#we’re not even halfway through the year and every week is so stressful

[planet4546b]

i cannot deal with this team anymore i have got to quittttt

[sparrowritings]

seven days to confess

pairing: geto suguru x gn!reader

summary: shoko and satoru give suguru an ultimatum to confess to you by the end of the week

tags: jealousy, not actually unrequited love

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i know this is a suguru x reader but there’s lowk more satoru and shoko x reader LMAO

Shoko has had enough. Enough of the needless pining that she somehow always finds herself in the middle of. 

She was the first to notice, before Satoru even suspected a thing. Lingering gazes and touch, Suguru is always a gentleman around you, opening doors, bringing you food when you are busy with missions all day, and giving you shoulder massages whenever you are stressed from writing reports. He didn’t treat Shoko or Satoru like that, so for Shoko, it was obvious that you were special to him.

When she brought it up to Satoru, he only made the case more damning. 

Shoko and Satoru sat under a tree, avoiding the harsh afternoon sun. A few dozen yards away, you and Suguru were sparring, curses clashing with the multiple light-constructed weapons you had summoned with your cursed technique.

“Satoru, do you know if Suguru like, has a thing for (Y/N)?”

“A thing? He hasn’t told me anything if he does.”

“Really? I feel like Suguru’s so lovesick I feel nauseous just watching them when they’re together.” 

The two of you had stopped sparring, and instead, you were playing with Rainbow Dragon, as if it was a big dog. You created a large ball of light and tossed it into the air, and Rainbow Dragon launched itself off the ground, fetching the ball in its maw and returning it to you, dropping the ball at your feet. You pet the curse’s head, and it bounds around you, playfully nudging you and licking your face.

“Ew. I’ve never seen Rainbow Dragon do that in all the three years that I’ve known it.” Satoru pointed out, placing his hand on his chin as if pondering deeply.

“Speaking of which, I ran into Suguru yesterday in the common room at ass o’clock making ramen. I asked if he was making a midnight snack, and he told me he was making it for (Y/N) because they were hungry.” He recounted, “He’s never made anything for me, no matter what I say and no matter how many puppy dog eyes I throw at him.”

“We should ask him about it later.” Shoko spoke, amused.

Satoru shrugs, still watching you play fetch with Rainbow Dragon.

“Sure, it’ll be fun.” He replies.

The chance comes when the four of you are hanging out in Suguru’s room, a week from winter break. A cheesy romcom plays on the portable DVD player set on the table. You and Suguru are sitting on the bed, while Satoru is sitting against the bed on the floor, and Shoko is plopped down on the bean bag next to him. 

Halfway into the movie, Shoko nudges Satoru. He clears his voice.

“Uh, (Y/N), I left one of my mission reports in your room after we were working on reports the other day, do you mind grabbing them for me?”

“Your mission report? The last time we worked on reports was weeks ago.”

“U-Uh yeah, I-I was, uh, looking through my reports… and I realized I was missing one.”

“Huh.” You raised an eyebrow in suspicion and confusion, before getting up to look for Satoru’s mission report, “I’ll be right back.” 

The door closes with a click after you leave the room.

“What was that about?” Suguru questions, suspicious.

“Sooooo, Suguru,” Satoru starts with a mischievous grin on his face, “Christmas is coming up.”

“Right, like it does every other year.” He answers cautiously. 

“What Satoru is trying to say, is that you should ask (Y/N) to go out because we are sick and tired of your pining.” Shoko continues.

“What? Where did you guys get that idea from?” Suguru deflects.

“We have eyes, Suguru. You guys make heart eyes at each other every time you are within a ten foot radius. You should just ask them out and spare all of our suffering.”

“Okay…? But I’m pretty sure they don’t like me like that. We’re just really good friends.”

“The only person you’re convincing is yourself, Suguru.” 

The room is plunged into a tense silence.

“Fine. I admit it. I like (Y/N) as more than just friends, but there is no way they feel the same way.” 

“So you’re not going to tell them?” Satoru asks.

“No way, especially not now.”

“Fine then, I’ll just tell them for you since you don’t have the balls to.” Shoko deadpans.

“No.” Suguru answers immediately.

“I propose a deal.” Shoko says, smirking.

“I don’t like the sound of that but go on.”

“You tell (Y/N) that you like them within the next seven days, I won’t tell them anything. But if you don’t, Satoru or I will help you, and we’ll make it very embarrassing for you.” Shoko states.

“Doesn’t really seem like I have a choice in the matter.”

“Nope! So what do you say?” Satoru says with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Seen as I don’t have a choice, I’ll have to agree.” Suguru says.

“Great! Then we wish you to best of luck for the upcoming week.” Satoru says as he slaps Suguru in the back.

You return the same moment, pushing the door open.

“Satoru I couldn’t find your mission report.”

“Now that I think about it, I think I didn’t leave it in your room.” You frown, giving him a confused look.

“Okay,” You drag out the word, not fully believing the white haired man, “Let me know when you find it.” Satoru shoots you a double thumbs up.

Of course, Shoko and Satoru did not intend to let the week pass by easily. 

“Here’s the plan,” Shoko says, pointing at a crudely drawn diagram on the whiteboard next to her. They were hidden away in the morgue, far away from wherever Suguru and you were. She points to the stick figure which represented you.

“First, we have to take (Y/N) out on ‘dates’. They can’t be too forward, so that (Y/N) doesn’t suspect anything, but they also have to be believable enough that Suguru gets jealous.” Satoru nods in agreement. Shoko then points to a stick figure drawn with a singular bang over its forehead. 

“Then, we make sure Suguru knows about these ‘dates’. He gets jealous, then BOOM-” Shoko points to two stick figures holding hands, “we get them together.”

“Alright, sounds good to me,” Satoru says, grinning.

On Monday, Satoru asks you to grab dessert with him. You say yes since it was a regular occurrence, but normally Suguru would also tag along. When you met up with him and Suguru was nowhere to be seen, you were surprised.

“Is Suguru not coming?”

“He said he had to work on a mission report so he won’t be coming.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s go then.” 

The two of you visit a desert place in the nearest town.

“Same old?” The owner of the store asks.

“Yes please!” Satoru answers enthusiastically. You take a seat at one of the booths near the window. The owner arrives at your table, placing down a slice of strawberry cake for Satoru and sakura mochi for you. You dig in immediately, and Satoru sneakily takes a photo of you enjoying your favourite dessert.

“We should take a photo.” 

“Sure? What for?”

“To send to the group to show the other two what they’re missing out on.” You shuffle to the other side of the booth, and Satoru wraps a hand around your shoulder. Satoru had always been surprisingly physically affectionate with friends, so you thought nothing of it. 

He takes the photo with his free hand, and as he snaps a few consecutive photos, he smears some of the leftover cream from his strawberry cake onto your face. You retaliate immediately, getting some of the cream from the plate and flicking it at him. Satoru continued taking photos, but at that point, both of you were laughing so hard that you could barely sit up straight.

Satoru sends the photos into the group chat once you agree on a truce to stop assaulting each other with cream. It is a series of ten photos. The first few were normal selfies, you and Satoru smiling at the camera. Then the photos devolved into blurry messes of cream and smiles, as they captured the food fight frame by frame, first showing how Satoru started the fight, then how you got back at him.

They were cute photos, you had to admit. You responded to the photos with a growing heart emoji and “:P”, before making your way back onto campus with Satoru.

On Tuesday, Shoko invites you to self-care night. You knew that Shoko often had self-care nights with Satoru. You were invited sometimes, but oftentimes you chose to hang out with Suguru and they stopped inviting you after you turned them down a few times. 

Suguru was still out with Satoru on a mission, so you had taken Shoko up on her offer.

Shoko had set her room up for peak comfort. She had her DVD player on her table along with a collection of different DVDs to pick from. The rest of the table space was taken up with a variety of skincare products to choose from. She put a movie on in the background, and she began guiding you through her ten-step skincare routine.

You followed her instructions and put a green clay mask on your face. When your face was fully covered in green, you laughed and pulled out your phone, taking a selfie with Shoko, who pouted at the camera.

As the mask was drying, you let her do your nails, coating them in a layer of baby blue nail polish. As the night came to an end, you both sheet masks on, sitting on Shoko’s fuzzy throw blanket on her bed.

“What do you think of Suguru, (Y/N)?” Shoko asks.

“What do I think of him? Well…I think he’s kind, talented, and a really hard worker. I think he’s convinced that he’s not good enough, but he’s the only person who doesn’t see how amazing he is. He’s one of the best friends I have along with you and Satoru.” 

“So what would you say if Suguru asked you out?”

“Huh?” Your mind went blank as blood rushed to your face, “Why would you say that? He doesn’t even like me like that!” 

“So you would reject him if he did ask?” You pause.

“I would say yes, but also he would never ask me out.” You answer cautiously. 

“Okay.” Shoko didn’t say anything else related to the matter for the rest of the night, and by the time you left her room, you had forgotten about the exchange.

When you were back in your own room, you received the photos that you had taken that night, sent into the group chat with the rest of your co-years.

Like the ones you had taken with Satoru, they were cute photos. You replied with a simple “<3” and turned in for the night.

On Wednesday, you were pleasantly surprised to find out that you had no missions or classes. You were also much more surprised to find out that Satoru was inviting you out to dinner, and at a very fancy restaurant at that. He had invited you to a high-end Western restaurant in Shinjuku and had said it was his treat for putting up with him for so long. You had known Satoru to pull weird stunts here and there, but this seemed like a nice gesture so you had agreed.

Wear something nice ;) 

He had texted you that morning. In the end, you chose a going-out outfit that was classy but still showed some skin. You had done your hair as well and wore your favourite makeup look for going out. When you met up with Satoru before the dinner, even he seemed surprised at how good you looked. 

“You look good, (Y/N),” Satoru wanted to add on “Suguru would lose his shit if he saw you right now,” but decided against it before the words slipped out.

You held onto him, and a moment later, you were at the entrance of the restaurant. Satoru had already arranged what foods were going to be served ahead of time, so the two of you waited patiently for the food to arrive.

The lighting of the restaurant was dim, but the candles set on the tables along with lanterns hanging from the ceiling cast a warm glow over your faces. The floor-to-ceiling windows you sat next to provide a front-row view of Shinjuku, countless billboards and signs flashing in a sea of lights. The entire mood of the restaurant was intimate, welcoming, and cozy, and it was almost romantic-

“Satoru is this a date?” You ask suddenly, the gears in your head spinning and clicking into place.

“What." Satoru replies, startled.

“Satoru, I really appreciate you doing all of this, but I have feelings for someone else-”

“I know that you like Suguru.” He blurted.

“What- did Shoko tell you? I swear when I get back she’s-” Satoru cut you off with a sigh, taking his shades off and placing them on the table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. There was no lying out of this one.

“Look. Shoko and I came up with a plan to get Suguru to confess to you by the end of this week. Tonight is part of that.”

“And you intend to get him to ask me out by going out with me and doing it for him?” You ask incredulously.

“No, jeez. The plan is to show Suguru that you’re going on-” He makes air quotes with both hands, “-dates with us, which would make him jealous and push him to confess to you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“You know he doesn’t like me like that right? I’ve tried telling Shoko but I don’t think she took me seriously.” 

“For the record, I don’t like you like that; I like that we’re friends, and I’d like to keep it that way. Let’s just enjoy this dinner and trust me and Shoko to work our magic. I also wasn’t kidding when I said that this was to thank you for putting up with me. I just have to treat Shoko and Suguru to something similar as well after this.” Satoru offers, holding a hand out as if offering a truce. 

You ponder for a moment, before taking his hand. 

“Deal.”

The rest of the night goes smoothly once the tension between you two diffuses. You had the best steak you have ever had in your entire existence, followed by the best tiramisu that you had ever put into your mouth. 

As you are walking out of the restaurant, you realize that Satoru is no longer beside you. Looking behind you, you realize that he was taking a photo. He jogs to catch up with you, showing you a candid photo of yourself. The photo caught you mid-turn and smiling at the camera, the dim yet warm lighting making your features slightly blurry, making the entire scene look dreamy.

“I’ll put it in the group chat so you can have it,” Satoru says as he taps away on his phone. He also sends another photo he took earlier when you were still at the table, smiling in front of a steak the size of your face. You didn’t reply with a message but reacted to the image with the double heart emoji.

On Thursday, Shoko invites everyone to her room to hang out. Currently, Satoru and Suguru are playing an intense game of Mario Kart, you and Shoko watching from the side. 

“You should let me do your eyeliner.” Shoko suddenly says, “I saw this look in this magazine the other day and I think it’ll fit you.”

“Sure,” You nod, leaning back on the bed. Shoko digs around her drawers for her makeup and sits in front of you. She cups your face with one hand, holding her liquid eyeliner to your eye with the other, resting the heel of her palm on your cheek to stabilize her hand. 

Before the eyeliner touches your skin, you hear the loud rustle of someone standing up from the bed.

It was Suguru. The game controller lay on the bed, the current round of Mario Kart forgotten.

“I can’t take this anymore.” He says, shooting Shoko an accusatory glare.

You and Shoko both freeze, looking over at Suguru.

“You, you’re guilty too.” He points at Satoru, who has also abandoned Mario Kart and is looking up at Suguru from where he is sitting on the bed.

“First, you take (Y/N) out on a dessert run without me. Then, you-” He points at Shoko, “Whisks (Y/N) to self-care night coincidentally when Satoru and I are out. Then-” He looks back at Satoru, “You take (Y/N) out to one of the fanciest restaurants in Shinjuku on a date. And now this?!” He gestures with both hands to Shoko, who was still frozen in the previous position, both hands on your face.

“I don’t know what the fuck you guys have been planning, but seen as you obviously can’t keep your hands off (Y/N), you guys obviously don’t care that I have feelings for them so maybe you guys should date them instead?” He throws both arms up in frustration before leaving the room. The door closes with a slam. The room is plunged into silence.

“I’m going to go after him.” You speak, rushing out of the room. You made a detour to your own room to put on and pick up an extra coat and scarf. You thought for a while where Suguru would be, then quickly decided to go to the lake. He told you about this spot that he frequented when he needed to clear his mind; you went once with him and agreed that it was a great spot when you wanted peace and quiet.

When you jogged out of the vicinity of campus, gentle snow began to fall, muffling all the noises around you.

 As you arrive at the clearing next to the lake, you see Suguru, who is sitting on a flat rock right next to the water, back faced to you. The lake had yet to completely freeze over, and gentle waves lapped at the shore. The soft gurgling of the water was the only thing you could hear through the snowfall, along with your heavy breathing and the crunching of the pebbles underfoot. Puffs of smoke dissipated into the air above him as he smoked a cigarette.

You know he hears you, but he makes no effort to look away from the lake. Silently, you wrap the extra coat around his shoulders, and you sit down on the rock next to him. You turn your head, tracing the sharp slopes and curves of his profile with your gaze.

Suguru took a drag of his cigarette, breathing out another breath of smoke. Still looking over the lake, he hands the cigarette to you. You take it, also taking a drag of the cigarette. This continues in silence for a few minutes, before you inhale, taking a full breath of the crisp, cold air, which burns the back of your throat.

“I…like you too, by the way. You could’ve just asked if you wanted to date.”

“How long have you liked me?”

“Since the first year. I didn’t want to ruin the friendship. I didn’t think you liked me like that.” You chuckled at your own blindness in hindsight.

“I didn’t want to ruin the friendship either.”

The quiet murmur of the water against the shore and your own breathing were the only sounds you could hear.

You inhaled, ready to speak, but hesitated at the last moment.

“Sorry, by the way, for last week.” You pause, “Apparently, Shoko and Satoru came up with a plan to get you jealous. I found out yesterday when I was out in Shinjuku with Satoru.”

“You what.”

“I played into it ‘cause I thought it wouldn’t affect you. I was convinced you didn’t like me like that.”

“Well, it did affect me.” Suguru finally turned to look at you, his mouth twisted into a pout.

“I know that now, that’s why I’m apologizing.”

Silence enveloped you both once again, like the soft blanket of freshly fallen snow on the treetops.

“Shoko and Satoru found out I liked you last week” It’s Suguru who breaks the silence this time, “She said something about not being able to handle all this pining and threatened to tell you if I didn’t confess by the end of the week.”

“Sounds like a Shoko thing to say.” You giggle, “Well? We’re not at the end of the week yet.”

Suguru takes your hands in his, his hands surprisingly warmer despite being outside longer. 

“(Y/N), I’ve liked you since we were in first year. Just didn’t want to admit it because I was scared.”

“Well, there’s nothing to be scared about ‘cause I like you too.” Suguru moves a hand to caress your cheek, and you lean into it.

“I know that now.” 

Suguru leans in and kisses you gently. You feel the butterflies flutter their delicate wings in your stomach as your heart beats against your ribcage. You part for air briefly before Suguru presses your lips together again, this time more confident and hungry, as if making up for lost time. He tangles his hand in your hair, pushing you towards him and deepening the kiss. A warm buzz filled your head as all you could think about was Suguru.

When you part once again, you are out of breath. You could see the quick puffs of condensed breath against the cold air. Suguru cups your face with both hands and pecks you on the lips again before getting up.

“We should go back before they think we’re dead.” You stand too, intertwining your fingers with his, and return to campus, hand in hand.

[tswaney17]

I Do Bad Things with You - Part 44

This part fought me at every corner, but I said screw it. Let's post and move on. 😅 It's crazy to think there are only 5 more parts left and an epilogue. The end of an era is arriving soon. I'm excited though, to have this one finished because I've got a lot of other goodies in the works right now. Stay tuned!

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

Word Count: 5,852

It had been a month since the car accident and their family found out about the pregnancy. The first week after the wreck had been rough, always worrying over whether she would eventually start bleeding as a late-term consequence of the crash. Azriel, her blessed husband, was doing everything in his power to keep her calm.

But she didn’t. Not a speck of blood.

Elain thanked every god for the safety of her babies knowing she wouldn’t have survived losing them.  

She and Az hadn’t discussed any further on his retaliation tactics, hoping that he would drop the whole issue. Escalating right now when they were about halfway through her pregnancy didn’t seem like the best idea.

Elain did trust Azriel’s decisions, even if she didn’t necessarily agree with them.

A sigh escaped her lips and she rubbed her palm over her more prominent belly. She was beginning to round out now, rather than just looking like an oversized, carb-based pudge. Her scrubs were starting to get tight and it was only a matter of time before she had to invest in a larger size. At least in the top. The bottoms still had some stretch available.

“Doctor Archeron,” her boss called and she whirled around to face him. “We have an incoming pediatric patient who needs a surgical consult. Are you up to being my second?”

Pediatric surgeries didn’t come often, so when they did, he always made sure she had the opportunity to assist—especially since she was the Attending and would be taking these cases on with the team of residents here soon.

She was already moving to his side. “I’m in.” With her nausea and dizzy spells, Elain had to cut back on some of her surgical procedures, unable to give her best results to the patient. She was sure it was the combination of the stress and the constant standing that always had her head feeling woozy. So, she took what she could, and then made rounds for surgical consults in the pit. Having built a strong bond with the residents, they were always eager and willing to grab her a snack or craving when she needed it, even when she profusely told them they did not need to do so. But Elain had to admit, it was nice when they did, and she made sure to reward them with her knowledge and expertise when handling difficult cases.

They slid open the glass door where the young patient was held and she stopped in her tracks. The little boy couldn’t have been more than four years old, with dark hair that brushed over the tops of his ears, and golden-brown skin. His eyes flashed when they entered revealing a green and golden gaze.

Elain recognized his heritage immediately.

He was Illyrian. Like Azriel.

She also read the fear plastered on his face, in his movements as he cradled his broken arm to his chest. Large tears littered along his lower lash line; something inside of her cracked at that desperate look.

“Hello, Kaden,” Thesan said in a kind voice, lowering the iPad to his side and looking directly at the boy. “We’re going to help take care of that arm for you.” He took a step forward and Kaden flinched, crying out softly as the movement tugged on his injury.

Her boss stopped his approach; a level of uncertainty crept into his gaze as he glanced at her for assistance.

Elain cleared her throat, capturing the boy’s attention. She moved the rolling stool closer to his bedside and slowly sat down on it, making sure he watched her every move. “Hi, Kaden,” she spoke in a soft voice. “My name is Elain.” She shuffled slightly closer, relieved when he didn’t balk at her approach. In fact, it almost seemed like his eyes flicked down to her swollen stomach before returning to her face. “I see that your arm is hurt. Would you mind if I took a closer look?” Elain held out her hand, letting it lie on his bed palm up in a calm, welcoming gesture.

When he hesitated, she added, “You’re safe here, sweetheart. We won’t hurt you.” She wasn’t sure why she said it, but something in her gut told her that it wasn’t just strangers he was afraid of. It was people altogether. And that concerned her, more so than just from a physician’s standpoint.

Finally, he moved his arm over to her, those tears falling down his cheeks as he whimpered in pain.

“I know, baby. I know. You’re doing so well,” she cooed, gently examining the injury between her fingers. From the disfiguration, it was obvious that it was a transverse complete fracture, the radius and the ulna having stacked on top of each other, and somehow not penetrating through his skin.

Elain sat wondering how the hell this child had such a severe injury, and it was then she noticed the scar on his other arm from a different, extensive wound. She frowned, glancing up at Thesan through her lashes. “Without a proper x-ray, I can’t be definitive on how extensive the damage is, but I’m certain he’ll need this surgically repaired.

The other doctor crossed his arms.

Kaden flinched.

Her mouth parted. Because that wasn’t just a flinch of fear. It was a flinch of abuse. Elain had no doubt in her mind about his home life. A lump swelled in her throat at the thought of it, and she watched as Thesan slowly lowered his arms to appear less intimidating toward the young boy.

Without thinking, she reached up to trace the pads of her fingers across his temple, sweeping his hair back before brushing away the tears that still stained his cheeks. Elain released a breath she wasn’t aware she had been holding when he didn’t shy away from her touch. “I’m going to put your arm in a brace to hold it still until we can fix it, okay?”

He didn’t speak, didn’t even shake his head to indicate that he understood her, but he watched her, those green and gold-speckled eyes wary, but curious too.

She slid the stool back, reached into one of the drawers on the moveable cabinet, and grabbed what she needed. Getting him into the brace was a whole thing on its own. He cried and screamed as she tried to be as gentle as she could, and every sound he made felt like a knife in her chest. “I know, sweetie. I know. But this will help, I promise,” she murmured, trying to calm him.

His pain broke her heart. Shattered it into a million pieces. Because no child deserves to suffer like that.

Once she finally got him strapped in, Elain released his arm but didn’t step back. No, she couldn’t leave him in this state. Instead, she brushed more tears away with her thumb, cupping his cheek in comfort. It was completely out of line in that patient-doctor relationship, but frankly, she didn’t give a damn. Elain wouldn’t leave him like this—refused to. So, she gave him the gentleness of her touch, the security she knew he didn’t receive from his parents, wherever the fuck they might be.

“Elain,” Thesan said, catching her gaze. “Can we speak in the hall?”

She nodded, swiping her thumb over his cheek one last time. “We’ll be back, Kaden,” she murmured, resisting the urge to kiss the top of his head. Those damn hormones were really getting to her.

He slid the door shut behind them, turning to face her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She knew he didn’t mean her actions. “The severity of his fracture looks like it came from a large fall. Maybe down a staircase. Did you notice the scar on his other arm?”

“I did,” Thesan told her, eyes going hard. It wasn’t a look she saw on him often, but child abuse cases were always difficult. “It looked like something that required stitching but didn’t receive it. It’s too harsh to have been healed properly.”

She grunted in agreement. “I don’t think we’ll be able to get an x-ray from him. Not when he’s this terrified. I know he needs surgery without it, but maybe we can grab an x-ray after we put him under?” Her boss nodded his head in a way that said he was on the same wavelength as her. “Where are his parents? How did he get brought in here?”

“I’m about to go find out from Viviane. Hopefully she or one of the other nurses can give us more detail.”

“I’ll reach out to social services and see if I can get our social worker from child protective services down here quickly. I suspect child abuse and we’re going to need somebody to sign off on his surgery,” Elain said, already pulling her phone from the front of her scrubs.

He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “You did good in there, Elain. He wouldn’t have let me get near him, but you connected with him.” He paused, eyes flicking between hers. “It was that maternal instinct coming out. I could see it in how you handled him—comforted him. Excellent work.”

She couldn’t stop the blush from rising to her cheeks. “Thank you, Thesan.”

Gripping her once more, he strode away, heading for the nurses’ station to speak with them about their patient.

Elain glanced back over her shoulder at the child in the room behind her, his body curled up on his side as best as he could with his arm braced. His little hand fisted the sheets, eyes having drifted close. Her heart hammered in her chest. What else could he have been through that they didn’t know? Scrolling through the phone, she tapped on the name of their CPS contact.

It rang twice before she picked up. “Hey,” Elain said quietly. “I need you at the hospital. Now.”

A pause before she said. “Give me fifteen minutes,” and hung up.

She stared through that glass door, lips pulling down into a sad frown. Something drew her toward him, and Elain was determined to figure out why.

~~~

Elain was waiting for the CPS worker at the front of the nurses’ station. She and Thesan had a quick convo where he informed her of everything they knew about their patient, which turned out, wasn’t a whole lot. He had been sent over from the hospital in Illyria, not having a pediatric surgeon on hand to help him. Technically, she and Thesan also weren’t pediatric surgeons, but they’d been trained in those patients to be able to provide him the care he needed.

Her attention snagged on the tall woman walking into the building, her pace quick and determined.

Elain met her halfway. “Emerie,” she murmured, shaking her hand. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“You sounded urgent on the phone.”

They strode through the hospital to the elevators. “It is. My patient’s name is Kaden. He has a transverse complete fracture that requires surgery.”

Emerie flicked her thick, dark plait of hair over her shoulder. “Parents won’t sign off on it?”

“Parents aren’t here,” Elain said, pressing the button for floor three to take them to the pediatrics department. “His neighbor called it in when she got home from the grocery store. Told the EMTs that she heard his screams and just called for help.”

“How old is he?”

The doors slid open and they stepped out of the elevator. “Just over four.” She directed them toward his door. “There’s something else,” she started, looking over at the boy in question. “He won’t speak and seems very intimidated by people. Fearful of them. I suspect he’s a victim of child abuse. I was barely able to get the brace on him, so we haven’t attempted an x-ray yet.”

Emerie pursed her lips in contemplation. “What’s your plan?”

“We want to do the x-ray while he’s under. It’s obvious he will need his facture repaired surgically, but we won’t get a clear picture of the damage until we get him prepped.”

She nodded. “I can get on board with that after I try and talk with him of course.” Emerie looked in at the child lying on the bed. “You said he’s just over four?” she asked.

“Yes. His chart shows his birthday was a few months ago.”

Those dark eyes found hers. “He looks awfully small for a four-year-old.”

Elain’s heart ached in her chest. “Yes, we were thinking he appeared a bit malnourished.”

“Do me a favor. When you get him in for x-rays, get some of his body. I want to see if any previous injuries can sanction the abuse.”

Elain’s chin dipped in confirmation as she grabbed the handle of the door and slid it open. “Hello, Kaden,” she said, voice softening. “I’ve brought a friend who wants to talk with you.”

His head turned to look over at them, eyes going straight to Emerie. He shuffled on the bed, curling into himself.

She shared a glance with Elain before moving forward, cautiously. “Hello, Kaden. My name is Emerie. I’m here to help you.”

He blinked at her, not unfurling from his fetal-like position.

Emerie frowned, returning her attention to her. “Do you think he might be deaf?”

Elain’s brows shot into her hairline. She hadn’t thought that at all. “He seems like he can hear us, but let me see,” she said, turning to sign can you hear me at the little boy.

No response.

She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s deaf. Just mute.”

The social worker’s mouth turned down further. “I’ll sign off on the surgery. I can see the injury from here. Has anyone tried to contact his parents?”

“There’s a number for a father, but it’s been disconnected. I can give you his file to see if there’s anything you can pull from it.” Emerie gripped her arm in thanks, moving to sit down on the rolling stool that she sat upon earlier. “I’m going to call up to the OR to get a room prepped. A nurse will be in with the forms to sign in a bit.”

She gave Kaden a small smile, hoping it would bring one to his face, but he just stared at her, little hands fisting the bedsheets. Elain felt an undeniable pull toward the child. A deep-seated need to help him—care for him. She just needed to figure out how.

~~~

Four remodeled fractures.

Elain sat in the chair next to Kaden’s bed as she looked through the X-rays they took of him. She pulled out four, severe remodeled fractures—now five with the one they just repaired. How the fuck did a child of four have five fractures in his lifetime already?

Anger, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before burned inside of her like a volcano readying to erupt. It was obvious that this boy had experienced such tremendous pain and horrors in his young life. She couldn’t help but compare him to her husband, born into cruelty. Abused and neglected. Left to fend for himself.

It left a dangerous spot in her heart. One where she wasn’t sure if she could untangle him from.

The door slid open and Emerie popped in, her dark eyes glancing toward the sleeping child. “How’d it go?” she whispered. Getting him under had taken some work. The anesthesiologist ordered him to be held down so he could put the mask on his crying face when she entered.

“Do not hold him down,” Elain had growled, storming into the operating room after having scrubbed down. The surgical nurses seemed to back up at the look on her face. Even the two residents assigned to the surgery hesitated. She’d moved to his side, fingers stroking his soft cheek. “Hi, sweet boy,” she murmured, voice softening. “I’m going to fix your arm now, but you need to go to sleep first. You don’t want to be awake for this.” Her thumb made a gentle caress back and forth on his face. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

She made quick work wiping his tears away, humming under her breath a simple lullaby. Elain waited until he was calm, silver-lined eyes drying as his eyelids slowly lowered without her even using the gas on him. She knew he was likely exhausted, having gone hours without much sleep. The constant crying would’ve drained him too. So, only when he finally shut his eyes, did she take the mask from the anesthesiologist and place it over his face.

The door clicking shut behind Emerie pulled her from her memory. “Getting him under was rough, but I managed to get it done.” She held out the X-rays for her. “He’s had four other fractures that I found. Two hairline ones on his third and fourth ribs, one to his left femur, and one…” her words trailed off, unable to spit out the location of that last injury.

Emerie took a seat on the stool, facing her. “Where was the last one, Elain?”

She took a ragged breath. “On the back of his skull.”

“Any ideas on how he got it?”

Elain sat back in the chair she’d brought in. “Looks like he might’ve collided with something. Probably pushed backward and fell into a table or something similar.”

“They were set properly, though?”

She nodded. “Yes, the last one looks to be about a year old now. The others are about two.” Elain frowned. “The first four were cared for, but this time he was left alone to deal with it. What changed?” she wondered more to herself than anything, but it appeared the social worker had the answer.

Emerie handed her another file. “His mother died. It wasn’t in his medical report, but I had some people do a little digging and found the name of his birth parents. Lorenzo and Anastasia Salazar.” Her lips turned down in the corner. “Reviewing everything you’ve given me and the reports I’ve pulled, I’d theorize the abuse came from the father and when he left, the mother took him to seek medical attention off books.”

“Off books?” Elain asked, brows furrowing.

“There’s nothing in his medical history about the abuse. No flags have ever been attached to his profile in the system. So, either they paid off whatever doctor they used, or they had somebody private doing at-home calls.”

Like Azriel’s personal medical team…She was careful to keep her face neutral, but Elain had a feeling that Lorenzo was a part of some gang, if not the Illyrian Mob itself. Sighing, she looked back at the sleeping boy, her heart racing in her chest.

“Should I be looking into other options for him aside from foster care?” Emerie asked carefully, eyes flicking down to her pregnant stomach and then back up.

Elain’s dark gaze met hers. “I don’t know,” she said earnestly.

The social worker seemed to understand. “Tell you what. I’ll prepare both options for you and then you can decide what you want to do after you talk to your husband.”

Something inside her chest unlocked at her words.

A groggy sigh caught their attention and they twisted to see Kaden’s eyes fluttering open. His small whimper had Elain moving, sitting on the edge of his bed to run her fingers through his dark hair.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she murmured.

He looked at her with large, hazel, and green eyes before curling into her side, cuddling close to her.

It took all of Elain’s willpower to not sob in elation that he felt comfortable with her now. How long had he gone without love or affection that he would cling to a near stranger who showed him any sort of warmth?

Emerie smiled, rising from her chair. “I’m going to go start handling some paperwork. Call me if you need anything in the meantime or if anything changes.”

She waved her off, resituating herself on his bed as she gave herself a few more seconds of snuggling this precious boy.

~~~~~

Azriel knew something was bothering Elain the moment she stepped through the elevator door. He could read it on her face, in the half-assed smile she shot him. In the way she picked at the food on her dinner plate.

It frustrated him that when he asked her about work, knowing something was wrong, she lied to his face and said it was fine. It wasn’t fine. Nothing about the way his wife was acting was fine. He just wished she would tell him what it was.

“You need to eat, El,” he tried, keeping his voice soft.

She pushed her plate back. “I’m not hungry.”

He tried not to get irritated—he knew Elain was carrying a lot on her plate with her job and the pregnancy. But he was done with her not being honest with him. Azriel sighed, setting his utensils down on his plate with a clank. “All right. I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

Her dark eyes glanced at him, before returning to stare at her meal. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit, Elain. I can tell something is wrong without you even having to say it. It’s written as clear as day on your face. I am your husband. You’re supposed to confide in me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s the matter.”

Az expected her to relent. To sigh, eyes rolling to the sky and finally tell him everything. What he didn’t expect was for her to burst into tears.

Her face fell into the cradle of her palms as a heart-wrenching sob tore from her throat.

For a moment, he froze, blind-sighted by the sudden emotion. And then the panic swept in. He was out of his seat a second later, moving around the edge of the table to pull her chair back and kneeling in front of her seat. “Hey,” he murmured, rubbing his hands on her thighs. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He kissed her kneecap, squeezing her legs gently to show her he was there for her.

Elain sniffed, running the back of her hand under her nose. “You didn’t upset me.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Then what did, love?”

She let out a shaky breath, hands falling into her lap. He took one in his, gripping it tightly. “I had a patient today with a fractured arm that we had to surgically repair. He was only four, and was brought in alone—no father and the mother died last year.” Elain sniffed again. “I found four other remodeled fractures on him from over the last two years. One of them was on the back of his skull.”

Azriel had a feeling about where this was leading. “Abuse?” he asked, voice carefully soft.

Elain nodded. “It would appear so.” She wet her lips, finally meeting his gaze. “Az, he looks like you. He could be your son.”

His eyes widened, unsure of where she was going but he had a hunch.

“I picked out his Illyrian heritage easily enough, but his circumstances, the way he’s been brutalized…they all remind me of you. Of your past.”

He couldn’t argue with her. Just hearing about the pain that had been inflicted on him reminded Az of his childhood. In how his father and half-brothers tortured him. It took an effort to not glance down at his scarred hands, a physical reminder of the trauma he’d endured. “What’s going to happen to him?”

“I’ve been in touch with Child Protective Services and he will likely go into the foster care system. But, looking at what’s been done to him, in the fact that he refuses to talk, and is terrified of adults, I’m concerned he won’t even be considered for adoption…” She let the words hang there, hoping he’d pick up on the unspoken ones she hadn’t yet said out loud but was hinting toward.

Az cocked his head to the side. “You want to adopt him.” It wasn’t a question—it didn’t need to be one. He could see Elain’s every desire as if it were written on her forehead. She had fallen in love with that child.

She dipped her head in confirmation, lower lip trapped between her teeth.

He squeezed her fingers again, thinking over his next few questions. “Love, I need to ask you something, and I want you to promise me you won’t get upset with me for it. Because I think this question needs to be asked.”

Her tongue darted along her lip, but she nodded for him to continue.

“Could the desire to adopt him have anything to do with your pregnancy? I know you have a lot of hormones running through you right now, and your maternal side is going to be very potent. This isn’t just because of that, right? You truly want him?”

Elain was already shaking her head. “No, it’s not that. He was brought to me for a reason, Az. I can feel it in my gut.” Her small hand cradled her stomach in emphasis.

He kissed her knuckles. “And it’s not because he reminds you of me?” He needed to hear her say it. That she wasn’t trying to save this child because of the similarities, but because she truly wanted to take on another kid.

“I’ve never been one for higher powers, but there’s something about Kaden that has completely unraveled me. He fears people but he trusts me. I know, deep in my heart, he was brought to my hospital because I could give him the life he deserves. That we could offer him something better and love him so fully, he’ll never remember a time where he suffered.” Elain wiped the tear from under her lashes. “He is supposed to be our son, Az. I just know it down to my bones.”

It was a lot to consider. She was halfway through her pregnancy with twins and adopting a third child right now would be insane. But he knew they could do it—that they had the means and the love to give to three children. People might call them mad, but looking at her, he had never seen such determination in her eyes and he could feel it buzzing under his skin. “All right,” he said, squeezing her hand again. “I’ll come to the hospital tomorrow afternoon to meet him.”

Elain’s brown eyes brightened like rays of sunshine. “Really? You mean that?”

“If he’s important to you, then he’s important to me, love. That’s the only thing that matters.” And he meant it too. Azriel would lay the stars at her feet if she asked for them.

More tears ran down her cheeks as she slid off her chair and threw her arms around his neck. He held her close, one hand cupping the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, and the other running lines up and down her spine.

“Thank you, Az,” she cried, dampening the skin of his throat.

He hushed her sobs, pulling back to hold her cheeks in his palms. “I love you, Elain. All of you. And I would give you anything your heart desires.” His words had her crying in earnest, enough so that it took him a while to calm her down.

Thoroughly exhausted, Azriel carried his pregnant wife up the stairs and put her to bed; a hum of excitement stirring in his chest at what was to come.

~~~

Azriel pulled into a parking spot outside of the hospital at exactly three o’clock. His heart was racing in his chest like he’d just run a marathon, his gut swirling with anxiety. Elain had told him that the boy—Kaden, he reminded himself—was fearful of adults. In particular, males.

What if he didn’t like him? If he was scared of him? The questions had been daunting him all day and if he was being honest with himself, he was worried. He was worried that he wouldn’t be able to form a connection with this child. That he’d only bond with Elain and would resent Az’s presence.

It was fucking irrational, he knew that. But still, the thoughts invaded his mind and refused to let go.

He pulled out his phone and checked the messages from Elain.

Third floor, children’s ICU.

He’s been exceptionally clingy to me today.

Az smiled down at his phone at the second message, picturing the little boy snuggled into his wife’s side when she visited him. Which, was every chance she got.

Taking a deep breath, he climbed out of the vehicle and headed to the front entrance.

The Moonbeam twins had taken up residence in the lobby and spotted him immediately, rising from their seats to greet him.

“Mr. Knight,” Fenrys spoke. “Is everything all right?” he asked, looking over his shoulder into the emergency room concerned.

“Everything is fine. I’m just meeting Elain for an appointment.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. They had decided to forgo telling anyone about the potential adoption until much further into the process, not wanting anyone to try and talk them out of it.

“Of course,” Connall said, stepping aside. “We won’t keep you waiting.”

He offered them a quirk of his lips before heading for the elevator, but he stopped on his way, spying the hospital gift shop. In particular, the stuffed teddy bear in the window. With a glance over his shoulders to make sure nobody had spotted him, he turned into the shop and plucked the bear out of the window display, taking it to the cashier.

A few minutes later, he was riding up to floor three, the soft, plush toy in his grip. Az tugged on the knot of his tie, loosening it around his neck. His hazel eyes spotted Elain across the floor, sitting on the edge of a bed. Her mouth was moving, but she was behind a closed door so he couldn’t hear what she was saying.

Like a moth to a flame, he moved toward her, his heart hammering in his chest as he approached the glass slider and knocked.

Elain’s head snapped up, the most radiant smile pulling on her lips as she beckoned him in with a wave of her hand. Fuck, she was so gorgeous. Even made more radiant by the pregnancy as she entered into the second-trimester glow.

Azriel slid the door open, catching the end of her sentence.

“—someone I’d like for you to meet.”

Her fingers threaded through a dark mop of hair, and he finally let his eyes roam over the small child clinging to her waist.

“Kaden, this is my husband, Azriel. Azriel,” she said, gaze flicking to his with a soft smile. “This is Kaden.”

He looked at the young boy, meeting his stare and offering him a calming smile. “Hello, Kaden. It’s nice to meet you.”

Not a sound. Nothing from him other than turning to bury his face further into Elain’s side.

His heart broke, but Azriel was nothing if not determined, placing the teddy bear on the bed against the railing.

Elain grinned at him, thumb rubbing over Kaden’s cheek. “Did you see what Azriel brought you?” she murmured.

A green eye, flecked with gold peeked out from Elain’s waist, glancing at the plush toy but he didn’t reach for it.

Az sat down on the rolling stool, sliding over to the opposite side of the bed as his wife.

“We were just reading a story,” she announced, handing him the book. “How about Azriel finishes for me?” she murmured, brushing Kaden’s dark hair away from his face. “How does that sound?”

He thumbed open the book, going to the page she indicated they left off on. Clearing his throat, he began to read, using the inflections of his voice to aid him in his efforts to make it engaging. Kaden didn’t move away from his wife the entire time he spoke, but he did eventually turn his head to watch him.

Azriel took in the child in his peripheral, seeing the resemblance of himself. He could see why she had claimed he could’ve been his son. Bearing nearly his identical coloring and many similar markers of his Illyrian heritage, Kaden could easily be mistaken as his biological child.

And yet, it was obvious that Kaden was terrified of him.

He sat there for an hour, reading with him, trying to converse with him, and nothing. Azriel felt like a failure. Rising from his seat, he bid the boy farewell, shooting his wife a sad smile.

“I’ll walk you out,” she told them, ruffling Kaden’s hair before following him out of the room.

“He hates me,” he groaned, stopping in his tracks and scrubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes.

Elain moved to stand in front of him. “He does not hate you, Azriel. He’s just intimidated by you—”

“How is that better?”

She ran a hand up his bicep to grip him around the back of his neck. “You can make yourself less intimidating, Az. You in a suit is a force to be reckoned with, and frankly, I have a feeling his father wore similar attire.”

His brows furrowed. “What makes you say that?”

Her thumb traced over his jaw. “The woman who found him refused to give the paramedics her name. They said she looked terrified to even be talking to them. He’s Illyrian, Az…” her voice trailed off, leading him to the answer.

“You think his father is in the Illyrian Mob.” Not a question but a statement of fact.

“Lorenzo Salazar,” Elain confirmed.

The name didn’t immediately register anything in his brain, but he had something to go off of now. Azriel would look into him, find every single detail about the man’s life, and then decide if he deserved to die for the pain and suffering he put his son through.

“Come back tomorrow in jeans and a plain shirt and I’m sure it will help,” Elain told him, bringing his attention back to her face. Her eyes glanced over his shoulder to the boy in the room, a smile tugging on her lips. “Az,” she whispered, nodding toward the room behind them.

Something warm flared in his chest as he turned, and saw Kaden clutching the teddy bear he brought tightly to his body.

Elain stepped up to his side. “If he was afraid of you, Azriel, he would not be touching that toy. You connected with him, even if you can’t physically see it, but you did.”

A sense of awe washed over him, followed by an overwhelming urge to love and protect that boy. He wasn’t sure how long they stood staring at his sleeping form until he breathed, “I want him, El…I want him to be a part of our family.”

Her soft hand slipped into his, fingers lacing. “So, let’s bring him home.”

With joy and love, they stood watching the boy who would one day soon become their son.

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

While I have moved most of my fics to AO3 only, I am still going to utilize a tag list here on Tumblr. This as a permanent solution and may change in the future. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3. If you would like to be added to my tag list, please leave a comment on this post.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Taglist: 

@nikethestatue

@reverie-tales

@123moiaussi

@duskwhisperer

@zdenkah

@nyxreads

@shedoessoshedoes

@athena-85

@jasmineandshadows

@nightcourtseer

@nivem565

@debramclaren

@illyrianvalkyriecarynthian

@secretpuppyflower

@justreallybored

@ultadverb

@the-regal-warrior

@roseandshadows

@tcursebreaker

@kingravinger

@mis-lil-red

@eloeloeheheh

@fawnandshadows

@swankii-art-teacher

@miss-bee-cat

@bookhhrelaz

@impossiblescissorspeachpaper

@elrielbaby

@lesolehabitantdelalune

@thoughtsaboutshows

@britishwings

@aelin21galathynius

@saz-griffin

@azrielslight

@bookstaninthesoul

@curiositywoman

@karsyn-b2

@elainsweetcobalt

@emilyondemand

Some tags seem to not want to link, which could be related to your visibility settings. Sorry about that!

[hopefulatrocity]

From The Ashes Chapter 3

Notes: Small Daryl POV this chapter! They will officially meet not the next chapter, but the one after, I promise. I’m already halfway done with it. I like to be at least one chapter ahead of my posts. 

If you want to be added to a taglist, leave a comment or message me

CW/TW: Anxiety, beginnings of anxiety attack, allusions to past trauma/transphobia

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics & @omiyours

Banner by: @liminal-creations​

Prev Next

As soon as Pheonyx turned 18, he started donating blood. As a universal donor, he felt a sense of obligation to help in some way. Every few months, he found himself sitting in a sterile office, his hand gripping a stress ball, while a tube drained a unit of his blood into a bag. Blood that would likely save someone’s life in the future. So, when Patricia hooked him up to Hershel’s antique transfusion set–one needle in his arm and the other in Carl’s– Pheonyx felt like a piece of the world from before had been handed to him. It was small but–when the world was being taken over by walking corpses–any bit of familiarity helped ease the constant anxiety. The new world always sneaks back up though. 

The chair beneath him was uncomfortable and he felt vulnerable with the tube sticking out of his dominant arm. If shadows were to show up, he would be exposed. He wouldn’t have much time to disconnect himself and then reach for his cutlass. He tried to ease his anxiety, by going through all the precautions he had placed in the woods and around the property. He would know before the shadows showed up. There would be enough time to prepare himself if the farm was attacked.  To distract his thoughts, Pheonyx stared at the clammy face of the boy, who Rick said was named Carl. Hershel sat on the other side of the bed and took his blood pressure. The light hissing of the pressure cuff, filling the silence. Rick and the other man, Shane, had left a short while ago. Likely to discuss how to get word to the kid’s mother about his condition. 

“Do you think he can hear us?”, Pheonyx asked, not taking his eyes from the boy. 

Hershel was quiet for a moment while he undid the cuff around Carl’s small arm. “I’m not sure, honestly. Research has suggested that we’re able to understand auditory stimulation while in unconscious states. But I doubt we will ever truly know. I’m sure he would appreciate you talking to him, even if he can’t hear you.”, he answered honestly. 

Pheonyx nodded and leaned his head back against the rickety wood chair. Another question bubbled in his mind, “When-When I was in the hospital, did I look like him?”

His stepfather was shocked by the inquiry. In the past 6 years, his stepson hadn’t mentioned anything in relation to the events that led to his need to move states. Those times were dark in every member of the Greene family’s minds. For weeks, Pheonyx’s life had hung in the balance. Every bit of prejudice and confusion that had still resided in his parent’s minds was forgotten and it made them take stock of their treatment in regards to their son’s gender identity. The world was already fighting against him, his injuries and trauma being evidence of that. Did they really want to spend their time stuck in their narrow minded ways, or did they put forth the effort to understand and love their son? It was an easy decision for them. They refused to be another bully in the schoolyard of Pheonyx’s life. Hershel only wished it hadn’t taken almost losing him, to truly appreciate his stepson and to find understanding in the Bible’s command to love without bias.

“Yes, son.” he answered softly, his mind drifting in a sea of darkness from the past. “When your mom and I first walked into your room, we thought you had already passed. You were so pale, you almost blended in with the sheets you were laying on, and you were so still. Your mother is a strong woman. Hardly ever cried. I’m sure you know that. Aside from Bethie’s birth and your Grandpops dying, that was the only time I ever saw Annette shed tears…”

Hershel trailed off, the pain from those days and the mention of his wife making his gut clench. He stood and placed the blood pressure cuff on the nightstand. 

“You know how to remove the needles?”, he asked. When Pheonyx nodded, he continued. “You can go ahead and do that. We might need another unit in a bit, so I would like you to stay here. I need to talk to the boy’s father.” 

Pheonyx began clamping both of the tubes connected to his and Carl’s arm, “Okay. If Maggie is going out to find his mother, tell her to come see me beforehand, please?” 

Hershel assented and left the room, shutting the door most of the way. Pulling the needle from the ditch in his arm, Pheonyx reached over to the first aid kit that was sitting on the end of the bed. He grabbed some alcohol wipes and two bandaids. With those, he cleaned his own arm, placed a bandage on the tiny mark, and moved to do the same for Carl. It seemed slightly pointless to be cleaning the small puncture when the boy currently had a gaping wound in his abdomen. But it wasn't like they could take him to the doctor for an infection. If they had the means to clean a wound properly, they should. Plus, it kept his hands busy and allowed his mind to wander to those days in the hospital. 

“I know you don’t know me. You probably can’t even hear me. But on the off chance you can… You’re going to make it through this. I just met you. Heck, I haven't even talked to you, but I can already tell you’re a strong kid. I guess you have to be, to survive in the world right now.” Pheonyx pulled his chair a bit closer and took a seat. Hesitantly, he took Carl’s hand and squeezed softly. Maybe it was to comfort the boy. Maybe it was more to comfort himself from the memories that haunted his mind. He remembered waking up in the hospital with a gunshot to his stomach–in almost the exact same place as Carl’s– and the pain from the wound was minor compared to the agony in his mind.  

“Daddy said you needed to see me?”, the calming voice of his sister had him dragging his eyes away from the bed. Discreetly, he wiped the tears that had been forming in his eyes. 

“Uh, yeah. Are you taking a horse to find his mom?”

Maggie nodded, “Rick says a little girl got separated from their group yesterday. They were up at the traffic snarl on the highway. He says they split up and his wife is with the rest of the group, headin’ back that way.”

Pheonyx mentally mapped the route in his head. “ Check the map I have hung up in the stable. The green lines are safe routes through the woods. Avoid the red areas, I haven’t cleared those yet. Red stars are the traps. I’ve been taking Koda out when I place them. If you take him, he should take the safest route around them even if he’s going full speed.”

Maggie stiffened, “Nyx, if Daddy knew about what you’ve been doin’-”

“We can argue about it later. The boy needs his mom.”, His voice hardened, “There’s a copy of the map I made, on top of the table by the tack room. Give it to the rest of their group. It might help them while they look for the girl and keep them from getting hurt on any of the traps. I’ll help them more whenever they get here.”

Running a hand through her short brown hair, his sister sighed but relented. “Alrigh’. Anything else I should know?”

“Yeah, tell them to be careful of the barbed wire on the edge of the property.”

DARYL POV

Daryl Dixon had spent the majority of his life in the woods. Even more so since the dead started rising. When Sophia ran into the woods and went missing, he was the obvious choice to lead up the search. Rick and he had followed her trail as long as they could the day before but they lost the light and had to stop for the night. The little girl’s tracks had disappeared a while ago. She was light footed and he was having a hard time picking up her route. The whole group had searched most of the day. Rick, Shane, and Carl had split up to look for a while more while Daryl led the rest of the group back to the highway. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of splitting the group up. The more people searching for Sophia increased the likelihood of her being found. Being sent off to play tour guide to the rest of them–when he could be following the girl’s trail–just pissed him off. He was the only one in the group with a lick of sense in regards to surviving in the woods. Why did he have to play babysitter to a bunch of housewives, an uppity blonde, and Glenn? He should be the one searching for the girl, not Deputy Douchebag, Officer Friendly, and an 11yr old boy. Especially considering the state of the forest they were searching.

From the moment they started the search that morning, his mind had noticed something off about the woods around them. The distinct lack of shambling corpses was the big thing. The few walkers that they had come across were dead, their heads cut in half or arrow holes right between the eyes. Several along their path had met the same fate. Another odd thing were the traps scattered through the woods. During the first search, he had heard the tinkling of metal, but he had been so focused on finding Sophia and listening for the groans of walkers, that he had brushed it off. But not even an hour into the group’s search on the second day, they had found the first trap. A large tree was surrounded by sharpened sticks, stuck in the ground at a 45 degree angle. Dried blood covered the majority of the pointed ends. In the branches above the sticks, were wind chimes. Some were handmade, constructed of small bones or bits of scrap metal, others were the kind you could find at most stores. Nailed on the tree, blood dripping down the bark like trails of tears, was fresh offal. Possum and Raccoon by his best guess. Off to the side of the tree, a small 7x7 hole was dug. Only a few feet deep, the inside was scorched with the remains of burned walkers at the bottom.

Carol started hyperventilating at the sight of the bodies, thinking the worst had happened to her daughter. Lori moved Carl behind her while the others stared at the tree. 

“What is this?”, Glenn finally asked, breaking the silence. 

Daryl moved forward, crossbow at the ready, “Looks like a walker trap. Sound from the chimes draws ‘em in. Smell a’ the blood and flesh keeps their ‘ttention and lures ‘em onto the spikes. Hole’s for burnin’ them. Someone’s keepin’ the woods clear. ‘Splains all the dead ones we’ve found.”

Rick and Shane made sure their weapons were drawn, glancing around the area. The sheriff kept his voice low, “Someone’s livin’ around here. Everybody be on guard. We don’t know if they’re friendly.”

The gray-haired woman let out a small sob, “Oh god, they might have my baby. Or she could be caught in one of these traps somewhere. They could be burning her right now!” Andrea moved forward to comfort the older woman, speaking calming words and assurances.

After that, they walked quieter, avoiding unnecessary chatter. They passed 7 of those traps along the way, checking the hole at each one for a body of Sophia’s size. Some of them had walkers impaled on them, all grasping for the flesh nailed to the wood in front of them. 

The ringing of bells had them all running towards a church, hopeful that maybe the little girl had found a way to signal the group. But all they found was speakers set up to a timer and a perimeter of barbed wire and spikes that surrounded the abandoned building. Several walkers were impaled on the spikes, slowly grabbing for the building when the bells sounded. Daryl quickly dispatched one with his bow, while Glenn and Rick killed the other 3 with hunting knives. The doors to the church were open, blocked by barbed wire and sticks, but the inside was empty. The only signs of life were the dead walkers on the ground, killed in the same way as the others they found. By that point, it was mid afternoon and they needed to turn back in order to make it to the highway before sundown. Daryl had intended to point the rest of the group in the right direction and keep searching, but Rick wanted to keep up the search himself. Shane and Carl opted to tag along with them. Honestly, he was surprised Lori cut the cord and allowed the boy out of her sight for more than a minute. 

That’s how he ended up leading the others through the woods, holding in his anger at the talk behind him. They spoke like Sophia was already dead. Yeah, the girl was a bit weak. She was terrified of everything and had little knowledge of surviving in the wild. But she also had Ed as a father. A bastard who enjoyed putting his hands on his wife and child. As someone who grew up with a parent like that, Daryl knew that surviving those experiences formed a strength and determination to live in most people. He felt it in his bones that Sophia was one of those people. She was physically weak but she was whip-smart and had good instincts. Those things trump brute strength most of the time. 

In anger, he snapped at the group, insisting they would find Sophia. The looks on their faces had old insecurities rising in his chest. The hesitant looks of people waiting for the dirty redneck to blow up. Granted, Merle’s explosive behaviors had certainly colored their views of him by association. And his violent reaction to finding out his brother was left in Atlanta didn’t help matters. Despite his efforts to prove himself to this group, his mind still insisted that he was useless and they’d turn against him eventually. The old voice of his father still haunted the back of his mind. Telling him that he was no good, that no one could ever care for him. Physically avoiding the memory of his father and the subsequent tingling on his back, Daryl turned away from the group and kept moving forward. His grip on his crossbow, white knuckled. 

At some point they heard a gunshot. Only one. He tried to reassure Lori that Rick had probably just killed a walker, but even he knew that was a lie. Rick may be a bit naive to the world now, but he wasn’t stupid. Neither was Shane. They wouldn’t waste ammo or risk noise just for one walker. They continued to walk. About 100 yards from the highway, Andrea’s screams had them running. She had distanced herself at some point during their trek and a walker had snuck up on her. Before Daryl had a chance to put an arrow in the ugly bastard’s head, the sounds of hoofbeats preceded the entrance of a girl on horseback. Bat raised in the air, she brought it down and knocked the walker  a few feet away from Andrea. 

“Lori? Lori Grimes?”, she pulled up on the reins, halting the horse's momentum. Sweat was dripping down her face, making her short brown hair stick to her cheeks. The girl looked between all of them, waiting for an answer. 

Lori moved forward, “I’m Lori.”

“Rick sent me. You got to come now.”, the stranger began to pull out some folded paper from her pocket. 

Daryl, still slightly shocked at the sight of the woman riding in like some kind of superhero, saw Lori’s back tense. “What?”, she asked, her mind obviously snapping to the sound of the gunshot they had heard earlier. 

“There’s been an accident. Carl’s been shot. He’s still alive but you’ve gotta come now.”, at Lori’s lack of response, the girl spoke firmer. “Rick needs you. Just come!” 

As Lori tossed her backpack to the ground, Daryl moved forward to try to stop her, “Whoa-Whoa-Whoa! We don’t know this girl! You can’t get on that horse!”

His warnings fell on deaf ears though, the only thing on Lori’s mind was her son. She deftly jumped on the horse, settling behind the strange woman. 

“Rick said you had others on the highway, that big traffic snarl?”, the woman asked. 

Glenn stared at her, his eyes starstruck, “Uh-huh.” he said dumbly.

Tossing the paper she had pulled from her pocket, Daryl caught it, being the closest one. A quick glance told him it was some kind of map. He could see colored ink marked onto the printed chart. 

“Backtrack to Fairburn road. Two miles down is our farm. You'll see the mailbox-- Name's Greene–”, she glanced between all of them, stopping to linger on him and the crossbow in his hands. Almost as if she knew something he didn’t, a ghost of a smile curved her lips, one that was gone before it could even register for most of the group. “Key’s on the bottom of the map. Be careful of the barbed wire around the edges of the property.” With a flick of the reins pushing the horse into motion, the woman and Lori disappeared into the depths of the forest. 

They all stared after the pair riding the horse. Daryl was angry Lori hadn’t listened to him but was also worried about Carl, if what the woman said was true. If god was real, he sure had a sick sense of humor. They’d almost been blown up a couple days ago, Sophia had gone missing the day before, now Carl was shot? You’d think that their quota of shit to deal with would have been met a long time ago, but apparently not. 

A groan had the group turning their head to the walker that the strange woman had hit moments before. Map in one hand, Daryl used the other to lift his crossbow and shoot the geek between the eyes. 

“Shut up.”, he snapped, needing an outlet for his frustration. Hooking his crossbow over his shoulder, Daryl began to unfold the map. He briefly recognized the layout of the woods around them but his attention was drawn to the detailed marks around it. The whole area was organized into a color coded grid. Some blocks were marked green for safe, the others red for dangerous zones. At least a dozen dark green lines indicated safe trails leading to a property a few miles from the highway. He assumed it was the farm the girl was talking about. Red stars were dotted along the forest and the locations of a few stood out. They stood for the traps the group had found. He counted at least 20 of them throughout the few miles of woodlands. Other marks indicated hunting cabins, farmhouses, old barns, and clean water sources. The hours of hard work and surveying that had gone into this map was evident. Daryl lightly traced the script at the bottom of the map, where the key was located, with his thumb. The scribble was slightly sloppy but still legible. It didn’t look like a girl’s handwriting, but also wasn’t the chicken scratch that most men he knew had. He was oddly fascinated by it, the writing and the map. Glenn and Carol tried to look at it over his shoulder, but Daryl quickly–yet carefully– folded up the thin paper and stuck it in the breast pocket of his shirt. 

Grunting in a typical Dixon fashion, he walked over and grabbed his bolt from the walker on the ground.  “Come on. Need ta get back ‘fore it gets dark. Don’ want the ole’ man to have a heart attack.”

With that, the group made their way back to the highway. No one noticed that Daryl’s hand kept drifting towards the pocket near his heart, brushing against the folded paper through the dirty fabric. 

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

fellow lawyer here but just graduated in may! any tips on not going absolutely insane during bar studying? we’re 3 weeks out and i feel like im going to puke constantly.

omg congrats!!! there’s nothing quite like your bar summer (i still have nightmares even though i’m a few years out lol)

i’m probably the worst person to ask for advice bc i drank 2-3 trenta black iced coffees a day and gave myself an ulcer, but i did pass on the first try so it was worth it

with just a couple of weeks left, my best advice is to trust yourself and trust your studying. you know more than you think you know!! but here’s a few more little bits of advice under the cut ☺️

stop studying about halfway through the day on the sunday before the test and just let your brain breathe, don’t study on monday either. the last few days before the test it’s going to feel like you know NOTHING, but i promise that’s not the case. random obscure little laws will pop into your brain while you’re taking the test and you’ll be surprised at what you recall. i have never felt stupider than when i went into the test on tuesday morning.

don’t let people around you stress you out with their method of studying. people will be rattling off statutes and ucc sections and you’ll feel like an idiot. or they’ll be taking time off from studying and making it look easy, but you can’t be concerned with what other people are doing (unless you surround yourself with friends who study in a similar manner, then embrace that and quiz each other with flash cards)

take little breaks during the day to walk around, outside or even a lap of the library. sitting still after a couple of hours drove me crazy

i put screen time limits on every app and allowed myself a few minutes to scroll socials at lunchtime and the end of the day just to wind down (i also watched a lot of yankee games when i was done studying for the night bc i didn’t need to use my brain and was distracted lol)

i did SO MANY practice essays and mpts, which i think is like the key to passing. towards the end of prep, i was just bullet pointing the issues, laws and analysis, not even writing a full essay because i wanted to make sure i could issue spot. and remember that even if you forget a law, you can make one up and apply your facts to your made up law and you’ll still get points!! better to write ANYTHING than NOTHING

it’s totally natural to feel like puking every day because it’s three months of psychological warfare, tbh. follow your bar prep schedule and don’t worry about falling behind a bit or skipping around. my professors told as that as long as you completed like 90-95% of the barbri schedule, we were in good shape

i cried every day of the last two weeks of bar prep, but not for longer than a few minutes. i just needed to get the emotion out

don’t eat anything too heavy or out of the norm the days leading up to the test. you don’t want to have gastro issues while sitting for the test! i didn’t drink that much while i was taking the test bc i didn’t want to have to run to the bathroom lol

you’ll feel totally numb afterwards and i couldn’t remember a single question by the time i got home, which is def the brain protecting itself from obsessing until results are out

it sucks so much, but the test goes faster than you think it will and you’re so much more prepared than you think you are, i promise!!!

GOOD LUCK and let me know how you feel after you take it!!! rooting for you so hard!!! 🤍🤍🤍

[therandomavenger]

New Beginnings

               This is a big week for me. On Tuesday, the Spring Semester starts, and I will find myself a full-time student again for the first time in 13 years. This will not be my first experience as a ‘non-traditional’ student. In 2009, at the age of thirty-six, I went back to school to get a CIS degree. But that was while I was raising young children full time and trying to materially and emotionally support a spouse with a full-time teaching career. It was a lot. But I did well, even if I ran out of steam and fell about three credits shy of getting my AA.

               I think this experience will be different. I don’t have kids at home anymore, and my current partner is also a student, so we will be able to support each other. We’re even taking an ASL class together. No, this should be a completely different experience, though I know it won’t be stress-free. Also, I’m no longer singularly responsible for planning and cooking all our meals, and doing all the housework, the way I was before. My current partnership is much more equal than my last one was.

               I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous, though. I’m older than I was, even if I’m just as healthy, I think. In the intervening years, I’ve done a deep dive into how my brain works, and I know how to be productive. Over the past couple of years, I’ve been getting a lot of stuff done, both housework and writing and reading and other stuff. So, I know I can do it. It’s going to be an adjustment, however, having someone else’s external schedule imposed over mine. I’m going to have to get up on time every day (which means breaking my addiction to the snooze alarm, which is already in progress). I’m taking sixteen units, which is kind of a lot. Only one of those classes is online.

               The subject matter is different from anything I’ve ever studied before. I’m going back to earn a certificate in Digital Art and Design, so I’ll be in a lot of Art classes. Starting with line drawing and beginning design, as well as intro to digital art. That’s just this semester. Halfway through, I’ll be adding an Adobe Suite online tutorial class. I’m hoping this will give me a new set of skills that I can use to support my writing career. But this is an entirely new area for me.

               I spent most of my teenage years obsessively drawing, and I loved doing it, even if the art I produced was terrible. I knew nothing about anatomy, or design principles. S put some nice pictures together but had no hope of making most of my projects match the image I had in my head. Through all those years, I never took an art class. So, getting back to this now, at 51, feels like a return to an old vision of myself that was never quite able to develop. Will I be any better with formal training? I’d almost have to be.

               Future classes will take me further into design skills, including graphic design, as well as digital photography, animation, and web design. I’m excited to learn about all of it. My goal is to be able to gain proficiency at formatting my own books and designing my own book covers, and maybe, if I get good enough, earning some extra money by doing that for other people.

               But even as I add this new challenge, I’m not abandoning my writing goals. I still plan to produce 30,000 words a month. I have been on my new writing schedule for the last two weeks, just to make sure it’s realistic. 2-4 on Wednesday and Fridays, 11-2 on Saturdays. I need to produce 7500 words in those three days, and I’ve met or exceeded that in the first two weeks. So, I know this is doable. I also need to work in time for editing and other publishing-related tasks. I want to release three books this year.

               I think it’s important, as we get older, not to settle into old patterns, but to stretch and grow and learn new things, and expand into new areas. It keeps you young, and studies show it can actually extend your life and help stave off dementia. I’m definitely doing that.

               Am I afraid I might suck at this? Absolutely! But really, if I try this, and fail, then I really haven’t lost much. I lose more by never trying, and always wondering if I could have been successful.

               So, this week is a new beginning. I’m really looking forward to it. I feel like I am at the cusp of an entire new life, and I welcome its unfolding.

[wonderwomanfantasy]

under the stars together (part five)

part one/ part two/ part three/ part four/ part five/ part six/ part seven/ part eight/ part nine/ part ten(smut)/ part eleven& epilogue.(smut)

werewolf!OC x Fem!Reader

warnings: Daddy issues AND Mommy issues, mentions of illness and surgery, acts of violence, mentions of blood & gore, smut, werewolf smut,

word count: 2,800 (about)

summary: the sun is hot on your face as you ride into the unknown. home is to your back and you don't know what the future holds. Just how you like it. You've run here all on your own, and there's nothing tying you down, It would be so easy to pick up and start running again. It's freeing, It's terrifying. You could run, but you're choosing to stay.

Despite what he said, things were uncomfortable for days after. He didn’t crack jokes as often and when he did, you had to force yourself to laugh. Cole even missed walking you to your bike one day, which hurt a little bit. It was only once but you’d come to like those little interactions and you hadn’t realized how much they’d come to mean to you until he stopped. Luckily it was just once and he was back to his routine the next day. After that, you started making an effort to meet him halfway. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d made a friend. Most of the people you were close with you’d met years ago and had no clue why they stuck around you. But you tried with Cole, and things seemed to go back to normal. 

Until one day you came in and Cole looked ready to keel over. Cole gave you a tight-lipped smile as you came in but it did nothing to relax the grim look on his face. “Hey spitfire, we’re going to be closed for three days next week,”

“Are you sick? “ you asked, ignoring what he’d said entirely. 

“No, just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” he sighed, pitching the bridge of his nose. 

“Why are we closed next week, does it have something to do with why you didn’t sleep?” you asked, guessing correctly that the two were connected. 

“My family is coming into town.” He said “family” like they were a pack of wild animals coming through town instead of people. You had assumed that Cole’s family lived in town, that seemed to be the case for most people, you’d never guessed that he, like you, was an outsider to this place. 

“And that’s bad?” you pushed. 

“No- not bad but stressful. I don’t see my family often, usually just at Christmas so they’re going to be clingy, If I kept the shop open they’d come and try to talk to me, they’re going to want to hear every second of every day since I last see them and they’re going to be pissed when I tell them I haven’t done anything. My mom is going to take over my kitchen, and since both my brothers and my sister are staying with me that means I’m going to get kicked out of my room and sleep on the couch, I only have so much room I can’t have five people under one roof and they’re bringing the fucking horses I don’t have room for horses-”

“Horses?” you asked, cutting off his rant. You had loved Horses when you were a little girl, but you’d never gotten the chance to actually in person. Cole nodded. 

“Two of em, they’re getting old so my mom is shipping them up to my uncle's farm- it’s a real farm that’s not a euphemism, they can play with kids pose as unicorns shit like that but my place is just the perfect halfway point so those stupid fucking animals can stretch they’re legs and rest, god forbid I rest-”

“What kind of horses are they?” you asked, cutting him off again. 

“Brown ones?” he answered.

“Brown ones, what kind of answer is that?”

“I don’t know they’re my mother's horses.”

“Are they show ponies? Or do they plow fields? Do you ride them? Are they hot-blooded or-”

It was his turn to cut you off, “show ponies I think, they did agility courses and jumped, and they’re warm-blooded they’re horses,” you rolled your eyes but let the comment slide. 

“Show horses, are they Thoroughbreds? Or Morgans or-”

“Morgans!” he snapped his fingers when he said it, for the first time that day he smiled, really smiled. 

“Morgans are beautiful horses, they’re very versatile, just as good at endurance riding as they are for dressage,” you said, quoting from a book on horses you’d had as a girl. 

“You like horses?” he asked a little disbelievingly.  

“When I was younger I did, I just remembered some of the things I picked up,” You said trying for nonchalant. 

“Have you ever ridden one?” he asked.

“No, never even seen one in person,” you admitted. 

“Would you like to?”

“See one or ride them?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

“Both. My family would love to rant to someone who cared about horse nonsense, and I’m sure they’d let us take them for a walk through some of the backroads, they owe me that much,” he offered. You hesitated, you didn’t want to lead him on, and you certainly didn’t want to meet his family. But you wanted to ride a horse. 

“If it's not too much trouble,” you said timidly, Cole burst out laughing. 

“Never thought I’d see the day I’d see you, meek Spitfire,” he teased. 

“What was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to threaten you into letting me ride your family’s horses?” you snapped back. 

“There’s my Spitfire,” 

“If the rest of your family are as bad as you I want no part of it,”

“Oh they’re much worse, but I won’t let them tease you that’s my job,”

You wanted to drop it, but you couldn’t keep your curiosity contained. You had to know. Was he raised on a horse farm? Or a farm- farm? No to either, He lived in the city, his father worked as a mechanic and his mother was from old money, horses were her passion she always kept a few around to ride at shows and ride around the countryside. Cole had known how to ride a horse almost before he’d known how to walk. His brothers and sister had taken after his mother and had taken an interest in the horses. Cole had been the only one to take after his father and look after cars instead of animals. 

“He’d only just bought this place when he passed away,” he said, wistfully. “I’ve had it longer than him at this point, it’s kind of sad to think about it that way, it doesn’t feel like my place it’s still just my dad’s place that I work at.” You just nodded unsure what to say. 

He told you about his siblings, Erik, Hannah, and Jake. Cole was the eldest, the other three would team up together to pull pranks on him or kick his ass when they rough housed. It sounded like he wrestled with them a lot. 

It was bittersweet to hear about his home life. You’d never had a stable home life, constantly bouncing between your mom and dad, not feeling wanted by either of them. He talked so animatedly about his childhood. it was hard not to smile along with him, but you were also jealous that he’d gotten the home life you’d always wanted. Cole’s family was extensive, Uncles and Cousins, great aunts, and people he couldn’t remember how they were related to but were family all the same. It made your chest ache. 

“I can see how that can be stressful, it’s always been just me and my dad, it’s not always perfect but at least that’s only one other person I have to keep track of,” you said, 

“What’s your dad like?” he asked, you recoiled reflexively from the question. 

“He never wanted kids. He was always kind of bitter that he had to take care of me.” Cole waited for you to say more, but you didn’t, even when he pressed lightly. How could you even begin to describe it? Your dad had never been abusive. But it was draining, living with someone who didn’t want you. You had tried so hard to do everything perfectly wondering when you’d find the thing that would make him stop hating you. It had been so freeing to realize nothing would ever make you good enough to him and you could stop trying. Freeing and also crushing.

Things had gotten better when you’d started acting like your own person, taking care of yourself, and acting more like his roommate than his daughter. But he never missed an opportunity to fight with you, and you wanted your freedom just as badly as he wanted his. He wondered if he would let you come back, or start subtly hinting that you were old enough to get your place, it was a small miracle he didn’t completely cut you off when you turned eighteen. 

Your mother was different, you only ever saw her for a few weeks out of the year. All and all you’d only seen her for a few months spread over twenty years. She wanted to love you, but how could she when she didn’t know you? Her attempts to connect were sweet but felt hollow. You were her child she was supposed to love you. Still, you’d jumped at the chance to come here and help her when you heard her liver was failing and it was killing her, even if it meant undergoing the painful procedure, but that had less to do with helping her than it did getting away and being on your own for the first time.

You’d planned on staying in a rented apartment on your own when you first said you were coming to Sunfield but she’d refused, she needed you in the house. 

You weren’t ready to unpack all of that with Cole. He, to his credit, let it drop and switched to talking about the horses again. His family had had a border collie at one point, but his mother had found that she preferred being the herding dog, so to speak. His family often kept dogs apparently, a trait that he’d kept into adulthood. Cole showed you pictures of his mixed breed, Ino. 

“Do I get to meet her too?” you asked as he flicked through pictures of Ino on his phone. 

“Sure, when you come to see the horses you can play with her too, she’s friendly,” he promised, which only served to increase your excitement. 

You couldn’t help but bring it up every chance you got. Some of your enthusiasm seemed to rub off on him, Cole almost seemed happy the day his family came into town. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon?” He asked, holding onto your bike. 

“Yes,” you agreed. You would see Cole tomorrow, but outside of work. You would go to his house and see where he lived for the first time. It made you nervous, but you weren’t going to back down. 

“And you know the way?” he asked. 

“Pretty sure I can figure it out,” 

“Call me if you get lost?” you rolled your eyes. 

“You worry too much I can handle myself,” you sighed. 

“Fine fine, see you then,” Cole relented. 

Cole lived on the edge of town practically in the woods. It was a large log cabin settled in the middle of a clearing, it was a beautiful place, perfect for horses you thought. Cole was waiting on the porch when you pulled up to the house. 

“You didn’t have too much trouble finding the place right?” he asked. You took off your helmet and placed it on the seat of the bike. 

“It was fine, show me the horses,”

“Nice to see you too Spitfire,” 

Cole walked you through his house, the second the door opened a small brown dog jumped into your lap, barking happily and wagging her tail as you scratched behind her ears. 

“Leave it, Ino,” Cole said, and the dog jumped down off of your legs and went off back into the house. Cole gestured and lead you to the living room. You saw four people sitting in his warm spread out between two armchairs and a large couch, two women and two men. The eldest, Cole’s mother, stood to greet you. 

“Oh look at you darling, Cole told us all about you,” Mrs. Allman said, crossing over to you, before you could resist she wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug. You noticed that her voice had the same soft southern accent that Cole’s did.  She didn’t seem to care when you went stiff in her arms. Mrs. Allman was incredibly warm, her skin was like she was burning with fever, and she smelled like clean linen and flowers. 

“Mom,” Cole said in a warning tone and she let you go. 

“RIght the horses, did Cole tell you their names?” she asked, motioning you to the backyard, where you could see two brown horses tied to a post with thick leather straps.

“No, he said he didn’t know,” you said. Mrs. Allman shot a dirty look at her eldest son, she held the door open for you and then guided you closer to the horses.

“Two males, Cisco and Ranger, Ranger is going to be your horse, he’s a little bit smaller and has that yellow spot on his foot, see?” She asked, pointing at the hoof.  You nodded seeing what she meant. She undid the leather reins and turn the horse’s head to face you. 

Your breath caught for a moment, the animal was huge and breathtaking. “Can I touch him?” you asked. 

Mrs. Allmen laughed and guided your hand as you carefully ran the flat of your palm over his nose.  “He likes you, do you want to feed him?” she asked and you agreed almost before she got the words out. She pulled an apple out of her pocket and handed it to you. Ranger sniffed and then took the apple from you, his lips tickling the palm of your hand. 

“You look like a kid on Christmas,” Cole laughed, you didn’t realize he was there, but you didn’t take your eyes off the horse,

“This is the best day of my life,” you murmured, making them both laugh. 

“Do you want to go ride now?” Cole asked. And you nodded. He showed you how to get on and off a few times, and then helped you get on for yourself. He didn’t touch you, but his hands hovered around your waist ready to catch you if you lost your balance. You were very proud of yourself when you sat on the saddle. Cole showed you how to usher the horse forward, how to turn, how to go fast, and how to stop. 

“You’re a natural,” he laughed, you beamed at him, you felt like a little kid again. 

“Knew I would be,” you couldn’t keep your joy contained, 

“Ready to go for a real ride?” he asked, and you nodded happily, 

The two of you took off, Cole leading the way to the path he wanted to take, it was exhilarating, the wind in your hair and the sunshine on your face. 

Cole led you to a hiking trail, it was an easy slope of compact dirt. Both sides of the road were thick with lush greenery, trees, bushes, and weeds. You noticed how dull the green looked, the leaves on everything were starting to go brown and orange. somehow fall had crept up on you without you noticing. 

The two of you brought the horses down to a slow walk, just enjoying the scenery and each other's company. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before,” Cole said. You felt self-conscious as you tried to remember if you had ever smiled in front of him. You thought he was right. 

“I’m just kind of stingy with my smiles I guess,” you said, you turned away running your hand over Ranger's neck. 

“Then, I feel lucky that I got to see one,” he said, he was looking at you, you could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t meet his gaze. 

“How long is your family going to be in town?”  you asked. 

“They leave tomorrow,”

“Will they pass through again on their way back?” you asked. 

“No, there's a quicker way back home, they only stopped here for the horses, and I doubt I’d let them take over my house so soon again.”

You thought Cole might be more welcoming when it came to his family if there was just one more bed to spare. 

“Oh yeah right, you’re such a hard ass, I don’t think you could turn them away if you tried,” you snarked Cole rolled his eyes, 

“I’m only sweet to you, you know, most people in town think I’m mean, scary even,” he said. 

“People in town think I’m mean and scary too, their opinion doesn’t mean much to me, as far as I’m concerned you are sweet,” you teased. Cole brought his horse closer to you, he could reach out and touch you if he wanted to. 

“And what about you? Are the people in town right about you being mean and scary?” he asked. You thought about it. 

“Not always, but I don’t get the chance to be anything else often,” you said. 

“I hope you can be yourself with me, I’d like it if we could be closer friends,” he said, 

“You know about my love of horses, that's my darkest secret so we’re off to a good start,” you admitted. 

“I didn’t realize how much you’d like this,” Cole said, “I’ll let you know if my family ever brings anyone else up to me,” he promised. 

“I’d like that.”

[barbarianprncess]

did you mean it?

read on ao3.

It’s a total of 3 significant events that led to this, her forehead knocked against his, breaths heavy and mingled, eyes wide and hearts bleeding.

It’s a total of 3 significant events that led to this, her forehead knocked against his, breaths heavy and mingled, eyes wide and hearts bleeding.

The first event isn’t really an event at all. It’s a prologue, necessary context to truly understand the monumentalism of this moment. It’s the memory of her eyes, piercing and reproachful, being the first thing that he saw after losing his mother. It’s shared trauma and oreos while they’re young and naive. It’s truces and training and growing up too soon together. It’s stargazing and stupid jokes saving eachother in every possible way. It's the culmination of the years Percy spent growing, learning, and being with Annabeth, and the unknown and therefore repressed feelings that came with it. Feelings are like the sea in that way, they don’t take well to being restrained. Percy has found that you cannot box in oceans or sentiments, they always find a way to spill over and out, with no regard for the destruction left in its wake.

The second event is Dionysus deciding on a whim that the inhabitants of his camp are ‘uncultured pests’ and taking it upon himself to set up a field trip for campers to the Ancient Greek Cultural Center in New York. (Percy thinks it’s really just to distract kids that were still shaken up about the battle at camp and the losses it caused. But, Dionysus would never say so. He’s far too proud to admit to caring for the children he’s been assigned to look after.) Argus loaded all the kids he could fit into the strawberry vans, as Chiron listed all the reasons this was a terrible idea. As it turns out, his worries were in vain as miraculously, no monsters attacked, and no mortal asked too many questions. No, instead, the only hitch in his plan was the glaring inaccuracies of the Center sending Dionysus into a fit of rage. He ranted for so long, their 2 hour long field trip ended up lasting until the place closed.

Event the third is the ridiculously long line leading to the mens room at the rundown gas station they’ve stopped at, causing Percy to traipse into the woods, deep enough to know that no one other than the squirrels were watching, and pee there. Unbeknownst to him, Annabeth had decided to take a quick walk in the forest as well, (in the opposite direction of his peeing endeavor) with the purpose of clearing her head. Both returned to the parking lot after 10 minutes, with no truck in sight. The gas station lights are turned off on the inside and the door sign has switched decidedly to closed. They look at each other in disbelief.

“Percy?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh...did they…”    

“They didn’t. They wouldn’t.”

“I think they would.”

“They would never-”

“I have pretty solid evidence to the contrary.” Annabeth deadpans, casually letting her hair loose and hopping on top of the miniature gas machine for motorcycles.

“But, how did-”

“No Argus.” Which means, no all-seeing eyes to double check the headcount. Percy begins to pace.

“Okay, but-”

“Two trucks.” Both of which are probably assuming Percy and Annabeth are on the other.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, gods.”

“Leave them out of this.”

“Those fuckers.”

“Which ones?” She asks. He looks up and she’s fighting a smile. He pointedly doesn’t notice the way her mouth curls up, or the way her hair falls around her shoulders and down her back, or how pretty she looks lit up by the neon red lights of the gas stations prices, which apparently doesn’t turn off when they close.

“Do you know something I don’t?”

“I know lots of things you don’t.”

“Ha-ha. I mean about how to get out of here.”

“Ohhhhh, let me think.” She wrinkles her nose in faux concentration, tilting her chin up towards  the sky. Percy is too annoyed to think it’s adorable. “Nope, not a clue.”

“Your phone?”

“Left it on the truck.”

“Iris message?”

“Percy, it’s dark as shit.” The laughter she’s been holding in comes pouring out. Nevermind that he feels his chest sigh in relief at hearing it for the first time since their quest, this is serious.

“You’re laughing.”

“Just a little.”

“You’re telling me, you don’t have a brilliant plan to get us on a truck.”

“Yes.”

“So, we’re stuck here.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re laughing?”

“You’re just really funny when you’re stressed.” She giggles. He can’t remember the last time she giggled. He missed it. He hates her.

“Oh my gods.”

“Okay, okay, look, I’m sorry. We’re halfway to camp right?” He nods. “I’m sure they’ll figure out we’re missing before they get all the way back to camp, but let's say, worst case scenario, they don’t-”

“Not helping-”

“And they make it the rest of the way back to camp. It took us four hours to get to the center, which means camp is two hours away, so if they make it the two hours back to camp before they realize we’re missing, and they drive back up-”

“C’mon ‘Beth, you know I suck at math.”

“We’re stuck here for five hours at most.”

“Five hours?”

“And that's if no passing cars let us use their phones to hurry the process up.”

“Five hours.”

She’s laughing again. “Seriously, what is so funny?”

“It’s just-” Her cheeks are red and she’s very poorly attempting to suppress her smile. “You’ve been calm in so many life or death situations, and being stuck at a gas station is what finally breaks through.”

“It’s nighttime.” She stares at him for a moment and then she’s laughing again, full bodied real laughter, and he's laughing too.

And it’s as if this gas station became their own personal Ogygia, an oasis, a resting place for them to be stupid kids again. And they don’t talk about the battle, or Rachel, or the volcano, or any of the million things set on tearing them apart. They talked about his mom getting serious about his new boyfriend, about Tyson’s underwater adventures and Grover’s searching shenanigans.

They smack talk with no real heat about who the better fighter is (Oh please, Seaweed Brain, I've been training since before you could tie your own shoes.), and argue about which ancient hero had the greatest journey (Hercules, are you kidding? Did you even read the myth?). They break into the gas station for snacks (What the fuck, Annabeth, where’d you learn to pick a lock? No, I wouldn’t prefer you break the glass, you psycho. Oh my gods, can you really break the glass?), and dissolve into giggles as they try to fit five drachma into the cash register.

They end up back outside sitting on the gas machines facing one another from three feet away.

“Your mom called me the other day.”

Percy, who’d been lazily squinting up at the murky sky, searching for any sign of stars, whipped his head to look at her. “What?”

“She called me on the phone. We talked for a bit. She said she wanted to make sure I was alright.”

“That sounds like something she would do.” He sighs and hops down from the machine, turning away from her, hoping to hide his blush from the dim light. “She cornered me on one of my off weekends, asked what was going on with us.”

“Oh.” He hears the shifting of fabric and assumes she followed him in sliding off the gas machine.

“Yeah.” It’s silent for a long time before she responds.

“What did you say?” She asks, her voice smaller than it was moments ago. He hears her scratching at the flat metal top of the machine. “When she asked, what did you say?”

He runs his finger through his hair, and one gets caught in a particularly large snarl. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” She whispers and gods he’s terrified but he really doesn’t have a choice when her voice wavers like that. Her words shake and every ounce of his being tells him to do whatever it takes to soothe it.

“I said we were fighting. That there wasn’t one sole reason for it, just a bunch of little reasons. I told her that I scared you when I….went away for two weeks last summer. And that you didn’t like bringing Rachel on your quest. I told her that we….. disagree about how to best handle Luke. That I probably wanted to protect you more than I wanted to listen to you.” She laughs softly and he blames what he says next on her laugh. It is the catalyst for everything that follows.

“I told her that we’d be okay. Because no matter what happens I’m always gonna love you.”

He hears her breath catch. He doesn’t have to look back to know she’s turned to face him fully. “Did you mean it?” She calls. He doesn’t answer. The words haven’t caught in his throat, they’ve spontaneously combusted in his vocal chords and he doesn’t think he’ll ever speak again.

The sound of gravel crunching gets closer until suddenly she's beside him, and he didn’t tell his torso to twist toward her, he thinks she might just be his center of gravity.

“Did you mean it?”

She’s looking up at him, and her hair smells like lemons, and her cheeks are pink, and her eyelashes go on for miles, and her sunspots are better than stars. And it’s as if she pulls the words right out of him, he’s hypnotized by everything about her.

“Of course I meant it.”

She exhales and closes her eyes and while he mourns the loss of the sight, his body moves on it’s own accord again and he’s edging closer and closer and she opens her eyes and here they are.

Their noses brush, and this time he closes his eyes, and their noses brush just so, and…

Whoa.

He was wrong, it wasn't just those three significant events that to her forehead knocked against his, breaths heavy and mingled, eyes wide and hearts positively bleeding. It’s clear he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment at this shitty gas station.

Waiting for this. Waiting for her.  

They kiss for a moment or an eternity, and they fit. His hands are on her hips and hers clutch at his shirt before sliding up to his throat, and it’s like his soul is whispering, oh there you are.

And then she’s pulling back, so she has just enough space to shake her head without disconnecting from his forehead.

She's breathless when she whispers, “This is a bad idea.”

His hands trail up and down her forearm of their own accord, and when he whispers back he’s breathless too. “Yeah, really bad idea.”

Her hands slide up from his chest to his shoulders, and then she’s kissing him again, with purpose, and he’s kissing back like his life depends on it because he thinks it might, thinks if he lets go of her he’d die on the spot.

It seems his theory might get tested when she pulls back again just far enough to whisper against his lips, “Is it always like that?”

He kisses her again, once, twice, because he can’t help it and whispers back, “I don’t know, you were my first kiss.”

He’d released any serious hold he had on her the moment she hesitated, but then she’s rocking back up to meet him halfway and his entire body thinks thank the gods. He actually sighs his relief into her mouth, as his hands desperately reach for her face, some fingers tangling in her hair, and their lips are magnets, opposites that don’t have a choice but to pull together. Despite how much he wants to keep doing this forever, he has to tell her.

“I don’t wanna lose you, again.” He means not ever, but he figures she understands the severity in his voice. She’s running her hand through his hair, and his slide up and down her back, and she knocks her nose against his as she answers, “I know, me either. I’m confused, this is confusing me.” And she tilts her chin just so, like she did a million years ago, and this time he kisses her.

They kiss for an infinity, he gets to taste her laughter when she giggles at the absurdness of it all, and it’s better than ambrosia. He kisses her until he doesn’t know anything else, until his entire universe is Annabeth Chase, with her cheeks and her curls and her lips. She is everything.

And then headlights penetrate their universe, voices bring an end to their infinity, and Chiron is speaking but it’s nothing, it’s all white noise because she’s no longer in his arms, and his center of gravity is being ripped away and he hears someone ask, “What’d you guys do?”

He’s still looking at her face when she answers, “You know, tried not to strangle each other mostly.”

But, she looks back before she turns all the way around and her gaze is charged and her lips quirk with the secret they share.

He is so screwed.

[nugnthopkns]

i wish i could disappear

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, feelings of anxiety due to social media harassment, invasion of privacy that border on stalking

recommended listening: brutal | olivia rodrigo

series masterpost: here

a/n: and we're off to the races!! i love this album and olivia so much. there's a shoutout to goon by tobias jesso jr. in here bc it's my favourite album to cry to lmao (highly recommend giving it a listen!). i'm on the fence about this one but am posting it anyways because i don't think i can make it any better

How the fuck do people find your social media?

All of your accounts are private and Kevin makes sure to never tag you on the rare occasion he posts a picture of the two of you together. The wives and girlfriends who have public accounts make sure to never post about you, and you’re careful not to comment on posts often. You’re a private person and though you understand that due to the nature of your relationship with Kevin you intrigue some fans, you don’t want to give them more than you have to.

Despite making no attempt to open up to the public or media, every day you wake up with hundreds of follow requests from complete strangers. At first it was a little exciting knowing that people were curious about your life but after years of the same routine it’s become draining. It takes you nearly twenty minutes each day to weed through them and accept only the people you know personally. Kevin doesn’t actually know how many people want to catch a glimpse of your daily life because you do your best to keep it from him. Knowing would only bring him stress, and you want him to be able to focus on winning games and loving you with his entire heart.

☼☼☼☼

The phone on your desk rings loudly, pulling your attention away from the computer screen that has way too many numbers on it for your liking. The finance department needed someone to proof their audit before sending it away and since you’re the only one in human relations that has a business degree the job landed on your shoulders. Eager to take a break, you pick it up and press the receiver against your ear.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other side laughs gently, but you immediately know it’s Kevin. “Hi sweetheart,” he says warmly, “How’s work?”

“Fine I guess. It’s work, Kev. Nothing terribly exciting happens here,” you explain but continue to fill him in on all the coffee pot gossip you got this morning. Kevin listens as you complain about forgetting your lunch on the counter and chuckles at how upset the situation makes you.

“What if I told you I’m outside your window with a burrito bowl?”

Excited at the possibility of seeing your boyfriend before dinnertime, you whip towards the window and spot Kevin on the sidewalk, waving like an idiot despite knowing your office is on the fifth floor. You hang up quickly after telling him you’ll be down in two minutes and let the receptionist know you’re stepping out for lunch. There’s a line for the elevator so you head to the stairwell, taking them two at a time in your haste. You’re crossing the street to the small park where Kevin has set up a picnic before your co-workers are even out the door.

You plop down on the blanket beside Kevin and lean into him. He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before passing you the food he brought. You take a bite, sighing at the taste. Kevin knows you better than you know yourself and knew exactly what to get that would satisfy your mounting hunger.

“Thanks babe,” you smile, holding up your fork and offering him a bite. He takes it graciously but makes a face. “What’s the matter?” you laugh as you take the utensil back.

“I fucking hate avocado.”

The two of you eat in relative silence, speaking only when you remember a detail from your morning. Kevin tells you about the drills he’s going to lead at practice in the afternoon and what he plans on cooking for dinner since he’ll be home before you. You insist you can whip something up when you get home but Kevin shakes his head. He reminds you that relationships are give and take, and that you’ve made dinner the past three nights because he had a string of games. You manage to reach a compromise that has you doing the dishes before you have to return to work.

Kevin insists on walking you back to your office even though you protest vehemently. Your relationship is far from secret, and has been the topic of workplace gossip more times than you can count, but after five years you’ve learned to ignore most of it. However, you don’t want your co-workers to think you flaunt your NHL player boyfriend to prove you’re better than them. They all love Kevin, and a couple of them congratulate him on last night’s goal as he follows you down the hall. A few of the newer hires stare in awe and shake his hand, completely blown away that one of Philadelphia’s biggest stars is asking how they like their jobs.

“Pretty soon they’re going to approach you to do PR for us,” you chuckle as you flip the light on and close the door of your office.

His laughter echoes off the walls as a pair of strong arms find a home around your waist. “It would be kind of fun to hear myself crush those radio commercials.”

“Since when do you listen to the radio?”

“Checkmate,” Kevin sighs, pulling you closer. He kisses you quickly, not wanting to give a show to anyone who could be walking past, but it still sends you reeling. You don’t want him to pull away and kiss him again.

You get your way for a few more moments and then Kevin’s leaving with a promise to not burn the house down and wishes for a good rest of the day. Focussed on giving the audit its final once-over you don’t bother pulling your phone from the drawer you had placed it in when you got to work that morning. You turn up the small radio at the corner of your desk and get to work scanning the document for errors. There’s a mistake halfway through that skews the rest of the data and fixing it takes a bit of time, but it isn’t a huge deal. You have nothing else to do except answer a few emails and organize meetings for after the weekend.

An hour or so later you’ve completed all your tasks and debate what to do. It’s too early to leave for the day, so you decide to kill time by checking your phone. You’re expecting a few notifications, perhaps two or three memes in the group chat you share with your friends, but not the hundreds that greet you.

The majority of them are instagram notifications, and assuming they’re just more fans requesting a follow you ignore them, instead heading to your text messages. There’s a picture from Kevin of a dog he found walking home and another from your mom asking why you haven’t called home in a few weeks. However the one from Claude’s wife is the one that piques your curiosity.

Just a heads up that someone posted a pic of you and Kev to one of those stupid wag pages. I filed a request for Instagram to take it down but it’s gotten a lot of traction. Sorry :((

Your heartbeat increases rapidly and a million thoughts fly through your head at a rapid speed. Fingers shaking, you respond with a thanks and open up the dreaded app. You don’t see it immediately, your feed being full of photos belonging to friends and family, but it’s in your messages almost two hundred times. Many of them have text attached and you know there will be a comment about your relationship regardless of which one you open.

Tapping on the most recent message you brace yourself for the worst. The new window opens a photo someone took of you and Kevin while eating lunch in the park across from your office not even three hours prior. It’s grainy and the camera angle is strange, but you’re eating and Kevin is looking somewhere out of frame. The accompanying caption reads Kev and his girlfriend out for lunch today! Follow @philllywagupdates for more :).

You let out a sigh of relief – it could have been a lot worse. Personal pictures of yourself have made it onto pages like that before and most of them they’re paired with mean-spirited captions about your appearance or other trivial matters. Assuming you’re in the clear, you head back to the page of the original message to thank the person for bringing the post to your attention. However, the message accompanying the post is anything but positive.

He can’t even fucking look at you. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves you

The blood in your veins runs cold. You know it’s not true – Kevin’s made it clear you’re the one and truthfully you’re just waiting for a ring – but it doesn’t stop the sting you feel. What could possess someone to say such horrible things? You decide not to respond despite, possibly opening another can of worms with the seen function, and close the app. Leaning back in your office chair you focus on anything but your phone, looking out the window at passersby while regaining your breath. It works for a while, but eventually not knowing what others said eats away at you. You go through every single message to see hundreds of similar comments to the first, with only a few saying they’re glad you’re happy or how posting the picture is a violation of your privacy.

By the time you’re finished your spirit has been crushed. However, it’s also an acceptable time to start the weekend – at least no one in the office will have to see you cry. Things are hastily packed into your bag and you wave a few quick goodbyes before once again taking the stairs. You curse yourself for deciding to walk to work that morning and set off in the direction of home wiping away tears. The last thing you need right now is for someone to recognize you, but you have to get home. Tobias Jesso Jr plays at much too loud a volume through your headphones and Kevin will most certainly remind you it’s bad for your hearing, but the melancholy piano riffs of Goon overpower the thoughts swirling around your head.

Do people really feel that way about me?

Are my friends just too nice to stop inviting me places?

Does Kevin really feel trapped?

Hundreds of similar sentiments and situations cross your mind as you stumble through the streets of downtown Philadelphia, but you force them as far back as possible before opening the door to the apartment you share with Kevin. Hoping to slip inside undetected, you take your shoes off slowly and throw your jacket on the end table instead of hanging it in the closet. Your plan fails somehow and Kevin hears you, greeting you in a goofy apron covered in flour.

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles, but it drops once your eyes meet and he sees the hurt on your face. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, trying to step around him in pursuit of the bathroom.

Kevin doesn’t buy it and sees right through your feeble words. “It’s not nothing if you’re this upset. If you don’t want to talk now that’s fine, but I think you should get it off your chest.”

You know he’s right, but you also know you can’t tell him the true cause of your despair. “Just some work stuff,” you sigh. “The audit got all fucked up and I had to fix it even though it’s not my job.”

It’s not technically a lie, which makes you feel better, and Kevin buys it. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips in sympathy. “Go take a shower and the gnocchi should be ready by the time you’re done. We can spend the night cuddling on the couch.”

“And watching Selling Sunset?”

“We can watch whatever you want sweetheart,” he chuckles. You part from him with a final kiss and head to the bathroom. Hopefully the steam from the water will carry away the negativity brought on by that damn post.

☼☼☼☼

Time passes but the hateful comments on social media don’t stop. In fact, you’re pretty sure they get worse. It’s so bad that you’ve deleted every app except facebook because you need it for work. Kevin doesn’t notice your abstinence from social media, but he picks up on how you spend more time criticizing yourself or staring off into space. When he pushes you either brush him off or feed some bullshit excuse about how work is getting you down. You know he doesn’t believe you but trusts you enough to come to him when you’re ready to talk.

You aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to tell Kevin what’s been going on. There’s been scrutiny from social media before, when you first started dating, but it quieted down after the initial media frenzy. He helped you through that but it’s different this time around. Never before have you had strangers tell you your life is worthless or that your boyfriend should end your relationship. Some of the other wags notice your absence on instagram but chalk it up to you just taking a break. They reach out via the group chat and send wishes to see you at the next home game. It’s nice to know they care, but the voice in your head that has grown much larger in recent weeks tells you they don’t truly mean it. This leads you to decline the invite as politely as possible, citing extended work hours for your absence. In reality you’re too anxious to be anywhere that isn’t home or work, petrified someone is going to post something that will add fuel to the flames of those who interrogate you.

It’s another Friday afternoon, and you’re leaving the office early once again. There’s a small craft exhibition taking place around the corner from work and today is the last day it’s open. You had been meaning to go all week, hoping to find something small to add to Kevin’s birthday gift. As you step out of the building there’s a small group of young women, who don’t look old enough to have graduated college, standing off to the side. It fills you with dread, worried that somehow someone found out where you work and the insults are going to start occurring verbally, but you force yourself to be rational. You work fairly close to one of the artsier districts in the city and it’s more than likely they just want to find a cute mural to take pictures in front of.

You pass by and swear you hear them snicker, but you remind yourself you’ve just been jumpy lately. When they peel from their place on the wall and follow behind at a distance you think the coincidences are running out. It seems a little too strange how their movements line up with yours, and you go down a few winding side streets in an attempt to lose them. Part of you feels ridiculous because what group of barely legal girls would track a full-blown adult around a city of nearly two million people, but your life is currently strange enough you can’t be sure. They don’t follow you, and by the time you reach the market your heart rate has returned to normal.

The first few stalls have little to catch your eye, but a few rows in you find a leatherworker who makes adorable wallets. Kevin’s is ridiculously old and falling apart at the seams – his mom bought it for him before the two of you got together. You think a new one will make a perfect addition to the concert tickets you already bought and browse the table for something simple and elegant. A deep brown one with tan braiding around the edges catches your eye and you know it’s the one for Kevin. Checking the price to make sure you have enough cash in your wallet, you approach the shop owner to purchase. The older man has a kind smile that reaches his eyes as he thanks you for purchasing from him.

“No, thank you for making something so beautiful!” you gush. “My boyfriend is going to love it.”

It’s then you hear it – snickering accompanied by the click of a camera. You look over your shoulder to see the same group of girls from before laughing as they huddle over a cell phone, no doubt already starting to broadcast the photo across the internet. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. Those girls don’t deserve to see their mission accomplished, but the longer they laugh at you the harder it is to swallow your feelings.

Head held high, you thank the owner one more time before holding your head high and walking past the group. The only way out is past them so you hold your breath and pray they don’t notice you. Unfortunately you aren’t that lucky, and one of them looks up just as you come into earshot.

“If Kevin doesn’t leave you after that sorry excuse for a gift I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she sneers.

Another one chimes in, “You’re honestly so pathetic.” They all cackle in amusement, and you speed up. The tears flow freely now, and you call an uber even though it will be a ridiculous amount of money. You just want to get home.

The uber driver doesn’t say anything when you get in, though you know it’s strange to be bawling your eyes out at four in the afternoon. You can’t help it – weeks of keeping all the hate to yourself finally got to you and being followed with the sole intent of ridicule is the final straw. At one red light he silently passes you a box of tissues, which you accept gratefully.

Luckily the lobby of your apartment complex is empty and you manage to get to your floor without encountering a familiar face. There’s a few hours until Kevin gets home from his final roadtrip of the season, and if you play your cards right you can get all the tears out and be as normal as possible before he comes through the door. You don’t even bother to put anything away, just head straight to the bathroom to slump against the tub. Sobs rack your body and you lose all sense of time. All you can feel is the hurt you’ve been holding in releasing itself and soaking the material of your blouse.

Kevin finds you laying in the position hours later. He tripped over your shoes coming in the door and immediately knew something was wrong – you always place them neatly on the rack in the closet upon arriving home. Peering through the quiet house for a hint at where you are, he sees the bathroom light on and makes a beeline for the room. It breaks his heart to see you like this, and even more so because he doesn’t know what spurred it on.

“Sweetheart, hey,” he coos, maneuvering his body to sit beside you and pull you into his lap. “What’s the matter?”

You bury your head in his shoulder and clutch the material of his dress shirt as you cry harder at the sound of his voice. Kevin takes your reaction in stride, rubbing circles on your back and working on evening out your breath. He doesn’t pressure you to speak and provides the stability you desperately crave as the world around you spins. An unknown amount of time passes before your tears run out, but spend it all on the bathroom floor curled into Kevin.

“I guess I should have told you sooner,” you mumble, “But I didn’t want to bother you.”

Concern laces Kevin’s features and his eyebrows knit together. “Tell me what?”

“I, uh, have been the subject of some internet hate for the past little bit,” you say sheepishly. It feels stupid to not have told him now, but you can’t change that. “But you were really busy with the season and I wanted to make sure your head was completely focused on the game so I just dealt with it myself. I deleted the apps and tried my best to go about my life. And then today after work I was followed by some people and they said some really hurtful stuff and shit became a little too real.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

It’s your turn to be confused. “Why are you sorry Kev? You're Not the one sending me death threats.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair back into your ponytail. “Maybe not, but I still made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about what was going on. What kind of partner am I?”

“The best one,” you say confidently. “It’s okay, I’m okay. I just want to forget about it right now. Can we just disappear for a little bit?”

Kevin wraps his arms around you tighter, as if he can engulf you to protect from the cruel outside world. “We can do whatever you want. If you want to get out of the city for a bit if you want, or just spend the next few days here away from prying eyes.”

“I love you.”

You say it because you mean it, and if you could scream it from the rooftops you would. Kevin is incredibly easy to love, even when you make it difficult for him to love you back. You know another much longer conversation is coming about everything that has happened recently because communication is the only way to solve problems and Kevin deserves that, but you’re thankful he’s willing to put it to rest for a few more moments.

He cracks a smile for the first time since he’s been home and kisses the crown of your head. “I love you too sweetheart,” he whispers, “Always and forever.”

Things are far from over and though you still never want to show your face in public ever again, you know that Kevin is going to do whatever he can to make things better and that’s enough for you.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @ricohenrique @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice @2manytabsopen if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

[masterofrecords]

Angstober day 30: Failure

The Ritual

They thought they had foreseen everything.

The location, the thick stone walls, the wards. Calculations redone time and time again. Full evacuation to make sure no one else gets caught in the backlash.

It started promising enough. Molly watched as Kat took charge of the circle preparation along with Leo, meticulous and slow in their work. Somewhere to the side, others were idling about, waiting for the circle of runes to be complete.

There was no idle chatter, even from Lawrence or Odri. The quietude was eerie and solemn, fitting the occasion, but it also made Molly uneasy. Unable to relax, she kept watching Kat’s elegant fingers gripping the brush, painting the stone floor with blessed silver.

Minutes passed, until those same fingers found her chin and stroked it tenderly. “You okay there?” Kat asked with a small smile, and Molly’s heart soared, just as it did the first time Kat had asked, over a decade ago.

“Just bored,” she pulled Kat down to sit and hugged her shoulders, sharing warmth. “Are you all done with the circle?”

“Sort of,” Kat leaned into her. “We’re going to take a few minutes and then check again with fresher eyes.”

Molly snorted, “What kind of fresh eyes does he expect at four in the morning?” She hugged Kat tighter.

Kat giggled into her shoulder, but complained, “Ow, you’re going to break my ribs!”

“Nope,” Molly tightened her hold even further and Kat laughed harder, not actually resisting or minding it.

They stayed like that for a while longer until Kat’s giggles subsided and Molly pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head. “Feeling better?” she asked, and Kat let out a softest laugh.

“Always,” she reassured, and jumped off the rock they were sitting on. “It’ll be over soon, and then we’ll sleep for a week and maybe go somewhere without the rest of the idiots.”

“Ha!” Molly grinned, “Am I an idiot, too?”

“My idiot.” Kat leaned down to press a quick kiss to the corner of Molly’s mouth. “And I’m yours. Only idiots would be here at this hour in the morning trying to save the world.”

And then she was gone, off to reassure a terribly stressed Leo that their circle was perfect.

After that, it was a flurry of finishing the preparations, getting the incense, the water and food they’d need over the next twelve hours, making sure the instructions for every step of the ritual were where they’d need them. They didn’t get to speak again, but as Molly gripped Kat’s hand to complete the circle, she was sure they would do fine.

They got halfway through the ninth seal when the wards shook. Eight hours of sweat and concentration, intense and draining, enough to start to hope that they’d get through it without any trouble.

The first daemon to enter the hall shattered that illusion.

“Don’t break the formation!” Leo shouted. “If we interrupt the ritual for too long, we’re toast!”

It must have been really bad for him to speak so colorfully.

Kira was their first line of defense, her arrows singing quick and true while the huge bear tore into the enemies, unconcerned with the ritual he wasn’t a part of. Odri’s fire was next, as was the brilliant, blinding magic of her mentor. Molly watched, her hands gripping the yet-useless greatsword and hoped she wouldn’t have to use it.

Even as bodies turned to ash, more turned up, each new one turning up faster than Kira could draw her bow. Sweat formed on Leo’s forehead as he tried to keep the seal from falling apart, and Molly made the decision.

They exchanged glances with Kat and moved in synchrony born of years of fighting together. Kat’s scimitar shone with the bluish light of electricity, and Molly eagerly lost herself to the rage of magic in her blood, knowing she wouldn’t have to fear for her life. Their blades sung, screaming for blood of the intruders, as they had countless times before.

She returned to her senses to the sight of piles of bodies slowly disintegrating at her feet. The usual tiredness settled in, but with it was a sense of accomplishment.

Then she turned around.

Leo was still standing in the center of the circle, but his usually stoic face was marred by fear. Kat’s hand gripped Molly’s bicep and in a moment, Molly understood what was happening.

The energy of the leyline that Leo had been commanding to power their ritual was in turmoil, about to break out of control. There was no chance to battle it into the seal now; it was collapsing on itself despite Leo’s best efforts.

As the excitement of battle dissipated, Molly realized with terrifying clarity that what Leo had warned them about had happened – the casting had been interrupted long enough, even if they managed to defeat all the attacker.

They had failed.

To be continued on day 31: The Last Goodbye

-----

Wow, I made myself sad while I was writing it and had to read over all the materials I had on the ritual and what went wrong. Anyway, here are the battle wives!

Masterlist here!

[buckleyblueyes]

buddie + 28

28. Neck Kisses. Thank you so much! I'm really proud of how this turned out. Buck stress bakes and Eddie worries. (send me a kiss prompt) (send me a dialogue prompt)

It’s been almost three years since the tsunami, and for the most part, Buck has moved on. He can swim again, enjoys going to the beach (especially with Chris and Eddie), and he’s even gone to the renovated Santa Monica Pier a few times. But he’s had enough therapy to know that trauma never really goes away, not permanently anyway. So, he’s not surprised that when the anniversary approaches, the nightmares begin returning, and he tries not to let it wear on him. He talks to Dr. Copeland about it, of course, he’s not ignoring it. He just doesn’t want to make a big deal of it, doesn’t want anyone to worry about him, so he stops sleeping at the station, afraid of waking up screaming where everyone can hear.

Eddie knows, of course, because it’s impossible to hide nightmares from someone you share a bed with--and, God, isn’t that something? They’ve only been together a few months, but Buck is already halfway moved in and maybe they’re moving a little fast, but it’s only because it took them so long to get here. He loves that when he wakes up with his heart hammering in his chest, drenched in sweat, Eddie is there to hold him, to soothe him. Buck also loves that Christopher is just down the hall, that he can poke his head in and listen to his small snuffles and reassure himself that he’s there, he’s alive, he’s safe, before shuffling back to Eddie’s bed.

But as much as he wants to seek out Eddie’s comfort, as much as he relishes the feeling of being held tight and safe in his boyfriend’s arms, there’s a bigger part of him, the part of him that doesn’t let him fall asleep at the station, that is ashamed. He hates the thought of being a burden on Eddie, of keeping him from the sleep he needs, of worrying him over some silly dreams. On the nights those thoughts win, he doesn’t shuffle back to the bedroom after checking on Christopher. He heads to the kitchen instead, and bakes. He’s quiet, moving slowly so as not to cause a clatter, and stirring everything by hand instead of using a beater.

Baking has always been a source of stress relief for Buck. Ever since he was a teenager, and he tried his mother’s banana bread recipe for the first time. He likes using his hands to make something tangible that he can be proud of. The motions of measuring and stirring and whisking and pouring bring him out of his head and into his body, it makes him more aware. And at the end of it he has something delicious he can share with others in return for their affection and compliments. He can watch them smile as they bite into a cookie, soak up praise as they savor it. Even his parents had complimented his baking.

So, for the past couple of weeks, as the anniversary approached and the nightmares got worse and worse, Buck has been waking up in the middle of the night and baking. Blueberry muffins, cookies (snickerdoodles, peanut butter, and oatmeal raisin), banana bread, shortcake and cream for the last strawberries of the season...the list goes on. He brings the treats into the station, and preens as every last one disappears. He lights up when Hen claps him on the back and compliments his muffins or when Chimney double fists peanut butter cookies like a madman or when Eddie moans around a bite of a snickerdoodle and presses a kiss to his cheek in thanks.

(He’s sure Eddie knows it’s a coping mechanism, but he’s glad that Eddie hasn’t called him on it yet. He’s not ready for that conversation.)

Tonight, it’s two days from the anniversary of the tsunami. They have a shift in the morning, so when Buck jolts awake at 2 AM with Christopher’s name on his lips, he can’t bring himself to wake Eddie. He slides out of bed as quietly as he can, tiptoeing down the hall, first to Chris’s room, where he pauses for a moment, taking in the steady rise and fall of his chest, and then to the kitchen. He turns on only as many lights as he needs, leaving the kitchen somewhat dim.

He flips through one of his cookbooks, the one he stole from his mother when he moved out, looking for something to bake, eventually settling on a cake he faintly remembers from his childhood. Lazy Daisy Lemon Cake. It’s a summer cake, sweet and light and tangy from lemon zest, drizzled with a thin glaze. He preheats the oven and gets to work. It’s a simple recipe, but one with a fair amount of prep work involved. He grates and juices the lemons first, making sure he has enough for the recipe, then he sifts the dry ingredients (flour and baking powder) together. He finds his rhythm, and soon enough he’s lost in his movements, and the sensations of his nightmare (the water everywhere, salt burning his eyes, Christopher dragged away from him, under the waves, gone…) fade away.

He’s just put the cake in the oven and is starting on the glaze when hears footsteps behind him. Eddie wraps his arms around Buck’s waist, and rests his head on Buck’s shoulder. His voice is rough with sleep when he whispers in Buck’s ear. “What are you doing?”

“Baking,” Buck whispers back.

Eddie frowns. “Another nightmare?”

Buck nods. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“None of that,” Eddie shakes his head, still against Buck’s shoulder. “I would much rather you wake me up then try to deal with this on your own, okay? We’re in this together.”

Buck knows that, he does. But sometimes he doesn’t believe it. “I love you,” is all he can say in response.

Eddie presses a kiss to the base of his neck in response, then follows it with another and another, slowly making his way up Buck’s neck until he reaches his jaw. “I love you too.”

Buck hums softly, and turns around to wrap his arms around Eddie and kiss him on the lips, glaze all but forgotten.

“What are you baking?” Eddie asks, when they pull apart.

“Lemon cake.”

“How long until it comes out of the oven?”

“About half an hour.”

“Okay.” Eddie yawns. “Once it’s done, you’re coming back to bed.”

“I--” Because Buck is used to just staying up all the way until morning when he gets like this. Because it’s 3 AM now, and the cake won’t be done until nearly 4 AM, and they have to be up at 6:30 to get Christopher ready for school, and those two hours hardly seem worth it when he can have coffee and breakfast ready early instead. Besides, he doesn’t want to wake Eddie again.

Eddie, of course, seems to read his mind. He takes Buck’s hands in his and squeezes, grounding him. “You need all the sleep you can get, if you’re not going to sleep on shift. Sleep deprivation is a bad time for anyone, but especially a first responder, you know that.”

Buck sighs. “I know.”

“You don’t need to be worrying about me,” Eddie continues. “Let me worry about you, let me take care of you.”

Buck’s exhausted mind wants to throw a tantrum. He shouldn’t have to do that. He deserves someone less broken. You’re such a--

“You’re not a burden, Evan.” Eddie’s words cut right through every thought that’s racing through his mind. “You never have been, and you never will be. Not to me, and not to the rest of our family.”

Buck doesn’t bother holding back his tears. “Okay. I’ll come back to bed when this is done.”

“You better.” Eddie smiles, and his voice is lighter now, teasing. “It’s cold in there without my personal radiator.”

[starfirette]

Ok but Helena Bertinelli x fem!reader where Helena takes all her pent up anger out on reader thru sex and she just tops the FUCK out of R and it’s super hot and R lowkey loves when Helena gets angry when it leads to steamy sex👀 oof I need a MINUUUTE😫

a/n: this is very smutty. it is more emotionally angry, and y/n more takes her anger out on helena, BUT i think it's good. .......i think?? | 18+

masterlist | more helena | inbox | ships + requests open

Every single piece of furniture was toppled over.

The fine china that you’d once had shelved on display littered the floor in ground little pieces.

It was a shocking scene to say the least, especially when you were expecting to walk through the door and take an instant nap.

After being in Moscow for the week, both you and Helena had been looking forward to coming back to the shared Alaska home high up in the mountains.

As you stared around in a state of shock, Helena pulled you by the waist. It was as though she wanted to shield you from the destruction that laid before your eyes.

You weren’t naive. At least, not too naive. You could recognize what was going on.

The last time something similar happened was three years ago. At that time, you and Helena had recently been married. It was the threats and destruction that followed Helena which caused her to leave Gotham with you in tow. Together, you traveled halfway across the across the country, in search for a haven that would protect you from Helena’s enemies.

But they’d found you. Again.

“Get your coat,” Helena instructed as she pushed you towards the foyer. 

“But-”

“Get your coat, now, Y/n,” she snapped again, not bothering to look at you. 

You felt oddly embarrassed by the way your wife had spoken to you. You mustered a submissive nod as you hurried to pull on the coat you’d just taken off.

Helena’s angry, Italian cursing bounced off the walls as she turned through the house, her shoes crunching over glass. She spoke with someone in the phone. Her words were fast and icy. She rarely spoke in Italian, but you’d been with her long enough to learn some of the lingo.  She spoke about a safe house and about a rabbit--

Maybe rabbit wasn’t the right word. 

But you’re positive it’s something about a safehouse. 

You waited in the foyer, shivering in the heavy coat you wore despite the warmth it was generating. 

Helena came rushing to you after her phone conversation ended. “We’re getting back in the car,” she instructed you, using her hands to physically turn you back to face the door. 

“Wait, what’s going on?” you asked, feeling dumb as she snatched a random sweater from the coat closet. 

“We’ve been found, so we’re leaving,” Helena said again, slowing her words as if she was trying to dumb it down for you. She put her arm around your waist, ushering you out of the house and carefully down the snowy pathway that led to your driveway. The fresh powdered snow had two sets of footprints, your own and Helena’s. You didn’t see any others, nothing that would have alerted you to thinking someone had broken in. 

Your face burned with warmth as Helena buckle you into the passenger seat. You don’t like being babied by her. You were tempted to bitch about the way she was treating you, but you knew better. At least, right now. You try to remember she’s in a panic, and she’s running on auto pilot. 

The car raced down the long driveway that wrapped in a spiral down the mini mountain. 

Your heart thumped in your throat as she sped away from the house. You clutched into your seatbelt, letting it dig into your palms. “Slow down,” you finally blurted out.

Helena grunted in response. Her foot reluctantly pumped the break.  

You know she doesn’t like to be told to slow down, or to relax, or to be safe. Even so, Helena knows you don’t like when she drives to fast, or goes into a rage, or puts her safety on the line. 

The drive was silent as she expertly navigated some snowy backroads. You wanted to talk to her, maybe even distract her from whatever was boiling in her brain. She didn’t explain what was happening. You were left to your own devices. You could only assume she was taking you to one of her safe checkpoints in Cordova. That had been ingrained into to your mind; Cordova is safe. If anything happens, go to Cordova and call someone, whether it be Harley or one of Helena’s contacts in Italy.

You slumped down your seat, shifting all of your body to lean against your door, your head against the window. "I love you," you muttered.

Helena didn't say anything.

The underground house in Cordova spans 500 square feet. It's nothing fancy. It's more of a basic studio flat than a house, really, with a very well structured lay out. The kitchen consisted of a two burner stove and an old fashioned ice box. On that same note, the given bedroom was really just a queen size mattress on the floor, shoved in a corner against the north eastern wall. It had a pile of new pillows, still wrapped in their Macy's store liners.

You dropped your coat on the little coffee table in the dead center of the room. It faced an outdated, but thorough, television set, with a boxy TV and VHS player. Stacks of worn VHS tapes and magazines were laced neatly on the little coffee table, alongside the clunky television remote.

A single door was on the western wall, and you assumed it led to the bathroom.

You pried off your shoes as Helena closed the heavy vault door, turning all of the metal spires so the locks clicked, leaving only you and her within the room.

It was a heavy silence for a couple minutes. Helena didn't do anything but stand, staring intensely at the vaulted door, as if it was responsible for destroying your mountain top mansion.

You curled into the bed. The quilts had the consistency of hotel blankets, thin and flimsy, allowing all the cold air to pass through the threads.

The side of the bed sank when Helena sat down, her long legs bent at the knees awkwardly. Her hand placed softly on your back, which was huddled in the corner of the bed, pulled over with the quilts.

"Are you okay?" Helena asked. Her voice was hard. She sounded as if she were in a great deal of pain.

You rolled over. You faced your own wall, turning your back on her. When you did not answer, Helena asked again. "Don't ignore me," she snapped.

You jerked upright.

Helena looked momentarily surprised, as if she'd watched a corpse rise from his grave. You stared at her with wide, angry eyes.

"Don’t even start,” you snapped, holding up a finger to stop whatever words Helena was about to start blabbering out.

"You're not allowed to speak to me any way you want, any time you want," you added with a jab of your finger. You scrambled to leave the bed, tripping over the bedding as you clumsily plunged out of her reach.

"I understand that you're stressed," you said, trying to control the volume at which you spoke. "But you always take it out on me. You always make me feel like the world's going to end."

Helena pinched her nose, bending so her elbows rested on her knees. She looked stressed, just so stressed, just about as stressed as you were feeling, but maybe less angry and shaky. "This is serious, Y/n," she said slowly, as if she didn't think you would have understood her otherwise.

"Even so, we have to keep our wits about us. We have to keep our relationship steady, otherwise we're just going to fall apart and fail. This relationship will not last. It will not last. We are always going to be chased by these troubles, by your enemies. I think I could handle it if we didn't get into massive fucking fights every time it happened. It feels like I'm a kid again, watching my parents go back and forth, staying together 'for us kids', when it's pretty clear that divorce would just be better for all of us."

Helena by now had released her face. She had a blank expression as she stared at you.

"I'm sorry," she finally said.

You couldn't muster much energy, so you shrugged and collapsed on the little sofa. "I don't care anymore," you muttered. "I just want water. I want to sleep."

Helena ran to your side. She knelt at your feet, quite literally on her hands and knees for you. She braced her hands on your thighs. "How can I make it up to you?"

You stared down at her, unsure of what to say.

"I cannot lose you," she said next. "There wouldn't be a reason to have such safehouses like this if I lost you."

"I cannot handle these fights anymore. It's too much."

"What can I do?"

"I just want to sleep," you sighed. "I'd rather just...listen to the television."

Helena led you to the bed, straightening out the mess you'd made when you'd trampled out of it. You shimmied out of your pants, throwing them out so you could sleep comfortably.

"Please just talk to me," Helena begged as she laid behind you. She wrapped her arms around you tenderly, your back pressed against her chest. "I'm just tired, Helena," you sighed as you let your eyes fall shut.

Helena dragged her hand up the stomach of your shirt, her calloused palm tucking close against your belly.

"I'm tired," you whispered.

Her fingers slipped beneath the band of your underwear. Her palm cupped your warmth, her lips pressing soothing kisses behind your ear.

She did not tease that night. She swept two finger tips into the opening of your hot, twitchy cunt, swiping drops of arousal and then spreading it around your clit. The lubricant beneath her fingertips made the sensation slippery and slick. You slowly gasped at the feeling. The sensation got you to slip out of your body for a split second, as if you could see the scene playing out in front of you. Your hips were grinding fast and hard into Helena's hand.

You snatched her wrist and pushed her hand down. "Inside," you snapped. "If you're really sorry, then inside."

"As you wish," Helena murmured. Her three fingers pushed up and in, stretching the velvety walls of your cunt out. You wanted to scream. Her fingers curled and reached up at the spongey spot way inside of you, like the brightest star in all the galaxy.

"Shit!" you cried. You lurched your head back, your hair scrunching up into Helena's face and nose. She didn't seem to care as she slowly pumped in and out, always making sure to press up at your starpoint.

"Never again," you cried as you gripped at Helena's forearm. You used this as an anchor point to keep you grounded while you wiggled your hips into Helena's hand. "You're never again going to treat me this way. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Dove, yes," Helena assured you in a soothing voice. "You're such a good bird for me," she sighed, her cool breath tickling your ear. "And you deserve good things. You deserve to cum all over my hand."

Yes, an internal voice shrieked within you. You thought another version of yourself would punch through your chest and take over, take over everything.

Your entire existence rolled up into nothing but pure light as you felt your high coming on quickly. You knew you were cumming, and Helena did too, for she used her other hand to simultaneously stimulate your clit.

The pressure released, like a balloon snapping in your belly.

You were breathing heavily as you sank into Helena's arms. You hadn't realized how tense you'd been until all of your muscles relaxed.

"I'm sorry, Dove," Helena murmured into your ear. She held you tight and close. Her natural perfume, a blend of rosewater and fresh flowers, flooded your senses. With your energy dwindling after such an exertion, you didn't have the strength to argue or complain. You laid there, silently accepting her apology. No longer were you distracted by the wanton desires for orgasm and relief. And in the same way, you were no longer consumed with bitter anger.

"Do you promise we're going to be alright?" you asked, voice cracking and hoarse.

Helena kissed your neck.

"I do."

[seijorhi]

hello, i love your writing and was hoping if u could write a yandere kuroo x reader where he corners her in a corner and kenma is there and is getting off from it 😳 thank u !

Asdfghjkl this was supposed to be posted on Sunday I’m sorry, bby!! I hope it’s worth the wait! 💕 also, loved this request so thanks for sending it in 😊

Kuroo Tetsuro x Female Reader, Kenma Kozume x Female Reader

TW dub con, coercion (kinda?), stalking, humiliation

Helping Hand

There’s a certain peace you find in the looming stacks of the library after the sun sets. It’s quieter then, less people milling about. You don’t have to fight for space or books, and considering you have midterms soon and essays coming out of your ears, that makes it the perfect study environment.

It’s only a little after eight, the library’s still open for another two and a half hours, but on the fourth floor it’s almost a ghost town - just how you like it. There’s a professor tucked away in the back corner, piles of books built up around him, an older librarian with her trolley, slowly re-shelving books, and two other guys around your age sitting huddled at a table a few down from yours - the textbooks and highlights spread across their desk having been long since abandoned in favour of literally anything else.

Honestly, you’d wonder why they’d bother coming to the library at all if it wasn’t an almost daily occurrence. Most days you were there, so were they - usually together, although it wasn’t uncommon to see just one of them camped out between the stacks as you made your way to your desk. The duo, one tall and lean with a shock of messy dark hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and the other smaller, more reserved, with bleached hair and dark roots in serious need of a touch up, seemed to prefer this time to study too - not that they ever seemed to actually do all that much studying.

Usually the blonde ends up absorbed in his switch while the other casually thumbs through whichever book is closest.

So long as they were quiet and didn’t disturb you, who were you to judge?

You don’t really remember when they’d started to appear, only that they’d quickly become a fixture in your refuge - distantly familiar presences like strangers travelling on the same bus to work each day. They smile (well, the dark haired one does) and nod whenever you happen to look up from your notes and catch their eye, and while you’ve only spoken a handful of words to the both of them, they always seemed nice. 

Nicer than the clearly overworked professor muttering away in the corner at any rate, which makes them the logical choice to approach when you find your bladder uncomfortably full halfway through your self imposed study session. Realistically, you know at this time of the night nobody else is likely to make their way up to the fourth floor, much less have any interest in your shitty, old laptop or the five whole dollars in your wallet - yet you find you making your way over to the twosome’s table anyway, a faint blush dusting across your cheeks.

“… don’t want to,” you overhear the blonde mutter, his attention wholly focused upon the game in his hands. “Things are fine, why change that?”

His friend sighs, “Because you can deny it all you want, but I know you better than that. I know I’m not the only one who wants more. You can’t just sit back and…” he trails off suddenly, hazel eyes flickering over to you in surprise. 

Confused by his friend’s sudden silence, the blonde lowers his game and glances up - only to still at the sight of you.

You swallow down your nerves, plastering what you hope is a friendly enough smile across your face, “Hi, uh… sorry to interrupt you guys, but would you mind watching my stuff for a few minutes while I go to the bathroom? I won’t be long or anything, I just don’t like leaving my stuff out in the open,” you say with a sheepish laugh, well aware that you’re rambling like an idiot. 

It’s the dark haired one who answers, a wide grin breaking across his face as he nods, “Yeah, no worries. We’d be glad to.”

You smile back, ignoring the faint fluttering in your stomach (he does look kind of cute grinning like that), thanking him again before rushing away in the direction of the bathroom.

It doesn’t take long for your thoughts to drift away from the duo back to the essay you’re mid-way through drafting. You have a sinking feeling that the argument you’re trying to use in the fourth paragraph is essentially a just rehash of the point you made in the first. By the time you unlock the stall door and make your way over to the sink to wash your hands, you’re starting to debate the merits of scrapping the whole thing and starting fresh with new ideas.

You still technically have time, it’s not due until the end of the month, but you just kind of want it done so you don’t have to think about it anymore. Then again, that’s kind of your feelings towards the semester as a whole. 

Who are you kidding? University’s kicking your ass this year.

The ancient hand dryer’s almost deafening as it clicks on - it masks the sound door swinging open and the footsteps that echo out from the tile floors.

It’s only when your eyes flicker up to mirror that you see that you’re no longer alone-

Standing right behind you is the guy from before; the tall, dark haired one. 

- and jerk in surprise, stumbling backwards with a choked yelp.

It doesn’t hit you right away - no, that’s relief that has you drawing a hand over your chest and letting out a shaking laugh. “You scared the hell out of me!” you say, bracing yourself over the sink to try and calm your breathing.

No, it doesn’t hit you quickly. Realisation is slow - creeping through your veins like ice as your eyes flicker back up the mirror. 

He hasn’t moved. 

He’s smiling, grinning really, but there’s something… something off about it. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes… Why isn’t he saying anything?

W-why isn’t he moving away?

Your heart, still hammering from his shock of his sudden appearance, squeezes uncomfortably and your eyes slowly widen.

“Wh-”

A rough, calloused palm slaps across your mouth, smothering whatever words you’d been about to speak. “Ah, ah. Gotta keep it down, sweetheart.”

He winks at you in the mirror, taking a tiny step towards you and you squeak, breathing in sharp, shallow pants through your nose as a warm, muscled chest presses against your back. “You’re a nervous little thing, aren’tcha?” he chuckles. “Relax a little - promise I don’t bite.”

With one hand wrapped around your lips the other creeping across your waist, his words don’t exactly bring you a lot of comfort. 

It makes no difference either way - you’re paralysed, shaking and trembling, but utterly unable to move as he noses at the column of your throat, his warm breath tickling your skin.

You could scream, but there’s no guarantee anybody would hear you. You could try and fight him off, but he’s taller than you, and you’re willing to bet stronger as well.

Will he hurt you if you try and resist?

Is he gonna hurt you anyway?

You’ve heard the stories before about men who follow women into empty bathrooms and the awful things they do, but you never...

Those things don’t happen in places like this. The library is supposed to be safe, he- he’s been-

Your stomach drops.

Weeks. 

He’s been visiting the library with his friend, sitting across from you for weeks.

His eyes bore into your reflection in the mirror like he can hear every terrified thought that passes through your head, and with excruciating slowness you’re forced to watch as his lips brush a kiss against your cheek, lingering and sweet - a mockery of tenderness. 

A scared little whimper is all you can manage, and even that is swallowed up by the sound of the bathroom door squeaking open once more. 

Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening.

A faint burst of hope flickers to life.

You might not be a fighter, but this might be the only chance you have. You shriek again, the sound woefully muffled, and writhe against your captor’s tightening grip as slow footsteps round the corner.

Please, you think as tears stream silently down your face. Please help me.

What little hope you have is quickly - brutally - extinguished as your would be saviour steps into view.

Your legs shake and you’re almost positive that if it wasn’t for the strong arms wrapped around you, you would have crumpled to the floor.

It’s his friend, the blonde, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, watching the scene before him - you struggling against an iron grip, gagged and terrified - like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. 

Your captor chuckles, relaxing his grip as his hand drifts upwards to palm at your breast and you want to die. “Glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

“Shut up, Kuroo,” the blonde groans as he makes his way over, but he barely glances at his friend before his catlike eyes come to rest on you.

Your cheeks are burning, a potent mix of shame, nausea and dread churning in your stomach as you’re crudely felt up, but under the blonde’s attention you freeze.

While his face is a blank mask of apathetic disinterest, those golden irises are piercing in their intensity as they study you.

The glint in his eyes is as unmistakable as it is stark; anticipation - like a house cat watching a golden canary flit restlessly in its cage.

The hiccuping sob comes unbidden, choking at your throat as you wail against the palm at your lips. You’ve never wanted to disappear so badly in your entire life, to slap yourself awake and realise that it’s nothing but a stress induced nightmare because this can’t be happening.

Why you?

What could you possibly have done to deserve this?

“Relax,” Kuroo repeats, leaning down over you again, “we’re not gonna hurt you. Just wanna have some fun, that’s all.” You think he’s going to try and kiss you again, but instead his tongue darts out and he licks at the silvery tear tracks, groaning softly.

You shoot the quiet blonde a desperate, pleading look. He hasn’t lifted a finger to stop what’s happening, hasn’t done anything other than stare at you, but even as his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile you hold out on the shadow of a prayer that maybe, just maybe-

Kuroo follows your wide, panicked gaze and almost snorts. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, baby. Kenma’s not gonna help you. He wants this just as badly as I do.” His thumb slides across your cheek, brushing away more tears, “C’mon, on your knees.”

He doesn’t give you a choice - the hand on your shoulder forces your shaking knees to buckle and you fall down to the bathroom floor.

The tiles are cold against your bare legs, but the shivers that wrack through you have little to do with the temperature. It’s far too late to regret the short skirt you’d thrown on that morning.

Kuroo hums appreciatively, lifting his palm to tap it a few times against your cheek like you’re an adorable little puppy who’s just learned its first trick, “It’s a good look for you, baby, but I think it’d be even better without this-” his fingers tug at the collar of your top and his grin widens, “- in the way.” 

Yet he makes no move to take it off for you. One look into his eyes, the glittering amusement darkened with lewd desire and you know that he won’t.

He wants you to do it, to play along in their fun - to be an active participant in your own humiliation.

And really, what other choice do you have?

It’s impossible to ignore the bulge straining against his jeans as your trembling fingers grip the hem of your top and reluctantly yank it upwards. There’s a sharp inhale - Kuroo you think - and a whistle as it comes off, baring your lacy bra and the soft skin underneath to their hungry gazes. 

Only for a moment. 

Staring resolutely at the floor you’re quick to try and cover what little modesty you have left, bringing your arms up to wrap around your chest-

Except a hand catches at your wrist and tugs it back, and when you glance up you find it’s Kenma’s. 

“… Don’t,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”

You let your arms drop, hands clenching into shaking fists in your lap, fingernails biting into your palm.

The sound of a zipper being pulled undone is almost deafening in the quiet bathroom. Fresh tears sting at your eyes, but you can’t bear to look at either of them as Kuroo reaches inside his pants and frees his cock.

The hand that cups your cheek is surprisingly gentle as he coaxes your face back towards him and the achingly hard member in his grip. “See Kenma, I told you - change ain’t always a bad thing.”

His dark eyes flicker back to you and he grins, “Open up, sweetheart.”

[findingyourrootscomic]

Mudkip Cedar is so beautiful, isn't she? ;;w;; Such wonderful, bright colors. Was in the mood to draw Cedar and Nauki's baby forms today, feeling a little nostalgic! So! Some interesting news! Despite The Things We Have not being completed yet (14 pages left to render!), I’ve started to draw Finding Your Roots again! I think after an entire summer of working on the rabbit comic, I got super burnt out? So, I got in the mood to draw some FYR instead, and since I got back to working on it a couple weeks ago, I’ve finished eleven pages! I’m really proud of myself for how easily I’ve jumped back into it, and I’m currently working on drawing the next big battle. >:3 It’s coming out great so far and I’m super excited.

FYR’s third birthday came and went in July. It passed on July 10, specifically, that day three years ago is when I finished the first page of FYR. It was before I even planned on ever releasing the comic publicly. I wasn’t even quite sure whether I wanted to commit to making a Nuzlocke comic or not! And even once I started releasing it, I always had these fears and anxieties over the project. FYR is going to be long, guys. It’s going to be long. We’re seven chapters in and have around 23 to go. Book 2 will probably take me another couple of years to finish, and at that point? The comic might just be halfway done. We’ve got four books to go, book 3 is looking like it’s going to be long. I loved the project so much that the thought of burning out and never finishing it, a fate shared by so many comic artists, was horrifying. It would keep me up at night. I’ve broken into tears from the stress of it. Wooooof, right?

But recently, thankfully… that changed.

I was chatting with my friend @zeropro, who somehow found the right words to encourage me not to view FYR as a goal, but rather a journey. Zero is a really good friend of mine, one of the best friends I’ve ever had in fact, and she would always sit with me and listen when I would vent about the stress of finishing FYR. The last time I vented about it, complaining about how I might be working on this project into my 30s (I’m currently 22), she said this:

“But what’s wrong with working on it late into your thirties, it can just be this constant fun little project that you dip into, a documentation of your growth through your whole artist career. Wouldn’t that be nice? Like a rabbit you can take care of for a long time. Imagine being the author of One Piece or Dragonball, where it’s not about finishing it but keeping it going for as long as people will read it. Isn’t it nice that FYR will at least have an end?

“Comics like TTWH and LL, they are meant to be completed, but FYR and JBN, these projects are here to grow with us, to keep us company through hard times. What’s the rush? I like to think your art style might change even further as FYR goes on! And who knows where you'll take it!

“Every day you get to draw another page is another day you get to draw another page, not one page more of a thousand. Every day as you draw one more page you will end up there, but that’s not the point, it’s what you get to do now.”

And those words… I’m happy to say, they solved the problem!

It’s not that I have to work on FYR for another ten years or so. It’s that I GET to work on FYR for another ten years or so! FYR has been such a stable, comforting presence in my life these past three years, and while I’m excited to some day see it completed, I’m happy to welcome it in my life for a long time coming. I’m the sort of person who is quite terrified of change. The unknown scares me a lot; I’m not good at handling an unknown future where bad things could happen and I have no way to predict or stop it. But FYR will always be around for me. It’ll be a pet I get to take care of for a long time who can never succumb to old age. It’ll be a friend I can trust to be always be around, because I’m the one who controls it! And if I ever want to put it aside for a while to work on other projects, like I did with TTWH, I’m allowed to do that too! Doesn’t matter if it takes me a year or two longer to finish FYR cause I was working on other stuff. FYR will always be around for me, and for you!

I’ve been doing a lot of work on planning future FYR chapters as well. I basically realized that a lot of my plans for the plot’s future, uhhhh, kinda sucked? They weren’t incredibly original, were too plot-focused, and didn’t leave a lot of room for the characters to explore themselves and grow naturally as people. Character focused stories are always better than plot-focused ones!!! So I’m overhauling a lot of my plans for FYR right now, doing some outlining for late Book 2 and Book 3, and restructuring FYR to be a story much more focused on character development and themes. We’re gonna spend less time chasing down villains and more time exploring the characters, their feelings, growth, and identities. I think the changes are going to make FYR a really spectacular experience, a comic that’s incredibly unique. I’m excited to share it with you.

I’m incredibly proud to be the author of FYR. I’m proud to be able to make a comic that’s made so many other people happy. We’ve laughed together, cried together, and we’re telling this story together. I’m not going anywhere. So I hope you’ll stick around, too!

Because this comic is amazing. And it’s only ever going to get even better.

- SPB

[bonjour-rainycity]

Imagine: Being friends with Alice and asking Carlisle for help on your chemistry homework

Characters: Cullen family, female reader

Rating: G

Word count: 2120

Warnings: None

Request by anon: Wait, omg I’m so happy I found a blog that’s updated recently and I’m definitely gonna ✨stalk✨ your blog and read all your writing after hw but if you’re still doing requests, I thought of something that I would just love to see written. And this could be short or something, y’know? It can be whatever you want it to be, but what if the reader is somewhat friends with the Cullens? Reader (maybe like 20 years old?) is invited to their house one weekend after bumping into Alice and becoming friends and from passing conversation, reader knows that Carlisle is a doctor so she asks him if he could help her with her organic chemistry hw cause she’s studying to be a med student? 

A/n Wow I’m so sorry this took me so long! It’s such a cute request and I loved writing it! Thanks for sending it in and for being patient with me :)

Shoot.

Mentally, I groan, stopping my progress towards my car.

I still have chem homework.

I fiddle with the keys in my hand, contemplating. You could go home…lay in bed…maybe with a pint of ice cream…and pass out in a stress and sugar-induced coma.

Oh, how tempting.

But then I remind myself of why I’m putting myself through the hell that is a STEM degree, and turn on my heel, heading back to campus. I know I won’t get any work done if I go home, so the library it is! Thank goodness it’s open twenty-four hours, because it’s creeping up to eleven and I don’t have the heart to return to one of the academic buildings.

Seeing as it’s Friday night, the library isn’t crowded. Still, I push past all the tables on the first floor and head up to my favorite spot on the second. Settling in at my favorite partially secluded table, I pull out my organic chemistry textbook, pop in my earbuds, and get to work.

{***}

A small, pale hand skims over the table near my book, and I look up with a start.

Alice Cullen stands by my desk, clutching a set of books that look too heavy for her thin arms, but she seems to be managing fine. She and I met during the first week of classes, and have been tentative friends ever since. We don’t see much of each other, given our varying degree programs, but she always greets me with a friendly smile and an offer to join her to study. I pull out my headphones, and give her a tired smile. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good!” She smiles excitedly, somehow keeping her energy levels at—I check the time on my phone—1:12 am! “Have you been here for long?”

I shrug, feeling the weight of the late hour on my shoulders. “Since around eleven. I was going home but then I forgot I have o-chem homework. I don’t think it should be taking me this long, but I’m struggling. Thankfully only half of it is due in the morning. The rest isn’t due until after the weekend.”

Alice peers over to look at my book and the problems I work through in my notebook. “Oh, those do look hard. But you know, my dad is a doctor, and he probably knows this stuff like the back of his hand. He’d be more than happy to help you.”

I blanch. An invitation to the Cullen’s house? And free help on o-chem homework?

But then I remember my manners. “Oh, thank you, but I couldn’t—”

“Please,” she squeaks, balancing her books in one arm and using the other to retrieve her phone. “We’d be happy to have you over! I’ll let my family know. Does tomorrow around lunchtime work?”

“Uh,” I swallow, not sure I’m believing my ears. “That works great, thank you! I can bring the food?”

She shakes her head, waving off the offer. “Don’t worry about it—Mom loves to cook and will be excited to really use the kitchen. Oh! And there’s this new series my sisters and I have been dying to watch. It’s called Broadchurch. Have you heard of it? Maybe we can start it and see if it’s any good!”

I nod dumbly, too tired and relieved for the help to refuse again. “That sounds fun! Thank you.”

“Of course,” she smiles, shrugging like it’s nothing. “What are friends for?”

My smile softens. She considers us friends. “Do you want to walk out together? It’s pretty late.”

She beams and waits while I collect my stuff.

{***}

I pull up to the front of the massive house.

Alice is waiting for me on the porch. She waves excitedly, and I notice her fiancé standing near the door, looking uncomfortable. I stifle a chuckle. It’s well-known that Jasper, introvert in every sense of the word, fell hard for Alice who is the embodiment of an extravert. I wave, grabbing my backpack and stepping out of the car.

“Welcome,” Alice practically shouts. Jasper gives me a polite nod.

I smile at the two of them, calling out my hello’s and climbing the stairs to the porch. The second Jasper opens the door, I’m greeted by the warm smile of Esme Cullen.

“Hello, Y/n, welcome to our home! We are so happy to have you here.” She extends a warm smile, one I can’t help but return immediately.

Alice leads us straight to the living room, where two of her adoptive siblings, Emmett and Rosalie, lounge. Rosalie sketches something I can’t see, and Emmett yells loudly at the TV, losing at a video game.

“Beat it, Emmett,” Alice chirps, dancing over and taking the controller from his hands. “We’re going to watch Broadchurch.”

Putting his frustration at the game aside, Emmett grins, standing and ruffling Alice’s hair. “Alright, I was getting my ass kicked anyway. Hey, Y/n, good to see you again.”

I return his greeting, familiar with Emmett from an intro to theatre class we had together last semester. The image of his interpretation of Juliet for our final project comes to mind, and I have to stifle a laugh. Emmett goes to leave the room, pulling Jasper with him.

“Send Bella down, would you,” Alice calls after them, already settling on the couch. “Rose, you know Y/n, right?”

Rosalie looks up from her sketching. She smiles briefly at me, then returns to her task. I sit awkwardly next to Alice, waiting for Bella so we can start the show.

“There aren’t many women in STEM.”

My head shoots up, wide eyes turning in Rosalie’s direction. She doesn’t look up from her work, but I know she’s addressing me—Alice is studying fashion merchandising and design.

“Y-yeah,” I stammer. Alice’s older sister is just so intimidating. Well-spoken, obviously intelligent, tall, prettier than anyone I’ve ever met, and top of her law class. She’s not exactly warm either, like her mother or sister—even now, there’s a cold bite to her tone. But the edges of her lips quirk up, and I can tell she’s being nice.

“Don’t let the guys push you around. What you’re doing is important, and you’re probably smarter than them. What do you want to do with your degree?”

The answer, always on my heart and mind, is automatic. “I want to be a doctor. So, med school is next.”

She nods once. “Good.”

And apparently that’s the end of our conversation.

I try to hide my smile by rummaging around in my backpack for my water bottle. It’s nice to feel supported.

Bella comes gliding down the stairs and twists into the living room, folding herself easily onto the love seat. She greets me, and then tosses me the throw over the back of her couch. Alice nods as if forgetting something, then reaches into a basket hidden between our couch and Rosalie’s chair and produces three more blankets, throwing two to her sisters and keeping one for herself. She shoots me a grin as each of us, even the serious Rosalie, snuggles up.

Alice stands, turning off the lights and then wraps back in her blanket and scoots near me on the couch. “I hope this is good!” With a grin, she opens Netflix and plays the first episode.

{***}

Broadchurch does not disappoint. Before I know it, we’re halfway through the second episode, eyes glued to the screen. Bella, who was definitely reading a book under her blanket at the start, has put it to the side, leaning forward and watching the show intently.

The front door creaks, then clicks closed, and Alice smiles, pressing pause on the remote. “Dad’s home.”

Before long, the famed local doctor comes in to say hi to the girls and to greet me. He’s just as welcoming as his wife!

“Alice told me you are having trouble with some organic chemistry homework?”

I nod, hoping it’s not too much to ask for his help. “I got a good start on some of the problems last night, but I keep messing up. I’m not really sure where I’m going wrong—there’s no answer key so I can’t work backwards through the problems.”

He nods, casually resting his hands in the pocket of his slacks. “I remember o-chem homework quite well.” He grins conspiratorially. “It is the bane of many a med student’s existence. Why don’t you girls finish up your episode and then join Esme and me in the kitchen for lunch? I can take a look at your homework if you like.”

Relief washes over me. “That would be great, thank you so much.”

He smiles warmly. “Of course. Now, if you all will excuse me….” With a twinkle in his eye, he leaves us to rejoin his wife.

This family is so nice! I wonder why they get so much flack at school?

Alice resumes the episode, and soon my musings are washed away as I try to piece together the mystery of the murder before the detectives can.

{***}

Esme is a wonderful cook. Carlisle sings her praises but doesn’t fix a plate for himself, saying he ate plenty as she was cooking. We all sit down at the table, though I’m the only one who eats in earnest — Bella claims to be filled up on snacks, Rose says she’s on a diet, and Alice takes a small helping for herself, every now and then poking the chicken in mild disgust. I don’t see what the problem is, the food is fantastic!

Carlisle sits down next to me, and I slide my textbook and notebook in his direction. He smiles, looking almost nostalgic. “I remember these. The good news is, as a doctor, you won’t be doing much of this in day-to-day life, if at all. But it is important for some courses you will take in medical school, so it’s best to master the concepts now. See, on number nineteen, you start the problem correctly, but get lost once you have to balance the equation to continue. Instead of waiting until the middle to balance, I would do that first, that way, you have a solid base before moving on to solve the rest of the problem.”

I nod, peering over at the paper intently. I hadn’t tried that strategy before.

Carlisle takes out a pen, and begins scratching out an equation. Then, he grins, shaking his head, and crosses it out, starting again in much neater handwriting. “Forgive my penmanship. Though, if you decide to continue and become a practicing doctor, your handwriting will soon be indecipherable, too.”

From across the table, Rosalie snorts, and I can’t help but laugh along. It seems almost a rite of passage for a doctor to have horrendous handwriting.

In clearer script, Carlisle continues working out the problem, then slides the paper over for me to see. He explains what he did at each step, and I nod along, trying to commit as much of it to memory as possible. He works out another problem in the same way, then asks me to try on my own. I smile tentatively as I go, hesitant to accept that I actually know how to do the problem now.

But I do.

It takes concentration to work through the steps, but I can, which is a far cry from where I was last night. Carlisle waves off my thanks, saying I just needed to try a different approach, but I had it within me all along. I bring up another section I had issues with—structures of the elements—and Carlisle teaches me a better strategy for memorizing a few and then figuring out the rest. By the time Esme and Bella have put the food away, my homework is done—in a fourth of the time it would have taken me struggling through it on my own.

“Seriously, Dr. Cullen, thank you so much.”

He smiles pleasantly, handing me back my textbook. “Of course. If you need help again, just come on over. I know the girls love having the company, and my wife and I enjoyed the opportunity to meet you as well.”

Esme appears behind her husband, laying her hands affectionately on his shoulders. “Absolutely, Y/n. Please come over any time.”

I pack up my homework and thank them once again for lunch and for the help. Alice darts to my side, grinning. “Ready to finish the episode?”

I feel so much lighter now that my homework is done, and I don’t feel guilty at all for spending time with my new friends. In fact, I may even indulge in that ice cream when I get home.

“Absolutely.”

A/n Thanks for reading! If you have a moment, here’s the link to my masterlist :)

[primrose-path-of-dalliance]

@trueblue-escapist this one got long! :) (edit: now on ao3)

It was by sheer fortune that the message arrived while he was dining at Beau and Yasha's home.

They were trying some of the latter's experimental recipes. Fortunately Yasha had progressed very well in the last several months; this was now the fourth meal Caleb had been over for since Beau declared her love's attempts at Empire foods to be reliably nonpoisonous.

He was comfortable, speculating with Beau over her recent visit to Shattengrod. So when Jester began speaking in his head, he almost dropped his fork.

With strained panting—"Caleb, we need some help."

Caleb’s thoughts immediately went to static. He held up a hand as her voice continued, eyes wide, and both Beau and Yasha fell quiet with concern.

"There’s a lot of fishy people and I have, um. One diamond. We’re on the ship. Hope you aren’t busy—"

Abrupt cut-off. No continuation. He shot a look across the table to the other two, and they seemed to instantly read the tension on his face for what it was. They darted from their seats as he replied, "I am with Beau and Yasha. Hang in there, please. We’re coming."

"Sword?" called Yasha from another room.

"Sword. Beau," Caleb shouted, his adrenaline spiking with every second they were still here, "diamonds?"

"One," came her terse response. "I got it."

He stood up. The chair legs screeched against Beau and Yasha’s nice hardwood. Dug a hand through his hair and pulled half of it out of the tie.

Next he slapped his hands together. A strand of amber formed from his pinched thumbs and middle fingers as he drew them apart. Gods, his trembling hands shook the arcane thread. Ten seconds since Jester’s message.

"Essek," Caleb said to the thread, which vibrated with each word. "If you aren’t busy and have the spells. Retrieve Caduceus if you could and bring him to the Nein Heroez. It’s urgent. And diamonds," he added hastily. The thread dissipated.

Yasha and Beau emerged together from the hall with weapons in hand as the reply came: "I will contact Caduceus, then, and keep you updated. Hopefully I can be of aid. Stay safe, Caleb."

Caleb closed his eyes for a single breath and tried to absorb Essek’s soft, controlled caution.

They were coming. They would be okay.

Without needing to look, he held his hands to Yasha and Beau. "Uk’otoa is being an exceptional nuisance."

Beau scowled and said, "I fucking told Fjord to do something with that ball"—and they were off.

***

Jester woke up to what felt like a giant spike piercing through her head, or maybe a handaxe being sunk into her skull—but if it kept going forever instead of happening in an instant. Her stomach felt like a tiny pool of boiling acid that the ship kept rocking back and forth.

She moaned, curling up harder and pressing the heels of her hands to her temples. It didn’t really help, but the pulsing pain eased a little over some time.

"Arty?" she eventually managed.

"I’m so sorry, my dear," murmured his low voice by her ear. "I came as quickly as I could."

"It’s okay. Water?"

She felt a small weasel tongue lick her cheek, then retreat.

After about a minute of measured, careful breathing through the migraine, Jester heard a door crack open and winced from the brighter light now shining in from the hallway.

"Sorry," whispered a familiar voice, and Jester might have started crying at the sound of his Zemnian accent if she wasn’t already teary-eyed from pain.

The door closed, dimming the room again to its singular lantern.

She did her best to uncurl as Caleb set down a bowl and cup on the small table nearby and brought over a chair to her bedside. He reached for his neck, too, and a crimson weasel slipped into his hands.

"Thanks," she said as he returned Sprinkle to her shoulder.

"Of course. Would you like help sitting up?"

"Please."

She had to rest her head on Caleb’s shoulder for a minute when sitting up gave her a rush of a dizzy spell. His hand had rubbed up and down her arm. He smelled like sweat and fish guts and leather.

Eventually Jester had her back against the wall and the cup of water in her hands as she took a careful sip.

"Everyone’s alright," began Caleb, voice still hushed in consideration of her headache. "We took care of them all shortly after you went down, and Fjord was able to heal you a little bit. Essek arrived with Caduceus not long after."

"That’s good."

She closed her eyes and sipped more water. The warm weight of Sprinkle was draped around her neck.

Gods. Jester loved her friends so much.

"Where is everyone? Where’s Fjord?" she asked.

"Out on the deck cleaning up and figuring out what to do next," came the wry response. "Beau gave Fjord a piece of her mind about that orb. Caduceus suggested to try hiding it in the Happy Fun Ball."

"Aw, man. That’s a really good idea."

"Ja. So we are figuring out who will take it in there and where to put it."

She nodded sluggishly, eyes still closed.

"I’m sorry," said Caleb after a long moment. "Do you want to sleep?"

"No. I'm just tired."

That last word came out with a bit more... a bit more than Jester had intended to say it with. She chewed the inside of her cheek and took a sip of water.

She could feel Caleb's gaze on her. "Is it something you would like to talk about?"

The headache continued to pulse in her temples. She stared down into her cup, at the water sloshing side to side from the rocking of the ship. "If you guys are going to Yussa's later, I want to come with. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Mama."

"Of course."

Jester breathed in and out and continued, "It's been a year and I think I'm sick of sailing."

"Ah."

"I mean, there's been so many cool things. The Lucidian Ocean is huge. One time we saw a sea horse that was big enough to ride on. And the port cities we've visited have all been beautiful. But most of the time it's just this boat. And less Arty. And Uk'otoa attacking us for the cloven crystal. I can't even prank people whenever I get bored because it's all the same people, and it's way less fun to keep pranking the same people over and over again."

Caleb made a considering noise. She sipped water, chewing the inside of her cheek some more.

Slowly he asked, "Are you... thinking of staying with your mother for a while?"

"Maybe."

Peaceful silence. They listened to the sounds of wood creaking and the ocean undulating. Jester felt the shittiness of her body continue to ease, and she set down the water to take a sniff at the bowl instead. Some stew, still warm.

As she had a cautious taste, Caleb said, "Hey."

She brought down the bowl and looked at him.

"Would you like to see something cool?"

"Of course I would like to see something cool, Caleb."

His smile as she sat up with anticipation and set down the bowl was very welcome—and a pretty cool sight already. But she watched him pull out a piece of wool and rub it between two fingers, and all of a sudden there was a cat in his lap and another cat on his shoulders.

Jester gasped, hands flying to her face. "Are those your cats?"

The smile on his face only got bigger and warmer as he looked down at the illusory one in his lap cleaning its brown-and-white face. "Yes. This one is Gretel, she is still somewhat a kitten. The other one is Mac, which is short for mackerel because he was eating one from a rubbish heap when I found him."

"Oh my god, Caleb, that’s so adorable." She beamed and leaned in to wiggle her fingers at illusion-Gretel, cooing without caring that it wasn’t the real cat.

He rubbed the wool in his hand and illusion-Gretel began to purr loudly.

She could feel the dimples in her cheeks from grinning. "I love them."

"They will both be very glad to hear that and will eagerly exploit your love to make you spoil them."

"Well, of course I’ll spoil them, they’re so perfect."

Caleb’s smile eased into something soft. "Would you like to meet them in person, then? Before you return to the Nein Heroez?"

The excitement welling up inside Jester faltered.

Oh, right.

She twisted her fingers together, fixing her gaze on the blood crusted in the space between them and beneath her nails. "Um. Yeah, I would love to, Caleb. But probably I'm not going to come back here."

No response except a careful inhale.

She picked at a bloodied crease in her palm and continued, "Fjord and I talked a couple weeks ago. It wasn't like an argument or anything, don't worry! We're one hundred and ten per cent still best friends who love each other and everything, you know? But he loves being captain of the Nein Heroez and doesn't really plan on stopping anytime soon. Or doing anything else. And I want to do more. The world's so big, and there's like a dozen other planes I could see, Arty promised he'd show me around the Feywild—"

Caleb's long-fingered hand placed itself on top of her fidgeting ones, and Jester's rambling mouth fell silent. The illusory cats were gone.

"It's fine, Jester," he said. She looked up at his furrowed brow and crooked smile. "I understand."

Deep breath in and out. Jester returned a similar smile. "Yeah."

Seeming reassured, he leaned back in his chair and seemed to look off elsewhere, his brow still furrowed in thought.

In the lull, she took up the bowl of stew again with more relish. The weight of the news she'd been ignoring had lifted from her shoulders, and with it some of her worries. She hadn't known how people would react. The more reasonable voice in her mind figured that everyone would take the relationship change with ease, reminding her of Yasha's advice in Eiselcross a year ago. The louder, more anxious voice had stressed over whether any of them might judge her for being a bad girlfriend.

Apropos of nothing, gaze still a little distant, Caleb said, "Essek and I are in a relationship."

Halfway through a sip of the stew, Jester's mouth fell open. "Really?"

His lips twitched at the squeal in her voice. "Ja."

She smiled, said, "Aw, I'm happy for you two," and returned to her stew to try and stamp down the sudden, strange sense of instability overtaking her. Like her heart found itself stuck in the second between missing the next step down the stairs and falling.

"Thank you. I am telling you this, though, because Essek and I have had... somewhat of a similar conversation." His eyes flickered to meet her startled gaze briefly, and she saw a bittersweet wryness in them. "Neither of us expect the other to be, well. Committed. My whole self, more or less, is dedicated to my home. I want to make it a better place. Essek has very different goals in mind for his future. We love each other, but between my life and his constant vagrancy, it would be unfair to expect us to stay the same. And, you know. I don't have as much time as he does, anyway."

Jester had the bowl of stew in her lap now, unable to stop staring at Caleb. He finally seemed to notice her attention and awkwardly fixed his eyes on a spot of the wall somewhere to her right and up.

In her chest, time started again. Jester's heart safely found the next step instead of taking a tumble down the stairs.

"Thank you, Caleb," she said softly.

He returned to looking at her properly, and the renewed warmth in his expression helped resettle Jester's sense of the world even further. "I'm sure your mother could be much more reassuring."

"Maybe, but it's you."

Caleb went a little pink. The flush was still visible to Jester's eyes in the dim room. Thank the gods that the warmth in her own cheeks would be much harder for him to notice.

That was enough conversation for her at the moment. She shoved the bowl of stew back against her mouth.

(send me a brief widojest prompt!)