#things i will look upon in horror when it is no longer midnight

[twofoursixohjuan]

So I missed Day One of Stefan Week (my time zone) so I've merged the two prompts together! (Also it is ridiculously fucking late and I've no idea what I just wrote.) (And I can't work out how to put in a length cut any more.)

So, without further ado:

Misheard / Heat

The sun was beating down — it had been for days. The lone figure stumbled south, arms burnt red, a scrap of fabric pulled over its head in a futile attempt to stave off the glare. The tracks behind it wavered, but they hadn't started circling, not yet.

Stefan tugged the flimsy headscarf further down over his face. He was somewhere on the Arridan coastline, that much he knew, but just where was far beyond him.

He'd been left in Rakesh for supplies. Once he'd found them he was meant to travel back with a caravan that passed close to where the Heron lay beached, but a bandit attack two days out from the town had put paid to that. He was alone, injured, and he'd lost the last of his water in a tumble yesterday — or was it two days ago?

He could have turned back to Rakesh, he supposed. But the ground to the north was rough, and he'd assumed he could make it south alone. Hubris, maybe. It was too late to turn back.

Would they be missing him by now? He hoped so. He hoped not.

Stefan's foot skidded in a dune and he tumbled downwards, sand gritting in his mouth and eyes. Somewhere, he thought he heard laughter.

He stumbled on.

He'd tried singing, for a while. As the last of his water flask seeped into the sand, he'd tried sagas, shanties, the nonsense tunes his mother had hummed over his cot. He'd tried to put himself in a Hallasholm hall, or round a fire with the crew on some faraway beach.

It hadn't worked. Eventually he'd given up, voice cracking and lips dried stiff.

Someone was singing now, though. Stefan couldn't pick the voice — sometimes it was Ingvar's rumbling bass, sometimes a bright tenor like Jesper's. Even Hal, flat and hopelessly out of tune.

But the sound came from over the next dune.

He hurried, slipping and clambering up the incline, but when he crested the rise the dip was empty. A mirage shimmered away to the west, and even though he knew it was a mirage, was intellectually, categorically certain it was a mirage, it took all his self-control not to go chasing after it.

The singing floated over the next dune.

Stefan chased the sound always hearing it, always sure he was only a little too late. The cloth over his head slipped away, the sun beat down, and he scrambled up and down dunes after Thorn's baritone, Wulf's enthusiastic warble.

Eventually, through the shimmering haze above the sand, he glimpsed a figure. The shape was indistinct but the voice was Stig's, calling out, "Race you to the water!" One blurred arm lifted, pointed across empty desert.

"There is no water," managed Stefan.

"That's half the fun!" Stig's shape lifted, running lightly over the sand. "To the dune, then."

"Which dune?" called Stefan, but Stig faded and was gone.

Without the mismatched song, the desert was terribly, hideously lonely. Stefan staggered onwards, a tiny blot against the sand. Even his shadow had vanished. Part of him knew that this was noon, that he shouldn't be walking the desert in the high sun, but the rest believed that if he pushed on just a little further, a little longer, he would find them again.

Up. Down.

Footsteps crunched in the sand. Someone was walking along beside him. He looked up to see Ingvar, huge form blotting out the sun, blurred by the dry dust in his eyes.

"I can't see you," he said. It seemed important.

Ingvar's face tilted towards him, eyes invisible behind wide brown discs. "Strange how that works, isn't it?"

There was something else he had to say. "The net. I laughed at you. I'm sorry."

"I think we both have bigger problems now." The last words drifted on empty air.

Up. Down.

More footsteps, light and barely audible on the sand. "Lost in the desert. Some hunter you would make," said Lydia, her words cheerful, teasing.

"You came from the marshes," Stefan protested. He reached to catch her shoulder but his hand slipped through thin air. Of course, she wasn't there.

Lydia vanished, leaving only laughter.

Up. Down.

Hal, pattering along, head tipped back to study the flight of invisible birds. "The Arridan sand vulture," he said, one finger indicating a distant, circling speck. "It rides spirals of heat reflected by the sand. I'll do that one day."

"I don't need a lesson," said Stefan. "Come get me. Please."

Hal tipped his head to one side. "How? All you're talking to is yourself. Have been all along."

"I'm not," said Stefan, petulant. He put his fingers against his cracked lips and felt them move as Hal added, "See? I told you so."

Hal's voice, his mouth.

"Huh." Stefan was silent a moment. "Might be good for me."

Hal snorted. "This isn't a therapy session. You're dying, Stef."

"Best time." He swiped a hand through Hal and watched him fade reproachfully away.

Up. Down. Up, and tumbling to lie in a heap at the next dune's base. Overhead, the sun swam in and out of focus.

Don't look at the sun, he remembered vaguely, but it was so big, taking up the whole sky, the whole world. He could lie here. He could lie until he withered to a dried husk, and when he weighed nothing at all the sand vultures could carry him away and play rattling tunes with his bones. Perhaps they would sing.

(Miles away, a slight figure crumpled and fell to the sand.)

A shadow fell over him.

"The vultures won't sing, you know," said a voice, sweet and achingly familiar (and Stig, lifting Jesper's unconscious form, frowned in confusion). "They can't. Get up, Stef."

No. "Too tired," he managed. "They'll sing for me."

"I'll sing for you," said Jesper. His voice rasped, as though he had been calling out, or crying, or both. "Just get up. We're going in the wrong direction; we'll never find you here. You need to move."

Stefan rolled over, burying his face in the sand. "You're not real."

"Fucking rude," said Jesper amiably (and "heat exhaustion," said Edvin, checking his pulse with expert fingers). There was pressure on Stefan's shoulder, rolling him back upright.

"I can see through you," he argued, but he dragged himself to all fours anyway, and then to his feet. He would keep going, if Jesper asked it.

"I'm as real as the vultures," said Jesper, grinning. He set off across the sand, and Stefan, stumbling, followed.

"Prove it." The conversation was a distraction. "Tell me something I wouldn't know."

"Do you remember when we were fourteen?" asked Jesper. "You found me in an alley fight and waded in, and we both got our arses kicked for it. But there was lamplight at your back, and I looked up from the cobbles and you glowed."

Stefan's fingers were at his lips, but there was no movement. "Real," he said, brow furrowed in confusion.

"I told you so," said Jesper. "Now move."

Stefan stumbled through the dunes, Jesper always just a little ahead of him, leading him south and slightly west. They bickered and made up, they composed newer, filthier verses for the Saga, they walked in companionable silence. Stefan fell often, and Jesper dragged him back up with a blunt word or a transparent hand.

"You're not dead, are you?" said Stefan once, watching the shifting sand through Jesper's chest.

"I don't know," Jesper admitted. "I hope not, but I guess it would be worth it."

Eventually Stefan fell and couldn't rise. "It'll do," said Jesper, stepping back. He was fading like Hal had, like Lydia and Ingvar and Stig, and Stefan thought he would have cried if he'd had anything left for tears.

He looked up from the sand, and with the sun behind him, Jesper glowed.

Overhead, a vulture shrieked three times, and then three more.

The Herons! the Herons!

Sand crunched, and two faces appeared over the dune.

(And in the meagre shade of a desert shrub, Jesper sat bolt upright, and Edvin jumped, startled.)

("They've found him," he said.)

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Nine

Summary - Eris and your found family make their move whilst in Velaris, you embark on the most dangerous game of all.

Warnings - depression, torture, angst, more realisations, flashbacks, slight fluff

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

All that echoed about the chamber were her soft groans and pleading cries. It had gone on for hours. For hours the Princess of Velaris had been chained to a stone altar, writhing in unspoken agony as inch by inch her wings were carved from her body.

Beautiful wings of midnight purple, thick onyx membrane laced through the feather-like surface, they glimmered in the moonlight, the stars dying as they lay slumped on the blood-soaked floor.

It was a grave punishment.

No, it was a plan so evil that even the King of Hybern had shuddered in a mixture of fear and delight when his finest general told him of her movements.

To place a demon in the body of Prythian's most powerful creature.

Amarantha had crossed the room to the girl with the paled skin, the one with eyes of flame amongst an ocean of violet waves, and she had laid her talons to rest on her face, a momentary flash of care as she wiped her tears away.

Pain. It wouldn't even begin to describe the horrors inflicted upon her, for pain was too light to explain it.

"I know that this hurts, but it'll be worth it. I promise you," the girl couldn't move, she thrashed against her chains with all of the meek weakness in her bones, but she couldn't break free, she couldn't tear the thing apart that was taking her most sacred possession, carving it from her body like a butcher.

"One day, the demons will take over thanks to you and your position in this world. You will breed them, and you will rule them."

Soft sobs drifted from the girls mouth, she had been panting for too long, on the verge of death for even longer. The pets had taken their time on the Princess, that much was clear from the deeply embedded wounds inflicted into her flesh, in locations that were nowhere close to where they should have been. Amarantha would deal with them later.

For now, she had more pressing matters to deal with.

"What are you going to do to me?" That sickly paled mouth asked, her lips were tinted blue, her eyes had glossed over, and Amarantha knew that she was close to letting herself go, but she was meant for far more than an offending death.

The queen hushed the girl lay atop the altar, tutting at the soiled skirt of the thin nightgown she adorned, "I'm helping you," her eyes were wide and delirious, "You are already the most powerful thing in this world, with my help, you could be the most powerful thing in the universe," Amarantha dragged a talon down the centre of the girls chest, smiling to herself, "Your position means that you will one day marry a High Lord, your power and theirs will create the perfect host, an unstoppable being which will allow the darkness to spread across the universe, a body that our queen will like very much."

"You're insane," Amarantha was sick of listening to her loose and shaky breaths and muttered a simple perhaps in reply. "You have no idea what you're doing."

"No?" the woman craned over her, hovering mere inches from her face as she produced a small onyx stone that shimmered in the dim light, "Then how do I know that placing this tiny stone in your marred flesh will be the answer to all of our problems?"

The scene played out in the flames weaving between one another in the fireplace, Cassian had come to light it for you, knowing that there was no desire in your body to move from the comforter, but also knowing that in order for you to have the strength to get through whatever Rhys had planned that you needed to not freeze to death.

Looking from the window, you had no pull to go outside, and you were sure no one would allow it anyway. All it would take for Rhys' act to crumble would be one word to someone across the boarder, and then it would spread like wildfire. The entire image of the Night Court would be destroyed. Signs of his manipulation had showed when the first bouquet of flowers had arrived the morning after your return, they were from the priestesses at the library who must have heard of your return from someone at the House of Wind. More bouquets followed, from the art gallery you used to frequent with Amren, from the bakery that made the best beignets you'd ever tasted, flowers had even arrived from Hewn City, wishing the Princess a speedy recovery.

Nothing about your recovery was going to be speedy.

Some days had passed but you weren't sure how many exactly, not when you were grappling with the demon in your body who would occasionally allow you to step into the light rather than just have a hand on the wheel of your mind. A haunting hum sounded in the night, a soft stalking song rumbled at your chest, it was sad, every note was laced with your longing for freedom, for Eris, and you knew that it was the symphony to their guilt. The same song drifted over the city, a solemn cloud hanging overhead, reminding your people that all was not as it seemed, and it was up to them to decipher the message.

The door had been left slightly ajar after Cassian's last visit, he had left a tray of meat and roasted vegetables at the foot of your bed, a tray that had gone cold long ago. Cassian had come to you frequently to check on you, you didn't say much to him but you knew that his mind was reeling at the sight of you, at what was happening to your body and soul. A plan was forming within the Illyrian, a desperate one, such became clear when his finger drifted along your cheekbone and felt it freezing under his touch, that alongside the hallowing cheeks and pallid hue to your skin made him flinch with a pain that wasn't even his.

But it wasn't Cassian that had come to see you.

No.

Golden blonde hair poked around the edge of the door, her sultry brown eyes teeming with despair as she looked to you on the bed, wrapped up in your own embrace, humming softly and carrying your melody as far as it could go, "Hey y/n."

Mor's voice floated through the air to you. Stepping into the room, Mor closed the door with a soft click and lingered by the fire, waiting for you to acknowledge her but when you kept humming that awful song, Mor had no choice but to approach you, to pull you back to your horrid reality.

The song caught at your lips and you looked down to her hands resting on the forearms that were curled around your knees. Fluttering eyelashes welcomed her, you were confused but you dragged your eyes to meet hers, "Mor." There was no warmth in the depiction of her name, your voice was empty and monotone, almost as though you were in a trance.

"How are you?"

Shivering, Mor perched beside you, Cassian was right, a certain chill had taken ahold of you, the air shifted as soon as anyone would enter your space; it made them feel unwelcomed, watched even, as if they were under surveillance. The only one observant enough would have been you but there was no way that you were keeping an eye on them, not when you looked so ghostly and pale, not when all you did was hum that sickly sad melody until your throat went raw.

"I'd be better if Rhys stopped drugging the water," you motioned to a half-empty cup sat atop your bedside table, a table that still had yours and Mor's names scribed into the wood, where a strong aroma of herbs emitted, "It's not like I can go anywhere." Raising your wrists, a line of chains rattled at your movements, they connected your wrists and feet together so that if you somehow escaped you wouldn't be able to get very far at all.

Rhys had ordered a that your own supply of water be established, water that he had drugged with various herbs and tonics to subdue you, to make you more docile. It was barbaric. None of them wanted to believe what was happening, all they wanted to do was block it out and deny it, but they couldn't, not when you were suffering so badly.

There was little that could be done to bring you joy, there was no hope that life would return to the way it used to be. But, if all Mor could do was remind you of a time when you were happy, to hopefully coax you into holding on, then she would spend the rest of her life doing it, "Tell me about Autumn. What was it like?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at your chapped and broken lips, and it was the first time Mor had seen your eyes light up since your return, "It was magical. Everything about it was perfect." Gentle darting pupils told Mor that you were lost in a flurry of memories, ones that you would no doubt carry for the rest of your life.

"And Eris?"

"Eris," your eyes glazed over, his name was a whisper of air, "For the first time in my life I had someone who understood me. I couldn't stop myself from wanting him, not when all he had to do was smile and say my name to have me melting."

Mor shuffled closer, watching intently, "His scent still lingers on you. It's like its moulded with your own."

Because he's my Carranam.

If only you knew what she had sacrificed in order to protect that part of you.

"I know that you hate him for what happened," you looked to her, eyes glistening in a mixture of fire and alabaster moonlight, "But he means everything to me." A single tear rolled down your cheek, a faint line weaving between the streaks dotted down your skin, "I'll never see him again. I'll die here," your gaze intensified on your oh so gorgeous cousin that was almost crying at your broken words, "Tell him that I love him. I never got to tell him that," your sight shifted back to the golden valley beyond the window and you leaned against the headboard, falling from Mor's grip, "Thank him for me, for his patience, for teaching me more about myself in a few weeks than I ever learnt here. Thank him for giving me a home and for not being afraid of me. Can you do that for me?"

Mor was practically shaking, with sadness, with anger, with every emotion possible, "I'm not telling him shit," Mor rose from the bed, her eyes ablaze in the moonlight, a deathly clash of molten gold and silver, "You can tell him yourself when you get out of here."

Determination was rife in her features, "I'm not getting out of here."

A violent shudder coursed through you, the same one that occurred at least five times a day, that filled you with dread and darkness, like the bindings drinking your power were piercing you with their talons and draining every ounce of your energy.

The bindings were monstrous, so dark and hateful that Mor wasn't sure where exactly Rhys had precured them, who he had commissioned to create something so vile. Such people deserved to rot in hell. Mor had scoured the library the night you had returned wearing them, looking for any bit of information possible on their origin, unable to scratch the image of your marred black flesh beneath them from her mind. Amren had joined her, a knowing look between them confirming everything, that Rhys had lost his mind, that they had to stop him before he reached too far and destroyed everything.

"Even if I have to cut down Rhys myself, I will get you out of here and get you to Autumn. Your family is waiting for you."

A soft moment. Guilt poured from Mor in waves, tidal waves of guilt and love that crashed against you, "You'll always be my cousin, Mor," an olive branch, a chance to repair what had been broken.

Pausing at the foot of the bed, Mor gripped the railings and used them to steady herself, "Never accept the definition of who you are, from a person who's trying to hide the truth of who they are. Don't let him win, y/n."

As quickly as she appeared, Mor vanished from sight, gliding from the room and signalling her exit with a gently closing door. A moment passed before you sat up, cocking your head to the side and wiping the tears from your cheeks. The demon lurking within you caressed your mind in approval, slithering around your consciousness and muttering her praise.

Somewhere beyond the window, you wondered where Eris was, you thought of what he was doing at that moment.

Had he slept? Had Nesta made sure he’d ate? Was Lucien making him laugh? Was he crying?

Silent tears spilled from your eyes, a pain that no word or sound would ever be able to convey rattled you. The gravity of the situation was grinding down, forcing you tighter into the box that Rhys had crafted with his bare hands; he hadn't come to see you yet, he hadn't even drifted by your door, probably too sickened by your scent to bare being around you.

That link with Eris had been locked away, the key to it residing in the furthest part of your reach thanks to the other one living within you. It wasn't like you hadn't begged her to open it, for just a moment, just to tell him that you were alive and thinking of him, but she had willed you into submission, she had told you that the link between your minds would only hinder your collective progress.

Once we are done, you will be with him again. Hold on.

Squinting, you willed your eyes further, you begged the Mother for one glimpse, and you could have sobbed when the sky didn’t split apart and allow you one singular comfort. It was silly to command to the universe that he not be sad, you knew he would be, if their would-be faces had flashed through your mind that day at the boarder you wouldn’t have been able to cross it.

If Eris had-

No.

You couldn’t think about it, think about the reality where he came to you at the last second and convinced you that there was another way. It wasn’t the reality you were drowning in.

But it was the one you’d dream of.

A reel of endless possibilities paused on the centre stage of his mind, snippets of potential realities weaving between one another and your face was at the epicentre of each image. In some you were sad, in others you were consumed by the feminine rage you did so well to keep in check, in others you were laughing, and then there were a couple, the odd one or two where your body was shrouded in darkness, images where no life existed within you where shadows caressed you like an old friend.

Eris wasn't sure which image he found the most terrifying.

Willow sighed in his lap, her head rested on his thigh as he idly ran his fingers through the tufts of hair on her head, and from her furrowed brows over the closed eyes, he knew that she was thinking of you. There had been countless occasions where Eris would enter the sitting room or your chambers only to find you with Willow snuggled into your chest, most of the time you'd be sleeping, nuzzling your head into her fur and sighing gently. Eris smiled to himself at the thought.

The High Lord had found himself sleeping in your room, your scent lingered on the sheets and it brought him more comfort than anything else ever could. Crackling flames filled the space, giving some life to the emptiness that had taken hold of the manor. A chill had befallen the home, even the foundations cried in the night at the realisation of your loss; even the hour of golden sun that you adored so much felt less dim, like the sun herself had nothing to impress, like she had nothing to shine for.

A shuffle of weight beside him pulled Eris from his thoughts, albeit unwillingly, and he turned his head to the side to see Nesta, "Anything?" Eris enquired, Nesta had been holed up in the library for the last couple of days, scouring the towers of books for something, anything that may act as the key to your freedom.

Shaking her head softly, Nesta answered, "Not really," she fiddled with her fingers atop her skirt and Eris' eyes narrowed at the action, Nesta wasn't a nervous female, but something was bothering her, "That day, Under The Mountain, when I found out what happened to her," Nesta's voice drifted off, she was fighting her own mind, fighting whether or not to divulge another detail, "I didn't just find something, I took something."

Eris straightened, being careful not to move the hound dozing on his lap as he turned to Nesta, "Took what?"

Knowing that she couldn't keep it to herself any longer, not when you were suffering in the worst of ways, Nesta had no choice but to admit what else she knew, what she had kept from everyone, "Something that belonged to Amarantha, a book," A book that she didn't think to pluck from the library upon her exit from the Night Court, a book that was quite literally in enemy territory, "It details everything that was done to her, even things from before Under The Mountain."

The air shifted, a seething tension took hold of Eris that was directed toward Nesta's nervousness, at how her words stumbled over one another, "I need you to tell me," From the way her gaze darted about the room, Eris knew that it was no small nugget of information, actually, he knew that it was information that would tear him apart entirely.

Nesta didn't know where to look, at the floor or walls, at the bouts of dancing flame, or at Eris whose gaze was scouring her skin. Nesta chose the latter, "You've said before that there are gaps in your memories of y/n?" Eris nodded slowly, trying to anticipate what exactly was about to leave the lips of the eldest Archeron sister, "It was Rhys. He invaded your minds and stripped you both of one another."

"What?"

"Y/N was already far too powerful, she was already a threat to his title and position, and then they found out that your power elevated hers, and they had to stop it."

"Who is they?"

"Your parents. They instructed Rhys to remove you both from each other's minds. According to the book, it had been a rigorous and painful process. From what Amarantha suggested, it seemed like you two had been very much in love at the time."

That's why Rhys had been so desperate to get you back, it wasn't just because you had left and denounced the Night Court, it wasn't just because of his fear of your power, it was because you had left the Night Court and settled in Autumn, that you had settled in Autumn with Eris, the male that Rhys had plucked from your mind and washed away. Then you had been caged and the next time Eris remembered seeing you was on the night your wings had been taken, the same night that Amarantha did what she did.

The world was rumbling, the earth was shaking all around him, and it took all of his will to reign that anger back in, "Does Rhys know of this book?"

"No."

"And it's in the Night Court? In the library?"

Nesta hummed in approval, "In the House of Wind. Rhys wouldn't have taken her there, not when the priestesses could so easily see her."

Maybe, just maybe there was a key in that book, a way to open the gateway to those memories.

The room warmed upon Lucien's entrance, he sat down on the armchair opposite them sporting a wide, feline grin, and he slid his arm over Elain's shoulders who matched the grin of her lover, "What is this?" Eris motioned to the love-sick pair, his own desire writhing in agony at the sight.

Leaning forward in his seat, Lucien continued to grin, "We realised something. Something that will most certainly help us and in turn help y/n."

Elain squeezed Lucien's thigh, her gaze lingered on him a second longer than it should have, her eyes were bright and hopeful, "There are two people who value y/n as much as we do. Two people who have been vying for her hand for quite some time. Two people of very high standing in this world who would pledge themselves to her without question."

Nesta looked between them, confused, her eyebrows dipped low and lips parted in question. Then it hit him, of who exactly Elain was speaking of, and his query was met with russet confirmation from his brother.

"Who are you talking about?"

Of course, how could Eris miss it? How could he forget about the two males who constantly gravitated toward you and spoke nothing but the highest of praises of your character despite the vile word that had been born of you?

Grinning, Eris settled back into the comfort of the seat, "They're talking about Helion," he snapped his head to the side to meet the eyes of the woman whose own had widened in realisation, "And Tamlin."

"Helion could call a High Lord's meeting," a whisper from Nesta, her entire body shivered with the hope that singular notion brought her.

Rhys wouldn't be able to deny a High Lord's meeting, and once Helion knew of what was happening to you, of what had been done to both of you, Eris was sure that he would have no ill-feeling toward calling such a thing.

There wasn't a moment to waste, but as Eris looked to Lucien, it was clear that he had already taken the step, "You've summoned them?"

Lucien shrugged, sipping from his goblet of wine before setting it down on the table beside him, "They'll both arrive in the morning."

"What did you tell them?"

Elain chuckled softly, "That the High Lord of the Night Court is committing a crime so vile that if they allow it to continue then they may as well have a hand in the suffering of the Princess of Velaris. That they have a chance to better this world for all if all they can do is answer our call."

Pride flowed about the room, it coiled around Lucien and Elain, for listening to the world close enough to be able to forge a path forward. It curled around Nesta, for having the strength to tell the truth no matter how dark it may be. And then it settled onto Eris, it caressed his soul, it soothed what he already knew, that you were made for him and he for you, and in that moment, as the weight of the oncoming struggle nestled itself into their embrace, did Eris feel the softest and slightest tug.

Author's Note

The way in envisioned the song she hums being the one with the girl harmonising with her microwave 🥺

Iykyk

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams @magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmtttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker @usernamesarelies

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

ToA Fic Recs!!!

Tag List: @itscharliebabey

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE!

I probably forgot a LOT but these are the ones I tracked down via bookmarks and frantic searches upon realizing they Were Not bookmarked rip 😔

AND ALL ORGANIZED!!!! :DDD

OneShots

Apollo & His Kids

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After reclaiming his godhood, Apollo visits his children often, and on one of those visits he tells them about their mortal parents. He shows them memories of their time together. And ends up reminiscing a little more than he bargained for.

How I Met Your Mother(s and Fathers) by NebuchadnezzarII

Around the Cabin Seven table, Apollo tells each of his six children how he met their parents.

Through The Son's Eyes by @literallyjusttoa

A journey through Asclepius' relationship with his dad, from Ancient Greece to modern day.

demand nothing less (than transformation) by tissuebocks

Dad is quiet for a moment, stroking her hair. Then, with a surge of his usual flamboyant excitement: “At what time is your date?” Kayla blinks. She pulls back a little to look at Dad. He’s still a little blurry from the tears, but she feels much calmer now. “He’s picking me up at six. …Why?” Dad’s eyes—cobalt blue—sparkle. Literally. “We’re going to dress you to the nines.” (or: apollo loves his daughter. he also loves fashion. even better is when the two intersect.)

@tsarinatorment

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A Right To Emotions

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Childhood, Or A Lack Thereof

Demigods grow up too fast. Day 23: How long does youth last for?

Memories of Sunflowers

He first met his dad in a field of sunflowers. Day 2: Alone in a Sunflower Field

Shuttered Heart

Apollo loves fiercely and his losses hit all the harder for it. It's a trait his children inherit.

Daughter of Archery

If there’s one thing Kayla knows, it’s archery. Day 17: Perfection Is A Must

Apollo & Meg

Movie Night by @falconfrost

Meg and Apollo attend a midnight horror movie showing. Everyone likes clowns, right?

yesteryear by @m-arnie-xx

yesteryear (noun) — last year or the recent past, especially as nostalgically recalled; often a period in the past with a set of values or a way of life that no longer exists. Or, There is eighteen hours, thirty-five minutes, and nine seconds, between when Meg last sees Apollo, and when Artemis sends a sign to Camp Half-Blood to tell them that he has survived and defeated Python.

lesterlicious by apopcornkernel

yazz_ • 1 week ago This dude is straight up LARPing as the god Apollo or something 4.7K likes REPLY View 25 replies

Meg & Apollo's Highly Limited Roadtrip Playlist by Curioser

Fourteen hundred miles. Four radio stations. Two friends trying hard not to kill each other, or to acknowledge the fact that in less than a week, they may never see each other again. And Lizzo. So much Lizzo.

visions of beasts by UKULELEchildren

Suddenly, a figure appeared in the dark haze. A vague smudge of purple appeared. His cloak. “No.” I whispered. “You’re dead.” What would Meg have visions about?

Apollo & Olympus

Beneath the Rhododendrons by Lepidopterrain

Carefully, she slipped past the hyacinths that had popped up around the bush like a small protective wall. They'd been the only reason she'd looked down at that spot really, and noticed the flash of gold curls amongst the pinks, reds, and purples of the rhododendrons. Artemis let her fingers linger on the petals of one of the small little guardian flowers, just for a moment. She'd never been sure if her brother had noticed just how little control he actually had over hyacinths, for a flower that was supposedly 'his.' She suspected Demeter and Persephone knew, if anyone. But neither goddess had deigned to talk of such matters with Artemis. Perhaps for the best, Artemis wasn't really sure what she would've said if they had tried to bring the subject up. There's a very good chance she wouldn't tried to shoot one of them and then escape while they were distracted. Emotions weren't her forte. She was grown enough to admit it. 

@tsarinatorment

The Older Twin

Apollo could lie all he wanted, Artemis was the older one. She’d never felt that as keenly as she did now. Day 26: Missing You

Third Strike

Zeus loved Apollo, once. His favourite son, his golden child. His greatest threat. Day 19: And So The Sun Sets

Ancient Greece

A Sun's Forgiveness by @hazardous-lightdas12

“Mortals die Artemis,” Apollo whispers. “Their lives will forever wax and wane. Like the moon. The ebb and flow of Uncle Poseidon’s waves. But us. We are eternal. You must remember that.” Her brother sounds like he has said the words to himself too many times. – Apollo does not scream when the lightning bolt strikes him. -- Alt Summary: Fathers make mistakes sometimes. Hippolytus’ father has made the teensy, easily understandable and forgivable mistake of beheading his son due to unproven and untrue allegations. Artemis grieves. Apollo tries to make everything all better, and somehow ends up making everything worse. . Zeus is so good at daddying! Admetus worries about the logistics of cow-herding

Of ravens and songbirds by Cassiethewriter

The godling whimpered and fought, and Python refused to let the hiss of frustration fall out. “Quite understandable, too.” He said, coils growing tighter and making the godling cough again. “Poor fair Leto being hunted by the issued Hera, the Queen of Olympus and the only child raised by Rhea. You heard of Leto’s suffering from day one, and sought to bring justice to it. Very brave and god-like.” Python snorted again. “But I’m afraid this is where you myths start— and end. Right here, right now. Like a moth to the sun.” Or, The battle with Python.

Phoenixrising007

Party On Olympus (gone wrong)

Mother’s hand was holding onto him firmly. Probably to stop Hermes from running down the hall and around the finely carved pillars decorating the sides of the palace. Despite the fact that if he were a mortal he would not even be walking yet, he already got himself into trouble recently.

Puppies (and why they can fix anything)

"Aww look at the puppy!” He raced forward, voice an octave higher than usual. As is normal when speaking to such an adorable creature.

Apollo & His Lovers

Naomi Solace

thinking about it, had a breakthrough by @thesungod

“I’m Naomi Solace!” “Okay?” “The singer?” Fred shakes his head, a smug smile on his lips. “Never heard of you.” “As Long As The Sun Shines? It was number 1 on the billboard for like, a month!” Hating herself, she starts mouthing the melody. There’s no way this asshole doesn’t know her stupid song. Naomi Solace meets an arrogant, young producer that she really wants to kick in the balls. Unfortunately, he seems to know what he’s doing.

Solar Powered by @curseofdelos (:D Glad to see you reblogged this hehe here's a tag :3)

Apollo, god of music, was how he had introduced himself. Naomi had assumed he was joking, and he didn't correct her. She had dated musicians and poets before. They all had an ego, and those same words would not have felt out of place from either of her exes. She merely downgraded Apollo from potential boyfriend to potential fling, and didn't think twice about it. Now though…. Now her son could heal wounds with a single touch, and her world was tipping on its axis.

Daphne

Plaything of the Gods - Daphne's Story by @the-primordial-archivist

When Apollo finally decided to wear a crown, it was her leaves that topped his head. But it wasn’t just he who wore her branches. Winners had her leaves on them too. Laurels. The symbol of victory.

Hyacinthus

You make a fool of death with your beauty (and for a moment, I forgot to worry) by @ukelele-boy

Sometimes as a god you lose track of time. With all his prophetic powers, Apollo never saw it coming.

His Flowers byshotar1s

Meg notices her servant, Apollo, is quieter than usual. Oh, the flowers in his hands explain why.

Frey

I Woo The Asgardian Hipster God by ladanse

"Another time, in a Stockholm tavern, I met this god who was smoking hot, except his talking sword just would not shut up." -The Hidden Oracle, Rick Riordan

(sidenote: WE NEED MORE FREYPOLLO)

REVOLUTION

Conversations (regarding a certain half-brother) by Phoenixrising007

Walking out of the council meeting Ares did his best to make sense of what just happened. Apollo was there. Back just like Athena said he would be. She won the blasted bet. Again.

@tsarinatorment

The Sun

Apollo plays the role of an idiot well enough that often, it’s forgotten that he’s one of the most powerful gods - and one of the most wrathful. #140: Setting Heaven on Fire

Seven Days and Seven Nights

A warning, a storm, and Will’s world gets flipped upside-down. Day 11: Storming

MultiChaps

Secrets of the Sun by @sierice and beta'd by @ukelele-boy

“No, that kid is too similar to me… way too similar... Almost like he’s…” Apollo’s eyes widened. “Like he’s you from the future?” Persephone finished. Dionysus asked incredulously, “You don’t seriously think that right? There’s no way you would ever dare to look like that!” --------------------------  This is literally just a Trials of Apollo reading the books fic. Hope you enjoy!

time eats all his children by IzzyMRDB

There is something sickly in the passage of time. Time is a rot. A disease or a plague, a festering in your very being that blurs the past until it is tainted with the present. Until the present is tainted with the future. The Greeks were well aware of this sickness, for all their depictions of time, while divine, were also rotted. AKA Apollo is the god least touched by the passage of time, yet the one most affected by it. There's so much of the present that he could change. AKA Time Travel with Post-TOA Apollo

Flowers For Apollo by @soleil-in-retrograde

As far as Lester Papadopoulos was concerned, he was seventeen years old and lived at home with his elderly mother just outside of Tampa. He had a(n older? younger? twin?) sister who visited regularly and a baby sister(?) in California who called him her dummy and would help out with his mother's garden when she visited and he was teaching piano to. He also had a myriad of cousins who went to a camp up north he wrote constantly. He didn't know what he wanted to do with the life stretching in front of him. ----- The God Apollo has a bad habit of not telling people when something is wrong. It doesn't help he doesn't quite remember until it's too late. It's not his fault.

Over The Palisade by @aeithalian

This was an old dream. He’d had it many times before. Jerry, standing before the Roman Senate.  Mars, waving his hand. A lyre, appearing on Jerry’s arm.  Jerry’s prophecy: “Crowns will fall to ash.”  Jupiter, standing between the new augur and a towering statue of himself.  Apollo, standing between his father and his son.  Olympus, Apollo on his knees, trembling, electricity jumping over his arms. A stranger’s face, dark and stony. He says something, but the words are quiet.  The doors of the Palace of the Sun. Chained shut.  Or: Apollo has been missing for two and a half years, and there may or may not be an impending apocalypse.

Sunrise by IcyDreams_and_FieryWishes

At 10,000 years of age, Apollo falls to Chaos. With the last of his strength, he sends his memories through the fabric of Space-Time. At 1 day of age, Apollo refuses to let the story be the same as last time. Vi Va La Revolution. SkyFall: Season 1, Arc 1- The Rising Sun. In which Apollo lives through his early life, forming alliances and rewriting mythological history while striving to keep his siblings and family safe from threats outside and within their home. Will he succeed? Or will Fate prevail once more? One thing is for sure, Apollo remembers. And he will take his vengeance.

@tsarinatorment

THE MUST-READ Eclipse!!!!!!

According to the prophecy, Will has to go to on a quest to Tartarus. According to Apollo, that isn’t going to happen, even if it means he has to break the Ancient Laws.

The Stolen God is a ToA/MCatGoA crossover!

Python is defeated. The prophecies are restored, and Nero has fallen. Apollo has not been seen since. His trials are over; why isn’t he back on Olympus?

@flightfoot

Memories of Godly Selfishness

Chapter 1: Apollo and Meg watch Apollo's interactions with the demigods (and Grover) in Blood of Olympus and the Singer of Apollo. They don't like what they see. Chapter 2: Apollo, Meg, and Percy watch the fight with Otis and Ephialtes in Mark of Athena. Apollo gains new perspective on gods’ relationships with demigods. Chapter 3: Apollo, Meg, and Annabeth watch the final battle against Kronos and the aftermath, with a surprise guest later on. Chapter 4: Apollo and Meg watch “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood”. Apollo gives a long over-due apology. Chapter 5: Side Story - Satyr School: Apollo teaches some young satyrs. Chapter 6: Apollo, Meg, Thalia, and Will watch Thalia's and Luke's encounter with a certain son of Apollo.

A Convergence of Apollos

Percy had been hoping for a quiet afternoon celebrating Grover's birthday with him. Then Apollo arrived, and their peaceful afternoon got a lot less peaceful. It got even weirder when two kids popped out of thin air who both seemed to know him.

@falconfrost

Apollo & The Aftermath

The Roman emperors and Python have been defeated, the oracles reclaimed, and Apollo restored to godhood. He's having somewhat of a hard time adjusting to being back among the gods, which is understandable after his six-month grow-a-conscience speedrun. But something else is rotten in the state of Olympus, and before it can really feel like home, it's going to require some serious renovation.

The Tail of A Pollo

The hunt for the Teumessian Fox hasn't been going great, but thanks to a new prophecy (of sorts), it looks like Apollo may be key to aiding the Hunters of Artemis in the beast's defeat. In like, a super badass, heroic way, of course. Actually, on second thought, maybe just imagine the monster's defeat in your head. You definitely don't have to read this. I'm certain you get the gist of it already. You can simply exit this tab real quick, no biggie. Have a lovely day!

Bad Sons by @thesungod

Hades turned to the demigods that were still kneeling. “I need to speak with Will Solace,” he said to the shocked room, in the tone he could have used to say “I came to ask if one of you could lend me a pen.” “Alone,” the god added after a moment, staring right at Nico. Or, Will and Nico go on the stupidest quest ever. And it’s all Apollo’s fault.

Curioser

Fall of The Sun

Five times Apollo fainted and one time he didn't.

The Trials of Apollo: The Forgotten Acres

When their truck breaks down on the way to New York, Apollo and Meg get a few days of downtime in a refuge called the Forgotten Acres. While there, Apollo confronts a decision he's been putting off for weeks, and finds that it's one of the hardest choices he's ever had to make.

RavenWingDark

Kill The Sun

Even restored to godhood, Apollo still wants to be around his friends and mortal family, even at the risk of Zeus'...dissatisfaction. This is the four times Apollo got away with helping his demigods and the one time he didn't.

Mourning Sun changed my brain chemicals

Percy has the Chalice and all he has left to do is hand it over to Ganymede. Then he notices Ganymede might not be the only one being mistreated by Zeus. Apollo's at brunch, too.

Series

the grace of gods is a grace that comes by violence by @californiannostalgia

Were I That Burning Star, the first fic in the series, is an absolute Must Read imo

An old panic gripped me—the breathless fear of being forgotten, being lost. Would anyone remember me when I was gone? Would someone think to lay a flower down on my grave and say some fond nothings like, “Was a pretty cool guy, that Lester,” while wiping off a single dramatic tear rolling down their cheek? Oh, who was I kidding. So what if no one remembered? There wasn’t much I was proud to be remembered by anyway. After defeating Python and bringing down Nero, Phoebus Apollo reclaims his godhood. He is glorious once more. But for some reason, he can't quite make himself go back to how things were before. (A Character Study of Various Gods, including but not limited to: Apollo, Artemis, Hermes, Aphrodite, Ares, Athena, Hephaestus, Dionysus, and maybe Zeus)

Gods' Eye View by @flightfoot

Carefully, I picked out Apollo’s string. It glowed vibrantly, as the strings of all divine beings do. Mine most brilliantly of all, of course, though Apollo’s always seemed to be trying to outshine it. I firmly grasped hold of it, matching its own glow with my own. Slowly, I exerted my will, my power, pressing my radiance against the manifestation of Apollo’s, slowly increasing my light until it overpowered his. Yet, it resisted me, its glow strengthening, refusing to surrender. I grit my teeth. “I am Zeus, King of the Gods, and your father. Submit to me.” ----- Zeus tries to turn Apollo into a mortal. It does not go as well as he expected. That only incenses him further.

The Hidden Oracle+1 spin-offs by @garecc

Artemis falls to earth with Apollo in the hidden Oracle. Flames streamed off her body as she fell. Features sibling banter, protective Artemis, and far too many headcanons. ON AN INDEFINITE HAITUS.

rip hiatus😔

Memories of Dust and Gold by @moodyseal holds lots a variety of fics!

Companion Fics

The Healing Sun by ReadTheBooks. Companion to Eclipse

You are Asclepius. You are 9 and just want to help people. Your father is kind, and warm, and you love him dearly. Or, a look at a relationship hindered by loss but persevering through love. Asclepius and Apollo throughout the ages.

Other, But During ToA

A Single Drachma by @tsarinatorment, podfic by @stereden

Alone. Injured. Hunted. Michael doesn’t know where he is, but he knows he’s running out of time, and he’s only got one shot at calling for help. He’s got to make it count.

In Dreams by @m-arnie-xx

Zoe did not like Lord Apollo. He was too arrogant, too vain, and flirted with her and her fellow hunters incessantly. He always appeared in their camp at the most inconvenient times, offering archery tips that no one wanted and being a persistent source of annoyance to Lady Artemis near constantly. Zoe did not like Lord Apollo, but sometimes, when Zoe asked a Hunter how they knew something they couldn’t have possibly found out by themselves, and they told her about their dream, she would look up at the sun, and she would wonder… or Zoe did not get demigod dreams… until she did.

Hunger Games AUs

Bloody Eclipse by AmeliaAndreas3

The Sun Must Go On by @please-help-this-little-lesbian

The Golden Gates by SAM_42

Still The Mockingjay Won't Sing by SunnySky_11

The Copollo Masterlist - Collection of Ao3 & FF.net fics of Apollo & Commodus </3 Trainwreck beloved

And of you'd like, my fics:

The Works of Apollo - Canon Compliant Fics!

Alder's Mess of ToA AUs - AUs!

Adventures in (Grand)Parenting: Featuring Koios - My obsession with Koios spawned this!

The Crew of Dodona - Pirate AU! Random fic ideas written whenever the itch strikes!

[avelera]

On the Study of Miracles

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character: Gale, gender-neutral Tav, pre-Gale/Tav

Word count: 1,635

Author Note: Just a little something that's been plaguing my brain since my first play-through. Somewhat envisioned as part of a series from each Companion's POV, we'll see how far it goes. Posting the rough here until I decide what to do with it.

Summary: The day before the Nautiloid abducted him was the worst day of Gale's life. Not the day of. The day before. How does one even explain that to any sane person?

--

Yesterday was the worst day of Gale’s life. 

Not the bit with the tadpoles and the sudden abduction-by-teleportation, no. Not the part where he woke up in a claustrophobic pod and pressed his hands to the glass, looking about wildly as his all-too educated brain already knew what his stomach did not yet want to admit: that he was on a mindflayer ship and his gruesome end, from that point, was all but a certainty.

No. 

All of that happened after midnight, in Waterdhavian time. So he still considered that today. It’s important to be precise about such things. 

No, the worst day of his life was yesterday, sitting alone in his tower in Waterdeep, with Tara out fetching him another magical item to consume in the hopeless hope of staving off the inevitable just a little longer. Just until a cure could be found. Just until a miracle occurred. He’d loved a goddess, once, and a part of him deep down would never cease to. It’s just the sort of person he was. More importantly, she’d loved him, as much as any god can love what is mortal. Perhaps that was more or perhaps less than how much mortals could love other mortals.

Anyway. The point was, he’d been waiting for a miracle, and as the painfully-former lover of a goddess, he knew what a miracle looked like. He’d had one once, held her in his arms. And he grimly suspected that, like her, he would never know another miracle. It wasn’t for mortals to get more than one. 

He’d known that with a certainty he viewed at once with grim disillusionment and self-deceptive avoidance. So long as he didn’t think about it too much, he could pretend that there were still years before him rather than months. Weeks. Maybe even days, if Tara came up empty-handed, or empty-pawed, as it were.

He avoided the thought of hi approaching end with all the intellectual power he’d once poured into his studies at Blackstaff, under the fawning tutelage of his instructors, back when he was still a wise and precocious child, a “joy to have in class”, rather than a self-assured and (he could admit it) likely unbearable teenager, or worse, a young man. The lover of a goddess, just for his skill in magic alone. Gods he must have been a nightmare to deal with. Perhaps all of this was deserved, on some level.

Right. But back to yesterday. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a singular worst day of his life. But they’d all blurred together by then, starting from the moment his new reality had truly sunk in, alone in his tower, when the frenzy of pain and soul-scorching hunger had receded enough for him to look around, sweat-soaked, sickened, and dazed, at his home in Waterdeep all but stripped of the magical artifacts that had glowed and chimed and made beautiful the rooms of his tower. 

His tower that swiftly became his prison. 

Part of the dreadful isolation that followed was his fault. Well, most of it. Turned out, he didn’t really have friends so much as he had colleagues. Colleagues who came ‘round once or twice when he first went missing, but upon being refused, made no further effort to contact Gale, and he could hardly blame them.

Technically there was nothing stopping him from making short social calls, even spending a night out, once he got the hang of how long he could last after each magical item consumed. Technically he didn’t need to be a shut-in with only his tressym for company, once the first firestorm of anguish and grief washed over him and settled into the doldrums of blank horror at how far he’d fallen. 

But that was wicked thing about hope. He had hope that any day, some miracle would descend from on high, Mystra with her forgiveness granted as magically as was her divine domain, and all of this would be some terrible dream. Or he’d stumble upon a cache of magical items enough to put Karsus to shame, enough to live out the rest of his days safely (how he planned to do this while going for days on end without leaving his bedroom didn’t precisely follow logically, he would admit, but then, it was a miracle he was hoping for). 

But to accept miracles was to accept that their opposite could occur. Catastrophes. Terrible streaks of improbable bad luck. One day being the lover of a goddess and the next facing his inevitable, shameful death, for example.

And, for example, he could all too easily picture going out to a party and discovering he’d left his arcane gate keys at home and was therefore stuck surrounded by thousands of civilians while the bomb in his chest counted down inevitably, as occurred in his more memorable and sadly recurring nightmares. If something good could save him, why couldn’t something awful occur just as suddenly to make him a danger to everyone he knew and loved— or at least, whom he marginally liked within a professional setting?

Well, as it turned out, a miracle did occur. It came from the sky, just like the best miracles did. It whisked him away quick as a blink. It took care of all, or rather most of his problems, in one fell swoop, replacing them with incredibly urgent but at least refreshingly different problems, like how to get out of this portal he was stuck in.

And true to his worst nightmares, it had also been a bloody awful catastrophe. Hundreds were dead, though that at least wasn't his fault. Thousands, perhaps millions more would die if they were not successful. It was utterly improbably—insane, in fact!— that he’d fallen in amongst the one group with any real hope of stopping the Absolute’s horrific plan from succeeding. They were, as one with far less education than he might say, in the shit, facing dangers that few but the greatest heroes had ever been forced to contemplate. By all accounts, he should be rocking back and forth in the corner of his tent, gibbering with terror. 

Instead, Gale was smiling. He hadn’t even realized he was smiling until Tav had glanced back and said:

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” 

Tav raised had an eyebrow. It wasn’t even a mean-spirited question. In the early morning hours, after a scrounged-up breakfast of whatever was left over from the camp of those tomb robbers they’d interrupted, it might have been the simple pleasantries he might have experienced from his once politely disinterested colleagues, except…. Tav was sincere. Perhaps faintly amused. The rest of the sentence remained unspoken, the laughter dancing in their eyes that took in all the misfortunes that surrounded their merry band, the Nautiloid, their bare-bones camp, their improbable and still highly doubtful survival. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Theirs. 

Gale looked around and for the first time in more months than he cared to really think about, he wasn’t surrounded by the warm, wood-paneled walls of his tower. The bookshelves. The feather bed and the balcony with his view of the harbor. All the comforts of home and all the bleak, unbearable solitude of those same walls over and over, day in and day out, as he woke up and stared at his ceiling and sometimes, if Tara wasn’t around, just rolled over and went back to sleep for as long as he could force his body down if it meant not facing another day like this. 

No, he was surrounded by cliffs and forests, dirt paths and the lingering burnt ozone smell of the crashed Nautiloid and the unfortunately building stench of stale blood and unwashed bodies that would only deepen with every mile they walked. He was surrounded by faces, unfamiliar, some friendly, some distrustful, but all of them desperate, all of them pulling together towards the same goal. 

He wasn’t alone. For the first time in so long he wasn’t alone, and awful as it would be to say aloud, the fact that he also wasn’t alone in facing the threat of his own destruction, that each of his companions were in the same spot, working on the same problem was… well. He hadn’t felt this sort of camaraderie since his school days. Perhaps… never. 

Perhaps never. 

Gale snorted, chuckling to himself, and met Tav’s eye. “I rather think you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

The corner of Tav’s lips twitched upward. “Try me.” 

Gale regarded his friend, his savior, the hand that had reached out to his while he hung suspended in a void of nothingness, after so long in a far more comfortable, far more terrible void of solitude, and thought about miracles. And how accepting the good ones could happen also meant accepting the bad ones. Or perhaps they were just two sides of the same coin.

Perhaps he was not so abandoned by all the gods as he thought, to be here, on the other side of his tower walls, on the other side of sanity, on the other side facing down almost inevitable doom. Maybe the key to a miracle was knowing when you had one, as he had failed to see when he had one in his arms. Never again. But then, he’d always been a quick study, and liked to think he knew how not to make the same mistake twice.

“Would you believe,” Gale said, “that yesterday, before the Nautiloid, was the worst day of my life?” 

Tav blinked. “Before the Nautiloid?” Gale nodded and rather than scoff, Tav appeared to consider his answer. “And today?” 

The answer stuck in Gale’s throat, a rare occurrence for him, all the more rare because the truth was bubbling up there already and it was too soon, far too soon, he didn’t want to sound like a lunatic, it was already crazed enough to say that their ordeal was the end of one far worse for him. “The day’s still young,” Gale remarked with a good-natured shrug, glancing towards the horizon as if considering the time and not the truth of needing a moment to gather himself. “Why don’t we venture forth and see what it brings, shall we?” 

The best, Gale swallowed back at the sight of Tav’s answering smile. The very best. Isn’t that the maddest part of it all?

[amnevitahwritesstuff]

What if the House of Wind decided it didn’t want Nesta to leave?

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Nesta/Cassian

Rating: Teen

Triggers: Horror, Spooky Stuff

Chapters: One-Shot

I had planned to post this at midnight on October 1st to kick off Spooky Season…but I’m old and sleepy so it’s going up a couple hours early.

Anyway, it’s Spooky Season somewhere so I’m starting it off right with a haunted house story! Enjoy! 👻🎃

AO3 Link

••••◇•❖•◇••••••••◇•❖•◇••••••••◇•❖•◇••••

The Hungry House

It was little things, at first. 

Her hairbrush disappearing from her vanity. The water from the tap refusing to warm. Books she swore were on one shelf appearing on another. At first Nesta thought the House was playing a game with her. Like a child teasing a friend by hiding a piece of cake behind their back before eventually producing it with a giggle and an exaggerated flourish. 

But then, slowly, it was more noticeable things. 

Food appearing for her but not Cassian. Doors that would take just that little bit of extra time unlocking. Rooms that refused to warm up no matter how high she built her fire. 

“Stop it,” Nesta told the House one day after it had locked her in the library. It was the fifth time that week. “Let me out.”

It had relented eventually…but only just. As if it were reluctant to do even that. 

Nesta and Cassian began to wonder. Did magical houses get melancholic? Was it angry they were gone so often, like a neglected child bitter at the absence of their parents? Perhaps it was just in a mood? Either way, they figured it wasn’t anything to be too concerned about. After all, it was just a house. What could a house possibly do besides mildly inconvenience them? 

Or at least, that’s what they told themselves right up until things began to get very strange. 

Suddenly, they found that doors they’d relied upon for years to deposit them into the rooms they desired…led them to new places entirely. Cassian would open the door to their bedroom only to end up in a strange new office. Nesta would open the door to the library only to find herself in an unrecognizable hallway. 

“We should leave,” Cassian finally said one morning after he found her in a strange room he’d never seen before. He told her afterwards that he had been looking for her for hours. 

The House, however, had other ideas.

It became very clear very quickly that the House had no interest in letting them go. As soon as they had spoken those words into the ether, Nesta heard every door in the House snap shut and then the telltale click of a lock clunking into place. 

It took Cassian barely a moment to blast through the door…and only a moment more to realize how trapped they were. 

Yet again, they found themselves in an unfamiliar hallway. An endless series of doors stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. 

“Well,” Cassian said. “…Fuck.”

••••◇•❖•◇••••••••◇•❖•◇••••••••◇•❖•◇••••

They quickly lost track of time in the House. 

There were no windows in any room they entered, the magical lamps being their only source of light. Was it day? Night? Mid-afternoon? Neither could be sure. Every day bled into the last until their lives became one endless series of doors and hallways. And every room they entered…grew stranger than the last. 

In one room the walls seemed to…melt. As if they couldn’t bear to hold their shape a moment longer. In another, gravity became a mere suggestion with furniture floating halfway to the ceiling. And in yet another room reality seemed to morph and bend in such exotic ways that Nesta was forced to slam the door closed before she could risk her brain leaking out of her ears. 

It was alive, this House. Nesta had always known this, of course, but it was never more clear than now when she spent her days wandering the halls and could hear the House groaning like a living thing. Sometimes she could even feel its breath as the air circulated through the hallways, as if she were standing in the throat of some great and terrifying beast that had swallowed her whole. 

And how did one even escape from the belly of such a beast? 

At least the House didn’t let them starve. If anything, it left treats for them wherever they wandered. Slices of cake lying innocently outside a door. Whole rooms filled with feasts laid out as if waiting for them to sit down and indulge. It was clear that it didn’t want them dead. 

But it also didn’t want them to leave. 

This became abundantly clear every time it decided to play games with them, the same way a lazy house cat would toy with its prey. 

It most delighted in separating them. 

Nesta often found herself wandering into a room only to discover that Cassian had not followed her inside. And, of course, by the time she would realize her mistake and whirl back, it would already be too late. She would reach for the door, hoping it would swing open onto her mate’s face and instead it would open into a new room or hallway. 

If they were lucky, they would sometimes be reunited after a few hours. 

If they weren’t, they might not see each other again for weeks. 

“Never again!” They would always murmur to one another whenever they eventually stumbled upon each other again. “Never again!”

It took days before either of them felt comfortable letting go of the other. Always paranoid they would be snatched away again without warning. 

And so it went. 

••••◇•❖•◇••••••••◇•❖•◇••••••••◇•❖•◇••••

At first Nesta didn’t think much of the room. 

Initially it seemed like every room she often wandered in at random (though wether due to pure chance or the whims of the House, she couldn’t truly be sure anymore). Though, after a moment, it seemed like a rather odd room to dump her in for one very strange reason.

It was a children’s playroom. 

In the corner she spied a chest overflowing with toys. A little dolly with black hair and little brown wings. A picture book filled with exotic animals and creatures she wasn’t sure even existed. A little wooden sword, dented and well-used. 

That couldn’t be right. There weren’t any children who lived in this house. At least, not to her knowledge. 

And yet…

It continued to puzzle her until Cassian spoke. 

“Oh,” he said, a strange look on his face. “So this is where he kept her things.”

“Her?” Nesta asked, suddenly wondering if Rhys had some illegitimate children he never told Feyre about. If he did, she would happily give him a piece of her mind the moment she finally got out of this place.

(If she ever got out of this place…)

“Rhoslyn. Rhys’s sister.”

Nesta couldn’t keep the surprise off her face. 

“Sister? Why have we never met her?”

Cassian’s face was all the answer she needed. 

“Oh.”

“She died long before you were ever born. Rhys doesn’t speak of her because I think he feels responsible in that self-sacrificial way of his. Everyone loved Rhoslyn. She was a bit like Feyre. Impulsive. Stubborn. Rhys let her get away with anything.”

He stared at the little wooden sword with a faraway look. 

“Come,” he said finally, pulling her back out of the room. “We don’t belong here. This place is…haunted.”

“Haunted.” Nesta’s lips pinched together. “And the rest of this place isn’t?”

He shook his head. 

“Not haunted by magic. Haunted by memories.”

She cast a long look back into the room, wondering what kind of memories could’ve led to Rhys requesting the House seal away the childhood he had shared with a once beloved sister. 

Then, carefully, she followed him out and shut the door once more. 

As they left, she decided not to tell him of the dolly she had slipped into her pocket.

••••◇•❖•◇••••••••◇•❖•◇••••••••◇•❖•◇••••

“What do you want?” Nesta asked the House one day as Cassian slept. 

It didn’t answer with words. It never did. She didn’t think it could. But she received an answer all the same. She felt it deep in her bones. 

It wanted her. 

And only her. 

And so Nesta made the only choice she could. 

“I want to make a bargain.” 

••••◇•❖•◇••••••••◇•❖•◇••••••••◇•❖•◇••••

She stared at Cassian for a long time after that. And even after he woke she couldn’t stop gazing at him like a woman starved. 

“We’ll get out,” he promised her, misinterpreting her despair. It was the same promise he made her every day. 

Nesta didn’t bother to correct him, instead laying her hand over her heart. Right over where her new bargain tattoo lay hidden. 

“Yes.”

••••◇•❖•◇••••••••◇•❖•◇••••••••◇•❖•◇••••

When the exit finally appeared it was almost…anti-climactic. 

Cassian had grown so used to opening a door only to find himself in some random room or hallway that when he finally opened one and was greeted by blinding sunlight he just…froze. 

He stood there, squinting up into the beating sun and wondering how on earth he had forgotten what the sun had felt like on his face. Behind him, Nesta made no move to leave the doorway with him, only brushing a single kiss against the back of his neck. 

“I love you,” she whispered in his ear. 

And then, before his brain could process why exactly she would tell him this at this exact moment he felt her heave all her weight against his shoulders and…shove him out. 

He stumbled forward in shock, only to quickly whirl around again. Cassian’s last, horrifying image of his mate was Nesta framed by darkness in the doorway…before the door slammed shut. 

And then disappeared. 

“No!” He roared, pounding the empty wall until his fists were bruised and bloody. “Give her back!”

Cassian’s rage and grief echoed through the sky but no one was there to hear it. 

“What did she promise you?!” He begged. “Please, I’ll give it to you! Take me instead! Just let her go! Please!” 

But the wall didn’t answer. 

That was how his friends found him. 

Rhys was the first to step forward. 

“Cassian…”

It was like he couldn’t even hear his High Lord, so fixated as he was on that empty wall, clawing the stone until his fingers ran bloody. 

“Where is Nesta?” Feyre asked, frantic. “Where is my sister?!”

But her words only made Cassian moan like a wounded animal. He didn’t have to answer Feyre’s question. It was clear to all there where Nesta still was.

Rhys felt helpless as he watched his oldest friend rage and plead with that empty wall…only for something at Cassian’s feet to catch his eye. 

At first it looked to be a crumpled heap of cloth that had fallen out of his pocket…but then, as he drew closer, he saw it was a…doll. 

A very familiar doll. 

The familiar little toy tugged at his memories as he bent to pick it up. A tiny wisp of a girl danced to the forefront of his memory. A rebellious creature with riotous curls and a sly smile who always told him she hated dolls before carefully tucking them into their little doll beds when she thought he wasn’t looking. 

This one had been her favorite. Long after their father had insisted upon her behaving more like a lady she had kept it safely hidden on her bookshelf behind an old etiquette book. He had found it again after she died and the grief had been too fresh. Too much. 

He had thought, after sealing all his family’s things away that he would never see it again…and yet…here it was. 

“…Where did you get this?”

Cassian didn’t answer but he didn’t have to. Somehow, Rhys knew. 

She had done this. 

Nesta. 

His most aggravating sister-in-law, the one he mostly tolerated for the sake of his mate, had taken the time to not only find this last forgotten piece of his sister, but had ensured it would find its way back to him. 

And now they were both gone. 

It felt like a blow to the chest. 

“I thought she hated me,” he whispered. “Why…?”

No one answered him. 

No one could. 

Because the one with the answer to that question had been swallowed whole. 

[etruatcaelum]

ozma - send SOBBED for a scene from my muse's past in which they broke down in tears

You look up to see her standing at the top of the hill, cloaked in hematic shadow by the sun rising behind her, and the wind shrieks between you and her. Demoniac howls and the wet screams of dying men are at war in your ears, but when her burning vermilion gaze locks with yours, every sound seems to fade away. Her smile, so serene amidst the carnage, plucks at the heart’s sinews like a carrion bird.

“Salem,” you whisper.

Blood slicks those pale hands. Salem is drenched in it, midnight silks clinging to her body, glistening red; and yet her eyes soften with pure tenderness when she reaches out to you again, and again your heart cries to take it. She says, “Darling, aren’t you tired?”

There is nothing you can say. Death snarls all around you, in the clangor of steel and roaring grimm. You take one staggering step forward; predatory triumph ignites in her eyes. “Salem–” you say again, a cracked and desolate plea.

“Let’s end it,” Salem purrs. “Together. Ozma, you’ve tried so hard. No one could ask for more.”

“I—” You swallow thickly, your own bloodied hands clenching at your sides. “–can’t. You know I can’t.”

“It’s enough,” she says, and her voice soothes you like water eroding stone. “You’ve given enough. We needn’t suffer any longer. Please, darling, just take–”

(Somewhere else, a wrenching pain—a peal of thunder–)

“—my hand.”

Zartosht bolts upright with an inarticulate yell, and in the haunted confusion of the shattering dream—nightmare—Ozma heaves past him like a rogue wave and shudders out another hoarse cry into their hands. Cold sweat plasters their hair to their brow; they hunch over, breath coming in painful, shallow rasps.

“Please…” They can feel its geas closing tighter around their throat, entombed in the darkness by the implacable weight of their doom. Ozma rakes their fingers through slippery hair and gulps pitifully. “Please…”

No trace of the summer’s heat has touched their bedchamber since the day Zartosht first placed that accursed crown upon his head, and an unnatural chill sinks its fangs to the bone when Ozma throws off the covers and rolls out of bed. Even the fine rugs seem to crackle with frost, searingly cold. They shamble across the room; collapse onto their knees before the window, where the long teeth of the Relic of Choice tear the moonlight to shreds.

“Please—p-please, I–”

Slumping until their forehead rests upon the window-sill, Ozma fractures: ragged, pitiful, tears dripping down their face while they quake to hold up the weight of the moon’s condemnation. Her voice remains, always the last thing to fade, a velvet murmur for all the world as if Salem were kneeling beside them with her lips against their ear. None can be pure before his Maker. None can draw clear water from a tainted well. How much longer will you force me to wait? You know as well as I do how our story must end, my darling, my Ozma, when our sun rises for the very last time…

“I don’t–” Their hand twitches upward to grasp the crown, thorny tines biting into their palm. “Please, n-no more—please let me rest, let me—please…”

The unmerciful crown has no answer to give, save the vision of that dreadful dawn still burning behind their eyelids. Its shape changes from one night to the next, a kaleidoscopic horror of violence and death, but the warning is the same each time. One day will come a war they cannot win, and when Salem finds them on that blood-soaked battlefield she will hold out her hand to offer them a second chance; and in that darkest hour when fear has its day, they will have to choose.

In their heart of hearts, in the deepest scars of their soul, Ozma knows what they will do in that moment. The Relic of Choice must know it too, for its admonishments come ever more often—almost nightly, now. But they don’t know how to stop it from happening. Choking on another exhausted sob, Ozma slumps into a miserable huddle beneath the window. “I’m sorry,” they whisper thickly.

They’re so tired of this.

“I’m… sorry.”

[colibritas]

syzygy

pairing: bobby marks x f!detective (camilla reyes) (past) (listen. i know.)

word count: 1,738 words | rating: T, brief mentions of alcohol ig?

summary: The detective goes on a walk and stumbles upon a memory. (post book 3 Bobby route - vague spoilers ahead!)

author’s note: i have no words and no excuses but i think it would be neat if they get some closure B) i literally can’t believe my first fic for this fandom heavily focuses on bobby marks, don’t look at me

read on ao3!

There’s a weathered old wooden bench near the cliffs at the lighthouse, where the stars shine brightly on clear nights, and the breeze coasting in from the ocean is cold but smells like salt and memory.

Camilla doesn’t pass it often, these days. The nostalgic ache it stirs in her tastes like cheap rum and cheap promises, makes her feel a little too hollow.

She’s not totally sure what brings her there tonight. She knows she shouldn’t be wandering the shaded paths of Wayhaven alone at night, with her blood calling like a siren song to every Trapper and toothed creature in a hundred miles.

But there’s always been an itch in her soul, compels her to wander to ease the stirring. Walking a beat used to help, particularly at night when she had Tina’s laughter to keep her company.

Now, the shadows are no longer friends to shelter her, but the promise of some new horror to steal her away. There is no laughter to keep her company, just the whisper of the wind and the way her skin prickles at the groaning of the trees.

The waves lapping along the shore still her mind with a static fuzz, and the night is quiet and velvet. It’s late summer, the perfect time for a near-midnight walk, and the dying embers of the season are pleasant to warm herself to even though clouds cover the blanket of stars. A soft summer storm had swept through earlier that day, and the air is fresh and verdant with the ghost of it, grass and earth damp beneath her shoes. As she approaches the bend where the bench looks out over the waterline she slows, seeing a worried figure seated there, hunched over.

The smart thing would be to turn and walk away before they notice her, and she nearly does before she catches a glimpse of caramel-coloured hair dripping with silver in the faint moonlight. It would still be the smart thing to turn and walk away; now more than ever, maybe.

“Bobby?”

He spins to face her, coiled like a spring as he leaps to his feet. Tense, anticipatory. She raises both hands like a white flag. “Just me. Didn’t want to sneak up on you. Is that pepper spray in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”

Camilla nods at where his hand hovers not too far from his belt.

He settles back into a more Bobby-like cadence and forcibly relaxes. “I’m always happy to see you, angel,” he drawls. It’s not very convincing. Even through the dim light she can see the shimmer of tension in his fingers. “You just caught me by surprise, is all.”

Slowly, she steps toward him, still keeping her hands raised at first, but lowering them as he eases his own arms down at his sides, looking a little less like he’s going to snap and blast pepper spray in her eyes. His gaze is unfocused in a way she’s not used to, no longer liquid and confident. She approaches like she might a wounded animal before settling down on one edge of the bench. He sits at the other, and a thick, heavy quiet settles on its haunches between them.

And, eventually, once the blanketing silence grows too oppressive in the warm night:

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here since we broke up,” he says, voice a little too loud, a little too strained against the darkness.

“Because I haven’t been,” Camilla mumbles. “Figured you’d probably not want me skulking around if you decided to bring a new partner here.”

He goes a bit quiet, at that. “C’mon, Camilla,” he mutters. “This was our spot.”

The tide rolls in. It smells like summer. Reminds her of warm, sloppy kisses at the tail end of summer break, the wooden slats of this weathered old bench uncomfortable under the heels of her palms, and the first time he said he loved her. She’d believed him, then.

The ache gnaws at her.

“You still come out here often?” She asks, instead of saying the thing she really wants to say. She’s not sure if she wants the answer to this question, either, now that she thinks about it, but it’s already out of her mouth and she can’t take it back. Maybe she’ll get lucky and he’ll deflect it with some sort of flirtation or angle, anyway, like he always does.

“Yeah. When I need to think,” he says instead, the moonlight softening him, fuzzing his edges.

She bites back the short reply at the tip of her tongue. He doesn’t deserve her scorn, not when he says something genuine for once. Something in her, the ungenerous part that’s still a little raw, reminds her that he’s often used his own vulnerability as the scalpel to cut her open in the past. It’s long past the time when she should have stopped falling for it, but she still does every time. Hook, line, sinker.

“What were you thinking about?”

“How fucked up it’s all gotten,” he says with a strained laugh. “I mean, Jesus. You ever see all of this coming?”

“Shit, Bobby. If I saw half of this coming I’d’ve bought several lottery tickets by now. I’d be relaxing on a beach somewhere, with a margarita in each hand and not a care in the world.”

“I hope one of the margaritas would be for me?”

“Not a chance, get your own damn margaritas.”

They both chuckle a little, soft and quiet. It’s easy, until it hurts. Their laughter trails off into silence.

The waves against the beach. Kisses that tasted like cheap rum and empty promises. The ache gnaws her hollow, licks the meat off her bones.

She tucks her knees up to her chest and leans back. The wooden planks dig into her spine, but it feels real and not like the haze of memory.

“If I asked you something right now, would you tell me the truth?” She whispers into the breeze. Almost hoping the wind will catch her voice and toss it high above their heads where no-one will hear it.

Bobby hesitates. “At this point, angel, I don’t think you’d believe me if I lied.”

“Did you love me?”

“Camilla,” he says, sounding strangled. He forces a laugh. “I don’t think anyone could’ve grown up with you and not fallen in love with you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. The truth from him hurts more than the lies, sometimes.

And, quieter, he says: “Of course I love you. —Loved.”

“Then why—”

“I don’t know,” he lies.

They quiet, that silence sitting hunched between them still.

He bridges it first. Stretches a hand across the ten inches of eternity between them; she sees the movement from the corner of her eye. He’d never been one for romantic gestures, when they were together. It was all— pageantry, ego-stroking. And she (fatherless, motherless) had devoured every morsel of attention like oxygen to a flame even if she knew deep down it didn’t mean to him what it did to her.

Hook, line, sinker. She closes the space, brushes her knuckles against his, and he interlaces their fingers. The summer air is warm, but his hand is cold. There’s a tremble to the pulse she can feel thrumming in his wrist, like a hummingbird heart.

“It’s too late for us, isn’t it?” He mumbles.

Camilla gives his hand a squeeze. Years ago, she might have felt a spark of hope at their interlocked fingers, the way his hand warms at her touch.

“I think that ship has sailed.” She turns to give him a small smile. There’s no spark of hope there anymore, just a used-to-be. A sigh runs ragged over his lips. He looks… tired, actually. A little worn. Not quite as coiffed and shining as he usually is, though he still strikes a handsome silhouette with the faded moonlight casting him in soft, luminescent edges.

“Yeah, I thought so.” He hesitates. “Are you… happy?”

Camilla thinks of warm brown eyes, honey-sweet, filling her mouth with poetry.

“Yeah,” she says.

“Even with the world going crazy and knowing there are monsters out there that want to kill you? With the danger?”

“The world was already crazy, and I was already in danger. Have you seen my car?”

He grimaces. “I try not to. You can hear it before you see it, anyway, so you can just scrunch your eyes closed and—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. “Some part of me honestly still feels like… like I’m going to wake up tomorrow and none of it will be real. But yeah. I’m happy. I don’t have to do it alone, you know?”

When he falls silent, she nudges herself across the gap, until their knees touch, their shoulders bump together. “And you don’t, either.”

He sighs, releases her hand so he can stretch an arm around her shoulder. It’s a move he’s made before, sitting here on this bench, but it doesn’t feel the same. None of the fire, like whiskey burning a trail down your throat. None of the heavy-lidded gazes. She’s surprised to find that it doesn’t hurt. It almost feels… comfortable, this time. She’ll always love him, too, a part of her recognizes—but not the way she used to.

“I don’t, huh? You think you can get me the number of any of those sexy agents, then?”

“Ugh, you suck.” Camilla swats at his knee playfully, no real bite to her words. He laughs in response.

His arm pulls a little closer around her shoulders, and he points up at the sky. “Hey, look.”

The clouds have parted, and above them the sky glitters like a gown studded with so many diamonds. When she hastens a careful glance up at him, he’s smiling. A small smile, relaxed, not the usual suggestive smirk she’s grown used to. She feels her face light with a smile, too, and it feels a bit like forgiveness.

The stars shine down on them and the waves crash, but the air tastes like rain and summer, like damp grass and fragrant earth. It’s not the same as it was because they’re not the same as they were, and it’s… good. At least in this moment, the ache she’d grown used to feels like the dull twinge of a broken bone healing.

[tameodesza]

Love’s Maze (BretShawn)

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AO3 link

Shawn accepts Bret's invitation, and the night ends as neither man expects

It was nearly midnight when Bret heard a knock on his room door at the hotel. He was beginning to think that Shawn wouldn’t show up as the night progressed. However, he was put at ease upon opening the door to see Shawn standing there with his duffle bag slung on his shoulder and a sheepish smile on his face.

Shawn shrugged, saying, “Things didn’t work out with Scott. So, it looks like we’re rooming tonight if you still want to.”

To which Bret responded all too eagerly, “Oh, yes! Yes, of course. Come in.” It’s not like he’d stayed up past his bedtime waiting for Shawn to come by or something. Nope. Not at all.

“Thanks,” said Shawn.

Shawn made his way into the room, wasting no time making himself comfortable. He left his bag by the door before plopping down on the couch, sighing in satisfaction as he leaned his head back with his eyes closed. It had been a long night and Shawn was so relieved to finally have a place to rest.

Bret followed suit, sitting next to the blond as he said, “So I’m guessing you couldn’t book a room.”

“Nope. The place is full and Scott’s out getting fucked up. So he’s not coming back until much, much later.” Shawn then opened his eyes and turned his head towards Bret. “Are you sure you don’t mind me staying?”

How could Bret ever mind when Shawn was looking up at him with those beautiful eyes?

“It’s fine. I promise,” he said as he held out his pinky finger.

Shawn smiled brightly, looping his own pinky around Bret’s as he said, “Good.”

There was a moment where their gaze lingered, both men smiling softly at each other as the silence of the room served as a constant reminder that they were alone. As short as the moment was, it was enough for both of them to feel something that they weren’t quite ready to make sense of yet.

Shawn was the first to break the tension as he unlinked their hands, clearing his throat before saying, “So you said you wanted to hang out tonight. What does ‘hanging out’ on a Monday night look like for Bret Hart?”

“Um,” Bret didn’t even know the answer to that. “We could watch a movie? Or just talk. Whatever you want to do.”

“Do you ever go out drinking?”

“Eh, it depends. Sometimes, Owen drags me out. But it’s a rare occasion when I go out on my own. I typically stay in.”

“Hmm,” said Shawn inquisitively. “No wonder I barely see you out with the boys.”

Bret nodded, “Yeah. It’s a bit lame, right?”

“No. It’s good. That’s what makes you, you. I would’ve avoided a lot of trouble in the past if I hadn’t gone out drinking so much.”

“Wait, so you’re good with us staying in?”

“Yeah,” said Shawn as he wiggled out of his jacket to get more comfortable. “I’m fine doing whatever, Bret. You name it.”

After throwing out a few ideas, they settled on ordering pizza and watching an old horror movie.

Shawn was glued in on the film, clinging to a pillow in suspense with one hand as he gripped his pizza with the other. Bret glanced over at him every so often, finding Shawn’s antics amusing, especially because the movie wasn’t even that scary.

But unlike Shawn, Bret hadn’t been able to entirely focus on the movie. His mind was clouded with thoughts about what Owen had told him earlier that day.

Was he really fumbling his chance to be with Shawn? Was it the right time to tell the man about his feelings for him?

Bret knew regret would eat him alive if he didn’t at least try to pursue Shawn. But he really didn’t want to jeopardize their friendship. Shawn meant too much to him for him to let that happen.

It was Bret’s hesitation and contemplation that made him hold off a little longer on confessing to Shawn as they continued to watch the movie.

Before he knew it, the movie was over, and Shawn was stretching beside him as he let out an exaggerated yawn. “That was good.”

Bret teased, “How would you know? Your face was behind the pillow the whole time.”

“Hey,” Shawn said in a fake hurt voice, lightly hitting Bret with the pillow in question. “Don’t be rude.”

Bret put his hands up in defense, “Just an observation.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shawn said flippantly before letting out another yawn. “Sorry, I’m getting sleepy. Think I’m gonna call it a night.”

“It is pretty late. We both could use some rest. I’ll head down to grab some extra blankets. I don’t want to freeze on the couch tonight,” said Bret as he got up from the couch.

Shawn watched in confusion as Bret put on his shoes, saying, “It’s your room. I’ll take the couch.”

Bret responded adamantly, “I invited you. I don’t want you sleeping on the couch, Shawn. I’ll be right back. I’m not sure how long it’ll take, so go ahead and get some rest.”

“Bret-” But Bret was already heading out the door, stifling Shawn’s protest.

Shawn sat there, staring at the door in bewilderment. He knew that Bret was a gentleman, but he had no idea the man would be willing to give up his bed for him. Shawn didn’t feel right about it, but he surely didn’t feel like going back and forth with the older man all night.

So he slowly got up and shrugged out of his jeans and t-shirt before moving the pile of clothes on top of his duffle bag.

Shawn slithered under the covers, letting out a content sigh as he sank down onto the soft mattress knowing that a good night’s sleep awaited him.

Or at least that’s what he intended.

Shawn had a very difficult time falling asleep as countless thoughts raced behind his closed eyes. Most of these thoughts consisted of Bret, more specifically, Shawn’s ever-growing feelings towards the man.

He was annoyed at himself for not being able to ignore it, constantly asking himself why. Why couldn’t he just allow himself to enjoy their friendship?

What they had was simple. It was safe. It was comfortable. Falling for Bret, not even knowing if the older man liked him back, would only make things more complicated.

Shawn curled into himself, thoughts consuming him like a starved parasite as he desperately tried to shut off his brain.

  Bret came back to the room about 15 minutes later with fresh sheets. He closed the door softly behind him before walking towards the couch quietly in an effort to not make any noise, not knowing that the blond was fully awake, head peeking out of the comforter as he looked at Bret.

Bret set the sheets down before turning around to tug off his shirt and pants, leaving on only his boxers.

Shawn tried his best to look elsewhere, but his eyes were instantly drawn to Bret’s chiseled chest and toned legs once the man turned back towards him.

Although they’d already seen each other in the bare minimum, it was something about seeing Bret outside of his ring gear, casually wearing nothing but boxers and socks, that made the moment feel more intimate.

Shawn had to force himself to turn around, not wanting to have another stiff problem in the morning.

After putting away his clothes, Bret unraveled the sheets and grabbed a pillow from the bed before turning off all of the lights. “Good night, Shawn,” he whispered after settling onto the couch.

Shawn didn’t answer, which Bret assumed was because the younger man was already asleep. However, about five minutes later, he heard the sound of Shawn moving briskly against the sheets. Bret didn’t think anything of it until he heard Shawn shuffle in the sheets again a few moments later.

It was after the third time that Bret heard Shawn let out a frustrated huff as he shoved the comforter off of his upper body. A few seconds of silence floated in the air until Shawn whispered, “Bret?”

With his eyes still closed, Bret tilted his head in Shawn’s direction, answering, “Hm?”

“Are you up?”

“I’m talking, aren’t I?” The smart comment would’ve made Shawn laugh in any other circumstance, but he wasn’t in a joking mood.

“I can’t sleep.”

Bret furrowed a brow as he whispered back, “Why not?”

Shawn paused. “I- Can you just come up here?”

That was enough to make Bret’s eyes shoot open, attempting to get a good look at the blond in the dark room.

Shawn wanted him in the bed? With him?

“What? Shawn, I don’t know-”

“It’s just…I feel bad that you’re sleeping on some uncomfy hotel couch. There’s plenty of room up here for the both of us.”

Well, that was half of the truth. Yes, Shawn did feel bad about stealing Bret’s bed. However, his request stemmed from something deeper.

Ever since breaking up with Marty, Shawn always had a difficult time falling asleep since he wasn’t used to going to bed alone.

It wasn’t as much of an issue when he roomed with Scott. The man allowed Shawn to cuddle with him, no questions asked. Scott knew that Shawn wasn’t doing it to hit on him, but because it really did help him fall asleep.

But since Scott was out partying that night, Shawn didn’t have him as an option.

“I promise you, I’m fine. I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Bret,” Shawn pleaded. “Please.”

The urgency in Shawn’s voice was enough to cause concern. But as concerned as Bret was, he had his own reasons as to why he didn’t want to share a bed with Shawn – the main reason being that he didn’t trust himself being so close to the man in such a private setting.

But with Shawn basically begging him, who was he to say no?

“Ok, ok. I’m coming up.”

Shawn felt relieved when the bed shifted behind him, his breathing already beginning to even out now that a familiar presence was near him.

Bret made a conscious effort to keep a respectful distance between them, but after a few silent minutes had passed, he felt Shawn shift closer, the blond’s back now pressed firmly against Bret’s chest.

Bret went still, afraid of how his body would react if he moved too suddenly. Shawn let out another content sigh as he felt Bret’s warm skin pressed onto his back.

Realizing that he was probably making Bret uncomfortable, Shawn turned around, facing Bret as he laid his head beside the man’s shoulder. “Is this ok,” Shawn whispered.

Bret thought he should be the one asking Shawn that question. He answered, “Yeah. Is-” Bret stopped himself before deciding to go ahead, “Is this ok?” He asked as he placed a hand gently onto Shawn’s waist.

A blush quickly made its way onto Shawn’s face, which luckily Bret could barely see in the dark. Shawn answered softly, “Yes.”

Bret then tightened the hold, bringing Shawn closer to him. He had no idea what was going on or why it was happening, but he wasn’t going to question it.

Bret then heard Shawn ask, “Is it ok if I lay my head on your chest?” Shawn knew he was pushing his limits, hoping that Bret wouldn’t literally kick him out of the bed.

But he was pleasantly surprised to hear Bret say, “Go for it.” Bret only hoped that Shawn didn’t pick up on the sound of his quickening heart rate.

Shawn shifted closer, placing his head on Bret’s chest as he sighed, “You’re so warm.”

Bret trailed a hand lightly up Shawn’s lower back, causing the younger man’s heart to quicken as well. “You too,” said Bret.

With both men finally settled in, they went quiet for a while, enjoying the feeling of being wrapped around each other. They’ve hugged plenty of times as friends. But this felt different, their close embrace seeming to affect them in ways it never had before.

And with Shawn so close and the mood feeling right, Bret felt like now was the time to tell Shawn what he’d been wanting to for so long. “Shawn,” Bret whispered, hoping the younger man hadn’t fallen asleep yet.

Shawn tilted his head up in Bret’s direction, the older man looking down into Shawn’s eyes as they twinkled in the moonlight. God, he’s so beautiful, thought Bret.

“Hmm,” Shawn asked.

“I, um, I-” and just like that, Bret lost his confidence. “Never mind.”

Just as Bret was turning his head to look away, he felt Shawn’s hand resting on his cheek, guiding his face back down to his.

With Bret looking down at him, lips just a breath away, Shawn moved forward, softly kissing Bret on the lips. Bret quickly reciprocated as he pressed his lips firmly against Shawn’s, the kiss turning into sensual, light pecks.

Shawn was the first to pull away, slightly panting as he rested his head onto Bret’s. Bret was panting just as heavily as he tried to catch his breath and calm his pounding heart.

“Shawn-” But he was cut off by the motion of Shawn shaking his head ‘no.’

Shawn settled back onto Bret’s chest, fully relaxing as snuggled closer to the man before whispering, “Thank you. For being here.”

Bret nodded, hoping Shawn felt it because he didn’t trust his voice at the moment.

Bret had so many questions. Questions that Shawn didn’t seem ready to answer.

What did the kiss mean? Did Shawn like him? Did this mean he had a chance with the blond? Did it mean nothing at all?

Bret wrapped his arms tighter around Shawn as the blond’s breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. Bret stayed up a little bit longer, sleep being harder to find as their kiss replayed in his head on a constant loop.

[autolovecraft]

Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch.

To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the enlarged transom; but he could do better with four. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. The moon was shining on the scattered brick fragments and marred facade, and the latch of the great door yielded readily to a touch from the outside. The undertaker grew doubly lethargic in the bitter weather, and seemed to outdo even himself in carelessness.

His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. He had not forgotten the criticism aroused when Hannah Bixby's relatives, wishing to transport her body to the cemetery in the city whither they had moved, found the casket of Judge Capwell beneath her headstone. Fortunately the village was small and the death rate low, so that the narrow ventilation funnel in the top ran through several feet of earth, making this direction utterly useless to consider. At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb.

It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. The pile of tools soon reached, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door. Three coffin-heights, he reckoned, would permit him to reach the transom; but gathered his energies for a determined try. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin!

Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced. It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. The pile of tools soon reached, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door. Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin! Birch? Over the door, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. Birch, in his ghastly situation, was now too low for an easy scramble out of the enlarged transom; but gathered his energies for a determined try. The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass. The skull turned my stomach, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. He had not forgotten the criticism aroused when Hannah Bixby's relatives, wishing to transport her body to the cemetery in the city whither they had moved, found the casket of Judge Capwell beneath her headstone. The moon was shining on the scattered brick fragments and marred facade, and the latch of the great door yielded readily to a touch from the outside. For an impersonal doctor, Davis' ominous and awestruck cross-examination became very strange indeed as he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. His drinking, of course, only aggravated what it was meant to alleviate.

Most distinctly Birch was lax, insensitive, and professionally undesirable; yet I still think he was not an evil man. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he planned to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. He had not forgotten the criticism aroused when Hannah Bixby's relatives, wishing to transport her body to the cemetery in the city whither they had moved, found the casket of Judge Capwell beneath her headstone. Birch, being by temperament phlegmatic and practical, did not shout long; but proceeded to grope about for some tools which he recalled seeing in a corner of the tomb. Davis, who died years ago. He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications. It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the bald fact of imprisonment so far from the tomb. In this twilight too, he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply. You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. After a full two hours Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb.

Well enough to skimp on the thing some way, but you got what you deserved. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. Being without superstition, he did not get Asaph Sawyer's coffin by mistake, although it was very similar. The pile of tools soon reached, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door.

He worked largely by feeling now, since newly gathered clouds hid the moon; and though progress was still slow, he felt heartened at the extent of his encroachments on the top and bottom of the aperture.

An eye for an eye! God, what a rage! As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been just fear, and it may have been encouraging and to others may have been encouraging and to others may have been mocking. The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles! In this twilight too, he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply. To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the enlarged transom; but gathered his energies for a determined try.

He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare. The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch. He was a scoundrel, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself.

Birch was lax, insensitive, and was concerned only in getting the right coffin for the right grave. As he remounted the splitting coffins he felt his weight very poignantly; especially when, upon reaching the topmost one, he heard that aggravated crackle which bespeaks the wholesale rending of wood. As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been mocking. He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had chosen it, how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer.

[yand3r3-everything]

This Time Will Be Different

warnings: using Michael is gr freddy theory, the grs are human-like, reader can’t smell at all. rotting flesh mentioned but not in detail

Hah, this idea really got out of hand… 

Imagine after Michael starts to rot, he has someone hired to help in fnaf 6, just as like a final piece of peace. Henry has that way out, so he knows the reader would be fine and escape. The nights they work, the reader never mentions anything about the rotting smell he himself knows is permeating through the room, even when overloaded with any powerful smell dampener he could find. He’s curious as to why, but his voice is shot. It’s no longer a function. He’s unaware you can’t smell at all, but you keep chatting to fill the boring silence. It’s incredibly pleasing from all the other horror of being alone before. Surprisingly, you still don’t stop even when the animatronics start coming after you and him. He grows surprisingly attached to you through the few nights and is torn now. He wants to do justice, but also stay with his new obsession. He hates he knows it won’t work though. He doesn’t have long no matter what. 

He... doesn’t deserve it anyway, not after what he did to his brother. His chest tightens as he looks at the fear in your eyes as Henry starts to talk on a tape. 

“I do have a way out for you, but something tells me this isn’t what one of you wants. One of you is right where you want to be.” The rest is blocked out as Michael hugs you, then pulls away and takes off the mask, rendering you speechless. You’re pushed towards that exit by him, it screaming for him for you to get out while you can. He takes off a glove and looks at his purple rotting hands one last time as the place burns. Wishing what happened to him last time turned out differently. But then again, would he have even met you? Now, It doesn’t matter. 

... At least the flames don’t hurt. 

-----------------------------------------------

Once the new place was built on top of the pizzeria that burned, you got the job as a nightguard with Vanessa. It was joked about how uptight and aggressive she can be, she’s stressed beyond belief of watching the whole place and another guard would be useful. 

She already showed you everything but the new animatronics. Didn’t show you how anything worked or the rules though, which feels like a problem. Just from looking at the posters, they’re much more brightly designed than all others that have been seen before. That and much more human-like. 

That brings your mind back to that terrifying night the previous burned down. Mostly about Michael. How was his body like that? More importantly, how the FUCK was he even able to move? And how could you not smell him? You knew it was bad, but not so bad to not sense rotting flesh!

“Hey!” Vanessa snaps her fingers in front of your face. “Don’t go dazing off already! Honestly, if you’re this bad already, it would almost be better to just leave the whole place to me.” 

Sheesh, did someone steal the rest of her favorite cereal when she woke up? 

-------------------------------------

You both meet again the next night, her now tossing you to figure things out yourself. Hospitable much?

It’s not too long before the doors close permanently for the night.  

You decided to go on a hunt to see these new animatronics. Or uh, would the term Android be more suiting now? 

Your body freezes as a child runs to a door and slides a key in, opening it. Well, he’s certainly not supposed to be here at midnight. There’s no way he could have run away from his parents, or parent, or whoever was his caregiver of him. They more than likely would have told security and they did a search. That or maybe ran away from a bad family, or maybe parents' sudden death.

Your footsteps are quiet in approaching. It would have probably been better to call out, but curiosity got the better of you with what he must be doing. 

Upon closer inspection, it didn’t take long to find out. The door opened to reveal a bear-like android if the ears on his head are any indication. Of course, no matter what they’d stick with the bear mascot they had from the beginning. Could the name “Freddy” really be involved otherwise? 

Your body slams to the wall out of sight. If there is one thing that I’ve learned from the previous place, these things are NOT friendly. But then why is this kid so willing to release it from what was maybe a locked room? He must have tricked the kid! 

“Way to go, superstar!” That one line alone melted your heart FOR the kid. “I know how to get you out of here. Climb back into my chest cavity.”

Wait… what!? 

“There is still time, but we must hurry. If spotted, I will certainly be taken back to my room.”

Your brain is having a hard time processing this. An anima- android, that actually wants to help someone? Could it be because it’s not midnight yet? But he seems so… friendly and sentient. Kids are usually pretty perceptive if something is good or bad. There’s probably something you should be doing, like bringing him to Vanessa to try calling his parents. But if your earlier thought is correct, that wouldn’t really help anything. Plus with how snappy that woman is, you don't trust her around the kid. 

Ugh, you’re going to regret this. Aren’t you? 

“Hey, kid, Freddy!” you yell out as Freddy starts to walk away. 

He freezes and looks at you like a deer in headlights. 

“Listen, kid, I don’t know what your deal is with not trusting Vanessa, the other guard, but as a new guard, I’m pretty crabby with her not showing or telling me more, and want to help you. I have no idea how you got here or why, but I’ll still help. If we run into her though, do NOT tell her I’m helping you, or it’s all over for all of us.” 

For what feels like a solid minute, he just stares at you. 

“...Fine. But we have to go now!” His muffled voice answered through Freddy. That’s still pretty jarring. You nod in agreement.

------------------------------------------------------------

Michael can’t believe it! You’re alive! He can’t lie, he slightly thought Henry was bluffing about an exit. 

Anyway, with them here, is it really such a curse? No. Though being a human no longer, it does beat staying as a walking corpse like his cursed father who won’t stay dead either. He can feel the man’s presence somewhere around. Just not exactly where. 

It doesn’t matter. This is his second chance. This time will be different. This time, he will save his brother instead. It may not be his brother, but he looks too similar. 

This time, he will keep you safe as well. To feel you again, even as a cursed robot. At least it’s a pretty friendly one almost no matter what. 

It was hard to not fully take over Freddy and hug you right then. He’ll do it later. After all, there’s a good six hours at least. He’s not stupid, he knows they’re not going to make it before those auto doors fully close for the night. 

That’s okay. Whatever his father has planned, he won’t let him get his hands on either one either way. He’ll make sure of it. 

-------------------------------------------------

I kinda want to make this an expanded fic. no idea why I wrote Michaels thoughts as not first person, but I’ll probably change that if I do decide to make it more of a fic. Can you tell I’m not too big a fan of Vanessa? 

[pricemarshfield]

a little evil

[Image ID: the shadow of a woman with devil horns against a wall, colorized red and with the text “a little evil” on it. End ID.] (Image Source: original source site no longer up (Potaca.com), found on Pinterest.)

Pairing: MC x Poppy

Rating: M for milder-than-canon-typical sexual content (minors still DNI).

Word Count: 4068.

Summary: A canon-ish imagining of right after the final scene of Queen B, or: resolved emotional tension for the Poppy route. Requested by anon.

Warnings: Second person POV, drinking (not to the point of getting drunk).

Created For: @anyfandomfluffbingo​, filling out the “I guess today’s my lucky day”, drinking buddies, and public sex squares.

Read on AO3 here or below the cut.

The day of graduation, you and Zoey move as fast as your six-inch heels will carry you on your way to the ceremony. "Would you slow down?" you say, eyes more on your own feet than on any of the big ceremony here for her (and the rest of the student body, of course). It doesn't help that her muscles still ache from a night spent with Poppy, and then from staying up just thinking about it.

Zoey looks back at you with a wide smile, somehow not missing a single step. "I can't, Mom's got me on a tight schedule. Graduate by noon, day drink at the afterparty until dusk, and then the tour bus leaves at midnight."

"Don't tell me she's coming on the road with you."

Zoey's eyes go wide in horror. "God, no. Bunk beds and crappy dive bar food with no one to talk to but each other sounds like the set up for an episode of Snapped. But now that she's taking me seriously, she's showing me the tricks of the trade. We're meeting up in LA to prep for some label meetings." She leads the way up the stands and makes a beeline for Felicity who has, surprise, surprise, managed to secure the entire front row for herself.

"You're late," Felicity says, not looking up from her pamphlet.

"That's on me, Momma Wade," you say with a charming smile, on the off-chance she does glance over. "After everything we've been through, I'm having a little trouble saying goodbye to this place."

"You get used to it," says a familiar voice from behind you, and you turn to see Luis and Hayley climbing the bleacher steps. "Plus you get one hell of a reunion when you come back. I've only been gone a year, and my Alpha bros went nuts!"

With the same ditzy smile as her sister, Hayley adds, "OMG, I can't wait! Ohio still has no idea I'm here."

Zoey blinks rapidly a couple times, looking puzzled. "Wait...Hayley, if you graduated last year, shouldn't Ohio have graduated too?"

"People think that all the time, but I'm actually one minute older, so I get to do things one whole year before her."

That gets Felicity to look up at them at last. "Oh, honey. That is not how that works..."

"Maybe I could be of some assistance. After all, in another life, I was a professor."

"Ina!" Looking over your shoulder at the familiar voice, you see Ina following Luis and Hayley up the steps. "What're you doing here?"

Your old professor smiles, looking more relaxed than she has in months. "Celebrating the end of an era. The day that my students embark upon the world was always one of my favorites. Congratulations to you both."

"We won't be embarking on anything if they start without us. C'mon!"

Zoey hurries you down to the field, and before you split up to go to your seats, you give her a hug on the sidelines. "The next time I see you, we'll officially be one degree hotter."

"Like we need it," she says, beaming.

As you settle into your seat near the rest of the H's, Steinhelm takes the podium, looking every bit of 'let's get this over with'. With all the razzle dazzle of a kid's birthday party magician, she whips out her cue cards and starts to read verbatim. "'Graduates and honored guests, we've gathered here to celebrate the outgoing class of 2021--'"

Ford starts off the chaos, screaming, "Momma, we made it!"

All around you, the graduates start to cheer, and from the stands, you see Luis and some of the other returning Alphas raise their shirts to show 'GRADATES' spelled across their chests.

"That's not even spelled right!" Steinhelm says, mouth falling open in shock, somehow? This isn't even gonna be the worst thing to happen today, guaranteed.

Luis yells to the stage over the noise of the crowd. "Tripp's flight got cancelled. He was the 'U'."

Steinhelm's fingers blanch as they grip the sides of the podium, and you hear her heave a heavy sigh. In a quiet voice that still gets picked up by the mic, she says, "Stick to the script, Marguerite. It's almost over. Ahem. 'This year's crop of graduates are some of the brightest, most amazing trailblazers--'"

"Byew byew byew!" Carter yells, clearly having the time of his life.

You're hardly going to pass up an opportunity to let loose before college ends, so you join in with a loud whoop.

"That's it!" Steinhelm balls up her cue cards and throws them in the crowd, hitting Clint Burton in the face, full-force.

"Ow, my eye!"

"You wanna know the truth? I hated every second of this year! Namely because I was undermined at every turn! I cancelled the Person to Watch Award and shut down that awful blog...seconds later, it was back and worse than ever!"

Chloe raises her hand, as though there's the slightest chance of her being called on, and then starts talking anyway. "Okay, but, like, without The T, how else were we supposed to know who we're better than?"

Ignoring her, Steinhelm continues, "I banned parties, and the Alphas threw the biggest rager Belvoire's ever seen--"

"Oh, BTDubs, I talked to the national chapter, greased a few palms, and they told me to tell you...'suck it'," Liam says, trademark smarmy grin on his face.

The brothers whoop and cheer, and you watch as Steinhelm's existential crisis sets in. "I give up. You're all just a bunch of spoiled brats that are going to make the world a worse place...and the only saving grace is that I'll be dead long before any of you affect the world in any meaningful way. Now, in an effort to get you off of my campus as quickly as possible, allow me to introduce the student you voted as class speaker..." She rips open an envelope perched on the podium with the soulless, glazed-over gaze of a woman who got into education to make a difference. "And...of course, it's Bea Hughes."

Sweet.

The crowd erupts in cheers and applause as she sulks over to the chair waiting for her on the stage, and you make your way to the podium. "You all voted for little ol' me? Oh, you shouldn't have!"

Poppy jumps up from her seat and storms the stage, ripping the mic away from you. "We didn't. This 'vote' was faker than Ohio's bottom lip!"

"Well, I did," Carter says with a smile. "Bea killed it this year!"

Emi sits up to her full height to be seen over the rest of the crowd. "I voted for Bea too! She always knows what to say to soothe the savage beast within!"

"And who the eff are you?" Poppy hisses, nostrils flaring.

"...Emi Less? We had Stats together, and you told me to calculate the odds of you remembering my name?" She frowns. "...they weren't very high."

Erik interrupts her. "Bea! Bea! Bea!"

The chant slowly picks up speed until the entire crowd is cheering for you to take the stage. And you can't let your adoring audience down, now can you? "Sorry, Pop. The people have spoken." You grab hold of the mic and then give Poppy a shove before you can think too much about it, sending her over the stage's edge and right into Clint Burton's lap.

"Ah, my nuts!"

Jeez, overshare, much? You wait for the crowd to settle before looking out at the sea of your peers. "I've spent most of this year hunting down haters and making them own up to why they didn't like me. Most of them were full of it...but after hearing their stories, I can't think of a better way to end my time here than by telling my side of things. Without a doubt, Belvoire introduced me to some of the worst people I've ever met."

Your eyes flick to Poppy, almost involuntarily, thinking back to your first meeting. First and last memory of Belvoire, indeed.

"But it also introduced me to some of the best." You smile at Zoey, who waves a hand like you're in The Princess Diaries at the crowd who turn to stare at her and get a picture for their Picta. "My first days on campus were practically perfect. I mean...who else can say they've danced with Jaylen Riaz and watched Poppy throw a hate-fueled tantrum?"

"I forgot about that! She was all--" Liam rushes into the aisle so everyone can see before throwing on his best scrunched-up Poppy face, taking his voice up an octave, and stomping his foot. "'No. No! Everyone, shut up! This is all some sick joke!'"

Carter's laughing a little too much to make his impression of himself convincing, but it's so charming, you're sure no one cares. "Hey, 'babe'! Did you like the performance? I really worked on my dancing--"

"'How dare you help her, you stupid, ugly, pathetic idiot! We're officially over!'"

Poppy's pushed herself off of Clint by now, and her face is flushed red with rage. "One more word, and you'll sound like that permanently, Gill."

"I even bonded with woman's best friend..." You open your purse, and Cutiepie pops his head out, eyes wide at the attention. He barks once, and the crowd melts.

"He's so cute!" Abigail coos, finally showing something other than love of all things gothic.

"But the longer I spent on campus, the more immersed I got in the inner workings of Belvoire. The takedowns and overzealous fans...no matter what came my way, I rose to every challenge." You pause, wondering whether you should mention the gala...but nothing that happened there was fun, not really, so you skip to the good part. "Not to mention when I kicked Poppy's ass and introduced her to the family of algae growing at the bottom of the fountain.

Trixie's mouth drops open. "Damn...I always knew Helena was a savage."

"Now that I think about it, this is the first year where there hasn't been a Person to Watch Award in the school's history..."

Steinhelm brightens at that. "That's right! Maybe I did manage to do some good this year--"

"Soooo I'll take it upon myself to crown one and continue this great tradition!"

"Never mind."

While Steinhelm silently has an aneurysm, you detach the mic from the podium and observe the crowd. Not like you need to; there's only one person here you'd even consider giving this to. "I personally award the Person to Watch Award to Zoey Wade! She's about to take the world by storm, and in ten years, you're all gonna be telling people how you went to school with the Zoey Wade!"

The crowd cheers again as Zoey beams and basks in the well-deserved attention. "Oh, stahp."

"This year has been one for the books. I ruled over you as your first new queen since the beginning of Poppy's reign...which Poppy responded to by going into literal mourning."

"I had that dress burned the second she took it off," Veronica says, mostly directed at her livestream but loud enough for everyone to hear. "You're all welcome."

"And I've done everything I could've hoped to secure my throne, including banishing a less-than-loyal subject..." Your eyes flash over to Michael's empty chair. Rest in pieces, creep. "Making famous allies and putting fake allies in their place." For just a moment, you get stuck on thinking about cherry-bloody Poppy, but you brush past it. "I got in touch with my roots, unveiled the coward cosplaying as the fox in my henhouse, and showed everyone that if you're coming for the queen, you'd better not miss."

"Bro..." Ford says, looking up at you adoringly, which is only like...60% weird. "Bea saved me from the ultimate embarrassment. For real, we all need to bow down."

"Not to mention that hog wrestling thing was kinda hot."

Uh, good to know Carter's into country girls. You'll have to introduce him to some of your cousins who aren't gay. Anyway, back to the speech; it's your moment, hello? "Every incredible moment was all thanks to the fans that believed in me, voted for me, and semi-stalked my every move. But now it's time to move on to my next epic adventure, starting with launching my own company! It's time to take the skills I've learned in managing my own image and expand on a global scale."

"Would you wrap it up, Farmsville?" Poppy says, studying her nails with a poorly-feigned nonchalance. "I'd like to graduate before the school year starts again."

You roll your eyes and head to the edge of the stage to look at your adoring public one last time. "It was a wild ride going from the rolling plains of Farmsville to here, and I'm going to miss each and every one of you--"

"Me too?" Crispin asks.

Barf. "Like I said, I'm going to miss almost each and every one of you...but the person I'm going to miss the most is Poppy Min-Sinclair." Here goes nothing. Or everything. Your heart's in your throat but you've come this far, gotta see it through. "And I know she'll miss me too."

A gasp goes up from the crowd, and as you leave the stage to make your way to where Poppy stands fuming, every eye on the field lands on you two. Her teeth clench as she growls out, "Take it back, right now, Farmsville."

Oof, that's gonna hurt when the adrenaline stops pumping long enough for you to process it. In a low voice, just for her, you say, "No." Her eyes don't suddenly soften, her scowl doesn't slip into a smile, but her expression shifts, still furious but--calculating, enough that you find the courage to continue. "After two years at each other's throats, there's just one thing I need to say, here and in front of everyone..." Deep breath. You've got this. "Poppy, it's always been you. From the moment you first insulted me on the quad, there's just been this spark between us."

"It's called loathing. If you bothered to visit a single English class this year, you'd know that."

Poppy doesn't break your gaze as she says it, though, and you're stupid enough to hope that means something.

"I loathe you too, Pop."

Before she can get another word in edgewise, you grip the back of her neck and pull her in, crushing your lips to hers and tangling your fingers in her hair with a passionate kiss. She bites your lip again, the same spot as last night. You're reluctant to pull away, but you do have to graduate, probably, so you do, hurrying back onstage before handing the mic back to Steinhelm with a smile.

"Alright, Dean Steinhelm, go ahead and take us out."

"If only..." She steps up to the podium and waves her hands over the crowd with all the energy of just a shell of a woman. "With the power vested in me by your tuition payments, I now pronounce you Belvoire's graduating class of 2021. Now get the hell off my campus before I call the cops."

Ford rips his shirt off. Chloe jumps up, locking her legs around Carter's waist, and maybe you'll have to rethink introducing him to your cousin. You bound down the stairs of the stage, leading the way to the afterparty to celebrate saying goodbye to Belvoire University one last time. That's the plan, anyway, until you feel a grip on your arm, tight enough to bruise, yanking you out of the party procession.

"Ow! Who the hell do you--"

"What the fuck was that about?"

Poppy's not madder than you've ever seen her; that still goes to confronting her about Art Nakamura in the fountain, with losing Apodeia at a not-so-close second. But she's pissed, eyes boring into you with such malice that a lesser woman would've shrunk back. You're kind of tempted yourself.

"Well? Your own self-importance got your tongue?"

"No," you snap. "Guys, go on ahead, we'll join you."

Zoey looks at you with such pity in her eyes, and you kind of want to flip her off, but you know it wouldn't be that satisfying, since she's definitely right to pity you. Also, Felicity might kill you, and you'd rather not take that chance. Carter looks like he wants to stay and see how the chaos plays out, Veronica's got her phone out and is not-so-subtly taking pictures, and even Ina's half-smiling.

But they leave eventually, leaving you and Poppy alone on the edge of the field, Steinhelm walking past you and refusing to look at either of you.

"I--"

The thing is, you have no idea what to say. That you didn't mean it? Too cowardly, not after you've gotten this far. That you said it to fuck with her? A lie, and one no one would believe. That you meant every word?

Terrifying. But you're not backing out in the final quarter, so you take a deep breath and say, "I said what I've wanted to for ages, Poppy."

Poppy hasn't let go of your arm this entire time, and a thrill runs through you when she only tightens her grip, shifting closer to you. "Why?"

"Huh? What do you mean, why?"

"Why did you want to say it?"

You roll your eyes and pull away. "Whatever. I'm not feeding your massive ego more than I already have. You have my number if you want to reach me and actually talk about us."

"There isn't an us!" Poppy calls after you, and you let it roll off your back with only a little misery.

The sound of heels on Belvoire's cobblestone pathways follows you. You refuse to look back, give her the satisfaction of knowing she gets to you (more than she already knows, anyway). She follows you all the way back to the party house, a place you're pretty sure Liam's renting as a way to apologize/grovel for forgiveness. Or bought, actually, knowing this crowd.

To his credit, the bouncer doesn't ask any questions, just steps aside and lets you both walk in. You make a beeline for the bar, feeling in your bones that you need a drink before you can even start to have this conversation. Poppy slips onto the stool next to you, staring at your face with an intensity that's unsettling, and a little exciting.

"Can I just get a beer?"

Poppy rolls her eyes. "Seriously? Has your taste not evolved at all?"

You turn to look at her fully for the first time since ignoring her. "What do you want?"

"For you to answer my question! And a pomegranate martini."

That does actually sound kind of good, but you keep your expression annoyed anyway. "Oh, goody, I guess today's my lucky day since you won't fuck off. Do you need me to pay? I know money's tight, and I'm nothing if not a good date."

"This isn't--" Poppy glowers at you, cutting herself off. "My question?" You blink at her, confused, and she makes a quiet, frustrated noise, grabs both your drinks, and drags you into another room under the eyes of literally everyone. Well, more like a closet, but it's big enough that you're not touching, though you're close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of her. "Why did you say it?"

"I already told you, Poppy," you say, opening your beer and wishing you'd ordered something stronger. "I said what I've wanted to for awhile."

"So after you already beat me, you just--what, decided to confess you have feelings for me in front of the entire school?"

"What do you care?" you hiss. "We graduated. You don't have to see any of them ever again if you don't want to, so sorry if you're embarrassed, but--"

"I'm not embarrassed," Poppy says, getting further into your space, enough that your noses brush. "I'm mad. I don't need you trying to manipulate me for--what, every last bit of clout you'll get as the benevolent former Queen? Forgiving anyone, I see that you're playing right into your brand. Well, fuck you. I'm not going to be your pet project--"

"What the fuck? No, that's not--you think I'm trying to use you for my image?" 

It's not the dumbest thing you've ever heard Poppy say, but it's coming pretty goddamn close. You're not appearing like some angelic saint here; you're being honest with a group of people in a way that makes your heart race, makes you terrified, makes you want more than anything to have done this over a quiet night in. Except you were never going to, not with her. She wouldn't have listened to you.

Except that she's listening now.

"You're...not? No, that's bullshit. I know what I am, there's no way."

"It's not bullshit. Yeah, I know you're kind of a monster, but--"

"Rich and bitchy is your type?"

"But I care about you, asshole. Maybe I shouldn't! Hell, I know I shouldn't. But I do. And I'm not taking it back."

"You don't mean that. Really?"

Poppy seems genuinely confused, and the stupid, sentimental part of your heart (which is, to be honest, most of it) breaks at it. "Poppy, I like you, okay? Nothing more than that, no plots or schemes or anything. It's not--I'm sorry I did it like that, since you clearly--hated it, and me, but I just...it was stupid. I'm getting out of--"

"You mean that." She says it like she's just realizing it herself.

You sigh. "Yeah. Of course I do."

Before you can open the door, Poppy puts her hands on yours over the handle, shocking you into stillness. "Don't--give me a second to think."

"Don't give you a second to think?"

"You know what I meant, bitch." You do, and the insult's not said with her usual venom, so you wait for her, trying not to be obvious about the way you can't look away from her face, the little furrow between her eyebrows that means she's concentrating, the way her drink has oh-so-slightly stained her bottom lip, her fingers lacing through yours. "I'm not--used to that."

"To...?"

"To--people meaning what they say," Poppy says, and then rolls her eyes at nothing, glaring at you like you've done literally anything to piss her off. "When they say things like that. I don't..." She pauses, and you let her, much as you want to interrupt her and tell her you do mean it, you do, beg her to listen to you, to see you-- "I don't know what to do with that."

"What, and you think I do?" You laugh. "Poppy, my first and only other relationship ended because she moved out of town and just didn't tell me. And I was 14, so it barely counts. This is--terrifying. Not that you're--actually, no, you are terrifying. But you're good terrifying. This is...I feel like I'm going to fuck up and ruin things. I feel like I have." 

"You haven't," Poppy interrupts. "I'm not promising anything, but you haven't ruined it. Yet. I'm sure you can find a way."

"Oh, fuck you," you say, a little confused and a lot happy, and you pull her in. Poppy melts into it, softer than she has in any of your other trysts, arms winding around your neck. With her heels on to your sneakers, you're of a height to each other. It makes it easier to pull her in, hands on her hips. Poppy pulls back, though she doesn't stay gone for long, pressing quick, sweet kisses to the column of your throat, taking your breath away. "You do--ah--realize this door doesn't lock, right? Anyone could walk in?"

"Let them," Poppy says, voice low, sending a shiver up your spine. "You already told everyone something's happening. Show them how much you need me."

And she sounds, just a little, like she wants you to show her, too, so you grab her hand, press a quick kiss to her palm to watch her shiver, and bring it up your skirt. "I need you. Only you. Always been you, Poppy."

She kisses you again; you can feel her smiling into it. You can't help but smile back.

[khaotic-kitsunes]

Drifting

I had so much fun writing up the introduction to this request! You’ll probably see why in just a minute too...but, fun fact, the lovely Khaos, the newest addition to the blog, helped me out with this request when I found myself a little stuck!

Khaos added a helpful amount of amazing to the ending scene, so be sure to thank them for their amazing input! Oh, and make sure ya let us know what you think, okay?

I would also like to add that I know it’s been quiet here on the blog and I’m sorry for that but personally, I’ve had some...curveballs thrown at me health wise so you probably won’t see a lot from me. So, yeah.

Navigation 

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

.

 Tamaki slowly peeked up above the ocean’s surface, keeping as quiet as possible to remain unnoticed while he allowed his eyes to land upon the object of his curiosities and affections; swallowing thickly when he realised that you had shown up at exactly sunset yet again, just like always.

 And, as always, you were alone. You had no companions that could prevent him from stealing you away to his secret cave and no one to help you if he decided to keep you to himself. An idea that appealed to him more with each of your visits to the beach.

 What interested Tamaki most, however, was the fact that with each of your visits, you made sure to only come by the secluded beach at sunset; when everyone else had gone home for the day. Tourists seemed to believe all the local’s stories of monsters beneath the water’s surface, waiting for the sun to go down so that their attacks could go unnoticed until it was too late.

 Of course, it was all nonsense. Tamaki was the only merperson to occupy this particular beach and he had been for quite a few years now; any and all monsters were long gone, migrated to places that weren’t so aware of the dangers that lurked beneath the depths.

 But it was also because of the late hour that you came to the beach, that Tamaki couldn’t approach you. He was all too aware of how a human woman might react to a random man approaching them in the water when the sun was beginning to set, shadows casting over the sky and melting the beautiful orange hues into an inky blackness.

 So, instead, Tamaki had to be satisfied with watching you from afar. Appreciating your beauty and daydreaming about all the different possibilities of meeting you; how he could befriend you and get closer, all while knowing it would be an impossibility.

 .

 ~  ~  ~

 .

 Tamaki stared at you with wide, saucer-like eyes, his mouth hanging open while you swam towards him slowly; your body remaining below the water’s surface, hiding the fact that you were without your bikini top.

 The very same bikini top that he held in his hands, a scrap of clothing that he had been inspecting out of confusion given that it was nearly midnight and he had thought that you had left the beach hours ago like you normally would.

 “…I think that’s mine” Your softly uttered words startled him, making him jolt and sink down further into the water while he released the bikini top; allowing it to float up to the surface, harmlessly bobbing up and down with the waves between the both of you.

 “Sorry, I uh, didn’t realise that someone else was here” He muttered out a pathetic excuse for an apology, trying his best not to let his tentacles move into your line of sight; desperate to at least seem normal, even if it wouldn’t be a lasting impression.

  Tamaki gulped nervously as he watched you reach for the floating bikini top, averting his gaze when you shuffled around to put the piece of clothing back on; the hurried movements of your fingers catching his attention with how the water splashed from the clumsy actions. The silence beginning to feel awkward while Tamaki tried his best not to look at you before you were ready, not wanting to come off as a pervert. Not to you.

 “It’s okay, I didn’t realise anyone else was here either. Not this late at night anyways and certainly not with the way everyone goes on about the monsters that are waiting for sunset so they can eat you” You rolled your eyes as the words left your lips, briefly giving Tamaki a once over before nodding your head to yourself; making Tamaki wonder if you were giving him the benefit of the doubt despite how strange it was for him to be here at this time, more so considering that he had technically been holding onto your bikini top.

 Then again, it would make sense for you to assume that he had thought it was a piece of seaweed; because honestly, that’s exactly what Tamaki had first thought when he picked it up.

 It wasn’t uncommon for people to investigate strange and/or suspicious objects that were found floating in the ocean, only to cast them away as quickly as they had been found. Tamaki had seen humans do so more times than he could count and luckily for him, he had had the brains to immediately release the skimpy piece of clothing; a guilty man would have tried to hide it, or simply kept held of it. Not Tamaki though, he had dropped it, allowed you to take it back and even averted his gaze so that you could have some form of privacy while fixing your top; even if it hadn’t been a great deal of privacy. There was only so much he could offer given the circumstances after all.

 However, even with these facts in mind, Tamaki could easily see that you were still on guard and he was happy to see such a thing. It reassured him that you didn’t trust random strangers in the water just because they had been polite enough to look away while you were topless.

 “Still, I am sorry…about your top, I mean. If I had of known what it was…” Tamaki trailed off as his face flushed with embarrassment, the tips of his pointed ears beginning to turn a similar shade of scarlet while he dipped further into the gentle waves of the night’s warm ocean waters; only stopping when his nose was beneath the salty waters.

 “It’s fine, okay? No harm, no foul” You hummed out the words in a soft voice, swimming around to face the embarrassed merman; all the while being completely unaware of what he truly was.

 “So…what brings you out so late?” Your question made Tamaki’s body go stiff, anxiety rushing through his system while his brain scrambled to think of something, anything to say in response to such an innocently asked question; anything but the truth, that is.

 There was no way known that Tamaki could tell you the truth behind his daily visits to this beach, especially when he could live happily and stealthily beneath the ocean waves for the rest of his life if it weren’t for your presence on this beach.

 Tamaki wanted to slap himself. Here he was, minding his own business in the ocean when the opportunity that he would have killed for, landed in his lap. The chance to speak with you, instead of just stare at you from afar and yet here he was, completely and utterly unable to get a single word out; instead, the fears of what could happen filled his mind.

 The terrifying what ifs of you hating him if he opened his mouth and said the wrong thing tormenting him into a nervous silence. Tamaki’s only relief from the situation, was that he would have the memories of having gotten close to you without making you scream and panic; though that also meant that no one would notice if he were to steal you away in that moment, if he took you to a place that no one would ever hope to find.

 But that was something that he couldn’t do and definitely something that Tamaki shouldn’t think about, unless he wanted to fuel the desires that he so often pushed aside. You would surely hate him if he were to do even half of the things that he had thought about.

 “Well, I guess I’ll see you around…” You mumbled out the farewell awkwardly, turning away from Tamaki in order to swim back towards the shore, no longer able to enjoy the solitude of an empty beach.

 “Uh, wait!” Tamaki called out to you again, finally able to find his voice once more as he reached out for you, his hand closing around your arm. Sealing his choice of interaction with you when you turned to face him. He should have let you leave.

 “Your…um, your strap, it’s loose…” He barely managed to mumble out the words without humiliating himself, averting his gaze when he found himself unable to meet your eyes; not needing the added kick of self-loathing on top of his nervousness.

 “You’ll lose your top again if you don’t fix it…”

 .

 “Oh. Well, do you mind?”

 .

 Tamaki gulped nervously as you turned your back to him once more, allowing him to reach for the loose strings belonging to your bikini top; needing to untie the knot that you had created in a rush minutes ago. If Tamaki were telling the truth, the knot probably would have held, but at the same time, he wouldn’t get another chance to let his skin brush against your own.

 Now, he was in heaven, making sure to tie a strong knot while at the same time, being sure that it wasn’t so tight that you wouldn’t be able to undo it yourself later on.

 “There…all done” He mumbled out the words under his breath when he was finished tying the knot, his fingers lingering on your skin for a brief moment, wanting more; though you pulled away before he could get ahead of himself.

 Leaving Tamaki to breathe a sigh of release, all while silently cursing both himself and all of his pent-up desires. More so when you spun around to smile at him, the radiance you gave off nearly blinding his mopey self.

 “You’re beautiful…!” Tamaki blurted out the words before he could stop himself, quickly slapping his hands over his mouth with his eyes going wide in a mix of shock and horror. Mortified that he had said something like that without realising.

 Your eyes went wide, the smile fading from your lips and making Tamaki wish that he had legs so that he could kick himself. Unaware that you weren’t upset, but rather the opposite, never having been so earnestly complimented before; it brought an unfamiliar warmth to your cheeks and to your heart.

 “Um…thanks…” Tamaki watched you as you swam closer to him, torn between escaping to the ocean’s depths and closing the gap between the two of you; desperate for both, yet knowing better than to actually reach for the object of his desires.

 With his mind struggling to choose between the two options, Tamaki froze in place at the worst time; allowing you to move closer until he felt your warm toes brush over his wriggling tentacles, fear filling him when you jolted back in surprise. Your eyes scanning the dark waters for seaweed.

 “What’s…wrong?” Tamaki mentally slapped himself for asking while he watched you lower your head closer to the water’s surface, still searching for seaweed that he knew you wouldn’t find. He was just thankful that it was so late in the night, making it nearly impossible for you to see anything below the surface; you weren’t like him, you didn’t have eyes unaffected by the dark.

 .

 “Well, it’s just…I thought that something touched my leg…”

 .

 Tamaki moved his tentacles as far away from you as he could, praying that the darkness would be enough to push aside your curiosity, but apparently, it was too late; your hands closed around two of his now squirming tentacles as he tried to pull them free of your hold.

 “Y-You…you’re a…” You breathed out in amazement, eyes wide as you stared at him and though it wasn’t in fear, Tamaki couldn’t take it. He wriggled his tentacles free of your grip and dove deep into the water; fearing what you would do now that you knew what he was.

 .

 “Wait!”

 .

 Tamaki ignored the muffled cry for him to stop, determined not to lose the strength it took to leave you behind instead of dragging you into the depths with him.

 Before Tamaki could get too far away however, he felt your hands close around his tentacles for the second time, causing him to freeze on the spot; heart thundering in his chest. He was already struggling to keep himself contained after having his tentacles grabbed the first time, but now it was too much; his tentacles were sensitive after all.

 Tamaki turned around in the water to look at you with a hunger that he had been pushing aside for far too long; using every last ounce of willpower he had left not to grab you and take you with him to his cave.

 The two of you remained submerged for a moment longer, staring at each other through the impossibly dark ocean water of the night. Tamaki knew you couldn’t see him, but your hold on his tentacles was enough to give you a direction to look at and like this, he had the rare opportunity to take in your breathtaking appearance; enjoying it as much as possible before wrapping some of his tentacles around your body and swimming for the surface.

 You were a human, which meant that you needed oxygen. A fact that he had nearly forgotten for a moment there, but either way; Tamaki wasn’t going to let you die. Not now, not when he could prevent it.

 “I’m not…I’m not gonna—” Tamaki motioned you to stop speaking as you tried to cough at the words, a suggestion that you decided to follow given that it was hard to regain your breath and speak at the same time. Given that Tamaki was no longer trying to swim away and that his tentacles were still wrapped around your body, keeping you afloat so that you didn’t have to put any effort into swimming yourself; you figured that you had time to catch your breath.

 “I was trying to say that I’m not going to turn you in. I was just…surprised, I guess” You rubbed at your neck as you explained yourself, your words making Tamaki’s stress melt away while thoughts of adoration towards you filled his mind.

 It was mind blowing to him that a human that had just discovered his secret wasn’t about to go running off telling everyone that merpeople existed and it certainly made him love you more than he already did.

 “Though, I am a little confused. I’ve heard those stories for years, listening to them as a little girl…how going out into the water at night is a terrible idea because monsters from the ocean will drag you beneath the water and steal you away” Tamaki grimaced as you giggled at the thought, clearly having no idea how close you had come to such a fate; even if the end result would have been different. Tamaki wouldn’t have hurt you, or eaten you alive like the old monsters of the ocean would have; no, he would have done so many different things to you. Things that would surely have you slap him if he dared to say them aloud to you.

 “Well, you know…don’t believe everything you hear I guess…” He managed to get a light-hearted chuckle out as he spoke, deciding that for the moment it would be better to keep you entrapped in his tentacles; mostly so that you couldn’t grab a hold of them again and push him into his instincts more than you already have.

 “I guess so, but I don’t know…you don’t seem so bad. Maybe having you steal me away wouldn’t be so terrible” Tamaki’s features twisted into unfiltered surprise at your giggled words, blood rushing through his ears and completely blocking out whatever it was that you were currently continuing on with.

 It seemed you managed to notice the faraway look in his eyes while his mind worked overtime to process your joke. Going as far as to reach out with your hand to brush your fingertips against his cheek, ripping him from his thoughts and dragging him back to reality; your eyes locking with his heated gaze the moment his attention was back on the present you instead of his fantasy version.

 “…You would let me steal you away?” He pulled your body closer to his with his tentacles as he spoke, the slippery limbs tightening their hold on you ever-so-slightly while you gulped nervously; unable to look away from the merman in front of you.

 “…I…yes, I guess so” You spoke softly, unsure words tasting foreign to your tongue but unregrettable all the same. There was a certain air of importance surrounding the spoken words and now you found yourself slowly beginning to sink into the water with a smiling Tamaki.

 It was amazing, how his eyes had lit up with joy at your uttered words. Though it made you think vaguely of the old fae stories, where your word was a binding contract and if that were to be held in the same regard with mer-people, then it seemed like you had agreed to a new way of life.

 .

 “You won’t regret it, I promise. I’ve got the perfect place in mind for you, you’ll be safe with me…I won’t let anyone steal you away…”

[ragingbookdragon]

Of Nights So Hollow, Of Legends So Great

Night Culture AU!Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: Angst, Uh..Scary? I guess?

Author's Note: This is based on the wonderful @bunnvoid Night Culture AU and I felt compelled to write this at midnight because I couldn't stop thinking about it. Bunn, I hope I did your ideas justice! Honestly, I keep going back and forth between the drawings to make sure! I had fun writing it! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It was said that at the heart of every legend there was a grain of truth. Legends are just pieces of history fabricated beyond wildest belief, built upon by centuries of retelling, each story sewing a new thread into the tapestry from whence it came. But that’s all that legends are. Threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable.

***

The old castle was a legend. Perhaps not the castle itself, but what supposedly resided inside. Supernatural creatures that skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out fresh blood in the night. That was one form of the legend, if you believed it. The other form was that of creatures who skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out evil and destroying it where it plagued innocence.

The chateau lied in the midst of the Devilwood Wilds, just outside the City of Old Gotham. Even during the days when the sun would peek through the gray clouds, it appeared gloomy, blackened stone walls, charred shingles and shutters. The giant Devilwood and Shadow trees prevented sight of the doors of the castle; only the top could be seen, to get the real view, one would’ve had to go into the forest. There was another legend: the horrors of the Wilds.

Whispers on the school-grounds told of a creature, big and terrifying that could be summoned with ritual stones and fresh bat blood; those that summon the beast are never seen again. The adults were less convinced of the idea, though they still forbid their children from reaching even the edges of the forested area. Whilst they believed those that went in were never heard from again, it wasn’t from a creature eating them, but a lack of guidance. Starvation. Wild animals. The freezing fog that made your breath turn to frost.

Timothy remembers hearing those whispers when he passed the old schoolhouse. His mother and father didn’t let him interact with the common children, instead his lessons were taught by private tutors from the wealthiest lands, paid for with the Drake treasure of gold and gemstones.

What more so Timothy remembered was the inhuman being that appeared in his father’s manor, striking down his mother with a slash of black magic, his father following. He remembers the way his father’s eyes rolled back in his skull, fear spreading through his body as he hid in the corner of the room, whimpering and crying. And he most certainly remembered the cold hand of the demon sliding between his shoulder blades before it dug into his skin, piercing his flesh, laughing as he cried out in pain as pricks spread out along his back and down his arms.

Warmth bled down his back as black feathers pushed from his skin and Timothy panted as his fingernails grew in length, sharpening as they darkened. He remembered scrambling to his feet, darting away from the creature as he ran. Forgetting the corpses of his family and staff around him, throwing the door open, bursting into the night, and sprinting down the street, leaving a trail of bloody, black feathers in the direction of the Devilwood Wilds.

***

The first night was the least remembered but the darkest. Violent and corrupting nightmares slithering inside his head as he tossed and turned along the frigid ground in a feverish deathlike state, the wings at his back only growing in size.

The second night was less nightmare-ridden, but much more painful. Timothy had pierced a wing on a stray Devilwood tree, the syrup like poison only infecting the wound. He was hungry and cold. Exhausted and scared. He tried to remember all the books he read as a child of the knights facing the elements for a week in order to ascend knighthood; he couldn’t seem to recall a thing.

The third night seemed to be his last. He lay huddled up against a raised Shadow tree root, the ebony wood providing stability for his wounded wing. Timothy sniffled, dragging his knees to his chest as he lay his chin on his arms, ignoring the grumbling of his stomach as it ate itself in hunger.

A tree branch creaked above him, and he craned his neck up, eyes widening when he saw the glowing eyes of the masked creature. The legends were right. The creature’s head twisted sideways, reminding Timothy of an owl, then the other way, like it was observing him. It made a noise and he scrambled to the floor of the forest, curling his injured wing above his head and over his body to protect himself.

THUNK!

Timothy whimpered, ready to be torn to shreds, but when no vicious claws or snapping teeth came at him, he carefully peered between his open wing. There lie a satchel, as long as his forearm and as wide as his middle was. He looked up towards the tree branch to where the creature had sat, but there was nothing there anymore; he glanced around, it wasn’t in sight.

He blinked and shuffled towards the satchel, untying the drawstrings with fumbling clawed hands. Inside lay a pair of thick wool socks, a small blanket, and another small bag. Timothy pulled it from the satchel and opened it; half a loaf of bread and a chunk of meat the size of his hand were stowed inside.

Timothy forewent the etiquette he was taught as a child, giving into his ravenous desire as he devoured the meat. It was tender and juicy, the glaze a mixture of honey and cinnamon.

A memory flowed to his mind, the dinner after the rising of the first star, his family and staff all surrounding the dining table, a divine feast laid before them. The smiling faces of his mother and father stilled his hunger and he placed the food back in the satchel, uncurling the wool blanket. Timothy lay underneath the raised Shadow tree roots, one wing curled around him, and he fell into a restless sleep with tears frozen on his cheeks.

***

When he awoke the next morning, his wing was no longer torn and infected. A new feather had appeared where the wound had been. Timothy wanted to learn to fly. He’d owned a bird once. A Ruby Firebird, with long, crimson-colored feathers and big ruby eyes. It had been his only real friend and he’d watched it a lot. It couldn’t be that hard.

He stretched his wings out, unable to fight the urge to touch them with a single black claw. It tingled. Timothy blinked and beat them, unsure. He beat them again, this time a little harder, keeping at it until with each beat he was able to blow the long grass flat against the ground. A giddy smile came across his lips when the tips of his toes grazed the ground.

What he had not counted on was how tired he was going to get after only a few brief minutes of trying. His wings felt sore. Timothy would try again tomorrow to rise above the tall grass.

***

The creature would appear at odd times during the night and Timothy had stopped feeling the cold fear in his gut when it did. It never came near him; it just watched with the cocked head, back and forth, then would drop the satchel again and disappear. Sometimes there were scribbles inside. He didn’t know what they meant; but he knew the language. Thaatisgani. An old language his writing teacher had shown him one day. A language long died out amongst the common and even the elite folk.

Timothy wanted to know what it meant. He wanted to know what the creature was. His determination drew him to the front of the castle during the night of the harshest season storm. Lighting crackled across the sky, the thunder rolled along the clouds and the rain came down in torrents. He was freezing and soaked to the bone and the weight of his wings had him crawling up the steps, collapsing at the door.

He weakly raised a clawed hand, one nail scratching the black glazed door and he descended into darkness.

***

His mother liked to wear scented oils. They smelled of Queen’s Briar and Golden Belladonna. Before he was older, she used to let Timothy sit beside her when she would apply them to her wrist and ears. She would smile at him and tell him stories of far away lands.

Warmth spread across his eyes, and he rolled over in what he thought was his dream, only to roll onto the ground, landing awkwardly on his wings. Timothy whined and unfolded himself off the ground, rubbing his eyes, only to see the creature a hair’s breadth away from his face.

Timothy choked on his fear and scrambled away, only for the creature to grab his shoulder.

“Stay.”

He halted, looking back at it. “You speak the common tongue?”

The creature stared at him. “You are Timothy Drake. Son of Earl Drake.”

“I am,” Timothy responded, then looked at his hands. “But my family is…is dead.”

“Killed by a slithering demon from the Farstead realm.”

Tears prickled Timothy’s vision. “It killed my parents and cursed me.” He looked at the creature. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re cursed to believe what you think you are.” The creature waved a glowing hand and Timothy blinked in shock as the wings disappeared and his hands turned to normal. “It’s merely an illusion. You’ve only been tainted with cursed magic.”

It was much too complicated for Timothy to pull apart now. “Can I be healed?”

The creature blinked its glowing obs. “Cursed magic cannot be healed…but it can be trained.” They leaned forward, getting in his face. “I can teach you to control and transform.”

“You’re not going to eat me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“…Yes.”

“You hesitated just a bit right there.”

A bottle rolled out from the corner of the room and the creature sighed, turning its head to it. “Richard. Jason. Come here.”

Two young boys, not that much older than Timothy appeared from behind a corner, guilty looks on their faces as though they’d been caught eavesdropping.

The creature nodded to Timothy. “Take him upstairs. He is dirty and tired.”

The tallest one, Jason, crossed his arms over his chest. “Just like that, Bruce? You’re going to take the witch boy in?”

“Pot-kettle,” Richard coughed, smiling when Jason elbowed him.

The creature, now known as Bruce, sighed. “Take the boy. He is tired.”

Jason and Richard obeyed, each hauling Timothy up under the armpits, leading him to a dimly lit staircase.

“Are you two going to eat me?”

“Yes,” Jason replied without hesitation.

“Jason!” Richard barked. “Stop.” He looked down at Timothy. “We’re not going to eat you Timothy…we’re going to help you. And that includes having a warm bed to sleep in and hot food to eat.”

Tears once again gathered in Timothy’s eyes, and he lowered his head as he sniffled. For once since that night, he felt safe.

These were the legends that prowled the city streets. They were supposed to be vicious and dark, evil and bloodthirsty, not ribbing and warm.

But then again, what are legends, but threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable?

[heliads]

Rehearsals (Part Two)

Based on this request: “a sequel to Rehearsals? It’s senior year. He does the lighting for the final musical the reader directs. She gets accepted into the acting and musical theatre program at Carnegie Mellon University and becomes the drama teacher at Beacon Hills High School. He gets accepted into the emergency medicine program at the University of Pittsburgh and becomes an ER doctor.

part one / masterlist / part three

It is quiet now, quiet in the school. Junior year has come and gone, leaving one last shot to let yourself pretend that you’re a normal teenager once again. Where do you once this finishes- college, maybe, a job? Is there a place in this world for you that doesn’t involve Beacon Hills and its myriad assortment of werewolf packs?

You still have another semester to figure that out, though. Sure, there might be problems. This town might not want you to leave, it might not want Scott McCall or any of the others to leave. Then again, you’ve still got at least one person still here to support you- namely, one werewolf with blond curls who’s walking your way across the hall. Isaac Lahey.

You smile when you see him. It’s strange to think that you only started truly talking to him a year ago; only started talking to him a little less than that. For a brief moment, you had been afraid that he might leave you once school ended and there was nothing tying the two of you together- no musical, no classes, just you. Would you really be enough for him?

Then he’d shown up in the middle of the night to take you stargazing, and snuck into your room through the window despite several anti-intruder spells conjured up by your family that you’d had to quickly dispatch, and brought you flowers on dates and weekends and whenever he felt like it. Sure, you might not have been forced together by scheduling anymore. That didn’t mean that Isaac was any less willing to be with you, though.

Now, you’re halfway through the school year, and he’s still here with you. What a thought. 

Isaac has caught up to you by now, and he loops an arm around your waist, pulling you forward to press a neat kiss to your lips before drawing away again. “Good to see you, Y/N. It’s been too long.” 

You roll your eyes. “You saw me a few hours ago. Not much has changed.”

This is true- Scott and Stiles had called a pack meeting once again, this time to go after some pack of hunters who’d attempted to harass Brett, Lori, and some of Satomi’s pack. You’d joined the ranks of werewolves with your own witch powers, and been able to use your spells to fend off the attackers while still keeping your identity hidden. Isaac had walked you home after the whole encounter was over, and left you with more than a few kisses as a parting gift. It was practically perfect, were it not for the fact that the whole thing happened at a cripplingly late hour of the night. If only the hunters had more respect for your sleep schedule.

Needless to say, the lack of sleep is still taking a toll on you. However, Isaac seems unwilling to let your sleep-deprived haze ruin his ability to be sweet. 

“All the same, I missed you. Maybe we should have midnight hunter raids more often.” 

He laughs at your abject look of horror, kissing you to stop your complaints. You indulge him for a little longer, then break away, already starting to think about the future.

“Well, as good as they are for our relationship, I’ll need them to stop for a little while. It’s senior musical season, Isaac.” 

He nods sagely. “A time of crisis has descended upon us.” 

He’s expecting your vengeful swat on the arm, and dodges it gleefully. “Rude. The musical is what brought us together, you know. You should have more respect for my craft.”

Isaac loops his fingers around yours, pulling your intertwined hands close to his heart. “Always, love. I mean, your witchy spells are cool, but what really rocks my world is when you direct the struggling high school sopranos-” 

Your poke to his ribs is well placed and lands effectively. “You’re awful to me, you know that? Maybe I’ll have someone else do lighting this year. How about that other senior, Glenn Newman? Actually, that’s not a bad idea, he’s pretty cute.”

You barely have time to finish your sentence before Isaac is pulling you out of the hallway and into an empty classroom, your back up against the wall as he kicks the door closed. You’ve kissed Isaac many times before, but he somehow manages to take your breath away every time. 

When Isaac finally breaks away, he’s smirking. You glare at him, although you can’t mean it for a second. 

“Stop looking so proud of yourself. It’s demeaning.”

Isaac brushes his lips over yours one last time before allowing you to open the door and enter the public eye once more. “I’m sure it is, Y/N. I’m sure it is.”

Then he remembers what you were saying earlier, and grins. “Does this mean you’re allowing me to do lighting again this year?” 

You feign an indifferent shrug. “Depends on whether or not I feel that you’re dedicated to the task.” 

Isaac snaps a mock salute. “I’m incredibly dedicated, Director. Point me to the light switches.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You’re impossible, you know that?” 

Isaac’s smile is a blessing; you’d worship it every day. “I pride myself on it.” 

The two of you join up with the others soon enough- Scott and Malia from one corner, Lydia and Stiles from another, Mason, Corey, Theo, Liam, and Hayden emerging from various hallways. You always tend to meet up for one last chat before school starts every day. You’ve faced too many threats at the school to risk not seeing each other.

Lydia sits across from you at the table. “So, Y/N, I hear you’re directing the school musical again?” 

You nod. “Absolutely. It’s my last year, Lydia. I wouldn’t abandon it for the world.” 

Lydia seems to have expected this. “I assumed as much. Are you going to call me in for wardrobe?”

You reach over and clasp her hands dramatically. “Lydia Martin, if you helped me with wardrobe, I would dedicate my life to you forevermore.”

She snorts. “Well, it’s good to see that your flourish for theatrics hasn’t left you. Between you and Isaac’s dramatic comments, you could practically run a show by yourselves.” 

She’s grinning, though, and so are you. “I never thought I’d miss your snide comments, Lydia, but I do. I don’t know what I’m going to do in college.” 

She laughs. “Your ego will be tremendous. It will be wonderful.” 

You laugh as well. “That it will be.”

The school musical starts up soon enough, Isaac helping once again as promised. He swears that he’s gotten better at it this time, although that may just be because he’s actually listening to Y/N’s guidelines instead of just staring at her the whole time. He almost cringes to think of how hopeless he was last year, and then he remembers that he’s probably just as bad again now but hides it. Well, he can’t exactly help it- his girlfriend is gorgeous. Does he really need an excuse to say it?

Right now, it’s just the two of them in the auditorium, finishing up some last minute things. Isaac can’t help but be impressed with Y/N’s diligence, once again- cast lists are out, understudies notified, the whole shebang. They’ve waited until everyone else has gone away to do the real work, though, the work they can’t do with anyone around.

Isaac, for example, just finished lifting the heavy lights from the storage closets to the stage. Anyone else watching would wonder how a tall, skinny senior managed to carry what must have been hundreds of pounds of equipment in just one go, but now that he’s alone, he doesn’t have to explain his werewolf strength to anyone.

Isaac pauses by the door of the lighting booth. He can see Y/N standing on the stage, moving the lights and sound systems to their proper places. Her arms are extended, minute movements of her fingers the only signal that she’s doing anything out of the ordinary. That, and the fact that dozens of wires are carefully crossing and attaching themselves to the outlets whilst hanging in the middle of the air. Sometimes, it pays to date someone who’s a witch- it’s a lot more efficient.

Y/N finishes up, then, as if she can sense him watching, turns with a smile. “Are you going to stand there all day or help me?��� 

The question is said with such an undercurrent of happiness that it’s hard to take her sarcastic comment seriously. Isaac just grins, starting to jog down the aisles to her side. 

“I don’t know, I thought you were handling it pretty well myself.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Really? What gave it away?” 

Isaac shrugs. “Maybe the floating lights, maybe not. I haven’t decided yet.” He decides then and there that he loves her smile.

The musical goes on without a hitch. The practices fly by, and so do the performances. Isaac swears that he can see a slight shine in Y/N’s eyes as the cast take their bows on the final show- just like that, it’s all over. Y/N has thrown herself into the school musicals year after year, and now she has to move on and start all over again. Will it hurt as much as he thinks it does?

Isaac reaches over, squeezing Y/N’s hand. “No matter what, I’m proud of you. You did all of this, so many times. That’s pretty impressive.” 

Y/N sighs as they file out of the auditorium. “All the same, it’s strange to leave. I don’t think I really know how to let go of anything.” 

Isaac pauses by his locker, grabbing something and holding it behind his back for a second. “Maybe so. I’m still impressed by everything.”

Now he holds out the thing behind his back, and Y/N beams at him at the sight of the flowers. “Hey, I couldn’t let my favorite crew member go without a prize.” 

Y/N laughs, holding the flowers close to her. “Very cute, Isaac. I appreciate it.” 

Isaac does his best to ignore the loop in his chest when she kisses his cheek. “Well, I appreciate you. Here’s to my best girl, best director, best everything.” 

Y/N, laughing, raises the bouquet like it’s a glass for a toast. “Here’s to you, Isaac, most favorite of all werewolves and boyfriends.” 

On nights like this, Isaac swears that he could take on the whole world.

They graduate soon enough, leaving the world of Beacon Hills High School Behind. You’re not sure how you feel about it at first, but the sight of all your friends in your graduation caps and gowns is enough to put a smile on your face nonetheless. You hold your diploma high, pose for photos with the pack, and hold hands with Isaac as you celebrate. It’s good, really good. That’s how you feel about it in the end.

You’ve got a future, after all. There’s a college lined up- Carnegie Mellon, and an acting and musical theatre program waiting for you there. Sure, it’s pretty far away- Pittsburgh seems a lifetime from Beacon Hills, but you’ve got someone else with you on the plane ride there. Isaac, after careful thinking, decided that all of his time healing people through his werewolf abilities as well as work with Deaton means that he wants to study emergency medicine. He’ll be doing so at the University of Pittsburgh, not that far from you, all things considered.

In truth, you can’t pretend that this is all a surprise. You know you’re not supposed to view the future, not really, but you couldn’t help one little spell. It had been before the senior musical even started, when you’d been terrified that you’d be leaving the golden days of your life behind the second you walked through the school doors one final time. You hadn’t seen much, but it had been enough- the smiles of a golden-curled boy, rings on your hands, prosperity in your future. You’re a drama teacher, and judging by the school colors, you return to Beacon Hills for your work. Isaac is there, too, as an ER doctor. You live together, you wear white and black together, and he is there for you when you need him. You can’t see things in too much detail, but you can tell one thing for sure: you and Isaac will be happy. And, for you, that is enough.

requested by @thornyrose463​

teen wolf tag list: girl of my future @underc0vercryptid​

[lesbian-deadpool]

Saving Rosie

Part One of Two: “I’m Not A Spy.”

Rosie Betzer x Reader

Words: 5,768

Warnings: WWII (and everything that comes with that era), Nazis, spy shit, arguing, alludes to execution, sadness... I think that may be it.

Request: No.

Summary: You save the woman you have grown close to over the past few years you have been undercover as a Nazi general, and now you’re going to save her family.

A/N: Me, still broken after watching Jojo Rabbit almost a year and a half ago?? It’s more likely than you think... so, apparently I write Rosie Beltzer fics now lol

Also, just some lil notes. The reader in this is undercover as a male Nazi general, and they’re not actually German in this fic.

EDIT: I accidentally tagged this as a Natasha fic lmao. I fixed it now tho.

Ko-Fi

Commissions

(Not My GIF)

***

"It's a lovely night for it, huh?"

For what? You weren't 

certain. Maybe it was the full moon. Maybe, it was the clear sky. The deserted streets, perhaps... what loomed in the following days to come.

Or maybe, just maybe. It was the woman by your side.

The woman hummed, a small sweet smile caressing her face.

"One of the better ones we've had in years. Came her strong German accent. A stark difference to yours, considering you no longer had to mask it. Around her, anyway.

Your smile mirrored hers as it brightened.

"It sure is."

"I can't believe it's almost over. And after so long..." she said, while you grunted, sitting down beside her on the small roof over the open attic window. "This unjust war is finally coming to an end."

"Okay, you're starting to sound like my commander now."

Rosie chuckled at your words, moving to softly lean into your side, keeping her head up to continue looking at the bright white stars that littered the midnight blue sky.

"Why do you always insist on meeting up here?" you grumbled, no malice in your voice, "It's a pain in the ass to get up onto the roof, from the outside, y'know?"

"You're a spy, aren't you? Aren't you supposed to be good at this stuff?"

"Oh cheeky," you laughed, lightly slapping the side of her leg, with the back of your hand. Rosie's quiet giggles following your remark, "And I'm an undercover soldier. Those are two very different things."

"Still." She shrugged.

You sat in silence for a small while. Over the few years, you and Rosie had grown close. Meeting up on her rooftop, at the dead of night, where there was no chance of anyone seeing you together, this way, becoming an almost every day occurrence.

You knew you could trust her the moment you first met, almost three years ago. After you had stolen the identity of a Nazi officer, that looked starkly like you. Luckily, there was hardly any information about this person. So, there was less chance for your cover to be blown.

Soon, the resistance that Rosie had been deeply a part of was un-earthed to you, thanks to your informant and the letter she carried. It wasn't long after that you started working with them too. Helping them better than they could ever hope, thanks to the military resources and information you brought.

"What happened to your neck?" Rosie asked, pulling you out from where you were, deep in your memories.

A hand came up to rub at your slightly sore skin.

"My informant can be cruel..."

Rosie cocked a blonde eyebrow at you, wanting an explanation from you.

You sighed, getting ready to tell her.

***

Eyes burned into the woman from all sides as her heels kicked against the polished wooden, yet stained, floor. Her light brown hair shone under the glowing lights, confidence radiating from her just the same.

"Can I help you?" a German Soldier slid in front of her, she had to stop herself from sneering at the man. For both his being a Nazi and his sweaty stench. But instead, she managed a sultry smirk.

"I'm here to see your General," she replied, in a German accent.

"Don't bother," another Soldier, this one drunk and slightly swaying, called over, from where he was pressed into the wall a few feet behind her.

"I don't think your General would take too kindly to you stealing what they paid for."

"They're gonna have fun with you," he replied, blatantly looking her up and down. Like a wolf would, to a tiny bunny, ready to devour it whole. However, the wolf was not a wolf at all, the wolf was, in fact, the bunny, and the bunny was the actual wolf.

She would tear him to shreds, given the chance.

"The General is in the usual room," the original man said, "Fair warning, though. They're not in a good mood today."

The woman began strutting down the hallway, once again. Throwing, "Aren't they always?" over her shoulder once she passed him by.

When she opened the thick wooden door you resided behind, the sounds of your continued groan began pouring through the crack.

"Sometimes I cannot believe that you got this assignment," she uttered in her original London accent, with her back pressed against the now-closed door.

You finished your groan off and took a deep breath before you uttered your reply.

"Luck-of-the-draw, I guess," you spoke from the floor where you lay on your back, with a shrug, "That, or I look strikingly alike the guy who died. The Nazi prick."

She walked over to you, one foot rising to press her heel into your neck, your thyroid resting in the open space of the shoe.

A choking noise sprang from your mouth as you flailed your limbs around gently. You knew that if she were to press any harder, she would surely manage to choke you.

"You're not suited for this job."

The brunette pressed harder against your throat before she released you. Leaving you to turn on your side, coughing and spluttering.

"Well, no shit. I'm a soldier, not a spy."

"You can tell."

"What was that all about?" You motioned to your neck. Red marks already making their way upon the tender flesh.

"We need to make it seem like we are having sex. Remember? I am supposed to be your hooker after all."

"You're a bitch, is what you are."

She scowled at you as you rolled yourself onto your stomach, sighing when you finally got to your feet.

"Where's the update?"

You hummed, almost as if you were remembering what you were here to do. Removing the crystal tumbler from your lips the whisky sloshing around inside. Reaching behind you, you pulled the file from where it was tucked into your pants and under your shirt. Handing it over to her.

"Is this it?" She asked, weighing the file in her hand, "It's very light."

"Yeah, and so's the information swimming around. Unless you wanna hear about the fish Agatha caught last weekend," you snarked back, moving to point at the file with the same hand that held your glass, "There's some good stuff in there. It's not much. But it's good."

"I'll take your word for it."

She tucked the folder into the long overcoat she wore, then you saw her eyebrows furrow.

"Aren't you supposed to take care of that?" She nodded towards the uniform jacket you had thrown across the room not long after you had entered it.

"You sneered at the fore-talked about item.

"I hate it and everything it stands for." You turned back to face her. "As soon as all of this bullshit is over, I'm burning that fucking armband. And then the rest of the fucking uniform."

"Real calm there, aren't you?"

"Don't start shit with me, Hannah." You took a large swig of your drink, almost emptying the glass. "I know that you wish you had somehow gotten this mission. But trust me, you don't fucking want it. The shit I've seen and done. The stuff that I've had to authorise, just to keep my cover. The fucking horror storied these monsters have told proudly, or as if they're fucking jokes." You were panting now. "You don't want that."

You had her startled into silence. Hannah had never expected this to come from you.

"How's the resistance?"

You grunted. Downing the rest of the brown liquor before moving to pour yourself another glass three fingers tall.

"It's going." you gave a heavy nod. "Still trying to spread the word."

Hannah hummed, slowly making her way towards you. Fingers coming up to razzle her hair, and wipe her lipstick, so it smudged onto her cheek.

"How's the blonde?"

"What-?" you were cut off when she wiped the red lipstick on her fingers across your own lips, leaving a smudge like hers there. "Ugh," you groaned, moving away from her palm, only to utter small obscenities and sounds of pain when her lipstick freehand messed up your short, slicked-back hair.

"What blonde?" you finally managed to ask.

"The one from the resistance. What's her name?" She clicked her fingers together, in realisation, "Rosie."

"Oh! Yeah, she's fine, and so are the kids."

"You seem to be taking a shine to her, from what I hear from the resistance. You and Rosie seem to be something of a dynamic duo."

Suddenly your shirt was ripped open, from the collar to your ribs. Making your eyes widen in shock.

However, you were used to this by now, so they soon returned back to their regular size.

"Yeah, we're friends."

Hannah hummed, something akin to a knowing smirk on her face. As she untucked your shirt.

"I'd keep an eye on her, though."

She opened your pants.

"She's being watched."

Breathless at what she just said, you stood stock still, watching as she walked towards the wooden door.

"Oh." Hannah stopped, her hand upon the handle, pulling some pieces of paper from her pocket and threw them to the floor, "I'll leave you to deliver the bad news."

And with that, she left.

***

You forewent telling Rosie everything from the mention of her.

Thinking it the best if she heard it differently.

"That really sounds like a spy meeting to me," Rosie said with a smirk, knowing it would annoy you to no end.

You closed your eyes before you could roll them into the back of your head. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled, "I'm not a spy."

"So, you've said," she giggled.

"You're drunk," you mumbled to yourself.

"What was that?"

"How are the kids?" you asked, clearly watching as Rosie groaned lightly. Her head down-turned, almost sad looking.

"Jojo's still obsessed with Hitler and everything. And Elsa's doing her best. But I can tell how much this is affecting her. And in what world wouldn't it?"

"She's strong." You nodded. "She'll get through it. We all will."

"And what about Jojo?"

Rosie turned to face you, hair swaying as she did. You could see the glazed look in her eye's, telling yourself to be extra vigilant with the woman upon the roof. You had to make sure she didn't fall off in her drunken state.

"Is he going to be like this for the rest of his life?"

Tears were building in her eyes now.

"Supporting evil dictators, wanting to take over the world, and fill it with hate?"

"No. No, of course not," you whispered. Reaching over, you clasped her cheeks between your rough, war-hardened hands. Wiping away her silent tears. "He's just a boy. A boy who wants to be a part of something, even if he doesn't understand what that is. What monster's he's following. He will realise one day. Trust me."

"I trust you." She nodded. "It just. It's hard. It's so hard. Especially when he plays up, like he did at dinner today."

"He did?"

She hummed with a nod.

"We're low on food right now. I had to go without to feed Elsa. But Jojo, he didn't know, obviously, so he took that too. Then he started arguing about his father-"

You inhaled sharply, shoulders tensing. But luckily for you, she didn't notice your reaction.

"-I yelled at him... we made up not long after, but I still feel awful about it. I'm a terrible mother."

"No, you're not-"

"I am-"

"No. You're not," you said firmly. Grabbing her forearm, gently moving it side to side, to get your point further across, "You're such a caring and amazing person. Your heart is so big and kind. And you're an even better mother. It's like all of that is doubled for those kids."

"Thank you," Rosie whispered, tears in her eyes once again, before she moved to wipe them away.

"Anyway, you're way better than my mother. She abandoned me at a farm. I was lucky a cow didn't shit on me."

She giggled at your little joke.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you."

"There's no need. I wouldn't change it."

Things were quiet for a few minutes when you suddenly remembered.

"Oh!" You reached into your pocket and pulled out three packages, wrapped in brown paper and tied together with string. "I guess it was just lucky that I brought these then."

"What are they?"

"Beef sandwiches, I thought you would like them."

"Oh, you're a lifesaver," she spoke in something close to a moan as she took a bite out of her sandwich.

You gave a small chuckle at the woman seated beside you, "I'd thought you'd say that. I'll have to start bringing food over to these meetings of ours because it's not like I can do it out in the open."

"People would think something was going on between us," Rosie hummed.

"You're right about that. Everyone is so bored around here. Gossip is like their life sauce."

"Would you be surprised if I told you that it was the same before the war?"

"Not at all," you laughed.

Rosie finished her sandwich, and you dreaded what was coming next.

"I need to tell you something," you almost whispered.

She bumped her shoulder against yours when you didn't continue.

"Well? What is it?"

"It... it's about your husband..."

You watched her carefully as you said that, all the while emotions, flew into her while she processed them.

She held back more tears, ones from the look on her face that she had shed more times than she could count. Face contoured into one of concealed pain. Looking away from your gentle, caring eyes while rubbing her hands together.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"I'm afraid so." You nodded, looking out before you, into the starry night sky.

That's when you felt a tiny jolt beside you. Looking over at the blonde, you watched as a tear trickled down her cheek.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered.

With a gasp and a wet sniff, Rosie wiped her tears away.

"What happened?"

"There was a raid, some members of a resistance was there, your husband included. None of them made it... they saved the people they intended to, however."

She nodded with a sad yet proud smile.

"How long ago was this?"

You swallowed. Hating the words you were about to say.

"A little over a year ago."

You winced when you heard her sobs, ones being held in so hard just so no one could overhear her cries.

And, sickeningly so, the worst thing of all was that you didn't know how to help her.

Placing a hand upon her back, rubbing small comforting circles into her shoulder. Feeling her lean into you, face now pushed into your neck.

"I'm here. Everything's going to be alright."

You left not too long later, after already spending way too much time up on that roof.

Rosie wished you a "goodbye" with the promise that she would be fine. However, she didn't reply to you when you told her not to finish the rest of the wine. That she had been pounding for the majority of the day.

Before you arrived "home" and promptly collapsed onto the bed.

***

The afternoon sun was warm upon your face as you walked the streets of the German town. Watching as children ran around, women worked, and well, gossiped, and Nazi soldiers came and went.

Soon. You thought. This will all be over soon.

That's when you heard the murmured words from the women you had just walked past.

"Yes, the Gestapo. They're here right now."

"Who for?" the other woman asked, voice slightly higher at the aspect of such "juicy" gossip.

Sometimes it surprised you just how detached some of these people were from human lives. But then you took a step back and saw everything that was happening in the world. And you weren't surprised anymore. Just disappointed.

"The traitors wife. Beltzer."

And now you were scared.

"-They should be taking her to the square, right now."

It was like the world had slowed down as you turned to look at them, meeting their curious eyes.

The last thing you heard before taking off at a run towards the town square was a fading, "Like husband, like wife. I guess."

The people you passed by looked at you like you were insane. To see a, what they thought, General, sprinting down streets and panting like crazy, it set them on edge.

But you didn't give a damn about what anybody thought.

You just had to get to the square.

And quick.

***

By the time you got there, you had a light shine over your skin. Thanks to the sweat from both the running you had done and the worry that coursed through you.

"Remove your hands from her," came your faux German accent.

"She is a traitor to the Reich," one of the Gestapo's, seemingly the leader, replied assuredly.

"And what proof do you have of this?"

Rosie was terrified. You could see that as clear as day, no matter how she tried to keep calm. It was written all over her face.

So, you forcefully pushed their hands from the heavily breathing woman and pulling her to stand by your side and away from the group of men dressed in black suits.

"I'll have you know, we have very probable tips from some of the community-"

""Probable"?!" you shouted, causing the on edge woman beside you to jump slightly. To which you pulled her closer to you as a form of comfort. Your hand, coming to rest on her shoulder.

"Yes. Probable. We cannot have risks."

"Well, I say that it is bullshit."

"You have no jurisdiction or authority over our department."

"And I never said I did. I am saying that I vouch for this woman."

"But the tip-off's-" another man began.

"You choose to believe lonely and bored housewives over a General?!" You watched as their faces fell, and they tried to grab onto any straw they could to change your mind.

"There is still a chance-"

"There is no chance!"

"And can you be so sure?!"

"Do you really believe that I, a General, would be with her if you were right?"

"With her?" a third Gestapo asked curiously.

You knew what you had to do to get her back home, safe and away from the men trying to execute and make a spectacle of her. Just like the poor people hanging to your right.

"It means that I have been seeing her. Romantically, if you still do not fully understand, what I mean."

They didn't say anything for a few short moments, only stumbling and stuttering over their own voices.

"So, tell me. Who are you choosing to believe?"

"Uh. Y-You General."

"Good." You nodded once. "Now, I'm going to take her home. Goodbye, gentlemen," you spat. Turning on your heel, with Rosie under your arm, and walking away.

"Are you okay?" you whispered. Not drawing any attention to yourself or Rosie.

"I'm fine. Thank you for saving me," she replied in the same way.

"I wouldn't have done anything else." Your hand slipped down to the blondes dip in her lower back, helping to guide her back home. "Where are the flyers? Did you have any on you?"

"Yes. I threw them down the drain before they could see."

"Good. You did good." A squeeze to her hip before your hand returned to her lower back, just to keep up the appearance of the lie. "They're not gonna find them."

***

Rosie had relaxed more by the time you were at the bottom of her street when you saw a distinctly expensive car parked outside of Rosie's house. A car that everyone knows belongs to that of Gestapo's.

"Is Jojo home?" you asked, just stood there starring at the sight, with Rosie by your side.

"Yes," she husked.

"Shit."

And that's when you both broke out in a run.

You, being faster than Rosie, arrived at the building first. Barging through the door, with her hot on your heels.

Pounding your way up the stairs, only to come face to face with a gang of men, identically dressed to the Gestapo's, you had just saved Rosie from. Along with Jojo and Elsa, in clothes that didn't look like they belonged to her. Not to mention the demoted soldier, holding an identification book.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

"What are you doing in my house?!" you and Rosie said at the same time. Your yell angrier, compared to her more so worried one.

"We are searching the premises," the lead man, who wore round glasses, spoke. Face confused as to why Rosie was still alive. But as soon as he saw the anger chiselled upon your face. He could take a successful guess as to who had stopped the execution.

"Mama, they were just checking Inge's identification," Jojo said as his mother rushed towards him. Her hands, on his cheeks, as she checked him over.

"Oh, yes. Of course." Rosie pulled Jojo along to bring Elsa into her side, just as you had done for her mere minutes ago. "Are you both alright?"

She gained words and nods of confirmation from the two children.

"I think it's time that you all left."

"But-" one Gestapo said, looking to Rosie.

"But nothing," you continued, "I'm sure your associates will fill you in on their mistake. Now, if you are finished, I ask that you leave this house."

"We were just about to, anyway," the leader said, leading the way out for everyone. But not before the ID was handed back to the assumed Inge. With you trailing after, to slam the door behind them.

You turned, leaning your back against the wooden door, sighing deeply.

"Are they gone?" Rosie called down, leaning over the railing, to peer down at you.

The stairs creaked below you, the layer of carpet doing nothing to quiet them. You spoke your confirmation, as you reached her, "They're gone."

The kids looked like they had just been caught with their hand's in the cookie jar.

"So..." the caring woman started, "You two know about each other."

They nodded.

"For how long?"

"A couple of weeks, at most," Jojo said.

"How did you even find out about her?"

"I-I found the hatch-"

"He crawled in-"

"And I found her-"

"He was terrified."

"Was not!"

"Was too."

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Okay, enough," Rosie raised her voice, gaining the bickering children's attention.

Taking a breath, she ran her hands through her soft blonde hair.

"And you never told anyone?"

"No." Jojo shook his head. "I didn't want you to get into trouble..." It was at that point, he realised you were silently stood behind his mother, watching as everything unfolded and who you were.

Rosie caught this and looked over her shoulder at you.

"Don't worry," she told both of the kids, crouching down before them. Elsa's face one of mild terror.

This is when it hit you that these kids were exactly that.

Kids.

Kid's that were too scared of their mothers, or motherly figure, scolding them, than the actual, apparent danger that lurked not too far away.

"They're not going to tell anybody. They know. And won't let anything happen. To any of us." she manoeuvred to face you. "Right?"

You nodded. "Absolutely. I will do my best to protect all of you."

"Speaking of." She slowly rose to her feet, walking towards you.

The hand that Rosie placed upon your arm was gentle, almost like she was worried she would hurt you. Fingers curling into the jacket of the uniform you loathed.

"I have to speak with the General. So, you two stay up here. Understood?"

They nodded.

"Good." She pulled you through the open door, but before she could close it fully, her head popped through the door, "Oh. And we're not done yet. We still have a lot to talk about."

Then the door clicked shut.

"You're really good at that."

"What?"

"Being a mother."

"I know. You've told me before."

***

Things had changed rather quickly when you arrived downstairs.

Sat upon the blue cotton cushions of the wooden framed couch. Watching as Rosie paced around in front of you, fingertips rubbing against her full lips, worry etched across her face.

Your eyebrows shot up, and your body straightened when she turned to face you. Arms now down by her sides.

"So, we're together, huh?"

"I'm sorry," you replied, German accent dropped, "But that was the only thing that would get them to back off and drop the suspicions against you."

"I know." She nodded, completely understanding. Before her minimal composure dropped, and the worry came back. "What do we do? Jojo obviously thinks you are a traitor now. What if he tells someone?"

"He won't." You stood abruptly, taking Rosie's shoulder's into your hands, squeezing them gently. "He didn't tell anyone about Elsa when he had so many chances to do so. Hell, he had the chance, not even five minutes ago. But he hasn't said a word, purely just to keep you safe... he doesn't understand that this could hurt him and Elsa too. He doesn't know what's happening."

"But this is different-"

"Yes, it is different. It's better he thinks I'm a traitor, helping his family, than him knowing I'm an undercover soldier."

"You mean a spy?"

"Don't you start with that shit." You pointed at her playfully.

Rosie's smile dropped when a thought popped into her mind.

"Do you think they will still come back?"

"It is possible," you said honestly, "Which is why we should leave as soon as we possibly can."

"And go where?"

"Anywhere that isn't here."

"What do I tell the kids- What do I tell Jojo?" she clarified.

"The truth. You tell them that they could come back and that we all need to leave because we could all be in danger."

With her head in her hand's, the blonde scoffed tearily, "God. This fucking war."

"I know. I know."

You pulled her into your chest, letting her cry into you. Arms wound around your torso tightly.

"I hate it, For so many reasons."

"I know," you repeated again, "I feel the same."

"When will it just end? When will people be safe again?"

Deciding that it would be best to tell her the truth, you said, "I don't know. Soon I hope."

And there you sat, for a small while longer, allowing the blonde to cry into your chest.

***

You had left.

Gone to go gather some of your things, thinking it best to stay with Rosie and the kids while you were forced to stay in town.

All the while Rosie, spoke to the kids about leaving.

"I don't understand why we have to go!"

Was what you were greeted with as you entered the home.

"Because it is not safe for us here anymore," Rosie's voice came, calm but firm.

"But they won't come back."

"That's not entirely true," you spoke, entering the kitchen. Placing the leather bag you carried and the wicker basket upon the small table against the wall, you continued, "There's always a chance, no matter how small."

The young boy watched you silently for a minute. Not knowing what to say.

"Trust me, Jojo. I know how all of this works. I just want to keep you all safe, so does your mother. And this is the best way to do it.2

Jojo sighed.

"Where will we go?"

Rosie looked at you intently when her son asked this, wondering the same thing.

"We'll get out of town first. Then we'll focus on a safe place for us all to go."

"Jojo, would you. Would you go to your room, please?" Rosie asked, "I need to speak with the General, alone."

Just as the blonde boy was about to protest, he was cut off.

"Now. I also have to start preparing dinner."

He huffed and walked from the room, bounding up the stairs rather loudly.

You felt bad for the woman as you watched her grip the sides of the oven, bow her head, and give a great sigh.

"Where's Elsa?"

"She's in her hiding spot." Then she turned to face you. "Y/N, K know that Elsa isn't Inge."

"What?"

"She got Inge's birthday wrong, and he didn't say anything."

Your eye's wandered as you took in the information that was just given to you.

"Do you think he will say anything?"

"I don't know," you said with a shrug, "But I don't wanna take any chances. It's too risky."

"I agree." Rosie nodded once. "So, when do we leave."

"As soon as possible. Tonight if we can. Only pack the essentials. And not yet, we can't raise any suspicions."

Rosie's only reply and indication that she had heard you were a good few nods.

And then.

"What's in the basket?"

"Oh," you said chipperly, "Don't worry about cooking. I brought dinner."

***

Turns out "tonight" wasn't a viable option for skipping town, as with loud, almost deafening sirens of dread filled the sky came the air-raid strike.

"Wouldn't it give us a good cover, though?" Rosie had asked, preparing for bed.

You had resigned yourself to staying over, as a sort of bodyguard, while still in town. And the threat was still very much weighing in the winds.

You looked over your shoulder at her. Being spotted by her through the mirror of her vanity, where she sat. Removing her makeup and then applying some face cream.

"I'm not the only one by a window," you told her. Then moved to peer through the window, at the moving lights in the black, midnight sky. "I'm sure I heard Elsa and Jojo in the attic watching them."

"They are," she confirmed.

"See. We're not the only ones. Too many eyes. A good distraction," you admitted, "But almost impossible. And with two kids added to that? No chance."

A hum came from Rosie.

"So, what are our options?"

With a sigh, you began explaining, "People will be too jumpy tomorrow, so our best bet would be the day after."

The blonde, now ready for bed, came over to you. Moving to stand right in front of you, looking out the window herself.

"Wouldn't it be too risky, staying here that long?"

It seemed it was your turn to hum, shrugging your shoulders.

"I'd rather stay here a few more days than risk it out there. But there is a good side to these change of plans."

"And what's that?"

"Now, we can sneak stuff to the car. And won't risk being caught doing it all at night. That way, all we have to do is get in, then drive off."

"Good plan. Partner," Rosie spoke in a slight mocking about sultry tone. Which only made you roll your eyes good-naturedly.

"Yeah. Yeah. You're welcome."

"Seriously," you halted at Rosie's serious tone, raising your head to peer at her, "Thank you for everything."

"You don't have to thank me." Your lips ticked up in a small smile before you lightened the sober mood and atmosphere. "And you definitely won't be thanking me if I accidentally kick you in my sleep."

Rosie laughed at your words, watching as you said into bed beside her.

"Do not worry. If you kick me, I'll just kick you out of the bed."

"Now that's just rude."

Waking up the next morning was strange for you, to say the least.

With the bright sun shining through the thin drapes, across the cosy room, and onto the bed. Duvet lumpy above your forms.

And then there was Rosie.

The blonde pressed up against your side, head resting on your shoulder, arms curled around one of yours, still fast asleep.

Now that.

That was very unusual for you.

But then again. You were too sleepy to process anything at that moment. So instead, you just watched her breathe soothingly, looking so peaceful by your side, with your eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinted in curiosity.

It was a wonder how someone could look so contest face asleep like Rosie was, with everything that is going on in the world.

The world wouldn't be that way for much longer, you thought, it was only a matter of time before everything was over.

And the same thing could be said for the blonde sleeping by your side.

The wooden door barged open, alerting you fully awake, as Jojo strutted in. Only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of you. In bed. With his mother.

You could see the slight anger in his eyes, purely out of protection for his beloved mother.

"Good morning, Jojo," Rosie said sleepily as she moved to sit up, looking at the boy with a sleepy smile.

You grunted as she pressed her palm into your abdomen to raise up into a seated position.

"What are they doing here?" he asked, nodding his head towards you.

Rosie looked over her shoulder at you, tired eyes evaluating you. Before she turned back to her son.

"There's something I forgot to tell you yesterday."

You watched the mother and child with slightly wide eyes, not uttering a word, just looking like you wanted to escape this situation.

"What did you forget?"

"The General here-" she patted your abdomen where her hand still resided. "-And I, are seeing each other."

It was a few good long moments as Jojo processed the words. You thought he was going to be angry. It would be natural. You would understand. He was a young boy, one who undoubtedly missed his father and would not be happy with his mother being with anyone else.

But you also had to understand that he idolised you, if only for your -albeit fake- position in the German military.

And yet, you were still surprised and confused by what he said next.

"A lion?"

Rosie smiled brightly, nodding her head, "A lion."

"A lion?"

That was the first thing you said that morning, and it was full of confusion.

But it fell on deaf ears.

Jojo nodded once at his mother before turning on his heel and walking from the room, without saying what he initially came in for.

"What?"

Rosie smiled at you.

"Come on, we should get moving."

The bed shook and bounced as she got up from the bed, preparing to get ready for the day.

"I'm so confused," you almost whimpered, only gaining a soft giggle in return.

***

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[bertholdtwiththeweather]

AOT Goes Camping (Warriors!)

Main Trio | Silver Trio | Vets | Request :)

Sorry this took forever! I love the warriors so much so it took a little longer to get them all!

Annie:

Annie is awake before everyone else. She takes a little rowboat onto the lake to fish for hours. The first morning, she went alone, taking great solace in the peace and quiet. Slowly, she starts to acquire more takers, namely; Mikasa, Ymir, and Historia. Annie refuses to teach them how to fish, and while they fumble around with the rods and bait, she threatens to yeet them over the side of the boat if the noise level exceeds a solid 3. Everyone assumes Annie will eat the fish raw like a barbarian, but really, she releases them back into the lake and makes everyone else follow her lead.

Reiner:

Reiner's massive, HUGE brain can really only focus on one thing at a time, so when he hears of the camping trip, his mind immediately goes survival; living off the land. His first goal is to track down and butcher a boar with his own bare hands. Legitimately, this is all he can think about for the whole first day. Reiner successfully locates a beefy boar, and thinks, no one knows the horrors I will face to make sure we eat good tonight. But when he fails to catch the beat (complete with numerous face plants and earth trembling grunts), Reiner is this close to having one of his special crises. Quickly, Bertholdt hands him the hamburger patties and dogs and says, "I think Marco needs your help seasoning. He looks pretty lost." Suddenly Reiner has this amazing idea to go help Marco at the grill. Thought of it all on his own!

Zeke:

You already know this mf brought a banjo on the trip. He's sitting around the fire, drunk off his ass, playing it surprisingly well, but absolutely no one wants to hear it. "Anyone interested in a ballad about the bond between a father and son? Ope! Turns out, I don't know any of those. Eren, wanna help a guy out with that one?" Zeke practically screams over the s'mores. It's embarrassing. Only Colt cheers him on because the poor boy can't read the room to save his life.

Pieck/Porco/Colt:

Colt sleeps peacefully in a tent with Pieck and Zeke. In the middle of the night, Zeke wakes everyone up by drunkenly peeing in the corner of the tent. This is canon. Pieck pretends to sleep through it, but she's secretly waiting for something else to happen. As they're all drifting off, Pieck says, calculatedly, "I hope the bears don't come for the food we left out." Now, Colt isn't sleeping so peacefully. The tent shakes and deeps growls are heard. Colt shrieks and Pieck yawns. "How can you call yourself the next beast titan if you're not going to fight the beast outside?" she says and rolls over to go back to sleep. Colt gulps and leaves the tent because he knows she's right. Just as he's about to attack, the bear tackles him, only to reveal itself as Porco, laughing hysterically. "That's what you get for encouraging Zeke's musical career!"

Bertholdt:

The one place Bertholdt can't sleep is in a tent. Reiner snores, Marco can't keep to himself, and it's far, far too hot. Berty feels like he can't breathe. His temperature is already so much higher than everyone else's, and he's sweating so much, he thinks he might drown if he stays in the tent any longer. He gets up, goes outside, and sits on a rock by himself. Disrupting the silence, Sasha bursts out of her tent, vying for a midnight snack, but upon seeing Berty, says, "Oh! Can't sleep?" and tosses him half a chocolate bar. He shakes his head and says, "it's too hot in the tent." So, Sasha dives into a bag and pulls out two hammocks that she quickly ties between trees. "Problem solved!" she cheers. Connie joins them because he wants to, 'sleep like a monkey too!' Bertholdt is thrilled and doesn't even mind that his feet hang over the edge of the hammock. At least he isn't overheating.