creepy, secluded patch of land long ago. 

Bill kept inching his hand up her skirt but was becoming frustrated when she kept clenching her legs closed. If it wasn’t in the shower, Alma always worried about the added mess her menses created. However, sex was messy as is, but Bill never minded it the way she did. Besides, they didn’t have time to worry about any of it. 

“Don’t be so hasty,” Alma breathlessly said as she broke away from his lips. “We just got here.” She reached for the button on his trousers, somewhat contradicting herself. 

She slid out of her seat and stood on earth in front of him. She bent forward and took him into her mouth. Even with eyes that had adjusted to the dark, it was difficult to see her work while he leaned back with his hips jutted forward, but he could certainly feel each lick, suck, and pump with her assisting hand. 

His hands continuously pushed her hair back to at least see a glimpse of her pretty mouth on his cock, but he kept getting lost in the feeling, especially when she was taking him to the back of her throat. His eyes fluttered closed as he moaned appreciatively.

“Baby…” he said breathlessly. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.” 

His warning only encouraged her, and that’s when he had to take control because he knew she was trying to skirt away from sex. If she made him cum down her throat without having to bend over, could he really complain? His hand cupped the bottom of her chin, gently pulled her away, and got her to stand upright for their lips to meet again. She felt his hands beginning to push her skirt up. 

“Turn around,” he said with guiding hands on her hips. 

She slightly hesitated but obliged nonetheless. “Wait a second.” She whispered as he pushed her skirt over her ass. The sound of his hand smacking her ass cheek bounced among the trees before he pulled her panties down to the middle of her thighs. “Let me–” 

She gasped when he pulled the tampon out of her and tossed it somewhere in the brush, startling some avian wildlife that cawed in irritation. Suddenly, she felt his mouth at her core, taking some greedy licks, much to her surprise. There was only one instance where he’d gone down on her while on her period, and that was only by accident. It happened during a drunken night when the lights were off and the black-out curtains were drawn to keep the city lights from shining in the bedroom of their old Hell’s Kitchen apartment. Unbeknownst to either of them, she had started her period. Bill assumed she was just really wet because he was doing such a good job. However, he was drunk and was being quite sloppy. It wasn’t until he rose to kiss her that Alma noticed something off, or rather tasted something off. 

Bill straightened up, pushed Alma to lay her chest on the passenger seat, and lined himself with her entrance. Despite his demanding attitude, Alma appreciated that he pushed in gently. She was rather sensitive during her time of the month, to the point where it was almost uncomfortable until her body could acclimate, and the intrusion became pleasurable. For Bill, she felt the same but somehow different. She was slick, and it was gritty and felt a little taboo. Occasionally, the wind swayed the branches above enough to let the moonlight illuminate his cock, revealing the sangria fluid coating him and making some animalistic fire ignite in his chest. It was as if he interpreted it as some sanguine pact.

Alma pressed her face into the seat once she let her inhibitions go. The apprehension left her, and her breathy moans began to flow out past her lips. He thrust into her with less hesitation, feeling and seeing how she was responding favorably to him now. 

She gasped at a certain snap of his hips. “Fuck! Like, like that.” 

Bill bent into the SUV from where he stood, so half his body was inside, just like hers. The pressure of his hands on her achy hips and his thrusts felt incredible, but also relieving. Bill could feel her impending climax building inside her, but her needy moans were intoxicating him. While he always tried to be a gentleman and preferred that she come first, he couldn’t hold back anymore. Especially when she pressed her bottom harder against him to feel him deeper inside. A deep moan erupted from his chest, and Alma could feel his warm release within. It felt so visceral, fucking outside, communing with nature in the most natural states of their bodies. He never ceased his thrusts, continuing in the same rhythm Alma asked him not to deviate from. 

“Ah,” Bill gulped. “There you go.” 

He ran a soothing hand up her back once she met her peak. They stole kisses in between catching their breath. Bill slowly pulled out of her, jolting them back into the reality of their situation. He stepped over to open the backseat door, where there was a spare package of baby wipes to clean themselves with. What a starkly unsexy reminder that they were parents and needed to get back to their responsibilities. 

…

It was just a little past eleven when they returned to Alma’s father’s home. Antonio and Connie were sitting on the front porch with mugs of coffee in hand with Echo. They were chuckling to themselves while she played with their favorite hen, Pinto. She didn’t seem so bothered, as the hen liked to sit and brood. Bill and Alma stayed a while after gathering the baby bag and gifts, never realizing how they never bothered to really fix their clothes. Alma’s top was still unbuttoned and Bill’s polo untucked. Connie had apologized to Alma for not putting Echo to bed, but Alma assured her that it was fine and that she’d fall asleep on the car ride. The young parents thanked Connie before she decided to go back inside with Pinto, ready for bed, and to give them privacy. 

“So late?” Antonio raised his brow, but he wasn’t upset. He didn’t believe either of them for a second when they said they’d only be away for an hour. 

“Sorry. We ran into old friends.” Bill explained, trying to keep the smug smirk Alma had called him out on for having when they arrived, from spreading across his face. The ‘I just fucked your daughter’ look. “I’m going to get Echo in the car,” Bill said, picking her up. “Say bye, baby.” 

"No, bye-bye!” She protested. 

“No, no. Just bedtime, mija.” Antonio said to her. “Goodnight, amor.” 

“Sleepies!” Echo listened and seemed to understand that it was quite late. She even looked tired, even if she was fighting it. 

“Yeah!” Alma said, caressing her cheek before Bill walked down the porch steps, taking her back to the car. “Thanks, Apá.” 

“Mhmm.” Antonio nodded. “She’s a sweet girl. Reminds me of you. Thank you for giving me a grandchild. Your mama would be so happy. So proud, like I am.” 

Alma swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yeah…” she inhaled deeply. “Please visit us. I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.” 

Antonio nodded. “Okay, mija. Bill makes Seattle sound pretty. He’s a good talker.” 

Alma smiled and was surprised that he’d complimented her boyfriend. When Bill returned, he stood at the bottom of the steps, watching Antonio and Alma lovingly embrace. He walked up a couple of steps, and finally, Antonio gave him the most proper, even pressured, handshake. It was a subtle sign of respect between men. 

“Before you go,” Antonio slowly walked, with the assistance of his cane, to the little porch table and grabbed a small gift bag. “All the paperwork for the old house is in there. Signed. Notarized.” He said just to get it out of the way. Their trip wasn’t about the home, it was only just the lure to get her to Missouri. “But there’s a pair of gold basket earrings for Echo too. I had bought them before I could ask if her ears were pierced.” He bought them the same week he learned he had a granddaughter, out of excitement. “Anyway, I wanted to give you the rosary inside there too. It holds some of Leo and Lily’s ashes.” 

“Oh…” Alma nodded and mournfully smiled. “Thank you.” 

“Mhm.” It was mostly for him that he had given her the rosary. It gave him comfort to know that, in some capacity, all his children were together. “You said you have an early morning?” He said, speaking to Bill, who had just stood by observing. “But also, you said you’re not leaving until the evening?”

“Uhm,” Bill cleared his throat. “Yeah. We’re going to visit the springs before we go.” 

…

When they arrived to the spring, everything was much different from what they remembered. The acres that it sat on had been purchased and were made into a private park. To enter, they were in a line of cars, waiting their turn to pay the ten-dollar fee.

“Ten?” Bill asked, appalled and disgruntled with the attending agent. “American dollars?” 

“Here,” Alma said, leaning over him and passing the cash over with a friendly smile, and the attendant waved them in. 

“Alma?” Bill turned to her while she was so close. 

“Just go. There's a line behind us.” She pecked him on the lips before sitting back in her seat.

“Money isn’t the issue; it's the principle.” He griped as they looked for a parking space. “How are you going to charge to see some flowing water and some fucking grass?” He peered over his sunglasses while reversing into a parking space.

Alma giggled at his irritation, but she did agree with him. The parking lot was once just a dirt patch, but it is now paved and painted with park slots. There was a large pavilion and even a children's playground now. An obvious indication of what the fees went towards.

Alma and Echo enjoyed the more populated area, where families splashed about the roped-off section of shallow waters. The only problem was that there were many older children not minding where they were going and nearly bumping into Echo and other children her age. In the last incident, Alma and another mother had to quickly sweep their daughters into their arms when two boys roughly played far too close to them. The women looked at each other a bit flustered, imagining the worst had they not been quick, and then slightly chuckled together, shaking their heads. They left to join Bill, who had been busy looking for a spare picnic table.

“Maybe… we should go find your spot?” Alma suggested, seeing as he was still slightly peeved. 

“Let’s eat first; I literally just sat down.”

After eating their packed lunch of ham sandwiches and potato chips. Bill led the way, following a footpath along the water. He knew the direction, but after so many years, he wasn’t positive if they’d find the place he’d like to escape to during rough times. The footpath had deviated and faded after some time. They were trekking in inches of flowing water in their Converse now. Bill couldn’t recall if the path took this turn but continued looking ahead, hoping to see any familiar landmarks.

As their feet fell on washed-out muddy land again, Alma turned her head behind herself, taking note that there were no obnoxious park visitors to be seen or heard anymore. Nor were there people floating in the spring to the left of them. It was just the family among the trees and water. She almost ran into Bill when he suddenly paused in front of her.

“Could you hold her for a second?” He asked while passing Echo to her. He took off his shirt, folded it in half long ways, and tucked it behind the waistband of his black swim trunks.

He took Alma’s backpack and wore it on the front of himself, since he was wearing one as well. He needed both hands to hold back thin, hanging branches away from the path. 

“Are we close?” Alma questioned, covering Echo’s face when they ducked under a branch he pushed away from them. 

“Yeah.” He said, even though he had begun doubting himself. 

Alma started to lose hope in ever finding it and worried about getting lost, but she didn’t want to discourage him by voicing it. The landscape became a bit rocky, and she had to be mindful of where she stepped to keep from tripping. They met a small fork in the spring. The water was about calf-high in the deepest part, or so that’s what it appeared like. The water was too murky under the shade of trees to be certain. 

“It’s just past this,” Bill said as they stood on the edge of the water. 

This was vaguely familiar to Alma; however, she didn’t remember it being nearly five feet at the widest part. It was merely a foot over a decade ago. 

“I’ll go first. Just watch where I step and follow it.” He instructed. 

Effortlessly, he walked across, only pausing to say there was a large rock where he stood. Alma hiked Echo further up on her hip and held her tighter as she followed. The water went above her knees and was ice-cold. She stood on the rock Bill had pointed out and held Echo out to him, doubting herself when she could have taken Echo across perfectly fine. Instead, he held his hand out and pulled hers, assisting her to follow through. 

“It better be close,” Alma said, hugging his side, still feeling the chill of the water.

Bill chuckled. “It is. I remember now.”

A few minutes later, the pathway opened up to an undisturbed grove. The water was placid, and you could see the tall grass on the bluffs in the distance swaying with the wind. It was still as pretty as she remembered it so long ago. 

They laid a blanket down and settled on the bank among the wildflowers. There was evidence that others had also discovered this place over the years, but luckily they had it all to themselves today. Alma took her crop tank off but remained in her unbuttoned denim shorts and red string bikini top, and sat next to Echo on the blanket. As she dug through one of the bags for sunscreen, Bill kicked off his wet Converse. He just stared ahead in thought for a moment.

“Do you want some?” Alma looked up at him, holding out the bottle of sunscreen. 

“Yeah. In a minute.” He crouched down and rubbed a spot of white sunscreen into his daughter's forehead before grabbing a cigarette and a lighter from a bag. 

Alma watched him walk into the cold water alone, puffing away and inspecting the shore. It seemed like he wanted a moment. The very first and last time she came here with him, it was just a week before he left her life for another. She was convinced she’d never see him again. That she’d never have a time in which this would ever happen again. It didn’t help that the weekend before when he came to sleep over, she broke down crying, asking him to stay and begging him not to leave out of selfishness. When the weekend before that, at the field party, she told him she understood why he had to leave. She was rather embarrassed of herself for it. 

It was here that she definitively accepted that he needed to go. He picked her up early in the morning, tapping on her bedroom window, and he had a deep bruise under his eye and across his cheek. It pained her when she noticed them on his body, but it devastated her when they were visible on his handsome face. 

At the beginning of their friendship, she noticed the bruises, but if she asked about them, he’d shy away or have an excuse for them. Eventually, she was able to put the pieces together, until he finally confessed. She felt so helpless, but the only thing she could do was offer her room to get away from the abuse whenever he wanted. She didn’t care if they got caught, but luckily they never were.

Alma lightly snickered when the water met his waist, and he shivered a bit, but then he ducked down. His whole body disappeared into the water, all except his raised arm that held his cigarette between his long fingers. When he emerged, he put his cigarette to his lips while slicking his hair back. 

“C’mon!” He said, turning around and waving them over. 

Alma fixed Echo’s periwinkle bucket hat on her head, which matched her checkered bathing suit, before gently coaxing her to meet her father on her own. 

“Go with daddy, E’!” She encouraged.

She got up on her chubby legs, giggled, and shrieked happily as she ran toward the water. Bill met her by the edge, flicking the spent cigarette close by to pick up later, and scooped her into her arms. 

Alma pushed her shorts off and picked her bikini bottoms out of her ass crack before joining them. As she feared, the water was rather cold when her feet were immersed. Even being as hot as it was, you’d think it would be a little relieving, but the drastic change in temperatures was shocking.

“Oh, stop!” Bill laughed, noticing her apprehension. “You’ll get used to it fast.” 

“It was warmer in the family area.” She said, inching her way in. 

“Yeah, ‘cause 50 kids are pissin’ in it.” He chuckled a bit when seeing Alma grimace with disgust at the thought. 

“But the baby? I might be too cold for her.” 

Bill looked down at Echo in his arms, and she stared back with a smile. With his hands under her armpits, he began lowering her down into the knee-deep water.

“If you’re going to dunk her, be nice about it,” Alma said with worry.

“I know, I know.” 

Once her feet went in, she kicked her little legs and wiggled her toes happily, seemingly unaffected, until he lowered her further, and suddenly she stuck her legs straight out in front of her. Her little body was now hovering at a perfect 90-degree angle above the cold water, causing them to laugh loudly.

They decided to sit on the shore for her to splash about and acclimate to the cool water, while they took turns applying sunscreen to each other. They spent time in waist-deep water after inflating a baby floatie for Echo to join them. 

“Just go all the way in,” Bill suggested when Alma kept tensing up anytime her dry upper body made contact with the cool water. 

Alma gently pushed Echo towards him, and once she floated off, she pinched her nose and disappeared under the water. Bill reached for the floatie and smiled at his child as she wiggled her fingers around the edges of the floatie to touch the water. He was happily speaking to her when he glanced towards the same spot where Alma had submerged herself and furrowed his brows. The water ripples were gone, a small school of minnows swam by, and air bubbles on the surface burst. She should have gone in and out, but seconds were now passing. 

Suddenly, he felt something by his thigh and then on his hip, until Alma jumped out of the water behind him and wrapped her arms around him, giggling. 

“Don’t do that,” he laughed, turning his head over his shoulder to kiss her. 

She stayed on his back with her arms loosely around his neck as he walked a little deeper into the water, where they stayed, enjoying each other's company under the blazing sun. 

When they noticed Echo’s fingers and toes beginning to become pruney, they decided to take a break and lay out on the blanket on the bank with snacks between them. While fiddling with her Polaroid camera, Alma looked over at Bill, who lay on his back with his legs crossed and eyes closed, and wondered where his mind was. She watched Echo crawl over to her father, and he opened one eye to peek at her and smiled with full admiration for her. 

“Pretty girl,” he said, cupping Echo’s face with his two large hands while she sat on his belly. She looked like such a big girl from when he first ever saw her. It would be a year, this very week in September, that she came into his life. How quickly a year could be. How quickly his whole life had changed. 

Before Echo appeared in his life, he appreciated how time could go by so quickly. Especially after that fateful night, it was a comfort knowing that incident in time was slipping further and further away. The passing of time would encapsulate it into some shitty blip in the timeline. It also meant that he could further separate himself from his former self, too. Now, looking at his daughter, he just wished time would slow down. 

Alma took a snapshot of them with her camera, and he turned his gaze at her. She winked at him, and he reached for it to take a photo of her. She posed, hugging her knees and gazing behind her shoulder with a contented smile. 

Eventually, Echo was lying in her mother's lap, enjoying the TLC of the reapplication of sunscreen on her legs. Alma looked over at her when she felt her going limp, and her eyes were fighting to stay open. She grinned lovingly, amused by her pampered baby, and rocked her a bit for a nap. 

They were back in the water, after creating a makeshift barricade of bags around Echo. Bill used a portable umbrella as a canopy and wrapped her lower legs with a thin blanket to keep her from quickly getting up before they could notice. They swam about until, eventually, Alma floated peacefully on her back. He left her undisturbed and admired her. How her skin looked golden under the sun, and her beautiful face rested in contentment. The image familiar.

It was here that he finally admitted to himself that he was in love with her. The realization swelled and broke his heart simultaneously. Years ago, he admired her just like she was now, floating in tranquility. A flood of conflicting emotions finally consumed him. Happiness, regret, love, and unworthiness. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath that inflated his broad chest, and slowly exhaled. He had everything now, but it was hard to accept if he really deserved any of it. 

Alma paddled her arms suddenly and stood upright in the water, while he quickly corrected the despondent expression on his face. She smiled at him, none the wiser, as she began swimming closer to him.

“Take me to the deep end.” She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, facing him. 

He went just to his shoulders when their lips met. Her hand ran over his slicked-back hair lovingly. Bill was squeezing Alma so tightly that she nearly couldn’t breathe, but she liked it when he felt so needy for her. 

“Can I take your hair down?” He asked, running his hand down one of her french braids. 

She nodded and allowed him to pull the hair ties from the ends of her braids and wore them on his wrist. She ran her fingers as best she could through her scalp before leaning back to dunk her head. He preferred her wavy hair down and wild, but it was also how she wore it when he first brought her here. They gazed into each other's eyes, both in admiration. 

“I love you.” They said at the same time, and they both bashfully laughed. 

At first, he expected Alma’s lips to meet his again and puckered his to accept, but instead, she rested her chin on his shoulder and hugged him tightly. His hands ran down her wet hair, and he sighed wistfully. 

“Did you ever come back here after I brought you?” He wondered. 

“I tried the first summer you were gone. But I never found it.” 

They waded in the water for a bit, inching closer and closer to the bank as they did. Alma kept her legs wrapped around his waist and floated half her body over the water as he slowly walked. Occasionally, his hands sneakily grazed sensitive skin, just as he did so long ago when they were in this same position in the water. She found it amusing and cute of him. 

“I like this bikini,” he said, plucking the red string high on her hip as they walked out of the spring together. 

“Yeah? The one I wore when I first came here was like a nun’s bikini now in comparison.” She said, making him laugh. 

“I guess you could say that.” He remembered the two-piece white bikini she wore. It was another purchase she made under her mother's nose, who only allowed her to wear a one-piece. While it wasn’t as skimpy as the one she was wearing now, he appreciated how much of her skin he could see then. 

Bill silently rummaged through the bags to check the time on his wristwatch while Echo continued to sleep. Alma walked further up the bank and began picking wildflowers she deemed pretty. Creating a small bouquet of yellow, violet, and white petaled flowers. 

“Is it time to go?” She asked Bill when she returned. 

“We have a little bit of time.” He said, rubbing his hand on her thigh before she took a seat in front of him. They still had to take the 3-hour drive back to Kansas City and board a late-night flight right after. 

She reached over to Echo to gently unwrap her legs from the blanket, as she was a little hot on the cheeks. However, she stirred in her sleep, was displeased, and whined over the disturbance. Alma quickly took her into her arms and rocked her. 

“Shh, shh.” She softly brushed the little hairs on her forehead. “Sorry, baby.” 

Bill quickly dumped out the sun-warm water from her sippy cup and added cooler drinking water to it before handing it to Alma, to which she smiled appreciatively. She gently rocked her until she became content in her arms. While lying in Alma’s lap, she began to crown her daughter's head with the bouquet of wildflowers as she slept. 

Bill watched reflectively, recalling how Alma had done the same to him, and now she was adorning their child the same way. He remembered having his head in her lap, enjoying that the shadow of her breasts was shielding his eyes from the sun as they shared a skinny joint he made with old stubs from other joints. At the same time, Alma was also recalling the time she lined his hair with white flowers, looking cute yet rugged with the bruise on his face. 

“What happened?” Alma paused and softly grazed the bruise on his cheek with her thumb. 

He frowned. He didn’t like talking about it, and he had already told Alma as much. Suddenly he rose, and all her work fell from his head as he shook the flowers onto her.

“Hey! I wasn’t done.” He chuckled as he pinched his tongue and used his saliva to extinguish the ember on the joint. She could tell he was deflecting. “Sorry.” Her face fell regretfully. 

Bill took a deep breath, resting his arms on his bent knees. “There’s usually no reason.” He looked out towards the water as he began to explain. “But this time… I started it.” 

“Wh–”

“Someone stole some of my New York funds. Not all.” He reassured. “I hide my money in different places for this exact reason.” 

“But… you still have enough?” 

Bill’s face fell. “Well. Yeah, enough.”

“How much was taken?” She asked carefully. 

He bit his lip nervously. “Fifty.” He put his hand up before Alma could voice her worry. Fifty dollars was a lot to lose in the early ‘80s. “I can get there and have some to stay a week or so in a room somewhere, but…” A pit began to build in both their stomachs. The thought of him being on the streets in New York City was terrifying. “I’ll be fine. I still have a week to make some of it back. But anyway, I pissed my dad off enough for this,” he pointed at his cheek.

Bill's heart grew heavy with regret and disdain for himself after the memory passed. Alma was busy admiring their pretty baby when she heard a sniffle behind her. Carefully, she turned her head slowly and met Bill’s reddened eyes as they stung with tears. 

“Bill?” She said softly. Confused and concerned with his sudden change in mood. 

He rapidly blinked his misty eyes, hating that he was caught too deep in his thoughts. This trip was getting to his head. 

“I hate this place.” He said through gritted teeth, trying to compose himself. “Not. Not here.” He corrected himself. 

“Just Strathburg.” She nodded, understanding what he meant. 

“Yeah…” he cleared his throat. “This is one of the few places I’d like to come to get away from everything, you know.” He said, looking out at the placid water. “I was watching you float earlier, and it reminded me of the last time we were ever here. The sun was setting, and the light was golden, and you were content with your arms out.” He explained by picturing it perfectly in his mind. “It’s when I realized I didn’t want to leave you behind. I realized I was in love with you, for real. I’m so sorry I left.” He bit his lip. “I should have told you that before I did. There are many times, even after that, I should have told you.” 

Alma was trying to take in everything he was confessing to her before speaking and took a deep breath. “You had to leave, though… I know what you were running from. It would have been selfish if I really had asked you to stay. You know that. But we made a promise to each other, and I found you again.” 

Bill lightly sneered because, from the point that she did find him, he should have done so many things differently. It should have been the start of a happy life, but he just continued punishing himself by denying himself it. Perpetuating his abuse. “You did, and I felt happiness I hadn’t felt in a long while. But I was so shitty. I’ve done a lot of things I can’t take back, and I regret that. I wasn’t good to you for a long time.”

“I don’t think I was all that great then, either.” 

“No.” He frowned. “You were just reacting to how I behaved. I just…” he quickly swallowed the lump stuck in his throat. “I just want to say, I’m sorry.” 

Alma’s breath hitched, as she wasn’t expecting an apology, but she hadn’t realized just how much she needed to hear it until he did. She bit her lip and turned away when she felt her eyes well up with tears. 

“Mm.” She lightly whimpered, turning back to him. “But I’ve forgiven you a long time ago. Y-you literally saved my life.” She bit down on her quivering lip.

“Still, Alma. You deserve an apology. When—when I did what I did that night. That’s the one thing I don’t regret… and… and sometimes I wonder if that makes me bad. Am I a bad man? Like,” he bit his lip and looked pained as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Like him?” A tear fell from his eye, which he quickly wiped away. He was revealing his deepest thoughts out loud, and it terrified him. Alma’s heart broke, understanding he was comparing himself to his father. “No.” He shook his head, rejecting that thought. He would never be him, he worked too hard to fully believe that. “That night. Killing Craig.” He allowed himself to speak the word plainly. “I later realized that I had killed that old version of me, too, that night. And then, you left,” he sighed. 

“I shouldn’t have.” She said remorsefully. 

“You had every right to, Alma.” He said with deep understanding. “I kept pushing you away, and you even tried to…” He couldn’t bring himself to mention that she tried to take her own life. It saddened him too much. “I had already done too much damage. But I missed you even harder, and I was fucking miserable without you. But I felt like I deserved it.” 

Tears slipped down Alma’s face, and her hand clamped her mouth to choke back a sob. “No,” she shook her head. “You didn’t deserve that after what you did for me. I hate what I did. I fucking robbed you!” 

“It’ll be a year this week… I stopped being upset about that.” 

Alma nodded, trying to compose herself. They had both done things that they deeply regretted. It was good they were laying everything out here because it was best to keep moving forward, as they both agreed upon. Forward, without the hurt. 

“You’re a sweet man. I’ve always thought that about you. Even when you were an asshole, I still knew your heart. You’re not a bad man. Don’t ever say that shit again.” She took in a deep, shaky breath. “I am still so sorry for keeping her from you like I did. She loves you so much. She always knew you, I would talk about you to her even when she was still in my belly. On the phone, I’d put the receiver next to it so she could hear your voice. I felt her move for the first time during one of those times.” 

Bill nodded as he rubbed his sniffling nose. “It’s been a year…” he reiterated as he exhaled loudly and looked at his sleeping daughter wearing a crown of wildflowers. “I’ve known her longer now than when I didn’t.” And he was glad for that; she was just nine months old when she came into his life. “And you’re not bad either.” He said, looking at Alma now. “You care; you always have. I think maybe you care too much,” he sadly laughed because she would always act as if she didn’t care about anything at all. It wouldn't be very rock’n’roll if you acted otherwise.

“I still remember when I finally got to New York, and a few weeks in, I was fucking starving in the shitty rent room I was in. I was down to change basically, and I happened to be digging around the duffle bag I had and found sixty dollars in a little tiny pocket.” Alma’s eyes widened. She had put together leftover Christmas and birthday money and a paycheck from Dairy Queen after learning that his money had been stolen. “And it had a little note, and all it said was, I love you. No signature.” He had kept that note until it inevitably disintegrated. 

Tears slipped from Alma’s eyes again. “I never knew if you found that or not.” 

“I did.” He nodded appreciatively. “I got a hot meal that night, but I was able to build off that money and finally get a place or really rent a room for a while but…” he lightly chuckled. “I don’t know what would have happened if I didn’t have that. That’s why I give you anything you want now. And you gave me her.” He pointed at Echo while he paused, licking his lips in contemplation. “You know… I want to marry you.” Alma’s eyes widened, completely taken aback. “I-I’m not proposing here. Give me some time to do it, right? But I just wanted you to know that I intend to. It’s why I dragged you two here because I wanted to come to ask for your dad's permission in person. It’s stupid and old-fashioned, I know, but I just wanted to do one thing right.” 

“You want to marry me?” She pointed at her chest in disbelief and then turned to look out at the spring in thought. “Well… I don’t know?” She said, turning back to him.

Bill’s brows furrowed, and his lip turned. “You don’t know?” He said confused, even slightly offended. 

“I mean… Technically, you are my boyfriend. But—I don’t think I can recall you ever asking me to be your girlfriend. I just was, one day.” She chuckled.

“Really?” He shook his head, amused at her stubbornness. “Well,” he sat up straighter and took her hand in his. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He smirked. And then he thought this was exactly where he should have asked her so many years ago. 

“Hmm… I guess I’ll give it a chance.” She playfully said with a grin. 

He laughed and scooted up, so that she and their baby sat between his legs, gently pulling her close to put an arm around her. “I love you, Alma.” 

“I know. I love you too, Bill.” They shared a deep, passionate kiss. It was needy and full of want, but most importantly, resolve.

She began to get up then, with Echo in her arms. “Do you want to leave?” He looked up at her, still as beautiful as ever, as she would always be to him. She held her hand out for him to stand up. “Together this time.” 

~~~

Summer 1996

The family had been in New York City for the past month. They arrived for Bianca’s 45th birthday party in late June—however, only a handful of people were privy to her age. As far as birthdays went, this was her 10th year turning 25. 

The family decided to stay for a month instead of having to drop in and haul the family back to their Seattle home so quickly. Besides, Bill needed to oversee some things at Trigger Finger, as he had been too preoccupied in Seattle. Now was as good a time as any to catch up on things he had been pushing aside. 

It was early in the day, just a little past noon, while Bill sat behind the desk in the loft, overlooking paperwork and making calls. Operation hours at the club were still hours away. However, when Bill told Alma he and Echo would be going out to give her some space, he didn’t quite mention he’d take her to work. Luckily, she didn’t question where they were going; she was just too tired to even ask or, frankly, even care. 

Echo sat on the front end of the loft, on top of the acrylic floor that looked directly down into the bar pit. She was four and a half now. As she liked to tell people. She looked over at her father leaning in his chair, laughing about something, and sighed heavily. She was becoming rather bored, having thought they were going to the park. She took her Barbie and a plastic brachiosaurus in the passenger seat for another spin in their hot pink Barbie Jeep. Cruising the parameters of the makeshift track, she made of blocks and a children's book, which she would wreck into them and giggle to herself. 

“Today? Eh…” He glanced at his daughter, who was now pushing the Barbie Jeep as hard as she could across the floor and watching it spin out, causing the dolls to tumble off. “How quickly could you get here?”

“Papa?” Echo said, standing up, but he didn’t hear her. 

She walked over and did a few twirls, as little girls do, to entertain herself on the short journey towards the desk.

“Papa.” She grabbed the arm he held the phone with and shook it a bit. “Papa?” 

“Hey, uh, just page me.” He said to the person on the end of the line and hung up. “What is it E’?” He said, pulling her into his lap. 

“I’m hungry.” 

“Hmm.” He said fixing the butterfly clip in her hair. “We have a kitchen here, remember? What sounds good?” 

“Mm.” She scrunched her eyes in thought, a funny little quirk of hers. “Sopa?” 

“The kind your mommy makes?” He asked and she nodded. 

“De estrellitas.”

Bill smiled, it was cute when she spoke a little Spanish here and there. Usually regarding food. “Uhm. What else? I don’t think we have that.” 

She looked a little disappointed, and then her eyes lit up with another suggestion. “Scrample eggs?” 

“That sounds excellent!” He said, tickling her side, and together they left the loft, hand in hand, to the kitchen. 

Echo looked over at the dimly illuminated stage and the shiny spot-lit poles curiously until the shiny disco ball she had been eyeing in the loft grabbed her attention again. So big, she thought. She loved the disco ball night light she owned since she could ever remember. She just wished it was just as big. 

Bill sat her down on top of a steel prep table before he gathered the ingredients and utensils he needed. He sat a steel bowl next to her with two eggs inside and asked if she’d like to help crack them. She excitedly nodded, and he handed her an egg and guided her hand to tap the edge of the bowl. 

“Good job, baby! Do the next one,” he encouraged before turning to start the burner behind them and plopping a knob of butter on the skillet. 

Bill glanced over at Echo as she watched him cook her scrambled eggs. A strange, creeping shiver ran up his spine, and then he uncomfortably cleared his throat once the realization came to him. It was easy to forget that the retrofitted kitchen was once the old loft. He realized that where his daughter sat was roughly the same spot as where he choked the life out of someone. He pushed that thought away. He took one life, and he created one. That had to have balanced the cosmos for whatever it was worth. 

“Mmm! Smells yummy, Papa!” Echo giggled with her hands on her belly, and he smiled at her before plating her eggs and drizzling ketchup on top. Just how she liked it. 

“Do you want to take the dumbwaiter down? It’ll be dark for a second.” He gently warned. 

“Yeah! I’m not scared, Papa!”

He helped her inside with one arm as he held onto her plate with the other. Maybe Alma wouldn’t be too happy that he was letting her do this, but some mischievous fun under parental guidance couldn’t be that bad.

“I’ll meet you down, okay?” He said, kissing the top of her head.

Echo held onto her knees, and suddenly she was encapsulated in complete darkness inside the dumbwaiter. There was a light jolt, and down she slowly went, and she snickered to herself, tickled. He always let her do the fun stuff her mother would worry too much about. Light slowly filled the space of the compartment as it inched down until the lift lightly jolted to a stop. 

“Papa?” She said it nervously, as he wasn’t at the bottom to meet her like he said he would. “Papaaa?” 

“Boo!” He said, suddenly appearing before her. She lightly shrieked and then began laughing when she saw that he was. “Sorry. That wasn’t nice of me.” 

“I wasn’t scared! I wasn’t scared!” She vehemently declared, as she wanted to prove she was a big girl.

“Of course not. You’re brave, remember?” He chuckled, holding his hand out for her as she quickly climbed out. “Look who’s here,” he nodded toward the bar.

“Queenie!”

“Hey, baby girl!” She said, crouching down to embrace her. “You look so cute today!” She complimented her color-blocked romper, which she insisted on pairing with sparkly rain boots.  

Queenie helped her up the bar stool, and then her father sat her plate down in front of her. 

“Is there a liquor delivery today?” Bill questioned, it wasn’t the typical day for it.

“We’re doing two-buck Mickey night again. They’re bringing some extra cases since we sold out last month.” 

"Oh, right, right.” He nodded and then lightly frowned when his pager beeped. “Uhm, could you watch E’ for a sec’? I have a meeting with Alvin.” 

“Yeah, sure.” She glanced over at Echo, who was happily eating her scrambled eggs. She passed her a black cocktail napkin, noticing the ketchup around her mouth. 

“He’s coming up the private stairs. In and out.” He assured, smoothing his tucked black shirt. He was grateful that Queenie had shown up and had her to keep an eye on Echo. He didn’t want his daughter anywhere around creepy Alvin. Alma would simply side-eye him for allowing her to ride the dumbwaiter, but having her present for a drug transaction, he shuddered to think what she’d do. “E’, be good for Queenie, alright?” He said, running his hand down her long side ponytail. Her hair had darkened to a medium brown, but still, her golden baby hair remained on the ends. 

She peered up at him, chewing a mouthful of eggs. “Mhmm!”

“Is it good?” He chuckled. 

“The bestest! I love you, Papa.” 

“Oh good! I love you, baby.” He kissed her on the cheek before leaving. “Thanks, Queenie.” He winked. 

Echo watched him ascend the stairs to the loft pushing a lock of hair that fell over his forehead back, and once the door shut, she looked over at Queenie, who was rearranging some mixer bottles in front of her. “What’s two buck Mickeys?” 

Queenie lightly laughed. “It’s beer, sweetie. Uhm, how ‘bout I make you a Shirley Temple?” 

She smiled brightly. “My mommy makes those!” 

“I bet! She taught me,” she said, winking at her. “How many cherries do you want?”

…

The New York City streets were full of honking cars and heavy foot traffic when they left the toy shop. He bought her a metallic pink ball for her patience at Trigger Finger, as his meeting with Alvin went a little longer than he’d liked. 

“Do people play there too?” 

“Hmm?” He said, biting his lip and looking down at her while they walked hand in hand to his trusted jeweler. 

“Where we were?” She said, squinting at him since the sun was in her eyes. 

“Oh! The club? Hmm,” he bit his cheek. “No, not like at the record shop, honey.” He opened the door for her and was glad the displays caught her attention, deterring her questions. 

“Mr. Skarsgård!” The jeweler exclaimed, happy to see one of his favorite customers. 

He had very hairy arms, Echo thought to herself, when she watched her father speak to him. It was just a quick stop before going home, as Alma asked him to take her earrings and a few rings she had to have cleaned while in town.

“Maybe some earrings for her next time?” The jeweler nodded over to Echo after Bill paid the man.

“I have some.” She quipped, pulling on one of the small gold basket earrings her grandfather Antonio had gifted her. 

Bill smiled. “She likes what she likes. Well, I’ll see you around.” 

“Yes, yes. Always here for you. Tell the wife, I said hello.” The jeweler said before they left. 

“Are we going home now?” Echo inquired when they stepped out. 

“One more stop. We’re having pizza for dinner tonight.” 

“Yay! Pizza!” 

They arrived at the penthouse, and Echo was still talking to him as they made their way up. She was quite talkative and inquisitive. 

“But he’s so loud, Papa!” She complained. 

“I think you’re mistaken about who's the loudest, honey.” He lightly chuckled. “But do you like New York?” He asked when she also complained about all the walking. “You might go to school here next year.” 

“But why?” She scrunched her eyes.

“Well, they have some good schools here. It’s just a year, just to see. We can always go home to Seattle.” The elevator doors opened, and Bill warned her that they needed to be quiet when entering the penthouse. 

Alma was inside, freshly showered after smelling like old milk and sweat. She changed into an oversized sweatshirt that belonged to Bill and a pair of his boxer briefs. She had a little time to relax on the couch and read a few chapters of a new romance novel in peace and quiet while enjoying a parfait. Now, she was curled up on the couch, hugging a throw pillow, when the door opened. It was like slow motion when she saw Echo enter, and the ball she was holding onto bounced loudly against the black marble floor and continued to roll down the hallway. 

She closed her eyes, pleading that it didn’t disturb the sleeping children before her in their bassinets. But to no avail, their daughter wailed from being woken up by the noise. Well, the quiet was nice while it lasted, she thought, sighing deeply with defeat. It was only a matter of time before their baby daughter's cries would wake up their son too. 

Bill grimaced with regret and apologized to Alma on Echo’s behalf. He didn’t think about the ball being so noisy when he bought it. “Uhm, Echo, go ahead and change to your pj's.” He said to her so that he could help Alma with the babies. 

“I told you! Luxe is loud!” She said, cupping her ears before jogging to her bedroom.

“That’s Vida, honey.” He said, quickly putting the boxes of pizza on the kitchen counter to assist Alma. “She still gets them mixed up?” 

Bill picked up his son, and he was quick to settle. Since Luxe was born, they always called him a lazy boy, but now they have begun to call him a much more affectionate nickname, Lucky. He just liked to sleep, eat, and giggle. His twin sister, on the other hand, was more active. Vida was born with her eyes wide open, as if she didn’t want to miss a thing from the very start. 

Luxe Gunnar and Vida Wilde were close to six months old, and now their family was complete. Though they only tried for one, two was a shock, but they couldn’t have been happier once they arrived. Echo finally joined them again in a princess nightgown and sat next to her father, who was effortlessly holding both babies now while Alma made them bottles. 

“Don’t you see who’s crying?” He asked Echo. 

“Vida.” She giggled. 

“You always blame your brother. Why?” 

Echo remained quiet, but she had a disapproving look in her eyes as she peered at her little brother. He was as chill as ever; her attitude towards him was unwarranted.

“Because he’s a boy?” Alma suspected, passing the bottles to Bill. He mastered being able to hold them both, turning his wrists in, and able to feed them both simultaneously.

“No…” Echo looked away, feeling caught. 

“Mhmm,” Bill said. “Papa’s a boy; you like me, right?” Echo nodded. “Well, Luxe loves you, E’.” 

“I love Vida.” She replied, completely unaccepting. 

“You have to love both, baby.” Alma bit her lip, amused at her daughter's favoritism, but she hoped she’d get over that quickly. “V’ loves you, and Lucky loves you.” She kissed her daughter on the head. “What’d you do today?” 

“I went to the club with, Papa.”

“Oh, really now?” Alma approached Bill and gave him a pointed stare before grabbing Luxe. They were both amused that, that kind of statement could come from a four-year-old. At least she only knew the place as “the club” and not its real name. 

“Just say, Papa’s job, baby,” he told Echo. “I was going to tell you.” He said to Alma, lightly chuckling while bottle-feeding his youngest daughter. 

“I already knew. You wouldn’t wear dress pants to the park.” She winked. 

The family settled in, with both parents holding a baby while they ate pizza in the living room that evening. They discussed what to bring to Bianca’s Sunday dinner when they finished up. Bill told her about his day out with Echo, and suddenly they realized all the children were quiet. They had all fallen asleep. Silently, but efficiently, they got all the sleeping children into their bedrooms down the hall. Echo now slept in the guest room on a king-sized bed with frilly pink princess bedding, while her twin siblings shared her old nursery. They left the curtains open in both rooms to let the red neon light of the marquee across the block illuminate their rooms, acting as a nightlight for them.

Bill was finally able to dress down into gray sweatpants, and while carefully going down the wrought iron spiral stairs, he saw Alma digging through Echo’s backpack.

“Anything I could use in there?” He lightly laughed. Two months ago, they found a pocket knife and a plastic disposable lighter in her bag, and since then, they checked it periodically.

“I feel like such a fucking cop.” She said with disgust, zipping the bag closed. “Just a cocktail napkin from Trigger Finger.” Bill plucked the black, silver logo-printed napkin from her hand and balled it up. 

Bill and Alma settled on the couch together. He pulled her to lay on top of him while he laid back, and they both heavily sighed, grateful to have a moment together. For how long they weren’t sure, but they would cherish every second while they could. 

“You didn’t kiss me when you got home.” 

“I didn’t?” 

“That’s fucked up.” She said with a playful smirk. 

“A lot was going on when I walked in.” He defended himself. 

Their lips met then, and their kiss of hello turned into a deeper one, full of desire. His hand ran through her damp hair, and then he felt her hand on his crotch. Suddenly, she pulled the waistband on the sweatpants, and her hand went down it. 

“Right now?” 

She paused the kisses she left on his stubbly neck. Her eyes were intense when she met his. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re being a dad.” 

“Oh.” He said with a raised brow before her lips feverishly met his again. She moaned when she felt him begin to stiffen in her hand. 

“Let’s do it on the balcony.” She suggested climbing off him and pulling off the boxer briefs she was wearing. She knew Bill didn’t find it particularly sexy when taking those off of her. 

“Yeah?” 

“We can be loud out there.” She smiled deviously. 

Before they could enjoy themselves without restriction, they still had to tiptoe up the back staircase and bring along the baby monitor. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Alma.” Bill let out a breathy laugh while they sat on a large outdoor lounge chaise underneath a blanket on the balcony. 

Alma sat in his lap, a sheen of sweat on her warm skin, and laughed against his lips. They were still buzzing in post-coital bliss. 

“Just one more.” He pecked her lips. “One more baby.” 

“You’re fucking insane!” She laughed in disbelief. “I knew you were a sick fuck.” 

“But we’re so fucking good at doing it.” He chuckled. “And you look so beautiful pregnant.” 

Alma paused and ran her thumb across his brow as he looked at her, hoping she’d say yes. “I love you.” She tilted his head down to kiss his damp forehead. 

“I fucking love you.” He said, taking her left hand and glancing at her toi et moi engagement ring. A gold bezel, emerald-cut green sapphire sitting next to a pear-shaped diamond. 

They had been married for a little over a year now. Last spring in Vegas. It swelled his heart, knowing she was all his—at least on paper, officially. She had given him a chance at a real family life; he never knew how badly he wanted. He accepted it all now. He felt like he was the most deserving, regardless of how hard it was to get to the point he was living in now. Even at times when they wished them away, the bad parts served their purpose. Their greatest sin was behind them, agreeing that they had only done it to preserve their lives. How little did they know that they were actually defending the lives they’d create after that? A perseverance of their love personified living, even long after they take their last breaths on this mortal coil. Maybe they would pay for their sins in the afterlife, but this worldly life on earth that Bill and Alma built together was the only life that mattered. This one was enough. 

[sawyerconfort]

Hi can you write Fiona Goode x fem reader using prompts #4, #8 and #19? Thank you <3

Sorry for the inactivity and request delay, anon, here it is!

and for other interested readers, yes, I'm back!

Hope you like it!

requests are currently closed, but news is coming and I hope to be able to reopen them soon!

enjoy!

I was really looking forward to write something about Fiona Goode (she's mother, she solos, she is the supreme and she's in charge everywhere!)

*fem!reader but you can change if you feel comfortable too!*

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4. "you okay?" 8. "yes, you can hold my hand, sweetie." 19. "yes, you can cry."

Fiona wasn't a patient person, nor was she very sentimental, but oddly enough, there was something about her that woke up when she was with you. Maybe it was the age gap and the constant worry of having someone who wasn't a witch in the middle of so much violence, magic and power. Maybe it was, who knows, the idea of being able to start over, of being able to create a successor like she had never created Cordelia, maybe a way for Fiona to redeem herself from previous sins and guarantee a place in Heaven.

Or maybe it was just a good feeling, a genuine love that someone like Fiona Goode probably never felt. Not with such intensity.

But she was, when you stopped to look at her, extremely tough, cold and cautious. She didn't smile at you, she didn't even show that she loved you back, while you only knew how to admire that woman, the Supreme, the most powerful witch in the entire coven.

It was late at night and for some reason you couldn't sleep. Maybe the shock of having a ghost of the LaLauries alive and working as a servant in the house got to you. Deciding to go back to sleep, you just went down to the kitchen to get some water, taking advantage of the fact that Delphine was sleeping peacefully, and, when you were almost finished emptying the glass, the door opened and scared you more than it should have.

Suddenly, when you least expected it, Fiona was passing through the room, and was about to go upstairs when she saw you, turning those piercing eyes right in your direction.

"What the hell are you doing up at this hour, (Y\N)?" she asked, her voice altered but low, with a surprised intonation.

"I could ask you the same thing," you replied, bluntly.

She raised an eyebrow. "It's none of your business, you moron."

You waited for Fiona to turn and go to her big, beautiful room, and she did. But before you hit the stairs together, one after the other, she let out a huge sniff, which startled you.

"You okay?" you asked, not expecting her to answer. And Fiona didn't answer until you were in her room, standing in the doorway. "What were you doing out there, Fiona? I care about you, I need answers."

She sighed. "Don't tell Cordelia, she couldn't stand it. I went… well, I went to the hospital, had chemo. I can only go out at night, which is when I'm sure you, and she, are asleep."

You widened your eyes, taken by surprise. Not entirely impressed, of course, because without even knowing it, Fiona had already hinted to you that she was running out of time. And honestly, it was either you or Myrtle Snow - and Fiona would kind of do anything not to tell Myrtle Snow -.

"I'm sorry, Fiona," you said, opening her bedroom door for good and letting her sit on the bed. Left with no choice, and feeling compassion for the Supreme, you sat down beside her and sighed. "Want company? I'm not very sleepy…"

She nodded and sighed too, letting you sit closer to the side, letting your bodies almost stick together. She looked tired and sad and lonely, and again, your pity for her was greater than any hatred and indignation at the Supreme's indifference.

"Please (Y\N), promise me this will stay between us…"

"How much time do you have left?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. But what worries me isn't even the disease. I know I can lessen its effects, and it has helped me, even if it doesn't seem like it. What worries me is, in reality, the time that will pass, time is short for me. I will not die of common causes, I will be forced to leave because a Supreme will be in power after me… And you know who she is."

You looked at her. "Why don't you tell her the truth? Why do you keep all these mysteries to yourself?"

"Cordelia is more fragile than she looks, darling. If I tell her, she might internalize the powers, and everything will be even more ruined for me."

Her eyes were getting smaller and smaller, lowered, dilated, almost closed. Fiona really was fading away, little by little, and if you didn't do something, you'd have less time than you wanted.

"Could I just…"

"Yes, you can hold my hand, sweetie." She replied, smiling, as if she read your mind. Automatically, Fiona's hands sought out and reached for hers. She was looking into her eyes when she whispered, in a thin voice. "You are special to me, (Y\N). I'm a terrible person to you and I don't deserve someone like that…"

"You're not a bad person, Fiona. You just don't know how to show feelings, but I know all that even without you saying it out loud…", you smiled, squeezing her hand even tighter. "You'll never be alone again. This is just between us, and I promise you'll have me until the end, right?"

"I definitely don't deserve you, sweetie…", she laughed, hugging you and letting your head rest on her chest. "You're unlike anything I've seen before, and that intrigues me so much…"

Her voice was suddenly shaky, and you could tell she was holding in her tears. Fiona sniffed again and you looked up, smiling.

"Yes, you can cry." You whispered, still looking at her, and just as two tears fell, you used your fingers to wipe them away.

Fiona smiled, closing her eyes, and then gently leaned in to kiss you. A quick but meaningful peck.

"What was that?", you whispered, confused, laughing.

"I don't know. But I felt like it. And I wanted to try this before something happened to me."

You laughed and patted her arm lightly. "Nothing is going to happen, shut your mouth. We still have a lot more time to explore and experience other things…"

She laughed and then used her advanced strength to throw you onto the bed, getting on top of you.

"Oh really? Does that mean I can try again?"

You laughed, and kissed Fiona harder now, letting the rest of the night become history. And, well, to be honest, all you guys did least was sleep that night…