#this helped me power through and update my succession fic and then I put that and two others on hiatus lol

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

upon his grace 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: friday!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You are summoned to the queen’s chambers shortly after your arrival. You come together with the other young ladies from courtyard in the corridor just before a set of painted doors. Within, Queen Margaret keeps court with her ladies, of whom you are to be one of. The thought alone has you devilishly unnerved. 

The guards in their livery greet you with dull eyes. The groom announces your purpose and receives little in return aside from the one soldier’s lazy reach to tap upon the door. He lifts the lever and eases a space between the wood. 

“Your highness, you’ve some ladies requesting an audience,” he drones through. 

There is some movement from within. A lady servant appears in her white cap and beckons you inward. You are further intimidated by the formality of it all. Marcia and Marigold rush ahead to be first and the three earls’ daughters from the White Plans take up their train. You glance over at Calliope and trail after her. 

The doors shut at your back and the lady maid retreats, her soles scuffing amid the murmur around you. You look around the skirts of the other debuts and see women in recline, others perched upon cushions and stools, all at leisure with needle, book, or frame. There is another at the window, sat between two ladies on the bench, the late afternoon breeze stirring the long waves that hang around her face, the rest of her chestnut hair twisted up behind her hood.  

The lady maid stands at the wall in deference, “your highness.” 

The brunette raises her chin and her eyes narrow at the lot of you. You can barely see much past the shoulders of the twins and the other ladies clustered closely in shared apprehension. Still, the twins stand tall and the other ladies hardly seem as wrought as you in the ceremony of it all. 

“The twins of...Mawsley, is it?” The queen declares, “yes, your father proved himself a valuable asset, didn’t he?” 

“Your highness,” the twins recite in unison and bow, “Marcia,” the first introduces herself, “Marigold, the second adds. 

“How keen,” the queen chimes, “you look as the same person. How amusing.” 

“Thank you, your highness,” the sisters chirp. 

“And those gowns, wonderful. I may have to ask after your tailor,” Queen Margaret preens, “and where is the Countess’ daughter? I recall I met you once when you were still a child.” 

Calliope steps dutifully, “my mother sends her regards.” 

“Oh, yes, that poor widow,” the queen bemoans, “she is ever steadfast despite her plight.” She takes pause as you sway to see her, “and the rest of you, forgive me, these last days have been a whirlwind and I’ve heard an endless slew of names one after another. 

“Lady Selene,” the very lady proclaims. 

“Lady Ameri,” she bows in quick succession. 

“Lady Dorida,” the last shows her courtesy in an elegant bend. 

As you come forward, the twins push their arms together as if to block you out with their sleeves. You sidle side to side and sweep around their skirts with an ungraceful stumble, “your highness,” you greet as if you have something stuck in your throat. You swallow before you can muster your own name and title. 

“Woodsdam,” the queen tilts her head and looks from the lady at her left shoulder to the one on her right, “I’ve never heard of it.” 

“Neither have I,” the leftmost agrees. 

“Farmland,” the right says. 

“Yes, your highness, my father is a farmer, but an earl as well,” you supply. 

“Mm,” the queen looks down her nose as her lips thin, “it appears the Woodsdam style is much... defined. I don’t think I’ve seen that style gown since my grandmother was still on earth.” 

You look down at your modest cotton. The square cut of your bodice is much different than the other ladies’ rounded collars. Your mother crafted the dress from pieces and the seams are tidy, yet it does lack a similar flair to the others around the chamber. You raise your eyes and keep your composure as best you can. 

“Many thanks, your highness.” 

The queen scoffs, “quaint, indeed.” She sits straighter though her posture is already unyieldingly staunch, “ladies, please acquaint yourself. And be certain to pay heed to these ladies who know well the ways of court. For all that’s changed in these past years, we will retain as ever our elegance and our etiquette.” 

You peer around, uncertain what comes next. A lady stands and calls to Calliope, “Lady, it is me, Gwendolyn, of the Spades. Near Clovers, you will know it?” 

Calliope accepts the initiation and there is a swift storm of voices swirling around the lot of you. You flutter hopefully that someone might think of Woodsdam or might’ve been to the waterfall near Aquil, not far from your father’s hold. The twins confer still with the queen and her ladies, trilling and giggling, as Serena and Dorida marvel over another ladies’ sewing frame, and Ameri is overly familiar with a lady swollen with child. 

You drift away from the centre of the chamber, trying not to draw unwarranted attention. It would do little for any to note your insignificance. You’ve all to soon faded into obscurity. No one cares for a farmer’s daughter. 

“Eh, do you read?” The question startles you and has you spinning to face its speaker. She looks as she sounds; squawkish. Birdlike. Her blond waves are woven with strands of silver and her hooked nose is not unbecoming. 

“Yes, lady, I do,” you answer, uncertain if she is genuine or she means it as jab. 

“Have you read Corswin? He wrote a fair tale about a shepherdess.” 

“I’ve not heard of him,” you recover your confidence at her interest. It is clear she humours you, that she is speaking to only keep you from floundering. 

“I must lend you a book or two,” she insists, “come sit with me. These old hens grow tiresome.” 

“Many thanks, my lady,” you accept and claim the stool next to her, shifting it closer. 

“Sarah,” she gives her name, “Woodsdam. I’ve never been. I hate the swamps.” 

“Oh,” you nod, “yes, it isn’t very swampy. Only in the rainy seasons but we get the sun.” 

“Mm, still, I’ve been down Ashton and I hated the place. My horses caught some sickness there,” she gripes, “perhaps though, your home is more pleasant. A woman old as me, though, I don’t venture far as it is.” She tuts and taps her oval nails on the book in her lap, “if my son wasn’t so foolish as to take up his sword, I’d still be in my library, hidden away from these chits.” 

You clasp your hands together and smile. She’s amicable and you wouldn’t want to bother too much. She flutters the pages of her book and huffs. You look around, sensing some intrigue from the other ladies though they do their best not to let their flitting eyes be caught. 

“All these birds know how to do is cloister themselves up like nuns,” she bemoans, “I’d as soon be out in the sunlight. If I were home, I’d be in my courtyard with a better book than this,” she wags the volume in agitation, “and you, lady? What is it you do on the farmstead? Chase hens?” 

“We have geese,” you say, “though they aren’t truly kept. They sort’ve linger around. And some cattle.” 

“It does sound rather bucolic, this must be all so drab to you, castle walls and dusty tapestries.” 

“Oh, it’s all so wonderful,” you expound. 

“It is?” She drawls tritely, “aren’t these ladies of ours so polite? The way they whisper about our hems and our titles. Don’t let yourself be fooled, though I suppose that should be as good a warning against myself. Ladies of the court are like crows; the like shiny things and the hold grudges, and sometimes, they needn’t even a reason to peck your eyes out.” 

You close your lips and swallow. Her tidings only underline the unwelcome forged in the queen’s introduction. All you might forgive is at least she seems genuine in her girding. You look down at your skirts and run your fingers down a crease. 

“The dress is not so hideous,” she assures gently, “some of the ladies do forget we did just fight a war. There are those without silks and without food in their bellies. They should weigh their fortune that they are still alive and well.” 

Your eyes meet and she looks a little less stony. She turns her head to the window and her gaze drifts into the distance. You follow them with a sense of solemnity. Again, you snare a few glances from the others. Many men died, women and children too. It wouldn’t do to care so much for what people think of your wardrobe. 

👑

Your first day at the castle ends in a fine supper of freshly baked bread, beef with gravy, and seasoned scallions, onions, and sweet herbs. It is not so hearty as your mother’s stew which you share as often with the servants nor so delicious. It’s a different sort of taste but not unpleasant. 

You retire at the queen’s behest. She declares she must see to her husband and several of the other ladies claim the same of their own. You rise and wait courteously to tail after other ladies, not wanting to get underfoot as you so often did on the farm. As you stand aside, Lady Sarah swats you with her book. 

Skirts swish against the rows of chairs and benches that line the long table. The dining chamber is set with the portrait of peregrine and similarly hawkish depictions woven into tapestry and tablecloth alike. Despite the uniform decor, the furniture is mismatched and the hews of wood and metal alternate with each piece. 

“Don’t fear the stampede, little calf, run with it,” she chides, “ah, I’ve decades upon these sows and they plod like heifers.” 

He uncouth words draw your surprise. She laughs at the look you send her and waves you off with the hardcover. She shoulders past you without pause. 

“One day you will see, it is better to speak the truth than let it shred up your soul,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Ah, naivete, how entertaining you are.” 

Her voice carries and you notice how the other women shy away from her. There’s a glint of deference to the tilt in their chins as they part for her like a like drawn in the sand with a stick. You wonder how she can be so bold and why the other might tolerate it. As Queen Margaret girded, you are to maintain propriety. Sarah seems to carry the same manners as any farmhand you’d known. 

You hurry to meet Calliope near the door as she departs. She seems the tamest of the lot thus far. Sharp-witted but not needlessly cruel. She turns her head slightly in acknowledgement of your presence. 

“There you are,” she mutters. 

“Did you enjoy the afternoon?” You ask brightly. 

“Enjoy? I tempered it,” she retorts, “I’ve the measure of most ladies.” 

“The measure? They were all quite friendly.” 

“You are too friendly,” she admonishes, “this is court, you cannot be so simple. Each lady is attached to a lord, thus they work upon his purposes. Her ears are always listening, eyes always seeing.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You represent your father and though mine may be in the ground, I carry his mantle all the same. We are our houses, not ourselves here,” she keeps her voice low and slows markedly to keep away from the others, “you should count yourself fortunate for my wise counsel, lady, for no other would give it.” 

You chew on her words, tasting their bitterness, “so why do you, Lady Calliope?” 

“For I despise those twins and I know they aren’t so keen on you,” she sighs, “and I saw you as any other did with the dowager.” 

“The dowager?” You echo. 

“The king’s mother, Lady Sarah,” she sends you a sharp look, “don’t tell me you didn’t realise?” 

“Oh? No? She spoke of books and her gardens, she didn’t mention...” you peter off and snap your mouth shut. But she had, she did say her son ran off to war. “Oh!” 

“Oh! Indeed,” Calliope mocks and shakes her head. “Look, I’ve not the patience for these women, but you’re not so bad. You don’t speak without meaning. Shall we be companions?” 

“Pardon?” You let your surprise bleed through. 

“I need at least one person I might stomach, how about you? I don’t think the others are so eager to be friends. Marcia did say how you look like a peasant.” 

“She did?” You frown. 

“Hm, you need me,” she insists, “you can’t let yourself be so whimsical. Never mind what they say or think. What do they care so much for anyhow? They are a duke’s daughters, they will do well enough.” 

You carry on next to her. You feel as if you’re being pulled in all different directions though all tell you just the same. Be wary 

[drabbles-mc]

You Shouldn't Be Here

Modern!Bucky Barnes x Modern!PreSerum!Steve

Summary: For so long, Steve had been wondering what had happened to Bucky, why he hadn't heard from him since he deployed. When he finally got the answer to his questions, it wasn't what he had been expecting.

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, modern au, no-powers au

For the Alternate June-iverse Prompt: jail/prison

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I had soooo much fun writing this heartbreaking lil fic. Thank you to @buckybarnesevents for running an event that's helped me get out of my comfort zone. 💖

MCU Taglist: @garbinge @artemiseamoon (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Steve didn’t even know that Bucky was back in town. The last time he’d spoken to Bucky, it was right before he deployed. That was a few years ago now, and Steve knew that Bucky’s deployment hadn’t lasted that entire time. He tried to reach out any way that he could, but he was never successful. Steve was never the type to throw in the towel, but he had to admit that his hope was wearing a little thin.

Then one day when he was visiting his mother, doing his weekly grocery drop-off, she said to him, “I was so heartbroken to hear about James.”

Steve stopped everything he was doing, nearly dropped the package of eggs that he had in his hands. He knew that even on his best day it was hard for him to hide what he was thinking and feeling from his mother. Still, though, he tried, not wanting to get into all of it with her.

“What about him?” he said, casually as he could manage as he went back to putting the eggs away.

“You know,” she said as she stood up from where she was sitting at her kitchen table, “that they sent him to Rikers.”

The knot that had been permanently tied in Steve’s stomach ever since Bucky had up and disappeared from his life instantly tightened as he listened to what his mother was saying. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to lie to her well enough to convince her that he knew about it already. He hated that she knew that about Bucky when he didn’t.

She walked over, grabbing the small bag of sugar out of the grocery bag so that she could open it and use it for her coffee. She frowned slightly as she looked at her son’s face, feeling a small pang of guilt as she looked at him. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew. His mother mentioned it to me.”

He shook his head, trying to play it off, but the emotions that were coursing through him now made him seem even smaller than he was. “I haven’t heard from Bucky in a long time. Didn’t, um,” he tried to busy himself with unpacking more groceries, “didn’t even know that he was stateside.”

She rested her hand on his shoulder, “Steve…I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he told her with a nod. “It’s not your fault.”

“You should visit him,” she said as she went back to making her coffee.

He shook his head even though she wasn’t looking at him anymore. “I don’t think I should. If he didn’t want to hear from me before, he’s definitely not going to want to—”

“It’s different now,” she cut him off, her voice still gentle. She stirred her sugar into her coffee. “Go for me, if you won’t go for you.” She could feel the way Steve was staring at her and a small, sad smile crossed over her features. “You’re not the only one who worries for him, you know.”

That was the last thing that either of them said as Steve finished unpacking the last of her groceries. Normally the two of them would chat. Steve would listen to his mother update him on everything that was going on in the neighborhood since the last time that he stopped in. Steve would tell her how work was going, even though there were hardly ever any breaking news stories on that front. But he knew that she still wanted to hear about it, even if everything was the same. She just needed to know that he was doing okay. This time, though, he was quiet, and she didn’t try to break the silence either.

Steve was thinking back on how everything used to be. He was thinking about how it all was back before Bucky enlisted and got deployed overseas. Steve had tried to follow suit, but there was no way that he was going to be able to meet the physical demands to make the cut for the army. It was a hard pill to swallow, but he managed it. Bucky, however, got in with no issue. And once he was out of bootcamp, it also seemed like he was out of Steve’s life. Steve always assumed there were reasons for it, answers that he never got. He supposed that given the current circumstances, maybe the answers had been ones that Bucky didn’t think he would want to hear.

When he was getting ready to leave, he went and gave his mother a hug and a kiss goodbye. “I’ll be back next week, but call me if you need anything before then.”

She gently patted his cheek. “And let me know if you need anything.”

Even though she didn’t say it explicitly, Steve knew exactly what she was talking about. He offered a small smile as he nodded. “Thanks, Ma. Love you.”

“Love you too.” She watched him as he made his way towards the front door of her house. She called after him the way she always did, “Be safe!”

Steve had a small list of other things that he was planning to take care of that day, but now it all seemed so small and insignificant. It crossed his mind as he made his way home that he should’ve asked his mom more questions. He should’ve found out the extent of what she knew, but the fact that Bucky was behind bars at all was something that had thrown him for such a loop he didn’t couldn’t even try to fathom why.

Whatever else he had been thinking of doing that day quickly fell by the wayside. The trip from Brooklyn to Rikers wasn’t exactly a short one, but to Steve the distance was a nonissue. Subways, taxis, whatever it took that’s exactly what he’d do in order to be able to see his best friend, even if the circumstances were unfortunate.

He knew that hew as in over his head the second that he walked through the doors. He wasn’t going to turn around, though, wasn’t going to turn his back on Bucky now that he’d made it this far. He’d never walked away from a fight, and he certainly wasn’t going to walk away from this.

He answered questions, emptied his pockets, went through security, and answered more questions. All of that, and then he waited. He waited, and waited. He didn’t know how long it’d been—time didn’t seem to really exist as he stayed seated in the waiting area. But he sat, determined to stay as long as it took.

Then the guard told him that Bucky was refusing to see him.

Steve nearly crumpled back into the seat behind him. “What?”

The guard shrugged, no sympathy to be found. “Barnes said he’s not seeing anyone right now.”

“But—”

“Sorry, kid,” he said, not really sounding all that apologetic, “but you gotta go.”

Steve knew better than to pick a fight there of all places. So, as much as he didn’t want to, he turned and headed out. He made his way back to his apartment, thoughts racing in a way that they hadn’t in a long time. All the months of unanswered questions, night after night of losing sleep wondering what had happened to his best friend, and he’d finally made it so close. Bucky was only a few concrete walls away from him, and yet Steve still couldn’t get to him.

That was the way it went for a long time. Steve would show up, and he would sit, and he would wait. Then eventually he would get sent home because Bucky refused to see him. It got to the point that Steve was wondering if the guards were just going to stop letting him in, in the first place.

Finally, one day, Steve heard the sound of his last name and for once it wasn’t followed by a dismissal. “Rogers,” the man said as he nodded towards the doorway that Steve had yet to make it through, “follow me.”

Steve immediately shot up out of his seat to do as instructed. His breath stayed lodged in his throat. He couldn’t force himself to say anything to the man who was walking in front of him, which might’ve been for the best. The last thing Steve wanted to do was say the wrong thing the one time Bucky had agreed to see him.

Standing at the entrance to the visiting room, Steve had to search longer than he thought he would in order to find Bucky. It wasn’t as though he was hiding, but he no longer looked like the man that Steve had known his whole life.

He walked over, sitting down across the table from him. It was the first time in his entire life that Steve ever remembered thinking that Bucky seemed small. Bucky wasn’t even looking at him, his eyes fixed on the metal table between them. His hair was different than Steve remembered, grown out longer than it used to be. He had scruff coming in, but not like it was a beard he was actually trying to grow, but more like he’d simply just stopped bothering with shaving the last few days.

Steve didn’t know how long the two of them had been sitting there silently before he got himself to take a breath and speak. “Buck, what—”

“I’m only doing this,” Bucky cut him off, his voice harsh and low, a tone he’d never taken with Steve before, “to tell you to stop fucking coming here.”

Steve felt the air deflate out of his lungs at Bucky’s words, the way that he was saying them. Bucky finally looked up at him, making eye contact, and Steve saw the hollowness in them that hadn’t ever been there before. There was much more distancing them than years now, and Steve could see it without making Bucky say it.

“I’m not gonna stop,” Steve said with a shake of his head.

Bucky shook his head, dragging one hand down his face. It was only then that Steve noticed the bruises and splits on his knuckles. “Still haven’t learned when to pack it in, huh?”

“I didn’t even know you were here. Home, I mean,” he fumbled his way through what he was trying to say. “I didn’t know you came back. How, how long have you been back?”

He wasn’t going to entertain the questions. “You need to go home, Steve.”

“You need to tell me what’s going on,” he argued.

Bucky scoffed. “I’m in fuckin’ jail, Steve. That’s what’s going on.”

He didn’t let Bucky’s harsh tone dissuade him. “How, though? What, what happened?”

“Steve—”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head, “you, you have to tell me. You stopped calling, you never wrote. After everything how could you just…” his voice trailed off.

Bucky couldn’t look at Steve as they sat across from each other. All of the pain, all of the guilt that he’d been carrying around with him over the last few years, he couldn’t carry that and deal with the hurt look in Steve’s eyes. He didn’t know how to say any of it. He didn’t know how to tell Steve that the reason he stopped reaching out, was because he’d turned into someone that Steve wouldn’t want to know. Whatever version of Bucky that Steve had in his head, that was the one that Bucky wanted him to remember. Not the version who was sitting in the jumpsuit across from him now.

For a moment, he thought about trying to get into it all. Part of him wanted Steve to know. Maybe it would get Steve to stay away, or maybe if Steve still accepted him, Bucky could find something to accept in himself.

But he kept his mouth shut about all of it. Instead, he shook his head again. “Just, just stop coming back here, alright? You shouldn’t be in this place.”

“Neither should you,” Steve shot back, always speaking with such resoluteness. Part of Bucky was glad to see that that hadn’t changed.

He was wrong this time, though. Bucky chuckled, but the sound was devoid of any real humor. “Yea, I should be. This,” he nodded to the room they were in, to the jail in general, “this is for all of it.”

“All of what?”

Bucky’s nose twitched as he fought off the tears and emotions that were trying to creep up. Another reason he didn’t want to see Steve. “All of the things I did. Not, not just what happened when I got arrested. The rest of it, too.”

“What happened?”

Bucky sighed as he propped his elbows on the table, dropping his head into his hands for a moment before forcing himself to look at Steve again. “I know you were real upset when they didn’t let you in,” Bucky spoke slowly, trying to keep the waver out of his voice and only being partially successful, “but I’m glad they didn’t.”

“Bucky…”

“I beat the shit out of some guy,” he switched topics, the weight of everything that happened during his deployments too heavy to get into right then. “When I came back home. That’s…that’s why I’m here. I was fucked up, and I went out when I should’ve just stayed home. I went out looking for trouble and then when I didn’t find any, I made some.”

Steve’s frown seemed like it was growing deeper with every word. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky scoffed and shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Don’t, don’t feel sorry for me. I deserve this,” he snapped, trying to keep his voice under control as all the emotions he’d been trying so hard to bottle up started to trickle out. “Everything I’ve done? This doesn’t even…” he trailed off.

“They should’ve gotten you help,” Steve said as he stared at the table, his voice quieter than it had been. He wasn’t sure if he was talking more to Bucky or himself. He looked back up at Bucky. “You shouldn’t be here because they—”

“Steve,” Bucky spoke up, unable to sit there and listen to Steve try to paint a picture where this was anyone else’s fault—there was something about that that he couldn’t stomach, “this isn’t on anyone but me.”

“That’s not true,” he said with a shake of his head. The glimmer of guilt in his eyes told Bucky that Steve put himself on the long list of people who should’ve done more, which was unfair for a litany of reasons.

“You shouldn’t be worried about this,” Bucky told him.

“Of course I’m worried about this. How am I supposed to not worry about you?”

The question silenced both of them. Bucky knew that no matter what he tried to tell him, Steve was always going to worry. He was always going to try and figure out a way to help, to make things better somehow. Bucky also knew that if the shoe was on the other foot, he would be doing the same for Steve. That was all the two of them did—worry for the other. That was the entire reason that Bucky stopped reaching out. He didn’t want Steve to see what he’d been turning into. Apparently all of that work had been for nothing, because now here Steve sat, staring him down from the other side of the table.

Bucky didn’t know if it was infuriating or comforting to see Steve sitting there with the same soft, somewhat sad look in his eyes that he’d always had. Bucky could see that Steve had all of this anger trapped inside of him, and yet none of it was directed at Bucky, not really. He was mad about the circumstances, about the mess. But he wasn’t mad at Bucky. Fists clenched on the tabletop, Bucky wished that he was. It’d be so much easier for him to write Steve off if he was angry. Another person he’d already disappointed so much, he wouldn’t have to worry about making it worse. But of course Steve wasn’t disappointed in him. For a moment Bucky wondered if Steve was even capable of the feeling.

“I don’t know what you’re lookin’ for,” Bucky finally said, forcing his fists to unclench. “There’s nothing for you here. No reason to keep coming back.”

“I’m not just gonna leave you here.”

“Steve—”

“You wouldn’t do that to me,” he argued, knowing that it was the one thing Bucky wouldn’t be able to refute. “I’m with you—”

“Steve,” there was a tremor in Bucky’s voice that hadn’t been there before, “please.” He didn’t know exactly what he was pleading for, but he was doing it anyway.

Before either of them could say anything more, they were told that they needed to wrap it up. Neither of them really knew how long they’d been sitting there. It simultaneously felt like only a few seconds had gone, and that they’d been talking for hours. The heaviness in their words and in their eyes made the minutes seem longer than they were.

“I’ll be back,” Steve said with a definitive nod. He saw Bucky open his mouth to argue and he cut him off before he could even get started. “You can try and send me away, but I’m still going to keep showing up.”

Bucky sighed, running his fingers back through his hair. He knew that there were some arguments that he just wouldn’t be able to win against Steve. This was going to be one of them. “Okay.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged in relief as he stood up from the table. Just knowing that he wasn’t going to constantly be sent away anymore was a win in and of itself. He didn’t know how long it would take to get Bucky to be honest with him about what had happened. He didn’t even know how long the two of them would be doing this for. But he was willing to stick around and figure it out, whether Bucky knew how to handle that or not.

“You’ll be okay,” Steve said, like he was willing it into existence.

Bucky huffed out a quiet chuckle. He wanted to believe it. There was something about the way that Steve spoke that always made you want to buy into whatever it was that he was saying. The optimism that bordered the line of naivety but didn’t quite go over it. Although this time it felt like he was close. Maybe Bucky would’ve felt differently if he didn’t want Steve to be right.

He finally nodded as they came to escort him back. He looked at Steve, trying to muster up something besides the heaviness that was weighing on him. “We’ll be okay.”

[palbabor-writes]

Latibule

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, panic attacks & hypochondria, adult language, eventual SMUT

Words: 9790

His usual spot at the cafe is taken, and he’s already decided to keep walking on, but somehow, somehow, he manages to catch your eye.

His feet are slowing, a stuttering breath stagnating in his lungs, all at once hopeful and bewildered, but before he can examine his fluttering emotions, you’re alongside him on the noisy sidewalk, passing him his usual evening drink, a pleased smile on your soft lips.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

Notes: hi. this is my first real foray into the world of Haikyuu!! & i’m so excited to branch into this fandom! if this is your first time reading my stuff imma warn you, i take things slow, so expect some slow burn. 

this will be a multi-chapter fic with eventual NSFW/18+ only content. i will post warnings for each update. i’ll also link other chapters on this page and any other pages that come up, so keep in mind that there will be edits to links as things progress - i wasn’t planning on this being anything more than a one-shot, but this first exploration of Sakusa’s character turned into a monster & i wanna really hone in on that sweet, sweet build up. 

big, huge shoutout to @wickedfaerytale & @albinoburrito​ for their edits and suggestions. y’all are amazing and i love you both so much, this fic wouldn’t be what it is without the two of you. 

Latibule /lat-i-bule/ noun a hiding place; a place of safety and comfort 

pt. i: an opening 

[ pt. ii: four set ] ||

It’s a quiet coffee shop. 

He likes that about it. He likes it almost as much as the simple fact that he can tell what day of the week it is by the smell of the disinfectant and bleach that’s being used behind the counter. 

There’s a strange comfort to this place’s consistency and Kiyoomi Sakusa likes to linger here, propping his MSBY issued volleyball bag beside his usual table. He’s already placed his coffee order with the cheerful man who guards the cash register, watching as his paper cup is marked with a fresh sharpie and placed on the bartop, beside the elbow of that barista who always attentively turns to wash her hands before making each new order.

He had stumbled upon the shop his senior year of college and he’s haunted it ever since, content to sip on a smooth cortado as he watches over the latest plays from the MSBY games, mapping out his overestimations, his successes, and his flukes in his notebook– carefully lined kanji listing out what worked and what needs some extra practice. The caramel sweet flavor of the ristretto shots always helps to relax him, his broad shoulders lowering, the ache of self-induced tension and overworked muscles easing as his drink cools between his fingers, finally sinking fully into the plush leather seat of his clean chair.

The young woman, he should know your name, but he’s never caught a proper glimpse of your name tag, because you’re always moving, gives him a familiar lifting of smooth lips and places his completed drink on the handoff plane. You know his personal preferences well enough that you’re already moving the caddy of lids and cardboard sleeves forward, so he can select his own from the neatly stacked row. He gives you a cursory nod and his calloused fingertips pull the frothy beverage into his hands, cupping the curved sides and taking a deep drag of air through his masked nose, inhaling the bright smell of fresh coffee.  

And…vines…or is it a tangy pine? 

There’s something else that’s tickling his senses, and he blinks toward you, dark brows knitting together, a misplaced curl of inky hair brushing against his forehead, trying to make sense of the smell. His chin lifts and his head tilts, eyes watching your polished movements as you move onto the next drink in line. It’s definitely got some floral notes, but it’s not cloyingly sweet, like honeysuckle or gooseberry–no, it’s got some kind of balmy spice to it. It returns when you move closer and he swears he can taste summer when you shift back. 

Odd. 

When you look up at him again, he’s already stepping away, his running shoes squeaking across the slate tiles, making his way back to his bag and table. The aroma of your perfume is half forgotten when he cracks his laptop open, squirting some hand sanitizer across his chapped palms before he starts to clack his fingertips across the dark keys. He needs to get more lotion; he thinks as the sterile solution cools between his splayed fingers, this weather always dries his skin out.

The next time he comes in he spies you at the back of the shop, jotting something down in a large binder before kneeling behind the counter, returning with a sparkling, grated drain top. The white gleams under the accented lighting and he watches as you thumb at the paint, denoting a splotch of rust that rests under the dip of the metal. You return the cover to the ground and immediately twist to the hand washing sink that rests behind the bar, lathering up some dispensed soap and methodically stroking from the tips of your fingers to your wrists. A steady puff of steam is rising around you as he places his order– 

[ a oat milk smoothie, with an extra scoop of protein powder, chia seeds, turmeric, kale, cucumber, dash of dates for sweetener ] 

and by the time he’s paid and padding toward his usual spot, you’re finishing up, yanking a few disposable paper towels from the overhead dispenser and gingerly drying your damp hands. 

He’s seen you wash your hands plenty of times before, but he finds himself distractedly following your movements this afternoon as he waits for his order and his computer to finish booting up. You catch his obsidian eyes when you turn around and give him a brief smile; a flash of teeth peeking through your lips before you move back to your binder. You jot down a few more notes as you move onto the fridges that sit under the countertops, pulling and prying at the gaskets that line the doors of the whirring chillers, speaking softly to a fellow employee, pointing out the missed stains and chipped flecks of ice that like to hide within the folds of the protective plastic. 

You’re not overbearing in your coaching, keeping your tone even and friendly, focusing on what can be done going forward, rather than lingering on the ‘what if’s’ and ‘why wasn’t’ of the situation.

Practical, efficient, thorough with your work, and careful with your craft. 

Those descriptors float to the forefront of his mind as he takes his smoothie from the barista that’s standing beside you. He lets his gaze hold against your half leaning form, watching the lead tip of your pencil mark over the stark red checklist that you’re working your way down. 

He’s not sure why he’s so focused on you. He’s never thought much about you. You’ve been someone that exists in the background, part of his routine to be sure, but he justifies that your attention to detail is likely the reason why he prefers this shop to the dozens of other coffee houses that litter the main street by the MSBY training facilities and stadium. Your head shifts, and he can tell you can feel his gaze, so he swiftly plucks up his icy cold cup, his nose involuntarily trying to seek out that perfume you’d been wearing the other day. 

Strange. His brow furrows, and he hunches into his sports jacket, walking back to his chair and his glowing computer. He can’t smell it today. Maybe you’re too far away, or perhaps you’d forgotten to put it on before coming in.

Pity. He’d liked it.

“Running a little late today, I see,” your voice snaps him out of his stupor, onyx eyes lifting to rest against your open expression. 

“Kind of,” he replies blandly, his deep cadence muffled by the pull of his mask.

“Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be late! Want me to push your drink to the front of the queue? I’ve got the power to do that, you know,” you tease, tilting your head as a mischievous grin settles over your quirked lips. Kiyoomi blinks impassively down at you and shakes his head. How would he even reply to something like that? You were joking, right? You must be. And if you weren’t, the people who are clustered around the handoff plane would certainly realize that he was being given his drink first, clearly ahead of all of theirs, and they’d probably toss him a few disgruntled stares or mouthy jabs, and likely accuse you of playing favorites. 

Wait. Favorites? 

Does he count as a ‘favorite’ here? He looks away, lips drooping into a pursed line. You’ve always been…nice…but there’s no way he’s a favorite of yours. He’s hardly spoken to you in the year and a half that he’s been coming here. But is that all it takes? Just take up space in the cafe a few times a week and get special treatment? 

No. You must be joking. 

All the same, your jovial tone and that welcoming smile is a little intriguing.    

He shuffles closer to the heat of the espresso machines, easily lifting his head over the lip of the bronze metal, watching you. You’re looking down now, fingers gripping the dark handle of the portafilter, holding it under the buzzing grinder to gather a fine sprinkle of dusky espresso grounds into the waiting basket. Then, you lift a lustery tamp to the heaping mound and press expertly against the delicate remains of the arabica, packing them to an even level before clamping the filter under the display of the machine. When you flick the switch that activates the group head you must sense his stare and lift your eyes to his, eyelashes momentarily fluttering against your cheeks when you spy his unabashed observations of you.

For a second, your hands falter, trapped within the unexpected intensity of his curious gaze, and you pat blindly for the cup that’s sitting to the right of your curled arms, embarrassingly disarmed by his transparent focus. But once your grip wraps around the waiting plastic, it seems to ground you and you let out a huffing chuckle, eyes crinkling up at his half obscured face. 

“I’m only kidding about moving your drink up, don’t worry, I won’t get you in trouble. Besides, it’s against our policy. First come, first serve and whatnot,” you assure him, halting the stream of water that’s pouring the carefully timed flow of espresso into the clear shot glass that’s waiting against the gleaming metal of the drip tray. 

“You’re busy today,” he notes, jerking his curly head toward the gaggle of college students sprawled across some of the bigger tables, their laughing voices and overly loud conversations easily drowning out the hum of lofi jazz that’s playing from the recessed speakers.

“Ah, yeah, finals are coming up for a lot of us that go to the university. I know my classes are starting to gear up for that last push and sometimes you just need a pick me up and coffee is great for that. We also get a big boost from the smoothies and frappes that we sell in the afternoons, so we get a little packed. Most of our sales happen during the weeks leading up to finals and midterms, uh, anyways, not that you asked for an economic lesson on a small cafe’s profit margins.”

“You’re a student?” he asks, head dipping back, eyes glittering in the lights. Wait. How old are you? Not that he can boast any sort of seniority on that front, he’s only 24 after all, but you just seemed, hmm, more mature? He didn’t picture you as a co-ed. Not that he’s actively picturing you when he’s not here. Well, he is a little recently, but you’ve always felt sort of timeless? Ageless? Is that the right term? You give off an air of confidence. So he’d assumed that you were older than him. Not in a bad way, in fact he’d sort of like it if you were. Why, that is, he’s not willing to look too deeply into, at least, not right now. Maybe later, when he gets back home and can…oh, you’re talking again.

“I’m a graduate student, but not for much longer. I’m finishing up my dissertation this week! Thank God. This semester has been the pits, I’m so ready for a break!” You sound genuinely happy and he can smell that faint aroma of your perfume each time you move. 

“Congratulations,” he murmurs, unsure if you’d heard him since you’re stepping away from the machines that he’s posted himself behind. He watches you set up two steaming drinks, topping them with a lazy swirl of silky, housemade, whipped cream, a crosshatch drizzle of caramel, carefully snapping a set of black plastic lids on top, before calling out the handwritten names and handing them off to their respective owners. Then you’re back, hands already unhooking the portafilter, knocking out the used espresso pucks into the trash and bringing him back to that spicy smell of summer that sits on your skin.

“Haha, it’s a little early for a congratulations. Don’t jinx me, will’ya? But seriously, thanks, that’s nice of you to say,” you continue, flowing easily back into this half-hearted conversation he’s accidentally struck up with you. He winces at that thought and dips his hands deeper into his jacket, hunching his shoulders into a habitual slouch that he instinctively imposes upon himself when he’s out in public.

“You want a lid?” you question over the hiss of the machine, and he lifts his head, finding your bright eyes through the misting remains of the cleared steam wands. 

“No.” His response is clipped, and he gulps down a sudden burst of hazy anxiousness when someone brushes past him, jostling him closer to the low wall that divides the bartop from the cafe floor. He braces himself against the warming top of the machine, his large palm steadying himself, shoulders caving forward, his dark curls falling over his eyes, obscuring his face further. He clenches his jaw, a scowl blooming over his lips. 

His social anxiety isn’t anything new, and it’s likely exacerbated by the bustle of the nearby college students, who seem to be getting louder by the second. The noise is needling under his skin. He starts his carefully ingrained breathing exercises, tugging in a deep stream of air through his flared nostrils. 

But the smell is coffee is too overwhelming and suddenly his ritual doesn’t help much. 

He can feel blood leaving his fingertips and toes, or as his cousin Komori puts it [ the inescapable dread of some imagined ailment, which is making him think that his body is rushing blood from his extremities to his vital organs, his fingertips cold, hands shaking, when in reality ‘you’re just feeling unsure of yourself, man. It’ll be ok in a minute, promise!’ ] 

But in the end, it doesn’t matter what anyone calls it, or how they think he should feel during these heart pounding moments, he just knows that he wants to get out of here, now. 

His agitation must have twisted the top half of his expression because the feel of your warm fingertips against his wrist jerks him out of his head, causing him to suck in an unsteady breath as he lurches backwards, pulling away from your offending touch. 

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t think…I just…” you bite your lip, a look of stark worry passing over your usually open features. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Are you…are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts, teeth clenched, right leg bouncing in place against the tiles. Shit. It’s not like he could have predicted that you’d try to touch him, so you can’t really blame him for his misplaced reaction. Just get him his coffee and he’ll be on his way…

Come on…come on…

“Here you go. Sorry for the wait, Sakusa,” you lift on your tiptoes, the stretch of your legs and arms apparent as you hold his cup out, careful to balance yourself against the lever of the steam wand. He takes the proffered drink and nods his thanks at you, his gaze dark. The gesture might be a little strained, and he knows you likely think he’s some kinda freak at this point, but he’s glad to see your customary smile before he turns, shouldering his way out the door and into the promise of open air.  

“Stop being so secretive about this place. It’s not like you can’t search for it online, Omi Omi. I saw you come in with the logo of their shop last week and I wanna try it out. Don’t cha’ gimme that look, I deserve to have good coffee too! And if it’s close by you can’t just keep it to yourself! Think about the rest of us, huh? Besides, I think they’d like to see something other than yer’ prickly face every once in a while.” Golden haired Atsumu Miya, his fellow teammate and setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, has been walking beside him for five blocks, jabbering on about the bland offerings of the big box coffee chains that surround their home gym, and how he hasn’t had a good cup of coffee in days. Tch, he’d said months originally, but that was an obvious lie. After all, Kiyoomi pointed out, slipping his mask on before the two stepped into the strong midday sun, he’d come in with an iced coffee two days ago, proclaiming to the whole team it was the best he’d ever had, bar none. 

“It’s a small shop,” Kiyoomi glumly elaborates, his dark hair soaking up the rays of sunlight as they crossed the bustling pedestrian walkway. “I think it’s run by an American. The staff speaks English, besides Japanese. There’s one barista in particular, a young woman, she has–”

“English? Oh, hell yeah! I can practice! This is perfect! They got any specialty drinks? I couldn’t see any from the menu that they had online, but I told ‘Samu I’d send him a picture of the place.”

Hmph, what’s the use of bothering to hold a conversation with this guy, Kiyoomi thinks, obsidian eyes narrowing as his brows furrow over his scrunched face, watching Atsumu chatter on about the vague sampling that he’d seen on their website. He’s not listening, anyway.

The coffee shop bell dings as the two of them step into the space, greeted by a waft of freshly ground coffee and the sharp tang of disinfectant. “Ahhh,” Atsumu says, propping his hands on his trim hips and fixing Kiyoomi with a pointed look, “totally see why you like the place. It smells like they have a freaking bleach, whaddya call those, ah, an air freshener! Yeah, smells like they have an ‘eu de bleach’ wall plug in.” 

“It’s clean,” Kiyoomi affirms, his own hands sliding into his pockets, fingers wrapping around his wallet as he steps into the line. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Not at all,” Atsumu grins, resting an arm on Kiyoomi’s shoulder as he glances over the chalkboard menu. “Just can tell that must be why you like this place so much. Bet you huff cleaner as soon as you get home.. Speaking of, I still need to see your new apartment, heard you let Ushijima come by and that’s not fair at all. Kinda– ow! Omi, ya’ friggin ass!” 

Kiyoomi jerked his arm upwards as he stepped toward the register and the abrupt displacement sent Atsumu’s hand flying up, managing to perfectly strike himself on his nose as he attempted to counterbalance his sudden shift in momentum. 

“HA-ah, ahem, I mean…hello! Nice to see you again, sir!” the barista calls out, poorly concealing his mirth at Atsumu’s fumbling behind a gloved hand. Kiyoomi nods curtly, his order on the tip of his lips, but before he can utter anything Atsumu is beside him again, leaning against the well lit pastry case and peering over his options critically.

“Hmm, ya’ got any of those little madeline cakes? They’re vanilla, kinda look like a shell? Saw em’ on yer’ website.” 

The barista gives Atsumu a broad grin and twists to talk with someone who’s below the arched dome of the food case, quietly asking a few questions before looking back at the blonde man. “Yeah, we do! We’re actually just putting them out, my manager is checking for the–”

Atsumu steps impossibly closer to the gleaming glass and pops his head over the dome, peering down at whoever is restocking the sweets. “Oh! Hey there!” he chirps, lowering his chin, his face pulling into an exaggerated, cocky smirk. “Ya’ know what I mean, right? It’s kinda like a cake, but it’s small, like a cookie. It’s French. No, it’s not that. Maybe on the next tray? What? I can’t hear ya’. It’s smaller. I can step around, see if–”

A familiar voice pipes up before Atsumu can move closer and Kiyoomi turns, ears instantly pricking up at the sound of your reply. “I said, I know what a madeline is, sir. I’m rearranging and organizing my cart at the moment and, if you’d like, you can order your drinks first. I’ll have the madeline waiting for you on the other side of the bar.”

“Lemme just see one,” Atsumu grins, resting his hands against the glass. Kiyoomi’s lips curl at the sight, watching Atsumu’s hands leave lingering prints behind. Great, now they’ll need to clean and re-polish the display. Besides, you’d said you had them. Why keep pushing the issue? Ugh. If he wasn’t regretting his decision to show his fellow teammate the shop before, he certainly is now. 

“Just wanna make sure we’re on the same page, is all. Ya’ might give me something else by mistake and that’s a waste of time for both of us!” Atsumu’s smile broadens, a shadowed look falling over his angular features. 

You hop up from your crouched position, a wrapped package with bright blue lettering that clearly says [ French Vanilla Madeline ] on the side, clutched between your fingers. “Oh no, I get it,” you begin, mimicking Atsumu’s cheshire grin with startling accuracy. “You just want to double check! I mean, the words on the packaging do say: Madeline. So unless you mean something else, something that’s not called ‘A French vanilla madeline, made with real vanilla extract and buttery goodness,’ I think we’ve got you covered.”

Your voice is saccharine sweet, lilting over the words, a well-practiced smile lifting your lips. You’re still clearly mirroring the one Atsumu is giving you. It’s the snappiest your tone has ever been, and the fact that it’s being used against his annoying teammate is priceless. Suddenly, he can’t help the laugh that’s already snickering its way past his mask. 

“Oi!” Atsumu cries, pushing himself off the case at last, his teeth gritted at Kiyoomi’s obvious amusement. “I just wanted to check! And you, manager lady, don’t be so mean!”

“Pfft, manager lady? It’s (Y/N). And me? Mean? I was not mean, I told you that we had them! I just needed to FIFO some of the other pastries first,” you defend, a surprised exhale falling from your lips. 

“FIFO? What is that? Don’t use that food jargon on me! I get that enough from my brother. He does that crap all the time, like it’s some sorta secret lingo. ‘Don’t do that ‘Tsumu, gotta make sure it’s in date’. ‘Don’t come on the line!’ ‘Gotta wear a hat or a hair net if yer’ gonna be back here!’ ‘Don’t mislabel the rice!’ On and on. What’s with you food people? So uptight. Look, I just wanted to try one. Yer’ reviews said they were good! Here, tell you what, give me two. Don’t laugh! Omi, help! She’s picking on me!”

“Stop it, you’re making a scene. Any other inane questions? Or anything else you’d like to order, because I’m certainly not buying any of this for you,” Kiyoomi replies, sneaking a glance at your bemused expression. You catch his eye and give him a quick wink and he finds that his smile stays with him long after he, and a chastened and satiated Atsumu have left the warmth of the coffee shop.

“Mmm, these are pretty good,” Atsumu mumbles between bites of his madeline. “Ya’ want some?”

He stops by after his evening practice, when the sun has long since fallen past the horizon of the city, but as soon as he rounds the corner he regrets his decision.

The cafe is brimming with people. They’re everywhere; outside, they are clustered on the pavement, sitting on the collection of iron wrought chairs, and gathered in groups. Inside, most are sprawled close to the hand off plane, or draped over the couches and tables. They appear to be animated, with computer screens and voices bright, too bright. His usual spot is taken, and he’s already made up his mind to keep walking on but somehow, somehow, he catches your eye. 

His feet are slowing, a stuttering breath stagnating in his lungs, all at once hopeful and bewildered, but before he can examine his fluttering emotions, you’re alongside him on the noisy sidewalk, passing him his usual evening drink [ a doppio con panna with bitter lungo shots, poured affogato ] a pleased smile on your soft lips. 

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you. 

“Hey! Glad I could catch you. Wanted to tell you good luck on your upcoming game! I think I saw on the news that it’s tomorrow? Right?”

“Yes, we’re playing Azuma Pharmacy. They have a good starting lineup. It’s entirely possible that we’ll lose.”

“Jeez,” you exhale, cocking your head at his serious expression. “Kind of a pessimist, aren’t you?”

“I’m a realist. I’m perfectly prepared to beat them, but things always play out differently on the court, no matter what your personal expectations are.” 

You give him another smile. This one comes quickly, and it’s bigger than any of the others, the pull of it lighting up your face. It’s different, and he can tell that the way you’re looking at him has shifted; that you’ve liked this answer. He’s not sure why, it’s the truth. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“Good point. Well, win or lose, you’ve got my luck! I better get back inside. Your drink is on me by the way, for the other day…when I touched your hand…well, I’m sure you remember. Anyway, see you, Sakusa!”

He watches you slip past the packed lines of students, already rolling up your sleeves so you can wash your hands. Once you’re behind the espresso machine you’re hidden by the burnished copper and he walks on, shouldering his MSBY bag higher, lifting his coffee to his lips. It’s got a rich flavor, well balanced and expertly poured. Once again, he’s reminded that you’re good at what you do and, despite the balmy heat of early spring, that makes his fingers tingle and his skin break out in gooseflesh.

Later, when he’s falling asleep, he keeps seeing your eyes. Watching as your colored irises come alive in the moonlight, hopeful, shining, and wholly focused on him.

At practice, Atsumu insists on completing his post workout stretching next to him. He’s used to Kiyoomi’s sullen silences and barbed retorts, content to chatter however he pleases, flitting from topic to topic as he eases into his cool down routine. 

“I need to go back to that coffee shop. Ya’ been back lately?”

“No,” Kiyoomi lies, brushing a stubborn wave of curls out of his sweaty face. 

“Too bad. Maybe after Friday’s practice? That girl really knew her stuff. Made some great coffee, too. What was her name? Ah, that’s right, (Y/N). She’s cute, what’s her story?” 

Something twinges against Kiyoomi’s rib cage at the word ‘cute.’ Hmm, that’s not normal. He flips to his left side, facing away from Atsumu’s greedy eyes and leering smiles. 

“How long has she worked there?”

“Not sure,” Kiyoomi replies, flattening his palm against the cool flooring of the gym. “At least a year, maybe more.”

“That other barista said she was a manager. She’s not one of the owners, is she?”

“Dunno.”

“Is she a student? Kinda strange to see an American working in Japan, and she’s definitely an American. She’s good with the Japanese, but her accent is off.”

“Your accent is off, so I’m not sure what your point is. I can understand her, and I can’t say the same for you.”

“Jackass!” Atsumu snaps, flopping up from his splayed stretch to butterfly his muscled legs. “It’s called a regional accent, and it’s perfectly normal. Ya’ got one too, city boy!”

“See? No one says things like that. You sound like a cartoon character. Sometimes I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Yer’ full of it!”

“Hmph,” Kiyoomi hums, curling himself onto his haunches and flattening the tops of his hands against the floor. The satisfying crunch of his wrists as his fingers settle makes Atsumu visibly shudder and Kiyoomi flashes him a quick smirk of his own, hoping it will spook his stretching companion enough that he’ll leave him be. He prefers to do his cool down in silence. 

“She do anything else? Other than diligently slaving over yer’ coffee, that is?”

Tch. It seems that luck isn’t with him today. “She said she’s a graduate student.”

“Oooh, what’s she studyin’?”

“Not sure.”

“Yer’ about as fun to talk to as a stack of bricks, ya’ know? Bet if I’d asked you what her name was the other day all you’d say was, ‘I use’ta just call her barista: first name: cute, last name: girl.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t reply. Something about these questions is bothering him. He doesn’t like that he can’t answer them properly– it’s frustrating, really. All he can honestly tell Atsumu is that you’re neat and efficient, that you have a smile that he can’t quite shake out of his head, a perfume that he wishes he could place, and that, to date, you’ve given him one free coffee. The fact that he knows that you’re a graduate student is sheer luck, information that you’d happened to share with him, not that he’d asked you about. He uncoils his hands and flips them over, letting his eyes rest against his reddened palms. Oh, and you’d touched his wrist once and the sheer metaphysical weight of that contact had nearly sent him stumbling backwards. 

It’s stupid; he’s stupid. 

It’s not hard to talk with people. It’s just…he knows he’s not good at it. Besides, when would he practice? He’s surrounded by extroverts; extreme extroverts. Extroverts who defy all sense and who usually can’t be silenced unless they’re tucked into a deep sleep, and even then it’s doubtful. Both Hinata and Bokuto have demonstrated that they can, and will, talk in their sleep. Still, it’s frustrating to find himself boxed into a corner, completely at a loss and unaware of the most cursory, mundane, simple, facts about you. For almost two years, he’s seen you at least twice a week, shouldn’t he know more? Why doesn’t he know more?

“Why not give her a ticket to a game?”

Atsumu’s question makes him lift his head, abandoning his musings as he lets the weight of that suggestion sink in. The setter is crinkling his eyes at him now, that all knowing smirk back on his lips, umber eyes hooded, mischievous. “The front office can do that, ya’ know? We’ve got extras. They keep em’ for that purpose. Just say she’s a special guest, or a potential sponsor. They ain’t gonna question you.” 

Kiyoomi looks away, crossing his legs and leaning to his right side, feigning disinterest as Atsumu tells him who he can speak with, where he can see the upcoming calendar, and what seats might be open. It’s a good idea, a great idea, and he can’t help but loathe that Atsumu thought of it first.

The ticket is good for a first row balcony seat.

It’s situated in the best spot. He’d picked it out himself, carefully looking over the colored diagram of the stadium and belaboring the proximity of the sight-lines, wanting to let you have a bird’s eye view of the court. Where would he like to sit, if he could watch a game? What works? What doesn’t? Too high and you can’t catch the movement of the ball. Too low and you can’t see the players. Too far to the right or left and you can’t see the breadth of the court. It’s tricky, and he’s cautious with his selection. He can’t help it. 

Kiyoomi only considers you not even liking the sport when he’s placing his order, watching as you carefully tuck his empty cup down on the polished steel of the bar. Shit.

The cafe is quiet. The students are gone, and when the register barista goes to the backroom it’s only him and you in the well lit space. The click of the burr grinder almost makes him jump, and he compromises with his nerves by shifting toward his usual table, resting his bag in the chair and taking in a deep breath. 

The gentle press of the tamp is audible over the low beats of the music and he hears you knock the side of the portafilter, no doubt leveling off the crushed arabica before you hook the device under the grouphead. Seconds later he sees you flip the switch for his shots, already grooming his heated, foaming, oat milk in the short pitcher, popping the liquid free of any errant bubbles. You’re gentle with this part, and he’s always loved to watch you pour his cortado, liking the raise of your arm and the flick of your wrist as you let the creamy milk flow into the paper cup, swirling a rosetta design through the ochre of the waiting espresso. 

Usually, this well-oiled process of yours calms him, but today he feels fidgety and his head is buzzing. The sooner you finish the drink, the sooner he’ll have to talk to you. Shit, shit. When you move the dark lids forward, his hand feels like it’s heating around the slick paper of the ticket, making it clammy and tacky. He bites his lip and removes his hand from his jacket, wiping his palm against his dark jeans. 

You’re already looking up at him, nodding toward the fragrant cup that’s waiting at the edge of the handoff plane. Automatically, he lurches forward, completely in-sync with his familiar routine. The question [ would you like a ticket to one of my games? ] is resting on the tip of his tongue and his fingers are hovering beside his cup. He can see that they’re shaking and that sight doesn’t ease him. Then you ask him something and he feels everything skitter to a halt. Why is this happening? It’s just a ticket, it’s just a game. 

Wait. You asked him something? 

He does his best to ignore the humming of anxious tension that’s filtering down his fingertips and lifts his bowed head. “What?” he mumbles, lips unsticking at last.

“Just asked how your game went the other day. I tried to record it but my stupid cable box isn’t working. I need to try and see you guys, I know I’ve probably said that before, but it’s pretty pathetic of me to not catch one game when the stadium is only two miles away. Plus, I know y’all are a great team! Heard you made the playoffs last year, that’s so awesome!”

It’s a perfect segway. 

But he feels like he’s rooted to the spot, like his tongue is trapped against the roof of his mouth, and his hands are too heavy to move, content to shake beside his cooling drink as he whittles his time away, too filled with the what if’s to do anything about the here and now. He’s going down a mental checklist, mulling over each possibility, cautiously tampering with that heady rush of excitement that’s threatening to bubble out of his masked lips. Shit. 

He’s gotta check his vitamin intake, maybe he’s low on omega 3s? The team has a general practitioner on standby. He really should call him after this, maybe run by his office before the next practice. 

Something’s off with him.

Wait, that worked. 

That shift in his whirring thoughts broke him out of that suspended state and then, before he completely fucks this up, the ticket is down against the counter and he’s muttering something about unlimited uses, that if you can’t make it now, then you can always switch the date, or add someone on, if you have a [ boy ] friend you want to take; the next game works best with the seat that’s listed, he’s checked. He knows it’s open. Again, zero pressure and no worries if you can’t make it. See you around.

You might have responded, you might have smiled, fuck, you might have laughed at him. He’s not sure.

All he knows is that as soon as he is out of the shop he’s calling the team’s gp and confirming an appointment for tomorrow morning. It’s not natural for his heart to stutter and thump like that. It could be an arrhythmia. 

It could be any number of things. 

He hasn’t felt this nervous about a game in years. Sure, it’s a good team, and they have four players that are of his generation, most of them powerful outside hitters that will probably give the Jackals a good run for their money, but they’re not insurmountable. They can beat VC Kanagawa; they’ll have to if they want to advance further in the lineup for the playoffs. 

It’s just…

He keeps looking for that seat. Your seat. He’d gotten to the stadium early; opting to forgo the first team meeting, saying he needed to practice his wall drills, work on his spin, but that’s not the real reason. The real reason is something that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. At least, not before a game. He steadies himself, reiterating that it’s not practical or helpful for him to worry about things like that. 

Nevertheless, he’s pinned the seat in his mind. He studied it as the lights shuddered on, the maintenance staff flashing him bewildered looks as he stepped into the empty brightness of the court. He’d found it again during the pre-game warmup, onyx eyes committing the location to memory, searching for the little details that he could watch for if he wanted to find it again, later, when the arena was packed with thousands of eyes and waving signs.

As they open the main doors and the seats fill up, he’s still looking at the seat.

“Whatcha looking at?” Hinata asks, his burst of orange hair already slicked with sweat, vivid eyes sharp. 

“Nothing.”

The results of Kiyoomi’s physical had shown no outliers, no cause for worry or concern. Everything was fine. He should just get a little extra potassium in, maybe eat a few more bananas in the morning, or after his practices. He’d been a little miffed when he opened the manilla folder, eyes hunting for abnormalities, for a reason, an explanation. If nothing is wrong, then why does he feel like he’s tingling with adrenaline all the time? It makes him light-headed, sluggish, and that’s detrimental to his playability, to his value to his team. 

He looks away from Hinata and paces past Atsumu’s arched eyebrow, ignoring the implications of that wicked grin that’s resting on the setter’s quirked lips. It’s fine; he’s fine. His eyes look up to the balcony again. He really shouldn’t be doing that, he reminds himself. It’s a distraction, and he doesn’t–

Oh. There you are.

He can’t make out details, not from this distance, and he suddenly feels self-conscious about his face. There’s no mask. He doesn’t wear it when he plays, and this will be the first time you’ve seen him without it. Suddenly, he wishes he hadn’t cared so much about the visibility of the court. Why did he plant you so far away? If he can’t see you, then there’s no way you’ll be able to tell which one he is either…oh…wait…his name is on the back of his jersey and they’ll announce his number. Nevermind. 

The referee calls for the teams to line up and he diligently follows his teammates, standing in his usual spot, ignoring the dull thump of his heart as it beats a ragged tattoo under his ribs. 

They won. 

They won, and he’d racked up a whopping 23 points for himself, a personal milestone. It’ll be something that will go down on his athletic record, that the local and national news reports will chatter about, that he can feel proud of. He’s glad; you always show him your best, so it’s only fair he does the same for you too.

He’d peeked up at your seat during each time out, each break, every time the momentum shifted, and before he hit every serve. You looked like you had your feet propped up, resting against the metal barrier of the balcony, and he could see that your arms were wrapped around your knees. You were paying attention, and that knowledge made his lungs swell and his pulse quicken. 

Now, after he’s finished toweling some of the clinging sweat from his brow and the matted droop of his obsidian curls, he twists back, facing your seat, but you’re not there. An empty curve of plastic greets him and his heavy brows furrow, his fingers dropping the towel onto the bench as they curl up into his palms. 

Did you leave? It would make sense, he supposes. The game is over. He just thought you might come down. Might want to talk. Not that he’d have much to say. He never does. Stupid; what would he talk with you about? See the game? Yeah, duh. 

The distant voice of MSBY’s public relations manager is calling for him. He’ll worry about it [ you ] later, he thinks, he’s still got a job to do.

During his interview he can hear Atsumu’s voice. It’s annoying. While the setter doesn’t attempt to tone himself down, he rarely talks that loudly. Kiyoomi glances over at his straight back, watching as his hand cups against the back of his golden head, an infectious laugh bursting from his turned lips. Strange. It’s not like him to chat with someone for that long, not when he’s got his own post-game interviews to conduct. He usually– 

Ah, it’s you. 

Suddenly, questions like: [ how does it feel to be considered for the 2025 Japanese Olympic team? ] don’t matter. His head is half cocked now, dark eyes following the two of you, his comments to the national reporter falling into clipped monosyllables. This is unprofessional; he should focus on the matter at hand, it’s not like him to be distracted. 

He’s been thinking about that a lot lately. That so many things are suddenly not like him. 

When you push playfully at Atsumu’s shoulder, he lapses into a stormy silence, nails biting into his clenched palms, pressing half moons into his calloused skin. After answering one more question: [ something about his future plans - how’s he supposed to know? That depends on trades, on opportunities. And right now he’s not in the correct frame of mind to answer honestly, not when he can see that you’re right there ] he bows to the smiling face of the reporter, formally concluding his participation in the interview. He knows it’s abrupt; he knows he’ll likely get an earful from the MSBY PR director, from his coach, and from himself, when the full weight of his uncharacteristic rashness hits him, but right now he doesn’t care.

His feet feel like lead and the steps that he’s taking shudder against the gym’s polished flooring. He’s usually smoother than this, more collected, but can’t will himself to stop lurching forward. He tucks his hands into the darkness of his team jacket, coiling his numb fingers into tight balls, and hunches his shoulders. He likely looks like thunder and this suspicion is confirmed when a ball boy scuttles out of his path, eyes wide, but Kiyoomi doesn’t care. 

Atsumu hasn’t noticed his approach, but you do, and that shy wave and familiar smile makes his breath catch in his throat. Damn it. What’s going on with him? 

Atsumu notices your wandering attention and turns, following your gaze. Once he spots Kiyoomi, he gives him a cheeky smirk, dipping his chin, lazily fixing his amber eyes on Kiyoomi’s arched figure. “Look who caaame!” he calls, lacing his tone with poorly concealed glee. “She said you gave her a ticket. What a great, absolutely original, idea! And you had your record breaking scoring streak today too! Hey! Maybe she’s good luck! Watch out (Y/N), pretty soon we’ll be hooking you up with a personal mascot job if ya’ can light such a fire under our stoic hitter’s ass. Must be something special in that coffee yer’ serving him.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at Atsumu’s blatant needling and the setter chuckles, flipping his focus back to you, sensing the rising agitation that is rolling off of Kiyoomi in waves now. “Well, sure was good to see ya’ again! Talk to me next time, huh? I’ll get you a boxed seat. It’s much better than those nosebleeds in the balconies.”

You shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips, and make a show of rolling your eyes. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, you know? And what boxed seats? Feels like I’d see them if you had them,” you tease, earning yourself a last laugh and Atsumu’s back, a friendly hand waving a last goodbye as he finally strides toward the waiting cameras. Kiyoomi watches him go, his shoulders tense, a feeling of unease settling in his gut. Is Atsumu doing this on purpose? 

He almost snaps a retort at his retreating figure, but the sound of your voice immediately snatches his attention toward you. His dark gaze meets yours and the look in your eyes makes his palms feel itchy and his feet scuff mindlessly against the floor.

“This is gonna sound so dumb, but it’s been on my mind since I got here…”

Kiyoomi’s fingers twist in his pockets, coiling over each digit, and his pulse feels like it’s speeding up again. “What?”

“It’s just…well, you look so much younger without the mask,” you let out a small laugh and duck your head, teeth pulling at your lower lip as you face away from his widening eyes. 

“Is that bad?”

“No! You look good! Uh, I mean, not that you didn’t…I just wasn’t sure…not that I’d thought about it…a lot…uh, I…yeah, I’m…No, it’s not bad!” You press your hands against your mouth, steepling your fingers under your nose and fix him with a sheepish grin. “Anyway, I know you’ve got things to do, but Miya was right about one thing, you had a great game. I had a lot of fun and it was so nice of you to get me that ticket, and well…”

You pause, lowering your hands to yank your purse forward, fingers digging into the leather before you right yourself once more, returning with a small, zipped bag, and a plastic card that’s balancing atop the metal teeth. “It’s a…well…I sorta tried to think of some things that you might like. To say thanks! It’s nothing fancy. A nail filing kit, because I read that volleyball guys like to keep their hands in tiptop shape, one of those portable ball pumps and some masks. 

The masks are from a great company, back home, er, in the states. Well, at least I like them, they’re super durable. And the card, uh, ha, um, the card is to the cafe. I know it’s not super original, but I didn’t know if you liked any other places. And I didn’t wanna assume or — Haha, oh God, I am talking your ear off. Just…here! Take this from me so I can get my foot outta my mouth, okay?”

You press the bag forward and before he can tell you he doesn’t accept gifts from fans, his hands are already out of the safety of his pockets, firmly wrapping around your offering. “Thank you,” he bows. He wants to say more, but he’s not sure how.

He didn’t mean to come by the cafe. 

He thought he’d go for a quick run before practice, maybe loop the block, or jog toward the university. None of these things are close to the cafe, but apparently his feet had other ideas. The shop bell rings when he steps inside, wiping some hand sanitizer against his heated palms, onyx eyes alert, already searching for you. 

A male barista [ is it Kane? ] greets him and before he can stop himself, he’s asking if you’re there. “Oh, (Y/N)? Nah, she’s off today. But I can make your cortado, you get almond milk, right?”

“Oat,” Kiyoomi replies, voice muffled by his mask. Damn. Why did he come here? He didn’t mean to and now it’s looking like it was a wasted trip. A useless instinct. He’d wanted to thank you properly for your gift, which had been on his mind a lot the past few days. Perhaps that’s why he felt so compelled to jog the extra mile, why he can’t seem to keep away, why he keeps looking for you as he waits, even though he knows you’re not here. 

Maybe he can text you his thanks. That would make all of this easier. Oh, wait, does he even have your number? He pulls his phone out of his pocket and examines his contact list, searching for you. No, nothing under your name. Maybe he put it under something else? [ barista? cafe? ] Again, there’s nothing. Damn. Why didn’t he ask at the game? Or when he gave you the ticket?

When he picks up his drink and paces back into the sunshine, he’s still kicking himself that he hasn’t asked for your number yet. It would have made things so much simpler, he reasons, sipping at his coffee; now he’ll have to come back. 

But days pass, and he hasn’t returned. 

There’s just too much going on. Too many team meetings and late practices. Too much preparation. The pace of his schedule has never bothered him before, but now he keeps hoping for some kind of reprieve. 

The other morning Atsumu strode into a meeting with a cup from your cafe, proudly flaunting the familiar label. It made Kiyoomi’s blood boil [ did he see you? talk with you? Did he get to see that addictively pleasing smile of yours? ] and later that afternoon he experienced his first scolding. 

“What’s going on, Omi? Five missed digs? This isn’t like you. You look like your head is in the clouds. Come on, get it together. Big game in five days.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.” It’s all he can say. 

When he’s heading toward the team showers, he catches sight of Atsumu’s knowing leer and he grits his teeth, ignoring the huffed snicker and scoffing head shake that the setter sends his way. 

Finally, two days later, he’s got some free time. There are other errands he needs to run, things he should do, but the only thing he can think about is you. 

He’s walking up from a side street, one he rarely takes, when, at long last, he catches sight of you. You must be on a break. You’re sitting at a bench, facing a small, but well laid flower bed, flipping the pages of your open book languidly as you read under the cool shade of a gnarled tree. 

He’s glad he’s wearing the mask that you gifted him. 

You’d said that they were durable, and their quality had genuinely impressed him. When he got home, after the game, he slipped them out of their individual plastic cases, fingering the thick, well made materials before washing one. He’d left the others in their containers. He’ll use them, eventually, but not right now. He wants to savor them. He wants them to last.  

Kiyoomi is almost to your side when you look up and he bites against his lower lip as soon as you give him that friendly smile of yours, already closing your book and standing, waiting for him to step closer. He comes to a stop in front of you, peering down at you through his dark lashes. 

You always smell so nice, he thinks, unconsciously shifting closer, seeking more. You must have showered before coming into your shift because the crisp scent of peppermint and gentle lavender makes his nostrils flare hungrily under his mask. 

“Hey there!” you begin, tucking your book into your arms. “Long time no see. How have you been?”

“Fine. I have practice later. I came by the other day. I…” he lapses into frustrated silence, dark brows falling, letting his hands grip at the material of his jacket. Why is this so hard? You, all the others on his team, Motoya [ hell, even the notoriously impassive Wakatoshi has come out of his shell over the years ] can slip into a conversation. Damn it, how can everyone else make this look so easy? 

“Saw you’re playing the Adlers soon. They’re the team the Jackals have a sorta rivalry with, right?”

He blinks down at you and lets out a shallow exhale. There you go again. You’re giving him a life raft, a conversation he can fall into, something he enjoys talking about. He remembers his stilted conversation with Atsumu, the one where he did not know about any of the basic things, the obvious things, the things that made you, you. It’s nice that you’re looking out for him, that you’re helping him along, but he doesn’t want to talk about volleyball, not right now.

“We do. How did your finals go? You said you had a dissertation?”

“Oh!” you blurt, your eyes widening, but you’re clearly pleased, even a little excited that he’s asked. “You remembered! Finished it up last week. Now I just need to knock out my revisions and I’ll either go back to committee, or they’ll approve it! I’m hoping they approve it. I’m sick of looking at it, haha.” Your fingers tap against your book and you duck your head, a quick smile passing over your smooth lips. “Uh, did you want to come in for a coffee? Not trying to hold you up, if you’ve got practice to go to.”

“I was the one who came over.” He sounds a little harsh, he thinks, nose wrinkling under his mask. He’s never worried about being blunt, but that doesn’t work here. He doesn’t want to be, not with you. “I mean, I wanted…wanted to say thanks, for the masks and the other things. I like them.” He points to his covered face and you let out a chuckle, gleaming eyes crinkling as you look up at him. Damn, you’re pretty. How has he not noticed that before? He wants to see you laugh again, he’s just not sure how to go about it. Does he even know any jokes? Shit.

“Awe, I’m glad you like them! Speaking of, Atsumu came by a few days ago, I guess you must have worn one around him because he was trying to sniff out if I’d given them to you. He’s a funny guy, but I cannot get a good read on him. It’s almost like he’s doing stuff on purpose, but he’s never blatantly obvious about it. The way he was talking, I was kinda worried he was trying to play a prank on you. Does he like to get under your skin or something? He’s–”

Kiyoomi’s not thinking when he leans down. He’s been doing that a lot lately, not thinking. It makes his skin prickle. Or is that the smell of peppermint on your clean neck, the fragrant lavender in your hair? The kiss is soft; more of a press of his lips than a real caress. But it’s nice, and he actually likes being this close to you, but something feels off and, ah, damn it. 

His dark brows knit together, furrowing his forehead, when he realizes what he’s done. He didn’t take off his mask. How stupid. But that shaky gasp of air that you let out when he pulls away, and the following upward lift of your body, your lips chasing his, clearly wanting him to come back, oh that’s so worth it, mask or not.

Your eyes are the first thing he sees when he looks back down, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so perfect. They’re bright, vibrant, and rich with an excitement that makes his toes curl. 

The smell of lavender and peppermint, of you, is almost overwhelming, and yet somehow it’s all together, not enough. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you. 

What is there to say? 

That one, half-formed, touch said it all. It expressed every frustration that he’s felt over the last few weeks, every faded memory of your voice, of your playful smiles, of those hesitant conversations you’ve helped him through. It’s all there, sitting quietly between the two of you, shimmering in the sunlight as you take a step closer and his hands finally fall out of his pockets, waiting, hoping for yours. 

“(Y/N)! Break’s over! Coffee’s not gonna brew itself!” 

The distant voice of your coworker shatters the euphoria and you tense, pulling away, your head turning toward the barked command as you call out your reply. Kiyoomi huffs out an impatient breath. He wanted to try that again. Do it right this time. How pathetic is he? Kissing you through a mask? But his annoyance dies when you face him again, slipping your hand tentatively into his. 

His digits fall limply around yours and he can’t help but marvel at the softness of you. One of his thumbs lifts and he traces the skin along your knuckles, unsure if he’s even breathing anymore. “Come on,” you say, looking down at his touch before lacing your fingers through his, showing him how to hold you. “I’ll make your coffee.” 

You’re walking forward and he has the inane urge to snatch you back, wanting to see how the rest of you feels, wanting to know how you’ll fit into his arms, but he distracts himself by following you. There’s a budding warmth that’s spreading from his palm, where your hand rests inside his, to his chest. It feels like a low burning fire is coursing along his veins and his heartbeat thuds out of rhythm, but for once he doesn’t care. 

In fact, he thinks he likes it.

He sits in the cafe for too long, his coffee cold, the cup almost empty. But before he leaves [ already so, so late for practice ] he gets your number. 

He taps the unfamiliar digits carefully into his device and you watch from the counter, your chin propped in your hand, a gentle smile kissing against your palm. Then he stands, pausing beside you and you run your index finger down his arm, lingering your touch beside his wrist, making him shiver in the warm sunlight, a pleased grin hidden behind his mask.

notes: this man has what, 10 pages of interaction? idk why and idk how, but he is stuck in my brain - like, seriously send help, i think i’m in love. 

[jewishjon]

His Father’s Son

A/N: I am so excited to finally be able to put the first chapter of this fic for the 2021 Grishaverse Big Bang (@grishaversebigbang) fic out into the world. Thank you so much to my incredible artists whose art you will find linked below and my amazing beta reader. You can find me on tumblr here or twitter @/vespabuddy and I will be updating on ao3 every Tuesday and Saturday until the 25th of September. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: @z-the-zebra

Artists: @hivertoautumn @wellwatersurprise @jsperfhey @lucentcorrigan (I’ll link their art soon, I’m making this post before it’s uploaded)

Summary: At fifteen, Wylan meets Jesper at a formal University event, falls for him, and never sees him again. Four years later, his father orders him to take down a criminal gang called the Dregs.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33741277/chapters/83866909

Read the first chapter below the cut!

The morning of the grand opening of Ketterdam University’s Van Eck wing, Wylan’s father threatened his life.

The day began like any other. He woke to the clattering of carriages in the street below, the delicious smell of the servants preparing breakfast, and felt a sinking in his stomach at the thought of the dreaded event scheduled to take place that evening. He got out of bed and was helped into a tailored black suit by his valet. When he reached the dining room, his father was long gone, likely having been in his study since the early hours of the morning, and he was forced to endure the company of his father’s new girlfriend as he ate.

“Are you excited about the party?” asked Alys, a stupid smile plastered on her face as she watched Wylan. She was so young she could easily be Wylan’s sister.

“Really excited.” murmured Wylan dryly into his eggs. He was already stressed from the thought of enduring the rest of the day. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Alys.

Unfortunately, instead of leaving him alone, her upper lip began to wobble. “Do you not like me, Wylan? What did I do wrong? You know, I try so—” Alys gulped, “So hard to be a good mother to you.”

A mother? Wylan had known Alys for three weeks, and already felt he had years of maturity on her, and he was only fifteen himself. 

Still, he felt a wave of guilt. Alys was trying her best, having been raised to believe her only worth in life was to marry a wealthy man, and his father was as wealthy as they came. Wylan may be set for a successful career as a mercher, but he knew well what it was like to be unable to fulfill the simplest task expected of him.

That was the thing about Alys. No matter how idiotic she was, she was always trying her best. So, Wylan caught her eye and mumbled a simple;

“I’m sorry.”

He fought back bile as she reached her hand across the table and squeezed his until he began to feel woozy. She wasn’t squeezing too hard, and Wylan was sure she had no intentions of anything but kindness, but the feel of her too-smooth skin against his was inexplicably as painful as any blow dealt by his father’s hand.

“Don’t worry, Wylan, honey. I love you despite all your imperfections!” Alys smiled sweetly. “All your imperfections.”

Somehow, that didn’t make Wylan feel any better.

As he was heading back to his room, hoping to use his free time to practice his flute or scream into his pillow about the pains of existence, he was stopped by his father’s assistant. Mieke was a middle-aged man with as little personality as he had hair on his balding head.

“Come to your father’s office. He wishes to talk to you immediately.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Fear festered in Wylan’s stomach as he followed the man down the long corridors of the Van Eck mansion. Surely he would have been told already if there were any changes to his role in the party that evening. Furthermore, he had no memory of having done anything wrong since he’d last seen Jan Van Eck, although his father always managed to find something. 

Even the thought of the beating he’d received last time was enough to nearly make him turn and run as fast as his legs would take him.

Mieke opened the gilded wooden door leading to Jan Van Eck’s office, and, ever so slowly, Wylan entered. His father’s study had always been a source of intimidation, and not just because of the man who inhabited it. The walls were decorated with certificates celebrating his father’s many achievements, a massive painting of himself in his youth hanging above the table, stacks of paper in neat piles throughout the room. They all lead to the man sitting at the desk, looking at Wylan with a scowl on his face. There was no beating stick in view, but Wylan had learnt to never underestimate the power of his father’s fists.

His father made a gesture beckoning Wylan to come forward, and he approached the desk until he put up a hand signaling for him to stop. Wylan stayed silent, having been trained long ago to never speak to his father unless spoken to.

“Wylan.” said his father. “I’m glad you came.”

Wylan nodded in acknowledgement. They both knew well that he had no choice in the matter.

“You know, when I woke up this morning, I thought ‘Maybe I should kill Wylan today.’” 

Kill. Kill Wylan. 

Kill Wylan.

It took a few seconds for his father’s words to unscramble in Wylan’s head. The world became unfocused as the simple sentence’s weight hit him.

“‘End his suffering once and for all. It’s not like he has anything to live for.’”

Wylan let out a choked, strangled noise. His father’s next words flew past him without registering. He had to be joking… right? His father couldn’t have wanted to kill him. This was all some cruel new trick to manipulate him. Another one of his father’s endless strategies to bend him to his will. He told himself over and over that it wasn’t true. Even the continuous stream of his Father’s words failed to break his trance. Yet, as he replayed it in his head in the hope of finding any kind of meaning behind the threat, something about the tone of his father’s voice, or the knowledge of how he had treated him for all these years, told Wylan that his words weren't empty.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I didn’t do it, of course, or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” He sighed. “You must have considered that now I have Alys, I soon won’t have need for my insolent, defective son.”

Wylan blinked, and realised tears had been slowly streaming down his cheeks. 

All he’d ever wanted was to be enough for his father. He’d thought that despite all the beatings, all the insults, every time he was locked in his room until he could read a single sentence of a children’s book, his father still loved him. A tiny part of him, the part that had kissed his mother and read to him as a child and tucked him into bed, still cared.

“I’m sorry.” whispered Wylan. His voice shook as he spoke, barely loud enough to be heard above the clatter of his thoughts. “I tried, Father. I tried so hard.”

His father scoffed. “I should have known you’d react this way. You’ve always been too emotional, Wylan. You may as well leave now, make yourself respectable before this evening. Just take this as an incentive. Be better tonight and all nights afterwards, or I will go ahead with that threat.”

When he reached his room, Wylan punched his drawer over and over until his knuckles were cracked and blood stained the wood. He didn’t feel a thing.

***

The ballroom of Ketterdam University had been filled with professors, wealthy students, and the entirety of Ketterdam’s elite to celebrate the opening of the new university wing that Jan Van Eck had so ‘generously’ funded. His painting had been hung prominently in the ballroom, illuminated by the numerous glass chandeliers, and his name engraved on a large plaque outside the new building. Wylan could tell that he was loving every single second of it.

Under normal circumstances, Wylan hated parties. The bright lights, the hordes of people talking over one another and his father’s constant grip on his arm were usually enough to drive him to hiding in a closet by the end of the night. 

After this morning, he just wanted to get it over with.

He knew he should be terrified. If his behaviour at this event didn’t please his father, it could lead to his demise. The constant threat of death hanging over his head would scare anyone else into unquestioning submission. But, inexplicably to even Wylan himself, he felt so numb. Since his meeting with his father, he’d been drifting unthinkingly through the day, the usual fear blocked out by an overwhelming, horrifying lack of feeling. A sadness that stole away every drop of hope he had left, that told him to give up, that whispered that he had never mattered to anyone anyway. He had no choice left but to believe it.

So, Wylan could barely find it in himself to care about his potential upcoming death. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything but the hatred in his father’s eyes as he stated his intention to end Wylan’s life. 

Even now, his father looked so remorseless. So cold. As Wylan followed him through the university campus, he couldn’t see a single drop of emotion on his face. He’d always believed it was a result of being a mercher for so long that he’d become a master at faking indifference. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps his father truly didn’t feel anything.

When the Dean noticed Wylan and his father being let in by a guard at the doorway, he rushed over to greet them. Wylan’s father gripped his arm far too tightly in a clear warning.

“Welcome, Mr Van Eck and…?”

Wylan’s father’s expression briefly soured. “His name is Wylan.”

“Welcome to our university, Mr Van Eck and Wylan Van Eck. Everyone here is incredibly grateful for your donation, and we hope this event will show even a small part of our thanks.”

His father smiled, an action that made Wylan’s stomach automatically churn. “Thank you. I’m very glad to be able to help the next generation of merchers that are being taught here.”

The Dean gestured to the guard and he threw open the doors, making the party guests immediately stop talking and turn to stare at the new arrivals. Wylan’s eye was caught by a dark-skinned Zemini boy, deep in conversation with a professor. He looked as if he was Wylan’s age, maybe slightly older - far too young to be attending such a prestigious university. After a few seconds, he gave the drink to the professor, seeming to end his conversation temporarily, and left the room in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Please welcome Mr Van Eck of the Merchant Council, and his son Wylan! Mr Van Eck is the reason we can be here tonight, as his extremely generous donation enabled us to build our new wing. Of course, it was only fitting to name it the Van Eck wing in his honour. We hope you and your son enjoy the party.”

The crowd clapped politely, a few merchers rolling their eyes at the praise directed towards Jan Van Eck. Once people had turned back to their prior conversations, he and Wylan entered the overcrowded ballroom. Wylan tried to head for the food table in hope of a temporary respite from the noise, but his father grabbed his arm again and steered him in the direction of a group of merchers.

“This is my son, Wylan. One day he will replace me in the Merchant Council… if he plays his cards right.” The merchers laughed as if Wylan’s father had told the funniest joke they’d ever heard. “Go on, Wylan. Say something.”

His chest tightened. In all the time he’d had to prepare for this event, he’d forgotten to decide what to say if his father forced him to make conversation with other merchers.

“I… Uh… Hi. I’m- I’m Wylan.”

Wylan’s cheeks blushed a bright shade of pink at the ensuing chuckles, and he tried to avert his gaze from the clearly amused merchers. His father put his hand on his arm in seeming reassurance and, almost imperceptibly, pinched the skin on the side of his arm until he had to stop himself from crying out in pain. There would be a large purple bruise by tomorrow. 

Stumbling over his words in public was a rookie mistake. He should have known better, but parties always put him on edge. The social cues he’d practiced over and over in the mirror had been completely snatched from him.

At least he felt something again. His head was beginning to spin, his breath coming short, a growing sick feeling in his stomach. The noise of the people scattered around the room became increasingly louder until Wylan winced in pain. When he did so, the previously beautiful chandeliers became blinding pillars of lights, and people began to talk more and more, as if they were laughing in his face.

“Have you decided whether to invest in the new stock coming in from Ravka this month?”

“Can you comment on the instability of the Ravkan economy?”

“How long do you think it will be before you tie the knot with your new girlfriend?”

“What are your thoughts on the growing economic power of that gang from the Barrel - the Dregs?”

Everything was so loud.

Stop. Stop. Please. Stop. There was so much noise. Too many people talking at once. It was so loud. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please could they stop they needed to-

“Stop!” yelled Wylan.

Every mercher in the group turned to stare at him. A look of fury flashed on his father’s face before he forced himself to smile, his eyes still twitching in concealed rage.

“I’m afraid my son has been feeling… not very well recently. I’m sure he just needs some time alone.”

Before his father had time to grab him, Wylan ran. He pushed through the crowds of people, his vision blurring, until he reached the corridor that led to the bathrooms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father take a deep breath and turn back to the other merchers. He was far more concerned about maintaining his public image than helping his son. 

Wylan leant against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Whilst he was glad to be away from the party, the new environment had done nothing to quench the panic threatening to overwhelm him.

The bathroom door opened just as Wylan was about to enter, and it hit him square in the face. His head spun, and he was still trying to process what had happened when a figure came running out of the bathroom and slammed into Wylan. He jumped back as fast as possible, rubbing his injured nose, and gaped. 

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who slammed a door in your face! I should be sorry!”

Wylan looked up and began to splutter, unable to bring himself to say anything. The person he’d bumped into was the Zemini student from earlier, the boy who’d looked far too young to attend the university. From closer up, Wylan could see deep calluses on his hands - it came to Wylan suddenly that Novyi Zem’s primary source of income was jurda farming - and piercing grey eyes that were staring at him with concern. He was extremely, impossibly handsome. 

“Are you okay? Because I’d never complain about a pretty boy staring at me, but it’s not usually after I’ve hit him in the face with a door.”

“You… you think I’m pretty?”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the part we should be focusing on, Pretty Boy.”

In-between the embarrassment he felt at the compliment, Wylan realised he may be correct. It definitely wasn’t a good sign that the boy’s figure was swimming in front of him, or that his head was still relentlessly pounding. Whilst he wasn’t sure how much of that could be attributed to the door and how much to his ongoing panic attack, it would probably be best if he at least sat down. 

“I- I’m not usually like this.” Wylan swayed a little. “You should come back and talk to me when I’m not dying… Oh wait…” He giggled. “I’ll be dead tomorrow anyway…”

“Okay, we’re definitely going to sit you down.”

The boy gently put an arm around Wylan’s back and helped him onto the corridor floor. They sat beside each other, slumped against the wall, in silence.

“I’m Jesper. I’m a student here. I didn’t want to go to this party anyway, but my professor made me come. Apparently I’m one of the ‘top students’ and they need me to ‘represent the university’ as their ‘youngest and most promising student’. I think there could be much better uses of my time than attending a party for some rich jerk.”

Usually, Wylan would have defended his father, but today, something in him was enjoying hearing him be insulted. Besides, he had a feeling that Jesper didn’t know his true identity, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t want to sit beside him anymore.

“I’m Wylan.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jesper shoved three fingers in Wylan’s face, and he pushed them away, rolling his eyes.

“That’s not an answer!”

“You had three fingers up. I’m not concussed, you know.”

Jesper was silent for a while, until he noticed Wylan’s still-wet eyes.

“You do look like you’re about to cry, though. I’d like to think I can help with that too.”

It was nice of Jesper to try, but nothing he could do would prevent the inevitable punishment Wylan would face when he left this corridor. He needed to head back. The sooner he returned, the lesser his father’s wrath would be. He glanced back at the party - the loud voices, the crowds of people, his father engaging calmly in conversation as if nothing had happened - and found himself beginning to hyperventilate again. 

He was going to die. His father hated him and he was going to die and Wylan would be dead and no one would mourn him because everyone hated him anyway and it would all be pointless in the end and—

Wylan felt soft arms wrap around his chest, holding him tightly. Someone was hugging him. Jesper. The pressure was just right, the other boy’s hands resting against his ribcage, and Wylan let himself lean into him. He buried his head in the crook of Jesper’s neck, letting the tears that had been building up for so long fall. Perhaps it was because Wylan hadn’t hugged anyone since his mother died, perhaps it was because he was the first person in months who’d treated Wylan like a fellow human, but Jesper felt like home.

When Wylan’s breathing returned to normal, he let himself pull away, but Jesper didn’t take his hands from their grounding position on his waist. 

“Wylan, do you want to get out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

Jesper smirked. “You’ll see.”

[spencers-renaissance]

Writing Masterlist

All of my writing is available on AO3, but I’ve put together a masterlist of all my work so far for everyone who gets their fic fill on tumblr and will keep it updated! Keep your eyes peeled for new fics on the regular <3

⭐️= indicates my personal faves

If you’re looking for smut, you need to head to my smut masterlist on my nsfw blog!

Current Fic Count: 30

Aaron x Spencer

⭐️turns out that I need you now (much more than you need me)

Spencer is suffering in silence and it’s only made worse when the team messes up and makes him feel even more hurt and insecure. When Hotch goes to check on him, though, things start to look up.

3.5k, angst, hurt/comfort, protective hotch, happy ending

⭐️Vivaldi on Full Volume

Spencer’s done enough pining, so he decides to write a letter for Aaron telling him exactly how he feels and gives it to him on the jet. He cannot be held responsible for what happens when they land.

5.2k, fluff, love confessions, shy spencer, insecurity

Living the Same Lie

Aaron breaks up with Spencer, but when an attempt to move on goes horribly wrong they get a second chance.

5k, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, fluff, breaking up and making up, implied/mentioned physical assault, implied/mentioned sexual assault

East Coast

Spencer and Aaron happen to sit opposite one another on a busy train, and when Spencer spots a breakthrough in the legal case Aaron is stuck on, they strike up an innocuous conversation that quickly stirs up feelings.

2.1k, fluff, meet-cute, train carriage au, lawyer!aaron, academic!spencer, shy spencer, firsts 

All Roads Lead Home

Spencer’s working the Christmas Eve shift when a young boy with a hurt arm comes into the ER. Nothing out of the ordinary, except his rather flirty dad and leaving later with an extra phone number in his contacts list…

2.1k, fluff, hospital au, getting together, first date, gentleman!aaron, soft spencer

To Look on Tempests and Not Be Shaken

In the wake of a blazing row and an empty apartment, Aaron finds Spencer’s well-thumbed copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets and recalls the morning after their wedding, when Spencer sat on his lap and read Sonnet 116 to him. Suddenly, everything makes sense.

2.6k, angst with a happy ending, fighting and making up, married hotchreid, relationship dynamics, introspection, fluff

Derek x Spencer

Even More Beautiful 

The BAU is stuck in Michigan with no case and no way home, so naturally, Spencer and Derek confess their love for one another. (Based on the prompt ‘You look even more beautiful covered in snow.’)

3.5k, fluff, love confessions, shy spencer, insecurity, hurt/comfort

⭐️Hear it in the Silence

A short, fluffy chronicle of Spencer realising in increments how in love with Derek he is, and navigating a real, beautifully sweet relationship that's not always smooth sailing, especially since he's been hurt before. (Based on Taylor Swift’s You are in Love.)

3.7k, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, dev relationship, tw past abuse, domesticity

⭐️Still Left With the River

Derek wakes up to find his boyfriend crying on the sofa. Cue the hurt, the comfort, and the fluff. 

1.6k, hurt/comfort, fluff, caretaker!derek, autistic spencer, crying, sad spencer

100

Spencer's an academic researcher who spends every morning at his local library. Derek just happens to drop by one Tuesday and ask the pretty boy in the classics section if he can help him find a book. Sparks fly.

2.1k, library au, fluff, meet-cute, pining, shy spencer, coming out

when I fall asleep (it is your eyes that I close)

Spencer’s not been sleeping, and as much as Derek adores his sleepy clinginess and physical affection, as soon as they get home he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. 

1.9k, fluff, hurt/comfort, sleep-deprivation, clingy!spencer, physical affection, anxiety, cuddling

⭐️Trees and Seas Have Flown Away, I Call it Loving You

Derek says something hurtful, but it happens to lead to just about the best thing that’s ever happened to Spencer.

3.2k, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, fighting/making up, angst with a happy ending, autistic spencer, coming out, getting together

⭐️A Christmas Like This

Spencer has a very specific plan for their first Christmas in their new house, and it has to be absolutely perfect. Derek’s going to do everything in his power to make his boyfriend as happy as possible, even if that means a house covered in garlands and a tree covered in animal skeletons…

2.9k, fluff, christmas fic, est relationship, neurodivergence, romance, domesticity, day in the life

Secret Santa

Penelope rigs the BAU’s Secret Santa game to finally get Derek and Spencer together with extraordinary success, and they have her to thank for their future first date. Oh, and a sprig of mistletoe nearly throws the whole thing out the window. 

2.8k, fluff, getting together, insecurity/anxiety, christmas fic, first kiss, misunderstandings, friendship

⭐️A Chronicle of Loss

5 people Spencer Reid lost and 1 person he gained. A look at the traumas Spencer faces over the series, and giving him the happy ending he deserves.

3.6k, grief, loss, abandonment issues, insecurity, depression, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, getting together, ‘didn’t know they were dating’, protective derek, autistic spencer

Mayhem

Imagine that scene in S4E1 when Derek is driving the ambulance loaded with a bomb about to explode, except it’s Spencer on the other end of the phone and they finally get their shit together. 

4.2k, canon divergence, spencer is the tech analyst, getting together, mutual pining, insecure spencer, angst with a happy ending, fluff, declarations of love

⭐️my heart talks about nothing but you

Derek finds Spencer staring longingly at dancing newlyweds while on a case and once he gets to the bottom of why he’s tasked with making a proposal to a man who knows it’s coming special somehow. (He pulls it off.)

2.5k, established relationship, hurt/comfort, minor angst, fluff, relationship discussions, proposal, protective derek

I told the stars about you

Derek and Spencer have their first date. They dance to Frank Sinatra and cuddle in an ice cream parlour, before kissing the hell out of each other at Spencer's front door. That's pretty much it. (Prequel to above fic.)

2.1k, first date, first kiss, pure tooth-rotting fluff, dancing, flirting, protective derek

⭐️I can’t hold enough of you in my hands

Derek and Spencer are finally getting married and the rest of the BAU are there to help them through every step of the day. Including a little surprise that Derek has up his sleeve for their first dance. (Third part to the above two fics.)

3.1k, tooth-rotting fluff, marriage/wedding day, team as family, team dynamics, domesticity, paternal hotch, maternal alex, just a whole lotta love man

⭐️ dry me off and hold me close

Derek has finally relented and is bringing his boyfriend Spencer to meet the rest of the team. That means, though, he has to finally tell them about his boyfriend's disability. Terrified that they'll react badly, he puts it off until he can't anymore. Turns out he was worried for nothing

5.7k, so much fluff, protective derek, disabled spencer, caretaker derek, spencer is not in the bau, team as family, hurt/comfort, light angst, est. rel, chronic illness, slice of life: disabled edition

Honeysuckle

The BAU decide to head out for a picnic one summer afternoon, but they’re soon rudely interrupted by a bee sting and anaphylactic shock. Seeing Spencer carted off in an ambulance is not exactly how they expected the day to go.

2.3k, whump, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, hurt spencer, friendship, medical conditions, severe allergic reactions

⭐️The Noiseless Crash of Crumbling Walls

After Derek and Spencer are paired up on a science project in their senior year of high school, they become the closest, most unlikely friends possible. But what happens when Derek finally finds out what Spencer's dealing with at home? Inspired by the prompt “where did you get those bruises?”

4.5k, high school au, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, hurt spencer, protective derek, abuse, friendship, pre-slash, spencer just turned 16, derek is almost 18

Luke x Spencer

Start With This

Luke accidentally hurts Spencer because they are both hopelessly stupid, but when Spencer’s faced with a dangerous situation there’s nothing he wants more than Luke. Calling him turns out to be a very good decision.

3.9k, hurt/comfort, angst w a happy ending, fluff, getting together, misunderstandings

⭐️Foolishly, Completely Falling

Spencer declines to spend the night with Luke, but there’s a reason for that, and things start to click into place when Spencer shows back up at his doorstep at 2am, hours after being dropped home.

2.5k, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, past toxic relationship, nightmares, est/dev relationship

You Said You’d Never Smile Again

“At one point, we had a conversation about how hard Spencer was finding life after prison and he told me that he didn’t think he’d ever smile again. And so, I made it my mission to prove Dr Spencer Reid wrong for the first time in his life.”

1.4k, weddings, tooth-rotting fluff, implied/referenced depression, post-prison spencer, insecure luke, found family 

Emily x JJ

Don’t Be Scared, I Love You

JJ is shot and Emily's world stops spinning.

1.7k, whump, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, fluff, protective emily

⭐️my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Emily leaves. Her heart is breaking. JJ follows. Hers is waking up.

1.3k, angst with a happy ending, fluff, mutual pining, crying, first kiss

Emily x Reader

⭐️Night In/Night Out

Emily Prentiss is your girlfriend and she finally asks you to meet her family (the BAU): cue the fluff.

3.2k, fluff, flirting, cuddling, domesticity, protective emily, slight shy!reader

baby, you’re my new years’ eve

You and Emily are hosting a New Years' Eve party for all of your friends, but she's acting a little weird. You finally find out why when the clock strikes midnight.

3.6k, fluff, nye fic, proposal, getting engaged, domesticity, romance, flirting, day in the life 

Gen

Pull Me Out of the Glowing Stream

Spencer develops bacterial meningitis and Hotch sort of forgets how to breathe. 

3.8k, paternal!hotch, hurt/comfort, sickness, whump, fluff, happy ending

I found my way home

After Spencer tells Hotch about his recent autism diagnosis, he expects that to be the end of it. Somehow, though, it keeps coming up, and Hotch keeps proving himself to be the best father figure he could have asked for. 

4.1k, autistic spencer, protective hotch, hurt/comfort, fluff, paternal hotch, team as family

⭐️The Colour of Waiting is Purple

Spencer's just trying to get home as quickly as possible when a bad decision to take a shortcut down a back alley leaves him broken and bleeding into the night. // Hotch thinks it's a new case when his phone rings at 3 in the morning. It isn't.

3.7k, whump, hurt/comfort, physical assault, major character injury, hospitals, dad hotch, hurt spencer, angst with a happy ending, eventual fluff

[jungledubs-archive]

Sy’s Helsmits Masterpost

Figured it would be handy to have a list of all of my Helsmits, not just for y’all, but for me as well! Feel free to send asks about these guys, and check out this series on Ao3 for fics involving them. Not every Hermit is present yet--this list will be updated when/if new Helsmits are added. Some entries are much less detailed than others and that’s because I got lazy, sorry.

Evil Xisuma // Caesar Tag: #Caesarvoid

Nicknamed as such because he’s the ‘leader’ of Helscraft and everybody hates him (and later because he was banned on the Ides of March). This nickname is barely used--he prefers to be known as Evil Xisuma, though after being stuck in Hermitcraft for a while and going through a bit of a redemption arc (the devil went down to georgia on Ao3, may or may not be continued but the events are canon to the timeline), he does adopt it as his proper name to avoid confusion. Caesar is obsessed with taking over Hermitcraft and getting rid of their Xisuma so that he can be the only one. His base, when he finally arrives in Helscraft Season 7, is in a ravine.

Evil Scar // Harvey, BadTimes Tag: #Harvey BadTimes

Originally nicknamed BadTimesWithScar, ‘Harvey’ was a nickname that sprung out of too many stupid pronunciations of ‘Scar’ (Rye said ‘Scarvey’, Trip suggested ‘Harvey’, and it stuck). He’s an ender dragon hybrid and second of the three Hermitcraft-obsessed Helsmits. He was originally more mild-mannered, but after his first encounter with his Hermitcraft counterpart went sour, he’s sworn to tear up everything Scar holds dear. Harvey has a furious rivalry with Buck, which escalated after Harvey was accidentally responsible for Trip losing an eye (upside-down and backwards on Ao3). His base is a volcano with a fortress on the inside, inspired by the home of Smaug in The Hobbit.

Evil Welsknight // Bruce, Helsknight Tag: #Bruce Helsknight

Technically named after Robert the Bruce, his nickname was chosen for him by the other Helsmits because they thought Helsknight was silly (and also got confusing with them all being from Helscraft). He’s third on the hierarchy of ‘obsessed with Hermitcraft’ after Caesar and Harvey, though is less focused on taking over Hermitcraft and getting rid of his counterpart and more on being as much of an inconvenience to Wels as possible. He mostly keeps to himself in Helscraft, too focused on his work with portals, and he’s a bit of a dork and the epitome of ‘you did the work wrong but somehow got the right answer’. He’s semi-allied with some of the other Helsmits, though mostly just for redstone components. His base is a Nether-themed castle, complete with lava moat and confusing maze-like layout. He is very jealous of anybody who has magic or hybrid powers, as he does not.

Evil Mumbo // Balderdash Tag: #Balderdash

He chose his own nickname and is rather proud of it. Balderdash is very closely allied with Charleston, with whom he owns BD&C LTD. and all the associated businesses, including their anything-for-hire service Boon Boom. He’s proud, smart, and snarky, and often refuses to admit his own faults. He couldn’t care less about going to Hermitcraft, and even when he and Charlie accidentally end up there (an unexpected encounter on Ao3), they have no desire to take over the server or get rid of their counterparts. His base is an underground ‘city of gold’, themed around ancient architecture, with futuristic laboratories hidden inside.

Evil Tango // Charleston Tek, Charlie Tag: #Charleston Tek

His name was given to him by Spector and initially rejected, but after he realized it could be shortened, he adopted it proudly. Charlie is the other half of BD&C LTD. and partner to Balderdash, with whom he causes an immense amount of problems. He’s argumentative, spiteful, and equally as smart as Balderdash, though they both claim to be the more intelligent one. His weapon of choice is a crossbow loaded with fireworks. His right shoulder and part of his neck and cheek is covered with a burn scar, which he acquired after an accident with one of Balderdash’s machines and a fire charge. Charlie’s base is an early 1900s-themed city, with his main home being inside an animation studio inspired by Bendy and the Ink Machine.

Evil Grian // Rye, Ryan Tag: #Rye

His nickname was forced upon him by Reckless, who thought it was hilarious, and it quickly caught on, despite his protests. A couple of the other Helsmits call him Ryan, but it’s always with a nod and a wink. Rye is a phantom hybrid and a prankster, though most of his jokes involve destroying something or being otherwise mean. He enjoys spreading rumours about the other Helsmits and starting conflicts. Rye’s base is a skyscraper made to look deliberately dark and gloomy, and he often jokes that it’s a cliche supervillain office and plays into that by sometimes forcing the other Helsmits to meet him on the top floor where he does his best Godfather impression.

Evil Cub // Buck Tag: #Buckfan135

Named Buck after a term used for deer, he’s an ender dragon hybrid and close ally to Trip. His base is a viking village with dragon motifs in a tundra biome. He absolutely hates Harvey and will do anything to try to prove that Harvey is up to no good. Buck’s fairly reclusive and cold, but he can be helpful when he wants to be.

Evil Bdubs // Trip Tag: #Btripleo100

He’s missing an eye after spending multiple days trapped in a death loop created by Harvey (upside-down and backwards on Ao3), but that hasn’t put a damper on his upbeat, belligerent personality. He hardly ever sleeps, though, as he’s always faced with nightmares of his repeated death. His base is a medieval-style dungeon which is sometimes used as such by allied Helsmits.

Evil Doc // Spector, The Inspector Tag: #Spectorm77

Spector, short for Inspector, is half-enderman half-machine and has a flair for the dramatic. Everything is a game with Spector, as he’s always agreeable but forces the other Helsmits to complete annoying tasks, riddles, and treasure hunts to gain his full cooperation. Nobody’s quite sure what his base actually is, because it’s hidden behind a maze of glass that has yet to be penetrated by wit or TNT.

Evil Iskall // Fiver Tag: #58Iskall

Once a human on the quest for efficiency, Fiver is now more redstone and metal than flesh and blood. He’s always upgrading himself and never has time for any of the other Helsmits, though he’s tentatively allied with Doug and Spector. His base is a giant laboratory filled with deadly traps and surrounded by a minefield, which is slowly being taken over by plants as the building falls into neglect despite Fiver’s near-constant use of it.

Evil Ren // Doug Tag: #Ramdoug

Part-wolf, part-ram, part-human, Doug’s a living contradiction and revels in it. He’s truly a wolf in sheep’s clothing and swings wildly from being friendly and agreeable to infuriating all the other Helsmits with his destructive and murderous antics. He lives in a snowy mountain biome with a base themed around the fictional planet of Hoth, plus a half-destroyed Death Star built into the base of the mountain for good measure.

Evil Impulse // Reckless Tag: #RecklessSV

Sly, cheeky, resourceful, and self-centred, Reckless can never hold an ally for long, because he’s always stabbing them in the back. His base stretches deep below the ocean in an inverted pyramid, accessible through a controlled whirlpool. Reckless is aptly-named, for despite his claims that all of his plans are premeditated and thought-over, he spends less time thinking and more time double- and triple-crossing the other Helsmits.

Evil Zedaph // Damon Tag: #DamonPlays

Damon lives in a cliffside lair filled to the brim with strange machines and contraptions, accessible only through a series of nonsensical puzzles--though these puzzles are often simply destroyed by the other Helsmits should they need to get in. He’s friends with Doug and Trip and certainly one of the more popular Helsmits, despite his affinity for flinging them into walls with slime block launchers.

Evil Cleo // Effie, Nefertiti Tag: #ZombieEffie

ZombieEffie is a bit of a misnomer--she’s not a zombie, she controls the zombies. Effie is a necromancer, complete with sinister skull mask, and lives in a dark and spooky village filled with hybrid cryptid monstrosities that she’s created. She has a strange friendship with Reckless, though the two are not allies--they betray each other too much to actually do business together, but they respect each other enough to be considered friends.

Evil Stress // Penny, Pensive Tag: #Pensivecreature101

Penny is another reclusive Helsmit, spending most of her time in her sprawling End-themed base. Her name is also incorrect, because though she doesn’t interact with the other Helsmits much, when she does, it always deteriorates into an argument very quickly.

Evil False // Claire, True Tag: #ClaireSymmetry

Claire, or True, is an outstanding entrepreneur and successful business owner, spending most of her time negotiating deals with or between the other Helsmits. Her home is an industrial sky base above the ocean, from which she plots her next ventures. She’s had an alliance with almost every Helsmit at some point, most of them presently as well.

Evil Keralis // Idris Tag: #Idris

Idris is a sour-tempered man, always difficult and annoyed by something-or-other. His base is farm-themed and rightfully so, because he has enough farms there to sustain himself and possibly the entire rest of the server if they had to. He gets along with Buck and Fiver.

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Useless warning pt. 1|2 [Sirius Black x Reader] - Challenge

Title: Useless warning pt. 1 ➔ Useless warning pt. 2, Here! Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader Word count: 3.9k Published: 29 July, 2020 Warnings: Angst Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Notes: I wrote this for Amelia's Writing Challenge [ @hufflefluff-writer​ ], where I had to use the the below prompt, however I kind of ran away with the storyline and instead of a one shot it became a multiple part story. I think my mind just went rogue with this one, don't judge me :D - I would also like to state thatt I have nothing against Marlene. I just needed her to be in a negative spotlight for the story.

"I told you not to fall in love with me!"

I also added the song that inspired my mood at the end of the fic

Summary: Sirius is one of your best friends who happens to be dating Marlene. She isn’t particularly a good friend of yours, but you do get along. She agrees to go out with Sirius, all the while she is aware of your feelings. Things get complicated as you are unable to keep your feelings to yourself anymore.

Challenge: [x] [x]

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

You were sitting in the Gryffindor common room, resting your head on Remus' shoulder. Deep sighs left your lungs every few seconds, gazing at Sirius trying to steal a kiss from Marlene. It was hard to watch him giving his undivided attention to someone else.

You have been in love with him for a year or so. It was inevitable. Even when you became friends, years ago, you already thought he was handsome, but the years just helped him to look even more attractive. He has jokingly warned you in the past numerous times not to ever fall in love with him. He knew the kind of person he was. He changed girls more often than he changed his cloths. You tried to obey his request, but years of being his best friend, getting to know him more than he knew himself, turned your feelings around.

You sighed once again as you watched him placing his palm behind Marlene's neck, pulling her into a passionate kiss. That strong grip around your aching heart has become a daily occurring. As scary as it was, you kind of adapted to the pain their pair caused you. Even though Sirius was a player, his relationship with Marlene has been ongoing for the past three months, confirming what you have been afraid of the most. You knew he wasn't far from falling for Marlene. She was stunning with a good brain and funny comments. She was undeniably one of the most popular girls of Hogwarts, making you feel utterly defeated.

You exhaled deeply at the thought of watching them for the next year before you finally left Hogwarts. You wanted nothing more than to leave them and jump into whatever your future brought to you.

"Are you okay?" Remus whispered above you.

"Yeah..." You replied weakly.

"You have been sighing an unusual amount of times." He said and you knew very well that you looked like a love-sick puppy.

"I only have to survive a year." You turned your head upwards to be able to look at his face. His eyes were attached to the couple, just like yours a second ago. His hair was a mess, his expression unhappy. "Why do you look so troubled?" You asked.

"Because it's hard to watch you suffer." He pulled a pained half-smile, making you chuckle.

"Come on now, Remus. I am fine. I honestly got used to it already." Your voice was soft and reassuring.

"Used to what?" He asked, his brows furrowed.

"The pain in my chest." You confirmed. "I have felt it for so long now, it's kind of like a part of me." You giggled even though it was nowhere near happy. He finally turned to you, managing to look into your eyes in a rather weird angle.

"That shouldn't be something you have to get used to." He shook his head.

"I know, Remus, but unfortunately that is exactly how unrequited love works." You shrugged nonchalantly.

"She knew." Remus said and you knew what he meant without questioning him.

"Yes, she did, but it doesn't mean she should have said no. Remus, look, Sirius likes Marlene, Marlene likes Sirius. Just because she knew of my feelings, you can't expect them not to get involved with each other. You are only thinking that way because you are my friend." You explained, once again heaving a deep sigh. The powerful hold around your chest reappeared and you welcomed it as an old friend.

"I would never date someone my friend likes." He huffed, annoyance clear in his voice.

"I have never really been friends with her. We just got along when we needed to." You said.

"Still, it's making me uncomfortable." He said as he shrugged and you lifted your head from his shoulder.

"Remus, don't worry so much. You are more worked up about it than I am." You chuckled at his protective behaviour. He just shook his head, knowing that you were simply pretending to be strong, but deep down you were hurting more than you showed. It was always like that. Hiding your feelings were something that you learned through out the years to protect yourself.

"What's so funny over there." Sirius joined the conversation, hearing your giggling. Your eyes met his captivating grey orbs, for a second leaving you breathless, before you found your voice.

"You don't have to know everything, Sirius." You spoke with a small smile, turning back to Remus who was shaking his head with the same expression.

"You are unbelievable." Remus said, suddenly standing up, pulling you with him and dragging you out of the common room. You could feel Sirius' curious gaze on your back, but you didn't turn your head to look at him. You were more interested in what Remus was planning.

"Where are we going?" You asked, whilst he was pulling you after himself.

"I got fed up of the act, that you have put up. Do you think I can not see that your smile is nowhere near genuine? I rather drag you out and get suspicious looks, than keep watching you suffer." He was quite agitated to your surprise.

"Look Remus, I am fine." You tried to reassure him.

"No, you are not. Enough of acting though. You know what you need? You need to tell him that you love him." He halted abruptly on an empty corridor and turned around, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"What?" You asked as if you have heard him wrong, brows running high, mouth agape. You certainly believed that your hearing has become impaired.

"Tell him you love him." He said firmly, confirming his seriousness.

"That will never happen." You smiled awkwardly as if you were trying to tell him that he was insane.

"Look, I know it sounds like a strange, rather weird idea, but the only way you will get over him is if you confess to him. He will reject you and you can have closure." He attempted to explain his reasoning and he was indeed successful. He made the little gears work harder in your brain then ever.

"I mean... but what if our friendship will be ruined?" You tried to argue his point, not because he wasn't right, but because you were terrified of rejection. Sirius wasn't just a friend or a crush, he was more to you than anyone else, making your situation ever so complicated.

"Then it will be ruined." He shrugged, making you frown at his nonchalant reply. "You can't stay by his side, while he drools over other women. I can't watch you putting up a fake smile and pretend that everything is just fine, when deep down you are trying to hide an excruciating heartache." You heaved a deep sigh as he finished his monologue, knowing how right he was.

"Fine, I will do it tomorrow." You said, your voice beyond broken. You never wanted to lose Sirius, but at this point you knew that you would have to face the consequences of your feelings. As much as you wanted to deny it, Remus knew you way too well, to understand how hard you tried to pretend to be fine in all circumstances and it wasn't healthy.  

"Good. Right after classes I will call him to the Wooden bridge." He stated and you nodded in confirmation. He walked up to you and placed his hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing it. "Don't be down. Think of it as an end to something painful and a new beginning to something beautiful." You chuckled at his wise words, but nodded in anticipation.

"You always know what to say." You smiled as you started walking back to the common room. "By the way where were we headed?" You asked curiously.

"Nowhere, I just wanted to get you out of there." He shrugged with an awkward smile.

"Well, it worked." You shook your head at his unusual behaviour, but your smile never faltered.

Upon returning to the common room, Sirius questioned you about your whereabouts, but you just exchanged a quick smile with Remus and shook your head, leaving him in suspense.

Your night was long and hard, nervousness quickly taking over you as Remus left you alone. You have been thinking of all the ways you wanted to tell Sirius about your feelings, but deep down you knew, that you would not remember any of your thoughts by the next day.

After hours of rolling around and endless sighing, you finally gave up on torturing yourself and let sleep overcome you.

The next morning you jumped out of your bed and before you knew it, you were sitting in the Great Hall, right next to Remus. Soon Sirius arrived with Marlene on his arm, leaning over you to give you a kiss on the top of your head, just like every morning.

"Morning, guys." He said, taking a seat beside you, Marlene on his other side. He received a couple of replies, but not one from you. You looked at Remus, who gave you an annoyed eye roll, before turning back to his breakfast. You had to acknowledge that he has been hanging out with the boys way too much. Beside his kind personality, he definitely picked up some of those typical marauders attributes, which mostly consisted of sarcastic replies, eye rolls and annoyed scoffs.

You chuckled at his manners, before turning back to your food. He knew how badly Sirius' attentive behaviour affected you, even with that small smile plastered across your face. Remus just always knew what you thought and it definitely brought you closer.

By the end of classes, you were standing at the Wooden bridge, arms resting on the edge of the handrail, whilst watching the view and waiting for Remus to send Sirius over. Your thoughts were a mess of what ifs and hows, but you didn't have much time to think as you saw Sirius' form appear at the end of the bridge.

He walked up to you, his back leaning against the side of the bridge with a questioning look.

"You know, this is suspicious right?" He asked and you raised a brow at him. "Instead of you coming to me and asking me to meet you here, you send Remus to do it." He clarified his words.

"Yeah..." You replied hesitantly, not wanting to tell him that it was all Remus' idea.

"So what's up? Why did you want to talk to me?" He asked impatiently, which made you furrow your brows.

"Someone is in a rush." You replied with a scoff.

"I have promised a date to Marlene." He shrugged.

"So you simply don't have time for your friend." You raised a brow questioningly. "Next time I will just book an appointment." You spoke, clearly annoyed.

"Don't be cute. You know that's not what I meant." He attempted to save the situation.

"But you did though. I wanted to talk to you about something that's very important to me, but what do I get? You, trying to rush me to get it over with, because you have a date." You hissed in anger.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think of it this way." He sighed, whilst trying to get an eye contact from you, unsuccessfully.

"Whatever." You shook your head in a reply. A few seconds of silence fell up on you, before he spoke again.

"What bothers you?" He asked as he turned around, joining you in gazing over the rift under the bridge.

"It's very complicated. I don't really know how to talk about it." You started, making him frown.

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

"It's not... I mean..." You heaved a deep sigh at being unable to create a coherent sentence. "My head is a mess of thoughts." You scoffed, trying to organise what you really wanted to say.

"What is it? You know you can tell me anything." He tried to encourage you to talk. You finally looked up at him, his grey eyes curious as to what you wanted to say.

"Anything?" You questioned.

"Anything!" He repeated firmly.

"I don't think you will want to hear this, but I still have to say it though." You turned away from him, not wanting to see his disgusted expression. The knot in your stomach and the grip around your chest became stronger, your throat dried out as your anxiety heightened.

"There isn't a thing you can't share with me." He spoke with his lips curved up into a gentle smile.

"I love you." You blurted it out, deciding that it's better to just get it over with.

"I love you too." He replied, making you scoff, before a pained smile appeared on your face.

"No, you don't get it." You shook year head. You lifted your face, looking up into his grey eyes, which seemed to be more confused than you have ever seen them." I love you the way you like Marlene." You clarified your feelings for him, watching as his eyes grew wider by the second.

"What?" His voice was weak and shocked at the same time. His demeanour less confident than ever.

"You heard it." You spoke firmly, your nervousness long out of your system. You knew his answer,  you knew him. There were no questions left. You simply waited for him to process what you have just told him.

"But... I told you not to fall in love with me!" He replied, his words weaker than you have ever heard.

"Feelings are not something people can control. Believe me, if it depended on me, I would have never fallen for you." You replied.

"You never showed it, though." He spoke, surprising you with his words.

"I mean, we were friends and I knew you would never look at me that way." You explained looking straight into those grey irises. Your voice sounded calm and collected, your demeanour firm and though.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say." He spoke hesitantly.

"I want you to reject me." You said confidently, causing his brows to run high.

"What?" He asked in shock.

"The only way I can get closure is if you reject me." You explained with a shrug. He looked ever so confused at your behaviour.

"You are taking this quite well." He spoke with a frown and you knew exactly what he meant. Of course, you did. You became so good at pretending to be fine, that it was almost natural not to show your real feelings around others.

"I guess, I do." You spoke in a relaxed tone.

"Erm... I'm... I don't know what to say. You know, I am with Marlene." He shook his head slightly, trying to find the right words. "I just can't do this." He said, his voice defeated.

"That's fine." You replied, making him frown.

"You are scaring me, you know?" He spoke, his eyes looking for something in yours, that you knew he would never find. You could feel your tears collecting in your eyes, but you didn't let them leave. Not just yet. "You are acting strange." He shook his head lightly.

"No, I am not. I came here to tell you that I loved you and I knew before I even decided to confess, that I would be rejected. I was simply prepared for it." You explained halfheartedly.

"Okay..." He replied hesitantly. "I have to go now, but I will talk to you later." His tone was soft and gentle as if he was scared of hurting you, even though you have stood there in your toughest form.

"Yeah..." You replied simply, assuming he has only said that to make you feel better. "See you." You told him as he was still standing there. You wished he was gone by now so you could just let all your feelings go, but his hesitant steps and slowly disappearing back, forced you to keep everything in, until finally he was out of sight.

You slid down the side of the bridge, letting your tears finally roll down your cheeks. Of course, you were hurting, your chest didn't even let the air in anymore. You felt like you were being suffocated. You were heaving for breathe as you felt your salty tears pour through your lips.

It was killing you to know that Sirius never even thought of you romantically. It hurt you to see him giving attention to all the other girls. It pained you to see him kiss Marlene so lovingly. But most of all, it teared you apart from the inside to know that he would never return your feelings.

You sat at the bottom of the bridge, legs pulled up to your chest, face hidden between your knees, tears escaping your bloodshot eyes. You just wanted to disappear from the castle, from the country, from the whole wide world.

You didn't even realise a presence beside you, only when a hand lifted your head and two soft lips attacked your own. Your eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the owner of the long black locks, but before you knew it, your eyelids flattered shut and you gave into the blissful feeling of his lips moving in synch with yours.

It was better than you ever dared to imagine. His lips were in perfect harmony with yours, making you moan into the kiss. You could feel the salty taste of your tears on your lips as he placed a hand behind your neck, pulling you even closer. He was captivating, he was giving you hope and you were cursing him for it. You didn't want your feelings to be played with.

He finally pulled away, leaning against your forehead, breathing heavily, along with you. You didn't even realise when your tears stopped streaming down your cheeks.

"You are not as strong as you pretend to be." He spoke with a pained expression, opening his grey orbs to look at you.

"Sirius..?" You questioned... everything. You didn't understand why he was there, why he kissed you, why he came back. Your head was a mess of confused thoughts.

"Why did you have to tell me how you feel?" He heaved a deep sigh, his breath shaky, feeling defeated. He pulled away from you and sat down beside you, leaning his back against the side of the bridge.

"I told you. To get closure." You replied hesitantly. You were nowhere near the expected closure. Your feelings were now more unbearable than ever.

"Closure for what? You just had to come and stir things up, didn't you?" He asked, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Stir what up?" You asked furrowing at his unclear words.

"I was over you finally. Or at least I thought I was and then you decide to confess to me? How am I supposed to take that?" He raised his voice, hiding his face in his palm.

"Over... me?" You questioned hesitantly.

"Yes, I loved you." He lifted his head to look into your eyes. "I thought you would always look at me as a mere brother figure and I accepted it. That's why I always jokingly told you not to ever fall for me. But here you are now, telling me that you love me and I am not supposed to feel good about it, I am not. But I just can't deny that a part of me wants to jump out of my skin in happiness." He confessed, leaving you with parted lips and a shocked expression across your face.

"I... I didn't expect that." You spoke in confusion.

"Believe me, I didn't expect your confession either." He replied with a scoff.

"But... what do you feel then?" You asked, trying not to get your hopes any higher than they already were.

"I honestly don't know." He shook his head, letting out a deep sigh he has been holding onto. "A part of me is happy that you love me, but I'm not sure about what I feel and I don't know what to do with Marlene now." His voice was beyond defeated and you just wanted to pull him into a hug, to tell him that everything will be just fine, but you stopped yourself. You knew that it wouldn't help him now. It would just confuse him.

"You have to decide what you want. I can't help you with that." You spoke, trying to keep yourself composed.

"I know. I just need a bit of time." He said and you nodded in agreement. A few minutes of silence fell up on you, before he stood up and reached out for you to help you up. You accepted his hand and steadied yourself, but before you could have even looked up, he pulled you into his embrace, dipping his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. You protectively wrapped your arms around his torso, enjoying his warmness around you. You wished you could enjoy his hugs longer, but you knew that it wasn't fair to any of you, including Marlene.

"As much as I enjoy hugging you, this is not going to help you." You spoke as you pulled away from him with a soft smile across your face.

"I know." He took a deep breath.

"Let's go back." You said, but he stood still, not even attempting to move, his adoring eyes fixed on your face. You shook your head, rolled your eyes and started gently nudging him towards the castle, chuckling.

"You know, I can walk on my own." He smirked at your forceful behaviour.

"Yeah, but you didn't move though." You argued playfully.

"A simple please would have worked just fine." He replied.

"As if I was ever begging for anything." You scoffed.

"I can think of one or two reasons." He raised an eyebrow, before your deadly expression forced a loud chuckle to leave his lungs.

"Just shut up. That I would beg for." You rolled your eyes at his childish behaviour.

You went back to the castle, parting ways at the entrance as Marlene appeared. She questioned his whereabouts, but you quickly got involved by telling her that you needed to talk to Sirius and you didn't realise the time. She seemed to believe you, although a sceptical look rushed across her face, before it quickly disappeared.

Tags: @haphazardhufflepuff , @inkhearthes

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to like and/or reblog the chapter. Thank you :)

I’ll just put this here, because this song had a big impact on my mood when writing.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don’t forget to like, comment and/or reblog the chapter. Thank you :)

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

[ghostspideys-moved]

Ice Cream and Comfort || B.A.

A/N: I know I was supposed to update my oc fic this weekend, but oh well. I tried to do something that wasn’t stranger things for once, especially now that I’ve been watching the Flash again after so long, so I hope this suffices.

Word Count: 1.2k

Pairing: Barry Allen x Reader

Summary: When Barry can’t save a few civilians, he has a hard time dealing with it. But that’s why he has you to ground him and help him accept it.

Barry is always so hard on himself, a fact you know all too well. He’s quick to put to much pressure on himself whenever something goes wrong.

While today’s mission might not have been his greatest success, it still went well all things considered. You’re so proud of him, but it’s clear when he appears back in S.T.A.R. Labs that he’s distraught. Even before he pulls off his cowl, you see the frown setting in.

Barry hardly even says a word as he changes out of the Flash suit. Despite all of the cheering and praise coming from his friends, you know he’s not totally listening. Joe tries to comfort him, but he’s not really giving into it.

When it’s clear they can’t cheer him up, everyone clears out of the Cortex, hoping you might be able to do something. And you’re going to try, no matter what it takes.

As soon as you’re alone, Barry strides over, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you into a tight hug. Just as you hug back, you feel him shaking followed by quiet sobs. You frown but don’t say anything. Not just yet.

You wait for him to wipe his tears and compose himself again before asking, “What happened out there, Barry?” It must have been pretty bad if he’s this torn up. Even though he’s stopped crying, his eyes are still wet, and he’s sniffling.

“I know I should be happy that I saved as many people as I did, Y/N,” he starts, “but I keep thinking about everyone I couldn’t get to quick enough.”

Knowing how drained and stressed he must be, you make him sit. You kneel in front of him, taking his hands.

“Trust me, Barry. I know you wanna save everyone, but sometimes it just doesn’t work out that way,” you say. “And it’s more than okay to be upset about it, but I know how you are, and I don’t want you to let this weigh you down forever.”

Barry’s silent for a moment, squeezing your hands lightly as he lets your words sink in. “Sometimes I just wonder - if I’d just been a little faster - could I have really saved everyone.”

It’s clear he’s not in the greatest mental space right now, and you want more than anything to help him out. It’s like a light bulb goes off in your head, because you suddenly have an idea.

“I think I know exactly what’ll cheer you up.”

Barry gives you a curious look as he stands, taking you with him. “What’s that?”

You grin and kiss his cheek. “It’s a surprise. Just trust me,” you insist.

He’s still very curious, but he doesn’t argue and picks you up before speeding off to your house. The moment you arrive, you pull him over to the couch and order him to sit down. Surprisingly, Barry manages a soft chuckle as you grab something - a movie, he notices - and set up the TV. Without explaining, you hurry over to the kitchen.

By now, Barry is about to ask when you come back with two bowls. You sit down, handing him one. He’s surprised to see that it’s ice cream, but the gesture alone already makes him feel like some of the stress is melting away.

The two of you cuddle close as the movie starts, and he’s even more surprised to see Jurassic Park playing. His favorite movie. Of course you remembered something like that, but it really does mean a lot. You’re both snuggled up as close as possible as you eat ice cream and watch the movie.

It’s thanks to you that today is going a little better than it had been, and Barry can’t help but glance over at you, the most loving smile ever on his face. You almost don’t notice, but you blush when you do.

“I love you so much,” he blurts out.

For just a moment. your heartbeat quickens. Every time he says it, it feels like the first time. “I love you too, Barry.”

Before you can turn back to the screen, he cups your cheek and presses a soft kiss to your lips. It still leaves butterflies in your stomach, even if this is perhaps the millionth time you’ve kissed him.

“I don’t know what I’d do with out you,” Barry says against your lips, pulling away long enough to look down at you. You knew you were always the one there to ground him, and you always would be. Even if he sometimes had his doubts - and you knew he did.

You smiled softly and kiss his cheek. “I’ll always be here for you. Someone has to keep you sane.” He laughs, nodding. Barry knows you’re right, even if you’re joking.

“That’s what I love about you, Y/N. Among so many other things,” he admits.

Before either of you know it, the credits are playing and your bowls have gone forgotten on the coffee table. Neither of you move yet, savoring the moment all you can. It’s quiet with just the two of you, and the silence between you is comfortable.

You practically have to tear yourself away, and Barry’s whining only makes you laugh. “Honey, I have to clean the bowls.”

“No,” he whines, pulling you close again. “Don’t go.”

“Barry.” You can’t even muster a stern tone through all your laughing, and before you can complain further, both bowls are gone. He cleaned them himself.

“Now you have no excuse,” Barry claims. The cheeky grin on his face makes you snort. You suppose he’s right. He’s just lucky his super speed spared him anymore complaining.

Barry holds you close again as you cave and wrap your arms around him. It’s nice having a peaceful moment like this. With how chaotic Barry’s life is, moments like this are few and far between. You’re more than happy to savor the time you have.

It quickly becomes evident how tired he is, though, and you can’t blame him. Central City was always in some kind of danger, and that kind of work would wear out anyone.

“Let’s go to bed, honey,” you say quietly.

Barry doesn’t argue, to your surprise. He nods, a tired smile on his face. You stand, pulling him off the couch as you lead him up to your room. Thanks to all the nights he’s spent with you, he has a spare change of clothes he left behind.

The moment you’re both changed and in bed, he pulls you close, throwing the covers over you. You’re not sure if it’s just because of his powers, but he’s always super warm.

For a moment, you think Barry’s asleep until he mumbles, “Will you sing me something?” His eyes are closed, and he looks so close to falling asleep.

“Of course.” You eagerly comply and sing softly. His hold tightens just a bit, feeling almost protective. You continue until you hear his soft snoring. Feeling close to sleep yourself, you kiss his forehead and wrap your arms around him.

“Goodnight, Bar,” you whisper. Thanks to how warm he is and how safe you feel in his arms, you have no trouble falling asleep. All you can think before drifting off to sleep is how thankful you are that you could help him out today. And, if you can help it, you’ll always be here to do the same when he needs it, no matter what other messes Barry throws himself into.

[tomthesoftie]

you lied

a/n: this is over 2000 words, so be warned... there are also going to be two different endings to this because i don’t know if i want to make it angst or fluff, teehee... i’ll leave the links at the end of this post :) but without further ado, enjoy the fic, my loves xx (also sorry for not updating for so long, school is a pain in the ass)

pairing: mob!tom x reader

warnings: mentions of blood, angsty shit, swearing, mentions of fire arms/weapons

masterlist                     prompt list

You met Tom while you were on your morning jog. Your hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail with bobby pins to hold down stray hairs. You were wearing a white sports bra paired with dark olive leggings. Earbuds were stuffed into your ears, muting the world out. Everything about the morning was normal -- normal streets, normal traffic, normal people -- that is until you jogged into a handsome stranger. 

This handsome stranger was Tom.

That day, he gave you his number and set up a date with you. He complimented your figure, making you flush from embarrassment and admiration. You thought you looked hideous. Sweat was dripping from your forehead, and you were panting for air. Yet when you contradicted his compliment, he would bite back with more compliments.

Tom was the kindest, sweetest person you’ve ever met. He cared deeply for his friends and family. He’d literally risk it all to save his loved ones. 

Something was kept hidden from you, though. Beneath the layers of his pure heart, he was a cold, ruthless yet cunning, man. He was the leader of the strongest mafia in London. Known for his skills, he was the most feared mobster.

To Tom, you were his life, his everything. He’d do anything for you. Ever since you ran into him on your jog, he made it his duty to make sure you were safe. You were his top priority, followed closely by relatives and friends. He didn’t want you to be in any danger, so he never told you about his business, but his plan failed miserably.

-

A bright smile was stretched across your face as you giddily got into your car. You were heading to Tom’s home, more so mansion, to surprise him.

He rarely brought you to his place, always insisting that your place was better. Never had it crossed your mind as suspicious, and to this day, it still doesn’t. Tom wasn’t a materialistic person and boasting about his belongings wasn’t something that he ever considered.

You drove into the driveway of the Holland Manor, admiring the design of the land. The home was gorgeous, as well as the drive to the front of the house. You felt a tingling sensation in your stomach when you realized that you were almost before his doors. Only when you did see the doors, a sudden rush of nervousness filled your thoughts. The two of you had been dating for a little over 11 months now, but whenever you thought of or saw Tom, something inside you would snap. He was like a drug to you.

You neatly parked your car by the curb. Taking a few deep breaths, you stepped out of the vehicle and inhaled the fresh scent of the trees. You noticed men in black suits were standing beside the doors. They didn’t shift in their position. 

These guys weren’t here before, were they? You thought.

Shrugging it off, you knocked lightly on the vast doors. No reply was given. You looked around for a doorbell but no where was it to be found. Choosing your last resort, you walked up to the black tuxedo-clad man standing to your right.

“Excuse me, sir?” You asked in a squeak. He grunted. “Is Tom Holland here?” He gave you an arched brow of suspicion. Quickly, you continued, “I’m his girlfriend, Y/N. I wanted to surprise him today,” even behind his black tinted shades could you tell that he was still eyeing you suspiciously, “I have his number and texts as evidence.”

“Let’s see it, then,” the man’s low voice vibrated in your ears.

You pulled out your phone and rushed to open your messages with Tom. Once you were successful, you thrust the screen into the man’s face. He scanned the messages and looked at the phone number. Finally satisfied, he pulled the door open with a harsh tug. Your mouth fell agape. You just needed to tug on the door.

Stepping into the building, you looked around, feeling a sense of familiarity. You noticed that there were more suited men patrolling the space. 

Had something happened to Tom?

You rushed up the grand staircase to Tom’s room. You pushed the door open, but the room was empty. You turned to exit the room and accidentally walked into someone on your way out.

“Watch where you’re going,” a voice boomed.

You looked up at the person, meeting a pair of piercing blue eyes. You recognized his accent as the same as your boyfriend’s. You looked up at his caramel streaked brown hair, then back to his face. His jawline was defined like Tom’s.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” his voice broke your gaze.

You flushed and quickly looked away, “Ah- Sorry.”

“What were you doing in that room?” He was now eyeing you suspiciously, “Who are you?”

“I’m Y/N, Tom’s girlfriend,” you smiled as you said it.

He let out a dark chuckle, “Yeah, like I’d believe that. I would know if my best mate had a girlfriend.”

You felt a short lived pain in your heart. He didn’t tell his friend about your relationship?

“You’re coming with me,” the man grabbed your arms and held them together. His other hand patted you down, looking for something.

“W-What are you doing?” You asked nervously as he touched you.

“What d’you think?” Failing to find any weapons, he pulled out a sleek, black object. A gun.

You whimpered at the sight of it, trying to shift as far away from it as you could.

“Let’s go,” he growled, holding both wrists together behind your back.

You obliged, afraid of his power. You didn’t know what was going on. 

As you put the pieces together, you realized: Tom was robbed.

Tears began rolling down your cheeks as you reached another large set of doors. The man behind you kicked the door open, gun still pointed at your head. A metallic smell stung your nose.

“Found this one looking through your room. Thought she could be working for Davis,” he said to the darkness.

A silhouette of what looked like a man came walking towards you. You were shoved into a chair, and a dim light lit up the room. The first thing you saw was a bloodied man tied to his chair. A loud sob ripped from your lips.

“Y/N?” A familiar British voice filled your ears.

Hesitantly, you looked in the direction which the voice came. You saw your brunette boyfriend standing ahead of you, fists covered in blood. You felt like you were going to be sick.

“What are you doing here?” Tom asked, checking if you were injured at all.

“You know this girl?” The other Brit sounded.

Tom murmured something to the man, and the man gasped.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You know the hell why,” Tom snapped.

You started to feel faint. Why was Tom beating up some random guy in a dark room? What was he hiding from you? Did you even know who the real him was?

“Darling, look at me. Take deep breaths,” you tried, but you couldn’t. The smell of blood made you feel even worse. You gagged, “I know it doesn’t smell good, but I can’t have you fainting on me right now.” 

“I- Leave. Leave now,” you managed to say.

“Haz, get her out of here,” the rest he said in a whisper so you couldn’t hear.

You felt someone lift you from your seat and carry you out of the room. You were lightly dropped onto a soft cushion. 

“I’m so sorry about earlier. I really didn’t know,” a soft voice said to your dazed figure.

“S’alright,” you murmured without realizing.

It took you a while to regain your state of normality, but when you did, everything came rushing back to you. Tom had beat someone almost to their death. His best friend stuck a gun to your head.

You shot up from your seat. You turned on your heal and rushed to get out of the house.

“Where are you going?” Haz asked you.

“I remembered that I left something back at my flat. I need to go get it, but don’t worry, I’ll be back,” you lied urgently, hoping to get out as fast as possible.

“Why are you in such a rush?” He eyed you as he did before, reading you like a book.

“I’m not in a rush,” you scoffed, “Just want to get my...” you contemplated for a moment, “my gift for Tom as quick as possible.”

“Nice try, darling,” he rolled his eyes. His eyes scanned your face, “You’re afraid,” tears began to pile in your eyes, “He’s never told you about this, hasn’t he?” You shook your head, no, “Oh, darling, come here.” He opened his arms and gave you a sympathetic smile.

Without hesitance, you rushed into his arms, crying into his white shirt. Although you were still afraid of him, you couldn’t help but hug him. You needed comforting at the moment, and no one else was here to do so.

“It’s alright. I understand how you feel. When I found out my father was in this...” he thought for the right word, “business, I reacted much like you, except for the running away part.”

You sniffled into his shirt, “I-I’m afraid.”

“I know you are, love, but Tom will come out and explain everything to you,” he gently stroked your hair.

You flinched at Tom’s name, “No. I want to go, and I want to go now.”

Harrison sighed, “Alright. I shouldn’t be letting you run, but I’m nice,” a small giggle slipped from your lips, “Stay safe, alright?” You nodded, ecstatic to be leaving.

Before you left, you remembered you never caught his name, “Um- Haz?” He hummed in response, “I never really caught your full name...”

“Oh, right. I’m Harrison Osterfield, but my friends call me Haz,” he smiled.

“Are we friends?” You asked with puppy dog eyes.

“Whatever you want, darling,” he felt himself melting under your adorable gaze. It was just too hard to resist.

“Alrighty, Hazza. We are friends now,” you said, amusement glazing your tone.

He chuckled and told you to go if you still wanted to leave. Sadly, you went your way, leaving Harrison to watch as you grew into a smaller dot with each step you took.

-

You waved goodbye to the man who helped you into the home and rushed back to your car. You started the vehicle as fast as your body allowed and zoomed off. You didn’t even look back to admire the beautiful property. The only thing on your mind was getting out of there.

You’d been dating practically a stranger for 11 months. It was all a facade. Who knows what he would’ve done to you if the two of you got into a fight.

-

That night, as you cuddled in bed, flashes of the bloodied man and Tom’s bloodied fists filled your mind. You were constantly pinching yourself awake to avoid the visions. Occasionally, in your dazed state, your mind wandered to Tom, thinking about what he was doing at the moment, but you always slapped yourself on the cheek to snap out of it. 

-

Back at the Holland Manor, Tom was punching things left and right. He was mad at Harrison for letting you run away. He was mad at himself for keeping this a secret from you for so long. He was just afraid that other competing mobsters would kidnap you and use you against him.

His hands pulled at his curls in frustration. He couldn’t stop seeing the look of fear on your face you’d given him back in his office. You looked so terrified for your life, yet he could still see the concern for him bubbling in your eyes.

Tom couldn’t stand the guilt, so he drove to your flat at 2:18 in the morning.

-

You heard a knocking at the door and felt your stomach drop. Who would be at the door at this time?

Then, you heard a muffled voice.

“Darling, it’s me, Tom, please let me in.”

You stayed put in your bed, ignoring the pulling in your chest that told you to open the door. 

Less than a minute later, you heard the door click open. The pounding in your chest became quicker and louder. This time, it wasn’t sympathy, it was fear. You reached for the pepper spray hidden in the corner of your room and quietly backed into the furthest corner to the door and closest to the window. You unlocked the hinges of your window, prepared for the escape.

Your bedroom door creaked open and a familiar face peaked in from the crack. You felt yourself automatically relax, but you kept the pepper spray up.

Tom stepped into your room, hands in the air, “I’m not going to hurt you, love, I just came to explain.”

He tried moving closer to you, but you yelled, “Don’t come any closer!”

He flinched from your tone and the pain that struck his heart.

“Explain from there,” you nudged your head to the other side of the bed.

“If it makes you feel safer, then I will,” he stepped behind the bed. “Look, love, what you saw earlier wasn’t me just beating up some random guy-”

“It sure looked like it! Blood was on your fists, Tom. Your fists! Not yours but his,” you yelped, realizing how bad it sounded out loud.

“I know, love, I know, but I have a reason for it,” he tried to explain in a calm tone.

“You have a reason for beating someone up? Like what? Did he make you mad? Did he hurt your ‘wittle’ heart? You have no-”

“I do! I’m a fucking mobster, all right? Not just any. No, I’m the strongest mobster in London!” He shouted at you.

You whimpered at his temper, afraid that he would hurt you. Your arms faltered but stayed frozen in place. You scrunched up your face and closed your eyes, leaning into the wall as much as you could.

“Darling, I-I never meant to scare you. I’m so sorry, love,” he moved closer to you.

! angst ending  |  fluff ending !

[fieryanmitsu]

THE BRIGHTEST STAR | MASTERPOST

(an alternate universe A3! series, rated M for mature and dark themes)

Only in the darkest sky does a star shine the brightest. But the brighter the star, the hotter and faster it burns.

The year is 2517. Mankind has been living in colonies in outer space for centuries with the help of technology powered by blossonium—a radioactive metal discovered in Jupiter’s asteroid belt. Chafing under the oppressive military rule of the Earth-led Space Colonies Governance Council, a faction of Revolutionists puts into motion a plan to unseat the current government using four powerful weapons developed by Hakkaku Ikaruga and Yukio Tachibana.

Four Bloomed individuals, humans with certain heightened abilities, are chosen to pilot these weapons under the direction of Izumi Tachibana, whose telepathic abilities are key to the Revolution’s success. However, the path to freedom is fraught with difficulties and opposing their every move is the government’s Space Colonies Defence Force and their ace Marionette pilot, “Sir Lancelot”.

Welcome to the “The Brightest Star” Masterpost! 😊 Here you’ll find some background and notes about my space opera alternate universe A3! series, as well as a listing of all posted chapters! You can also search my blog for the #a3! the brightest star tag!

This series is still on-going, but the first few chapters were originally posted as part of the A3! Big Bang 2021 event that I took part in!

Completing this series will take me some time, but it’s the biggest writing project I’ve ever undertaken, so I’m looking forward to seeing it through to the end! ☺️

I’ll be posting updates here on Tumblr as new chapters are added!

~ ILLUSTRATION AND HEADER ~

I was partnered up with the talented Gusu (@B_Azure_Art on Twitter) who drew the accompanying illustration in the Big Bang for my fic. Since the fic was incomplete at the time, they came up with an amazing “poster” of the main characters. I’m still amazed at how they managed to convey so much about each character and their relationships in a single image. 😭 I am eternally grateful to them for collaborating with me and for their patience with working with me!! You can check out Gusu’s illustration HERE!

I’d also like to thank and give credit to @soimplayinga3 for making the awesome header for me to use for this fic series! 🥺

~ THEME SONG ~

Also… Somehow I ended up picking out a “theme song” for this fic. The song really inspired me when I was coming up with the plot and themes. It gave me a lot of motivation for when I was writing!

It's a Chinese song called "心島 (Xin Dao)" by Ayanga. To begin with, the melody and Ayanga's emotional singing resonated with my image of the story. In addition, the lyrics and meaning behind the song speak to breaking free of one's boundaries without fear (you can find translations on Google!). I don't want to say too much, but I hope that my story will eventually lead you to your own conclusions about my song choice. You can listen to the song HERE!

[More info—including content warnings and chapter listing—below the cut!]

~ BACKGROUND & NOTES ~

I’d like to give a shout-out to Mae (@lockons-haro) for giving me the inspiration for this story idea. This fic would have never been born if their big brain hadn’t come up with “But what if Gundam x A3!??” in the first place.

On that note, the themes and tropes in this story are heavily inspired by the Gundam series and the level of violence, the "maturity" of the content and the questionable pseudoscience (lol) of the technology is in line with what is typical of the Gundam series. If you have any familiarity with the Gundam series, you may enjoy picking up all of the flags that get put up as the story unfolds.

There will be Act 3 spoilers, to an extent. All of the major A3! characters and almost all named side characters will show up in this fic and this includes characters that only show up in Act 3. While there won’t be any spoilers about the actual main story of the game (this is an AU after all), there may be incidental spoilers about the characters’ personalities and relationships.

Itaru and Sakuya are biological siblings in this fic.

Romance isn’t a focus of this fic, but there will be some romantic relationships that show up in the fic. These will be: Tsumugi/Izumi, Itaru/Izumi and Tenma/Yuki. There’s a bit of one-sided Sakyo/Izumi.

I apologize in advance for any nonsense science and logic. Please, just suspend your disbelief in general while reading this. I just wanted to write A3! characters fighting in giant robots in space lol.

~ CONTENT WARNINGS ~

This story is rated M for mature and dark themes. The following is a list of the content warnings that I think apply. Please read carefully and proceed at your own caution! If you need me to clarify anything, please don’t hesitate to ask!

MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Some characters WILL die in this fic.

Non-graphic violence, blood, fighting, injuries. None of this is graphic and I don’t go into any extreme details, but there will be descriptions of people hurting each other and getting injured.

Weapons, bombs, guns, giant robots, mecha.

War, terrorism, rebellion, military/militarism, colonialism, murder, bombing, kidnapping, human experimentation.

Discrimination, class differences, implied/referenced child abuse, psychological trauma, memory loss.

If you think I’ve missed anything while reading, please do let me know!

~ CHAPTERS ~

(Last updated: March 12, 2021)

Because of the content warnings and length/formatting of chapters, the Tumblr chapter links will only contain an excerpt/preview and will basically be update posts for new chapter releases. To read the full chapter, please go to the AO3 link!

If you’d like to check out my other writing, please see my Writing Masterpost!

Prologue

Tumblr | AO3

Chapter One

Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Two

Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Three

Coming soon…

[millers-planet]

Changes - Inquis!Cal x Jedi!Reader: part five

Cal has always been successful at his job for the Empire, getting accurate intel from credible sources… Jedi. However, when he’s told to capture the rebel who has made a new appearance across the galaxy, will his reputation be upheld as an inquisitor or will she slip through his fingers as something else than the enemy? - part four - full master list - changes master list -

Warnings: Spoilers and language

Notes: thank you for your patience in waiting for an update, i’ll begin posting fic updates regularly again.

POV: Reader’s then Cal’s.

I didn’t know how long I’ve been sitting here alone, in what was some sort of cell. No windows, one vent, one door with a closed view that’s only openable from the outside, and a bed with a toilet. Quite frankly I expected a bucket, let alone a bed. I was able to pace around in the space between the door, the toilet, and the bed, but it wasn’t much. However, it did beat being pinned to metal and tortured.

It was dim, with just a few lights on the side to illuminate the cell. Solitary confinement was going to drive me insane, or would it be called isolation? All I know is that the Empire’s food, for prisoner’s at least, is a lot worse than Greez’s cooking... somehow. Wait, what happened to BD-1? If I was going to escape, I’d need to find him first. I swear to the Force, if they have done anything to hurt him- 

“Against the wall,” a stormtrooper kicked the door, he was delivering food. Oh, the exquisite meals of the Empire that were totally filling. I pushed my back against the cold metal wall and watched a tray slide through a tiny door that was then closed. As I picked up the slightly weighted tray, an idea filled my mind, I knew how I was going to get out of here. 

About thirty minutes passed by, a trooper banged on the door again, catching me off guard. “Where’s your tray? You know the drill.” I quickly threw the food in the toilet and cleared my throat. 

“What? You guys already picked it up,” I prayed this would work out, if it didn’t who knows what would happen to my chances. 

He groaned, “no, they didn’t, I’m going to need that back.”  

Shit, time to improvise. “You want to come check? They already took it, I’m telling you.” I added a bit of impatience and aggravation to my voice, trying to sell this. I sat on the bed, putting the tray in between my back and the wall. The trooper opened the door and I watched as he slowly walked in, looking at me as he came in.  

The stormtrooper looked away from me, to the opposite wall. This is my shot. I stood up, grabbed the tray, and bashed it on his head. He crashed down to one knee and tried to push me back, but I grabbed his helmet and slammed it into the wall. A bit more messy and violent, but it’ll do for now. I grabbed his blaster and ran out of the cell; I must find BD-1. 

I made it down a few hallways and stairwells before the red lights began flashings, alarms roaring from speakers. I guess they know I’m out now. 

Cal’s Perspective

Is it too much to ask to keep the upper hand and not have it ruined from incompetent stormtroopers? All I say is to never open the door unless I give direct orders to say otherwise, apparently that is too much to ask. These flashing red lights and echoing alarms are only serving me a headache and a constant reminder of my, no, the stormtrooper’s failures.  

“Find her, get her down, and for the sake of everything, do not kill her,” I shouted at a few troopers. Not like they could even kill her; they can’t even shoot. “When you find her, let me know immediately.” They gave me a nod of compliance then split up, heading into different directions, and I went off into security. 

As I walked in, I pushed the chair out of the way, “move.” Quickly scanning over the cameras and the halls, I found her.  

“Sir, it looks like she’s heading towards her droid,” the security guard mumbled. 

“So she is, I know what to do. I’m going to head towards her, when she gets her droid, I want you to lock all the doors if I’m not there, but open them when I do,” I ran out, I have to get there before she gets any farther. 

Reader’s 

“BD?” I shouted, “BD!” I saw a few troopers and slammed against a wall, trying to get out of their line of sight. Thankfully they ran by, when I heard a few familiar chirps. Running towards the noise, I saw him, chained to a table, but it was him! 

Shooting the control panel opened the door, letting me in to save him. “Hey buddy!” I unchained him carefully and helped him on my back. “How about we get out of here?” 

“Bwoop!” Sounds like a good idea. That’s my droid. I ran out of the hall and near what I thought was the hangers. “Bee doop.” I can reach the Mantis. 

“What? How? Actually, just see if you can relay an S.O.S. message and our location, tell them to meet us at the hangar bay.” I ran into an intersection, but before I could carry on any further, the doors closed all around me, except for the one behind me. 

“That was quite a rude was to take out that stormtrooper, talk about violent.” It was Cal, “peacekeepers, huh?”  

I turned around, trying to keep my composure as I laid eyes on his face, I wasn’t prepared for him to be without his helmet. It’s a shame those features went to waste he’d be quite attractive if it wasn’t for- wait? What the hell am I going on about? He’s my enemy, he wants to kill me, but if he wanted to... why am I still alive?  

A smile growing on his face, a cold smile that made me think he was reading my thoughts or even sensing my emotions. “You’re returning back to your fallen Jedi friend, after all I told you about them? They cannot be trusted, Y/N. I’m not telling you these things to turn you against them, I’m telling you these things to protect you against them.” 

I forwarded my stance against him, “your past will not dictate my future. History only repeats itself when you don’t learn from it and ignore it, and if you would see Cere-” 

“It’s all lies, Y/N, she lies.” 

“If you would look at Cere you would realize she’s done those things, she’s learned from her mistakes with what terrible actions led to your demise.” 

He laughed darkly, “my demise? Do you mean me realizing the flaws in the Jedi ways? As a Jedi you cannot love, as a Jedi you can’t even have that close of friends without others thinking you’re a danger because grief is such a powerful emotion. Y/N, join me.”

“Beep.” They’re here. 

Cal pressed a few buttons on a control panel which opened the hallway behind me, is- is he letting me escape? “Think about it all, Y/N. Think, do you really want to live that Jedi life with a fear of being able to feel your emotions? The offer still stands.” He even gave me my lightsaber back, as I grabbed it from a mid-air toss, I ran as fast I could to the hangar bay. 

As I was leaving, I could hear a conversation between Cal and. few stormtroopers. “Leave her, let her go, these past few days at the fortress won’t go to waste. She’ll be back, one way or another.” 

Part six

[iamtrebleclefstories]

maybe it’s wrong to say I love you - part two 

Part Two: Home

people I’ve loved, I’ve had no regrets... some I remember, some I forget...

So... this monstrosity of a fic was supposed to be a miniseries, but it’s obviously evolved into this giant. Hope you enjoy it and let me know what think and what you hope to see next!

If you haven’t read Part One, you can find it here!

p.s - You might wanna get the tissues out for this one

TW: Mentions of suicide, self-harm, and abuse

Part Two: Home

-Wish I were with you, but I couldn't stay-

-Every direction leads me away-

Leaving Seattle was probably one of the most difficult decisions Jo had ever made. And that was coming from someone who’d lived through some really crappy things in her twenty-eight years of life. When she turned her resignation into Webber, he did everything in his power to get her to stick around. He pointed out that it was kind of ridiculous to just up and leave one of the best residency programs in the country because of a guy. Normally, she’d agree. She’s worked way too damn hard in her life for it to come to this. But Alex wasn’t just a guy. He was her person. He was her family. And sometimes you needed to sacrifice things in order to keep your family safe and happy. 

When Webber realized that Jo was not going to change her mind about moving, he offered to put her in contact with an old colleague who was the chief of surgery at a hospital on the east coast. That’s how she ended up on a six and a half hour flight from Seattle to Florida. She started working at the Jacksonville branch of Mayo Clinic about a week later. 

It was different. Very different from Seattle. It was hot and humid all the time. Sure the beaches were nice, but Jo didn’t think she’d ever lived somewhere so unbearably hot in her entire life. Something that was nice though was the rain. Because even though Florida was nicknamed the Sunshine State, she felt like it was constantly raining. It reminded her of Seattle. It reminded her of home. 

Months passed and Jo felt like she was finally starting to heal, albeit very slowly. But she was healing nonetheless. She could go an entire day without even thinking about Alex Karev and how he was probably living it up with his wife. Sure, those days also just so happened to be days where Jo literally did not have the time to think of him, but she was grateful for the slight reprieve that work had given her over the constant influx of painful memories. 

By the time the end of her third year of residency was coming to a close, she thought she’d finally done it. She made it an entire week without crying over Alex and everything that they had lost. She was proud of herself. So proud, that she thought maybe she could try to move on and start dating again. 

She was on her first date post-Alex when she saw the news on the bar television. Mass shooting at Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital in Seattle, Washington. Multiple lives lost, many injured, including some of the doctors and staff. 

Jo felt absolutely sick to her stomach. She excused herself from her date and rushed back over to her apartment and searched for the little black book where she’d written down the phone numbers of all her friends before throwing out her old phone and getting a new number. She found it and shakily dialed the first number she saw—Meredith’s—and prayed that someone on the other line would answer. 

“Hello?” A tired voice croaked.

“Mer?” 

“Jo? Is that you?” 

Jo let out a sigh of relief, “Oh my God. I saw the news. Are you okay? Is everyone okay?” There was a sob on the other end of the line, making Jo’s heart beat wildly against her chest. “Meredith, what happened?”

“It was horrible,” Meredith cried, her sniffles being heard from Jo’s end of the call. Jo waited patiently for Meredith to calm herself enough to inform her of what happened. “Today was the worst day of my life.”

“Did anyone we know—“

“Yes,” Meredith stated quietly. “Derek was shot in the heart and almost died. Cristina saved him, though. The doctors are optimistic. Owen got shot in the arm. I lost my baby—“

“You were pregnant?” Jo’s eyes began to water.

“Yeah,” Meredith whimpered. “I had a miscarriage today.”

“Mer, I’m so sorry,” Jo felt a couple tears escape her eyes. “What about everyone else?”

“Bailey watched someone die in her arms,” Meredith shared. “His name was Charles. He was a resident. He was new, but not so bad. This other girl named Reed died. So did a couple nurses and security guards. No kids, though. Lexie is okay. Mark is okay. Arizona and Callie are okay.”

“Mer, you haven’t said anything about Alex. Why aren’t you saying anything about Alex?” Jo’s heart hammered inside her rib cage. There was silence coming from Meredith’s side of the call. “Meredith. Please. Tell me he isn’t dead.”

“He isn’t dead,” Meredith stated. “But I’m not completely sure he’s going to live.”

Jo heard the sob before she registered it was hers, “What happened?”

“He was shot in the chest,” Meredith’s voice quivered a bit. “Lexie and Mark found him, but by the time they found him he’d already lost so much blood. They put in a chest tube and tried to do as much as they could in the conference room on the fourth floor. But he hasn’t woken up yet. Someone needs to make some decisions regarding his care. The bullet ripped through his lung. They need to figure out whether they’re gonna take him back into surgery or just hope he makes it through the night.”

“Oh God,” Jo felt the tears stream down her face. She took a couple deep breaths. “Okay. Okay. What’s Izzie going to have them do?”

“Jo, Izzie isn’t the one who’s going to make those decisions,” Meredith said cautiously. 

“What do you mean? She’s his wife isn’t she? What is she going to have them do?” 

“You don’t know?” Meredith asked. 

“Don’t know what?” Jo shook her head. She couldn’t figure out why Meredith sounded so weird. 

“Um, nothing… it’s just… we were looking at Alex’s medical forms and you’re Alex’s power of attorney.”

“What?” Jo’s eyes widened. “Why me? Why not Izzie?”

“I guess he trusted that you’d make the right decisions,” Meredith paused. “You don’t have to come. I know it might be too hard for you.”

“No. No, I’ll come,” Jo decided and began to quickly pack an overnight bag. “I’m coming right now.”

Less than ten hours later, Jo was standing outside of Alex’s hospital room standing next to Meredith and Cristina as she spoke to the doctors about Alex’s health. After deciding the best course of treatment, Jo turned to look at her friends, “Where is Izzie?”

The two women exchanged a look. Cristina let out a sigh, “She’s visiting her mom. I don’t know if she knows.”

“Oh,” Jo nodded. “Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t see him like this.”

“Jo, you know that Izzie and Alex got—“Meredith started, quickly being interrupted by Jo.

“No, you know what? I don’t need to know,” Jo shook her head. “The one thing that coming here has taught me is that I’m still in love with him and that means I can’t be here. I can’t hear about his relationship with Izzie. Not today at least. Maybe in a few years when I’m over him and I don’t cry at the thought of him being with someone else, but not today.”

“But Jo, they’re—“ Cristina tried to get a word in.

“No. It’s okay,” Jo stuck her hand out, signaling Cristina to stop talking. “I did what I had to do and I’m going back. Don’t tell him that I was here or that you have my phone number. Please. I love you guys, but I need to leave.”

Her friends nodded and wrapped her in an uncharacteristic hug. Mer whispered in her ear, “Be safe. We’ll keep in touch.”

“Goodbye.”

————

-Just looking for shelter from the cold and the pain-

-Someone to cover, safe from the rain- 

Jo kept in contact with Meredith. The months following the shooting were difficult ones and Jo would often hear her phone ringing as Meredith called or texted her various updates regarding everyone’s lives. Everyone except Alex’s life. Jo was clear that she didn’t want to know what was going on in his life and perfect marriage with Izzie other than the fact that he was doing okay and thinking about specializing in peds apparently. 

She was about four or five months into her fourth year of residency when Jo was given an invitation to attend a medical conference in Orlando. Jo called Meredith immediately after and suggested she take a few days off to come attend the conference with her. 

“Jo I’d love to. Let me talk to the chief and see if I can get a few days off to visit you,” Meredith replied. 

About a week and a half later, Jo was picking Meredith up at the Orlando International Airport, “Mer!” 

“Jo!” The women embraced and Jo helped Meredith stuff her bags into the trunk of the car as they drove over to the hotel where the conference was being held. 

“How are you? How is everyone?” Jo asked. 

“We’re getting there. Things still aren’t as good as they could be,” Meredith shrugged. “Cristina got married.” 

“She what?” Jo’s eyes widened. “To Hunt?”

“Yup,” Meredith nodded. “She isn’t doing surgery right now either. I tried to convince her to come with me, but she wouldn’t listen.” 

Jo sighed, “I wish I could see her and literally slap some sense into her.” 

“You might be the only person who’d be successful at getting her to feel something,” Meredith chuckled. “It’s not the same without you there, Jo. Everything is so… boring and dull.”

“Boring and dull might just be the last thing you call Seattle Grace,” Jo wrinkled her face in amusement. “Especially since Mark Sloan got Callie pregnant. Poor Lexie.”

“I know,” Meredith shook her head. She stood quiet for a moment before speaking. “Don’t you ever miss it? Home?”

“Every day,” Jo answered. “Sure, I have some acquaintances, but it isn’t the same.” 

“So why don’t you come back?” 

“You know why,” Jo gave Meredith a pointed look. 

“But the reasons--” 

“Mer, stop. I told you I don’t want to know about him and Izzie,” Jo shook her head. 

“If you’d just let me talk you’d find out that things aren’t as perfect as you think they are,” Meredith crossed her arms. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Jo took a deep breath. “No one, in the history of my life has ever loved me and hurt me more than Alex. And if I want to keep loving him and not hating him for making me love him, then I can't know about his personal life. I can’t.” 

“Okay. We won’t talk about Alex anymore,” Meredith sighed. What she’d been trying to tell Jo was that Alex and Izzie had gotten divorced over a year ago and in an effort to cover the pain of losing the two women he loved, he’d reverted back to his days as a diseased man-whore. But Jo wasn’t having it. 

The first two days of the conference were fun and informative. Jo and Meredith used the time they weren’t in sessions to get some much needed rest. The third day of the conference Jo and Meredith were getting ready to walk in when Jo saw him. She knew immediately who it was as soon as she saw the back of his head. She’d never forget that man as long as she lived. 

Meredith must’ve realized how Jo went pale and started to tremble because she placed her hand lightly on Jo’s arm in concern, “Jo. Are you feeling okay? What’s wrong?” 

“I⎯I have to get out of here,” Jo grasped Meredith’s arm tightly. “Mer, I need you to get me out of here right now.” 

“Okay,” Meredith pulled Jo out of the hotel conference room and into the lobby where Jo finally let out a cry, startling Meredith. “Jo, what’s going on? I need you to talk to me.”

Jo had begun hyperventilating at some point and was struggling to catch her breath as she saw his name on the speaker schedule for the day on the poster outside of conference room doors. She didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed it before. She didn’t know how she could’ve missed it. Why was he here? Had he found her? Did he know she was in Florida?

“Jo!”

“Huh?” Jo turned to Meredith with scared eyes. 

“Jo, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You begged me to get you out of that room. What happened?” 

“I⎯I’m married.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m married to a man who almost beat me to death. I ran away from him eight years ago and never divorced him because I was afraid he’d come find me and kill me,” Jo shared, body shaking in fear. 

“Does Alex know?” Meredith asked, brows furrowed.

“He’s the only person I’ve ever told,” Jo nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He knows everything. About Paul, the abortion, how I ran away and changed my name. Jo Wilson isn't even my real name.”

Meredith wrapped Jo in a tight hug, “You’re okay. I’m here and I’m not leaving you alone. Not for one second.”

They found out that Paul lived in Florida, Orlando, specifically and had been working at Orlando Medical Group for the past five years. He was a speaker at the conference and would be giving a presentation on minimally invasive surgery techniques. They’d been in their hotel room for a few minutes when Jo finally spoke again. 

“Meredith, what if he sees me? What if he comes to hurt me?” Fear etched on Jo’s face. “He’s here. He’s here and I don’t even have Al—I don’t have anyone.”

“Do you want me to call him?” 

“No.”

“Jo, let me call him. Please,” Meredith squeezed one of Jo’s hands. “He’s going to want to be here with you. He misses you. He still loves you.”

“Meredith, stop,” Jo looked up at the ceiling. “If Alex were here he’d just do something stupid and get himself killed or wind up in jail or the hospital and I refuse to put him through that.”

“Okay,” Meredith sighed. “But you are not alone. You have me and we’re going to find a great lawyer who’s going to get you a restraining order and a divorce, because no one should be tied to a man like that. And I will stay here as long as I need to, to make that happen.”

——————

-The echoes and silence, patience and grace-

-All of these moments I'll never replace-

Realistically, Meredith couldn’t stay with Jo the entire time it would take her to process her divorce. The next few months after submitting the request for the dissolution of marriage were full of Jo looking over her shoulder practically every minute of every day.

It was on a Tuesday in February when it happened. She’s just got out of a surgery with Dr. Baker, their chief of surgery when she heard the most chilling sound. 

“Hi Brooke. Or should I say Jo? It is Jo now, isn’t it?” 

Jo turned around slowly to face him, eyes flitting over to Dr. Baker who seemed to be watching with concern, “Paul. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know, just checking up on my wife,” Paul sneered. “A wife I had not seen in eight years, so imagine my surprise when my lawyer presented me with divorce papers that my wife had filed not long before and that a court date has been set a month from today.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jo glared at him. “I have a restraining order. It’s all supposed to go through the courts. We aren’t supposed to have any contact with each other.” 

“I know,” Paul flashed her a disarming smile. “I just couldn’t resist coming to pay you a visit. Especially when I found out that you were living in the same state.”

“You need to leave before I call security,” Jo stood her ground. “You are not supposed to be anywhere near me, so you need to leave and go home.” 

“No… you know, I don’t think I will,” Paul answered, his menacing grin sending her heart beating wildly. “I think I’ll stick around and—“

“Is there a problem here?” Dr. Baker stood behind Paul, arms crossed as he took in the man’s tall frame. 

“No sir there’s no—“

“Yes,” Jo looked at Dr. Baker and nodded. “Yes there is a problem. This man is my husband whom I am in the process of divorcing. I have a restraining order on him and he is not allowed to be within a thousand feet of me.”

“Sir, I am going to need you to leave the premises immediately,” Dr. Baker pointed towards the exit. “Remove yourself or you shall be removed. And if I hear or see that you are anywhere on or near hospital grounds, I will not hesitate to call security.”

“Fine. I’ll leave,” Paul sent Jo an angry scowl. “But just so you know, you better watch your back. I have no plans on making this easy for you. I’ll see you in court.”

Jo watched as Paul walked out of the hospital and waited until he was out of sight before crumbling onto the floor. Dr. Baker kneeled down beside her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, “Is there anyone you like me to call for you? I know you used to work with Dr. Webber in Seattle. Would you like me to call him?” 

“No,” Jo shook her head. “No it’s okay. I’ll be okay. I can take care of myself.”

“Wilson,” Dr. Baker’s stern voice warned. “You should not be doing this alone. And you definitely should not be staying in your apartment alone. If you aren’t going to call anyone to come be with you, then you should let us help you. Why don’t you stay with my wife and I for a few days until we know he’s gone?”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be,” Dr. Baker shook his head. The older gentleman was not taking no for an answer. “Stay with Lisa and I. Just for a few days. Until Friday.”

Jo sighed, “Okay, fine. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Dr. Baker squeezed her shoulder lightly. “I’ll have my assistant give you my address so you can head over there as soon as your shift is over today.”

Jo thanked him again and watched as her chief walked away, leaving her in the hallway alone. Jo searched around for the nearest on-call room and reached into her pocket for her phone, dialing a number as soon as she walked inside. 

“Hello?”

“Mer?”

“Jo? Hi. What’s going on?” Meredith answered, the sound of the hospital buzzing in the background. 

“He came, Meredith. My husband? He came and found me. He was here. He came to the hospital,” Jo felt her body shake as she recounted the day’s events. 

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Meredith asked frantically.

“No he didn’t hurt me. But he threatened me. I think,” Jo shrugged.

“What do you mean you think he threatened you? Jo, he’s not even supposed to be within a thousand feet of you. We made sure of that.”

“He told me to watch my back. He said he wasn’t going to make this easy for me,” Jo sniffled and wiped a couple straying tears. 

“Jo, I think it’s time to tell Alex.”

“No. No, Mer we can’t tell him. He doesn't deserve to get caught up in my mess. It’s my mess. I’ll deal with it.”

“Don’t be stupid. Don’t play the martyr.”

“This isn’t about me playing a martyr Mer,” Jo huffed.

“Then what is it? Because I’m not understanding.”

“He didn’t choose me!” Jo exclaimed. “That day he told me that he was going to marry Izzie, I told him that I’d do it. I’d divorce Paul. If he wanted to be committed, if he wanted to be married, that I’d get a divorce. Even though I was terrified of this exact thing happening, I was willing to do it for him. I was willing to put it all on the line to just be with him and he still chose her. He chose Izzie. And I can’t get over that Mer. I can’t get over the fact that the one person that I love more than anything in this world, saw that I was willing to give it all up for him, and still didn’t choose me.”

“Derek chose Addison, and now look. Addison is in LA and Derek and I are married.”

“That’s not the same and you know it,” Jo sighed, a few tears escaping her eyes. “Derek was married before you two met and fell in love. Addison cheated on him with his best friend. He chose her out of commitment and loyalty to his marriage. Alex didn’t do that. Alex chose Izzie because he wanted to, knowing that he had the option of marrying me. After promising me over and over again for the better part of a year that he’d wait for me and telling me that he loved me and only wanted to be with me. It’s different.”

“Is it though?” Meredith asked. “Because at the end of the day, both of them chose women they didn’t truly love. And both of them suffered because of it.” There was silence on the other line for a moment before Meredith spoke up again, “Look, at the end of the day it’s your decision. But I think you should know that he still talks about you. At the most random moments, too. They’ll serve hotdogs in the cafeteria and he’ll comment how you hated the hotdogs they’d serve. Or we’ll be passing by a patient and their family and he’ll mention how you used to have the same scarf as the woman in the group. Or when he’s talking to a kid and they tell him that their favorite color is blue, he’ll say ‘that’s my best friend’s favorite color too.’ Not a day goes by where he doesn’t think of you, Jo. Just think about it.”

“We’ll see,” Jo let out a breath. “I need to get back to work. I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Alright. Please be safe, Jo. Goodbye.”

After hanging up the phone, Jo buried herself in her work until it was time to leave. She drove over to Chief Baker’s house and was welcomed in with open arms and a hot meal on the stove. The few days she stood there were nice. Dr. and Mrs. Baker had been married for thirty-seven years and had two children and five grandchildren. Mrs. Baker—who insisted on being called Lisa—was actually a nurse practitioner that had tons of experience working with ICU and CCU patients.

For the first time in a long time, Jo felt like she had people. The Baker residence was warm and welcoming and nothing like the many homes she grew up in as a child. The Bakers cared. Maybe that’s why she found herself opening up to them about her past and why she was hiding from Paul in the first place. Along with their help and some digging done by their daughter who was a private detective, Jo was able to find enough information on Paul to give her lawyer to put together a strong case that would ensure that Jo was granted all of the conditions of the divorce she sought after, mainly that Paul would not be able come near her and hurt her after the trial was over.

On the day of the trial, Jo was absolutely terrified. She was about to confront her abuser in court and did not know how to handle the nerves coursing through her. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to cry and run away and never look back. She wanted to change her name again so that Paul would never be able to find her. 

But that was the easy way out. She’s done enough running in her life to know that fleeing never truly solved anything either. It only made things painful. Still, Jo couldn’t shake the nerves she was feeling coursing through her. For the first time since this process began, she cursed her stubbornness for making her feel like she had to go through this alone. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Jo spotted something that caught her attention. It was an old pay phone, much like ones that she hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. Jo walked up to it and searched around her purse for some coins to get the phone to start. As soon as it did, she found herself punching in the phone number she knew so well and waited as it dialed. 

“Hello?”

Jo let out the tiniest sob, “Alex.”

“Jo? Jo! Oh my God, is that you? Are you okay? Are you crying? What’s wrong?”

Jo’s sobs grew louder and stronger as she heard his worried voice on the other line.

“Jo, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Where are you? Do you need me to come get you?”

Jo placed a hand over her mouth and attempted to quiet her cries, “No, I’m okay. I just… I really needed to hear your voice... I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Alex breathed out. Even though she couldn’t see him, Jo could picture Alex’s face scrunched in sadness and worry. “Please come home.”

“I can’t,” Jo shook her head. “I, um, I’m doing something today. Something that I probably should’ve done a long time ago. I almost chickened out, too. But, I know I need to be brave. And I need to be strong. Anyway, I just wanted to hear your voice one last time before I go through it. You make me brave.”

“Go through with what? Jo, don’t do anything stupid. Please. I know I hurt you and I probably don’t deserve your forgiveness, but please, I need you safe. Wherever you are. So, if you’re gonna⎯”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be,” Jo felt a few tears run down her face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you needed back then.” 

“All I needed was you. That’s still all I need.”

“I wish that were true,” Jo whispered and wiped her face. “You probably won’t hear from me after this. I wish things were different, but they’re not.” She paused. “I love you. Goodbye.” 

Jo hung up the phone quickly and took a deep breath, running her sweaty palms along the skirt of her dress in hopes of calming some of her nerves. She knew now what she had to do. She had to step into that courthouse and break things off with Paul once and for all. 

Back in Seattle, Alex was pacing frantically in the resident’s lounge, trying to call her back only to find out that the number she’d called from was a payphone. 

“Dammit!” Alex yelled and punched a wall. It had been almost two years since he’d spoken to Jo. Two years of wondering and worrying if he’d ever see her again, only to hear her voice on the other line of a pay phone for about thirty seconds. Alex sunk down onto the floor in the corner of the lounge and ran his hands over his face, trying to conceal the tears that were slowly falling down his cheeks. “Dammit. Dammit.”

“Alex?”

The voice startled him, causing him to look up at the source. Cristina was hovering over him with a concerned expression on her face. “What the hell is going on?”

Alex shook his head and wiped angrily at the tears, “Jo called me.”

“Jo? Jo called you?” Cristina raised her eyebrows. “Is she okay?”

“She was crying,” Alex trembled slightly at the thought of the conversation he’d just had. “She said that she was doing something today, but she wasn’t sure if she should go through with it and she wanted to hear my voice one last time before she made her decision. She told me she loved me and that I probably won’t hear from her again, then she hung up. I tried to call her back but she called me from a freaking pay phone, Yang. Who the hell uses a pay phone these days?”

Cristina stood silent and sat down beside Alex, waiting for him to say what he needed to say. After a minute, he spoke again, “I just keep getting these horrifying scenarios in my head. She said she wanted to hear my voice one last time… and all I can think is, what if she’s going to hurt herself? What if she's going to hurt herself right now and I’m not there to stop her? She’s done it before. She told me she almost ended it all, once when she was back in college. When she was with… but she chickened out and didn’t do it. I swear to God, Cristina, if she dies… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“She’s not going to die,” Cristina shook her head. “She can’t die. I’ve lost too many friends. She isn’t allowed to die.”

“This is all my fault.”

“No it’s not,” Cristina squeezed his knee. “You aren’t responsible for the decisions other people make.”

“This time it is though,” Alex bit his lip as he looked out into the empty lounge. “I’m such an idiot. I love her. I still love her… I always screw myself out of everything good.”

“You’ll find each other one day. You’ll see her again and be together and be happy. I have to believe that,” Cristina sighed. “Now get up off the floor and wipe your face. You’ll scare the kids.” 

————

-Pray for tomorrow, but for today-

-All I want-

-Is to be home-

After Jo’s divorce was finalized and the legal protections were put in place, she considered returning to Seattle. For the first time in almost a decade, she was finally free to do as she pleased. To live her life without the fear that Paul still had the upper hand. Because he didn’t have the power anymore. She’d made sure of that. In her quest to gain her divorce, Jo found out about other women who’d been abused by him in the years since she’d left New Jersey. All of their testimonies led to victory in the civil case against Paul and the beginnings of a criminal trial thanks to the charges being pressed by Paul’s current girlfriend, Jenny. The criminal trial was the main reason Jo decided to stay in Florida. She wanted to be there to testify and see the look on Paul’s face when he finally got what he deserved. 

Still, sometimes Jo would look out the window of the hospital she worked at, see the rain, the cars, the bustling, and remember the friends she’d left behind. The family she’d grown to love and care for. But the longer she remembered that, the sadder she got. It hurt too bad to think of all the what ifs. It hurt to picture her people moving on without her. 

So, Jo did what she did best. She worked. She worked hard to make sure that she was focused and the best in her class. Jo got the best surgeries, she had every attending surgeon’s attention, she was a rock-star and was even in the process of raising up her own set of baby interns. 

Being away was hard, though. Jo found herself walking up to the nursery and NICU to look at the babies like she and her friends had done so many times their intern year. There was something precious about that period in life. Something so fresh and hopeful and exciting. Maybe that’s why she gravitated towards maternal-fetal and pediatric surgery. It helped that the hospital she was working at was nationally ranked in obstetrics and gynecology. She found herself spending more time on the L&D and peds floors of the hospital, assisting complicated and rare surgeries. By the time she was in her fifth year of residency, she’d decided that maternal-fetal surgery was the way to go. She found so much joy in safeguarding the future of the tiny little lives that would soon be brought into the world.

Her purpose in life wasn’t the only thing that she found on the L&D and peds floors of the hospital. It was also where she met Jason. Jason Myers was an OB resident she found herself spending an increasing amount of time with. He was hot and charming and funny and he was the first guy Jo truly dated after leaving Seattle. It was casual and fun, something that Jo hadn’t experienced in a long time. 

They’d been together for about four months when Jo noticed a couple red flags. It started when she began traveling for her fellowship interviews in the last few months of her residency. Jason began to get demanding and possessive. He grabbed her roughly on a couple occasions and had stumbled into their apartment completely wasted and smelling of another woman’s perfume. 

“I think I’m going to have to break up with my boyfriend,” Jo sighed as spoke into the phone to Meredith.

“You’re finally going to break up with that asshole? Thank God,” Meredith replied. “Jo, you could do so much better.”

“I know. You were right,” Jo rolled her eyes as she pictured Meredith’s smug face. Before she’d even started dating Jason, Meredith told her that it was a bad idea, despite having never met him. “It was just so easy in the beginning. Sure it’s been fun, but I knew it would never be more than just this. But for the past month, he’s just been so mean and nasty. A complete douchebag. I don’t have time for this. I’m leaving for Michigan in a few weeks, for crying out loud.”

“You know, Dr. Herman still hasn’t filled her Maternal-Fetal Surgery Fellowship position yet. You should reach out to her and see if she’ll take you into consideration,” Meredith suggested. 

“Mer, the Maternal-Fetal Pediatric Surgery Fellowship at UMich is a fantastic program,” Jo said as she continued to walk down the halls of the hospital. “Besides, I don’t think I’d be able to face Alex after all these years.”

“Jo, you wouldn’t have to,” Meredith paused. “Alex got into Hopkins’ Pediatric Surgery program.”

“He what?”

“Yup,” Jo could almost hear the smile in Meredith’s tone as she filled her in. “He’s going to Baltimore to be a peds fellow.”

“That’s amazing,” Jo breathed out. Truly, she was so proud of how far he’d come in his career. “I knew from the moment you talked about the Africa project that brought you Zola that he’d be going into peds. But Hopkins? God, I wish I could tell him how proud I am.” 

“I’d say you could always call him, but that suggestion would fall of deaf ears,” Meredith chuckled lightly. “Anyway, he’s leaving so there's nothing stopping you from coming to Seattle. Come home, Jo. I’m sure UMich is great, but Herman is the best of the best. Plus, we’re here. Me, Cristina, Lexie, Bailey, your new niece. We’re all here in Seattle. Come be with us.”

“You know what, I think I will apply,” Jo said after a moment. “I’m tired of running. 

“I’ll email you Herman’s contact information,” Meredith exclaimed excitedly. “Good luck with your break up.” 

“Haha, thanks.”

—————

-People I've loved, I have no regrets- -Some I remember, some I forget- -Some of them living, some of them dead-

The plane crash was the true turning point for Jo. That call wrecked her in ways she didn’t know she could be wrecked. She wanted to go over there as soon as possible, but Jo still had two weeks left of her residency to complete before she made her final decision about which fellowship position she would choose. However, as soon as she was relieved from her duties at Mayo in Jacksonville, she found herself engaged in a very nasty break up with Jason and lugged all of her belongings across the country. Four days and some three thousand miles later, Jo found herself on the doorstep of the frat house face to face with a tired looking Meredith. Jo immediately wrapped her arms around her friend as she cried for the sister she’d lost. Jo rubbed comforting circles on Meredith’s back before she looked up and locked eyes with Alex. He froze and if it weren’t for the small child he was holding in his arms, Jo was sure he might’ve passed out with the way his eyes widened in disbelief.

Jo ushered Meredith back into the house and motioned Alex to the door, where he went to grab her bags and pull them inside. Meredith grasped at Jo’s arms as they sat side by side on the couch, “Lexie is dead. Mark is dying. Arizona is dying. Cristina won’t speak. Derek’s arm is ruined. And I… I don’t know what to do.” 

“It’s okay, Mer. I’m here. I’m here,” Jo smoothed down Meredith’s hair soothingly as she attempted to keep her own tears at bay. “You don’t have to worry about that right now. You don’t have to be in control. You don’t have to care of everyone. Just rest. You need to rest.”

A couple hours later, Jo was sitting on the couch with Meredith’s head on her lap, finally sound asleep. Jo had been staring out the window, lost in thought when she heard a couple footsteps come down the stairs. She looked up and saw Alex staring at her with a strange expression on his face.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Jo breathed out in response.

“I just put Zola to sleep,” Alex pointed up to the second floor. He stared at her in silence for a minute more before speaking. “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” Jo gave him an almost imperceptible nod. “I’m here… what are you doing here? I thought you were going to Hopkins.”

“I told them I needed to hold off for a month because of Robbins. How do you know…?”

Jo motioned to the friend that was currently asleep on her lap, “We’ve kept in touch.”

“You what? You guys talk to each other?” Alex asked, his brow furrowing. 

“Yeah. About once a week,” Jo whispered nonchalantly. 

“You two talk to each other. Once a week?” Alex scoffed. “And you didn’t think to, I don't know… maybe call me? Meredith didn’t think to tell me that she was in contact with you?”

“I asked her not to say anything,” Jo eye’s moved away from his face to look at Meredith’s sleeping form. 

“I was worried about you. I thought you were dead,” Alex glared at her. 

“Wait, what?” Jo’s face wrinkled in confusion. “Why would you think that?”

“Because of that phone call a year and a half ago!” Alex whisper-yelled. “You called me from a freaking payphone, sobbing and said that you needed to hear my voice one last time before you went through with ‘it.’ I had no idea what the ‘it’ was. You have to know what that must’ve sounded like from my end. I’ve been playing that conversation over and over again in my head for the better part of a year and a half, wondering if you killed yourself.” 

“No, Alex I would never… I mean, I know I tried it once, but I value my life now. I would never do something to intentionally harm myself.”

“Then what the hell were you doing calling me and scaring me half to death like that?” Alex crossed his arms and looked at her seriously. 

“I…” Jo took a deep breath. “I got divorced from Paul that day.”

“You’re free?” Alex’s face softened slightly.

“I’m free,” Jo confirmed, eyes watering. “I got legal protections that day as well and I made the decision to testify in Paul’s criminal trial that would determine whether he was guilty of the charges his then-girlfriend, Jenny accused him of. I wasn’t the only girl he abused, but I got to make sure that he never gets the chance to do it again. He’s currently serving five years in prison for domestic violence, abuse, and a couple of other charges.” Jo paused. “I called you because I almost didn’t walk into that courtroom. I couldn’t bear the thought of being in the same room as him, even with everyone else around. But you always did have a way of making me feel like I could do anything.” 

The pair got quiet. They stood in the tense silence before Alex asked the question he’d been wondering since she walked in through those doors, “How long are you here for?”

“I’m here to stay,” Jo shared. “I’m Dr. Herman’s newest maternal-fetal surgical fellow. I came as soon as I could when I heard about the crash.”

“Maternal-fetal? What happened to ortho?”

“What happened to plastics?” Jo's mouth twitched up into a small smile. “So, peds, huh?”

“Turns out I’m great with those little suckers,” Alex chuckled lightly.

“Me too,” Jo smiled shyly. “I’m especially good when they’re in-utero though.” 

“Guess I’m the out guy,” Alex shrugged, a comfortable smile on his face. 

“Yeah,” Jo bit her lip lightly. “Where’s Izzie?”

“You don’t know?” 

“Don’t know what?” Jo tilted her head in question. “Oh God, don’t tell me she died or that her cancer is back.” 

“No,” Alex breathed out a laugh. “Well, honestly, I don’t know. We got divorced. I haven’t spoken to her since then.” 

“You what?” Jo’s jaw dropped. “What⎯when did this happen?” 

“About four months after you left.” 

“I need to go,” Jo gently moved Meredith’s head from her lap and slipped on her shoes, making her way towards the door.

“Where are you going? You just got here?” Alex moved close. “You can’t leave, not with Mer like this.” 

“Relax, I’ll be back before she wakes up. I just… I need to get out of here. I need to get away from you,” Jo walked out the door into the warm June night. 

She considered finding a hotel or going to the bar, but Jo was too exhausted from her four day trek to Seattle to go anywhere. She unlocked her car and jumped into the back seat, situating the seats so she could sleep there for the night and avoid the many, many problems until morning. 

In the days and weeks following, Jo became an invaluable asset to Meredith as she navigated the many hardships that came with the plane crash. She moved into her tiny apartment and Jo began her fellowship and started working at Seattle Grace Mercy West once again, to everyone’s pleasure. For the first time in forever, Jo was surrounded by people that she knew and loved, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was utterly alone. Maybe it had to do with the fact that ever since that night she arrived, she hadn’t talked to Alex. Apparently he must’ve noticed, because one day he got fed up. 

“Jo, come on. Please talk to me,” Alex grabbed her arm and pulled her into an empty on call room. “You’ve been back for over a month. You’ve talked to our friends. You’ve been getting to know Avery. You got friendly with Kepner before she got fired. You helped Cristina pack her things to go to Minnesota. You can’t ignore me forever. You’re a fetal surgeon. We’ve already had five cases together this month alone. Are you just trying to hold out until I leave for Hopkins? Well guess what, I’m leaving tonight so time’s up. You need to talk to me.”

It was true. In the month since their conversation at the frat house, Jo and Alex had an unusually high number of cases together that required that they spend quite a lot of time together. However, aside from the hours in the OR that she was required to spend with him, Jo found herself purposely avoiding him. The past few days had been especially difficult for her as she found out some unexpected information and was doing her best to avoid him so as not to fall apart in his arms. 

“Shut up, Alex. Shut up before I punch you in the face, because I swear to God I am so angry with you right now,” Jo was seething, doing everything in her power to keep from screaming at him. 

“What the hell did I do? I haven’t had a chance to get on your nerves,” Alex scrunched his face in confusion.

“You haven’t had a chance?” Jo threw her arms up in the air. “You divorced Izzie?”

“First of all, she divorced me,” Alex held up a finger. “Secondly, why the hell do you care?”

“What do you mean why the hell do I care? How dare you screw this up? I left and practically handed you to her. But you went and divorced her? And now you’re some man whore who doesn’t care where he sticks it?” Jo threw her hands up angrily. “How the hell could you let Izzie go? Why didn’t you chase her and beg her to stay? Why didn’t you swear you’d do better? Why didn’t you fight for her?”

“Because she wasn’t the one I wanted to fight for!” Alex shouted. The room went silent. So quiet that you could probably hear a pin drop. The pair stared at each other tensely, no one daring to move. Alex finally huffed a breath. “I could’ve fought for her. I could’ve made it work. But I didn’t want to.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah I know.”

“No, I’m serious Alex. Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?” Jo clenched her jaw. “Why did you even marry her?”

“I—I don’t know,” Alex shrugged. 

“I don’t know? I don’t know? That’s probably the most moronic thing that I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth. And that’s saying something because you’ve said some pretty stupid things,” Jo turned to face the wall and leaned her head against it. “I told you not to do it. I told you not to marry her. I told you that I was willing to put my own safety at risk to be with you and you chose her. You still chose poor, sick Izzie. You chose her and broke every single one of the promises you made me. Then you got divorced? And you didn’t even bother trying to fight? What the hell was it all for?”

“Don’t act like you’re innocent in all this,” Alex scoffed. “You were the one who left me. With a fucking letter, of all things! You didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face.”

“Because you wrecked me!” Jo yelled. “I gave you everything I had to give. I let you into my life, my bed, my heart. And somewhere along the line you decided that I wasn’t good enough or worth the wait. And stop talking like we were together. We weren’t together when I left! We were never together because you squashed that possibility before we even got the chance!”

“It doesn’t matter because you were my best friend! You were my best friend and you left and didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t leave a phone number, an email, and address. Nothing. You just disappeared. And when you did, it felt like I was a kid all over again. With no one who loved him or cared around,” Alex retorted.

“That’s a load of bullshit,” Jo spat. “You had a wife. You had friends. You had your home. Me leaving didn't completely upend and disrupt your life! I lost my home. I lost my best friend. I lost the only family I had ever known all so that you could have a chance at making your marriage work. Because I knew that if I was around, you’d only feel guilty. So I took myself out of the equation. I did it for you! I loved you enough to lose you, to let you go. Do you have any idea the amount of pain I’ve been in the past three years? Wishing I was here in Seattle, but constantly reminding myself that I left so that you could have a happy life with Izzie and so that I could heal. So imagine what a punch in the gut it feels like to find out that you haven’t even been with Izzie. You’ve been sleeping around with anyone and everyone easy enough to let you get into their pants, while I was in pain, all alone in Florida with nothing and no one but my chief of surgery and my douchebag ex-boyfriend.”

“Well things weren’t exactly sunshine and rainbows here either! But you wouldn’t know because you weren’t here! You’re so wrapped up in how much it all cost you and how much you sacrificed, but I never asked you to do any of it! You decided what was best for the both of us. You decided to leave, when all I wanted was to have you around. Because I have never loved anyone in my life more than I loved you. And that probably sounds pretty screwed up because I married Izzie, but it’s true. Do you know what a slap in the face it was when you left? Do you know that I cried in shower every once in a while because I missed you? And it wasn’t even the sex. It was the friendship. I missed your voice and your laugh and your advice. I missed you. But you decided to pretend like we didn’t matter and didn’t bother to leave me a way to contact you. So, let me make this easier. We don’t matter to each other! Not anymore because I’m done!” Alex bellowed. He took a steadying breath and laughed bitterly. “You know what, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m leaving tonight anyway and you’ll never have to see my face again. Have a nice life.”

Jo waited until Alex finally turned around and walked out of the on-call room before she crumbled onto the floor in tears. She pressed a hand to her chest and tried her will herself to calm down, but it was too much. None of it was supposed to be happening this way. She wasn’t supposed to come back to Seattle only to find out that Lexie died, Cristina left, and that Mark Sloan was getting unplugged tonight. She wasn’t supposed to see Alex at all. She wasn’t supposed to find out that he was divorced. She wasn’t supposed to watch him leave her. She wasn’t supposed to be making one of the hardest decisions in her life like this. Maybe that’s why she took out her phone and looked for Jason’s phone number and hit the dial button.

After he left the on-call room, Alex was a whirlwind, trying his best to make it to the airport with no more interruptions. What he didn’t bank on was running into Meredith. 

“Hey! So that’s it? I’m not even as good as one of your intern girls, huh? You’re not gonna say goodbye to me?” Meredith stood in front of him. 

“Mer, what are you doing here?” 

“Don’t change the subject,” Meredith narrowed her eyes. 

“Don’t make this a thing,” Alex rolled his eyes.

“Don’t make this a thing? Mark is dying right now, and that’s it. You’re just gonna leave too?” Meredith shook her head in disbelief.

“I’m just—I’m gonna be on the other side of the country. We’ll talk—“

“That’s what Cristina said. It’s not the same thing,” Meredith frowned. “Nothing is the same. Everything is different. Everyone is leaving and everyone is dying.”

“Don’t make this my problem,” Alex scowled. “I’m finally getting the hell out of here. I can’t keep standing around being the guy that should’ve been on the plane that crashed. I shouldn’t be here, Mer. I should be dead. Or I should’ve left months ago.” 

“Alex!” Meredith grabbed on to his jacket as he tried to walk away. 

“Get off,” he pushed her hand away. “Look, I’m not going to stay in Seattle just because you don’t want to be alone.”

“This isn’t about me not wanting to be alone. Because I won’t be alone. Jo’s here now, remember that? Remember the girl you’ve been in love with since our intern year? The one you’ve been pining over ever since she left three years ago? Well, you’re finally in the same city again. Are you really going to let that go?” Meredith stared at Alex intensely. 

“Jo doesn’t want me here. I just cause her pain,” Alex replied simply. “It’s time for me to go. I need to get out of Seattle Grace Mercy Death. I need to build a home and Hopkins won’t wait forever. I have a plane to catch, so, bye.”

With that, Meredith scoffed and turned on her heels, walking away. 

Alex watched as his friend walked away in anger and frustration. Shaking his head, Alex turned around and started towards his terminal. He was about to board the plane when he realized that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave and upend his life without knowing that it was the right thing to do. 

That’s how he found himself sitting at the bar beside Meredith at the terminal lounge. 

“What are you doing here?” Meredith asked. 

“Hey! Who is that?” Cristina’s voice sounded from Meredith’s iPad. “Point me.” 

“I’m sorry about before,” Alex cast Meredith a sideways glance. 

“You should be,” Meredith raised an eyebrow and sighed. “I’m sorry, too.” 

“I thought he said he was leaving⎯I thought you said you were leaving,” Cristina commented. 

“The guy replacing Robbins is gonna mess the place up,” Alex moved his face into the view of the screen. “Besides, I don’t even like Boston.”

“So what are you saying?” Meredith scrunched her face.

“I couldn’t get on my plane, okay? I couldn’t go,” Alex admitted. 

“You’re saying you ditched the flight because you chickened out?”

“What a loser,” Meredith’s mouth twitched and she pulled Alex in for a hug. 

“You’re staying for Wilson right?” Cristina looked at him expectantly through the video chat. 

“I don’t know… maybe?” Alex shrugged. “All I know is that the thought of leaving without trying to at least fix my friendship with her makes me feel sick. I don’t even know why I care, though. She obviously doesn’t. She left me once, who’s to say she won’t do it again?”

“Wow, you are an even bigger idiot than I thought you were,” Cristina shook her head. “Of course she cares. Who do you think made your medical decisions or paid your bills after you got shot?”

“Wait, what?”

“Jo called me after the shooting. When we realized that she was your proxy, she took a plane to Seattle, decided on the best course of treatment, cried, held your hand for a little, and left all before you even had a chance to wake up,” Meredith shared. 

“She did?” Alex struggled to comprehend how he’d never known about her trip all those years ago to take care of him. 

“Yeah, she did,” Cristina nodded. 

“So, did you just ditch tonight’s flight and you’re planning on taking another one another day or are you going to stay for good?” Meredith waited for him to reply. 

“I don’t know yet,” he shook his head. “I don’t know what I should do.”

“I think you know what you need to do,” Meredith eyed him carefully. “Alex, you found your family in Seattle and now you have a second chance to fix things with Jo and you’re really going to leave?”

“You know, I’ve been trying to leave Seattle because for the longest it just didn’t feel like home,” Alex took a swig of the beer that the bartender had placed in front of him. “I felt like I didn’t belong. I wanted to go and find a place that felt like home, but I guess I’m realizing that home was never a place. It’s Jo. It was always Jo and now she’s here and I’m not about to be the idiot that runs away from home again.”

“So, you’re really going to try? You’re not gonna screw up and break her heart again? Because you know that Jo could do so much better than you?” Cristina asked pointedly. “I’m asking because I’m protective of my hairball and I won’t hesitate to come beat your ass if you do. Fear of flying be damned.”

Alex let out a soft laugh before growing serious again, “She deserves better. She deserves someone better than me. But I don’t want her with anyone else. So, I guess I’m just gonna have to be better. I have to become the man she deserves, because she’s everything. She’s home.”

-All I want-

-Is to be home-

[aspenflower17]

Finding You (Part Four of ??)

Hewwo! I am back with another update on my Finding You fic! If you didn’t catch my last mini update (link here), I was having some trouble getting what I wanted onto the page. BUT, I have now figured it out (and have even made the barebone plans for the other brother’s version of this story!).

If you’re just joining us, here is the link for Part One. I would recommend starting there if you want to read this fic (which I would like very much).

Anywho, this update is of a normal length (for me). We’re also jumping forward in time. I realized the first line of this update might seem like a continuation of the scene we had had last with Mc, but it’s not :)

Tag for the peeps: @simpingforsatan and @naimena. (If you want to be on this list, just ask in a comment below!)

F!Mc / Satan

Word Count: 2284 (story under the cut)

Trigger Warnings: None that I can think of

Mc closed the letter, trying to contain her excitement.

“Well, what does it say?”

“Lord Diavolo is specifically asking if I’d consider bringing my show to the Devildom. He has offered the castle as free lodging for as long as I am in the Devildom, which has no expiration!”

“That’s incredible Mc! You’ve never shown in the Devildom have you?”

“Not yet. I went when I was a child, and I really enjoyed it there. After MoMA I was thinking of reaching out to ask if they’d be interested, but then they put the exchange program on hold due to Gabriel’s behavior down there…”

“I still can’t believe he’d act that way.”

“Oh I can. He’s so radicalized I’m surprised he was allowed down there at all.”

“Still…”

“We all know how you feel about Gabriel, Abihail,” Mc teased.

“No! I don’t… I… No!”

Mc raised her eyebrows, but let the topic drop, “The question now is if they’ll let me go down.”

“I’m sure Simeon would be more than happy to let you go down. Luke may not be as… enthusiastic, but he should be proud his little sister was invited to show in the Devildom.”

“They’re not who I’m worried about. I have to go through Michael.”

“Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem. He knows how responsible you are. Consider how many times he’s allowed you down to the human realm for a show.”

Mc tried to match Abihail’s excitement, but Michael had gotten weird after Gabriel’s behavior in the Devildom. She reasoned it must have been because he had been the one to send him to the Devildom for the exchange program, though he had acted differently ever since she had gotten back to the Celestial Realm from that trip as a child.

She started reading the books he had recommended, very grateful he had included notes on what he called “trigger warnings” explaining that he knew angels were more sensitive to certain subjects. The books inspired her to become a polymath, though she didn’t learn the term until she was older. Her real expertise was in the arts, painting, drawing, photography, sculpting, poetry, and music among her most recognized accomplishments. She was also skilled in conversation and had at least a basic understanding of most academic subjects, excelling in some.

It was Simeon who suggested she hold her first art show. The show was such a success, Mc found herself inundated with offers from various other angels to showcase her work, some offering to bring her art to the human realm. Such was the environment Mc grew up in, and grow up fast she did. An angel’s physical and mental age were dependent on the angel’s understanding of various things, their age not getting much past what would be considered a human’s prime. Mc was voracious in her learning, and as such, she found herself quickly reaching the maturity she would stay at for the rest of her existence. Luke, not to be shown up by his little sister, also started growing at a crazy rate. In the end, they both ended up reaching maturity at the same time. Once she reached it, she started having shows in the human realm, finding the understanding of humans to be better than a lot of angels at times. Her fellow brothers and sisters were certainly great, but many of them didn’t seem to try to better themselves, and so she found herself drowning in their mundane chatter much of the time. It actually spurred most of the art they loved so much. She had found herself researching the Devildom more and more, wondering what S would think about certain subjects, or how he would react to her art. He had suggested many art books for her to look through, most of them showing he had a great understanding of art; what would he think of her new piece? Did he like classical music? What kind of poetry did he prefer to read? She came back to the list he’d written her many times, trying her best to understand the man who had believed in her enough as a child to expand her world. It made her feel less lonely, a problem that seemed was always going to plague her. It was nice to have another supporter, as she wasn’t getting much support from Michael, though she wasn’t dependent on it.

Though he never outwardly said it, she almost felt like Michael had never approved of her art, unless it was of a landscape or something else just as tame. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand art either, having gone with her to many other art shows and was able to intelligently speak on the art he saw there. It wouldn’t have bugged her as much as it did had he not interjected himself into her life after that trip as much as he had. She’d read many books as she could find trying to understand what was going on with him, causing her to research many different psychological phenomena, but none of it seemed correct. The closest she could find was a very mild form of Mother Hen Syndrome, though even that didn’t seem to accurately describe what was going on. She had never tried to breach the subject of going to the Devildom with Michael, even after he was put in charge of travel between Realms.

When she’d found out about Gabriel’s stunt in the Devildom, she’d figured her chance of going to the Devildom was gone. The exchange program being put on hold confirmed her theory, and even her shows in the human realm were greatly reduced. Though it had been awhile, she had never tried to push to get her shows back, as she knew pushing with Michael rarely worked out the way she wanted it to. Now that she’d been invited down there however, it would be rude to refuse wouldn’t it?

“Why don’t we go and ask him right now? He may have even received a letter from Lord Diavolo himself.” Abihail’s voice brought her out of her thoughts.

“That might make it so he has to warm up to the idea. Let him come to the conclusion himself…”

“I don’t know. I think it’ll be harder for him to say no if he knows that you want to go.”

“I want ideas on bargaining should he say no though. Never go into battle unprepared.”

“You really feel like this is going to be a battle?” Abihail asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes. You also should stop questioning me all the time.:

“Well, I think the best idea to counter if he says no is inviting him to come with you. That way he can make sure the “reputation of the Celestial Realm remains untainted” or at least helps repair any damage that’s been done.”

“Hmmm… That’s the final bargaining chip then.”

”Honestly, I think it’s the only one you’ll need.”

“Oh no, I’ll need more. Let’s see, why would I want to go?”

“Just be honest. You need more material for inspiration. That’s why you want to go right?”

“Oh, that’s true… Good idea,” Mc complimented, hoping it wasn’t obvious that wasn’t exactly why she wanted to go. It was her cover story when anyone caught her researching the Devildom. It definitely wasn’t for a change of pace or a certain blonde demon who had given her the best life advice she’d ever received. Who had taught her mediocrity wasn’t the only way to live. Nope. Definitely not that.

“Well, there we go. I think you’re set.”

“Nope. I need at least one more bargaining chip.”

“Ugh, what about that Luke goes with you?”

“That’s… Not a terrible idea.”

“Of course it’s not. Will you go talk with Michael now?”

“How serendipitous. I was looking to speak with you Mc,” Michael’s voice came from behind the conversing angels.

“You really need to stop sneaking up on me like that,” Mc exclaimed, her hand over her heart.

“Ah, but it’s so entertaining. Oh, don't look at me like that Mc. Anyways, I do need to talk to you if you’re available.”

“I am,” Mc said, getting up and dusting off her skirt. Abihail gave her a huge thumbs up when Michael’s back was turned.

When the pair was far enough from other people, Michael began speaking without ceremony, “I don’t approve of you going to the Devildom.”

“I figured you wouldn’t. I do want to go though. I need fresh inspiration for my art, and I would like to experience the culture of the Devildom.”

“Why would you want to go down there though?”

“Besides the reasons I already listed? I would like to see where Simeon and Luke spent time through the eyes of an adult. I did enjoy my time there as a child, and I would like to return.”

“Do I need to remind you of the danger you were in last time?”

“I would like to counter that point by reminding you I am an adult now. My powers have fully manifested at this point, and I can fly just as well as anyone else. I have studied multiple different cultures, including the Devildom, which is more than Luke did when he first went down.”

“You allowed a demon to guide you to who knows where.”

“As a child. If you don’t trust me, I am not opposed to Luke joining me down there.”

“I’m still not convinced. I’m just trying to help you make the best decision.”

“I feel, in light of whatever problems Gabriel caused down there, this might help international relations. It seems rude to decline the ruler of the Devildom when I’ve had so many shows in the Human Realm and none in the Devildom, partially because I wasn’t sure if they wanted my work to be shown down there. Now that I have an express invitation to showcase my work, I feel I should take it,” Mc glanced over to Michael’s face and saw it start to harden, and sensing a no on his lips, she pulled out her trump card, “If it makes you feel better, you can definitely come too. That way, you can rest assured that the Celestial Realm is being represented in a positive light.”

The abrupt change in Michael’s face almost made Mc start celebrating. She had him with that last part, she knew she did.

“You wouldn’t be opposed to me joining you?”

“Not if relations between the Devildom are as strained as I’ve been led to believe.”

“Hmmm.. I will need to discuss it with Father, considering my many duties, but… that could work.”

Mc allowed herself a smile, though she really wanted to shout in triumph, “Thank you Michael. I think this will be the next step in my artistic journey.”

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

“Why do I always end up back here?” Luke whined, as he watched out the window.

Mc didn’t give him a response. His denial of how much he actually enjoyed the Devildom was always entertaining to her. She knew he was in almost consistent contact with Barbatos, who she had found out was Diavolo’s butler.

She herself was too excited to talk much in case she let slip just how much she wanted to be down here. Lord Diavolo had been more than welcoming when she had explained she’d have to bring two more in her entourage, allowing them to join her in the castle.

The Devildom seemed much as she remembered it. The neon of all the signs, glowing in the eternal dusk sent her hands into a sketching frenzy, poetry filling the next page or two only to find more sketches further down.

Michael seemed nervous however. Once they had stepped from the portal into the twilight, he had been on edge. Seeing the Nightmare’s that were pulling the carriage that had been sent to deliver them to the castle had certainly frightened him. Mc had only pulled out her camera and started taking photos of them, hoping she had figured out her settings properly. He had been fidgeting the whole carriage ride, the view of the castle only making things worse.

Finally, Mc couldn’t take it anymore, “Michael, are you alright?”

“Heh, of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Simeon was kind of like this when we first came down to the Devildom for the exchange program,” Luke offered.

“He was?” Michael asked, a tad desperately.

“Yeah. He kept muttering about seeing Lucifer and the others again.”

Michael seemed to take comfort in the knowledge and the rest of the trip up to the castle gates was fairly quiet. Mc really couldn’t understand the fervor that seemed to grip some of the angels when they talked about Lucifer, “Maybe I’ll understand after this trip,” she thought idly, another strain of poetry coming to mind.

“Mc, we’re almost there. You should probably put your notebook and pencils away,” Luke offered.

The first mote of apprehension pricked Mc, her notebook quickly put in her pack, “Does my hair look okay?”

“Yes.”

“Does mine?”

“Yes Michael.”

“You didn’t even look.”

Luke raised his head to look at Michael, “Like I thought. Impeccable.”

“He’s not in a very good mood is he?” Michael whispered to Mc, causing her to giggle.

The carriage came to a stop, and the door opened, revealing an imposing figure in red and a shorter figure in black with green accents. Michael let out an audible breath, and got up from his seat to head towards the door.

“I was right. He’s worried about seeing Lucifer again.”

Mc decided to leave the discussion for a later time, as she wanted her head clear for this meeting.

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

Part 5

[elbracco]

LiS2 Fanfiction recommendation list - updated

I updated the ff list I made a few months ago. As before, if anyone has any suggestions to add, I’m all ears. I divided the stories into three categories (Post-ending, AUs and Missing Moments) and all the ffs on this list are either completed or still actively updated.

POST-ENDING

Blood Brothers: To Puerto Lobos - And Beyond! by SerratedCucumber, in progress. It starts as the brothers break into Mexico and follows them as they try to build a life for themselves. I swear that I hear Gonzalo and Roman every time that Sean or Daniel say something: the dialogue is that good. 11,000 words for now.

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Lone Wolf: The One You Feed by zeldanerdster, in progress. This work follows the "Lone Wolf" path immediately after events unfold at the border. Following that, it will chronicle Daniel's experiences for as far as they take him in an effort to reconcile the various open-ended resolutions of Life is Strange 2. Because LW didn’t break our hearts enough. 20,500 words for now. Lone Superwolf by Dreamprism, in progress. The ff begins with Sean’s death at the border and aims to show how Daniel got from the car to the “six years later” scene. The fanfic is written from the perspective of Daniel Diaz, similar to how Sean shares his internal thoughts with the player throughout Life is Strange 2. 17,000 words for now.

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Parting Ways: After by koldtbold, one-shot. Sean gets to Mexico, Daniel doesn’t. Sean has a lot to do and think about. What I love about this story is that there’s much bitter and little sweet, but like in the game there’s an undercurrent of optimism, a feeling that tomorrow can still turn into a better day. 6,000 words. When There’s Nowhere Else to Run, by Autumnyte, in progress. It begins right after Daniel yeets himself from the car and follows Sean as he tries to build a life for himself in Puerto Lobos. I told Autumnyte that this story feels like a blanket: it’s warm and comfortable. No matter what issues Sean has to deal with, there is a pervasive undertone of "tomorrow will be better" that I think really captures the spirit of the game. He is done running, and he can now start to look to the future with hope. 31,000 words for now.

*

Redemption:

The Bravest Wolf in the World by RoodAwakening, 2 chapters left. Ask anyone for reading suggestions, and they’ll inevitably point you to this story, for a reason. Sean finds out he can use his sketches to time-travel, much like Max did with her photos, prevents Esteban’s death, and has to deal with the consequences as he tries to navigate the new life he made for himself. Wonderful characters, a realistic depiction of trauma, and golden dialogue. I love this Sean, I love the people in his life, I love his interactions with all the characters. 160,000 words (!) for now. A Howl in the Night by Bracco, one-shot. Sean is in prison, and Daniel is free: it’s everything that Sean had wanted when he surrendered. That means he can be happy… right? 28,500 words. Tomorrow's Horizon by AlariOdonell, in progress. A mysterious stranger recruits a post-bay Max Caulfield with the promise to bring Chloe back to life and to right a few wrongs along the way, like those suffered by two brothers. I am very partial to this story because it ticks every box in my list of narrative kinks: a well-written OC, an incoming threat, superpowers, misfits teaming up, IC characters, action and fuzzy feelings... 52,000 words for now, updated bi-weekly. Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want by DarkJaden825698, one-shot. After his sentence, Sean reconnects with some old friends and says some things he didn't get to say when he had the chance. This story is a warm, fuzzy thing where everything goes well for a change. I may also be very partial to the title: that song is tied to some of my fondest memories, so extra points to the author. 4,000 words. Spirit Realm: Road to Redemption by Sombraguerrero, completed. Sean has served his sentence, abbreviated by a lack of success on the authorities' part to attain burden of proof on the supposed major crimes. The public has run out of patience and has allowed Sean and Daniel to try and pick up the pieces, with as much help as they can get along what is once again a rough road. 21,000 words. Stay Strange by DarkJaden825698, completed. Dr. Bright is assigned to Sean Diaz as his therapist in prison, and walks him through his trauma while trying to find him a lawyer to challenge his sentence. Crossover fic between LiS2 and The Bright Sessions podcast - you don’t know anything about the podcast? Me neither, and it’s not an issue. 32,000 words.

AUs

And All These Empty Streets by Riona, one-shot. After the apocalypse, Sean and Daniel have a run-in with Joel and Ellie from TLOU. I think that this is the story that made me realize how I love Sean and Daniel so much that I’m willing to read the weirdest AUs and crossovers so long. It flows really well and it feels natural. 2,000 words.

Riona has written a lot of stories that start from an unexpected premise and draw a little vignette. They are all different from each other and I loved them all. Check out her AO3 profile! Can you give me a hint by Idnis, completed. Teenage Daniel/Chris. If you like “mutual pining” and “dumb idiots in love”, this story will make your day. It’s just... fluffy and sweet and innocent, a tiny bit of teenage drama that Daniel and Chris deserve after everything they’ve been through. 22,500 words. Closer to the Heart by darkjaden825698, in progress. After the shooting, Sean waits for the police to arrive. He’s cleared of all charges and sent to live to Beaver Creek, where he must come to terms with what happened and rebuild a life for himself. A teen drama where nothing bad happens to the boys and they get to live normal lives? Hit me with it. 4,000 words. Double exposure by Riona, completed. It draws inspiration from *Your Name*: Max and Sean begin swapping bodies at random. If the premise doesn’t turn you away, it’s a beautiful bittersweet story about two people trying to help each other while their own worlds are falling apart. 11,000 words. Faithless by HollowK, in progress. Six years after the failed heist, Sean wakes up from his coma and has a brother to find. Exactly: oof. 6,500 words for now. I Took Both Roads, series by owlmug. AU where Esteban isn’t shot. Sean/Finn (with some Sean/Cassidy in the first story). It’s a coming of age story, and I really loved how the author mirrored some situations that are found in the game by giving them a new twist. I won’t lie, these stories hurt, because they made me think about what could have been. The characters are spot on, and the interactions of the Diaz family are golden. Bonus points for having Sean behave like a teenage brat at times, because the boy deserved to have temper tantrums and getting into fights with Esteban over stupid stuff. There are also a lot of beautiful images across the series, a lot of lines that feel raw and powerful, and a lot of healing. At times it’s like having a heart-to-heart with the author. Sometimes I felt that the sex scenes were too long, and some of them I found unnecessary, but that’s just my personal taste. I really liked all the four stories, but the last one is my favourite for sure because it follows Esteban’s point of view and it’s *chef’s kiss*.

 1.       A Way to Reappear (https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096837), 18,000 words. Sean’s POV

2.       A Piece of the Puzzle (https://archiveofourown.org/works/19386670), 26,000 words. Sean’s POV

3.       A Little left Behind (https://archiveofourown.org/works/19852561), 24,000 words. Finn’s POV

4.       (I’ve Been Going Through) a Change (https://archiveofourown.org/works/20562086), 28,000 words. Esteban’s POV.

If I Lay Here by owlmug, completed. Diverges from canon after episode 3. Sean and Finn try to track Daniel down. Sean/Finn, 46,500 words. I can repeat here most of what I wrote for the earlier series: wonderful characterization, beautiful imagery, touching themes, characters that find themselves along the way. Something that makes you go “Please, sir, can I have some more?” at the end of every chapter. i just don’t know how i’m doing (i’m so curious about you) by Larrymurphycansteponme, one-shot. Another High School AU, another wonderful coming of age story for Sean. I wish I could make it justice without repeating everything I said about owlmug’s series: spot-on characterization, a beautiful narrative about growing up and finding one’s way, wonderful imagery. It’s the story of what Sean deserved to have, and one of my favorite ever. 28,000 words.

MISSING MOMENTS

A Night With Misty Mice by That_one_internet_lover, completed. It follows Sean and Lyla’s concert night that is mentioned in his phone chat in ep.1. It’s the first fanfiction I read after my endgame heartbreak: it gave me all the happy Sean I wanted, and even a bit more. The dynamic between him and Lyla is exactly what I pictured from their interactions in the game, put into words by someone who knows what they’re doing. 10,000 words. Astray by Riona, one-shot. Daniel leaves Sean behind after the events of Wastelands. It’s probably more of an AU than a Missing Moment, since it was written before Faith came out and so it’s not entirely canon-compliant, but it’s still a very good window on Daniel’s state of mind after the heist. I’m eternally grateful to Riona for filling some of the gaps that the game left in the development of these wonderful characters. 1,500 words.  Fire and Floods by Riona, one-shot. Sean and Daniel go on the run, and this fic covers the first day of their journey. A spot-on dissection of Sean’s feelings after the shooting. 1,500 words. life is strange 2 poems by Spotsuns, an ongoing collection of one-shots. These stories have all the oooffness of the game. The stories in here hurt. In the good way, but they hurt nonetheless. Beautiful character studies, and some heavy-duty, post-ending feel unpacking. 11,000 words. Never Stop Shining by CorazonDesnudo, in progress. During his stay in Away, Sean receives a letter from Finn with an offer to help him and Daniel cross the border. It’s a chance to come to terms with a lot of things he didn’t really process before. 11,000 words for now. Torchbearers by Riona. Ep.1’s Sean and Daniel run into Max and Chloe among the ruins of Arcadia Bay. I can definitely see this story being a moment of quiet in the game. 2,600 words. What Remains of the Diaz Family by That_one_internet_lover, completed. Lyla sneaks into the Diaz household after the brothers have disappeared. Heartbreaking oofness ensues as Lyla walks through their memories and faces her own pain. 6500 words.

[offbrandmercyplates]

Birthday fic from Yours the Author!

Ms. Emmibee: is me birthday day.

Me: *Tumbling down a flight of stairs, breaking a comical amount of theater vases that are made to be broken* HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

So yes! It’s Ms. Emmibee’s birthday, so we all know what that means! Presents and (cookie) cake! It’s not possible to send real cookie cake through the internet, though, but a present is a present!

I had actually planned this one out vaguely after the last update. It made sense that we wouldn’t get a lot of time in Temmie Village, since the plot must go on, but I figured most people would appreciate some cute Temmie and Emmibee action. I wrote this all out today. I don’t know if I quite captured the magic of Tem Village, but I like to think there’s a little bit of it here. I’ll let you decide for yourself. See you at the bottom!

What Could it Mean?

“Emmi, I kindly ask—and by ‘kindly’, I mean ‘in a way that won’t cause a scene’—that you stop vibrating so intensely.”

“But it’s Temmie Village, Dr. Gaster! I can’t not be excited!”

“The Temmies are excitable enough without you encouraging them. I’d rather not deal with any more hyperactivity than necessary.”

“Hyperactive or actively hyper?”

“…What?”

“What?”

“…Strange woman.”

“I know. But isn’t that why you like me?” “No more questions. Let’s just—”

“HOI!!!!” Dr. Gaster sighed for ten whole seconds as Emmibee gasped at her first in-person look at a Temmie. She bounced on the toes of her rubber rain boots as the little monster skipped over to them.

She was just as cute as she was in the game, but even smaller; probably no bigger than a munchkin cat. Her quadrupedal body was covered in short, soft white fur, two pairs of ears, a little mane of black hair, and a deep sky-blue shirt over the top half of her body.

Smiling giddily, Emmi pointed at her while grinning at the skeleton companion. “Undoubtedly, a Temmie.”

“Undoubtedly,” Dr. Gaster agreed. “Can we please—”

“HOI!!!” Another Temmie popped up.

“Behold, a Temmie,” Emmi bowed to the newcomer.

“I am aware. Can we—”

Another Temmie trotted over. “Could it be a Temmie?” Emmi wondered.

“Actually, I’m Bob. Nice to meet you,” Bob said. Emmi let out a high-pitched noise.

Dr. Gaster sighed again. “I’m going to the Tem Shop. Can I trust you won’t leave the village?” Emmi was currently chanting “hoi” with the growing group of Temmies. “…I suppose I can.” He made his way to the shop.

One of the Temmies suddenly wiggled her tail the way a cat does before it pounces and leapt up into Emmi’s arms. Emmi extended her arms to catch the Temmie, but a thought suddenly occurred to her: aren’t humans allergic to Temmies? The Temmie landed in her arms, and she instinctively adjusted herself for maximum comfort for the carrier and the carry-ee. Oh wait; I’m a monster now, she remembered. Does that still count? The Temmie she was holding vibrated gently in her arms, and the other Temmies and Bob crowded around her feet, looking a few seconds away from swarming her in a pile of cute. Guess it does.

As much as she would have loved to be swarmed in a pile of cute, Emmi didn’t know when she’d get a chance to explore Temmie Village like this again. Carefully wading through the tiny monsters, she began to look around the small cavern.

True to the game, the walls, ceiling, and floor were made of dark blue stone, but unlike the game, the air was cool and damp and seemed to somehow cast a shiny quality to the stone, if she looked at just the right angle and level of light. There wasn’t any quirky music playing in the background, but the air thrummed—no, vibrated—with an energy that could only be explained by the mysterious power of Temmie.

She took some time to say HOI to each Temmie she passed, admired the rich history of Tem and the statue of Tem, returned the compliments of an adamant Temmie (awawawa! bee lady… such a… cute!!!) and exchanged parenting tips with the parent of a special hardboiled egg (tem and bee… pROUD pARENTS!!!). Emmi considered saying hello to the owner of the Tem Shop, but one peek into the room revealed an irate Dr. Gaster trying to explain why he wouldn’t accept Tem flakes in exchange for all of the items he was selling. It would probably be best to leave him be.

That was when she spotted it: the dancing mushroom, swaying their arms to an invisible tune. Hugging the Temmie she was still holding tighter to her chest, she strode up to the mushroom, swaying her hips and bopping her head to the beat. She giggled and sang with them, “Mushroom dance, mushroom dance… what could it mean?”

The mushroom raised their cap to peer up at her, eyes narrow. “Failure is terrifying,” they said, “but not nearly as terrifying as success.”

The world suddenly stopped; not like a record scratch. It was more like if the planet had stopped spinning, but everyone wasn’t flung off into space. All of the cold and none of the water in the room seemed to cling to Emmi, getting under her raincoat, under her skin, coating her SOUL in an icy sheet. Her breath caught in her throat, her vision tunneled, and there was an intense feeling of being watched…

“Emmi?” The mushroom lowered their cap and went back to swaying. The Temmie in her arms hopped down, her face following a moment after. Emmi looked up to see Dr. Gaster putting something into the pocket of his lab coat and gesturing for her to follow him. “Time to go.”

Emmi’s legs felt a bit weird, like they had almost but not quite fallen asleep, and they were trying to remember how to work. The cold feeling lingered, though not as strongly as it had before Dr. Gaster brought her back to reality. She stumbled backwards, trying not to fall over as she stared at the mushroom again. They weren’t looking at her, preoccupied with their dance. The sudden shift in the mood had left her disoriented and a bit overwhelmed. What that mushroom said… it was way too on the nose for her liking. Had it not been for Dr. Gaster, she would have stood there for the rest of time as she tried to make sense of how that mushroom knew…

She would be grateful to the doctor for saving her from herself, even if he never found out.

“Coming…” she replied, taking one last look at the mushroom before steadily following Dr. Gaster out of Temmie Village.

***

It’s probably a good thing Emmibee didn’t go to the Temmie in the wall. She definitely didn’t need a double dose of the feeling of being watched. Poor Emmi. How did that mushroom know?

“Hyperactive or actively hyper” was a play on the joke “working hard or hardly working”. I was originally going to put a fourth wall breaking joke in that part of the story, but it occurred to me that Dr. Gaster wouldn’t let that go so easily.

Emmi identifying the Temmies (hey, that rhymed!) is a reference to the snow poffs of Snowdin. You all probably already know this, but interacting with every snow poff will tell you that, indeed, you are interacting with a snow poff.

Temmies have a rich history. What is that history? It’s rich. That’s all you need to know, and all you’ll ever find out, probably.

Emmi is going to be a parent sometime soon (skelebaby boys!), so it’d be a good idea to get parenting tips from an experienced parent, even if that parent’s child is a hardboiled egg. Every bit helps!

The scene with the mushroom is what really inspired me to write this. Visually, the shading in that penultimate panel was stunning. I wanted to translate what it looked like Emmibee was feeling into words. What did she see? What did she feel, physically and emotionally? These are questions I have to know the answers to as an author, and if they’re not written already, I’ll write down my own interpretations.

Anyway, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO EMMIBEE! One year older, bolder, and wiser! Despite everything, I hope this is a good one for you. I mean it. I’ll be posting this to FFN and AO3, if you’re okay with that. Looking forward to more of your content, be it a full comic page or a textpost gushing about a cute kitten gif. Until then! ~~~ AAAAAAAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH????? I really really loved doing this scene and you did it justice absolutely PERFECTLY. Emmi’s excitement about experiencing the Underground knows no bounds!! (Also, her dancing along with the mushroom is EXACTLY what I was imagining)

I’m really happy you enjoyed the page! It feels kind of filler-y to me, but it really is important to both the narrative and tone of the story. More pages will be coming soon I promise!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE BIRTHDAY WISHES

Feel free to post this on your FF and AO3 accounts! 

THANK YOU AGAIN AAAAAAAAAAAA

[feckyeswriting]

Fic updates from the past few weeks

I forgot to post links to some new stuff in the past few weeks over on DW. Some of these have been posted on here, but I don't want to re-do the post and Tumblr is absolutely wretched sometimes with making posts disappear, so ya gonna get all four links still (but I’ll put a cut to save dashboard space :3 )

2 for Leverage (No Redemption Spoilers!) and 2 for Shadow and Bone

Title: The Sisley Job Rating: T Fandom: Leverage Pairing/Characters: Parker/Eliot Spencer Critical Tags: Season 5 AU, Slice of Life, Getting Together Summary: “It’s stupid,” Parker cried. “Who just wants to go look at art that they didn’t even steal?” --- Parker learns what she likes. Originally posted for fandom5k Excerpt:

“Get it? There’s capers in there to add salt.”

Parker took another bite without suspicion. When she finished swallowing her fork went down. “But what does this have to do with liking things?” she wondered.

Eliot blinked at her. It was so easy, after all these years of working together and being friends, to forget that this was still Parker at the end of the day. Something was wrong with the girl. No worse than any of them, depending on the day, but still. The fact that she had to ask Eliot just confirmed to him that she had a long way to go. “Makin’ food, sharing it with people, that’s something that I do to share a bit of myself with them. Connecting with… with people I care about. It’s important. It makes me feel good,” he tried to explain.

She lifted that eyebrow again. “A perfect lift makes me feel good,” she replied. Eliot had no doubt that she was being completely honest with him. Then she frowned. “But I just want to do another one after that. And it might not be perfect, then.”

Eliot speared another bite from the plate between them. If Parker wasn’t going to finish it, he wasn’t going to let it go to waste. He’d spent his lunch after the noon rush to work up the dish for her. “Sounds like you gotta find something that makes you feel good for more than a few minutes.”

“How do I do that?”

“Parker, you asked for my help. But even I don’t have all the answers.”

Title: Shoot from the Hip Rating: T Fandom: Leverage Pairing/Characters: Parker/Quinn Critical Tags: Guns, Established Relationship Summary: Quinn just wants to make sure his girl knows how to use the tools she's got. Excerpt:

"When was the last time you actually used that thing? And can you please get it out of my face? Honestly, Parker, I used the damn doorbell for christsake."

Parker let the pistol come back down to her hip. She frowned at the hitter standing on her front door step. "That's why I got the gun in the first place. Who uses doorbells?" she remarked. "Seemed suspicious."

Quinn sighed and shook his head. Once he wasn’t as concerned about the continued safety of his good looks he was able to relax more fully. He waited for Parker to give the sign that he was allowed to step inside. Respecting a woman’s boundaries had been finely ingrained in him by his mommas.

“When was the last time, anyway?” 

Title: Nothing in Return Rating: T Fandom: Shadow & Bone Pairing/Characters: Alina Starkov/Aleksander Critical Tags: Proposal Fic, Complicated Relationships Summary: "How can you love me without expecting anything in return?" -- A prompt ficlet. Excerpt:

"After everything that has happened, you would still ask for my hand," she said. It was barely a question, more a statement of fact. He had asked for exactly that and nothing less.

"And nothing else," he replied. She snorted at that, an indelicate sound.

"You collared me for my power." Aleksander’s eyes flicked from her face briefly to her throat. The kefta there was buttoned to the top, blue and gold armor over the skin there. Once, Aleksander had been able to feel the bone there that tied her power to him. Without the matched fragment in his palm, he could only fall back to memory.

Title: Where Hoofbeats and Hearts Thunder (2 / 10 chapters posted so far) Rating: T Fandom: Shadow and Bone Pairing/Characters: Alina Starkov/Aleksander Critical Tags: Gift Giving, Horses, Drama Summary: When Alina Starkov has a break from the grind of Grisha training there is always a bit of relief. Even if that “break” is just another kind of training. Apparently her lackluster horseback skills require attention in the form of some unexpected one-on-one time with the General. Aka that fic where Alina spends more than just one afternoon riding pretty horses with pretty General Kirigan /chinhands/ Excerpt:

They brought the horses down to the water’s edge to drink and enjoy the cooler breeze that came across the lake. Alina passed the reins from palm to palm as she waited for her mare to nose at the water. The quiet between herself and Kirigan was getting to her. She was supposed to say something, right?

“I didn’t know the Black General was such an expert on horsemanship.” Alina blurted out the first coherent thought to come to her that didn’t amount to being tired or frustrated by what felt like inadequate level of success with her steed.

Kirigan tipped his head and there again was the wry cant to his lips. “I wasn’t aware that I wasn’t expected to have interests beyond the war. Is that an impression you hold for all Grisha or just for the Shadow Summoner?”

The undercurrent of teasing allowed Alina some relief that she hadn’t said something completely foolish. She replied after a moment’s pause, “I never put much thought about either before, to be honest. Grisha always felt so mysterious, so different than the rest of us. And no one knows what to expect about- about you.”

She fumbled with exactly how to address him. Enough time had passed since they had last spoken after the presentation in front of the King and Queen where Alina felt once again on the back foot. She let her free hand trail through her horse’s mane, keeping her gaze locked down at the ripples in the water that had made their way over from the other side of the lake.

“You know,” Kirigan said, “the more that you think about Grisha as being someone or something different, something other, the more difficult it will be for you to settle here.”