#this boy still haunts my nightmares and its been years

[anistarrose]

I'd like to propose a dark horse candidate for the most interesting line in The Book of Bill. And it's this near-unreadable, seemingly one-off joke from the "Skin" page:

[ID: tiny text reading: "Help! This is not Bill Cipher. My name is Grebley Hemberdreck of Zimtrex 5. I'm one of thousands of beings Bill has devoured over trillions of years whose souls are now trapped inside him. You have to free me! It's horrible in here. He just keeps playing the song "Good Vibrations" by Marky Mark on an endless loop. Please, please, this is not a joke! The Zimtrexians were once a proud and mighty people, but now our spirits long for release from this..." End ID.]

Okay, so Bill devours souls who then live out a horrible existence inside him. That's just some typical and expected Bill behavior, right? Nothing to be shocked by? Maybe not, but one thing jumps out at me... and of all things, it's the way that Bill keeps playing that Beach Boys parody (correction provided by @fexalted: no, not in fact a Smiley Smile parody, but a real song!) on loop.

Because in The Book of Bill, there's a recurring motif of characters playing music for a very specific reason: to repel an unwanted presence inside their head. This is what Elias Inkwell, and later Ford, did with the "It's A Small World" parody — they tried to keep Bill out of their brains. Or, metaphorically... to drown out his voice.

[ID: a Journal 3 page with a cassette taped inside. It's titled: "The World Is Small Ever After for Always." Ford writes: "If it's war you want, it's war you'll get! If you want to torture me? I'll torture you back!" End ID.]

That doesn't necessarily mean that Bill finds the voices of devoured souls to be troubling, let alone downright haunting, does it? Well... not quite on its own. But there's a "color" code on the page about TV static that says a lot:

[ID: a code consisting of colorful squares, translated to letters that spell out: "he never sleeps he never dreams but somehow still he hears their screams." End ID] (screenshot courtesy of @fexiled)

The context of the page implies these "screams" come to Bill especially when he listens to TV static, and the broader context of the book implies that these are the screams of his destroyed home dimension, Euclydia. Therefore, not necessarily those of the souls he devoured, from Zimtrex 5 and possibly other dimensions.

Except... do those two things really have to be mutually exclusive?

The beings that Bill devoured were accumulated over "trillions" of years, plural, according to Grebley. In Weirdmageddon 1, Bill claims to have resided in the Nightmare Realm for precisely "one trillion" years. So the "devouring" habit probably extends back even further than his time in the Nightmare Realm...

Enter @acetyzias, pointing out a very conspicuous word — and one of the only uncensored words — from Bill's description of destroying his home dimension:

[ID: the word "mandibles". End ID.]

Oh, and how does Bill describe the "monster" that destroyed his home to Ford, when Ford asks about revenge?

[ID: Journal excerpt reading: "Sixer, it would eat you alive." End ID.]

For a long time, Bill's destruction of his home has been associated with fire, even when the story's told by Bill himself. But through the way the book characterizes Bill's guilt — and characterizes how the consequences of what he's done remain lurking deep inside him — I think The Book of Bill lays out the hints for another motif: devouring.

And, well, when it comes to how Bill destroys things... it wouldn't be without precedent.

[ID: screenshot of Bill in Weirdmageddon 3, taking a bite out of the Earth. End ID.]

[perseabeth]

Milo’s Lyre

this is a one shot written about @anotheroceanid amazing fic titled When the Horizon Bloom, read it on AO3 you will enjoy it very much and get your heart broken in the most beautiful way possible. I published another one shot about this fic titled “What If” you can read it too- I got this idea last night during my angst hour with @anotheroceanid, and after few tears, and of course her inspiration, I decided that you should cry with us too! - i do not own the idea of the fic and i certainly do not own any character, all belong to the great author of the fic that made me cry more than my college curriculum enjoy ✨

Apollo no longer remembers how the dream began. He isn't even certain how he can dream at all. He once believed that gods were immune to such mortal experiences, but ever since his love vanished, dreams and nightmares have haunted him in every stolen moment he tries to delve into slumber. This dream, however, was different.

It was serene. Apollo sat upon a rock, a glittering sea stretching before him. His heart ached with a profound sorrow. The sea... How could he ever gaze upon the ocean again without seeing her eyes? How could he ever look at the waves and not remember the way they mirrored her gaze?

Sometimes, he would embark on frantic quests, searching for the sea that truly captured the color of her eyes, just to glimpse those sea-green eyes once more.

How long had it been? Seven years? For gods, time was an irrelevant concept, a fleeting notion in the face of immortality. Normally, seven years would pass as quickly as seven minutes. But these seven years... These years had stretched into millennia. He never knew time could crawl so slowly, could torture so mercilessly.

Apollo cradled his golden lyre, the instrument that once brought her such joy. He remembered the first time she heard him play, the radiant sparkle in her eyes, the breathtaking smile that stole his soul forever. His fingers, delicate and reverent, brushed against the strings, coaxing a serene melody from the lyre. Each note floated through the air like a whisper, and even the restless sea stilled its waves, entranced by the music.

Minutes passed in this harmonious reverie until Apollo felt a presence behind him—a presence so calm, so peaceful, carrying the unmistakable scent of the sea. Hope surged through him. Could it be his love? Could he finally see her in his dreams?

He turned his head slowly, afraid to wake from this fragile hope. As he did, his eyes met sea-green ones, and his heart melted, his soul awakening. Percy’s eyes… But something wasn’t right. The figure before him was a young boy, no older than six or seven, with golden curls that framed his face in a halo of sunlight. The boy was breathtakingly beautiful. Apollo's heart clenched as he took in the boy’s features. They reminded him of himself in one moment, and then of his love in the next, as if he were a perfect blend of them both.

Apollo's heart clenched. This boy… he looked like the son he might have had if Percy were still here. Shock rendered him speechless as he gazed into those familiar eyes. It was as if the child embodied the essence of their love, a living testament to a future that had been cruelly taken from them.

The boy stood cautiously, studying Apollo with a curious intensity. His golden locks tumbled over his forehead, and he wore a simple chiton that only enhanced his cherubic innocence.

“Can I see this, sir?” The boy’s voice was soft and melodic, yet firm and confident—far beyond his six years. His eyes darted to the lyre in Apollo’s hands, and Apollo finally realized what the boy wanted.

But Apollo was too shocked to speak. The boy stood silently, waiting for Apollo's response. When he finally understood, he nodded. “Of course.”

The boy took careful steps toward Apollo. As he stood before him, the sun god wondered who had raised this child. Most children snatched what they desired without hesitation; they didn’t wait politely for anything. Yet, this boy's sea-green eyes looked up at him with pure innocence and curiosity. He bent slightly to study the lyre, his hands kept respectfully to himself as if he were afraid to touch it.

Apollo realized the boy wouldn't touch the lyre unless he gave it to him.

“Here,” he extended the lyre to the boy. “You can hold it.

The boy hesitated, shaking his head. “No, no, it must be precious.” His voice was filled with a respectful reverence that belied his age, making Apollo's heart beats with admiration.

Apollo gave the young boy a gentle smile. “No, it will be fine here,” he said, pushing the lyre into the boy’s hands. The boy took it with utmost care, his eyes filling with wonder as he studied it. He looked at the lyre as if it were the eighth wonder of the world, his interest and amazement clear.

“Can I ask how you made it, sir? It is amazingly beautiful,” the boy asked, his curiosity shining with pure beauty and innocence.

Apollo smiled fondly, remembering how the lyre came into his possession. “My brother stole my cattle and gave this to me,” he chuckled.

The boy chuckled too, hiding his mouth with his small hands. “This reminds me of a story Mama tells me, about the sun god and the messenger of the gods.”

Apollo froze. The boy’s interest shifted back to the lyre, while Apollo tried to process the millions of questions racing through his mind. His mother told him stories? Apollo was about to ask more when the boy looked up and spoke in his soft, melodic voice. “If you don’t mind… can you,” the boy paused, choosing his words carefully, “can you teach me how to play it? The melody you played was beautiful.”

Apollo, still dumbfounded, watched the boy. “I think I figured out how to make it, but I want to play it for Mama. She seems sad lately, and she loves melodies so much. She sings me lullabies, but I don’t know any to sing for her. So maybe, maybe I can play her something nice that makes her smile.”

Questions swirled around Apollo’s mind. How could a child so young speak with such confidence and wisdom? But the most pressing question came to his lips. “Where is your mother?”

The boy, still focused on the lyre, answered, “On an island.”

“Where is the island?” Apollo asked.

The boy smiled as if Apollo had asked something silly, his smile bright and peaceful. “In the sea,” he said, then paused. “But Mama says the sea is dangerous.”

Apollo looked at the boy, confused. The boy’s answers seemed to reveal everything and nothing at the same time. Dangerous sea? He couldn’t be Percy’s son. Apollo's shoulders slumped. He couldn’t be Percy’s son. Perhaps his mind was creating illusions, offering a glimpse of a future he could never have, mixing him and Percy together to create the child Apollo had always dreamed Percy would carry.

Apollo looked into the boy’s eyes—Percy’s eyes—deciding that maybe, just maybe, he could live this dream for as long as it lasted. For as long as this dream allows him, he wants to imagine that this, indeed, is the child he created with his love. He held the boy’s hand, guiding him on where to place his fingers on the lyre. “Here, let me teach you” he said softly, positioning the small fingers with gentle precision on the lyre’s strings.

The boy was, in fact, the eighth wonder of the world, Apollo thought, as he looked at the young boy whose golden locks glowed in the sunlight.

Once—that was all the instruction the boy needed to create the most beautiful symphony Apollo had ever heard. The boy’s fingers danced over the strings with an innate skill, plucking and strumming as if he had been born for this. The melody flowed seamlessly, each note a shimmering thread weaving through the air, enchanting everything around them.

Apollo smiled fondly at the boy, who was also in amazement, his radiant smile outshining even the sun. The sea sparkled with the boy’s joy, and the sun, feeling almost humbled, began to set beyond the horizon, casting a golden portrait over the world.

Suddenly, the boy stopped and carefully extended the lyre back to Apollo. “I have to wake up now. Mama will wake up soon, and I can’t let her do things alone.”

Apollo’s brows knotted in confusion. “Where are we now?”

The boy smiled brightly. “We are dreaming, of course.”

Apollo took the lyre, looking at it before turning back to the boy. “You can have it.”

The young boy shook his head, making his golden locks jiggle. “It is a gift from your brother. It is precious.” He smiled, a smile that warmed Apollo’s soul, his beautiful sea-green eyes glowing with kindness. Apollo didn't want to wake up. He just wanted to see Percy’s eyes a little longer. Even if it was a hallucination, he wanted to remember those eyes longer.

The boy smiled at Apollo as he began to turn his head. “Thank you for helping me make Mama happy. Next time, when we meet, I’ll try to teach you something too.” And with that, the boy started walking away, slowly dissolving into the dream's fabric.

It didn't take long for Apollo to lose consciousness of the dream. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in his bed on Olympus, the morning light casting a gentle glow through his window.

Apollo sat on his bed, his chamber unchanged, Olympus glowing just as it always had. But his heart was heavy with a sorrow that even the gods would struggle to bear.

A sad smile graced Apollo’s lips—a smile that held an ocean of pain, a pain too deep for mortals to fathom. The Fates had always been cruel to him, but now even his own mind seemed to conspire in their cruelty, conjuring hallucinations to torment him.

A young boy, the eighth wonder of the world—a boy he could have had if Percy were still with him. If only she were here, somewhere beside him. He was certain she would have adored this boy, cherished him with all her heart. But he was not real.. And his Percy was not here.

Apollo rubbed his eyes, longing to wake up, to return to his duties, to mourn a girl whose disappearance remained a haunting mystery. And to mourn an imaginary son, whom he was certain he would never see again.

—————————

Gaea’s Island

Percy was puzzled by her son’s urgency that morning. After helping her with his brothers, he dashed outside, claiming to have something important to attend to.

She didn’t pry too much into Milo’s affairs, trusting that whatever he was up to, he knew how to avoid trouble, unlike her eldest, Hector. As long as it was Milo, she assured herself, he would be fine.

But Milo had been unusually preoccupied for days now. Whenever Percy found him, he would hastily hide something behind his back, claiming it was important. Percy didn’t dwell on it, assuming it was a surprise he didn’t want her to see. She smiled at the thought.

Then, she heard it—a beautiful melody that froze her in place. For a moment, she thought it was a dream, a hallucination conjured by her own longing. an image of a man with the most beautiful sky-blue eyes, creating serene melodies for her suddenly occupied her mind.. But the sound of footsteps snapped her back to reality. She followed the sound, Hector and Luke trailing behind her, until she suddenly stopped.

On the grass sat a young boy with golden locks, his sea-green eyes shining with joy as he looked up at her. Her Milo. In his hands, a wooden instrument created the most enchanting melody she had ever heard since she arrived to this island

It didn’t take long for Percy to realize what her son had made. Her heart swelled with oceans of emotions, pain, sorrow, pride and love as she beheld her precious Milo, crafting a lyre with his own small hands.

Percy approached Milo, her heart overflowing with a mixture of confusion and love. A single tear traced its way down her cheek as Hector and Luke stood nearby, mesmerized by the beautiful sound emanating from Milo's creation.

Milo looked up at her with a bright smile, but confusion clouded his features as he furrowed his brows. “You don’t like it, Mama? I made it for you.”

Without hesitation, Percy rushed forward, enveloping Milo in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I love it… I love it so much.”

“Then why are you crying?” Milo asked, puzzled.

“They're tears of happiness, my love,” Percy whispered, her voice choked with emotion. Tears of happiness—tears of memories, pain, and pride. Tears of many things.

Milo pulled away, showing Percy the delicate wooden instrument he had crafted. “Here, let me show you more,” he said eagerly, his fingers deftly plucking at the strings.

As Milo played, Percy couldn’t help but notice how he resembled his father in that moment. Not a mere version, like Luke, but a reflection—a radiant embodiment of his father's spirit.

Then it struck her—how did Milo know about the lyre? It was Hermes who created it, nd given it to Apollo, later becoming Apollo's symbol. How could Milo know exactly what a lyre looked like? She had always believed that their father lived on in their souls, but she never imagined it would manifest in such a tangible way.

Puzzled, Percy looked at her son. “How did you learn to make this?”

Milo beamed at her, his eyes sparkling with the wisdom of the universe. “In my dream, of course, Mama.”

The answer did little to quell Percy’s bewilderment. She watched as her son proudly displayed his creation, insisting that she should smile because he had made it for her happiness. He even taught his brothers how to hold it so they could all bring joy to their mother.

She watched them take turns playing, each displaying a pure talent they hadn’t known they possessed

Her Milo, her precious children, and her precious lost love…

A few days later, the lyre disappeared from the island, as if it had never existed before.

[laurancezvahlslefteyebrow]

ITS HIM!! MY BOY

LAURANCE ZVAHL’S REDESIGN IS HERE

i’ve been so excited to post this you have no idea

important notes and headcanons:

first and foremost, when Cadenza went missing so did his style. she would usually help him pick out his outfits and when she wasn’t around to help him, he just grabbed whatever he had lying around regardless of if it matched or not.

when cadenza dyed his hair back to its “natural” color it was a shade or 2 too light so as time goes on you can see it grow out.

he likes having somewhat long hair because he can put it in a pony tail and braid it an stuff.

-this next one is pretty intense so fair warning-

so when he was transformed into a shadow knight, he never technically died. he was grabbed and the shadow lord instructed gene to have him brought to the ritual table and turned. because most shadow knights are transformed before being resurrected, they don’t feel anything. laurance, however, was very aware. he could feel his soul being split in half, his bones breaking and mending themselves, his teeth sharpening, his eyes enhancing. he felt every inch of it and could do nothing to stop it. sasha is still haunted by his screams.

the only thing that got him through his time in the nether and prevented him from being corrupted by gene was that he needed to make sure aphmau was ok and that she made it home safely.

when garroth first saw laurance after he’d been rescued by ungrth, he was sure he was looking at a ghost for a split second.

laurance writes poetry in his free time, sometimes reciting it to cadenza to ask her opinion. it’s usually not great….

when laurance was about 9, both his parents died to to illness. he was forced to the streets and had to resort to stealing. he had been doing this for a couple years when one fateful day he tried stealing some bread from a little girl he’d never seen in town before. she caught him and cheerfully brought him to her fathers asking “can we keep him??” that girl was cadenza.

he hates wearing armor. it’s heavy and clunky and loud. he much prefers to wear normal street clothes much to garroth’s disapproval.

he loves cooking and does all the cooking in the guard station. he’s pretty good at it too.

he has nightmares due to his time in the nether. sometimes he’ll yelp or scream out. whenever this happened while he was living in the guard station, garroth would come into his room to pull him out of it and comfort him after he came to. garroth got hit a lot as a result. gar never minded but laurance still feels guilty.

the darkness on his fingers is due to being only half a shadow knight. the longer a shadow knight lives, the further up the darkness creeps, only stopping once the calling is answered (if you know what i mean) or until it reaches the shoulders/hips.

the tattoo on his palms are the source of all his shadow knight abilities and the scars on his face enhance them.

so… in this universe aaron is not alina’s father… it’s laurance….! he found out about aphmau’s pregnancy the same way he did in canon only this time he didn’t leave out of anger or betrayal. it was because the calling was becoming too much to handle. he loves aphmau so much but as long as the shadow lord lived he would only be able to see her with an ancient hatred in his bones. he feared he’d hurt her or their child so he left for their safety.

aphmau never knew that he knew about their child, but when she went to the nether to find him, he asked her name.

his shadow knight armor isn’t… armor…. it’s more like a shell, designed to look as intimidating as possible and be as sharp as possible. it materializes whenever his shadow knight form pops out or whenever his body thinks he’s in need of protection.

once when aphmau was trying to pull him out of his shadow form she cut her hand on it. she has a scar from it and he can’t look at it without feeling guilty.

every so often his vision goes. usually when he’s extremely angry or stressed his vision will just. go. it normally only lasts a few seconds or minutes but each time it happens he can’t help but think “this is it. this is when my vision is taken from me once and for all.”

alrighty! that’s all i have for now! i’m sorry i know that was a lot but i just love this guy so much you don’t understand 😭 i hope you enjoyed and feel free to add any more larry headcanons you have

next up is very talented seamstress

[scienceandstorytelling]

I can’t stop thinking about Will Branner’s performance as Max Jägerman and how it leads to my favorite usage of the Nightmare Time leitmotif in all the Hatchetfield musicals (and why I voted for NPMD as having my favorite title number in the poll I made a while back).

Max is a well-written character who already gives me hints of a tragic villain vibe, and then Will’s performance just fleshes that out tenfold. It features the duality Starkid has been playing a lot with in this series, where you’re sympathetic towards a character while also acknowledging the terrible things they do. Max is horrible and abusive towards his classmates and has given them years of trauma. But a teenage boy does not become a Literal Monster in a vacuum.

Alongside his role as a bully, the script gives us images of Max as someone who is struggling academically and would have probably fallen through the cracks if adults didn’t idolize him for his football prowess so they can live vicariously through him as he beats the rival town in the big game. We find out that he has a shitty dad who verbally abuses him for not being macho enough. That he probably doesn’t have all the sex people say he does. That the people he bullies hate-pranking him in revenge is “the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for [him].” And then Will’s acting keeps showing us glimpses of this goofier side of Max, glimpses of the person he might have been if he wasn’t such a bully.

And for those few moments in the aftermath of the prank, you think maybe he’s going to change now that someone has shown him what he perceives to be kindness. And then he falls through the floor and that opportunity is lost. But unlike what Mayor Lauter implies, I would argue that his fate isn’t fully sealed when he dies in the Waylon House. I think the moment of no return is when he kills Richie while the leitmotif plays.

Lots of people ship Max and Richie and have headcanons that they used to be friends, and I think it’s because of the parallels between them in this song. Here we have two 18 year old boys who have both been failed by the adults around them. Both are harmed by being stereotyped. Both are in the liminal social role of being in the process of stepping out of childhood and into living their adult lives after high school. And both of them are denied those adult lives. And then they fucking sing about it. The “will you pray for me” duet is such a powerful part of the song for many reasons, and I think it’s the moment that shows us that Max is still in the process of committing to being nothing more than a vengeful spirit, or at the very least is in the last stage of that process. The thing that strikes me the most is that Max is simultaneously trying to make Richie feel insignificant and alone while also projecting his own feelings onto him. “Is this the eternal dark without a dawn?” he asks, reaching up to the sky and not looking at Richie at all.

And what fucks me up is that Max fails in this moment. Richie is not alone. He never was, and now he’s even less alone. Not only will Pete and Ruth mourn him, so will Max’s former friends. Its so notable to me that this takes place immediately after Go Go Nighthawks, where we’ve just seen everyone, including, again, Max’s “friends,” sing about how great it is that he’s gone. It’s a real Ebeneezer Scrooge moment that makes me wonder if Max has been silently haunting the school these weeks since his death and it’s only now, having watched that, that he tips over into full villain mode. Max is the one with no one to pray for him, not Richie. And Richie basically says as much, and Max kills him anyway. Richie was doomed from the start in the sense that the show literally opens with a flashforward to his death, but I think Max is doomed too. “Don’t need no one to tell me high school will be my peak,” he says in his own introductory song. I said before how they’re both on the cusp of living their whole adult lives, but I wonder if Max had trouble seeing himself that way. He already didn’t think he would amount to anything after high school. A lot of these “peaked in high school” football star characters spend their adult lives being metaphorically stuck in high school, in their teenage years, because they can’t let themselves move on from their glory days. And here Max is, literally stuck in his teenage years forever as a ghost - but not literally stuck in high school, as we see when he follows them all to the Witchwood. When he makes he grand ghostly return he says to Richie, “I’m free!” (Free from what, Max?) He certainly has the freedom of a ghost to go anywhere and do anything. And yet he traps himself in high school. He prevents himself from moving forward. And all of that is why it makes me emotional every time when he casts aside any last chance of not being the villain and strikes the first blow on Richie, these two teenagers failed by the adults and the structures around them, their fates locked together, while the leitmotif plays and takes us back to that original line from Alice’s corpse singing to Bill about how he should have been a better father: Look what happens, nightmare time.

[whillywisp]

No winter lasts forever; no spring skips it's turn.

Summary: Reader has insomnia, Finnick has nightmares. Both have a little comfort to share in District 13's grey little compartments as the winters approach and an impending doom settles itself in their chests.

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Male Reader (requested)

Warnings: nightmares, mentions of non graphic torture, mentioned past drug use, implied forced prostitution, insomnia.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I'm so terrible sorry about how rambly this is and how long it took me to finish this. Exam season is kicking my ass but at least it's out now. Hope you all like this. I did my best <3

𓆜𓆞𓆝𓆟𓆜𓆞𓆝𓆟

You spent far too much time awake for your liking.

Far too much time left alone in thoughts that plagued your peace, left your chest aching from panic that made you struggle to breathe and far too much time aware of everything.

Worst of all though, it gave far too much time to let insomnia induced migraines develop and make the next day worse than the one before. District 13 was not known for giving painkillers or treatments for things they didn't classify as life threatening with a generous heart.

Days underneath layers of earth, surrounded by metal and blanketed by the condescension of those that boasted surviving as frugally as humanly possible, made you wish you still had access to those little lilac pills that were passed around on marble trays at Capitol parties, the little butterfly embed in it's centre your last thought and the taste of cherry lip gloss still on your tongue as you passed out cold for long enough for the sun to rise twice.

But the wistful longing for Capitol drugs and the relief they brought were interrupted by a long arm wrapping itself around your chest and a puff of warmth washing over your skin as Finnick pushed his face into your neck in his sleep, his golden hair in your mouth and soft snores in your ear. You sighed, wrapping your own arm around his shoulder as you closed your eyes. Not for the first and more than likely not your last either, you envied your husband's ability to sleep through just about anything.

Husband.

The thought of associating that word with the man in your arms with his pouting lips pressed against the underside of your jaw made your cheeks burn a little red and a giddy smile cross your lips as you watched your breath fog in front you.

Years spent yearning for little more than slaps on the back given as a token of boyhood to months spent waiting on a victim who was haunted by the graves that lined to salute his victory. Years spent waiting for green eyes to meet yours with the devotion that you knew he could feel to hours spent with hands begging for relief on skin stained red from need before the march to your own funeral. Years spent in hidden peace as the world corrupted you too and then months spent apart where his screams for help, the smell of your own blood and beady eyes that imitated them became your only company.

Years. Yet again you spent far too many years yearning for something. Yearning for relief. And it came in the form of a wedding underneath layers of earth and metal, surrounded by people a little less stoic and a boy who's smile resembled the very sun that your skin craved, far too spoiled with kisses from its rays and his pillow lips.

You both were clad in identical, standard grey '13 haute couture boxer briefs, your skin cold to touch from sweat that had dried in the chill of approaching winter and Finnick's as warm as the sand on District 4's beaches in summer. Sunshine, you breathed into golden hair, a small smile pressed into the top of your husband's head.

Your heart still sang as you felt the little bruises he had kissed into your skin ache slightly and you sighed, blinking up at the dark ceiling in exhaustion. This was the most exhausted and comfortable and loved and sleep deprived you had been in a while.

Sleep. You needed sleep. This was getting ridiculous.

You huffed, gently manoeuvring out of Finnick's octopus grip as you tried to wiggle out of bed until you were standing next to the bed, your heart breaking a little as Finnick immediately starts searching for you in his sleep, mumbling incoherently and you put your pillow into his grasp to let your scent pull him into the safety of sleep long enough for you to take a short shower.

The compartment you both had been assigned didn't hold much besides a bed just big enough to fit two adult men and a small bathroom cubicle that didn't have a warm water supply, that was only in the communal bathrooms. Still, you didn't complain, knowing the only way you would less tired was if you shocked your body out of its sleepy state, even if it meant staying awake for the rest of the night.

You washed yourself down slowly, taking time to run the scentless soap into your skin and washing away your earlier activities. Finnick had never been one to constantly crave sex, far too scarred from what he was made to do and what he had to watch you do, but ever since you both had been married, he was insatiable, his hands wandering the length of your body every night and your need for the intimacy making you crave his too.

Finnick's sitting up in bed, wrapped in the duvet and sniffling softly. His hair sticks in every which direction and the bright light of the bathroom makes his green eyes look wider and, with a painful tug at your heart, you realise they're stained with tears and red rimmed.

You pushed the thoughts of your earlier activities away, your cheeks burning as you shiver under the cold water shower. You stand there long enough to have your teeth chattering before stepping out of the shower and drying yourself quickly. You pull on the first thing your fingers touch — a thin, grey sweater that's too big for your lithe frame — and a pair of sweatpants before stepping out of the bathroom and jumping a foot in the air.

You close the bathroom door behind you before quickly making your back to the bed, gently cradling his face in your palms, a part of you melting when he leans into your touch immediately, keeping your voice low as to not startle him.

"Love, what's wro—"

"You were gone," he whispered, his voice breaking with your heart at how desperate he sounded. "You were gone a-and the room was dark and I thought...I thought I heard you screaming—"

"Shhh," you whispered gently, tugging him close until he rested his head against your chest, muffling a sob in the sweater as you gently kissed the top of his head, wrapping your arms around his trembling form. Finnick had far, far too many nightmares about the time you were taken by the Capitol, the months he spent alone, waiting for District 13 to rescue you. While your mind actively blocked those days spent away from him, his was hell bent on tormenting him through his dreams. You sighed, gently whispering to him.

"I'm here, baby. I'm right here. I just needed to clean up a little because I couldn't sleep. You just had a bad nightmare. It's okay. I'm okay. We're okay." He sniffled softly as you wiped his tears away and peppered his face with kisses. You sit there with him in your arms, humming softly to him as you wait for your racing hearts to slow down. It was an old, old sea shanty, sung on boats by sailors with voices too rough.

He eventually calmed down and you sighed, tugging him until he lay down with you on the bed, his face burrowed into your chest. The silence of the room is less suffocating now that you both managed to shred last dregs of fear from your limbs, leaving behind exhaustion and something you weren't very familiar with — sleepiness.

You almost doze off, Finnick's warm breath against your throat too comforting when you hear his small, sleep laden voice whisper softly into the silence.

"I want to move out of The Victor's Village when we get back."

You blink into the darkness, tightening your arms around him. You weren't exactly surprised by his statement but the randomness of it still catches you off-guard. "Oh? And go where, baby?"

Finnick shifts against you to look up at you, his wide, green eyes and pink dusted cheeks making him look so adorable that you can't resist kissing the tip of his nose, making him scrunch it as he continues. "A small cottage on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. We'll decorate it with seashells and get a dog."

You chuckle softly at his enthusiastic future planning, running your fingers through his hair as you nod. "And a cat. And hydrangeas to decorate the front porch. And you could knit us all cute little sweaters to wear around the house."

Finnick beams up at you, his dimples making your heart ache with affection. This is what you fought through hell for, making sure he could lay in your arms like this and smile softly up at you as you both daydreamed of a future that looked so distant but felt just as real as the present.

He snuggles impossibly closer to you as he whispers, his voice serene. "I will. I'll knit you a pink one. And we'll make sure the yard looks like a little meadow where our kids can play."

You press gently kisses to the top of his head, rubbing his back gently as you smile. "Of course. We'll get a swing set too."

You feel him press a kiss to the base of your throat, smiling against your skin as you fall silent again. You could feel his breathing slow down, his lashes fluttering against your skin and just as you think he's falling asleep again, you hear him whisper softly, all the wistful longing for a peaceful happy ending with you bleeding out to leave behind a familiar anxiety, anxiety that he only let you see.

"We'll be okay, right?"

He sounds so afraid that it breaks your heart, leaving you to close your eyes as you try to breathe past the pain of seeing him struggle to hold onto happiness. You tilt his head up and gently kiss his lips, his sigh of relief giving you the strength to summon all the confidence you could as you whispered back.

"Of course, baby. We'll be perfectly fine."

Finnick breathed out softly in relief before kissing you again, pushing you onto your back before straddling you. Your hands immediately reach for his hips as you sit up, pulling him impossibly close, desperate to feel him, to know he was right here and yours to love.

You didn't like lying to him, didn't like not feeling confident in your own words, didn't like the uncertainty that came with a promise like this. But if it gave his mind the temporary relief to shed the worries and leftover tears and breathe a sigh of relief, then so be it.

[angel-with-paper-wings]

The Magician’s Prelude

This is a gift for @erik-carierre posted with permission! Many thanks for your feedback and support!!

Summary: Erik’s morning routine while working as a magician in Russia prior to his recruitment by Nadir. Based on Kay!Erik.

Cover art and title by @erik-carierre

Content warnings: PTSD-like trauma flashbacks, bloody/gory imagery, slightly graphic descriptions of violence, body negativity (Erik is an angsty teenager)

Now on AO3 here!

Blood. There is always blood.

It oozes around the shards of mirror buried in the skin of my hands…it drips in thick crimson blobs onto the bundle of golden fur…it spatters in hot torrents against my chest and sticks to the open buttons of my shirt…

And it is there again that night. In the rooftop garden, I stand paralyzed staring at the gap in the crumbled balustrade. My chest feels hollow—I cannot breathe, I cannot scream—all I can do is watch as the gap yawns before me, pulling me closer. Against my will, I peer over the edge to view the sight I know is there.

I wish I could blink. I long for even the tiniest respite from what lay before me, but all I can do is look. Her body is small amidst the shattered rubble, her thin delicate limbs laying at odd angles, her soft barley hair matted with flecks of blood and gore. And her eyes…her pale eyes snuffed of all fire that had once bubbled inside of her like smoldering lava. They stare blankly up at my unmasked face, looking but not seeing.

All she ever wanted was to look at me…and now all I can do is look. Look at what I have done.

I awakened with a jolt, my eyes flying open and clenching the thin woolen blanket to my chest. One skeletal hand flew up to my face, and only once I felt the smooth hardness of the mask did I relax. After a moment of composure, I opened my aching jaw and heaved out a sigh of annoyance. The nightmares were as persistent as they had always been.

I sat up in bed and fumbled to light the oil lamp on the nightstand. I had no difficulty getting prepared in complete darkness, but I simply preferred not to after a night of haunting visions. A small clock beside the lamp told me it was early in the morning—earlier than I typically rose, but I was already resigned to the fact that I wouldn’t be sleeping any more if I tried.

I flung the woolen blanket to the side and felt the floor creak beneath my bare feet. The inn’s modest wooden room was comfortable enough for my needs: a bed with sheets, a chamber pot, a pitcher and washbasin, and most valuable of all, privacy. There had been a mirror, but I removed it soon after arriving.

I yanked off my nightshirt, letting the room’s warm air graze the scars slashed across my back. Russia had intriguingly hot summers; the books I had read as a boy only bothered to describe the harshness of the winter months, so I confess to being slightly bemused upon my arrival three years ago to a city with a climate only moderately cooler than the one I had left behind in Italy.

Her twisted body flashed before me again, the broken masonry wet and crimson from the split in her skull… I closed my eyes and angrily shoved the image back into the shadows of my mind. No. No more thoughts of that place. I poured water from the pitcher into the washbasin and dunked in a bar of perfumed soap. Once it had worked up a lather, I soaked a clean cloth and derisively began to wash myself.

The dawn of my body’s maturity had proven to be a dismal affair. It took my bones the full extent of my nineteen years to finally cease their growing, leaving me wretchedly gaunt and pitifully covered in pasty yellow skin. I had the strength of a man twice my age and triple my weight, but my frame still refused to resemble anything but a corpse. In my frustration, I scrubbed harder at my own flesh, attempting to cleanse it of its rotten color. But it remained as it always had, pulled tight over my arms to display veins and tendons, with the only thickness found in the old silvery scars adorning my wrists and hands.

Once I had scoured myself raw, I slung the cloth over the rack of the washstand to dry and stared down into the bottom of the basin. Silence screamed in my ears and my stomach twisted with dread. I turned my head to glance at the door behind me; the lock was securely in place, but the familiar prickle of eyes stung my skin all the same.

With trembling fingers, I removed the mask. Warm air rolled across my bare skin like a caress, or what I imagined a caress to feel like. I set the white sculpted shard aside on the stand, and after a heavy sigh, I bent over the basin and scooped handfuls of water over my head, scrubbing the soap’s lather deep into my thick black waves of hair. Droplets ran down the edges of my face, as if even they were afraid to touch the horror that was there. But I forced them to touch it, rubbing the water into the cracks and distorted furrows of my skin, smearing it around the protruding bones and into my eyes’ sunken pits. I braced myself with a grimace before carefully wiping the dried mucus away from the edge of the hole that was my nose.

The torture ended when I finally buried my repulsiveness in a towel. I held the soft cloth against my face as my other hand reached for the mask, slipping it back into place with a relieved sigh. I squeezed my dark hair free of water, then picked up a comb and worked it through the curls until they attained sufficient softness. I laid the towel and comb to the side and stepped over to the tiny wardrobe, withdrawing one of many black satin shirts and slipping it on. After dressing myself, I left my room and slinked down the stairs as a soundless shadow.

The empty tavern on the first floor simmered with the savory scent of shchi. This early in the morning, the only other soul awake was the ancient innkeeper preparing the first meal of the day. I scattered a handful of kopecks onto the bar, letting the clattering sound echo into the kitchen. A minute later, the shawled woman doddered forward and set a steaming bowl of cabbage soup and a chunk of crusty bread before me. No words or glances were exchanged, no questions were asked, as was our routine.

I suspected she found me strange—indeed, I have yet to encounter a soul who didn’t—but she seemed to tolerate me well enough. After her defective coal stove found itself repaired the day following my arrival, I was able to convince her to let me use her inn’s far room as a flat for several months. Unlike my fellow tenants, I paid precisely on time, never returned drunk or belligerent, and there was no risk of women being snuck into my bed. After all, what woman would be desperate enough to lay with a corpse, regardless of the payment offered to her?

With this bitterness lingering in my head, I ate my meal quickly and slipped out into the morning’s haze. It was a rare day; the air was pleasantly cool and the clouds had chosen to don a color besides their usual dismal grey. I assured myself that no one was watching before I lifted my head to admire the way the branches of trees cast their dark silhouettes against the paling sky.

The western quarter of Nizhny Novgorod was largely deserted, making it easy to dart through the city’s shadows unseen in my black attire. Once the day hit its sweltering peak, the cobbled streets would resemble the Volga river with rushing currents of wealthy merchants and colorful travelers from Europe and India and Persia. By that time, I would be waiting for them in my magician’s tent, where they would be shown more wonders than their feeble minds could possibly comprehend.

I rounded a corner and walked along the silent boulevard, until the trees bordering the street gave way to a wrought-iron fence. Beyond the fence, majestically imposing against the northwest horizon, stood the blinding white structure of the Spassky Cathedral. Pink wisps of sunrise stretched across the sky and barely kissed the golden spire atop its great dark cupola.

As I so often did on clear mornings like this one, I felt compelled to stop and gaze up at the splendid piece of architecture. My eyes danced over its fine pillars and elegant façade, admiring the expert carving and delighting in the exquisite use of symmetry and proportion. I had snuck inside once in the dead of night to glimpse its interior—what beauty! It lacked the scale of greater cathedrals, but in golden grandeur it did not disappoint.

There was a time when I had imagined building such great works myself. Beneath the creaky bed back at the inn lay several journals filled with sketches of the spectacular monuments I saw when I closed my eyes. The pages overflowed with details of magnificent marble façades and great towering pavilions, gilded figures in copper and bronze, ornate mosaics with details that dazzled the imagination. My architectural creations would be shrines of worship, not to any one god but to all forces that stirred the spirit and awakened man’s deepest emotions—art, geometry, magic, and most of all music. Oh, how I missed music.

Often this fantasy crossed my mind, and with every day and every kopeck in my purse, it seemed less and less like a child’s dream. After all, I was still very much in my youth…perhaps that day was still to come.

Once I had admired all I could bear, I tucked my masked face back down between my narrow shoulders and trudged off through the neighborhood of shops and teahouses. A smattering of humans were beginning to converge on the street that I walked: small groups of traders bickering in foreign tongues and leading wooden carts filled with wares to sell. Like me, they trampled up the soggy road to the shadow of the large red and yellow stone building, beyond which lay a great courtyard overlooking the bank of the Oka. It was here in the summer months that the great Markaryev Fair was held, where tradesmen and entertainers alike earned their gold.

I proceeded underneath the building’s archway and entered the city’s courtyard. Vendors were already busy erecting tents and unloading their goods in designated sections around the square. Past cotton bales and crates of tea and spices, I spotted the oval shape of the familiar black yurt tucked in its corner, untouched as always. I never worried about the tent’s safety during my absence, for a rumor of a deadly curse had found its way amongst the traders that effectively warded off potential burglars.

As I walked, a warm breeze wafted through the market’s open air, carrying a strain of musical notes to my ears. My heart jumped and I whipped my head towards the sound. On the other side of the courtyard sauntered a muzhik fiddler, beard scraggly and legs stumbling as if drunk, the bow screeching as it was dragged across the rusty strings. A couple passing by threw a few coins into the hat that lay at his feet.

Under the mask, my lips pulled back in a snarl. How dare these fools reward such a tuneless, insolent mockery of music! That drunken bastard did not deserve the right to place his filthy hands on an instrument and spoil its sacred beauty for the whole city to hear. My bony form seethed beneath its black clothing, but I successfully fought back my fervid rage and stomped off towards the yurt. I clenched my shaking hands at my sides, imagining the feeling of the man’s throat beneath my fingers; a sharp snap from his neck and those dreadful notes would finally fall silent.

A crunch against the stones. The heavy tumble of rubble against the ground dampens the sound of her skull cracking open…

I entered the dark tent and pulled the fabric flaps closed behind me, blessedly muffling the horrid noises. A deep breath steadied my hands, and with practiced precision I navigated the small space and lit candles tucked in little red lanterns, banishing the darkness and revealing the blood-red of the yurt’s interior. Swooping red curtains hung from the concave ceiling; samples of shyrdak hangings formed the walls, weaving in swirls of black and gold into the otherwise scarlet room. I kicked off my shoes and felt the luxurious softness of the thick Persian rugs buried beneath velvet cushions.

I ignited the small charcoal stove to boil water in the samovar for tea. While it brewed, I reclined back against the cushions and turned my attention to the long wooden box tucked near the back of the tent: the trick casket. My fingers deftly pranced over the mechanism to open the box, and I withdrew the materials for my magician’s performance: decks of cards, stacks of silver coins, hand-carved trick dice. I arranged them all in neat rows upon the central rug with a small grin.

I struck another match and lit a few sticks of incense to flood the space with their heady, sweet fragrance. I had learned over time that it was beneficial for the minds of my audience to be stripped of their defenses—that way, they found my tricks more dazzling and dropped more rubles into my bony hand. Sometimes this state of enchantment would make them too bold, and bring out their insatiable nature that they otherwise hid from their gods during prayer in the temples and cathedrals. They became ravenous, foolishly curious; they would grope for my mask and demand to see what lay beneath…

All she wanted was to see me.

My hands curled upon themselves, extinguishing the match’s flame between my fingertips. The wretched visions played through my mind again and numbed the burn on my skin.

A mirror shard clenched between the tips of tweezers…bloody hands furiously digging at the grassy dirt…the heavy clunk of a knife’s hilt as the belt dropped to the floor… It was difficult to understand why I remembered certain details so clearly, while others merely faded into murky shadows.

Over the course of three years, the girl’s living face had become fuzzy in my memory. Indeed, I had only dared to look at her a handful of times while living with the master stonemason. Every time I did, my chest would fill with an uncomfortable constricting sensation, and I would be forced to look away or else stop breathing altogether. Her eyes had a heat that scorched all the way to my soul. She was fire—bold, passionate, all-consuming—and I knew better than to risk being burned. Or perhaps I was afraid.

But it was the moment I finally gave her what she pleaded for, the moment I ripped off the mask—her expression of pure horror, anguish and primal fear, grief for love she had never truly felt. That image would always remain in my memory perfectly in focus.

I slowly opened my hand, and I stared down at the two spots of black soot left upon the pale skin of my thumb and forefinger. Temporary scars, easily washed away. That’s all these dreams were to me…but still the pain they carried hurt more than the deep wounds left on my body.

With a harsh huff, I flicked the remnants of the match away and reached over to the samovar to pour myself a cup of tea. The earthy liquid seared down my throat and revived my senses, kicking the brooding memories away in favor of my present enterprise. Outside my tent, I heard the growing clamour of the fair coming to life—my audience awaited me.

A familiar pang prodded at my heart. Was this all? Would this pitiful life, shrouded away in a performer’s tent, forever be my purpose? In my heart, I longed to use my skills to create the majesty that filled my mind: grand palaces, ingenious machines, symphonies without equal. If I had to be confined to mindless magic tricks for greedy imbeciles, then they would be the best magic tricks ever conceived. In a way, I thought to myself scornfully, I had not left that traveling fair…perhaps I never would. But at least things were different now. I was my own master, and no one would ever cage me again.

As the incense swirled its sickly-sweet aroma through the air, I slipped further back into my tent and drew a sheer red curtain across my masked form. I laid back in my trick coffin and heard several soft clicks as the mechanism closed the lid and cloaked me in darkness—the one place I have ever truly belonged.

Long ago, I had accepted my place as prince of darkness, and I would reign over my realm with proud finesse. So let them in now, the merchants and peasants from all corners of the world. Let them think they are the kings and I am their fool. Let them believe they know what it is like to be afraid.

Let them in, and let them look.

[ruhjkie]

Threads of Time

Summary: In a twist of fate, after their respective deaths, Aemond and Lucerys are transported back in time to the pivotal moment in Storm's End—just before Aemond demands Lucerys' eye as payment for an old debt. Unbeknownst to each other, they are thrust into the very moment that changed their lives forever. As tensions rise and old wounds reopen, both must confront the weight of their past actions, grapple with their unresolved feelings, and decide whether to follow the course of history or forge a new path that could alter their destinies and the fate of their family.

Pairing(s): Aemond Targaryen/Lucerys Velaryon

Author's note: inspired by a lovely idea from @technicallyfriendly. Thank you for allowing me to use it <3

Also posted on AO3

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The storm raged over Storm's End with a ferocity that matched the tempest inside Lucerys Velaryon’s heart. Lightning crackled in the distance, illuminating the towering stone walls of the castle, while the wind howled like a beast hunting its prey. The sea, dark and unforgiving, crashed against the walls below, as if it too sensed the impending violence.

Lucerys stood at the hall, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body tense and trembling. His hand, still clutching his hood, fell slowly to his side as his eyes locked onto the figure coming out from the shadows. Aemond Targaryen, tall and imposing, emerged from the gloom, his silver hair glinting in the brief flashes of light. His single eye, burned with a mix of anticipation and something far darker.

Lucerys remembered a time when Aemond had been his friend, his uncle — a distant yet familiar presence in the Red Keep, a boy who shared his blood but not his heart. Now, as he stared into Aemond's unyielding gaze, he longed to see something different, something that resonated with the quiet hope stirring in his chest. But all he saw was a man warped by years of resentment, his eye heavy with the weight of an old wound that only he seemed unable to let go.

The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, a force so thick it felt as though even the castle’s ancient walls could scarcely contain it. Lucerys' mind spiraled, disoriented as fragments of another life surged to the surface. Memories of dragonfire scorching the sky, the monstrous maw of a beast closing in, and the sensation of falling into darkness—a fall that should have marked his end. Yet, here he was, standing at the precise moment when everything had unraveled, as if fate had dragged him back—for redemption perhaps, but he did not yet know. The realization was dizzying and he wondered if he was caught in some cruel trick of the Gods.

Aemond’s voice sliced through the heavy silence, sharp and cold as steel. "Wait, my Lord Strong. Did you truly believe you could fly across the realm, scheming to steal my brother’s throne without consequence?" His gaze darkened, the bitterness unmistakable, and as he tossed the dagger to his feet he said. "You owe me a debt, taoba. An eye for an eye.”

The words reverberated in Lucerys' ears, sinking into him like poison. This was the moment—the one that had haunted his nightmares and his final breaths. Now, he understood why he was here: to face the mistake that had changed everything. He had longed to apologize, but after the accident, fear took place—he knew the Greens would never allow him close to Aemond again. So, he wrote letters—many more than he had ever intended—each one an attempt to make amends, to soothe his uncle's rage, and to mend the fragile connection they had once shared. Yet, no replies ever came. The silence was louder than any rejection, and over time, the guilt settled deep within him, buried like a wound left to fester.

Now, standing on the precipice of destiny, something shifted inside Lucerys. The fear that had once paralyzed him, the fear that had driven him to flee, was no longer there. He saw it all. Instead, his fear had become a blade, poised not to strike at Aemond, but at the very fabric of fate that had brought them to this moment. The storm seemed to pause, like it was holding its breath as Lucerys made his choice. His feet moved—not in a frantic attempt to flee, but with the calm certainty of a man who knew there was no other option. If Lucerys Velaryon was to prevent the fate of a war, then so be it.

Something was not right, Aemond knew as everyone too—a shift in the tides of destiny. Lucerys caught the hesitation in Aemond’s eye. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen—Lucerys was meant to beg, to run, to fall under the weight of Aemond’s long-nurtured wrath. But instead, Lucerys was moving, and he wasn’t moving away. Lucerys Velaryon had run towards the blade.

“No!” Aemond’s voice, filled with a panic he had never known, shattered his paralysis. He lunged forward, reaching out for the boy—no, not like this, not his nephew—who had once been the center of his hatred. But it was too late. 

With a shout that was equal parts defiance and despair, Lucerys raised the dagger to his own face. The world narrowed to the cold, unyielding edge of the blade, and before Aemond could react, Lucerys drove it deep into his own flesh. Pain exploded through Lucerys’ skull—a blinding, searing agony that consumed every thought, every sense. He screamed, the raw, primal sound echoing in the storm’s howling wind. Blood gushed from the wound, warm and thick, running down his face, staining his clothes and the stone beneath him.

Aemond stood frozen, his outstretched hand hovering in the air, as if time itself had stopped. Deja vu. The dagger slipped from Lucerys grasp, clattering to the stone—a sound lost to the storm. His fierce, vengeful sapphire eye now reflected only horror, as he watched Lucerys destroy himself in a desperate act neither of them had foreseen. With one final, agonizing pull, Lucerys wrenched the dagger free, his blood-soaked eye dangling grotesquely from the blade. The sight was a twisted mirror of the vengeance Aemond had sought for so long. Lucerys swayed, his strength rapidly fading as pain and blood loss overtook him. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees, the dagger falling from his fingers, the severed eye rolling across the cold, wet stone.

He looked up at Aemond, his one remaining eye filled with tears and agony, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. His voice, when it came, was broken, pleading. "Will you leave me be, qȳbor? Is the object of your torment finally settled? Am I free?"

The words, spoken through a veil of pain, shattered something deep within Aemond. This wasn’t the victory he had imagined; it wasn’t the sweet taste of revenge he had craved for so long. Again the gods were mocking him. All that remained was emptiness—a hollow void that swallowed reason and purpose. The debt that had consumed him, that had brought him to this windswept castle, had been paid—but not by his hand, and once again, Aemond was left to witness the ruin of his own blindness.

Aemond’s hand trembled as he reached out, cupping Lucerys’ bloodied face with a gentleness that felt foreign, wrong. The storm around them raged on, unnoticed by either, as they remained locked in the terrible intimacy of the moment.

“Yes,” Aemond whispered, his voice thick with a grief he did not yet understand. “Yes, taoba, you may leave.”

But even as he spoke the words, he knew there was no leaving—no escape from what they had done. The eye, the blood, the pain—these were the bonds that now tied them, forged in suffering and regret. They knelt there, two broken souls, as the storm finally began to subside outside, its fury spent. The chaos of the onlookers in the room crept in, but neither Aemond nor Lucerys noticed. The future lay before them, dark and uncertain, the weight of their choices pressing down like the very heavens. They were no longer just Aemond and Lucerys— rivals, enemies, whatever they might be called. They had become something more, something that defied the simple lines of love and hate, revenge and forgiveness.

The storm outside had passed, but it had washed over them both, leaving them tangled in the web of destiny. And now, a new beginning awaited.

[emmatgc]

Chapter 12- Wonderful World

“I DON'T NEED PROMISES” (Preferably for adults only. A bit of *Smut* is present. This is only for Seon Yul x Soo Hyun shippers)

“Till death do us part” - the lovebirds said. Soo Hyun is happy her ex husband found another love and hopefully, another family of his own. Congratulations, she said to the newly weds. It is a sunny day for a wedding. It took courage for her to attend but it took extra courage for them to attend together, Seon Yul and her. After that lovers spat, where it took both of them in an unspoken truth of fragile feelings, they promised to stay together and avoid secrets, if possible. They both understand the need to protect each other but the year is almost ending, and somehow their little secret, is taking its toll to people around them. They realized it cannot be this way for long. People can see, people talk. In this wedding, people actually did talk..a lot. One guest started it all. “My dear Soo Hyun, how wonderful for you to attend your ex husband’s wedding”, an old lady heavy on make up, probably a friend of the bride as Soo hyun never saw her ever before. All the more weird for her to reply but she did after-all. She smiled and said “yes, thanks”.

It was a tension filled sunny and windy afternoon and Seon Yul is the most uncomfortable of them all. He looks handsome in a tie and suit, perfect for his skin tone and brown eyes. Soo Hyun was breathless when he fetch her to go to the venue. Seon Yul didn’t talk much as he can see the piercing eyes upon him. It didn’t help that most of the guests are from the news channel’s company where in even that the last 6 years of news has been buried, some remembers. They can hear whispers “isn’t that boy the son of the one she murdered? Are they mad?. Every time they hear those words, their intertwined hands grows tighter and they grow closer as if they needed to protect each other from everything and anyone. They are united. Soo Hyun knows she is still a public figure but she is also a private one as she assumed and prefers to be left alone.

Driving her home, Seon Yul was still pretty much silent. He knows going into this relationship, this is bound to happen. His friend warned him “the world is not kind for your love story” he remembers hearing those words. Not only the nightmares are almost haunting him every night now, he hasn’t also told Soo hyun yet. He is avoiding the topic. He doesn’t want to burden her. Soo Hyun said “Im sorry” upon arriving at her home. He caressed softly her face and he in return, put a lock of her hair beyond her ear and replied “I am fine, don’t worry”. They kissed softly and bid each other goodnight and goodbye. 

“You traitor, how can you this to us? How can you love that murderer? She broke our family. She also killed me. What kind of a son are you?” His mom is strangling him in his dream. He woke up, panting and sweating. He can barely sleep 3 hours these days. Last time he dreamt of his uncle and now his mother. There must be a reason why he is having these nightmares after all these years. He wanted to call Soo hyun but its 3am and again, he doesn’t want to burden her with this.  He didn’t sleep after that and waited for the sun to rise and called some friends of his in his past life. He called a detective in charge of the case of his uncle Kim Joon. He wanted to know how is he and last time he heard , not sure that he was applying for a parole. What the detective told him send chills down his spine. “Son, don’t be surprised but in the coming days, his plea for a parole will be heard in court and he might do an interview if he is awarded that parole. They said for good behavior and national security purposes, the President wants to pardon him”. 

Seon Yul dropped his phone in shock. He thought deep. He needs to do something. He walks back and forth in his home , drinks water and walk again, thinking his next moves. It is over, he said but why does he feel unsafe and something is bound to happen again. His mind went straight to Soo Hyun, thinking about her safety. He texted her he has an emergency in the hospital and he has to work early and that he will call her later. He lied. He wanted to visit his uncle in prison. He wants to talk to him. He wants to see him now. 

“I want to see my uncle, Kim Joon” he said to the jail guard. The guard said he will ask first if he is expecting a visitor and when he came back, he opened the door for his entry. In a room, they can only talk behind a wall for his uncle is put in an intensive unit for high crimes unit. He sat down and waited for him. Handcuffed, and smiling he walked towards the glass separating him from Seon Yul and got the phone and said “Hello, Son”. He answered back “I am not your son”. Kim Joon fell from grace after that fateful night when his crimes were exposed 6 years ago. He has small grey hairs now but it seems his face lacks remorse as Seon Yul feels.

“My dear nephew, how are you? I heard you are seeing that woman, for real this time. I didn’t know you liked older women. Crazy. Is it because I took your Mom early?   His blood boiled upon hearing about his mother. He killed her and now he is granted a hearing for leniency? He wanted to punch him and the glass separating him. “What are you up to? , he asked. “ I just wanted to be free. I think I deserved to be free. I have been good and the secrets I hold, I don’t think the government can take it me spilling more”. He seems confident, this arrogant bastard he thought to himself. “Are you afraid I’d come back for your woman, your lover?”. “If you lay a hand on her, I swear will kill you myself!”, he stood up and punch the glass in front of him. The jail guard warned him and said he only has a minute left. “Be careful nephew. She be careful too….and his family”. Then he smirked at Seon Yul and went back to his cell. Seon Yul stood there for awhile to compose himself. This is not happening, again.

Soo Hyun has been staring at her phone all day. She never got a reply from Seon Yul after she said “Ok, I love you and I will see you later”. She was worried when she saw his texts saying “I have an emergency this early morning at the hospital and I’ll be out late. I’ll call you later”. He seems to forget we had a plan to have dinner but of course, she understands works comes first. She just can’t help but be worried afterall this past few weeks he seems agitated and secretive since that fight they had. She was waiting for him to open up and tell her about his nightmares but its been weeks and there was no stories he shared. She feared something is wrong, she knows something is up and he doesn’t want her to know.

It is now 6pm, she is at the orphanage and its been almost 8 hours he hasn’t; contacted her and continued to reject her calls. She is beyond worried. She decided to call his friend, Shi Joon. She asked him if Seon Yul is there. She Joon was surprised “Seon Yul? He filed for leave. He is on leave today until tomorrow I believe, Seon Hyun. I thought he is with you”. She replied, “He is not”. Is everything ok, he asked back? Soo Hyun was confused and behind the call, Shi Joon feels her fear and said “I’ll reach for him, I will update you if J have news”. Thank you is all she can say. Now, she is more than worried, he is terrified where the hell is her boyfriend! “Where are you?” She texted a 5th time. It is now 8 o’clock in the evening. Turning on the TV, and on the news, she dropped the remote control. Her jaw opened and Kim Joon is in the news. He is applying for parole.

This can’t be, she thought. Now she knows why he is acting strange lately, Does he know about this? He is too good to let this be all but a coincidence. The horror is setting in. Kim Joon might go free? Suddenly her fear is tangible. She looked at the kids in her orphanage. She thought of her family, especially her mom. Will he come back for me? to destroy us? She can’t think clearly. She wants to see Seon Yul, that’s all that matters. He is all that matters now. She grabbed her keys and went to his house.  “Seon Yul?”. Seon yul, are you here? She checked his rooms. No plain in sight, He is not here. Was he kidnapped? Is he hurt? Soo Hyun nearly fainted and took a seat. She drank water and told herself to calm down. 

She fell asleep waiting for him and she heard a text. “I am sorry. You must be worried. I am fine. Do not worry”. It is from Seon Yul. This jerk, she said cursing him out loud. She texted back “Where are you?”.  I need time for myself. I want to be alone, Soo Hyun. Please let me be for now. Please, do not be mad, I beg of you”, he replied. Soo Hyun starts to cry and she can’t give up. He must be hurting, she knows him too well. “Tell me where you are right now. Or I swear….you won’t see me again”.  He replied “Maybe it is better that way”. Her heart sighed and tears poured more. She doesn’t want to give up on them. “Ill drive in the middle of the night and will never stop looking for you. Tell me where you are right now, Seon Yul. If you want to protect me, talk to me. I’ll call on my ex husband and we will come looking for you, together”. That should do the trick, she said and it did. Seon Yul smiled a little. She knows how to trigger him just fine. His jealousy is his weakness, she knows. He is just a boy , a forever green boy in love with her. “I am here at the garage where we used to meet and eat”. Without a delay more, she grabbed her keys and drive down there. Soo Hyun didn’t even know it still existed. One detail Seon Yul didn’t share in their relationship, she discovered. She will ask later but for now, his safety is her priority. He is alone and she doesn’t want to make him feel that way, ever again. 

She saw him the same years ago, in a bonfire he created, looking at the stars. Same as that time, too..he had wounds in his knuckles. He must have punched at someone or something. She brought him some food, his favorites. “Hey” she said, coming forward but not too close. He seem distant. He smells wine. She doesn’t want to force her boundaries. He seems preoccupied in his thoughts. She decided to sit beside him. No touching. Just siting near each other and wishing he will talk. “I saw him today. Kim Joon. Sorry, I lied where I was. If you saw the news, it is true. The government might cut a deal for him and may grant him leniency. It sucks. The system is broken.” 

She replied “ We will fight again. We did it once and we will do it again. It is just a possibility. It hasn’t been decided and granted yet”. She wants to touch him but he is too far gone in his eyes and doesn’t even look at her. “Is this my karma? My punishment of taking revenge on you? On being blinded by hate and for a while, accomplice to his evil acts? Or this… now finally he looks at her, “is this…us, frowned upon by the Gods so bad they don’t want us to be together and just be happy?  Is this a curse?  She stood up and went towards him and kneeled before him, capping his face touching him softly, he closed his eyes “Don’t regret us. This is not punishment for us nor for you. He is just a bad, evil man. He took her hand and kissed his knuckles even with the stain of blood and he stood up. He walked away from her and his back against her he said “Maybe, this is it for us. Let us end this. I don’t deserve you. I will only ruin you. Please stay away from me, Soo Hyun.

“Are you breaking up with me? She asked. Why are you doing this? I love you! Don’t push me away. He walked towards the home storage car he has. She grabbed his hand. “Don’t walk away from me, Seon Yul”. 

He raised his voice “Love is not enough! Don’t you see what’s happening, Soo Hyun? He is gonna get that deal and he is going after us, after you!  This is all my fault. I dragged you into this. I went back into your life, forced myself again into your life and for what? For this? Your life and your family’s life is in danger if he walks free. What then? I can’t run away from this. I am cursed. I don’t deserve you or any joy this world can give. So, just listen and let’s stop this. You deserve a peaceful life. Walk away now. Walk away from me, please. Just listen to me this one time”.

His voice is starting to crack. He is starting to cry. He went inside and sat in his bed. Soo Hyun wants to smack him or punch him for being an idiot keeping it all to himself. Does he think she is inadequate for him? She thinks he thinks of her too fragile. She can handle it. She wants him to know that. She went inside and again kneeled down to him. She grabbed his wounded hands and kissed them again. “Just go and leave me” he begged. “I don’t want to. I will only leave if you will say you don’t love and want me anymore. Say it and I’ll walk away…for good, forever. 

Seon Yul looked at her.. deep into her eyes. He sighed. He is breathless in front of her like always. “Of course, I love you. I always have and I always do” but…I don’t want to hurt you, Soo Hyun. Not again. Not ever. And this…this can hurt you, us and your family. It is not fair. She clapped back at him “You know what is unfair? You not trusting me to be there for you. Look at me, I am here. I am not going anywhere. Don’t try to belittle me. I can do this. I am strong, you know that. I can protect you, too. “ 

Tears came down his face. Nobody has said those words for a very long time. “Ill protect you”. It has always been him protecting everything from everyone he loves. “Just tell me what you need, Soon Yul, let me in. I promise I’ll give it to you”.  He brought his hand to her cheeks, “I don’t need promises. I can’t promise you anything either but I just want you to stay. Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone, again”. I just want you.

For the 1st time Soo Hyun saw Seon Yul’s darkened eyes with deep devotion and if she is right, lust. She knows that look. It has been a long time since anther man gave her that look. She teased him “You are the one wanting me to leave and let me go” . “You can have me. You always have me”. 

“I know”, he answered. She stood up and when he wanted to stand up, she stopped him. “ Don't. Just sit like that. Don’t move". Confused Seon Yul got stiff and frozen, what is she doing? His mind is topsy turvy. It is only now he realized, Soo Hyun is wearing a skirt. She adjusted something under her skirt, his mind went blank. Soo Hyun now is on his lap. There is always a first time. His legs is about to break. Yet, something is hardening below and Soo Hyun knows it. She kissed Seon Yul and this time, deep and hungrily. She is taking charge. She is taking control. In his ear, she whispered “ So, you still want to let me go and leave?”. He let a small groan and replied “No, I lied. I don’t want you to go. Not ever.”.

Both breathing heavily now. She is feeling intoxicated and wild. She hates him now but she can’t help it, she is in love with him, too it hurts. They are both hurting. But their bodies need this now. The hear is definitely on. This is somehow his punishment. She bit his ear and said “Don’t say those words again. Don’t do this again. It’s not him who will kill me, its you if something happens to you”. Those words made him moan. His first. He knows what she wants now. Its been the thing he wants the most, too. Them, to be as one. Opening his jeans and both eyes locked at each other, full of love, longing and lust now, he grabbed her waist and ran his fingers in her back like his life depends on it, she saw his length and he is ready to take her. She now is ready to be taken. Slowly, she went down and just like that, up and down, she rode him like it’s the last ride of their lives. She looks sexy, hot, beautiful and breathtaking he whispered to her. Gods be damned. The world be damned. This is their world and it is now crushing in. They made love for the 1st time. In an unconventional place and time. But then again, nothing is conventional with their love why start now? Panting and sweating together, they broke from their kisses, Soo Hyun said “Let’s face it all, together. And with another kiss and thrust, he replied, yes, together”.  🔥

NOTE: Whew! I know. A little smut here and there. lol 😉I am extra proud of this chapter and this one is one of my favorites to date. I don't know if you are surprised but I had a good time writing this one towards the end but also a hard time with their story of continued pain. They deserve better and they will have just that. Before the rainbow though, storms are always there. Last 2 Chapters and then epilogue. I am in love with this two! The end is near. Thank you so much for your support!

[alxarasm]

As my booklet prints let’s talk about the fundamental tragedy surrounding NedCat to honor the impending Nedcatweek and since everyone is talking about it (by everyone I mean like 2 people-ANYWAY)

They were always meant to meet, whether she was to be his good sister or his wife, they were always going to meet, and I believe there was always going to be a connection between them. Not necessarily romantic in the first scenario but just this…thing that pulled them towards each other, but it’s always- always going to end in tragedy. In terms of the hypothetical “Brandon lives” au, that’s a thing for another day, but Canon?? We got some good tear jerking stuff.

They were never meant for each other. They’re haunted by secrets and ghosts. They were both pulled out of their molds and shoved into tighter, more constricting ones. It’s a gift they never asked for. “You will rule the North.” Applies to both of them, and they resent it. He loses everyone after the war, and so does she. He hurts her before he even knows her. He’s terrified and plagued by nightmares. She’s never been more alone in this world. They find comfort in each other. They don’t know how to. It’s one step forward and 3 steps back. They try to be happy. He frightens her into silence. She forgives him. It’s her duty. He regrets nothing but the hurt he caused.

She’s an outsider. So was he. He builds her a sept. They have many children together. Each time a part of him is afraid he’ll lose her to it. He leaves for war again. This time she loves him. It hurts more. He comes back with another child. Not his, but the wound still aches. They have more children. Only one looks like him- a girl. He loves them all the same. She resents the boy more. They have years of happiness…

A Stag kills a Direwolf. The hand of the king dies. Their boy is crippled. She’s mad with grief. He has to leave again. He kisses her tears and still, he goes. They are apart for weeks. He wishes he were by her side in her grief. She wishes he never left. Their child is attacked. She bleeds to save him. She travels half the continent to find him again. They reunite- its happy- its dangerous- it doesn’t last. They part one last time. He lies to save her. She does everything she can to save him, but she cannot move inside this mold. He is tricked by the man she told him to trust. The thought of her is as painful as a bed of nettles. He thinks about her- constantly. He is plagued by nightmares she cannot save him from. He’ll never see her again.

Their baby girl begs to save him. He confesses treason to save them. His head is cut off. And with it, the secrets die.

She goes mad with grief, and she is alone again. He is everywhere and nowhere. He is her final thought. She begs him to save her while she claws at the face he loved, tearing it apart. He doesn’t. Her hair, they were going to cut it- he loved it. They cut her throat instead.

She’s at peace. Until she’s not.

[mercymaker]

❝I'VE ALREADY WON, MY BOY❞

Mal reached for the approaching spell to counter it, yet her attempt came just a fraction of a second too late. Instead of a diluted red beam draining the incoming energy as he’d expected, Astarion watched as Cazador’s magic hit her with all its might, the sheer force of it enough to knock her off the platform. First came the anger, a hot wave of molten lead rising from the pool boiling inside him, primed to overflow. In the maze of grey and black and red, the spawn’s eyes instantly found his creator, the face that haunted him all these years, now satisfied, victorious, and soon, annoyed yet again.

Then came the horror, followed by the gut-wrenching realization that something was terribly wrong. Maleane was not getting up. When Astarion looked down, the nightmare unfurled in front of him in all its glory, the oily black claws sinking straight into his heart. There was still movement, some minute signs of life coursing through her body, but they were all unnatural, twisted and skewed. A sight he had witnessed many times before. Death throes. As his heart plummeted into the depths of his stomach, Astarion looked at her face. It seemed as if she was gasping for air, neck stretched upwards and tensed, blood spilling in tiny rivulets from her nose and mouth, the green-black tendrils of necrotic energy still clinging to her pale skin. And then, without much hesitation or a warning, it all melted away into the cold air and the sorceress stilled, her eyes two empty pools staring at nothing. How could this go so terribly wrong? How could this happen to her? The woman who had held off a horde of shadow-reaped monsters to buy them time in Reithwin. The woman who had brought the mighty Ketheric Thorm to his knees, only to slay the avatar of Myrkul moments later. The woman, he realized, too late, he loved. And now she lay on the damp stone below him, lifeless, bloodless. Taken from him just like everything else in his wretched life and he had no say in it. For just a brief moment, he’d been free, to make his own choices, to decide what happens with his life. And Astarion was foolish enough to believe that the moment wouldn’t be ephemeral. Revenge dragged him back to this cursed place and laid the one person he truly cared for on the altar to be sacrificed, alongside him.

[haddonfieldwhore]

haunted - ethan landry

ethan landry x reader

❤️🔪 spoilers for scream 6 🔪❤️

warnings: angst, death, mentions of blood, reader visits ethan’s grave, lots of dialogue (one sided obviously), it’s kinda short

a chill had begun to creep up you spine, raising the little hairs on your arms as the sun moved behind a cloud, moving lower and lower in the sky. you weren’t sure how long had you been sitting there in front of ethan’s grave; an hour- maybe two. you sighed as you pulled your jacket from underneath you and slid it over your arms, holding it closed around you. the cool grass that you sat cross legged on felt damp on the seat of your pants, and you absentmindedly plucked at the blades of grass by your feet. you pulled your gaze from the ground, and looked at the cold stone in front of you. you ran your fingers against the engraving, feeling the rough texture under you hand.

it was the first time you had worked up the courage to go see him, and it was like every emotion you had been trying to deal with since he died was washing over you at once. as a matter of fact, you were the first and only person to visit his grave, and you looked to your left to see his father, mother, and sister, quinn, buried next to him.

“i don’t know if it’s weird to talk to you.” you mumbled, after having sat in silence until now. “maybe it’s weird that i’m even here… after everything.” you thought back to everything ethan had done, how many people him and his family had hurt; how he had hurt you. that night in the apartment, how terrified you and your friends had been, and how you still had nightmares about anikas death…how when you closed your eyes you could still see all the blood.

“i…i hate you,” you stuttered, the words catching in your throat as your eyes began to fill with tears. “i hate you for what you did.” you wiped tears from your face, taking a deep breath.

“and i hate that you left me all alone,” you cried. “i hate that its been three months and i still wake up and reach for you next to me; or i wait for your name to pop up on my phone. i hate that i look for you everywhere - no one sits at your table in econ.” you continued.

“i couldn’t sleep one night and snuck into your dorm room; your pillow still smells like your cologne. chad doesn’t live there anymore, he moved in with sam, tara, and mindy. they would kill me if they knew i was here,” you said, and then laughed sadly. “maybe a poor choice of words.” you admitted.

“sam keeps trying to talk to me; she says she understands what i’m going through. i guess in a way she does. i can’t though, not after you tried to kill her. and especially not after i realized a part of me still loved you - even after that.”

“all of your things are exactly where you left them- the school keeps telling me i have to clean your dorm out but i can’t do it. the semester is over soon though, so i guess i’ll have to or they’re gonna throw everything out.” you looked down at your lap. reaching into your bag, you pulled out a plaid shirt you had stolen from ethan’s dresser.

“i- i took a few of your things from your closet,” you admitted. “i don’t know, having a piece of you with me makes it… easier; like you’re not really gone.” you sighed. “why did you have to do this, ethan? what happened to the sweet boy i met a year ago when i moved to new york? what about the plans we made?” you were angry now, and pounded your fist against the granite of the headstone, scratching up your hand in the process but you didn’t care. “how could you do this… to your friends.. to me?” you asked, trying to stop the tears as you stared up at the darkening sky.

“i shouldn’t miss you, you don’t deserve it,” you sniffled. “but i can’t help it. because no matter what you did… somewhere deep down, you were still the boy i loved. i think that’s the worst part you know, because i really did love you. i guess i’ll never know if you really loved me, or if that was just a part of your plan too.” you shook your head.

“i think you must have though- i don’t think you’re that good of an actor,” you laughed, your hands fiddling with the “E” necklace ethan had given you for your 6 month anniversary. you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off, careful to keep it tucked under your shirt around your friends.

“how am i supposed to move on from this? from you?” you pleaded. “you promised me; you told me you would never hurt me.” you looked at the time on your phone, a picture of you and ethan still your phone background that you hadn’t gotten around to changing.

“i’m gonna be late for econ. you’re missing the exam, by the way. we were supposed to study together.” you said, dusting yourself off and putting your bag over your shoulder as you stood up. adjust the flowers you had brought, you watched the petals move slightly in the wind as the blooms lay against the dark stone.

“maybe i’ll be back,” you whispered. “or maybe i’ll move on and forget all about you.” you sighed.

“but i doubt it.”

[onpointedfeetandbrokendreams]

Day 5 - DBDA Week

Day 5 of Dead Boy Detectives Appreciation Week: 10th-16th June by @dbdcentral

Prompt: Dreams

Relationships: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland, Edwin Payne&Niko Sasaki

Tags:  Alternative Universe - Inception (sort of)

TW: Mentions of canon-typical violence

--

As far as the eye could see, the corridor never seemed to end. It kept going, and going, the same sickening green light, the same splashes of blood and broken doll pieces scattered on the floor. It was dizzying. Edwin wasn’t sure if it was actually expanding before him or if he was running in circles, but he couldn’t stop to take notes, or to leave a mark behind to orient himself. He just had to keep going and going, as fast as he could, as quiet as he could. The raw terror the sound of the creature produced enough to make adrenaline pump in his body and make his muscles strain harder, his breathing shorter.

Then he rounded a corner and before he could understand what was happening, the creature was on him, slashing his head from forehead to chin. He couldn’t see, the eerie light was reddened by the drops of blood covering his eye.

He collapsed on the floor, crying, he didn’t even have the energy left to scream. He knew the creature wouldn’t kill him immediately, it wanted to play, wanted the chase to last.

“Edwin, is that you?”

A far-away voice brought him back to the present, he raised his eyes and immediately the tears returned, mixing with the dirt and blood on his face. How he wished Charles had never had to see him like that.

“What are you doing here, Charles?” He asked between sobs.

“I came to rescue you,” Charles replied easily, like it was the most obvious truth of the universe. In a way, it was. Edwin had been hoping that he would come and dreaded it at the same time. It took him seventy years to escape the first time, seventy years of being chased by the creature, torn apart and eaten. He couldn’t bear the thought of Charles having to go through the same because of him.

“Please leave, I’ll distract it…” He whispered, even knowing his plea would fall on deaf ears.

“Mate, there is no way I’m leaving this place without you.”

Charles was towering over his still crouched form now, offering his hand for him to take and help him up. He extended his own hand, but just a moment before their fingers could so much as brush against each other, the creature was on them, and everything went black.

–

When he opened his eyes, Edwin was not in the corridor anymore. There was no trace of the creature, no sound of dolls giggling or screaming from behind him. He took in the place and realised he was in his office. The desk was in its usual place, and it was covered in books and notes in his own hand-writing. The second thing he noticed was that there was also no sign of Charles.

“Hey Edwin, what do you think of the Museum Haunting for our next case? The History Museum is my third favourite public building to visit.”

He knew that voice. His eyes started to fill with tears for a very different reason, as he ran into Niko’s arms.

“Niko! What are you doing here? Also, what Museum Haunting?”

Niko returned the hug, then she took a step back and gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean? I work here. Is everything okay?”

Edwin’s head was spinning so hard he was barely able to find his voice to ask:

“Where is Charles?”

“Who?” Niko asked, still looking at him in confusion.

Despite technically not needing to breathe, Edwin was gasping for air, because no, absolutely, this could not be happening. 

He saw Niko’s hand reach out to him and caress his arm to comfort him, but he could feel it even less than he normally would. He imagined that was the feeling astronauts had in Space when they had no gravity to keep them anchored. It was an even worse kind of nightmare than Hell.

Then, an idea hit him. Sudden, like lighting. Nightmare.

He focused on how he had died in Hell and reappeared here and he remembered reading a book about this. He fumbled drunkenly towards the bookshelf on the other corner of the office, sending an apologetic look at Niko for slipping away from her.

He turned the pages, but it seemed like nothing on those books was where it was supposed to be. The information was wrong, different, the bookmarks on completely useless places. The books looked like his own, but they were not the same.

After an eternity, or maybe a couple of hours, he finally found what he was looking for. At some point, Niko had renounced trying to talk to him and went outside. Scanning the words on the page, he finally dared to stop and take a proper breath.

“Dream Worlds,” he said, to no one in particular. “When you die in the dream, you are transported back to another dream, or you wake up.”

He didn’t remember how he had managed to fall asleep, he had always thought that it was not something available to ghosts.

There was only one problem: this was not Hell, he was already dead in this World.

He scrambled his brain, trying to figure out what it could mean for a ghost to die in the dream, because their energy could be consumed, but it sounded a bit different from ‘dying’. In the end, he could think only of one thing. The one he had run away from for more than thirty years.

“Niko?” He called, phasing through the wall to the apartment on the other side.

She was laying on her bed, studying the architectural plan of the museum. For a moment, Edwin smiled, looking at the image in front of him with fondness, and longing. He would have liked to show Niko their office, and maybe work cases with her in London.

Niko put down her pen and turned to him, to let him know she was listening.

“I’m sorry, I needed a moment. I am ready for the museum haunting now.”

She beamed, explaining everything she had learned as she led the way out of the building.

The case was simple enough, especially because Edwin had solved it before. A ghost from the Great War with a cursed mask. He caressed the purple volume in his hand and cast a caging spell for the ghost, then set the mask on fire to destroy it. When the blue light came, Niko started yelling at him to run, to hide, she tried desperately to grab his hand and drag him away, but saying a soft “sorry Niko”, he made his arm incorporeal to her, and waited.

“Edwin Payne,” Death’s voice called him. She didn’t seem surprised. “I see you are finally ready to go back to your Afterlife.”

“Yes,” he lied. It still made him shiver to say the words, even if he knew he was not actually going back to Hell.

He heard Niko yell “No!!” as he took Death’s hand, and he couldn’t help the pang of regret at saying goodbye to her. But this was not real, an existence without Charles could not be real.

–

Edwin’s eyes opened on the most beautiful view he had ever seen in his life, and in his death. A phantom flutter on his chest reminded him of the heart that once used to beat there.

“Mate, finally you’re awake! I was so worried, you just collapsed, you’ve been out for days.” Charles said, offering him a hand to help him up. The sense of deja vu sent a new wave of fear through his entire body. He remembered the moment in his vision of Hell, when their fingers were about to touch before the creature ate them both.

Seeing him remain still, Charles moved both of his hands to Edwin’s shoulders and let them slide behind his back to encapsulate him in a hug, and pull him up towards his chest.

Edwin melted into it. “You’re real?” He asked, the smile threatening to split his lips.

“Of course I am real, what happened?” 

There would be time to explain everything later, and to understand. For now, he just let the feeling of Charles’ embrace encompass him, washing away every moment of fear and torture. He didn’t even care if it was the real world or not.

[dragon-creates]

She Was Like A Sunflower

Read on AO3

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12

UM!!! EP 2 WAS SO GOOD!!!!! GUMMI GOO😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭!!!!!!! Um yeah that's all I have to say, sorry this is late lmao. Hopefully I'll get back to a better schedule soon. Also, trigger warning for child abuse in the first few paragraphs in this chapter as it does go into detail with Jack's backstory. As always I will put (1) when it starts and (2) when it finishes. All I want is for my audience to feel safe so if this is something that you know you can't read please don't feel ashamed skipping this. Stay safe xx.

3. Seven

And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why And I think you should come live with Me and we can be pirates Then you won't have to cry - Seven by Taylor Swift

.

.

.

(1)

“Jack! Jack! Get out here you little shit!”

A five-year-old boy whimpered at the loud voice, crouching behind a garden shed in the backyard. He held his breath, begging for the voice not to find him. In his arms he held a small, trembling baby rabbit, its nose twitching in panic as they hid.

“You can’t hide forever Jack!”

The young boy had come home from school, wanting to get into the house and not bother anyone. He had to be good, he will be good! But sometimes, good didn’t seem to be enough. Even when he was ‘good’ they still hurt him…

That was when he saw Luke, kicking a baby rabbit in the front yard. The poor thing was limping, it had probably wandered too far from its mama, now Luke was torturing it for his own amusement. He begged Luke to stop, to do something else, but the teenager had gripped his face and growled at the child to mind his own business. Jack didn’t know why he did it, maybe it was a reflex from the sudden fright he felt, but he kicked Luke in the stomach, leaving the older boy winded. There was nothing but red-hot rage in Luke’s eyes, that’s how Jack knew how much trouble he was really in.

So he picked up the rabbit, ran through the house and out into the back garden, now he was here. He heard Luke’s footsteps on the grass. Jack held his breath, forcing himself to not make any sudden noise. The seconds were achingly long, his heart pounding against his chest as he tried to hear if Luke was approaching or not. The footsteps stopped, Jack squeezed his eyes shut, as though this were all a nightmare and he would be waking up soon.

Unfortunately he was very much awake when a hand grabbed him by the hair and through him onto the open ground, forcing him to drop the baby rabbit. “You think you can get away with that?! Huh?!” Luke mocked, kicking the boy in the stomach as Jack let out a cry. “Come on! Finish what you started!”

“I’m sorry Luke! I’m sorry!” Jack wailed as the teen kicked him in the knees. “It was an accident!”

Luke paused, a sadistic grin creeping on his face as a vile idea came to mind, “Accident? Heh, I’ll show you an accident.”

His eyes darted to the baby rabbit still limping on the ground and marched towards it. Jack looked up from the ground, pushing himself up as he scanned the grass for the rabbit. It was only when he heard a crunch and a distressed squeak did his heart plummet to the pit of his stomach. Luke stomped on the little rabbit over and over again, little squeals leaving it as it writhed in pain. “No!” Jack cried, trying to stand despite his aching limbs. “Luke, stop it! Please, stop!”

Luke ignored him, continuing his attack on the poor creature. Jack tried to stand as quick as he could, the blood rushing to his head as he swayed on his feet. By the time he was fulling standing it was too late. There was nothing left of the rabbit but a mangled corpse and a manic sneer on Luke’s face. The blond teen turned to the young boy, shrugging as it he only flicked a piece of dust off his shirt, “What? It was just an accident?”

Suddenly, Jack didn’t feel the lightness in his head anymore. He squeezed his fists, a rush of adrenaline rushing through his veins as he screamed, running to Luke and tackling him to the ground. The blond wasn’t expecting this reaction, letting out a screech as he felt sharp nails scratch across the skin on his face.

“How dare you!” Jack screamed, not ceasing. “He did nothing to you! Why did you kill him?!” There were stains of red, Luke grunted as he tried to stop the scratching but Jack’s hands were too fast for him to catch. “I hate you!”

When Luke finally caught one of Jax’s hands, did clarity start to fill the young boy, along with the fearful dread. He tried to run, but Luke’s grip was firm and bruising as he stood up. With his other hand, his fingertips tapped against the blood on his face, inspecting it closely. A small chuckle left the blonde, lacking humour and filled with nothing but bad intentions. And little Jack had nowhere to run and no chance to hide now.

“Luke, please don’t do this,” Jack whimpered, trying to pull away from the older boy’s hold on his upper arm.

“Too late,” Luke hissed, his head turning back to the large, ivory house. “DAD! MOM! COME SEE WHAT JACK DID!”

Jack’s blood ran cold. Luke was already a bitter, vile person, but even bad people had to learn their behaviour from somewhere. As for Luke, he had received it from his parents. The only people – other than Luke – Jack feared the most, “Luke, I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!”

But his cries fell on deaf, ignorant ears. Two adults rushed out the house, a man and women in their mid-forties with scowls that seemed to be printed onto their faces. Luke’s parents, the ones who had also adopted Jack.

The woman let out a sharp, horrified gasp, “You! What did you do to my son?!”

“Little bastard attacked me out of nowhere,” Luke threw the child forward, making him fall forward and land on his palms.

Jack barely had any time to gather himself before a rough hand grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and lifted him up. Luke’s father glared at him, a cigarette hanging up his lips as Jack tried to not breathe any of the smoke being forced down his nostrils. “You think I accept that behaviour in my house?!” He glowered.

“I-I’m sorry sir!” Jack wailed. “But he killed that bunny! He stomped on it till it couldn’t move! I just wanted to protect him!”

“All this over a stupid rabbit?!” The foster mother screeched. “You’re nothing but a little monster! Hurting my boy over a useless rodent!”

Jack’s eyes widened at what she had said. How cold and callous her words were. How she devalued the life of an innocent creature who couldn’t take care of itself. He turned his gaze to Luke, the boy holding a t-shirt his mother fished from the laundry basket and held it to his face. He was still grinning, blood staining his teeth, looking more like the monster that his mother was talking about.

“Get in!” The man growled, dragging the boy into the house again. Jack grunted as his feet scrapped against the ground with the sudden, harsh movement, feeling Luke’s eyes on him as the blonde’s father kept pulling him.

He didn’t stop until the boy was pushed into the kitchen and the door was slammed shut behind him. The man’s grip moved from the back of his shirt to his foreman, nearly cutting off the child’s circulation.

He took the cigarette out of his mouth, “This is what happens to little brats who act out of line.”

Jack gasped, the realisation of why they went inside finally setting in. His foster father didn’t want to risk any prying eyes, any witnesses to see what he was about to do next.

Jack struggled, trying to escape, but the man struck him across the face, his ring leaving a mark in the child’s delicate skin.

The cigarette moved closer to his arm, the young boy crying and writhing. The blunt hadn’t even touched him yet somehow he could already feel it.

The flaming end met his skin.

And Jack’s scream echoed throughout the empty house.

(2)

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Jax gasped, sitting up straight in his bed as he clutched his hand to his chest. He scanned the surroundings, even putting a hand to his forearm to feel for any scarring. His breathing slowed, relief settling when he saw that he was in his own room, and that there were no scars to be found. Just an armful of purple fur instead.

He felt a body stir next to him, Pomni had the blankets tucked around her like a cocoon. Jax didn’t mind, he got too warm most nights anyway. He settled back down, sliding and arm round her waist and pulled her close. He felt her chest against his, rising and falling with each breath. He matched his own with hers, letting it calm his racing heart. His eyes began to droop when he heard a small voice.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Pomni asked, peering up at him with sleepy eyes.

Jax sighed, he promised not to lie to her and he wasn’t going back on it now or ever, “Yeah, I did.”

“Are you okay? You wanna talk about it?” She attempted to sit up. He patted his hand against her waist, reassuring her that she was fine where she was.

“It was about my old foster family,” he told her. “Way before I met Winter.”

“Oh, babe,” she tucked her head under his chin, snuggling close. “You didn’t deserve anything that they put you through. I’m so sorry that you had to relive that in your head.”

“There’s nothing you gotta apologise for,” Jax kissed the top of her forehead. “Honestly, I don’t think about them a lot anymore. I know that sounds ironic cause of Luke confronting me back then. But they don’t mean anything to me, they don’t matter…but you do, more than anything.

He felt her lips smile against his chest, pressing a small kiss next to his heart, “You mean more than anything to me too.”

Jax pulled her closer again, feeling his eyes fluttering shut as sleep came for him once again, “Thanks little lady.”

“I am not a little lady,” she mumbled causing him to chuckle, his voice vibrating against her ear.

The nightmare was at the back of his mind, his eyes gazing on the small jester curled up beside him. Luke didn’t matter anymore, his old foster family didn’t matter anymore. Thinking of them never did anything good for him, there was no need to focus on his past when his future was right next to him. He would talk about them if the situation occurred, he didn’t want to repeat the mistakes of secrets, but Pomni was all that mattered. And that was okay.

With one last sigh, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, joining her in a peaceful, blissful sleep. His dreams for the rest of the night were filled with the smiles of a certain brunette.

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Another day, another adventure. Everyone already had the same shared opinion of Caine’s adventures, but one of the worst things they all agreed on had to be mentally preparing themselves for whatever it was going to be. It was a process that had each one of them dreading for whatever Caine had created for them. Sometimes they were the most thrilling and exciting experiences they ever had, others were boring and had them wanting to go back to their quarters, but the worst ones had to be when they were left emotionally or physically scarred with the most haunting imagery that would be stuck in their minds forever. They never understood why Caine would create such adventures like those, how could he ever think they were fun?

Jax shuddered, hoping for at least a boring adventure instead of the awful third option. He turned to Pomni – who was busy talking to Ragatha – he definitely didn’t want her dealing with that type of adventure. She had already been through enough as it is. He knew that they were to keep a low profile, but he also knew that Caine was unpredictable. Whatever adventure was chosen, he was going to stick as close to Pomni as he could. The last time they were separated she nearly…

“Good morning my superstars!” Caine beamed, a juxtaposition to the circus members sleepy and dreary attitude. “Don’t I have just the perfect adventure for all of you today!”

“Wow, such a surprise,” Jax grumbled under his breath. The jingle of Pomni’s giggle at his sentence made him smile, making sure it was hidden from Caine.

The pair of dentures didn’t seem to notice, simply continuing with his speech, “I know you all miss your old lives as boring humans, so being the gracious ringmaster that I am, I decided to base our new adventure around one of your earthly activities I heard one of you mumble about – though I can’t seem to remember who said it.”

Everyone gawked at that. Caine so rarely laid any notice or curiosity to what the outside world was like, stuck in a firm belief that the circus was the greatest place to ever reside in. This was the first time that he mentioned basing an activity on the real world, what could he even imagine what said activity involved? But more importantly, what activity did he pick?

“I’ve done the amount of research that I felt bothered to do and created this!” With a snap of his fingers, there was a flash of light and the walls of the tent disappeared. Each member blinked, rubbing their eyes from the sudden bright light. When the brightness faded, they let out a small gasp at the scene around them.

An orange sunset, tall and long hedges and miles upon miles of fresh golden corn. Caine had created a cornfield maze. Other than the vegetable, Jax felt a tingling familiarity at the sight of the maze, the memories of falling asleep with a certain jester and dreaming about his best memories of his past in a place just like this. He looked to Pomni, she seemed to be having the same familiar feeling too. She turned her head to him, her eyes twinkling and her smile sweet. He returned it with the same warmth.

“Your goal is simple!” Caine interrupted the couple’s train of thought. “It will be a race between each one of you! Whoever collects the most corn by the end of the adventure wins…oh I actually haven’t thought about that. Um, what do humans usually win at these things?”

“Oh, well it ranges from a lot of different things,” Ragatha piped up. “It could range from prize ribbons, stuffed toys, sometimes even food. Something that most people can enjoy!”

Caine hummed, tapping a finger against the bottom of his jaw, as though he were deep in thought about a life changing matter rather than a prize for a silly game, “Aha! I’ve got it! The prize can be…water! Everyone likes water! Right?”

Ragatha cringed, not surprised in the slightest from his answer, “Sure Caine.”

“Well then, I’ll you all to get started superstars!” the ringmaster grinned, about to snap his fingers. “Oh I should mention, you’re all going to be separated until all of you have found an exit! Okay, bye!”

“Wait, what?!” Pomni paled, but her question was cut short but the familiar snap of Caine’s fingers.

Jax whipped round, his heart pounding. No, no, no! He promised her he would stay! He promised to protect her! He let his feet run as fast as they would take him, not letting the red and blue woman leave his sight for a moment. But she was quickly replaced by green, towering hedges covered with the yellow vegetable he had to collect.

Jax begin to pant heavily, panic filling him from head to toe. Would she be alright? They hadn’t left each other’s sides ever since they got their memories back, too afraid to let go as if they were afraid this were only another hope filled dream. Was she alright being on her own? What is something happened to her?

He took a breath, smoothing his hands over his ears until they sprung back up, picking up the basket placed next to him. Curse Caine and his sudden stupid rules. It didn’t matter, all he had to do was pick a few pieces of corn and find an exit. Maybe he would run into Pomni as well? Yeah, that’s what he had to focus on. Finding Pomni.

He plucked a piece of the edge, placing it inside the brown woven basket before walking down the path. He would find Pomni…

He will find Pomni.

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Knock, knock

“Come in!” a woman’s voice called through the door.

Riley’s wrapped her hand around the knob of the captain’s office door, with it creaking as it slowly swung open. A slender woman with warm, dark skin and brown locs sat at a table, reading through the files on her desk. Ever since Penny and Jack’s disappearance, it had thrown their entire case for a loop. But that was part of the reason why Riley was here.

“How can I help you Agent Reed?” she asked, looking up briefly before returning her attention to the papers.

“Good afternoon ma’am,” Riley stood straight, hands clasped together in front of her. The perfect picture of professionalism. “I’ve just come to receive a warrant to do a search.”

“State the place and case Reed, and I’ll see what I can do,” Rae nodded, sifting through the dozens of notes.

Riley bit her lip, praying this would work, “C&A industries ma’am, for the Penny Reed and Jack Bloom cases.”

Rae paused, the silence was somehow more deafening than Riley ever imagined it could be. The captain placed the papers down, looking back up at red-haired woman, “Weren’t you there a while ago for your case? Something about seeing if a possible witness was involved somehow?”

“Yes ma’am,” Riley nodded. “And I believe that he might be right. Which is why I’m requesting the warrant.”

“It’s also funny that you mention the case for your sister and Mr Bloom,” said Rae.

Riley raised a brow, “What do you mean?”

“We just received word this morning that the files for the missing persons cases that were related to C&A went missing. I was about to make an announcement but as you can see, because of the recent incidents I’ve become more swamped with paperwork that usual,” Rae sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Riley cringed, “It’s really become that bad?”

“Since Jack Bloom was connected to C&A, it’s opened a whole pipeline,” Rae told her. “Apparently, the company is extremely defensive with being accused of these sorts of things, and it’s not the first time someone disappeared on their property on in relation to them. However we haven’t found any proof that they were involved, so we’re still stuck in limbo until we find something to shut them down.”

“That’s why I’m asking for this warrant ma’am. There might be a chance that C&A have these files,” Riley explained. “Some of the cases had this company involved before, right? Not all, but some? Maybe this could be a good chance to see how they were connected to C&A?”

“You sure you got the right plan for this, Reed?” Rae questioned, raising a brow. Her tone was stern but not demeaning in the slightest. “C&A have a pretty tight record. One slip from us and they’ve got lawyers, attorneys, everything coming after us.”

“As long as we have the warrant, we have the right to say we’re allowed to be there,” Riley said. “I’m not going into this blind ma’am, I’ve got a plan and I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s not that I doubt you Riley, but I do know that this case is personal to you. Since it’s your sister going missing as well,” Rae took note of how the redhead tried not to stiffen up at the mention of her sister. “I just don’t want you going into this with wool over your eyes. I’ve been seeing how you and Winter come into work sometimes. Both of you would never stop grinning and smiling at one another, now it looks like you two have become strangers. I don’t want these cases getting to you to the point where you feel like you’re losing yourselves.”

Riley crossed her arms over her chest, gazing down to the floor as though she were a child being scolded. Every time she saw Winter’s face - downed and saddened from the past few months - she wanted nothing more than to kiss every inch of it. She knew Winter wasn’t ignorant to her attempts to avoid anything that attached Penny’s name to it, like retracting a hand from touching a burning flame. But she saw how it was affecting Winter. She knew that she was only trying to help, yet Riley kept turning away, kept refusing any conversation about how she was feeling. It was making things worse, she knew that. Yet the fear of watching Winter tear herself apart from grief and pain had imprinted itself on her mind, and she just couldn’t muster the courage to try and talk to her wife.

One day Riley promised herself, one day I’ll say something. Just…not now.

“Everything is fine ma’am,” she reassured Rae. “These cases are stressful, but not impossible.”

Rae hummed under her breath, fiddling with her ring finger before saying, “Okay, I’ll send to you later today. You better know what you’re doing.”

Riley grinned, a sigh of relief escaping her, “I do ma’am.”

She gave a quick nod to her superior, turning on her heel and grabbed the door handle before Rae called her one last time, “Riley.” The redhead faced her boss again. “I’m serious, be careful with this. C&A aren’t to be taken lightly.”

The captain’s voice was stoic, serious, holding deep truth that Riley was slightly nervous to ask about. But she knew that Rae was right, they had to be careful with this. “I will ma’am.”

With that, she walked out the office, straightening her blazer. She whipped her phone out of her pocket, typing quickly once it was in her hands.

I got the warrant Samual

Be ready

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Riley had told her to wait, just until things were set in stone. But Amber had never felt so restless in her life. Here she was, waiting in her living room by her old computer, with both of her daughters out of reach. Was this really what was expected of her to do? Nothing? For god’s sake! Penny was trapped inside a literal video game and she was supposed to wait?! How could any mother simply do that without complaint?!

Amber groaned, burying her face in her hands before standing and walking to the kitchen. She at least had to do something to keep her mind busy, maybe some tea would help. After all, if she had anymore coffee she was sure she would only get more agitated. She opened the cupboards, her eyes roaming each corner before landing on a familiar yellow box. She reached her hand in to fish it out, sighing with slight melancholy when she saw what type of tea it was.

Chamomile, Penny’s favourite.

Penny who completed half of Amber’s heart with Riley. Penny who wanted others to see the best in themselves when they weren’t able to do so. Penny who had gone through hardship after hardship only to end up in a place that forced her away from her family and into a state of terror.

No. Amber wasn’t going to stand by. She slammed the box onto the counter and marched out the kitchen and up the stairs into the hallway. She could figure out a way to help, even if it was just a little bit. When she made it up the stairs, she reached up to a little strong connected to a trapdoor on her roof, pulling on it carefully as a ladder slid down.

Amber couldn’t remember the last time she had been up the attic, it had seemed it had been decades ago since she stored the last childhood memory of the girls up here. But it held what she needed with the plan in her head. She climbed up the ladder, poking her head up through the trapdoor as coughed from the leftover dust from the wooden floorboards. It had definitely been a while since she had been up here. She lifted herself up inside, taking out her phone to turn on her flashlight. Despite the length of time, she knew where everything was placed and kept in here. Time to get to work.

In a few minutes, Amber had packed a box full of long-lost belongings way back from her time, hopefully it was what she needed as she climbed down the ladder and shut the trapdoor. She made her way back downstairs, placing the box on the coffee table once she was in the living room. She placed her hands on her hips, where would she start? She peered down at the box, filled to the brim with gadgets, old software and objects that she and the girls used to use in a time where technology wasn’t so advanced. She picked up a walkie talkie and a string of fairy lights, perhaps she could start with that. Amber had a long way to go, but still, at least she wasn’t waiting anymore.

She just hoped that this would work a little bit, as long as it helped bring Penny home.

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Pomni sighed as she picked up another piece of corn, placing it in her basket. She did panic when she was separated from her fiancé and the others, but so far the adventure didn’t seem to be too hectic. Just a peaceful stroll in the fields while picking corn. She smiled, breathing in the fresh air – as fresh as simulated air could be at least. Doing this reminded her of similar activities she, her mother and sister used to do when they were younger. To get away from work, school, chaos, her father. To just have a day where they could focus on making happy memories. Well, it worked.

It almost felt normal, but…she wished this was something she was doing with Riley and her mother. Riley would lift her onto her back for a ride, despite her younger sister’s protests of not being a child anymore yet would still cling to her like a koala. Amber would be pestering the girls in a way to make them smile, perhaps picking up one of the pieces of corn and waving it like a sword as she chased her daughters.

Pomni gripped the handle of her basket, a shaky breath leaving her lips. She missed them so, so much. She just wanted to go home. She wanted to feel the waft of the warm oaky smell that hit her every time she entered her mother’s home. She wanted to be squeezed in one of Riley’s protective hugs. She wanted to explore every area of her childhood home, to make sure that each place was burned into her mind so she would never forget it ever again. “I miss you guys,” she whispered under her breath, despite the isolation of where she stood.

She shook her head, she had to get a grip. Right now she had to focus on completing this adventure so she could get back to Jax and figure out the next step of their plans. Just as she was about to reach for another piece of the vegetable, a small blue butterfly fluttered out from the leaves and stems. Pomni let out a yelp at the sudden appearance, tripping and falling back, the corn spilling out of the basket as it toppled to the ground. She kicked her feet, backing away from the bug – the last time she was near a butterfly she nearly…

She started to tremble at the memory, internally scolding herself for getting frightened by a single insect. But the feeling of the cold water forcing her down, down, down – burning her lungs as the simulated feeling of being unable to breathe wouldn’t leave her brain. Her chest started to heave with each panicked pant as the butterfly inched closer, fearing that it would glitch if it touched her again and send her into another spiral.

It got closer, she shut her eyes, bracing for that painful static when-

“Don’t be afraid.”

Her eyes snapped open, scanning the area. She swore she heard a voice, like it belonged to an older woman. But it was just her and the butterfly.

“It’s not going to hurt you dear,”

There it was again, “Who’s there?!”

“Just someone who wants to help.”

Pomni scoffed, disbelief curling her lips into strained smile, “How can I trust you if I can’t even see you?”

“I’m sorry. I wish you could, but the rules of this game won’t allow you to see my face. Not anymore.”

The jester raised a brow. Here was a voice, a voice so different, so foreign and unlike anything she had ever heard in the circus before. But for some reason, it didn’t seem bad to trust it. Despite it not actually being her, the voice reminded her of the soft tone her mother used to use to comfort her.

Pomni gulped, looking at the butterfly again. It was simply floating there, no threat lingering in the slightest. Maybe, just maybe. She lifted her hand, her face cringing as she turned away, shoulders stiffening in case that glitch did happen. The tiny feet of the bug landed on her finger. Nothing. No pain, no glitch, just the butterfly resting there as it waited for the jester to make her next move.

She opened her eyes, she was okay. She looked up, trying to detect where that voice came from, “Thank you.” It felt silly, sitting in the dirt as she called out for someone she couldn’t see, but sillier things have happened in this circus. She looked back at the butterfly, letting it crawl across her hand, “Sorry for getting scared earlier. You seem like a friendly guy. I’m sure Kinger would like you.”

The butterfly seemed nice, and it was gentle, but why did the one from before glitch? And why was there a voice this time telling her not to be afraid? With each passing day since she got her memories back, more questions kept opening up. She stood up, picking up her basket and placing the small bug inside, “Guess we’ll need to figure you out later. Hope you don’t mind the corn, I don’t want Caine finding you just in case anything happens.”

The butterfly didn’t seem to mind, already laying down on top one of the vegetables like it was a bed. Pomni smiled, lowering the lid and continued her trail. Now this was definitely going to be an interesting story to tell Jax. She just hoped he was okay.

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Jax grumbled as he hit another dead end. He had given up picking up corn a long while ago, settling for trying to find Pomni instead. But each path he took only seemed to lead him down the wrong way, as though the map of this adventure was mocking him. He gripped his ears, pulling slightly. “Easy adventure my @ss Caine,” he muttered under his breath. This was just getting tedious now.

He heard a rustle behind him, making him jump like the type of animal his avatar was. Perhaps it was one of the others? Or maybe Caine added a last-minute boss to try and make things more interesting – yet harder for them. But no, instead it was…him?

At least it looked like him, but much younger. He looked about he was no older than three, his hair shorter while wearing soft clothing stamped in little train patterns. What was going on.

“Come on sweetie!”

A new voice rung out. He looked up, a young couple came up behind the boy, reaching out their hands to him. “We have to start the maze!” the woman said, smiling at the child.

“Okay mama!” the young boy giggled, clutching his hand into hers as the wandered further into the maze.

Jax blinked, his feet trailing behind the trio. He felt like a dog on a leash going after them. Who were these people, why didn’t he remember this? Were they his…his parents? But they couldn’t be possible, his parents left him in social services ever since he was, well, the age the younger version of him here was. But then again, his earliest memory was him in a car going to his very first foster home, nothing before that.

Maybe, just maybe. They weren’t like anything like he pictured them to be, they seemed nice to younger him. Perhaps something else happened, perhaps he really used to be loved.

And so, he followed them. Tracing their lefts and rights, wherever they would go. They seemed like good people, laughing at their little boy’s antics and playing along with whatever imaginary game he came up with. He even felt himself smiling, a tear even escaping his eye at the long-lost image of the family in front of him.

Eventually they stopped, the couple sharing a look before starting down the young boy. Jax froze, what was going on? There was another rustle, a small rabbit jumping out of the stems of corn as it ran down the path. “Honey look!” the mother pointed with a grin. “What’s that?!”

“A bunny!” the little boy replied with excitement, jumping up and down on the spot. Jax’s stomach began to churn.

“It wants you to play tag with it,” the father said. “Don’t leave it waiting.”

“Okay!” the boy nodded, taking a few steps but pausing when he saw his parents weren’t following along. “Aren’t you playing as well?”

“We’ll meet you at the end of the maze,” his mother said, her tone loving despite the dread of this situation building more and more. “You’re a big boy now, I’m sure you can do it on your own.”

“Oh yeah, I can!” the young Jack looked so happy saying that, so unknowing of the true danger he was put in. “I’ll see you soon! Come back little bunny!”

He ran off, chasing the small rodent down the path. Jax shook his head, this couldn’t be happening. Why would they let a kid go off on his own?! What were they thinking. As the boy wandered further down the path, the smiles on the parents faces dropped, grief and tearful fear replacing it instead. The man placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, rubbing it reassuringly to try and rid some of the guilt that was possibly building inside her.

She nodded to him, taking a deep breath before turning on her heel and walked away in the opposite direction of her son, her husband doing the same. Jax’s heart plummeted, “No, wait!” He cried out, but it only fell on the deaf ears of a forgotten memory. “Don’t do this! Come back!”

He turned in the other direction, that younger version of him was on his own, going after the rabbit in a wild goose chase, to never see his parents again. He chased after him, there was no way this could be true, there was no way.

He saw the boy in front of him, his small form contrasting again the setting sun in the distance. Though this time he wasn’t chasing a rabbit anymore. “Mama! Papa! Where are you!” he wailed, rubbing away tears on his chubby cheeks. “I wanna go home!”

Jax began to shake his head in disbelief, this couldn’t have happened. His parents, they really…left him.

His eyes darted back to where the boy was, but he was gone too, leaving him alone in the field. No parents, no younger him nothing. He was completely and utterly isolated. The rabbit from earlier suddenly jumped out in front of him again, making eye contact with the taller avatar. His nose twitched as the two maintained eye contact, Jax’s eyes blurring with panicked tears.

The rabbit tore off again, leaving him stunned in place, “W-wait! Where are you going!” He chased after it again, just like how his younger self did. “Why are you doing this?! What’s going on?!”

The rabbit didn’t make a noise, it only kept running. Jax did the same, his lungs burning and mind spinning with more questions building as tears streamed down his cheeks. Why was he remembering this now?! How did he even get these memories?! Why him?! Why was this happening to him?!

Why did his parents leave him behind?! Did they just not love him enough to keep him?! But they were crying! They had to have loved him, right? Otherwise they wouldn’t have done that! Or maybe they just couldn’t have them in their lives. He didn’t have a place with them, in the world outside or this world in this game. He was pathetic, useless, he deserved all the bad things that happened to him. HE DESERVED EVERY PAINFUL THING THAT CAME HIS WAY-

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” he screamed, his fingers pulling on the fur on his scalp.

He skidded to a halt, gawking at what was in front of him. His old foster house, where he grew up. It was tattered and broken, the complete opposite to how it looked way back when in appearance, but remained exactly the same with how it made him feel. He sniffed, his hands clutching at his chest as his heart squeezed painfully. There was a reason he was here, wasn’t it? To finally get his comeuppance for every bad deed he caused in his life. For how he acted to others in his past life, to how he treated the others in the circus, and how he hurt Penny.

The house creaked along with the stinging wind that made Jax shiver, as though it were whispering him to go inside. He should go inside.  He lifted his foot, about to take another step-

“Jax!”

He stopped, turning back. Pomni’s voice rung out to him in the distance, “Jax! Where are you?!”

She was looking for him.

She cared about him.

She loved him.

Jax smiled, rubbing away the access tears that stained his cheeks. Maybe there was a reason for him to hurt like this, but there was also a reason to keep fighting. Pomni. He looked back to the house, the churning feeling ebbing away slowly though not fully disappearing. Perhaps forgotten things were meant to be forgotten.

He turned on his heel, running back into the maze. He had a jester to find.

The house abandoned once and for all.

.

.

.

“I’ll say it before and I’ll say it again,” said Samual. “This feels just like a movie.”

Riley rolled her eyes as the car pulled up to a corner near the building of C&A. She was fully aware of the déjà vu she was getting, but this time she had the proof in front of her and a case to fulfil. “You go in first and go to the room where the files are. Wait for five minutes then text me to come in,” she instructed to the boy. “If we’re gonna do this, we need to make sure that Jason doesn’t get suspicious.”

“He might be already,” Samual admitted. “After I brought you here, he’s been acting kinda funny.”

“Well we’ll just have to be as careful as we can,” Riley said. “Just do what I told you and come to me if anything happens, I’ve got your back.”

Samual exhaled, mentally preparing himself as he stared at the building ahead of him, “Alright, here goes nothing.”

He climbed out the car, making his way over and inside the tall building. Riley waited until her phone pinged before jumping out herself and making her way over. She did the usual routine of what she would do whenever she got a warrant - go in, check in with the receptionist and have free reign of her search. She took a mental note of how uneasy the receptionist looked when she saw the agent again, Samual was right about Jason being at edge since her last visit. His glass house didn’t seem to be as stable as he wanted it to be anymore.

She made her way to the elevator, checking her phone to see where Samual said he would be waiting for her as the doors shut behind her. As the elevator creaked and shifted as it lifted up, the looming hidden threat of this place started to dawn on the redhead. This company had possibly managed to cover up the disappearances of so many people for nine years, including its own CEO and his wife. And now Penny and Jack were in the belly of the beast as well.

She understood why Rae was so worried with messing up, one mistake could quite literally cost someone their life. Hers, Samual’s, her mother’s, anyone. She had to be careful. The elevator dinged, opening their doors as she stood out and saw Samual at an open door down the hall, signaling for her to come towards him.

Riley nodded, remaining as casual as possible until she reached the room and Samual shutting the door behind her. “Alright, where do we start?” Riley asked, clasping her hands together.

“It should be on this computer,” Samual told her. “Jason doesn’t like keeping stuff like that on his own computer in case he gets caught.”

“So he’d rather have someone else take the fall, how chivalrous,” Riley muttered sarcastically.

“Tell me about it,” Samual muttered. Riley looked over at him with amusement, this was the first time she actually heard him have a bit of an attitude. He sat down, cracking his fingers and rolling his neck as he logged onto the computer. “Okay, I can do this.” He pulled a bag onto his lap, the C&A logo on top as he pulled out a USB. “I snuck into his office the other day. And before you get on at me for doing it before getting the warrant, Jason was gone for the day and it was the only time in the security guards schedule where they weren’t watching his office the whole time.”

“Holy shit kid,” Riley laughed. She should be mad, really she should. But goddamn she couldn’t help but be impressed. “You have guts. So, where exactly are these files in the USB’s?”

“These USB’s have old games codes,” Samual replied. “Sometimes if we have any unfinished demos, we store information in them to make sure other competition don’t try and steal it, to put it in a place where no one would think to find.”

“And if the case files in the USBs, then Jason can carry them around wherever he wants,” Riley finished.

“Yup,” Samual sighed. “Okay, I think I know what to do here.”

In just little time, the kid had managed to open a whole different part on the USB, old coding and files appearing and scattering over the screen. Riley felt as though she had to take a step back from how intense it seemed, but Samual was unfazed a focused, still clicking and typing as though this were as simple as clicking a browser away.

“I got it,” Samual spoke up eventually, turning to Riley and holding his hand out. “You got the other one?”

“Uh, yeah,” Riley reached into her pocket, taking out another USB and placing it into Samual’s hands.

“If we take everything off this, Jason’s gonna get more suspicious,” Samual told her. “I can make copies for you to take back and from there we’ll try and figure a way to get it loaded into the game back at your mom’s place.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Riley agreed, watching him work as she glanced at the door every so often.

It felt as though hours went by, but eventually, Samual had done it. The files were copied and put into the other USB. They had done it. “We got it!” he exclaimed, a small cheer in the back of his tone.

“Looks like it,” Riley grinned, putting the USB back in her pocket. “I gotta get going, before your boss finds out what’s-”

The door slammed open, another feeling of déjà vu and piercing cold fear shooting down Riley and Samual’s backs. “What are you doing back here?!” Jason growled.

Riley sneered at him, crossing her arms as she stood in front of Samual. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice, “I have a warrant to check this place out since the files for our cases went missing. And since your name is the main one on Jack Bloom’s case, that means I have to search the place. AKA, doing my job.”

“What gives you the right to speak to me that way,? Jason sneered.

Riley scoffed, “Other than the fact that I’m trying to find people I care about, you don’t get to speak to me that way either.”

“Oh really?” Jason raised a brow. “I’m sure your boss will disagree.”

He stepped aside, revealing the disappointed face of Captain Rae, almost looking tired as she stepped into the room. Riley paled when another face appeared in the door – Winter. “Winter, Captain Rae, what’s going on?” Riley asked.

“We got a call from Mr Wood that you came here under the guise of a warrant to steal game codes for their rival companies,” Captain Rae sighed. “And since I’m your boss, I had to be taken away from work to make sure my agents aren’t fucking up.”

“Excuse me?!” Riley’s eyes widened, appalled as she started at the man beside her boss, who seemed to be getting smugger when Winter spoke up.

“One of the employees here managed to find Samual taking out property from Mr Wood’s office before calling you,” Winter told her. “They were concerned that you were using the cases in order to make C&A look bad.”

“That’s bullshit!” Riley snapped. “My sister is involved in these cases, do you really think I would risk her safety over fucking game codes?!” Riley was treading on dangerous waters, and she knew it. But no one messed with her sister, especially not some big shot who believed he could get away with this.

“And what exactly is in that computer over there?” Jason pointed out, his tone slightly mocking. Riley’s face fell as she glanced towards the monitor. While she was glad that he didn’t know about the spare USB, she knew that this looked really bad.

Samual stepped forward, “It was my idea!”

Everyone turned to him, even Jason – his face darkening.

Samual gulped as he continued, “I wanted to help Miss Riley with the case and decided to do some unethical routes in order to help her. You can even check the USB, the game codes are still there.”

Jason hummed, pushing past Riley as he, Rae and the others made their way to the computer. Riley nearly sighed with relief when the appearance of the game codes was still there. To the others, it looked like normal files that you expected to find at this company. But to Jason, it meant that his secret was still safe. He straightened his back as he turned back to the others, a faux grin on his face, “It seems that I was mistaken. I do apologize for wasting your time Captain Rae. I just wanted this whole mess taken care of, we wouldn’t want to go to court over this after all.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Rae retorted in a monotone voice. “We’ll be on our way, thank you for your apology Mr Wood.”

The four walked out the room, Jason’s stare burning on their backs as the door was shut behind him. Rae halted, spinning back round as she went face to face with Riley, “I told you not to be stupid!”

“I wasn’t ma’am,” Riley froze, immediately reverting back to the professional position she was back when she was asking for the warrant. “I did as you told me to. Search with the warrant and try to find out what was going on. I didn’t know he was gonna pull that shit.”

“This isn’t a game Riley, Jason Wood can and will do anything he can in order to keep himself and C&A at the top!” Rae hissed. She stepped back, rubbing her temples to dispel the approaching headache. “Did you at least find anything?”

Riley opened her, mouth about to reveal what she found when clarity struck her. How exactly could she explain this without sounding crazy? She almost didn’t believe Samual when he told her about this, so how could she explain this to her captain? And the files still looked the same as they did from the computer, no other person would be able to tell the difference about how they looked unless they had the tech knowledge that Samual did. All it would show was exactly what Jason had tried to frame her about, “No, I’m sorry.”

Rae exhaled sharply, “Next time you’re gonna be reckless, think twice before landing yourself in hot water, Reed.”

Riley lowered her head to the ground, “Yes ma’am.”

Rae sighed turning back on her heel and walked away.

Winter came up behind her wife, sharing the same scowl as their boss, “We’re talking about this when we get home.” She didn’t let Riley say a word, already walking away and towards the elevator.

Riley rubbed her eyes, this was not how she wanted her day to end. Samual came up, fiddling with his ring finger awkwardly, “I’m really sorry Miss Riley.”

“It’s fine kid,” she mumbled. “You just get home and call me if you need me.”

Samual nodded, not wanting to prod any further as he walked away as well.

Riley just wanted to fade into nothing there and then. What type of hell was she getting herself into?

.

.

.

Winter tapped her foot as she waited in the living room, dressed in a pyjama tank top and shorts with her hair tied into an uneven ponytail. Riley was half an hour late. She already had a habit of obviously avoiding a situation, but this was out in the open with how hard she was trying now. Winter groaned, picking up the bottle of wine of the coffee table in front of her and poured it into a glass, she didn’t want to be sober dealing with this.

She let the liquid run down her throat, relieving some of the stress when she heard the door open. Finally.

Riley shut the door behind her, setting down her bag when she noticed Winter eyeing her down, “Where’s Percy?”

“Asleep,” Winter retorted, setting down the glass. “We need to talk.”

“Listen, I know how that looked back there,” Riley started. “But it wasn’t what you think it was.”

“Really? Riley a CEO of a billion-dollar company almost got you fired!” Winter exclaimed, setting down her glass. ��What am I supposed to think?!”

“Everything I’ve been doing was to find Penny and Jack,” Riley told her. “And you really think that I would so something like that?”

“Of course not, but you’ve put me in a corner ever since Penny went missing and left me to gather dust!” Winter cried. “Now all of a sudden you’re sneaking into buildings and won’t tell me why, other than to just blindly trust you! Riley that isn’t fair! You have to tell me what’s going on!”

Riley peered behind her, grimacing at the empty wine glass on the table, “Have you been drinking on a work night.”

Winter placed her hands on her hips, refusing to back down, “I only had one glass, you know that’s all I have on work nights. And it won’t be enough for me to be distracted from this conversation.”

“I’m just thinking about Percy, okay?!” Riley groaned. “Sorry that I want to protect our son!”

“Oh please, not everyone is your father Riley,” Winter growled.

The redhead stiffened, her jaw tightening, “Back down, now.”

“No!” Winter shook her head. “You’re hiding something from me and I know it. All I want is to help you, but you act like I’m nothing but an annoyance to you. And now you’re pulling this shit and nobody will tell me why, not even you! You never keep secrets from me.” Winter’s voice broke, clutching the fabric of her tank top on her chest. “You’re hurting so much and it’s killing me seeing you like this. So why?! Why are you hiding things from me? What did I do?! Why are you allowed to protect me but I’m not allowed to do the same for you?!”

Riley wanted nothing more than to cry and bring Winter into her arms. Everything her wife said was true to a fault. She wanted to tell her about Jack, she wanted to tell her all her plans, she wanted to tell her how the grief and fear of Penny disappearing had been eating her alive for the past few months-

Percy’s cry broke her from spiral, alerting the two mothers. Riley sighed, “I’ll get him.”

Winter tried to stop her, “Riley-”

“Winter, please,” Riley’s voice was soft and desperate. “Please. I just want some silence.”

The other woman sniffed, backing away from her wife. Guilt churned in Riley’s stomach as she watched her wife face away, hearing her light sobs. This was for the best, at least she’s safe. With that, she went up the stairs to her crying baby.

Winter curled up on the sofa. Never before had she wished for her brother as she did now.

.

.

.

Jax gasped as the maze disappeared. He was still chasing after Pomni’s voice, but apparently Caine had announced that Gangle was the winner and brought them all back. He nearly fell to his knees when he saw the jester, she was okay.

“Well that adventure was certainly…an adventure!” Caine boomed. “I don’t fully understand your silly human activities, but tomorrow we’ll return to our regular schedule of fun, fun, FUN!”

“Yeah, yeah, great,” Jax said absentmindedly, his eyes still on Pomni as the jester looked at him, relief in her eyes as well.

“Good to hear your positive spirit Jax!” Caine grinned, about to lift his hand and pat him on the back when the rabbit flinched, arms arched over his head to protect himself.

Everyone gaped at that, Jax never flinched. Pomni brought her hands to her mouth, she knew what that meant.

“I, um. Jax, are you alright?” Caine asked, his tone much softer than it usually was.

Jax blinked, everyone was staring at him. He lowered his arms back to his sides, “I’m fine.”

Pomni bit her lip, he was anything but fine.

Even Caine was surprised by the rabbit’s actions, “Uh…right. Anyways I’m gonna…yeah I’ll just go.” The AI floated away, leaving the group in their stunned silence.

Jax ignored them, rushing to Pomni and dropped to the ground, wrapping her tight in his arms. He was shaking like a leaf, whatever he had seen in that corn maze had left its mark on him. She uncurled herself out of his embrace, holding his face in her hands as she lightly stroked his cheek. “Come on,” she held out her hand.

He hesitated for a moment, before his fingers intertwined with hers. She pulled him up, picking up both of their forgotten backets as she led him back to her room. The others were still staring, but she didn’t care. Right now, Jax needed her.

She shut the door behind her, letting him get comfy on her bed as she put the baskets back down and joined him on the red and blue mattress. “What happened?” it was only one question, but he could hear so much behind it. I’m here for you, tell me anything and everything, you’re safe.

“I-I think I saw myself in that maze?” he said. “Well, myself but younger, much younger. And my birth parents were there. I know, its stupid and stuff like this happens sometimes but…why do I remember this now? I thought I was okay with my past. Now seeing them, it only what makes what my foster family did to me even worse.”

Pomni was silent, taking in every part of what he said, “Show me where it hurts?”

He peered up at her, it had been a while since she said that to him. But both of them knew that what she did next helped more than he could imagine. He raised his arm, the same one that his foster father used to burn his cigarettes on. She held it gently in her hands, pressing gentle kisses to the appendage.

Tears trailed down the dried stain on his cheeks, his arm trembling slightly. She was so careful with him, giving him the kindness that the adults who failed him could never give him. “I know this isn’t much,” she mumbled against his fur. “But I love you more than anything. Those people never deserved you. I wish I could erase all the pain they caused you. All I hope than when I do this.” She pressed a kiss to his wrist. “You know that I’ll be with you despite everything.”

His breath staggered for a bit, it was so long since he felt the overwhelming feeling of being genuinely wanted by someone. His hands cupped her cheeks, pulling her closer and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was messy, frantic but neither of them could pull away, they needed each other.

They parted when the need for air was too strong, with Jax holding her close so Pomni could hear his heartbeat. His head was still swarming, spinning. But her simple touch was all he wanted to think about. All that he needed. The bad stuff wouldn’t go away. However for now, this was enough.

“There’s one more thing I need to tell you,” Pomni mumbled.

Jax pushed off her hat, pressing his nose to her hair as he hummed, “And what’s that?”

“Well,” she separated from him again, the rabbit already missing her warmth as she picked up her basket from the maze. Lifting the lid, she picked up the little butterfly as she cupped it in her hands. “I found this little guy during the adventure. But the way I found him? You’re gonna want to sit back for this…have invisible people ever spoke to you in this place before?”

.

.

.

Fairy lights were strung up, an old tape recorder and radio were placed together on the coffee table, and a walkie talkie was held in Amber’s hands. Hooked into the recorder and radio was a large wire leading to the computer. Amber clenched her fists, it was now or never.

She turned on the walkie talkie, “Penny? Are you there?”

[maysileeewrites]

i'm here - Harry James Potter x best friend!reader

link to my m.list

SUMMARY: Harry still has nightmares about the graveyard … [takes place during OotP, Harry and reader are best friends] 

word count: 1.7k (she’s a shortie! well, at least for me, seeing as I’m usually never able to keep anything short) 

warnings: angst, fluff, (best) friends to lovers, nightmares, mentions of an abusive family (I hate the Dursleys so much … ), love confessions; Harry’s inner James coming through (kinda); the reader is gn in this one :) 

AN: Harry James Potter is so criminally underrated in his own fandom, the lack of fanfics about him is astounding. (So if you have any requests for Harry fics, feel free to tell me!) 

Also, this turned out a lot angstier than I originally intended, but then, it kind of does fit with OotP Harry, doesn’t it? 

„No, Cedric!“ 

Harry’s terrified whisper wakes you up and you immediately throw your bedsheets aside, jumping out of bed, rushing over to the bed at the other side of the room, where Harry’s tossing and turning in his sleep. You’ve never been more grateful that you managed to convince Mrs. Weasley to let you and Harry share a room in Grimauldplace, telling her that you’re just friends and that she doesn’t need to worry about anything happening between you two. 

Though you sometimes catch yourself wishing that maybe something would happen between you two - maybe one day you’ll find the courage to tell Harry how you really feel about him? - nothing has happened between you two. Not that any of that matters right now. 

„Not Cedric, please don’t kill him, no, Cedric!“ 

„Harry!“ With shaking hands, you reach for Harry, trying to gently shake him awake, but the nightmare’s still got him in its grip. 

„Don’t kill him - „ 

„Harry!“, you say, louder this time, but Harry still doesn’t hear you. Deciding that trying to gently shake him awake is not going to work, you grab his shoulders instead. 

„Harry, please wake up, I’m here, please - „ 

Gasping, Harry finally opens his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to recognize you, his green eyes seem to stare right through you. 

„No, get away from me - „ 

„Harry, it’s me! Y/N!“

Your words must have reached him, because Harry stops trying to twist away from you. He screws his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, his green eyes find yours. 

„Y/N?“, he croaks, almost as if he’s too afraid to believe that you’re really there, that the nightmare is actually over. 

„Yes, Harry, it’s me, I’m here, you’re - you’re safe“, you say, your voice breaking at the terrified look in Harry’s eyes. 

Harry’s still shaking like a leaf and he looks so small and vulnerable in that moment that your hatred for Voldemort reaches a new height. Without Voldemort, none of this would be happening. Cedric Diggory would still be alive. Harry wouldn’t wake up screaming from nightmares almost every night. He wouldn’t have that haunted, terrified look in his eyes. 

You force yourself to swallow down your anger. Mentally cursing Voldemort isn’t going to help Harry right now. 

„I- I’m sorry“, Harry starts to say, but you silence him by leaning forward and throwing your arms around Harry, hugging him so close to you that you can feel his racing heartbeat against your chest. 

„Harry James Potter, you are not going to apologize for having nightmares about Voldemort“, you say firmly. 

„Harry James Potter, huh?“, Harry says, laughing weakly, his warm breath ghosting over the skin of your neck. 

„Yeah … „, is all you say, tightening your hold on him. You want to tell him that he doesn’t need to pretend with you - he doesn’t have to put up a strong front, trying to find some kind of humor in the situation. But, you think, deep down, Harry already knows that. Ever since meeting each other in your first year at Hogwarts, you’ve always been close, always been comfortable with each other. Harry knows that he can just be himself around you, that there’s no need to hide anything from you. 

Your heart breaks even more for the boy in your arms when you realize that he’s not putting up a strong front for you - he’s doing it for himself. 

Harry’s never had an easy life - the first eleven years of his life he had to grow up in a household with his abusive, neglectful aunt and uncle, and when he finally went to Hogwarts, everyone’s already had their preconceived notions about what kind of person The Boy Who Lived would be. He’s always been living a life under scrutiny, but ever since the graveyard, ever since Voldemort returned to power, his life has been literal hell. From the Daily Prophet making him out to be some disturbed, dangerous liar, to nearly being expelled from Hogwarts for defending himself and his cousin Dudley from a dementor attack, to having to deal with Umbridge and her own brand of cruelty, it’s no wonder that he’s barely been able to hold himself together these last few months. 

„Hey, are you alright?“ Harry’s concerned questions interrupts your spiraling thoughts. 

„Yeah, though I should be the one asking you that question“, you say. 

„Don’t worry about me, I’m fi- „ 

Reluctantly, you pull away from Harry, leaning back so that you can look him in the eyes. „Don’t tell me you’re fine, Harry“, you say, swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat, „don’t lie to me, please.“ 

Harry’s expression hardens and for a moment, he seems almost resentful at your words, and you’re afraid that he’s going to push you away from him as well, when his right hand suddenly reaches for yours. 

„You’re right“, he says, his words coming out slightly strained, as if he too has to swallow around a lump in his throat, „I’m not fine. But - I, uh, do feel much better with you here … and I, uh - I know that I’ve not been easy to be around these last few months, I - 

„I don’t care“, you interrupt him, squeezing his hand reassuringly. 

„But - „ 

„I don’t care“, you repeat, more firmly this time, „you’re my best friend and I love you and - „ You stop speaking when you realize what you’ve just said. You can feel yourself blushing a furious red and you cast your eyes downward, trying to avoid Harry’s green eyes. Of course, having been best friends with him for nearly five years, you’ve already told him you love him in some way or another quite a few times. But you’ve never used these three words, never said ‚I love you‘, always said something like ‚love you‘, ‚take care‘ or ‚try not die‘ and though you both knew what these words really were supposed to mean, you’ve never said these exact three words to him. 

„I, uh - mean, like a friend - „, you stammer, trying to backtrack, „- a, a best friend - and, you know, I mean, we’ve all had our rough patches, remember Ron last year or me in year three when I’ve made such a fuss over the whole dementor situation? I know I must’ve been quite annoying, but I was only worried about you and - „ 

Your rambling gets interrupted by Harry suddenly leaning forward and softly pressing his lips against yours. For a moment, you freeze, your eyes widening in shock. 

Is this really happening? Maybe you’re the one dreaming and any minute now, you’ll wake up, still lying in your bed at the other side of the room, Harry still tossing and turning in his bed, with nothing between you two having changed - 

But then, almost as if he’s read your thoughts, Harry gives your hand a squeeze, before lacing your fingers together and reaching up with his other hand to gently cup your cheek. When he kisses you again, though it’s nothing more than a fleeting, almost questioning brush of his lips against yours, you’re ready for it, closing your eyes and leaning into the kiss. 

„So, uh, I take it that I wasn’t annoying you that much when I made a fuss over the whole dementor situation?“, you say, sounding out of breath, almost as if you’ve just run a marathon, when Harry breaks the kiss, looking at you with a shy smile on his lips. 

„You’re not annoying - I thought I just made this clear?“, Harry says, his fingertips softly stroking your cheek.

„Well, maybe I just need another reminder?“, you find yourself saying, not quite sure where this sudden surge of confidence is coming from. But then Harry’s green eyes meet yours and you realize why you’re suddenly feeling as if you could walk on air, when, just a few minutes ago, you’ve been worried out of your mind over your best friend. 

You’ve just told Harry that you love him, and not only did you not ruin your friendship with him by doing so, but Harry actually seems to feel the same way about you, otherwise he wouldn’t have kissed you, right? 

„Really?“, Harry says, smirking, leaning towards you and you think he’s going to kiss you again, but instead, he tackles you, causing you to fall back onto the mattress of his bed, before starting to tickle you. 

„No, Harry, stop - please - st-stop“, you say in between fits of laughter, as Harry continues to tickle you mercilessly. Any other complaints die in your throat when you take in Harry’s expression - he’s laughing, the haunted, faraway look in his green eyes completely gone. 

Of course, you know that a few kisses and an unexpected love confession won’t suddenly drive all his demons away. You can still see the dark, prominent circles from lack of sleep under his eyes, can still recall his terrified, helpless cries for Cedric. 

Still, something in him has changed. There’s something in his expression that you haven’t seen for far too long - hope. 

Feeling emboldened and giddy with excitement over everything that’s happened since your sudden confession, you reach up, winding your arms around Harry’s neck, before pressing your lips against his. Harry starts moving his lips against yours and you can feel him smile into the kiss. Just when you run a hand through his untidy black hair, he’s breaking the kiss again. 

Supporting his weight on his elbows, Harry smiles down at you, breathing heavily. „I love you too, you know?“, he says, smiling widely when he says the words. „And I know that I’ve been kind of a jerk these last few months - you don’t need to try to deny it, but - you’ve always been there for me and I - I’m really glad you stuck around - I - I guess what I’m trying to say is just that I love you, so damn much.“ 

You feel yourself smile stupidly wide at his words. „I’m glad you stuck around? You really do have a way with words, don’t you, Harry James Potter?“, you say, grinning. 

„Oh, you know what I mean“, Harry says, grinning back at you. 

„Do I?“, you ask, and, just like you’d hoped he would, Harry softly presses his lips against yours again in way of answering. 

taglist: @ahqkas

reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated <3

[slasher-smasher]

Beyond the Bad Room - Where were you?

This is my first Homelander x Original Character fic in what will hopefully be a multi-chap.

You can find my other Homelander fics here 😊

Ch2

AO3

Warnings: None. Just Homelanders happy lasering self.

EDIT: So many thanks to @hdiabolical for the help and beta!! 💕

I apologize for the lack of our babygirl Homie in this. I was focusing on more of Cassidys' background a little. I promise more interaction between them in the future.

Words: 4,668

Summary: It has been 23 years since Doctor Cassidy Bishop has last seen John. She remembers the tears and the anger of the poor boy in that cold white room. Now that she is back in New York, she has to not only deal with the guilt of her leaving but the now angry grown man that goes by the name Homelander.

Cassidy's Character info here

Chapter One

Cassidy knew she was dreaming. It's more routine now with how often she has them.

It was cold. The air in the room she was in felt like it could penetrate straight into her bones. Being strapped to the chair with bright incandescent lights makes it hard to see anything. It was a bit weird having to feel her heart beating so hard and fast in her chest while she felt calm. This was when they took her life away. Not in a literal sense, of course. She was very much alive, but the idea of her normal human life was snuffed out. People had to be careful while cutting vegetables for dinner or look both ways before crossing a road. Those don't apply to her anymore. Compound V saw to that.

What's a knife to a person who would heal just as the wound was created? Even being shot in the head—not one of her finest moments—which should have been the end of it, was regenerated. The massive migraine was NOT a good trade-off in her opinion. So when she heard a door open and two people walk in, she just closed her eyes and focused on the dancing imprints behind her lids and not the tears that ran down her cheeks. God, she hated this dream. This memory.

"Cassidy. You need to be a strong girl now." That's all her father said. She is thirty-seven, and this was the closest to a supportive sentence he had ever said to her. She doesn't need to open her eyes to know that her father, Dr. Jonas Bishop, and Dr. Fredrick Vought were standing with their clean white coats on each side of her. No other words were said, just the sound of something being picked up from the metal tray, and then all she knew was a sharp pain in her arm, and then burn burn burn—

Letting out a scream, Cassidy shot up from her bed. She felt like she couldn't take in oxygen with the pounding of her heart. She could still feel the echoes of the fire licking in her veins.

Cassidy's body trembled as she clutched the sweat-soaked sheets, desperately trying to ground herself in reality. The remnants of the dream lingered, haunting her senses like a ghostly apparition. She took deep, shaky breaths, willing herself to calm down, but the taste of fear still lingered on her tongue.

It's been over 50 years. One would think I’d be over it by now, she thinks to herself, frustrated.

Gathering her strength, Cassidy swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pressed her trembling hands against her face. The memories flooded back with a vengeance, a relentless torrent of pain and betrayal. The cold sting of the needle, the sterile smell of disinfectant, and her father's hollow words echoing through her mind.

Determined to escape the suffocating grip of her past, Cassidy pushed herself upright and stumbled toward the window. She needed fresh air, a respite from the suffocating weight of her nightmares. As she threw open the curtains, the golden sunlight of morning spilled into the room, casting long shadows that danced across the floor. Opening the window to let in the air, the buildings of New York and its people going on with their lives were displayed. She is still unsure if moving back was a good idea. It's been two weeks since the funeral of Translucent. Vought seemed to leave her be. Mostly.

A certain blonde thinks disrupting her so-far quiet life is more of a game, but thankfully he doesn't seem to do it on the company's behalf. His “I can do whatever I want” behavior is very annoying, but she knows it was the way he was raised. No one was there to guide him as a child and show him that forcing your power to dominate someone was not a very "hero" thing to do. But she gave up that chance to be the one to show him long ago—not that she didn't try when she was there. She couldn't have let his behavior continue, and she knew if she stayed, it would have gotten worse. No matter how hard she tried to keep the barrier of doctor-patient professionalism, the poor boy's views of things were so skewed and broken that, of course, he latched on to the person who seemed to be the only one who gave him an ounce of affection that he craved.

Shaking her head as to dislodge the thoughts, Cassidy moved away from the window and back to the rumpled bed to check her phone. One new text displayed a heart and a small message.

Hey babe! Sorry, I didn't call last night. Work had me out very late with the whole Sullivan scandal. ya know that senator who was taking bribes? Anyway, I'll call you later today. Love and miss you! — Ian

Cassidy smiled as she set her phone back down. Ian was a great guy. She was very lucky to call him hers, though his choice of profession got her worried sometimes. She wasn't going to stop him from his passion for exposing corruption and bringing justice anyway he could. The traveling sucks and the phone calls are just a band-aid when she misses him, but they make due.

Ian wanted to move back to New York due to his father's declining health, and there was a position at the Manhattan Times. The idea of coming back to the very place she ran away from made her want to immediately refuse, but she had no real reason to stay in London, nor did Ian know of her past.

As Cassidy got dressed and put her blue contacts on, her mind couldn't help but wander back to John. Seeing him again was... a shock at best. 

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Cassidy was not aware that Ian was assigned to cover the funeral—why would they send an investigative journalist to a funeral?—so when she came by his location, to say she felt like a deer in headlights, that happened to also be electrocuted, was an understatement when blue eyes found hers. He was like a bloodhound with how fast he locked onto her. Thank God he was surrounded by the press and his teammate. It gave her time to run back to her car and drive as if the devil were behind her—he might as well be—back to the safety of their apartment. Though the paranoia of him following her raced through her mind all the way home, making her check the mirrors constantly.

A few days passed with no hide nor hair of John. While that would normally make a person think they are in the clear, it just makes Cassidy more jumpy. She felt bad when she brushed off Ian's concerns when she would constantly check if the windows were locked. She just used the excuse that she was still getting used to a new place, and you never know when someone decides to try to get through the window.

"Babe, we are four stories up. Who would be able to get through the window?" Ian laughed and shook his head while getting back to work on his laptop.

I hope you never find out, Cassidy replies internally.

It was when she was on her way to her car from her time sketching at the park that he struck.

Cassidy had just slipped her sketchpad back into her bag when she felt a sudden rush of wind, tousling her ponytail and making it whip her in the face. The next thing she knew was that she was encased in strong arms and shot into the sky. She didn't even have time to scream.

As Cassidy's heart pounded in her chest, she struggled against the vice-like grip of her captor. Panic surged through her veins, threatening to engulf her entirely. She glanced up at the face of the person holding her hostage, and her blood ran cold.

John's cerulean eyes were filled with a mixture of anger and mischief. His super-flight abilities allowed him to whisk her away effortlessly; bystanders were none the wiser. The cityscape blurred below them as they shot through the sky, leaving behind the park and its unsuspecting visitors.

"John!" Cassidy finally managed to gasp out his name, knowing he could hear her over the wind, a mix of fear and anger lacing her voice. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Put me down!"

But Homelander only smiled that shark-toothed grin, tightening his grip on her; she could feel the bones in her arms bend from the pressure. "Weeell, if you insist," he replied in a playful tone that failed to mask the threat underneath. Cassidy screamed as she fell from the extreme height he flew them up to and felt her body crash through the skylight of the building they were over.

The shattering of glass and crates filled the air as Cassidy's body collided with the unforgiving stack of boxes below. Her lungs refused to draw in the air she so desperately needed; her limbs were limp and heavy as she lay there, cradled in a nest of splinters and jagged edges. Glass was embedded in her skin, making blood leave her body as her skin worked to close itself by pushing out the shards. Her arm, twisted and broken, slowly straightening, snapping, and popping as bone fused back together.

"Gravity is a bitch, isn't it? You know who else is a bitch?" Homelander asked rhetorically as he slowly floated down to her, cape-swishing.

"John..." Cassidy croaked from her spot on the floor, her eyes watering from the tears of an amalgamation of pain, anger and sadness.

"A doctor who claims to help and care for someone then just fucking leaves. No word of goodbye or explanation. Just poof," he said as he splayed out his gloved hands in a gesture. "like they were never there. Sound familiar?" 

Homelander's eyes were filled with a mix of hostility and sadness as he loomed over her, the shadows of the building casting eerie hues on his face and his eyes glowing ablaze.

"I'm sorry," Cassidy managed to spit out in between gasps for air. Her body was trembling as she tried to regain control of herself. She couldn't believe how much power he had. She felt vulnerable, exposed and weak. This was the same boy she promised to take care of so long ago. "I didn't want to leave, but..." She gasped as the piece of wood that she got impaled on got forced out of her side.

"Buuut?" Homelander asked impatiently. "What was so bad that you had to disappear? What could have been so horrible that you felt you had to leave the fucking country? Leave ME?" John's voice started to get louder as desperate anguish laced his words.

"I couldn't stay, John. Your inappropriate behavior was not something that should happen between a doctor and their patient." Cassidy's voice got stronger as she felt her body finish healing itself. "When you—"

"YOU LEFT BECAUSE OF A FUCKING KISS?" Homelander interrupted her in an explosion. "Are you fucking kidding me right now? It was just a silly kiss! I was a kid kissing a pretty woman. It wasn't a big deal."

"YES! It was a big fucking deal when you kissed your doctor! And it was NOT JUST a silly kiss, you jackass! You definitely had your hand over my breast too! There were SO many issues with what happened!" Cassidy yelled back as she rose up from the floor, her top ripped and stained with dirt and blood. Thankfully, her jeans weren't too bad.

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The fire in Homelander's eyes slowly faded, but the frustrated hurt still remained on his face. His thin lips pinched together. The image of his 16-year-old self pressing her soft body against a wall in the Bad Room flashed through his mind. Her fucking plush lips against his as he held her soft throat in a firm but loose grip, his other hand cupped her full breast, wishing her wool blouse wasn't in the way. Her scent made his mind go fuzzy. He just had to taste her. She took care of him. She was his. Who better to share his first kiss than with his angel in this hell? God, she felt so delicate. But what he didn't anticipate was the strength she used to abruptly push him away, sending him across the room and into the adjacent wall. He was so shocked and disoriented that he couldn't even yell at her to come back or stop her as he heard the door open and slam shut.

"I thought you were different. I trusted you but you were just like the others. I was under a lot of pressure with the investors coming," Homelander continued, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain his emotions. "I was in love with you. I had those fucking vultures coming, and I needed you."

Cassidy breathed heavily, tears cutting through the dirt on her cheeks as she looked up at John. She reached out and placed her hand on his cheek, wiping away the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes.

"You thought you loved me," she whispered, her voice trembling with the intensity of her words. "I cared about you. I wanted to help you, and I tried to. But I couldn't stay. I couldn't keep lying to myself about what was happening. I had to leave."

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Homelander closed his eyes, his face contorted in pain as he remembered the grief and anger he had felt in the days after and that horrible fucking presentation to the investors. The bright lights stinging his eyes, the seemingly never-ending spiral of his thoughts—he couldn't get to focus when they asked their questions. All he could do was just grin at the camera as he could feel the telltale heat generate in his eyes as fear overwhelmed him. Where was Cassidy? She would know what to do. She could always soothe the ache and overwhelming panic that arose in him. Where. The. Fuck. Was. She? He needed her. She hadn't come to see him in almost three weeks. Did something happen to her? Was she upset that he kissed her? That wasn't his fault. He couldn't help himself. People are supposed to kiss the ones they love, right? He knows she loves him too. She wouldn't have spent so much time with him or given him those warm smiles that melted his insides whenever he did something that pleased her. Homelander wasn't even seeing anything anymore. All he could hear were screams and the wet splat of blood and viscera painting the floors and walls.

"John?" Cassidy's voice managed to pull him out of his memory of one of the worst days of his life. Her soft hands on his wet cheeks ground him. But he couldn't look at her. Couldn't take the pity in her soft lavender eyes and that sad look on her face. He wanted to snap at her, tell her John wasn’t his name anymore, but he also loved it when she said it.

"I... I have to go. I can't be here," Homelander choked out as he shot straight into the air through the broken skylight she fell through. Cassidy knew he was gone when she heard the boom of the sound barrier breaking. God, she felt so drained from the healing of her broken body and from having to reopen the wounds of her past. She looked around her surroundings to figure out where he took her and how to get back to her car. She needs the world's longest and hottest shower in the world to wash this day away. She grimaced when she saw her blood-soaked top.

"Well, at least he didn't bloody fry me with his lasers," she mumbled to herself. That wasn't something she wanted to find out what it was like.

She eventually figured out that she was at some abandoned warehouse at the docks. Miraculously, she still had her wallet in her pocket. How it didn't fall out as she landed, she would never know. She found a dusty cloth that covered some boxes during her exploration and used it to cover her bloody and dirty top as she had to walk to the nearest building with a phone to call a cab. She ignored the looks and evaded the probing questions.

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Snapping back to the present with the incoming message notification on her pager, Cassidy walked to her nightstand and picked it up. It was the chief nurse at the hospital. 

You need to get here now. 52 yo male was brought in with C/O CP a few minutes ago. — Abby (yo= years old C/O= complaint of, CP= chest pain)

Cassidy sighed deeply. Usually she has some time before going to the hospital, and she likes to sketch at the park in the early morning, but today is apparently not going to be a relaxing day. She grabbed her keys and rushed out the door, her mind already racing with the list of tests and procedures she might need to run to determine the cause of the chest pain.

Upon arriving at the hospital, she quickly donned her scrubs and coat and entered the patient's room, her professional demeanor quickly taking over. The man, Mr. Flynn, lay on the bed, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Bishop," she said, extending her hand to shake his. "I'll be taking care of you today. Can you tell me what's been going on?" The man hesitated for a moment, but then spoke up.

"It started a few hours ago," he said. "I was watching TV when suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. It felt like my heart was on fire. I tried to ignore it, but it only got worse, especially when I laid down. That's when I called for an ambulance."

Cassidy listened carefully, nodding as the man continued to describe his symptoms.

"Mr. Flynn, do you or your family have a history of any heart disease?" After being on this earth for 117 years, you get pretty good at diagnosing people's problems. Seeing and treating all sorts of problems, you don't need the plethora of testing. She already knew the cause of his pain but still went with the process so it wouldn't seem like she was just brushing him off.

"I don't think so," Mr. Flynn replied, frowning. "At least, not that I know of. My parents both lived long lives, and my siblings are all healthy too." Cassidy nodded, already writing instructions for him to take home. As Cassidy continued her assessment, she asked Mr. Flynn about any recent lifestyle changes or stressors that could have contributed to his symptoms. He mentioned he had been under a lot of stress at work lately, and he wasn't able to exercise regularly due to his long hours, so he gained weight, and his girlfriend has been on a Thai kick lately.

"I swear, I am more like a guinea pig than her boyfriend with all the things she wants to," he complains as he makes air quotes with his hands. "try out."

Cassidy gave him a small, amused smile at his exasperation about his relationship while she finished her list of instructions.

"Ok, Mr. Flynn, from what you have told me, the good news is that you are not having a heart attack. Just a bad case of heartburn. I have written some recommendations and changes to help treat and prevent them. Even though the weight gain isn't extreme, I highly suggest you resume some type of exercise and lay off the caffeine on those late nights due to its high acidity. As delicious as Thai is, its spicy foods will trigger heartburn, so maybe talk to your partner about finding something with a low-acid content."

Mr. Flynn just nodded as he took the instructions from her.

"Man, the pain was so bad. You sure it is that? I’m no spring chicken."

Cassidy smiled as she put away her stethoscope and notebook.

"Hundred percent sure. You are a healthy, middle-aged man. But if the chest pains continue for days or get worse, then we can look at getting some tests done. People get heartburn symptoms confused for heart attacks all the time. Do you have any other questions?"

As he shook his head and thanked her, she told him that a nurse would be right in to check him out and go over the instructions.

Cassidy unfortunately could not say that the rest of her patient visits were simple. Like Mr. Flynn. When the clock rolled around to two in the afternoon, she told the medical staff that she was taking her lunch in her office. Sighing as she sat at her desk, she closed her eyes and leaned her seat back. She loves her job. She doesn't have to put on a ridiculous costume and act in front of a camera to save lives. But the script she has to follow gets tiring sometimes.

"Long day?" a sonorous voice asked from the corner of her office, making her jolt and fall backwards on the floor.

"Bloody fucking hell!" She managed not to shout too loudly in surprise, alerting the whole building. The chaos that people seeing the one and only Homelander in the new doctor's office would cause was something she wanted to avoid at all costs. "God fucking damnit, John." She groaned as she managed to pull herself up from her desk. She saw the mischievous smirk on his face as he clasped his hands together behind him under his striped cape and pretended to be interested in the books on her shelf, though she knew he didn't give a shit about medical books.

"It's kinda nice to know you are still a klutz. I would think someone your age would end up being a little more... ya know... graceful. Practice and all that." He tilted his head when he spotted a book titled The Butchering Art: Joseph Lister's Quest to Transform the Grisly World of Victorian Medicine.

"And young men like you should be more respectful, like knocking and not scaring me to death. As you so graciously pointed out, I'm old. I could have had a heart attack." Cassidy sassed, both of them knowing that even if she did die, she would just come back. Interacting with John like this was strange. It wasn't unpleasant, but the fact that he basically tossed her through a building a week ago was still thick between them. They have a lot of baggage they should go over, but neither one of them seems to want to start unpacking first. He started showing up randomly, just making small talk, and their relationship was awkward but slowly forming into what she hopes is a friendship, at least. He wasn't her patient anymore, nor was he a child. They are two adults conversing. He seemed to move on from his "crush" and was not being inappropriate. Dare she say he was tolerable?

"So how is the boy toy?"

Or maybe not.

His flippant disregard for Ian made her sigh internally. When he found out about him, he scoffed, and she could have sworn his cheek twitched, but it could have been the lighting in her office. He asked if Ian enjoyed dating a supe, to which she replied that he doesn't make a big deal about it and that he doesn't know the whole "not being able to die" part of her powers. She also told him Ian doesn't know about her history with Vought and, by extension, Homelander either. That made him pause for a second, like he was going to say something, but instead he just smiled and went on asking about her life back in England, as if he was an old friend catching up.

"His name is Ian, and he is fine. He is currently in Boston." She didn't want to go into the fact that he was there to investigate the bribes of the senator. Vought likes to grease some palms when they want something to go their way and are very good at making it look like someone else is the real culprit. When Cassidy said that Ian was an investigative journalist, his eyebrows raised and a look of surprise appeared on his face.

"Wooow. Now that's a real hero." What she didn't see was the eye roll when he turned around and the mutter of "Nosey hack."

"Ah, ol' Sullivan is on the chopping block, huh?" John gave her a smirk. Cassidy frowned at him, resisting the urge to ask him what he knows, but the want apparently showed on her face because he raised his hands in a placating gesture.

They were both silent for a moment before Homelander walked up and fiddled with the knick-knacks on her desk, running long fingers over her collection of antique medical tools and trinkets. The metal looked a bit tarnished, and he wondered why someone would collect such morbid relics. Cassidy watched him, her expression relaxed, but curious as to what he was thinking.

"I see you've got quite the collection here," he said, holding up a small, ornate scalpel. "What's the story behind this one?"

Cassidy hesitated for a moment, weighing whether or not to tell him the truth. Finally, she sighed and said, "This was my father's. He liked to dabble. It reminds me of him."

Homelander examined the scalpel, turning it over in his hand.

"Your father must've been quite skilled," he observed, his voice conversational, yet there was a small strain to it.

She knew it was due to the sore spot he has for the absence of parents in his life. She wanted to tell him that having parents isn't as great as it sounds: to tell John that having parents is like having a congenital weakness that you cannot protect yourself from as they exploit it.

"He was," she responded softly, a slight struggle in her voice.

As she continued to observe John, her gaze flickered toward the window. She noticed the sun outside and saw how late it was.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but my lunch break is over and I need to get back." She winced at how standoffish she sounded.

Homelander looked at Cassidy for a moment, a flicker of disappointment and irritation in his eyes. He nodded, placing the scalpel gently back on the desk. "Alrighty. I have to go and do some rounds anyway. Have a good one, Cassidy."

As Cassidy watched him disappear out the window, she sighed and looked down at the scalpel. The memories it held were full of pain, but they also served as a reminder of the person she was before her transformation. With a deep breath, she stood up and headed back out into the hallway, ready to face the rest of her day.

Over the next few weeks, Homelander continued to visit Cassidy during her lunch breaks, each visit feeling more comfortable than the last. They talked about everything, from their respective jobs to aspects of historical leaders, and even shared some laughs over their shared love of classic films.

But as much as Cassidy enjoyed their conversations, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. It was like a nagging itch that she couldn't quite scratch. She tried to ignore it, but she couldn't help but wonder what John was truly after. Was he just being friendly, or was there something more to his motives? It was a question that weighed heavily on her mind, but she couldn't quite find the words to ask him about it. After all, they just started to reconnect, and she didn't want to ruin her newfound camaraderie with him. For now, she would bide her time and continue to tread carefully.

[farfromstrange]

Butterfly Effect | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 1: Toffee Nut Latte

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (afab)

Summary: Michael decides to check out the new café down the street and meets a kind-hearted barista who is determined to make him smile. Or, you serve a rather broody customer that seems like so much more than he lets on, and you decide to take the first step.

Warnings: None. Some angst in the beginning, but nothing serious, unless you consider bad flirting a warning.

Word Count: 5k

A/n: This is my first time writing for Michael. This really was a challenge and I hope I managed to get his character down right, but the man just needs a goddamn break in his life. I’m literally so nervous for y’all to read this… Also, I read some fics on AO3 and I watched some more Michael edits and tried to get the Irish accent on his end as right as I possibly could. I also googled a lot. If you want to be tagged, let me know! (Also, if you haven’t tried a toffee nut latte in December, you have to! It’s my comfort drink during Christmas time.)

The sky above Dublin is littered with gray clouds. A promise of rain goes through the news and every radio station with the weather report. There is a storm warning for those in Ireland who live close to the sea, but the city is told to be vigilant for any harsh winds. And as the first raindrops cascade down onto the asphalt, the clouds turn black.

Michael doesn’t mind the rain. It’s not because he was born and grew up in Ireland; it’s mostly because he has been lacking the feeling of nature in its rawest form for years. Eight years. Prison doesn’t treat anyone well, and he knows the weariness after getting out is normal, but he can’t seem to find a way to wrap his head around the changes around him. The world is so much different now than it was back then. But it is less the fact that gentrification has progressed to the point he has lost count of the family businesses that have disappeared and rather himself who has changed.

He lost everything eight years ago and paid the ultimate price. He is still paying for it. He truly believed that after getting out of prison, he could get back on his feet and get Anna back - it’s all he’s been looking forward to for eight years, to finally see and hold his little girl in his arms again, but she is not that little anymore and all laws and rules seem to be against him as he continues to try, try and try, and yet he always seems to lose. 

Jimmy and Amanda are happy. They pretend to be, anyway. Their kids are bigger now than when Michael went to prison, but they’re still boys. Looking into Amanda’s eyes again after all this time has made all the guilt resurface that he tried to swallow while he was fighting for his survival in the dark confines of his prison cell. 

He’s made mistakes, a lot of mistakes, and he doesn’t consider himself a good person, far from it, actually, but he wants to be better. He wants to be a father. He failed to be a husband and that led to a loss he can’t possibly put into words without tearing his heart out and putting it out into the sun for the flesh to melt off while his nerves are still connected to his conscious being.

He knows he screwed up and that he has no right to see Anna again, but he is selfish and there is so much he has to make up for. He can’t roll over and die, he has to try, and no matter how badly his family wants him back in the saddle, he wants to leave the man he was before behind. If not for him, he has to do it for his daughter. He owes that much to his wife, and he owes it to everyone else he has hurt to try. 

A lot has changed around and inside Michael. He is sadder now, he doesn’t remember what it’s like to feel joy, he’s lost, he can’t find his way back, and the nightmares still keep him up. He can’t sleep. The bullet holes are still there. Every corner of his house is haunted. It reminds him of what he did, of the sacrifices he made in the name of his family, in the name of money, and he gets sick at the sight of his reflection. He loathes himself.

And as he finds comfort in the rain, he walks the streets of Dublin with a nauseating feeling of nostalgia eating through the sensitive skin of his insides because even the city itself seemed to scream at him in the same degrading tone his entire life already likes to take with him. 

But he can’t say he doesn’t deserve it. He can’t say he doesn’t deserve the pain the universe and himself are projecting onto him because he does.

The rain grows heavier and he pulls the collar of his coat up to his throat. Some of the droplets get caught in his bear. He should probably shave, but he can’t find it in himself to try. 

The streets are empty. A lot of familiar storefronts have shut down, buildings have been demolished and modern architecture lines the streets. Even the coffee shop he and Jimmy used to frequent is gone now. But instead of a new, fancy business building, a seemingly normal café has replaced it. 

He stops. 

Butterfly Effect.

If his education hasn’t failed him, the butterfly effect describes the power of even the most minuscule change to have a huge impact on your life - everyone’s life, really. Everything affects everything. The flapping of a butterfly’s wings on one end of the world can cause a natural catastrophe on the complete opposite end. It’s chaos theory. 

Or, a nice cup of coffee can change the course of your day within seconds. That’s what he supposes it means. Otherwise, the name wouldn’t make any sense. An odd name for a café, he thinks. But the smell of roasted beans and sugary treats draws him in like a moth to a flame. 

The bell above the door rings, signaling the arrival of another customer. Compared to the storm raging outside, it’s cozy and warm inside the café you work at. The mostly brown interior reminds you of a cabin in the woods in the middle of winter. You’ve grown used to the noise of conversations overlapping, the sizzling of the coffee maker, and the occasional ding of the oven whenever someone wants one of the snacks from the display heated up and ready to go, or ready to dive into it in a comfortable armchair somewhere close to the plants. It’s the work-free section of the café, and it has become rather popular during people’s most stressful times. 

You have been working there for only a few months. After deciding to make a living from writing and quitting your nine-to-five desk job, you realized that money isn’t so easy to come by, so you let desperation lead you to the city and landed a job at this café that, at the time, had just opened. You were miserable at first because nothing was going your way, but you learned how to live with it because quite frankly, the place is nicer than you thought. After putting aside the pessimism, you found somewhat of an optimist inside of you, and that’s something you never thought you’d say.

The café is now your favorite place to be. It’s not a coffee shop because the main purpose isn’t to sell as many coffees to go; the place is perfectly decorated for people to stay and drink inside (and outside in summer). You get the occasional walk-ins, but most people stay for the atmosphere, and you can’t blame them.

It’s busy most of the time, there is a lot of work, and the stress wears you down and often takes the inspiration to create something outside of work away from you, but it’s not every day that a stable job comes with nice people and a nice ambiance. It’s better than staring at a computer screen all day, anyway. 

You wouldn’t call yourself ‘the norm’. You’re a mess most of the time, you still can’t make doctor’s appointments without rehearsing your speech a million times beforehand, and doing the dishes isn’t your favorite thing to do, but you have a routine. You have friends. You’re as happy as you can be, and you only find yourself having an existential crisis every two days now rather than every hour, which seems to be a big improvement that should be celebrated. You’re a mess, but you stand by it. 

Most people would have given up their dreams by now, but you have always been a dreamer, it keeps you alive, so giving up and returning to a life that doesn’t make you happy is not a decision that is even open for discussion. So many people have told you and keep telling you that you are never going to make it, but in your mind, you’re right where you want to be because that is where you can be, and everything else will come with time. 

Even the smallest changes can lead to a sudden 180-turn in your life. Butterfly Effect. The place of your employment seems to be a little too on the nose with their name. 

A rainy day usually means a lot of work for you, but you don’t let that sway you from admiring the beauty of Dublin hulled in gray in the afternoon. 

The bell above the door rings and you look up. The man that walks in is wearing a sweater as dark as the weather, but it’s green and it reminds you more of a sad field than the gray clouds in the sky. His hair is dark though, and the dark strands of his beard surround a mouth that looks like it hasn’t smiled in a while. 

He’s absolutely beautiful. 

The stranger approaches you and the air gets stuck in your lungs. He eyes the menu, his brown eyes narrowing to get a closer picture of the writing - it’s yours. You updated the signs this morning, and you paid close attention to detail. You wonder if it was too much, your cheeks starting to burn bright red, ready to apologize and read it to him, but then he finally nods and steps up to the counter. 

“Hi,” you say, your voice higher than usual, “Welcome to the Butterfly Effect! What can I get for you today?”

Your voice is like a breath of fresh air. Michael’s eyes fall on you, and he is instantly captivated by the force of your smile. It’s almost unfair how kind you seem, your little apron fitting perfectly around your waist and your hair only tied up enough to keep your face visible to the public. You’re open, painfully so; he suddenly feels like a smudge of black on a colorful canvas, and that canvas is you. Your smile is welcoming, it draws him in, but he doesn’t want to come closer. It’s light like yours that often gets ruined by the likes of him. 

“Just a double espresso,” he says. It’s his old regular. 

Compared to the volume of the bustling café, he’s quiet, but you still hear every word. There is a low vibrato to the way he speaks, and the new sensation makes you shiver. You have seen many people around here, it has become a favorite spot for people to hang out, but he’s a total stranger. And he’s different from the usual clientele that comes in. He’s mysterious, but he’s not dark. You wouldn’t describe him that way. He fits in with the furniture, you realize, and he would definitely make a cozy accessory.  

If only he could see himself the same way. It’s not hard to tell that he doesn’t, or he wouldn’t carry himself the way he does. You can almost smell the sadness radiating off of him, and the lack of a smile makes you feel almost sad with him. And of course, for him. 

“A double espresso?” you question. 

Your curiosity is piqued. 

He’s not sure why you sound like you’re insinuating something. Are you… judging him?

Michaels shifts from one foot to the other and says, “Yeah. A double espresso.”

“You know we have other options, right?”

He does. He can see the menu. His frown deepens. He finds himself taken aback by your candidness. He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s what I usually order. If ya don’t have any, I can look for somethin’ else.” 

You smile a little at his shyness. He’s on the completely wrong path when it comes to interpreting your intentions. It’s not like you’re judging him, not at all, but there is more to him, there has to be. Every person has a story. You work with people every day, you’ve encountered rare personalities and yet there are always those who exceed your expectations. Michael seems to be one of those very people. 

You can’t explain how you know, it’s merely a feeling, but your feelings are hardly ever wrong. You’ve been working in customer service for a while, and it comes with a certain sense of how people tick, what they’re like, and it makes you speculate about who they are inside, too. It’s what you’ve been doing from the beginning. At first, you felt bad, but you soon realized you aren’t doing anything harmful by observing. You are just studying human beings in their natural habitat, and it truly helps you get a better sense of who people are.

Coffee is the first indicator of the kind of person someone is. Unique coffee doesn’t instantly mean you are an adventurer unless there is something about you that would suggest it, just like the way you would order it or the kind of toppings you prefer. Keeping that in mind, ordering a double espresso also doesn’t mean you’re basic or ‘normal’ just because many people drink it; it’s the kind of person you see before you combined with the order that paints you a picture of who the person is.

You brew coffee for other people and make a living with that, so of course, coffee is something you judge based on. Sometimes, you memorize coffee orders simply to get to know the regulars that come in. People-watching is by far your favorite activity. 

With Michael, it’s not just the coffee that gives it away though. The second he opened his mouth, you knew. Even though your conversation runs based on customer and service provider, the air between you and the way he carries himself intrigues you because you have to admit, it’s not often you feel this starstruck by a random man coming into your place of work and ordering a boring double espresso.

But he isn’t just a random man, is he? 

The aura that consumes him and the clouds that follow him – they’re a testament to something else, something you don’t know about but that inevitably draws you in. He’s a magnet, almost. He shows so much without actually showing it, and he doesn’t even seem to know it. Perhaps that’s why he looks so surprised at your open and affectionate nature. He’s not used to people being nice to him. A lot of people that come into the café aren’t, but he surely is the most conflicted one. It’s a gut feeling that drives you.

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant!” you quickly assure him. “I get it, believe me. But let me let you in on a secret–“ You look deep into his eyes, and it’s enough to crack his foundation just a little. 

You meet his eyes and Michael gets flustered. Eye contact has become a means to intimidate, but the way you look at him is far from that. It’s different. He licks his lip and hopes you can’t see too clearly that you have caught him off guard.

Well, needless to say, you have. The second you meet his beautiful eyes that appear almost black in the dim light of the room, you see his stern expression falter and a sense of humanity flashing through. It’s a broken, painful sliver of humanity, but it’s human nonetheless. 

Shaking off the whirlwind of thoughts that almost turns you mute, you regain your composure. “We have this new toffee nut latte on the menu that tastes best with a little caramel and cinnamon on top,” – you point to the sign above your head – “You strike me as the kind of guy that could use more than just a boring espresso, especially on a day that’s already darker than our furniture,” you say before quickly adding, “No offense.”

Michael catches himself before he can lose all of his dignity. He chuckles awkwardly, looks away, then looks at you again. His eyes roam your face, then the sign behind you. He’s never been more grateful to his beard for hiding most of the blush on his pale cheeks. When he meets your eyes again, you’re still staring at him, and your smile is contagious.

You look so cute like this, with your apron and the butterfly clip that holds your name in place. Michael finds himself smiling at you, but it’s not because he’s nervous or shy – okay, maybe it’s because he is shy – but it’s because you are smiling at him so brightly, he forgets his name and he forgets what air feels like. His lips naturally curl up and mirror your expression, and he swears he can feel the blush rising to his head. A spark of warmth ignites in his eyes that was dormant for far too long. 

Whatever you’re doing to him, it’s working, and you’ve barely talked. 

I actually quite like the furniture, he thinks to himself, but the words wouldn’t find their way onto his lips. 

“None taken,” he says instead. 

You let out a sigh of relief. It’s hard to place the expression on his face, but his smile offers a lovely sight. “Oh, good. With gentrification and everything I really can’t afford scaring off a paying customer because of a toffee nut latte that you could get at Starbucks for twice the price. So,” you say, and you once again bite yourself in the ass for the inappropriate joke. 

Why are you still talking? You were so confident, so in your element, but now he has you blushing again and rambling like a teenager. If your boss were to hear any of the things you just said to the poor man, you would probably end up having a lengthy conversation about etiquette. 

You bite your cheek and close your eyes. “I’m so sorry, I should probably stop talking now. Just pretend you didn’t hear any of that. I really need this job. You probably think I’m crazy now.” 

Michael’s lip twitches again, much to his own surprise. “That depends, are ya tryin’ to sell me on overpriced or good coffee?” he asks. 

You feign a gasp. “Good coffee, of course!” You pause before adding with a wink, “Or so I’m supposed to say.”

You should shut up, but how can you when he is teasing you so effortlessly?

“That was a joke. Our coffee is excellent, and I’m not just saying that… okay, so, I’m mad, huh? That’s what you think. It’s official.”

He chuckles, his hand raising slightly as if to calm you down. Perhaps you have started talking a little fast, but rambling comes unfairly naturally. It’s your defense mechanism.

“I don’t think yer mad,” he says.

A blush spreads across your cheeks at the soft tone of his voice. He’s not as stressed as most of your customers; there is a calm amidst the storm.

“But if yer gonna rob me of five quid for a latte,” Michael adds, and there he goes again, teasing, “ya might as well get me an extra shot of espresso with that or I’ll start thinkin’ that ya are. Wouldn’t be good for business, would it?”

His words elicit a small giggle from you. “You can have as many as you like. On the house. But only today.”

You also shouldn’t be doing that, there’s a reason you’re supposed to charge for any particular changes like extra espresso or extra whipped cream, but you’re not thinking rationally anymore. Years of customer service training seem to be gone all of a sudden.

He shrugs again. “Just one’d be grand, thanks.”

“So, one toffee nut latte?” You meet his eyes. They remind you of ground coffee beans. You wonder if he smells the same, or if he smells like the rain outside mixed with the distinctive scent of wet grass in the air. You can't explain why the thought crosses your mind, but as soon as it settles in, it refuses to leave. “Or did I get that wrong?” you ask to clarify. 

Michael shakes his head. “That’s right.”

“Okay”

He nods to the pile of paper cups next to the register. “Actually, could I get that to go?” he asks. “Please?”

“Sure,” you reach for the cup, “I can make that happen. One more thing though, and then I’ll leave you alone. Can I get your name?”

He frowns.

“For the order,” you add.

“Oh, right. Name’s Michael.”

“Michael…” His name is just as beautiful as him. You use the Sharpie next to the register to write his name in bold letters onto the coffee cup. “I hope I got that right,” you murmur more to yourself than him, but he hears you nonetheless.

His eyes crinkle in the corners from how hard he's smiling. The glint they’re carrying is just as teasing as before. On the counter, his fingers start patting a steady rhythm. “If ya wrote it with a k, yer wrong,” he says.

“I didn’t,” you say.

“Then you’re good.”

You try not to pass away from the sight of his smile or the subtle praise he throws your way.

You eye him and hesitate before moving a line lower and adding, 

“You have a nice smile :)”

You consider putting your number as well, but that would be too much of a bold move, even for you, so you leave it be. You’re not even sure if he is as intrigued as you are; you develop crushes fairly easily, and it’s worse when hot men come in during tea time and order a coffee from you. You don’t want to creep him out, you just want to be nice. You want to make his day. He seems like the kind of guy that could use a pick-me-up, and you have your work cut out for you. 

Handing the cup over to your colleague, you return your attention to the man before you. “Anything else you’d like, Michael?” you ask. 

Swiftly taken aback by you saying his name so casually as if you’ve known each other for a while and he didn’t just walk into a café on a normal rainy day in Dublin like any other person around you but that you’re actually long-lost friends, he snaps out of it and shakes his head. 

You can tell he’s not that much of a talker, so you accept his soft ‘thank you’, and name the total. He hands you the money, and he tips graciously.

Michael isn’t even sure why he does it, but then your eyes light up even more and he realizes that’s why. He wants to see you happy. He wants to brand your face into his brain with a hot iron. 

The question ‘What the fuck is wrong with ya?’ Nudges him. ‘Stop it.’

He wants to, but he can’t.

You put the tip into your jar and offer him another smile, but this time your eyes are the ones holding the playful glint. “Well, thank you, good sir!” you say.

There can’t be much wrong with him. You are the kind of person many people would feel drawn to. He just doesn’t like the way it makes him feel.   

He looks away. “Sure. See ya,” he says, and when he turns around to pick up his order at the counter a few steps over, he reads the name on your nametag and calls your name most deliciously. 

You shudder. 

“That’s…” you peek at your name tag. “That’s my name.”

He said your name. Good God you feel like such a teenager.

Did you make the right decision by writing him that note? You’re not sure, but you hope he gets your hint and comes back because he has proven to be quite something else – someone else – and you’d be damned to let that beautiful stranger slip through your fingers like any other man you could have had in the past.

It’s just something about Michael that has you yearning for more. Something that entices you and pulls you in. Maybe it’s the mystery that surrounds him or the dark cloud that you seem to have been able to clear for just a moment, but you could see the rainbow following the rain. Someone just has to shine enough light on him to make him smile again.

As you look to your right, your co-worker casts you a knowing glance. She smirks, her arms crossed over her chest. “You have a nice smile,” she quotes. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Do you write that on all customers’ cups or just this lad?”

“Sarah,” you warn.

“I mean, he’s hot, but come on! What was that?”

You can tell she’s trying hard not to laugh at you, and you are this close to smacking her in the head with the whisk closest to you. For a moment, you consider it. 

“You need to get out more,” she says. “Learn how to flirt properly. That was just sad to watch.”

“Oh, fuck off!” you say, but the tone of your voice is playful.

You know the note was a pathetic attempt at flirting, and chances are he won’t reciprocate them, but at least you can sleep better at night knowing you’ve made his day better because you made him smile, and that usually goes a long way on a bad day. 

Michael, at first overwhelmed by the sweet taste of his coffee, quickly comes to the decision that he likes whatever drink you made him buy. It reminds him of Christmas, of simpler times, and it makes him feel warm inside.

He likes his coffee strong, you took note of that. While he can taste the espresso clear as day, the sweet hints of cinnamon and caramel mixed with the warm foam and whipped cream explode on his tongue. He would have never ordered it if you hadn’t recommended it, that’s for sure, but the different tastes blend perfectly and don’t take away the essence of what he truly likes about the double espresso he usually orders. It’s different, but it reminds him of home. 

The latte itself isn’t what causes him to pause though. It’s the written words underneath his name. Your handwriting is unique, fitting for someone like you, but he has no trouble deciphering it. 

“You have a nice smile :)”

The compliments he receives are usually comments made by his family, and they’re never that special. Not that Michael would consider himself special, anyway. He can’t remember the last time someone complimented his smile; his smile had never been the center of anyone’s attention before. Until now. He’s flirted with women, he’s been around, but the purity of your compliment paired with the carefully drawn smiley face next to your note feels different than where his conversations usually lead.  

He looks over his shoulder into the café where he sees you leaning over the counter through the runny glass of the window, a lolli in your hand as you hand it to a little girl. Your interaction flows effortlessly, just as it did with him. 

The child points to the butterfly clip that keeps your name tag in place. You reach into the pocket of your apron and find a spare clip to hand her. The girl’s face lights up and you look even happier than before. It's a smile not many people have, and a power that even seems to enchant children. 

The mother seems a lot more relaxed now that she’s talking to you. Michael begins to wonder if maybe your smile is the butterfly effect and not the coffee itself. Maybe you are the reason so many people come to the café. You offer solace, a smile, and some hot coffee. It’s every stressed person’s dream, he thinks, to be served by someone like you.

The rain cascades down on his tired features, but he’s not cold. He has his coffee and he has the thought of your smile etched into his brain, and there is something about you that won’t allow him to forget, no matter how hard he tries. 

He glances back down at the note, his lips curling into another smile. If someone passed by him and would ask him why, he wouldn’t even know what to answer. Is he smiling because of the note or because of you? Or is it the taste of something new? Or maybe he has just gone insane, he’s not sure anymore. 

The short moment of relief he felt inside the café is gone and instead replaced by the familiar feeling of dread. The gray of the clouds returns to his soul, and the light you have tried to light in his heart has gone out. The smile turns bittersweet before it dies on his lips, but then he looks back at you through the window, the rain turning your face blurry, and he wants nothing more than to scream at the clouds to go away. 

Michael is too weak to fight what’s eating him inside. It’s inevitable. People around him get hurt and he hurts himself in the process. He would be foolish to think otherwise.

But then there’s you. You are a kind-hearted breath of fresh air. You are good with people. You seem like the kind of person who could never do something bad. You’re an Angel. You’re the complete opposite of him, and opposites attract. It’s a treacherous feeling and it’s dangerous, but he can’t help it. 

A minute it took for you to make him smile. If that is not a record that piques his interest, he’s not sure what is. Not that he would admit his reason for going back to be your smile or the lovely note you have left on his coffee cup. He likes to think it’s the toffee nut latte and the ambiance, but deep down, even Michael knows that is not the reason he is truly smiling. 

Coffee has become his new favorite drink and he knows exactly where to get his fix. 

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms @acharliecoxedfan @lina-mar @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella